The Forever Struggle?

I’ve been up since 5am with the kiddo and instead of just walking the dog I decided to get in a run. Running has been a wonderful stress and anxiety reducer so I’m not sure why I’ve been avoiding it?  Since my half in April, I’ve done a handful of runs.  That’s it.  I am continually amazed at how my body responds. Like “Oh yeah I remember this…it feels good!”  My pace for the run today was 12:34, which is great considering how little I’ve ran in the past 4 months.

With all the health stuff that had been going on (read about it here) I’ve managed to emotionally eat my way into gaining 10 lbs. in about 8 weeks. I was on the scale last night and it said 200 and I could have sobbed. (I gave the scale the middle finger.)  I was down to 188 not that long ago. I am so disappointed in myself.  And I wondered if this is something that I will forever struggle with?  I mean, c’mon, I’m gonna be 39 at my next birthday.  Will I always have issues with food?  Will that always be my ‘go to’ in times of stress and anxiety?  It’s depressing to think this might be a lifelong struggle.  Especially when I look at the face of my daughter, who at 19 months, is starting to imitate every single thing I do.  This is not something I wish for her to inherit.  My sense of humor?  Absolutely.  My ability to learn things quickly?  Yes, I’d love if she has that same ability.  My penchant for emotional eating and being overweight?  Not a fucking chance.

What I’m struggling with is how do I make this a lasting change?  How can I really start to cut new grooves in my brain and react differently?  I’d researched google and the interwebs but the advice is very simplistic.  Drink a glass of water before your meals.  Eat on a smaller plate.  It ain’t that people – my problem has nothing to do with food!  It’s all about the emotional aspect.  Trying to figure out how to comfort yourself in the moment without food.  A friend and I were chatting about this the other day…it’s this overwhelming need to consume anything, everything…mostly in an attempt to cover up whatever uncomfortable feelings are happening.  When I think about that thought, let it really sink in, it makes me sad.  Food has been the thing, in my mind, that has always been there for me.  Not family.  I have a few close friends that have been there for me, sure, but I always try to limit how much I share/tell/admit what I’m going through.  In the back of my mind, I tend to think that if they hear/know too much, they will no longer want to be my friend.

And all this brings me back around to the bigger picture.  That I don’t want to repeat this cycle for my daughter.  That even if I get knocked down or off-track, the most important thing is that I keep getting back up.  Keep trying new approaches.  Keep trying something different.  Because eventually what is new now will eventually become a habit right?   At least that’s what I keep telling myself.

Whatever you may be struggling with, I hope you too, have the courage to keep trying.  To keep running.  To keep going.

PCOS & pregnancy

Generally these words don’t belong in a sentence together unless undermining each other. Like in the sentence; PCOS is the reason I’m not pregnant. Which is why I was using it as an “effective birth control method”, well that and my husband not being around, but that was normal with his job. I finally convinced him that his boss was a total douche bag and from what I’d heard around town a “snake in the grass”, that’s not a term you hear everyday and caused great concern for my husband. I found him a better (yet similar) company and did the application for him… ya ya ya… he knew I was doing it though so there’s that. Anyways, he gets the job and I get sick… dant dant dant… baby! While he wants to say this pregnancy arouse from him and his super sperm being around I’m going to give it up to the fact that I was getting healthy and my gut health was getting my PCOS in line. I had been doing research on gut health, and when I say “research” I mean google searches with credibly sourced medical reviews, about gut health after my doctor (who is THE leading specialist in ND for PCOS, mostly because she is the ONLY specialist in ND but that’s not the point) made a comment about how your gut is related to more than they previously considered. Fore most people with PCOS the problem lies with their sugar processing, often mistaken for diabetes since it usually leads to that. It was an offhand comment and something she wanted to look more into but thought that it was worth my time to find a good probiotic and start there, working towards reducing my sugar intake (mostly cutting down on processed foods) which I was all about!

I spent three months trying various 30 day supplies that were $60 and up per month until I said fuck it I’m cheap, I know I’m cheap someone in my mommy group has got to know of one I can get for cheaper. Lo and behold they did and I got an influx of testimonials on how great this ProBio5 is… fuck it, worth a shot. Here’s the kicker with me and any MLM type situation, I go ALL in because DISCOUNTS. So I signed up as an ambassador and all that good shit. I could probably link y’all to my page and get some sort of kickback from the company since you would be my customer, but eff that noise, that’s not why I’m taking this stuff. I’m taking it because it works and I love it and did I mention IT WORKS (hahaha pun intended for my friend that sells It Works stuff). I started dropping weight, my energy was up (until it wasn’t from being pregnant lol), and best of all my PCOS symptoms were disappearing. I didn’t have to shave my mustache, my skin was clearing up, and the kicker was my sex drive kicked up… thus the pregnancy. I saw that it was working but didn’t think for a second that it would help me ovulate. Found out later it was, obviously. So I’m not going to link you or tell you that THIS IS THE ONLY ONE THAT WORKS MY GOD YOU MUST GO GET THIS SPECIFIC ONE but if you think it’s worth a shot, then fucking give it a try, it’s less than a buck a day and that is a shitton cheaper than my fertility drugs were. If you have a friend selling Plexus products then hit them up, they are doing it because they want to have time with their family and that shit is totally respectable. I’m not going to link you to my page because while I have no shame that would be some shameless self promotion. If you find a probiotic out there that works and you feel good, then take that shit. Unlike my foray into essential oils this past year, you can’t get hurt taking a probiotic, it’s just good for your gut

My name is Ella and a probiotic got me knocked up.

When I was sick and gave up

I don’t know how this all happened, I really don’t, I mean I can list it out in order and say “yea that happened” but mentally I can’t wrap my head around how I went from “feeling it” to downright cheating. I remember being really excited about it and in the weeks leading up leaving for FL I felt REALLY good about running, like a legit feeling of “holy shit I can DO this” and totally proud of myself. Totally proud of how far Robin and I had come from like couch to 5k to this… like we could do this shit! My times were getting better, I was focused on my health and getting faster, and then I wasn’t.

I was feeling REALLY shitty and exhausted for no damn reason. Went to the doctor to discuss what was going on in my training since I was done with my physical therapy and my knee felt great …but now I was exhausted out of nowhere and what in the world is WRONG with me… am I dying? She laughed at me, we’re cool like that so don’t get the wrong idea, and jokingly (yet seriously) asked if I was pregnant. HA!! I have PCOS and it took $10k and countless drugs over the course of a year to have my son, not to mention my husband was gone like 6 days out of the week, there was no way… just no. She upped my dosage of anxiety meds and said to just enjoy my vacation, “if you finish you finish”, if not I’m doing better than 90% of the population who don’t even get five thousand steps a day. But I wanted to finish! I wanted to show that my 300+ pound ass could do it! I hold my weight well because while the scale says I’m 52% body fat, I know a good deal of it is muscle. I can lift like a MOFO people, especially with my legs and my back. I’m strong. I can do this…

All things I said until two weeks before the race when I puked during a training run one fateful Saturday morning. I took a pregnancy test on a whim, because why the fuck not, just reassure myself that everything was fine because the doc made her comment and it can’t possibly be an issue. Until it was and the two lines showed up. This must be faulty, I thought, too old to be accurate (we hadn’t been trying so these were all leftover tests from when we were TTC for my son)… I was concerned with the puking and the positive and immediately drove my svety ass to urgent care to get a blood draw confirmation…. Which was just that… confirmation that I was pregnant. SAY WHAT!? Was told to stop the anxiety meds and in the next 48 hours I broke out into hives, terrified I ate something wrong, I overhauled everything in our fridge, by Wednesday the hives were out of control and even my ears were swelling up. This is when the urgent care doctors explained I was having “stress hives”. Fun shit I didn’t know existed. PSA people, stress from an unexpected pregnancy just weeks before you leave for an expensive trip to do a run is some real shit. *the more you know*

 

I still ran, without anxiety meds and endurance drinks, worried about blowing up the way I did with my son I figured I needed to fight the fatigue and keep going. Which I managed to do pretty successfully, until the night before the race when I started puking from what I’m assuming was anxiety without the meds that I usually used to combat it. I had a game plan to pace myself with a friend I was meeting from Cali at the race. He had finished several races with his wife and figured he could help me pace with thousands of people around me. Here’s the thing I didn’t know about runDisney races and learned VERY quickly: corrals are just like farm corrals, you are pinned in with thousands of other people and no one gets a quick start, people slow down RIGHT in front of you, and people will cheer you as they fall behind you. We started the race and had a VERY slow first two miles, at which point we stopped in America at Epcot to drop a deuce. That whole having to poop while running, that shit is ALSO real…because I took the quickest mother of all dumps ever in my life! Noticed that others were stopping too and was so glad I got to the restroom before the line for stalls showed up. I was no fan to the crowded areas as they slowed us down even more but we did manage to stay in front of the “pacers”. Also something I learned about races, they have people that run AT PACE with ballons/t-shirts to let you know that if you’re behind them at the checkpoints (mile 3, 6, and 10 for this race) then you will be picked up and YOU DO NOT FINISH… long story short, if you’re behind them you’re going too fucking slow…. Guess who was behind them at mile marker 2… ME (well Steve too but that’s obvious). So my friend being the good friend that he is says “you’re pregnant just slow down and let them pick you up, you can run again later”. I love Steve, but that was not what I needed to hear. I told him to go on without me and started to walk. He ran like a zombie victim and got WAY ahead of the pacers. I walked for 2 minutes and said fuck it, I can run and I fucking RAN…got to the pacers and saw them just STANDING THERE… like wtf people. I just ran my ass off and y’all are just standing here?

They say, almost in unison, “we were going too fast” followed with the one saying “you’re still ahead of pace, and anyone that gets here in the next 8 minutes, so keep going girl you got this!” I jogged and saw Steve hunched over on the side of the now VERY open road. Amazing how the congestion clears up after mile marker 3… I told him my great news and encouraged him to stay with me… only to hear of his plan “I’m going to mile 5 or 6 then I’m going to cut across the highway and walk the rest of the way”… I argued with him as we jogged. I held my ground that we would finish this the right way and FINISH until mile 5 when the pacers passed us and I felt the urge to vomit myself… at mile 5.5 we pretended to stop at the port-a-potties and crossed to the other side (or as I like to tell myself, to the darkside), we were just as svety as everyone else was at their mile 11. We walked the rest of the way. Cheering others on and at one point stopping to sit on the benches. We waited until his brother in law came up (legit on his mile 12) and I went on with him while Steve waited for his wife to finish with her. I crossed the finish line and while people cheered me I felt like a total fucking failure.

A TOTAL FUCKING FAILURE

I waited for Robin and couldn’t wait to tell her how proud of her I was, because she LEGITIMATELY finished that fucking 13.1 mile run, on her own, kicking ass the entire way. Her strength and persistence is something that I admire about her and even that is a total understatement. I went back to our room and cried in the shower like a total fucking loser. My husband thought I was crying out of either being proud of myself or pain. I used pain (since my legs were on fucking fire) and regret as my reasons for crying. Sucked it up and went about my day. I haven’t been on the treadmill since we got home but that is going to change.

So while I didn’t “finish” finish I did walk a fuckton while in FL as seen by my fitbit report below

 

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So at least there is that. Word to the wise people. Don’t cheat. Totally not worth the feelings of loserdom, just admit that you’re done and tap out… crossing the finish line without earning it…. not cool. Only 5 people knew what really happened with me, they were the real support, while others congratulated me thinking I had done it… only made me feel shittier.

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Do You Even See Me?

I’m sitting here, it’s barely 8AM, and I’ve been awake for over 4 hours already.  Our kiddo has been having frequent wake ups, which I attribute to our turn and burn Seattle trip.  And I am fucking exhausted.  Her last wakeup at 3:45AM the husband got up to soothe her, but after about 30 minutes of her crying for momma and boo boo, he relented and she came running into our bedroom.  And yet, in a middle of the night parenting conversation, tells me he doesn’t want her to be nursing all the time.  Um, OK.  You let her come nurse because you couldn’t get her back to sleep…so do you not want her to nurse at all, or only when it’s convenient for you?  Do you even see my exhaustion?  Do you even see that I’m completely out of gas?

I’m the kind of exhausted where you feel drunk without the alcohol induced euphoria.  Everything feels woozy.  I feel sick to my stomach.  I tried to get her back to sleep around 5:30, when the hubs left for the gym, but she only slept for about 45 minutes.  Momma did not sleep.  Laid in bed with that tired wired feeling where you are too amped up to get any shut eye.

The day trudges on and gives zero fucks about my tiredness.  I discovered yesterday that our dog has blood in his piss, so I have a vet appointment at 9AM.  At 1PM, I have a 2 hour appointment for paperwork and other stuff related to my new job.  Dinner needs to get made because the toddler probably wants to eat.  The house really needs to be cleaned but that ain’t happening anytime soon.  I’m trying to find backup childcare for V because my husband told me 2 days ago that he plans to head to the Netherlands next week for work.  Monday night.  Thanks for leaving me alone for my first week on a new job.  I want to find someone in case she is sick or needs to come home from daycare, because I do not want to have to leave early during the day from my new job.  I want to scream at him, “Do you even realize all that I’ll have to do on my own while you are halfway around the fucking world?!?”  The answer, of course, is no.

He doesn’t see that I’ve quit asking for a date night, because I’m tired of telling him that it’s important that we have 1-1 time together for our relationship.  He doesn’t see that I’ve quit asking to go to couples therapy because it obviously isn’t a priority for him.  He doesn’t even see that I’ve stopped asking to have weekly discussions on finances and parenting because I’m the only one to initiate and I’m sick of bringing it up.  He doesn’t see that I have no energy or desire to fuck him at all.  He doesn’t see how tired I am of asking and asking for him to help me with things around the house that I’ve decided it’s a waste of my breath and precious energy.  He doesn’t see the imposition he puts upon me when he decides last minute to travel for business.  He doesn’t see all that I do.  Nor does he appreciate it either.  He doesn’t see that not only am I running on fumes, that our relationship is running on fumes too.

He doesn’t even see.  He doesn’t even see me.  At all.

Mixed Reviews

Sharing a few updates…some positive, some meh.  Let me set the stage for you on the marital bliss front tonight:  I’m on our deck, paying bills and enjoying watching the storm approach, while the hubs is couch surfing, on his phone (as per usual) while the TV drones on and on in the background.  I think he’s barely said 10 words to me since he got home at 7PM.  I’m trying not to take it personally…he’s had a long day and I’m guessing he wanted to unwind in peace.  It’s ok honey, let me cook dinner and clean up, get the toddler ready for bed and walk the dog.  You just sit there!!!!!

The good update – I’m no longer jobless!  YAY!!!!  I start my new gig next Monday the 18th.  It was a long process…I had interviewed last month (6/10) and am only starting now.  Offer negotiation, drug screening, pre-employment health screening and then finally orientation!  I’m really excited about the new role, as I’m doing business intelligence work in a clinical/healthcare environment.  This is a new area to me, but am SO geeked that I will be learning about it.  I’m going to get certified in EPIC, which is the electronic health record most hospitals and healthcare organizations use, so I figure this is my insurance for being able to get a job anywhere.  Anytime.

I’m a little nervous about starting back to work, because, well, it’s been 6 fucking months since I worked.  6 months!  My friend said it seemed like yesterday….and I wish I had felt that way.  This time has really dragged on for me and has been fraught with worry, so I’m happy to get back to some type of regular routine. And paycheck.  Fer real on the paycheck.

Which brings up a not so great update.  I filed for unemployment in early June, and have yet to receive a determination.  How incredibly shitty is that?  I mean, I’m thankful that we weren’t (and aren’t) living paycheck to paycheck, but for fuck’s sake, how would anyone survive having to wait over a month to know if you’ve been approved or not?!?  It is not something that anyone could even rely on and that’s a sad fact.  Much about our country seems sad these days.

Our Seattle trip was overall good.  We had a huge fight on the trail to Poo Poo Point.  And I’m seriously not shitting you on that name.  (See what I did there?!? Ha!!!!)  It is totally legit and I think it’s fabulous that our family hiked that trail.  Mind you, we did not make it to the top of Poo Poo Point.  You could say we had a blowout of sorts.  Husband had told me we were gonna hike for “an hour or so” and after 2 solid hours of hiking, I discover we have a scant amount of food for our toddler.  Who was scream crying for more food.  I became the bad guy for wanting to turn around and not try to make it to the summit because our daughter was hungry.  We resolved our fight on the way back, and I’m glad that we did.  I’d also call it progress for me because I didn’t really give a shit in that moment if I was the bad guy.  And usually I acquiesce if I’m feeling like the bad guy.

And our relationship has been kind of meh these days.  I go back and forth with how I’m feeling.  For those of you that have been married longer (we are going on 8+ years) do you often feel this way too?  I wonder if we’re going through a difficult season, or if something has fundamentally shifted in our relationship?  I know that having our daughter was a huge adjustment (and we’re still adjusting) but does it ever get easier?  It feels hard these days, and often I’m too tired to want to put in any effort.  Like I’m schlepping through wet cement.  I think this is a woman and mom thing more so….I mean for gawd’s sake, the kid needs constant care and attention, the dog is whining to get walked, everyone has to eat, people gotta have clean clothes, then it’s time to go night night, etc.  Plus I need to work out and try to do some shit for myself….and at the end of all that, sometimes I think to myself, “Husband you want to what?  You want to fuck me?  I have no energy left for that…”

And on that note, I’m taking my tired ass to bed.

Toddler Travels

We were headed to Seattle to visit some family but the hubs had a last minute business trip. Which meant I was flying cross country with a toddler and no one to tap out to. I was more than a little bit afraid of how the day would go. 

I have often told my husband that I’m exhausted before we even start vacation and here’s why. Not only do I have to pack myself, the kiddo and the dog (for doggie daycare) but I also have to schlep all the goddamn kid gear too. Diapers? Check. Diaper bag with snacks, extra outfit and activities?  Check. Car seat? Check. Medicines?  Check check check. I had my purse, 3 bags, a car seat AND my kiddo to haul. Moms are fucking Sherpas dude. Total ass kicking pack mules.  If you see a mom at the airport with a shitton of stuff in tow, tell her she’s doing an awesome job. Better yet buy her a coffee because you know that momma is tired. 

Bless the lovely lady at the park and ride this morning because she wouldn’t let me put anything in or take anything out. She hauled it for me. At the airport she even put my backpack on me because I had the kid in a wrap. I cannot tell you how touched I was by her kindness. 

We paid extra money for TSA pre-check  to ensure a faster way through security. Not. Why are the TSA dicks?  I had to submit to a pat down in order to keep my two sealed Horizon organic milks for my kid. Take off shoes, take her out of carrier etc. As the TSA agent went through the rest of my bag she confiscated a tube of toddler sunblock because it was 1 ounce over the “limit”.  Told me I could take it back and check it or she’d have to throw it out. I told her “You know I can’t go check it because my bag is already gone.”  She shrugged her shoulders as she tossed it in the garbage. I thanked her for making the world safer from Babyganics sunblock. Get real people…it’s shit like this that give those assholes their terrible reputation!

V did great on the 5 hour flight!  So good that I was a little shocked. It’s different now with her being a toddler. She plays independently at times so as she sat in her seat reading her book I was able to play a few rounds of solitaire. It was a “holy shit I’m kind of relaxing” moment. She did make up for it by flailing and crying for the last 10 minutes of the flight. Up until this point I’d been afraid to travel solo with the kid but after this experience we can be a dynamic traveling duo. And I won’t be (as) tired next time because some kind stranger is going to see me hauling ass and buy me a coffee. 

Much Ado About Nothing

I finally had my biopsy appointment last Friday. After getting an ultrasound first, talking to tech, then radiologist I was told, “I don’t see anything to biopsy. This all looks like normal breast tissue.”  

Um what?!?  The radiologist felt the lump that had brought me there in the first place and she said the shape and size weren’t worrisome and the ultrasound images didn’t show anything. She wanted to do a 3D mammogram to be sure. So I got my tit squished for that. 

After looking at the mammo, she sat with me and told me there was nothing to biopsy. She said that more than likely it was a fat lobule and those are completely normal. I was and still am dumbfounded. 

I went through 6 weeks of mental torture to have a very anticlimactic ending. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful that I’m healthy. I feel kind of dumb about the whole thing. At least she didn’t say to me “I don’t feel anything.” (Which is what the previous doctor had told me.) The lump was real. I didn’t make it up and it was nice to have validation from someone of that. 

I am glad I had it checked out and happy to put it behind me. I would rather address it promptly rather than delay, delay, delay and then find something major. I don’t think I will return to the original imaging place where I had the mammogram done that started off this 6 weeks of worry and anxiety!  Asshats. 

Hi Ho, It’s Off for a Biopsy I Go

Tomorrow I go for my biopsy consult.  After comparing this mammogram to the last, there is enough abnormality in the lump that further action is required.  There is a classification system used by radiologists called BIRADS and it has a value from 0 to 6.  My lump was classified a 4, which means ‘suspicious’.  There is a 20% – 35% predictive probability that the lump is cancer.  From what I read, when a radiologist gives a rating of 4, they are usually 80% sure it’s cancer.

I’m scared about tomorrow.  And the biopsy that will follow.  And getting the results.  I’m scared to think I may have breast cancer.  The husband is going with me tomorrow.  I’m anxious too.  I want to get the biopsy done ASAP, because it will take at least a week to get the pathology report back, telling me whether or not this is cancerous.

This waiting period sucks.  It fucking sucks.  I have so many heavy things going on in my life right now.  This is one.  Working on our marriage is another.  Hearing from friends whose marriage seems to be crumbling is yet another.  Looking for a new job (hope to have a positive update on this soon!).  Dealing with anxiety and depression.  There is a part of me that thinks to myself, “Goddamn the hits just keep coming!” I’m hoping that this really is  just a difficult season and that things will lighten up soon for me.  For our family.

Throughout all of this, I’ve been trying to be very kind to myself.  I’ve been emotionally eating like no one’s business and I’ve gained back a few pounds that I had previously lost.  Although I’m not thrilled with my actions, I realize that it’s a coping mechanism for me right now.  It’s not the best one, but it’s really not the worst thing I could be doing at the moment.  If I were to follow in family footsteps, I could be drinking or drugging my worries into oblivion.  Yet I’m not.

The silver lining?  I’m still doing plenty of positive things.  Exercising every day.  Meditating most days.  Regularly writing down things I’m grateful for.  Going to therapy.  Getting good sleep.  Asking for support from friends.  Enjoying quiet moments with my family.  Getting past my procrastination to finally get a will done since we are like 18 months overdue on that shit.

The other positive thing?  I listened to my intuition to get this checked out.  I felt the lump and made an appointment ASAP.  My husband couldn’t feel it, my doctor didn’t feel it.  My doctor didn’t think it was anything but sent me for diagnostic testing anyway.  And I’m thankful for that.

There is a quote I found recently while browsing Pinterest that helps give me perspective when I start freaking out or thinking dark thoughts.  I’m not sure who said it, but I love it and think that it’s applicable for so many things in life.

“Everything heals.  Your body heals.  Your heart heals.  The mind heals.  Wounds heal.  The soul repairs itself.  Your happiness is always going to come back.  Bad times don’t last.”

I hope those words resonate with you as much as they do me.  They give me hope and help me to remember that nothing is forever.

Titanium Tit

I learned this week that I have a titanium bead as a marker from a previous breast biopsy. Four years ago I found a lump, went to my doctor, and had to undergo the nerve wracking process of a mammogram and biopsy. Thankfully it was benign. And I’m sure the doctors told me about the bead but hell I didn’t remember so it was news to me. How did I learn about my metal tittie this week?

Another lump. Another mammogram. I don’t know yet if I will need to have another biopsy. I should know  within the next week.

My life is so different than it was four years ago. I’m in a different city, I’m now a mom, and currently not working, but thankfully have health insurance through the hubs. Surprisingly I’m not at freak out level 5 this time. I’m trying to take this thing one step at a time. One doctor appointment at a time.

Have I thought about the whole ‘what if I have cancer’ scenario?  Of course, considering I lost my dad to cancer.  Have I thought about what the potential of breast cancer could be the end of?  Sure – breastfeeding my daughter, possible future babies, possible tittie loss. I’ve tried not to venture too far down that rabbit hole because it gets scary dark fast. All I can do is deal with things as they come. If they come.  This may turn out to be nothing. I don’t know yet.

It’s made me acutely aware of the present moments. Early this morning, I sat nursing my daughter at 4am, gently stroking her soft brown curls, thinking how lucky I am to have nourished her with milk from my body for over 17 months. Or sitting enjoying nature, feeling grateful I can see the sunset, feel the breeze on my face, hear the birds, smell the flowers and taste the salty ocean air.

I’m learning to be grateful for the smallest things.  For now, I’m in a wait and see situation.

Holy Shit Balls, I Survived 13.1 Miles!

I did it!  I fucking did it!  I joined the Dark Side…errr….I mean I completed the Disney Dark Side Half Marathon!!!!!!!   I ran a half marathon!!!!!!  Check that shit off the bucket list.

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Pre-race nervous smile

I was nervous in the days and hours leading up to the race, since it was going to be very early in the morning, and the weather was going to be warmer than what I typically ran in.  Was I going to have to take a pre-race shit?  Or even worse, a during the race shit?  I was concerned about refueling and water and how often I should do them.  I had practiced on my training runs, but I still didn’t feel supremely confident that I’d pick the right time to tank up.  Maybe I’d wait too long and have my energy just circle down the drain, never to be recovered.  Or I’d not wait long enough, and then be waterlogged or dealing with side stitches during the race.  How long was it going to take me to finish?  Would I even finish?  I had NO idea what to expect.

I have to say, I surprised myself.  The longest training run I’d done was 10 miles, so not the full race distance.  As the time and the miles dragged on, I was expecting to have moments of “What the fuck was I thinking?” or “I can’t do it!” or “I won’t be able to finish!” or “This was another ‘bright’ idea!!!!” <insert sarcasm here>.

That never came.  I was so shocked that I didn’t have all this negative self-talk.  Instead, it was positive and encouraging!  Shocker right?  I kept saying to myself, “You’ve trained for this.  You can do this!”  And I could.  And I did.

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My race bling

When I saw the finish line, I was expecting to well up with tears and start bawling.  That didn’t happen either.  It took me 3 hours and 13 minutes.  I was hoping to get done in 3 hours, but in reality, I’m just thrilled I was able to finish.  I felt so elated and ecstatic that I set this big goal for myself, methodically approached it, and then I ran off and did it!  I fucking did it!

Watch out world.  Who knows what is next for me.