First of all, waking up in the hospital with BIGGER BOOBS than when I checked in was nothing short of a moment of glory. Secondly, I found out that because of my cancer & reconstructive surgery I won't have to pay full price for a bra. EVER. AGAIN. And I can buy the pretty ones too, according to the lady at the store, not just the geriatric boulder holders in skin color beige on the front rack.
As you have probably guessed I'm a glass half full kind of gal, always looking for that silver lining. So finding out I could have the nice front porch I've always dreamed of, free bras and also not ever actually needing to wear one again, well that was a trifecta of awesomeness.
My reconstruction process has begun with "tissue expanders" where my new boobs will go eventually. How it works is the plastic surgeon puts these pockets into your chest wall, behind the muscle. There's usually some fluid already included in them (in my case a hell of a lot more than what the doctor carved out and sent to the lab!) and then you go in for regular appointments where they inject (think Pulp Fiction here) more fluid until they reach the "desired" appearance. Is there a t-shirt out there that says "pardon our dust during reconstruction" right over the boob area? I totally want one of those.....
So it's kind of like braces for your boobs. You go in regularly to have your boobs blown up until they look straight. Then the doctor will swap out the "tissue expanders" for the fake booby stuff and you're in and out in a day. I was hoping to have the new girls on display in August when Mark and I head to Hawaii, but I may not be done. It depends on how fast we can pump those babies up.
I've been given several name suggestions, and I certainly welcome more. I'll start a poll here soon and together we'll name the girls. Here's what I have so far:
Thelma & Louise
Laverne & Shirley
Sonny & Cher
Bill & Hillary (how appropriate to name boobs after boobs!)
Shaggy & Scooby
Jack & Jill
Left & Right
Georgia Dickover and Jennie Titus Smith Morris (tribute to my sorority heritage)
So please keep them coming, and they don't have to be pairs either. I can't tell you enough how much your love and support has kept us all going, and heck, it even forced Mark to use Facebook. Miracles do happen.....
Wednesday, July 18, 2012
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
I'll be just fine
Here's the thing. Learning you have cancer isn't the worst thing. The worst thing is that lag time between finding out you have cancer and finding out how bad it is and what you need to do to treat it. Your mind goes to some very dark places that you don't ever want to visit. Once I got writer's block on my obituary I decided to call it a day however.
I am ever so thankful that the time difference was about 48 hours. So I had two days to completely freak out. I can't imagine a week or more, I probably would have lost my schmidt. Well, I guess I kind of did, but I'm back now. I'm back, baby! And I'll be fine.
Another hard thing was telling the kids. I figured my oldest child, who is 8, would probably have the toughest time, and the little guy would be like "cancer wha?" and then "where's my star wars action figure."
I got it pretty well spot on. The oldest child gasped so hard when she heard the word "CANCER" that she sucked in the curtains. But I used the word "booby" because I figured for a 6 and 8 year old, that would be the easiest and most understandable term to process. Hindsight being what it is, probably should not have used THAT word, because I hear my daughter tell everyone and their dog that her mom has "booby cancer." Oops.
As soon as I told them about my diagnosis I asked if they had any questions. Oh indeed they did: when is dessert and what do we get? I am thankful that they didn't totally freak out. There isn't anything to worry about either, in my opinion. I'll be fine.
Another thing that is interesting to me is how people in my life handle the news. To be honest, I think it's easier for the person with the cancer than those who are on the outside looking in. People keep telling me that they think I'm handling the whole situation really well and it is such a puzzle to me why I wouldn't handle it well. I have a great prognosis and after Thursday I will likely be cancer free (and I get new boobs). What's there to mope about?
Honestly, this situation is just a big fat inconvenience to me. It's ruined many of my summer plans. I was supposed to go to Mexico with my BFF, I was going to do my first sprint triathlon, I was going to volunteer at girl scout camp for a week and run a 5K for the Be The Match Foundation's Portland run. So if I'm upset about anything, it's the fact that I have to have some down time. I could care less about the cancer. It's getting in my way of all the schtuff I want to do. THAT'S what pisses me off. But I know I will be fine.
I can't lie though, I am scared. I'm scared about the surgery. I'm scared that they might find cancer in my lymph nodes. I'm scared about being completely unconscious for four hours while my chest gets carved out. I can't even find a way to joke about how scared I am. That's how scared I am.
No matter what, I'll meet this challenge head on, like anyone else would do. I'll face up to it, stare it down and crush it. And I'll be just fine.
I am ever so thankful that the time difference was about 48 hours. So I had two days to completely freak out. I can't imagine a week or more, I probably would have lost my schmidt. Well, I guess I kind of did, but I'm back now. I'm back, baby! And I'll be fine.
Another hard thing was telling the kids. I figured my oldest child, who is 8, would probably have the toughest time, and the little guy would be like "cancer wha?" and then "where's my star wars action figure."
I got it pretty well spot on. The oldest child gasped so hard when she heard the word "CANCER" that she sucked in the curtains. But I used the word "booby" because I figured for a 6 and 8 year old, that would be the easiest and most understandable term to process. Hindsight being what it is, probably should not have used THAT word, because I hear my daughter tell everyone and their dog that her mom has "booby cancer." Oops.
As soon as I told them about my diagnosis I asked if they had any questions. Oh indeed they did: when is dessert and what do we get? I am thankful that they didn't totally freak out. There isn't anything to worry about either, in my opinion. I'll be fine.
Another thing that is interesting to me is how people in my life handle the news. To be honest, I think it's easier for the person with the cancer than those who are on the outside looking in. People keep telling me that they think I'm handling the whole situation really well and it is such a puzzle to me why I wouldn't handle it well. I have a great prognosis and after Thursday I will likely be cancer free (and I get new boobs). What's there to mope about?
Honestly, this situation is just a big fat inconvenience to me. It's ruined many of my summer plans. I was supposed to go to Mexico with my BFF, I was going to do my first sprint triathlon, I was going to volunteer at girl scout camp for a week and run a 5K for the Be The Match Foundation's Portland run. So if I'm upset about anything, it's the fact that I have to have some down time. I could care less about the cancer. It's getting in my way of all the schtuff I want to do. THAT'S what pisses me off. But I know I will be fine.
I can't lie though, I am scared. I'm scared about the surgery. I'm scared that they might find cancer in my lymph nodes. I'm scared about being completely unconscious for four hours while my chest gets carved out. I can't even find a way to joke about how scared I am. That's how scared I am.
No matter what, I'll meet this challenge head on, like anyone else would do. I'll face up to it, stare it down and crush it. And I'll be just fine.
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
I am that one...
I've heard many statistics this past week, one in four, one in eight, or one in ten women will be diagnosed with breast cancer. Or 1 in 5 biopsy's come back positive for cancer. That was my favorite to hold on to, even if only for a day. But those numbers mean nothing to me, because I am THAT ONE.
Yes, indeed, I found out Wednesday June 26, 2012 at 10:30am PST that I have breast cancer. Now before you snort coffee out of your nose or pee your pants or something TOTALLY UNNECESSARY, read the following: I AM ONE OF THE LUCKY ONES. I CAUGHT IT EARLY. I AM STAGE ONE. I WILL BE OK.
Well, I'll be MORE than OK, but more on that later. I believe that this is the appropriate time for me to insert my public service announcement: CHECK YOUR BOOBS ladies. Check them, or have your husband do it. Hell, it might be more fun that way. Light a candle, get some wine and let him have at it. Maybe read a little Fifty Shades of Gray before he gets started, whatever it takes, just DO IT. And by do it, I mean rub your boobs up LAYING DOWN to make sure you don't feel anything weird, or what felt to me like a pencil eraser trapped in my boob.
Go to the Komen website for great tips on checking them, and for the LOVE of GOD if you're 40 go get a mammo. I have almost NO BREAST TISSUE on my body and I survived. If I can take it so can you. If you've ever given birth, this will seem like a walk in the freaking park. Just sayin'. Git-er-dun.
I also would be remiss if I didn't mention the fact that (this is for those of you that don't know me or see me EVER) I've lost nearly 50 lbs since November ON PURPOSE and in all honestly I'd NEVER have found my lump if I hadn't lost all that weight and four months from now on my 40th birthday I would be writing an entirely different ending to this story. Please, if you need to, get healthy. It might just save your life.
Cancer. Holy shit batman, that was a shocker, to be honest. Who thinks they'll get cancer? Show of hands? Yeah, that's what I thought. So it's a little speed bump on the road of life. That's what I keep saying. Granted, I can say that now that I'm through the worst of it, the "not knowing anything but knowing I've been diagnosed" stage was the worst.
Your mind does some really funny shit to you too. I was all prepped to start a profile for Mark on Match.com, you know so I could meet his future wife and make sure she was good with the kids. Not awkward at all. Not. At. All. I also planned my funeral, which was not a funeral but a party instead. No moping around for this broad. And I even panicked thinking I had better get my house clean. And SOON.
I don't mean to make light of my situation either, breast cancer, or cancer of any kind is serious business. But humor is my coping mechanism (now that booze isn't a dietary staple for me) so bear with me my while I crack as many boob jokes as I possibly can. That's how I roll.
To be honest though, I am not really excited about all the stuff that has to happen between now and recovery. If there was a shortcut from A to Z, I would take it. The labs and tests alone have been nonstop. At this point, I've been poked more times than a porn star. That said, hopefully the information flowing in continues to be good news. I mean as good as you can get when you have cancer.
I was given a few different options for treatment. In a way you're damned if you do, damned if you do so I'm going to be BRUTALLY honest about what I am doing and why. And you'd better not judge me. Sit in my shoes for a week and see what choice YOU make. On July 12, 2012, I will undergo a bilateral mastectomy and start the process for breast reconstruction. This way I can avoid 6 weeks of radiation and almost completely eliminate the chance that cancer will come back. I would have likely opted for a lumpectomy, but they found another suspicious area in my left breast and rather than fart around with it, I'll just take my peace of mind thank you very much. And a sweet new rack. Even better.
I met with the plastic surgeon today and have never felt more awkward than I did when he literally played Tune In Toyko with what's left of my breast tissue. I looked at Mark and laughed like a 13 year old boy. OMG. If you know me well, you know I'm hard to embarrass. I say what I think, I have no filter and I rarely feel shame. But wowzers, I wanted to tell the guy he should at least take me to dinner before jumping to second base. I'm not THAT easy. OK well maybe I am after a bottle of wine, but folks I was stone cold sober and there was no warm up. I don't even know his first name for Pete's sake. Not that it would have mattered 20 years ago. Ahem.
I do have the best plastic surgeon in the area and THE BEST breast surgeon, I know I'm in very good hands. Even the nurse at the plastic surgeon's office was amazing. Of course I think she is totally freaking amazing because she said to me: "You must be a runner." I was in heaven. Of course I don't consider myself a runner, I just simply run, but to hear those words, well it was music to my ears! It was my blood pressure that tipped her off, not my sleek running physique. Ha ha ha.
So really the bad news is that I have cancer. Everything else is good. I caught it early, it is hormone receptive so can easily be treated, it is "tiny" (according to my Dr. and I LOOOOVE her for that) and I'll be totally fine. And I'll have a nice new pair of tits. Which will take some time, but that is a blog post for another time. Believe me, I'll have a LOT to talk about. I promise not to be all about boobs and cancer and stuff, but I have to be honest: boob jokes freaking RULE and I'll make as many as I can. I deserve the opportunity, do I not?
And don't be offended when I tell you that I plan to name the new boobs. Of course they will be "the girls" but they deserve a proper name. There will be a blog poll for that VERY soon. Stay tuned.
In the meantime, please remember this: one in four, one in eight, or one in ten women will be diagnosed with breast cancer. I am THAT ONE. And I'll be a Survivor, too.
Yes, indeed, I found out Wednesday June 26, 2012 at 10:30am PST that I have breast cancer. Now before you snort coffee out of your nose or pee your pants or something TOTALLY UNNECESSARY, read the following: I AM ONE OF THE LUCKY ONES. I CAUGHT IT EARLY. I AM STAGE ONE. I WILL BE OK.
Well, I'll be MORE than OK, but more on that later. I believe that this is the appropriate time for me to insert my public service announcement: CHECK YOUR BOOBS ladies. Check them, or have your husband do it. Hell, it might be more fun that way. Light a candle, get some wine and let him have at it. Maybe read a little Fifty Shades of Gray before he gets started, whatever it takes, just DO IT. And by do it, I mean rub your boobs up LAYING DOWN to make sure you don't feel anything weird, or what felt to me like a pencil eraser trapped in my boob.
Go to the Komen website for great tips on checking them, and for the LOVE of GOD if you're 40 go get a mammo. I have almost NO BREAST TISSUE on my body and I survived. If I can take it so can you. If you've ever given birth, this will seem like a walk in the freaking park. Just sayin'. Git-er-dun.
I also would be remiss if I didn't mention the fact that (this is for those of you that don't know me or see me EVER) I've lost nearly 50 lbs since November ON PURPOSE and in all honestly I'd NEVER have found my lump if I hadn't lost all that weight and four months from now on my 40th birthday I would be writing an entirely different ending to this story. Please, if you need to, get healthy. It might just save your life.
Cancer. Holy shit batman, that was a shocker, to be honest. Who thinks they'll get cancer? Show of hands? Yeah, that's what I thought. So it's a little speed bump on the road of life. That's what I keep saying. Granted, I can say that now that I'm through the worst of it, the "not knowing anything but knowing I've been diagnosed" stage was the worst.
Your mind does some really funny shit to you too. I was all prepped to start a profile for Mark on Match.com, you know so I could meet his future wife and make sure she was good with the kids. Not awkward at all. Not. At. All. I also planned my funeral, which was not a funeral but a party instead. No moping around for this broad. And I even panicked thinking I had better get my house clean. And SOON.
I don't mean to make light of my situation either, breast cancer, or cancer of any kind is serious business. But humor is my coping mechanism (now that booze isn't a dietary staple for me) so bear with me my while I crack as many boob jokes as I possibly can. That's how I roll.
To be honest though, I am not really excited about all the stuff that has to happen between now and recovery. If there was a shortcut from A to Z, I would take it. The labs and tests alone have been nonstop. At this point, I've been poked more times than a porn star. That said, hopefully the information flowing in continues to be good news. I mean as good as you can get when you have cancer.
I was given a few different options for treatment. In a way you're damned if you do, damned if you do so I'm going to be BRUTALLY honest about what I am doing and why. And you'd better not judge me. Sit in my shoes for a week and see what choice YOU make. On July 12, 2012, I will undergo a bilateral mastectomy and start the process for breast reconstruction. This way I can avoid 6 weeks of radiation and almost completely eliminate the chance that cancer will come back. I would have likely opted for a lumpectomy, but they found another suspicious area in my left breast and rather than fart around with it, I'll just take my peace of mind thank you very much. And a sweet new rack. Even better.
I met with the plastic surgeon today and have never felt more awkward than I did when he literally played Tune In Toyko with what's left of my breast tissue. I looked at Mark and laughed like a 13 year old boy. OMG. If you know me well, you know I'm hard to embarrass. I say what I think, I have no filter and I rarely feel shame. But wowzers, I wanted to tell the guy he should at least take me to dinner before jumping to second base. I'm not THAT easy. OK well maybe I am after a bottle of wine, but folks I was stone cold sober and there was no warm up. I don't even know his first name for Pete's sake. Not that it would have mattered 20 years ago. Ahem.
I do have the best plastic surgeon in the area and THE BEST breast surgeon, I know I'm in very good hands. Even the nurse at the plastic surgeon's office was amazing. Of course I think she is totally freaking amazing because she said to me: "You must be a runner." I was in heaven. Of course I don't consider myself a runner, I just simply run, but to hear those words, well it was music to my ears! It was my blood pressure that tipped her off, not my sleek running physique. Ha ha ha.
So really the bad news is that I have cancer. Everything else is good. I caught it early, it is hormone receptive so can easily be treated, it is "tiny" (according to my Dr. and I LOOOOVE her for that) and I'll be totally fine. And I'll have a nice new pair of tits. Which will take some time, but that is a blog post for another time. Believe me, I'll have a LOT to talk about. I promise not to be all about boobs and cancer and stuff, but I have to be honest: boob jokes freaking RULE and I'll make as many as I can. I deserve the opportunity, do I not?
And don't be offended when I tell you that I plan to name the new boobs. Of course they will be "the girls" but they deserve a proper name. There will be a blog poll for that VERY soon. Stay tuned.
In the meantime, please remember this: one in four, one in eight, or one in ten women will be diagnosed with breast cancer. I am THAT ONE. And I'll be a Survivor, too.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
Epic Adventure Part 3: The Heat is On
I realized in reading through my previous two posts (I always do to be sure I correct any weird errors which I always find) and I noticed that I totally missed some high (and low) lights of our first two running adventures.
Being in Van 2 meant that even though we got to enjoy a nice hot breakfast, get sunburned before leaving Beaverton and taste some fine wine along the way, we ALSO had to be running in the heat of the afternoon. Our first runner was unfortunately our guinea pig, the poor thing. We sent her off in the hot sun for a looooong leg with no water and a promise to "check in with her" partway through the race.
We hung around the exchange for a bit, and then thought we should get to the halfway point. Our poor runner was literally panting like a black dog on a porch in the south on the hottest and most humid day of the summer. If her tongue could hang out it totally would have. We gave her some water and set her off again. She was our guinea pig for EVERY leg, we experimented on her like a little lab rat and always fine tuned our approach for the remaining 5 runners in our van. We owe her. BIG time.
We got a lot better at stopping more regularly for our runners after that. Well, until we got to my neighbor! We found a place to get more ice and kleenex, as whatever the kind of grass is in freaking Nowhere, Oregon, most of our van were experiencing an allergic reaction in totally different ways. Me, I just sneezed and blew my weight in snot, running through what little kleenex we had. But I digress.
We filled the water jug with ice, we're hanging out all cool, chatting with another van feeling all that and a bag of chips 'cause we're in the shade and then CRAP! There's our runner looking at us like we're the WORST PEOPLE IN THE FREAKING WORLD, and I couldn't really blame her. She ran so much faster than we expected so we weren't ready with water for her. Well, that's what we told her and we're sticking to that story. Needless to say after that we were sure to have water at the ready on each of her other legs.
Our middle of the night legs were also amazing. There's something peaceful and zen-like about running in the dark, I can't explain it. You don't see a lot of the scenery, so it's trail by braille mostly, but the cool night air washing over you as you pound the pavement for mile upon mile is the most refreshing feeling.
I was the last leg and the sun started coming up which was incredible. I was able to see so many things like the creepy drunk dude trying to take my spot in the van, the Willamette River below the bridge I ran on that freaked my shit right out, and the cemetery I ran by (my second reference to death after the Hearse I ran past on my first run). I remember thinking "is the universe trying to tell me something?"
My favorite part though was running in to the high school for the next exchange, with my iPhone iTunes on FULL BLAST playing Guns N Roses "Welcome to the Jungle" as I passed a row of sleeping runners. My phone was on speaker (I was not willing to wear headphones in the middle of the night) and I cranked it up and thought "wake up SUCKERS!" as I breezed past them to the exchange point. Payback for them earlier in the evening. Just sayin'.
My neighbor, we called her the energizer bunny, as our team captain was pretty amazing. That woman can run (literally and figuratively) on almost NO SLEEP. When we all thought we had another 34.21 minutes to sleep there she was rolling her sleeping bag up and filling out paperwork in the van. We grabbed some decent breakfast and coffee and set off to the final exchange point for some stretching and rest.
I will say this. If you are ever in charge of a relay race, please do me this one favor: Have more than three Honey Buckets at the major exchanges and buy COSTCO SIZE TOILET PAPER PACKAGES SO YOU DON'T RUN OUT. Many runners, like myself, have nervous colons and there's nothing worse than waiting in line to "make a deposit" and realizing there's no TP. Nuff said.
Once again we ran in the heat of the day, and my final leg was no exception. Along the way I ran through someone's yard sprinkler (OMG it felt so good I almost needed a smoke), a crematorium (reference #3 to death making me think I may not make it...) and the big ass duck pond that I ran through at the end. I really did, ran in up to my thighs and these people were like "do you need help?!" and I said "nope, did it on purpose, but thanks!" and kept on going. My shoes weighed about 20lbs each for the final 400M but it was worth the few extra seconds added on to my time.
Running across the finish line with 11 amazing women runners with me was by far one of the coolest moments in my life, aside from marrying Mark and having my babies. I started running again on December 20, 2011 and to finish the relay as the anchor leg was amazing for me. Truly epic. There's no other word.
And I thank God for my legs, good shoes and many roads ahead. I'll need them, as I am prepared to face another epic challenge in my life. I'll post about that tomorrow, so stay tuned.
I want to thank my husband for supporting me in all my hair brained ideas (like running for example) and my children for putting up with my sweaty ass hugging and kissing them when I get home. I also want to thank my neighbor and good friend Cyndie Burke Pelto, without you I wouldn't have taken on such a challenge and I certainly wouldn't have survived the craps without you force feeding me that damn banana. Cheers to you my friend, you inspire me.
Being in Van 2 meant that even though we got to enjoy a nice hot breakfast, get sunburned before leaving Beaverton and taste some fine wine along the way, we ALSO had to be running in the heat of the afternoon. Our first runner was unfortunately our guinea pig, the poor thing. We sent her off in the hot sun for a looooong leg with no water and a promise to "check in with her" partway through the race.
We hung around the exchange for a bit, and then thought we should get to the halfway point. Our poor runner was literally panting like a black dog on a porch in the south on the hottest and most humid day of the summer. If her tongue could hang out it totally would have. We gave her some water and set her off again. She was our guinea pig for EVERY leg, we experimented on her like a little lab rat and always fine tuned our approach for the remaining 5 runners in our van. We owe her. BIG time.
We got a lot better at stopping more regularly for our runners after that. Well, until we got to my neighbor! We found a place to get more ice and kleenex, as whatever the kind of grass is in freaking Nowhere, Oregon, most of our van were experiencing an allergic reaction in totally different ways. Me, I just sneezed and blew my weight in snot, running through what little kleenex we had. But I digress.
We filled the water jug with ice, we're hanging out all cool, chatting with another van feeling all that and a bag of chips 'cause we're in the shade and then CRAP! There's our runner looking at us like we're the WORST PEOPLE IN THE FREAKING WORLD, and I couldn't really blame her. She ran so much faster than we expected so we weren't ready with water for her. Well, that's what we told her and we're sticking to that story. Needless to say after that we were sure to have water at the ready on each of her other legs.
Our middle of the night legs were also amazing. There's something peaceful and zen-like about running in the dark, I can't explain it. You don't see a lot of the scenery, so it's trail by braille mostly, but the cool night air washing over you as you pound the pavement for mile upon mile is the most refreshing feeling.
I was the last leg and the sun started coming up which was incredible. I was able to see so many things like the creepy drunk dude trying to take my spot in the van, the Willamette River below the bridge I ran on that freaked my shit right out, and the cemetery I ran by (my second reference to death after the Hearse I ran past on my first run). I remember thinking "is the universe trying to tell me something?"
My favorite part though was running in to the high school for the next exchange, with my iPhone iTunes on FULL BLAST playing Guns N Roses "Welcome to the Jungle" as I passed a row of sleeping runners. My phone was on speaker (I was not willing to wear headphones in the middle of the night) and I cranked it up and thought "wake up SUCKERS!" as I breezed past them to the exchange point. Payback for them earlier in the evening. Just sayin'.
My neighbor, we called her the energizer bunny, as our team captain was pretty amazing. That woman can run (literally and figuratively) on almost NO SLEEP. When we all thought we had another 34.21 minutes to sleep there she was rolling her sleeping bag up and filling out paperwork in the van. We grabbed some decent breakfast and coffee and set off to the final exchange point for some stretching and rest.
I will say this. If you are ever in charge of a relay race, please do me this one favor: Have more than three Honey Buckets at the major exchanges and buy COSTCO SIZE TOILET PAPER PACKAGES SO YOU DON'T RUN OUT. Many runners, like myself, have nervous colons and there's nothing worse than waiting in line to "make a deposit" and realizing there's no TP. Nuff said.
Once again we ran in the heat of the day, and my final leg was no exception. Along the way I ran through someone's yard sprinkler (OMG it felt so good I almost needed a smoke), a crematorium (reference #3 to death making me think I may not make it...) and the big ass duck pond that I ran through at the end. I really did, ran in up to my thighs and these people were like "do you need help?!" and I said "nope, did it on purpose, but thanks!" and kept on going. My shoes weighed about 20lbs each for the final 400M but it was worth the few extra seconds added on to my time.
Running across the finish line with 11 amazing women runners with me was by far one of the coolest moments in my life, aside from marrying Mark and having my babies. I started running again on December 20, 2011 and to finish the relay as the anchor leg was amazing for me. Truly epic. There's no other word.
And I thank God for my legs, good shoes and many roads ahead. I'll need them, as I am prepared to face another epic challenge in my life. I'll post about that tomorrow, so stay tuned.
I want to thank my husband for supporting me in all my hair brained ideas (like running for example) and my children for putting up with my sweaty ass hugging and kissing them when I get home. I also want to thank my neighbor and good friend Cyndie Burke Pelto, without you I wouldn't have taken on such a challenge and I certainly wouldn't have survived the craps without you force feeding me that damn banana. Cheers to you my friend, you inspire me.
Sunday, July 1, 2012
Epic Adventure Part 2: The Scoop on Poop
Throw 6 women nearing the end of their 30's in a van for 30 hours to run a relay on little to no sleep, you have to know that there are certain topics that come up. I am sorry to report to the likely one male reader I have: sex, penis size and how awesome you are did not come up in the conversation. EVER. But we talked a lot about poop. And poop related issues. And gas. Must not forget the gas. But I'm getting ahead of myself.
Once we reached our sleep station, the 6 of us laid down in a cold football field to get a little shut-eye, 3 hours or less. I am, and continue to be, blessed with the uncanny ability to fall asleep at the drop of a hat. On command. As Mark says, you'd think I'm borderline narcoleptic. I would be about the only human in our van with that ability. I believe I woke myself up snoring at one point, which likely only irritated my non-sleeping teammates.
The only trouble with sleeping for me was the giant stomach cramps I was feeling, mostly because I prematurely stuffed my foodhole with spicy chicken tacos mere moments after completing a 5.5 mile run in blistering heat. So my ability to sleep on command was both a blessing and a curse as everytime I woke up to feeling like I had to pass gas I feared it because I was positive I would simply shart. For those of you not "up" on the term, a shart is a cross between a liquid shit and a giant fart. There you go. Thankfully there was no sharting in my sleeping bag (though I did have to air it out considerably!).
I had a decent rest, compared to the other five ladies in my van, one of whom had literally fallen asleep about 15 minutes before we woke her up to run, and man did we have to hustle as our teammate from Van 1 decided to run sub 8 miles in the middle of the freaking night and thus was about 10 minutes ahead of schedule. Fine by me, I was already awake trying not to crap my pants, but our poor runner was tired. I am not entirely sure she woke up until mile 3, we literally dressed her, clipped on her blinky lights and sent her running with almost no time for her to wake up.
The middle of the night runs were awesome, and by runs I mean actually feet hitting the pavement, not the "runs" to the lovely and poorly named "honey buckets" that I endured for most of the night until my neighbor and team captain forced me to eat a banana. If you know me, you know that I have to GAG a banana down, I hate them that much. GAG. Ack. Barf. But with the promise that it would settle my stomach so I could run, I went for it. THANK GOD IT WORKED.
That said, most of the night we spent talking about poop and farts, the occasional hemmorhoid story and well generally discussed things that would make most any polite human blush. A polite human UNLESS they were running a relay, in the middle of the night, a teammate has the bends and you've had ZERO sleep.
It was on this part of the journey that I tried the "love stick". Oh the joys of the love stick. The love stick is the single greatest invention for muscle recovery. If you've ever heard the expression "hurts so good" that would describe how you feel about the love stick. It's this thing with handles on either end, with little rollers all the way down the middle. Pure. Awesome. That's all I can say. If not for the love stick and the sprayable biofreeze I likely would not have been walking at the end of leg 36.
But instead I rolled the CRAP out of my left thigh and ass (sorry ladies, you might not have known that part, thank GOD for clorox wipes) and I ran a significantly faster pace on leg 2 that I was predicted to run, or that I usually run, I'm just sayin'. All that after being doubled over in pain for most of the night. I was feeling pretty awesome, but not so awesome that I couldn't settle in for a couple more hours of sleep in yet another high school grassy area in the middle of Oregon somewhere.
All in all the middle of the night legs were really amazing, and I am so glad we had that part of the relay because the lest 6 legs were miserably hot and I think some of us may not have made it if not for squirt guns and frequent water stops. Stay tuned.....
Once we reached our sleep station, the 6 of us laid down in a cold football field to get a little shut-eye, 3 hours or less. I am, and continue to be, blessed with the uncanny ability to fall asleep at the drop of a hat. On command. As Mark says, you'd think I'm borderline narcoleptic. I would be about the only human in our van with that ability. I believe I woke myself up snoring at one point, which likely only irritated my non-sleeping teammates.
The only trouble with sleeping for me was the giant stomach cramps I was feeling, mostly because I prematurely stuffed my foodhole with spicy chicken tacos mere moments after completing a 5.5 mile run in blistering heat. So my ability to sleep on command was both a blessing and a curse as everytime I woke up to feeling like I had to pass gas I feared it because I was positive I would simply shart. For those of you not "up" on the term, a shart is a cross between a liquid shit and a giant fart. There you go. Thankfully there was no sharting in my sleeping bag (though I did have to air it out considerably!).
I had a decent rest, compared to the other five ladies in my van, one of whom had literally fallen asleep about 15 minutes before we woke her up to run, and man did we have to hustle as our teammate from Van 1 decided to run sub 8 miles in the middle of the freaking night and thus was about 10 minutes ahead of schedule. Fine by me, I was already awake trying not to crap my pants, but our poor runner was tired. I am not entirely sure she woke up until mile 3, we literally dressed her, clipped on her blinky lights and sent her running with almost no time for her to wake up.
The middle of the night runs were awesome, and by runs I mean actually feet hitting the pavement, not the "runs" to the lovely and poorly named "honey buckets" that I endured for most of the night until my neighbor and team captain forced me to eat a banana. If you know me, you know that I have to GAG a banana down, I hate them that much. GAG. Ack. Barf. But with the promise that it would settle my stomach so I could run, I went for it. THANK GOD IT WORKED.
That said, most of the night we spent talking about poop and farts, the occasional hemmorhoid story and well generally discussed things that would make most any polite human blush. A polite human UNLESS they were running a relay, in the middle of the night, a teammate has the bends and you've had ZERO sleep.
It was on this part of the journey that I tried the "love stick". Oh the joys of the love stick. The love stick is the single greatest invention for muscle recovery. If you've ever heard the expression "hurts so good" that would describe how you feel about the love stick. It's this thing with handles on either end, with little rollers all the way down the middle. Pure. Awesome. That's all I can say. If not for the love stick and the sprayable biofreeze I likely would not have been walking at the end of leg 36.
But instead I rolled the CRAP out of my left thigh and ass (sorry ladies, you might not have known that part, thank GOD for clorox wipes) and I ran a significantly faster pace on leg 2 that I was predicted to run, or that I usually run, I'm just sayin'. All that after being doubled over in pain for most of the night. I was feeling pretty awesome, but not so awesome that I couldn't settle in for a couple more hours of sleep in yet another high school grassy area in the middle of Oregon somewhere.
All in all the middle of the night legs were really amazing, and I am so glad we had that part of the relay because the lest 6 legs were miserably hot and I think some of us may not have made it if not for squirt guns and frequent water stops. Stay tuned.....
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