Like a Lion

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March is about to come in with it’s traditional “Like a lion” self, at least in the Portland area. I’m done with this crappy rain. I haven’t blogged in a while, because I’ve been too busy toweling off 3 soaking wet, muddy dogs. Just kidding.

SO! What’s been happening? Here’s my quick recap of  of 2016.

I had an interesting first half of the year with my Ironman training. I traveled to Phoenix for a triathlon camp and to train on the Ironman Arizona course. Two days into the 5 day trip, I was sick in bed with a high fever, sinus infection, and what ultimately morphed into Pneumonia. Needless to say, I spent the balance of the trip in bed with the curtains drawn. Sadly, Jeff also had the same illness. We were completely pathetic. The flight home was a painful blur, as was the next two weeks.

In June I had Endoscopic sinus surgery and a Septoplasty, to open up the passageways in my sinuses that were too small to function properly. After a lifetime of chronic sinus infections, it finally dawned on me to go to a specialist.

The surgery went well, and after a week I was able to start moderately working out. (I never told my Dr that I ran an 8k race less than 1 week post surgery-shhh)

Summer went well and I started catching up on training. I became a first time grandmother! I felt great, and competed in the Mighty Hampton’s Olympic Triathlon. The swim was crowded, and made for a slower time than usual, but I finished the race 2nd in my age group! The next day, at my house in Montauk, I held a garage sale. Feeling elated at my previous day’s success, and reveling in the visit with my daughter, son in law, and grand daughter, I made a monumentally stupid decision to hop on a balance board.

Nasty nasty balance board

I barely set my foot on it, when it shot out from under me, and down I went….right onto my wrist. Crunch. I don’t think there is a word in any dictionary or thesaurus that quite captures the pain I felt in the immediate moments following the crunch, or the several hours later, as the swelling increased.

I was alone outside, as Jeff was taking a nap (HE NEVER NAPS, but if you have ever been to Montauk, you know EVERYONE naps there) Dede and Evan were packing up the baby paraphernalia and planned on leaving within minutes. I was laying flat out on the ground.

I struggled to get up, and the pain shot through me so severely that halfway into a standing position, I fainted. Right down on the ground. I came to, stood up and tried to walk, and went down a second time. After that, I crawled up the front stairs, and managed to fall against the front door. (Did I? or did I open the door? I don’t remember) Next thing I knew, I was sitting on the entry bench holding my arm and Dede came running over. “Mom, are you ok?” Me-I couldn’t muster up more than a whisper: “I don’t know. It hurts. It hurst so bad” I was hyperventilating, and getting ready to pass out again and Dede put my head down between my knees. She looked at my wrist, against my will. (I was afraid to see it or show it to her, because if I saw it, the reality of the break would be revealed) She went to wake up Jeff and tell him what happened, and he bolted up. “SHE WHAT?” Dede- “I think she broke her wrist.”

IN the car we went- on our way to the closest Urgent care which was 15 miles away. I had ice on it by now, but the pain was intolerable, and I went into shock. The first Urgent Care didn’t have an Xray or doctor on sight, so we had to drive all the way to Southhampton Hospital, which was 32 miles away. In Sunday afternoon traffic. (New Yorkers will know what that means)

The wait in ER was unbearable, and I finally got put on a cot and left in a hallway. The Physician’s Assistant said “Oh yeah that’s a pretty good break you got there.” (Nice guy) And then he left me alone again.  Another 45 more minutes on the cot, I finally demanded something for the pain. The PA brought me 2 Tylenol. By now, my sweet, courteous demeanor had gone all to Hell and I screamed at him, “I don’t have a fucking hangnail! I need something much stronger than this for God’s sake.” I got 2 Percocet STAT.

Once the Xray and CT scan were taken, the break confirmed, they sent me on my way with a prescription and the advice to get back to Oregon asap,to get a follow up, because I probably needed surgery.

My vacation was cut short, and I flew home two days later, high as a kite. The next 5 weeks I had a cast, and learned all about how much we really do need both arms, wrists, and thumbs.

I did everything I could to continue my Ironman training. I swam with a waterproof cover, I rode my bike trainer, and I ran as best as I could.

The cast came off 2 weeks before my scheduled race, and after going for a terrifying outdoor bike ride, I made the difficult decision not to do IMAZ. I had no control over the bike, was completely off balance, and it wouldn’t be safe for me or the other participants if I tried to do that race.

Ironman is one of those goals that consumes your life for 6+ months. Once the training starts, it is a 7 day a week commitment. To have to bow out, for any reason can be devastating. It is easy to tell someone “There will be another one.” “You did the right things” “You’ll get over it.” But if you have never had this experience, you can’t know how it affects you. I didn’t realize how it would affect me until I found myself in a dark depression for several weeks. I finally pulled out of it just before Christmas, and started working out again, trying to gain back the muscle balance and strength that I lost while in the cast. Things were going well…….until I got sick with another sinus infection. BAM. Down again for a week.

There are many reasons that 2016 is a year to celebrate. I raced twice and got 2 triathlon podium spots, I became a grandmother for the first time, I got to see all of my out of state children several times, my Real Estate and athlete coaching businesses continued to grow, and I have the most perfect life partner I could ask for. BUT, I was pretty damned happy to say goodbye to the OTHER things that 2016 brought.

I’ll update you on this year soon. Life for me is one big fat, “second childhood” adventure, and I’m glad to share it with you. When you find yourself running in muck, tighten your shoe laces, and keep going. What other choice do you have?

Well, What Are Ya Gonna Do?

My dogs look at me with distain every time I walk out the door without them. The huge (almost) floor to ceiling living room window frames them as they stare me down. It’s so pathetic, and while I love the living crap out of them, when they do this, I just think they are assholes. Trust me, they get lot’s of love, and lot’s of exercise.

This week, my workout gear, bike, and running shoes are harassing me even more than my dogs. There are 3 bikes in my house and every time I pass one, it hisses at me. My Cervelo may never speak to me again. I don’t even charge my Garmin anymore!

On Monday, June 27th, I had Endoscopic Sinus Surgery  and a Septoplasty. After years of of debilitating sinus issues, and way too many round of antibiotics, I sought expert help to find a solution. It was only a few weeks ago that I got word that my septum was deviated, and my sinuses were anatomically deficient. Well ain’t life grand?

After the diagnosis, and consultation, I decided on the recommended surgery, but because of my Ironman Arizona training schedule, I either had to do it NOW, or wait until after November. Luckily, there was an opening and I grabbed it. Now, I may seem like a badass and all, but the idea of surgery up my schnoz, close to my BRAIN, didn’t give me giggles. At my pre-op consultation 3 days before the procedure, my doctor asked me if I was ready. “No. I will NEVER be ready.” was my answer. He cocked his head, a little surprised, and asked, “What will it take for you to be ready?” My exact answer was, “I will only show up if you can guarantee me that the minute I am admitted, they will hook me up to an IV, and give me some kind of happy juice.” He laughed, and said he would make sure.

Not exactly an Ironman bracelet

Not exactly an Ironman bracelet

LIAR!!!! I checked into the hospital at the scheduled time, and after an hour delay, which I spent chewing off and spitting every fingernail , I was finally called in. They tell you not to wear lotion or deodorant before surgery. They may have regretted those instructions, once I polluted their sanitized air with my anxiety sweat stink.

My legs were shaking so hard, I had to hold them down.

My legs were shaking so hard, I had to hold them down.

I asked the nurse for my cocktail, and she looked at me like I belonged in the Psyche Ward. When she said there was no order for a sedative, I began shaking, screamed profanities, threw rubber gloves at her, and kicked the intern in the head. “PAGE DR SMITH NOW.” I took my gown and wrapped it around my head, climbed up on top of the computer table, and threatened to hang myself until they produced and anesthesiologist!

The page was sent, and my nurse, who undoubtedly had years of experience was so unsettled by my unearthly transformation, that she couldn’t get the IV in my arm, despite two tries. THAT’S TWO TRIES. Poking and twisting around inside my arm, while I held my non-sedated breath and called upon all that is holy to calm me down. I finally threw my shoes at her and bellowed, “I HAVE AN ANXIETY DISORDER!” She promptly left the room and sent in an older male nurse who most likely served on the front lines under General Patton. This guy zero’d in on my feral eyes, grabbed my other arm and said, “How about this arm?” With my best Lagertha Lothbrok stare, I told him, “Get it done.” Fearing for his life, he shoved that needle into the back of my hand, set the IV, and disappeared in seconds. A third attendee arrived and pushed the sweet “Mother’s Milk” into the tubing, and finally, the puffy, soft clouds and winged fairies floated into the room.

Who doesn't like a nifty accessory?

Who doesn’t like a nifty accessory?

The surgery went according to plan, and within a few hours, I was home, babbling non stop about everything and nothing, (a side effect of general anesthesia) and my darling friend Lauren settled me in and quietly escaped. I was so hopped up on whatever the hell they gave me, that I wandered around the house for several hours, slowly picking up stuff, doing laundry, and cleaning the bathrooms. Mind you, I was supposed to go to bed right away. Yeah, sure, like that was going to happen.

The first few nights I “slept” on the couch. There really wasn’t much sleep involved, because my head was so stuffed up, I couldn’t breathe through my nose.

I had the best nurses to tuck me in for naps

I had the best nurses to tuck me in for naps

I discovered this the day after surgery, when I took a shower.

A parting gift! I discovered this the day after surgery, when I took a shower.

Post op instructions called for complete rest for a few days, no lifting, or exertion for 7, and no working out at all for at least 14 days. Here’s how it went:

Day 1: Cleaned house, did yard work. (VERY slowly, mind you, with no bending over!)

Day 2: Met clients and gave keys to their new house. Went shopping at 4 different discount stores, and Home Depot, to buy stuff for the back yard and garden. Napped.

Day 3: More shopping, a walk, several hours working in the back yard. Showered with the dogs. Stopped in at the running store’s Thursday night beer run, to support the cause. Napped.

Day 4: A 2 mile walk to my office with the dogs, an hour or so of work, and another 2 mile walk home.

I have no pain, only discomfort. I’m not allowed to blow my nose and sneezing has taken on a whole new meaning. I am keeping my heart rate down as best as I can, and following the antibiotic and sinus rinse prescription. I refused to take the Prednisone they gave me, so that was a waste of money.

The fact that I am only on day 4 of a 14 day work out restriction gives me cause to panic. I am seriously not cut out for the sedentary life. When the Hell did that happen? My mind has the energy of a 10 year old with hypertension, and my body needs the rest, or at least a short nap. I crave a run in the forest.

For now, I have to feed the beast with small household projects and blogging. Well, rehabbing from an injury is why I started this blog, back in 2013. I guess this is just one more episode of life getting in the way. If you see me around town this next week, with wild eyes, and bad hair, clenching my teeth, you’ll know I am once again, runninginmuck!

I love that you chose to visit here and read my posts. I hope you can tell the difference between truth and fiction. HA!