100% Compassion

I went to a training yesterday that was designed to help teach employees in my position how to be more effective coaches in the workplace.

We had a lot of discussion, most of it pretty frank and some of it pretty difficult. The facilitator, who never pulls punches, forced us to look at the expectations we put on ourselves as well as the expectations we force upon others and how destructive that can be. 

"100% compassion" she said.

"I have no doubt that you all have 100% compassion for the adults with disabilities that you support every day and yet most of you seem to have much less for the people you work with." 

"If you can find a way to have that same level of compassion for the people you work with, if you treat them with the same respect and the same understanding, it would make a world of difference."

I could see from the looks on people's faces that some of them agreed and some of them...not so much. 

The other message? 

You are 100% responsible for your actions and your reactions. You have no responsibility whatsoever  for the actions and reactions of others. 

I think that's one of those things that, once someone figures it out, their life immediately becomes less stressful, people become less annoying and most of the problems that arise in workplaces go away. 

100% compassion...for 100% of people. 

Choose how you react to situations. No one 'makes you angry'. You choose to respond to a situation with anger. 

Try it. 

It's a simple concept but it's not an easy one. 

I've been working at it for years now and I can tell you with all honestly that it's worth the effort. 

Hole In One

Perspective is everything.

A gentleman who swims at the pool every morning one day collapses in the locker room and does not survive.

Some people ask how that is possible since he was so active. Some people wonder if all the exercise put too much strain on him and caused the heart attack.

Others wonder how many years the swimming added to his life and think about how much time he may have given himself by taking the time to add fitness to his routine.

A woman was a long-time friend and yoga instructor to a man who, recently, committed suicide.

The instructor wonders why they weren't able to help them.

I wonder if they unknowingly helped add years to his life simply by being a friend, by giving him a quiet place to calm the voices in his head and unconditionally loving him.

A family member passes away and the funeral mass is packed with family and friends.

I could wonder why some people were not there.

Or I could marvel at the effort made by the ones who were and spend the next few hours catching up to cousins not seen in decades.

In every organization there are many many employees who are competent, fun to work with, inspiring and committed. There are a handful who are the opposite of that.

We can choose to focus on supporting to folks who move things forward...

...or we can waste hours of frustrated energy on the few who don't.

On a 9-hole par 3 course every hole is technically within striking distance from the tee.

I can cross my fingers and hope I hit a shot that isn't too bad.

Or I can try every single time, week after week, to get a hole in one.

Life is a journey we cannot predict nor control.

How we respond to life's events, large or small, has a huge effect on what the journey feels like.

I think the man at the pool added years to his life by going swimming every morning and it inspired me to continue my own efforts to be active and healthy.

I think the yoga instructor helped her friend in ways she will never understand and may have save his live many times over without ever knowing it.

I am grateful I was able to attend my uncle's funeral and have time to spend with cousins who last saw me when I was in high school.

I choose to support the folks who try to move things forward and make this world a better place.

And I try on every single par 3 hole I play, at every golf course I play at, to get a hole in one. When I don't, I'm extra motivated to get it on the next one.

One day I will.

Welcome to Your New Reality

Type 1 diabetes is often referred to as juvenile diabetes despite the fact that it can strike anyone at any age. This name is one of the many things that contribute to the misconceptions surrounding diabetes.

It leads many people to think that children get one kind of diabetes and it's not their fault and adults get another kind of diabetes and it is their fault.

Last week Doug and I were out golfing. One of the other golfers spotted me checking my insulin pump.

"Oh, is that a pedometer?" they asked.

"Nope" I said, "it's my insulin pump. I have diabetes."

And then I waited for the response. Typically, I would hear something like "oh, I know someone who has a pump" or "my aunt had diabetes" or "how does a pump work?" etc etc.

I don't usually get a look of horror followed by a "wow, that means your diabetes is really bad". It wasn't even a question. It was a statement of fact. My diabetes is very bad. Therefore I must wear an insulin pump.

I responded with a tight-lipped but polite "actually it doesn't mean that at all. My pancreas doesn't work and I need to take insulin in order to live. I just use a pump as a way to get insulin. I could just as easily use needles". I certainly did not expect to hear "yes, but that means that your diabetes must be really bad" in response.

Now I was frustrated. I understand that most people have no idea about diabetes and I don't expect anyone with no experience with it to be an expert. So, while the first comment was hurtful, I don't believe it was intended that way. Once I explained things, I would have hoped that they would have listened and made an attempt to understand. Or at least ask questions. The second comment went from being unintentionally hurtful to something worse. They were judging without knowing and doing it to my face without apparent care for how I might feel about being judged.

The third comment was the final straw for me. "My cousin has diabetes. She really doesn't take care of it. She is on a pump too and it's really bad."

I responded with "the worst thing about diabetes is how unfairly people are judged. You don't really have any idea what your cousin does or doesn't do to take care of herself. Everyone assumes that, if someone has diabetes, it's their fault. Often it's not. And even if someone's lifestyle did contribute to their getting diabetes, it doesn't give anyone the right to judge them."

For anyone who knows me, saying that directly to someone, particularly someone I don't know well, is as close to boiling over that I get. I was furious. I was hurt. And I was grateful for the dark sunglasses that hid the tears of frustration.

As we walked on to the next tee, me struggling to get my emotions under control and her apparently oblivious to the turmoil she created, a voice popped into my head.

It said: welcome to your new reality.

I am no longer a 28 year old newly diagnosed 'juvenile' diabetic.

I am now an almost 40-year old person with diabetes. A person who makes a point not to say "I have type 1". I say "I have diabetes" period. And I am now of an age when people begin to develop type 2. Which means that the assumption more and more is going to be that I have diabetes because I did something wrong. And I am on insulin because it's really bad.

I have a feeling I am going to be spending more and more time trying to teach people that a) the fact that I'm on a pump is awesome, not awful and b) that it's just not ok to judge people, no matter how much someone thinks they 'know' about diabetes.

You Have Diabetes? Wicked!

Every once in a while someone will write a blog about the silly, offensive, awful, judgemental, close-minded and hilarious things people say to us about diabetes.

As an alternative, here is my list of things I would love people to say to me:

- oh, you have the pump? I'm impressed that taking care of yourself is so important to you.

- you test your blood sugar 10-15 time A DAY??!? Wow, you really do try hard to take care of yourself. I am SO impressed.

- are you sure you should be eating that cupcake? Your blood sugar was really good when you checked it, why not have two cupcakes.

- you have diabetes? So did my grandmother. She lived to the ripe old age of 104, her eyes were great, she was still living on her own and still ran 5 kilometres a day, every day. She died bungee jumping.

- you have diabetes? You should try eating cinnamon - it's delicious. Especially when sprinkled on French toast with lots of maple syrup.

- I think diabetes is so sexy. There is just something really hot about people who have calloused fingers and infusion sites. I mean really really hot.

- I noticed that you just checked your bloodsugar. I totally understand how personal that is and would never dream of asking what your number was. I just wanted to tell you how awesome you looked while testing. Particularly when you sucked the extra blood off your fingertip. Rock on!

- You have diabetes. I bet Steel Magnolias really pissed you off eh? What an awful way to misrepresent diabetes. It did nothing to help educate people about what diabetes is really all about.

- You have diabetes. As your friend (co-worker, lover, partner etc), I really want to understand it so I can share it with you and be there to help if you need me to. Will you teach me what I need to know?

- You have diabetes? That means you can do ANYTHING you want to do.

D-Blog Week Day 5 - What They Should Know

What I want other people to know about diabetes?

Before I answer that, I need to take a step back and explain something. I work with people who have developmental disabilities. Actually, I believe the new term on the block is intellectual disabilities. Some of these people also have physical disabilities. Others might have a mental health diagnosis thrown in. Sometimes two just for fun.

Essentially, the people I provide support to have a whole bunch of labels attached to them and with those labels come assumptions, stereotypes, discrimination and a whole bunch of other negatives that affect them before people even learn their names.

It. Sucks.

So I've learned to read their referrals, note their diagnoses and then forget about everything that was written down.

When I meet them, I try really hard to meet the person.

Not their label.

In an ideal world, that's what I would like everyone to do.

Because I'm Céline.

I'm not the diabetic.

And just like how not every person with Down Syndrome fits the Down Syndrome profile, not everyone with diabetes fits the diabetes one. In fact, none of us do.

Don't put people in boxes. Don't make assumptions. Meet the person. Ask tons of questions to understand as much as you can or want to understand. But don't say things like 'Oh, you have (insert diagnosis here) that means you cannot (insert ridiculous assumption here)'.

D-Blog Week Day 3: One Thing to Improve

One thing to improve about my diabetes management?

One thing I should improve or one thing I want to improve?

Because those are two VERY different things.

I'd hazard a guess that every single person with diabetes can get better at something. No one out there is perfect because perfection in diabetes management is nigh on impossible. Don't even think about trying to attain it - you'll drive yourself straight to crazy town.

What I should improve?

• have less lows
• have less highs
• write down everything I eat
• weight everything I eat
• calculate every carb I eat - right down to the very last one
• check my blood sugar and bolus (as needed) every single time I eat something
• track and analyze all of my blood sugar readings to look for trends
• test my basal rates 
• eat more fibre (I just threw that in there because everywhere you look it says to eat more fibre)
• change my lancet after every test (not every time the clocks change)
• change my infusion site every three days (not every six)

What I want to improve?

• nothing

Honestly folks. I give diabetes a lot of my time, my energy and my money. I take really good care of it but I don't obsess. I am careful without being neurotic. I never let diabetes stop me from doing things - I just always make sure I have a contingency plan. I assume 100% responsibility for myself at all times - and I don't do stupid stuff that puts me at risk. My doctors are happy and my numbers are good. 

I'm think I'm doing just fine. 

D-Blog Week Day 2 - One Great Thing

One great thing? What is one thing about Diabetes that I do really well?

That's a hard question to answer - harder than I thought it would be actually. There are things I can get better at - to be sure. But that is for tomorrow's blog. Today is about celebrating what we do well.

After some soul searching (ie. sitting on the couch sipping a glass of wine staring at my laptop and then asking Doug for his input) I concluded that what I do best, when it comes to diabetes, is that I can separate the forest from the trees.

Truth: Diabetes is a finicky little thing and no amount of effort will ever succeed in controlling it.

Truth: What worked yesterday will not work tomorrow. And it will probably only half work today.

I am a self-diagnosed (but I'm sure those closest to me would agree wholeheartedly) Type A personality. That means that I like to organize things to the n-th degree, I like having a firm grasp on all the details and I'd prefer if life does NOT change my plans at the last minute.

Luckily, I'm a realistic Type A. I like order. I like routine. I like predictability. But I recognize that life does not always respect my desire for order, routine or predictability and I am able to roll with it.

What does that mean when it comes to diabetes?

For me, it means that I recognize that diabetes needs constant care, management, and vigilance. No matter what. No matter how I am feeling.

I have good days where diabetes behaves beautifully. I have days where I almost think I'm cured. I have days where, no matter how hard I fight, the diabetes gods win every battle.

I have happy days, I have carefree days, I have days where I cry in the kitchen because it feels like I just can't win. I get angry, frustrated, scared - for me there isn't much in life that inspires a greater range of emotions that diabetes.

But I never lose sight of the forest for the trees. No matter how I feel - I have never once, not in the nine and a half year that I've had T1, lost sight of the fact that diabetes never sleeps and I can't either. Standing in the kitchen in tears, my brain is still trying to figure out how to fix things. On the days when everything is perfect, I still never let down my guard.

I'm a fighter. Even when I don't feel like fighting, I fight.

That's what I do best.

Moderate Excess

There aren't too many things that I do to excess but there are lots of things I do...a lot.

I eat...a lot. I eat chocolate, candy, fruit, bread, cookies, date squares, hot apple crisp with melted chocolate on top, mango salad, shrimp skewers, crispy apples dipped in peanut butter, t-bone steaks, maple fudge..you name it, I eat it - with relish. Well, not really with relish - I quite dislike relish to be honest. But I eat my food and I enjoy it.

But rarely to excess.

It's just not worth it.

I drink alcohol. To clarify, I drink red wine. I really really like red wine. Most nights of the week I have a glass or two. Occasionally a glass of white. Sometimes I'll sip a tumbler of whisky - neat.

But not to excess.

It's just not worth it.

I get lots of sleep. It's a rare night when I'm in bed for less than 8 hours and, despite waking up several times to check my sugar, I sleep for most of it. But I don't sleep to excess. I never lounge in bed until noon. In fact, 7:30am is a pretty sweet lazy morning.

As for exercise, I'm sure some people would argue that I exercise to excess. Perhaps they're right. It feels reasonable to me though, considering how many hours a day I sit, for me to move for an hour a day, every day. Two on Saturdays.

The whole point of this rather drawn out introduction is that I was thinking about diabetes and how it affects the daily decisions I make. Sometimes, diabetes encourages me to moderate my choices, other times it encourages me to push my limits.

It's relatively easy to exercise portion control when I know what overeating does to my blood sugar. Diabetes is a fabulous excuse when someone offers me a second piece of pie and diabetes keeps me honest because I have to bolus for that second piece. That fact alone often stops me just long enough to reconsider and say no.

It's pretty easy to limit alcohol to a glass or two (sometimes three if Erin is over) because it really is just too dangerous to have more than that. I never want to be unable to recognize a low blood sugar because I've had too much to drink. Add to that the fact that alcohol tends to lower blood sugar and it really is easy to say 'no thank you' to the third glass of wine.

On the other hand, diabetes is a great motivator to get lots of rest and lots of exercise. Diabetes is the never-ending voice in my head that says I should be out there taking care of my heart, my lungs, and my body. Diabetes forces me to take my health seriously.

Based on my blood pressure, cholesterol, heart rate, diet, weight and fitness level - I'm a pretty healthy gal. Add diabetes to the list and I automatically fall in the same health risk category as someone who is overweight or a smoker.

Imagine where I would fall if I didn't do all these things?

'nuff said.

Just Purse Your Lips and Whistle...That's the Thing

I think I tend to write one blog a week on diabetes and the rest focus more on exercise and fitness. This is the third day this week that I'm all about the diabetes and you can blame it on my upcoming Diabetes Centre appointment. This happens every time I start documenting my food and my blood sugars in preparation for the appointment.

When I am forced to write things down and review them, diabetes, who already takes over a lot of my life, looms even larger. If I think too much about diabetes, I become less able to handle the daily ups and downs with grace. I start looking back on the 'good old days' and I feel overwhelmed when I look ahead at a lifetime of diabetesness.

Amazing how one's mindset can be affected by having to write things down in a little notebook.

I've decided that enough is enough. One Monday, you put up with me whining about my appointment and you've read yesterday's trip down diamemory lane. Today, we're looking on the bright side:

Whistle along if you will...

Dear Diabetes:

Thank you for teaching me to enjoy my food. Thanks to you I no longer mindlessly eat what's in front of me and, instead, I choose things I really want and I enjoy them.

Thank you for teaching me to take care of myself as a whole. I no longer go to the Y and focus on having nice abs or strong arms. Thanks to you I take care of myself from top to bottom, inside and out. I am healthier now despite you.

Thank you for teaching me about priorities and teaching me about living in the present. Yes, I still save for retirement but I live for this moment. And the next one. Because you taught me that those are the only ones that are guaranteed. The same is true for all people but most don't realize how tenuous life is. You remind me every day so thank you.

Thank you for teaching me to be independent and brave. When you first came into my life I was afraid to go anywhere alone. Then I was afraid to do anything different in case my blood sugar plummeted and I was alone. I was afraid to go for a walk to the corner - even with three juice boxes in my bag just in case. Slowly but surely my confidence grew and now I'll tackle anything. The more afraid it makes me, the more stubbornly I tackle it.

You taught me to laugh at myself. To be organized. To be prepared. To be spontaneous and to say yes to everything.

You introduced me to some amazing people who remind me daily that diabetes doesn't end life. It enriches it.

And if you don't like being dragged to the pool at 5:30am, on 25 kilometre runs in the sweltering August heat or on 40 kilometre bike rides up and down the hills of Niagara - well that's just too darn bad. I do these things because of you so you might as well learn to enjoy them. 

...Some things in life are bad
They can really make you mad
Other things just make you swear and curse.
When you're chewing on life's gristle
Don't grumble, give a whistle
And this'll help things turn out for the best...

Lovingly,

Céline

A Crack in my Armour

I am runner - hear me rawr!

I could write a book about what I've learned in the last six months about injuries and recovery. Running teaches you a lot about yourself. So does not being able to run. And so, apparently, does returning to running.

Here is what I learned last night as I headed out into the rain, the wind and the rapidly dropping temperatures for my 50 minute run:

• when you haven't been able to run you become so grateful when you finally can that pesky little things like weather no longer matter 

• you actually can smile as the wind and rain try to beat you down.  Smile, wave to the gods and carry on as if it were the perfect day

• when you haven't been able to run you return to it with a whole different outlook. Now I no longer check my watch to see how much longer I have to run or how much farther I have to go. I check it to see how far I've run and how long my legs have been carrying me. It's a subtle difference but it changes everything.

• I now celebrate what I can do rather than mourn what I can't.

• I let down my guard a little bit last night and guess what happened? My love of running saw the wee crack in my armour and blew it to pieces.  I have been cautiously optimistic about running since I started back in December. I refused to let myself get too excited in case I had a relapse. Last night I galloped through my run as if it were speed training. I felt strong and capable and I finally let myself imagine what it might be like to run a half marathon in June.

• all those annoying strengthening exercises I've been doing religiously for months actually work. Seriously. Tying bands to the couch legs and doing countless repetitions to build up my thighs, my calves, my shin muscles (whatever the hell they're called) - I can actually feel the difference all that work has made. Thanks Geoff. 

• Oh, and remember how I told you that I'm working from home for a month?  Well I had my work laptop open and this picture of me is on my desktop. It was taken 2 1/2 years ago. 

Doug saw it and said that I don't look at all like that anymore. I thought he meant I looked different because my hair is so much longer. No, he said your body has completely transformed in the last year. 

I don't have any current running pictures but this was taken last September so it will have to do. I guess I HAVE changed a wee bit haven't I? 

I am runner.  Hear me RAWR!!

One More Hurdle

Last Sunday morning I woke up at 7am. I was scheduled to run 40 minutes for the first time in months.

I woke up excited to tackle a new distance but I also felt slightly out of sorts. I don't usually feel that way and I couldn't figure out what the problem was. I just knew that I was not entirely comfortable with something to do with my upcoming run.

As we lay in bed enjoying a few quiet moments before starting the day, Doug asked me where I was going to run. I immediately felt a flash of annoyance.

?!??

I responded with "well, three loops of our neighbourhood is 35 minutes so I guess I'll just tack on an extra five minutes".

Doug gently suggested that I should consider driving out to Grapeview School, parking the car and heading out into the country.

I became even more irritated at the world.

I hate not knowing what's causing me to feel something so I tried to figure it out as I got dressed. I had no problem looping my neighbourhood for 35 minutes but the thought of doing it for 40 was enough to drive me batty.

And yet the thought of running 20 minutes in one direction, surprisingly, scared me. I have not been more than 750 metres from home during a run since I was first injured in October.

That, folks, would be what you call the 'aha moment'.

I was scared. I was scared to run down a long stretch of road. I was scared to trust my legs. I was scared to run alone.

Thankfully, when I get scared, my stubborn side takes over. Which meant that, because Doug suggested it and I was too proud to admit my fears, I was going to get in my damn car and drive out to my old running grounds.

For the first time since my marathon dream ended I was going to run up and down Third street. Up and down the two hills, past the familiar farms and fields. Right past the 5k turn around sign that new runners smack in celebration of making it that far and around the corner to the top of the Gregory Road hill. And then I was going to turn around and run all the way back to my car.

So I did.

And it was lovely. The sun was shining, the birds were signing - it really was that nauseatingly lovely.

I listened to my music, I thought about all those long summer runs, and I didn't cry once. I think I'm past the part where I feel sad for what I lost and I'm at the spot where I just feel happy for what I have worked my way back to. That's a good place to be.

On Tuesday morning, I had to run 40 minutes before work. I didn't have time to drive back to Third Street so I left my house and headed out to do a big loop instead of just looping my neighbourhood. I ran down the stretch of road that had been the start of many a 2.5+ hour run. The road and the time of day felt so familiar that my body was surprised (and somewhat disappointed) when I turned towards home instead of heading out to the country for a few more hours.

I think the biggest hurdle when overcoming an injury is overcoming all the mental barriers that get put up. Bodies can heal but sometimes the mind and the heart take a little longer.

I think I'm almost there.

Seeing the Trees, Not the Forest

When it comes to most things in life, I walk with my head held high - ready to take on whatever life tosses my way.

When it comes to diabetes management, I keep my head down.

Not because I'm ashamed, or embarrassed, or overwhelmed.  Just because it's easier to look at the trees rather than the forest.

Let me esplain.  No there is too much.  Let me sum up.

Scully and I were emailing last week about crazy blood sugars.  I complained that I had sat at 23 for a few hours the night before, finally come down to a happy range and was back up to 16 again the next morning after breakfast.

Frak!

When I am overwhelmingly busy at work, sometimes it helps to look ahead a month or a year and make a plan to tackle things.  When I am plotting out my running schedule, my budget, or my travel plans, it's essential that I look ahead at the challenges and plan for them. When it comes to diabetes, if I lift my head up and look ahead at the next month, the next year or the next 50 years, all I can see are blood sugar tests, medical appointments, stubborn highs and scary lows.  How fun is that?

So I don't.  If I take each number as it comes, I can deal with it.  I'm 23.  Deal with it.  I'm 2.5.  Deal with it.  Track things for a few weeks before Diabetes Centre appointments to look for trends but don't look further ahead or further back than that.

I'll be honest - if someone told me that they don't ever lift their head up and they just deal with every little thing as it comes - I will gently suggest that perhaps they should maybe consider investing for their retirement, or saving money, or getting an oil change, or squeezing some exercise into their day.  I'm not advocating the ostrich approach to life.

That's called refusing to cope with reality and believing that, if you can't see something, it won't come bite you in the ass. 

I'm just advocating that, for some things, it's important to see the forest.

For others, it's important to take it one tree at a time. 

Live What's Given

When the world says "give up",  hope says "try one more time"

I'm getting pretty good at picking myself up, dusting myself off and re-jigging my plans.

I hoped to run 10k last night.

I ran 6k instead.  Things were tight and sore.  I pushed a bit beyond the 5k from Monday but listened to my body telling me not to push any further.

I am no longer running 35k this weekend.  I have set my sights on 25k next weekend but am prepared to give that up too if I need to.

I'm holding on to Niagara Falls as tightly as I can but I'm starting to feel it slip through my fingers.  Not because I'm being pessimistic.  Not because I'm giving up.  Just because I'm being realistic, listening to my body.  It's telling me that it's going to keep trying but not making any promises.

I'm not angry or upset about it.  My body and I are a team.  We've been through hell together and I don't ever chastise it when it doesn't do what I want it to.  I just ask what I can do to help.

After my run I headed upstairs to shower and was thinking about all the options re race day.  Run, don't run, downgrade to a half, stay home and wallow, ride the route on my bike and carry Scully's water bottle, cheer on my friends who are facing their own demons, stalk my running friends with my camera to capture their big day...

Suddenly, while weighing the options, that little hopeful voice that had been sitting back listening piped up.  Well, if you're not ready for Niagara Falls, perhaps there's another marathon a few weeks later that you could be ready for...?

Hope.

It's an amazing thing.

Who knows if I can run any sort of race this fall.  Part of me is devastated at the thought.  Part of me really doesn't care.  I ran the distance, I survived the training and I am stronger better and faster than I was in June.  That alone should be enough.  

Some days it is enough.

Other days, it isn't.

This injury will heal itself eventually and there will be other races to be run.

Hope is a funny thing.  Some people have tons of it.  I'm one of those people.  Always look on the bright side is my kinda song.  I see the positive in everything and live life accordingly.

I know lots of people who have a lot of trouble with hope.  With seeing the silver lining rather than the clouds.  With picking themselves up when they fall.

I don't understand them any more than they understand me.  I've been thrown plenty of curve balls in my life - divorce, car accident, diabetes - I've never done anything other than face them head on.  I don't know how to curl up and hope it goes away.

I live what's given.

No matter what happens on the 23rd of October - I'll be able to say I did my best.

Mixed Messages

In the past twenty-four hours, here are the messages I have received.

'You're put in the distance, the marathon won't be a problem'

'You're healing well, I don't think you'll have any problem with the marathon'

'If you're still having trouble next week, perhaps you should think about running the half instead of the full'

'You don't have to run 20 miles before the marathon - you'll be fine'

'There is still a month before the race, that's tons of time to heal'

'Don't push it - if you can't do it, you can't do it.  There will be other races'

'See you at the start line - just fix your calf - hurry!'

'uh oh'

Last week I clung to the positive messages and ignored the negative ones.

Last weekend, I fell prey to the negative ones and began to doubt my chances of running Niagara.

This week, I'm listening to everyone and dismissing them all.  Who the hell knows if I'm going to make it to the start line?

Nobody.

Who knows if I'm going to make it the the finish line?

Nobody.

Two weeks ago I was pretty damn sure of myself and my abilities. I had just finished a fabulous 30k that knocked 24 minutes off my Around the Bay time. I felt strong and fit and unbeatable. I would have bet money on my crossing the finish line in under five hours.

Now, I wouldn't bet 5$ either way.  Because no one can know what the next day is going to hold.  Never mind the next week.  Or the next four.

This past week has been a huge lesson.  In patience.  In humility.  In learning how to adjust my plans to incorporate today's reality.

Which may change again tomorrow.

I may run Niagara in under 5 hours.

I may run Niagara and hobble across the finish line.

I may not even get to the start line.

Worrying about it won't change the outcome.

I have some stretching and icing to do.

I Don't Wanna!

I mentioned when I was training for Around the Bay back in March that I love training for races.

I also mentioned (probably more than once) that I am not a big fan of races.

I love seeing how far my mind and my body can go when they work together.  I love looking at a crisp new training schedule and trying to imagine being able to do what I will have to do by the end.  It always seems overwhelming and yet, somehow, I always do it.

Around the Bay - I had to take my body from 13k to 30k in 12 weeks.  I had never run more than 22k before in my life.  It seemed crazy to even think about running 30k.  Yet every week we added 2k and, all of a sudden, I could do it.

I love that part.

I don't love race day.

Niagara Falls - I have to take my body from 16k to 42.2k in 18 weeks.  Before we started I had only run 30 once and it was hard.  Really hard.  I have since learned that anything, when broken down into small enough steps, is manageable.  I have already run 30k twice during this training and will run it twice more (and then some) before race day.  I no longer need the next day off work when I run 21.1k.  Now I can run 3+ hours,  stretch, shower and go to the market.  The next day I can go for a 35k bike ride.  What an amazing machine my body is becoming.

I can honestly say that I have never in my life been as fit as I am today.

My mind has toughened up along with my body because, well, because it had to.  There is no way I can run the distances I have to run without my mind and body both having the strength and stamina.  It's as much a mind game as a physical one.  That too I have learned this summer.

So now, as I look at the calendar and I see two more long runs before we start to taper, I'm feeling a little sad.  The training is almost over.  The challenge of pushing ourselves a little more every week is almost done.  Soon we will taper.  Soon we will 'only' have to run 25k on Saturday.  Then 16k.  Then 16 again.

Then we race.

I don't wanna!!

I'm not ready yet.  I'm not ready for the pressure of race day.  I'm not ready for 18 weeks of training to be measured in five hours of running.  I'm not ready for everything I've learned and worked so hard for to have to come together into some magical combination that will (hopefully) allow me to push my body beyond the beyond and still be upright and semi-coherent at the end.

I think I have performance anxiety.

I've never been good at things I only get one shot at.  Every piano exam I ever did was a disaster.  Before exam day I could play everything beautifully.  I had memorized every note of every song and then, on exam day, it fell apart.  Every time.  Being the stubborn lass that I am I continued to take exams. They forced me to practice.  I always enjoyed the year spent preparing for the exam and I would hate exam day.

I continue to sign up for races because it keeps me honest.  I love the training but, on the days I don't want to get up, the thought of race day drags me out of bed.  Actually, it scares me out of bed.  In the magically happy world inside my head here's how things should go.  I wake up on October 23rd, have my breakfast, put on my running shoes, head out on the country roads before the sun even rises, run 42.2k and some lady in a volunteer jacket is standing in front of my house with a bottle of water and a finisher's medal.  No fuss.  No spectators.  No distractions.  Just me, my running shoes and the open road.

I don't like races.

Did I mention that?

Crash!

There are several terms for it but I do believe that this picture sums it up beautifully.

I'm not exactly sure if that's what happened yesterday but it may well have been. 

I ran after work for the first time in a month.  I have been doing the early morning thing but the 5am wake up calls were taking their toll  It's been hot in the mornings, let's not kid ourselves, but nowhere near at hot and humid as it is at 5pm.  I had 13k to run.

So I ran at an unfamiliar time and it was really really hot.

There is one other variable to add to this mix.  I'm not sure if it helped or made things worse. 

Yesterday, I tried a salt tablet experiment.  I was told by several very experienced runners that salt tablets help with dehydration, electrolyte balance and swelling.  Someone like me who is a heavy sweater could definitely benefit. 

So I figured I'd try them and figured a weekday 13k run was a better time to try them out than a 28k long run.  You know, just in case...

I took one before heading out the door.  I did not take my usual edisk. 

Fifteen minutes later, I was sweating but not nearly as much as I usually would be by that time.  Even crazier was that, when I squeezed my hands, my fingers weren't swollen.  At. All.

So, as directed, I had my second one at 30 minutes. 

By that time, I was keeping up my pace but really wilting in the heat.  I was drinking as much as I normally do but I felt weaker than I thought I should.  I took a third one (as directed) at 8k.

Feeling weaker by the minute, I stopped and walked.  I hate when I do that and it's been weeks since I've had to.  I cooled off a bit and resumed.  Weakness took over again. 

Could it be my blood sugar?  I ate a package of fruit chews, walked for another minute and started up again. 

Damn it! 

The last four kilometers were rough.  I made it but, if anyone I know had driven by, I would have hopped in their car without a second thought. 

I don't know what happened. 

Option One - I am no longer used to that kind of heat and it did me in.

Option Two - I don't do well with salt tablets.

Option Three - my blood sugar was 6.0 when I got home so it was probably on the low side by the time I ate those carbs.

Option Four - I hit the proverbial wall. 

The good news is that I was not too bothered by the whole experience.  I did not question my running ability.  I did not wonder whether I have the strength to run a marathon. 

I just chalked it up to a bad run and was grateful that it happened on a Tuesday night rather than a long run.  

What did I think of the salt tablets?  I'm not sure yet.  I definitely did not sweat as much as I normally do but I did sweat which is good.  If I hadn't, that would have scared me.  My fingers did not swell at all despite the heat which is a first - that impressed me.  I was thirsty during the run and afterwards but not as much as I normally am. 

But, because the run was a dud, it's hard to know why.  So I'll try them again but not during my 28k run this Friday.  Just in case...

Lalalalalala

I like running quotes.  I like funny running sayings on t-shirts and bumper stickers.  I like statements that inspire and make me feel proud to be a runner.

One of the best ways to know that a big race is coming up is by checking to see how many of my Facebook friends post running quotes on their Wall and change their profile pics to something to do with running shoes.  We're not close enough yet to marathon time for the quotes to start flying but I did stumble across one yesterday that got me thinking.

"In the first half of the race, don't be an idiot.  In the second half, don't be a wimp." 

Taken from Scott Douglas - Running Times' Senior Editor.

I like that one.  It works for any distance - from a 1k spring to an ironman. 

How many of us have gone out too fast at the start only to die before the end?  (that's me over there waving my hand madly in the air)

I can train to run a half marathon at a 6:30 min/km pace and then suddenly, on race day, I start out runnning 5:50s.  I have actually convinced myself that I could sustain it for then entire 21.1km.  It feels so easy, I feel so strong...for the first ten minutes.  Then I slow to 6:00 and feel bad about slowing down (seriously?).  Then I slow even more to 6:30, which should feel ok but still feels hard because I was...an idiot.  Then I crash and end up running 7 minute kilometres for the second half of the race.  It all evens out by the end and I finish pretty much at the time I predicted.  But seriously folks - I've gotta stop doing that!

So I like the quote.  Start off slow. Don't be an idiot.  Have a plan and stick to it. 

In the second half, it's going to feel hard.  Really hard.  Don't be a wimp about it. 

Everything sounds so much simpler when it's wrapped in quotation marks doesn't it?

My all-time favourite quote, which isn't really about running, is:

"Whether you think you can, or you think you can't, you're probably right." 

Henry Ford said that.  I like his attitude.  I'm working on developing my own. 

Right now, my attitude feels kinda like resignation.  Not in a bad way - I've just entered a mode where every run is just the next run.  Do it, and get it done.  Don't panic about the distance.  Don't worry about the hills.  Don't even think about it (if necessary, insert fingers in ears and sing lalalalalalala).

Just do it. 

I think it's a protective mechanism - if I freak out now when I have to run 22k, how the hell am I going to cope with 32k?  Or 42?

Point two.

So I just think I can and I'm probably right.

And if I'm not? 

We'll just cross that bridge if we get to it.

The Dark Side

Do you know what I really like? 

I like it when people recognize the seriousness of a situation and yet can still laugh about it.  Gut busting belly laugh about it.

Not everyone knows this but I have a sarcastic, irreverant and often downright dark sense of humour.  I normally tone it down a bit so that I don't horrify people.

Sometimes, when I'm feeling frisky, I'll toss out a random comment just to test the waters a bit.

Yesterday I was at a meeting in Hamilton.  There were eight ladies there, myself included.  We all have the same quality improvement type jobs in our respective agencies and we get together every three months to share resources, brainstorm and enjoy being in the company of other people who 'get it'.

At the end of the day, I was asked to do something for the next meeting.  I joked and said no.  One lady offered to bake me cookies if I would only agree.  So I responded with "Oh right, feed cookies to the diabetic.  Are you trying to kill me??" 

Some people would have been horrified if I said that to them.

Others would have been horrified that I would joke about something sooooooo serious.

Not these ladies. Instead of horror, the entire room erupted in laugher and teasing comments.  "Oh just pump some more drugs into your system.  I saw you steal a cookie earlier and you're still alive.  Just run around the block a few times." etc etc.

They all know what diabetes is.  They know how serious it can be.  And yet they all laughed and joked right along with me.

I love that.

You know what else I really appreciate?  People who ask questions.

Some people watch me out of the corner of their eye when I check my sugar, push random buttons on my pump or pull out a bag of candies.  Other people jump right in and ask questions.  "Is that a pump?  How does it work?  Really, it's attached all the time?"  

Yes, I will be the first to admit that some questions are frustrating.

"You're allowed to eat that?" 

"Why do you have diabetes?  I thought you were healthy?"

"So, your diabetes must have really been out of control if they put you on the pump."

It's frustrating because people often don't understand what diabetes is really all about.  The questions that I get asked sometimes clearly show that and it's hard not to take the comments personally.  But they're asking questions which is the most important part because it gets the dialogue going.  And there is no such thing as a stupid question. So I answer them.  Each and every one. 

I hope that, by the end of the conversation, people know a little more about me and about diabetes.  I hope that they understand a little more. And I hope that they won't be quite so horrified the next time I say "My sugar's 3.1. Anyone have anything they want to say to me in case I don't pull through?"

You Gotta Know When to Hold 'Em

Here is how I see it.  When you put your shoes on and head out the door for a run, one of four things is going to happen:

1. You think you're going to have a good run and you do.

2. You think you're going to have a good run but you don't.

3. You think you're going to have a bad run and you do.

4. You think you're going to have a bad run and you don't.

I cycle through all four options so regularly that it feels like I should just write them down on pieces of paper and pull one out of a hat before I head out. 

I should probably clarify what I mean by bad run.

Sometimes, it's about battling shin, calf or foot pain that starts out bad and gets worse rather than better as the run progresses.  That's just so discouraging. Sometimes it's about riding the blood sugar roller coaster and either having to eat a lot of unwanted food just to keep the blood sugars steady or it's about running through a high which feels awful in a way that only someone who has done it can really understand.  Sometimes it's about just feeling blah and every step seems heavy and laboured. 

Good runs are much easier to describe.  The body does what you want it to.  The blood sugars behave.  Nothing hurts and you feel strong and capable.  The best runs are the ones when I run the distance and a) can't believe how fast it went by and b) want to keep running.   

I don't think it's a simple as saying that it's all about attitude.  If I always had bad runs, I would say that perhaps I need to check my attitude to make sure that I'm not causing them myself.  Negative thinking and all that jazz.  But I don't always have bad runs.  I'd say, on average, I have at least twice as many good ones, maybe even three times as many good ones as bad ones.

What's crazy is that I cannot find a pattern.  There doesn't seem to be any rhyme or reason for how a run will turn out. I've headed out countless times feeling awful - headachy, sore legs, exhausted after a long day at work -  fully expecting to suffer through a run.  Ten minutes in, I'm bounding down the road feeling great and I come home ready to take on the world. 

Other times I feel great, am well rested, well stretched and pain free.  I head out and, five minutes in, know that the run is not going to be pretty.

I've had great runs despite low expectations and a fabulous attitude does not guarante a fabulous run.

Sometimes I find it really frustrating.  I wish there was something I could do to understand what makes a good run - because who wouldn't want good runs every time?

Then I think that perhaps what makes a good run is actually all the bad ones.  Because, having struggled through some pretty rough ones, I recognize and appreciate the good ones.  I'm grateful when the run is good and the memory of running well carries me through the times when I hobble more than I run.

I guess it's a bit like gambling.  If the gambler always loses, they're probably going to stop gambling.  But sometimes they win.  Sometimes they win big.  And that keeps them coming back for more.

Purple dice - sweet!  

The Best of the Best

I bought myself a running hat in Boston. It's black and says Boston on the front in bright beautiful kelly green.  On the back it says "Wicked Fast Runnah" and one can't help but say it with a Boston accent.  I love it. 

I wore it running on Saturday.  It did not take me long to recognize the irony of mon nouveau chapeau.  One would expect to read "Wicked Fast Runnah" on the back of a hat of a runner that blows by you.  In my case, most of my running friends got to read the back of my hat as they blew past me.  Wicked fast runnah indeed! 

I'm ok with my pace - but it is kinda funny. 

On Sunday, I joined the Runners' Edge cycling group for our weekly ride. As per usual, I kept up but just barely.  Again, I'm ok with that.  I figure it's better to hang out with people with whom I have to struggle to keep in sight.  That way I'm pushing myself harder than I would otherwise.  But man, every Saturday run and Sunday cycling is a lesson in humility.   

Every once in a while it's important to step back a bit and get some perspective.  I hang out with runners and cyclists.  They are a strong, fit, kick ass group of people.  Within that group there is a range of abilities.  But the least able person can still run.  Or cycle.  Without collapsing from a heart attack three minutes in.  They are tough as nails, boundary-pushing, courageous athletes. The least fit person in my fitness world is fitter than most people on the planet.  

I need to remember that when I feel twinges of envy watching runners pass me on the hills, during intervals and, let's face it, on long flat stretches of road.  They may be faster than I am but, damn it, I can still run 10k, 20k, 30k.   I have a super healthy diet, I can run for hours and cycle up the Park Road Hill...and I do it all in spite of my faulty pancreas.

So I will wear my Wicked Fast Runnah hat with pride.  Those people I do pass may be impressed and those that pass me will be amused.  Either way, it's a really cool hat.