Personal Best

My mom came in from the rain triumphantly holding a bag of frozen strawberries she had acquired from the freezer in the garage. She explained that in order to climb through the garage window with her short legs she needed to put a little stepstool on the inside, but that was a minor issue. The point was, even though the garage door was broken and the only way in was through the window, nothing was going to stop this Yiaya from hunting down the much needed smoothie ingredient for her grandkids! I recognized that grit. She may not do things like she did in her 40s, but that doesn’t mean she can’t do them.

Being on Sprycel for nearly three months has tested some of my physical, mental and emotional limits. It’s not that I’m laid up in bed or losing my hair or my lunch, it’s just that a little bit of life has been sucked out of every day—in my dramatically low moments I think of Wesley in the Pit of Despair, if you’ve ever seen The Princess Bride.

Before Sprycel, I had a healthy dose of pushing myself to go beyond my limitations—grad school, teaching, delighting in my kids, studying other languages, running further and faster than before… I was making little goals to challenge the current “personal best” that I had. With all those goals in full swing, I added Sprycel. I added naps. I eliminated some teaching hours. Each day my body feels like I climbed a mountain or ran a race. So whether I sit around all day or train for a 5K, I’m still exhausted by the end of the day.

In this new era I’m learning to pinpoint my limitations so that I can more successfully work within them. Author Elisabeth Elliot uses the analogy of a bird figuring out its wings—imagine a robin upset that its wings are too cumbersome for swimming. When the little bird realizes not just the limitations of its wings, but also their potential, then it is free to soar. Elliot goes on to say that the woman who accepts her limitations…, finds in those very limitations her gifts, her special calling which bears her up into perfect freedom… I’d like to say that I’ve come to understand my new wings, but I haven’t quite figured out where napping plays into soaring.

Just like no one tells Yiaya she shouldn’t climb through the garage window “at her age” for strawberries—I didn’t want anyone (mainly myself) convincing me that I was too fatigued or medicated to run our annual Martian 5K, benefiting the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. In this process of reconfiguring my personal best, I had to just get out and run. My goal wasn’t to go faster than my last race, but to just show up and run my heart out, even if there was a little less heart to give to it.

So, our little family piled out of bed way too early on a Saturday morning to get ready for our races—a full-on family affair. After a hectic week, I was looking forward to a great morning run on a beautiful sunny day. I started out slowly. Then I thought about my family waiting for me at the finish line, and I realized I could push myself a little further. I did show up for the race. I was on Sprycel. I was going to make this moment, with all my new limitations, my personal best.

My new personal best involves increased determination, stopping for longer rests, and accepting my vulnerabilities in the process. It means admitting that I need help in new ways from my persistent mom who’s got too much Greek grit to stop taking caring of her grown children. My personal best involves adding more heart than comes naturally. Maybe napping is part of me soaring.

It turns out that on race day, I did run my personal best—not just my new Sprycel-induced personal best within my new limitations where my goal was to show up and run, but my actual personal best—the fastest I’ve ever run a 5K—ever! Maybe Sprycel will send me soaring to new heights!

BTW… My dad came in like a storm to solve our inaccessible garage problem. On Monday he surveyed Yiaya’s stepstool-solution next to the garage window and immediately went to work. By Thursday there was no more window and two ways into the garage!!   Above and beyond—that quality comes from Papou!

Three Cheers for a Healthy Snack

As you may already know, I’m a little crazy when it comes to eating healthy snacks.  I’m always prepared with a high-protein snack in the most desperate of circumstances.  Once, my friend Kate and I got shut in waiting for a tornado to pass—luckily my purse was fully stocked.  When the fresh snow peas were gone, I pulled out the dry-roasted wasabi edamame.  When our faces were burning off, we polished off the dried cherries and toasted almonds.  Thankfully, the tornado passed and we were able to grab some dinner.  Admittedly, I was a little nervous that I had depleted my snack arsenal and hoped I would be able to restock before the next big storm of life. Rarely do I plow through my entire snack pile in one afternoon.

As I sat in the car on a chilly morning with the sun soaking in the windows, I listened to my new Bangladeshi friend tell a weary tale of her current life struggles.  She sat next to me, also enjoying the warm sun, and explained in her stilted English that she was ready to give up on her circumstances.  She likened her struggle to a marathon.  She said, “My knees hurt.  I am tired and I am hungry and thirsty.  I want to stop running.”  Though her English was slow, her imagery was so clearly understood.

I felt the weight of her story and the weariness in her voice.  As was our usual pattern at that point, we prayed.  When I closed my eyes, I imagined a 5K race.  I pictured the moment I took the wrong turn during one 5K and ended up on the 10K route.  I wanted to give up.  That’s when I recognized one of the water volunteers, a friend of mine.  She cheered me on by name and gave me a cold cup of water.  It was just what I needed to keep going.

With that image in my head I prayed for my friend.  I prayed that God would give her a splash of water, a cheer, and a high-protein snack, so that she could persevere in her life-marathon.  I closed out my petition on her behalf and she looked up with a big smile and a glimmer in her eye.  She declared with joy, “You are my high-energy snack!”

I lifted both arms in a victory cheer.  What a great compliment!  I love great snacks that keep people going in unexpected or dire circumstances.  I’m grateful for the snacks that have gotten me through and kept my attitude cheery till the next meal.  I love being the one prepared with such a snack at just the right moment.  It may not be the snack of choice, but it always packs a nutritional punch.  And now my friend was likening me to such a snack.  Her comment fed my soul, because she understood the way I’m wired both in the physical and spiritual realm.

Three cheers for a healthy snack!

Over the Hill

Mt. Everest

I once squirmed my way through an IMAX movie about climbing Mt. Everest.  It was an amazing cinematographic experience, but I left furious.  People died climbing Everest.  I watched as a man said good-bye to his wife and child midway up the peak in a horrific storm.  What was he thinking?  What was he trying to prove?  Did what he had to gain climbing that mountain outweigh the potential loss?  Did his wife agree?  Being newly married, I was so mad at him for leaving his wife behind, just to say he conquered the world’s highest peak.  But now he couldn’t say that either.

B.C.

I’m generally a very practical person.  B.C.—before cancer, I never understood why people would actually pay money to willingly run a race.   Why would I want to push my body through the pain, heat and sweat of a race and dole money out to do it.  That made no sense.  B.C. I was proud to plot out a five or ten year plan.  That was a sensible thing to do.

Cancer messed up everything.  Life isn’t always about being practical.  And pushing my body in new ways has taken on new meaning.  I really love to run a 5K (once a year—more than that still isn’t practical! J), because I can make a goal and a commitment, push my body, struggle and come out stronger in the end.  It mirrors life.  There’s a cost and a struggle and a triumph.  If I can do it with cancer, why not celebrate that?  Why not push further—and still be sensible about it?

All my crazy thoughts converge on my mountaintop idea.  Growing up in Colorado, it’s normal for people to spend 8 hours on a Saturday climbing uphill.  After living in Michigan for over a decade, however, I realize that that’s not everybody’s norm.  But there is something majestic, mysterious, dangerous and intriguing about taking on a giant in nature.  I get it, a little bit, Everest guy.

It’s My Party…

Our little team of six assembled at the base of Mt. Quandary at 6 am.  This was my fortieth birthday party.  I was going to climb “over the hill”—or at least all the way to the top of it—14,275 feet!  We made a pact before starting the ascent that we all wanted to live to see celebrate more birthdays, and watched the weather closely.  (My birthday posse had all heard my Everest-guy rant).

What a thrill!  There was joy and pain, and sunshine and rain… and snowy patches and more rain.  There was wind and wild animals* and threatening black clouds over the peak.  There was a retreat, a setback, and a moment where we considered risking our lives to get to the top.  Thankfully, we came to our senses—with the help of a rest and a high protein snack, and decided as a group that we would wait out the storm and retrace our steps onward to the mountain peak.  We were weary and determined.  We could have turned back and it would have been a reasonable and safe thing to do.  However, we watched the black clouds move past our peak and our goal of getting to the top seemed more precious than ever—since we had almost lost it.

The top was an incredible sight.  I felt so small and yet so triumphant.  After catching my breath, I suddenly wished I brought birthday cupcakes all around (the perfect occasion for that special treat)!  Oh well, some Asiago cheese slices with rosemary crackers would suffice.  We took pictures and began our long downward descent.

My mountaintop was the ultimate birthday gift and party all in one.  It was on the crazy side for me.  It was impractical, painful, and scary, and yet it mirrors life.  I’ll always have it to look back on and remember the strength or insanity that got me to the top (and all the way back down).

Fourteen years into marriage on a crazy life journey, Steve and I have learned to make goals instead of plans.  We talk about hopes and dreams, but hesitate to make any of them official plans.  We take steps forward towards a goal, knowing it could very possibly change—and we’re more okay with that now than ever before.  But we’re also more determined than ever.

It’s the Climb

All the way up Mt. Quandary I had Miley Cyrus’ song stuck in my head—the three lines of it that I actually knew, “…Ain’t about how fast I get there.  Ain’t about what’s waiting on the other side…it’s the climb.”  Although, I don’t know if I fully agree.  It is about the climb, that’s true, but getting to the top of a 14,000-foot Rocky Mountain is incredible.  I’m not sure I would’ve pushed myself so hard if it were only about the climb.

So I find myself somewhere between Miley and Everest guy—not worth losing birthdays over, but would’ve given up more quickly if I figured there were other mountains I could climb and if what was at the top didn’t matter much.

* (They were mountain goats—not your wildest of wild animals, but nonetheless found on mountaintops.)

                                                                               

Imagining Someone Else’s Journey

When I was pregnant and on chemo, I spent most of my days sleeping on the couch, sipping tea and growing a baby.  I would plan my outings around my chemo schedule—Mondays were the worst, because they were the first day back after having the weekend off of treatments.  Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays were my best nights.  Because of that, Tuesdays and Thursdays became the nights I “worked out” at the gym.

The tricky part was mustering the strength to even get to the gym.  I always felt better for having gone.  Once I got there, I pushed myself.  After all, since I was there I might as well make the most of it.  On those nights, I would slowly and sullenly waddle into the building.  As a very pregnant woman, everything hurt—back, belly, hips…and on top of that I was slightly anemic and shaky from the chemo.  I would push myself at a minimal walking pace on the treadmill.  Once the blood got flowing and I started moving, I felt better—no matter how slowly I moved.

After my second daughter was born, I was off chemo and back on my regular Gleevec medication.  I felt amazing.  I was 20 lbs. lighter and didn’t feel like I had chemo-flu symptoms all the time.  I felt so great that I signed up to run the local Martian Marathon 5K.  My goal was to show up and run, no matter how slowly, and it was for a great cause—benefitting the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.

I started to run with more vigor at the gym.  I smiled as I bounced into the facility, ready to take on my workout.  I began to notice others moving slowly around me.  I felt so strong and fast and healthy.  It was then that I started to imagine other people’s journeys.  What brought them to the gym?  Were they there to train for a marathon or were they just happy to get out of the house?  Did they just come off chemo or have some major surgery?  I found myself wanting to cheer on my treadmill neighbor and thank them for coming—like I was hosting the party or something!

Same routine for pregnancy #3.  Chemo, couch, Tuesday/Thursday gym.  Just get there.  And wow!  The freedom I felt when it was all over.  Popping my little orange pill, Gleevec, and going about all my normal business.  My husband and I decided to run the same 5K once again.  Yay for feeling good and healthy.  Yay for a great cause.  Yay for a new iPod with some inspiring running tunes to keep a spring in my step.  My husband, Steve ran ahead.  My goal was to run a little faster than the time before.

I was feeling pretty great about myself.  It was chilly and I had tears in the corners of my eyes.  I wanted to cheer people on as I passed by them and tell them some of the great benefits of supporting a great cause.  I wanted to tell them how great I felt because of medications like Gleevec that allowed me to fight leukemia and run races and feel normal all the time.

I felt like I had a good pace going.  I was passing people up left and right.  And just as the masses of runners, walkers, jump ropers, etc. were turning a corner, a great new tune came on to my iPod: DMX’s, “Lord, Give Me a Sign.”  I lifted my head up in a Chariot’s of Fire moment, and picked up my pace a little.  I was over the halfway mark and I felt great.

I suppose it was somewhere between imagining myself as an Olympic runner and a hardcore rapper that I missed the marker that divided the 5K route from the 10K route.  I hit the 4K marker and heard a group of race day volunteers cheering something like “6 more to go!”  I halted in my tracks.  Six more to go?  Everything in me had been prepping for “one more to go”.  All of a sudden my feet hurt, the next song on my playlist wasn’t so inspiring and I realized how cold it was.  I tried running and then walking.  I didn’t want to give up, but I was discouraged by how much further I had.

I composed myself and came up with a plan.  I would push through my 5K run on the 10K route, and then I would enjoy the last 5K walk to the finish line.  What else could I do?  What would Steve think as he waited for me to cross the finish line?  He always worries about me getting lost (with good reason), but it seemed pretty impossible to get lost during a race on a marked route with hundreds of other people.

I hit the 5K marker and started walking.  People cheered me on as they passed me by.  I felt like such an idiot.  But I wasn’t going to let that damper my triumphant spirit.  I started to watch the other walkers and hobblers and wonder about their journeys: had they missed a turn too?  Were they injured?  Were they just trying to finish a race?  Did they tackle more than they could handle?

Steve did start to worry as he waited an extra 40-some minutes for me to walk 3.2 miles.  But we had a good laugh about my wrong turn and the irony that I was praying along with DMX for “a sign” from above at that very moment.

I’ve learned never to judge someone else’s journey.  You just don’t know where people are at or how hard it could have been for them to just show up—and stay on course.  I like to make it a game.  I like to imagine the events in someone’s life that led them to the race or the gym or wherever they show up.  The journey is hard enough as it is, and I strive to respect that in other people.