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. 

It's Not 2020. Life Is Just Hard

 The Corona Virus came and greatly overstayed its welcome.  Then the Murder Hornets flew in.  Beloved celebrities passed, and there's new injustice, corruption, and violence everywhere.  Hurricanes destroyed cities, and wildfires nearly destroyed California.  I didn't even know there was such a thing as a fire tornado.  

Memes about how uniquely bad 2020 has been--how it feels like we are constantly under attack--are all over the Internet.  They aren't wrong.  

But I'm not sure they are right either.

Maybe I'm just used to it by now.  

My latest news is that I think I'm having an MS attack.  If so, it would be the first since the one four years ago that led to my diagnosis.

That's the unique struggle of 2020, right?  

Well, not really.  I've had at least one ongoing overarching life struggle pretty much ever since my 2016 diagnosis, except for maybe one Tuesday last November.  That was a lovely day.  I got even coffee. But otherwise, 2020 just seems like life, with a side helping of Netflix.   

Not to brag, but consider:  In November 2016 I went blind in one eye, and started getting shooting pains in all parts of my body at random intervals.  (And when I say "all," well, use your imagination.)  Among other things, MS gave me pain and soreness in my left hip that I didn't kick for about six months, which was about the same time I also accidentally kicked the wrong side of a dark street curb.  I broke my knee.

After a speedy 18-month recovery, I thought I was finally clear.  But right as I finished my 34 physical therapy sessions, my dentist (who, for the record, was not the same person as my physical therapist) told me the roots of my upper front tooth were broken. I would have to get it extracted and new bone inserted in; the process of getting a new one implanted took 11 months.  In the meantime I had to wear an ill-fitting contraption that attached to the roof of my mouth and had a flimsy fake tooth on it to fill the space.  It fell out commonly, and sometimes on public streets.  I couldn't eat with it in either, but in its defense, taking it out was a cool trick at parties.

It wasn't all bad.  Between my eye patch for the blindness, and the missing tooth, I didn't need to buy a costume to be a pirate for Halloween.  Had I thought ahead, I might have just gotten my broken leg amputated too, and a pegleg inserted! That was a missed opportunity, there.  

When my tooth implant was finally done, I developed some monster stomach issue that felt like a 4-week bout of food poisoning.  My doctors were concerned enough about it to move up my colonoscopy and give me every other test on earth, some of which involved things way grosser than a colonoscopy.  (It's best if I don't mention it here. Or ever again.)   All my tests came back negative over the next few weeks, and the doctor diagnosed it as a lingering virus.  Maybe I just wasn't used to eating with all my teeth.  Or maybe something from one of those city sidewalks stayed on my removeable tooth a little too long.  I did work in San Francisco, after all.         

I finally got the all-clear diagnosis on my stomach the day before I moved to Georgia last November.  I liked my new job.  I got coffee one Tuesday, and relaxed a little during the holidays.  I'm pretty sure I even got coffee on a Thursday as well.  It was lovely.   

A few weeks into the new year I tore a ligament in my ankle and a tendon in my finger.  After weeks of rehab, I was finally able to walk again and explore a new city and make new friends...right as the Corona Virus hit and everything shut down.  

And here we are.  

But my point isn't to complain.   Far from it.  As far as I know, I haven't caught the 'Rona, and I haven't lost a loved on to it.  I get to work from home now most of the time, which is nice when you have MS.  I can go back to a house in California and see old friends on our relaxing patio.  My wife and I can entertain, along with our cat, when I'm in town.  The cat often screws up the recipes, but she does her best.  She blames the lack of opposable thumbs.  (We let her do the cooking because she has terrible taste in choosing wines. Her picks tend to taste like sour milk, with a hint of kibble on the finish).  But I appreciate whatever she can provide.  Sometimes we have to learn to take joy whatever we can find. 

I think that approach what has been keeping me going. (Not letting the cat cook. I mean taking whatever comes and trying to make the best.)  I remember that some things are better in this version of life.  I've gotten to buzz through a few really good things on Netflix I probably would have missed otherwise.  Weekends are most restful.  I can listen to a few different church services on Sunday morning; try more new restaurants (via takeout); read more books. I don't have kids to entertain, so I got to make progress on a book I'd been procrastinating for too long. Sometimes the introvert in me summons the energy to call someone, and they probably have time to talk.  

Life can still be annoying, and I don't mean to gloss over that.  Back when I left the house, I used to hate to come home with precious little energy to face bills from incorrect bills, broken appliances, upsetting social media posts, and websites that can't remember my passwords.  Now I have to face those things I don't even get to leave the house.  

It's exhausting, and I'm exhausted frequently.  I just want to live in a world where no one is being too pushy and things work as they should. 

But that isn't life.  

Maybe its imperfections are why, along with the summer, heat, that my right hip has locked up, the random nerve shocks have increased, and my energy seems gone.  (At least the bizarre nightmares I remember from my last episode seem to have come in there place!)  I hope they leave soon, and I hope they take the virus with it.  

But whatever happens, things will be ok.  I haven't gone blind again yet, so I'm hoping whatever symptoms I'm going through now won't progress much more.  I can get more sleep to fight this off, since there is nowhere else I need to be.  I feel better today than I did yesterday.   

Whatever happens, with me, or with you for the rest of this year, here's what I know.  There's an internal reservoir of strength inside you that you don't realize you have until you find it.  There's a joy in something that you hadn't appreciated.  There's something along the way to make you smile.  You just gotta discover it.  You will if you look.         

Maybe it's as simple as a fresh pot of coffee that just brewed. I didn't use to appreciate that quite as much as I do now.    

     

I Could Really Use a Wish Right Now

Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like shooting stars?  I could really use a wish right now.

I didn't come up with those lines, as you are probably well aware.  Those are song lyrics sung by someone on the radio by named Hayley, who probably has some mental health issues.

I can relate to her music, because I have some too, and I was looking forward to seeing her in concert next month.

But that's probably not actually going to happen, because the show is probably going to be cancelled.  Just like everything else lately.

I've seen Paramore a few times before, so I can handle missing Hayley's latest show.  But the endless routine of quarantine is starting to wear thin.   

I could really use a wish right now.  And if I had one, I'd wish life would just go back to normal.

I miss having things to look forward to.  I miss live sports on tv, and I miss seeing other people.  I even miss when people argued about stuff like tax policy, rather than stuff like whether the virus that's killed almost 100,000 people was all part of a secret government plot.  (By the way, as someone with a government security clearance, I can assure that it's way more likely that Netflix was a secret government plot to inject our brains with 8 episodes of the Tiger King.)

It's only been about two months, but in some ways I barely even remember what it was like before.  I have a vague memory that back then I used to not go out that often because I had a sprained ankle, or because I was new in town and it felt exhausting.  If only I had known what was coming, I would have lived more and gotten it out of my system while I could. 

Instead, I used to come home on a Tuesday and think of all the reasons I should  stay home and watch tv all night instead of getting off my couch.  Oh wait, no, I worked from home on Tuesdays, so I would come up with reasons why it didn't make sense to leave the house on Tuesday nights when I hadn't done so all day.

On Wednesdays, I would come home from work and remind myself that it didn't make much sense to go back out and exhaust myself, considering what a busy night Tuesday had been.

I'm kind of an introvert, but if (safely) going almost anywhere were an option this Wednesday, I would probably do it.  And I know I'm not the only one. 

I don't mean to sound to sound selfish or ungrateful.  Shutting down for a while was the only choice, and I don't want wishful thinking to be the substitute for healthy decision-making.  I am lucky to still have a job, and to have avoided the virus thus far.  I occasionally have to go into my office, which at least breaks up the routine and provides a sense of normalcy. 

I have it so much better than other people I know.

But quarantine life is getting old and I hope life works out that it (safely) ends soon. 

I don't pretend that's an insightful or original idea, just like I wasn't the first to have imagined that passing airplane was a shooting star.

And if I see one from my balcony tonight, I'm still going to wish upon it.

Because I could really use a wish right now. 

Why Is It So Exhausting to Sit on My Butt and Do Nothing?

I should be more productive than this.  Really. What else do I have to do?

When the quarantine first started, I had such big dreams for how much I would get done. 

Do 100 push-ups a day.
Finish my book.
Find an empty hoop and get my basketball game back in gear.
Read all those books on my reading list that have piled up.
Refresh my Spanish.

They all sounded nice.  And what else did I have to do?

Not much, it seems.  But that hasn't really mattered.

My plans to get stuff done haven't quite worked out just yet. (And tomorrow isn't looking great either.)  I haven't developed a new, productive routine, unless you count my daily binging on my favorite sitcoms. 

It turns out doing nothing is more exhausting than I had imagined.

Life isn't a total waste, but it isn't the panacea of productivity I had hoped for. 

I've read a couple of books in the last month, and I get some exercise every now and then.  But if the quarantine ended tomorrow, I wouldn't leave the experience feeling like I in any way made myself better through the experience. 

I haven't used this time to think of any major life insights, and I'm no closer to crossing off any particular goal.  Instead, my biggest life accomplishment is something more like signing up for Nexflix and discovering the brilliance of Schitt's Creek.

Part of me wants to be annoyed at myself about this, but I also don't have the energy for that.  Besides,  I mostly sit at home and type on my computer during business hours.  The last thing I should want to do at night is to sit at home and type on my computer. 

Maybe you can relate?

When all sports, concerts, and theaters are closed for the indefinite future, there are no trips to plan, and no dinners out, why wouldn't we be unduly excited about the next episode of some new show?  What else am we supposed to look forward to?  The Rapture? 

It's just hard to be productive, beyond life's mere essentials, when most everything already feels like a chore. 

I'm an introvert, so I rarely get bored in my own company.  But even so, when the social aspect of life falls out of balance, I never want to make up for that lack of fun by doing stuff that's more productive.

I keep seeing Facebook memes on my friend's pages pushing back against others who were judging them for learning new skills during the quarantine.  I had always wondered what kind of jerky friends these people knew who would ever think of doing that.

Then I realized I had been doing that to myself. 

Maybe none of us should.

And bravo to those who have entertained and educated children during this.  You've possibly accomplished something harder than I have during this time, although I'd argue that making it through all nine seasons of The Office in two weeks counts for something.

But I will concede that accomplishment has marginally less value than raising other life forms to be productive citizens.  So, if you've managed to keep your kids afloat while keeping it all together, be proud of yourself for that.  And if don't have kids, you can still be proud of yourself for keeping it all together.  And if you haven't kept it all together, be proud of yourself for reading this blog. 

It's probably more than I would have accomplished.

Random Thoughts: Social Distancing Edition

You are probably just reading this because you aren't allowed to leave your house and have exhausted every other entertainment option you can think of.  That's ok.

A captive audience is still an audience, and neither of us have anything better to do.  

It's the perfect time for a new batch of random thoughts.  Satisfaction guaranteed or your money back.

Why is it that I start to get restless after a day at home, but my cat hasn't left the house in like 16 years and she is doing just fine?

So is it the Corona Virus, the coronavirus, Covid-19, SARS-CoV-2, or something with the word "China" in the name?  If just naming the virus is this hard, no wonder we don't have a vaccine yet.

Instead of getting a stimulus check from the government, can I request that they send me an equivalent amount worth of toilet paper?

Lots of people are watching a new documentary about a guy with a mullet haircut and his own pet tigers.  In 5 years, he will probably be our president.

Why didn't I think to buy a gigantic, tricked-out house that I couldn't afford right before the banks were ordered not to foreclose on people?

At what point does flying actually become safer than staying home, because there are fewer people on the plane than living in your house?  Plus, you can swipe some toilet paper from the lavoratory. 

Do police officers now have to sanitize their hands before putting people in handcuffs?

If you don't have the virus, is it insensitive to play R.EM.'s song with the lyrics "It's the end of the world as we know but I feel fine"?

Why did toilet paper become the thing people decided to lose their minds stocking up on?  Why not, say, oranges?

Why are police, medics, and firefighters all referred to as first responders when one of them got to the scene third?

One thing I know: when we all emerge from this thing, there are going to be a whole lot of people who need haircuts. 

Another thing: tickets for whatever the first live sporting event is on the other side of this are going to go for like a thousand dollars.  Or maybe that amount worth of toilet paper.

I feel really bad for people who live alone and have birthdays while under quarantine.  If you know anyone to whom that applies, drop them off some toilet paper.

Here's to all those who are, or have a loved one, fighting against this thing. Stay safe, keep fighting, and don't give up hope for a day when you have something better to do than read this blog.

It Wasn't Supposed to Be This Way

Today was supposed to be my day.

My triumph. My victory.  My proclamation of overcoming MS, my social anxiety, and a long-fought intractable battle over a personal goal.

It certainly wasn't supposed to be like this.

I was going to run the Atlanta Half Marathon.  After ten races over 7 years, I was finally going to hit the 1:45 mark I've been working towards since I started running.  I was going to feel triumphant, having scored a victory over both multiple sclerosis and Father Time.  Locally, this is the biggest race of the year, and I imagined running through the streets of my new city, absorbing the support of the crowd and feeling the affirmation that I belonged here.  Moving is hard, and this was to my first heartfelt connection I was to forge with my new home.

I was looking forward to basking in a lazy afternoon satisfied in my accomplishment, reflecting on what it took to get here.

I broke my knee three years ago, and it was inexplicably slow to recover.  My orthopedist gave up on me, and my physical therapist told me that I'd never walk again without a limp. He thought my knee was mostly healed but my nerve connections just didn't work anymore, what with the MS trying to destroy them.  I refused to believe him, because I just couldn't.  And eventually, he turned out to be wrong. 

Today, I was going to not only prove that, I was going to be faster than ever.

And the thing is, I was actually going to do it.  I had run up to 11 miles and was already hitting the times I needed a month before the race.  By race day, today, I was going to be trained and ready to own the course. I was going to blow my goal away, having overcome MS and a debilitating injury to do it.

But that today didn't happen.  I got this today instead.

A month ago my ankle turned in a bad direction and I fell to the ground.  I completely tore my ligament off the bone, and I've been in a walking boot ever since.  I was able to ditch my crutches fairly quickly, but the doctor told me I would take three months to heal.

I'm going to miss a whole lot of races until then, but none bigger than today.  The race is all over the papers, and the local streets are mostly shut down.  I was supposed to be out there as part of Atlanta's annual weekend running festival, not inside on a computer.

Life while injured is hard.  I've been mostly stuck inside, unable to do much except get overly worked up about the latest political news.  It's been rainy and gloomy all winter.  February is the worst month of the calendar, with little excitement and lots of cold, and this year it even had an extra day.

I went to church this morning, because I had some free time that opened from the race I couldn't run.  In an act of defiance, I left my house without my walking boot, a day before I was scheduled to be done with it.  I drove to church and then hobbled from the parking lot to the auditorium.  If I couldn't run the race I wanted, I could at least limp toward God.

It was a good service--one that spoke of counting our blessings even in seasons of loss, and making sacrifices to help others, rather than the empty gestures that come more easily.  As we took communion near the end, I remembered that Jesus was once physically broken just like me, and modeled how to do it.  Eventually, he got back up again, and he overcame.

I will too.

I fell, but I will get back up.  My ankle, my knee, and my fiberglass body will all hold up for another shot somewhere down the line.  MS will let me will run another race, and if I got to my desired pace once, I can get there again.  It will feel ever better having overcome one more thing to do it.   I will feel settled and at home someday, somewhere.

My day will come. I just have to believe that it will.

I wish it were today.  Instead, I settled for a slow but successful walk back my car after church had ended, one day ahead of my recovery schedule.  I smiled a little smile at the small victory.  It was all that was in store for me today, but a victory nonetheless.

And I noticed the sun had finally come out.