Running

Pole Position! (Learning to use trekking poles)

~ betsyhartley392 ~ Leave a comment
Using trekking poles and grinning ear to ear at being back in the mountains with my new hip! Yep, that hill behind me is STEEP.

*Note: From a class with the pro-runner, stellar human, race director Tim Tollefson. Notes are solely from my menopausal memory from a 30 minute class; mistakes in content or descriptions are all mine!

Tim Tollefson in Olympic Valley 2024, holding Leki Trekking/Racing poles
Tim Tollefson, our teacher for the ‘using trekking poles’ class.

As newly minted Hippy (full right hip replacement 4/11/23), I was told to get back to living life. I was also warned to not ‘pound on a downhill run/hike’ and if I wanted to keep doing other crazy mountain ‘things’ i needed to learn to use trekking poles for safety/stability and to be a little ‘gentler’ on the artificial hip.

Awesome! I’m getting fitness back, finding steeper/more technical terrain and slowly (OH SO FREAKING SLOWLY) progressing back to soft/gentle/FLAT running. It is past time to start using trekking poles; but I wasn’t sure exactly where to start to be honest.

I have trekking poles. They’re nearly as old as my running career. 😂 I have used them inefficiently and inexpertly many times. They’re plain old awkward for the most part! Not one time have a finished a run or hike and thought ‘those helped!’ it is usually ‘why the hell did I carry those damn things the entire way?’.

Trekking poles for me have been part hazzard and part spectacle.

Post hip surgery I googled using trekking poles for hiking and trail running. Huge mistake. THERE are a zillion (or so) videos and a zillion (or so) matching/conflicting opinions about use/don’t use/how to use/when to use… I defaulted to my comfort zone when overwhelmed with conflicting info; I gave up. Figured I’d carry them around when I was on steep terrain, try to look like I knew what I was doing, hike down SLOWLY and only use them if things got dire.

That was my entire plan even when I was TOLD to use them to help my hip.

Fast forward to this week. I stumbled across a free Leki trekking pole class with pro athlete Tim Tollefson while I was volunteering at the Broken Arrow Skyrace in Olympic Valley, California.

Climbing for days… ❤️ LOT of places to practice this week while I’m visiting!

So I signed up for the class.

Showed up. (Full disclosure; sometimes I chicken out of these things if I’m not keeping a good and healthy handle on the narrative in my head about being the fattest/oldest/slowest/not deserving. I’m in a good spot right now and easily shut those voices down pronto. I know I am not alone in possible barriers I place in my own way from time to time. And also I’m keen to share a win!)

I got sized for a demo pair of trekking poles.

And we headed for a steep sidehill and I LEARNED.

Holy smokes. I learned so much and was encouraged and inspired!

Sharing some of the highlights just in case anyone else is ‘pole’ curious and hesitant…

  1. PRACTICE. Using trekking poles is a learned skill. You have to intentionally practice with them as part of your regular training.
  2. Short of planting them both right in front of you and walking into them (I HAVE DONE JUST THAT… And I would bet I am not alone…) it turns out there really is no right or wrong. There’s better, there’s more efficient, there’s powerful – but really no right or wrong. I have hesitated using them assuming there was a right/wrong. Not true!
  3. Poles fit when your arms are holding the handles in front of you, with the tip of the pole right to the outside and front of each foot and elbows are bent at your side comfortably at a 90 degree angle.
  4. Think about maintaining roughly a ‘triangle’ shape to use the poles to the greatest advantage. Easiest to envision this when standing still. (*See picture at the bottom of this list!) Poles in front, shoulder width apart and if youre feet wee together both eet would be ONE point of the triangle. Eash pole serving as another point. I love my hip and know that stability — through my own work with strength and conditioning or in using trekking poles — is about ALL that matters for the longevity of this new hip.
  5. Trekking poles are like four-wheel drive! Two legs good. 4 legs (points of contact with the ground) BETTER! Imagine all the mountain animals you know that stick to the side of a rockface seemingly defying gravity and physics or rocket up a hill in powerful leaps and bounds to vanish out of site over the rim… They have FOUR legs and they’re using each and every single one of them. (I will now be channeling my inner mountain goat.)
  6. Using them uphill you can basically do one of three things/styles…
    • Double pole — which is what some of the speedsters do on steep terrain. Using both poles slightly out in front and using them to push all the way off. Both at the same time in the front.
    • Cadence – which is opposite pole/opposite foot planted JUST about where your foot is striking — not way out in front. Your arms WANT to work this way naturally — just go with it!
    • My personal fav? Freestyle…. WHATEVER works. A combo of the above mentioned in whatever form/pattern/cadence style that works to help you go up the hill using your feet and the poles in ANY combination! DO WHAT WORKS and what feels natural!
  7. Downhill…
    • Speedy and steady and have good balance? They’re gonna likely get in the way and you’d be better off stowing them and racing downhill.
    • Slow, fatigued, need some balance help, late in a race, want to take some pressure off a lower extremity? Use them in front of you as a braking mechanism… Same options as mentioned above; double poles (MY FAV for downhill), cadence or freestyle…
      • Note: I played with the options of coming downhill yesterday very much on purpose while this info was fresh in my noggin; I literally deloaded some of the stress and force OFF of my hip onto my chest/arms/poles. I could feel it! After practicing on a mile long 600 foot descent yesterday — MY ARMS ARE TIRED and my hip is NOT! Which means I was doing something right.
    • Bonus? You can tell I am NOT a skier cause this is from the ski world and everyone else thought it was patently obvious… S-curve down the hill. You don’t have to go straight down the hill… (NOW they tell me!) So coming off a steep hill, turning gentle sweeping S-curves and using the poles… GAME CHANGER for me and my hip on the downhill! I was moving as fast and comfortably as I was PRE-hip-falling-apart!
  8. Etiquette. BE AWARE. Don’t trip fellow runners. Don’t stab volunteers. Don’t wave them around behind you as you run. They are a tool for you and yet can really, truly hurt others around you beyond just tripping them. Be aware and think about those around you. (I loved that in the teaching of technique and usage you could totally see Tim Tollefson the Race Director emerge for a flash as he talked about etiquette and thinking of other runners!)

I know there were more nuggets of wisdom. So much good stuff! Thank you Tim!

The poles should be a little further ahead of my toes and my arms should be extended. a bit, BUT this is roughly the ‘triangle’ shape mentioned above in #4. I was also trying to take a selfie that wasn’t purely a crotch shot – so cut me some slack for the angle.

Happy trails! If you’ve got any questions or need encouragement to become a trekking pole user/fan — please do not hesitate to reach out! I’m learning right along with you and would be happy to share ideas or tips!

If you already use trekking poles for hiking and/or running, what tips did I miss that would be helpful for other beginners?!

This doesn’t look like ‘if I fell I would roll for a mile to the bottom of the hill’ steep – BUT IT IS! This is a safety mirror on a sharp hairpin curve and I couldn’t resist the urge to snap a pic. 🙂

Menopause. (Period in the title is a pun…)

~ betsyhartley392 ~ 10 Comments

For me, the word menopause stands alone. Some folks shrug cause it doesn’t apply to them. Some folks shrug cause it’s a long ways off. And then there’s the women (and perhaps their partners) for whom that word strikes fear, confusion, frustration, humor and a host of other emotions. They’re likely reading this wondering if anyone could possibly be suffering like they are… (I’m here for you!)

Trust me when I tell you that I struggled typing out the title cause I wanted to add super creative expletives that might get me banned, defining phrases to be crystal clear how I felt in case anyone was in doubt and I most certainly deleted the word ‘sucks’ like 100 times.

Menopause for me sucked. Actually – present tense – it still actively sucks. Just being honest.

Every woman has a different experience. There are yet again as many experts on what you should do to ‘tame’ the symptoms, ‘survive’ menopause or ‘accept’ this phase in life as there are women experiencing it. And there there is a host of predatory BS from ‘experts’ aimed to shame us into an exercise/food/supplement/skin-care programs, remind us to embrace specific mind-sets or even more semi-dangerous supplement/medical shams packaged as silver bullets. We might also have friends/partners trying to support us with information they’ve gathered that may/may not be helpful.

With as many women statistically experiencing peri/menopause currently it sure as hell has felt lonely, in part because the individual experience is really, truly, so very different for each woman.

You google menopause and as you start to type in ‘symptoms’ — the other autofill search suggestions mixed in among the ones you would expect to see are downright alarming… Psychosis, schizophrenia, suicide ALONG with all the normal ones relating to weight gain, depression, fatigue, balding, mood swings/changes, hot flashes, bloating, lost sex drive, insomnia, vaginal atrophy, irregular periods.

Fun stuff. (And with no sarcasm font available — just to be clear — this is NOT FUN STUFF.)

That extensive list became a gruesome ‘choose your own adventure’ representation of my journey with menopause.

Menopause sucks.

I’ve said to friends at various times that menopause was trying to kill me. I wasn’t always joking. In fact a few times it was a plea for help. I didn’t want to hate life or my body – but damn… Menopause is hands-down the hardest thing I have ever done.

To make sure we’re all on the same page…

‘Menopause is the time that marks the end of your menstrual cycles. It’s diagnosed after you’ve gone 12 months without a menstrual period. Menopause can happen in your 40s or 50s, but the average age is 51 in the United States.’ – Mayo Clinic (There is a genetic link that might determine when you begin this whole process as well as the absence/presence of VSM (Vasomotor Symptoms) — night sweats, hot flashes…)

Perimenopause is the time (1 – 10 years) leading up to menopause and some super sketchy crap happens in that time frame too. To keep things entertaining; they’re often only mildly understandable symptoms and issues. Docs often misdiagnose things or you get the ‘you are getting older’ line (said with a sympathetic head tilt) when they can’t pinpoint a cause. It can be a super frustrating and bewildering time for your personal health that often becomes clear ONLY in hindsight. Down the road you look back and can more clearly pinpoint the moment when perimenopause was starting to sink her claws into your world. But in the moment-to-moment? You’re just hopping around trying to solve random issues as they crop up with a solid side of self-admonishment that you can’t just ‘power through’ or ‘be positive”: can’t sleep, gaining weight, random aches and pains, depression, no motivation to do anything… The image in your head should be somewhat like the old game ‘whack-a-mole‘. For me, that’s a pretty accurate explanation when someone asks what’s going on…

ALL of this from peri-to-post menopause takes YEARS. Yeah… I naively thought menopause was supposed to be ‘stop having a period , you might have a hot flash or two and welcome to menopause! Burn your bra, don’t worry about having a filter on your mouth and start wearing purple.’ I was beyond wrong. So wrong. We live 1/3 of our lives as menopause/post-menopausal.

‘Do not complain about growing older. It is a privilege denied to many.’ — Mark Twain

I do get it. I get that we’re in an age where we are living longer. Also; we’re in an age where women talk way more OPENLY about stuff that has generational ties. My grandma’s generation would have likely fallen out of their rocking chairs before talking publicly or openly about ‘lady things’. My mom passed in 2010; long before this crappola was even on my radar; and I never got to talk to her about any of this… A lot of my friends are younger and/or were NOT talking about this BS episode of life…

So I am aging, and I am aging at a time where we are talking more openly about our shared life experiences. That’s all good stuff. And damn it — I WILL be there for my younger friends who are entering this stage of their life.

I felt totally blindsided by the symptoms and severity of menopause. (I don’t want to address it in this specific blog; I do feel I need to say that not all doctors are equally capable of helping women with peri/menopause issues. Assuming you have access to health care, you better be ready to advocate aggressively for your own health and come in armed with some good information, ideas and questions.)

I thought long and hard about sharing all of this about my personal experiences – then started writing cause I would have DEEPLY appreciated hearing about this BEFORE I was living it. I also have to say I am in NO way ‘on the other side’. And let’s face it – I haven’t handled all of this well. It’s been hard. I don’t have answers or advice. I have lots of solidarity and empathy. And a willingness to talk openly about this phase of life with anyone who wants to talk.

Here’s what the last 4 years or so have been like…

I felt many times like I was losing my mind; brain fog, irritability, anxiety attacks, irrational fears, depression, wild mood swings.

I contemplated self-harm. I’m very purposefully leaving the details out. I was grateful to have a great therapist. If this is something you’re struggling with – reach out to me, your friends, your doctor. Please. Talk. You’re not alone – I and many others don’t realize that THIS CAN HAPPEN IN MENOPAUSE.

I had severe insomnia; months and months of 2-3 hours of sleep. I have always had great sleep hygiene, have never struggled with sleep. Insomnia drove me to the doctor — I was begging her for sleep meds and she was the first to tell me she suspected menopause. It is better – but even now sleep is hit or miss. I pretty routinely wake nightly for several hours from 11 pm – 3 am and have to try to convince myself to go back to sleep. I know sleep is important; but what I, and every other menopausal women I talk with struggles with is, actually how to sleep. I do aim to get 7:30 hours of sleep and get creative and wildly protective about getting that sleep.

Bone-deep exhaustion and general fatigue. It shows up in barely being able to do the basics for the day without napping in your car or desperately hoping plans after work get cancelled. And it’s frustrating when you know that you recently could easily run a 5K and suddenly a flight of stairs has you wanting to stop and nap and you have no energy for anything else in the day. Or even the next day. And you guessed it – this wreaked havoc on my fitness and training. I used to run happily, six days a week. In the past 3 years specifically, there were weeks I was lucky to get out the door for a miserable shuffle two days a week. And that of course spirals out to other critical areas of our physical and mental health.

Menopause forces women’s bodies into heightened insulin sensitivity or in my case resistance; I am already metabolically deranged…. So yeah, my type 2 diabetes management is a new-again full-blown nightmare. What used to work; no longer works. Super fun stuff. We tried Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT) and it either wouldn’t work or we never got it right. I could possibly be deep enough into menopause that doing nothing is in fact the best strategy at this point. My doc and I will discuss in early 2023 to assess next steps.

Unexplained weight gain while doing all the same physical activity and eating the same way that helped me maintain my weight for 8+ years. POOF; overnight I was gaining weight like a freaking air fern – and NOTHING I did would slow it down. As someone who lost 200 pounds, reversed type 2 diabetes, had excess skin removed, remains in therapy for an eating disorder and daily has to remind myself to LOVE the body I have… I don’t have the words to fully articulate how difficult and devastating this specific issue has been.

Hot flashes. Night sweats. Leaving buttprints on canvas chairs. Feeling like my skin was going to spontaneously combust and standing outside in literal freezing weather in shorts and t-shirt trying to get relief. Having to change PJ’s and sheets in the middle of the night because I can literally wring sweat out of the material. The jokes are legit. Hot flashes are brutal.

Aches and pains; super creaky after activities that shouldn’t leave me creaking or achey, tested for arthritis, wondering endlessly if I had the flu. Lots of ‘is this an injury’ moments — and then plenty of random injuries springing up just to keep you on your toes.

And the soul-breaker for me… NO mojo. None. Deep and persistent apathy about all things; my health, friendships, getting through life. I kept showing up and signing up and trying to live life. I knew that you can in fact fake it until you make it… But DAMN…. Waking up and just spending the day hoping you can get home and stop having to interact or be responsible or care… That is NOT ME. Not how I want to live life; but that’s been a sad reality for several years. This is not my body or mind at their best. This does seems to be getting better – much better – in the past few months. And I’m hopeful this new ‘light’ in my heart and step is around to stay.

If you hung in this far… thank you. Thank you for reading. I appreciate you. If you read this far I am guessing you are possibly peri/menopause and reading trying to figure out what bus ran you over or what is happening to your body/mind/world…. And I am HERE FOR IT. You are not alone. Message me, email me or call me. I’ll happily fan you while you have a hot flash and listen to you tell me about your journey.

***

I am including some resources I’ve found:

For a great read for women who are ultra runners and want to stay active, Menopause 200 by the wonderful Dr. Kamm Prongay or Aging in the Offseason by Meghan Canfield. Both great reads from Ultrarunning Magazine.

Great podcast on ALL kinds of related topics? Hit Play, Not Pause ( Note: This community does has a robust companion FaceBook page which is a good and supportive community; but please be careful. LOTS of women who suggest they ALL have the answers; if you’re looking for medical advice or guidance talk to your health care team. If you’re looking for community and can manage women pushing their own version of ‘this saved my life’, ‘ This is the silver bullet’ or moralizing about food/supplements — go for it! Just be very aware.)

Good reads? Roar or Next Level both by Dr. Stacey Simms.

I personally enjoyed Menipause Manifesto by Dr. Jen Gunter for in-depth explanations about the physiology of what in the hell was happening in my world.

BUMmer of a race. (Pun. It’s not depressing, it’s funny. Promise.)

~ betsyhartley392 ~ 4 Comments

View from my campsite. That tallest peak? That’s Shasta… She’s one of my all-time fav peaks.

I DNF’ed out of the SOB 50K this weekend. (DNF is Did Not Finish)

Normally dropping out of a race or somehow ‘falling short’ would send me into a bit of a funk. Not this time. Which was an unintended win given the crappy situation…. One of the things I’ve been working on is setting different goals around running so that this hobby/sport/activity I love stays part of the joy and doesn’t verge back into not-healthy, burned-out, punishment to keep my weight in check. I’ve DONE a lot of work around this and finally, finally love running again for it’s purest sense of simply moving my body and earning a sweat. I’m intentionally setting goals to support that direction. Not big sweeping goals anymore like ‘MUST. FINISH. RACE.’ more like ‘Keep a smile on your face, drink plenty of water, give this your best effort and thank all the volunteers.’ While I DNF’ed the distance, I did in fact nail my race specific goals in very short order.

I was excited for this race. SUPER excited to see my beloved trail family, spend time on world-class trails and have long-awaited catch-up conversations. And hugs. ALL THE HUGS. I was going to get to car camp for two days with a bunch of other runners; but specifically with my friends Jamie and Melissa. Jamie and I met on these trails, at this race almost eight years ago at a moment of struggle for both of us. Instant kinship. And we’ve grown our friendship since then. So this weekend/race/trails – the whole package is simply a sentimental favorite.

And 50K – this would be my longest distance in almost a year! I’ve been training and rebuilding my fitness and endurance. I was eager to see what my feet, legs and body could do.

I have written recently about starting back on Metformin/Glucophage to help my body with insulin regulation and insulin resistance. (Blog here.) It’s a medicine that is working really well for me in keeping my glucose lower and stable. One of the well documented and oft-lamented side effects of this drug is the ‘glucotrots’. Call it gastric distress, urgency, explosive diarrhea, the screaming shits — whatever you want to call it, it’s not a ton of fun. And it’s pretty common from all of the anecdotal data I’ve collected over the years. I suffer with the side effects for sure; but have gotten cagey and smart about timing things so it’s more annoying than anything. Most of the time. Many of the people I know on this med, do get used to it and learn to heed the bodies early warning signs. A few near-misses, or all-out misses, and you learn to pay attention to what your gut is telling you… Given how good the drug works to keep things stable and keep me healthy; for me the trade-off is worth it.

I’m new enough back onto this med and I’m brand new to RUNNING with this med on board. I wasn’t entirely sure how the med/running/poop combo would play out. In the back of my mind I knew I needed to be thinking about it. I mean, I know the day to day routine. I also know I am NOT afraid to poop in woods. I’m actually pretty talented at it given I have SO MUCH FREAKING PRACTICE over the years. But for a long distance race; I just didn’t know what the right thing was. I made my very best guess of withholding the drug for a day (not taking the morning of the race) thinking it would give my belly a break…

Whoa. NOT THE RIGHT CHOICE.

I don’t know what really happened or if it was simply a combo of factors. I don’t know if it was the heat, the stress/excitement, super low humidity, the disrupted sleep from car camping, the meds…. I do KNOW I was mentally excited, calm, well hydrated, and focused on staying in my routine for food. I follow the adage/warning/sage-advice of ‘nothing new on race day’. I mean, minus the med-juggling; I was ridiculously routine leading into this race. I got up race morning, had coffee and even got the coveted pre-race poop out of the way before I even pinned on my bib. ALL GOOD TO GO.

So I thought.

As with most lessons learned and interesting stories… Obviously something, somewhere went a wee bit sideways.

Start of the 100K race… And right after this were blissfully empty porta-potty lines. 🙂

The 50K race started at 7 AM. I went slow at the back just to ease my nerves. The pressure I feel for people to pass me on tight single track – or worse make me feel like I need to speed up – is one of my least favorite things about racing. Luckily, it’s something I have pretty good ability to control; so I took control. I let them all get in front of me while we were running on some road prior to the single track. Turns out that was smart for a whole bunch of reasons.

About 1 mile in… YEAH… one freaking mile in…my belly does this ‘flop’. It’s alarmingly familiar and entirely unwelcome; It’s the glucotrot warning that my belly is getting upset and I should maybe/sorta/consider finding a bathroom in the next 2-3 minutes. 1 mile. Sheesh. And for those who know me… Yes I was mentally chuckling and thinking ‘are you shitting me?’.

I’ll spare you details; suffice it to say I ultimately squatted 4 times in 4 miles. This was going be a LOOOONNNNNGGGG 50K with that ratio. (50K is 31 miles…)

Bathroom with a view…

I got to the very first aid station and handed over my bib. I decided a few things during the four times I was digging catholes, hiding from other racers and contemplating my life choices….

  1. If I stopped now, loaded up my hydration pack with water and hiked it back in I could spare ANYONE else the issue of having to help get me back to my camping site. I was still close in at this point; it was hike-able. AND less people/race traffic so finding a spot to squat would be WAY LESS stressful.
  2. The goal for this race was to have fun. This situation was annoying and bothersome in the moment and it was 100% headed for dehydration/NO FUN in very short order. I could absolutely stop this potential dumpster fire before it became a warning label.
  3. It was HOT and I was already sweating heavily 3-4 miles in. Abnormal sweat volume for me given the effort I was putting forth. Between rampant diarrhea and heavy sweating there was NO POSSIBLE way for me to put in enough fluids to keep my system from crashing. My system in fact already firing off some pretty convincing warning shots.

So all by myself, with no input from anyone else and no second guessing; I made the choice to drop, hike back and begin to seek the humor in the crappy situation.

I should have had 9-10 hours on the trails, in the woods, earning my shower and being in the mountains; I got 2 hours instead.

But here’s the win in all of this; I’m not always smart when I’m determined. Stubbornness overrides smart decision making – it’s a family trait. This time I’m super proud that I could see that this just wasn’t the day to run long and made a not-fun decision with a happy heart and a clear mind. Some of it was experience. Some of it was simply respect for the volunteers who would be stuck helping me if I forced my way forward. But a large portion of it was making the decision based on the bigger goal of keeping running joyful and making sure I stay healthy enough to enjoy it.

I get back to the camping/start area and run into one of the Race Directors, and a friend, Rob Cain. When he sees me, he kind of waves his arms around and says ‘Betsy – what happened what are you doing back here so soon?” and I reply ‘Rob! My legs are good, my heart was willing, my mind was excited… And my butthole is EXHAUSTED.’ And we both laughed heartily. I’m still laughing truth be told.

I mean – it’s funny. It just is.

And it is the first time I can legit say I had a really crappy race and mean it.

(Ok my punny friends… I’m sure I missed a pile of great poop puns… Please share. 🙂 )

One of my fav pics of the weekend.

10 years.

~ betsyhartley392 ~ Leave a comment
The view from the mountaintops will never get old. It’s a magical, lovely world to LOOK at the mountains and then be able to go and climb IN the mountains. Not gonna get old. Nope. No way. Even if {sometimes} I whine and complain en route to the top – the CLIMB is always worth the view. 🙂

4th of July is a National Holiday, yet for the last decade it’s been a day of personal reflection; sometimes deep, sometimes simply grateful but always, always with a big dose of awe… 10 years ago I decided I was tired of controlling my inevitable death from Type 2 Diabetes and attendant complications. I was slowly marching to a grave. I knew it. Taking my prescribed drugs compliantly and not questioning alternatives. I was likely going to lose my feet/legs a piece at a time from our of control blood glucose and wind up crawling, not so much marching, towards that grave. I was resigned to the idea that it was my only choice.

Then July 2, 2011 I woke up and knew in my heart something was profoundly different… I woke up and decided I wanted to live. Whatever days I had left, whatever it looked like, I wanted. to. LIVE. No clue what it would look like to change my life; but game for the fight. I remember I woke up and felt this really odd feeling; iron-hot, fierce determination. I’d never felt it before. I didn’t know how in the hell I was going to make things different — I just knew I had to start flailing forward and figure it out as I went. I knew that where I was in that moment was NOT where I wanted to stay for even one more single day.

I changed everything. And still change things to keep moving toward the goal of being healthy. It turns out that there’s no real ‘finish line’ on this particular journey to health. Go figure. I started eating different, fought to get off meds, started lifting weights and moving more. I started losing weight and helping my body get more active, I got off meds. I’ve been diagnosed with and am in recovery treatment for an eating disorder. And while it’s never been linear or simple – it’s been worth it all. Countless of other great, amazing, wonderful things have graced my life since July 2011.

I stopped giving up on myself and stayed focus on ‘the next right thing’ that would help me continue to live this new-found, med-free, active life.

Life has given me ten years I never thought I would have. Endless awe and gratitude. I have been given a second chance and I don’t think I’ve wasted a single day. I’m living a life I couldn’t think big enough to even dream about. I’ve become a runner. I published a book. I’m in a job I love. I work as a health coach. I have amazing friends in the trail/ultra community. I have a 100 mile finisher buckle. Like… NONE of that was on my radar 10 years ago when I was struggling to figure out how to not die. I was in a body that couldn’t do the things I wanted to do. I was on a ton of pharmaceutical interventions. I was uncomfortable and sick and felt deeply hopeless about the mess I was in with Type 2 Diabetes. And now…. I’m not. I still have to fight for my health each and every day. Yet, I’m alive and healthy and active and deeply grateful for this life I get to live every single day.

I am very grateful for these 10 glorious years I might not have had any other way.

Laughter is damn good medicine.

~ betsyhartley392 ~ 2 Comments

My momma used to say ‘you better be able to laugh at yourself, cause others certainly will.’ And she didn’t mean it in the ‘get yourself some confidence and have a spine and who cares what the world thinks’ if you knew my kind-hearted, loving, gentle momma she meant it in the ‘life is funny and laughing is fun and just lighten up – life is way, way, way too short to be taking yourself so seriously’…. I have found laughter to be healing, provide peace and disarm even the grumpiest of people at times.

‘A wonderful thing about true laughter is that it just destroys any kind of system of dividing people.” –John Cleese.

I’m a BIG fan of laughter. And I swear the older I get the more I have to laugh at myself in regards to my what-the-hell-happened-to-my-memory or no-filter-thinking or crappola eyesight. Having the privilege of living into my 50’s — there is simply some funny shit that happens with age.

So with that set-up… Let me tell you about a recent trail episode.

It was cold and still icey in places from a recent snow/thaw. My running friend and I are doing this local 2.5 mile climb up a place I love to run called Cline Buttes. It’s a fire road/bike trails with a 1,000 foot hill. We tackle it each week; on the same day and keep track of our times. We’re aiming to be fast badasses and we’re working on it one step at a time. Right now I’m less ‘fast badass’ and more ‘just don’t stop hiking until you hit the top no matter how slow you go’. (Side-note; you can in fact go so slow that your trusty and beloved GPS watch asks if you still want to be recording this ‘run’ or are you done? Fact.)

Anyway, we focus on hiking up this hill to get to the gate. There’s a gate to a utility road/cell tower enclosure at the top; we hike up as hard as we can, tap the gate, turnaround and run back down. Some version of that is the weekly goal. We’re trying to hike harder and run faster. Simple. HARD as hell, but simple and rewarding to gauge progress each week.

Running back down, every so often on the downhill one of us has to stop and pee. Trail running? No problem. Check for other peeps. Hike 10 feet off. Face your bum away from potential oncoming traffic. Squat. Resume running. SIMPLE.

This time descending off the hill I decide that if I take any more running steps I’m going to pee my pants. There’s no waiting this one out until I get back home. So I tell my partner ‘Hey… I know we’re on a bit of a sidehill, but I really have to pee. Gonna climb over that discarded corrugated/culvert pipe over there on the side of the road and be right back.’ It seemed like as good a place to ‘hide’ as possible given the hill, potential bike traffic that sneaks up on you. Plus I am a SUPER speedy pee-er. Like – peeing on trail has to be close to a super power for me. I’m good. Really good. But I digress.

Remember I said it was icy?And we’re on a fairly steep side hill? Right?

As I step off the road and I am on a downhill sloped patch, JUST ABOUT to straddle the discarded culvert pipe which is at least 3 feet round… My running partner YELLS ‘BETSY. WILD ANIMALS!’

I stop mid-straddle, whip around to see what in the holy hell she is yelling about…

That quick turn threw me off balance on the hill. My only-planted foot slips on ice.

I go ass-over-tea-kettle over the frozen, slippery pipe. Like, in my mind, it was almost competitive gymnasts quality mid-air, somersault.

A really convenient and soft patch of unmelted snow breaks my downhill fall and keeps me from rolling the 2.4 miles downhill to my car.

I am so startled to find myself on the ground, I pee my pants.

I hop up as quick as I can trying to do a simultaneous pat down to make sure I’m not broken or bleeding AND keep from falling back down the steep side hill AND I’m also frantically looking around for a tyrannosaurus rex or cougar or polar bear.

I turn to my friend who has a totally shocked look on her face and I’m staring at her, mouth soundlessly agape and waving my arms around wildly like ‘WHAT ANIMALS? DO WE HAVE TO RUN FOR OUR LIVES?” and she says ‘uh… I thought maybe an animal had taken up residence in that discarded pipe and you should be careful not to disturb them.’

We stared at each other for about 5 seconds. I said something really smooth like ‘I PISSED MYSELF’. And we both started to laugh.

We laughed so hard that she finally sat on the ground. The next day my ribs were sore from laughing so hard.

We laughed for probably a full 5 minutes. At some point she asks ‘are you OK?’ and it was WELL after we’d laughed and tried to stop laughing multiple times. I said ‘yeah. I’m good. (sarcastic font) Thanks for asking me NOW.’ That launched another fit of laughter.

The worst that happened was I peed my pants. Not the first nor the last time that’s gonna happen. And to be honest, it’s why I wear exclusively black tights for running. I learned that lesson EARLY on; with black leggings/tights no one can EVER tell. 🙂

The best part? A deep and happily exhausting belly laugh with a friend and another great trail story to tell.

Laughter is in fact good medicine. (Even the Mayo Clinic says so. )

Ode to a visor. {My hair can be an asshole at times.}

~ betsyhartley392 ~ Leave a comment
WIND was ferocious at the top. ‘Can I take a picture?’ ‘Yeah but HURRY UP.’ We climbed, we photo’d, we skedaddled back down.

I always chuckle to myself when people ask me about the epic views I get to see hiking/running in and around the amazing Cascade Range of Oregon. I nod and say yes, nature is in fact glorious. She doesn’t have a bad view.. Cause, I mean c’mon…

But I chuckle because… THIS… This is my reality. This is what I saw for 3+ hours today.

THIS is what I look at on the day-to-day when I’m training to do a trail race/event. I live in Bend and have access to amazing outdoor spaces. I treasure every minute I get to be outside. Yet, views from the mountain top aren’t what it’s all about for me. I honestly have just as much love and appreciation for being able to watch the ground move and change under my feet for hours on end. I may not be able to reliably identify a mountain peak, but I can often tell you precisely about rocks, mud, ditches and downed logs on local trails.

I think both the view and the journey are deeply rewarding.

One of my favorite memories from my 100 miler was at the finish line of Mountain Lakes 100. It boasts that runners pass 25 mountain lakes on this jaw-droppingly scenic course. He’s my friend now, but it was Colton’s first 100 mile finish too and at that time I only knew we were both now 100 mile FINISHERS. His parents were there to support and crew. We were all milling around the finish area, limping, whimpering, trying to figure out what in the hell had just happened to us after almost 30 hours of moving. I hear his mom say ‘Colton, were the lakes beautiful?’ and Colton’s reply with much exhaustion and a big fat bold question mark was ‘there were lakes?’

I remember that I laughed and butted in to say ‘I didn’t see any lakes either!’

I wear a visor for a variety of obvious, functional reasons; but it’s also a physical blinder to keep me focused on taking one step at a time. If I’m tackling something tough, I tend to do best if I can focus on the 8-10 feet directly in front of me. NOT the big picture. Not the people around me. Not what’s halfway up the hill and still distressingly *insert whining* FAR AWAY…. I do really well if I focus on where I’m going to put my foot in the very next step. Then the next. Repeat over and over and over again.

And I love a good visor for other reasons too. I mean, beyond the fact that my big head doesn’t fit in most hats AND then add in my hair… Lordy. My hair. She has her own zip code. My hair can be an asshole to be honest. I learned early on in my running adventures that a visor meant I didn’t have to try to control that mess on top of my head, no headache and I got all of the other benefits on top of being a tool to keep me focused on the work needed in the moment.

Once I have my running shoes on, my hydration pack, gloves, whatever else… The visor is usually the last thing I put on before we head out. I put my head in a natural, comfortable position and put the visor on carefully so that my view is very purposely restricted to what’s directly in front of me. I only want to be able to see 8-10 feet right off my toes. For good reason. Today’s challenge was trying to get up and down Gray Butte. One step at a time. I knew I needed to focus.

We’re about 2.5 miles in at this point in the picture and I want to go to the top, near that tower…

For two+ hours of climbing THIS was the my view from under the edge of my trusty visor…. While I worked to reach the top of hill.

+

We hit the trailhead, I get ready at the car. I try to do the same things in the same order – so nothing gets forgotten. I tie my shoes, make sure I have everything in my hydration vest pocket-by-pocket and put my visor on. While I’m going through that comforting routine of getting ready for a harder effort – I’m also mentally giving myself a pep talk, setting the stage for how I want to ‘show up’ for the run. Today it was these three points:

  • Stay in your lane Hartley. Doesn’t matter what ANYONE else is doing out there today. Comparison is NOT your friend. Give it YOUR best.
  • One foot in front of the other is the ONLY way to get there.
  • Don’t get lost.

Then we head out.

One foot in front of the other. Giving it my best.

Looking at the 10 feet of earth off of the tip of my shoe for where to step and land and push. I glance up from under the visor every few strides to make sure I’m roughly on the trail and headed toward the top.

Moving forward. Picking my next best step. Trying to reach the edge of the 10 feet my visor gives me, so I can check out the next 10 feet to cover .

Savoring the view of the ground while continually moving forward and eyeing the horizon. Who says we can’t have it all?

Mending a friendship.

~ betsyhartley392 ~ 4 Comments
Middle Sister, Pacific Crest Trail, Three Sisters Wilderness. Picture: Michelle Thompson

I ran and hiked 34 miles (52K) last Wednesday for my 52nd birthday. This was my first ultra distance adventure since the end of 2017. Five day after the run I’m still avoiding stairs and in the process of losing a few toenails, yet I am also enjoying a huge sense of accomplishment and feeling like I have welcomed back a long-lost friend.

November of 2017 I sought treatment for Binge Eating Disorder (BED). I had a lifetime of weird habits, horribly convoluted relationships with food, distorted body image and non-existent emotional coping skills. Yet I never knew it had an actual name. It does. Or that other people suffered like I did. They do. Or that it could be successfully treated. It can. I thought it was just me and I was ‘broken’ and food was an adversary I would fight my entire life. I would soon learn that for me, BED wasn’t actually even about food at all. I had developed ALL kinds of ways to deny, hide, manage the problem. (Blog here)

I had to take some important steps right off the bat. One of those steps was that I needed to back off of running. Running and coping and food were ALL tangled up and confused in my mind. In the desperation to hide what I couldn’t name, but absolutely knew was not normal, I had somehow turned running into a weapon. Pretty much overnight running went from being a friend to being an enemy.

To start the healing – I had to break those convoluted relationships up. It tossed ALL the things in my still-mostly-new-to-me healthy life into wild disorder. The only way I thought I knew to manage my weight and blood glucose was through running. with running in a greatly reduced role, I instantly started gaining weight and had to really watch my glucose readings as I learn how to manage these relationships independently. As someone who’d lost significant weight and gained an abundance of health through running; it was terrifying for me to grapple with running NOT being part of my life. And while I missed running, oddly I also started to fear, dislike, not trust running because it would trigger intense binging urges…

Ugh.

It’s been the past 6-8 months where I finally started to understand all the parts of the work I am doing were finally coming together; I was healing and getting stronger and even I could see it.

Time to hit the trails.

I stepped onto the dirt last Wednesday morning at 5 AM, headlamp blazing, with my friend Michelle Thompson, to leg out 34 miles (a course designed by Michelle). I wanted to see if I’d done enough work that running could be back in my life and not be a trigger for the eating disorder. And let’s face it; I’m 52 and if I’d clung to my old habits I wouldn’t even be alive to try this crazy experiment. And I know that. So I simply enjoy the hell out of each year that I get to celebrate being another year older. So this year we ran in the mountains. Climbing hills and crossing water. Stopping in our tracks to look at toads, rock formations, animal tracks (cougar!), flowers, wildfire burn scars and mountain peaks that are some of the prettiest in the whole world. Peeing in the woods – and in my own shoe at mile 3. Filtering our own water. Laughing, joking, crying and sharing trail-time with a soul-sister. Meeting friends at the end who came to cheer on the adventure. It was a magical day. Sitting here 4-5 days post-run when the binge urges would normally be active and showing themselves in full force; there’s only sore muscles, black toenails and some pretty soul-deep peace and calm. And I’m so happy to be feeling these feelings.

This was a carefully considered experiment with running to see if I could put all the pieces together and if we could all be friends again.

It really was a reunion of sorts.

A very happy reunion.

{Important note; as I worked toward this ‘experiment’ and continue to work to bring running back to a healthy spot in my life, my therapist is supportive and fully aware of what I’m doing.}

In the midst of COVID-19 things have gotten worse for those with previously stable eating disorders (here). I kept hearing anecdotal stories from friends about how their ED’s were out of control. I knew I was battling it as well. Some people are learning about eating disorders for the very first time.

You are not alone. No matter how twisted your world is with food/activity; you are NOT alone. Click here for resources that are free or low cost.

There is hope and help. You can heal from eating disorders.

South Sister, Pacific Crest Trail, Three Sisters Wilderness. Picture; Michelle Thompson

Los Cabos Ironman 70.3

~ betsyhartley392 ~ 3 Comments

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1.2 mile ocean swim, 56 mile bike, 13.1 run.

That’s how you get the 70.3.

78 degrees water temp, 84 degree biking/running temp.

70 minute cutoff out of the water. 5:30 cutoff on the bike from the start. 8:30 cutoff on the run from the start.  My goal was FINISH, or if we want to get really specific, I was hoping to pull off an 8:15-8:20 finish and beat the cutoffs.

This was my first triathlon. Ever.

Mike Larsen (Spencer’s coach and my friend) talked me into trying this. I was cussing him at points and turns during training. His ears had to be burning intensely the 48 hours prior to the start.

Mike is the kind of man who instils instant confidence with short declarative statements of absolute belief in your abilities. Someone believing in you is powerful-good medicine in my book. When he said ‘Bets, you’re ready, why aren’t you doing this?’ I freaking hit ‘register’ on the event before really thinking it through.

And then I buckled down and trained hard and well and smart.

Waiting on the beach, sun rising, with a bunch of nervous-as-hell, back-of-the-packers, getting ready for a running start from the sand of Palmilla Beach into the ocean to swim… I thought I was going to cry, puke, pass out, grab a cab all the way back to Oregon AND kick Mike Larsen in the shins for convincing me I could try this distance. I felt like I didn’t want to disappoint Mike. Or Spencer. Or me. Or any of the humans in my life who hand me their blind belief when I tell them my wild dreams. I was in Mexico, standing on a beach with 1,000 other people, in a bathing suit, getting ready to run into the ocean and swim a mile.

Dumbest. Idea. Ever.

Swimming for me has been a damned soap opera. I panic in the water. Like; flop on the deck of pool and cry. I never learned how to swim as a child. I’m not strong or fast in the water. Getting to the ocean swim was a white-knuckle, mean-street-fight of simple grit over the past few years. I worked my ass off to get to a point where I could swim remotely well enough to even think I could try this.

Standing on the beach watching the fast folks run into the ocean – Spencer among them – I decided that my mind was my biggest tool in this whole thing. She needed to be on my side. She needed to believe we were doing this. So I had a little internal pep talk.

‘We’re doing this… We’re strong. We’re brave. We’ve worked so hard. And you can always grab a kayak and go back to shore – but you HAVE TO START. And SMILE DAMN IT!… You are alive to be part of this. You chose this. Quit acting like a kicked dog who doesn’t belong here. YOU EARNED THIS — go swim…. ‘

The man at the swim chute patted me on the back and said ‘vamanos’. I ran down the beach and hit the water. Ran a bit in the shallow water and then — dove and started swimming.

The first 750 meters was ugly. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t get into a rhythm with a stroke. I was hitting people. They were hitting me. I was fighting waves and currents. I was fighting panic. I finally decided I was done. I was quitting.  I couldn’t do this.  I was clearly in over my head. I looked for a kayak to flag over and tell them I’d like a lift back to shore. I was bobbing up and down in the water getting face-smacked by the waves. Done. I wanted to be done. I would just go watch Spencer race this thing.

My trail sister Daisy – her brother Scott was a triathlete. Scott was killed in a training ride over a year ago. It was a horrible, senseless tragedy. I had talked to Daisy before coming down here to get a boost of confidence and she had said Scott would be proud of me for being scared senseless and doing this anyway. So I was bobbing up and down in the water, unable to see a kayak, wanting to cry and finally said out loud — ‘SCOTT… Uh, wanna swim with me…? I’m terrified. Daisy said I could ask you for help…’

Then I got stung by a jellyfish. Ouch. Stung a second time. WTF? That hurt…

Then I pulled my head out of my ass and decided that I wasn’t going to quit this thing.

I was not going out of this event without a fight.

I put my head back in the water determined to get cut-off in the 70 minutes and dragged out of the water, but this was not ending with me QUITTING… I started to swim and saw a pair of feet (ugly feet BTW) and bubbles and I suddenly knew — I FOLLOW THIS GUY. I stick to him like glue and swim for all I’m worth to keep following him. I am 100% convinced his name was Scott. 🙂 I swam hard and strong and learned to turn to the non-chop side to breathe, and breathe on the 2 count, not the 3 count. I threw my training out the window that worked for the pool and got aggressive about adapting to the ocean. I didn’t worry about sighting the buoys — he ‘ Scott’ was doing that work. And I swam… Hard. Steady. Turning around buoys, never losing site of the ugly feet, and finally I could see the bottom of the ocean coming up to meet us and I could see… shore… Whoa. SHORE.

I came out of the water and Tracey was there and I said ‘Did I make the cut off????! and she said ‘YES! GET YOUR ASS ON YOUR BIKE!’ So I took off running to my bike.

59:56 out of the water on a 70:00 cutoff.

Then it hit me.

I never for one hot-second thought I was going to actually get out of the water.

I hadn’t looked at the bike course. I was going through the motions getting ready for this thing; but I had not convinced my mind I could swim. The details of the bike and run were murky at best. And now I was going to get to go bike and run! IN MEXICO, in an IRONMAN…. WOO HOO!

The bike was hilly. The roads were in pretty crap shape. HUGE potholes, lots of determined driving to keep from wrecking my bike. Spencer was kicking ass on the bike and was coming toward me on the out and back and gave me a subtle 2-finger wave as he sped past that I knew meant ‘YOU GOT OUT OF THE WATER AND I AM SO FUCKING PROUD OF YOU. FINISH THIS THING.’

And it was game on…

I had gotten out of the water.

I was on my bike.

I rode as aggressively as I could. I love my bike. I’m getting better all the time. I at one point hit a pothole and lost all the fuel out of my pockets and damn near wrecked my bike. So I had to play fueling catch up for the rest of the ride/run — which was not ideal, but my ultrarunning training kicked in and I happily looked for ways to adapt. It was hot and hilly, but I loved every single pedal stroke of that course. Ocean on one side. Desert on the other. Fans yelling ”Andale Vamanos!” and cheering wildly. Aid stations so stocked and friendly. I learned QUICKLY how to keep peddling, grab bottles, eat fuel and throw the trash in a very short distance.

I looked at my watch and it said I had been on the course for 2:51. I knew I was biking about 16 MPH and that I had 16 miles left. I remember thinking ‘Mike would be so freaking proud of me if I could break 4:00 hours on this ride…’ My goal had been roughly 4:30. I picked a bigger gear and decided to push. I wanted Mike to be proud of me. And honestly — I was kind of trying to chase down Spencer. I worked hard all summer learning to handle my new bike; now was the time to throw it all together and finish this thing strong.

I hit the bike finish line at 3:50 and ran into the transition. Racked my bike, threw on my shoes. Started walking out briskly to eat and settle down and get the feeling back in my feet.

I exited the transition to start the run and saw Spencer and said ‘I FINISHED THE SWIM!!!!’ He said ‘Enjoy every moment of this.’

I walked fast, jogged. I had to wake my feet up from the bike. I was hot. The pavement was new blacktop. But I know how to run on tired legs. And I was grateful to be healing so well from a bad hamstring/knee injury. I was NOT going to hate on even a single second of this run. Again – ultrarunning training kicked in. I grabbed ice and stuffed it in my bra. Dumped water on my head, ran from shade spot to the next palm tree shadow. I pulled out all the ‘cool body temps’ tricks and used them.

In the back of the pack — we usually form informal tribes. We cheer each other on. This event, with a multitude of languages, was no different. Encouragement in forms/languages/gestures I didn’t understand as anything other than encouragement. I gave back all that I got.

I was coming into mile 7(ish) – the turn around. And I saw a face that was a brand-new-to-me friend. She’s a professional athlete. Her name is Adelaide. And she was cheering for me – using my name. I was floored. She’d been done for hours – and she had come back onto the course to cheer for me. I stopped and said ‘how’d you do ?!” And she started yelling and waving her arms at me ‘DO NOT STOP — RUN, RUN, RUN!!!’ So I did.

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Adelaide and her husband Kennett, so, so supportive!  Kindness matters.  Deeply.  They’re proof.

Shortly after that, I heard Spencer cheering. I was DYING to know how he had done. He jogged next to me for a few steps and I said ‘How did you do?’ he simply said ‘Podium.’ I sobbed. Another story entirely, but to see someone work hard and chase their dreams and have a stellar day,  all of that was contained in that one word… He kept telling me to run – and I was; crying for pride and happiness for him.

Between Adelaide’s kindness at staying at the event to cheer on a back-of-the-pack athlete and Spencer’s podium finish news — I negative split the last half of the run.  I was running with the lightest heart and springy legs and … I was just happy to be able to run and I was feeling fit and healthy.

Coming into the finish I caught up to a guy walking. Santiago. We had been sharing bike/road miles trading places during the day. There was NO WAY HE WAS WALKING to the finish line. I patted him on the back and said ‘think maybe we should finish this thing together?’ He smiled and fell in beside my slow, steady run gait. We ran the last mile. He let me cross the line right before him.

I will admit it’s pretty damn cool to hear ‘Betsy Hartley, Bend, Oregon, YOU are an Ironman.’

I finished in 7:47 (ish).

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Changes/comparisons.

~ betsyhartley392 ~ 3 Comments

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A new town, new apartment, new job….

These are such kick ass times to take inventory. I get caught up in comparing. Old life/new life. Fat Betsy/healthy Betsy. How can I not? It’s such a stark reminder.

I just moved to Bend, Oregon from the other side of the Cascades. Changed jobs after 14 years. Started a new professional adventure that – while only 4 days in – is something I can tell is going to be wildly fantastic and is aligning ALL the parts of my life. Moved from a house to an apartment. Working to build a new base and network of friends. ALL kinds of changes!  All good and all wanted, yet still big, scary and unsettling.

I worked hard to make the changes to my lifestyle a few years ago and I’ve worked just as hard to make these recent changes. I knew that a move could up-end a whole lot of those carefully structured ‘good habits’ if I wasn’t paying attention.  PERFECT time for old habits to slip back in, especially when loneliness lurks and self-confidence gets pushed around because of all the changes.

Even welcome changes can open the door to mental mischief if we’re not paying attention.

So I was hyper-alert to eating, timing, prioritizing those things that I needed to do in this new location to get right into the routine that keeps me healthy. I put a plan in place.  I made finding a pool, getting out on my bike, finding some trails my top priority.  Even more than the normal ‘adult’ stuff we’re supposed to focus on in a move, like address changes, unpacking boxes and finding a couch. I also forced at-home/cooked meals and not making brew-pubs/restaurants the focal point of gathering and meetings.

Here’s the list of ‘I can not believe this is my life!’ moments from the past 10 days:

I’ve officially used the shower at the gym more than I’ve used the one at my new apartment.  The locker room is super welcoming and friendly. I felt HORRIBLE intimidation going the first time, but it very quickly went away.  This pool (JUNIPER) is amazeballs. 🙂

I didn’t have to transfer prescriptions and find a pharmacy that takes Sharp’s containers. Or find a place at work to stash insulin and needles. Or explain why I’m ‘shooting up’ in the bathroom 2X a day. Or why I have finger-prick blood all over my desk and papers…

I am using my meetings with new colleagues to make them walking meetings. I can walk and talk at the same time. 🙂 I’ve looked for walking paths around my office. Not candy stores, bakeries, ice cream shops or fast food options.  That one BLEW my mind when about 3 days in on the new job, I realized I hadn’t brought lunch and didn’t even know where to go because I had NOT BEEN PAYING ATTENTION to food stuff.

I’m finding new coffee shops and places to eat and buy groceries and not having to battle the old food-related locations that were so much a part of my 400-pound life. Coffee for the sake of coffee/views/friendly barista/welcoming customers and work spaces. I don’t even know where the Taco Bell or McDonalds are. I’m going to keep it that way.

I found a gym. I have a new favorite trail. I’ve gotten some good bike time in. I haven’t even bothered to look for a new doctor because I only need well-patient care.

I’m meeting new people because I’m on hikes and group rides. Not because we’re in a diabetic counseling workshop.

There’s more. Lots more. Big and little. This just highlights for me how different life is now that I am focused on health. No longer having to worry about weight limits, fitting in a chair, or walking a block and being exhausted.

I LOVE Bend, my apartment, my new job, the sunshine!

I’m also still very much in love with what focusing on my health has given me each and every day since I started this lifestyle journey years ago.

Reminders and comparisons.

 

Ultras/Binge Eating Disorder

~ betsyhartley392 ~ 12 Comments

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I know this topic is likely to be too obscure for some folks. I’m really writing this for my ultra running friends. Hoping to start a conversation or get their help in making some connections or get your thinking on this topic…

For me, ultras and Binge Eating Disorder (BED) are inextricably and pretty wickedly connected. From the first ‘Holy shit, could this really be what’s happening?’ moment to the ‘Wow. Makes sense even though I detest the idea…’ moment it took me about 6 months to puzzle it out.

The information I can find about Eating Disorders are mainly about Anorexia or Bulimia. Like this great read from Trail Runner Magazine which covers a whole lot of valuable ground. Yet, I can not find anything about the ties between ultras/endurance and BED specifically. I can’t be the only one dealing with this. When you mesh the Google ‘percentage of U. S. population…’ stats of ultras at .5% and BED at 3%, statistically, I still don’t think I can be alone in this mess.

What forced the issue? An acute episode of BED rearing its ugly head along with a planned off-season/down-time from running. (My blog about it is here…)

Running was no longer there to hide behind.

It’s absence made things brutally and undeniably clear.

I was hiking one day and was gobsmacked with the realization that I was using running to hide/feed the BED. It was this nasty, covert, and destructive cycle that I couldn’t really see because I was so deeply in it. I wasn’t running from something or even too something.  I was running FOR something.  And not for something good or worthwhile or sustainable.

I stopped in my tracks.

Sat my butt down on the side of the trail and wrote some notes on my phone while a newt cruised by to see what I was doing.

This felt BIG.

Here’s what I wrote on my phone: “I love long runs and hate tapering. I run long (5+ hours) and I have ‘permission’ to eat anything and everything in any quantities I want.  When I taper, food gets restricted, weight creeps up. I run long, eat how I want and basically don’t get ‘caught’ bingeing because the huge volume of food I’m eating is ‘acceptable’. Tapering unleashes sneaky-ass behaviors that I thought I’d banished once and for all. Including lying about food.’

BED brain thinks about food as an acceptable/necessary/urgent replacement for something missing or to fill an emotional need.  This has NOTHING to do with hunger.  Not.a.single.thing. For me food can take the place of damn near every emotion on the spectrum.  I’m just as likely to eat that emotion in the form of trail mix as I am to actually feel and experience it. No amount of cajoling/shaming/lecturing can fix it.  I’ve often said ‘pizza was never mean to me…’   When you have THAT kind of relationship with food you need professional help.

Running gave me the ability to ignore/continue/not-fight with my BED all in the name of ‘recovery from ultras/training’.  I wasn’t running for the love of running.  I was very much running to manage my weight since I binge, but I don’t purge…  I was very much running to make the occasional huge volume of food I was eating not look out of whack.

I was running to hide my eating disorder.  Even when I didn’t know that what I had was an eating disorder.

Eff.

I was ready to face all of this and not ignore it or hide it anymore. Scared shitless, but ready. I needed help beyond caring and concerned friends. After muscling my way through the post-acute phase of intense blues / shame / depression / anxiety / hopelessness / panic that lasts for several days after a binging episode…

I got into therapy.

My brand new therapist immediately, like first 20 minutes of first session, said running was an issue. I immediately told her she was dead wrong. Not politely.  I was rude and defiant. Defiance is my go to when I’m ashamed and someone’s getting close to the reason for the shame or embarrassment.

I flat out denied the connection. I lost 200 pounds, reversed Type 2 Diabetes. Running had SAVED me. Who the hell was this woman to say running was part of the current problem? Was she not listening to me? ….

The therapist quickly said we could agree to disagree about the role of running in my eating disorder. We would focus on other things. {Smart ploy…} That lasted two sessions.  I began to honestly assess what I was doing and why. Journaling impulses, noting emotions and starting to make tentative connections between feelings and food.

Damn if she wasn’t right…

Writing everything down it was impossible to ignore the connection. Running sat smack in the middle of the BED pile. It was about 2 sessions in where I had to concede she had a point.

More than a point. Ultra running was the 500 pound gorilla in the room.

I hadn’t replaced food with running.  I had used running to hide, enable and deny my BED. A crucial distinction. I hadn’t let go of ONE thing and grasped tightly onto something new.  I hadn’t given up anything at all.  I’d just masked what in the hell was really going on.

I think the college students I worked with would call that a HOT MESS.

Ultras and BED are married up in epically dysfunctional fashion for me.

As long as I ran long, I could pretend that eating 3,000+ calories at a single time after a long run was ‘normal recovery’.  Eating whatever I wanted for the week of a 60+ mile week was acceptable. I basically kept signing up for races to make sure I still had high mileage weeks and really full training schedules so that my bingeing wouldn’t be detected or life would seem ‘normal’ because of the training load and my food intake.

Eff.

So what now?  Great question. I have some tentative answers.

  • Awareness is a huge part of the battle. Talking about it. Knowing that my ultra friends support me when I get ‘wonky’ about food or food discussions.
  • Not running ultras or being lured in by Ultrasignup for a while is my main strategy for staying focused.  I needed a break from running.  I’m using this downtime in all the best ways possible. And NOT viewing it as punishment.
  • Rebuilding my running from the ground up when the time comes to hit the trails again. Slowly, carefully. Knowing food is fuel and that’s the only place it will hold in my running.

I didn’t take on this whole lifestyle change to give up when things got hard.

I will be running again, soon, for all the right reasons.