Seasonal Ambitions

To everything there is a season. Except when there isn't. 

Curling season ended on Friday night. That's it now until some time in late October. 

Which means that golf season is starting. 

Some years there is a bit of overlap. In fact last year by mid-March, many curlers were squeezing in a round of golf before their curling games on Friday nights. It was a little surreal. This year, because of the cold, the golf season is still a few weeks off. 

Once it starts though - watch out!

When the weather starts to turn cold in the fall, my curling friends and I start getting excited to get back on the ice. We sign up for bonspiels, we show up on Sunday mornings to practice, we love it! 

A few weeks before the end of March, when the season is wrapping up, we start showing up less than ten minutes before we need to be on the ice. We still have fun when we're there but we also start talking about how much we are looking forward to having Friday evenings free. The curling season is over and so is our excitement for it. 

We're already dreaming about golf. 

And golf is the best thing ever...until about October. That's when I start looking forward to taking a break from the golf course and getting back on the curling ice. 

It got me thinking about the other activities I do. The ones I do all year-round. When it comes to swimming, cycling and running, there really isn't a season. 

Sure, there is an indoor cycling season and an outdoor one. An indoor swimming season and an outdoor one. But the activity itself never stops. Just where I do it changes. 

How come I don't get tired of those activities the way I do with curling or golf? Is it precisely because there is no 'season' and I can't afford to get tired of them? Do I approach seasonal sports differently because there is a 'finish line' of sorts? Is it all in my head and, if curling went year-round, I would enjoy it year round? 

To everything there is a season. Except when there isn't one. 

Speaking of golf, how fun is this golf skort? A lovely little nod to the Irish half of my heritage don't you think? 

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!

Dexter versus the Crazy Rabbit

Most of you who frequent Running on Carbs with any regularity will know that Dexter is what I lovingly call my Dexcom...also known as my continuous glucose monitor.

Crazy Rabbit hasn't made his presence known recently but he is who I use to describe the unpredictable curveballs that diabetes likes to throw. Check this story out if you want a good example.

The last 36 hours have been a showdown between Dexter and the Crazy Rabbit. I have no idea who is winning but it sure as hell isn't me.

Tuesday morning is when it all began. I went for a lovely 8k run before work, enjoying one of the last crisp cool mornings before spring begins (I hope!). After breakfast and my shower I noticed that Dexter was barely hanging on. He was already 8 days old, had been zombified once and was covered in Tegaderm to keep him in place.

I carefully dried him off, asked Doug to hold him in position and secured him with a new Tegaderm. He seemed ok as I gingerly pulled on my coat.

I headed off to work and during my 75 second commute to the office, Dexter started buzzing. Three vibrations means I'm under 4.0. Four means I'm under 3.5. Four loud siren-type noises means I'm under 3.0. He was yelling at the top of his lungs as I walked into the office. I had just finished breakfast and felt fine. I checked my blood sugar and I was 7.5. I calibrated Dexter and put him on my desk where he sits during the day. Within fifteen minutes he was chirping that I was 17.5 and climbing.

My glucometer said I was 8.5.

Not good.

I told the ladies I was heading out for 15 minutes and drove back home. I took off the failing sensor and put on a new one. It takes two hours for a new sensor to be ready to go. New sensors always work well so I figured things would be back to normal once the two-hour sensor setup routine was over.

Two hours later, Dexter beeped telling me he was ready for me to calibrate him. To calibrate, I need to test my blood sugar twice and enter both numbers. Not having eaten in several hours, I was holding pretty steady. I entered my numbers (both in the mid 7s) and put him back on my desk.

A cold, dark and evil wind from the north blew in, bringing my old friend with it.

At 11:30am  I tested and I was 6.0. Dexter said I was 11. I re-calibrated, took insulin and ate my salad.

By 12:30pm he was alarming that I was dropping fast and already down to 3.9.

I was 7.5.

I re-calibrated.

All afternoon he told me one thing and my glucometer told me another. By dinner, I was apparently 17.5 again despite a blood test telling me I was 8.5.

By 6:30pm I had had enough and decided to shut down the sensor. I shut it down, lied to Dexter by telling him I had inserted a new one and started it back up again hoping things would settle down.

At 9:00pm the sensor was ready to go and the craziness started all over again.

By 10pm, I shut down the sensor a second time knowing it would wake me up at midnight to tell me it was ready to go.

At midnight, after hours without food and what should be a steady blood sugar, I re-calibrated him and went back to sleep. He had me up several times in the night telling me that I was several numbers lower or higher than I actually was.

By the morning, my fingers were bruised from all the testing and I was exhausted. No swim for me.

I could have changed Dexter again and put in a new sensor but I persevered. I was not sure what the problem was but I didn't want to lose an almost new sensor if I could help it. Those puppies are expensive!

After breakfast, Dexter told me I was 8.4. I tested to confirm and my glucometer said 4.2. Impossible. I just ate and felt fine. I retested on a different finger and this time my glucometer said I was 8.5.

4.2 on one finger and 8.5 on the other?

Now I'm starting to wonder - is Dexter having a bad day or is my glucometer on the fritz? Have I been trying to force Dex to calibrate using numbers that weren't accurate to begin with?

All day Wednesday I tested and calibrated every hour. By dinner, Dex was either bang on with every test or off by a bit.

I headed to bed early. Exhausted. With fingers that ached from all the testing.

Between all the sensor restarts, calibrations and double-checks, my fingers endured over 30 tests in 36 hours.

I'm not sure how things will look by the time this post is up on Thursday morning.

All I know is that, if this keeps up, I'm making rabbit stew. With a serial killer thrown in.

Working on the Little Things

I was reading the latest Triathlon Canada magazine yesterday.

It's a magazine that mysteriously started arriving at our door without either of us having actually subscribed to it which is a little odd. The magazine is in Doug's name so my best guess is that, if someone makes it on the podium at a triathlon event in Canada they get a free one-year subscription.

If the magazine were in my name I might think that, if you compete in several triathlons and finally make it out of the bottom 5 in your age group they congratulate you buy giving you a subscription. But it's not in my name so that hypothesis is out the window.

Whatever the reason, it's a fun little present to get in the mail every two months.

The latest issue had an article about things that triathletes should work on to improve their overall race day performance.

In running, the goal was to increase speed and so the thing to do was interval training.

In swimming, the goal was to get better at kicking so they had some kicking drills to do at the pool.

In cycling, the goal was bike handling. Not bike speed or hill climbing or whatnot but bike handling. Specifically, braking efficiently and at the right time as well as turning tight corners.

Almost every triathlon or duathlon event I've been in has been an out and back course. That means that, at some point, I get to a pylon in the middle of the road and I am expected to slow down, and negotiate a rather tight turn before heading back the way I came.

Every time this happens, I spend the first half of the ride dreading that turn. I slow right down, unclip both pedals and almost always end up with one foot on the ground to stabilize me and prevent a spill.

Why?

Because I have really bad balance. And because I'm not particularly good at handing my bike. Point me in the right direction and I'm good to go but please don't ask me to make a quick turn, to go over loose gravel or even reach for my water bottle without a long stretch of flat road ahead of me.

So the article suggests that people like me head to a quiet parking lot and practice turning in tighter and tighter circles. The ultimate goal is to be able to turn between the lines of a parking space without falling off your bike or unclipping your pedals.

Guess what I'll be doing once the weather warms up?

A Little Too Impressive

Last Friday, I went to hear Vicki Keith speak. She is a pretty famous Canadian who has accomplished some pretty impressive swims.

Vicki swam across Lake Ontario doing the butterfly. Imagine that for a moment. Imagine the amount of energy that would take. It makes swimming across the lake doing freestyle seem almost easy.

Another time, she swam a return trip across the lake. Swim across, touch the 'wall' turn around and swim back. They told her it could not be done. So she did it.

She swam across all five Great Lakes in one summer even though they told her it could not be done. In fact she swam across all five Great Lakes in one summer precisely because they told her it could not be done.

While I listened to her speak, I kept leaning over to my friend next to me to whisper words of shock.

She swam for 100 hours straight?!?!

She swam the butterfly across Lake Ontario!?!?

Vicki Keith is a pretty impressive athlete and is equally impressive outside of the water. She coaches swimmers with physical disabilities. She has raised over $1,000,000 towards this cause. She is a motivational speaker. As they introduced her I lost track of all the world records she had set.

Last Friday I went to hear what she had to say.

I was impressed. I really was.

But I was not motivated.

Vicki has accomplished such incredible feats that they seem superhuman.

If she had been an accomplished 10k swimmer, I would have been motivated. I would have felt that she was someone to look up to, to pin up in my locker, to read more about.

Instead, the things she talked about were so big they almost didn't sound real.

Is it possible for people to be so impressive that, instead of motivating, they actually do the opposite? Most humans could never do what she talked about doing. It's just too big. Too overwhelming.

The idea of swimming for 10 hours is inspiring. The idea of swimming for 100 hours is not. Not to me anyway. That sort of thing falls into the category of fascinating. Of interesting. Of amazing.

But not motivating.

I know. It surprised me too.

Just Add "Yet"

I often see motivational messages that say things like "there is no such thing as "I can't"."

It's a good message and probably helps encourage people to do things they don't think they can do.

I don't particularly agree with the message though. There are all sorts of things that I could say "I can't" to and be perfectly right in saying them.

I think the more empowering way to think about it is to say "I can't...yet."

"I can't" sounds so negative. Even when it's perfectly true.

Add the word 'yet" to the end of the sentence and suddenly a whole world of possibilities opens up.

"I can't run a half marathon in under 2:20" sounds self-defeating.

"I can't run a half marathon in under 2:20...yet" inspires me to go figure out what I would need to do to make it happen.

I can't do a half-ironman.

I can't cycle any faster than 30km/hour.

I can't run 10k in under an hour.

I can't swim 100m in under 1:35.

Add the word "yet" to any of the above and suddenly I have a list of goals to work on.

I think "yet" is my new favourite word.

When Ted Talks - Listen

Last weekend, on a drive up to Toronto, Doug and I were listening to the radio. Most specifically, we were listening to a Ted Talk about health care. The person speaking was a young lady who had been doing some kind of internship in a medical centre. While she was there, she asked the doctors all sorts of questions. One question in particular changed everything.

She asked the doctors what they would do if they could change the way they provided service.

The doctors said that they would take more time with each patient to find out what they really needed. The said that they were frustrated with having to prescribe antibiotics for someone with recurring infections or inhaler refills for a child whose asthma is triggered by cold...knowing that the family could not afford to pay their heating bills. They were so busy that all they did was write prescriptions to treat the condition, not solve the underlying issue.

It was about getting people healthy. Not keeping people healthy.

This girl took it upon herself to change how the clinic worked and the interview was about the changes that had been made.

Now, when a patient comes in, the first person they meet with asks them all sorts of questions. Not questions about their health but questions about their lives. Questions like "do you run out of food before the end of the month? Do you life in a safe place? Do you have trouble paying your utility bills? Do you have access to fresh fruits and vegetables?".

They then meet with the doctor for the medical reason they came about (ex. refills for their child's asthma inhaler).

The doctor then writes a prescription. Or two. Or three.

They write a prescription for refills but they might also write one for heat. Or fresh produce.

The person is then sent to the last stop - to meet with a highly trained community advocate that helps connect them to community resources. Resources such as a local food bank. Or a community garden. Other times, they advocate for the person by calling the heating company to apply for reduced billing due to low income.

The clinic now gets people healthy again and then helps keep them that way.

Pretty amazing stuff eh?

I took notes in the car as we drove. It got me thinking about the presentation I'm doing in a few weeks at a conference on diabetes. To diabetes doctors. And nurses. And dieticians. And all sorts of other people who help people like us.

I don't think it's realistic to ask them to prescribe heat and fresh veggies to people they support but I do think it's a pretty powerful message to ask them to really think about the person sitting in front of them. As a whole person. With life challenges and stressors and children at home and work deadlines and unpaid bills and depression and whatever else that person in front of them might have hidden in their back pocket.

Health care has got to be about more than the label of illness and the test results. It should be about helping people to get healthy and, more importantly, helping them stay that way.