Don't Poop Yourself

You know what the AWESOME thing is about being injured?

Cheering for people who aren't!

I'm sitting here making signs for a friend who's running a half mary tomorrow.  This is one of my personal favorites - besides, it's just good life advice:

There has been an awful lot going on with me for the past 6 months.  I've been engaging in some serious career development, fighting not feeling well (and the slew of diagnostic tests and appointments that come with it), fundraising, trying to re-litter-train and integrate the newest cat into the household, working overtime in a stressful environment, helping plan a wedding, planning three mini-vacations related to that wedding, my marathon, Thanksgiving, and another wedding. 

Oh, and training for a marathon.

This is why 2016 will be the year of ESLSG.

As you may know from my race report, the leg injury I had during my half reared its ugly head from the very first mile of Chicago, and to be truthful I probably never should have completed the race. But, even though I usually err on the side of extreeeeeme caution when it comes to racing and training, something got inside my head in Chi-town and I walked hobbled and limped pitifully for that last 14 out of the 26.2 miles just so I could finish.

This was a pretty dumb move, I admit.  It's left me hobbling for the last 2 weeks - and hurting really bad.  So this week, along with getting the results from my 6-year scan, I also got an x-ray and an MRI and started PT.  

I hate waiting for answers.  I also hate not getting any, which (to be honest) is part of life with a chronic illness or six.  But this week I actually GOT some answers - and, while both of those answers ended in ellipses and not exclamation points, I'm starting to adjust to that as a norm. I'm also just grateful to get answers at all.

Before cancer, you have this impression that once you get that final "all clear" scan or once five years post-treatment happens, you hit "remission." That's not really what happens.  They call it having No Evidence of Disease - I've talked about NED -  and with some cancers, you still have to get lots of tests regularly (and even a couple clean scans) before you ever hear of NED.  

I've had a clear scan once, but because I still need medication adjustments every three months and I still have calcified lymph nodes, I'm still waiting on a really definitive moment. I've still never heard of NED.

The first thing you hear from every doctor you meet when you're diagnosed with thyroid cancer is something like, "that's the good cancer!" or, "if you're going to get cancer, that's the one to get!" They don't tell you that you are also going to struggle with things like periods of severe fatigue that make you feel dead, as well as B12, D, calcium deficiencies, mood problems, hair problems, skin problems, weight problems - and lots and lots of lots of testing - for life.  

As I have said before, thyca is a twofer: first you get the cancer, and THEN you get the thyroid disease for life.  So thyroid cancer is one of those with a super-high survival rate, but lots of nebulous possible outcomes that can prevent you from really ever meeting NED.  

(Not to mention that calling ANY cancer good is just . . . well . . . bullshit.)

The answers I got this week went something like:

• ---the x-ray does not show any fractures or bone issues in your leg.  We will do an MRI, though, to rule out a stress fracture we can't see on x-ray . . .
• ---your thryoglobulin and antibodies look good. your lymph node is still calcified, but his buddies are gone.  However, your TSH is 5.5 times what it was 8 weeks ago, so you need more medication and tests every 3 months . . .
• ---you still have a calcified lymph node that has not decreased in size . . .

So, for the most part, these things are all good, but - as you can see - they're not definitive.  For someone who tends to look at life in black and white, this has been one of the toughest things to adjust to.

That doesn't mean I can't extract the positive, though. My superpowers have always been positivity and ridiculousness.  That medicine increase will help me feel less tired and also help me lose that 10ish pounds I've gained.  I'm not saying I'm not going to have to work at both those things, just that now they'll actually be possible.  And for that I am ever so grateful.

In the meantime, I'm making race signs, waiting for MRI results, and resting my leg until I know what I can and can't do between now and January.  I'll catch you soon for results and more on my 2016 plan.

In the meantime, try not to poop yourself.

Thoughts on Tapering - and Friday

Sometimes people ask me why I continue to do marathons.   I'm obviously much better at short-distance events, and they really can take a lot out of you.

Although cycling is my favorite of the three sports, marathoning gives me something I never get from long-distance cycling. Maybe it's partly my internal desire for more control.  The other day, while running along with my Cycling Mentor, I was explaining to her that there's so much less to go wrong on a run than a bike, and that I know even if I have to stop to walk I will still move forward.  On a bike, though, so many things can happen that are out of your control: your chain can drop; your tire can pop; your gears can fail you.  And if you need to rest, tough.  You gotta keep pedaling or you don't move.

And, while I also love to swim, I definitely don't get as much out of swimming, which my poor confused brain still - even after several hundred-thousand-yard years of drills and lakes and 2.5-mile ocean swims - STILL equates with banana daiquiris and pool boys and vacations. 

No, marathoning is a spiritual experience for me.

Sometimes I start out the season hating the long runs and wishing they'd end; other times I start out hating my speedwork and just wanting to run long and easy.  Sometimes certain muscles are weaker than others.  There are always laughs; there are always tears.  Actually running for 5 hours straight, especially through another city, is nothing short of transformative. 

Every year that I am marathon training, I learn something new.  Sometimes it's a little simple thing like how to lace my shoes; other times, it's something huge like how much more powerful the mind and spirit are than the body.  I have learned that, while cycling is my social sport and I'd rather not ride alone, it is hard for me to run with others. 

This year I learned what a real taper is.  Usually my taper is pretty drastic (big reduction) and early (4-6 weeks out).  This is partly because it's usually been forced by illness. This year my taper didn't begin until 3 weeks before the race, and each week my mileage only decreases by 2, 3, maybe 5 miles. So it doesn't feel like a sudden drop, but instead a gradual release.

Probably the way it was supposed to feel all along.

And now, since this has been a rather serious entry, let's talk about how excited I am that it's Friday.
I shouldn't be excited because I still have exams and a "long" run of 10-11 miles before I can do anything relaxing or productive . . . but I am.

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