Depressed

Note: This story was written 9 months ago. Today I am totally healed, pain-free, active and very much living an overall happy life. However, in lieu of the fact that we lost Robin Williams, our beloved comedian, humanitarian and bike enthusiast, I felt I would go ahead and publish this timely article.

Here is my story.

I am not depressed today but I have had times in my life where I have been.

The initial time I remember being seriously depressed was after I had quit my synchronized swim team months earlier. At first I enjoyed doing "normal" teenaged activities like going out with friends, sleeping in on Saturday morning, and more. I had been swimming 5:00-8:00pm, Monday-Thursday and 9:00-12:00 on Saturdays for nearly ten years. We had extra practices before school during the peak season and double or triple workouts before Nationals each year. I worked out hard and was extremely thin throughout most of my swimming career, even when my delayed puberty hit me with a vengeance.

Eventually my retirement from swimming caused a weight gain of twenty-five pounds at my peak and three dress sizes. I grew sad over how I looked and felt. The lack of exercise affected my hormones and I remember getting menstrual cramps for the first time.

My depression peaked one day and I walked over to the high school behind my parents house and I remember thinking to myself, "If I had a gun would I use it?" I did not honestly know the answer and that scared me.

Somehow I managed to tell my mom and at that point talking about it seemed to help. Instinctively I also knew I needed to start exercising  regularly again. I enrolled in a local junior college and took PE courses every day; swimming, volleyball or  ballet, conditioning or tennis. I certainly was not great at all of these classes but moving again kickstarted my metabolism and I began to pay closer attention to what I ate. For me, the endorphins from exercise helped my mood too.

My depression at that point passed without the need to use medication.

The next major bout of depression came postpartum. I had given birth to my firstborn child and I had the baby blues. Yes, I was tired. Yes, I needed sleep. Yes, I felt like a human milk cow and yes having a newborn daughter with severe colic was enough to challenge any young mommy. But this was more than that. I had trouble controlling the tears.

Lucky for me, I mentioned it to my doctor. I've since learned that is not usually the case with people who are suffering from depression unless someone else encourages them to seek help. My doctor treated me with the utmost respect and kindness and gave me great advice. He had me chart my moods. He was very clear that eventually I should  see the bad days begin to dissipate over time. But if I did not, he said to come in or let him know and that I could receive help. That help might be in the form of medication, but that it would be okay. Just knowing that made me feel better.

Years later  I was teaching and had to pull a table toward me to set up my kindergarten classroom. The pain ripped through me, I had torn my rotator cuff. I had to go to an urgent care facility and the doctor gave me a cortisone shot to relieve the pain. Frustratingly he gave it to me in the wrong place and a few days later the pain was excruciating. In fact, on a scale from 1 to 10 I told them it was an 11. I had to get a strong shot to alleviate the pain right then and see a specialist in the morning.  He had to give me another shot in the correct area which was now torn and inflamed. I had to go to physical therapy. It took a long time to heal. I continued to exercise but could no longer swim. In addition to my physical pain, I was going through a very rough time relationally at that time. I was not sleeping and began to lose weight rapidly.

I knew I had to get help when I appeared at the door of my job share's home. I was sobbing as I was telling her I didn't know what was wrong with me. Her six year old daughter walked up staring her brown, now wide-eyes at me. My crying was scaring her. I was scaring a small child.
I remember deciding I would call my new general practitioner. I explained that I thought I was depressed and started to cry. They had me come in later that same day so they could meet with me.

For the first time I went on medication, an anti-anxiety medication. They also gave me a very limited number of sleeping pills, two weeks' worth. My biggest problem at that point was my lack of sleep. The idea of the sleeping pills was to get me to fall into a normal sleep pattern. They worked. That was around 13 years ago and I've never needed them since then. I stayed on the anti-anxiety pills for a little longer than I had planned. I was about to go off of them because I was beginning to feel that the side affects of weight gain, lack of energy and "flat" affect were worse than the depression I no longer felt. About that time though, one of my children was diagnosed with Juvenile Diabetes and later my husband and I had decided to separate and divorce so I continued on the medication. Slowly though, I began to feel normal, despite my life's circumstances.  I was sleeping regularly and I had been going to counseling, or "talk therapy." It was only then that I felt ready to go off the medication and "feel" whatever emotions I needed to feel.

I have not needed medication for anxiety or depression since then and that was over ten years ago.

Recently  I had a big change in my lifestyle. I was training for an Ironman and felt physically and mentally in good shape. I then broke my ankle two weeks before the competition. A trip to Ireland was cancelled, work was  on hold. More than that, I could not stand on my leg, I was couch-ridden for three weeks and dependent on others to come to my home each day and help me with simple tasks.

My biggest fear was not the recovery of my bone. As an athlete I have learned to listen to my body. I followed the doctor's orders, my physical therapist's or coach's, and even more importantly, I would let my ankle guide me. If I were to become swollen I would know I'd pushed my body too hard; icing and elevating were the answer!

My biggest fear was depression. It was my biggest fear for a couple of reasons: one was that I would have a training endorphin crash as I was recovering. I was training 15 or more hours a week and now I was down to zero. I had not even gotten to expel all that energy. I think in the beginning the endorphins I had created while training were the main reason I was in such a good mental state. But a concern I expressed with my doctor was that the future lack of exercise would hurt me mentally as I moved forward.  I discussed my previous bout with anxiety and depression in my life. He really listened to that piece, knowing my history and prescribed a boot for me to wear while my ankle healed.

My ankle protested. It swelled up, it got red and it was angry. I had to return to the emergency room, and later my own doctor, in severe pain, lacking sleep and in tears. I went through a combination of five different boots, casts and splints.

I did hit a low one day about three weeks into my injury. It was at the pivotal point of pain and lack of sleep. I literally could hardly get off the couch without piercing pain. I was alone most of the day and going a little stir-crazy. My mom called and I finally told her I was beginning to feel depressed and about some things that were upsetting me. She ended up coming over to be with me and we talked about my concerns. She continued to come by each day for a few weeks to do a few tasks that I could not do for myself: empty the garbage cans, fill up my ice machine for my ankle, water my plants outside and get my mail.

I got through that rough patch, began to take pain pills at night so I could get some sleep and I have had small victories in my healing. It's been nine weeks since I was injured. I started physical therapy this week. I began working full-time.  I swam 2000 yards a week ago with a pull buoy between my legs so my ankle had no movement. I am no longer walking with the aid of a walker or scooter. When I'm sore I use crutches with my boot. Soon I will be walking with only an ankle brace.

It hurts, I'm slow but I'm okay all of it.

A week ago the school where I teach had a staff development day. It was one of the best ones I've ever been to because there were things I could apply to my teaching practice immediately.

For a large portion of the day we discussed mental health issues and we specifically discussed anxiety, suicide and depression. It was relevant to our entire staff as some of the kids we see at our school suffer from one of these issues. As our presenter gave us facts, discussed the topics and suggestions of how we might handle situations or conversations with students I thought of myself, my students, friends and family who have had to get help for one of these conditions or diagnoses. I learned that 25% of us experience anxiety. That is a large portion of our population. I learned that it is okay to ask students or family or friends if they have thought about suicide or how they are feeling, not just their physical symptoms. I learned that medication is sometimes an aid to the brain's receptors which are not functioning properly. Sometimes, as in my case, it is temporary. In other cases, it's a lifelong necessity.

The thing is, I think it's important to talk about it.

I've known friends and family who have lost parents, siblings and children to depression's sometimes fatal grip. If 25% of us experience depression or anxiety, doesn't it make sense to try and remove some of the stigma associated from it? Or at least admit that sometimes life is hard with one another? Or we're sad?

I think so.

I am not depressed today but I have had times in my life where I have been. If you are sad, depressed or anxious please ask for help.

National Center for Depression Centers: http://www.nndc.org/
National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/

Sherpa Love

So to set the scene, months and months and months ago I somehow asked my former synchronized swimming duet partner and current friend o'mine if she would consider being my support person for my very first attempt at an Ironman. In the world of triathlons, her role is dubbed, "sherpa."

She did not hesitate to say yes.

That's just the kind of friend she is.

As I was in the midst of figuring out if I could really really attempt this big feat, she would gently prod me about what she could do to support me? When she should fly up from southern California to join me? Where would we be staying?

Normally I am a list-maker. I'm organized. I'm a teacher and for field trips I've thought of every variable. For this event I kept feeling like I needed a little more time.

Time to heal my knees and begin running.
Time to go to Maui with my girls.
Time to train.
Time to think about hiring a coach as the race approached closer.

When I fell on my knee in June and got hurt she was encouraging.

She started asking me my favorite colors. Symbols. Motivational sayings. And so much more.

She would post silly photos or creations to my Facebook page.

She believed in me from the beginning. Her belief was contagious and I began to believe in myself as the race got closer and closer. I overcame my fear of riding in the heat and getting heatstroke. I overcame my fear of riding alone for 100+ miles or 6 + hours. I was swimming 4,000 or more yards. I slowly built up my running mileage from 1 mile to 21. With my doctor's help I figured out how to avoid asthmatic attacks. I had my bike fit, finally figured out which running shoes were the most comfortable for my knees, perfected the art of aqua jogging, combatted the problem of chafing in the nether regions of my womanhood and overall figured out my nutrition plan. I rented a cabin. Overall I was ready as I could be given the time I had to prepare and the setbacks I had experienced.

She meanwhile had secretly ordered shirts for my support team comprised of family and friends. She had purchased items to surprise me; foot rollers, more t-shirts, surprise food items and special icing items for after I completed the race.

I surprised her by breaking my ankle two weeks before the race.

She made another sign and posted it to my Facebook page.

She sent me photos of possible accessories for my injury.

She flew up to the Bay Area anyway, loading me and all of my gear (wheelchair, crutches, food, clothing and more) in the car to head up to Tahoe. On the way up we stopped for donuts and dressed up as Pirates (apparently we will do anything for a dozen free donuts on Dress Up Like a Pirate Day).

She had emergency t-shirts made with my coach's nickname for me, "Mayhem" while also incorporating my little mishap. When we arrived at Ironman Lake Tahoe we went to the athlete registration. We hitched a ride on a golf cart (I could not put any weight on that ankle of mine) and we had fun. First, we went to the "Got Chocolate Milk" booth and took a photo.

After we visited all of the vendor booths. I was exhausted and was in need of refreshment.

The next day, to amuse ourselves and turn a bad weekend better we decided to have some fun with an Ironman Tahoe photo shoot. 

First the swim.

Next up, the bike.

Gotta fuel up.

It's important to transition to running attire.

Do not forget warm clothing and a headlamp for when it gets cold and dark.

Finally, we finished up the photo shoot finish.

The next day we cheered on all of my teammates and the friends I'd met via the Ironman Lake Tahoe Facebook page. We were bundled up at the start of the swim. 

Later we cheered the athletes on Brockway with loud music and cowbells. I was in the car with my casted ankle elevated out the car window. My daughter Morgan was driving and my sherpa was running down the street with her cowbell, wearing her encouraging shirt.

Sometimes it's hard being me. 

But with sherpa love like I had, it makes it a whole lot easier. Everyone should feel so loved and supported. 

And you know what? For weeks after the love continued. 

Sherpa love. It's a special kinda love.

Yes I Do

I have been stuck in my writing life.

For a while last year, though I published nothing publicly, I was motivated and writing a memoir which included quite a few stories about my dating life. I think the prologue is decent, the opening is fine and from what a trusted group of friends, family members and a few peers from my now-former writing group have told me, some of the vignettes are downright hysterical. The stories do not paint me in a good light, as I really have pulled some rookie moves over the years. I am far from perfect. I'm a late-bloomer in many areas and I have fumbled along the way.

But as I tried writing a few additional dating chapters they ended up being watered down, boring, run-of-the-mill, blah-blah-blah versions. I knew they should be raw, and real, honest and from the heart. I became stuck because I knew intuitively that for a memoir to be believable, relatable and real, I had to write truthfully. I had felt I could not write because I have been struggling with knowing which are the parts of my life that were important for my story to be told, some of which are quite private, and how I am (hopefully) growing and evolving as a person, while also being sensitive to all the people in my life; my children, my ex-husband, and others.  I never wanted to come across as mean-spirited about the men I've met, as many are honestly just like me, learning by trail and error about themselves and love. I wanted to protect my children, I mean, as they were younger, who wants to read about their mom's dating life? Not my son, for sure. Maybe my daughters. My brother? Oh hell no. In addition, I have tried to never disparage their father and hurt him or our relationship as co-parents. It seems, from his remarks, he did read those blog postings I wrote for our little town and did not appreciate all of them. He wasn't the only one. I dated a man whom mentioned others were commenting at a party about an article I wrote. It was regarding a town hall meeting on housing, that too, was not appreciated by the company he kept. In many ways I should look at those readers as a compliment, at least I have an audience.

But what about the other men I have dated? The ones I might date? I do believe, in at least one case, a man was mortified that I wrote about my life and quickly headed in the other direction. He worked for a very wealthy man in the community and anonymity was a job requirement for him. I have never written about a man I was currently dating and the truth is, I doubt I will. Some things are sacred and personal. But I can't guarantee it.  This man was a beautiful and handsome man, shy, reserved and  a jack-of-all-trades. He was well-read, tidy and a hard worker. He hiked. He was a kind dog owner and about six years my junior. He had supported me before my first marathon by taking me to a carbo-load pancake and egg breakfast at a local diner and gave me a generous certificate for a post-run massage just in time for my birthday. The next week he drove me to the airport before my first bike tour in Maui and picked me up a week later. Then he just went......silent. It hurt. I had a gut-instinct of what happened. He was a dutiful employee and timid to talk to me about my writing. I tried calling him and emailing and then gave up.  I ran into him at Target about a year ago and said hello. He turned beet red. We exchanged pleasantries. I took a deep breath and said, "Why did you have to just disappear, XXXXX? Why not just tell me? I have to be honest, that really hurt."

He looked at me, with a now purple face and mumbled, "I know, I'm sorry."

The truth is, I don't remember exactly what else he said. You know what? I suppose I'm learning it just doesn't matter. I need to write and everyone needs to understand it is only my version of the story. They might have another and that is okay. And would you look at that? I just wrote about the man who wanted to be anonymous.

My writing has suffered these past few months because life has been a bit topsy-turvy for me. I felt burned out at work and was looking seriously at other options; teaching abroad, going to a private school with a really unique program or deciding whether to stay and make changes where I am currently working. I decided to try and redesign my professional career with new goals. One simple change, was simply moving to a new cubicle, redecorating and organizing everything in it. This meant I threw out a lot of old files, outdated materials and duplicated papers.  I created a slightly different "look" and made it a better reflection of who I am and the interests I have in my own life. I also realized that the past six years I had worked in my previous cubicle, working with families and students in grades K-12 and some adult ed students was the longest I have ever physically stayed in one place. In my previous school I had taught 6th grade reading, writing and history. Before that I had taught kindergarten, second, third and fifth grades, traditional and alternative programs, in different rooms, with different curriculum, team members. Realizing six years in one spot is a record for me at work, I also noted that I need to create new curriculum and ideas or I get bored and feel stagnant. Change keeps my teaching practice fresh and I am happier as a result. I have lots of ideas I hope to implement in the future, and though my first day back on Monday was my worst one ever (an idea for another blog posting), I believe this will be a better school year for me. Mainly due to a shift in attitude. This carried over to my house as well, I cleaned out boxes, two car loads to Goodwill and a sidewalk full of giveaways for neighbors. Inside I reorganized my kitchen nook to make it easier to settle-in and write there. I keep it clutter-free and have writing books and ideas easily accessible. I try to file old bills and such, making my spot as inviting as possible for myself.

In addition, I had plans for one child to live with me this summer, due to a serious shift, they chose not too. And one child who had not planned to live with me, does. It was a turn of events that has worked out, but not anticipated earlier on in the year. Now I love these two deeply and even though it has been a change in dynamics, I believe in both cases, our relationships are solid and close and I love them both fiercely. I have another child whom I love deeply as well in my tilt-a-world life right now, though she is nearly completely grown up. My kids, in particular, my girls, give me journals, ask when I'm going to finish my book and in general, all three are big supporters of all things written by me. I guess as they give me permission to write, real, I give them permission to not read it. Ever. Or perhaps I will write under a suedo name (to be determined...).

Another bit of feeling off-balanced was due in part because I was seeing a man whom I met through a friend on Facebook. We started innocently on a bike ride, to hang out and have fun. Due to an entire host of reasons that are personal, it was very clear to me, even though I really cared for this man, we needed to break up. It was the right thing to do. And as he and I have since discussed, I just don't like the outcome that followed. Not one bit. He has confirmed to me on at least three occasions it was the absolutely right decision and he has no desire to date. Even though we did. And that hurts too. But I agree. And I miss him. He was my friend. He was my fellow foodie. He brought me soup when I was sick, fixed my broken claw foot tub thingamajig, put together my broken bike tool and he re-calibrated my oven's temperature. He helped me figure out the safest route to commute by bike to work. He did not get mad when I fell asleep at a night concert, despite liking the music, because the 5:00am swim workout did me in. He taught me to see the beauty of yoga as a strengthening portion of my week and triathlon training as an important part in the recovery of my broken ankle. He was my biggest encourager to go to Ireland on a solo trip this spring, my first out of the country excursion and far outside of my comfort zone. Still, as much as I like, no love, this man, and I do, there were a number of times in my heart I felt sad or knew it wasn't right to continue seeing one another. We still talk, and in time, I would venture to say we will be friends, even spending time together doing things. For now, it makes me sad and hurts inside and my heart is a little broken. It needs to heal a wee bit more and I do too.

I also have two male friends. As happens, they have both met women who seem perfect for them. In fact, I really like both girlfriends and as couples, their relationships seem to bring out the best in these men. As their lives grow busier, I spend little, if any, time with them. So although it's perfectly normal and understandable, it is still a loss of sorts. One was a running partner and the other was a biking one. They could not be more polar opposites as human beings so their friendships filled very separate roles. I'm happy for them but certainly fill the voids without them nearby.  How do you write about that? I guess I just did.

A few years ago I started seeing a counselor because as a single parent I liked being able to talk about my worries or concerns and get  an unbiased take on the situations we discussed. We also talked about my dating life, my work and such.  I benefitted from our once-in-a-while visits. But she is leaving the practice and so this relationship must also end.

Another relationship that has ended is the one I had with my writing group. It's mostly my fault. I was undependable. And that is not normally how I operate. My attendance was spotty at best the past year. First I was training for my first and only Ironman race last summer. Sunday nights were unusually difficult to motivate myself to attend our meetings after my longest training day. Sometimes we'd swim a mile or two, ride six to eight hours and possibly run as well. I was plumb-tuckered out. Just before my race, I broke my ankle. I couldn't drive at first, then I was on crutches and out of work for six weeks. When I did go back to work, I started slowly, building up my stamina. The monthly writing get-togethers were even more difficult to attend and once I recovered physically, at least enough to drive, mentally I struggled with feeling sad. Being hurt and in pain took a lot out of me. My writing tank was empty because it was all spent just making it through the week... though I have nearly a half dozen blog entries in my draft bin, I never published them during this bleak time.  I've slowly reclaimed pieces of my body through physical therapy and exercise, sometimes pushing too hard with an overly zealous physical therapist. This led to a few set-backs, and led to some further lessons I needed to learn about my body; to trust my intuition, incorporate activities I love, and give priority to healing and recovery now so I can have years of future activities with a full range of mobility.

The writing group had a heart-to-heart email exchange last fall, about the time of my injury and recovery and everyone who committed to continue was going to be required to become better about attendance. What followed this agreement was a series of events coupled with bad timing: in January my daughter could only come to visit when it was our day to meet, February was my other daughter's birthday, March I decided to put my dating life first as I was trying to make that a bigger priority with Facebook man, April I was in Ireland and in May was when Facebook man and I broke up and I had already committed to go on a bike ride with people months earlier, in June it was the end of the year and report cards and summer school starting all in one week and in July even I was questioning my commitment. In August I had finally decided I was ready to jump-in and start anew and received a polite we'll be happy to see you but perhaps you should find another group closer to home as you've only attended one or two meetings all year long from one member. It hurt but she was right. I found their writing inspiring and enjoyed their insights and suggestions and they gave me permission to write some of the stories that I am actually most proud of...though the content is somewhat mortifying, it is, after all my true, unabridged stupid experiences. But clearly that writing group won't work due to the distance and the day of the week and I will miss them (well, perhaps not the one that wrote that email....).

And in a twist of irony the day after I got the polite good-bye from my writing group and had my worst first day of teaching of my life, I received my second check in the mail for writing and editing. It's from a former schoolmate of mine. He wrote me a few months back, telling me he enjoyed reading my stories and was hoping I could help him with a blog he was beginning. I felt unqualified as I know nothing of the content and subject matter. He was kind and asked if we could try. I have enjoyed our collaborative exchanges. It is confirming to have people who see me as a writer.

Mostly there are people who will write me a quick email when I've written a story or blog posting, telling me how they could relate or why it touched them. These are people from my childhood, readers from the town blog, members from my fitness teams and my  co-workers who are avid readers, and one of my biggest sources of encouragement. The other is my former principal, whom I love. She was the one who read about the writing group in the newspaper so many years ago and thought of me. She continually asks when my book will be finished.

I have been stuck in my writing life. It is only as I have come to realize that I have permission to write my stories and not worry about everyone else in my life and their reactions that I feel myself becoming unstuck. I've struggled because of a physical challenge, an emotional one and in matters of the heart. But I am ready to move forward.

What is it that has pushed me to move forward? The injury and comeback? No. The renewal to recreate my teaching practice? No. The break-up? The kids? The email? No. No. No.  It is because I am not a quitter. I stay the course. I will be an example for my kids of regrouping and reinvention. And related to my dating life, I will do as the commander in Star Wars said to Luke as he was trying to fly straight and shoot accurately to save the Empire, "Stay on target."

I'm going to try to be brave and become unstuck. I vow to renew my commitment to the craft of writing with my time. I don't know whether it will be in a group setting, on my own, in a class, getting a writing mentor, through this blog or another avenue.

I do know this, I have a story to tell. Yes, I do.

Broken Ankle Truths

Smiling only for my friend's husband....

My second cast

x-ray #1

6 Weeks’ Worth of Learning, In No Particular Order

1.     If you train for an Ironman and break your ankle 15 days before the event the endorphins will keep you in your happy place for approximately 2.5 weeks.

2.     You’ll eventually start to go stir crazy because you can’t MOVE.

3.     Friends will rally

4.     Family will rally

5.     Neighbors will rally

6.     Strangers will rally

7.     Sometimes even when friends and family and neighbors and strangers will rally you find living without a (literal) leg to stand on is hard. Very.

8.     If you were a 20 minute shower, make-up, dress and go kind of girl before breaking your leg, you may just find yourself thinking, “Oh no, I only have two hours to get ready! Will I make it?”

9.     The electric carts at Trader Joe’s for grocery shopping really ARE necessary.

10. Going TO the store to buy one bag of groceries with your 77-year-old mother will be enough of a “field trip/outing/adventure” for one day.

11. Do NOT get rid of the small, narrow claw foot tub despite what all of your tall male buddies or kinfolk say. You will thank your lucky stars for that tub. Except for washing your hair.

12. Get a knee walker so you can wash your hair in the kitchen sink.

Knee Walker

13.Get a wheelchair so if you have to navigate through large crowds over great distances you can elevate that broken ankle and manage to have a good time (or if you have a friend who really really wants you to go to an antique fair with her, she’ll pick you up, schlep the chair in her mini Cooper and wheel you around)

My friend took me to the  antique fair..

14. Spend the money to buy the more ergonomic 
MobiLeg crutches (I want to be their next salesperson because they REALLY are better and worth every penny).

MobiLeg Crutches, a must!

15. Some places are NOT handicap friendly.

16. Some handicap parking spots are poorly planned. How come there are so many planters NEXT to the car door where a person who is handicapped CANNOT get out with crutches or walkers or wheelchairs???

A view of Treasure Island...

SF cable car

17. If you see someone who is on crutches, using a walker, wheelchair or cane and you are near the door, it really IS appreciated if you open the door for them. Really.

18. When someone is injured with a cast or boot complete strangers will tell you their ENTIRE life’s story because somehow they feel it’s an open invitation for over shares (I also experienced this when pregnant or as the parent of a child wearing a diabetic insulin pump/receiving shots).

19. A broken non-weight bearing injury is not fatal. It is, however life-altering. There are websites that deal with it.

20. The websites that talk about broken ankles had hundreds of people battling depression because of lack of sleep, broken relationships from caregivers who could not handle helping, or people who lived alone and had no support or were out of work or had no insurance and more.

Fiberglass Cast

21. Having money to pay for a housekeeper to come in every few weeks is a wonderful thing.

22. The water bottles with nylon handles that long-distance runners use are perfect when using crutches.

23. Cup holders on knee walkers are a need, not a want.

24. Wearing a small backpack around the house is perfectly normal when using crutches. Or a messenger bag. Or a tote bag with a large, long shoulder strap. I will go so far as to say fanny backs are perfectly normal too (in this one instance only)

25. Skorts are also NOT dorky when you have to elevate your leg in a cast.

26. Asking for help is not a sign of a weakness; it is self-preservation and a necessity.

27. Thinking before moving is important.

I had to put fabric between cast and shin 

My first solo car trip, I had to elevate

                                                                                                                                       

Cast removal prep....

28. Slow down.
29. Give yourself extra time.

30. Sleep is comparable to having a newborn baby. It’s in short snippets of time. And when you do sleep you might dream about weird stuff. Or food you do not eat (like pumpkin waffles, maple syrup and walnuts and pecans…)

31. You learn that you have a whole host of things to learn once the cast is off…

My 3rd x-ray; all healed!

My calf shrunk!

My 2nd attempt at a boot, lighter weight...

Part 2:

1.     When you are out of a cast and into a boot, it’s also okay to borrow shoes from your 77 year old mother. Better to be walking at the same height/level as your boot then acquire more problems from limping along.

 To be continued…

Grandma shoes, same height as boot!

The Long And Winding Road To My People

I pulled the steering wheel toward the right as hard as I could. I managed to find the one small spot that my Jeep Liberty would fit on the freeway onramp feeling a little less vulnerable. Still, as cars buzzed past me, causing my car to rock back and forth, they were within inches.

I was in a rough part of downtown Oakland when I lost control of my car. I did not feel safe getting out because there was nowhere to stand but sitting made me feel like a lame duck. I was blocking the majority of the freeway onramp, a hazard to the other drivers.

The Oakland police helped by using their cars as a protective barrier around me until my insurance’s tow truck came to pick me up.

Later that day when I was alone and home safe in my little condo, I had a personal meltdown. I cried. I cried because I was dating someone at the time that I could not count on to help me for a whole host of understandable reasons. I cried because my two younger kids were away at college and my eldest lived in Cleveland and I could not count on them to help. I cried because my dad had died years earlier and he was the one person I could always count on for emergencies. I cried because I was divorced and because when I was married at least 60% of the time my husband was home from work and I could count on him for any and all things mechanical, or his family on the days he was not. I cried because I felt my mom could not have helped me that day, I did not want to be a burden to my brother, one sister was away on her boat and another out-of-state. I cried because I have tons of friends but did not feel I could call any of them. Not one.

Since that time I have made many changes. 

I hit the restart button.

As a result, I am no longer dating that boyfriend. He realized he is in a “Lone Wolf” stage in his life, raising two small children, being a provider, staying sane by biking and not available the way a partner could and should be. 

I moved out of my condo, which had stairs from the garage, up to the kitchen and up to the bedrooms. It was comfortable and in a safe neighborhood and 4 miles from work. But there was no shade, no yard and I felt I was living in a cement city. I knew only 2 neighbors. I had moved there post-divorce and it was a wonderful home to my children and I but I felt called to move. The kids were all leaving the nest and though that town was a great place to raise kids and families it is not exactly a mecca for single women.

I bought a cottage in a town that is more urban than suburban. After a great deal of sweat equity on my part and the enlistment of electricians, handymen, a seamstress, lamp restorers, cabinet makers, wood workers, garden consultants, heating and appliances repairmen and installers I feel like I’m home. I have a garden, a writing nook and a house filled with items I love and collected over the years that felt like they belong in this cottage. The colors were hand-chosen and make me feel happy when I look around my home. It is both smaller, in the number of bedrooms, and larger, by forty feet in total square footage. I’ve met 26 neighbors at last count and though the mileage is farther, my commute to work is only 22 minutes door-to-door.

I do, however, have an alarm system. It feels both safer and not. And two of my kids opted to live at their dad’s house this summer for work and friends whereas the oldest has moved back to California on her own to embark on her nursing career in the City. I get more time with my mom and siblings and less with my kids. It is not how I envisioned it but it is okay. We have suppers together and my kids call me more and they cemented their love for me many years ago so I think it was their Dad’s turn this time. I love them and they love me and when they come here, there is a room waiting for them with a comfortable bed where I keep the light on each night.

After the move and getting my house in order I began training for Ironman Tahoe, which I signed up for exactly one year ago. I found an online training program and did short relaxing swims pre-season. I spent many hours and visits to numerous bike shops trying to find a good fit on my touring bike for an upcoming trip to Maui. While doing so my knee would not heal and actually was swollen and hurting with each new adjustment. It took from October until March. After three bike seats and numerous cleat and seat adjustments I finally was able to ride without my knee nagging me. In time I could ride either my road bike or tour bike comfortably. I could not run but told myself to be patient. That would come after my Maui trip. Besides, everyone has told me training for an Ironman is all about the journey of doing it. I can’t really explain why, but I just felt from day one that the Ironman was secondary….that it really stood for the fact that it was as if I were swimming and biking and running toward something, perhaps my new life or new beginning? 

On Maui I had a great time bike touring, carrying all of my gear and camping with other friends of mine. Maui is always magic with them. I fell.  My handlebar bag popped off on a bouncy section of the road and got caught in my wheels. My head slammed on the pavement twice but I was okay. That is until the next day when my ribs screamed at me with each intake or exhale of air or bounce on the road. We had a long day of riding to get back to the start and I just had to tough it out. It was by far the most difficult day of riding in my life. Tears streamed down my face in secret as I towed the back of the line. When we stopped at an old store ice was welcomed and put to good use on my rib cage.

My ribs healed and slowly, slowly I increased my gentle swims, began biking on my road bike and began to go on walks because first you must walk before you can run.

I tried no less than five pair of running shoes. None worked. My knee still hurt from the bike fits and injuries of the previous years. I walked. I shopped. I finally finally found a pair of shoes that seemed good for walking. Slowly I added more mileage and kept shopping for running shoes. 

At last I found a pair. I remember the first day I walk/ran 1 mile. Just 1. That was in April. I fell down during a trail run at the end of July on my right knee and my heart sank. I wondered if it would cut-off the run portion of my would-be Ironman race but after a week of ice and water jogging I carefully began running again. Since then my knees have gotten stronger and pain-free. PAIN-FREE! Two weeks ago my training plan called for a 21 mile run. I ran 15 of them with my good friend and former running partner and the first and last three by myself. It was pleasant and then next day I felt great. And the day after that too. Did you read that? I was training for an Ironman and felt better than ever. Each run brought a very real sense of gratitude, the same for each bike and swim. 

In a monetary sense this one race has cost me thousands of dollars. I had originally picked it because it was local and I naively thought it would only be the cost of the entrance fee, which is not cheap, $600 or $700. I had not counted on buying:

Multiple pairs of running shoes

Running socks

The perfect anti-chafing running skirt and triathlon running bras

A new fuel belt with extra bottles

Another fuel belt with one large bottle

A new running watch because my old one died in untimely death

Visors

For swimming I owned a wetsuit already, goggles, swimsuits and caps and all the other gear. I did purchase a new pair of goggles and just last week bought two suits on sale at Big Five because mine are getting old.

Biking was the most expensive:

A Garmin for tracking miles, cadence and more

A new stem because I was reaching too far

Two new bike seats because the old one was old and the new one was fine for under 60 miles but was causing blood blisters and chafing in the nether regions for 60+ mile rides.

More gears because the climbing of two big hills and one little in Tahoe at altitude made it necessary, especially because we get to do it twice on the bike route AND there is one little hill we get to do three times which I have dubbed “LB” for Little Bitch, ‘nuff said.

A new chain for the new gears I added to my bike.

No less than three pairs of biking shorts, trying to find the most anti-chafing pair

Lots of chafing creams were given to me to test out by a friend who sells bike parts

Four trips to my eye doctor because my lenses kept popping out of my prescription glasses, which I must wear while riding.

Two new helmets because the one in Maui was tossed after I came home and so I bought a replacement helmet. Later a teammate from our club was selling one at a great price and it was more for mountain biking.

Inserts for my cleats, which I believe, have helped my knees heal too.

A blue chamois-type cloth that you wet down on hot days which has prevented heat stroke for me. Amazing invention.

Nutrition:

I have tried energy gels and blocks and drinks and in short, they are expensive but very necessary. As of today I am the proud owner of sports drink mixes for long bike rides which have protein, another drink mix for runs or short bike rides, Shot Blocks to chew on and two brands of gels. I have supplements for lactic acid and salt for hot days.

Other unknown expenses:

I rented a cabin in Tahoe for my mom, daughter and friends to cheer me on. I have a lot of guy friends but this week is all about girl time!

Massages were no longer a “want” they were a “need” I went about once a month

I hired a coach; this event was too much for me to do on my own. Lucky for me he has been the perfect fit and his teams of athletes made me feel welcomed

I started going to Reiki

I took my first summer off in years and years, enjoying a vacation with my girls and focusing on training and relaxing in my new home.

Physically I was getting up at 4:45am to swim, 5am to eat two hours before the big training sessions on the weekends and 5:30am to run most days. I frequently had double workouts, biking in the afternoons of swim sessions and running or water jogging on the weekends. In short, I was tired. But growing stronger. 

I began dating another man, but after he saw how much time my training took away from “us” time, he pulled away.

I trained. Hard. A lot. 

At one point I was able to stay in Tahoe to train with teammates. I had a wedding the following weekend and stayed up there in between to train more. I previewed the swim, bike and run course. I had an okay time with the altitude but noticed a nagging cough that lingered for weeks and weeks both before and after. It got worse. I used my inhaler while in Tahoe but it didn’t help much, if at all.

I had a long ride at home a week or so later which I began with another Ironman participant and her husband. The nagging asthma cough joined me for the day. Mid-afternoon her husband headed home to be with her kids and she and I continued on the ride. We headed up Mt. Diablo. I was having trouble with my cough. I urged her to go ahead and we’d meet at an area called the Junction. I made it to the ranger station. Breathing was growing more difficult. I did not push it. I went very slowly up the hill. I was focusing on trying to get a breath in. I kept calm but noticed I was really really having to work hard and my throat was constricting and closing shut. I was fuzzy in my thinking but knew enough to be scared. My inhaler did nothing to help. I stopped. I told the next rider approaching to let my riding partner know I had to turn around. I was still working very very hard to breathe. I made it back down to the ranger station. I waited a long time to settle down and breathe; remaining calm but aware I might just need to call 911. I drank water slowly in small sips. I decided I just needed to get down that mountain NOW. I slowly rode downhill. I usually love to zip down at a fast clip. Not this time, not today. I whirled down the hill and felt more relief. I got to the bottom and steered in the direction of my car. Eventually I was able to inhale safely. I ended the day by running ten miles with just a little coughing. 

I saw a doctor and allergist and was prescribed prednisone, an antibiotic, a nasal spray, a nasal rinse and a new asthma inhaler. I took allergy pills and cough suppressants and I continued to workout and heal. In about two weeks I felt healthy. I could breathe. I felt no pain in my knees or heels or anywhere. I felt strong. Not 100% of what I’m capable of because of how much I had to overcome, but still.

This Monday I got my “taper” week’s workouts. I almost cried when I saw the 3000 yd swim (120 lengths of the pool) and 70mile bike ride on Saturday followed by a double run on Sunday of 105 minutes and 30-40 minutes. It did not feel like a taper when I read it. I have since learned tapering does NOT mean doing nothing; it’s doing less but a bit more intense. Everyone assured me this was normal, to feel emotional.

Next week’s plan would have been a huge drop-off in both length and intensity, in simple terms, half of this week’s plan. 

After that it would be race day.

Friday night I ate my pre-race dinner: chicken, sweet potato, applesauce and cooked veggies. I packed up all my gear for the next day in my car: swimsuit, towel, goggles, cap and bike gear which included my bike, Garmin, bottles of sports drink with baggies of extra powder for later in the route, money, credit card and license for emergencies, sports leg supplements and electrolytes, chapstick, my Road I.D. bracelet, bike gloves and shorts, socks, cleats, chamois cloth, Bag Balm for chafing, sunscreen, sunglasses, arm warmers if it got cold or as a sunshield and rubber bands to tie my hair back. I had a cooler ready with my recovery drink, ice, extra water and more gels and Shot Blocks, if needed. Lucky for me I didn’t have to pack up all the running gear!

Yesterday I got up and ate a 5am to practice my race day nutrition: scrambled eggs, avocado, sweet potato and applesauce.

I swam. I got dressed and geared up for my bike ride. We were all set and ready to go. I ran back to move my car. 

Big mistake.

Don’t ever run in your cleats and if you’re going to walk, take off your cleats or walk oh-so-carefully to your destination.

I didn’t.

I fell.

I broke my ankle. 

Ironman is out.

And so is walking. 

It’s the kind of break where you can bear no weight on your foot. I am on crutches and there is talk of the necessity of a scooter-type-thing-a-ma-jig. I’m hoping no tendons are involved. We’ll know more after the swelling goes down and I can see the orthopedic doctor and get a permanent cast. 

In case you’re wondering…no, I can’t have a swimming cast.

My mental health has been dependent on exercise, so there’s that concern. A big one.

I have a trip planned to Ireland with a girlfriend in 20 days. Rain in a cast?  Hmmm.

I was very calm. Just like when my car broke down. 

But you know what? I called my friends, my brother, my mom and texted my children, my other sister and my other friends, teammates, boss, co-workers and yes, I’ll admit I even posted it on Facebook. I shared that I broke my ankle and that my heart is a wee bit broke too. Right now there are a 100 comments of love, goodwill and encouragement.

If Ironman is all about the journey, maybe that is the lesson for me. 

I have been swimming, biking, running and walking with friends and family for an entire year. How lucky am I?

In an emergency, I have an entire host of people to call.

I’m very lucky.

I have my people.