Moving Forward And Not Looking Back

(song: Coming of Age/artist: Foster the People)




On my 40th, I wrote about my burgeoning mid-life identity crisis. I hired a therapist. At 41, I was recovering from back surgery and feeling hopeful -- Thanks to my therapist. Two months later, the crushing loss of my father would make back surgery feel like a stubbed toe in comparison. My therapist worked overtime. And just like that, I'm 42. My body is almost completely functional, my heart is still broken but the passage of time has helped to ease the pain. My therapist is never getting rid of me.


So, what does 42 look like so far? Pretty good, really. When the bar is set so low, there's nowhere to go but up. 







First, my body. On December 14, the 1st anniversary of my surgery, I reunited with my BBSPT ("Before Back Surgery Physical Therapist"), Tony Ellis. I LOVE Tony! He's so kind, incredibly good at his job, and, like me, he's from Georgia so that automatically makes him the best physical therapist in the world. Tony got me running again after I bonked my left ankle and wound up with tendonitis. After lots of hugs and "I've missed yous!", we got down to business. Tony poked, prodded, nudged, pushed and assessed. The verdict: I have full feeling in my left shin and foot, my right shin still has numbness, and I still have foot-drop in my right foot. Both ankles are still very weak and my balance is pretty sucky. I also still have pain from the tendonitis in my left ankle, and I have plantar fasciitis - My left foot is a mess. I fully admit I have been terribly inconsistent with physical therapy so I own my (lack of) progress. I told him I had been doing easy running intervals. He told me to stop. Not because I can't run, but because I shouldn't until I'm stronger, more balanced and not a trip hazard. I begrudgingly agree to abide by the rules then we review exercises I've done in the past, and add a few new ones. Since I don't need to go to PT every week, we agreed to see each other after I've done some work on my own for a couple of months. I'm now consistently doing my physical therapy, going to Tabura, working out with light weights, and walking with my Achilles family every Thursday. I'm focused on rebuilding my strength and achieving my goal of becoming a RUNNING Achilles guide. I am taking back my body!






Tony makes me so happy.


On the nutrition front, I am finally tackling my weight gain, "the grief weight" as I like to call it. I am currently on day 24 of a Whole30 and I'm feeling great! The depression that accompanied my grief was my excuse to eat any and all shitty food I wanted for the past year. My sick dad only ate sweet stuff. Who was I to tell a dying man I couldn't join him in a meal of key lime pie, followed by ice cream, then topped off with more pie? The low point for me was having to buy a new winter coat - IN MARCH - because my coat couldn't zip around my ample hip region. Yep, that was rock bottom. (Pun intended.) It's been an easy 24 days so far. I will reintroduce grains, dairy and alcohol in moderation, but sugar is out for awhile. I don't even miss it. You're not supposed to weigh yourself during a Whole30 but I expect I will be down 5 to 8 pounds by day 30. I have 15 pounds to lose, and the Whole30 is a great way to kick-start that goal. Resetting my body and my mind.



Letting my freak flag fly in Tabura class.


I got myself a little part-time job too! My first job in 9 years. My friend Nicoletta, who is the chapter leader of Achilles Brooklyn, is the director of a non-profit youth running program called Run4Fun. I work with 2nd and 3rd graders, one day a week, and I love it. I also help manage Run4Fun's Instagram and Facebook pages. I specifically love working for Nicoletta because of her commitment to empowering kids of all socioeconomic backgrounds through running and staying active. She is a favorite among the members of my Achilles family and I'm thrilled to be a part of her growing business. She has given me the purpose 40-year-old me was so desperately seeking.





I get payed to play outside!

I still carry the weight of my grief every day but, I am simultaneously happy about the direction my life is taking. 
This year I celebrated my birthday in Ireland with my family. As I hiked the Cliffs of Moher (a.k.a. The "Cliffs of Insanity" if you're a Princess Bride nerd like I am) on a beautiful March afternoon, it occurred to me that just 12 months earlier, I was still using a cane to walk. I've come a long way, and I'm excited about the future.

Okay 42, let's do this! 





INCONCEIVABLE! 

Learning To Face The Path At Your Pace

(song: Watershed/artist: Indigo Girls)

Greetings from the coastal south! I'm in the beginning of my annual summer eat-a-thon, I mean, summer break in Georgia. My son is my traveling companion and he's a super one at that. We drove from Brooklyn to St. Simons Island with very few grumbles from the backseat. Modern technology makes two-day drives far more tolerable than the days of the license plate game.

Anyway...with the whole sick/dying dad thing, I've been a bit distracted but I have a few back surgery/nerve damage updates before I (mostly) unplug for the summer:

April was big month for my new back and me. I had one last follow-up with my surgeon, Dr. Rawlins, who informed me our relationship is officially over. Sad, right? But seriously, I told him how great I'm doing in PT and that my back doesn't hurt and he was all, "You're awesome." And I was all, "I like your accent." And then it got awkward so I asked him to take a selfie with me.



Hate to say goodbye but...hope I never need your services again.

Just kidding! The accent thing happened before the surgery. Really, he told me how pleased he was and that I'm good to go. (He had thought he may want a post-surgery MRI but that was based on how fucked up I was when he first saw me.) He agreed to the selfie if I agreed to write my story for the HSS website. Who could say no to that face?! Here's the story. 

The same day I saw Dr. Rawlins, I had another follow-up with Dr. Leung, my neurologist. She too was very happy with my progress. The only thing I still can't do is walk on my heels. Not exactly a life-limiting illness, but an indicator of remaining nerve damage. (I also trip frequently. Especially when I'm tired.) There's still numbness in my shins and "saddle area" but I'm fully functional, for the most part. She tells me to keep doing PT and schedules another follow-up for mid-December, which will be the first birthday of my new back. Upon my telling her that I slowly jogged a mile in March,  she reiterated that I need to be patient (the same advice she gave during my previous visit).  She tells me that I should NOT run at all. She's happy I'm not in pain but reminds me that my back surgery is just a few months old and that ideally I should give it at least a year to fully heal. I begrudgingly oblige. She's absolutely right, and I know it. We didn't take a selfie together.

And last, but not least, I finished my last round of physical therapy sessions at Hospital for Special Surgery. I'm officially doing my physical therapy on my own. My sweet therapist, Lauren told me on our last day, "You don't need me. You just come because you like me." True. And I like having another person holding me accountable. But I have the tools and determination to keep working till these floppy flippers of mine are completely back on line. 

From a wobbly cane-user to a master of Thera Bands in just 5 months!

Now that I'm "on my own", my network of support is more important than ever. In April I joined Achilles Brooklyn - my local chapter of Achilles International, a community for athletes of all abilities. Michael Ring, a fellow Prospect Park Track Club member, talked me into joining. As I mentioned here Michael has been fighting his way back from Acute Motor Axonal Neuropathy, a rare variant of Guillain-Barré syndrome, which nearly killed him about two years ago. Achilles Brooklyn brought me together with a group of kind people, with varying athletic abilities and/or injuries. We meet every Thursday evening and walk or run the loop of Prospect Park. We start as a group, and we leave the park as a group. Nicoletta Nerangis runs the Brooklyn chapter of Achilles and is the heart of our motley crew. She is a warm and bright spirit that made me feel welcome immediately. It was an absolute thrill to cross the finish line with Michael and Nicoletta at my first Achilles - Hope & Possibility 4-miler last month. 

When I walk with my Achilles family, I'm not thinking about my former pace or any of the races I've run in the past. I focus on the joy of being in the moment with a like-minded group of active individuals who accept me, floppy feet and all. I've found a place to heal my body and spirit. My only goal is to keep getting better. I'm so happy to be a part of the Achilles community; I can't wait to pay it forward.

That's Michael and Nicoletta in the middle. I'm the extremely excited one on the far left.

  

It's Such A Shame Our Friendship Had To End

(song: Purple Rain/artist: Prince)

I had a social media intervention with myself. I freely admit that I spend entirely too much time surfing Facebook and Instagram, but I was also wasting precious time by trolling my running apps and peering into the lives of my able-bodied running "friends".  

Recently, I ran into a cyclist pal that I noticed hadn't been logging his rides on our shared social media running/cycling app, Strava. When I asked him why, he told me he had quit using Strava. In fact, he had quit all social media. I was shocked. I mean, if you don't Strava your ride or run, did it actually happen? He said he got so caught up in "how far, how fast and how often everyone else was riding that I stopped enjoying my own rides". Light bulb moment. 

I literally CAN NOT RUN, yet I found myself refreshing Strava 500 times a day to see what other runners were logging. Was it boredom? Regret? Wishful thinking? Envy? All of the above? I don't know. I do know that trolling splits and sweaty post-run selfies was a form of self-inflicted torture. I am not physically capable of being competitive right now. Instead of focusing on my current ability, I was wishing I had the ability of my fellow Strava runners. Longing to run the Brooklyn Bridge or be a part of a group training run. Wasting precious time. I deleted the app and my account (just in case I was tempted to log in and reminisce about my past runs...). I also temporarily deactivated my personal Facebook account and man, was that hard! What the hell am I going to do with all this free time?

Because I'm totally cheating on Strava and Facebook with real life.

Don't get me wrong, I loved the encouragement from my fellow social media runners, but I need to place more importance on self-validation rather than counting the number of kudos I get after a 6-mile walk. Actually being present in the moment.  Listening to the sounds around me, instead of the lady in my ears telling me how fast and far I've walked. I miss that lady, but I will get over her. And eventually we'll get back together. Right now, a break is a very good thing. 

The first Strava-free walk is the hardest.  One day at a time....

I'm Only Sad In A Natural Way

(song: The Paris Match/artist: The Style Council)

I think the most difficult part of this  temporarily (hopefully) life-altering injury and surgery are the extreme emotional swings I'm experiencing.* I'm the first to admit that I skew more dramatic than others; I feel every emotion with my whole self. And man, was my whole self feeling super sad when this nightmare started in November. It was as if my flame had been snuffed out. The 17 days I was in-waiting before my first appointment at Hospital For Special Surgery, were dark days. I simply could not find any joy. I appeared emotionless. I was so scared. I didn't know what was happening to my body and I sunk to an emotional low I hadn't experienced since postpartum depression punched me in the gut after the birth of my son. After the surgery, that sadness persisted but it was different. Whereas the sadness prior to surgery was fear-based, after surgery, I felt like I was grieving a loss. And well, I was. I am. I lost the use of my legs. I lost my ability to run. Though it's better, I still have foot-drop so I walk like a duck. I can't play with my son. I can't walk him to school. I can't hold him on my lap. I couldn't take him to see Santa. I couldn't decorate my house for Christmas, or wrap my son's presents. I couldn't go to the bathroom on my own. I couldn't shower or dress myself without assistance. I am walking with a fucking cane! I'm angry and I'm sad. I'm scared I'll never be the same. 

Chair in the shower. Because I'm a fall risk now.

The first two weeks after surgery were by far the worst. The physical pain and the emotional pain were pretty much equal. I sobbed every day. Multiple times a day. (Never in front of my son.) When I woke up every morning and realized I still couldn't walk, I cried. When my husband had to help me onto the toilet - that feeling of utter helplessness and dependence was crushing to me - I cried. When my friends or family called or came to visit, I cried. I cried a lot.  

Here's the thing, y'all, I've only been fit for the last 5 of my 40 years on this earth. I just got into running in 2013. To go from running my best 5K race to needing a wheelchair in just 10 days, was devastating. And I was just coming out of the fog of my whole mid-life crisis thing. Good things were starting to happen; Work opportunities, exciting projects, and involvement at my son's school. I could see a path. It just felt like everything that makes me happy - outside of my family - was swiftly and violently, taken away. Then the path got foggy again.

November 15. My last race. (For awhile.)

 Listen, I haven't lost perspective. I know I'm not the only person in the world going through a shitty experience. Last year a good friend suffered an unimaginable loss when her husband died tragically, another lost her son,  a fellow neighborhood mom is fighting cancer like a champ (and she came over - with a homemade meal - to comfort me in my hour of need), two of my friends are in horrible custody battles, and my very own dad is battling COPD. So yeah, I get it, IT COULD BE WORSE. But just because I'm not dying doesn't devalue my feelings or my experience. And this is not the worst thing that's ever happened to me. It's the worst thing that's happening to me now and it just sucks. It sucks a lot. And even though this loss may be temporary, it needs to be grieved all-the-same. It doesn't mean I'm not going to work my ass off to get well, it just means I'm going to allow myself to feel what I feel when it comes up. 

My light will come back. I don't just believe that, I know that. Oh great, now I'm crying again.

Oh, sidewalks of Brooklyn, how I miss you.

 

 *For the record, I started writing this two weeks ago but sitting up too long is uncomfortable so my time at the computer is limited. I'm feeling MUCH better now, and I'm happy to report that I use the bathroom and shower all by myself now! And I only cry every other day...

The Pavement Is My Friend

(Artist: Ed Sheeran/song: The City)

Well,  I didn't run the half-marathon that I mentioned in my last post. I trained and I was ready until my back decided that it wasn't. I have three herniated discs that mostly give me no trouble, but for whatever reason, they chose the week of my race to make a comeback. I decided my long-term health was more important than one race.  I was bummed, but very proud that I successfully trained for a half-marathon after almost two years of being side-lined with an injury. The back pain only lasted for a week. What's really important here is that I can run.

Down, but not out.

My relationship with running started late in my life (age 35) and progressed slowly (because I mostly hated it). In 2010, after I lost what I now call the "Turbo Jam 40", I wanted to challenge myself and run in a race. I signed up for a 4-mile race in December of 2010. I had never run in my life, so my only goal was to not walk (and, you know, finish). I finished in 43:27, and I jogged (slowly) the whole time. At the time, that was a huge accomplishment for me. The New York Road Runners Jingle Bell Jog remains my favorite race. You never forget your first...

Before I was Formerly Fat Mom, I was just a dork in a running skort. (I'm still a dork.)

After the test group ended, I was another 20 pounds lighter and ready for more challenges. I trained for my first (and only) half-marathon. Though I didn't realize it at the time, it was during this training period that I became a runner. I knew I had fallen in love with running when I had to quit because a freak - not related to running - accident injured my left ankle in 2013. I became so depressed during the recovery process. Every cancelled race crushed my spirits. Every runner that whizzed past me as I walked my son to school, mocked me. I wanted to be back in the club. Nearly two years and a lot of physical therapy later, I'm back! (I still have limited strength and stamina but that's only because I'm a lousy patient. The secret weakness of physical therapy is that it doesn't work if you don't do it. I've always been a slow learner.)

Recently someone asked me what I like about running. My knee-jerk response was, "Nothing. It sucks." And let's face it, it does suck. It's hard. It hurts sometimes. You get blisters. Toenails fall off. Your sports bra chafes your boobs. Your arms go numb if you clench your fists. It's hard to breathe if it's too cold outside. It's hard to breathe if it's too hot outside. I mean, why would anyone want to run? But here's the thing, I love all of those things I just listed. You know why? Because I'm a bat-shit crazy runner! 

My first lost toenail was a rite-of-passage (middle toe, left foot). Those blisters meant I was going the distance (and that my shoes were too small). The chafing from my sports bra was like a runner's brand (and thankfully, not permanent like my stupid tramp stamp). When my forearms go numb, it's like my upper-body's way of saying, "We're doing it!" (Or, "Please loosen your grip".) When I run in the cold weather, I feel like a total bad ass. When I run in the hot weather, I feel like a total dumb ass. BUT I DO IT ANYWAY, because I love running. I love talking about it with fellow runners, I love social media running apps that allow me to congratulate and be be congratulated by fellow runners, I love training for a race and working towards a goal, I especially love RACE DAY. Whether it's 3 miles or 13, there is no greater reward than crossing the finish line.
 

I love pushing myself.  I love being outside. I love seeing other runners. I love being part of the tapestry of the city or town I'm running. I love being alone - just my thoughts, my music and my drive. It's free therapy. I laugh, I cry, I sing, I moan, I holler, "wooooo!" when I need to push myself a little harder.  I am an experience seeker.  Every run is an experience for me. The thoughts in my head, the way my body feels, everything and everyone around me...it's all part the experience. 

It's so good to be back!