The Good, The Bad, And the Ugly About Running

When I started running last year I had no idea where my journey would take me. I had no thoughts (delusions?) about running races – especially of the marathon length. However, soon I found myself hooked. Not that there’s anything wrong with that. It’s probably better for my bank account and non-felon status than some other addictions that people endure. This weekend is the Air Force Half Marathon. In another month, I’m running the Columbus full marathon. Sometimes I still can’t wrap my mind around that.

Anyway, soon after I started running – and let me be frank here – at first it was more fast walking and wheezing – I began to notice changes. Some of them were good. Some of them weren’t so good. Here we go:

1.) Muscle Definition

Whee! Although general everyday movement was a real issue the first few weeks I ran regularly, I was happy about that. I had quads! I had hamstrings! I knew that because of the pain emanating from those areas. Hell, even my obliques hurt. But that means progress. And progress leads to muscle definition and strength. Don’t get me wrong, I will never resemble those bodybuilders who look like they have to rely on someone else to wipe them after a BM, but a little definition is a good thing to have. Especially after popping out two kids.

2.) Weird Tan Lines

Marathon training during the summer months makes for some weird tan lines. And not only from the running shirts and sports bras. I have tan lines from my shorts. And my socks and shoes. My legs are gloriously tan (unhealthy, I know. But the color is nice.) but my feet are whiter than a member of Congress who’s just been told he has to take a pay cut and actually work for a living.

3.) Digestion Issues (AKA Runner’s Trots)

Exercise has a way of “getting things moving,” so to speak. This isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Unless it happens during a run. Without access to a bathroom other than the one Mother Nature provides alongside of the bike trail. And watch out for poison ivy. Check the leaves, people. Check the leaves.

4.) 5 A.M. Wake-up Calls

I’m in a running group. All of us have different schedules and different responsibilities. Some people work full time. Some don’t. Almost all of us have kids and spouses who need our attention. This means we sometimes have to run before the butt-crack of dawn, especially on long run days or for speedwork. I may have mentioned this before, but I am not a morning person. (Think Linda Blair from the Exorcist.) But I have, multiple times, crawled out of bed sobbing bounded with enthusiasm out the door for trail running (and ranger dodging) in an unopened park at 6A.M.

5.) Chafing

This might be TMI, but boob chafing is the worst. The. Worst. I experienced this during a recent 18 miler. My sports bra did a number on the underside of the ta-tas. Ouch. Aquaphor is my new BFF.

6.) Dietary Changes

Most marathon training plans call for little to no alcohol intake. So like the good little would-be marathoner, I gave up drinking red wine. That little experiment was the longest four days of my life. I’m sure my family felt the same. (Think Linda Blair again.) And please note that this was during summer vacation while the kids and I were home together. All day. Every day.

But I know the body needs the right fuel to work at the optimal level. So during the week, I make every effort to eat healthy. This means whole grains, plenty of protein, plenty of greens, and minimal trips to the DQ. The weekends are a different story. They often include pizza, and usually a trip to my favorite Mexican restaurant. Chimichangas with sour cream and guacamole, anyone? Margaritas? Count me in. Sometimes we end up at a steak place. I love a nice rare steak and a big ol’ baked potato with butter and sour cream and cheese and bacon bits oozing out of it. Get in my belly.

Marathon training has been a series of lows and highs. I often wonder just why I’m doing this and if I’ll be able to make it to the finish line. And I’ve decided that it’s probably a good thing that I’m so damn stubborn. I have a feeling that’s a trait most runners share, regardless of whether they run marathons or not. That trait will no doubt help me when I attempt my first 50K race next year…

Warrior Dash!

There are a lot of things that I’m scared not overly fond of. Clowns. Heights. Swimming in water such as ponds, lakes, and streams where I have to share space with creepy crawly things. (I’ve mentioned this before, as I am a fan of swimming in nice chlorinated pools where the water is crystal clear and there’s no risk of being bitten by a catfish or a crab or whatever else lives in muddy waters.) I’m also not overly fond of large crowds, Porta-potties, or mud. And I’m slightly claustrophobic. (I’m not neurotic, I swear. Really. Just maybe a bit picky.) But when my friend Jen and I discussed doing a race called the Warrior Dash, I immediately said yes. The Warrior Dash is a 5k obstacle course based on military training that is often seen in boot camp. There’s 10-12 obstacles that involve swimming, climbing up and over things (heights vary from 4 feet all the way up to 20-30 + feet), crawling through underground trenches where the sun doesn’t shine and there’s little wiggle room, and jumping over fire. Did I mention that I’m not a fan of open flame? There’s a reason I have an electric fireplace as opposed to a gas fireplace and I will never cook on a gas grill.

Anyway, Jen more or less told me how fun it was, as she had already done a few. So we signed up for one in North Lawrence, Ohio at some place called Clay’s Park Resort. A resort! Sweet! Initially I thought it was the type of place that had swimming pools complete with swim-up bars that I could belly up to and order a frothy adult beverage (with an umbrella, of course). However, I did a few minutes of research AFTER I committed to this race and I learned that Clay’s Park Resort is a campground. It didn’t have a nice chlorinated pool where I could see the bottom. No bar, either. That is NOT my idea of a resort.

The race weekend finally arrived and Jen drove the seven hours to my house from the Land of Cheese. We hopped in the car on Saturday afternoon and drove the 3 hours to North Lawrence. (No camping, we stayed at a nice hotel about 10 minutes from Clay’s Park. In beds that had clean sheets and within walking distance to a nice little place that had decent food and adult beverages. That’s how I roll.)

As we woke up at the buttcrack of dawn on Sunday, my nerves started going a little haywire. Okay, a lot haywire. As we inched closer to our start time, my palms started getting sweaty and my stomach tied up in knots. I’m no risk taker! What if I couldn’t do the obstacles? What if I got stuck way up high on something? What if a giant mutant fish/crab/waterzombie/snake wanted to eat me? What if I had to be carried off the course because I fell and bonked my head and slipped into a coma and a Lifetime movie was made out of my life? All of those thoughts and more struck me as we were waiting in the starting corral. Jen’s main concern was my hair. So as we were waiting in the overly packed starting corral surround by hundreds of people we didn't know, she French-braided it into two supercute pigtails. At least if I fell down, I’d have good hair.

When the starting gun exploded, something inside me clicked and we took off. All of the obstacles are in the last two miles of the course, so we ran on the rocky, hilly, wooded trail for a mile before we hit obstacle one. It was a little daunting, with an over/under concept that required upper body strength and flexibility. (Yay for all the yoga I’ve done, it really came in handy!)

I was really starting to get into the rhythm of things – until we hit the first water obstacle. It involved sliding feet first down a muddy embankment into water that was brown. No visibility whatsoever. Someone around me made a joke about malaria. Fabulous. As I slid into the water and started swimming, I concentrated on not swallowing any of it and just kept looking forward. I made it through to the other side and crawled up the muddy banks. Then I started running again. Whew.

Some of the next 7-8 of the obstacles were harder than others. Some required concentration and balance, others required us to use all of our muscles and rely on our partners. Only one was claustrophobia inducing. More than a few were in water. I’m happy to report that I did not get stuck on top of any obstacles, nor did I go around or take a pass on any. And just as we ran up yet another hill, I saw the final 3 obstacles. I followed Jen up a large rope netting, shimmied over the top and climbed back down the other side. Next, we jumped over a few rows of fire. Finally, we crawled on our stomachs through a massive mudpit, trying to avoid getting snagged by the barbed wire overhead. And by the time we climbed out of the mud, covered head to toe in grime and muck, I realized that I had FUN. Yes, it was a test of strength and determination. Yes, some of the obstacles were scary. But isn’t that what life is about? Finding out where our strength reserves are and digging into them so that we can move forward?

Overall, it was a fun weekend. Jen and I came in 120 and 121 out of 879 females in our age group that day. We drank cheap beer after the race and posed for pictures in our ultra-fashionable thrift store sunglasses. We were muddy, sore, tired, and exhilarated. It definitely wasn’t a typical girly weekend. And I’m still on track with my marathon training and only suffered a few scrapes.

But just for the record, I avoided the Porta-potties. They might’ve had clowns in them.

On Being a Glutton for Punishment

I’ve been running for a little less than a year. I’ve participated in a few races, including some 5k’s, a freezing 5 miler, a slightly above freezing 10 miler, a 10k, a half marathon, etc. But I wanted to try something different, so I recently competed in the West Milton Triathlon. Well, maybe competed is a strong word. I should amend that and just say that I participated in it.  I also coerced my running partner, Steve, into it so we could team up. (Two person teams get canoes. Solo participants get kayaks. I’ve never been in a kayak and didn’t feel like taking my chances.) The race consisted of a 3.5 mile canoe trip down the Stillwater River, a 5 mile run on back country roads, then a 17 mile bike ride through more country roads. And it started at the buttcrack of dawn. Good times.

A day or so before the race, I got an email from the race director that contained valuable information, like the maps for the running and biking portions. I ignored those. I skimmed over the race directions about where to park and where to pick up timing chips, etc. Then I got to the line about no headphones/cellphones/ipods allowed. WHAT? I wasn’t allowed to listen to Will Smith get jiggy with it or Dolly Parton stumblin’ into the kitchen to pour herself a cup of ambition? I NEED a distraction when I run, something to keep my mind turned off so it won’t keep telling me to quit. Then I realized that I’d be with my running partner and he could keep me going. He’s a track coach and a positive person in general. Great for dragging my ass along when I’m feeling like I can’t possibly take another step. 

Anyway, race day dawned sunny and clear. We got to the starting point and managed to get into the canoe without tipping it. I should mention here that I am not good in canoes. I don’t like being in muddy bodies of water where I can’t see under the surface. I’m always afraid that I’m going to get eaten by a mutant catfish or some type of creepy crawly thing is going to latch on to me if I so much as dip a finger in the water.  The Stillwater River was moving at a good clip (go figure) and we stayed in the current for the most part, which helped to propel us along. We got to the docking area, where I managed to get out of the canoe without getting wet. Steve wasn’t as lucky.

We set out for the running portion. About a half-mile in, Steve realized he had forgotten his timing chip in the transition area. He told me to go ahead and he turned around to go track it down. So there I was, running alone. On a back country road. Without music. With only my thoughts to keep me company. Those 5 miles seemed to take forever. It was hot. I was thirsty. I was grumpy. I swore I was never doing this again and what in the gay hell was I thinking wasting a perfectly good Saturday morning by running around these damn dusty roads in Podunksville. I made up some new cuss words in my head. (It’s a pastime of mine when I run, especially on hills.) 

I finally made it to the main road that took me into the park where we had set up our bikes earlier. Spectators lined the road, yelling out encouraging words about “looking good, keep going,” etc. I wondered if they were on crack or blind, because I was sweating buckets and felt like I was moving in slow motion. I made it to my bike and waited around for Steve. I drank some water. Waited some more. When I saw Steve, he told me to go ahead and he’d catch up to me. So off I went, tired but excited that there was only 17 miles between myself and the finish line.  (I feel I should say that Steve’s total run time was less than mine, and the whole timing chip debacle was the only reason I beat him to the finish line for that portion.)

The first mile was all uphill. I put my bike in easy gear (yes, I know there’s technical terms like high gear and low gear but I don’t speak bicycle, so easy gear it is.) and made it up the hill. By the time I got to the 5 mile marker, I was flying. I wished I had my phone with me so I could’ve checked my biking app (I love Strava!), but those pesky rules…anyway, a little over an hour later I crossed the finish line. A few minutes later, Steve rolled in. We had finished! All in one piece! And we didn’t come in last!

Do I wish I could’ve done better? Yes. I finished in less than 3 hours, but next year the goal is to finish in 2.5. I did get a cool new medal - which is hanging with the half-marathon medal in my bathroom.

And I’ve already started training for a marathon in October. I guess I’m a glutton for punishment. 

Five Year Liver-versary!!!

Today is Maya’s liver-versary! It is a day of celebration and remembrance. We celebrate it every year, and every year I feel even more amazed and grateful that after everything she’s been through she’s still here. I still can't believe it's been five years. She’s in kindergarten now and is growing up so fast. Her most recent health issues and hospitalizations have been tough, and there are more procedures planned for the near future. Maya takes much of what she endures in stride, and even manages to stay semi-still twice a day when I flush the port to her bile drain. (For anyone who knows Maya, that whole staying still concept is just something that she doesn’t subscribe to.) She is an active participant in her own care, and getting her blood taken and taking medications are all things that are normal to her. She’s never known anything different.

Maya has been on numerous medications from the time she was two months old and diagnosed with biliary atresia. She was only a year old when she got her “new” liver. Directly following her transplant she was on sixteen different medicines. Now she is only on three. One of the most important ones is her anti-rejection med, Prograf. Unlike her other medications, which are liquids, Prograf is a small but mighty capsule. It is what keeps her body from rejecting the liver she has been gifted. It has to be given on time, exactly 12 hours apart EVERY DAY. In order to administer it to her, the capsule has to be broken open and the powder has to be mixed with a little bit of water, then given to her via an oral syringe. For five years, I have made sure she has gotten every dose. I have trained all babysitters and family members on how to give it to her. I have been doing it for so long that I could probably do it in my sleep.  

I have, in recent months, talked to her about taking the pill and swallowing it like a big girl. She seemed eager to do it, but for some reason, I held off. After all, she’s only 6 years old. What if she’s too young? What if it gets stuck in her throat and she never wants to try again? What if….

What if she can take the medicine on her own and I realize that she IS a big girl…that she IS growing up? Hm...

During a recent hospital stay, she decided she didn’t want the medicine mixed “baby style” anymore; she could handle it on her own. This recent development makes me both happy and sad. Happy because it signifies not only her independence, and to be honest, it makes my life a bit easier. Sad because it signifies her independence, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that.  So now when it’s Prograf time, I simply hand her the pill and a glass of water. And when she’s done swallowing it, she opens her mouth and sticks out her tongue and tells me the pill is in her belly. Then she gives me a huge smile, belches loudly, and walks away with a skip in her step. 

Happy Five Year Liver-versary to my sweet (and sassy) little girl, who's growing up so quickly. I love you. 

Septic Shock. (Or How We Spent Our Christmas Vacation)

It is the stuff of every parent’s nightmares: standing helplessly, watching your child being worked on feverishly by a team of doctors and nurses as they try to save her life. Unfortunately, that has also been my recent reality.

Maya was released from the hospital on Sunday, December 16^th just two days after her most recent procedure, the Percutaneous Trans-hepatic Cholangiogram. So when she developed a fever a few days later, on Wednesday morning, I immediately called her GI team in Cincy. Their instructions were to give Tylenol, get labs drawn, & get down to Cincy that afternoon for clinic hours. Of course, by the time we got to see the doctor, she was acting perfectly normal. But they decided to admit us for observation – and that decision most likely saved Maya’s life.

A few hours into our stay, Maya’s blood pressure began dropping. They tried giving more IV fluids, but her pressure kept going lower – 80s/50s, 70s/40s, etc. At almost two in the morning, the doctors decided that she needed to be moved to Intensive Care. It was there that all hell broke loose. One moment Maya was talking to me, telling me she loved me. Then, as the doctors were doing a procedure to put a deep access arterial line in, she crashed. I heard someone say those awful words, “She stopped breathing,” which were followed by “Call the chaplain for mom.” The room exploded, with people coming out of seemingly nowhere. I was escorted out of the room into a darkened hallway, while people in scrubs and gowns moved back and forth with lightening speed, yelling commands.  

The next few hours were a blur. I remember the PICU doctors and nurses going in and out of the room giving me updates as I stood in shock in the hallway, including the diagnosis of septic shock. I remember crying and feeling terrified, feeling as if my heart was going to come up through my throat. Finally, after a tense three hours, Maya was stabilized. And by stabilized, I mean she was sedated and on a ventilator. She was also on numerous antibiotics, three different kinds of blood pressure medications, steroids, albumin, and a few other things. The only thing left to do was wait to see if all of the medications would work, to see if the infection could be stopped. At that point, I had been awake for almost 24 hours and could barely stand up. I pulled a chair up to the side of her bed and held on to her foot. I looked at her pale skin and all the tubes going in and out of her. I prayed.

The wait stretched out interminably. Thursday. Friday. Saturday. Finally, Sunday morning they believed she was stable enough to breathe on her own without the ventilator. They also finally had her on the right antibiotic after determining that the septic shock was caused by E. coli. Her blood pressures were stable, even without the high doses of blood pressure medication. Her kidneys had started to work again, due in part to the diuretics they gave her. (And in true Maya fashion, she peed out three times the amount that they wanted her to, causing the nurse to have to measure from the catheter every hour.) The sedation meds were turned off. After a few hours, she was responding to simple commands. She squeezed my hand and opened her eyes, but only when I asked her, she pretty much ignored the doctor’s commands. But that’s Maya. Just before noon, the tube was pulled out and she started breathing on her own again.

The next few days were rough. Although in most ways Maya was physically on the mend, the medications and fluids she was given were rough on her body. She was too weak to eat or stand, so special nutrition called TPN had to be started through her IV. She was also going through withdrawal from the sedation meds. She opened some of her presents on Christmas Day, but she had no enthusiasm at all. She wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t smile, and barely made eye contact. It was heartbreaking to watch. But finally, during the evening of Christmas Day, she started perking back up. The gleam came back into her eyes, and her smile lit up my world. That, for me, was the best present. Ever.

Of course, there always has to be bumps in the road. Unfortunately, she started to develop intermittent fevers. At first, the fevers were attributed to withdrawal, but then the coughing fits started. After running a few more tests, it was determined that she had contracted RSV, a common yet serious virus. It is can be fatal for babies and very serious for people like Maya who are immunosuppressed.

As of right now, it looks like Maya and I will be in the hospital for another day or two. We are out of the PICU and on a regular floor. She’s eating and her bubbly personality is definitely shining through again. And although this is certainly not the best way to spend Christmas vacation, I know that it could’ve been much worse. I may be stuck in a hospital, but at least I’m stuck with Maya. For that, I am extremely grateful. And there will forever be a place in my heart for the PICU team who saved my baby and brought her back to me. 

Percutaneous Trans-Hepatic Choliangiogram, Anyone?

Maya’s liver enzymes have been elevated for months. We’ve had numerous ultrasounds and lab draws, but the doctors don’t really know what the issue is or if there is really an issue at all. They are concerned that her bile ducts might have some type of blockage. So now the next step is something called a percutaneous trans-hepatic choliangiogram. Say that five times fast, I dare you. If it sounds scary, that’s because it is. At least it is to me. This is yet another procedure that Maya must endure, and it’s scheduled for next week. The procedure is basically an invasive x-ray that requires general anesthesia. They will shoot dye through a needle that they place in her liver and bile ducts to see if there are any blockages. If there’s a problem, they’ll insert a stent. We might be in the hospital for one night, or maybe up to a week. In comparison to the months that we lived there during 2008-2009, this will hopefully be a short stay.

Am I allowed to turn into Stresserella now? Too late, I already have.

She’s actually had this done before, back in 2009. She toddled around for months with bile drainage bag that had to be drained at least once a day. (That was a fun task. Really.)  However, she was only three years old and stayed home with me all the time. Now she’s an active and goofy six year old who goes to school. The fact that she might miss a week of school is seriously going to bum her out. But this is life after a liver transplant. There have been bumps in the road, more surgeries, and weird health scares that have probably given me numerous gray hairs (not that I see them, as I get re-blonded every six weeks). And yet, she is one of the happiest children I have ever seen.

I know, in the larger scheme of things, that we are lucky. I hope this is only going to be a minor blip on the radar screen. To Maya, things like surgery, labs, and ultrasounds are a normal part of life. She’s never known anything different. But that doesn’t make the fear I feel now or the terror I’ll feel as I pace back and forth in the surgery waiting area any easier to deal with. I’m going to try to keep from turning into a blubbering mess of tears and snot as we deal with this hurdle. Maya is a strong little trooper who handles life with a smile on her face (unless you take away her Barbies, then all hell breaks loose), and I’m sure that she’ll bounce back from this as quickly as she usually does. At the very least, I am going to look forward to plenty of cuddle time with her as she recovers, as the day or two after surgery is the only time the child actually stays still for any length of time….