Sidelined....and it stinks

I'm forcing myself to take a few days off of exercise, and its creating a very unsound mind in me.  

During our trip to France, we did A LOT of walking. But after 60 miles in 3 days and all the running I do, it should be a snap, right?  Well, all of those miles I did in stability running shoes. My tourist miles were logged in flat sandals with hardly any support whatsoever.  So it should not have been a bit surprise when, 2 weeks into our trip, my left heel started to hurt.  I popped a few Advil and kept going. 

France is the land of food. Literally.  It is seeped into the culture. My mother in law was determined to show my parents (who went with us) all that France had to offer in that department: champagne; limitless cheese; souffle; quiche; desserts......you get the picture.  I wanted to enjoy myself and not worry about every calorie I ate, so I set out to get as much exercise in as I could.  Besides, going on runs in new places is a great way to discover things.

I did get in some very excellent runs. An early morning 4.3 miles in a village in Normandy called Isigny sur mer was awesome.  A 7.7 miler in Strasbourg followed by 25 miles on a rented bike. My last run was 10k through the park attached to the gardens of the chateau in Versailles. That was awesome-to run through places where kings and nobles spent their time.  It was great, and I was keeping in as good of shape as was possible given our schedule. 

The problem was, at least 3 of my runs were done on my hurt heel. 

It didn't take long for my left hip to start hurting.  At first I blamed it on the old saggy mattress that we sleep on at my in laws house. But...duh.  I realized that perhaps I was compensating for a hurt foot by altering my stride. 

The first morning we were back home in San Marcos, I went for a run. Not a long one-just 4 miles and change. After such a long travel, I don't feel "normal."  Getting some exercise, getting my heart rate up, makes me feel like myself again. Not to mention work off some of the carb-laden airplane food from the day before.  

After that run, my hip hurt more than ever. I can't even sleep on my left side. So I took yesterday off from any exercise, hoping that perhaps today I could go for a swim. That is stress-free, right?  But it still hurts today. So I'm taking yet another day off and going to see the chiropractor to see what he has to say. 

Needless to say, this is NOT good for my mental state. Its not just the lack of endorphins, although that is part of it.  Another part of it is needing to work off some of the weight that I probably put on during our 3 weeks in Food-land France. But the real thing that really gets me is that I feel less healthy. After cancer, you just can't have a pain anywhere without wondering in the back of your mind if it is the cancer that has come back. Side ache? Maybe it's metastasized to my liver! Hip pain? Boney mets!  It sucks. I can't just be a normal person with a whacked out joint, I will forever be wondering if it is something I should call my oncologist about. 

Bummer for me. 

I just pray that this goes away soon, that the pain in my heel is NOT plantar facitis, and that I can at least start logging miles in the pool very soon!

They said it wouldn't last....

I remember when I was in that terrible time frame of knowing I had breast cancer, but not really knowing how bad it was. I was in the throes of trying to learn a new vocabulary, make decisions about treatment, figuring out how not to go crazy with worry.  I remember meeting with Kaiser's breast cancer care nurse, Judy. She coordinated everything for the newly diagnosed: breaking the news; surgeons; chemotherapy orientation classes; support groups; mastectomy products; post-surgery camisoles, etc. She was our first point person to ask questions of.

When I was diagnosed, we already knew the cancer had spread into my lymph nodes. Based on that, they were recommending chemo for systemic treatment of cancer. One of the first things I was told was that I would most likely lose my hair. When I met with Judy in person, she mentioned that when my hair grew back, it could quite possibly be curly. The "chemo curl" she called it, but she also added that it probably wouldn't last.

Sure enough, last year when it started to come back, my hair was in waves. As it grew longer, it was curly.  It was a new thing for me. I spent a lot of money in the 1980's and 1990's perming my fine straight hair into waves! I didn't do much with my new curls, other than trying to keep it from being too frizzed at the ends.  I always got lots of comments about the curls from people who knew me "BC" (before cancer).  Even though it was kind of wild, I kind of liked it. It was easy to deal with, for the most part.

I happen to be on vacation in France right now.  My mother in law happens to be a trained "coiffeuse."  That is, she has spent most of her life doing other people's hair.  After over 15 years of marriage, she had never cut my hair. She's done all the kids, but never mine.  This trip, however, the top of my hair was driving me nuts. It was clearly too long and I couldn't do anything with it. Out of desparation, I made a comment about it. She recognized the open door and offered to help.

What the heck. Even if I hated it, I figured it will grow back, right? Besides, I've been BALD. How bad could it be?  She took me downstairs, sat me in a chair and went for it.

She gave it a good whack, but had a vision in mind. In her words (roughly translated), she gave it a "shape." It is short, but again, I've been bald so its been shorter. The thing is....the curl seems to be gone.

So Judy was right.  The upside of it is that it kind of mentally puts me on the road of being another step past cancer and treatment. The downside is that I'm having to spend more time on it so it doesn't look ridiculous!  There are mornings when I wake up and its sticking straight up!  Not so easy when not at home with my own hair "stuff," no matter how long it had been since I used them.

They said it wouldn't last...and they seem to have been right!

On the Paris train with my new 'do

Tough Chicks

As a breast cancer survivor, I have several new "notable" days to observe each year. Not all of them call for a celebration.  On Sunday, June 10th, I observed the second anniversary of my cancer diagnosis.  It was the day I learned for sure that I had the disease.  I had to have had it for awhile, so it wasn't anything new to my body. But to my mind and spirit, it was a day that changed my life forever.

When I got off the phone with the nurse who broke the news to me two years ago, I went upstairs and did a Jillian Michaels level 3 workout. I didn't cry or freak out. I just exerted myself to nearly my max. I sweat like a dog.  When I got tired, the word "CANCER....CANCER...CANCER...." reverberated in my head. Each repetition was like taking a punch. As I was stretching out afterwards, I did shed a few tears. But my mindset was not that of being a victim. I had become a warrior.  Working out was training for the bigger battle for my life.

I learned through the course of my treatments that my strength did not come from myself, but it came from the Lord. If it were not for His strength, comfort, and sustenance, I would not have been able to cope with it all, physically, mentally, or spiritually.  That is why when I hear this particular song, "My All in All" I literally can break into sobs. It pierces my heart. It is like "our" song.  God's and mine, that is.  

You are my strength, oh God.

You are my help, oh God.

You are the One on whom I call.

You are my shield, oh God 

My life I yield oh God

For you will always be my All in All

Wouldn't you know it?  On Sunday, June 10, 2012, that was the last worship song we did in church. I couldn't sing, I just meditated on the words with my hands upraised in praise and tears rolling down my cheeks. There are no accidents. God was observing this day just as I was.

After church, mom and I drove up to Orange County to attend an event put on by the Komen affiliate in Orange County. It was a celebration of survivors with a luncheon and fashion show. One of the women I met doing the 3 Day commercial last fall invited us.  (It was so fantastic to see her again, and meet her family!) I can't think of a better way to have spent that day but in the company of dozens of survivors and co-survivors.  Some survivors had 20+ years. Others were still in treatment. But all of us were bound together by a common bond. One speaker referred to it as a sorority of sorts. Perhaps. I never was in a sorority in college. If it is, it is one with one heck of an initiation, to be sure.  You get a two survivors together, and they can talk for hours comparing their histories, their surgeries, and all that they have done against their common enemy.  And they genuinely care for one another. We live with so much in common.

One thing I am struck by so many of the survivors I meet is their strength. To get through the emotional, physical, and mental gauntlet of diagnosis, surgery, chemo, radiation, reconstruction in most cases and then living with the specter of possible recurrence requires strength. Especially to do it well.  We all do the best we can do. So many of the women I met and saw on Sunday are surviving with strength and panache. It was like IN YOUR FACE, CANCER!  It was so inspiring. Some of these women had battled cancer several times. One woman had a recurrence after 20 years and it was now in her bones. But she was amazing. She was a active, she was smiling, she was beautiful. She was kicking butt. I loved her.

It is one of the things that motivates me to push myself physically.  It's not vanity that makes me get out of bed at 5:30 a.m. to run for an hour. Instead, it is my way of being stronger than cancer. To kick its butt. To show the world and cancer that it doesn't have me. I may have had it, but with God's strengthening and grace, I won.  Even if it comes back, I won. I won't go down weak.  Like other survivors, I am a tough chick!

TOUGH CHICKS!

In the can...

One of my goals for 2012 was to complete three half-marathons.

Yesterday, I was able to check that one off my list.

I ran in the San Diego Rock & Roll Half Marathon.  I had been planning on running with my best friend from my Junior and High School days.  Sadly, she let me know a few days before the race that the situation on her end just wouldn't work out to travel to San Diego for the race. Dang!  Now I had no excuse not to run fast!  I had been training all along like any other race, averaging about 30 miles a week for the past month.  My longest training run was 12 miles.  In the last week, my "hard" runs (the long run and tempo runs) went really well.  I felt strong!

My best time before yesterday was 2 hours 10 minutes, 30 seconds.  My minimum goal was to beat this time. I figured if I could keep my pace around 9:30 minutes per mile, that would be no problem.  Deep down, though, my ultimate goal is to complete 13.1 miles in under 2 hours.  A little part of me thought....maybe I could do it today??

I woke up at 3:30 a.m. on Sunday morning. I had been hydrating well all week, and adding a few extra carbs for the past few days.  It was hard to rest the night before the race. Partly because I didn't go down to San Diego to check in and get my bib and swag bag ahead of time. I paid an extra premium to be able to check in on race day.  I also got to park at the finish line (Sea World), and take a shuttle to the start line (Balboa Park).  I probably got only 4-5 hours of sleep the night before. That was the one thing that I wish I could have made different.  It's not for a lack of trying...I went to bed plenty early. But drinking 3+ liters of water in a day has its effects, if you know what I mean....

Anyway, I got down to the parking okay. The shuttle was uneventful. However, it took a LONG time once he got off the freeway. That clued me in to how crowded it was going to be. There were over 30,000 runners registered!  Everyone started at the same time...so you can imagine the congestion.

I managed to get my bib and timing chip. Once I got it on my shoe, I decided to make a pit stop at the porta potty. Even though there were dozens of them, the lines were incredibly long. I was going to have to go before the start in an hour. I figured I would wait in my corral, or wait in the toilet line!  It took a long time, and I realized as I got near the front that I didn't have any kleenex.  What if there wasn't any paper??  Oh man.  Something to bring next time. But, as I tell Eric....Don't worry about things that aren't going to happen!  There was paper, so it was all fine.  I checked my bag with my sweatsuit and headed over to the corrals.

By the time I got to my corral (#25), it was just about time for the race to start:  6:15 a.m.  When I signed up for this race, I had never run a half marathon, so I estimated my finish time to be 2 1/2 hours.  Based on that, they assigned me to the appropriate corral, which was farther back from the faster runners in front. Corral #1 got started right at 6:15 a.m.  Then every 2 minutes or so, the next corral would be let go.  I figured I could overcome my position by getting in the front of my corral. Then I wouldn't have to run around everyone who might be slower than me.  It sounded good in theory.

As we started to slowly creep forward, I began to think....Do I need to go to the bathroom again?  Or is it mental?  I waited awhile as they earlier corrals got started. I heard group #21 get let go and realized that I really DID need to go. If I didn't, I would have to go during the race, and that would affect my time. So I made a quick dash to another set of porta pots that lined the start line on Sixth Avenue. Even if I started with the next corral, it wouldn't matter.  My race would start when the timing chip on my shoe crossed over the starting line.

I got out and managed to get back in my proper corral.  But this time, I was more in the middle. Maybe I should have just gone to the front of #26. Who knows.  I decided to stay where I was assigned. (Am I not a good girl?)   By the time I got started, it was 6:52-over 30 minutes after the race had started for the elites.

During my past two half marathons, my strategy has been to pace myself. I wasn't sure I could even do 13.1 miles, so I started slow. This time, I was ducking and weaving in and out of people in my way. It was by far the most populated race I've ever done. I decided to change my strategy.  I decided to run fast when I could.  Usually, the first few miles are the hardest for me. Once I get 3-4 miles behind me, I go on automatic and, if its a good day, feel like I can go forever.  When my first mile beeped on my Garmin at a pace of 9:26 I thought...Yes!!  With all the zig zagging, I managed to make 9:26 and feel good. I can do this!

I had a really cool experience early on in the race. It was early on. I was on Park Avenue and I got this overwhelming sensation that people were praying for me. I was so overcome with emotion that I almost started crying as I ran. It's hard to explain, but it felt like a dump of Holy Spirit adrenaline. I found out later that a group of friends from church were indeed praying for me and another friend around that time. I knew my parents were praying for me, as well as other friends as well.  I felt it!  It was amazing!

The course itself was okay. I enjoyed the beginning when we were on city streets and running through Balboa Park. Every mile or so there was a live band playing music. It was great.  Around mile 3, we went onto the 163 freeway. That was fine, but around mile 5 it started to hurt. The street was never level, it was always at a slope. Plus, I continued to have to bob and weave in between slower runners.  I never realized that the 163 freeway between Balboa Park and the 8 freeway is an incline.  Towards the end, one of the singers with a band commented about how we were almost at the top.  Ah. That explains it. Its not that I don't do hills, but it does make it harder. (I live on a hill, so running in my neighborhood requires me to do hills.)

To make a sub-2, I knew I would have to be in the low 9 minute mile area each mile. The first several miles, I thought I could do it. I even clocked mile 4 at under 9 minutes!

I was pleasantly surprised around mile 8 to see my mom and dad by the sidelines, cheering me on. That was awesome. They parked at Qualcomm stadium and took the trolley. I knew they were planning on being at the finish, but I didn't expect them in the middle!

I kept pushing on, and felt like I was passing a lot of people. Of course, with everyone starting at a different time, that didn't mean a thing.

As the race went on, it got harder and harder. I just wanted it to be over. I still had a few miles to go. I knew I could finish...but at what time?  Having my Garmin was great-I could see where I was and if I needed to speed up to make that split a better time, I could.  But by mile 11, I was running out of gas.  I tore open a Gu that they had given me on the route. Strawberry banana. Kind of gross (I prefer chocolate or coffee flavors).  I had some and tossed the rest to the side.   Mile 12 was the worst.  You can't say that its your last mile, and the scenery wasn't that inspiring.  I even (gasp) gave into the mind and walked a few yards.  That mile was my slowest, as you can see.  By then, I could do the math. I knew that I wasn't going to make 2 hours, unless something utterly miraculous happened.  Honestly, me running like this was already pretty darn miraculous!

Almost done....I passed the Chinese dragon!

Those last miles were hard.  I found myself praying....Lord....lift me up on wings like eagles.....run and not grow weary.....run and not grow weary....You're my strength and my shield....You give me strength...set me up on high mountains....and stuff like that.  Scripture, really. Not so much original thought, other than ....God get me through this!

As Sea World came into view, I tried to keep up the pace. I knew it was going to be over soon. I decided to scan the crowd and look for my parents. I saw them right around the 13 mile mark. They were situated on a corner. I was able to wave to them long before I got there.  It really does give you energy to have a friendly face in the crowd.

I managed to have a little bit left in the tank to push it a bit at the very end---you can see my last split was under 9 minutes per mile.  But I was so glad when it was done!  I knew I would be glad to have done it, and I am. But man, a lot of it was hard, and hurt!  But you know, anything in life worth doing that is going to pay off is going to be hard. Otherwise, what is the point? If everything comes easy, then nothing will make you stronger.

Mom and dad found me after the race...a miracle!

Cancer made me stronger. It sucked. It was hard. It was scary. It has made me appreciate what I am able to do today. I never will be the same as I was before my diagnosis. It's always in the back of my mind. But I'm stronger for it. That's not to say if I could go back in time and divinely decide not to have it happen I would choose it. But God has a plan for me, and cancer was part of it. I hope I am able to glorify Him through all that I do because He has given me the strength to do whatever it is I do post-diagnosis. Whether that is recovering from surgery, making it to chemo, or exercising with radiation burns. HE is my deliverer!

So I finished.  I accomplished my first goal...to beat my time. I finished in 2:04:10.  I was a little disappointed not to break the 2 hour mark. But out of my age group of fortysomethings, I came in at 209th out of 1,443.  I can't complain about that!  In fact, I'm pretty exited about it.

Where do I go from here?

Well, this is my last "long" race of 2012. I've signed up for a few 5ks, and I've got the 3 Day Walk in November. The family and I are going to France in a couple weeks. Once I get back, I need to start to transition my mindset into walking rather than running. It's going to be hard. Running is so awesome. Not to mention efficient-I burn twice the calories in half the time.  This year, I want to keep running a little, even through walking season. I want to keep at least a 5k in me.  I've signed up for the Carlsbad 1/2 marathon in January, and I don't want to be starting from scratch!   I've also decided to do what's called the "Triple Crown" in San Diego in 2013. It's a series of 3 half marathons: Carlsbad in January; La Jolla in April; and San Diego (America's Finest City) in August.

People keep asking me....do you think you'll ever do a full marathon?  Gosh.  The idea of 26.2 miles seems way out of reach.  But you know?  Not too long ago, 13.1 sounded ridiculous!  Heck, I've walked  60 miles in a weekend!  So maybe in 2014, that will be a goal.  One thing I know for sure. I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me!!

What every woman should know

What every woman should know is....what her breasts feel like.

I'll be honest-I never was good about doing breast self exams. I never even considered breast cancer a possibility for me. None of my female relatives, save one of my dad's sisters, had it. I was young, I had breast fed three babies at least a year each. I figured I was "safe." I would fib when health care providers asked me if I did them.

But no one is safe.

I even had a clear mammogram!

When I did feel the lump under my arm (two years ago this weekend), I didn't know what to make of it. I didn't know what "normal" was for my breasts. Part of it was because I had lost 50 pounds and went from a D cup to a B. I figured that a good bit of the fat melted away to reveal lumpy breasts like I had heard my grandmother had.

But it was a cancerous lymph node. One of five, as it turned out.   The mammogram and its interpretation missed a 3.5 centimeter tumor in my left breast.  While I am in favor of mammograms, they are not the be-all and end-all in breast cancer detection. I know way too many women who had clean mammograms like I did and had breast cancer.

So feel your breasts, gals. Do it regularly. Know what they feel like so if you notice ANY changes, you can alert your health care provider.

To learn how to do a breast self exam, check out this link.

Attack!

When it rains, it pours.

I've been having one heck of a time lately.  Things just keep piling on.  In the midst of it all, I have been having renewed fears of recurrence.

Where to start?  First off, an uncle that has been a part of our family all of my life died suddenly last week. It came as quite a shock, even though I had not seen him in many years. With Facebook, our family feels very connected, even if we don't see each other that often.  Of course, I wanted to go up to Oregon for the celebration of life and to spend time with the family.  Making arrangements is kind of stressful, especially when you are trying to coordinate with others.  That alone would be enough, right?

Jean-Marc has been having this cold that never ends. I'm usually very low-key about minor illnesses.  Last Saturday, his eyes started oozing and were red. I immediately thought...pink eye!  I started using some homeopathic drops that I have, as much as he would let me. He hates the drops and squeezes his eyes shut tight. But a little gets in, and it seemed to help. Nevertheless, I kept him out of Sunday school on Sunday and preschool this week. Right there, that upsets my "routine." I know it sounds petty, but I am a creature of habit. I have my workouts and things I like  need to do while he is at school. Like get out of the house and RUN.  Running is my way of feeling like I am beating cancer. The runs I did take were later in the afternoon and I just felt sluggish. I did the miles, but it was tough.

Today, Jean-Marc started complaining of a sore throat. Considering that I'm going out of town in two days and Eric is already grumbling about having to pull my weight as much as his, I thought I'd take him in to see if it was strep throat.  We spent the morning at Kaiser. Luckily, it wasn't strep. However, it was diagnosed as an "acute sinus infection."  Maybe I shouldn't have, but I opted for an antibiotic. With me going out of town for a few days, hopefully it will knock out whatever he is dealing with so he can be in shape for the weekend with dad.

Now for confession time. Our family has been battling head lice for the past few weeks. It's not a complete secret-the school knows about it. The whole 5th grade got checked the day I reported it and the news spread like wildfire. Poor Isabelle. But she coped with it pretty well. It is hard to see your kids be ostracized for something like that.  It isn't as disgusting as I thought it would be, but it is persistent, frustrating, and time consuming. It started with Isabelle. She had been complaining of an itchy head for awhile, so I took her to the doctor. She has always had dandruff, so when the doctor said it was that, I didn't second guess her. When the itch didn't stop, I e-mailed and asked for a referral to a dermatologist.  Another doctor responded with a prescription to a medicated shampoo called "Derma smoothe," saying that a dermatologist would prescribe that anyway. Fine. We did it.  The itch went away for awhile and we thought all was well. When the itch came back, we did another treatment. The next morning, Isabelle showed me the shower cap that she had slept in and there were dead bugs in it! Still in denial, I googled, "bugs in hair that are not lice."  Bottom line, there ain't such a thing.

Off we were to the pharmacy for the over the counter treatment. We did everyone in the house. The shampoo is the easy part. Then you have to stand there and comb out the nits. The first night, I spent nearly 4 hours on Isabelle. We checked daily for a week and then re-treated her 8 days later. It all seemed to be fine. We went ahead and treated everyone in the home. Jean-Marc had a few, as did I. I thought we had put it behind us, but then about 5 days ago, I notice nits in Isabelle's hair. This time, they are smaller and are slipping through the comb. We are spending hours a day at this, seemingly to no avail. I realized today that this has really taken a toll on Isabelle and I particularly. I found a service called "Hair Angels." They will come to your house and guarantee to get rid of it for you. Granted, its not cheap. But we've already invested nearly $100 in over the counter poison that we are putting on our heads. Eric hasn't consented yet. Hmm.  Let him spend a few hours this weekend with Isabelle's hair and maybe he'll change his tune.

For the past few nights in the middle of the night, I've been having moments of panic, even while semi-asleep. Fears of recurrence.  The first night, I tried a trick that has worked for me in the past. I just imagine Jesus. Or I'll repeat in my mind, "Jesus...Jesus...Jesus."  It didn't work. I just kept imagining the stitch in my side being an internal organ riddled with cancer.  (I did a pretty intense Jillian DVD on Monday that has made me sore all week.)  But this middle of the night battle has made me a bit on edge.  The strange thing, is that this all goes on while I am asleep. But I'm aware of the dialogue in my head. It truly is a spiritual battle and I am under attack by the enemy. He wants to destroy anything good and rob me of my joy. Last night,  I started mentally singing a song from church, "Jesus Messiah, name above all names, Blessed Redeemer, Emmanuel. The rescue for sinners, the ransom from heaven, Jesus Messiah, Lord of All..."  I remember having to do this two or three times throughout the night. But it worked.

Today I realized all of this happening together is definitely a spiritual attack. Just being able to identify it as such has helped me cope, although I'm still frustrated with the hair situation. So please pray for me as I continue to battle on. He who is within me is greater than he who is trying to come against me!

Teenager in the house!

My oldest child, Olivier, is turning 13 years old.

It is really strange to think I will have a teenage kid. I'm not old enough to have one of those, am I?

Many people see the aging of their kids as a sign of themselves aging. They don't like it because it reminds them that they are also getting old.  While it is a strange thing to see, I'm not one of those people.

It is bittersweet to remember those early days when Olivier was a little baby and toddler. He was a pretty easy baby and I learned a lot from his cesarean birth.  Now I see flashes of adolescence and in some moments, flashes of adult maturity. He's still a good kid, too. :-)

I realized a few days ago that I am happy to see this milestone come. Yes, I am getting older. But that means that I am still alive!  I remember early after my diagnosis reading stories of women who lost their battles with cancer and left young children behind. (I don't recommend reading these stories to the newly diagnosed....it was very upsetting, especially before I knew exactly how extensive my own cancer was.)  I wept over these poor families to lose a mom at such a tender age. Leaving my kids is the one thing that I don't want to do.  Personally, I'm not afraid to die. I know where I am going when this life is over. But I don't like the idea of how it would impact them not to have me around in this life.

I will never complain about getting older-bring on the birthdays!  I also will treasure each of my kids' birthdays and being able to see the people they are growing to become. Thank you, Lord, for this time!