2012 on February 3rd I took my last shot of insulin.
And I’ve lived a whole other lifetime in that time. A lifetime I never thought I would have. So grateful for each and every day…
Facebook, February 4, 2013.
I am type 2 diabetic. Most of you know that. I’m not exactly reserved and shy about it. 🙂 I am a type-2 diabetic which means my body makes insulin. Plenty of it actually. Through years of abuse, I’ve messed up the receptors that recognize insulin and know how to use it. (Think about trying to use a baseball glove to catch a soccer ball… Just doesn’t work very well…) And it was MY OWN DAMN DOING. Type-2 diabetes is by and large considered a lifestyle disease. There are rare exceptions to be sure. But I was not. I made poor lifestyle choices. I ate too much. Ate things that weren’t solid choices for my health situation. And I loathed sweating and exercising.
My feet hit the floor in July 2011 and I decided I was done. D. O. N. E. Done with needles and shots and doctors and monthly blood tests and being fat and being unhealthy and slowly, but very, VERY surely killing myself.
Done.
It has been a journey and an adventure and the hardest work of my LIFE! And it will continue to be a fight all the remaining days of my life. I am not out of the woods. I am not done. There are still hurdles. That’s OK – I’m up for the fight.
Tonight is a bit of a celebration for me — indulge me for a moment…
Tonight is ONE YEAR since I took my last shot of insulin.
A year ago started what was to become a mass exodus from prescriptions drugs that is ALMOST complete. One drug left to exit. I was taking 72 units of Lantus, 2 other injections, 5 other drugs to regulate sugars and other attendant issues with out of control sugars/diabetic issues in May 2011. But there is only ONE drug left to quit. And that day is near. 🙂 Focused on being totally medicine free by early 2014. (I was meds free by May 2014, just for the record!)
Tomorrow is the one year anniversary of being shot/needle/sharps container/supplemental insulin/shot-in-the-belly FREE. WOO HOO! And no… I am not celebrating by eating a piece of cake. Tempting. But not tempting enough… I’ll probably celebrate with a big ol’ cold Honeycrisp apple. 🙂
A lot has changed in the 18 months since I started on this journey. I worked closely with my doctor. Shared my plans. She sometimes agreed – sometimes re-directed. We worked on decreasing the insulin in small increments weekly over many months. It was NOT a fast process, but slow and steady (and truthfully terrifying – as staying off of the drugs relies TOTALLY on my maintaining serious lifestyle changes. I am trading food and activity for drugs.)… I track all my food. I relied on advice/reader boards on the American Diabetes Association website for help with specific issues and food challenges. I continue to be surrounded by family and friends who cheered me on EVERY single, tiring, painful step of the way… I was never, ever alone.
My doc said in her 25 years of practicing medicine she has had two patients work their way off substantial meds without surgical intervention. Several times she has had to research our next step – since this isn’t something she has practice in working with… Kind of cool to be the challenging patient in a GOOD way.
Will I be able to stay off of insulin for the rest of my life? No. Not likely. Research indicates that diabetes will re-emerge again at some point. But the longer I can go without insulin, the longer I can stay with TIGHT self-control on blood sugars, the longer I can go without causing collateral harm to my eyes/heart/kidneys/heart — the better for me!
I bought myself a hat from the Life Is Good store in Maui while I was there for the marathon a few weeks ago… It has a picture of Earth with the words “Happy to be here”.
I am just happy, really happy, to be here.
The Diabetes Walk in Portland. The Gum’s and about 25 other friends were there with me! It was a magical day! This was a celebration of me getting off of Insulin. Our shirts said ‘All Bets are off’. 🙂 Hence the name of my blog…
Mile 46 of the North Face Endurance 50 miler last month. All I wanted was oranges. (Wendie Gum, pacer/photographer/orange wrangler.)
Food owned me for 44 years.
Truth?
It still does at times.
It’s at the oddest, most random moments that a titanic wave of emotions about food gets triggered.
I have been actively working on my relationship with food for the last two years.
I want to have peace with food and eating.
Right before the Holidays I had a meltdown. It turned out to be a productive emotional meltdown that’s moving me closer to that ‘peaceful’ relationship with food that I’m pursuing.
For me it was a big meltdown because – I don’t really have meltdowns – and this one involved tears and about three days of me feeling emotionally exhausted as I sorted out what had happened.
I learned something really good and positive about myself in the whole process; my coping mechanism this time around was conversation, with just a little bit of hiding/crying thrown in to keep things interesting.
My coping mechanisms was NOT FOOD AND EATING.
Huge win.
So what happened to cause the meltdown?
I have always said I was NOT a secret eater. I am not, at least not in the classic sense of making sure no one sees me physically eating and then hiding any evidence. (Hiding candy wrappers, burying trash, dumping packaging at the grocery store…)
I’m not a classical secret eater because I would eat anything, unapologetically, in front of people.
But where things get interesting is that I was a version of a secret eater. I was a ‘just don’t let any SINGLE person have a clear picture’ kind of eater…
I’ve been very careful, my whole adult life, to make sure no single person knew my calorie count for the entire day.
Very, years-long, careful.
I’m a ninja at this crap.
My thinking? ‘If someone knows the totality of what I’m eating then they will KNOW with absolute certaintity why I am fat.’ Which might have possibly made sense when I weighed 392 pounds.
Now at 168 pounds, 4.8 years in on this epic adventure to change my lifestyle?
This is still my thinking.
You need to throw into this mess that I’m still carb-phobic at times given my background with Type 2 Diabetes. I am NO LONGER T2, but I still think about every bite of food in the form of counting calories, carbs, fat.
I still very much have a hard-wired list of foods that are labeled good/bad that I chronically weigh every food choice against.
Old habits.
I now have a roommate. My friend, and business partner, Spencer is my roomie as we work to get our business off the ground and running.
In the time we have been sharing space, I’ve been unconsciously careful to make sure that he didn’t know the full picture of what I was eating each day. I didn’t realize I was doing this at the time, but looking back; it’s exactly what I was doing.
And I was really good at it.
Then he ‘caught’ me.
Spencer does most of the grocery shopping, we prepare foods to share and we have the same eating habits.
Spencer was showing me some new foods to try for breakfast. At my request.
At the time, I remember I was being a bit squirmy; I needed help finding some food options and variety in my eating choices. I really was working to lose some of my fears and rules around food. Spencer was willing to help. But the desire to find some food solutions was battling big time with me not wanting Spencer to know what I was actually eating for meals.
I’m not sure how to explain that I specifically requested help with ‘breaking’ my self-imposed food rules/fears, and then at the same time I didn’t want it…
Welcome to my messed-up mind?
So, totally (at least I think he was) unaware of most of this emotional baggage that I’m dragging around the kitchen, Spencer showed me how to build a good, plant-based, protein packed, breakfast bowl.
I was on my own for lunch. But had packed food from the fridge.
Dinner rolled around.
The meltdown occurred…
He knew what I ate for breakfast. He could easily figure out what I took from home for lunch. Here we were talking about what to eat for dinner. In the grand scheme of trying to hide my total calories consumption for the day; I KNEW Spencer, maybe better than most, could quickly calculate what I had just eaten for the entire day.
Please note… I eat healthy. I’m focused on making sure my running and activity are fueled appropriately. BUT my mind is not healed entirely… (You have probably figured this out by now.)
As I stood in the kitchen with Spencer, all I could feel was that my secretly screwed up relationship with food was no longer safe and secret. That is a SCARY feeling. Spencer now KNEW what my calories/quality/foods were for the day.
I quietly lost it.
The tears I had been fighting back all day were going to spill over. I don’t cry in front of anyone.
So I did what most healthy adult females would do. I ran upstairs to my room, closed the door and hid. I cried for a bit. I waited for a while hoping he hadn’t noticed anything was amiss and we could just go about business as usual.
Not so much.
He was waiting to talk to me.
‘So we’ve obviously uncovered some painful shit… You want to talk about it?’
I sat down at the table, with my dinner and choked on it. I cried. Felt like I couldn’t even begin to put into words how horribly, terribly vulnerable I felt NOT only because he KNEW what I had eaten for the day; but he wasn’t going to let me just walk away and not talk about it.
Bastard.
So we talked. Haltingly. He patiently waited me out as I tried to find the words to explain what was happening. I’m grateful that Spencer gave me the gift of generous patience as I was beginning to process 45 years of food issues out loud. He helped to safely and gently open the flood gates.
I wrote all of this down in a journal. I immediately sought out the solace, advice and comfort of my friends the Gums. We sat in their home and had an honest, tough, problem-solving kind of conversation the night after the breakdown. (They’ve changed their lifestyles and have the type of relationship with food that I’m trying to build.) I am also working with a great therapist. ALL of this is what I have put into place to figure out how to create and sustain a healthy relationship with food.
I know that this is a key issue I have to continue to work on.
I’m finally done hiding food or my eating habits from anyone.
The best way out is always through. – Robert Frost
Passport. 🙂 2003 (Close to 400 pounds, I think…) and 2013 (close to 200 pounds).
A lot of things happened all at once when I was getting close to getting off of injectable insulin…
I was working hard — single-minded focus kind of hard — to get off of insulin and other meds. Nothing else mattered. I wanted off insulin.
I was losing weight. I had discovered walking and weight lifting. My diet was getting cleaned up, stronger, healthier by the day. All of this was helping me wean off of insulin.
I was experiencing glucose highs/lows like crazy as my body was working frantically to adjust to the diminishing supply that I was injecting daily. I could FEEL my body working to take over an injection-free life.
It was an amazing time!
It was at this point that I began to realize and understand that I was changing my LIFE, not just sticking it out with a diet. I was finally beginning to own the idea of this being my new lifestyle.
I was outright trading PRESCRIPTIONS for FOOD/ACTIVITY.
This past weekend I was in a conversation with someone I was meeting for the first time. He and I had very similar wild/crazy/uncontrollable hair and we were laughing about it. He was talking about the life-long struggle, I admitted that my curls were fairly new.
Natural, but new…
I shared with him that one of the most noticeable and perhaps panic-inducing moments of getting off of insulin involved my hair…
If you have only known me in the past 3+ years, you might be puzzling over the fact that my hair is decidedly NOT straight.
My wild mop is pretty much a way folks recognize me these days.
So how did I get curly hair?
I quit taking injectable insulin in February of 2012, by early June of 2012 my hair was falling out.
Most of it fell out one morning in the shower.
I never thought I was vain about my hair. Still amazing to me how I suddenly became pretty damn connected to my head of hair when it was falling out and I had no idea why…
So get this…
Turns out that insulin, which I was injecting 72 units a day for Type 2 Diabetes, is a hormone.
When you quit taking it; combined with shifting your entire lifestyle to try to get your body to accept that you want your OWN insulin/glucose receptors to kick back in and take back over…?
Well…
Turns out your hormones are just a wee-bit out of whack. Your hormones are not even remotely stable and they’re fighting hard to normalize.
Apparently, shedding hair can be one response to this ‘sudden’ hormonal shift.
Who knew?!!
Here’s how it went down…
I went for a run. I was in the shower washing my hair and went to rinse my hair and looked at my hands…
Huh.
That seems like a lot of hair.
BUT — it’s Spring. Maybe I’m just shedding hair because it’s getting warm.
Ran my hands through my hair again to rinse my hair. The hair was so thick on my hands I could barely see the skin of my hands.
Panic is starting to surface. But it can’t REALLY be that much hair — right? — maybe I’ve just never really paid attention to how much hair I lose daily… This is probably normal…
Repeat a third time.
Crap. That is a LOT of hair. Is that ALL of my hair?! DO I have any left?
Get out of the shower. Towel dry my hair. Lots of hair in the towel…
Look in the mirror.
Panic. Full blown, breath-stealing, hot-tear inducing panic.
I called my Doctor.
Doc… ‘This is a possible side effect to going off of insulin – which you have been on for years. It’s fairly rare. It’s totally benign. You are fine and healthy. Your hair will grow back. It might be a little different color or texture as it grows back in.’
Me… ‘Swell. Uh… WAS SOMEONE GOING TO TELL ME THIS AT SOME POINT AND TIME?!!’…
Doc… *laughter* ‘Bets. In 20+ years of practicing medicine you are one of two of my patients that have successfully reversed Type 2 and gotten OFF OF insulin. The other patient was a bald male. *laughter* ‘I didn’t know what to tell you to expect. It will grow back. Find some cute hats.’
Me… *Digging in my room for a hat. Any hat. Frantically texting my sister and friends for a phone number for a hair stylist. ANY hair stylist… *
I went from wavy/straight hair to absurdly CURLY hair almost literally overnight.
Hannah and I. My hair was just starting to grow back in, around 4+/- months of consistent grow out at this point . Big earrings and bright lipstick were key distractions while my hair was growing back. 🙂
I have lost a bunch of weight, reversed type 2 diabetes and found running… And even when I look at pictures from that timeframe and see the weight coming off, or the race pictures where I know I was learning to run…
I am reminded how my hair is probably the one, single thing that best shows the changes and tells the story of my new life. 🙂
One of the most generous listeners I know of, my friend Jennifer. 🙂 And one of the first ones to help me get a handle on the goal that was looming in front of me…
I had a conversation the other day that helped me re-ignite a fire…
A fire I had forgotten about.
And it took me screwing up and self-correcting to finally get to the right spot.
Here’s what happened earlier this week…
I met with a woman I don’t know very well. She reached out to me because she has just been given a Type 2 diabetes diagnosis. She said she felt she had a triple digit amount of weight to lose. She doesn’t know where to start.
She asked me to tell her how I lost weight and reversed Type 2 diabetes. She said she wanted to hear my story.
I was trying to find the right words to help her understand a few things about what I had encountered that I thought might be specifically helpful to her. I was trying to explain that my journey was not linear. It was not easy, nor over.
The trade offs were life changing in every possible, positive way immaginable.
I explained that I remembered the day I mentally understood that I was trading medicine prescribed in a pill bottle and syringe for MEDICINE in the form of healthy, nutrient dense foods.
I remembered when I finally understood I was trading a lifetime of being lazy, inactive and comfortable for a new lease on life that would make me wildly uncomfortable and have me running in the woods and facing exhilarating fears head on.
I understood I was in the life-long process of building a whole new lifestyle.
I wanted her to understand that with every fiber of my being, I had become willing to trade certain death with Type 2 diabetes for a chance at what I knew could be a life worth living out loud, fiercely and completely each day.
So I’m in this conversation with this woman and I have this intense energy building in my head and chest to try to help her understand ME and my journey…
Yet I can see that I am failing in trying to help her understand that the power to save her own life lies in her own hands… I could see that she was overwhelmed with the task that was stretching out in front of her.
And then it FINALLY registered through my thick skull what it was I was actually seeing, feeling and experiencing with her…
My story, combined with her own journey winding out in front of her were BOTH scaring her.
A lot.
Beyond the tears, the averted eyes and bowed head — there was just fear. I could see it. She was trying hard to hide it. But it was too bag, too pervasive, too consuming.
I felt like I had to stop and re-group. For both of us.
I pulled out my best imitation of my ‘Wendie’ breathing techniques.
I stopped. Mid-sentence, mid-story. Sat up straight. Made solid eye contact and then I just took a few deep breaths.
DEEP, loud, intentional. That habit has become soothing for me in times of distress. When my friend Wendie Gum breathes that way — she can calm everyone around her… She can calm an entire freaking room of people. I have seen it happen. For real.
I was trying to steal just a bit of her magic. And hoping it would work to help me figure out how to put this conversation back on the right path.
Wendie and Bets. 🙂
And then I did something that’s hard for me to do.
Really hard.
I shut the hell up.
AND I started to listen to the silence.
I had been right to stop talking.
The silence was really, really tense and full.
So I just kept breathing.
I tried to convey to her, simply with my breathing and my eyes, that I could and would wait for her, WITH HER, in the fear and overwhelm.
I would willingly sit there ready to listen and just be with her for as long as she needed me to be there… I wanted her to know that struggling with emotions and words was safe and OK and warranted and healthy between us.
And then I waited for HER to fill the silence.
And she did.
Eventually.
And I let her talk, cry and grapple for words.
Which is what I should have done from the very beginning…
See, I have a fire burning in my heart and soul. I want everyone to catch the passion to CHANGE what’s broken in their lives. And to be fired up. And to be excited by the challenges in front of them.
I fundamentally understand that it has to be their OWN fire. I can’t tend it, can’t light it and have no right to even share in the warmth.
This conversation proved to be a perfect reminder for me. Spencer (coach) is always reminding me to respect, trust and work the process.
Well… It turns out that I really needed the reminder to RESPECT THAT PROCESS for others.
It’s NOT my process. Not my fire. Not my opportunity.
It. Is. Theirs.
And it was also a great reminder that I wasn’t always fired up and ready to take on the world. I sat there staring at her and could suddenly remember when I was terrified. And ashamed. And overwhelmed.
I could see me sitting across the table.
I remembered when I just wanted someone to listen. And understand. And not judge me. And maybe say something that I’d never heard before that I thought might just be POSSIBLE…
I was there in a similar, fire-less pit for a very long time. Too long.
And while I wanted someone to light the fire for me… I really just needed someone to listen and understand.
When that happened? THAT is when things finally caught fire for me.
I really want to be the person I so desperately NEEDED when I started on this journey.
The fire I have is really NOT to tell my story.
The fire I have in my soul is to HELP other people…
This week I was reminded that people don’t need to hear my story, they just need me to care about THEIR story.
It was because I was on all kinds of meds with high blood pressure and was told it would be good for me and would reduce stress. I was also a full blown T2 diabetic and they were anxious to get me moving. ANY kind of movement. They said yoga would be ‘gentle’ and an ‘easy place to start’.
I’ll be honest…
I grudgingly and resentfully went to the yoga class to get my doctor off my back.
I was around 300 pounds. It took EVERYTHING in me to put on spandex pants and go to the class.
I spent the entire 45 minutes HUMILIATED. Everything had to be adjusted or accommodated for me and my bulk and my inflexability. Every move it seemed, the instructor was calling me out and correcting me. I was not only horribly inflexible, I was also trying to silently fight my belly fat rolls that were totally getting in my way and impeding my ability to breathe.
I hated it.
Every. Freaking. Minute.
I left the class and proceeded to spend the next 5-6 years telling everyone how horrible, useless yoga was.
So fast forward to about 2.5 years ago.
I’m now reasonably fit, getting healthier. Working really hard to establish and love some healthy lifestyle patterns around food, exercise, my body. I’m really getting into trail running and openly aiming for an ultra.
I was complaining to my friend Kris about being inflexible.
Kris asks me to go to a yoga class with him.
He said the flexibility yoga could give me would help my running.
I reminded him that I hated yoga.
He supports me on this lifestyle journey 100% – running with me, eating my kinds of foods, listening, going to races, lifting weights… 🙂 I hesitate to accept his invitation ONLY because it’s yoga that we’re talking about….
I trust Kris. Entirely. He didn’t have to work too hard to wheedle out of me that the reason I hated it was because I’d tried it ONCE. One time, long ago, when I was morbidly obese and I still very much burned with shame over the whole freaking experience. I told him everything.
He promised he would go with me, that he knew the instructor and she was great. The class was small.
He said I would enjoy it.
He promised to do everything he could to help me feel comfortable.
So I put on my big girl panties. Yoga mats in hand… We went.
Kris had to talk me through what to wear, what to bring and what to expect. Multiple times. And he knew I was still really nervous about it all.
But I have to say, as thorough as he was, he forgot ONE KEY instruction…
I didn’t know this was about being QUIET and not TALKING.
Somehow the whole idea of yoga and meditation being quiet had totally escaped me…
I mean c’mon… I’m an extrovert. I love social gatherings. I figured if we were all suffering to contort our bodies into these weird poses that we should be encouraging each other and sharing in the misery.
And let’s face it. I’m still just a little scarred from the previous experience.
It started off great. I was actually starting to feel comfortable.
About 15 minutes into the class, the instructor begins to guide us into a pose that seemed physically impossible…
Sit up straight, relaxed and cross your legs. Gently place the tops of your feet on your opposite thigh…
I said loudly and clearly, making defiant eye contact with the instructor…
‘THAT is NOT going to happen.’
Of course everyone looks at me.
Total alarm spreads throughout the very quiet room that I’d dared to speak out loud. Loudly, out loud.
The instructor just smiled at me.
I am guessing that Kris is somewhere between embarrassed and mortified at this point. He’s giving me the unmistakable SHUT UP look and the whisper/shushing that friends who know each other well engage in.
And I am now totally choosing to ignore him.
I said at least two more times…
‘What?! Really? That’s just NOT going to happen…’
At this point the instructor leaves the front of the room to walk over to try to help me.
Kris has lost his pose and composure and is now sitting on his mat, staring at me and openly trying to figure out how to help me.
The instructor pretty quickly, with just a few soft words, helped me find a good modification.
She kept smiling at me; like a GENUINE, whole face smile… Not irritation masked with barred teeth. Looking back; I am guessing that Kris MUST have warned her about my history.
I calmed down.
I tried the next pose… with success. 🙂
I got quiet again.
I would bet at this point that Kris’s blood pressure and heart rate probably dropped exponentially. 🙂
At the end of the class the instructor even said she hoped I would come back. To another class. With another instructor. 🙂
I talked with Kris afterward and finally understood… Quiet. This is all supposed to be quiet.
What can I say… I’m a slow learner. 🙂
I have branched out and tried other yoga classes over the last two years. And much to my shock and surprise, I have actually gotten to where I enjoy it immensely as long as I make the time and stay in a regular yoga practice.
So what happened to Kris? Kris moved out of state and never went to yoga with me again. 🙂
OK… OK… I’m kidding. The truth is that Kris got his PhD about a month after the yoga incident and promptly got an amazing job on the East Coast. He now lives and runs and practices yoga in Tennessee. 🙂
Me and my sis. 🙂 This picture serves as a good reminder for me when I’m faced with cravings or hard choices. I LOVED my life at this point, but I’m not going back…
This time of year is dangerous for me.
I know I’m not alone.
Some of my favorite foods start appearing in stores and at Holiday parties. They’re seasonal foods, which to my mind means they’re SCARCE and treasured and not-to-be-missed.
In most cases these crazy-wonderful-delicious treats are tied to some of the happiest memories of my life.
My happy childhood Holiday memories are built on food. Again, I know I’m not alone.
Anyone else get caught up in the ‘OHH! I used to love this!’, ‘It’s only available right now!’ and ‘The holidays aren’t complete without this…’ frenzy?…
I was shopping this past weekend with my sister.
We suddenly found ourselves in the candy/food/food gift aisle.
You can SMELL the sugar floating in the air.
Deb asks me as she’s holding up a package of something, ‘Do you remember this…?’
It was literally like a pair of little fat devils were sitting on opposite shoulders and whispering in my ears…
‘You could eat that and then just go run it off and you wouldn’t even have to give up any other foods today in exchange…’
‘You don’t have to tell anyone.’ (SEVERE RED FLAG WARNING.)
‘Actually you are at a stable weight Bets and you did just run a really big race… I mean, c’mon – you earned this! You could eat this and totally get away with it and get back on track tomorrow.’
‘It’s the holidays! Celebrate! This is only around for a short period of time! Why are you so freaking strict with yourself? It’s just a piece of candy…’
‘No one has to know… And you’ll only do it this once…’ (Again, RED FLAG WARNING.)
That’s NOT the kind of healthy thinking I’ve been working to develop as it relates to food and the relationship I want to have with food. I fight these cravings/impulses/habits all the time. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have to think about it daily.
Holiday or not.
I wasn’t surprised in the least that this type of thinking showed up in full force surrounding Holiday foods.
I mean… I’ve been thinking this way for 40+ years. It’s still kind of the default. It’s oddly, sadly, disturbingly comforting.
Early in my journey to gain control of my lifestyle I had to handle things by NOT BEING around it…
So I didn’t go NEAR speciality or holiday food aisles. I avoided parties and potlucks. I couldn’t walk by the bakery section at Costco. I avoided weddings and showers and parties. I brought my own food to family dinners.
I was very, very careful to limit just how hard I would have to test my resolve. Stark? Severe? Yes… But I knew I needed some distance and some solid practice creating new habits surrounding food to combat the old ones.
I needed some time to get practiced and strong.
I guess I knew it instinctively, defensively; so I was really careful. I was really restrictive for several years. At times I still choose to be restrictive.
One more side note? Remember… This wasn’t just about losing weight for me. I was in a fight to beat type 2 diabetes. So I had a little different motivation than most to try to figure out ways to change my habits for good, not just a period of time.
So this time around, standing with my sis and staring at the container of food I used to LOVE… That is only around for a few weeks each year?
I caught the two little devils and their suggested thinking that wasn’t super healthy… They’re old friends. I knew their voices.
And I had a plan of action for giving them the boot…
I walked out of the aisle and went to look at Holiday cards.
I popped about 3 pieces of cinnamon gum in my mouth. And chewed. Hard. 🙂
I texted two friends about finding time for a healthy dinner or simply TIME together to build some memories this next week.
Diversion tactics.
I’ve practiced them.
They work.
Getting out of that situation, finding something BETTER than the food gracing the aisles.
Taking positive action that resulted in something non-food related that I can now look forward to.
It worked.
I had a great dinner with two of my best friends a few days ago. We laughed and built memories and just enjoyed time with one another.
It was WAAAYYYY better than whatever food tempted me in the first place.
Anyone else have any tactics that work at this pressure-filled time of year they would be willing to share?
Betsy, TJ, Wade and Spencer. Bibs in hand. We’re READY to run!
Crossing the finish line of a race is an exciting and exhilarating moment in time!
You envision savoring the feeling of that experience for a long time to come.
The final – symbolical and literal – step in months or years of planning and dreaming and training.
YOU HAVE DONE IT!
You have succeeded!
Friends at the finish line are cheering and clapping and celebrating with you as they announce your name. They place a medal around your neck. Strangers are calling out congratulations. Hugs. Happy tears. Pictures.
All the good stuff!!!
You are embracing a deep feeling of accomplishment. A sense of completeness. A surge of rightful pride in what you’ve asked your body and mind to do and how fantastically they responded.
It’s that single moment that signifies you can now check something really big off that ol’ life bucket list.
I just finished the North Face Endurance Challenge 50 miler a week ago today.
It’s been a dream of mine for close to 3 years. I’ve trained for the race for the last few months very specifically, strategically. BUT the bigger picture of this story is that I’ve really spent the last 30 months or so working to build toward this specific race distance.
This one, single day was the result of a whole lot of work.
Years of work.
I felt good about finishing, beating the cutoffs, racing that sucker EXACTLY to the plan Spencer and I had worked out and practiced.
I had a GREAT race and an incredible day.
I remain overwhelmed with gratitude and love for the friends who were by my side. Literally. Josh, TJ, Wade and Spencer were waiting on the course about 1/2 mile from the finish line for Wendie (my friend and pacer!) and I to appear. They hooted and hollered when they saw us and then served as rowdy guardians, running with me right up to the finish area and cheering each and every step I was taking.
Then they were yelling and cheering for me at the finish. Theirs were the only voices I wanted to hear.
I felt a swirl of emotions about it all in that last tenth of a mile.
Very powerful, mixed emotions.
One of the strongest feelings?
Sadness.
WHAT THE HELL?!!
ARE YOU KIDDING ME?
SAD?
I’ve just run 50 miles. I trained for years. I beat the dreaded %$#@ing cut offs! I did better than I thought I could. I had – for me – a nearly flawless race. I am staring at the smiling faces of five people I adore. I can now really, finally, legitimately call myself an ultra runner…
How the hell am I feeling sad?
Yep…
It caught me TOTALLY and utterly off guard.
It felt like a gut punch.
I spent the next three days cocooned in a great vacation house in Sausalito, sightseeing and being taken care of, building great memories with close and caring friends. We were all aware that I was feeling pretty emotionally raw and fragile.
I felt like I was on the verge of tears. I couldn’t sleep. I was indecisive. I was listless. I felt I was disappointing my friends by not being happy.
I just felt sad and ‘not normal’.
I wasn’t happy or euphoric or elated or energized. None of the things I was expecting or hoping to feel were present.
I was bewildered and confused by this unexpected emotional fragility.
I KNEW I was tired. I tried to chalk some of this odd and not-normal behavior up to being physically and mentally tired and sleep deprived and out of my carefully cultivated routine. I was very aware that I had just put my body and mind through a test they had never been through before.
The problem was I didn’t really understand what was going on in my mind until right before we were getting ready to leave for home. I finally was able to semi-articulate what was consuming my brain and heart and had a long, honest talk with my friend Josh.
He assured me that this was all a fairly normal reaction given what I’d just done.
I sit here a week later and FINALLY, finally I am starting to appreciate what I just accomplished.
It’s starting to sink in.
Josh and Spencer have both told me that there is a sort of commonly accepted catch-phrase for what I’ve been experiencing…
Post-event let down.
It will go away. I will one moment, shortly down the road, feel the full weight of what I’ve accomplished. And whole-heartedly enjoy those feelings.
It’s just a little delayed while my body and mind sort out what I’ve put them through.
You put a BIG goal out there. You focus on it 100% for years. You hit the event start line. You take off. After a few moments/miles you feel the hours of training kick in and take over and you settle in to do the work you’ve learned to do. You’re flying and soaring and enjoying the event, life, the people around you!
Your mind, body, heart and soul are all working together to get you to the goal.
It’s an amazing feeling!
And then it’s done.
One last step.
You cross the finish line.
It’s suddenly all over…
So how am I taking care of myself and recovering fully from ALL of this?
I’m writing things down.
Savoring time with close friends.
I am focused on healing my body with good foods and long walks and lots of water. And sleep. Lots of sleep. 🙂
I’ll keep talking with my coach and close friends as I make discoveries or have concerns.
I am intent on heeding the caution that I take the time and simply enjoy, fully absorb, what I’ve just done. That’s something I’m not very good at. Now’s the perfect time to practice it. 🙂
And I’ll also heed the caution to be looking for that next big goal to embrace and get excited about – but to make NO decisions until I’m rested and recovered.
Mile 47 (?). Wendie was with me and I was craving ORANGES! The finish line was just ahead…
Betsy, TJ, Wade and Spencer right after we got our race bibs!
Spencer, Wade and I just ran The North Face Endurance Challenge 50 miler in the Marin Headlands, California this past weekend. Spence and Wade had great runs! I finished in 12:32. (Yup. Twelve hours and 32 minutes.)
This was my first 50 miler.
It won’t be my last.
It’s been a three year journey to get to this distance.
I am still letting it all settle in that I finally, actually DID IT!
I’m overwhelmed with the encouragement and support that has been pouring in from friends. Literally. My phone alone showed 38 text messages at the end of the day and I was too tired to text anyone back until later the next day.
I have logged a lot of miles. I have learned so, so many life lessons. I’ve made new friends and found new trails. I’ve gone through my fair share of running shoes, toenails, body glide, fueling, tripping/falling and all the glamour that trail running entails. 🙂
And I am even more in love with anything and everything related to the trail running community.
We’ll just get the basics out of the way really quick…
Here are some of the answers to the most common questions I’ve been getting from friends and family:
Yes. I was sore for a few days after the run. Legs, feet, back were the worst of it. It’s getting better every day. But stairs the day after the race were downright treacherous and I’m sure it was just comical to watch as we tried to navigate them…
Yes. I continue to be ravenously hungry. Stay out of my way. 🙂
No. I did not run every single step of the race – some of the hills are too steep to run or the terrain is too uneven. You train to run, walk fast, hike with purpose – hell you might even be crawling at points in time – but you just KEEP MOVING FORWARD.
Yes. I did keep moving the entire time, there is no break in the action. This is a race, with cutoffs. You have to keep moving as fast as you can for the entire time.
Yes. I might be crazy to be running 50 miles, but I love it and will do it again. You can make comments about my ovaries falling out, or trails being unsafe or my knees wearing out or a cougar making me their dinner… I’m not going to be listening. Just fair warning. 🙂
Yes. My feet are freaking ugly and I’m going to lose half of my toenails.
I LOVED the entire experience.
I don’t have the exact right words, but I will say that this experience reminds me yet again that running really has changed my life.
My whole, entire life.
No one can ever do anything like this on their own. There were many friends along the way who ran with me, encouraged me and have kept careful watch over the process.
Meet some of the folks who were very much with me on this entire epic journey every step of the way…
Josh. Gave me the original idea of running an ultra. He has logged hundreds of miles running with me and sharing his wisdom with me. And being endlessly patient with my learning. It is a fact that I would NOT have even tried to run this race if it weren’t for my friendship with the Gums. Those two individually and together encourage and inspire like none other….
Wendie. Pacer. 🙂 She paced me so damned well, totally ignoring my whimpering and whining at the 45 mile mark and forcing me to really push through all the way to the end. Typical for Wendie, she was also being a light and encouragement to all of the other bedraggled and exhausted runners around us at the end of what was a very long day. She selflessly put some of her recovery time from running the Seattle Marathon less than a WEEK before to the side to make sure I had help getting to the finish for my race. Friend. Pacer. Runner. Strong, brave woman. We now sport celebratory matching trucker hats. 🙂
Wade. Wade knew me at 400 pounds 10 years ago. And this weekend we just ran the same 50 mile race. Wade, perhaps more than anyone in my life, has the real-time, day-to-day view of what this journey has all been about. ALL of it — good, bad, ugly. He volunteered to help hold me accountable – and I took him up on it. It was really important for me that he was at this race to see what all the work I had done was leading to…
Erica. Erica ran weekly with me in training for this event starting back in September. I would let her know my long run, least favorite run or the one that made me nervous. She would rearrange her life to help me tackle the ‘problem’ of the week. I very, very much felt like she was at my side on this run.
Spencer, literally has worked to teach me how to run. From the very start almost 3 years ago when I trusted him enough to tell him about this crazy, secret goal I had to run an ultra to this past weekend when I crossed the actual freaking finish line. He’s been with me every step of the way on my crazy journey to be a runner. He continues to help me learn to love the sport and embrace running as a lifestyle. It’s been a painful process at times as we learned to work together as coach and athlete. I have tested his patience beyond reasonable limits at least once. Maybe twice. Maybe even more than just a few times. Recently. 🙂
Spence, Wade and I before hitting the start line. Our crew, Josh and Wendie, are taking the picture and holding all of our assembled crap. 🙂
I do have an official race report and would be more than happy to share it with anyone who wants to read it. I will warn you that it contains some raw and uncensored language. Ask me. I’ll share. 🙂
Yet, for some odd reason, when I started this lifestyle journey more than four years ago; I felt strongly compelled to start writing things down.
I had no road map and I KNEW I was headed somewhere totally new. So I followed my gut feeling and started writing in a journal.
These books are deeply personal and have become cherished time capsules of my adventures. They also happen to be largely a chaotic mess and perfectly inconsistent. 🙂
They were never written or designed for anyone else to see…
Race bibs crookedly taped in. Notes people have lovingly written to me stuck in random pages. Cryptic and short hand notes about blood sugar readings and countdowns of units of insulin scratched in the margins. Reminders to stay focused. Indications I was elated, terrified, frustrated. LOTS of numbers; weight, blood sugar, insulin units, running paces. Pictures taped in that SHOW my story.
I am not a fan of spending a lot of time looking back. Having said that, sometimes you really do need a dose of perspective. A solid reminder, from your own point of view, of all the work you’ve done, all the good that’s happened, how hard you’ve fought for progress or change.
Collectively these journals remind me how excruciatingly small, but critical, some of the steps really were.
These pages also remind me that I was intent – from the very beginning – on building a new lifestyle. A sustainable lifestyle.
This was never about a diet. Or about losing weight. Or even about running.
This was always about trying to find health and LIFE and learning to be in love with being active.
‘Going to stop Lantus (insulin) and see what it does…’ I was down to 2 units, from a high of 72 units daily. A LOT of work went into that single sentence. 🙂
I feel oddly grounded with these books in my hands and my eyes on their pages.
They contain my dreams and goals and hopes and wild longings…
I want to run. On trails. Actually, I want to be fit enough to do anything active if I’m lucky enough to be invited.
I want to wear normal sized clothes. Cute, fun, sexy, NORMAL sized clothes.
I want to learn to eat only when I’m physically hungry and my body is asking me for healthy food.
I want to be alive and healthy to watch my nephews grow up.
I want to reverse type 2 diabetes.
My journals never mocked or hesitated or questioned or doubted. They never shot down my goals with reality. 🙂
My journal pages have captured my thoughts and emotions and hopes.
He didn’t want me to have to run alone. Seriously. That is the sole reason he decided, with less than 24 hours notice, to run a 50K.
When I tell people Jeff is like the little brother I always wanted and never had — can you see why?
You’ll read his account of his accidental 50K , but I have one of my own stories about this epic adventure to share with you first…
Jeff KNEW he had to fuel (consume calories) to be able to endure this event. Josh and Spencer had hammered home that point perfectly. But at the first tiny taste of the Gu he had picked out the night before at the grocery store, he refused to eat his fuel.
He hated the flavor and texture.
This episode occurs like 3 miles in on a 31 mile day.
He was flat out refusing to eat his energy gels.
I start yelling at him, begging, pleading, I even told him at one point to just plug his nose and swallow the damn stuff… He just kept looking at me (all of this is happening while we were running) and saying ‘No.’ And then would lift the Gu packet to his face and without tasting it — he would make a face and gagging sounds.
After several frustrating miles, we eventually reached a compromise of sorts.
We traded gel flavors.
After some serious coaxing he finally decided to try, and liked my salted caramel flavored Gu’s. I wound up with his barely-tolerable Raspberry flavored Gu’s.
I mean only TRUE friends would give up their Salted Caramel flavored Gu’s just to help someone else through a race.
Right? 🙂
Thank you Jeff for embedding and creating such happy and cherished memories into an event that I will remember with pure joy for the rest of my life.
Take it away Jeff, my accidental ultrarunning friend…
Bets loves telling this story.
This was her first 50K, and I was privileged to share the experience with her.
Yes—on accident, I had the privilege to race with her! I was not supposed to run this thing. And, not to mention, I had not raced since high school, and even then, those were 5Ks!
So, in this single race, I ran my first 10K, half-marathon, marathon and ultra.
Bets told me “Jeff this is something we HAVE TO SHARE!!!”
Think of all the stories that would be in ONE race weekend report!”
I said “Ok!”
First thing: I DO NOT want to downplay how much work Bets put in on this race… her first Ultramarathon. She wants to be an ultrarunner and this 50K (~31 miles) was her golden ticket to becoming that runner. She worked her butt off for this race. Almost literally. 🙂 She. Trained. HARD!
Meanwhile, I was running maybe 2-3 times per week with her (on her short distance days) and she was putting in 5-6 days a week training for this crazy thing. She asked me to travel with her, mostly just as support from the start line, aid station, and finish line.
I was promised there would be little running involved.
“Absolutely, I am in.”
The great yellow ferry boat’s deck. Spencer, Bets, Hannah, Wendie, Josh and Jeff.
The idea was that I would travel to The North Face Endurance Challenge (TNF50) in San Francisco with Betsy, Spencer, Hannah, Josh, and Wendie, as their friend. Not a runner.
Wendie and I would crew for everyone else. Basically, we would load shoes, water, Gu’s, and lube in a backpack and jog between aid stations.
Sounds like fun to me!
When we flew in to California, Josh mentions he is not feeling well.
I don’t think about the comment too much, other than Josh had planned on running with Bets. I knew she might be a little nervous about going alone.
The next day [pre-race day], we drive to San Francisco and pick up running bibs. When we get back to the house, Josh, Spencer and I go out on a “shake-out” run. About 2 miles in on this slow, flat, dry run I make a comment to Josh,
“You know, if you are too sick to run tomorrow, I think I could run with Bets.”
They both looked at me with shocked faces, and then responded with huge smiles and yelling, “F%*# Yeah!” The context for their original shocked faces is that, up to this point, I was adamant to anyone that would listen that I was not a runner. Just a friend of Betsy’s who liked being outside.
The fact that I expressed interest in the run, was a little out of left field.
Bets, Wendie, and my Mother (not on the trip) did not share the exact, instantaneous, enthusiasm of the guys.
“You have never run a 10K race before, let alone a f@#$ing 50K on trails!” – anonymous
Josh did end up being too sick to run… and the teaching began. Between Josh and Spencer, I “learned” how to run an ultramarathon at the dining room table in our rented Yellow Ferry Boat.
I have never listened to anyone so intensely before in my life. I learned how to eat a Gu (NASTY- snot textured sugar packet), when to take a salt-tab, when to eat an Imodium (extremely important to keep the Gu in), how much water to drink, how to run downhill.
I listened to every single word.
Still today, I proudly quote Josh Gum before starting a long run.
Race day arrived.
We woke up early, covered our feet in this nasty paste lube and sent Spencer off on the 50 miler. Meanwhile, Bets, Hannah, and I, had an hour to sit around and process the ridiculousness of what was about to happen. I remember saying (several times),
“wait… this is going to take how long?!!”
Oh god.
In my head, I know I can do this. Bets and Josh keep telling me this is about mental toughness.
That is 99% true, if you have trained for your race!!!
If I can leave you with anything from this blog? Train for races. Whether you train with a coach or from a variety of online sources, it makes a difference.
Trust me.
This picture was from Bets and I at the “start” of the race, when I had run my first 10K (6.2 miles). No biggie.
This is fun.
We were having so much fun! Stomachs weren’t upset, we had climbed less than 1,000’ in elevation, laughing the entire way.
Life was good.
Then came mile 16ish.
Both of us may have fallen just a little behind on fuel and we had some upset stomachs.
[Short preface: Bets told me I could go this far into detail in the story.]
This is a nice way to say that we left some dignity in the bushes along the course. Apparently, pride stays in the rental van when nature calls during ultrarunning.
The trails were a slippery, muddy mess from the rain storm the day before, so people were really not paying attention to our bathroom trail side-excursions… Well, except for one poor gentlemen who followed Bets off the trail, thinking that was the course. I didn’t know what to say, so I just yelled,
“NO!!! She’s pooping!”
Let’s just say Bets was not impressed with me announcing that fact to a squadron of runners.
Then came mile 26.
This is the point where a normal marathon stops!
We still had 6 more miles – with hills – to go.
Here was my attitude at the time when Betsy asked for a selfie…
This part of the race hurt.
It hurt really bad. Every muscle ached. I was sure this was what death felt like.
She was smiling, but holy crap this was HARD!
I know at some point I laid down by a porta-potty and asked Bets if she could,
“just leave me here to die.”
After a few choice words were thrown at me, I picked myself up and onward we limped.
The trail was absolutely beautiful… In hindsight. We could see down onto the Golden Gate Bridge, out towards the water on one side and beautiful valleys on the other.
All we could talk about… Pizza and beer. Bets talked about pizza and I talked about how I could taste the beer. No more disgusting watered down sugar packets. This was our conversation for the last 6 miles. Pizza and beer.
We came across the finish line happy for the picture, but it was really time to be done.
We finished a few seconds past the 8 hour mark.
Looking back, it’s hard to think about how tough the run really was, because I keep thinking about how much fun I had running with a great friend.
We kept each other mentally strong and now have some really great stories to tell.
I would go back in a heartbeat, but NOT for a 50 miler. 🙂
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all bets are off... 