What Five Years of MS Has Taught Me

I used to hear that you only live once. That isn't true. You only die once. You get to live every day. 

--Unknown

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"You can still live a full life," my new neurologist told me. Maybe that was reassuring to hear at some level, but I was too distracted to fully take it in.  I was distracted, that is, by the fact that I suddenly had a neurologist. 

I didn't want to have a neurologist. Healthy people don't have neurologists.  I couldn't have told you what a neurologist even did, at least until I needed one. 

I learned the hard way that people with MS, among others, have neurologists.  Mine would tell me that on average people like me would probably go about two years before my next attack. My first attack took out my left eye and hip, my ability to tolerate heat or cold, my ability to function without excessive amounts of sleep, and to calm down when I get agitated. Once the second attack hit and took even more, I had assumed that any semblance of life as I knew it would be over. 

But I was thrilled by the idea of getting two years of life to the fullest. There was so much I could do in two years if I was intentional about living, I thought. I vowed to travel while I still had one good eye. I pledged to take less for granted. I promised to savor the moments when I felt normal. I swore that I'd taste my breakfast every morning instead of wolfing it down on my way to the office. I was going to stop assuming that I had the rest of my life to do the things that I really wanted, and just go live my life. 

That pledge worked for a little while. I did some traveling; I ran some half marathons. I was extra thankful for sunny days and days when I had normal energy.  If there was a sporting event or concert in town that I want to see, I bought a ticket and didn't worry about the cost.

But I learned that life gets in the way of living.  If you are healthy enough to work, the job gets in the way of travel. It's hard to live your best life when you don't feel well. You can't be self-actualized while going in for a colonoscopy. There is no joyous way to spend an hour on hold with customer service about a mistaken bill or take a loved one in for an emergency medical visit. That bathroom doesn't clean itself. 

Somewhere along the way, I realized that living every moment to the fullest wasn't realistic. 

Still, MS has still changed my outlook on life for the better in some ways.   

I celebrated my five-year MS anniversary last month. When I say "celebrate," I mean that literally. Every anniversary I hit where I can still function is a happy day. It marks another year of life that I wasn't promised. I didn't expect to still be working full time and walking unassisted. I'm thankful for that.

I try to remember to be thankful for things on this side of my diagnosis. Recognizing that the great things are fleeting in a weird way makes them better.  That person close to you might move away, so enjoy the moments you get with them. Your boss might retire and be replaced with a jerk, so appreciate having a good office environment. You might be a healthy 30-something one week, and then go blind and have MS the next. Don't take things for granted. Thankfulness is joy.

I've learned to expect less from people, which sounds like a bad thing but is actually a healthier outlook for me.  Since my diagnosis, I've been surprised by the unexpected people who turned out to be supportive, those who turned out to be critical, and those who've tried to ignore my diagnosis altogether. Sometimes those turn out to be the same person in the course of the one conversation. I've learned that I can't expect anyone to fully understand what living with my weird disease is like, so I just have to speak up for myself more often.  That's true for diseases, I think, and life in general. You can't be afraid to take care of yourself when others don't know how. And sometimes even when they think that they do. 

I've learned to be less critical of myself too. Years ago, I blogged about losing a court case that I thought I could have won within a handful of tries if I would have had a cheat code to argue multiple times. There is some emotional truth in that idea, but the thing is that most of us could be near perfect if we had limitless do-overs. But nobody actually does. No one can carry around their "A Game" all the time. The best we can hope for is someone who will realize our flaws and love us anyway, and that we have some moments where we shine too.  Instead of beating myself up for imperfections, I am more likely to celebrate successes now. There weren't inevitable.   

Maybe the most important thing I've learned is that everything will be ok. That doesn't mean everything will turn out how we hope, that life will be full of blessings, or our souls won't get crushed. But what I've learned is that life will keeps going as long as we are here, even when we don't feel like we can go on with it. Five years ago I told God that I couldn't live with MS. I said that I couldn't live with the loss of the life I used to know, with the idea of future blindness and paralysis, of injections three times a week, and of stabbing pains at random intervals as my body destroys itself from within. But then the sun came up, and I had clients to represent, a play to act in, or a friend I like who I wanted to see. I found that life just keeps going, even if you can't fully engage in it, it often pushes you forward somehow. Bad days come too, and sometimes life (or MS), might knock me down for a day or two to recoup. But eventually, there will be something worthwhile to get keep getting up for, even in the midst of sorrow. 

A few days after I told God that I couldn't handle MS, I offered God a compromise. I couldn't be one of those people who pretended to be happy about misfortune, so I wouldn't ever say that I could handle MS.  But, I promised I would at least keep moving forward to whatever life had for me, no matter what MS brought, even if that meant figuratively moving instead of literally. Whether I can handle MS or not wasn't what mattered, I realized, only that I kept moving ahead toward my life's next purpose. 

I don't know whether or not God accepted my offer, but I'm trying to do my part regardless. I'm thankful for five years of moving forward, even if it isn't always as quickly or in as straight of a line as I would like. The last five years have taught me that there is still joy on the other side of pain, if we just keep going. 

I'm thankful for that lesson too.  

It Won't Stop Raining

It's rained for eight straight days in Atlanta.  

In life ... well, it's been raining all summer.  Maybe even since the pandemic hit 18 months ago.

My luck was all supposed to change this summer, when the world reopened.  I had destroyed my ankle last year six weeks before Covid hit, and then once I was finally able to get around again the world closed down.  This summer I was hoping Covid would be history and we would all rekindle old friendships and make up for lost time.  

Life didn't work out that way. 

I was so optimistic about this summer that when I barely missed a big promotion in June, I posted it social media about how I would bounce back soon to bigger things.  I was sure there would be good times and summer fun until the next turn forward in life came into view.  But things just kept getting worse..

In June I developed a limp in the leg I broke four years ago.  It was just enough to make life uncomfortable outside my couch, so I laid low all summer.  I tried everything my doctor suggested to get rid of some inflamed tissue under my kneecap, but nothing worked to fix it.  I eventually relented a few weeks ago and had surgery in hopes of moving forward, both figuratively and literally. 

My surgery seemed to go well at the time, but its been two-and-half weeks and I'm still worse now than I was before the procedure. I had a follow-up yesterday and my doctor seems concerned now that there might be a different issue causing the problem. The surgery to fix that problem would take a full year to rehab. 

That prospect comes with a heaping side of PTSD for me.  When I broke my knee four years ago, I was told my recover would take six weeks and it ended up taking a fully year.  I can't imagine what rehabbing an injury that's actually supposed to take a full year's worth of recovery would look like.  I can't even let myself to think about it.  I'm hoping I don't have to walk, er... hobble, down that road again, but just the possibility is weighing on me. 

And that's not all. 

There has been a steady parade of storm clouds over me all summer. I keep getting mistaken bills addressed to my house. They are not mistaken in the sense that they are addressed to someone else, mind you, but mistaken in the sense that they are demanding more money for something after I've already paid in fully, or for things that I  didn't owe in the first place. I've straightened them all out eventually, but dealing with them has taken dozens of hours and has been draining.   That parade of bills has been matched only by the concurrent steady parade of new things breaking in my house.  I've spent two dozen hours fighting with my home warranty company to pay for repairs covered by my contract (which is kind of the purpose of the whole arrangement), and I still haven't gotten complete results. It's just as well, because all the parts I need to fix them are back ordered because of Covid anyway.  

Meanwhile, my HOA called a hearing this summer where they tried to fine me $1100 because there was a backlog of feminine hygiene products in my neighbor's pipes.  Apparently they believe that my wife or I was sneaking into our neighbor's house for the purpose of flushing tampons down their toilets.  It was unclear whether they believed we were using them in our home and sneaking them over to flush, or just performing the entire operation in one of our neighbor's bathrooms.  I would have been curious to know, but I didn't think to ask. 

After a hearing I was able to beat the rap for this charge, but I can't take too much credit because the whole saga was obviously ridiculous.  Why would I put feminine hygiene products in my neighbor's toilets when it would be much more entertaining to place them around our complex randomly in common areas?  Apparently my HOA just doesn't know how to have a good time.   

I've lost my edge at work lately too.  I'm in a rut and feeling like I'm ready to move up a level in my department, but nothing has worked out. The one opportunity I had that might have been interesting would have required moving to a new city, but my defective knee won't allow that right now.  I tried to take a vacation to renew my spirit, but that trip was a bust too.  Hawaii was hectic and overcrowded, and we didn't see many rainbows.  

But it sure won't stop raining in Atlanta. 

Sometimes it rains, and the rain doesn't feel obliged to stop because I'd like it too.  The rain doesn't mean to take things out on me, rain is just doing what rain does.  I happen to get wet.  Life has cloudy moments and sunshine that take their turns, but then sometimes you wake up one morning and it seems to rain for months at a time.  Life might have moments where everything falls neatly into place, but those moments never seem to last as long as the rainy seasons sometimes do. Sometimes the dam bursts, or our umbrellas collapse, and everything just gets wet.

Or sometimes your computer malfunctions, as mine just did, and you lose half of your blog and have to try again.  Like I said, it won't stop raining. It simply won't.   

Sometimes I hear people tell me that I should just pray about my misfortunes, and God will make everything alright. But I don't think that's how God works. I know that God can calm fears, and provide peace for now and hope for the future, because I've felt God do all those things.   

But sadness isn't something God intends for you to pray away.  Jesus wept, the Bible tells us. If God didn't take his sadness away, why would God take yours or mine?

I take comfort in the fact that if even Jesus got sad, then probably other people are too. Probably the world is full of people trudging through their day waiting for their own personal rain to end, while wearing a smile just long enough for no one to notice.  Contrary to what Facebook images tell us, all your friends aren't really out there living their best life at every moment.  

I also take comfort in knowing that bad times don't last forever, or at least they haven't yet.  The thing about seasons is that they always slowly change.  Winter doesn't turn to bright summer days overnight, but eventually it turns into the faint beginning of spring. 

The way this summer went, I am perfectly fine with that.  

When that metaphorical spring comes, I just hope there are no April showers this time.  My world doesn't need May flowers right now.  

It just needs to stop raining.

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I wrote the above four days ago but didn't publish it, because it wasn't a finished product.  Neither, it seems, is my knee.  I don't know the ultimate prognosis, but I finally made it through the day today without needing crutches or a cane, for the first time since my surgery.  And while I still don't believe that God distributes happiness to troubled people like some kind of Cosmic laughing gas, I do seem to remember a story about the time when his friends were very scared, and Jesus made it stop raining.

And sure enough, it was warm and sunny today in Atlanta.      

  

Blogging Through Maui: Trouble in Paradise

My wife Liz and I were set to take our first vacation in two years. We we excited for a relaxing getaway to the land of sunshine and rainbows.  We were...totally unprepared.  

Our plans might have would have worked, if only we hadn't need to eat, drink, or drive anywhere during our trip.

These, and other minor details, follow below:

Day 1:  

Our arriving flight into Maui is late, which is a problem because I had to rent a car from some random Hawaiian guy rather than a rental car company.  You see, rental car companies were overrun due to the influx of tourists, so the cost of a car rental was going to be more than our hotel and flights combined.  Instead, we rented a car through Turo, a company where private people rent their extra car for a few days, like people do for their vacation houses on Airbnb.  I didn't consider that having a 4:00 car reservation meant that I would need to meet a guy at the airport at 4 p.m. on the dot.  Enterprise doesn't care if you make a reservation for 4:00 and show up at 5:00, but the guy waiting in the airport parking lot might just turn around and go home. Our plane lands at 3:50, so I dash off the plane to get our car while my wife gets the luggage.

As I arrive to our meeting spot, I get a text from the driver that he got caught in traffic and will be late.

That was our week in a nutshell.  We could have just turned around and gone home then.  

We decided not to do that, but to instead go out for dinner.  That proved harder than we expected when every restaurant near us was booked for the night.  We finally find one with a 30-45 wait and asked to be put on the list. We get a table much more than 45 minutes later, but that moment of good fortune quickly dissipates once we meet our waiter.  He checks in on the tables next to us three times before acknowledging our presence, but what he lacked in eagerness he made up for in incompetence.  

I ordered a drink, which didn't arrive.  A few minutes later, we ordered an appetizer, which arrived at the same time as our food.  I remind him of my drink order at that point, and he proceeds to bring me a different drink than what I had ordered.  When I mentioned the discrepancy, he gave me the type of apology you'd fully expect from someone who was probably high and would rather be surfing.  He didn't offer to fix the problem, but he did take a full three dollars off our bill for serving me an $8 beverage that I didn't enjoy. 

I remembered this act of service when calculating his tip.  

Day 2: 

My favorite thing about Hawaii, at least in Oahu and Kauai, it's such an easy place to be.  The water is blue, rainbows are everywhere, and the people are friendly.  The beaches there are easy too.  Across the street from the beautiful beaches are clean public restrooms, and stores with every beach essential, and restaurants with abundant carry-out food options.  Unlike the beaches on the Gulf Coast where I grew up, you don't have to to pack for the entire day before you go.  

Maui didn't seem to get this memo.   

As a first stop, we walk to the beach across the street from our condo complex.  It was fine enough, but the water isn't especially pretty and there are no bathrooms or other services nearby.  We spend a few hours but decide to move on to one of the beaches our guidebook recommended. The island is full of tourists, so a five-mile drive take 20 minutes. As we begin to wonder if we missed our beach, a small sign directing us down a dirt road.  I promised the guy from whom we rented the car that I wouldn't offroad, but I was assuming that I would have a choice.  

The beach had crystal blue water, gold sand, and some nice waves, but it starts to get hot after a few hours.  Our drinks are dry and we start to get hungry.  The beach has no services nearby except for a food truck with 10 people in line, so we drive back to our condo.  We call around and can't find dinner reservations, so we make sandwiches at home.  Our television doesn't work, but at least our hosts left us a bottle of wine. 

We had to make dinner reservations at 5:00 in order to get in anywhere, so we enjoy dinner a nice dinner with the Golden Girls.  I want to see the sunset over the ocean, so we hang around until 6:30, when the sun proceeds to set directly into a cloud and never return.  

Day 3: 

We need a break from the heat and hassle of the beaches, so we decide to see some historic sites.  A  2,100 mountain that is shaped like a green Washington monument rises over a rain forest down the road. In local folklore, the mountain was thought to be a certain aroused body part of the god who ruled the realm.  In present day, it serves as inspiration for a lot of jokes from tourists.   

The mountain is lush and beautiful, and people swim in the natural streams flowing down from it, and I hear no jokes about the source of the flowing liquid.  The hike along the mountain is gorgeous, with the possible exception of the moments where we walked behind large people wearing thong bathing suits.  This is frequent event in Hawaii that takes some time to get used to.  We were there for a week, so apparently it takes longer than that.  The scenery changes about a mile in and we were suddenly in the rain forest, which is not a sentence that I've ever typed before.  It was wild. Literally.  

On the way home, we set our GPS to take us to a set of historic temple ruins in the same general area.  Instead, our GPS takes us to a strip mall.  We feel unsatisfied with this result--the strip mall didn't even seem very old. Our check with our guidebook, which locates the ruins at an intersection in what turns out to be a residential neighborhood down the road.  When we pull up on the street curb in front of house, we see a gated driveway next to it with a "Do Not Enter" sign posted and few local dogs who look angered by our presence.      

The logical thing would have been to turn around at that point, but we were so confused as to the actual location of this can't-miss historic site that we drove around in vain for a few minutes.  When we found nothing, we eventually parked by the locked by the gate once more to see if it offered any clues.  On closer inspection, the gate had signs reading both, "No Trespassing, Secure Government Facility" and "Pedestrians Only." This seemed contradictory.   Might the sign suggest that pedestrians would not be considered trespassers? That was what I was prepared to tell the authorities, if we got caught.

We walked around the gate and up a driveway to a peak overlooking the mountains in one direction and the shore on the other. The remains of a temple and three rock structures overlooked it all, with stunning views in all directions as far as the eye can see. I could see why the natives found the site sacred. I did too. 

I took comfort in the fact that the site had a few placards posted--at least at one point this site had been open to the public. I reason that the gate was probably meant just to keep cars from driving up to the site, as the asphalt was no longer in good shape.  At least that was what I was prepared to tell the authorities.   

But I stopped worrying about the car, or getting arrested, as we looked in solitude over the miles in front of us, I felt the power of 800 years worth of prayers being offered up from the site.  I quieted my mind and said my own.  I felt that God there with me, and I asked God not to leave since I needed divine help to get back to my car without being arrested or attacked by angry dogs.

God obliged, but it was the last favor we would get. 

Day 4: 

Maui is famous for its Road to Hana, a winding 50-mile scenic drive along its coastal wilderness. We made the drive four years ago when we were on the island for a day, and found it somewhat overrated.  But we decided to go back because my wife wanted to get back to the black sand beach near the roads end, and I was interested in visiting another set of ruins near it that we had missed the first time.  The drive is full of sharp turns and takes several hours, but it is broken up by some roadside stands selling exotic fruits and exotic snacks like pineapple bread and dragon fruit.  The sights on the road seemed prettier this time, but more exhausting. I could never find room to pull over at any of the popular overlooks or fruit stands to break up the trip.  

When we finally get to the black sand beach at the end of the road, I'm ready to relax as we pull up at our beach.  We arrive and an attendant asks us if we have reservations.  

We did not have reservations for the public beach.  We did not, because it seems less than obvious that reservations to access public land would be required.  For instance, we did not have reservations to drive the public road.  We also did not have reservations to listen to the radio.  We also did not have reservations to view the sun light or breath the air. Why on Earth would we need reservations to be on a piece of public land that is free to access?  

I did not think of these points at the time, so I informed the attendant that we had driven two hours to get to this closed beach, and that they could perhaps better publicize the need for reservations.

"We just started requiring them," the attendant said, as though this somehow made the situation better.

"We just want to see the beach," I said.  "If we find somewhere else to park, can we walk up to it?"

"No, I'm afraid any access to the beach requires reservations, even if you don't park here."

"Do you enforce that rule on the seals?"

"Well, no." 

"If a boat were to sink at sea and the survivors were to attempt to swim up to this shore, would you force them to drown because they didn't have a reservation?"

She didn't respond.  That was probably because I didn't actually say the last part out loud. But I really wished I would have.  Instead, we turned around and drove back home.  We're exhausted and would love to veg on a few hours of tv to wind down, but our tv still doesn't work. 

Day 5: 

One of my favorite things in life is to watch a sunset directly over the ocean.  This can only happen if the sun sets to the West, which for Americans, means the Pacific Ocean. We had missed out the first four days either because it was cloudy or because an offshore island blocked the view.  We had booked a sunset sail cruise on night five, so that we could finally see it.  

We didn't have much time before the cruise.  Our day got off to a late start because we spent too much time looking for a specific entrance to a beach. Beaches in Maui sometimes stretch for miles and have multiple entrances from the main highway, only some of which have restrooms.  We spent much of the morning looking for the one entrance with restrooms, only to eventually give up and park at of the others.  After walking from the lot to the beach through sand that must have measured 5,000 degrees, we found a spot. We got to enjoy it for a full half hour, before my weak MS-deficient bladder needed a bathroom.  I held out as long as I could, but we soon had to trudge back through the surface of the sun to get to our car.

After a pit stop at our condo, we had a couple of free hours, where we drove toward a different beach that we also couldn't find.  We went to the intersection our books described and didn't see any signs for it.  We turned into a big parking lot near the intersection, but it turned out to be for a shopping center. We turned into another driveway that led only to a hotel.  We made a couple of U-turns in the area, thankful that at least this time there were no angry dogs.  As we gave up and started the drive home from the opposite direction, we passed a sign for the beach.   It was nice, and we enjoyed the roughly 16 minutes we had there before having to leave for our cruise.      

We got to the dock and spent 20 minutes trying to decipher where we could legally park, which seems to be a sacrifice the native powers require to access anything on the island. We got to our boat and enjoyed a lovely cruise, where we saw the sun set directly over that same distant island that had blocked our view from shore. At least it didn't rain. 

Day 6: 

A tour of Maui's only working pineapple plantation was our big plan for the day.  The tour books up weeks in advance, and we were only able to get in because of a cancellation at 11:45 a.m., which limited any other plans for the day.  We arrived to the island's only public pineapple farm early and explored its gardens and had a nice coffee at their cafe. It was a lovely morning, until I overheard an employee tell a customer that their first tour of the day left at noon.  

Out of an abundance of caution, I pulled up my 11:45 tickets to make sure we were in the right place.  My tickets had a time and a QR code to scan, but no other information. After I dug through several emails, I finally found one with an address for the tour company.  I plugged the address into my GPS, and it was 20 minutes away, with no business associated with the address.  I showed an employee my QR code and asked if I was in the right place for my tour, or if there was another pineapple farm that hosted tours.  

"I don't know," he said. "We do a train tour." And then he turned away and stared ruefully at the floor wishing that marijuana would materialize.     

I eventually found a number on a confirmation email and called it to confirm that the pineapple tour didn't actually leave from the pineapple farm.  

"No, the agent said, this is a bus tour." 

"We went to the pineapple farm and can't be at your location until almost noon," I said, "is there any place we can meet the bus?" 

"No," the agent said. "But if you come here you can pick up your complimentary pineapples."

We drove to the tour office and picked up our pineapples, which is all each of us got for our $75 tickets. We learned that the tour we had booked didn't access the famous and ornate complex we had just left but a private farm in the woods.

We decided to drive to the North side of the island to see the beaches up there, but there was a massive accident and we got stuck in standstill traffic for an hour. Eventually we gave up near the harbor we had departed from the night before and found a nice lunch overlooking the water.  Once the traffic died down, we drove up to the North coastline, and found appetizers and drinks overlooking the water.  It was a gorgeous end to a rough day.  

When we got home, we tried one of our $75 pineapples, and it wasn't very good. 

Day 7: 

Our plan was to drive to the top of the volcano, a 10,000-foot climb.  The guidebooks warned that the the drive down was more treacherous than the drive up, as drivers sometimes lost control of their cars on the steep decline. Given all that had gone wrong this trip, I began to lose my nerve.  

I looked up some online forums for reassurance.  I googled how bad the drive was, and got a mix of opinions ranging from "terrifying" to "it's fine, but make sure to put your car in low gear."  None of this feedback was reassuring, as our rented car with automatic transmission had nothing resembling a lower gear than "drive." I pictured running a stranger's car into the edge of cliff on the last day of our trip, and asked to call an audible and return to our favorite beach instead--the one with road signs and parking. 

The actual beach was good too, of course. Crystal blue waves tossed giant sea turtles and surfers around alongside each other, while we enjoyed the breeze.  It started raining a few minutes after we arrived, but we waited in our cars and the sun eventually came out.  We stayed a few hours, until the sun got too intense.  We finished the day by finally discovering a good happy hour, a local market with delicious pineapple bread, and some refreshing Hawaiian snowballs.

We stayed for one last shot at the sunset.  The colors were pretty, but from every location we tried, another island blocked our direct view.  

We flew home the next day, and returned to adult life.  A sick elderly kitty awaited us, along with a couple of bills (with mistakes in favor of the billing entity), medical offices who won't return calls, and job stresses.   After a few days, I was wishing for problems like blocked sunsets and overpriced pineapples.   

It wasn't the best trip, but I don't blame Hawaii (except for the lack of road signs).  Hawaii was the most obvious way to have an exotic trip this year, and the rest of the country had the same idea.  Given our mental energy, or lack thereof, we should have gone to an island that we knew better.  

We never did get quite the sunset I wanted--the one spectacular one I've seen from Hawaii many times before.  But the partially blocked sunset view we got was still prettier from the one I have at home.

And most importantly, I didn't need a reservation to see it.   

Running Diary: A Half Marathon of Failure and Redemption

Race Morning:  It's 8:07 a.m. and my race is supposed to start in three minutes. For social distancing purposes, 40 runners are released at a time at intervals throughout the day.  My appointment was at 8:10.  The problem is that I have just come out of the bathroom, a solid five minute walk from the start line.  To make matters worse, I hear the announcer tell the 8:10 runners to start their race.  It was just that kind of day, and it would only get worse.     

8:08:  I being to panic and lightly jog toward the start line.  I'm afraid that if I miss my appointment time, they won't let me run at all.  There are only 40 spots per corral, and they might be all booked.  I figure that if I can get to the start line before they release the next wave of runners at 8:15 (which might actually be at 8:12, by their schedule), they have to let me run.  I hate that I'm spending this much energy before the race even starts, but I'd hate even more to have to turn around and drive home. 

8:12: I make it to the start line and a crew member asks if I'm in the 8:20 or 8:25 flight.  When I tell him I was supposed to be 8:10, he tells me to stand in with the 8:15 crew, as there are a couple spots left open.  I fidget with my running watch and headphones, as the announcer almost immediately counts down ten seconds to the start.  As I cross the start line, I realize that I forgot to take my mask off.  

Mile One:  I pull of my mask, which rips off my headphones.  I fumble for them while I run.  Usually, before a race I stop to reflect, say a prayer of thanks that I'm healthy enough to be here, and remind myself not to go out too fast.  The first rule of distance running is that if your first mile doesn't feel too slow, then you are running too fast.  I didn't get to go through any of my normal process this time, so I just have to try to stay calm and hope for the best.  My first mile time turns out faster than I wanted, but I feel like I went at comfortable pace.  I remind myself that it is nice to be running again.  I remind myself that I wasn't sure MS would ever let me do this again, after my relapse last fall took a bit out of the nerve connections in my right hip.  But my hip calmed down, and my training seemed to hit its stride (see what I did there?) in the last few weeks, and I'm optimistic I can run faster than ever.  

Mile Two:  I finally start to relax, after a Sunday morning where everything went wrong.  

The race was about 40 minutes from my apartment, at the Atlanta Motor Speedway, where there was lots of room for runners to spread out across the grounds.  I had decided to get to the race site by 7:15, which meant leaving my place by about 6:30.  I was ready at 6:15, but my stomach was not.  I felt a ton of bricks inside of me, but nothing wanted to come out.  I waited around an extra 15 minutes, but it was a lost cause.  I walked to my car, resigned to the idea of having to get comfortable with a port-a-potty at the race site, which has always been my absolute worst nightmare.  I think about just calling the whole race off as I reach my car, when suddenly I feel like maybe I could go to the bathroom right now after all.  So I walk back inside my place, but get no relief.  I make it back to my car at 7:00 and head toward the track.  

I make it to the track by 7:40 and am pleasantly surprised to see actual bathrooms outside the Speedway, but I don't really have to go anymore.  That changes, of course, 15 minutes before the race.  Better late than never, but I am late as a result.  And I used up a lot of energy stressing about that, iffy directions to the parking area on my GPS, and forgetting my sunglasses.    

Mile 3: I'm running down a steep hill, which I did not expect. I am not happy about this.  I know that in another mile I'm going to have to turn around and run back up it.  Yikes. 

Mile 4:  The first three miles went great, and the weather is cool and foggy.  I had been worried, because the forecast called for temperatures in the 60's, but 99 percent humidity.  My MS can't handle heat, and I was hoping the overcast skies would save me. So far so good.    

Mile 6: I'm cruising along right around the overall pace I wanted, but my last two miles were a little slow.  The course elevation chart promised that miles 4 and 5 would be downhill, and I had expected to gain some time on them.  They didn't feel downhill at all, and mile 4 forced me to run up the side of a mountain.  Even, worse the sun is breaking through the clouds.  That was not supposed to happen.  

In my head, I demand a recount.

Mile 6.55: I hit the halfway point, and I'm on pace of a 1:48 race.  That is slower than I wanted.  Luckily, there is an aid stand at mile 7.3, where I can get Powerade.  My water bottle is almost empty, because I've been pouring it over my head to stay cool.  

Mile 7: It's getting too sunny.  My last mile was slow and I begin to wonder if I can run six more miles. I grab a Powerade and feel the overwhelming urge to stop running.  When I'm merely fatigued, I can usually grind out about four miles between when I want to stop and when I can't go anymore.  When I get overheated, I go blind in my left eye and my energy evaporates over the course of about a mile.  I realize that I can't run anymore.  

I stand still and down an entire bottle of Powerade.  After using what little energy I have in an epic struggle to twist the top of a Dasani water bottle and refill my container.  I walk for a few feet, as race volunteers cheer for me.  I feel a little better after my hydration stop, but this mile took me more than 10 minutes.  It's by far the worst mile of my racing life.  

Mile 9:  I've sputtered through the last two miles.  It feels like I'm running underwater.  The sun comes and goes, but the humidity is oppressive regardless. I've lost all hope of finishing with a good time, I now just want to finish.  The race has been around the outside of the stadium thus far, but it actually enters the inside oval of the Speedway at mile 10. I tell myself that maybe adrenaline will carry me once I make it that far.  In the meantime, I have to start walking again.  

Mile 10: I'm inside the race track.  The stands are big and it's probably a cool sight, but I'm too exhausted to take it in.  The final 3 miles consist of two laps around the race track.  As I alternate walking and jogging, I urge myself to complete at least one lap.  I've come this far, I owe it to myself to do at least that.  If I can't do a second lap, at least I'll already be at the finish line, and I can just grab some bananas and collapse.

Mile 11.5: I've finished one lap.  There a good number of others walking by this point, as the same people and I keep taking turns passing each other based on who has energy at a given moment.  I realize that if I can finish the last 1.5 miles at a pace that isn't atrocious, I can at least beat my time previous worst half marathon time, from the first race I had ever run.  I realize that even if I have to walk the last 1.5 miles, I'll feel better about myself if I at least complete the distance. 

Mile 12.99:  It would be wrong to say I found a second wind, but I managed to jog the entire last mile without a walk break.  I'm not necessarily going any faster than the others on the course who are alternating running and walking, but I feel like if I stop again then I'll never get restarted. 

Mile 13.1: This is supposed to be the end, but the course is too long. Most I look down at my watch at mile 13.08 and see that I can hit the 13.1 mark faster than my prior personal worst race time.  I pick up my speed from that of a snail to that of a turtle, in order to hit the 13.1 mark two seconds ahead of my prior worst time. Sadly, the course is too long, and the actual finish line is further ahead. I don't get there for another 40 seconds.  

The Finish: There is no joy at the finish line.  I cross it and grab onto a railing for a few seconds to hold myself upright.  I pick up a packet of goodies and head out of the stadium.  As I leave it, I see other people with race medals.  I wonder how I missed getting one.  I ponder going back inside to get it, but  I decide that I might not want to remember this particular race.     

As I drive home, I think of all the things that what went wrong.  I had too heavy of a meal the day before.  I should have left earlier for the race that morning.  I should have signed up for an earlier time when it would have been cooler.  I consider whether I should have skipped the race when I saw the humidity forecast.  I wonder if maybe MS has finally gotten the best of my running career.  It was the my tenth half marathon, but my worst official time, and the only one where I feel like I failed. 

I call my wife and describe my flameout, and she asks if I am sorry that I signed up for the race.  I hadn't considered that question, and my answer surprises me.  

"No," I realize.  Between Covid and an ankle injury, I hadn't run a race in 21 months.  It was nice to be out there.  I felt more connected to my new city by having completed its signature race.  Despite MS, I finished in a time that would appear at least respectable, even to someone who didn't know my situation.  I gave it my best shot.

There was a time in my life where I would have beaten myself up over a failure like this. But this time, I was just proud of myself for finishing.  I know what I overcame to do it, even if my result wasn't what I wanted.  

I don't want life with MS to reduce me to only moral victories, but this seemed more like a moral failure.  I failed to come anywhere near the time I wanted, but my morale was lifted regardless, because I found more willpower than I thought I had to finish it all.  A calmer morning and a better diet might have helped at the margins, but nothing would have helped all that much.  I was running underwater in a sauna.   

The race was a disappointment, but it softens the blow to know that it was my first race of the spring season.  I'll be better for having already trained for this one, and maybe I'll even enjoy the next.  One thing is for sure, I am absolutely not retiring on a low like this.  My hip held out for the run, which means the nerve connection is still intact enough to let me try again.  One bad race was a setback, rather than a dead end. 

When the official results came out that afternoon, I was surprised to find that my time was in the top half of male runners my age. I guess the humidity was cruel on others too.  I was also surprised to find a race medal inside of that packet of goodies I got at the finish. 

In retrospect, I think I'm glad to have it after all. 

2021 Is the Sequel to 2020. Why Did We Expect the Sequel to Be Better?

The good news is that 2020 is finally over.

The bad news is that the sequel to it isn't looking much better than the original.  

Corona virus deaths are up, a murderous mob overtook the Capitol, and, worst of all, Tom Brady is back in the Super Bowl.  

The whole month has me feeling deflated.

It hasn't been an easy start to the year.  When the rioters took over the Capitol, I foolishly thought that we had hit rock bottom--that reasonable folks would realize our political rhetoric has gotten overheated and we'd have a moment of unity.  What happened instead seems to be the polar opposite.  People have just doubled down on the finger-pointing that made our politics so toxic in the first place. The conversation sounds like this:

Liberal: "Trump incited the rioters, why won't you condemn what just happened?"

Conservative: "But why didn't you condemn the riots over the summer over police violence?"

L: "Well, why don't you condemn police violence?  And why haven't you condemned that band, The Police? Their song "Every Breath You Take" was about a stalker!"

C: "Why don't you condemn all the violence and murder happening in the inner cities?  And why haven't you condemned Murder Hornets?"

L: "Speaking of murder, why haven't you condemned the Iraq invasion, the Spanish-American War, violent video games, and the board game "Clue"? 

C: "Well, what about violent rap songs?  They don't even use proper grammar!  Think of the children!  And what about wrapping paper that is violent to my eyes?  It's part of a War on Christmas!  THINK OF THE CHILDREN!!!!"

 L: "If you're so concerned about the children, what about George Washington?  If he was the Father of our Country, shouldn't we be condemning him for having given birth to all 300 million of us Americans? There must have been incest involved!"

And so it goes.  

Thing is, what was quoted above was among the better conversations I've heard the last few weeks about current events. It's easier for us to deflect to some prior perceived wrong committed by "the other side" so that they never get to feel morally superior.  As a result, we end up pointing fingers backwards, and we never move forward.  

It's a dark time, and I don't just mean because it's January.  Our civil discourse is broken.  The weather is cold.  Alex Trebec is gone, and now the world waits with baited breath to see if Dr. Fauci might take his place as ageless, benevolent, know-it-all once the pandemic ends.  

The holidays are over, and what limited diversions winter usually offers are even fewer this year with the virus raging. I've personally been lucky enough to escape the virus, but I've had a frustrating time with MS the last few months, and that's bringing me down too.  

And to make things even worse, as I mentioned, Tom Brady is back in the Super Bowl. 

This is usually where I pivot to say that life still has hope, even when things seem dark.  But this time I just can't--there is just nothing redeeming about Tom Brady.  

There is something redeeming about my favorite play that involves puppets, however, so maybe I can start there. 

Avenue Q is a takeoff of Sesame Street, only written for adults.  Its writers say it was written to give young adults age-appropriate lessons on the real world just like kids get from Big Bird and company.  The only difference is that instead of learning how to count or not to get into cars with strangers, Avenue Q teaches things like "everyone's a little bit racist" (there's a musical number devoted to the idea that you will offend people without meaning to), or "you probably won't find complete fulfillment in your first few jobs."  (The musical also uncomfortably profane in parts, but let's just ignore that for now.)   

My favorite message in the play, though, is in the final song.  In Only For Now, the cast of puppets gives departing advice for new adults set to make their way in the world:

"Nothing lasts. Life goes on, full of surprises. 

You'll be faced with problems of all shapes and sizes. 

You're going to have to make a few compromises, 

For now.  

But only for now.  

Only for now. ... 

For now we're healthy, for now we're employed. 

For now we're happy, if not overjoyed. 

But we'll accept the things we cannot avoid, for now.

For now. ...

Don't stress. 

Relax.

Let everything roll off your backs.

Except for death and paying taxes

Everything in life 

Is only for now

...

Everything in life 

Is only for now

The song lists a number of other things that are only for now, such as your hair, your job, and discomfort. The current online version of the song even lists Covid. I'm not in the habit of arguing with puppets, so if they say that Covid is temporary, who am I to disagree?  

Besides, deep down I know that winter will end.  Vaccines will be distributed.  It's not an election year anymore, so soon, gloriously, we'll be free to forget about politics for weeks at a time.  When the world returns to normal, maybe we'll have a new version of the Roaring 20's by the summer.  (Maybe we'll even get snazzy 20's-themed outfits.)  

At some point I'll take on a new project to make one more last triumphant stand against MS.  It might or might not work out, but I'll be enlivened by the journey and it will feel wonderful. The sun will shine again, and this time we won't have to be six feet apart from the person sharing it with us. 

We'll get there, and we'll toast about it.  

Once we can venture outside again, we'll find ourselves less likely to be arguing in keyboard conversations and more likely to be spending time doing enjoyable things with others in person.   

I look forward to the day.    

In the meantime, I hope that I don't take for granted getting to sleep in on work days, all the extra books I got to read in 2020.  

I hope restaurants keep delivering dinner on rainy Saturday nights when I wouldn't have wanted to go out anyway.  I hope the weather will be nice soon, so I can sit on outdoor balconies again. 

I hope life soon lets me travel enough to make up for lost time.  

And most of all, I hope that Tom Brady's team will lose this year's Super Bowl. 

But if he wins, well, I take comfort that he'll only be the Super Bowl champion for now.