The Half That Kicked My Ass Across the Finish Line...AFM 2012

Today I really don't feel up to focusing on current "stuff."  I don't want to write about stents or bloating or being exhausted.  I just want to think about getting back to running. I've been reading about it all day. Other people's experiences with marathons, ultra, and trail running.  So, I decided share my own story and at the same time be a bit lazy.  This is my descriptive essay from last fall's English 101 course.  I wrote about running the Air Force HALF Marathon. The flow is different from my natural, free writing style since it is a more formal paper.  (all photos are my own...and I DID get an A.) 

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The 2012 United States Air Force Marathon is a day that I will remember for the rest of my life.  The pre-race anticipation of the crowd was energizing. The experience of meeting new people along the route was inspiring.  Learning what it means to “hit the wall” was humbling.  And being able to finish a 13.1 mile race meant more to me than I ever imagined.

    The morning of the race we arrived at the National Museum of the United States Air Force at 6:30 am.  The sun had just started peaking over the horizon. Venus was still visible in the sky.  The air was crisp and the mist was low to the ground.  It was a perfect morning for our first half marathon.  As we passed through the security check I started feeling the energy of the crowd.  People were milling about, jumping up and down, trying to keep their muscles warm before the gun fired.  There were runners checking in bags at the baggage claim tent.  These people were the smart ones.  They would have dry clothes after the race. And more importantly, they would have comfortable, loose fitting shoes in which to make the trek back to their cars. There were also hundreds of people in line at the porta potties, bouncing from side to side with pre-race anticipation. I do not think I have ever seen so many blue outhouses in one place in my life. Oddly, the same people who were just minutes away from either running or walking 6.2, 13.1, or 26.2 miles were not willing to walk a few extra yards to an empty porta john.  

 

Early morning mist before AFM start

      As time got closer to the start of the full marathon, a group of about 14 airman lined up near us; all carrying fully loaded back packs weighing about 60lbs each. Two were carrying flags; one with the U.S. flag, one with the Air Force flag.  Over the loud speaker, the announcer told us to prepare for our National Anthem. The airman stood at attention and the crowd encircled them.  As the woman began to sing, you could have heard a pin drop.  Everyone stood respectfully, some with hands on their hearts, some with hands clasped behind their backs.  I truly believe this was the most emotional National Anthem I have experienced.  There was something special about hearing an Air Force officer singing live, while looking at the flag being held by one of our servicemen.  As I looked around, I saw grown men wiping tears from their eyes. 

Loaded down getting ready to run the 10K

     It was time for us to retreat to the sidelines so the 10K and full marathon runners could line up.  Just seconds before the gun went off; the B-2 Spirit graced us with a flyby. I have seen pictures, but nothing prepared me for how large the stealth bomber was.  It looked like a giant black triangle, yet it managed to be beautiful and elegant.  I was also unprepared for how quiet it was.  One would think that by its name, I would have expected that. But after living near an Air Force base the better part of my life, I was still anticipating the body shaking rumble of afterburners. 

B-2 Flyover

      The runners lined up according to their expected finish time. Some were running with official pace teams, to keep them on track for a 3 hour 5 minute marathon finish, down to a 5 hour finish time.  And there were those at the front of the line, who ran alone, who would finish in well under 3 hours, the elite runners who easily qualified for the big one, the Boston Marathon. There was also an unofficial “back of the pack” pace team whose goal was just to finish by the 7 hour cut off time. I was in awe of all of these runners and walkers. They were about to do something I could only dream of.  They were about to conquer 26.2 miles. I was only going for  half that distance and the thought scared me. 

Runners lining up

     Soon it was our turn to line up.  We headed straight for the back of the pack as we knew it would take a while to finish. Thankfully, my husband and I decided to complete this race together.  I knew I would need his encouragement to make it to the finish line.  

         The first mile and half was slow. We had six hours to complete it and knew once the crowds thinned out we could speed up.  When we reached the top of a hill, we looked down to see hundreds of runners in front of us, fighting their way through a bottle neck.  This was a little distressing to see. But the good thing about being at the back of the pack, it allows time for things like that to clear out.  

Bottleneck

     At mile five I saw a young man, about my son’s age, in fatigues carrying a loaded backpack.  As I got closer to him, I noticed the name on his bag was Jenson. I saw that he was hunched over holding his arms across his chest. I realized he not only had a fully loaded rucksack, he was also wearing a weighted breast plate. I walked next to him and I asked how much weight he was carrying. He told me it was eighty-five pounds.  I smile and told him I thought he was amazing and then I picked up my pace so he would not see me start to cry.  I am grateful for our military, but as a mom, all I can think about when I see these young men and women is how I should be protecting them, not the other way around.  

Thank you for your service.

     By mile eight, I hit my first wall. I had always heard about the dreaded wall, but never truly experienced it.  At this point on the course we hit a long and steep highway overpass. Halfway over the bridge I started crying a second time, now out of frustration. I told my husband I was not sure I could finish and that I would NEVER do this again. He grabbed my hand and told me to go at my own pace, we would finish this. After a few minutes I started thinking about Jenson and how he would have to walk this same overpass. I also thought about my cousin, who was suffering from complications after having a C-section just days before.  I knew I would never forgive myself if I gave up. I decided if my own pride was not enough motivation for me to finish, then I could at least finish for them. 

My first wall. THIS SUCKED SO HARD!

     By the time we reached the end of the overpass, I was feeling a second wind. As we approached mile nine, we heard spectators cheering on the runners. Soon I was able to hear our daughters yelling. Seeing them sent me over the edge and I started crying, yet again, this time out of pride; pride for myself and for my wonderful girls who were doing their best to encourage us. Thankfully, I was drinking plenty of water and Gatorade, so I stayed hydrated.  

My second wind.

     The next two miles were not bad.  The volunteers at mile ten handed us cold wet sponges. Although it was only 70 degrees, we were still very warm. The cold water running over our heads and down our backs was invigorating.  By mile eleven volunteers were cheering us on saying, “Only 2.1 miles to left! You’ve got this!”  Here is when I hit wall number two. And when I wanted to punch someone for telling me I “ONLY” had 2.1 miles to go. In my head, 2.1 sounded like 100. 

Wall #2. "Only 2.1 miles to go!" Screw You!!!

     Somewhere between miles eleven and twelve, I needed to stretch my legs. We veered off the course to sit in the grass.  Within half a minute of sitting down, two EMTs on bikes stopped to make sure we were okay. We told them we only needed to stretch, but they insisted on staying with us until we were back on our feet.  I made sure to thank them for being there for the runners.  

   About a quarter mile later we saw a runner on the side of the road curled up on his side. He was in a lot of pain. Unfortunately, the EMTs had gone in the opposite direction.  We could hear other runners ask if he was OK, but nobody stopped to help.  As we got closer my husband ran across the road and asked if he could help him up. He said no, but it was obvious that he could not stand on his own.  Another woman stopped and together they helped the man up. They draped his arms over their shoulders and helped support him for about a quarter of a mile. He was able to work out his leg cramps and after a time started walking on his own. As I watched my husband walk with the man I temporarily forget out my own discomfort. Seeing him help someone else was inspiring and I could not have been more proud to be his wife.

Unfortunately, after the man was able to walk on ahead of us, I was reminded that I still had another mile to go, and somehow that seemed impossible. The last mile was very slow going. Every time I tried to speed up, my legs resisted. During the last half mile, I could see the finish line. Instead of feeling elated, I was feeling defeated. I had wanted to finish this race with a smile and energy to spare. That was not going to happen. I tried to run the last few yards, but my claves cramped up. Instead of crossing the finish feeling like I had just conquered a half marathon, I limped across the line feeling like 13.1 miles had conquered me. As I hobbled through the finishers corral, a female Air Force Bird Colonel looked me in the eye, said “Congratulations, Elizabeth” and put my finisher’s medal around my neck, I changed my mind.  I most certainly did conquer a half marathon. 

Next time I WILL get to enjoy the finish.

     Although this was one of the most physically and emotionally challenging things I have ever done, I am grateful to have had the experience.  I learned a lot about people’s characters, especially that of my husband. I was confronted with many of my own weakness and managed to overcome them. And finding out that I have the ability to finish 13.1 miles in 3 hours, 33 minutes and 20 seconds has given me the belief that there are many more challenges ahead that I have the strength to surmount—maybe even another half marathon.

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Why the hell don't I have a picture with my medal??

Post-hysterectomy Intimacy

I am finding this a bit more difficult to type out than I anticipated and have debated whether or not to include this “overshare.” 

Here’s the thing, if my hope is to in some way help other women who are dealing with the same fears and questions I am having, then I am doing a disservice if I am not completely honest about my experinces.  So, this will include rather intimate details about my current state of…what…sexual awareness?  Activity?  Ability? I just want to put the warning out there.  As of now, it is really only friends and family reading my blog. I know some of you will not be the least fazed by this and for others, the mere thought of reading it will make you do the “icky” dance.  But as much as I love you all, I am not sharing this for your sake.  I am sharing it for those other women.  My fellow “hystersisters” as it were.  http://www.hystersisters.com/

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Sex is a HUGE concern (for some women…not all) when facing the decision to have a hysterectomy.  We wonder if we will deal with pain, if we will feel “different” for our partner, or if we will be able to orgasm again.  Will we WANT to have sex or will our desire for it be completely gone?   

Intimacy is an important facet of most healthy marriages.  (I say “most” and not all because there ARE couples who are not ABLE to have sex and yet maintain a loving and strong relationship)  It can strengthen or defeat a relationship. Being concerned about whether everything is going to work…physically and mentally…is completely normal and not at all silly.  My best advice is to ask other women who have had a hysterectomy, how it affected their sex lives.  That is what I did, and MOST of the answers that I received were very positive.  That helped a lot since I had been reading some negative stories online. Having that reassurance has kept me from becoming overwhelmed with worry.

OK. On to my personal experiences…

A bit of back story.  I have mentioned before, I have never had a terribly high sex drive.  I am sure MUCH of it has to do with sexual hang-ups from the way I was raised…and I have had a hell of a time purging that BS out of my brain.  Even after being married for 23 years, I still have feelings of guilt surrounding sex. (THAT is another blog entry in and of itself!)  Another issue is self-esteem. I am carrying about 60 extra pounds and have a hard time accepting that my husband really truly wants to be with me. (Which he really, truly does.)  Hell, even when I was at my ideal weight…I had a hard time believing it.  All that being said, once things are rollin’ and I get past my hang-ups, I REALLY enjoy that time with my husband. 

Many women with endometriosis suffer from extremely painful intercourse. Often times this involves severe pain if their partner bumps their cervix. This is ONE of the reasons some women have TOTAL hysterectomies. My situation is different. I have been incredibly lucky and have had very little pain with sex. And…well, that bumping of the cervix is sort of a thing for me.  I like it…a lot. In my case, it produces some pretty fabulous orgasms.  And that was the primary reason I asked my doctor if I could keep my cervix. (supracervical hysterectomy) Thankfully, he said yes. However, I was prepared for him to say that it would be better if he took it out.  As it turns out, it is a good thing that I asked to keep it. Had I not, there would have been MORE complications during my surgery. (story for another time)   

Here we are…post hysterectomy.  Obviously, the first few days after surgery, I was too out of it and uncomfortable enough that my future sex life was not even on my radar.  But I was shocked at how quickly my subconscious got back in the game. Within 2 weeks post op, I had 3 rather steamy dreams about my husband.  The third, surprisingly…happily…lead to a “nocturnal orgasm.”  Yes, it’s a thing.  Some women do experience them in their sleep. For me, pre-surgery it was not nearly as fun as it may sound. My uterine contractions were so strong that they HURT.  THIS TIME…no pain.  Although I did feel, what I can only describe as, phantom contractions.  No uterus, so no contractions. But I still felt them?  Weird stuff.

I have also found that my desire for my husband has increased a great deal. (Thus the "back story" above)  I am not sure how much of it has to do with the hormone therapy and how much of it has to do with “wanting what I am not allowed to have.”   Regardless, I am counting the days until my six week checkup, when I should get the green light to give the new bod a test drive.  In the meantime, we did find out that topical stimulation IS safe and learned that, at the very least, I will be able to experience an external orgasm.  I know 6 weeks is not a terribly long time, but I am grateful we can enjoy this form of intimacy until then. 

I am still very nervous about how things will go “the first time.”  I think it will be better than post-partum sex.  Quite frankly, THAT sucked. It took months for that to stop being uncomfortable.  Since nothing was done to me vaginally and I still have my cervix, I have hopes that the pain will be minimal or non-existent.  I am also hoping that this new found “interest” sticks around for a while.  I think it would do the husband (and his ego) a world of good knowing I couldn’t keep my hands off him. He certainly deserves that.

Post Op: Three weeks down and some irritations.

For the most part, I am healing much faster than anticipated. I feel I have been very lucky.  But there have been a few issues I could certainly do without.

My stent is still bothersome.  Much of the time I feel I have a mild urinary tract infection and lower back ache.  My husband said he went through the same thing when he had his stent in last spring. (It’s nice to have those special moments of bonding, right?)  I have an appointment with the urologist tomorrow. It will be an office visit to discuss the stent removal procedure and make the appointment for that visit.  The removal will involve going back to the surgical center and being put under general anesthesia.  They will take out the offending medical device and inject some sort of contrast to make sure the sutures are healed and there is no leakage from the ureter into my abdominal cavity.  If it is not healed properly, another stent gets put in.  I do not know if it will involve any sort of laparoscopic incisions to re-suture or not. Will find out for sure on Wednesday.  Understandably, I am a little bit nervous.  I will be so glad when this is done.

Incision site is feeling odd.  Finally took the steri-strips off.  Noticed the site was weeping a bit. And I have a “pulling” sensation at the area since taking the strips off. I called the nurse and she said as long as the weeping does not have blood or pus, is not excessive, and the site is not hot to the touch then all is normal.  There is a bit of stinging at the site. But that is about it. 

Another issue I’ve dealt with is a yeast infection.  On the last evening of taking my antibiotics I developed one, despite the fact that I was eating yogurt on a daily basis to avoid it. (This pissed me off a great deal. It looked like I was going to get through a large course of antibiotics and NOT get a YI) The symptoms seemingly went away for a couple days, then came back.  This happened two more times and each time the discomfort would start at night, while the doctor’s office was closed, then not be present in the morning. When I called the nurse regarding my incision I thought maybe I should ask about the yeast issue.  She sent an Rx to my CVS, a lovely single dose tablet. Fluconazole 150mg.  No messy creams or suppositories. Everything cleared up VERY quickly.

Last night I dealt with some night sweats.  Primarily involving my lower body. A bit clammy up top, but sweat was running down my legs.  Yes, for a split second I was worried I’d had some sort of accident.  Not the case. Just sweating like crazy.   I have had previous night sweats since the surgery, but this was the worst.  Woke up 3 times from it.  Still, I cannot complain too much. The bHRT pellets really seem to be working.  Few night sweats, no real hot flashes to speak of and my emotions have been pretty leveled out.  Crying a bit more the last few days, but nothing more than what I had been doing BEFORE surgery.  And no RAGE issues! I think the kids are feeling they can slowly come out of hiding now. 

Walking is not coming along as quickly as I’d like. Spent the first 12 days only walking around the house.  Then on July 29^th  I finally went to the trail and waddled  ½ mile in 23:41 minutes. It was so slow, but movement was really good. On August 3^rd I walked 1.08 miles in 20:04. I was amazed at how “fast” I was going. My body did not protest. Legs and abdominal area felt fine.  Then I tried walking again yesterday, Aug 5^th, hoping for another mile. I was only able to go for .55 and that took me 16:34.  It was rough. Incredibly tired, stinging around the incision. I was glad to get back to the car. Really disappointed with how much it took out of me.  No walking today. In fact, I took two long naps and have barely left the bed. 

I realize that I should not beat myself up. Recovery is not a linear process.  I will have good days and bad days.  Good hours and bad hours.  I cannot be impatient with the healing.  I cannot risk setting myself back by pushing myself too hard.  I am NOT a failure because I can’t walk 3 miles 3 weeks after surgery. Full recovery will happen in time.

You Made Me A Mom

I know you don’t like the mush. You prefer sarcasm to

sentiment. I say “Thank you for turning me into a mommy.”  You respond: “I think Dad was the one who turned you into a mommy. I was just the symptom.”   You are full of wit and sarcasm and dry humor.  I love that about you.  It is one of the things you get from me…but you do it so much better. You have managed to take it to a whole new level.  And it makes me proud. Is it weird to be proud about sarcasm?

But every now and then sentiment trumps sarcasm and it is not a bad thing. 

Often I think back to when I was only a few weeks pregnant with you and had the chicken pox. I remember vividly the doctor sitting me down in his office. I was alone this visit. Your dad was at work, probably in a meeting.  The doctor was so very serious, explaining to me that there was a significant risk that you would be born with physical or mental handicaps. Perhaps both.  Him telling me that I did have the option, at this early stage, to terminate my pregnancy.  Me telling him, “I am 19 years old and single. If I did not have an abortion because of that, I will NOT have one because of this.” He looked concerned.  I am pretty sure he felt I was making a mistake. That I was too young to be a mother.  Maybe he was worried about me, maybe he was worried about what the future would hold for you.  I do not begrudge him informing me I had options. At least not anymore. I now understand it was his job.  And he was not being pushy. He did not try to talk me into it. He did what he had to do, he did the right thing.  And I did what I had to do and it was the best decision of my life.

Holding you in my arms that first time, seeing your perfect, squishy, little face, I knew I could never love another living thing as much as I loved you. In fact during my whole pregnancy with your brother, I was scared. I was positive I would not be able to love him! How could I share my love with another child? How was that even possible?? I obviously learned that it is an incredibly easy thing to do.  The room in a mother’s heart does not get divided with each additional child. Her heart just grows to accommodate them.  But this is not about your siblings. It is about you.  Well, you and me.

We were incredibly lucky as first time parents. You started sleeping through the night at 6 weeks.  Granted, we had to play Jimmy Buffett for you, but that was all it took and we were more than willing.  You were never colicky, always so content. Even as you grew into a toddler, there was nothing you enjoyed more than playing alone with your little Disney figures, usually acquired through Happy Meals. I never knew exactly what was going on, but I could tell there was an intense storyline there. Your child’s imagination constantly working overtime. 

You were always pleased to be where you were, doing what you were doing. Never bored. Never cranky.  When we would go out, you were as happy as could be. Squealing with delight each time you saw an airplane or a water tower or a “Barbarians!”  (Bob Evans)

As you grew you discovered coloring and drawing …and learned how to make a statement with finger painting.  It did not take us long to realize that you were truly artistic. I know you look back at your old art work, roll your eyes and want to throw out the drawings. But to me, those are treasures. To see how your art has matured as you have grown is just awe inspiring. I love the stick figure family you drew when I was pregnant with your brother, making sure the mommy had a circle around her belly.  I love each dragon and fairy and unicorn you created in your pre-teen years. And now your character designs and concept art floor me. You are so gifted. And I am so proud. 

Not too long after you discovered art, you found reading.  Starting off with children’s picture books.  Working your way up to small chapter books, Animorphs and Goosebumps. When you were 7 or 8 years old I remember seeing the first Harry Potter book in your hands. My instant thought was “That is an awfully large book for such a young girl.”  But I did not discourage you and you read it. And you just kept reading. You devoured the Children’s Bible and later shocked your CCD teacher with how much you already knew about what they were teaching you.  And by the time you were 13 years old you were reading Goethe’s Faust and Dante’s Inferno and absorbing so much more than I realized was possible. 

 I always knew if I couldn’t find you drawing, I would find you reading or writing your own stories. Always being creative, always thinking, always absorbing.

In high school you found theater. A place where you could utilize your art skills, your intelligence, your snarkiness.  You found a home away from home.  And there were many times it seemed that it was your primary home, especially during tech week.  You made some wonderful friends there.  They became a family who made high school a positive experience for you.  They also made it bearable for me. They were GOOD kids and as a parent I could not have asked for better friends for you.  I know they weren’t all angels. But they were good.  You blessed us with relatively angsty free teenage years.  And for that, I am truly grateful.

Watching you grow these past 23 years has been a gift. Seeing you turn into a smart and talented and amazing woman has been so special. You are a wonderful adult and I cannot wait to see what the NEXT 23 years has in store for you. And I look forward to making more precious memories with the beautiful woman who made me a mom.  

Post op: Week Two Milestones and Discoveries:

 Sleeping through the night is a wonderful thing.

Pooping without assistance is even better than sleeping through the night.

Walking my slowest ½ mile ever felt almost as great as my fastest 5K.

Being sidelined when your spouse has to have surgery SUCKS.

Having kids who step up to the plate and take care of things ROCKS.

Just because some women go back to work 2 weeks after their hysterectomy does not mean *I* am ready to go Walmart for 30 minutes of shopping.

William Shatner seems like a fun guy.  If given a chance to sit and talk with him, I’d take it.

As happy as I am for The Boy (my son) to start this next phase of his life, part of me is not ready to let go.  Another part is just excited to go out and buy myself a new bag of socks and not have to worry about his size 13s stretching them out. (Seriously, boy. Use your own dang socks!)

The Boy's first time on a firetruck ~3 years old.