Why don't you move, dammit?

Why don't you move, dammit?
Why don't you move, dammit?
Why don't you move, dammit?

-DJ Baby Anne and DJ Icey, Move

(If you've never heard this song, it'll rock your socks)

Moving on . . .

The title of this blog is How Do You Eat an Elephant?, which begs the obvious answer, "one bite at a time."  My dad always gave me this advice because I FREQUENTLY bite off more than I can chew.

But the other reason I chose How Do You Eat an Elephant? was because of what it's become over the years.  When I started blogging 5+ years ago, I had two separate blogs - my training blog and my everyday life blog.  Then the lines between the two started to blur. And then my blog became about the elephant in the room. 

In my case, the elephant is my complicated mental and physical health.

People don't like to acknowledge the akward, the personal, the difficult.  For that reason, I've always struggled to decide how much to share.  The answer is: A LOT. This blog is pretty much my internal (incessant) chatter put in writing.  Partly because I need the outlet.  And partly because I hope to help someone feel more confident about facing their personal physical and mental challenges because I shared mine.

So many of you know, aside from my physical challenges, I have struggled with major depressive disorder my entire adult life.  And, every now and then, I have an episode that completely throws me for a loop.  We're not talking the kind where you cry at a commercial for the ASPCA (although I do that too), we're talking parlayzing despair that makes you curl up on your bed and lie there for hours, sobbing and immobile.

I've struggled a lot with it lately and, combined with my vertigo, it's made my training very difficult.

Let me get this out of the way if I have not made it PATENTLY obvious in my blog entries: I am a very fortunate person.  Overall, I have been extremely lucky.  I am thankful every day for everything I've been able to accomplish and for being able to work my way out of physical, mental and financial troubles. I have friends and family who love me, plenty to eat, and (most of the time) I have the gas I need to get where I'm going. But it is very frustrating to be saddled with the knowledge that you will be paying medical bills for the rest of your life, and since that's on top of the normal debt everyone else has, like student loans and car payments, your pay will almost never provide for much more - and, in some cases, may not even cover them all. I don't know when I will ever be able to take a vacation again, and there is a probablity that I'll never be able to retire.

I don't know if you remember, but at one point I didn't think I'd be able to afford any races for the rest of the year. By the grace of supportive friends, family, and my own crafty savings, I've been able to do a few of the cheapest races I could find.  If I work enough overtime before grad school starts, I will be able to afford to fly for the Rocket City Marathon in December, to see my parents and run the race.

For all of this, and for my continued mobility, I am tremendously grateful.

But if I told you that it didn't weigh heavily on me and affect nearly every decision I make, and that it didn't make dealing with MDD *that* much more difficult, I would be ignoring the elephant in the room.

Clinical depression is more than just being sad about a difficult situation.  It's a real illness, a chemical imbalance.  Help requires more than just telling someone to be positive or buck up. My request for you is that, if you know someone suffering from MDD or any form thereof, don't EVER tell them to just "be more positive."  It simply isn't that easy.

The thing that has helped ME the most has been to just get up and MOVE.  Get out of the house, go for a ride, go for a walk, a drive, fold the laundry, call a friend - basically any action that moves me forward.

I ask myself sometimes when I have one of those days: why don't you move, dammit?

And another things that helps is reflecting on my progress.

Remember my goals for 2012?

1. First, a crit (to say I did one), because even though it is crazy and new, it will help my speed training. - DONE
2. I'm also going on a tri-specific strength plan. I will be hitting the weights to try to cut my body fat drastically between now and March.  - I've been more dedicated to weights than ever before.
3. Then, to train for Florida 70.3, the Tour de Mom for the American Diabetes Association.  - Did TOUR de MOM, but 70.3 was just too expensive.
4. Also would like to do a 5k (to try to do one in somewhere between 25 and 28 minutes) - I did one in just over 28
5. The 70.3 itself, hopefully in 6:30 or so.  - Again, couldn't afford it, but hey, I figured other things out.
6. I won't have the cash to do many summer races, but if I do, they'll be short and cheap. - Which is pretty much where I am now, no summer races but some cheap fall ones if things go well.

That's all some pretty powerful stuff.

Annually my goals were:

1. Swim 120,000+ yards - I've swam 110,000+ already and it's July.
2. Ride 70 miles + per week - I'm a little short on this.
3. Run 10+ miles per week - I'm SUPER short on this but that's ok  because

MARATHON TRAINING STARTS
IN
TWO
DAYS!

And you will hear AAAAAALLLL about this in due time.

In the meantime, why don't you MOVE, dammit!?

For a smart person, I can be really stupid

This entry could also be titled: People over 6 Should Not Partake in the Use of Slip-and-Slides. Or, Someone Please Tell MAJ She's Not Superhuman.


I've been suffering from a new round of dizzy spells the past week or so. It's confounding, but it quickly became debilitating. I missed a day and a half of work, and the reduction or exclusion of alcohol and caffeine provided no relief. Also, mysteriously, my weight was up 5 pounds. (Which means, even though I'm eating healthier again, my portions and frequency of eating have increased (to battle the nausea accompanying the dizziness - this always happens)).


I know this routine, but it didn't stop me from pitching no less than 3 hysterical hissies. Before you dismiss this as eminnetly sissy-like, let me describe to you how it feels.


You rise from bed at 7am. You've already let yourself oversleep by 30-120 minutes, and, despite your anxiously racing pulse, you are virtually unable to move your limbs because of sheer exhaustion. You have not only a film of sleep over your eyes, but also a general feeling of disorientation. Coffee, a shower, makeup, eyeglasses and clothing reduce this feeling from a roaring haze to a milky cloud.


To no avail. Arriving at work by 8:30, you're finding yourself so off balance that you're driving 5-10 miles under the speed limit. Not only do you feel like you are going to pass out and/or fall asleep, you're possessed with the sense that not only is your head slightly spinning, but your neck, skull and eyeballs are slightly "vibrating." At about 8:45, you're so sick to your stomach and eyes that you can barely keep your eyelids open. Every movement of your head or body is grossly exaggerated.


By 10am, you fall asleep so hard that you can't be awakened for an hour or more - and, even when you do wake, you're unable to gather your wits for at least an hour. Within an hour of rising and becoming alert (which takes 45 minutes or so), the process begins all over.

The prospect of living like this for ANOTHER few years sent me into the worst panic attack I've ever had. Thank God a trip to my GP unearthed an ear infection, a reoccurence of my vertigo (both treatable, quickly, by medication), and a possible concussion.

WHAT?? A possible CONCUSSION???

Yeah. It turns out going on slip-and-slides when you're over the age of 6 is a recipe for disaster. Dr. Kim tells me she treats hundreds of adult s-&-s injuries.

So, I'm kind of set back right now and I'll have to fill you in later, but my goals are changing slightly.

:)

Answers to questions.

Every now and then, you have a day (or string of days) that brings everything to light. The kind of day that presents you with celestial epiphanies or sparkling truths or great challenges. Or sometimes - and, in this case - answers to questions you've had for days, weeks, even years.


It didn't appear that way at first.


I had the most emotionally unstable weekend I've had in over 4 months. It was a real, call-my-parents-crying-for-several-hours, drive-aimlessly-in-no-direction, obsess-over-meaningless-bullshit, humdinger of a weekend. I was the closest I've been since September to feeling suicidal again. There were lots of reasons: I keep running out of money. I can't really train right now. Yes, I know the IT band injury is because I fucked myself, but it's healing. The gash in my knee from the Kona escapade last weekend, however, is still pretty big, and my sprained ankle still aches under stress -so just occasional yoga. God knows if I'll make St. Anthony's because I have a 3/30 surgery date, so by the time I get done recovering from that and my injuries, I'll be really crunched for training time. Kona is still out of control and split open my lip by headbutting me on Saturday when I was trying to put on his leash (I am buying a harness for him on payday, CPB!) New Guy is being an asshole again. I really miss my parents. And today I got my results from the endocrinologist. You get the picture.


But.


For the first time in my life, without medicine or any real health risks, I pulled through.


My mom actually inspired a big part of this. And all because of these two words: do something. She kept drilling into my head, in between the tears and exhausted conversations, that the only real way to get myself moving was to . . . well . . . get myself moving. I don't care what you do, she told me, but do something. Take an idea and put legs on it. So I did. In two days, I got 4 loads of laundry done, one tub cleaned, the floor swept and the downstairs bathroom tidied up. I went to yoga, read and cried.


The other part of this? Booze. I realized I'd been drinking very consistently again. I usually always see a pattern of depression following several days of drinking, even if I'm not consuming much. And this makes sense, right? Alcohol is a depressant and I have major depressive disorder. Also - I'm facing the last real monthly cycle of my life, since I get my tubes tied on the 30th.


And THAT I am excited about.


And then I started thinking about other things that I could possibly be excited about . . . like how I'm doing better financially than I thought I could.
And how I'm dating again - maybe jerky guys, but not weird internet goobers or alcoholic, controlling freaks.
And how my friends are amazing.
And how I have a roof over my head.
And how I'm in better physical and mental health than I've been in for over 2 years.
And how the animals are doing well.
And how school is going to start again soon.


Sunday night came. All of a sudden I wasn't in tears when New Guy ignored me completely. I even pulled together the chutzpah to tell him off for it.


Monday morning came. I got dolled up, just enough to make myself feel better, even though I was still down. And then I got some more answers . . . the results from my recent tests were revealed at the endocrinologist.


First of all, my cholesterol is normal for the first time in my adult life. Second, my thyroid bloodwork is normal. But I do have 4 thyroid nodules, 2 of which are big enough that they may be cancerous. I go for a biopsy soon to rule cancer out. I probably have polycystic ovary syndrome, and I am insulin-resistant (hypoglycemic). This means I have to go on metformin and start testing my blood glucose, as well as be more diligent about eating 5-7 small meals a day instead of 3-4 larger ones.


This presents obvious difficulties. It's not easy. It's downright scary, actually.


But I see the light.


I see it.


I don't know why, but I feel so positive. I feel encouraged. I feel stronger. Despite the load on my shoulders, which is both lighter and heavier than it's ever been, I finally feel like I'm finally breaking through.


Tomorrow will find me doing what I always do: searching for the right outfit, fixing my hair, wishing I had the shampoo that works better, trying to get the dog to poop before work, wondering what craziness awaits me at the office and if I'll come home to another shredded rug tonight in the bathroom. I may not feel as spunky and sexy as I've been feeling, given my depression and the interesting developments at the doctor's, but I feel . . .

Bright.

Funny . . . the answers to the questions we ask are not always what we want. They're not always conclusive. NG didn't prove anything to me. The test results weren't all positive, but they weren't all negative. And they certainly didn't yield conclusive results. But, some times, the answers to the questions we ask aren't meant to end our search, but to encourage us to ask new questions . . . better questions . . . some times different questions altogether.

And you know what? I kinda like that.

This week's questions are school . . . taxes . . .and training. I'll fill in the rest as I get some more answers. ;-)

4am comes really early, slacking, skydiver your pants are on fire

I'm sitting here eating a lowfat breakfast sandwich with some hashbrowns (basically shredded 'taters cooked in nonstick spray), thinking about the past few weeks.

For starters, I'm down 17 pounds: the baby weight plus 10. I'm wearing clothing I haven't worn in almost 2 years. It feels so good to get close to my normal size again - and, even better, that I've done it gradually and healthfully. Appearances are often deceiving, too - it might shock you to know that, during my most disordered periods of eating, I was NOT the thinnest I've ever been. I think everyone conjures up images of a sickeningly frail anorexic waif when you mention the term eating disorder. Even bulimics are expected to look emaciated. The truth is - and you might wanna back off now if you're even slightly grossed out by the topic of bulimia, but you know I can't be anything but unflinchingly honest - you can't always purge as much as you binge. And I can eat insane amounts of food with the best of 'em. So I am actually thinner when I'm just following my normal healthy habits. I'm still going to WW, mostly to support my friend now because I just needed the kickstart back to logging my food and eyeballing portion sizes.

Second, can you believe that my dumb ass actually thought this weekend was my marathon? HAHAHAHA! It's next weekend. I looked at the calendar wrong. Good thing, too, because I'm sooo not ready.

And that brings me to one of my chief concerns: I wonder when I'll ever be able to train properly for a marathon? Hell, for any race. This time I didn't even get in a 20-miler. My schedule had TWO. Some times this thought keeps me up at night. (I'd better figure it out, considering I want to do 26.2 in every state before I die, right?) It seems like everything holds me back - work, my health, my own fuck-ups. IronDawn once told me that I should do a better job of controlling the things that are in my power (sleeping enough, drinking too much, etc.), since there are so many factors outside my control that affect my training. I hate to say she's right YET AGAIN, but . . . . she's right, yet again. And it makes me feel like a fraud. Remember Philly? I feel that way again. Like I'm not a real athlete. I'm just a wannabe. I'm a fake. Skydiver, your pants are on fire/And the rest of your clothes is glowin'/And for some strange reason, your nose is growin' . . .

And yet, for whatever reason, the desire persists. Some people would say you obviously don't want to do it that badly if you're not making a better effort. Well, that's not true - I can't always control the effort I make. Some people would say just the fact that you try makes you more fit and healthy than the average person. But that's not true - there are many people a lot fitter than I am because they work out harder, more consistently, or both. What I want, what I need, is somewhere in between those two. It's that ever-fleeting BALANCE.

Not a shock that someone recovering from 2 separate disorders is searching for balance, right?

This is my 3rd consecutive week of getting up at 4am "like in the old days." And yes, 4am comes really early, but it hasn't been anywhere near as rough as I'd expected. Except for days like today. Today I just wanted to pack it in. I knew I couldn't keep up for the 3000+ yard swim with the club so I opted for a run. 5mi, I told myself, and then I'd head to the Y for a couple easy thousand yards.

I walked the dog 1 mile.
I ran barely 2.
I hopped on the trainer and spun aimlessly for a few minutes.
I walked the dog again.
I went to Wal-Mart for an iron and some ingredients for the birthday potluck at work.

And that's where I am now.

New Guy is even more incredible than when last reported, but I'm trying not to get too excited about it.