Stubborn Luck

Over lunch today I had someone ask me how my recovery was going. People have been commenting on the fact that I'm in heels, or that I look good since the break, and that it's nice to see me without the walker. It's hard to believe that just a few months ago I was confined to my bed in a ridiculous amount of pain. With the exception of when I first wake up, my limp is almost nonexistent. With the exception of the one-inch scar on my thigh, you'd never know I have three freakishly large pins holding my femur together.

"You made it look so easy, you handled it so well."

Did I? I don't think I did. I think I threw a fit the first night I was home. I distinctly remember throwing a pillow while crying because I was in pain and couldn't sleep. I remember taking my first shower, sitting on a shower seat with my leg hanging out of the shower because it was too painful to get all the way in and just sobbing. And when I say sobbing, I mean the all the way from your gut ugly sob, the kind where you can't breathe, but you don't make a sound.

Those first two weeks I cried...a lot. Those first two weeks I swore...a lot. Those first two weeks I lost hope...a lot.

I threw countless pity parties for myself. Sometimes people would indulge me, more often than not they wouldn't. I appreciate the times they wouldn't.

Sure, it's fine to wallow in self-pity on occasion, because let's face it, the situation sucked...like really sucked. I went from running four days a week and hitting the gym at least two to three times a week to nothing. Zip, zero, zilch, nada, nyet, etc. I watched my leg muscles atrophy and it killed me. I worked for that calf, I worked for that quad and hammy. I put miles on those legs, they carried me through some of my toughest runs and helped me through some crazy shit, and they were disappearing before my eyes.

It was devastating.

I hated being helpless. I hated having people open doors, carry things for me, help me to my car. It drove me insane. Now, I would like to point out in a normal situation, I don't mind these things, but when I had a walker and physically could not do it myself, it enraged me.  Thank you to those that understood that and let me be stubborn, but finally stepped in when they knew I needed it and whispered words of encouragement so I wouldn't be defeated.

That helplessness humbled me though. The struggle of finding convenient parking (yes, I refused to get a temporary handicap parking tag...stubborn, remember?), the amount of time it took to get somewhere, the fact that I was exhausted from walking into a building, it humbled me. People do this on a daily basis and are not like me, they won't be getting better. I am so incredibly lucky.

It's cheesy to say that, but I am.

My recovery for all intents and purposes has been perfect. Everything is healing the right way to the point that I tend to forget I even broke it...well until I overdo it at the gym.

I'll repeat it, I am so incredibly lucky.

And maybe I did make it look easy, but I can promise you, it hasn't been easy, and it's not over yet. I still have a little more than a month before I can run and I just started reincorporating weights into my workout (cautiously of course). I had to laugh the other night because when I was leaving the gym I ran into my chiropractor. We were chatting on our way to our cars and he asked how I was doing. While catching up I mentioned that my surgeon humors me, he gets that I'm stubborn and that I want to push through and get to the finish line. My chiropractor laughed, tilted his head and said, "Yeah, I get that, in fact, I'm pretty sure I humored you, too."

I can see the finish line approaching and I know it's not the full finish. I know I'll have to work back to where I was and I know I'll still have to go at a turtles pace. But I can see it and I'm ready.

From Zero to Marathon

I went back to work on Wednesday. I had told my boss come hell or high water I would be at my desk that morning. I honestly cannot tell you just how amazing it was to be back at my desk. It was the normalcy I craved. Now, don't get me wrong, it didn't come without some babying, and constant checks to see how I was. I have a feeling that will continue until I ditch the walker.

I worked at the office Wednesday and Thursday, full days. Friday morning though, I woke up, started to get ready for work and Scott finally looked me in my clearly exhausted eyes and said, "just work from home today." He was so right. My friend Leona compared it to marathon training and how after a few hard runs you need to either dial back your miles or rest. So, reluctantly, I did just that.

I've mentioned it before, but the mental games that come with this injury are by far the hardest. I look fine by all accounts, and if you saw me at my desk (and didn't see the walker), you would never know I'm two weeks post-op. And the reality is I don't know if anyone really knows how much it takes a toll on me.

Something I have mastered over the years is the stoic face while in the midst of a crisis. Maybe it's the years of PR training, maybe it's my Eastern European heritage, who knows. The point is, in a crisis, I will never show my cards. You will never see me cry (unless you are deep in the inner circle), you may see a slight fluster, but that's it. When my son took a ball to the ribs at practice and dropped, I portrayed the calm parent, but on the inside, I was screaming. When my daughter went through a fence on her horse and flung to the ground, I didn't scream, I didn't yell, I was calm on the outside. In the midst of all of this, I've shown a calm face, a smile, an "I'm totally okay" but inside I'm screaming, I'm wailing, I'm defeated.

Staying home on Friday was a giant pity party. I was upset with myself. Upset that I couldn't make it another day in the office. That I was weak. I cannot tell you how many times I was reminded that I'm still healing, that I'm actually probably going too fast. I was reminded of all that I've accomplished in the two weeks, and yet, it's not good enough for me.

I know this is going to be a long process. I know this is going to be a challenge both physically and mentally. I'm thankful for my friends and family who talk me through my pity parties. The amount of support I have is ridiculous honestly. It's so much more than any one person normally has, and I am so grateful for it.

Each day brings a new victory and I'm hoping to accomplish more this week than last week. And by accomplishing more, I mean actually work and go places, not accomplish watching more documentaries on Netflix.

Only 3 more weeks with the walker. Okay, 3 weeks, 4 days, and 16 hours from the moment I write this. But who's counting? Me...that's who.

With Patience Comes Healing

I'm officially two weeks post op today. It's been an extremely long two weeks. I have been tested physically but mainly mentally/emotionally.

The first week literally beat me up. I cried, I screamed, I threw pillows and I threw several pity parties for myself. It sucked. It sucked so much.

Week two just messed with me. I was physically feeling better. I was splitting time between the upstairs and downstairs. I was going out of the house. Everything was getting easier. But I still couldn't do everything I wanted to do,  and really I still can't.

The surgeon was great today. I think he enjoys the fact that I am significantly younger than most patients for this surgery, so I'm an exception to his rules. He cleared me to drive, he cleared me for work, and he cleared me to start putting 20lbs of weight on my leg. I don't really know what that would be, so to be safe I just won't do more than just tap my foot on the ground.

I am incredibly thankful for everyone that has either come over to hang, texted me ridiculous things to make me laugh, flown down from Chicago (what up Tay Tay) and most importantly fed my family. Honestly, I don't know what we would have done without all those meals!

I'm pretty excited to head back into the office tomorrow, I even get to drive myself (shout out to the Doc for getting that approved!). Now let's hope these next four weeks fly by!

But the Reality is...

That this sucks. This whole experience has been on the most mentally and emotionally draining experiences of my life. I have cried more over the dumbest (well, in my mind) things and have had full on breakdowns.

Today I went to my GP so I could get a referral for my follow-up with the surgeon (yeah, I don't get it either). While I was there the nurse asked if I had been feeling depressed and I laughed and said well I have been in my bed for a week so...

But the reality is I have been, how could you not be? The highlight of my day yesterday was that I can downstairs and got to sit on a barstool. I can't sleep because I'm on my back, which I'm sick of being on my back.

I can't do anything alone. I have to have someone on hand for everything. I'm an insanely independent person so the fact that I need Scott to get me in and out of the shower, car, you name it, makes me insane.

I also know people are walking on eggshells to a point to not upset me or give me a case of FOMO (that's fear of missing out, Mom), but the reality is, it sucks. I know everyone else is living their best life, you don't have to hide it. Scott felt guilty for running the other day and I laughed. Why? It sucks, but it is what it is.

I know this is going to be a long process and it's only starting (151 days until July 1st, thank you, Shelly!). Each day will have its own unique struggle, but it will also have its own unique little victory. Today's victory? I made it downstairs, in the car, and into the doctor's office with no pain.

Only 151 more days to go...

Best Laid Plans

My plan for 2019 was big. Well, not huge, but my plan was to get as close as possible to a 2:15 half, to run races I hadn't done before, to start cycling, and maybe do some duathlons. But as we know, the best-laid plans go awry.

Let me set the scene for you...I found a bike. Okay, I didn't find the bike, my husband's friend found a bike. I fell in love with the bike. It was white with light pink accents. It was beautiful. I went away to Jekyll Island with some of my running friends for a 10k and he was set to get the bike. The seller bailed.

No bike.

Then my husband found a red bike for the same price. It was pretty, it was red, it was sassy. It was mine. I got the photo of the bike on the back of my husband's car and I could barely contain my excitement.

I have a bike!

I ordered a helmet, bike shorts, a jersey, gloves, and finally went to get shoes. Now, let me share something about myself. I'm stubborn. You know the phrase stubborn as a mule? That's cute. I'm worse.

I went to a local bike store to get fitted for shoes. I decided I would go straight for clip-in shoes.

Clip-in. Shoes.

Scott tried to talk me out of them, he really did, but realized it was an effort in futility. We got home, I snagged some lunch, put on my adorable running tights and cycling shorts, helmet, and snazzy shoes. Scott had me practice a few times in the garage while he was holding the bike, I had him adjust the tension on the clips so it was easier to clip in and out. I walked my bike to the top of the driveway, hopped on, clipped in and...

Fell.

I hopped back up. I was totally fine. I got back on, clipped one foot in, threw my other foot up and it wouldn't clip and I wobbled and down I went...hard. Really hard. Like I screamed hard.

I curled up in a ball, I wailed, struggled to get up. Scott got me back into the garage and asked if I was okay. I was in denial. Just get ice, I'm fine. He humored me for thirty minutes and made me get in the car.

Go big or go to the ER, right?

We got to the ER and my leg muscle was spasming. I went for an x-ray and did everything to not flip off the x-ray tech when she asked me to roll on my hip. Oh, the one that is radiating with pain? This one? Throw all my body weight on this? Kiss my ass.

Then we waited. I had an 800 of Motrin and that totally took the pain away. Omg I almost couldn't type that because I was laughing so hard. Anyway, we waited and I heard the page from radiology for my doctor. I could see him from my bed and I saw his head tilt when he looked at his computer. Shit. Then I saw him walk to the printer. Well shit. Then he walked towards my room. I looked at Scott and said, "I broke something."

I was right.

I broke my femur right at the socket. I was lucky because I was pretty compressed so it never displaced. But nonetheless, I broke my femur.

Everything after that was rapid fire. I heard surgery, maybe tonight, don't drink any water, you're getting admitted. I just stared and tried to wrap my head around the fact that I now would not be able to run the half marathon I was signed up for on Sunday.

I was admitted shortly after and spent the night waiting. The next morning I met the surgeon. I would be getting 3 pins placed in my femur.

I'm friggin' bionic.

Or something like that.

Anyway, I had surgery and spent another day in the hospital. Huge shout out to my friends for coming and keeping me company (and for the snacks!).

I've been home since Wednesday and it's been an adventure. I'm stuck in my bed until my follow-up and I have the sweetest walker this side of the nursing home. I already know that I'm probably not running until July at the earliest and it's killing me. Now I just wait and see what the plan is for rehab and moving forward.

I really do want to say thank you to everyone that has checked on me, visited, brought my family dinner, sent flowers, sent inappropriate memes, you name it. Thank you to my sister for coming down to help out, even though I think the main reason you came down was to skip the sub-arctic temps in Chicago.

But I couldn't do it without Scott. Thank you for letting me freak out, throw a pillow, cry, sob, wail, cuss, and have the biggest pity party. Thank you for being the best nurse I could have!

Now let the countdown to July begin....

2018 Recap and Plans for 2019

Part of me is surprised that it is 2019, and then the other part of me is like OMG finally! 2018 was kind of a really long year, is it just me?

2018 had its share of challenges for me, but it also had a ton of milestones. I completed my first (and only?) Goofy Challenge. Yes, that's 39.3 miles in two days...back to back...because I'm clearly Goofy. It was some of the coldest conditions I've run in for the half and then for the full, we had a 20-degree temperature swing from race start to finish. It was disgusting! But you know what? I did it, and I bet my previous marathon time. And it did it all with my squad beside me.

I also crushed the Princess Half Marathon. I have been chasing a finishing time of 2:30 for a long time and this year I wanted it more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. I ran with two members of my squad and they got me to mile 7.5 ish before telling me to run and if they caught me they'd kick my ass. It was when I hit the fountain in EPCOT after the turnaround that I knew I could do it. It was within my reach. I dug as deep as I could and when I passed the 2:30 pacer that I had lost around mile 5 I started to tear up. I did it. I did it with seconds to spare, but dammit I did it.

Oh, and I did this little thing called the Chicago Marathon. My niece and I signed up through ALZ Stars and planned to run together. Somehow I got a 43 minute and change PR. While that was awesome, nothing, and I mean nothing, beats running those 26.2 miles with my niece. To see how far she has come in her running and to
have her right there with me was the best thing I could have ever asked for.

I do not have any big races planned for 2019. Right now my focus is to run races I've never done before. I want to explore. I want to work on speed. I want to work on stamina. Basically, I want to be the best version of me, both running and personally, that I can be. I cannot wait to see what 2019 brings me. Thank you 2018 for serving me a giant slice of humble pie, now watch in 2019.

Look Who's Back...Back Again

It's been a while...a year and four months to be exact. A lot has happened in the time, I'll save you the details, but in short, we bought a house (and survived), I changed jobs (and love it), Scott was promoted (I think? I can't remember), the kids turned 10, I ran two more marathons, a few more half marathons, and I do not want to admit how many pairs of running shoes I've gone through.

I've lost myself, I've found myself, maybe I lost myself again, and maybe I'm working to find myself. I realized I missed writing for fun. I write on a daily basis for work, but let's be real, it's boring and gray. (Is it gray or grey? I flip flop between the two)

I want to start writing again. I want to document my life, my struggles, my triumphs, my "you won't believe what the hell just happened to me" moments. I'm happy to be back...now grab some coffee and let's start chatting again, I've missed you.

Therapy Running

This past year has been, by far, the most challenging year I have had as a wife, mother, and well, quite frankly, as a human being. I'm not even being a little dramatic, this past year just killed me mentally.

I honestly don't know how I coped with things prior to running because this past year that's the only way I coped. I cannot tell you how many miles ended in tears, moments of satisfaction or just moments that told me it was going to be okay.

A couple weeks ago I laced up my shoes after quite possibly one of the worst mornings of my life. I had to run it out. I had to get myself in a zone that focused on nothing but getting from point A to point B. I pushed myself, hard. And surprisingly, when my run was done, the worst morning of my life was the best day of my life. The hardship was behind me. The frustration was gone.

Find whatever it is that will give you that release, because to have that moment of bliss after pure shit is one of the best moments in the world.