Having a birthday at the end of the year enables you to do a lot of self-reflecting and thinking about what you want for yourself in the next year. 2013 brought a lot for me: stronger friendships, more time with my family to vacation, Europe, falling in love, falling out of love, investing in my 401k for the very first time, breaking a few hearts along the way, races, running my second marathon (and a new PR!), as well as basking in the glory of heading into the second year at my dream job. Life is pretty amazing when we think about it. It is full of ups and downs and twists and turns. I cried, I laughed, I yelled, I sang, but most importantly, I grew wiser and stronger.
I have had good years and bad years. Notably, the last few years have been the best ones of my life. They have brought me a lot of joy, happiness and a feeling of completeness in my life. For a long time, I was on the search for something I didn’t have, whether it was a better body, better friends, a better job, better financial stability, and it just never came to fruition, until now. It all came together at once before my very eyes without me even realizing it.
Life is very much a domino effect. When you line up all of the dominoes and tilt them the right way, they begin to fall in place, one after the other, all in sync, all at the right time. I got my health under control and I began running, horrible form, slow time and all. I wasn’t running away from the life I had, but I was running towards a stronger me, a better version of who I was. It put everything in my life into perspective. I was a goal-oriented person before I started running (hello, law school), but running brewed greater passion in me, a stubbornness , discipline and a refusal to give up no matter in my darkest, most painful hours. I wanted an in-house job since I started practicing law. I never wanted to be partner at a law firm. I wanted the 9-5 job with a life on the weekends. The day I went on the callback interview at my company, I walked in there with more confidence than I have ever had and I walked out fist pumping with a job offer in my hand. I seized the moment and the day just as when I crossed the finish line at Chicago. You set your eyes on something and it’s yours, without fail.
What does 2014 have in store for me? I have no plans to run a marathon in 2014. My top goal is to stabilize my thyroid levels so that I can perform better in all athletic avenues, particularly strength training. My body has taken a beating the last 3 years training for NYC twice, and then Chicago. I will still run 5k’s and half-marathons as I have a person I want to run a race for, but I need a break. At times, the training has made me a compulsive exerciser and created too much stress and pressure as I could not lose weight despite working so hard to do so. I want to spend the next 6 months just focusing on being on the right dose of medication and enjoying a few rest days without guilt. I have a lot of traveling planned for 2014 as well.
2013 has taught me many things, but most importantly, to live life to the fullest extent possible and to never settle to make anyone else happy but yourself. Don’t ever sell yourself short and don’t compromise on the things most sacred to you. Don’t accept mediocre. Don’t give in to people who aren’t willing to meet you halfway. Don’t accept anything less than what you truly deserve and yearn to have in or want for your life. Be the best you can be and work hard everyday because tomorrow is not promised. My last lesson of 2013 is to have a forgiving heart, always. You never know who wishes they had the life you are living.
Goodbye 2013. Hello 2014. I cannot wait to conquer you.
“The brick walls are there for a reason. The brick walls are not there to keep us out. The brick walls are there to give us a chance to show how badly we want something. Because the brick walls are there to stop the people who don’t want it badly enough. They’re there to stop the other people.”
I arrived at the start of the 13.1 race ready to finish my 8th half-marathon and set a new PR. I had been running faster since Chicago and I was on a roll. Everything had gone right in my pre-race prep. 10 hours of sleep 2 nights before, good hydration, foam rolled, took an Epsom salt bath before bed, and ate a baked potato as my pre-race meal. I was feeling better physically than I had ever felt.
I was relaxed. My iTunes playlist was perfect. I couldn’t have asked for a better pre-race feel.
The gun went off and the race started. I was moving in sync with the runners around me for a good few minutes. About a quarter of a mile in, I came upon a band of walkers, around 4 or 5 of them, stretched out in a line across the route. I tried to maneuver past them but there were other people trying to pass as well. I went in for what seemed to be an opening between two of them and the woman on the right pushed back with her arm causing me to lose my balance and trip and fall. I landed face first into the ground, my hands breaking the fall so I didn’t scratch my face. I was startled, and had not even a few seconds but to just get up, and start running so I didn’t get trampled. It was an instinct I can’t explain. I didn’t feel any pain. I wasn’t even thinking straight at the time. I had so much adrenalin pumping through me. My first mile, fall and all, wound up being an 11:54.
The miles seemed fine just until I hit mile 4. That was when the pain started to set in and I realized I was hurt from falling at a quarter of a mile into the race. My left knee was hurting and my leg began to lock up. I couldn’t flex it properly. I had an issue with my IT band during training but this was more intense. Anger started to set in. How the hell are you walking in a group and blocking the runners? I wanted to see her again so I could tell her what an asshole she was for not having the courtesy and intellect to move to the right side so that runners could pass by her.
I would stop to walk for a minute or so and start running again. By mile 6, the pain deepened. I was now angry that I didn’t bring Advil with me, but I told myself before the start, it’s only 13.1 miles. Only. So I kept running. The cramping increased. I kept running, pushing through it.
By mile 8, I knew that I should have probably stopped, but I said, only 5 more miles to go. Only 5 more. That’s nothing. There’s no stopping. No quitting. I don’t ever quit. I paid $90 for this race. I just ran the Chicago marathon 4 weeks ago and I am finishing this race if I have to crawl to the finish. I kept going. Run for a few mins, walk for an extra minute. I switched back and forth. Whatever it took. I wasn’t going to stop. I wanted to push harder, but my body wouldn’t let me.
Then there was mile 10 and mile 11. Mile 11 seemed to be the longest one. I felt tears forming in my eyes. I just wanted to finish. No one could see my pain. I was still smiling. It’s the best disguise.
Mile 12, I had a surge of energy. It was redemption. And then there was the blue finish line area. I saw the people on the sidelines. If they only knew that I had not even felt this much pain at mile 20 in Chicago that I felt at that moment. Then I crossed. I had to regain myself and collect my thoughts.
I came home and took an Epsom salt bath and iced my leg for what felt like hours. I foam rolled. I stretched. I iced again. My leg is pretty beat up a day after, and I am not happy with my time, but I finished that race. I remind myself most people were just waking up when I was finishing. Others will never feel pushing through that type of pain just to test their strength. For me, it’s a moment that I will always remember and one which makes me hardened for the next race.
The next time, the walker gets pushed out of the way like she’s been hit by a brick wall.
Perseverance. Yes, that brick wall.
Cancer runs in my family, so I always knew that when I turned 35, I would need to go for my very first mammogram.
My mammogram screening was scheduled for mid- morning on October 26th. I had run 5 miles earlier that morning and celebrated my recent marathon. Therefore, I was going in with a clear and very calm mind. I was nervous about the procedure more than waiting for the results, but Rotem had prepared me for what they were going to do.
My mom accompanied me to the appointment as I did not want to go alone. The initial questionnaire was pretty nerve-wracking for me. Family history: my grandmother had breast cancer at age 52, my dad’s father died of colon cancer at age 52, and my mom had uterine cancer a few years ago. Additionally, I am an Ashkenazi (Eastern European) Jew and that puts me at a higher risk combined with my family history.
When I first walked in and saw the machine, I started laughing. My initial thoughts were, I have very small B-cup breasts, how are they fitting in *that* machine? The machine was rather cold and uncomfortable. If you are sensitive like I am, it’s even worse. You stand up the entire time while your breasts are placed on the machine like batter in a frying pan and compressed by the machine. Literally, flat as a pancake. They do multiple views. The side view was the most uncomfortable for me as it pressed hard against my chest muscles. The whole process lasted not even 10 minutes, but in many ways it felt very masochistic.
I left the hospital that day not thinking anything of it. In fact, I had forgotten about the experience. Then, the results came to my parents’ house a week later.
My mom called me on Saturday afternoon and read the letter to me. “Additional testing is needed.” My heart sank. I didn’t know what that meant. The letter simply advised me to call my doctor’s office for a prescription for additional testing.
Monday morning, my mom and I were on the phone with the doctor’s office as soon as they opened. My doctor’s office claimed they never got the results. The results were actually faxed to their office on October 28th and simply put in my file. No phone call telling me I had to get additional imaging. Had a letter not been mailed to my parents’ house, we would have not known anything.
Within an hour, my parents were at the doctor’s office picking up my prescription for an additional mammogram and ultrasound while I was at work trying to keep it together. A 5mm nodule was found on my left breast. All I could think was, I just ran the Chicago marathon for a breast cancer charity three weeks ago for one of my closest friends who beat breast cancer last year. It was all too real for me. I had an appointment scheduled for Thursday, but I kept calling every hour to see if there were any cancellations.
Then came my lunchtime encounter on Monday with a woman who was actually in the midst of breast cancer treatment. She was my cashier at Whole Foods and she was just 38 years old. Her skin was reddened by her recent radiation treatments. I asked her how she was diagnosed. She found a lump. She told me the most important thing to do was to get re-tested right away and be proactive. It was no coincidence I met this woman. Yet, I was still unable to get an earlier appointment in the week.
By Tuesday morning, I stood in my shower, my tears mixed in with the water. I kept feeling my breast, looking for a lump. I didn’t know what I was looking for. Rotem said she felt a marble. I couldn’t feel anything. I would feel tightness but then realized it was muscle under the breast that was tightening up from tension. I had all of these flashbacks to everything Rotem went through the past 2 years. How could I not be in a frenzy about this situation? This is real life. My friend went through an entire year of beating this disease, multiple surgeries, chemo, radiation and I had been there watching her through it all. Cancer is no joke, not for your friends or their friends, and definitely not for you.
By Tuesday around lunchtime, I found myself begging and pleading to the scheduling receptionist that I needed an appointment sooner as my family history and the fact that one of my close friends just beat breast cancer me made me very concerned . The receptionist said, “I hear the trembling in your voice. I can get you in tomorrow (Wednesday) at 8am.” Done.
I didn’t sleep much on Tuesday night. In fact, I was up most of the night again feeling for a lump, some sort of “nodule” the mammogram identified. All I could think is, what if it’s cancer? What if? In an instant your life flashes before you. In an instant everything in your life can change whether you are ready or not.
Wednesday morning, my mom and I arrived at the hospital at 7:45am. Everyone there was very warm and friendly. One thing I noticed is that while there were women of varying ages, I was definitely the youngest one there in the waiting room. The mammogram was first. I found it to be more uncomfortable this time around, particularly the side view. The pressure was very intense, so much that my eyes squinted. There was a giant monitor in the room which was pretty neat as the technician actually showed us where the nodule was. Again, I never was able to feel it.
Afterwards, we were taken in for the ultrasound. The technician moved around me for over 20 minutes trying to locate the nodule. A second technician came in and attempted to locate the nodule but was also unsuccessful. Then the radiologist came in and she also tried to locate the nodule but couldn’t. Three people performing an ultrasound on me and no one could locate it. I was worried. Then the radiologist spoke. She said the nodule was very small and appeared to be more of a cyst than an area of concern. I was told that I needed to call the doctor should I feel any changes in my breast and to follow-up in 6 months for another mammogram.
I felt a huge sigh of relief. A weight had been lifted off my chest, literally. My greatest relief was when I dropped off my mom at home afterwards and my dad hugged me. I may be 35 years old, but I am still very much my dad’s little girl. It was at that moment that I knew my parents were equally freaked out by this ordeal. Someone was definitely watching over me and protecting me.
I share this very personal experience to shed light on the importance of being proactive with medical care and precautionary care. Many women put off mammograms until age 40, but the reality is, women are getting breast cancer in their early to mid-30’s more rapidly than ever. Do not put off medical tests. Do not wait for your doctor’s office to call you with results. You need to stay on top of these things and put your health first. Get a second opinion if necessary. Women need to do monthly self-exams. Educate yourself on how to be proactive not reactive.
I am most grateful for my parents’ support through all of this. It was possibly one of the scariest experiences in my life and I would not have been able to get through the last several days without them making additional calls, going to the doctor’s office to get the paperwork, calling me every few hours to keep my spirits up and especially my mom being at my side the entire way. Even as a grown adult, there are things you do not want to go through alone, and that familial comfort is sometimes what you need the most.
Several months ago, while in the midst of my Chicago training, one of my claims adjusters came to my office and said she wanted to do a race with me. We talked a lot about running, about how it made me believe in myself and how it enabled me to rediscover my happiness. She said my running stories inspired her. Her goal was to build up to a half-marathon by the end of 2013. So, we picked a 10k race two weeks post-Chicago. My promise to her was that as long as I was injury free, I would run the 10k.
A few weeks before Chicago, I had a major meltdown which very few people knew about. I told myself this was the last marathon I was doing, that I was done with the stress of training and not being where I wanted to be physically or running as fast as I had expected to by this point. The pressure consumed me. It became overwhelming – - am I drinking enough water, did I eat enough carbs, waking up early every single Saturday, and who could forget the brutal summer heat. I tried not to post about the struggles of training because runners are superhuman. But the truth is, I had hit rock bottom mentally and emotionally in my training that I almost lost my love for running. That meltdown was my last and final one.
Coming off of Chicago, I found myself asking what was next? I had a lot of questions from friends and family as to how my recovery was the first week out. I walked crooked for 3 days, including walking sideways down my stairs, but it was a prideful shuffle. Four days after the race, I got back to working out at my 6x a week routine. I firmly believe that cross-training, strength training and swapping out some easy runs for harder workouts on the elliptical (at 7.6 mph speed) are what peaked my fitness to enable me to run Chicago with far less long runs logged in than my previous training for NYC and also enhanced my recovery.
Leading up to the 10k, I put ZERO pressure on myself. I was not in it to set a new PR at the 5k split, nor was I trying to run faster or harder. I just wanted to show up and do the race to further inspire my claims adjuster. I did not plan to run the day before the 10k, but my running group was having a celebration for the marathoners. So, I set out to run an easy 5 miles, which turned into a strong 5 miles and a push the last 2 miles. Somewhere along that morning run, I had this glorious epiphany. I kissed the morning air and felt it embrace me. My love for running knew no pressure. I was back to exactly where I belonged and my legs felt limber.
I broke all of my cardinal rules the morning of the 10k: no sleep, wicked hangover, and eating before the race. I don’t take myself very seriously in life, but when it comes to running, I am anal about sleep, hydration and nutrition before a race or a long run. I woke up about an hour before I was supposed to and had a banana, a piece of gluten free bread and sunflower butter (this is my new nut butter since I had to give up almonds after learning I have an intolerance to them). I chugged some water and went back to sleep for what felt like 15 minutes. My alarm went off and I got ready and arrived to the start line hoping my stomach would feel okay during the race. My thoughts were, it’s only 6.2 miles. That’s what happens when you’ve been running for awhile. You think disturbing thoughts that at least it’s not an 18 miler you’re running that morning.
The race began. I was running comfortably, not pushing hard, but just moving along. I was extremely thirsty and my sweat reeked of vodka. Why did I sign up for a race the weekend of Halloween? Why do I torture myself by waking up two days in a row at ungodly hours to run? Because it’s what I know and what I love. The music blasting in my ears, the feeling of freedom, of complete solitude, of utter bliss. There is the glory of doing it when the rest of the world is sleeping the morning away.
I looked down at my Garmin as I was about to hit the 5k mat. I am going to PR while running hungover, dehydrated and barely clinging to life. Seriously? How does that even happen? And so it was written. I crossed the 5k mat at 39:35. My last PR was a 39:52 in June 2012, the day after a long run while I was training for NYC again. Notably, that was a 5k I was pushing to PR. This one was just a show up and get ‘er done.
After the race, we texted about doing the Palm Beach Half-Marathon so she can hit her goal of doing a half by the end of 2013.
No one knows where a race will take you or a run will take you. I’ve spent a lot of time obsessing over the places I’m not at, but where I’m at now is ready to sign up for the next one. Yep, I’ve been bitten by the race bug yet again.
I sat in the airport last Thursday ready for what would be one of the most memorable weekends of 2013. I looked over to the guy sitting next to me and noticed he was wearing a Boston Marathon shirt. We started chatting. He was headed for his second Chicago and hoped to run a sub 3-hour race. He had NYC lined up, the Dopey challenge in January, and Boston in April. He told me he wakes up 4 hours before a marathon and eats 5-6 slices of Sunbeam brand cinnamon raisin bread. I felt very inconsequential to his running feats, but I was also going to Chicago for my own hopes.
About a month before Chicago, I had my last breakdown and breakthrough. I was over the setbacks and the struggles. I expected so much more out of my training, out of myself and where I was 2 years later after NYC. I was done dwelling on it. I was done grieving about it. I told myself that I was just going to go there and run the best race I possibly could with erratic training. This race had so much more meaning to me than everything that had deterred me from doing it.
I took off to Chicago with a very clear mind and a goal of what I wanted from it: an inspirational race to run for Rotem, to honor her courage and defeat of breast cancer. Nothing else mattered to me other than getting to the start and doing the best I could. I had no pressure on myself. I didn’t care about time. I was going to run purely on determination and hope. Everyone comes to a marathon with determination and hope. But, having run a marathon before, I knew what I was in for and I wasn’t scared. I already knew what it felt like to cross a marathon finish line and how it changed my life. I already knew what it felt like to walk crooked for a few days after and the post-partum depression that would ensue once the race weekend was over.
The jitters I had the week leading up to the race completely dissipated. I had 48 hours of incessant laughter, jokes and happiness with three close friends. I went to bed the night before the race with a smile and woke up race morning with zero nervousness, other than getting to the start line on time.
I took a cab with 3 other runners who were staying in my hotel. The two male runners were from the Philippines and it was their first marathon. The other runner was a woman named Donna who proclaimed to be a “marathon maniac” and runs 1 marathon a month (she’s done 19 total). We laughed during the cab ride. The guys asked me what my fears were during a marathon. I said, “Pooping my pants. It’s never happened, but I hear stories about people who have and it scares me.” They thought I was the funniest person they had ever met and they paid for the cab ride.
By the time I finished waiting in line at the restroom at a nearby hotel, I turned in my gear check bag and lined up in my corral. I looked around at the thousands of people surrounding me. I wasn’t thinking about the fact that I was going to run 26.2 miles. I just turned on Pandora and got lost in the music. The crowd began to move as one big mass. I crossed the start line and felt the groove. It was easy, it was effortless. It was familiar territory. I had some mild cramping in my calves the first 2 miles, but I knew they just needed to loosen up. My first mile was an 11:40. I knew I needed to slow down and pace myself. I still had 25.2 miles to go.
Mile 3 came up pretty quickly. I was just getting warmed up. A girl passed me on the right and I noticed she had peed her pants. Hard core. Wonder what she felt like by mile 20. Perhaps she could have started a fire with the friction in her ass.
I decided to stop for a pee break at mile 5 knowing that I was better off going early on in the race than later in the miles when it would possibly hurt to squat or my knees would lock up. I lost about 7 minutes of time waiting in line and then using the nasty porto potty (they were already out of toilet paper which is why I always carry a few baby wipes in my fitness pouch).
Mile 6 I saw a girl being put on a stretcher and having her knee wrapped up. It freaked me out to see that so soon in the race. I was actually glad I biofreezed the shit out of my knees before the race. I never had any tendinitis flare-ups.
The sun was pounding down on us already. There was literally NO shade from mile 5 on. At mile 8, I noticed a volunteer at the water station wasn’t wearing a hat. I asked her if she had an extra one. It was my lucky day as she said, “Yes, please take mine.” I love Chicagoans. I put the hat on and took off.
Around mile 11, I felt pain in my left IT band. I had taken 2 Advil before the race began and packed an additional 2 in my pouch, along with extra glutamine capsules. I chugged them. I knew they would hold me over for the next 15 miles. I then saw another woman being carried off in a stretcher with an oxygen mask over her face.
Mile 13 was where I had 2 of my friends, Narmar and Amo, screaming and waiting for me. I ran to hug them like I was being reunited with lost family members. There’s something incredibly sentimental when you see a friend or family member at a mile marker in the race. The halfway point was the ideal place for them to be. I was balls deep in the race and there was no turning back. We stopped to take pictures and enjoy the moment.
The next few miles seemed to go by fast. Then came Mile 18. It was my wall and I hit it hard, head on. I felt the emptiness in me. I knew at that point I was out of gas (i.e. glycogen). It’s a feeling you can’t explain. Some people get cramps. I lose energy and feel dead. I became somewhat delirious and faded in and out of consciousness. I was moving, but I didn’t feel anything in my body other than tears well up in my eyes. It was a serendipitous moment. Here I was at mile 18 in my second marathon, and it was so surreal yet so very real.
I don’t know why in my times of glycogen depletion I begin to have the deep thoughts and teary moments. I thought long and hard about my running, where it all began and compared where I was at that very moment. I was living. I was breathing. I was so very alive. My health problems didn’t matter in that moment. I popped a Gu gel, flipped my iPhone onto Katy Perry’s “Roar,” and I saw Mile 19. I was giving it all to G-d.
I was on target for a 6:30 with a little pushing towards the end. The last few miles of a marathon always feels like a death march. Everyone is hanging on by a small thread. Everyone is struggling, but everyone is determined to get there, to cross the end, and achieve something greater than they will ever have imagined. It is all about the struggle, the determination and not giving up. It doesn’t matter how long it takes you, what matters is that you finish, never look back, and stop questioning whether you could really have done it.
From Miles 20 on, you really felt the generosity of the people of Chicago. They were passing out everything you could think of: Swedish fish, jolly ranchers, twizzlers, pretzels, bananas, orange juice. They were dancing on the sides of the race cheering everyone on. Little kids were giving high fives like there was no tomorrow. It didn’t matter how fast or slow you were. They were excited to see you pushing along.
My last 2 miles were the most memorable. My friend Monica from my running group met me at Mile 25. I saw her from a distance running towards me holding beer in her fuel belt bottles. I couldn’t stop laughing. I hate beer, and here she was already done with her race, running an extra 4 miles to run the last 1.2 miles with me. We laughed, we danced, and then we stopped and took pictures. She even stopped at a bar on the side to get a beer for a guy who had pulled out his back and his wife was holding him up so he could limp to the finish. It was the adventure of a lifetime. It didn’t matter that I lost another 10-12 minutes from the time clock, or that my IT band pain was inching up higher and harder. I was going to cross that finish line and remember Chicago as one of the most inspirational races, ever.
800 meters to go. I was still trucking along, still alive, still feeling the moment. I was living, loving and laughing. I turned the last 400 meters, saw Allyson, and headed up the finish path. I crossed. I took a deep breath and started sobbing. I couldn’t believe it. My second marathon completed like it was no big deal. I owned it. 43 minute PR even with the pauses and the breaks.
As I walked through the finish line chute, I saw a man being put on a flatbed by paramedics. He had collapsed after he finished, after he was adorned with his finisher space cape and medal. I think it was then when it hit me that we really push beyond our human limits in a marathon. I don’t believe the body is meant to run 26.2 miles. But we believe we can do anything we put our minds to, and that’s what the marathon teaches you – - to respect the distance, but to dream higher than you ever have, and to accomplish something you never thought possible. Chicago was the inspirational race I needed after NYC.
2 world major marathons under my belt and what’s next? For now, I want to enjoy shorter runs and more days in the gym doing strength training. I am looking forward to more variety and flexibility in my workouts. I have 2 races that I am signed up for: a 10k next weekend and the ING Miami half-marathon in February. Perhaps I will do some other small races in between. Someday I will run another marathon. The world is my oyster, after all. Never stop dreaming.
I’ve been getting tons of questions about marathon race week: Am I ready? What do I do differently? Do I eat bowls of pasta in the days leading up to the race? How many rest days do I take this week? Why am I even working out this week? Do I ever rest? Do I have any pre-race jitters or special things I do?
This is the week where it hits you that you are really doing the damn thing. Months of training and it’s finally here. Am I prepared? Am I ready? Those are normal thoughts that go through any runner’s mind. I ALWAYS get race jitters in some form. I always have self-doubt moments or moments where I think, why am I running another marathon and torturing my body?
First let me say, everyone’s body is different and what works for 1 person does not necessarily work for another person. As I have run and trained over the past 3 summers, I have learned more about my needs and how my body reacts to foods, etc. I am going into this race more fit than I have ever been and with the knowledge of what works for me. I have done a hell of a lot more cross-training and working out 6 days a week than in my other 2 years to bring up my fitness levels. But, I am also going into this race not as trained as I expected. I have only gone up to 16 miles in my training due to 2 injury setbacks and being sick for almost the entire last month. 50% of people arrive at the marathon start line with an injury. I have several friends who are not racing Chicago due to injuries and it is very upsetting not to have them there, especially because they are some of the most talented people I know, and some I am very close to.
Health-wise, I feel as strong as I possibly can. I went for a check-up last Fri for my lingering chest congestion and to get clearance for the race because I just finished a second round of antibiotics. I found out I have a slight heart murmur (which I was told was nothing to worry about) and the internist called me yesterday to tell me that my thyroid panel came back out of range (too low) and I have elevated liver enzymes. I spent most of the late afternoon yesterday upset and distraught about my bloodwork results. I am on armour thyroid (after having switched my synthroid and cytomel doses numerous times) and it still feels like a battle I just can’t defeat.
I am unsure of what could have thrown my liver enzymes out of whack as this is an issue I have never had – could be related to getting over an infection, low thyroid function, gluten intolerance, etc. I am actually going today for bloodwork for food allergens/sensitivities and gluten testing. The doctors have theorized that maybe the foods are reacting poorly in my body and low thyroid function is aligned with gluten intolerance. This is probably not the best week to have to go through this, but it will bring me a lot of answers, hopefully, for when I return from the race and am ready to change my plan.
What is my routine this week? I am definitely staying away from gluten products. So, no, I will not be eating bowls of pasta before the race. I am bringing gluten free items with me (oatmeal, cereal and Lara Bars) to snack on. I will be eating baked potatoes (sweet and white) in place of pasta and bread, which is pretty much what I was doing for this training season. I am eating all whole nutritious foods this week like I normally do– tons of veggies, raw nuts and organic protein. I made a chicken vegetable soup in my crockpot last night for lunch/dinner the next few days. I start my carb loading on Fri, which just means 70% of my food intake is from carbs, as opposed to 20%. With respect to my workouts, I did 45 min elliptical on Mon, 3.5 mile run this morning, and will do an elliptical workout on Wed and a 5-6 mile run on Thurs. Fri will be a rest day. My plan is to do a 2 mile easy run on Sat morning to get my body acclimated to the cold Chicago weather and keep my legs warm for the race.
I have special routines before a race that work for me. I take an Epsom salt bath the night before. I find it to be very relaxing, decompressing and it gets all of the lactic acid out of my legs. I stretch or foam roll, I sleep with my Zensah compression socks on and I try to get into bed early to get 7-8 hours of sleep. There are theories that the 2 nights before the race are the most important, which is true but I try to get as much rest as possible, including afternoon naps.
What am I eating before the race? A banana and almond butter. That’s it. Some people can eat Cliff bars or bagels before they race. I personally cannot. Generally I do not eat before a morning run. I only eat before a half-marathon or longer miles. What am I hydrating with during the race? Coconut water that I will carry in my fuel belt and in a hand-held water bottle. I only sip on Gatorade in case of emergency at an aid station.
Now for my gut feelings about Chicago: I am nervous because of how my training went this season, but I am also running for a different purpose and with a different mentality of knowing what to expect. Most of the fear of racing is the unknown. I cannot predict what will happen during the race – - the weather could be cold and rainy, it could be a bad digestion day for me, I could be too anxious and go out too fast, or I could get injured. All I can do is pray and be positive that I am healthy at the start and finish uninjured and healthy. This is also a very different race set up. When I ran NYC, I woke up at 3:30am but did not start running until 11am, 7.5 hours later. It was already a long morning by the time I started. Chicago I start at 8am, just a couple of hours after I wake up. If I don’t feel well or right physically during the race, I will slow down and may possibly stop. For me, it is not about a medal; rather, it is running to celebrate Rotem’s victory over breast cancer.
This morning as I was running without my Garmin, not focused on my pace or time, I reflected on where I am in this very moment. I never imagined I would be heading to Chicago with a full marathon, 7 half-marathons and countless 5k’s under my belt after just 2 years of running. Running has brought me more personal happiness and a realization of just how strong I am. It has made my dreams a reality and has instilled in me the belief that if you focus your heart on a goal, nothing can deter you.
I have met incredible people in my running group and they are a second family to me. I will never forget the times they came looking for me on a run to make sure I was hydrated. My coach is like a second mom to me. I have spent many Sat mornings crying in her arms before or after a run. I want to thank her for being there for me during some of my toughest personal moments. I want to thank my parents and brother. I will always remember you waiting for me at the finish line at NYC and Ross tracking and updating everyone (he will be doing that again).
Most of all, I want to thank all of the people who donated, and the ones who even donated twice to Bright Pink. I am also running for your support and generosity. I want to thank the people who have supported my running since day one and my plight to be healthy. Last and definitely not least, I want to thank Rotem and the Aroma girls for giving me the courage and pep talks to get through the breakdowns along the way.
I love you all and don’t forget to wear pink on Sunday!!
I’ve always believed in the afterlife. I’ve always believed in the in-between.
I had a very telepathic relationship with both of my grandparents. There were no coincidences. They could feel my pain and my joy at the precise moment I was feeling it. Both of them knew when they were going to take their last breaths, and both told me they would be my guardian angel when they left this world.
There have been moments in my life when I have felt an overwhelming presence of them, in my heart and surrounding my spirit. I believe their spirit lives on in me. I believe they still guide me, shelter me and speak their wisdom to me.
This morning I had a telepathic moment. I was running in the dark, just before the sunrise. I was alone, music playing in my ears and I was coughing uncontrollably. I had to slow down. I looked up at the dark sky and said outloud, “G-d please if you can hear me, please let me run today. Please.”
I kept running, slowly. And then the sun started to rise, the light shining towards me. I was running into the light. I always said that when there’s a light shining on me, it’s my grandparents smiling down on me. I smiled back at it.
Then I looked around me. Multiple butterflies fluttering around me as though they were blowing kisses at me. I have had an affinity for butterflies for as long as I could remember. My grandparents had a butterfly necklace made for me with diamonds in the wings. My grandparents were always affectionate towards me. It’s where I got my affection from.
The sun continued to shine, brighter. My lungs opened up and I ran. The butterflies carried me with their wings, like guardian angels.
The prayers were heard. They were answered. Tears streamed down my face. I felt so alive. I felt free. I felt my grandparents beside me.
The sun shined harder than ever as I ran with my heart full of butterfly kisses.
Within my running trials and tribulations, every race that I have run has had a different purpose and a different story. Some races have been about conquering a mental or physical obstacle, some have been just about the experience, while others have been about a better time. To this day, only one race has included someone waiting at the finish line for me, in the pouring rain.
I stood at the start of the corporate run completely miserable. My shoes were already drenched from a 30 minute monsoon that seemed as though the gates of hell had opened in the sky. My plan for a new PR was thrown out the window. Had I not been the team captain for my company or had him waiting for me at the finish line, I would have driven home. I abhor running in the rain. I’ve done it and it royally sucks. I can’t see through my glasses, my feet slosh and I slide everywhere. Oh and I’ve also chafed on my sports bra line, which is the worst pain ever.
The race was horrific in every way. The start was an abomination. 95% of the people I was surrounded by were not runners. They were walkers, and I mean slow ass walkers. I think my grandmother walked faster than these people. I can’t remember the last race I ran where I was faster than the people around me. In fact, I don’t think there has ever been any such race. I was pushing through bands of people for a good 7-8 mins, exerting more energy elbowing and swerving to get around the crowds. I think I may have even screamed “Move!” at a woman instead of a polite, “Excuse me.” The course was flooded, the bridges were beyond slippery and I just wanted to get to the damn finish line. I was bitching to myself the entire time and cringed at my Garmin.
Before I knew it, I turned the corner and the finish line was in sight. Love was there, smiling, sans umbrella in his dress shirt and dress pants, completely soaked. My heart melted when I saw him. I still replay that moment in my mind. The sweetest kiss ever at a finish line.
I never expected that a few months ago, the guy I was blindly set up with while sitting at urgent care on a Friday night would wind up being the one, sitting in traffic for 2 hours ready to stand there in the pouring rain and wait for me at the finish line of this utterly dreadful 5k. Life works in the most mysterious ways and everything happens for a reason, at the very precise moment it is supposed to. And, sometimes, very unexpectedly, you discover that the worst races transcend into the best ones with memories that you will forever cherish.
It was my last morning run there. The wind brushed against my skin and the big beautiful trees wrapped their arms around me like a soft blanket on a cold winter night. There were very few cars on the road at the time. I remembered that distinctly because it was then that I started to dream while running. I will never forget that last 4 mile run. My music was louder than ever and every part of me was soaring.
It was October 14, 2012. I had run 39 miles in a period of 9 days with just 1 day of rest in between. I was about to make that 43 miles with this last run. It would be my highest mileage week ever. I was 4 weeks away from running the NYC Marathon for the second time. I finished my 18 miler just 7 days before in San Francisco. I was fearless. I was unstoppable.
My runs began in the darkness of morning dawn and finished in the bright sunlight. I took pictures during each run because I wanted to remember it all. I wanted to remember the minutes when the tears ran down my face in the dark, when I felt lost and unsure and I couldn’t see past it, and I wanted to remember when I ran up the hills of the trails into the light.
I healed my broken heart and learned more about myself in those 8 days than I knew ever existed. I realized what it was I wanted and deserved in all aspects of my life. Everything else was secondary because what mattered was that I was finally living free, finally living for me. I had rediscovered myself and reorganized my happiness.
My life changed that day. I got back on the plane and returned to Florida, a new person, a better version of myself. I never looked back. I stopped wondering if I made the right decisions all these years and I stopped questioning where my life journey brought me. I knew who I was, where I was and where I belonged. Some people search their whole lives and never find it. I knew with confidence what I had to offer myself and to the world around me. It was a mental list that I programmed into my psyche.
My dreams grew brighter when I returned. They weren’t new dreams, just more vivid depictions of the dreams I was already living. I forgot about all of the in-betweens, the days when I wondered whether I was meant to be a lawyer and not just a writer journaling in the big apple. I stopped thinking about why my health problems didn’t just correct themselves without the need for medication. I stopped wondering when I would find the effortless love that my parents found in one another. I stopped wishing for a fairytale fantasy. I abandoned it all during those 43 miles of running in 9 days.
Sometimes you need to stop thinking about what you want and begin to think about what you truly deserve. Sometimes you need to take a vacation from the life you have to appreciate what you feel in your heart about your life. Sometimes you need to photograph it all along the way so that you can reflect. Sometimes you have to stop listening to the voices that negate yours or the feelings you have within.
I would never settle again for one good moment in a sea of bad moments. I would never second guess my desires or my passion. I wouldn’t stop until I had the best in everything – - life, love and the pursuit of happiness.
I am a dreamer. I always have been. My dreams have been filled with good things and bad things. Sometimes in my dreams, I am running towards an object or a person, and sometimes I am simply running away.
Yesterday, I dreamed for 2 hours while running. My iPod was blasting in my ears, but I didn’t hear the music. It was as though I was running with my eyes closed, yet they were wide open and focused on the road.
My dreams took me back to one of the most memorable times in my career as a writing professor. I thought about him, how I changed his life by teaching him how to open up and express himself through his writing. He was the student who touched my heart and instilled an everlasting impression. At first, he was full of nothing but anger and rage. He came to my class late every time. His negative attitude was obvious. He hated the world and everyone in it.
I asked him one time after class why he was so hard? When you ask, they answer. Cancer did it to him. His mom went into remission and then the cancer came back. He couldn’t open up about his emotions. He didn’t know how to. He was the one who took care of his mom. His dad walked out on him and his siblings when he was just 2 years old. As his mom was living her last few months in an at-home hospice, he went to class in between sitting by her side.
One day I brought in a blank journal book for him.
“I am giving this to you. This is yours and yours only. If you want to share it with me, I will read it. I have one rule: you are going to write in it every day. Every emotion you feel, whether it’s anger or happiness, I want you to write it down. It doesn’t matter. Put on headphones, blast your music and just write.”
We had 10 journal entries that semester. Every journal was applicable to his mother, and that was okay because he was writing, because he had finally opened his heart up and he was living. The big essay of the semester was the autobiography. It became the most cathartic one for him. He wrote about how the only love he ever had was from his mom. She was a single parent and a teacher for over 25 years. He was in school because of her. She prevented him from living a life on the streets selling drugs. Everything he had was because she was there for him.
On the day of our final exam, he walked in and looked at me. I knew. His mom had passed that morning. I asked if he wanted to postpone the final.
“My momma would want me to take your final. I told her about you and how your positivity made me come to class. Will you please come to her funeral and read my autobiography?”
It was the first time I would step in a church. In fact, when I walked in, the pastor asked if I was at the right church. There was gospel music playing. It was his mom’s “homecoming.” It was magnificent. There was singing, laughter and a lot of family togetherness. It was unlike anything I could have ever imagined.
I took the podium and introduced myself as Keon’s writing professor. I told the 200+ people sitting in front of me that he was my most special student and that his writing didn’t just touch my heart but it allowed him to open his for the first time. He had rekindled his estranged relationship with his father. He was able to process the emotions he had about his mom. In between the tears that streamed down my face, I stood and read his essay to the entire congregation. When I was done, he came up to me, with his 6’4 lean stature. He hugged me, weeping like a 2 year old boy who was lost in a store and couldn’t find his mom.
Many months later, he called me up just to ask if he could visit me at the college campus. He came to my Saturday morning class. While the students were doing a timed essay, he turned on his laptop and showed me his journals. There were over 100. Before my class, he never wrote, and afterwards, it was all he could do.
We kept in touch for a few years, and then I stopped hearing from him. I thought about Keon yesterday as I was running and dreaming, simply wondering how he was doing, and if he was still living free and writing.