D-Blog Week Day 6 - Favourites and Motivations

Today we were encouraged to go back into our blogging past and re-post something that we have written. A favourite sentence or blog post. Well, after years of blogging, I still think that the post I'm reposting today is my favourite. If you missed it the first time, enjoy.

Diabetes - What it's Like on the Inside

It's always the same and yet it's always different.

Sometimes it starts with a dry throat and a gentle headache right between my eyes. The kind that makes me squint a bit and brings out those frown lines that I get when I'm thinking hard about something.

Sometimes it starts with a yawn. And then another one. And then another one. I usually start slouching in my chair a bit or get up to make some tea in an effort to wake up.

Sometimes my elbows start to feel a little less bendy. Like the fluid in my joints is starting to solidify.

Sometimes I get a funny taste in my mouth.

Sometimes the symptoms stop there. Sometimes they get worse and my dry throat becomes a crushing thirst, my gentle headache starts to pound, my yawns flow into each other and my joints all begin to join the stiffening chorus. Sometimes my hands start to ache.

Sometimes I clue in quickly. Other times I don't.

I always clue in eventually and grab my glucometer - knowing I'm going to see 16+ on the screen.

Sometimes my lips and tongue start to tingle just a bit. The way they feel when the freezing is coming out after a trip to the dentist.

Sometimes my heart starts beating a little faster and feels like a fluttering bird in my chest.

Sometimes I start to yawn. And yawn. And yawn. I go make a cup of green tea in an effort to wake up a bit.

Sometimes my limbs start to feel light, like gravity was turned down a notch. I become a little more awkward and clumsy than usual.

Sometimes little things annoy me. Things that didn't annoy me even a minute before and things that don't normally annoy me...ever.

Sometimes I clue in quickly. Sometimes I don't.

When I don't, my lips and tongue start tingling a lot - to the point where I can hardly feel them. My heart beat gets crazier and I start to sweat. It comes on fast and furious at that point and I can easily sweat through a hoodie and a jacket as well as my jeans in minutes. The yawns progress to the point where I can hardly get a sentence out between them. The world starts to spin. I need to sit down.

What I really need to do is grab some juice.

Diabetes is a textbook disease made up of numbers. Dosages. Ratios. Units. Time.

Diabetes is often summarized on a piece a paper with pictures of people drinking water or looking pale and shaky. It comes with warnings that a person is in one of the two ends of the blood sugar spectrum and helpful suggestions about what to do.

Diabetes is all of those things. And it's none of those things.

Diabetes is the horror of waking up drenched in sweat and hardly able to reach the Dex 4s on your bedside table and wondering, through the haze, "what if I hadn't woken up?"

Diabetes is the fear of going back to sleep in case it happens again. And it's the feeling of isolation when you get to the pool the next morning, tired and shaken, and no one has any idea what you've been through and how scared you were...and how important it was to get up early anyway so diabetes doesn't win.

Diabetes is the horror of struggling to control a blood sugar of 25 with dose after dose of insulin and feeling that every minute you spend up in the clouds is another minute that diabetes is doing damage to your body. The only body you have. And diabetes is wondering if this high will be the high that puts me over the edge to the land of no return.

Diabetes is the fear of going low 1500m from shore during a triathlon swim and yet still getting in the water because the fear of letting diabetes dictate your life is greater than the fear of an open-water low.

Diabetes is squinting at the tiny air bubbles in your insulin tube, carefully priming to get them out, and then wondering if anyone will do that for you if your eyesight fails and you are no longer able to do that for yourself one day.

Diabetes is listening to people talk about other people with diabetes and all the horrible things happening to them...and refusing to let that stop you from trying to be healthy even though it's just so easy to give up and hand diabetes the reigns.

Diabetes is about doing the same thing, day after day after day, knowing it's only going to work half the time.

Diabetes is about finding a way to be proud of the fact that you test your blood sugar in public and have tubes coming out of you as you walk around the change room after your swim. Because the alternative is hiding and that's not an alternative you're willing to entertain.

Diabetes is all numbers and ratios and signs and symptoms on the outside.

On the inside, it's a never-ending battle between fear and courage. Between motivation and depression. Between the will to fight and the urge to throw in the towel.

Sometimes I'm the one on the left. Sometimes I'm the one on the right. 

Depends on the day. 

I Was Never Told

I remember when I was first diagnosed with diabetes and trying to come to terms with what it all meant. Trying to figure things out. Trying to sort through the information that I was given by supportive, well-meaning diabetes educators who, more often than not, did not have diabetes themselves.

I learned a bit from the people who were there to teach me. But I learned the most from just living the experience. I learned. I adopted that knowledge into my new reality and then forgot that I didn't always know it.

Like learning what a low feels like.

I was told that low blood sugars feel like this:

I was not told a bunch of other stuff and ended up having to figure it out on my own:

• I was not told that low blood sugars can happen when you're full from dinner. And you will have to gag down food when you really don't want to. 
• I was not told that they often happen at the worst time. I was not told that I might have a dramatic low while in the shower and would have to get out with shampoo still in my hair, stumble to the bedroom for juice and then sit on the side of the bath dripping wet for ten minutes before I could stop shaking enough to rinse my hair. I was not told that lows can happen in the middle of presentations at work. While making love. In the middle of eating lunch (I'm already eating for heaven's sake! Piss off!)
• I was not told that those fast-acting carbs that you need during a low are rarely healthy and that, if you have too many lows you could actually put on weight because of all the empty calories you take in. I mean really, no weight maintenance program in the world says you should have 2-3 juice boxes per day.  
• I was not told that all the doctors and nurses I met would put the fear of having complications first and foremost in my mind. And that this new-found fear would make it seem like a good idea to have lots of lows if it meant avoiding highs. And that lows are really not good either.
• I was not told that lows can happen no matter how hard you try not to have them - and that you are not a bad person or an incompetent diabetic if you have them.  

 I was not told about the ignorance I would have to face. From people I work with, or golf with, or meet at the gym. I was not told that real life doctors and nurses would ask me questions like "is your diabetes well controlled" and that it would take me several years to go from feeling guilty when asked the question to becoming an advocate and explaining patiently why this question was not at all a question they should be asking patients. And that I would have to explain it again the following year when the same doctor asks me at my annual exam. And the year after that.

I was told how to count carbs and inject insulin and treat lows. I was not told that doing all of the stuff they told me to the absolute best of my ability would not produce results anywhere near what they actually wanted to see. That there is a difference between textbook diabetes and real life diabetes. 

I was not told that there were other people like me out there. And that it might be a good idea to find some. Because they will understand all of the above.

I learned all of this on my own. In hindsight, that is probably best. I do better when I learn from experience. And I've certainly done better with every year that has gone by as I add more and more to my real-life experience purse.

But I do know that there are many people out there who may not figure this stuff out for themselves. Who may do everything they are told to do and then not understand that it is not their fault when the wheels still fall off the cart on a regular basis. Who may feel personally responsible for every low. For every high. For every up and down.

Those are the things that make me feel like we really need to take a good look at how support is provided to people.

Because while there are times when I think I am doing well because of the support I have received, more often I think I am doing well in spite of it.

The Wrong Line of Work

I was having lunch the other day with a few ladies that I know through work.

One of them mentioned that she had type 2 diabetes and then I mentioned I had type 1 diabetes and we got down to chatting.

She said that she was really struggling with keeping her blood sugars in check, particularly in the mornings. She said that her doctor was not happy with her numbers and was saying that, if she didn't get a better handle on then, she would have to go on insulin.

"I really don't want to end up on insulin" she said to me, with a hint of fear in her eyes.

"Stop right there!" I said holding my hand up.

"Let me guess" I said. "I'm going to guess that, every time you go to your doctor, you are told about all the awful things that will happen to you if you don't get things under 'under control'."

"I'm also going to guess that you leave there terrified of all the predictions, the fear helps motivate you for a week or two but then you go back to the life you always live because it just feels so overwhelming."

"And I'm also going to guess that you think 'ending up' on insulin means that you failed. That you were not able to 'control' diabetes on your own and this is a sign to the world that you failed."

"Everything you said is true" she said, her eyes filled with tears.

"Listen" I said. "Taking insulin is not a sign of failure. If that is the best way for you to lower your blood sugar safely and effectively, then what's the problem with that? You would feel better and it's better for your overall health. I would much rather be on insulin and have good blood sugars than resist it and have higher numbers. Wouldn't you?"

"Yes!" she said brightening.

"And don't let your doctor use scare tactics to try to get you to do what they want you to do. They don't work, they end up making people feel worse and you'll go back there again in six months and hear the same speech all over again. You need to find people like you who get it, who can support you and who can inspire you to make positive changes in your life."

"You're right" she said. "I feel better just talking to you."

"And I also want you to remember that diabetes has a bad rap. People are judged immediately by the term and the stereotype is that you brought it on yourself by poor diet and lack of exercise. There are so many other factors involved that people just don't understand. You're pretty new at this too and you probably believe a lot of those stereotypes yourself and then feel bad because you think that you 'fit' that and you deserve what you get. That's not true. You have diabetes so figure out how best to deal with it, how best to take care of yourself but don't you dare feel guilty about it."

"Thank you" she said with a smile.

And the three of us carried on with our lunch in friendly conversation.

I told Doug about the conversation when I get home.

"You know baby" he said, "you are in the wrong line of work."

Diabetes - What it Feels Like on the Inside (a repost)

A little over a year ago I wrote a post trying to explain what diabetes feels like to me. I reread it yesterday and decided that it's worth republishing. So here it is from November 2013 - mere days before I starting using Dexter. I wonder if I would have written it differently if I was already CGM'ing?

_____________________
It's always the same and yet it's always different.

Sometimes it starts with a dry throat and a gentle headache right between my eyes. The kind that makes me squint a bit and brings out those frown lines that I get when I'm thinking hard about something.

Sometimes it starts with a yawn. And then another one. And then another one. I usually start slouching in my chair a bit or get up to make some tea in an effort to wake up.

Sometimes my elbows start to feel a little less bendy. Like the fluid in my joints is starting to solidify.

Sometimes I get a funny taste in my mouth.

Sometimes the symptoms stop there. Sometimes they get worse and my dry throat becomes a crushing thirst, my gentle headache starts to pound, my yawns flow into each other and my joints all begin to join the stiffening chorus. Sometimes my hands start to ache.

Sometimes I clue in quickly. Other times I don't.

I always clue in eventually and grab my glucometer - knowing I'm going to see 16+ on the screen.

Sometimes my lips and tongue start to tingle just a bit. The way they feel when the freezing is coming out after a trip to the dentist.

Sometimes my heart starts beating a little faster and feels like a fluttering bird in my chest.

Sometimes I start to yawn. And yawn. And yawn. I go make a cup of green tea in an effort to wake up a bit.

Sometimes my limbs start to feel light, like gravity was turned down a notch. I become a little more awkward and clumsy than usual.

Sometimes little things annoy me. Things that didn't annoy me even a minute before and things that don't normally annoy me...ever.

Sometimes I clue in quickly. Sometimes I don't.

When I don't, my lips and tongue start tingling a lot - to the point where I can hardly feel them. My heart beat gets crazier and I start to sweat. It comes on fast and furious at that point and I can easily sweat through a hoodie and a jacket as well as my jeans in minutes. The yawns progress to the point where I can hardly get a sentence out between them. The world starts to spin. I need to sit down.

What I really need to do is grab some juice.

Diabetes is a textbook disease made up of numbers. Dosages. Ratios. Units. Time.

Diabetes is often summarized on a piece a paper with pictures of people drinking water or looking pale and shaky. It comes with warnings that a person is in one of the two ends of the blood sugar spectrum and helpful suggestions about what to do.

Diabetes is all of those things. And it's none of those things.

Diabetes is the horror of waking up drenched in sweat and hardly able to reach the Dex 4s on your bedside table and wondering, through the haze, "what if I hadn't woken up?"

Diabetes is the fear of going back to sleep in case it happens again. And it's the feeling of isolation when you get to the pool the next morning, tired and shaken, and no one has any idea what you've been through and how scared you were...and how important it was to get up early anyway so diabetes doesn't win.

Diabetes is the horror of struggling to control a blood sugar of 25 with dose after dose of insulin and feeling that every minute you spend up in the clouds is another minute that diabetes is doing damage to your body. The only body you have. And diabetes is wondering if this high will be the high that puts me over the edge to the land of no return.

Diabetes is the fear of going low 1500m from shore during a triathlon swim and yet still getting in the water because the fear of letting diabetes dictate your life is greater than the fear of an open-water low.

Diabetes is squinting at the tiny air bubbles in your insulin tube, carefully priming to get them out, and then wondering if anyone will do that for you if your eyesight fails and you are no longer able to do that for yourself one day.

Diabetes is listening to people talk about other people with diabetes and all the horrible things happening to them...and refusing to let that stop you from trying to be healthy even though it's just so easy to give up and hand diabetes the reigns.

Diabetes is about doing the same thing, day after day after day, knowing it's only going to work half the time.

Diabetes is about finding a way to be proud of the fact that you test your blood sugar in public and have tubes coming out of you as you walk around the change room after your swim. Because the alternative is hiding and that's not an alternative you're willing to entertain.

Diabetes is all numbers and ratios and signs and symptoms on the outside.

On the inside, it's a never-ending battle between fear and courage. Between motivation and depression. Between the will to fight and the urge to throw in the towel.

Sometimes I'm the one on the left. Sometimes I'm the one on the right. 

Depends on the day. 

Guilt. Fear. Enjoyment. Ad infinitum.

Sometimes these three little words live independent lives. Other times, they are so intertwined that they look like those writhing piles of snakes (think Indiana Jones) where it is impossible to tell one snake from another and where you really don't want to stare too long.

Guilt.

Fear.

Enjoyment.

I was pretty darn tired on Thursday morning. I hadn't slept well on Tuesday night thank to the Dexter/Rabbit wars and I slept better, but not must better, on Wednesday night. Not enough to catch up anyway.

My alarm was set for 5am. I had an 8k run to do. The alarm went off. I lay there for a few minutes thinking and then slipped out from under the warm blankets, pulled on my layers of running clothes and headed out into a -12C morning.

Why?

Guilt? Because I had skipped my Wednesday morning swim and didn't want to have to admit to missing two workouts in a row?

Fear? Because every time I miss more than one day of exercise a little part of me starts thinking about how sedentary I am becoming and I imagine all sorts of bad things happening to my heart, to my body? Or because diabetes always looms large and the knowledge that exercise is really important means that fear kicks in when I don't do it enough?

Enjoyment? Because I really do enjoy those quiet morning runs, all alone, in the dark, hearing my feet pounding the pavement and watching the sky change from night to morning?

Yes, yes and yes.

Sometimes I force myself out of bed purely because of the guilt I would feel if I didn't. I don't want to get up. I don't care what lying around for the day will do to my body. I just really want that extra sleep. But I get up anyway because I know I will regret it later and feel guilty for wimping out.

Sometimes it really is the fear. If I know I have the kind of day ahead where I'll be tied to my desk and only get up for water refills and pee breaks, I force myself out of bed so I can move my body, at least for an hour. Other times I know that two days off in a row means higher blood sugars and other diabetes nonsense and the fear kicks in because I don't want to deal with the realities of high BGs that day nor do I want to think about what they do to my body in the long run.

Many times, I get up because I really do like exercise. I love the quiet runs. I love the tough sweaty workouts on the bike. I love the quiet peace I feel when I slip into the water for my swim. I get up simply because I want to.

Most days though, there is a bit of guilt, fear and enjoyment mixed together and together they get me up when the alarm goes off. Together to keep me moving through my days and keep me fit and keep me strong.

Alone, I don't think any of them would stand a change in the long run. Alone, I don't think any of them have the power to get me up day after day to do what I do.

Together, they work well. Trading back and forth. When one loses a bit of power, the other two step up to take its place. There is strength in numbers.

Guilt.

Fear.

Enjoyment.

To infinity and beyond!

What are YOU Afraid of?

I'm not afraid of flying.

I'm not afraid of spiders - unless getting the heebie-jeebies counts as being afraid.

I'm not afraid to go running alone in the morning before the sun rises.

I'm not afraid of standing up to make a speech and realizing that I forgot to put my pants on.

I am afraid every time I set foot in an elevator. Just for a second as the doors close. I always wonder if I have enough food, water and insulin with me to keep myself alive if I get stuck in there for a few days.

I am afraid to bolus before driving, no matter how much it makes sense to do so. For example: on mornings when I'm high after a swim. Ideally I should take my breakfast bolus and give it a 15 minute head start. That means bolusing, getting in the car, driving the ten minutes home, and then eating breakfast. But I never ever do that. Why? Because I'm afraid. What if that's the morning I get into an accident? What if I'm knocked out, my sugar drops and no one around knows what's happening?

I am afraid of ending up in the hospital for one reason or another and having my pump removed because the medical team feels that using a sliding scale makes things easier to manage.

I am afraid, down the road, of no longer being able to manage my own care and having to rely on others to recognize that I'm high or low and deal with it properly.

I am not afraid of public speaking.

I am not afraid of traveling halfway around the planet by myself.

I am not afraid to be home alone at night.

I am afraid of being kidnapped and having no hope of survival because I only have a day of insulin left in my pump.

I am afraid of being caught in a natural disaster and not being able to get insulin.

I am not afraid of the things that many people are afraid of.

Why?

Because I face the scary realities of diabetes every single day. And that has made me much braver than I have any business being.

So I trade one set of fears for another. All of my fears now involve highs and lows and the inability to fix them.

Pretty messed up isn't it?

D-Blog Week Day 6 - Favourites and Motivations

Today we were encouraged to go back into our blogging past and re-post something that we have written. A favourite sentence or blog post. Well, after years of blogging, I still think that the post I'm reposting today is my favourite. If you missed it the first time, enjoy.

Diabetes - What it's Like on the Inside

It's always the same and yet it's always different.

Sometimes it starts with a dry throat and a gentle headache right between my eyes. The kind that makes me squint a bit and brings out those frown lines that I get when I'm thinking hard about something.

Sometimes it starts with a yawn. And then another one. And then another one. I usually start slouching in my chair a bit or get up to make some tea in an effort to wake up.

Sometimes my elbows start to feel a little less bendy. Like the fluid in my joints is starting to solidify.

Sometimes I get a funny taste in my mouth.

Sometimes the symptoms stop there. Sometimes they get worse and my dry throat becomes a crushing thirst, my gentle headache starts to pound, my yawns flow into each other and my joints all begin to join the stiffening chorus. Sometimes my hands start to ache.

Sometimes I clue in quickly. Other times I don't.

I always clue in eventually and grab my glucometer - knowing I'm going to see 16+ on the screen.

Sometimes my lips and tongue start to tingle just a bit. The way they feel when the freezing is coming out after a trip to the dentist.

Sometimes my heart starts beating a little faster and feels like a fluttering bird in my chest.

Sometimes I start to yawn. And yawn. And yawn. I go make a cup of green tea in an effort to wake up a bit.

Sometimes my limbs start to feel light, like gravity was turned down a notch. I become a little more awkward and clumsy than usual.

Sometimes little things annoy me. Things that didn't annoy me even a minute before and things that don't normally annoy me...ever.

Sometimes I clue in quickly. Sometimes I don't.

When I don't, my lips and tongue start tingling a lot - to the point where I can hardly feel them. My heart beat gets crazier and I start to sweat. It comes on fast and furious at that point and I can easily sweat through a hoodie and a jacket as well as my jeans in minutes. The yawns progress to the point where I can hardly get a sentence out between them. The world starts to spin. I need to sit down.

What I really need to do is grab some juice.

Diabetes is a textbook disease made up of numbers. Dosages. Ratios. Units. Time.

Diabetes is often summarized on a piece a paper with pictures of people drinking water or looking pale and shaky. It comes with warnings that a person is in one of the two ends of the blood sugar spectrum and helpful suggestions about what to do.

Diabetes is all of those things. And it's none of those things.

Diabetes is the horror of waking up drenched in sweat and hardly able to reach the Dex 4s on your bedside table and wondering, through the haze, "what if I hadn't woken up?"

Diabetes is the fear of going back to sleep in case it happens again. And it's the feeling of isolation when you get to the pool the next morning, tired and shaken, and no one has any idea what you've been through and how scared you were...and how important it was to get up early anyway so diabetes doesn't win.

Diabetes is the horror of struggling to control a blood sugar of 25 with dose after dose of insulin and feeling that every minute you spend up in the clouds is another minute that diabetes is doing damage to your body. The only body you have. And diabetes is wondering if this high will be the high that puts me over the edge to the land of no return.

Diabetes is the fear of going low 1500m from shore during a triathlon swim and yet still getting in the water because the fear of letting diabetes dictate your life is greater than the fear of an open-water low.

Diabetes is squinting at the tiny air bubbles in your insulin tube, carefully priming to get them out, and then wondering if anyone will do that for you if your eyesight fails and you are no longer able to do that for yourself one day.

Diabetes is listening to people talk about other people with diabetes and all the horrible things happening to them...and refusing to let that stop you from trying to be healthy even though it's just so easy to give up and hand diabetes the reigns.

Diabetes is about doing the same thing, day after day after day, knowing it's only going to work half the time.

Diabetes is about finding a way to be proud of the fact that you test your blood sugar in public and have tubes coming out of you as you walk around the change room after your swim. Because the alternative is hiding and that's not an alternative you're willing to entertain.

Diabetes is all numbers and ratios and signs and symptoms on the outside.

On the inside, it's a never-ending battle between fear and courage. Between motivation and depression. Between the will to fight and the urge to throw in the towel.

Sometimes I'm the one on the left. Sometimes I'm the one on the right. 

Depends on the day. 

Not Feeling It

Twice yesterday I checked my sugar to discover that I was 3.6.

Twice yesterday I was surprised to discover I was low.

I didn't feel low before I checked.

That is very unusual.

The low symptoms didn't kick in once I saw a low number flash on my glucometer.

Also very unusual.

I know it's only one day but the thought of not feeling lows is very very scary.

The thought of going to sleep not knowing if my body will wake me up if I'm low is terrifying.

Here's hoping yesterday was a crazy rabbit day and today is not.

Olympic Realities

Now that the Welland triathlon is behind me, I need to focus very intently on the Gravenhurst Olympic tri which is in less than three weeks.

When I signed up, back in January, I was right in the middle of half-marathon training and running well. I was swimming three times a week and swimming well. And I figured I could work on my cycling as it got closer. I also figured I would be running the Women's half marathon in June so I would have worked up to being able to sustain 2 1/2 hours of constant movement.

Now we're down to three weeks. I'm a strong swimmer and don't have many worries about the swim. I am much stronger on the bike and I figure that will be ok too.

I'm worried about the run.

Partly because I am not at my peak running form and 10k is 10k.

And partly because I won't have time to work in many (if any) long workouts. So doing a 3-hour event is also way out of my comfort zone.

Last summer's triathlons happened while I training for spring and fall half-marathons. So a 2+hour racing event actually felt like a break after all the 2+hour runs I had been churning out. At least I got to switch activities to give my body a break.

Now I can swim for 1 1/2 hours. I can cycle for 1 1/2 hours. I can run for 35ish minutes. But I certainly don't feel ready to do them one after another...without a day off in between. I think I can do it...but I don't think I can do it well. And I think that it's the run at the end that will suffer for it.

Which makes me kinda sad, a little scared, and makes me look back at last summer's running fitness with longing.

It is what it is and it will be what it will be. I'm spending the next few weeks doing what I can to build up and then taper down. I'm planning to participate in a 1.9k swim race on July 5th. I'll squeeze in a few longer bike/run combination workouts. I'll take very good care of my foot.

And I'll cross my fingers.

The Lid Fell Off My Box

I have a little box in which I store all of my diabetes fears and frustrations. The box and I have an agreement of sorts. Things about diabetes that scare me, that make me crazy or that make me just tired and overwhelmed go in that box. The box keeps its lid secured fastened and all the nasty things stay put and stay quiet...

...and I go about my business trying to take care of myself as well as I can so that none of the fears in that box come true.

Sometimes though, that lid slips a bit and I get a peak at what's inside.

Sometimes the lid falls right off and the fears and frustrations come flying out like a big scary cloud that surrounds me before I can draw my sword.

Monday evening the lid fell off.

It started with my annual physical. The one I go to with my family doctor that normally has less to do with diabetes and more to do with my overall health. I like that appointment because there are no blood sugar logs to explain and we talk about my family and my latest running adventures...after she does her exams, checks my height and weight and tests my blood pressure.

As usual (she writes with relief) things looked good. My weight is good, my waist to hip ratio that predicts heart problems was good, my blood pressure was good. I sat up on the bed and asked what I thought was a pretty simple question. One I had almost forgotten to ask because it seemed so trivial.

"What do you think these little red dots are on the tips of my toes?"

They had started a few days before. Or at least that's when I noticed them. They were kinda itchy but not really. Not sore either. They were just a few tiny little red dots on the tips of several of my toes...on both feet. I thought perhaps they were from my feet hitting the front of my running shoes - this had never happened before but still.

"Oh, that looks like small nerve damage. It can be caused by diabetes."

My heart dropped.

Diabetes? Damage from diabetes?!? I was panicked and furious at the same time.

How dare diabetes do a damn thing to my body after all I do for it. The ungrateful little bastard! That was quickly followed by omigod, I have complications? I'm not even forty yet and have only had it for ten years!

"Could it be from running in the cold? It's been cold the last few weeks and I've been doing long runs. From curling twice a week and having my toes rub the end of my shoes when I'm sliding across the ice?" I was reaching and I knew it but I was completely freaked out.

"Well, it could be from trauma or extreme cold and it might go away on its own. Keep a close eye on it and show you diabetes doctor when you see her in March. In the meantime, keep your feet warm and come back to see me immediately if they get any worse or turn into open sores. It might be a good time to start taking a low dose aspirin as well."

Holy god.

I promised to do what I was told and headed home. I walked in, took off my coat, told Doug what happened, changed into my curling clothes, came back downstairs, sat down at the dinner table, took three bites of my dinner...and the lid fell off my box.

I cried, I shook with fear and frustration and I tried to find the words to express how I felt. What more can I possibly do? If all the time and effort I put in to taking care of myself and keeping the diabetes monsters happy isn't enough...what else can I do?

It isn't even the actual problem that bothered me as much as the thought that, despite the best efforts and the best intentions, diabetes may still win. All those awful predictions that the doctors and the media tell us might still come true.

Bloody hell.

I had ten minutes until I had to leave for curling. I suppose I could have called and said that I wasn't going but, if I did that, I thought I'd end up curled up on the couch nursing several large glasses of wine and not feeling any less freaked out.

So I wiped my eyes, screwed up my courage and headed back out into the night.

No one at the curling rink knew any of the turmoil going on inside. They joked and they teased me as usual. We played, I focused on my shots, on sweeping my heart out and on holding up my end of the conversation. They had me laughing in no time and I felt better for it.

I got home a few hours later with the lid once again tightly on my diabetes box. I WILL keep an eye on my toes. I WILL go to the doctor immediately if there is a problem. I WILL do what I need to do.

But most important of all.

I. Will. Live. My. Life.

I read once that living with diabetes is like living in a cage with a tiger. You can feed it and take care of it but don't turn let down your guard for a minute or it will try to eat you alive.

I take great comfort in the fact that, according to the Chinese calendar, I was born a Tiger.

Dear diabetes - I will share my cage with you because I must. I will make sure you are looked after. I will obey your rules. I will allow you your childish tantrums. But I will only be pushed so far...and then I get pissed. 

This Is War

Don't be put off by the title of today's blog post.  It's actually the title of a pretty cool song.

I am reaching the end of my stress fracture recovery program and, as such, things are ramping up a bit.  I am now running thirty minutes but I'm also running more days per week.  Last week I ran four days a week, this week I have to run five.  Two 30 minutes runs, two 35s and a 40.

I wouldn't have said this in August but I'll say it now - that's a lot of running!

So I dusted off my iPod shuffle this past weekend.  I haven't run to music since last October.  Mostly because I didn't run for 10 weeks.  Partly because, when I did start running, I was not running for very long so it seemed silly to drag out the tunes.  And a teeny bit because I used my music to motivate and inspire me during marathon training and I wasn't sure I would want to hear the songs I used to run to as I gingerly trotted along for 15 minutes.

Saturday morning, I popped in my ear bud and headed out the door.

Shuffling music is fun because sometimes you get a bunch of songs in a row that are pretty benign.  Other times, you get a bunch in a row that all trigger emotional responses.

Saturday I got a bunch of songs that were nice, easy listening, keep your feet moving kinda songs.

Sunday, the first song that came on brought me right back to last summer.

This is the song:

I first heard the song when a friend posted this link to a Harry Potter YouTube video.  I love Harry Potter and was pretty moved watching the video because the creator used music and video clips to tell a powerful story.  A story of courage, pride, fear, despair, loneliness, friendship, giving up, and overcoming.

It's a powerful summary of the Harry Potter story.

It's also the story of running a marathon. All of those emotions, and a few more, become familiar friends by the time you have completed all of those long runs.  Every time the song came on, no matter how exhausted I was, it inspired me to keep moving forward.  I remember one run in particular.  It was hot and I was hurting.  I had run 28k and there were still two more to go before I reached the car.  I just wanted to walk it in and had lost the energy to fight with myself.  The I heard the first few notes of the song and I, to quote Lady Macbeth, was able to "screw my courage to the sticking place".  I hit repeat over and over again until I made it to the car - running.

Sunday morning, as I stepped out the door to do my 30 minute run, the song came on.  I was tempted for a brief moment to skip ahead to the next song.  I hadn't heard This is War for months and wasn't sure I wanted to hear it yet.  I forced myself not to skip ahead and, within a few seconds, was bounding down the road with a huge grin on my face.

You see, the song worked perfectly during marathon training but it works quite well now because the last few months have also been about fear, despair, hope, friendship, loneliness, giving up and overcoming.  Injuries, as it turns out, are just like marathons.

They're hard but you survive.

Simcoe Shores

Hi folks!

I've missed you and missed my daily blog time - writing and musing about life.  That being said, it's been good for me to have a week of rest and escape from routine.  I traded in my laptop for a few library books and spend the week feeling quite peaceful.

Vacations are wonderful but they must end.  So, rather than mourn what is no longer, I'm embracing the things I enjoy and have missed on my week away.  Starting with writing.  I have so many stories to share so I decided the best approach is to just go in order.

Last Friday, after I ran my 28k and wrote my blog, I hopped in the car and headed north to Horseshoe Valley.  The Simcoe Shores 245K Ultra-distance Relay was starting in the morning and I had to get there, get organized and get psychologically prepared.  Plus I knew that the rest of the troops would be arriving and that there would be snacks!  Lots of them!  Sweet.  Salty.  Healthy.  Not so healthy. We had it all.

Eight runners in one place equals lots of snacks!

Moving on...

By 6pm, all ten of us had arrived and huge pots of pasta were boiling away.  The mood was festive and we signed Klari's singlet, decorated our cars with mojito-inspired limes and went over last minute race details.   We laughed and we dealt with running nerves.  We ate, we drank wine and we chatted about life and love.  One by one, we all headed off to bed.

Saturday morning dawned and half of our group headed out to start the race.

We called them Team Stage One.  Klari, Steve, Carl and Kate were the runners and Erika was the support crew driver.  They had to run from Barrie to Orillia between 9am and 2:30pm and from Midland to Wasaga Beach from 11pm to 4am.

Team Stage Two: Dan, Tina, Barb, Doug and I didn't have to leave until 3pm so we lounged around, read books, napped and ate more pasta.

My team (as I call them) had to run from Orillia to Midland between 4pm and 9:30pm and then from Wasaga Beach to Collingwood between 7am and 12pm.

It's amazing how many stories are amassed during a 24 hour period.

Stories of courage in the face of injury.

Stories of strength in the face of challenging runs.

Stories of lightning bolts.

Of other teams who cheered us on just as we cheered for them.

Stories of frustration as we watched not one but two different runners arrive at a transition point and find their team missing in action.

We laughed.

We cheered.

We crossed our fingers and sent our runners off down dark trails or up monsters climbs and we breathed a sigh of relief when we spotted their mojito-green singlet as they emerged at the other end of their journey.

Every member of our team came face to face with demons during that 245k journey.  Some faced injury and agonized about whether to push through or ask someone else on the team to run for them.  Some faced extraordinarily challenging runs.  Others battled nerves, self-doubt and exhaustion.

I had the never-ending pressure of making sure that I did what I needed to do to get my runners where they had to be on time and ready to run.  And I faced having to send Doug off to run the toughest leg of the entire relay on his own, without support.  This leg was up a small country road and no vehicles were allowed.  We dropped him off at the bottom of the escarpment and drove a different route up to the top to wait for him.  Runners who arrived before him were pale, staggering, walking or crying by the time they reached the top.  I stood in the pouring rain, staring down the road, willing him to be ok.

He was.

Our team came in 19th out of 28 teams with a total running time of 22:00:00 hours.  We came in second in our category (mixed over 45).

It's a tough race but it's a lot of fun too.  Best of all, it's a great way to bond with some pretty amazing runners.

We're already talking about 2012.

Ups an Downs

It was a weekend of ups and downs.

Saturday was a 24k run.  Typically, our running route from the store is an out and back route.  We add two kilometres each week so we simply run one extra kilometre out from the store.  This route makes it easier to keep an eye on the runners and provide water and emotional support.

I was getting a little tired of running this route so I decided to run a different first half.  Run from home, head down the country roads and meet up with the group for the run back in.  The only challenge was that I would have to run up the big hill to Rockway and then run down a super steep hill to meet up with the group.  The Rockway hill is always a challenge on the bike so I was a little apprehensive trying to run up.  The hill down is terrifying on a bike so I was afraid of what it might do to my shins as I pounded down with the extra weight of gravity to add to the pressure.

Here is what I learned.  Hill climbs are harder on a bike than on foot.  I spent the first 8k thinking about the mindset I would need to be in to tackle the climb.  Then I actually started the climb and practically sailed up.  It was surprisingly easy.  Sweet!

The run down is also a lot easier than expected.  The scary part of riding down the hill is the speed combined with the blind corners.  Running slows everything down to a manageable pace.  I sailed down sans problème.  

Ups and downs.

Sunday we headed to Grimbsy to cycle the 25k route of the Niagara duathlon.  Several riders are in the race next weekend so it a great opportunity to practice the route.  Or, more importantly, practice riding the dreaded Park Street Hill.  We ride up and down the Niagara Escarpment quite often and, while it's never easy, it's manageable.

The Park Street Hill is an entirely different beast.

It's steep - really really steep.  It's windy.  It starts off hard and fast - straight up.  It has one short plateau after the first climb which is just long enough to catch your breath before the next two upward surges.  Each surge gets progressively steeper.  I've ridden it three times before and, trust me when I say, it's just nasty.

Going down is even worse.  For me anyway, it is terrifying.  Some of the riders like the rush of hitting 60+ km/hour on a bike.  I am not one of them.  I tossed and turned most of Saturday night - troubled by dreams of cycling down the hill interspersed with dreams of being attacked by grisly bears.  To say that I did not sleep well is a wee bit of an understatement.

We rode the route.  We started the climb and, except for a minor shifting emergency at the beginning, it was ok.  We all made it up, exhausted but victorious.  We cycled the remaining flat part of the route and, too soon, found ourselves at the top....looking down.  One after another, we headed down the hill.  I lost sight of the others within seconds as they took up and I rode my brakes the entire way down.  Heart pounding, legs shaking, terrified but in control.  I made it down.

Ups and downs.

Physical ones.  Emotional ones.

I overcame them all.

Let's see what week seven has in store.

Get a Grip, Beauchamp

One of the best book series I've ever read are the Outlander books. I could easily dedicate a daily blog to the fabulous characters, crazy plot twists and amazing moments of tender love and steamy passion that fill the pages of these books. I’ve read and reread them and have passed them on to my friends the way a heroin dealer distributes their goods. Everyone who cracks open book one becomes a hopeless addict.

Love, medieval medicine and time travel are some of the main themes of these books. War is another important topic and a lot of time is spent on what it’s like to prepare for battle. The main character (Jamie) has gone off to battle numerous times. Before he goes, if at all possible, he goes to confession.

(He also ravishes his wife Claire but those details are for another day.)

The confession part is critical so that Jamie can go into battle with no remorse, no second thoughts and knowing that his soul is ready for whatever happens next.

I’m going into battle in a few days. The battle is going to be long and it’s going to be hard. I have every confidence that I’m going to survive but there will be moments when I will surely have my doubts.

So it’s confession time. Time to clear my conscience and bare my soul.

I am not wearing my Vibrams. At all. I love them and I wore them for several weeks. I was almost ready to try running in them. I really want to run in them and I really believe that they will help me get stronger. But my shins were getting so bad that I got scared and stopped wearing them completely. My shins got better. Maybe it was a coincidence or maybe they were the cause of the problem. I’m too scared to find out right now so I’ve packed them away in my closet – to be taken out once the race is done and the pressure’s off.

I’m not running five days per week. That was one of the goals that I set back in April – to work up to five runs per week. I’m stopping at four runs and replacing the fifth with a 30-40k bike ride. I just can’t do five – it’s too exhausting and it hurts too much. I just don’t feel like I have it in me to give more than that.

I’ve been running faster than I ever have before. Not record breaking fast but it seems like my body and I have finally figured out how to get out of the pace rut we’ve been in for the past two years. I like the little bit of extra speed I have now. But I have to be careful not to get too cocky. It’s a pace I can now sustain for 30 minutes easily. Sixty minutes is a challenge and anything beyond that is really very hard. I’m confessing to the sin of pride. Now that I’m getting faster I don’t want to have to slow down for the longer runs even though I know I have to. Damn it!

Thank you for hearing my confession.

Now it’s time to get ready for battle.

Day 4: Ten Things I Hate About You Diabetes

I have been dreading writing this post since I read it on the topic list last week. I never think of Diabetes as something other than just another part of my life. Yes, I get frustrated and yes, I get scared. But I adamantly refuse to waste time focusing on what I don’t like about Diabetes. It already takes up too much of my time and life is too short to hate anything. That being said, I will try…

1. I don’t like that the fact that I’m diabetic scares some people. I hate seeing the look in someone’s eye when I say my sugar is low. No matter how calmly I might say it, there are some people who seem to think I’m going to collapse in a heap in front of them. I’m not. Relax and just pass me some juice.

2. I resent how much money I spend to stay healthy. I want to be able to sign up for a race, get my hair cut or just buy a bottle of red wine without having to double check that I can afford it. I want to be able to save money. I want to have something left over after the bills are paid. I don’t. Way too much of my money goes to diabetes.

3. I want to walk barefoot outside all summer. I loved doing that as a kid and prided myself on how tough my feet got by the end of the summer. I could walk across the gravel driveway without a flinch. Now I keep my feet protected in sensible shoes all the time.

4. I can’t go for a run, even a short one, without it being a production. Must adjust insulin, must check sugar, must carry emergency glucose supply with me. Sometimes, I just want to go for a run in a t-shirt and shorts, no water belt, no snacks stuffed into pockets and no prescribed time or distance. Just run. I have never done that. Not once.

5. Eating when I’m not hungry sucks. Eating when I’m already stuffed from a huge dinner sucks big time. Eating when nauseous is just plain nauseating. I don’t like having to eat when I don’t want to.

6. Even less fun is wanting to eat but discovering a surprisingly high blood sugar and having to wait for it to go down first. My favourite thing in the world to have after a long run is a glass of chocolate milk. A post run high = no chocolate milk for me = not happy.

7. There is a part of me that spends every waking moment trying to figure out how I’m feeling. Not emotionally but physically. I can’t let my guard down. Watching a movie, watching the elite runners race to the finish line at the Boston marathon, giving a speech or making love. It’s hard to be 100% in the moment because a small part of me is constantly assessing and reassessing how I’m feeling. Am I high? Am I low? Climbing? Dropping?

8. One several occasions, I have told someone that I have diabetes and heard “oh, but I thought you were healthy”. I AM healthy damn it. Healthier than lots of people out there who have no chronic diseases. Go for a run with me, cycle up the Niagara Escarpment with me and then see what pops into your head. Diabetes? Probably not. Fit, healthy girl with strong legs - I would hope so.

9. Not knowing if what I’m feeling is me or just the diabetes is frustrating sometimes. Am I really upset about something or is my sugar just misbehaving and making me feel like I am? Am I tired and in need of a nap or is my sugar dropping? I second-guess emotions because I can’t be sure that they’re really mine.

10. I hate that I can actually think of nine things that I don’t like about Diabetes. But I do take comfort in the fact that it took me two days to come up with them. That must mean that I’m not too angry and bitter…right?

Day 2: Letter Writing Day

My dear pancreas,

I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately and wanted to say hi. I miss you. I know I didn’t pay much attention to you when I was younger. I admit that I didn’t really appreciate our relationship. In fact, I completely took you for granted. For that, I am so very sorry.

It was only when we started having problems that I realized how much I really needed you. But by then, it was too late. You were leaving and there was nothing I could do to make you stay. I was left frightened and feeling very alone.

It has been almost nine years since we’ve been together. A lot has happened since then. I want you to know that I’m doing fine. More than fine actually. At first, I worried that you left because of something I did. Perhaps if I had been better somehow you would have stayed. I now know that is not the case. There was nothing I could have done differently, nothing that would have changed the fact that you had to go. I’ve made my peace with that and I hope you are happy with your choices too.

Don’t worry, I am not angry or hurt. But I do miss you.

I want you to know that your leaving changed my life…for the better.

When you left, I grew strong and brave. I learned to question the choices I had made and understood how fragile life can be. I learned the importance of living for today and made changes to my life that I would not have had the courage to make when you and I were together. My life today is rich, challenging and full of love.

Ironically, I am much healthier now. I take really good care of myself and am surrounded by people who do the same. I am not afraid of being selfish – I have learned to say no. I choose things that make me feel good and avoid things that don’t.

Did you hear? I’m getting ready to start training for a marathon! How crazy is that? Do you remember when you and I used to work out together? A walk here, a step class there, some weights at the gym – that was it. You wouldn’t recognize me now - I would totally kick your ass.

Honestly, if you and I were still together, I would not be who I am today. Every brave, life-changing choice I ever made, I made after you left.

I am grateful for the time we did have together. Some people are not nearly as lucky as you and I were. We had 28 wonderful years and for that I will be forever grateful. As for what the future holds, I know very well how impossible that is to predict. We shall see won’t we?

Take care of yourself my friend. I will do the same.

Love,
Céline

Climb Back On

I have felt many emotions at the hand of diabetes.  I have felt humbled, frustrated, uncomfortable, capable, and inspired just to name a few.

I rarely feel scared.

This morning, around 3:30am, diabetes scared me.  It scared the shit out of me.

But it all started around 9:30pm last night so that's where the story begins.

Last night, Doug and I hosted a small dinner party with wonderful friends and delicious (if I do say so myself) food.  It started around 5 and, by 9:30pm, all was cleaned up and put away and we were watching the last end of the Scotland vs Norway curling game.

I checked my blood sugar and it was 3.0.  For those who might not know, that's pretty low.  Anything under 4.0 is a problem and the lower it gets, the bigger the problem it is.

So, it's 9:30pm and my blood sugar is 3.0.  Here's what I had to consider.  I took my dinner insulin bolus towards the end of the meal because most of the carbs were in the dessert portion.  So I had only taken insulin an hour prior.  Which means that the bolus was still working on the food I had eaten and my sugar was going to continue to drop.  I also knew that I had had a few glasses of wine which usually results in a lower blood sugar in the middle of the night (it's a liver thing).  So I had to eat and I had to eat a lot.

I had a banana, two dates, a scoop of nutella and some raisins.  All in all, probably close to 60 carbs.  That, I hoped, would take care of the immediate low and the one that I figured would happen around 3am.

I went to bed.

I woke up at 1:30am feeling pretty crappy.  Crappy like I had drunk two bottles of wine crappy.  So I checked my sugar.

It was 20.2

That, my friends, is bordering on insane.  I have had to figure out enough pre-bed snacks to know that I did not eat enough to go from 3.0 to 20.2.  What the hell was going on??

So I told my pump that I was 20.2 and it did the math and told me that I needed 4.6 units of insulin to bring me back down to a good number (5-7).  I took a little less than that to be on the safe side.  I didn't want to go from too high to too low - the yoyo thing sucks.  So I took less insulin than the pump suggested and figured I would wake up in the morning with a number between 8-9.

I went back to sleep.

I woke up two hours later and knew we had a problem.  I checked my sugar again and this time it was 1.7

I believe that is the lowest I have ever been in my life.  Readers with diabetes can probably imagine how scary that number would be.  For those of you without it, trust me.  It feels awful (you're shaking from head to toe, you're sweating so much you've created a small lake in the bed, you're scared and your heart is pounding in your ears).  My brain immediately asked "what happens if you drop to zero?"  I have no idea and I have no desire to EVER find that out.

The best solution in an emergency like that is send the person next to you to get juice NOW!  Problem was that we ran out of juice that evening.  And chocolate milk.  So, rather than explain what I needed, I woke Doug up and told him to come to the kitchen with me and make sure I didn't collapse.

I gagged down a few spoonfuls of honey (I hate honey but it works).  I mixed a glass of water and sugar and drank that. I ate nutella and I had handfuls of raisins.  I stumbled back to bed and checked my sugar again.

2.2

Omigod.

I told Doug that if I collapsed, had a seizure or whatever, to just call 911.

I had more carbs.

Ten minutes later I was 5.5.

Safe.

I figured that my sugar would just continue to climb since I had eaten so much food but I didn't care.  After 1.7, I would take 20.  Anything to escape that terrifying number.

I lay there shivering while my body recovered and eventually fell asleep.  When I woke up this morning, I was 8.6.

Like nothing had happened.

Sunday morning is cycling morning.  I was exhausted when the alarm went off at 6:30 and felt like I had been to hell and back.

Not only did I wake up exhausted, I woke up terrified that it could happen again.  What if it happens when I'm out riding?  Out running?  Alone??  I just wanted to go back to sleep.  I didn't want to to anything that might cause my sugar to drop again. But I knew that I had to go riding this morning otherwise the fear would keep building and I'd be too afraid to run on Tuesday.  Get back on the horse.  Immediately.  Before the fear wins.  

So I did.  I did my usual routine, ate my usual breakfast, took my usual bolus and went cycling with my friends.

Everything went well and my blood sugar behaved.

I have no idea what really happened last night but it taught me a few lessons.  I'm heading out to buy juice boxes that will stay by the bed.  Others will be kept downstairs and I will NOT run out again.

A little voice keeps popping in my head saying "you could have died last night".

Lesson learned.

Back in the Saddle Again

My recovery week is at an end.

I relaxed.

I walked.

I put my legs up on the couch and read for hours at a time.

It was nice which it lasted.

Tomorrow, I have to be up, fed and ready to ride with the Runners' Edge cycling club by 8am.  It's our first outdoor bike ride of the year.  The first since last November when it just got way too cold to be on the road.

It's too bad that we can run when it's minus 30 degrees out but we have to stop cycling as soon as it gets anywhere near zero.  But it's just too hard on a bike because speed equals wind which equals really really cold.  Imagine driving your car in the winter with the windows open and you get the idea.

Tomorrow, we're braving the elements.  It's supposed to be above zero but that still means that we will have several layers on and probably won't be able to feel our fingers, toes or face by the end of the ride.

Not having ridden outside for a few months, it's going to be a challenge to get the body moving again.  We've been riding our trainers indoors all winter but it's not the same...at all. It's a lot harder on a bike when there are real hills to climb and incessant wind to contend with.

My feelings about cycling are really mixed.  I love love love being on a bike.  I love the speed and I love how we travel so far so fast.  Compared to running, we cover a huge amount of distance in no time at all and our weekend rides take us up and down the Niagara Escarpment as we explore all that this area has to offer.

My issues with cycling can be blamed entirely on my very active imagination and the very real car accident that my family and I were in when I was 16.  I am terrified of what could happen if I lose control or if a car pulls out in front of me.  I hate blind corners and I doubly hate steep hills that abruptly end at a stop sign.  Shaking, sweating, panicky kinda scared.  I am scared when other cyclists ride too close to my back wheel, when squirrels look like they might dart in front of me, or when I can't see right to the bottom of the hill.  It's just too easy to imagine all the things that could happen...in very vivid detail.

The good news is that I've never been one to let fear dictate what I do.  It's there and I can't make it go away.  But I've learned to control it.  I know how to breathe through the fear in a way that keeps me in control and lets me enjoy the ride.  I take my time in areas that frighten me and, when I need to, I will let everyone else go ahead of me so that I can go at my own pace.

The end result is that I get to do something I love, be with people I like being with, and prove to myself yet again that fear can be managed and conquered.

Plus we get to go to Tim Hortons afterwards for our weekly coffee klatsch which makes it all worthwhile!

I Choose Life

I run to keep the diabetes monsters at bay. 

I cycle so that the side effects of this insidious disease can't catch me.

I walk to keep my blood sugars under control.

These reasons are very true and they get me out of bed on dark, cold winter mornings when I have to run for 2 hours.  They are also what push me out the door when it's hot and humid and I have hill training to do. 

Diabetes gets me moving because, truth be told, I'm scared of what might happen if I don't.

But once my shoes are on and I am outside, diabetes no longer plays a role in my motivation.

My love of exercise takes over and I run, cycle or walk because I love it.  Because I love being outside in all weathers.  I love exploring Niagara. I love feeling strong and capable.  I love surprising myself with how much I can do. 

I don't want to be grateful for diabetes. 

I want to kick it in the ass.

Diabetes does not go away so I have two choices:
- accept diabetes and get on with my life
- let diabetes hang like a cloud over everything I do. 

I choose life. 

So I guess I have to be grateful for diabetes for forcing me to decide what is important to me.  Some people are never forced to make that decision and, as a result, life just moves quietly along... 

Diabetes forces me to make that decision every day.  Will I choose life?  Will I take care of my body today so that I can keep it strong enough to fight.  Thanks to diabetes, I have built amazing friendships with people who share a love of fitness and the outdoors.  I have run thousands of kilometers and cycled for countless hours. I have crossed finish lines and have a dresser top covered in medals. I am fit, healthy, strong and happy. 

Before diabetes, I exercised because I felt like I should. 

Since diabetes, I exercise because I can.

And for that I am so very grateful.

“This post is my March entry in the DSMA Blog Carnival.  If you’d like to participate too, you can get all of the information at http://diabetessocmed.com/2011/march-dsma-blog-carnival“

The Runner's Circle

Six more sleeps until Around the Bay and my first attempt to run 30k.

All runners face doubts when they tackle a new distance. Can I do it?  Do I physically have what it takes to run that far?  Will my shins hold up?  My feet?  My calves?  My shoulders? Am I mentally prepared to run when I don't want to run anymore?  Run when I don't think I can run anymore? 

Oh, and don't forget the never-ending concerns about misbehaving blood sugars, having enough fast acting carbs and insulin pump mishaps.  Did I mention that I won't have my beloved support team with me on race day?

That's when the really scary thoughts creep in. What if I can't do it?  I mean really can't do it?

Ugh! 

Races are ridiculous.  I sign up for them because they motivate me to train.  I focus on them and that feeling I'll have when I cross the finish line.  I wear the race shirts with pride and have all my finisher's medals on my dresser.

And yet I don't really like races all that much.  What I really love is the training.  I love my solitary runs on Tuesday nights. I love the long runs on Saturday mornings that get a little longer each week. I love knowing that I'm getting stronger and that distances that seemed overwhelming during my last training are a little easier this time around.  I love that my shins and calves held up a few weeks longer this time before they started to scream. 

I don't really care about the race.  Sure, the camaraderie is fun and being part of something historic is exciting but, in many ways, it's rather anticlimatic.  Twelve weeks of work culminate in 3 1/2 hours of running and then it's over.  Another medal, another bib number, another race checked off the list.

When I ran my first half marathon, I went home afterwards and sat in my ice bath nursing my cup of coffee.  To celebrate, my partner at the time put on the song that I had played after every long run during my training. 

And I burst into tears. 

I felt so lost now that the race was over.  Now what was I going to do?

Thankfully, I've become a little less emotional since then.  I now look forward to my two weeks off after a race and I look forward to starting a new training schedule with fresh legs and a new race on the horizon. Crossing a finish line is no longer the end of the world - it's just the end of the race.

This time next week, I'll be enjoying my post-race day off.  I'll be walking kinda funny, drinking lots of water and enjoying one, maybe two, well deserved naps. I probably won't collapse into tears sitting in a bathtub full of ice water, wearing a sweatshirt and hat and nursing my hot cup of coffee (seriously, how pitiful is that image?) but I will wander around like a lost puppy for a few days.  Thankfully, I now know what to expect before, during and after a race.

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It's the circle of life Simba.

The life of a runner that is.