I Couldn't Sleep

My nerves were absolutely shot Thursday night. I had joked about all the forms I had to sign that mean I had to acknowledge this foot surgery could result in worsening of the condition, loss of feeling to the limb, paralysis, stroke, need to amputate the limb and even death. When the PA was going over the forms and she rattled off all of the surgical risks, she said, "If you understand these risks and agree to the procedure, please sign here." I looked at her and said, "Oh yeah, sounds like a great deal. Sign me up!" People always say that the only minor surgery is surgery happening to someone else. As the day grew closer, that saying laid heavier and heavier on my heart!

I tried to stay busy that night. Thankfully I had a great diversion; the Texas Rangers were playing the second game of the World Series (their first Series appearance in the history of the team). In between innings I was gathering my supplies and packing my bag for the following day. Diva and Captain Awesome noticed what I was doing and made requests of what to take to the surgery center. I added their suggestions to my pile.

1. Diva's dog "Maxie": She has had this puppy dog since she was four. Maxie has gone through various surgeries; herself mostly with her front, right limb. She's lost stuffing and her nose. Diva told me to take her. She would make my feel safe and comfort me.
2. Captain's dog "Mommy Daisy": After he heard Diva ask me to take Maxie, Captain told me I could take his Blue Blankie - which is his security blanket. However, he changed his mind and said he just couldn't go without Blue Blankie and asked me to take Mommy Daisy instead. Mommy Daisy is Captain's version of Maxie, only younger and darker.
3. Get well card: Not long after Diva learned that I was having surgery, she stayed after school and visited her favorite teacher from last year. Together they made a get well card for me. Diva asked me to please take it with me so I would remember that she cares about me.
4. Cleansing cloth: I was told not to wear makeup during the surgery. I had to go to work to clean up all of the items on my to-do list and there is NO WAY I was going to go to work without make up.
5. iPod: Doctors never run on time, do they? Needed the music to keep my mind off of the tick tock of the clock.
6. Promise Me book: This is the story of the Susan G. Komen organization, an organization that is very dear to me. I brought this for the same reason as the iPod.
7. Purple cross over backpack: With being on crutches, a purse isn't the most practical option for me to carry... Well, all the junk I carry in my purse.
8. Purple yoga bag: Even though Friday was our Halloween party at work, I couldn't go to work in my "Surgical patient pajama outfit." So, I packed a bag with my pj's for the ride home.
9. Meds: Mmmmm... The good stuff. I was told to stay on top of the pain and bring the drugs to the surgery center. There is some good stuff in that bag!
10. Crutches and boot: Doing what the peeps told me. They told me to bring them, so I did. Did I use them? Nope!

At eight o'clock the kids and I moved into my bedroom to finish watching the game (KISA was at a soccer game). Inning after scoreless Ranger inning, I finally gave up and went to bed (thankfully it was before the San Francisco massacre of the Rangers in the bottom of the eighth inning). Before the kids were put to bed, Captain Awesome was worried that I was going to be hurt during my surgery. He asked me what the doctor was going to do. I decided to just explain the bone spurt - the other procedures were just too technical for him. I explained how my bone was growing a hook that hurt my foot. With his hands, I showed him how your heel is mostly flat but mine wasn't. I asked him if he understood and he very articulately explained it to me. The next morning, he had to show KISA what he learned (see picture).

I went to bed but did not fall asleep. Whether it was the blinking light of my laptop or the swoosh, swoosh, swoosh of my ceiling fan, I could not fall asleep. The Hubs came home from his soccer game and I was still awake. I was finally able to doze off and was awaken to a blood curdling screaming cry. Captain had a nightmare and was in our room saying, "Mommy I miss you." He was hysterical. I shot out of bed to comfort him. I held him while I swayed back and forth. I let him to settle into bed with me and snuck a peek at the clock... Well, that was about 45-60 minutes of sleep, possibly. Score one for Syl!!!

After Captain was calmed down and fell asleep, the freight train in my bed was now keeping me awake. KISA is having some sinus/cold issues which was causing his snoring to be exceptionally loud. (Love you, KISA) I grabbed my purple earplugs. Yes, purple - is there any other color? Placed them in my ears and they just didn't do a darn thing for me. Frustrated, I went to sleep in the living room. It was a good decision, for about five minutes. Daisy, KISA's dog, has her bed in the living room and she was also sleeping.... And she was also snoring and dreaming. Between her snores and legs rapidly moving (I guess she was dreaming that she was running), I was feeling a strange combo of frustration and delirium.

About the time I was determining whether or not I should yell or cry, Hubster went into the kitchen and began making breakfast for me. The anesthesiologist had called me the afternoon prior and went over the rules and regulations of anesthesia. He said that I could eat up to 4:00am, day of surgery. Woo hoo!!!! At this point, things were getting better and better. At first I was told that my surgery was going to be scheduled at 2:45 and I couldn't eat after midnight. Yikes! Then, I received a call that informed me there had been cancellations and my surgery was now scheduled for 12:45 and the midnight rule still applied. So needless to say, after I was told the magical time was 4:00am, I was ecstatic. The hubby stepped up to the plate, literally, and made sure I had food in my belly so I was as comfortable as possible. I truly have the best guy. Yet another reason why I call him KISA.

So, with hubs in the kitchen, I decided to crawl back under the warm covers on my bed. Captain was still there so I cuddled up to his royal cuteness. I don't know if I was hoping to get some sleep in, but if that was my intention it wasn't a lucid thought. I blame it on sleep deprivation. Not long after I was back in bed, KISA came in with my breakfast - migas. I had been craving this dish for a couple of days and he decided to make it for the first time. As I told my aunt - only after she asked - "The gringo migas were great." Ha, ha. I ate up the yumminess and was again frustrated. I was beyond tired, but knew I couldn't get any sleep. I got up and took a shower. Sleep was pointless at this point. After my shower, I think I might have gotten thirty minutes to an hour worth of sleep. It's all a blur.

I went to work for a couple of hours because my to-do list had grown longer and longer the day prior. I had not second to waste. I found that to be a blessing in disguise. I was so busy that I couldn't really think about how hungry I was; however, I couldn't' stop thinking about how thirsty I was. I'll spare you those details. At 10:27, I received a phone call from my boss man. "Sylvia, it's almost 10:30, don't you need to get out of here?" I confirmed his statement. "Well, get going. Don't be late. But I have a question before you go...." I just had to include that in this blog because I was really tickled by that exchange. "You gotta get going, get out of here, but before you do can you help me?"

We arrived at the surgery center at 11:15. I overheard that they were running ahead of schedule. In the waiting room, I saw a number of individuals and only one pair. Hmmm... Was I one of only two folks waiting for surgery? You have to bring a responsible person to drive you home and take care of you. This lobby must be mostly those "responsible people". How ahead of schedule were they running? I tend to over think things. That statement isn't surprising to those that really know me

I filled out the paperwork and settled into one of the chairs, turned on my iPod and broke open my book. I listened to about four or five songs until they called my name. I was putting things away and saw the nurses face... She was obviously in a hurry. I followed her and immediately thought, "This chick needs to switch to decaf." She explained that we needed to "book it" because my doctor was running ahead of schedule and does not like waiting. She rattled off instructions for me to get ready in the restroom. I hadn't even gotten my clothes off and she was knocking on the door, "Are you ready yet?" Geez women! I just got in here. When I got out of the restroom, she just kept saying, "We gotta book it. He's rocking and rolling. We gotta book it." Don't' get me wrong, she wasn't being rude. She was actually starting to make me giggle. I asked her how ahead of schedule he was running and they told me 45 minutes. Rock on!

I finally got to the stretcher and it was my turn to hurry them up. I started giving my orders, "OK, I'm here. Give me the drugs. I'm sleep deprived. I'm tired. Put me to sleep." My doctor stopped by to say hi. He drew a winky face on my big toe and walked away. He can be so weird sometimes. I mean, I already wrote on my foot to let them know which one they need to cut open. The anesthesiologist came by to give me the "good stuff". He said hello and asked if the hubby actually got up and cooked me breakfast. By the way, my husband is a hero in that surgery center. The story of him getting up at 3:00 to fix me breakfast spread amongst the nurses. They informed the anesthesiologist he could take some lessons from my husband. Ouch! I did say hello and quickly added, "Come on. I'm tired. Put me to sleep." They got my husband to come sit by me before they wheeled me off. During that time, I'm sure his ego got more inflated by them telling him how wonderful he is. I don't remember the anesthesiologist pushing the plunger into the IV to give me the sleepy drugs. I don't remember him leaving. I don't remember being wheeled away and I definitely don't remember the conversation my hubby told me I had with the guy. KISA was told he had 45 minutes to get lunch before I got out of surgery. He would need to be there when I got out.

The next thing I rememer is being told I need to wake up. The nurse got me some water and crackers. I was still so weak that I couldn't even bite through the cracker. My sweet husband was there and broke it up into small pieces. Have I mentioned how lucky I am? He is a true sweetheart. I was able to get dressed and head home. I couldn't wait to get home and crawl into my bed. We pulled into the garage and the hubby came to my door with my crutches. I attempted to hold on and walk with them, but I was still too weak. Hubby's ex-wife had lent us a wheelchair that she purchased after she sprained her ankle. It came in handy because I had no idea how I was going to get into the house otherwise.

I was weak and off balance all night. My first attempt to use the restroom had me fall over three times. KISA was really good about giving me my pain meds and ice pack on time. I was prescribed Percocet and this was my first time to take it. I was unaware of the side effects. However, the rats running on the treadmill, black bugs flying across the room, feeling things crawl on me and my hands bleeding as I washed my face were all clues to indicate that hallucinations were one of the side effects.

KISA was also sweet enough to bring me flowers. Not traditional flowers. Not even more than one. It was one flower... Made out of icing... On top of a red velvet cake. I laughed after he explained the cake was "flowers" he got for me. Oh man, I better hurry up and get better so I can start exercising again! If anyone has ideas on how to exercise while on bed rest, LET. ME. KNOW!!!!

HALF-MARATHON

This was the day. The day that my twelve weeks of training came to a head and I proved that I could accomplish something I never thought possible two years ago... Heck, maybe even a year ago. I picked out my outfit the night before and laid it out - complete with my "If I'm doing this it must be getting cold in Hell" BondiBand. I had all of my gear ready to go. I went to bed and drank some hot tea to aid in my drifting off to sweet dreams. As I laid in bed, eyes closed, I started replaying the advice I have received over these past twelve weeks. The one that stood out the most: "Visualize yourself crossing the finish line." I kept replaying that image in my head. Over and over and over again. It was a picture perfect moment. I looked strong. The strength of my stride got stronger and longer as I got closer to the finish line. Once I crossed the finish line, I would run into my husband's arms and my children would join our embrace (although Diva said she was sleeping in and not joining us). Ahhhh... What a sweet visual to fall asleep to last night.

The day had arrived. It was dark and early and it was time to get dressed. I found out that Diva changed her mind and wanted to go cheer me on. That made me smile. Before I knew it. We were ready to go. The dense fog made it somewhat hard for us to get there - missing one turn made us a tad bit later than we anticipated. Once we arrived to the race site, we had less than twenty minutes before the half-marathon started. My first stop was to the portapotties. Oh, the lines at the porta potties. There were four lines, all as long as the others. The conversation flowed as freely as we hoped our... Never mind, I'm not going to finish that statement.

When I exited the portapotty, I met up with a fellow running friend just outside of the potties. We overheard "5-4-3", etc. Freaked out we warmed up/sprinted to the start line - FREAKED!!! How could we have missed the start?!?!?! Then, the announcer then said, "the wheelchair half-marathoner has begun." Whew, we were relieved. We made our way to the starting corral and found the 3:00 pacer, Michelle. My plan was to stick with her and keep her pace. She's been very gracious with her advice and support this past week. I looked forward to running with her. I introduced myself and we were off.

About fifty feet along the course, I saw my family. There was KISA and Diva standing alongside the road. Captain Awesome was sitting on the Hubster's shoulders. I waved with a big smile and continued on. The pace was comfortable as Michelle said that we were going a little fast. That was a relief. I truly felt that I could do this pace for 13.1 miles. The group of runners that were running a 3:00 pace were so friendly - the ones I interacted with any way. Michelle kept us laughing and loose.

At mile one, we were a little ahead of pace. Michelle tried to readjust our strides. We looked to our left and we saw a beautiful athletic specimen gliding along the path, going the opposite direction as us. Michelle began cheering him on and we followed along and clapped and cheered. Then, one of us asked, "How soon do you think he's going to finish." We were astonished to learn he was going to finish the marathon in a third of the time it was going to take us to finish. Luckily none of us had any delusions of being, what's the word? Fast?

Unfortunately, this is basically where my story ends. Circumstances beyond my control sidelined me at mile two. I was done. In tears I called my husband and let him know I could not finish, nor could I go on to the first spectator spot at mile three. The image of the letters DNF on the race result website seared my brain and my disappointment increased. A jovial volunteer offered to take me to start line so I could meet up with the hubby. She was so perky - an obvious attempt to keep my spirits up. I told her how this week was full of barricades that were trying to keep me from running this race - and how I should have relented. I told her how fearful I was to return to our car and tell my children that I quit. She assured me that my son wouldn't remember and my daughter would learn that we have to listen to and cherish our bodies. I hoped she was right.

I saw our car and the Hubster standing beside it. He wrapped his arms around me and let me cry. When I got into our car, my son said, "I thought you were going to run longer." Dagger in the heart. :-) My daughter was so supportive and assured me that it was OK.

I came home and asked to be allowed to lay in bed the rest of the day and pout. This pity party was a one man show. The family agreed but that only lasted an hour or so. Next thing I knew, the kids came into my room with hot pink posters, purple balloons and purple streamers. They intended to have them on the course to cheer me on. Although I didn't finish - or come close to finishing - they wanted to show me how proud they were at my attempt. It was very sweet.

So, what's next? White Rock. I've already put my training plan in my agenda (scheduled workouts make it hard to skip workouts). Although I wrote training for this week, I planned on taking it easy. However, it's time for plan B. The training will go on and hopefully I will go on along with it.

HALF-MARATHON TRAINING: WEEK TWELVE

Counting down the days...

6 Days To Go: This run was a great escape. I was sick over the weekend and spent this day home with a sick kiddo (and another one trying to con her way home from school). I went out for an easy four miles. And when I say "easy", I mean eeeee-zzzzzz. My heart rate barely went into my ideal range. I think I averaged a 16 minute mile. I was singing along to my ipod during the run. I was told this week my runs are supposed to be easy. Well, mission accomplished.

During the last 1/4 mile of the run I began to visualize the race I had yet to endure. I saw the crowds. I saw myself hobbling through the last stretch of the run. I saw myself skipping through this same stretch. I saw myself crawling across the finish line. My last 1/10 mile of this run, I sprinted. I saw myself sprinting across the finish line. Then, I was done. Only two more runs to go.

5 Days to Go: I'm sick. I thought I was over the "uckies" but I guess not. This run was a little painful. My baby boy was at the doctor yesterday. He has an eye infection, bronchitis and the beginning of an ear infection. I think I have his bronchitis. I couldn't go a mile without pain in my chest. Then, my knee started hurting. I asked the Hubs to make me a doctor's appointment. I try to avoid that office as much as possible. So, here is the game plan... I'm going to go to the office, give the doctor my symptoms and tell her to get me race ready. Sounds like a plan to me.

4 Days to Go: I don't run today, but I do go to the doctor. I told her to get me ready for the run on Sunday. She asks, "Is it a fun run?" Yes... It's 13.1 miles of pure joy and sunshine and laughter and cotton candy. Yes - that's sarcasm. She tells me that I have allergy induced asthma and will need to use an inhaler on the run. She also said, "you may not finish". I have been hearing these words too much lately.

3 Days to Go: Just gonna rest.

1 Day to Go: It is the day before my race. I haven't run since Tuesday. I'm feeling 90% better. I'm not sure if I am going to make it 13.1 miles, but I know that I am going to try. I feel like I am not only doing this for myself, but I am doing this for anyone that has told me that they wish they could exercise, run, lose weight. I am doing this for people that have heard my story and reached out to me for advice. I am doing this for every single person that has told me that they believe in me.


PLANNED MILEAGE: 9 Miles
ACTUAL MILEAGE: 7.20 Miles
CALORIES BURNED: 937 Calories

HALF-MARATHON TRAINING: WEEK SEVEN

I am sad to say that this week was not as successfully as I would have liked for it to be. My training was sidetracked due to the pity party that consumed my week. It was all because of back-to-back sub par runs. That was all that I needed to deter my training this week.

I had an awesome workout at boot camp on Monday. It was there that a friend asked to run with me the following morning. I was very ecstatic to have a new buddy to run with me. I came home and told the Hubs all about it. At approximately 5:45 the following morning, I was served a huge dish of humble pie. The request to run with me was veiled with uncertainty as she stated, "I want to see if I can do it". I didn't believe that I would be running with Joan Benoit. This woman who claimed she hadn't run in a while was totally smoking me. I felt so bad for her. I was holding her back. It was embarrassing. I was scheduled for 4.5 miles that day. I only logged three. By the end of those three miles, I lost count of the number of times I apologized for my poor excuse for a run.

I logged 1.59 additional miles during the remainder ofr the week. It was a very poor 1.59 miles. I walked/ran during that distance but was very distracted. I was still thinking about what a failure I had turned into.

On Friday, I attended the Women of Faith pre-conference. I prayed to be blessed on my way there, but my alter ego, Negative Nancy, was skeptical. God had a reason for me being there and the reason why was answered fairly quickly. That first day I witnessed a drama performed by Nicole Johnson called "The Label Maker". My friend nudged me as the character described how much better her life would be once she could organize her entire house with labels from her new label maker. "Doesn't my daughter know that you don't put the blond dolls with the brunettes? It's clearly labeled." It was humorous until the labels were being placed on family members and friends. Her husband had removed a label from their daughter's forehead. It read "chubby". There were a list of labels: "Godly", "Un-Godly", "Lazy", "Selfish", etc. What labels am I placing on everyone else. What labels am I placing on me?

Later in the day, Marcus Buckingham spoke. Marcus was a senior researcher at Gallup Organization for almost two decades. He was part of a survey that asked what individuals focus on more; their strengths or their weaknesses. Gallup conducted the survey for, I believe, four years. Each year of the study, the results were the same. People focused more on their weaknesses.

Weaknesses and labels. It was all coming together. I have been using my weaknesses to label myself. "Weak." "Incapable." "Loser." "Failure." Not only did I see the labels that I was placing upon myself. I realized the I have been also placing labels on my family and my friends. The Lord began working on my heart. That afternoon I prayed that the Lord forgive me for labeling my loved ones. I prayed that my loved ones forgive me for labeling them. I prayed that I be able to let go of this awful habit.

Then, Saturday arrived. It was a powerful day. There were tears as I listened to the speakers. Karen James, widow of Mt. Hood climber Kelly James, spoke about her husband and his love of the Lord. As she discussed the pain she felt after losing her husband, she said something that really penetrated my heart: "You can either curl up or look up during adversity."

The last speaker of the day was Michelle Aguilar, season six winner of The Biggest Loser. She would use her time pulling back the curtain for us and expose what really occurred on The Biggest Loser Ranch. Behind that curtain was fear. One day on the ranch, Michelle had to climb up a big pole and jump off from a small ledge (yes, with a safety wire). Michelle was crippled with fear and refuse to jump. She would find herself crouching on that ledge while smiling. She was crippled with fear. Down below my favorite Biggest Loser trainer, Jillian Michaels, was yelling at her to get it over with and jump off. After about thirty minutes, Michelle jumped off the ledge. Once she had made it back down to the ground, Jillian asked a poignant question, "Why are you so content sitting in your fear?" She then provided advice for this habit, "Feel the fear and do it anyway." This made such an impact on Michelle. She realized that there was no reason for her to be fearful if only she could put it all in God's hands. When you trust our powerful and Almighty God, fear should not be in your vocabulary.

I combined these thoughts together and reflected upon this past week. I have been repeating the same word over and over this week. "Impossible." I say it because I am fearful of my failure. Back to Karen James' statement, I would probably feel very content curling up in my adversity. But what does that teach me? Why would I be content sitting in my fear of failure? I shouldn't. I don't want my readers to think that I went to the Women of Faith Conference for a way to get my training back on track. That's not it at all. This conference touched me and I can't wait to see what wonderful things the Lord intends on me to do with these blessings. But hey, I'm blogging about my running, so that is why I'm relating it to this challenging week I've had.

I know I promised a giveaway this week. I hope you can understand why I had to postpone it. I felt the gift I was given at this weekend's conference was a more important giveaway.

PLANNED MILEAGE: 19 miles
ACTUAL MILEAGE: 4.59 miles
CALORIES BURNED: 1,331*

*Although I didn't run, I did three boot camps and strength training.

HALF-MARATHON TRAINING: WEEK FOUR, Part 1

When life gives you lemons... Go for a run!

Today was an emotional roller coaster. I just could not get out of this horrible mood. Around lunch time, my sister suggested I grab my running book and go to a park and take in some nature. She sent me a link to a local park and even gave a little sales pitch of the park (there are roses there). I would like to publicly acknowledge that she was right. I skipped to the chapter entitled "Potty Talk: Peeing, Pooping, Passing Gas, and Periods" and my foul mood seemed to lift away. ***On a side note, I strongly recommend Run LIKE A MOTHER to any of you women runners. It's pure greatness!*** That chapter, along with my sister's goofy text messages sent me back to work with a smile on my face and pep in my step.

That all went away in an instant. I received devastating news about some family members that had me emotionally spent. I received the news while I was at work. To add to the slew of emotions I was feeling, embarrassment was heaped into the pile. My boss walked by my office as I was reviewing details of this incident in an email. He could tell something was wrong but I dare not tell him. I gave him the, "Ummm... Yes I'm fine." tone that also implies "no further questions are welcome and I'd appreciate you vacating my office." As soon as he left I shut my door and went to pieces. KISA, again appropriately named, took me home. I swear I was in shock. I was angry. Sad. Defeated. There was this chunk of vomit that was stuck at the back of my throat that would not expel itself. I didn't even think I could face the walk to the elevators because I did not want the look on my face to solicit questions. I stopped the tears enough to dash to the stairwell that sits directly across from my office. As soon as the door shut, I allowed the tears to continue to flow as I descended eleven flights of stairs.

I came home. Took some phone calls, made some others. Cried, cursed and thought about not so pleasant thoughts. Facebook nonsense helped for about a minute. Hubby brought me ice cream and later "diet" cupcakes. I ate the ice cream but skipped the cupcakes. I let Captain Awesome know that he could have them. However, I did accept the bite the Captain offered, because it would just be plain rude if I didn't. I laid in bed trying to make sense of something that doesn't. So what do you do when something that makes no sense occurs? You do the only thing that makes sense to you. For me, that was running.

My training schedule said 3.5 miles for today. I didn't know if I was going to do that, or more. I didn't know what route I was going to take. All I knew is that I was going to run. It had rained on my way home and I dreaded the humidity that was still present, but once I took to the pavement, it all seemed to disappear. Not figuratively either. The humidity left. The heat left. God blessed my run with clouds to block the Texas sun and a breeze to get me through the therapy session I had with the road.

I felt rejuvenated just before mile three. I felt wonderful. I was with my thoughts and emotions, but my body was being strong for me. I was in the zone and just decided to keep going. At about 3.6 miles I found myself in what seemed to be a fairly new development. I had wandered into the neighborhood because I had run out of sidewalk. Not really sure how I got there, but I stopped a car and asked for directions to the last landmark I passed. I finally found myself on familiar ground and headed back home.

I felt pooped right around mile five. I got this horrible stitch under my ribs. It was painFUL!!!! I tried walking it off. It wasn't getting better. This is going to sound crazy, but the words of Sarah Bowen Shea came into my head. I had read her chapter "Mental Toughness: Training My Brain" last week. In this chapter, SBS says, "...but if your body never knows what it feels like to go longer, harder or faster, your mind will never trust that it can... Go long enough so you're super uncomfortable and every fiber of you is screaming at your brain to tell your body to slow down. Then go at least a minute - or 5 - longer." When I realized that I only had a half mile to go before I was home, I forced myself to suffer through the pain and pick up the pace. I'll be dang if I'm going to finish by walking. I wasn't sprinting, but I wasn't going at my recovery pace either. My head kept telling my body, "just one more minute longer, just one more minute longer." I got my third wind and smiled as I turned the corner into our subdivision. When I turned the corner to my street, I started sprinting. With each mailbox I reached, I told myself "harder, just a little bit harder" and I picked up speed. By the time I reached my driveway, I felt amazing... That is until the creepy guy in black shoes and white socks pulled half way up his leg gave me an oogie smile.

I'm not sure what the rest of this training week holds in store for me, but I just felt that this run deserved it's own entry.

***The picture is of a rose bush at the park that I took as proof that I followed my big seestor's advice.***