The Taming of an Angry Colon

So, I had my ileostomy reversal surgery on November 14. The surgery went well, no surprises. The round hole in my abdomen where my small bowel poked out had been about 2 inches in diameter. The surgeon hooked my small bowel back together again, and closed the hole down deep by the muscle, but left the rest of the wound half-open, using a “purse-string” suture around it. Imagine the drawstring on a trash bag, exactly like that. However, it was not cinched all the way closed, so it totally looked like a volcano crater. The surgeon assured me this monstrous abomination on my belly would heal very well and I would have a minimal scar. I used to work in surgery, and I was not convinced. We always made it a point to close every incision in a nice straight line for the best cosmetic result. The edges of my wound were irregular and bumpy, and it was sticking out. However, I had no option but to trust him (not that I really care what my scars look like). I am now 5 weeks out from surgery, and I have to admit he was right! I currently have about a 1/2 inch little line of a scar, a little puckered but flattening out more every day. It’s amazing what the body can do. Speaking of the body….

The main issue during recovery from this type of surgery is that your colon, which has not been used for a while (usually about 3 months), now has to wake up and do its job. Mine was laid off for seven long months, and apparently, was quite upset about being told to go back to work. My colon had been enjoying an extended vacation, laying around the pool, drinking margaritas. And suddenly, the boss comes in and yells “get to work!” Well, that makes for a disgruntled employee, let me tell you.

I was prepared for this, I wore depends, knowing there might be times when I had little warning about needing to get to the bathroom. Let’s just say for the two weeks it was a game called “ten second warning”. And this game was played at about 5 minute intervals. I couldn’t leave the house, and frankly, I hung out in the chair in my bedroom because it was about 5 steps away from the master bathroom. Even then, there were accidents (thank goodness for the depends). And the pain! My colon was rebelling in ways I had never experienced. I will spare you the details, they weren’t pretty. I was not aware that a colon could be THAT angry with its owner. I was eating small meals, low fiber, and still my colon misbehaved. I started taking Immodium a few days after getting home from the hospital. It is an anti-diarrheal medication that slows down peristalsis. I was taking 1-4 of them per day, depending how I was feeling. Then after about 2 weeks of hell, my colon was like “ok, I guess I have to make a living somehow”. We agreed that I will take an Immodium once in the morning, and once at bedtime, no exceptions, even if I feel a little constipated. In doing so, and with our new work contract agreed upon, the past few weeks have been a lot more predictable. My colon and I are on much better terms. I can go places, and not really have to worry about where the bathroom is (although if I’m in an unfamiliar place I will mentally note the location of the bathroom before getting too far). I now get to decide when I will go to the bathroom, when it is convenient for me. Sometimes if I go once, I will need to go 3-4 more times in the next 30-60 minutes, so I have consider the timing. But for the most part, knock on wood, it has been going much better than I expected at this stage. They say it takes about a year after surgery to get to your new normal. Many people have lots of issues after ileostomy reversal and have to learn to cope; this is called Low Anterior Resection Syndrome, or LARS. One thing that is in my favor is that I never had radiation to my rectum, which the majority of rectal cancer patients will have during the course of their treatment. Radiation can make tissue stiffer, less adaptable. The way I was diagnosed was kind of backward, so radiation would not have been helpful in my situation. I am grateful for that. I may not have a rectum or sigmoid colon, but the tissue that I do have is healthy, un-radiated tissue. I am hopeful that I will have a relatively normal quality of life and rarely have to think about this annoying chapter in my life. I am looking forward to starting to run again and my goal is to do at least one 5k race in 2023.

As I say goodbye to 2022, the Year of Crap (pun intended), I look ahead to the rest of my life, cancer-free and feeling good. If you are 45 or older and haven’t already done so, make a pledge to yourself to get a screening colonoscopy in 2023. Colorectal cancer can happen to anyone, even with no symptoms, and the prevalence is becoming much higher in the recent years. It is treatable if caught early. If it is caught later, it can be fatal. Do it for yourself and those you love. To my colorectal cancer buddies, we went through this together and we are coming out the other side (or other end, if you will). I will always be there for you!

This is going to be the last post dedicated to my cancer journey (at least I hope so!). I will revert this blog back to a documentation of my running adventures in the coming months. I hope you all have a happy and healthy new year!

The Saga Continues…

The last time I posted was July 21. A lot has happened since then. This is my sob story.

Shortly thereafter, I traveled to Maine with my 2 daughters to visit family for a week. I was about 1.5 weeks into my third chemo cycle, so I was beginning to feel better, and felt pretty good the whole week (minus the last day, which we will get to). We go every year, but this year was especially exciting (and imperative that I be there no matter what) because my 4 sisters and I were meeting our long-lost older sister for the first time, whom we only found out about last year. It was a great reunion, and she will forever be a part of our family now (whether you like it or not, Lisa 😉 ). The week was filled with other fun-filled activities as well, like going to the beach, climbing on the rocks at The Lobster Shack (a definite must if you ever find yourself anywhere near Cape Elizabeth, Maine), visiting the lighthouse where I got married 21 years ago, and going to an amusement/water park. Like I said, I felt pretty good during all these activities.

The 6 sisters, with our newest member Lisa (in the grey sweater)

Then, on July 30, the last day of vacation, I went out for lunch with one of my sisters. After you exit the restaurant, you have to go up a flight of stairs to get to the parking lot. I was so out of breath I couldn’t talk when I got in the car. Weird. I mean, I am totally out of shape, but I had walked around all day at the amusement park the day before without any issues. We went back to my mom’s house, where a bunch of my family started playing card games. I was on the couch, and when I got up to get a drink, I got a sharp stabbing pain under my ribs on the left. I remarked to my mom that I must have slept wrong on it or something. The pain continued, and I laid down on the couch and took a nap. I felt worse when I woke up from the nap. I sat up in a chair, hoping that would help the chest pain. It didn’t. Then I remembered the right calf pain I had been having for the past 2 weeks. I had woken up with it one day out of the blue, and assumed it was a pulled muscle. As I sat there in the chair, I put two and two together, and realized the calf pain was a DVT (blood clot) and that it had now traveled to my lungs and caused a PE (pulmonary embolism, blood clot in the lungs). I started crying immediately. This was the afternoon before we were leaving to go back home (by plane). I told my mom we needed to go to the ER.

When we got there, we were taken back right away (a cancer patient with chest pain, possible PE is high priority). The doctor came in right away as they were doing an EKG (which came back normal, other than tachycardia). My resting heart rate was in the 120’s to 130’s, normally it is in the 60’s or 70’s. I went for a CT very quickly, and it showed lots of blood clots in my right lung, and a few smaller ones in my left (where I was having pain). It hurt to breathe! And I had a fever of 102.9, which I find weird, but explains why I felt so crummy. The ER doc put me on Xarelto (a blood thinner), and told me I’d have to be on it for 3-6 months. I begged him to let me go and travel home the next day. He reluctantly agreed (if I wasn’t traveling he would have kept me overnight). Xarelto doesn’t dissolve the existing clots, but prevents new ones from forming. It starts working right away, so he felt ok with me leaving. Plus I am a medical person, so he trusted me to know if I got into trouble again. The following day, we shifted all the stuff we were taking on the plane into my two daughters’ backpacks, and I just had my fanny pack with my wallet. I couldn’t carry anything, or walk very fast. The airport sucked. Anytime I got up and walked even a few feet, my heart rate shot up and I was super short of breath. My chest still hurt like someone was stabbing me with a knife every time I inhaled. Somehow we got through it, and made it home safely. I have an oximeter at home (measures oxygen and heart rate), and over the next week my heart rate slowly came back to normal, and the chest pain went away. The lowest my oxygen got was 92%.

I saw my oncologist for my last infusion 4 days after I was diagnosed with the PEs. He looked at everything, and said that I needed to be on the Xarelto for a total of 3 months (since there is a clear reason why this happened: cancer and chemo put you more at risk for blood clots). We discussed the chemo, and both agreed that going ahead with the last round of chemo would be fine, and no need to delay it. So I had my last round of chemo while trying to get over bilateral PEs. I was pretty miserable for that first week.

Oh, I forgot to mention, the night before my infusion we had severe thunderstorms, and I was woken up in the middle of the night to a loud clap of thunder. Then on the morning of my infusion I went into my home office (which faces the front of the house) to find this as my view:

I ran outside and found this:

So, lightning really did strike. Ugh. Just another headache to add to the year 2022.

Then, on the third week of my last round (I was so close to the finish line!), I got super short of breath again, and my resting heart rate returned to the 130’s. Fearful that more blood clots had formed, I went to the ER again (I hate that place!). They did a CT scan of my lungs, and found the blood clots were gone! Like totally gone! Hallelujah! But they weren’t sure what the cause of my shortness of breath or tachycardia was, so I got admitted. I stayed for 3 days, and the best they could come up with was severe dehydration, which makes sense to me. I was soooooo thirsty the week before being admitted, I was drinking everything in sight. I drank a gallon of orange juice in one day, along with milk, gingerale, and lemonade. I couldn’t get enough. But all of that fluid went through me super quickly, and within 10 minutes of drinking, it would end up in my ileostomy bag. My urine output was very low. I was trying to hydrate myself but I couldn’t. So that’s why I ended up in the hospital. All of this sucks, and I was super weak for the week following discharge. But I’m happy to report that I felt much better the second week.

So, to recap, chemo is done! PE’s suck. So does dehydration. And so does a tree falling on your house (no damage to the house, miraculously). I am DONE with complications, and from now on, I will WILL my body into behaving. I actually felt good enough to volunteer at the Twin Cities Get Your Rear in Gear colorectal cancer 5k. Next step: Ileostomy reversal surgery in November!

Giving away Survivor Shirts with some fellow survivors!

Me insider the giant colon, next to the cancer

Lightning Strikes

So, I’m hanging in there, some days by a thread. Chemo is no joke. I mean, I knew I would have fatigue and nausea, but I don’t think anything could have prepared me for the other lovely side effects that would come along as well.

I am doing a chemo regimen that is specific to colorectal cancer, known by several cute names, including Xelox and Capox. It is a combo of two different poisons, given in rounds that are 3 weeks long. On Day 1 of the cycle, I go into the infusion center at the hospital and get my port accessed. The first time it was accessed was super painful for a few seconds, as the nurse jabbed the 18 gauge needle through my skin and into the rubber interior of the port. After that I got a prescription lidocaine cream to put on the port site about 30 minutes before getting to the infusion center. The subsequent times it didn’t hurt AT ALL! Score one point for me. However, almost all of the remaining points will go to chemo, as you will see (it doesn’t play fair). After the port is accessed, the nurse draws labs and sends them off. If your blood counts are too low, they may delay your chemo for a week or two. This hasn’t happened yet to me, and all labs have looked good (I guess that’s another point for me). Then the provider (my oncologist or the PA) comes in and sees how you’re doing. The first visit was just going over potential side effects etc, what to expect. Once the labs come back and they look good, they get the go-ahead to start the infusion. The medication is oxaliplatin (the “ox” in Xelox/Capox), and it is given over a 2-hour time frame. Chemo medication is toxic, obviously, so the nurses don full PPE when handling it, so they don’t get exposed to it inadvertently. While it’s infusing, I watch a movie on my tablet, watch tv, or take a nap. The infusion center is super nice with private rooms with big windows. When the infusion is done, the IV pump beeps an alarm, and I ring for the nurse to let her know it’s done. Then I go on my merry way to await what is to come. This was me as I got my first infusion:

The other chemo medication is called Xeloda, or capecitabine (generic), which makes up the front part of the Xelox/Capox acronym. It is an oral medication, what I affectionately call my “poison pills”. I have to take 4 large pills twice a day. I start the night of the infusion, and take it for 14 days. Then I get a week off with no chemo, then on Day 22 go back to the infusion center and start all over again.

Now, for the really unpleasant part (at least for me, you probably won’t mind reading it). The side effects. The most prominent one which starts right away (while I’m still getting the infusion) is cold sensitivity. Doesn’t sound like much, but it is debilitating. Imagine not being able to touch anything cold with your hands, otherwise you get a sensation of instant frostbite, like your hand is being zapped by an internal lightning bolt. Kinda like touching liquid nitrogen that is used to freeze warts. While getting the infusion I usually have to use the bathroom halfway through, and touching the cold IV pole to drag it along with me is electrifying. I have to use the sleeve of my sweatshirt pulled down over my hand to touch it. Now, think of everything in your day to day life that is cold (or even slightly cold). Anything in the fridge: off limits unless wearing winter gloves and even then it is unbearable. Forget taking anything out of the freezer. The stainless steel handle of the oven or dishwasher. The metal drawer pulls in the kitchen. The doorknobs. The wooden banister on our stairway (which apparently I run my hand along when I go down the stairs). Any drink, in a cup, can, bottle. Dishes taken from the clean dishwasher to be put away, especially silverware. The flush handle of the toilet. An egg taken from the fridge. And not only is the cold sensitivity in your hands, but in the skin of your entire body. The air conditioner cannot blow on your face in the car, that feels excruciating, even with the heat wave we have had this summer. It feels like instant pain/burning/freezing. But the real kicker is this: The worst location for the cold sensitivity is in your mouth and throat. So no cold drinks, or even room temperature. Otherwise you get the simultaneous sensation of your throat swelling shut and being stabbed in the throat with knives. It is not a pleasant feeling. But you’re thirsty, because you aren’t drinking anything except hot chocolate, due to the cold sensitivity. So you yearn for a nice cold lemonade, but you can’t have it. Therefore, you get dehydrated pretty quickly. Add in nausea (which anti-nausea meds zofran and compazine were not even touching) and an absolute lack of appetite, and 4 days into my first round I was absolutely miserable and had to go to the ER for fluids. The fluids didn’t seem to help (although they probably did?), and I went home to wallow in my misery yet again. That first round I was probably eating less than 200 calories a day for the first week, forcing myself to eat a corner of a graham cracker and loathing every minute of it. I lost 5 pounds in 4 days. I laid on the couch for most of the first week. I checked in with my online colon cancer support group for any suggestions. For some, the cold sensitivity is minor, but I couldn’t tolerate even room temperature liquids until probably the third week. Based on suggestions from others who had been through it, and some research on my own, I called the oncologist’s office and asked for a few things to be changed for the second cycle. We’ll get to that in a minute.

Some of the other side effects are also horrendous. “First bite pain” is a weird phenomenon that causes extreme pain (for lack of a better term) when you first take a bite of something. It’s like someone shooting a lightning bolt through the salivary glands in the back of your jaw on each side. It hits you so suddenly, and it surprises me every time (you’d think I’d learn to anticipate it). The pain is super intense, and dissipates after about 10-15 seconds. The first time I ate after my first infusion, I took a bite and froze instantly with the pain. My teenage daughter looked at me with concern. “Are you going to throw up?” All I could do is shake my head no, I couldn’t even speak to tell her what was happening. The first bite pain gets gradually better over time, and goes away completely in about a week. Yowzers.

Another major side effect is neuropathy. Tingling and pain in the fingers and toes. This is one of the reasons I haven’t written a blog post until now…it hurts to type. The neuropathy is triggered by cold sensitivity. I have to run my hands under hot water to make them feel temporarily better. It takes our hot water about 30 seconds to get hot once you turn it on at the faucet, so I am constantly turning the faucet on well before I need it. Yes, I’m wasting water over here. So sue me. I have to keep my feet in socks and slippers at all times to keep the neuropathy tolerable. Otherwise it is super painful to walk. The pain is real! For a few days after the infusion, even the seams from my pants rubbing on my skin hurt my legs. My nostrils feel tingly and they hurt when I blow my nose.

I also got a weird side effect during the first round that my oncologist had not seen before. Starting on Day 8, my eyes really hurt when I moved them. Like looking side to side was painful in my eye muscles. I couldn’t focus when my daughter would scroll through Netflix looking for a show, I had to close my eyes. I got a headache because it was hard to focus my eyes. And of course, being the medical professional that I am, and having access to information about drugs, I found out that oxaliplatin can cause optic neuritis. Yikes! An inflammation of the optic nerves. My symptoms were spot on for optic neuritis. I called my oncologist and although it’s not something they had dealt with in any of their patients, they sent me to an eye doctor. Thankfully, he said my optic nerves looked normal. By the time I saw the eye doctor, the symptoms had pretty much gone away, but it made me feel a lot less anxious knowing that there was no damage to my eyes. I kinda need them.

And last but not least, everything tastes bad. Everything. I put something in my mouth and chew it, and it tastes almost normal for a second, but quickly starts tasting like garbage. Drinks taste like dishwater. This is inconvenient, especially if you are nauseous. Ugh. My mouth feels like it is burned, like I’ve been careless with hot pizza. And there is a film in my mouth that never goes away. Oh how I long to have something taste good again! I’m told it will get back to normal once I am done with chemo.

I have to do 4 rounds of this, which I know could be worse, but it is still pretty bad. Misery has its degrees. I am currently on Day 9 of my third round, one more to go! Some things were changed after the first round, and the second and third rounds have gone so much better than the first (which felt like a total disaster). Starting with the second round, they reduced my oxaliplatin dose by 20%. As my oncologist explained, I must metabolize it more slowly than other people, since I had such severe side effects at the full dose. So reducing the dose is in effect giving me the same amount of medication that other people get from the full dose. The second thing they added was an infusion of a med called Emend, right before the oxaliplatin infusion. This is an anti-nausea med. Bring it on, the more the merrier! Thirdly, I am now pre-scheduled to get fluids two days after infusion. I don’t know if it really makes a difference, but it certainly can’t hurt. I go into the infusion center and they give me a liter of fluids through my port in about an hour. Finally, they added olanzapine. It is an anti-psychotic drug that has the weird benefit of helping cancer patients with nausea! It also increases appetite, which was huge for me. I take it at bedtime starting the night before infusion. It makes you sleepy, so has the added benefit of helping me sleep. Olanzapine has been a life-saver! I take it every night until I’m done with the two weeks of Xeloda. I tried going off it earlier than that and I was much more nauseous the next day, so I know it is working.

So, although I’m limping along this summer with chemo, I am finally staring down the last round and looking forward to feeling better! Some of the side effects, notably the neuropathy, could be permanent, but should improve over time. One notable side effect that DOES NOT occur with this regimen is hair loss, so score one more point for me. After my last round of chemo I am going to have a CT scan, and then follow up with my surgeon to discuss reversing my ileostomy in the fall. After the reversal surgery, I am potentially in for a whole ‘nother experience, as many people have bowel control problems for a period of time (or permanently). I will cross that bridge when I come to it. For now I am seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, and ready to feel better.

If you are 45 or older, GET YOUR COLONOSCOPY!

PS. Update on the kidney stone: I passed it! Although I never saw it. I felt like I had a grain of sand in my urethra for about a week, then I felt normal again. It was really hard to push fluids since I couldn’t drink anything cold, but the little bugger is gone!

Cancer sucks, but so do kidney stones and COVID

So I’m gearing up to start chemo on June 2. Since I’m not one to do things the easy way, 3 weeks after surgery I tested positive for COVID (thanks 2nd graders for that). Luckily I had just normal cold symptoms, but it still sucked. I was back to work that week (working from home), and talking to patients all day long is exhausting under normal circumstances, but trying to suppress a cough the whole day (sucking on cough drops) is super annoying. Once I was out of the 10-day quarantine period, I was like, ok, feeling better, on to chemo! But no. The universe had one more surprise for me in store……a kidney stone.

On Monday 5/23 I finished my work day at about 3:30pm. At precisely 3:36pm, I started to feel what I thought were bad menstrual cramps (albeit only on the left side). I quickly checked the app on my phone to see when my period was due (because otherwise I have no idea!), and it was supposed to be 12 days away. By the time I checked the app, the pain was in my left flank, in my lower back just above my hip. It was pretty intense, but I walked to the bus stop to meet my daughter. While standing there for the 3 minutes before the bus came, the pain progressed from a 6 to an 8, on a scale of 0-10. My mind immediately thought kidney stone, because that is a classic presentation. I had never had a kidney stone before. So as we walked (I hobbled) back home from the bus stop, my mind was racing….what else could cause this pain? I worried that it was something to do with my surgery, since that was in the left pelvic area, but the pain was higher than the area of surgery. Or, is my ovary twisted? Ovarian torsion is apparently extremely painful, because the ovary’s blood supply gets cut off with the twist. I didn’t know what it was, but the pain was getting worse and I knew I couldn’t just wait around for it to go away. I texted my husband to tell him I needed to go to the ER. I got in bed and curled up in the fetal position and cried (the first of many cries to come). He got home as soon as he could and packed an overnight bag for me just in case. He dropped me off at the ER (no visitors allowed in the waiting room), at the same hospital where I had my surgery. We could have gone to a local ER (not attached to a hospital), but I wanted all my records available to the doctors. I checked in, and cried as I signed the paperwork. I sat in the waiting room for a total of 4 hours, with my pain at a 10. I couldn’t sit still, kept shifting in the chair, crying quietly to myself. Anyone who knows me knows that I have a high pain tolerance and I hide my pain well. However, I think it was a culmination of all of the crap I’ve been through in the last few months, and then 10/10 pain on top of that. So some of the crying was a pity party for myself. Why me??? Why do I keep having bad luck??? I was glad that they had each waiting room seat partitioned off with frosted plexiglass, so less people could see how pathetic I looked. I was beyond caring at that point, though. I didn’t cry when I was diagnosed with rectal cancer. I didn’t cry when they told me I needed an ileostomy. I didn’t cry after my painful surgery. I didn’t cry when they told me I needed chemo. But this….whole ‘nother level.

After the 4-hour wait, they got me to a room in the ER. That’s when the waterworks really started. I cried and cried and cried. I was in soooooooo much pain. It was a 10, but then it got even worse! Didn’t think it was possible. It was definitely worse than labor pain. I mean, yeah, labor is bad, but you can breathe through the contractions and they END. This was a nonstop worst pain of my life, I imagined I was birthing a baby through my ureter. That’s what it felt like. The doctor came in and immediately saw my distress. He asked his questions, then left to order pain meds and a CT. I have a port implanted in my chest for chemo, and the nurses accessed it so I didn’t have to have an IV in my arm. All meds and fluids could be given through my port (her name is Portia). Portia to the rescue! Or so I thought. The nurse gave me Dilaudid, which is a strong opioid pain medicine. She came back a few minutes later to see how it helped, and it hadn’t helped AT ALL. So she gave me a second dose, and nothing changed.

Meanwhile, they took me for the CT. So I still hadn’t stopped crying, and I cried while in the CT scanner. I felt like such a baby for all the tears, but they weren’t letting up. It was still a 10/10 during the CT. When I got back to the ER, the nurse gave me some Toradol (a strong anti-inflammatory), and within minutes that helped the pain (FINALLY!). Of course, since I am THAT patient, I checked my CT results on my phone even before the doctor came in to discuss it. The CT did not see a stone. WTF?? There was dilation of the left renal pelvis (where the ureter comes out of the kidney) and dilation/inflammation of the left ureter, “likely secondary to a recently passed stone”. Ok. Where is the stone then? There was a large cyst on the ovary (measured at 4 cm). The doctor came in and was stumped. He thought my pain could have been caused by a kidney stone, or maybe a kidney infection. Except my urinalysis showed basically nothing except a few white blood cells. No microscopic blood (which you would expect with a kidney stone). I was still in quite a bit of pain, so he sent me for a pelvic ultrasound to rule out ovarian torsion, and to look at the cyst more closely.

During the ultrasound (which happened about 30 minutes after I received the Toradol), my flank pain was melting away. By the time I got back to the room, it was a 3/10. So much relief! The ultrasound did not show ovarian torsion, and the cyst (which was measured at 6 cm with ultrasound) appeared to be a peritoneal inclusion cyst surrounding my ovary, not an actual ovarian cyst. I’m not really sure if peritoneal inclusion cysts normally cause pain, but since it was on the left, and in the pelvis, it was just another red herring to have to consider. Apparently these cysts can form after surgery.

Well, since the ER doc was stumped, and he was worried about my cancer/recent surgery history, and the fact that I was starting chemo in 10 days, he decided to admit me for pain relief/observation. He was favoring pyelonephritis, a kidney infection. Of course they didn’t have a hospital room available, so I slept on and off on the ER stretcher that night. At about 3am, I was woken up by the admitting hospitalist. He heard my story, and was highly favoring kidney stone as the diagnosis, and I completely agreed with him at that point. I had a classic presentation, but it was weird that they didn’t see it on the CT scan. It definitely hadn’t passed by that time, evidenced by my 10/10 pain in the CT scanner. There is a possibility that it was hiding between the cuts of the CT images. The images “skip” small sections of the body as it scans. If the cuts are 5mm in size, and the stone is 3mm, it could have positioned itself just out of view. That would be my luck. My cancer has proven to be quite elusive to diagnose, as well as that pesky one positive lymph node. It seems my body is very modest and wants to keep stuff out of view. Jerk.

So I was admitted, and given antibiotics to cover a kidney infection. When I got to my room at 5:30am, I couldn’t fall back asleep right away. My pain was minimal (thank goodness!) but I was exhausted. I dozed on and off that morning. The rounding hospitalist came in around 2 pm, and was stumped as well. She said that given my upcoming chemo, they want to make sure to treat any infection, so she would err on the side of pyelonephritis and treat accordingly with antibiotics. But she was confused because it didn’t sound like pyelo…I didn’t feel sick prior to the pain, the pain was so sudden, I had no fever, urine was pretty clean. It’s weird to be a patient AND a medical provider, trying to work out your own differential diagnoses from a hospital bed. She was very nice and included me in the decision-making (I didn’t tell her I was a PA but it seemed she knew, probably from the admission note). She said it’s possible it could have been a stone that passed, since my pain was now minimal. It was about a 1 while I was talking to her. She agreed to discharge me, and asked if I wanted any pain meds to use at home, and I said no (I would regret that decision later).

My port, Portia, was connected to the IV fluids. When the nurse was readying me for discharge, she disconnected the IV line, and taped up the loose end to my skin. I was like “um, I’m not going home with this line sticking out of my chest….my chemo isn’t until late next week!”. She was insistent that my port should stay accessed, and made it sound like it would stay accessed all summer while going through chemo (even though infusions would be 3 weeks apart). I was adamant that she call the IV team and find out for sure. I couldn’t imagine going through life with tubes hanging out of my chest! The port is put in so chemo is easier, not harder! Anyway, the IV team confirmed that they would NOT let me go home with all that stuff, and they came to take it out. At least the floor nurse learned something that day. Happy to teach.

So I went in Monday night, and got discharged Tuesday evening. At discharge, my pain was starting up again, and was probably a 4 on the drive home. It got worse that night. I slept on the couch with a heating pad on my left back. Wednesday the pain fluctuated, anywhere from a 3 to a 7 that night. I cried again, thinking I would need to go back to the ER (which I absolutely didn’t want to do). I was taking ibuprofen and tylenol around the clock, and I’m not sure if it helped. I realized that even if I had said yes to the pain meds, she probably would have given my oxycodone, which likely wouldn’t have touched the pain (since Dilaudid didn’t). Thursday and Friday I worked at my desk, seeing patients, with a heating pad stuck up the back of my shirt. Even now (Saturday) I am sitting here with the heating pad. The heating pad seems to help a little, if for nothing else, just to distract my nerves from the sharp pain happening underneath.

I am 100% convinced it is a kidney stone. My urine culture came back as negative, no infection at all. All of the descriptions of kidney stones I’ve read on line, plus talking to a few friends who have been lucky enough to have had a kidney stone: my symptoms are classic. I get a crampy pain in my left flank every time I empty my bladder. Which makes me think the stone is at the bottom of the ureter, sitting at the edge of the bladder. The internet tells me it can take up to 6 weeks for a small kidney stone to pass!!! Oh my god. So I have potentially weeks more of this, in addition to starting chemo. I have an appointment with my PCP on Tuesday, so I will discuss it then with her. I hope it passes this weekend! I am drinking a ton of fluids (which I hate to do because it always makes me feel nauseous to have a lot of fluid in my stomach), and peeing a lot (which I hate to do because it hurts more).

So send me all your kidney-stone-please-pass-soon vibes. My next post will be about the start to my chemo journey…unless something else happens in the next 6 days…

A pic of the hooligan who gave me COVID (hint: it wasn’t me)

My port, the little bump above the incision. Note there are no IV lines coming out of it…

The chemo pills I will have to take…hazardous!

The Summer of Me

Well, I had my surgery on 4/18/22. It has taken me two weeks to gather the physical and creative energy needed to write a blog post. I was in the hospital for 4 days. Oh. My. God. The first week was sooooo hard! I did not think it would be that painful. It was a laparoscopic low anterior resection with ileostomy. A few poke holes in my abdomen, and one horizontal 5-inch incision low down on the abdomen (same incision used for a C-section), to get the tumor out. And then my ileostomy in my upper abdomen on the right. The surgery apparently lasted for 7 hours, and wasn’t super straight-forward, but everything ended up fine despite the hurdles. When I got to my hospital room, the actual incisions didn’t seem to specifically hurt, but I felt like my whole belly had been run over by a bus. In addition to that, the CO2 gas that they pump in to your abdomen causes the worst shoulder pain after surgery! The shoulder pain was worse if I took a deep breath, so I tried not to, even though I knew I didn’t want post-op pneumonia! That shoulder pain lasted a good week. Luckily, week two was much more manageable. I walked to the bus stop to pick up my 2nd grader on day 8. It’s weird, but when I walk sometimes, my abdominal muscles tighten, and it feels just like Braxton Hicks contractions (don’t worry, I’m not pregnant!). Uncomfortable to say the least. That also seems to be getting better. I have to give myself a daily shot of a blood-thinner (for a month), so I don’t get a blood clot in my legs. It’s actually not that bad….my skin is numb from my belly button down to my lower incision, so I just use that area for the injections. It’s like giving an injection to someone else because I can’t feel it…weird. But my belly looks like Shelby’s arm in Steel Magnolias, like a battle zone of bruises from the injections.

With the magic of health records, and patients having access to them, I got a notification on my phone the day after surgery as I lay in my hospital bed. My surgical pathology was finalized. No evidence of residual cancer in the recto-sigmoid specimen (yay! — my tumor had actually already been removed endoscopically in March, because all of the biopsies pointed to it being benign), but one lymph node out of 28 was positive for cancer. Which may not seem like much, but even one lymph node buys you a ticket to chemo. Sigh. Thanks to the lymph node, my rectal cancer is officially stage 3a (or T2N1M0 for those of you who know TNM staging). I don’t know yet what kind of chemo or for how long I’ll need to do it, but I’ve been told it’s not the kind that makes you lose your hair, so that’s a good thing, right? I can continue to see my patients without having to answer questions about my own health (believe me, they would ask). So this was supposed to be the summer of me. And it will be: it will be all about me and my naps and my nausea and my neuropathy (a common side effect of this type of chemo). Maybe it won’t be all that bad? Only time will tell.

My ileostomy, named “Squirt”, has been relatively easy to take care of. He sometimes makes squirting noises, which the kids and I think is hilarious (although it wouldn’t be as funny if I was in a quiet room with someone who didn’t know I had one!). The main thing that bums me out about Squirt is that I have a restricted diet. However, it’s not what you think when you imagine a diet restriction. It is a low-fiber, low-residue diet. So basically, I have to avoid all that is healthy! I’m not supposed to have any raw fruits or vegetables, no salad, nothing high fiber. I can’t go through the summer without having fruits! The worry is that your ileostomy can get blocked, because high-fiber foods don’t digest as well. But because I’m me, I have already cheated. Good strawberries are starting to show up in the stores. So I have had strawberries the past few days (with Cool Whip of course!). I just cut each strawberry into about 20 pieces! I feel like I’m a baby learning how to eat. Don’t want to choke on anything! But I’m bummed that absolute no-no’s are grapes (I love grapes!) and corn (I wait all year for good corn on the cob!). The strawberries seemed to cause no issues, so I will continue to experiment with other fruits as time goes on. Squirt and I will be buddies until about a month after chemo is finished, so probably into the fall. The picture is 4 regular-sized strawberries, cut up so small I could hardly see them.

The following is a well-traveled post that has been circulating for several years on facebook and other platforms; it’s about cancer treatment. I don’t know who the author is, but it’s funny, accurate, and scary at the same time.

“What’s it like to go through cancer treatment? It’s something like this: one day, you’re minding your own business, you open the fridge to get some breakfast, and OH MY GOD THERE’S A MOUNTAIN LION IN YOUR FRIDGE.

Wait, what? How? Why is there a mountain lion in your fridge? NO TIME TO EXPLAIN. RUN! THE MOUNTAIN LION WILL KILL YOU! UNLESS YOU FIND SOMETHING EVEN MORE FEROCIOUS TO KILL IT FIRST!

So you take off running, and the mountain lion is right behind you. You know the only thing that can kill a mountain lion is a bear, and the only bear is on top of the mountain, so you better find that bear. You start running up the mountain in hopes of finding the bear. Your friends desperately want to help, but they are powerless against mountain lions, as mountain lions are godless killing machines. But they really want to help, so they’re cheering you on and bringing you paper cups of water and orange slices as you run up the mountain and yelling at the mountain lion – “GET LOST, MOUNTAIN LION, NO ONE LIKES YOU” – and you really appreciate the support, but the mountain lion is still coming.

Also, for some reason, there’s someone in the crowd who’s yelling “that’s not really a mountain lion, it’s a puma” and another person yelling “I read that mountain lions are allergic to kale, have you tried rubbing kale on it?”

As you’re running up the mountain, you see other people fleeing their own mountain lions. Some of the mountain lions seem comparatively wimpy – they’re half grown and only have three legs or whatever, and you think to yourself – why couldn’t I have gotten one of those mountain lions? But then you look over at the people who are fleeing mountain lions the size of a monster truck with huge prehistoric saber fangs, and you feel like an ******* for even thinking that – and besides, who in their right mind would want to fight a mountain lion, even a three-legged one?

Finally, the person closest to you, whose job it is to take care of you – maybe a parent or sibling or best friend or, in my case, my husband – comes barging out of the woods and jumps on the mountain lion, whaling on it and screaming “GODDAMMIT MOUNTAIN LION, STOP TRYING TO EAT MY WIFE,” and the mountain lion punches your husband right in the face. Now your husband (or whatever) is rolling around on the ground clutching his nose, and he’s bought you some time, but you still need to get to the top of the mountain.

Eventually you reach the top, finally, and the bear is there. Waiting. For both of you. You rush right up to the bear, and the bear rushes the mountain lion, but the bear has to go through you to get to the mountain lion, and in doing so, the bear TOTALLY KICKS YOUR ***, but not before it also punches your husband in the face. And your husband is now staggering around with a black eye and bloody nose, and saying “can I get some help, I’ve been punched in the face by two apex predators and I think my nose is broken,” and all you can say is “I’M KIND OF BUSY IN CASE YOU HADN’T NOTICED I’M FIGHTING A MOUNTAIN LION.”

Then, IF YOU ARE LUCKY, the bear leaps on the mountain lion and they are locked in epic battle until finally the two of them roll off a cliff edge together, and the mountain lion is dead.

Maybe. You’re not sure – it fell off the cliff, but mountain lions are crafty. It could come back at any moment.

And all your friends come running up to you and say “that was amazing! You’re so brave, we’re so proud of you! You didn’t die! That must be a huge relief!”

Meanwhile, you blew out both your knees, you’re having an asthma attack, you twisted your ankle, and also you have been mauled by a bear. And everyone says “boy, you must be excited to walk down the mountain!” And all you can think as you stagger to your feet is “**** this mountain, I never wanted to climb it in the first place.”

I am currently heading up the mountain, not knowing how big of a bear I’m going to need to help me. I’m hoping all I’ll need is a cute little black bear cub, but it could be a grizzly bear. I know I am super lucky and hopefully by the end of the year I will be done with cancer, something a lot of people only wish they could say. It could be so much worse (I’ve always been a glass-half-full kinda girl). I will post more once I know what my summer holds. In the meantime, if you are 45 or older, and haven’t had a colonscopy yet, GET SCREENED!

Nothing says Easter like a clear liquid diet and full colon prep

Well, I haven’t written on this blog for almost 4 years, and yes, you can infer that I haven’t really been running during that time. It is always on my mind, and I really want to get back to running and racing. The COVID pandemic put a damper on racing, and now that *seems* to be getting back to normal. However, I ran into a little stumbling block recently: rectal cancer. I am 48 years old, and like many my age, I never thought I could get colorectal cancer. But it’s real, and it’s far too common in people under 50 these days. The recommended age for screening colonoscopy has been lowered from 50 to 45, so get your colonoscopy if you are over 45! The prep is what scared me the most, as probably with most people, but it’s really not that bad. My fear was the actual drinking part, not the aftermath. I have an aversion to drinking liquids that taste bad. In college I was prescribed a cough medicine and gagged every time it got near my mouth….I couldn’t drink it! But let me tell you, I have now done 3 colon preps in the last 3 months (Easter will be the fourth), and if I can do it, you can do it. I have no colorectal cancer history in my family. So get screened! *steps down from soapbox* For the immediate future, this blog is going to be my cancer journey (one I hope is short), and after that, I will get back to running.

The reason I am doing a colon prep on Easter is that the following day, I will have surgery to remove my rectum and sigmoid colon, and all of the adjoining lymph nodes. Don’t worry, everything is going to be hooked back up so I have working plumbing, but I will get the pleasure of having an ileostomy bag for 3 months while my colon heals. Then sometime late summer, if all goes well, I will have surgery to reverse the ileostomy and put me completely back together again. Probably not “good as new”, but some version of that.

I am a little different than the average patient, in that I have been a physician assistant for almost 20 years, and before that I was a surgical tech, working in surgery. I worked in the operating room a total of 10 years before moving on to my current position. I have seen the exact surgery I am going to have, I have assisted on the exact surgery that I am going to have. It is called a low anterior resection. I know the instruments, I know what will be happening to me during the surgery. It is slightly more terrifying than not knowing. I have the privilege of understanding everything the surgeon has told me, and can be an informed partner in my care. But ugh, those of you who work in surgery know what I’m talking about. It is so weird being in the patient’s position. Feels very vulnerable, especially for me since I am such a control freak. I have to have faith that the surgical team will do everything the way I would do it.

As far as staging, my cancer is thought to be a T1-2 (hasn’t invaded through the whole bowel wall), N0 (no lymph nodes containing cancer), and M0 (no metastasis, or spread of the cancer to other parts of my body). This is a great position to be in, because if the staging remains this way once the surgery is complete, I will not need chemo or radiation. That, of course, is the hope.

For now, my goal is to get through surgery, work on weight loss, and get back into running. If everything goes well, I could possibly do some 5k races in 2023!

There’s a Fit Girl Inside

Soooooo, long time no write, right? I have had this post percolating in my head for a few months, but I’m finally finding time to sit and write it down.  My last post was last August, about the Beach to Beacon 10k in Maine.  Honestly, I haven’t done any races since then (other than the Color Run last weekend which doesn’t really count, since we walked the whole thing).  And guess what?  The Beach to Beacon is coming up again in 3 weeks.  My running has suffered for various reasons this spring.  The first is that we got an epic blizzard in mid-April.  The snow wasn’t gone until May, and that was super depressing.  I tried my hardest to run on the treadmill, but it was, as usual, like torture.  My second excuse is that this is the first year in our new house, and finding a new running route is scary and daunting.  I am not familiar with all the paths and streets around here yet, so that held me back for a while.  However, I am happy to say that our hew neighborhood has direct access to a regional trail, which goes for miles and miles in each direction, and is used by cyclists, runners, and walkers alike.

So I have been running on the trail for the past 2 months, about 3 mornings a week, getting familiar with the territory.

Usually when I rev up my running in the spring and early summer, there is a natural progression.  I can run farther each time.  Not so this year.  I am stuck in a rut.  I have been running for a few months and still can’t run for more than 2-3 minutes at a time before having to take a walk break.  The farthest I have gone is 0.35 miles (pathetic!).  It is so frustrating!  I am going to run a 10k, 6.2 miles in 3 weeks.  My main issue is that I can’t seem to run slowly….My legs have a natural cadence and it apparently can’t be altered.  My legs must remember back a few years when I was at my fittest.  Currently, I am running consistently at 10:00 to 10:30 min/mile according to my Garmin, and it feels unnatural to try to go slower.  But fitness-wise, I am not up to running at that pace for long.  So my body is fighting itself.  The fit girl inside is fighting the obese outer body.  Which brings me to my third excuse (and the biggest, no pun intended): my weight.

Over the last year I gained some weight on top of the weight I already had.  I found myself with 60 pounds to lose.  You know those 40-pound bags of salt you get for your water softener? Imagine trying to run while carrying one and half of those bags on your back.  Impossible, right?  I can attest that it is near impossible.  And if you’re one of those people like my mom who didn’t know what a water softener was (not sure if that’s due to her location (Northeast) or due to the fact that her house is older?), imagine carrying six 10-pound bags of potatoes.  So 3 weeks ago I decided to bite the bullet and join Weight Watchers for the third time.  I was hesitant because I am old-school Weight Watchers, and the “smart points” intimidated me at first (they don’t make logical sense to me!).  But I have embraced the change and I actually like it!  I can eat as much fruit, vegetables, chicken, and eggs as I want to!  I have followed the program and lost 7 pounds so far (tomorrow is my weigh-in day and I’m hoping for 2 more).  I am feeling better and I can tell the difference already.  I feel relieved that I am back in control of my eating.  If it continues the way it’s been going, I could be at my goal weight in 7 months or so.  That’ll be a great segue into spring running next year.  For now, I will continue my run/walk/run/walk pattern right into the Beach to Beacon.

On a different note, last weekend the girls (ages 12 and 4) and I did the Color Run.  If I haven’t posted about it already, it’s a fun 5k for every ability level (I even saw a woman doing it with a broken leg on one of those scooters you rest your knee on!).  You go through 5 or 6 stations along the way in which you get squirted with color.  It’s like a colored cornstarch powder, so it sticks to your clothes, but it actually washes right out in the wash.  It’s a fun thing to do with the kids.  Here we are before we started:

At the first station, green:

In the middle of the course, taking a break:

After the run, taking a picture with SpongeBob, aka Squongebob as Esme calls him (she was too scared to take a picture with him by herself):

And after the run, just the girls:

It’s definitely a fun event for the whole family.  This is the third year we’ve done it, and will do it again!

Goodbye until next time, when I run the Beach to Beacon 10k!  Hopefully I will be a little better prepared for it than I was last year!

An actual, real-life Couch to 10k, and how I lost (or gained?) 2 years of my life

I hadn’t planned to stop running, but, you know, life happens.  This spring we decided to sell our house, and the preparations kept me super busy (and stressed), so running kinda left me for a while.  I went a week without running, telling myself I’ll get back to it next week, and that stretched into two weeks of no running, and so on.  After a month of not running, I stopped making excuses, and just convinced myself that I didn’t need it.  I didn’t have time to feel guilty.

Back in March, before I had stopped running, there was the registration for the Beach to Beacon 10k.  It is an annual tradition in my family to run the Beach to Beacon in Maine every August.  I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before, but the registration for the race is super competitive and nerve-wracking!  This year, on the designated day in March, I woke up early and got my laptop up and running.  I had my credit card at the ready, and my typing fingers were in top form.  I had my cell phone next to me, and my sisters Julie and Beth were on text alert…we always let each other know the moment we are able to register successfully.  In past years, the race has filled its 6000 general registration spots in 3-4 minutes.  You have to type super fast, not make any mistakes, and hope that the website doesn’t crash due to the sheer number of people trying to do the same thing you are trying to do.  I’ve been through this before, so I knew what to expect.  The clock said 5:59am.  I started clicking the “register” icon on the website repeatedly, knowing that in the next minute or so, it would magically load the 1st page of the registration.  Click, click, click.  Heart pounding.  Eyes unblinking.  Click, click, click.  Nothing was happening.  6:00am….Click, click, click.  I start panicking.  I quickly shoot a text to my sisters “I can’t get in! It won’t load!” (although I’m sure I didn’t bother with punctuation under the circumstances).  In the next 2 harrowing minutes I see texts from both of them “I’m on the 3rd page” or “almost done”, and I haven’t even gotten in the gate yet!  I’m still clicking REGISTER, and nothing is happening.  Then I see both sisters have gotten in, they are registered.  Beth then started to try to register me.  By this time I have lost hope, and I’m sure I’ll have to enter the lottery (for those who don’t get in, or are too faint of heart to attempt general registration).  Beth is a fast typer, but it would be nearly impossible to do 2 registrations back to back before the deadline.  It’s 6:06am….I’m sure the registration has closed several minutes ago.  I text the girls that I am going to sign up for the lottery and hope for the best.  Then I start getting frantic texts from Beth asking “What year were you born in?????” She is still trying to get me registered!  I answered the text with my birth year.  Then I notice that the texts from my 2 sisters seem to have been delayed.  They are coming out of order on my phone.  At about 6:10am I called Beth (why didn’t we do that before?).  She said she was able to register me; I was in!  Beth is officially the champion registerer for the Beach to Beacon!  The birth year question was totally delayed on my phone…by the time I had answered her, she had been done with my registration for about 5 minutes.  She guessed my birth year (she was under an enormous time pressure to fill something in, she couldn’t think, so she put 1975).  I was born in 1973.  So for the race I would be 2 years younger than my actual age.  Sweet!  (PS: Beth I think I still owe you money for the registration.)

As the spring and summer went on, I wasn’t running, and I didn’t seem to care.  I had a lot on my to-do list to get the house ready to go on the market.  I painted the entire interior of the house by myself, refaced the kitchen cabinets and bathroom vanities, and packed up most of our junk and stored it off-site.  All while working full-time and taking care of 2 kids by myself, as my husband travels a lot for work.  But I’m not complaining, I’m proud of all I accomplished!  The house looked great.  After what seemed like an eternity (it was actually 5 weeks) we received the right offer and accepted it.  We had already committed to buying another house, so everything fell into place at the last minute, one week before the Beach to Beacon race.

On August 2nd, my daughters and I flew to Maine from Minnesota to see our family.  The girls have fun with their cousins, and I love spending time with my mom and my 4 sisters.  This summer, Julie had also not been running and Beth had not been training as much as she had hoped, so we had come to an agreement that we would treat the race as a casual “sister chat session”, and take walk breaks (normally a big no-no during my races, self-imposed, of course).  We had a few days to spend catching up with friends and family, and then it was the night before the race.  Beth called me. She had a proposal.  That we not even go to the race, since we’d have to get up early in the morning, and we aren’t in shape, yada yada yada.  I, of course, had been toying with that idea myself, but I was torn, willing to do what the majority wanted.  Julie wanted to go, because she would have felt guilty about registering and then not running, when so many people who wanted to run had gotten shut out of the registration.  So it was decided that we would bite the bullet and do it.  So there I was, sitting on my mom’s couch on Friday night, and without any training, I was going to do a 10k on Saturday morning.

Race morning is always exciting, albeit early.  I got up at 5:30am, ate a half of a bagel, and heard Beth’s car pull up in the driveway of my mom’s house.  Beth’s husband Brad was also running (although he was ACTUALLY running), and he sat in the back seat as we headed toward Cape Elizabeth, about 30 minutes away.  Of course we encountered some traffic as we got closer (other runners and spectators), but it wasn’t bad and we were able to make our way to the parking area at Hannaford Corporate to meet Julie before getting on the bus to the start line.  We didn’t have to wait all that long to get on the bus once we got in line, but we DID have to wait for Beth to use the port-o-potty before actually getting in line, which set us back a little on time.  This is Julie and I on the bus:

The bus ride seemed to last forever, and then we started to see runners walking along the side of the road, so I knew (or assumed) the start line was nearby.  The bus dropped us off at a dump.  Yes, a dump.  We started walking in the direction that all the other runners were walking.  And walking.  And walking.  We literally walked about a mile to get to the start line.  Not a good start to my 10k, with a body that hadn’t done any exercise in many months.  As we got up to the staging area, another bus was dropping off runners (they had parked at a different location, and THEIR bus driver thought he should drop them near the start line, go figure).  At that moment, my friend Sarah came off the bus with her sister and husband!  We went to college together in Pennsylvania, and she now lives in Maine (steps from the finish line).  Most years we have seen each other at the race.  Until next year, Sarah!

Anyhoo, after standing in the longest bathroom line ever, we finally made our way to the start corral.  Here we are, still looking optimistic:

 

Since I wasn’t running the race for time, I carried my phone with me during the race, something I’ve never done before.  I figured I could finally document a race in pictures, as it’s happening.  Brilliant!

We started the race in the usual fashion (not being able to hear the actual start announcement, and just following the crowd to the start line).  Brad left us behind, and the three sisters ran together.  At the beginning of the race, it was like I’d never stopped running.  My muscles seemed to remember what to do, and I found a rhythm (that didn’t last long).  Beth was the only one of us with a GPS watch (I had forgotten to pack mine for my trip), so she was in charge of letting us know when we could take a walk break based on distance.  She announced that we would run a 1/2 mile and then walk. Um, that was way longer than I had anticipated that I would have to run without stopping.  I haven’t run ANY miles (not even 0.0001 miles), let alone a 1/2 mile, in 4 months.  But somehow we were able to do it, then we walked.  In the blink of an eye, Beth, the keeper of the time and distance, then announced it was time to run again.  We had walked 1/10 of a mile.  I may have protested (I can’t remember if I said anything aloud or if I was just cursing her in my head), but I obeyed.  We went on like that for the first few miles, running WAY more than I had bargained for.

We hit the halfway point of the race, and came to the straight section by Cape Elizabeth High School.  Julie and I were staying side by side, and most of the time Beth was a few steps ahead of us.  I snapped a selfie as we ran, and Julie (who is ALWAYS ready for a cheesy running picture) obliged.

Notice the woman in the white shirt raising her arms behind us.  She had been attempting to photobomb our selfie, and as she passed us a few seconds later, she admitted it.  We laughed and said “we’ll forever remember you”, and “I’m getting teary just thinking about it” and other such camaraderie nonsense you say to complete strangers during a race.  We thought we were hilarious (maybe we were delirious?).  Don’t forget that woman, she will reappear later….

After we passed the high school, we approached the curve onto Shore Road, where I knew my friend Patty would be watching the race (if she hadn’t already gone home, because we had been going super slow!).  I see Patty once a year at this corner.  Our reunion was about 30 seconds long, as I gave her a sweaty hug and snapped a selfie (did I mention how bad I am at taking selfies?  Especially in bright daylight so I can’t see the screen).  Love you, Patty!

 

After that, the course passes down a long and winding road that leads to the park at the finish.  Along this road are houses, most with long driveways.  The homeowners always camp out at the end of their driveways with their friends, cheering on the runners, and often playing loud music to lift our spirits.  One such song we heard was “We Are Family”, which we sang (of course), but we changed the next line to “I got half my sisters with me” (which was true).  Throughout the next few miles we saw the woman in the white shirt several times, and we joked with her “Stop following me” and so forth to keep the mood light.  We talked to her and found out her name was Jeannine and she had 4 sisters as well (one of whom was also running the race).  So we would chit chat a little with Jeannine every time we passed each other doing our walk/run.  Coming up to mile 5, the road opens up to the ocean on the right-hand side.  It is a glorious sight after essentially being in the woods for several miles.  It was foggy that morning, and as the salt air hit my nose, I snapped a picture of the inlet.

And then finally, mile 5.

 

Shortly thereafter we passed the “Beach to Bacon” house (they hand out bacon to the runners, smelled super good, but the thought of consuming bacon after 5 miles of untrained running was very unappealing at the time, so I passed on that).  The rest of the race was kind of a blur to me.  My legs had gone their limit, and I knew that coming into the park at almost mile 6 there is a brutal, short hill that I was dreading.  Right before the park entrance, Jeannine appeared and ran beside us.  She literally pushed me up the hill by putting her hand on my back (which made it SO much easier!).  I was grateful.  At the top of the hill, though, I was gassed out.  Beth took off ahead, as did Jeannine.  Julie stayed with me but willed me to run the last 3/10 mile.  It was crazy.  I could barely lift my legs, but I ran.  Finally the finish line was up ahead, and I was able to lift my arm enough to take a blurry pic.

We had planned to do jazz hands at the finish (for the picture) but I totally forgot, because my brain lacked oxygen at that moment.

No surprise, this was a PW for me (personal worst, a term coined by my cousin Jane at this very race several years ago).  But guess who we saw right after we finished?  That’s right, Jeannine!  Obligatory selfie with a stranger:

There is more to this story (of course)….We parted ways with Jeannine and headed over to get our bags.  There we ran into Jeannine again (stalker?), and she had found her sister, Tiffany.  After introductions, Beth says to Jeannine’s sister “Wait, are you MaryBeth’s friend Tiffany?” Of course, they know each other through a mutual friend!  We laughed about it being a small world etc.  As Beth, Julie, and I go to the food tent and laughed about it some more, we realized that Tiffany and Jeannine had actually been a part of our Beach to Beacon email group a few years ago (we had never met them in person).  Coincidence?  I think not.  (actually I do, I just had to say that).  Small world indeed!

After we had consumed some food and water, we headed to the line for the bus, which is always sooooooo long.  In order to get to the line, we had to go down some stone steps.  FYI, running a 10k with zero preparation will make it difficult for you to go down stairs without looking like an idiot.  For several days thereafter as well.  Fun times.  I felt 50 years older at that moment, instead of 2 years younger than my actual age (according to the B2B).  In line with Julie, who had picked up some swag (free Blue Cross Blue Shield shades):

We stood in line for about an hour, as my muscles got stiffer and stiffer.  Then we rode on a school bus for 20 minutes bouncing around on our very sore muscles.  Then we drove back to mom’s house for another 30 minutes.  I would find it necessary to take ibuprofen around the clock for the next 3 days.  It has been 7 days since the race and my hips are still sore.

So, running a 10k without training is not recommended.  But I had a great time despite the physical pain, and it only makes me more motivated to actually strive to beat my Beach to Beacon PR next year….1:00:21.  Can it be done????  Maybe if I train…

2016 10k #1: done!

I haven’t run 6.2 miles since 2013.  I did on Saturday for the Get in Gear 10k!  It feels good to be “back”.  I put that in quotes because I’m not all the way back, but part of the way.  I have the rest of the summer to get back into 2012 shape, or at least closer to it.  That was the year my Get in Gear time was 1:00:11.  So close to my goal of under 1 hour!  That was also the year I ran 100 miles in the month of June.  My time at the Beach to Beacon 10k that year was 1:00:21.  So close again!  And 2012 was the year I WOULD have reached my goal if the Time to Fly 10k hadn’t actually been unfairly longer than an official 10k.  But I’m not going to dwell on the past (although I’m still thoroughly irritated by that!).  I need to focus on the here and now.

The Get in Gear holds a special place in my heart.  The 5k was my very first race, back in April 2008.  Every time I go back, I am hit with a wave of nostalgia for that first race.  I remember the emotions I had that day.  Excited, nervous, awestruck that I was running in an actual race.  This time, I was running the 10k, a course I know very well.  I have run this race 4 times before, including the 1/2 marathon in 2010, which shares the 10k course.  It’s a pretty flat course, which is nice especially since this is my re-introduction to road races after a hiatus.  My goal was to be under a slow 1:10.

My coworker Jamie had a baby last year, and wanted to get back into running like I did.  We have been working toward this day since January, checking in with each other almost daily with our accomplishments and struggles as we trained.  We met at 7:30am Saturday morning and drove together to the race site.  We were both nervous and excited!  We parked on a side street and walked to Minnehaha Park.  It was cold outside (low- to mid-40’s) so we headed for the indoor pavilion.  We stayed in there for a little while, warmed by the hundreds of other people milling about in there.  Then we went out to the Falls and got a picture.  My selfie-taking skills suck.

The 10k (and 1/2 marathon) race start was at 9:00am, and the 5k (which Jamie was running) started at 9:20am.  We walked from the falls, and I dropped my bag containing my phone and keys at Gear Check.  After wasting as much time as we could chatting and people-watching, I headed to the start corral at about 8:45am.  I positioned myself near the 12-minute-mile pacer who was holding a sign.  The road filled in with people, some of whom were doing the 10k and some the 1/2 marathon.  I was standing shoulder to shoulder with strangers.  Anyone who’s been in the start corral of a big race knows exactly what I’m talking about.  The chatter of all the excited conversations going on drowns out all other noise.  I was vaguely aware that the announcer was saying something on the loudspeaker, but there was no way to hear what he was saying.  And I’m only 5’2″, so I couldn’t see above people’s heads to know what was going on up ahead at the start line.  Basically I was stuck looking at people’s backs.  I looked down and saw a sea of running shoes on feet, all different types and some very colorful.  I wished I had my phone to take a picture of all the feet, but I would have wanted to crouch down to get a good angle for the picture, something I couldn’t have done in the close company I was keeping.  I heard the last line of the Star Spangled Banner being sung, and when it ended, there was a round of applause and some excited cheers from the runners….let’s get this thing going!  Excited chatter started again, deafening any sounds coming from the loudspeaker.  When you’re that far back, you can’t even hear the official start of the race.  At some point, the crowd just starts moving forward.  We walked for about a minute, then right before the start line mats, began jogging.  As I crossed the mats, I hit the start button on my Garmin watch.

People-watching during a race helps me to pass the time.  There were people of every fitness level, some tall, some short, some with friends, some alone.  The temperature being in the 40’s brought out all variations of dress.  Some runners were wearing t-shirts and shorts (too cold for me!); presumably they were doing the 1/2 marathon and would be out longer, when the temperature got into the 50’s.  Some were wearing multiple layers of shirts and/or jackets.  I had decided to wear a long-sleeved shirt, realizing that I might get hot later on, but I didn’t want the temptation of trying to remove my jacket while running.  I was cold at first, but warmed up by the first mile.

It was pretty crowded on the course, and I don’t like getting stuck behind slower people, so I ran up on the curb around mile 1.  It was kinda like running on a balance beam.  It was about as wide as both of my feet side by side.  I was up for the challenge, and I stayed on the curb for probably half a mile, then dismounted (hehe).  I tried to keep my pace around 11:00min/mile by looking at my Garmin now and then.

Right around mile 3 we have to cross a bridge.  In order to cross a bridge you have to climb up onto it, and the uphill was hard, even though at home I have plenty of hills on my runs.  I powered through (I passed several people walking up that part) and got onto the bridge.  Halfway over the bridge and it’s a nice downhill slope.  We passed the 5k mark, and I looked at my watch…a little over 34 minutes.  If I wanted to make 1:10, I’d have to speed up a little.

Having done many 10ks in the past, I knew that around the 4-mile mark I could gradually increase my speed without jeopardizing my finish.  I couldn’t go all out until around mile 5.5, but I could increase gradually until then.  Somewhere between 3 and 4 miles, we came to a hill.  What?  I don’t remember this hill being here!  But then it occurred to me that every time I do this race, I say the same thing about this hill.  Damnit, I must block it out every year.  I muscled up the hill, and I would barely classify what I was doing as running, but I kept at it, and eventually got to the flat section at the top.  And a little bit farther and there was a nice downhill section.  I sped up and let gravity carry me down.

At mile 4, there are timing mats.  I recalled that the race results will report how many people you passed from that point to the finish line, and in turn, how many people passed you.  I was determined pass a greater number of people than passed me!  My gradual increase in speed would guarantee that.  My watch even registered that I was running at a 10 minute pace at times.  The old me, the one who raced for time, was starting to surface.

Up ahead, I saw the bridge that we cross on the way to the finish line.  The half marathoners continued down the road, but those of us running the 10k took a sharp left after going under the bridge.  The incline up to the bridge is short but brutal, this time made so much better by a (very loud) police officer yelling and clapping “You can do it!  Keep it up!  Great job!”  I smiled, even though I felt like dying at beginning of that bridge.  That is at about 5.5 miles.  Time to turn on my “switch”  (Natalie coined that term when she was about 4 years old, running in a fun run).  That bridge was the last obstacle before the downhill to the finish.  As I ran up the front side of the bridge, I started passing people.  I was going faster now, though not my fastest, as I wanted to save that for when I had the finish line in sight.  I was gasping for air like a fish out of water, but that didn’t stop me from pressing on.  I looked ahead and picked out someone from the sea of runners, and made my way to them and passed them.  Then I picked someone else up ahead.  Repeat.  Then finally, the downhill off the bridge.  This is it; get out of my way!  I passed a bunch of people and started sprinting toward the finish.  I crossed the mats that were about 100 yards from the finish, and the announcer called my name as I came up to the line.  I hit the stop button on the Garmin: 1:09:02.  Even though my goal was under 1:10, I was a little disappointed with my time.  Honestly, I had thought that I would be at 1:07 or so.  But I don’t really care, the most important fact of the day was that I had just run 6.2 miles.  Satisfaction.

My official results are below.  I did pass more people than passed me!

And they had my Salted Nut Roll at the food tent.  Bite size, but whatever.  A great way to end an eventful morning.  Until next time!

 

 

Prince, Paisley Park, and other ponderings

Saturday, April 23: One week until my 10k race!  And I ran 5.5 miles!  I had hoped to be up to 6 miles by now, but hey, I’ll take what I can get.  Honestly, I wanted to turn around at the 2 mile mark, but I pretended that I was running the race, so I pressed on.  The library is 2.5 miles from my house, and today I ran only 0.25 miles beyond that to my turn-around, and I couldn’t believe how FAR it was!  Regardless, I did it, and I will run 3 more times (3 miles) this week in preparation for the race.  I really can’t wait!  It will be my first real race in over 2 years.  My goal for the race is to 1) run the whole thing (not a problem) and 2) finish before 1:10:00.  That seems like a given (I ran the 5.5 miles in 1:01:43), but I take nothing for granted.  So, officially, I’m ready!

As I ran past the library and onto the longest quarter mile in history, I looked ahead.  Less than one mile down the road is Prince’s home and recording studio, Paisley Park.  He lived in my small Minnesota town, though I rarely gave him a second thought.  On long runs (seems like so long ago), I used to run past Paisley Park.  It’s about 3.5 miles from my house.  In the wake of his death, several friends and neighbors have said that over the years they had spotted him at the grocery store or around town, but I never did.  Honestly, unless he was wearing his Purple Rain getup, I probably wouldn’t have recognized him.  I wasn’t a particular fan of his music, but even I can acknowledge that he was a gifted musician.  More than that, he seemed to appreciate Minnesota and his many fans.  Every now and then, it would be announced in the afternoon that he was giving a surprise performance that night at Paisley Park on a first come, first served basis.  For some lucky fans, this was an opportunity of a lifetime (he had one such performance just a few days before he died).  It always struck me as generous.  Celebrities often appear as untouchable, but he always seemed willing to share his gift with his fans.  For that, I respected him.

Natalie, who is 10, had no idea who he was, or that a celebrity had been living in our small town (why didn’t you TELL me someone famous lived here????   I actually had, many years ago, but she didn’t care because she didn’t know who he was).  This past Friday, everyone at her school was talking about Prince, and she learned some things.  When I picked her up on Friday afternoon after work, I asked her if she wanted to go down to see Paisley Park, and, curiosity getting the better of her, and she said yes.  We got there around 5:30pm.  The place was packed.  She saw the news trucks with their super tall antennas.  She saw the helicopter hovering above, taking pictures of the area.  She saw all the fans milling around, looking at the fence filled with balloons, messages, and flowers.  Many people were wearing purple.  She asked: “Is this history?”  I said, “Yes, this is definitely history.”  We stayed for a little bit and took some pictures.  In the car on the way back we talked about Prince.  She asked, “Exactly how famous WAS he?”  I thought about it for a minute, because a legend such as Prince is hard to quantify.  I explained, “If Taylor Swift remained just as popular as she is right now, 40 years from now, THAT’S how famous he was.”  “Whoa.”

RIP Prince, there is no doubt that your legacy will live on.