My Surgery Officially Didn't Work

One year ago I ran the Colfax Marathon for the second time.  Fourteen miles into the race I felt a strong pull on the inside of my leg.  It started in my groin and shot to my knee.  Each additional mile it pierced through my muscles growing worse, until finally around mile 21 everything went numb.  Crossing the finish line, the pain revived and walking became increasingly difficult.  I thought it was simply due to the race and things would recover after some much deserved rest.

I didn't run for three weeks.  When I returned to running, the pain returned.  Eight weeks went by and I couldn't run for more than a quarter mile without pain shooting down my groin.  So I sought the help of a physical therapist who did everything in his power to strengthen the muscles around my hip and groin.  Nothing worked.  Physical therapy seemed to make things so much worse, increasing the pain and inflammation to the point that I took on a strong limp just walking around the grocery store.  By August I'd seen two separate physical therapists and underwent a series of tests.  Everything led me to August 28, 2014 where I surrendered all doubt and let a surgeon reshape my entire hip socket and give me a new labrum to cushion the bones.  For a full month I was bed ridden.  I read my boys stories and helped them with their homework from my bed, while a machine moved my leg and a brace supported the structure.  Neighbors and friends brought us food and cared for our kids.  I was humbled and grateful.

Six months later I was supposed to be fully healed and able to attempt running again through a couch to 5K program, but the exact same groin pain returned every time I attempted running.  In every way I was stronger than ever.  All of this weight lifting and strength work defined new muscle in my legs, swimming kept my lungs fit.  But my groin still shot arrows of pain.  I went to a new physical therapist hoping a new set of eyes and hands were what I needed.  It helped a lot for two months and brought a lot of the inflammation in my hip down, but I still can't run.

It's time to face the facts.  The surgery didn't work.

If it worked, I wouldn't have the EXACT same pain every single time I returned to my sport.  So I started researching again and found other runners like me who'd gone through very similar events who had a sports hernia.  Essentially it is a tear in your abductor muscle that won't heal and every time you return to the sport that originally injured you, it will come back.  It will come back 90 years after the injury.  It never goes away.  Ever.  The only option is a quick 5 minute surgery where they cut the abductor away from your body.  Within 10 days you are back to a normal life.

I saw a sports hernia specialist yesterday.  "Your hip surgery was a waste.  You never needed it.  I'll put money on that.  What you have is a groin injury.  Not a hip injury.  I see this all the time in runners and it is really sad because you give up so much for nothing."  The doctor looked me straight in the eyes as he said this.  It's been a long year.  I've been patient and open-minded.  I've tried new things and put myself in new situations hoping it would make me stronger and better.  I've put faith in people that perhaps didn't deserve it.  And here I sat looking at a man with pitiful eyes apologizing for another man's mistakes.

I'm angry and so tired of this nonsense.  One full year of physical therapy, 8 months of rehabilitation and pain, and a false hope this would ever work.  But it wouldn't work.  My hip wasn't the problem.  So now here I sit with a new set of questions.  The doctor asked me if running is worth it.  "Have you considered never running again?  If you just don't run you won't need this.  If you want to run, I can fix you, but I fully understand after everything you've been through why you may want to wait."

Yes, I've considered never running again.  I've considered it every day for a year.  But I miss running.  I miss it so much it is stupid.  Running is after all, just a sport.  There are lots of replacements out there to get your buzz, why does it have to be the one thing that seems to reject me?  I love biking and I have 2 beautiful bikes.  One is a road bike that took me 21 peaceful miles yesterday along a beautifully paved river trail.  The other is a mountain bike that handles bumps and curves like a jaguar eager to pounce.  And while I love biking, it isn't the same as running.  Running is pure and transparent.  It isn't about technology and gears, it isn't about how big your tires are or how much your components weigh.  It's about you and a simple pair of shoes.  What is more pure than that?  When I run it is only my two feet carrying me places and nothing more.  It is independent and uncomplicated.  This time away for the last year has brought me to fully accept and appreciate that purity more than anything else.  I've worked long and hard at trying to find a replacement, but nothing exists.  Nothing is as simple as it is to run.

I ran 1.37 miles today.  I wanted my groin to hurt; perhaps as some sick sadistic punishment forcing the pain out of me, or maybe just to make sure I still enjoy it.  I ran fast and hard, making a point of passing another runner 100 yards ahead.  Screw taking it slowly and easing into things.  I don't know if I want to take my chances with another surgery.  The doctor told me I have a 90% chance of a full recovery.  If the surgery works, and he thinks it will, I will be able to run again with no limitations.  Have I come this far to quit trying?  Or am I so desperate for an answer that I've become childishly gullible and will accept any cure?  Either way, I miss my sport.


~Roadburner

Graditude from the Road

Three separate neighbors shoveled my sidewalk and driveway this weekend.  I used to shovel it all winter long, not because my husband wouldn't do it, but because I love the snow!  It is great exercise and so peaceful.  The quiet created by a fresh, deep powder is unparalleled.  I can't do it right now and relying on other people is humbling. 

After thanking my neighbors for their help, one said they wanted to show their appreciation for me and my boys.  The last few months have been difficult but I always smile and keep my spirits high, offering to bring meals, fresh bread, and other baked treats to show my gratitude for their friendship and kindness.  I transport the neighbor kids to and from school on frigid mornings, or walk with them on nice days so they have the safety and security of an accompanying adult.  "We can't risk you falling on this ice.  We need you too much!"

After finding out I needed surgery on my left hip, my mom ordered me a spin bike for my basement!  It is an early Christmas present and I couldn't be more excited.  Instead of driving to the gym every day and entering into needless competition with the elderly positioned beside my machine, I will now stride down a flight of stairs.  Although, I will miss the ease of a quiet rivalry.

In 3 months, I've met 8 people who had the exact same surgery.  Two were at the gym while I worked out.  One woman, only 3 days post operation planted herself right next to me on a bike.  I didn't want to pry, but crutches in hand, it was obvious she just underwent surgery.  She had that grimace between her eyes that everyone accused me of for 2 weeks post op.  "I'm so sorry, I don't want to be rude but, torn labrum?"

She smiled.  "Yeah, exactly.  How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess.  Hey, I'm 8 weeks post surgery and look at me.  I'm sweating up a storm on this thing, huffing away, with resistance I might add.  It gets easier.  And it isn't as bad as everyone warns.  You'll be fine."  I've seen her 3 times since and each time she looks so much stronger.

People rooted for me when I got knocked down.  Strangers ask what happened, they cheered me on, and prayed that I wouldn't see this road again soon.  Neighbors, friends, and family cooked, cleaned, and kept me company.  I was never one to willingly accept help.  I was too proud and I've quickly learned that is a character flaw.  A fault that needed change.  I've developed a new sincerity and the ability to graciously accept a kind gesture such as shoveling my driveway, not as an act of pity, but as love.  On the way to physical therapy each week I see patients entering the hospital with their own struggles and I quietly smile, sending positive thoughts for a swift recovery. 

It's not fair that I need to operate on the left hip only months after the right one was repaired.  But what I've gained from this experience has made me stronger and more grateful.  A life chalk full of irony and challenges is far more interesting. 


~Roadburner

Some goals take more humility

Ten weeks ago my sights were set on Halloween.  I kept telling myself that by Halloween I should be able to walk with a minimal limp and no crutches for at least a mile at a time.  If I could get to that point, things would start feeling more like normal and my hip surgery would be a long removed memory.  While pain and a revolving limp are pretty familiar, I surpassed my goal.  I've been walking my boys to and from school, a quarter mile each way, for a month now.  Those obnoxious crutches found a home in my basement and most strangers would have no idea I've ever had major surgery. 

My youngest son was a "fierce spider."  My oldest, Captain America.

I've always been goal driven.  When I wanted something I would run out and take it, work my butt off and grab the opportunity.  I graduated college summa cum laude with a double major in three years.  Yeah it took a lot of late nights and hard work, I didn't play as much as many, but I saw the destination and I got there.  While satisfied, I always knew I would graduate.  It was my path.  There weren't bumps along the way, I didn't  have to practice any form of humility.  It was a diploma of pure grit.

This time I am combining hard work and humility.  I have permanent loss of feeling covering a large chunk of my hip.  When I reach my hand into the right pocket of my jeans, I can't feel it.  There's no sensitivity to touch over a 5 inch square patch.  The two scars are a window into my healing.  When they are red and inflamed, my joint is red and inflamed.  I've learned to find equilibrium in my workouts.  Push too hard and I can't walk for two days without a strong limp and major piercing pain.  Don't push hard enough and the entire joint seizes up in a restricting tightness that makes it equally as hard to function.  I'm trying to learn how to test that balance with muscles that grow daily. 

During hard training runs and races that felt like they would never end I always used to count my steps.  It felt easier as a direct distraction than any simple words.  1-2-3.  1-2-3.  Shoot, I employed this simple method while in full labor racing down Colfax Avenue on the way to St. Joesph Hospital, 45 minutes from our home.  I was fully dilated and cars kept pulling up next to us at each light pointing at me and laughing.  I was breathing hard and ready to tear their feeble heads off.  I stared intently at the clock on the dashboard.  1:45.  1:45.  1:46.  1-4-6.  1-4-6.  1-4-7.  Time is moving.  I am almost there.  

I started my rehabilitation on a bike.  10 minutes everyday for 2 weeks.  No resistance, but very painful.  Patience.  Week three I added 5 minutes.  I looked around at all the people sweating.  I was jealous.  Patience.  Within a couple weeks I added resistance to the spin bike and very slowly worked my way up to 45 minutes.  Patience.  My physical therapist told me to start using the elliptical, but watch carefully for soreness.  I only lasted 5 minutes the first time.  My femur danced garishly around the socket with every pull.  I cursed and jumped off.  After waiting two more weeks I attempted it again, cautiously. I've built up to 30 minutes on the elliptical with resistance, but I still can't handle more than 45 minutes of cardio at one time.  Patience.  Living in the moment is easier than always looking forward.  I find taking smaller bites out of a larger goal is much more satisfying than focusing on what isn't yet possible. 

Strength work is a part of my daily routine.  I ride the bike for 45 minutes and jump off for clam shells, bridges, ball crunches, free weights, planks, push ups, lunges, etc...  I've learned not to do the same exercises everyday.  Each week I ride the bike, swim, and use the elliptical.  My muscles are becoming much more balanced and I feel my strength growing daily.  My legs, glutes, arms, and lower back are all stronger now post surgery.  That is an honest victory.  I can't run yet.  That probably won't happen for another couple months at best, but when I hit the trails again I will be steadfast.   


~Roadburner

Surgical Emotions

There are numerous things that I expected during the first few weeks recovering from my surgery.  I knew I would miss running.  Shoot, I've missed running since June.  The pang of needing to push the strength of my lungs, stretch my legs, and feel invigorated on the trails is something I will never break free from.  I need to run.  I miss it dearly.  But because I expected to long for it, I haven't been surprised by its lengthy absence.

I expected immobility.  I knew waddling to the bathroom in the middle of the night, crutches in hand would be laborious.  Obviously, all the machines and bandages would scare the crap out of my kids.  I also expected boredom, and draining my brain from endless hours of television.  I expected intense, indelible pain and relief from multiple pain killers.   

I didn't have a clue.  I don't miss running, I miss burning off steam.  If given the opportunity, I would enjoy an intense finger aerobics class.  Oh, and who would have guessed how much I would miss swimming?  Somehow I found a home in the pool during the summer and I long to immerse my sore hip in the cold water. Three weeks left until I can swim a few laps, I can't wait.  My physical therapist lets me ride a stationary bike for 15 minutes each week.  I treasure those moments when I raise my heart rate to 95 bpm.  Instead of watching the clock waiting for it to end, I smile and hold onto the effort.  I don't work up a sweat, but I am moving.  Sort of.

Cutting through my leg muscles combined with only being allowed out of bed for 2 hours a day leaves major side effects.  My right quadracep is Jello.  It isn't rounded and strong anymore.  When I flex the muscle it wiggles and I can poke straight through to the bone.  However feeling weight on the bottoms of my heels feels wonderful.  I learned to stand unassisted on both legs the other day.  I practiced for 30 minutes starring in a mirror on how to balance my weight evenly 50% per leg, and when I figured out how to no longer lean to the left, I was elated!  "Yes, I can stand up!  I am getting somewhere."

Recovery presents an amazing dichotomy.  In one hand, I have never felt so lifted and held up by my family and friends.  Close friends and relatives cooked for us so much so that I still have frozen meals in my freezer to last another week!  A couple friends brought me lunch in bed and sat bedside filling me in on gossip.  Randall took over a week off work to focus on me and the kids.  My mom flew in this week to help with the kids and spent nap time with me watching TV and talking.  My in-laws have been here every chance they get.  Flowers grace my tables and everyday I get multiple messages checking on me.  "How are you feeling, do you need anything?"  How did I get so lucky?  I feel unbelievably loved.

On the other hand I've never felt so lonely.  The first two weeks are very isolating, spending hours in bed, alone.  I heard my kids laughing and playing downstairs and I couldn't join them. When my husband was off work, he was amazing.  He brought me food and changed out my ice packs.  He stretched out my legs and held me up so that  I could bathe or brush my teeth.  But it wasn't our normal contact.  I was a patient, he was my nurse.  I miss cuddling with him and our active playful banter.  

I had no idea how much I would miss bath time routines and walking my boys to and from school.  Normally I show up to school early so that I can talk with the other parents for 15 minutes.  I need to be around people.  As a family, we never just stay home.  I take my boys to recreation centers, museums, and parks where I play with my kids and converse with other moms.  I am always on the go.  I didn't expect how severe the boredom would be.

This Wednesday I went back to my surgeon, who removed my stitches and took new x-rays.  The top of my femur (the ball part of the hip socket) looks like someone took a bite out of an apple.  There is a lot of bone missing.  It seriously should hurt more than it does!  I told my doctor thanks for not letting this be as painful as it could have been.  He laughed and said, "Thanks for having low expectations of me."  I took major pain pills for the first week, but the side effects of those things are NOT worth it.  My stomach was officially corked.  So I've been off narcotics and dealing with the pain on my own.  It isn't as bad as I thought.  It pinches and aches.  But it isn't excruciating anymore.

My doctor said now that I've made it to the two week point, I can be up more.  I can do my 10 hours in the continuous passive motion (CPM) machine at night and spend more time with my kids.  "If it hurts, don't do it.  Don't fall.  Don't trip.  Don't do anything stupid for at least 18 weeks.  If you get sore at night or the next day, you did too much.  Slow down, but you are free to be up and about.  Rest when you are tired.  No driving for a few more weeks, but you may walk using crutches.  Do NOT take off your brace."

I've never heard more beautiful words!  I AM OUT OF MY BED!!!!!! 


~Roadburner

The Surgery

One week before the surgery my anxiety grew to unprecedented levels.  Everyday I became more anxious.  I can't explain how hard it is to imagine laying down on a table knowing when you wake up, you will feel incredible pain, not be able to take care of your kids, and not be able to walk for over a month.  I knew the recovery was 6 months long, there wasn't a short end in sight.  No, I wasn't afraid of dying on the table or anything that dramatic but I worried how much all the stress affected my kids.  On the way to school one morning my three year old asked me, "Do Mommy's die?"  I was flabbergasted.

"NO!  I am going to be fine and Mommy will always be here."

"But you said they would put you to sleep for the surgery.  Will you wake up again?  How will you know when you are awake again?"

He is three and obviously didn't understand the scope of things.  He didn't understand anesthesia, honestly I don't really get the science behind it either, but his worries were real.  No matter how many times I told him I would be okay and that I wasn't worried, this was just a small bump in a very long road, he saw through me.  I was terrified.

For some reason my surgery was bumped from 12:30 in the afternoon to 2:45pm.  That meant no food and only 8 oz of water starting at midnight the day before.  Happily, it afforded me the opportunity to bring my oldest son, Ethan, to school, and spend the morning with Owen.  We went to the library and a park.  I put him down for his nap at noon and because he forgot my surgery was only hours away, I didn't remind him, and I didn't say goodbye.

As I walked out of his room, my eyes welled up.  "Breathe deeply."  I walked downstairs, told my husband it was time to go, said goodbye to my father-in-law who reassured me I would do great, and strapped on my seat belt.  My poor husband.  I am brave for everyone else in the world.  My boys never see me cry.  I stay strong at the hardest times for them so that they always have a rock, but the second my boys are out of view, I loose it every time.  I looked out the window and cried.  Randall didn't say anything which I was unbelievably grateful for.  There are times to talk, to reassure, to listen, and times to quietly understand.  At that moment I needed to let it out for a few minutes so that I could put myself back together by the time we arrived at the surgical center.

I calmly checked into the center as everyone watched me limp into the lobby.  In one hand I held my $1,900 brace, the other clutched a set of crutches.  My husband had my hospital bag equipped with a toothbrush, clean clothes, and my ID.  Within 5 minutes a nurse asked me to follow her back.  My husband would be allowed to follow in 20 minutes or so after they prepped me.

Nurses are seriously angles sent from Heaven.  They are the most wonderful people I have ever met and the things they witness and endure are beyond courageous.  They aren't there for a fancy paycheck or title.  Everyone of those people were there because they wanted to be.  They knew I was freaking out on the inside.  Their x-ray vision saw straight through my brave facade and knew how to help.  When I get nervous, I become painfully sarcastic.  They rolled with the punches and dealt them back beautifully.  Before inserting my IV, Nurse Linda asked if I needed to pee one last time.  I said, "Yeah that's probably smart."  As I waddled away, butt hanging out of my open gown, she laughed, "I knew we would scare the pee out of you sooner or later!"  The bathroom door slammed closed and I knew I was in good hands.

For some reason I pictured a female anesthesiologist.  Instead I got a wonderful older male who reassured me he anesthetized the dinosaurs.  He asked me what I needed from him and I simply said, "Don't let me wake up.  Let me fall asleep before I enter the operating room and then wake up when it is all done and I will love you forever."  He smiled and assured me he could do one better.

When you have work done on a major joint, it hurts.  There is no way of sugar coating the amount of pain you feel when you wake up and the best way to combat that pain is to block the nerves off before they cut you open.  I never had an epidural when my two boys were born.  They were both completely natural so I was a little nervous about a pain block.  But this time I had nothing to prove.  Let's make this easy on myself, the nurses promised I wouldn't regret it.  The anesthesiologist found a cluster of nerves using an ultrasound, then poked around my back 3-4 times using a huge needle (5 inches long) until my quadriceps jumped around like a pendulum on a clock.  Once the muscle danced, the doctor knew we found the right nerves, he released the medication and within 5 minutes I couldn't feel my right leg.  They sedated me slightly for this so I wouldn't move, but when he finished pulling out the needle I joked with the doctor, "That was the most pathetic sedation I've ever felt!"  He snickered.

Within a few minutes they put more meds into my IV, "This is the good stuff," the doctor smiled.  And we made our start towards the operating room.  Randall was standing in the main hallway.  He looked scared.  I smiled at him, full of blissful drugs, and said, "It's okay.  I love you.  I'm fine.  I'll see you soon."  Black.

I don't remember the sterile operating room.  I don't remember the 15+ people.  I don't remember my puncture holes, the cameras, the continuous x-ray machines, waking up apparently very emotional, nothing.  At one point a nurse appeared very faint.  There was pure white light and her cute little blue hat holding back her hair.  "Jen, take your boys to the beach.  Have you been to the beach?"

"Yes."

"Take your boys there.  Relax.  Build a sandcastle.  Splash.  Have fun."

When I awoke at 6:45pm I felt a lot of pain in my hip and back.  I looked down.  I was in my brace and it felt tight.  "How long have I been here for?  Have I been awake for a while?  I hurt."

Nurses flooded the room and immediately started dosing me with amazing pain meds which washed away my discomforts like the sand under my toes.

"You lied to me."  I teased.

"What?  We did?"

"Yeah, you said I wouldn't dream.  I had the most amazing dream.  My boys and I were at the beach and we built the biggest sand castle you've ever seen.  We body surfed in the waves and my oldest son touched a huge fish.  It was beautiful."

"Oh, sweetheart.  That's wonderful.  You awoke from the anesthesia very upset.  You were scared and crying.  We told you to take your boys to the beach and you immediately calmed down and drifted back to sleep.  You love your boys very much.  They are your calming place."

"Where is my husband?"

"He isn't allowed back here until you are fully awake.  We will take you to your overnight room and he will be there waiting."

While I was fully terrified of the surgery, it wasn't so bad.  I fell asleep telling my husband I loved him.  I woke up with my boys at the beach.  Soon after my husband held my hand as I asked him the same questions over and over again.  He kept smiling at me saying, "You did great, Jen."

I had two full time nurses that night in the hospital.  They were with me every hour delivering pain meds and helping me to use the toilet.  I asked my physical therapist weeks before the procedure how someone pees after this surgery and she said she had no idea.  Well, now I know, like a 90 year old woman with a walker and no range of motion in her hips or legs.  It sucks.

The morning after surgery my right knee and leg were literally three times bigger than normal.

I am partially weight bearing relying strongly on crutches for everything.  I will wear TED compression socks 24/7 for two weeks.  I have calf squeezers for blood clots 20/7 for two weeks and a passive motion machine that moves my knee in and out at a 45 degree angle for 2 weeks and an 80 degree angle for the third week.  I use that machine 10 hours a day.  Half of my labrum was "crab meat" so they cut that all away.  The surgeon said the other half was torn but usable so they stitched up the tear, stretched it out and rolled it up on the other end to replace the irreparable damage.  They anchored that all down and ground down my hip bones in multiple places.  I had a large bone spur on my femur (the ball part of the hip) that caught everything nearby and left lots of tears and scaring.  That little devil is forever gone and my hip has zero impingement.

Owen cuddled with me right away.  He really missed me and wasn't afraid of the machines.  My oldest struggled at first as he came home from school to me strapped down to all this stuff and it scared him.  Once he saw it was still Mommy under all that he gave me a hug of relief.  

When the surgeon came out of surgery to talk to my husband, he said I had the hip of an 80 year old grandma.  Now I have a perfect hip.  He deemed it a huge success.  I now do physical therapy exercises twice a day every day, and will visit the PT office once a week, for the next six months.  I ran 2 full marathons and 9 half marathons on an "80 year old hip."  Give me time to heal properly and I will prove what I can do with a healthy one.

6 Days Post-Op.  This is my second time outside in a week.  I get a few minutes each day where I get out of bed and outside is the first place I ask to go.  

This morning I asked my husband to sit on the porch with me for an hour while the kids were at school.  He looked at me really kindly and said, "Jen, I really need some exercise."  Don't I know it!


~Roadburner

Aging Gracefully From the Back of the Pack

My husband and I met really young.  We are high school sweethearts and he has been my best friend for over 15 years.  During that time we always promised each other that we would age gracefully.  What the heck that even meant, I have no idea.  I think we were aiming at the beautiful ideal where you don't fight the aging process, you accept it as it comes and whamo, you are old people smiling at each other from your front porch rocking chairs. 

We were young and so naive.  I think part of aging is learning to fight it.  The older I get, the more I find myself trying to prove that I am better than my age.  I must remain invincible, untouched by wicked wrinkly fingers and gray hair.  I found my first gray hair a few years ago, plucked the imposter immediately, and soon after found a few more.  I have yet to break down and color the bastards, but one day I will.  Until then I age gracefully, while my hair thins with a sturdy pull at each white strand.

On my 30th birthday my friends told me these would be my golden years.  My thirties were supposed to stand for knowing who I was, not having small babies in the house, having a strong career path, and money finally in the pocket.  Finally, I was old enough to enjoy the spoils of life, but not too old to feel burdened by pain and popping joints.  That's why I feel betrayed by my defective hip. 

For months now, I've embarked on a journey deep within my head.  I'm soul searching in a last attempt of a quarter life crisis.  If my body shows signs of aging, wearing away at the joints at just 30, what should I do with my remaining time?  At first I thought I should hide in a corner and protect the precious moments I have left with my working limbs, but that's a waste.  Why would I fix my broken pieces if I plan on letting them collect cobwebs? 

My husband and I discussed moving somewhere new.  Maybe a small town would do it for us.  No more over-crowded suburbs.  Our boys could grow up under the stars, climbing trees, riding bikes in the forest, and learning to kayak down mountain rivers.  That sounds like a peaceful existence.  Every morning, I could wake up to the rushing stream, hop in my canoe and enjoy the silence.  Maybe I could run a couple days a week, but I wouldn't need it anymore.  I could avoid further injuries by falling in love with my hollowed out tree trunk and a paddle.  Better yet, I could finally become a cross country skier, and plow new paths on rolling hills. 

Sadly, we need money and that lifestyle is not conducive to a paycheck.  My husband has a very specialized skill set and I like food on the table and a roof over our heads. 

Honestly, I don't know where this leaves me.  I'm not invincible.  It sucks, but someday I am going to get old.  My right hip is "50% healthy," which isn't a great score when I plan to live another 60+ years.  My left hip has the same condition as the right, but hasn't reared its ugly head yet.  I've watched my mom struggle with arthritis for a good portion of her adult life and I always thought, "Man that is horrible.  Good thing I won't have to deal with that."  I assumed I got other genes or something.  She was unlucky, while I knew I would remain untouched.

Instead of adjusting my life's trajectory, I am making small changes which I think are making me a better person.  I completely jumped outside of my comfort zone and learned to swim.  At first I was terrified of being judged by the lifeguards and natural swimmers, but throw on a swim cap and goggles and no one knows who I am.  The safety of anonymity is exciting.  I enjoy the water and monotony of laps.  It is the same action over and over, lending itself to a beautiful repetition that creates a meditative state. 

Now I live at the back of the pack.  Walking with a group, I am always last as I can't keep up, but I have more time to observe my surroundings and for the first time in my life, I enjoy simply walking from one point to another.  It is nice to not train for a race, the pressure of certain paces and distances are obliterated.  My old calendar was organized from month-to-month from one race to the next.  Now, I am looking forward to trick-or-treating with my boys this Halloween.  Small goals don't have metals and praise, but I am learning to appreciate their merits. 

Unexpectedly, I've improved through this process.  I know I have a lot of great healthy years ahead of me and it is now that I must take the time to decide how to spend those precious moments.  I took my body for granted, expecting it to age without much wear and tear.  I thought I could pound out thousands of miles without consequence, but luckily I now see it is about balance and enjoying the effort.  With a healthy and strong body I can challenge myself in ways I've never dreamed.  I thought I was a runner.  That was it, I ran.  But I am not just a runner.  I am a mother, a wife, a friend, a marathoner, a swimmer, a biker, a hiker, an adventure seeker. 


~Roadburner

I am scared. But I am stubborn and lucky to be so loved.

My entire life has been turned on its head.  Typically I run every morning for at least an hour before my children awaken, but I haven't run in months.  The range of motion in my hip degrades weekly and while I have put off this surgery to the very last moment, the time has come.  It isn't like I haven't tried to talk myself out of it.  I got 3 surgical opinions.  I trained with two physical therapists.  I neglected all exercise except walking for 3 weeks, hoping my hip would miraculously regenerate a new labrum and cartilage.  Instead, the injury has gotten much worse.  At first it only hurt when I ran, now it hurts if I sit for more than 10 minutes, or stand still for more than 5.  Walking hurts, biking hurts.   This is necessary and I know that.  I can't live with this pain and I am one lucky girl that I have the opportunity to fix it.  My surgeon said I have a 50% hip.  He promises he can give me a 95% hip.

I met with my surgeon one last time for the preoperative discussions.  I quickly discerned the meaning of preoperative, "Fill out a crap load of paper work, sign your financial and physical life away, and sugar coat the operation one last time so I don't run at the alter." 

"Can you give me something for the morning of?  Just to take the edge off?"

"No.  We need you fully aware and able to sign your leg beforehand.  Once you do that, we will give you a nice dose of Valium."

"Wait, what?  Sign my what?"

"Yeah we will mark the incision sites and you need to sign your hip next to my marks to show it is the proper location."
 
Next they fitted me for my $1,900 brace (WHAT?), handed me 7 pain and anti-inflammatory prescriptions, and a pair of crutches.  We went over the expectations for the various cold water circulating machines, passive movement machines, and calf squeezing equipment that will be strapped to me 24-7 for two weeks.  The reality struck.  "When will I be normal again?  You know, walking without a limp and pain free?"

"I can guarantee you will be walking without a limp around 7 weeks from now.  You will be pain free in 3-4 months.  Jen, this is a long recovery, be patient."

As the doctor readied himself to leave, I laughed, "You know I am letting you cut me open, shave down my bones, put screws, pins, and someone else's cartilage in me, all so that I can eventually run again.  Is that just stupid?  Should I have my head checked?"

The doctor smiled, "Yeah, we can check that too if you'd like."


My husband and I went to dinner afterwards.  We needed time to clear our heads.  As we sat at the table in near silence I told Randall my biggest fear is letting go of control.  When they put you under, you put all of your trust into a total stranger.  My doctor is one of the best in the country, but he is still a stranger.  He doesn't know me.  He doesn't know my boys.  Afterwards I will be relying on so many people to get dinner on the table, and my kids to and from school because I can't drive or walk for a month.  I take pride in caring for my kids and always being available.  This won't be easy stepping back.

Ethan, my oldest son, wrote a story in school yesterday that his teacher wanted me to see.  They read a book about worries and how to make them go away, their task was to respond to the story with their own experiences.  He wrote about me.  He said, "My mom has a full plate.  I can tell she is scared and worried, but she won't tell me she is because she is strong like that.  But I am worried for her.  I don't want her to hurt or not be her anymore.  Running makes my mom happy.  I want her to be happy and run again, but I am worried."

This broke my heart.  And all I can say to my son is that he is right.  I am so strong and so damn stubborn that I will be fine.  I have amazing friends and family surrounding me.  I took them for granted as I had no idea how lucky I was to be loved so much.  I never knew how my loved ones would step up and offer their support and service.  We will be okay because of them. 


~Roadburner

Some goodbyes are just not that easy

I eat healthy.  I take care of my body.  I avoid medications when possible.  I don't drink too much, I have never done drugs or smoked.  I run and exercise religiously.  I plan to not only see my great-grand kids run around my back yard, but I plan to run around with them.  I am made of tenacity, grit, and perseverance.  But my body is wearing down at age 30.  Or as my surgeon eloquently stated today, my "body is a tire and all of the tread has prematurely worn away."

Last Wednesday I had an Arthrogram MRI.  I walked into the imaging office thinking it would be like any other MRI.  They give you an IV which makes you feel warm inside, like you peed your pants, and send you through this tube for a few minutes which buzzes, clicks, and sends you on your way.  Easy.  When the technician sat down very solemnly next to me I was at a loss of words.  "Do you know what you are having done today?"

"Well, I did.  Until you got that look on your face..."

"Yeah, this isn't a normal MRI.  We can't just inject you with dye.  We have to inject the dye into the joint space of the affected area.  In order to do that we will have to inject you with a series of pain relievers and saline solution to separate the hip joint before applying the dye.  Once you're bone and joint are appropriately numbed, we can inject the imaging solution which we will use to enhance the MRI pictures."

"Okay, so you use a lot of needles in my groin area and it won't be pleasant."

"Yeah."

I revisited my surgeon today to go over the results of the pictures.  Here are his findings, "...a slightly elevated alpha angle of 57 is calculated and may be accompanied by a mild caliber broad-based 'bump'.  The majority of the anterosuperior quadrant segment of the acetabular labrum displays pathology, particularly along its inferior 2/3, suggesting prominent chondrolabral separation which may include a component of dissolution of the labral substance as the gap between these surfaces measures 3.5mm and exhibits degenerative signal and mild morphologic distortion..."

Let me translate: "Her hip hurts because the ball part of the hip socket (the femur) should be shaped like a sphere.  Hers is shaped like an egg.  We need to shave the bone down to make it the right shape.  Next, the nice slippery pillow of cartilage called the labrum that cushions the ball and socket joint are disintegrated.  Gone.  That is leaving a gap between the ball and socket that is about as wide as my cell phone.  This bone on bone rubbing is leaving a lot of gross debris.  She has significant osteoarthritis in the joint which will only get worse."

Here's the surgery in a non-graphic nutshell.  They will put my leg in a traction device that will separate my joints manually so that they can get their tools in there.  (AKA a torture devise used during the Spanish Inquisition.) Then the doctor inserts a camera through an incision so he can see my insides.  From there, they will cut more holes and take a piece of my IT band from my thigh and insert that as my new padding between my joints.  They will screw that into place in multiple areas and clean up their mess to make it look all nice and tidy.  The procedure takes about one hour to perform and 6 months to heal.

I won't be able to bear any weight on my right leg or drive for at least a month.  Four to six weeks after the procedure, I will have to learn how to walk again.  Stairs present an entirely different obstacle. 

I asked the doctor if this will allow me to resume running at my previous training routine and he said that was very doubtful.  Chances are my other hip socket is a ticking time bomb and the more impact I apply to the joint, the faster it will fail.  He said in 6 days of training, I could run maybe 1-2 days a week after a full recovery.  The other days will be spent weight lifting, swimming, biking, and using clumsy machines like the elliptical.

What if I say, "Screw it?  I don't want them to cut away my IT band and re-purpose it."  Simply walking in the near future will become very difficult.  I already have pain just driving my car and walking .25-.5 miles.  My hip clicks, catches, locks, aches, and stabs constantly.  At 30 years old, do I retire from an active life and give into the osteoarthritis that has already taken residence throughout my right hip?

I originally thought the surgery would be my opportunity to run another marathon.  Sadly, that ship has sailed.  The damage is much worse than I anticipated and the recovery much harder.   I'm crushed.  I have unfinished business.  Before the Colfax Marathon #2, before my hip joint gave up, I was in the best shape of my life.  I was so strong and getting faster every day.  I was ready to try to qualify for Boston.  At this point I will be lucky if I can run a quality 10k again.  I've spent the last 10 weeks really analyzing my priorities.  I didn't know how much running contributed to my happiness and sanity until it was taken away.

When I fall asleep for my surgery I want a positive image in my head, a tangible goal.  My doctors have all warned me the recovery will be difficult.  I need something to hold onto to get me through this.  I thought that image would be qualifying for the Boston Marathon.  Now, I don't know what it is.  Maybe I can train for a triathlon next summer.  Hopefully I can go sledding with my boys this winter.  The down time, rest, and rebuilding of my muscles will offer me a lot of time to priortize.

I think the worst part, the scariest thing that I struggle with the most is how much this will affect my kids.  Running isn't most important.  Walking my boys to school everyday is.  



~Roadburner

Colfax Marathon Taper. My hands are shaking.

I am loosing my mind.  The Hanson's Marathon Method calls for a 10 day taper.  Six days into that recovery period and I can't stand it anymore.  For 5 days I felt strong and energetic.  I was so grateful to finally have energy back.  But now I have more energy than I know what to do with.  I tap pencils, my hands are shaking, my stomach is upset, my heart races, and my legs are begging to move.  I haven't cut out running altogether and I still have a fairly high mileage over this 10 day period, but half the mileage from my peak schedule, 60 miles down to 25, is causing major withdrawals. 

I let my 3 year old son skip his nap yesterday so we could go somewhere.  We ended up at Yogurtini and then the mall where we walked around in circles endlessly.  Walking to pick my son up from school another mom asked me, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah I'm fine.  I just need to do something." Her eyes bugged out a bit at my enthusiasm.

Last night I cleaned my house.  I cleaned so violently that I fell down in a heap of exhaustion at the end of it.  Twenty minutes later my legs and hands started shaking again.  I fell asleep easily last night but at 5:00 this morning, my normal running time, I awoke to a racing heart and misfiring muscles.  So I came downstairs, ate a quick snack and sat in silence wondering, "What the hell do people do with themselves who get up at ungodly hours and don't run?"

Now that my family is awake, they keep staring at me, like they are waiting for detonation.  So here I sit with my head down, legs secretively shaking under the desk.   

Crap, I have 4 more days of this. 


~Roadburner

Germaphobia

The wind in Colorado has been insufferable lately.  My two young boys have been stuck inside and are driving each other (okay, mainly me) insane.  To get them out of the house, we decided a trip to the library and then a nearby park would be fitting.  But when we arrived at the park we found the 30 mph gusts weren't letting up, and there was no way we were going to enjoy the 46 degree temps.

My youngest son was desperate to play and didn't mind being carried away like Toto.  So I struck a deal and decided to head over to the brand-new Chick Fil A that is equipped with a children's area.  Wow, dumb decision. When we got there, the place was packed.  I wrongly assumed 10:00 am would be an ideal time to play as it isn't breakfast or lunch and the place was brand new so it must be spotless.  Nope.  It was not spotless.  There was food and dirt EVERYWHERE.  The handles to the doors were smeared with grease and boogers.  Seriously, there were boogers smeared on the windows.

My two carefree boys skipped off, ripping their shoes and jackets away before I could bolt.  Crap.  We were here to stay.  So I hunkered down in a corner where I could watch them and proceeded to listen to a 4-year-old boy hack his lungs out with such bronchial strength, I was sure we were all infected.  I hate germs.  I am not a total germaphobe all the time, but I really despise taking care of sick kids because they are so miserable and I feel their suffering.  Not to mention, my race is 2 weeks away and hell or high water, I am toeing that line.  Call me selfish, but you don't give up on hard work, missed nights out, lost sleep, blisters, frozen nose hairs and contacts from subzero training runs, and all those miles, just because some selfish mom wants to get her infected kids out of the house.

I let my kids play for about 20 minutes.  I sanitized each of them every few minutes and left.  When we got home, they immediately ripped off their clothes and got into a warm shower.  Did I take it too far?  Yes.  When my kids are completely terrified of germs in the future I will know exactly how those fears germinated.  But hopefully they will also think of their mom's goals and how she never let anyone stand in her way, not even a 38 inch, mucous-ridden stranger.


~Roadburner

Eighteen Days Left Until the Colfax Marathon 2014

Less than three weeks left until the Colfax Marathon and I feel incredibly excited and nervous.  I've come a really long way.  I started amping up my mileage at the end of October last year and officially started training for this race in November, 23 weeks ago.  Since then, I've run 852.23 miles, and lost over a minute in my marathon pace.  I get up at 5:00 am consistently, and burn over 1,500 calories before I make my boys breakfast.  Six months ago, I dreamed of running 6 days a week, but worried the constant impact on my joints would kill my endurance.  It's had the opposite effect.  I am stronger, faster, and more determined than ever.

Last week was my peak training week.  I ran 67 miles total.  I remember looking at this week months ago thinking, "How on Earth am I ever going to get there?  I am tired running 35 miles a week, is it possible for me to double that number?"  I remember my friends and family thought I was crazy.  They would look at my schedule and say, "Wait, are you serious?"

To get over that self doubt, I devised a genius plan: Don't Look Ahead.  I followed the Hanson's Method to a T.  If they said run slow, I ran slow, knowing tomorrow would suck if I didn't.  On the days where I needed to run fast, I ran fast.  I didn't cheat myself and I pushed really hard.  Speed work days taught me I'm stronger and faster than I thought.  I checked off the workout every day and marked it in green, yellow, or red marker, allowing for daily reflection and growth.  Green days signified I ran well and wanted to continue.  Yellow was okay.  I was glad to be done, minor aches and pains were small annoyances but I pushed through.  Red days were agonizing.  I never bailed on a workout but I desperately hated myself on those days.  Thankfully, I only self-loathed occasionally.

By not looking ahead, I managed what was in front of me.  Somehow, I ran myself to this point.  I am excited to see how this race goes.  I am also terrified.  Five freaking months of training need to pay off.  I took it very seriously.  I didn't bail, cheat, or skip on workouts.  I started taking 3-4 ice baths a week (after every hard effort), 1-2 epsom salt baths a week (recovery days before bed), and I rolled out twice a day (once in the morning after I ran, and once before bed.)  I've never focused on my diet so much before.  Yes, cupcakes and brownies love me, but I ate fruit and vegetables at least 10 servings a day.  I made my own energy bars each week and focus on whole grains and lean protein.  This training period has been life changing.

Because I get up so early, my husband gets up with the boys every day and gets their day started until I get home.  He has been patient and understanding and somehow willing to deal with my exhaustion and obsessive behavior.  

All this hard work will pay off.  When I began this journey 5 months ago, I wanted to get a 4:00-4:05 marathon time on this difficult course but my tempo, strength, and speed sessions were significantly faster.  I adjusted my time to be sub 4:00, hoping to push myself a little more.  In the last month, I've noticed my kick is stronger and I am learning how to work with my body when it hurts.  I use more of my body now to run, not just my legs.  I'm becoming more efficient and finding new muscles and tone in my legs, arms, stomach, back, and shoulders telling me it is working.  Eighteen days to go, I'm ready.


~Roadburner

16 Miles in Pictures

I ran 16 miles alone on Saturday.  Usually Monica and I like to run together for these longer miles, but our schedules were so busy that we just couldn't find a way to make it work.  I created a really neat loop that covered a lot of ground over 16.75 miles and thought it would be fun to show how much things can change mile-to-mile over that distance.  I love watching how the light changes in the morning.  It is the number one reason why I never mind getting up before the birds.

(Monica, I missed you the whole way, and I didn't want you to miss out on the beautiful views, so here you go:))

Mile 0.  5:15 am.

Mile 0.  Looking North East.  The light is not from the sunrise but from the community center.

Mile 1.5

Mile 1.5

Mile 2

Mile 3

Mile 3.75.  The tiny red dot in the top left corner is Monica.  She had a friend visiting from Ohio and they got a quick run in before her friend had to leave.  I saw them from a distance and waited for a while to see if it was them or not.  Monica, your red hat always gives you away!  ;)

Mile 5 

Mile 5.5.  I've never run on a golf course before.  It was beautiful running along the golf path for a mile.

Mile 6.  That's a mall and major highway in front of me.

Mile 6.25.  Headed under the highway.

Mile 6.5

Mile 7.5

Mile 8.5.  This park leaves out water and cups for park enthusiasts on the weekends.  While I didn't use any, I thought that was really cool.

Mile 10.  This is the cutest neighborhood.  I had no idea it existed. 

Mile 11

Mile 13.  At the top of a 2 mile climb.  I wanted to take a picture of the hill I just climbed, but I didn't because I passed a girl halfway up the hill and she was still back there when I turned around.  It felt rude to photograph her.

Mile 13.  Looking over the highway I crossed earlier.

Mile 14.5.  My calves cramped up suddenly at this point.  I took a Salt Stick and they were refreshed in less than 30 seconds.  That stuff works!  I highly suggest it.

Mile 16.5.  I saw my husband and kids pass by in the car.  They were headed to get me a special breakfast!

When I got home, my husband asked me if I had energy left in the tank for a hike and picnic.  Two hours later, we were at the top of Mt. Falcon, 3 miles total.  The sign above us means, "The well at the gate."  Inspiring, I know!

Looking out over Mt. Rosalie.

Before I started training for marathons, I had no idea how much ground I could cover in one run.  I have a hard time mapping out my runs now because I want something new and different.  It needs to have beautiful views and loop back to the beginning.  I don't like out and back routes, but creating something that covers so much ground is ironically difficult.  

When I got home on Saturday, my boys asked me where I ran.  I told them I ran behind Monica's house, to our library, down to the mall, past Daddy's work, and back up through our favorite playgrounds.  My youngest son said, "Mommy, that's not possible without a car!" 


~Roadburner

Birthday Bliss

I turned 30 last week.  I honestly never thought about living this long.  Not that I did anything stupid or risky to make me doubt such an achievement, but it always seemed a long way away.  Ten years old.  Now that is tangible.  I remember thinking, "Holy cow!  I am old.  BOOM!  I made it to the double digits!"  Sixteen had a ton of fanfare and served me well.  Twenty-one was okay, and again I knew I'd get there.  But each year since has slipped by unnoticed, existing only as an afterthought.

So where am I now?  I have a husband, two sons, my parents, amazing friends, a beautiful home, and I am happy.  I can honestly say I am happy.  I know where I come from.  I know where I am headed.  Things don't seem uncertain like they did in my 20s.  At 21, I had no idea how many kids I would have, where I would work, or live, or how I would stay healthy and sane as I aged.

I have more focus the older I get.  It's making me a better runner.  Ten years ago, I wouldn't have dreamed of running 60+ miles a week, taking infinite ice baths, rolling my legs out twice daily, and getting up hours before most the city rises.  This morning I ran a half marathon for the second time this week and while my body asked politely to stop a few times, I told her to, "Shut up and annihilate this thing," and she obliged.  That little insecure voice in my head doesn't speak loudly anymore.  During this round of training, I have pushed myself harder than ever before and each time I push, I get a little stronger.

In the last 7 days, I've run 64 miles.  Tuesday left my legs battered with lactic acid as I pushed that threshold as hard as I could.  For the first time ever, I ran a 7:11 mile after running 6 miles each under an 8:45 pace.  My calves didn't burn too badly while I ran at speed.  They waited to erupt into acidic flare while I cooled down on a giant hill near my home.  A man walking his dog stopped to watch me stretch out momentarily.  He snickered as I clutched my legs.  "Good run?" he asked. 

"Best yet!" I answered.

Catching Up

I haven't posted in a while because things have been nuts!  I just realized I only have 8 weeks left until the Colfax Marathon and I am in the thick of the training.  To catch up, here's been what's been going on:

• A few weeks ago my son broke the 2 major bones in his wrist.  He was a trooper about it, but it was a hard day nonetheless.  He had to be put under anesthesia to reset the bones and some hardy pain meds for the first couple nights to help him sleep.  Honestly, I am surprised at 6 this was his first broken bone because my son is a monkey.  If he isn't climbing, jumping, kicking, or running, he is asleep.  

• Each week since he broke his arm, I've been in doctor's offices and hospitals getting him x-rays and casts.  Yes, that is plural, he needs 3 different casts and over 30 x-rays by the time this is over.  So the good news is, Ethan may become his own night light soon.

• My youngest son, Owen, graced us with the stomach flu.  I'll leave out the details.

• I crossed the 50 mile barrier.  I thought balloons would shoot out of the ground or something, which made it anticlimactic when I decided to take a nap instead.  

• A friend hired me as an assets photographer for a building company.  Normally, I do portrait photography so this was a whole new world for me, but I embraced the challenge.  For the first time in years, I got up way before dawn, drove downtown and waited for the sun to rise while I sat absolutely still.  I froze my butt off, but I loved every minute.

• I bought a new winter running jacket.  It is the Nike Element.  I LOVE this jacket.  It even has a built in face mask and mittens for crazy cold days that fold back into the jacket when you don't need them.  My husband thought those details were silly and unnecessary considering we own a treadmill but I like the idea of them.  It was on sale at the outlets from $275 to $50. 

• My husband and I saw Jim Gaffigan live this weekend at the Temple Buell Theater with some friends.  I laughed so hard, my abs were genuinely sore for three days after the show.  "Hot Pocket!"

• I've seen 4 different men running along my neighborhood streets wearing their Colfax Marathon shirts from last year.  I want to yell at them, "You rock!"  But I just smile and drive on.    

• Not feeling well throughout my Sunday 10 miler, I decided to take Monday off.  I am fighting a small head cold.  However, Tuesday was a great day for speed work as I decided I would sweat the little virus right out of my system.  Today, he fought back again as I froze my tail off in 11 degree wind chills.  Tomorrow is a tempo day, I'll kill him then.

Well, that's about as random as it gets.  The race still feels very far off, but I am 17 weeks into this training plan and into the thick of the mileage.  I am trying not to look to deeply into things right now as it makes me so much more exhausted to see where I am headed.  Balancing daily life and saving enough energy in the tank to get through the rest of the day is the trick.  Some days I feel really good and I think, "I could push a lot harder than this!" But I have to practice some restraint, following the plan closely leaves energy to play with my boys and get up again the next day.  Marathon training round 2 has taught me patience. 


How is your week going?  
How do you keep up with training and kill a virus?
What is your favorite cold weather gear?

~Roadburner

Diane van Deren

Last night I had the privilege of hearing Diane van Deren, the ultra-marathon champion, speak in person.  It was only an hour long conversation, but her story was truly heroic.

Diane suffered an hour long seizure at only 16 months old due to an awful virus that left her body in a dangerously fevered state.  However, the rest of her childhood was healthy and seizure free.  For the next 20 years she found athletics came easily to her.  She became a professional tennis player directly out of high school after dabbling in multiple sports and finding national success in each.

While on the professional tennis tour she started having weird neurological feelings in her brain that she couldn't explain and no one understood.  By the time she was pregnant with her third child, she had a grand mal seizure that was unexplainable.

After multiple tests and finally an MRI, the professional athlete and mother of 3, found she had epilepsy, caused by the scaring on her brain, left by her first seizure at 16 months old.

For the next 10 years, Diane juggled motherhood, speaking engagements, and of course her professional tour.  But it became dangerous.  She couldn't drive, ski, cook, swim, or take a bath without the fear of having a seizure.  No medication alleviated the 3-4 grand mal seizures a week.  She felt helpless asking her 6 year old child to look after her in the bathtub and even taught her kids how to drive in case she seizured behind the wheel.

After a decade of fighting, she decided a radical brain surgery was her only choice.  After having a kiwi sized chunk of her brain removed, she was free of epilepsy, but it wasn't without consequence.  She struggles with the ability to read and understand complex directions and maps.  Diane becomes severely overloaded and exhausted by too much stimulation.  Her short term memory is questionable at best.  Most of all, she can't keep track of time.

Running freed her from the stresses of over-stimulation.  She zones out completely and finds a comfortable rhythm in her breathing and pace.  Arctic races ranging between 100-430 miles long in -60 weather gave her ironic peace.  She listened to the wind as waves over the frozen tundra and while everyone dropped out suffering injury, exhaustion, and frostbite, she prevailed.

Diane ran 1,000 miles across the state of North Carolina in 22 days, 5 hours and 3 minutes, to bring attention to the Mountains to Sea Trail.  She ran through 5 foot deep water, a tornado, ticks, a tropical storm, and endless blisters under her feet.  During the expedition she averaged 50 miles a day, and rested only for a few hours a time.

Finishing her 1,000 mile run across North Carolina

She is strong, fearless, motivated, dedicated, and resolved.  Sitting in her presence left me awe struck.  Her ability to persevere during mental, physical, and excruciating circumstances would leave anyone questioning their own strength.  What do I take away from this amazing woman's life story? 

I hope someday to run an ultra.  Not the awesome distances that she covers, more like a 50K.  A marathon still seems like a large chunk of land to cross in one day.  I also don't plan to run in sub zero temperatures, or through torrential rains.  I am not fearless nor as strong.

While Diane's achievements left me insecure about my small goals, she runs a marathon everyday for training, I took a lot away from her indomitable spirit.

First of all, Diane found the fountain of youth.  She just turned 54 years old and I didn't think her face looked older than 40.  Her body is rock solid and appeared to be as fit as a 30 year old.  Honestly, I expected her to look wrecked.  After running thousands of miles, she should look gaunt, lacking fingers or toes, wind burned on the cheeks, something.  But she looks amazing and most of all, she radiated happiness.  Through her journey she found peace.

While she prepares for a race or expedition, she looks only at the start and finish lines.  Her brain can't handle all the information in between.  Even when she is very close to the finish line, she doesn't think about it being over until she crosses.  Anything can happen, even at the end of the race, so when she feels she is almost done, she buckles down even harder, tightens up her stride and finishes strong. 

Finally, where Diane finds satisfaction is not in winning.  Of course that accomplishment feels good, but all of her stories were about the journey and who she met along the way.  How countless teams of people planned her routes, laid stones along the paths so she wouldn't get lost, navigated for her, helped her laugh through the suffering, partied at her bedside when she couldn't stand upright.  Her eyes radiated her connection with the people.  She said that's what it is all about.  Running brings people together.  It unifies their spirits in a common goal.

Diane's strategical team in North Carolina.

I wasn't inspired to run long distances beyond maybe 30 miles.  That looks painful, cold, and lonely.  I wasn't inspired to leave my family for months at a time to run the world.  I would miss my kids and my husband and talking to my parents and friends.  I need my community and I know my body was not built like Diane van Deren's.  She was made of a thread much stronger than mine.  But I do hope to continue to strive for that peace she emitted.  I want to find a purity in the sport that leaves me feeling accomplished and balanced as a person.  I hope to meet people along the way and immerse myself deeper in the running community.  Finally, I want to run throughout my life.  The gains I make now, should provide the stem of future goals.


Have you met one of your heroes?

What did you take away from their story?

How has the running community changed you?

~Roadburner