Category Archives: Reflection

Autoimmunity, Reflection, Running, Transformation, Uncategorized

Turning A Corner: Or When Progress Looks Different Than You Expect

It was early last year (2018). I don’t remember the date exactly, and can’t find it on my calendar, which is really annoying for some reason. It was my regular quarterly appointment with my doc. I’d been stuck in a sort of groundhogs day over the previous year or so, not getting worse but not getting better. I’d recently started to see a *slight* improvement in how I felt, so rather than keep doing what I was doing, I decided to cut back on the amount of meat in my diet.

I’d only been eating meat again for a couple of years, after being vegetarian for well over a decade. Meat got reintroduced not because I decided I couldn’t live without cheeseburgers, but because I started having trouble maintaining iron levels. A dietitian I was working with at the time thought I would see more progress with food and supplementation, rather than just throwing some pills at it. So I gingerly began eating meat again, figuring I’d go back to being vegetarian when things normalized. So when I started feeling better in late 2017, instead of realizing this was likely due to my having left my job at the end of June that year, I decided it was a good time to start cutting back on meat.

Which means that when I walked into my doc’s office that day in early 2018, before I even sat down, she said to me “what’d you do?” And not in a good way. She told me some of my markers were off, worse than three months prior and she wanted to know what I’d changed. I reluctantly told her I’d cut back to having meat once/day, to which she replied “you can’t do that!”. She explained that my body might never tolerate being vegetarian again, and that if it was something that was really important to me, I’d likely be sacrificing some of my recovery. We moved on to other topics, with more conversation about why things weren’t improving, just like every other appointment. It was a reminder to me that food would play an important part in my recovery, but I didn’t yet have any idea of how big of a role it would end up playing.

Right before I started working with Claire (my dietitian) in September, I coincidentally had another quarterly appointment. I didn’t get to see my physician this time as she was on maternity leave, but I met with the nurse practitioner. All of the providers in my doc’s practice go through extensive training in functional medicine, and even though my doc was on leave, she still kept an eye on all of her patients. So the nurse practitioner knew of my story and where I was at in my recovery. I told nurse practitioner that I was embarking upon some significant dietary changes, and she was incredibly supportive. The paleo diet, and a more restrictive version of it called the autoimmune protocol, is best practice for addressing autoimmunity in the functional medicine community. So my working with a Whole30 coach was right in line with recommendations supported by my physician. While we’d discussed diet, my doc hadn’t come right out and said that NEEDED to change my diet. But I’d done enough reading and had enough understanding about where I was in my own journey to know that diet was the next step. It was the only health behavior I hadn’t touched. The best part about the timing is that I’d have blood work from right before I made any changes, and blood work again three months into the program. At this point, I still doubted my ability to follow-through as I’d made countless attempts to change my diet over the last couple of years and got myself nowhere.

I’ve written about my experience through the first two-thirds of Claire’s program, so won’t rehash that here. The last month didn’t bring anything too exciting, beyond the reintroduction of a few foods and several more pounds lost. I learned that I tolerated small amounts of cheese, enjoyed some amazing gluten-free sourdough bread from Bread SRSLY, and successfully reintroduced Picky Bars. Most, but not all, of my digestive issues were resolved, and I lost 13 lbs. The weight loss puts me exactly halfway between my starting point in the program and my former training (running) weight. My former weight isn’t the goal, but it’s a good benchmark of a time when I was much healthier and fit. Other “wins” included: increased self-efficacy in taking care of myself, complete elimination of cravings for foods I shouldn’t be eating, resolution of the brain fog that’s followed me around for the last three+ years, no more colds or stomach bugs which were so prevalent the last few years, and running is much more enjoyable. The big test would come at my doc appointment scheduled for early January, which required a blood draw on Christmas Eve. I was so anxious to see if my dietary overhaul would show up in my blood work, and if we’d finally see some resolution of the persistently high (dangerously high) inflammation levels.

So when I walked into my doc’s office on Wednesday, January 9, I was cautiously optimistic. I told myself that even if my blood work hadn’t improved, that I still had so many wins from the last three months. In addition, I had a very bizarre occurrence of hives in early November that I hoped she could shed light on, as my allergist was no help beyond testing me for an almond allergy (eating a higher-than-normal quantity of almonds seemed to be the trigger, but the allergist determined it was nothing more than a coincidence). And I’d also had some eczema on my face this past spring that I still didn’t know the cause of. I really felt this was all connected somehow. The medical office assistant walked me back to the office, and again before I even sat down my doc exclaims “what did you do?!”, but this time with a smile on her face. I didn’t get a chance to respond before she exclaimed “you look so healthy!”. I just grinned. I sat down and she walked through my lab results. The first thing she pointed to was that inflammation marker. For the first time in several years, it dropped, and dropped significantly. My HS CRP has been routinely in the 8-9 range, way too high, but this quarter it dropped to 2.0. That is still in the moderate category, but a significant step in the right direction, especially considering the improvement in just three months time. The reduction in inflammation is also what allowed me to finally lose weight. Everything else appeared to be normalizing, including my iron levels, which have been slowly climbing since that fateful appointment earlier last year led me to add more meat to my diet.

My doc and I spent quite a bit of time talking about the dietary changes, and she was happy to hear I was working with a coach/dietitian. I mentioned the hives in November, and how I was eating more almonds than usual that week, and she immediately brought up histamine intolerance and mast cell activation. Coincidentally, I read about mast cell activation syndrome recently, so her mentioning that phrase scared me a bit. But as she explained more about histamine intolerance, it made a ton of sense. And totally explained the eczema in the spring, along with the hives in November. We nerded out a bit while she explained the biology behind how all of this stuff is related, and she added a few more supplements to my regimen. While it seems counterintuitive to think that an appointment that ended with more dietary restrictions and more supplements was actually the best appointment I’ve had in three years, that is absolutely the case. My addressing the dietary sources of inflammation allows us to dig deeper and get to the root cause of what’s going on, and it also revealed that diet was a HUGE root case in-and-of itself.

I did some quick research on my own when I got home Wednesday evening, just to see what this low histamine diet was all about. I immediately noticed that many foods I eat regularly are either high in histamine or histamine liberators. The upside to this is that there was the potential for substantial improvement (which includes never again being woken up in the middle of the night by hives, as I was for five nights in a row in November), the downside is that I’d be removing some staples. But the success of the last three months helped me get over any feelings of scarcity pretty quickly. If I feel this good already, how much more of my health and well-being can I recover by taking this next step? Since we’d just returned from vacation on Monday evening, I needed to do some cooking anyway, so this was actually a perfect time to start walking down this road. Armed with this new information, Thursday evening’s grocery list looked a bit different than normal. Gone were the avocados, tomatoes, strawberries, fermented veggies, lemons, bananas, spinach, nuts (which I’d already been avoiding for the most part since November anyway, even though my allergist told me I was fine to eat them), chocolate, collagen peptides, and cheese. Also gone was my beloved sourdough bread. Some of these foods I wasn’t eating much of yet, but others like the collagen peptides in my coffee, avocados, fermented veggies, tomatoes, strawberries, bananas and lemons, I used frequently. And because we’d just returned from vacation, where I enjoyed more than a few treats that aren’t normally part of my diet (which I thoroughly enjoyed without any feelings of guilt or shame – REVOLUTIONARY), I choose recipes from the autoimmune protocol in hopes of more quickly reducing the increased levels of inflammation that I’m certain are present, unrelated to this histamine business.

In just a couple of days, I’ve noticed a significant change in my allergies. I normally take Allegra and Benadryl, even this time of year in the midwest when everything is dead. And even with those medications and a sinus rinse, I still have sinus and nasal congestion all day, every day. Within 24-hours of walking towards a low-histamine diet, I saw substantial improvement in my allergy symptoms. I’ve had bad seasonal allergies since I was a teenager, allergies that have only gotten worse as I’ve gotten older. I never considered improvement in them to be a possibility. I’ve had allergy shots, but because I’m allergic to so many things, they didn’t help much beyond allowing me to be in a room with a cat without wanting to claw my eyes out. So not only will these new dietary modifications likely ensure I won’t ever wake up in the middle of the night with a terrible case of hives, or get eczema on my face after eating a burrito, but they’re already making my day-to-day life more pleasant. It took well over a month this fall for me to see significant improvements in my gut health, three months for me to lose 13 lbs, but these improvements were comparatively immediate, and I haven’t even started the new supplements yet (they’re being shipped), or talked with my dietitian to get her insight on next steps (that happens Monday afternoon). To say I’m encouraged is an understatement.

A few months ago, before working with Claire and doing the hard work of straightening out my head as related to diet and getting out of my own way with regards to my recovery, I think an appointment like Wednesday’s would have left me feeling defeated. As for all of the progress and wonderful improvement in my blood work, I still walked out of there with more supplements to take – not fewer as I hoped, and more dietary restrictions – which came on the heels of the successful reintroduction of some foods I really enjoy. But rather than view this as a set-back, or a recalibration of what I believed to be tremendous progress, I saw it was one more step forward in this journey back to health. More dietary restrictions and more supplements is not a step back, it’s true progress, as we’re uncovering the real issues at the heart of my poor health the last four years. If I don’t do the hard work of the last three months, and cover all of that ground, these remain questions without answers. And there’s a good chance I get woken up with a bad case of hives again. And I continue to test the upper limits of how much Benadryl is safe to take before one spouts a third arm or something. I am so excited to have this information, and to know that there is more I can do to help myself get better. I am drunk with progress.

As I’ve looked back over the last few years, something that’s really bothered me is how long it took me to make these changes to my diet. Everything I read told me it was important, my doc told me it was important. In my over-analyzation of it all, I realized that several factors contributed to my figurative feet-dragging. Initially, I was way, way too hung up on what used to work. I was vegetarian for well over a decade, I was an endurance athlete who trained a lot and raced a lot, and incredibly healthy while doing both. Both of those go against convention in the autoimmune community. I got stubborn about what worked for me in the past, instead of realizing that the paradigm had shifted and that what worked for me previously was no longer relevant. Secondly, it’s really hard to made big lifestyle changes when you feel like shit. Overhauling ones diet takes a ton of mental energy, not to mention the physical labor of preparing food. There was a fair amount of time where I didn’t have the mental or physical resources to dedicate to the change. Which super-sucks, because it turns into a chicken-and-egg situation. The very changes that would help the most are out of reach, but the changes need to be made or recovery won’t happen. I think leaving my job allowed for just enough improvement for me to commit the mental and physical resources to the diet change, which ended up facilitating the big improvements I desired. Lastly, I realized I couldn’t do it on my own and sought out help. I knew that my biggest gaps weren’t in knowledge or information, but in changing habits and behaviors, especially since my health still wasn’t great and making the change was going to take a lot of effort. Having a good understanding of the type of help I needed allowed me to find the right person to partner with, and that was Claire. Her program focused way more on the process of the change as opposed to simply sharing a bunch of information about what a person should be doing. And her program was set-up so that the responsibility of doing the work lied completely with the client, which went a long way towards rebuilding my self-efficacy in doing Hard Things.

While I look back and see a lot of things I could have done differently the last several years, the one single thing I’m most proud of is that I didn’t give up, and that I found a health care provider who didn’t give up on me either. This summer, I started to think I might not recover, that this crap was the new normal. Which honestly was depressing as fuck. Signing up to work with Claire really felt like a last-ditch effort. A hail mary. The crazy thing is, it worked. The same relentlessness and tenacity that served me so well in running, and in my career once upon a time, turned out to be the most important characteristic that I carried into this mess. We just got back from Breckenridge where I skied for the first time in a few years. When I was sick, just putting on all of the gear seemed like SO MUCH WORK, not to mention the actual skiing part. But this year I skied, several days even. On two of those days, I skied for a few hours and then went for a run or a hike. At 10,000ft. A few months ago, none of that would have happened. And I came home from that vacation, not in a fatigue hole like normal, but ready to hop back into regular life, which ended up including a big change to my diet. It’s like my world has been in black-and-white for four years, and someone suddenly flipped the color switch. Everything looks so bright and vibrant. And I have hope, so much hope for the future. I still don’t know what role running will play in this new normal, or if I get to race marathons – including Boston, again. I’ve decided it really doesn’t matter. I still love to run, and running 25-30 miles/week while barely half of my old “normal” mileage, feels like a wonderful miracle. The racing question will answer itself in due time. And I can wait.

Autoimmunity, Reflection, Running, Transformation, Uncategorized

Chronic Illness: A Reconciling

2 Comments

It was Thursday evening, November 15th. I was tired. REALLY tired. As in, I can’t get myself off the couch or even read a book tired. Again. M had been gone for nearly three weeks, at training for a new airplane. And despite having the best week of training since at least April the week prior, I hadn’t ran a step in a five days and counting. But I wasn’t frustrated, mad, or disappointed. Of course I was tired.

It’s been three years since the flare of Hashimoto’s thyroiditis really ramped up and laid me flat for the first time. Four years since it started percolating in the background. During that time, it’s only been in the last 17 months that I’ve fully committed to regaining health and wellbeing. The first few years consisted of a heavy dose of denial with a side of stubbornness and a shot of insolence. Because I lived with Hashi’s for so long without any of the “normal” complications (I was initially diagnosed in 2000 at the age of 25), I assumed I was different, special even. I trained harder and at a higher volume than medical professionals said I could, I didn’t follow a paleo diet or the more restrictive Autoimmune Protocol. In fact, I was vegetarian for nearly fifteen years, which flew in the face of known best practice (in my defense, none of this I knew for the first ten years). I held stressful a job, and trained hard even while giving plenty of attention to my career. It wasn’t unusual for me to get up at 4-4:30am and run 10-12 miles before work. I didn’t consider the pace I kept to be remarkable or unusual, most of my runner-friends did the same, many raising a family on top of it. M and I traveled, going on vacations where we hiked or skied the days away. I thoroughly enjoyed my life and how I spent my time.

When I first started to get sick, I didn’t realize what was happening. I thought if I just waited it out, it would resolve itself on its own. Initially, signs of the flare only showed up in training. My exercise tolerance was down, my weight started to creep up despite few changes to diet or training volume. I thought I was just getting “old” as this was about the time I turned 40. And recognizing that I’ve been running since I was 11, I expected my performances to plateau sooner than some of my friends who didn’t begin training until later in life. I could explain it all away. My job was stressful, but I didn’t consider this to be the source of the problem, even though intellectually  I knew the dangers of chronic stress. After six months, I went to see a Naturopath in Fort Collins who worked with athletes. My local endocrinologist was terrible and I knew she’d be no help. He uncovered some nutritional deficiencies and saw some warning signs in regards to the Hashi’s, but being a Naturopath couldn’t do anything about it. Looking back, this is the moment, in late 2014, when I should have found a functional medicine MD. I don’t know how much of what followed could have been prevented, but with the right medical care I’m guessing a fair amount of it. I worked with a dietitian to address the nutritional deficiencies, which included adding meat back into my diet (something I still haven’t fully reconciled, four years later), and talked to my endocrinologist back home in Illinois about the Hashi’s. He didn’t see anything that concerned him, he assured me I was fine. I trusted him.

Throughout 2015, things got much worse. I’d run my last marathon in April of that year, which coincidentally was also my last Boston. I ran well through the summer, but my dad getting diagnosed that August coupled with an even more stressful new job seemed to be my undoing. By October of that year, my weight was as high as it’d ever been and I was barely running. My endocrinologist continued to insist I was fine – the 20-25 lb weight gain was not a red flag to him, neither was my nearly complete intolerance to exercise. Late 2015 is when I finally found a few doc. I’d researched Hashi’s extensively by now, and knew what I needed. Using the website for the Institute of Functional Medicine, I found Dr. Sarah Zielsdorf. I saw her for the first time in January 2016. We talked about chronic stress and diet, but I still underestimated the work I needed to do to get well. I didn’t make meaningful change to my diet, still riding the wave of cockiness born from 15 years of doing what I wanted while living with this condition. I worked part-time from Oct. 2015-Oct 2016 – this was my “sacrifice” – and in seeing some recovery, assumed I was out of the woods. My weight was still high, my training still a third of what it used to be. Turns out, I was still standing in the middle of the forest, not remotely close to finding my way out. I took a full-time job at the local health department in Nov. 2016 that kicked off the final march to rock bottom.

In the eight months I worked at the health department, I came down with five colds, had the stomach flu for the first time in over a decade, had more asthma flares than the entirety of my previous 41 years on the planet, and gained an additional five pounds, just for good measure. My training came to a complete halt that spring. I’d applied to Wilder a week into my new job, while still riding the wave of progress I made in 2016. I learned I’d been accepted before Christmas that year, and by the time I arrived at Caldera in late May 2017, I was a sick as I’d ever been. While I would give about anything to go back and attend that retreat healthy and fit, meeting those women for that weekend in the woods at precisely the moment I did gave me the courage to make the radical sacrifices needed to get well. In them, I could see how sick I was. How I could barely complete the workouts, how much I missed being able to use my body in sport. I’d go home from the retreat and give notice at my job, committing to myself to take as much time as needed to get well.

It would take another year and the onset of some fairly disruptive digestive issues for me to finally tackle my diet, but in doing so, I’ve found what I believe the last piece of the puzzle. I’m still frustrated with myself, that it took this long for me to finally address my diet, but stubbornness is a hard drug to quit. My weight fluctuated over the last year, consistently hovering 15-25 lbs above my former training weight, with another high point coming this past September. Since I’ve been addressing nutrition, I’ve lost about 10 lbs and started training again. By early November progress was coming quick, quicker than it has in some time, before fatigue forced some time off mid-month.

Addressing the digestive issues brought forth an unexpected benefit, a full reconciling of how life has changed with this flare. Somehow in recognizing that my body won’t tolerate certain foods as it has in the past, it allowed me to make peace with other things that were altered by this flare. I acknowledge that my body will likely never tolerate the stress levels it did before, which dramatically shifted how I think about my career, and role it plays in my life. In October, I took a part-time job as the education coordinator at the local arts center, working with a friend I made through rotary when we lived here the first time. The flexible schedule and reduced hours (~20 hrs/week compared to 40+) fit perfectly with where I’m at right now, as does my lack of responsibility when compared to my previous work. I’m still considering going back to school, having been accepted to an online Masters program that starts in January. Working part-time and with less stress leaves physical and mental energy for me to devote to other areas of my life such as training and traveling. During the flare, work got most of my focus. It was a choice I made, but not consciously. It took taking a break from my career to really sort through how I wanted to divvy up my much smaller pie. We’re going to Breckenridge in January, and I expect to have the energy to ski for the first time in a few years.

Lastly, I acknowledge that getting over-tired is part of my life now. I can’t just power through being over-scheduled as I did pre-flare. I can’t train through fatigue as I did pre-flare. De-programming YEARS of “just endure and persevere” mentality, which running and training only reinforced, has been very, very hard. But I’ve done it. Which is how I found myself couch-bound last week, without much disappointment or animosity. Of course I was tired. We traveled to see three concerts in October. M was gone for three weeks in a row, highly unusual for him outside of deployments, leaving me to get up with our early-rising pup while I was already short on sleep. I started a new job. Lots of good stuff, but lots of good stuff that made me tired. So I took a week off of running. A week off, immediately following the week where I had a breakthrough with training. A recognition that it would be a big set back, as I don’t have enough training under my belt to just jump back in after a week away. But by eating a nutritious, anti-inflammatory diet, and resting as much as I could, I knew that I was doing what I needed to do to ensure the fatigue resolved itself as quickly as it could. And that I’d be ready to resume training when it passed.

I still don’t know what all of this means for racing, if I’ll ever be able to train for and race marathons again. I don’t know if I’ll be able to work full-time in the future, at a job with a nice office and fancy title again. I don’t know if I care. My pie might have permanently shrunk itself during all of this. If it did, I can live with that. I have a lot of pride for what I accomplished professionally and through running while I was healthy. I never thought I’d be fast enough to run Boston five years in a row, or that I’d be a dean. But those accomplishments don’t carry as much weight as they used to. They didn’t make me a better person, or more valuable to society. I’m certain I over-valued them at the time. I appreciate the perspective I’ve gained while being sick, the clarity it fostered. The recalibration of priorities. I’ve been forced to make hard choices about how I spend my time, as doing it all is literally not an option anymore. I’m young enough that I hopefully still have quite a bit of time on this earth. It’s safe to say that the next 20 years will look radically different than the previous 20. And while I wouldn’t have chosen any of this, and I occasionally do get very angry about it all, I’m curious and invigorated by this knowing.

“Illness is the night side of life, a more onerous citizenship. Everyone who is born holds dual citizenship, in the kingdom of the well and in the kingdom of the sick. Although we all prefer to use the good passport, sooner or later each of us is obliged, at least for a spell, to identify ourselves as citizens of that other place.” ~ Susan Sontag

Politics, Reflection, Uncategorized

I Am A Democrat

2 Comments

I’m embarrassed to admit that until five years ago or so, I considered myself rather apolitical. I voted, tried to stay informed of issues in my community, but I didn’t feel a connection or passion for our government, good or bad. I wasn’t raised in an overly political family, I remember my parents voting when I was younger, but we didn’t discuss politics around the dinner table. Nor did we have cable, so while they regularly watched the nightly news, it wasn’t something we watched as a family. While they were actively involved with the local PTA during a teacher strike including hosting gatherings at our home, that’s about the only overtly political act I recall from my childhood. As an adult, I expect that the apathy or disconnect is rooted in privilege, as I am white, middle-class, married to a dude, and have always had access to the healthcare I need. Sure my family didn’t have a lot of money growing up, and M and I were quite poor early in our marriage, but I’ve had the means with which to make stuff happen for myself, which is also a form of privilege. So let me say that up front…I’ve been inordinately lucky in a multitude of ways and I haven’t been as active and engaged in our political processes as I should have been. But in 2013, that all changed.

We lived in Colorado and I worked for the local hospital. I led a public health program, supervising three different coalitions focused on reducing the incidence of chronic disease through healthy eating and active living. None of these coalitions focused on educating the public, all three were focused on environmental, policy and systems change, which meant that rather than tell people to eat more fruits and vegetables for example, we worked with the city government and community partners to ensure that all residents, but most especially those that were disadvantaged, had access to fresh, affordable, healthy foods. One of those three coalitions worked specifically in eight low-income neighborhoods in Fort Collins, neighborhoods that were primarily mobile home parks inhabited by Hispanic residents who were undocumented. It was my first time working hands-on with this community and even though they spoke very little English and I spoke even less Spanish, they taught me more about what’s wrong with our immigration system than any class I could’ve taken. I’ll never forget working with my colleague who coordinated this coalition to help a family who’s home became uninhabitable after the floods in Sept. 2013. The family had just brought home a newborn, and the weather significantly damaged their house. The family was afraid to ask for help, as being undocumented left them extremely vulnerable. E, my colleague, was determined to help. He worked his connections, I helped him behind the scenes. Through Colorado State University, he was able to secure someone who helped repair the family’s home, fixing the roof and windows, making it safe for the family to reside there once again. The family had nowhere else to go, they would have lived in that dangerous and inadequate shelter if we hadn’t stepped in. It put a human face on the immigration debate, and the esoteric conversations in the news suddenly had a face. All of the residents I met through my work with that particular coalition were kind, generous, hard-working folks who just wanted to provide a safe, stable home for their families. Something we all want. Most left incredibly dangerous situations to come here, and I genuinely believe that our community was better for having them be a part of it.

As part of that work with those three coalitions, I also was engaged with affordable housing initiatives, as over-priced rent/mortgages was a key challenge in Fort Collins. I learned about urban renewal and redlining, how our government effectively stole the homes of our African-American neighbors under the guise of “development” or “progress”. As these neighborhoods were cleared to make room for interstates or arenas, those residents often couldn’t purchase homes in other parts of town, most of the time because white residents didn’t want them there. Many of those folks went from being homeowners, living in what we now would call a mixed-use neighborhood with residents of multiple income levels, shops, churches, and other small businesses, to living in projects where their families stayed for decades. Learning how our government had harmed these communities, harmed these residents, was transformative. Especially when you consider how much homeownership can be a mechanism for building wealth. And how many residents were cut out of this mechanism deliberately by their own government. Racist lending policies by banks only contributed to this problem. This article from Roanoke, VA is a good starting point if urban renewal is an unfamiliar concept.  Deepening my understanding of how our government actively harmed and dismantled entire neighborhoods, and how racist community development policies wiped out the wealth of African-Americans gave me a much different perspective on the “pull yourself up by your bootstraps” mentality I hear so often from Republicans. It’s hard to pull yourself up when your government took your boots.

Also while working with these coalitions, I got acquainted with the concept of health equity, or rather health inequity, as when considering how low income residents are disadvantaged by the lack of adequate health insurance for example. Even though I spent considerable time working in health care, and had even sat across from patients who were making hard decisions about which medications to take and how to put food on the table, it was in stepping back from the issue that I better understood how our current medical/healthcare system actually harms people. This was also in the early days of the Affordable Care Act and many people in public health and healthcare were energized by some of the provisions included within it. Getting more people insured benefited everyone, as not only would the newly insured benefit from increased access to care, but this would also reduce the amount of uncompensated care provided by hospitals. The birth control mandate meant that every woman, no matter where she worked, would have access to the prescriptions she needed. Community benefit meant that hospitals would be responsible for the health of the entire community, not just the patients that walked through their doors. “Prevention” became more than a buzzword, as many more organizations had an investment in keeping people healthy versus profiting from illness. For the first time, we had real, tangible tools with which to address health inequities and the collectively we really started moving the needle. The Affordable Care Act and my work with disadvantaged communities also forced me to think through my own personal thoughts about access to healthcare. I realized that my personal belief is that healthcare is a right that should be afforded to everyone. No person living in this country should go bankrupt because of a diagnosis, or not be able to take medications prescribed to them by their physician because they can’t afford them. People should be able to walk through the doors of any hospital and receive treatment, the same treatment regardless of their station in life. Currently, we have tremendous disparities in health, particularly along racial and income lines. Disparities such as residents living on the same road ten miles apart having life expectancies that differ by 15 years. Disparities such as African-American women having low-birth-weight babies at exponentially higher rates than white women, even when controlled for education and income. I personally believe the government has a responsibility to actively resolve these disparities.

The health equity rabbit hole led to an environmental one, as many lower income folks live in areas with poor air and water quality, they are the ones who live next to toxic waste sites. For example, living in an area with chronically poor air quality leads to higher incidences of respiratory infections and chronic lung conditions such as asthma. I do think the government has a responsibility to understand environmental risks and to protect residents from harm. When residents live next to polluting factories, and the government loosens regulations on those factories, the government is contributing to the harm of its citizens. And this is setting aside how these same residents being uninsured or underinsured when it comes to healthcare further exacerbates any of these conditions. In addition, I think public lands are vitally important, as is protecting sacred Native American sites and other areas of cultural significance. Considering the great harm white settlers inflicted on Native Americans, the lands that were stolen from them, the genocide that occured, the very least we can do now is honor and protect the sacred lands. I don’t think a company’s desire to mine resources from public lands supersedes the public’s interest in those lands. The earth is not a renewable resource. There is plenty of research that tells us climate change is real, that we are headed towards a point-of-no-return when it comes to the health of our planet. Republican legislators, including those governing states that stand to be directly harmed by rising seas, ban the use of the term “climate change”, prevent research, dismantle committees. Only one political party takes this threat seriously and is willing to take any steps to address it.

More recently, I’ve learned that in certain states it’s still within the law to fire someone from their job if they are gay. The Civil Rights Act of 1964 has never been amended to include gender identity and sexual orientation, despite many years of efforts. The Justice Department under the Trump Administration has rolled back previous more inclusive rulings by the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission, stating that they were legally meritless. At the state level, protections vary widely from some states like mine (Illinois) outright prohibiting discrimination based on sexual orientation or gender identity, to two states going so far as to prevent local governments from establishing such nondiscrimination laws (Arkansas and Tennessee). Instituting protections at the federal level would ensure that all LGBT citizens are protected from employment discrimination, no matter where they reside.

Relatedly, I learned about how the Reagan administration not only didn’t assist with the AIDS epidemic as soon as it was clear that something was happening, but by actively not getting involved, thousands and thousands more people died. We were four years into the epidemic before the president even said the word aloud in public. Recently, I watched as a baker in Colorado went to court, repeatedly, to get permission and approval to discriminate against his customers. No, I genuinely don’t care what anyone’s religious beliefs say about gay marriage. Either a baker bakes wedding cakes or they don’t. This is no different than the soda fountains in the fifties that wouldn’t serve black people. Many of those business owners also tried to hide behind religion while they discriminated against their neighbors. A business either serves everyone soda or they serve no one soda. That many republicans went to bat for this baker is horrifying. This is not a government that is of, for, and by the people. More seriously than a baker not baking cakes, there are tremendous health disparities that accompany being transgender in particular. People who are trans are routinely denied healthcare, are discriminated against when receiving care, and most crushingly, commit suicide at much higher rates than the rest of the population. A government that mocks this community by making outrageous “bathroom laws” contributes to the pain endured.

With regards to gun violence, only one political party is even willing to discuss or consider policy solutions to this uniquely American problem. Republican politicians have allowed themselves to be held hostage by the NRA and republican citizens have not applied enough pressure to change this. Most Americans are in favor of public policy changes to address gun violence, but because of republican legislators, the CDC can’t even study it. So any policy changes we discuss aren’t rooted in research or best practice. Although at this point, I’m personally in favor of doing something, anything to prevent more kiddos from dying at school or more women being shot by their romantic partners. But I would love to see the CDC be able to address this as they do most any other public health problem, with research and the identification of best practices.

Lastly, abortion. To start, no one is pro-abortion. Literally no one. I saw a headline this morning in a St. Louis paper that mentioned “Abortion Activists”. This term is false. Abortion activists do not exist. Pro-choice activists do, and the language is important. Fundamentally, I believe a woman should have full and complete autonomy over her body, and this includes when and if to have a family. But particularly in this country, in this moment in time, this is even more critical. Presently, fatherhood in our society is optional. A man can get a women pregnant tomorrow and walk out the door, never to be seen again. The legal mechanisms for women to get child support are often beyond the means of low-income women, and that’s even if the father would or could pay. The state of our health care system is such that a woman may not be able afford to have a child, or to raise the child. She might have a job where she can’t get the time off to go to doctor appointments or for the delivery of the baby. She might not have maternity leave. In many communities, affordable childcare for infants and toddlers simply doesn’t exist. Programs such as SNAP, programs that help ensure families have enough food to eat, are constantly under attack from Republicans. How we can’t all agree that everyone has a right to food on the table is beyond me. But the social supports that women of all income levels need to raise a family in this country don’t exist, so for many single women, and even some married women, having a family is financially ruinous, if not impossible. As for anyone’s personal religious beliefs about abortion, those have no place in public policy. And if someone opposes abortion on religious grounds, and is also opposed to Planned Parenthood and the Affordable Care Act, then in addition to being anti-abortion, they are also anti-women. Both Planned Parenthood and the ACA provide women with low-cost, effective birth control, which are vital in reducing unplanned pregnancies. Research proves that providing low-income women with free, reliable birth control (such as an IUD) dramatically reduces the incidence of unplanned pregnancies, for very little money. Republican legislators routinely defund these programs, while actively working to limit access to abortion services. And I won’t even get started about the ridiculousness of a company such as Hobby Lobby having “religious beliefs” they can use to deny women healthcare. The abortion debate really isn’t about abortion, it’s about family planning. When women have access to the health care they need, unplanned pregnancies go way down. We can reduce abortions without making it illegal. But when I see people railing against abortion, and railing against Planned Parenthood, I know their concern isn’t for women. And genuinely, I can’t express how frustrating it is to have large groups of old white men in our government making these decisions. Men who will never be impacted by these policies. Men who use their religion to hide their racism, misogyny and bigotry. I genuinely believe that when we have a government that more fully reflects our country, that same government will become more compassionate and just.

There are a lot of other reasons, but these are the big ones, on why I now call myself a democrat. I’m invested in electing more legislators who believe that healthcare is a right; who want to create a more just and compassionate immigration system – including a pathway for those residents who are here now and are good citizens to stay; who understand our government’s racist past and are willing to work to rectify the damage that’s been done; who understand that climate change is real and will advocate for policies that reduce the human impact on the planet; who believe that being lesbian, gay, bisexual, or transgender is being part of a protected class – meaning that you can’t be fired from your job due to these things or denied healthcare, and believe that marriage is for everyone; who support researching gun violence and support developing policy solutions to address it; who support a woman’s right to choose and who acknowledge that the government has no place in a woman’s healthcare or family planning beyond ensuring access to equitable care. I’ve spent the last year volunteering with my girlfriend’s campaign for the state house and have three yard signs in my front lawn for the very first time. I expect that this is the start of deeper engagement with the political system. In the midst of a year that’s been very challenging for a lot of reasons, knowing that I’m actively helping to get more democrats, and especially women who are democrats, elected, has provided much peace of mind. I’m no longer sitting on the sidelines of this democratic republic. I am late to the party, but I’m finally here.

Autoimmunity, Reflection, Uncategorized

Mind the Gap

A few weeks ago I was waiting in the checkout lane at the grocery. Wearing one of my Boston Marathon shirts, the person ahead of me struck up a conversation. Asked me if I was a runner, if I’ve run the race. Yes I’m a runner, yes I’ve run the race, no I’m not running it next year. They asked what I was training for now and my response was nothing. I explained that I just run to run these days, without mentioning that four years of health issues have completely derailed any hope of significant racing for the foreseeable future. I guarantee that is not the conversation the stranger wanted to have when they decided to kill time waiting in line by talking to me. But I could tell they were flummoxed by the running-without-a-goal thing, which suggested that they have a very goal-oriented runner in their life (this fella told me he wasn’t a runner himself). It got me thinking once again about how different of a space it is to do something just for the sake of doing the thing, as opposed to as a means to an end.

Then last week, I had lunch with a former colleague. A delightful young woman who is going through a bit of a rough patch. Throughout the course of our conversation, it became clear to me that this path that I’m on was always going to be my path. The circumstances at my former employer are such that I wouldn’t have been there long-term, even if my health hadn’t taken another shit. When I left that job, I felt quite strongly that I was just holding the seat until this young woman was ready. It felt like the universe had a plan, but until last week I felt like that plan was for her not necessarily for me. That I was mostly a character in her story. Not considering that my time there was meant to be short because of my own plan, because of what was meant for me. Throughout our long conversation I became acutely aware of how we (society) think of everything backwards. If we do it “right”, we go through school, graduate, get a job, climb the career ladder, work for 30-40 years, retire (if we’re lucky), die. We’re also supposed to get married and have a family in there somewhere. Success = college degree(s), job, house, family, retirement. We get a little flexibility on the order, but there are boxes to check.

When my autoimmune condition first went off the rails, my husband, healthcare provider, and others encouraged me to take time away from work. Not just a week or two, but a real break. After all, it was work stress that started all of it so the suggestion wasn’t unreasonable. We still lived in Colorado at the time, and having a bunch of free time in what was still a fairly new community, with a hubs who’s gone a lot, didn’t sound that exciting. And I’ve always enjoyed working and gotten considerable satisfaction from it. I’ve been extremely fortunate to do work that matters greatly to me and in some way contributes to the common good. I wasn’t ready to let that go. Besides, we don’t have kids. If I’m not home raising a family, then I need to be at work “doing something” with myself. I took in all of the messages from society, internalizing them, believing that if I didn’t have business cards with some title after my name, that I had little to contribute. That I was of little value. Even though I envied people whose lives weren’t confined by the standard 9-5. People who through a combination of sacrifice, planning, and a bit of luck, had the nerve to craft lives that authentically reflected their own interests and priorities. People who said f-u to the status quo and had the chutzpah to create something different.

So when things finally got bad enough a few years later, in late spring 2017, I had a bit of an existential crisis when it became clear that time away from work was necessary. I really, really didn’t want to answer the questions of who I was without work. What I would become without the structure and focus a career provides. A big part of me thought I’d take the time to get my health squared and pick up where I left off. A tiny, unspoken corner of my brain dared me to use the time to redirect, to take the opportunity to create something that more fully mirrors my values and priorities. Not to mention that I needed to accept the reality that my body wasn’t likely to endure the levels of stress that it used to…going back to the status quo probably wouldn’t be an option. The longer I was away from work, the more I deprogrammed and re-examined what I believed about myself and what it meant to live a good, meaningful life.

Going back to school became the vehicle for the redirect. My compromise in wanting to continue my career, but realizing that I wanted more options. I spent much of the last 14 months away from work thinking and planning for what’s next. Even with running, I still had one eye towards getting back to racing, even though I do love training just for the sake of training. Even while I worked hard to be present and not worry about the future, I was still planning for the future, wondering when I could get on with it.

It was at lunch with my former colleague last week that it hit me. This is “it”. There is nothing to “get on with”. Even though I have worked hard to be present this last year, my mind still naturally goes to what’s next. It’s not simply the messages society sends, some of us are hardwired to be goal-oriented. I am one of those people. So even while I’m trying to be fully here, fully present, part of me is still peeking around the corner wondering what’s next. When can I get back to “real” training? When am I healthy enough to go back to work? If I don’t stop wondering about what’s next, am I missing the magic of today? The magic of this gap that I’m in? What if in my urgency to “get on with life”, I don’t sit still long enough to marinate in this experience, in this moment? What opportunities or idea will present themselves if I patiently sit still, because I patiently sit still?

I missed a race this weekend. Most every year, I meet up with some of my Boston Marathon friends to run the Reach the Beach relay in New Hampshire. I had to back out this year due to digestive issues interrupting my training. (Yes, these digestive issues are related to everything else.) As disappointed as I was, it was just one more disappointment in a long line of disappointments, so whatever. But it did motivate me to finally tackle fixing my diet once-and-for-all, as food has been a contributing factor to all of my woes these last few years. (There’s a considerable body of research that discusses the connection between gut health and autoimmunity, this is a good primer.) I’m working with a new dietitian and I might write more about that later, but this is not about that. I thought that finally resolving my diet issues was to be the “win” from missing the race. But then my little sister, who was due to deliver her baby boy on Mon. Sept. 17, had him a few days early, on Wed. Sept. 12. The same day I would’ve flown to Boston to meet my friends. Because I missed the race, I was home to meet my new little nephew on Thursday. I was home to spend a few hours with them on Saturday, the day they came home from the hospital.

The last 14 months have essentially been one big gap for me, one big pause. While I have been able to continue running, the volume is much, much lower than normal for me, and racing has not been a priority. There is no point to it beyond general fitness. My career is on indefinite hold. While it’s taken me most of that time to settle into the pause, to lean in to the uncertainty, I’m happy it’s finally happening. I’m grateful that I didn’t stumble upon something else that rushed the conclusion to this time. It seems a bit ridiculous that it took over a year for me to relax into it, but considering that I’m mildly anxious by nature and am far more comfortable in motion, it makes sense. So I’m going to spend the next few months working on holding still. Rather than minding the gap, I’m going to stand in it, marinate in it. I’m going to resist the urge to metaphorically move just for the sake of movement. I’m going to do the hard work of navigating the last remaining lifestyle changes to fully reclaim my health and well-being. And I’m going to continue asking myself what is valuable and worthwhile, challenging my own beliefs and asking myself difficult “whys”. Whatever comes next, whatever I reach for or say “yes” to, needs to be a loud, whole-hearted yes. Not just a “maybe”, not just a “should”.  Looking back, I think “should” ruled my 20s and 30s. YES – a yes in all caps – is going to be my 40s. YES to work that matters and speaks to my soul…and doesn’t vampire my health in the process. And YES to training, races, and activities – hiking, skiing, snowshoeing – that invigorate and motivate me. And this gap, this pause is the path to YES.  It’s not the path I would have chosen or selected, but here we are. I’d best make the most of it.

Messenger
by Mary Oliver

My work is loving the world.
Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird—
equal seekers of sweetness.
Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.
Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?
Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me
keep my mind on what matters,
which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be
astonished.
The phoebe, the delphinium.
The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.
Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart
and these body-clothes,
a mouth with which to give shouts of joy
to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,
telling them all, over and over, how it is
that we live forever.

Reflection, Uncategorized

An Unexpected Detour

I wasn’t going to write about this. I really, really wasn’t. I still don’t want to write about this, but the words are vibrating inside me, retaining all of their power while they knock around inside my head. Putting them here somehow renders them powerless, a process I won’t pretend to understand. In an attempt to avoid writing this, I did some drawing this afternoon. I don’t draw. It didn’t help. So seeing as how I want nothing more than to be released from the grasp of these words, I will put them here.

As I wrote about a few weeks ago, I was to start grad school at the end of August. Going back for a second masters degree 18 years after completing my first. I was nervous but excited. After 14 months of sitting on the sidelines while getting my health issues straightened out, I felt ready to get back out in the world. I relished the opportunity to learn some new stuff and take my career in a different direction. I expected to feel uncomfortable and out-of-sorts the first week, as the “how” of learning has changed dramatically since I last took classes, and there’s no getting around the age difference between me and most of my fellow students. I knew I’d feel itchy and uncomfortable, my task would be to ensure it didn’t snowball. I felt prepared to keep my brain on task, and to not think too much.

Orientation went fine. I met a few incoming students, learned how navigate the library’s website. Observed a few of the students freaking out, listened to several of the faculty tell us how to be good scholars. First day of class arrives and I’m nervous. Nervous is fine, nervous is normal. It felt weird to be on campus, but after thinking about it for months, it was good to finally be “doing the thing”. I took each day as it came, careful not to think too far down the road, or to worry about things I didn’t need to worry about yet. At 42, I’m intimately aware of my own landmines, and felt I’d done a solid job of covering the bases. I thoroughly enjoyed being “Erin’s sister”, as being the oldest I didn’t get to be someone’s sister going through school. As each day wore on though, I found myself ignoring a growing sense of dread. I told myself it was nothing, it was simply insecurity and fear. My professors were kind, engaging academics. My classmates curious and inquisitive. WHY AM I UNCOMFORTABLE?

On Friday afternoon of the first week of classes, I sat down at my computer to get started on assignments for the second week. Already assigned a crap-ton of reading, I also had two papers to write. I opened my computer to see an email from one of my professors with an update for Tuesday’s class. For some reason, it cracks me wide open. With a rush, all that I’d been hiding from throughout the week came to the surface. I spent a good ninety minutes feeling like I was losing my mind. For someone who is rather even-keeled and not prone to dramatic displays of emotion, it felt like someone else had taken over my body. I was angry, sad, frustrated and embarrassed. I realized that I was so focused on getting through the week, that I’d missed some pretty big signals my head was trying to send me. In all of my efforts to “be present”, I never once glanced up and asked myself how it was going. If I had, Friday afternoon likely wouldn’t have happened. I was so invested in making this happen, that I never once considered the possibility that it might not be a good fit. So when the whisper that I ignored all week long finally became a roar on Friday afternoon, it knocked me on my ass. I have a horrible habit of overthinking everything, but the advantage of it is that I’m rarely surprised. Not much happens that I haven’t already thought about, already considered. But I didn’t do that this time. I didn’t let myself consider the hundred directions this could go. So when confronted with thoughts that I don’t want, thoughts that don’t fit in with how I constructed this, I’m paralyzed.

I spent most of that weekend zoned out on the couch watching terrible TV. (Side note – I recently read a book that broke my habit of watching tasteless reality shows on Bravo, but seeing as how I still don’t enjoy getting sucked into a scripted series, I moved on to some paranormal stuff on the Travel Channel. So now rather than chuckling at rich people being ridiculous, I go to bed each night hoping my house isn’t infested with demons. Whether or not this is progress is debatable.) The main goal being to quiet the noise in my head enough to get to the root of what going. Seeing as how I’m not yet fit enough to go out for a 15-20 mile run, which used to be the best way of silencing the noise, for now I settle for terrible TV. Many wasted hours later, I realize that the graduate program isn’t a good fit for me. In all of my efforts to “be present and not think too much”, I missed some red flags. I accidentally severed the connection between my intuition and my thinking brain. Left with no other way to get my attention, my intuition screamed loud enough it caused a physical reaction.

So on the Monday of the second week of classes, I withdrew. I felt terrible about it, realizing I took a spot from someone else, and realizing that something I’d been REALLY looking forward to wasn’t going to happen. I knew that withdrawing was without a doubt the right decision, but I still felt a loss. I liked my fellow students, I liked my professors. I would’ve enjoyed getting to know these people better. And even though I only attended one week of classes, I had quite a bit of reading to do that first week. I enjoyed what I was learning. After the dust settled, I realized that I was on the right path, I just had the wrong program. In earnest, I began researching online programs. I never considered that I might be better off in an online program, as I’ve always been someone who really enjoyed being in the classroom. And with my sister having recently completed this same program, it seemed natural that with this being a shared interest, that I would enjoy it too.

I’m grateful for my intuition screaming loud enough to get my attention, as uncomfortable as it was. Even though I’m in my 40s, this experience taught me that I need to trust myself more. That when I’m really uncomfortable, something is up. I think for someone like me, who’s just generally uncomfortable in new situations, even when they are wonderful situations, it can be hard to distinguish between the two. What’s good uncomfortable and what’s bad uncomfortable? But this little episode taught me the dangers of disconnecting from one’s self. Fortunately, the remedy in this situation was pretty simple. Withdrawing from the program this early in the semester comes with no penalties, financial or otherwise. Had I waited longer, that certainly wouldn’t have been the case. Not to mention, the consequences to my mental and physical health would have likely been significant. And I can still go back to school, get a second masters. Only the “how” will be different than I envisioned.

Oh, and I’m going back to making numerous contingency plans. I will gleefully plan for every possibility, the hundred different ways it could go. I’m already in the process of applying to one program, with two others on the back-burner. I’ve even got my eye open for interesting work. I’m reminded that happiness in life doesn’t come from walking away from who we are, it comes when we most embody our truest selves.

It is not worth the while to let our imperfections disturb us always. ~Henry David Thoreau

Autoimmunity, Reflection

The Next Chapter

2 Comments

When I left work last June in a last-ditch attempt to get my health back on track, I didn’t give much thought to what would come next. I had no idea how long I’d be away or if what had interested me in the past would continue to hold my attention in the future. I suspected that the break was setting me up for something completely different, but also thought that when I started to feel better I’d probably just pick back up where I left off. After all, I’ve had a pretty successful career to this point, with the ability to do work I cared about and work I’m proud of.

Now that a little more than a year has passed, I’ve sat still long enough for the dust to settle and I’ve been quite surprised at what’s bubbled up. With an assist from the book Designing Your Life, I’m developing a better understanding of not so much what I want to do, but how I want it to look. After spending the past 15+ years in leadership positions, being in charge doesn’t hold the same significance as it used to. Being responsible for other people’s work and professional well-being is something I’ve always taken very seriously, but I’m unsure of what role it will play moving forward. I’d like to focus on my own work and my own interests for a while. And I think I’d enjoy going to work without concern for what everyone else is doing, or not doing as is sometimes the case.

Last winter, I applied to a graduate program in communication at the local university (Illinois State). Communication has played a prominent role in my work to-date, both as a leader and as a public health professional who collaborated with both stakeholders and community members. It’s not something I’ve had formal training in, but because I’ve worked for organizations with limited resources, I’ve often had to find my own way in this arena, leading to a considerable amount of informal research and way-finding. And with a sister who has a successful communications career and who recently completed this same graduate program (side note – while also working and starting a family, bad assery at its finest), I thought that if I was going to take a left turn in my work life, this might be a natural area to explore. I applied in January not knowing if I’d get accepted or if I’d actually pursue it if I did. I still felt like crap most of the time and was intimidated by the thought of starting anew.

Fast forward to late spring, I’ve been accepted to the program and decide to enroll, even though the thought of it is a bit terrifying. I’ve never been one to get hung up on age, but suddenly 42 feels very, very ancient when I consider how much technology has changed how we learn in the 18 years since completing my first master’s degree. We were just getting into email back then, and being able to request journal articles from the library from the comfort of my apartment was revolutionary. Earlier this week, I texted my sister to see if buying books at the bookstore was still a thing. But fear is a terrible reason to not do something, so I’m moving forward and trying not to overthink it (THIS IS NEARLY IMPOSSIBLE). I’m energized by the the opportunity to learn and excited about new opportunities. I know there will probably be a few other students like me, “old people” who are starting a second act or coming back to the workforce after time away.

I have orientation next Saturday and classes start on the 20th. This is the last official week of my sabbatical.  With any luck, I’ll finish the program in May 2020 – 20 years since completing my first MS (I love this symmetry) – and be well on my way to a new career. Because my recovery is still quite tenuous, I’m “just” going to school for this year. I worked through both undergrad and grad school the first go-around, so this will be my first time focusing exclusively on being a student. It feels luxurious if I’m honest, the time and space to sit still and learn.

While this year would’ve been much more enjoyable had I been in good health for all of it, I feel extremely fortunate to have been able to take this time. I needed it for my health, but now that I’m on the other side of it, I can see that my head needed it too. I feel mentally invigorated and refocused. Brain fog was one of the earliest symptoms of this flare, so work – which had often been a source of much joy and satisfaction – had become one area where I was constantly forced to acknowledge how much my health was impacting my life. Unfortunately running was the other. Two things that I loved, and that facilitated much personal fulfillment, became a constant reminder of what had changed, what I’d lost. Running continues to be a struggle, but with classes starting soon at least I get to start using my better-functioning brain again. Feels like progress, as a former administrator used to say.

I wish our society created more opportunities for grown-ups to take a break, to take a sabbatical. Certain professions provide this I realize, but most don’t. I wonder how much more fulfilled and productive we’d be if we were able to take a time out when we needed it. For whatever reason. A time out that didn’t come with the threat of career uncertainty or financial ruin. Ideally, I would’ve been able to take this time to recover my health and gone back to my job. Thankfully, my husband has a good job and we’ve been financially prudent, so when everything came to a head I was able to step away. Most people don’t have this option. Not even for time off after a child is born. This could be a whole other post entirely, but suffice it to say that we must do better.

And since I mentioned it above, a brief update on running…which is basically a non-update. After some flashes of my old self earlier this spring, I hit a new snag a few weeks ago in the form of some significant digestive issues. I believe they are related to everything else, as for most people autoimmunity begins and ends in the gut. I’m taking some time away from running while I tweak my diet in hopes of bringing peace-and-harmony to my digestive system. Unfortunately this means I’m missing my favorite event of the year – Reach the Beach with my friends in September. It’s one more disappointment in the midst of years of disappointment. But because I’m an eternal optimist, I assume this is my last setback. That I’ll resolve my stomach issues and be back on the road in a month or two. And that with a year of training under my belt, that I’ll be back with my teammates next September, running on the ultra team and questioning my sanity at 2am.

“Part of being optimistic is keeping one’s head pointed towards the sun, one’s feet moving forward.” ~Nelson Mandela

Autoimmunity, Reflection, Running, Uncategorized

Being Present: Or what happens when the future becomes a big, fat question mark

4 Comments

It’s summer 2014. We’re living in Fort Collins, Colorado and time is passing at lightning speed. My team and I are writing  a huge grant, a long-shot proposal that would buy our coalition some time in the face of a dramatically-changed local healthcare landscape. Personally, I’m training for a few fall races, each week guiding me towards the fitness I’ll need to accomplish my goals several months from now. Both of these spaces are really comfortable for me…focusing on big work projects that will bear fruit months or even a year down the road and chipping away at personal goals that will be accomplished a training cycle or two into the future. Essentially my entire life is built around doing work that will pay off in what is oftentimes some vague, future timeline.

And for the most part, I love it. I possess the patience and perseverance required to embrace big, complicated projects. I’m comfortable with uncertain returns, putting in the work with no guarantee of an outcome. I love that my sport requires dedication beyond a month or two, that there is no shortcut when training to race a marathon. At work, I embrace complex projects with lots of moving parts. The messier, the better. If the problem has a simple solution, it’s likely not a problem I want to solve.

The downside to this type of work, to this particular sport is that it can be easy to get caught up in the moving target that is the “future”. The work of today is entirely focused on tomorrow. Without conscious effort, it is easy to come unmoored from the present. Today is simply a vehicle taking one to tomorrow.

Flash-forward to fall of 2015. We’ve moved back to Normal, IL and I’m in a different job. A job that turns out to be even more stressful than the last and I’m sick. My autoimmune condition, usually not something that’s even on my radar, has turned into a full-blown forest fire. It’s out of control, consuming everything in it’s path. And my dad is not well. Diagnosed in late summer with a terrible cancer that comes with even worse statistics. I’m panicked about all of it, terrified of where it is going. My dad being sick is obviously the worst, but I’m also scared about what will happen to my career if I can’t wait out the flare. And what will happen to me if I have to take a break from training and running marathons? Who am I if I’m not the title on my business cards? Who am I if I’m not “the runner”?

By early summer 2017, the forest fire of autoimmunity has burned everything to the ground. I’m barely running, definitely not racing, and I’m leaving my job, one that I really enjoy. The break from my career will be however long it takes to get my health back on track, an undetermined amount of time that stretches in front of me like a dark, desolate road. And my dad is still here. He’s been one of the “lucky ones” whose tumors respond to treatment. He’ll never be cured, but his docs have bought him more time than any of us thought possible. A few months has become a few years. We’ve taken a few more of our annual beach vacations, had a few more Christmases, a few more Father’s Days, and eaten a ton of cheeseburgers. The very things that used to drive my push towards the future – work and running – are on the back burner. All I have is today. The future becomes some blurry picture that I can’t quite make out. I decide that’s ok.

It ends up taking until early spring 2018 for my health to begin to recover. For the first time 20+ years, my days aren’t structured around work. I’m without grants to submit, reports to write, budgets to craft, annual reviews to execute. It’s been three years and counting since I last ran a marathon. I’m running a bit more, but still a long way from developing training plans or picking goal races. The weeks I feel good, I run more. The weeks I don’t, I run less. But suddenly, I realize I am more present in my life than I have been for most of my adult life. While the volunteer work I’m doing for my girlfriend’s political campaign does come with dates and deadlines, the work is at a different pace than my career of the last 15 years. If my brain isn’t working on a given day, I can usually wait until I’m feeling better to do my tasks. And I’m not working on big projects with a lot of moving parts, as is the norm for me. The running I’m doing is intuitive, not driven by a training plan or pointed towards a goal race. I decide my workout upon waking each morning, taking rest days when my body tells me it needs them. My dad is still sick, but he’s holding his own. Worrying about what the future holds for him only distracts from today and takes away from savoring this time that we do have. What I’ve really come to understand through his illness is the reality that we’re all on borrowed time. Every single one of us. His diagnosis might bring his life into sharper focus, but car accidents happen, heart attacks happen. It can be hard not to take the days for granted, but the colors are richer with a deeper appreciation for the fleeting nature of literally everything.

This present-focus, this grounding in today, is completely foreign to me, but exactly what I need. And I’m enjoying how much more rooted I feel because of it. I’m not chasing some future outcome. I know this will shift as my health continues to recover and I reenter the “real world”. I plan to start a second Masters in the fall, and taking classes will automatically shift my attention as I focus on due dates, exams, holiday breaks, and graduation. And I go back-and-forth on my desire to return to racing. I’m a little gun shy after two horrendous attempts this spring, and have come to realize it might not matter as much as I thought. It is possible that I might like the idea of racing again way more than actually racing again…time will tell. But I will continue putting in the miles in the meantime, as that in-and-of-itself makes me happy. I don’t need a race for motivation or to give structure to my training. I’m really comfortable just doing the work because I enjoy it.

As the months pass and my recovery continues, I hope I can straddle some artificial line, allowing myself to stay grounded in today even as I begin looking more towards the future. I don’t want to go back to a place where everything is pointed towards some unknown point-in-time. I want to set goals, work on big projects again, but while staying gently tethered to today. The future is uncertain. Out of all of the lessons wrapped up in my dad’s illness, that has been the biggest – even when we think we know what will happen, we really don’t. And by not being present today, we miss everything it has to offer. Whether that’s a sweaty morning run with friends, taking photos of a spectacular storm, dinner with the hubs, watching the fireflies at sunset, or watching my dog nap for the thousandth time, it’s all perfect. And while the last few years have been particularly horrible, they’ve been really amazing too. I’ll never again take for granted the simple activities that when strung together create the semblance of a life. Every bit of it is magic.

General, Politics, Reflection, Uncategorized

Protests, Athletes, and Developing Understanding

2 Comments

I don’t want to write about this. I’m not “qualified”, I’m not an expert, and I’m not well-versed in the nuance of the issue, all of which leaves me feeling as though my thoughts aren’t valid. I’m a middle-class white woman who doesn’t watch sports. And yet. The noise in my head is so loud, so distracting, that I must write about it, if only selfishly for my own sanity. So here we are.

Even though spectating most professional sports isn’t my jam, I casually followed the Colin Kaepernick story last year. I admired the players who were using their platform to bring attention to inequities and injustices that exist within our society. They are real and they are significant. But after President Trump’s remarks on Friday evening, I’ve spent the last few days thinking deeply about the subject, reading a number of articles of varying opinions, with hopes of gaining a better understanding of my own. What I’ve been unable to do is watch the “rants” posted to social media. I’ll read an article, watch a reasoned conversation, but I am done watching people rage into the camera. My experience is that these only resonate with people who agree with the ranter and do nothing to advance discourse. And they’re exceptionally annoying.

As I’ve followed the dialogue, a number of themes have emerged from those who are critical of the act of kneeling during the national anthem. 1. The players who kneel are unpatriotic. 2. The players who kneel are disrespectful to our military. 3. The players who kneel should stay in their lane – stick to playing football and keep their politics/social justice efforts off the field. 4. The players who are kneeling are ungrateful. (They’re millionaires – what do they have to complain about?)

On Patriotism

According to dictionary.com a patriot is: 1. a person who loves, supports, and defends his or her country and its interests with devotion. 2.a person who regards himself or herself as a defender, especially of individual rights, against presumed interference by the federal government. 3.a U.S. Army antiaircraft missile with a range of 37 miles (60 km) and a 200-pound (90 kg) warhead, launched from a tracked vehicle with radar and computer guidance and fire control. (I’m going to ignore the third definition here, as I hope it’s clear that no one is referring to a antiaircraft missile in this dialogue.) Nowhere in the multiple definitions I read does it discuss HOW one acts as a patriot-how someone “loves, supports or defends” the country. There are no guidelines, no requirements which leaves it up to each of us to craft our own image of how a patriot behaves, what one looks like.

In a country as diverse as ours, it makes sense that there would  be a multitude of ideas about how one acts as a patriot. For some, a patriot is one who stands faithfully for our anthem, someone who dutifully supports the president and his (or her) administration, someone who doesn’t question the authority of the police. For others, myself included, the act of protest is patriotic. Standing up for the rights of others, calling out injustice, clamoring for change are acts that are woven into the fabric of our history. Much of the progress made in our society has advanced in part because of protest – the woman’s right to vote, advances in civil liberties, the end of the Vietnam war. Without individuals willing to put themselves on the line, to agitate and make noise, so much of what we take for granted would not be possible. People in power are often not remotely interested in sharing it. It takes tremendous pressure for meaningful change to take place. Horrendous inequalities still exist within our country, and our past suggests that progress won’t be made without people making noise in the proverbial streets.

Snubbing the Military

As the wife of an Air Force reservist, I find the comments about the athletes taking a knee disrespecting the military particularly agitating. I don’t need anyone to speak on my or my husband’s behalf, to assume what actions disrespect us. I’m far more offended by the government’s attempt to take healthcare away from thousands of people than I am a bunch of athletes making a silent protest. Besides, ideologically, military members are as diverse as our country. I’m sure there are more than a few military members and veterans who are offended by those who kneel for our anthem. I’m also certain there are a great many who are not. Let’s not pretend that the military is some monolithic group who’s feelings need protecting.

Lastly, when people join the service, the oath they take is to protect the constitution, not the flag. This is an important distinction, as I’ve seen multiple references to the military’s defense of our flag which is factually incorrect.

Football Only Please

“Stay in your lane” is a statement used in an attempt to put someone in their place. I see it used in regards to Jimmy Kimmel as he speaks about healthcare-a topic that has deeply impacted his family, and I see it used in an attempt to silence the athletes. At first blush, I understand what people mean. They want entertainers to entertain, not distract with “real world” conversation and politics. But upon further thought, that doesn’t make any sense. None of us live in a vacuum. We can’t separate our lives into neat little boxes. Frankly, I think we should all use whatever platform we have to advance conversations and issues that are important to us. Do some people have bigger platforms, larger audiences? Without a doubt. If those people-actors, athletes, musicians, etc-use their given platform for advocacy, and they have their employer’s support, then as far as I’m concerned the case is closed. They don’t need anyone else’s permission. The consent the rest of us provide is watching their show, watching the game, buying the music. If someone is that bothered by the message and the advocacy, walk away. But to expect that individual’s employer, a NFL team owner in this case, to share one’s belief system or one’s expectations about what a player should or shouldn’t do is unreasonable. If enough people aren’t buying the thing-watching football in this case-the owners then get to re-evaluate, but still might make the same decision. That’s on them.

Trump’s comments on Friday night were a very loud “stay in your lane” remark. By referring to the players as “sons of bitches” and stating they should be fired, he brought the government into the conversation, in a way that feels inappropriate. The first amendment protects our right to speak freely. This amendment does not protect our speech from our employers (it is protection from the government’s abridging that right), meaning the NFL owners could do as some NASCAR team owners did and require their athletes to stand for the anthem at games, but that’s not for the government to determine. It’s also impossible to ignore the realities of a white president calling these athletes, who are predominantly African-American, SOBs. I’ve read multiple places that “this has nothing to do with race” but there’s nothing to prove that it doesn’t. And the responsibility always lies with those in power, which in this case is Trump who is not only president, but a white man. It’s on him to ensure that his language is clear enough for us all to know his true intent.

Lastly, what happened to Michael Bennett of the Seattle Seahawks a few weeks ago confirms that this conversation is very much within the lane of a NFL player. Kaepernick initially began kneeling in response to police brutality against African-Americans and minorities. Bennett’s experience in Las Vegas essentially brings the conversation full-circle.

On Gratitude

I really can’t reconcile this one. The implication that these players, because they are millionaires who play a game for a living, should just shut up and be thankful is maddening. From my perspective, the more privilege we have, whether it’s racial privilege, financial, etc, the greater responsibility we have to use that privilege to advance the well-being of others. These players are using what privilege they do have to highlight inequities and facilitate dialogue. Kaepernick himself has paid a significant price for his advocacy, yet it was a price he was willing to pay. The actions of the players who kneel have nothing to do with lack of gratitude for their station in life. One can be grateful and still highlight social injustice (or any other topic). They aren’t mutually exclusive.

There is more to this topic, to this conversation, but this is as far as I’ve gotten in my own thinking. For more reading on the subject, a good friend shared this article earlier Monday, which addresses it far more completely. (Thanks, Troy!) During such tumultuous times, I’m challenging myself to question my own knee jerk reactions to certain situations, of which there seem to be so many these days, and forcing myself develop a deeper understanding of why I think what I do. This post is essentially a verbal vomit of my own grapplings with this particular one. I acknowledge that my perspective will likely continue to evolve, as none of us should be static in our thinking.

Rumination tends to be eased if we learn to be mindful; if we are able to be aware of, and understand how our own thoughts work. ~ Peter Kinderman

Reflection, Running

Running, Body Image, and Changing Narratives

2 Comments

It was the fall of 1992. I was in the locker room of my high school changing before a volleyball game, listening to the chatter of my teammates. The conversation was unremarkable, the details of which I no longer remember. Eventually, the dialogue transitioned to a body-bashing session, where my teammates took turns going through the laundry list of things they hated about their physical selves. Breasts that were too big or too small, thighs that jiggled, stomachs that were too fat. (None of this was true, they were all beautiful.) I remember listening in silence, not unusual for an introvert, but this time it was in curiosity. Until that moment, it never occurred to me that my body was something loathe. I felt left out, feeling uncomfortable that I didn’t have something to contribute. I remember walking through my physical form in my mind while the conversation continued. I was nothing special – 5’7″ and a skinny 110 lbs. I was flat-chested, broad-shouldered, and all arms-and-legs. I wished I was curvier and prettier, but didn’t hate my body.

By this point, my body had carried me through over a decade of softball and basketball, seven years of running/track, and six years of volleyball. I loved playing sports. I grew up riding my dirt bike around the neighborhood with my best friend, literally the boy next door. We climbed trees, raced our bikes. One time he dared me to ride my big wheel up the tree at the end of our driveway, which was a terrible idea but I tried anyway. The smallest kid in my class, I usually wore my hair short, rocking a killer Dorothy Hamill at one point, and avoided dresses and other “girly” attire. I liked to pull my socks up to my knees-my mom still likes to tease me about that-and button my shirts up to the top.

I didn’t grow up in a home with an older sister (I am the oldest of three girls), and I don’t recall my mom ever talking about her body. She taught us how to play softball as soon as we were old enough to play catch. She coached my team in junior high when no one else would and we’d spectate her slow-pitch games. I remember one of her games during which everyone’s hair was standing on end, the sky dark overhead. Partway through the game, she came up to bat and at the moment she made contact with the ball, a bolt of lightning spidered across the sky and the umpire called the game as she rounded first, cutting short what would’ve been a home run. It remains one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen. We lived a block away from the ballpark and it wasn’t unusual for us all to go hit around when the diamond was empty. We took family bike rides and watched my dad run races. My mom ran too, preferring to take to the streets of our small town later in the evening.

As I got older, post-college, I started to identify with what my teammates said that day in the locker room. I started to compare myself to other women, to focus less on what my body could do. My basketball and softball career ended with high school graduation and volleyball after my sophomore year of college. Even though I never stopped running, I didn’t start racing regularly until several years later. Part of me wonders if had I continued to compete (race) regularly after I finished playing volleyball, if I could have hung on to some of the joy and appreciation I had for my body as a teenager. For me, there seems to be a correlation to when I started competing less and when I started to dissect my physical self.  And that critical voice didn’t go away once I started competing again. It quieted down for sure, but it always seemed to be lurking. Also, I’m sure I became socialized to this behavior that is so common among women, as that conversation before the volleyball game played itself out hundreds of times in the years that followed.

Over the past several years, as the autoimmune condition put itself front-and-center, I find myself thinking about all of this a bit more. My body has changed significantly and I feel disassociated from it. Not only am I running less, but the weight I’ve gained challenges how I see myself. The narrative in my head is far worse than anything I say out loud to my husband/friends. As I’m regaining my health, and therefore my fitness, it occurs to me that these conversations we women are having amongst ourselves is really just an amplification of the horrible voices in our heads. At times, it feels like a bonding exercise, but in reality it is a damaging habit that diminishes all of us. While I don’t have children, I do have five nieces, and I want so much more for them. I want them to celebrate their bodies and lift each other up. I want them to honor their physical form, to spend their time with their friends talking about more interesting topics rather than who hates their ass the most. I don’t know how we “fix” this, but I do believe these habits are learned.

I’ve been working hard to rewire the narrative I tell myself. After all my body has been through the last few years, the last thing it needs my critical perspective. I’m trying to be kinder to myself, to give myself a bit more grace when I feel that progress isn’t happening fast enough and when I feel insecure. For someone who’s identified as an athlete most of my life, not being able to race much the last few years has been extremely challenging. The last marathon I ran was Boston in April 2015 (my fifth consecutive Boston) and it was a nightmare. I haven’t run a “fast” marathon since Oct. 2013. I love to train for long races. I savor being completely strung out from a hard effort, leaving every ounce of myself in a workout or a race. I think I’ve had a great deal of fear that I wouldn’t experience those things again. That my marathoning days are over, that there would be no more ultras. And while I didn’t give into that fear, I believe it and the insecurity manifested themselves in this horrible narrative.

Over the last few months, I’ve walked down that road a bit…what if I’m not able to race marathons anymore, or run long efforts on trail? What if I never qualify for Boston again? I would be very disappointed, no doubt, but it wouldn’t be the end of the world. I can still run. Even now, the most unfit I’ve ever been in my life (literally), I can still get in a decent week of training – I can enjoy a few hours on single track and run enough miles to make myself pleasantly tired. (That last part is really important.) And as I’ve opened myself to those doubts, I find the critical voice, the mean girl, is quieter. It makes me wonder, what if doubt and fear are the root of this narrative, this voice that doesn’t serve us? How can we cultivate the resilience to acknowledge and process those doubts/fears so that they don’t acquire more power than they deserve? How can we cultivate this resilience in girls and young women? I do think that being physically active/sport is one of the greatest avenues for this work. I see in my own self how it set me on the right path as a youngster, and now at 41 is helping me find my way back to a kinder, more compassionate perspective.

Moving forward, I’ll continue rewriting the stories I tell myself. Cutting short those that don’t serve me, and reframing those that are scary. I’ll be more courageous and honest with myself about the root of the stories, and not be manipulated by my own self-doubt. I’ll also watch what I say to my friends, and ask some questions when this dialogue presents itself, as it certainly will.  Habits are hard to break, but this one is worth the effort I think. I’m curious as to what words will fill in the empty space. They are certain to be more interesting and creative, of that there is no doubt.

“Being completely alive is a task, it’s not at all a given thing. It’s not just about being present in the world, it’s being present to yourself, reaching an intensity that is in itself a way of being reborn.”  ~Anne Dufourmantelle

Photo: Marty Barman

Reflection, Running, Transformation, Uncategorized, Wilder

Wilder

2 Comments

It’s just before 6 a.m., sun waking behind the mountains, early dawn filling the air. The four of us stand at the edge of the dock, toes curled over the edge, clothes tossed in a pile. My breath shallow with anticipation. Cold air tingles across my skin. Someone counts off and with a quick jump we’re in. “Holy f-k” runs on repeat in my head, heart racing. The water is so cold I can’t think beyond those two words running like a mantra. I’m kicking furiously, eager to get to the top. Seems to take an eternity, but in reality was just a few seconds. As I break through the surface, I hear the screams of the other women shrieking loudly into the dawn. I think of the neighbors who live along the lake, amused that they’ve likely awoken to the sounds of our adventure. I’m the first one out, teeth chattering, voice stuck in my throat. Wrapping myself in my towel, I turn to find the others standing near. Giggling and smiling, the weekend comes into sharp focus. Courage, discomfort, joy…this is what I was craving. Upon arriving on Friday, I couldn’t have imagined a frigid, pre-sunrise soak in the lake would manifest it.

Like most of the other 29 women who arrived at Caldera on Friday afternoon, I had a fair amount of anxiety about the weekend. I haven’t been able to run much, will I be able to hang? I’ve only recently begun writing, will I have words?  My anticipation and excitement far outweighed any reservations, but I was nervous.

Photo: Jess Barnard

Sunday morning comes, we have a “long run” on the schedule. Courtesy of some recent (and new) health issues, I’ve barely been training. Thankfully we had three distance options – 5, 10 and 14. Even though the 14-miler visited an amazing location, I knew it was out. I hadn’t run double-digits in an exceptionally long time, and am out of practice on very technical trail, which the first four miles promised to be. I decided to go with the five, playing it safe. But a conversation with one of my cabin-mates out on our deck that morning convinced me to bump up to the ten. Worst-case scenario, I walk the last few miles. There’s not much I love more than a long effort on trails, and I was excited to take some photos.

The run passes like a dream. The trail is a bit technical in spots, enough to require attention, but not so much so that it prevents getting into a groove. I run the first few miles with others, and then end up on my own with the stops for photos. The miles pass by comfortably, I keep waiting for the wheels to come off. Made it to five miles, refilled my water bottle and quickly got back on my way. The light is magical on this morning, filtering through the leaves, dancing off the water. I get to seven, then eight miles. My legs are tired, but I know I’m going to run it in. I finally get to the end of the run, and am immediately greeted by Lauren, who gives me a huge smile and hug, and asks how it was. I tell her it was great, but what I don’t have the words for yet, what I’m not able to tell her, is that on this morning I rediscovered joy. It’s been a really, really long time since running felt joyful for me, but on this day, on this trail, I’m reminded why I love this sport. Being in the mountains with these women refills my cup, a cup I didn’t even realize had gone dry.

Baggage dropped, expectations released. These are the fruits of this work. Without an ounce of hyperbole, meeting this group of strangers for a weekend in the mountains restored some of my faith in humanity. Knowing these women are out there, doing their thing, quietly, fiercely, full of lady-swagger, brings me such joy. I met women who inspired me, who helped me walk outside myself, who led with heart and grace (thank you Marianne and Lauren). Women who gave me tools for developing this craft, women who inspired me with their words, with their feet.

Monday morning post-“swim”, we go for a silent run on a different  trail. I’ve intentionally left my phone behind (which was in airplane mode most of the weekend and functioned primarily as a camera), intentionally saving my creative energy for the writing that’s to follow. Before turning that part of my brain off for the morning, I make a mental note to come back to the trail before driving to Portland later that afternoon, as I imagined the light would be perfect in a few hours (it was). The river flows swiftly, swollen from winter, the trail snaking along the bank. I feel the energy from the river, from the trees and the mountains. I feel the energy from the other women. Words dancing along with my feet, gratitude for the fatigue in my legs, the words on the page.

Freedom as I dance

Feet flickering

Breath deep and full

Sunlight streaming

Heart racing

Sweat dripping from my hat

Around the next bend

Water rushing

Moss draping

Joy,  wild and free

Photo: Jess Barnard