2/25/18. The post where I walk with a bunch of badasses.

2/25/18: yesterday was the second year in a row I walked a charity 5K for colon cancer awareness.  A lot of things have changed since last year.  (In case you need a refresher, here is my post from last year’s race.) While last year’s race was the first one in which I had participated since my RSD diagnosis, this time I had multiple races under my belt, including two half-marathons.  In fact, these days I generally walk 5-7 miles on any given Saturday, so a 5K felt a little like cheating.

The weather was also very different. While last year was bitterly cold, the race time temperature yesterday was a balmy 70 degrees.  And while the forecast called for a 70% chance of rain, the weather held during the entire race.  In fact, it was the first event I’ve done in several months where I didn’t get soaked.  (Thanks Mom! I feel certain she pulled some strings yesterday.)

Some things didn’t change, though. I listened to the fight song playlist on the way to the race.  Maybe that wasn’t a good idea, but every now and then I need to hear it and remember.  (And in a completely unrelated note, I cried through the start of the race.)  Other than a few pleasantries, I didn’t talk to anyone while I was there, and I walked alone.  But this time instead of silence during the walk, I listened to an upbeat workout playlist I’ve been working on, and that was a good idea.  It kept me focused and I had my best average time for a race since I’ve started walking competitively again.

In fact, not only was I the first walker to finish, I actually passed multiple people in the running group that started before the walkers. Not because I am a badass. Trust me, my half-marathon results will confirm that I am not going to win any speed awards anytime soon. But yesterday’s event was different. With a few exceptions, the participants weren’t regular runners, or even regular walkers. Many of them had probably never walked three miles at a time before and some of them were really struggling.   But they were there to celebrate, honor, or remember a loved one who had fought colon cancer, and that was enough to keep them going.  So everyone who participated yesterday was a badass, in my opinion.

This year I was able to forego the post-race beer because they were also offering hard ciders - my favorite!  Hey, I have learned in the past year that I can drink a beer when absolutely necessary (2017 New Year’s resolution - check), so I am off the hook.  And then I went home and ate guacamole and queso for lunch, because that’s what Mom would have wanted me to do.  (Yes, I know, that sounds like an excuse, but ask my family - they will totally back me up on this.) My family and friends really came through, as did all the participants’ families and friends, and we raised a lot of money for colon cancer research.

My foot protested mightily yesterday afternoon and evening.  It couldn’t have been the distance, so I have chalked it up to the humidity and emotion. I am planning to do another half-marathon next week, and while it is more than four times as long as yesterday’s walk, mentally it will seem like a walk in the park.  A long, slow walk through a really big park. Behind a bunch of “real” athletes. But they won’t match the badasses I walked with yesterday.

1/22/18. The post where I earn my bumper sticker.

1/22/18: it’s been almost a year since my last post. Wow - so many things have changed.  My patient, long-suffering husband transitioned into a new career as a business owner. We moved into a (significantly smaller) downtown loft.  My niece began graduate school and moved in with us.  And I have become a half-marathoner.

It happened as many of my best/worst decisions do, over a glass of wine (or two) with family.  My sister-by-love mentioned that she’d love to walk a half-marathon (13.1 miles for the metrically challenged).  A quick google search later, four of us were signed up for a big one out of town. We made the decision in late summer and the race was in early December, so we had plenty of time to train, right?

Fast forward to late November and suddenly I realize the race is less than two weeks away. The farthest I have walked since we signed up is five miles and it is way too late to start training in earnest. But now that we are living downtown, my walking has gotten a lot more consistent and I am feeling cocky.  So I decide it is going to be a “no rehearsal” race.  I keep up with my usual walking and disregard all expert advice about training for long distance races. And guess what? I manage to finish. All four of us finish, so we decide to do another one in January.  This time we will train properly.

Flash forward to last week.  While the race day forecast is unseasonably warm, the week before it is filled with ice storms and sub-freezing temperatures. Predictably, my foot reacts poorly and I can barely stand on it, even with HAL dialed up to 11. With each day, the odds of me making the race decrease drastically.  My patient, long-suffering husband reminds me that I can’t control everything and there will be other races.  But some friends also remind me that I usually manage to find a way.  So I don’t give up.

And sure enough, two days before the race, the weather improves. And so does my foot. By race morning, I am feeling confident. Or blindly optimistic. Or delusional. In any event, I decide to go for it. And not only do I finish, but I beat my previous time by 20 minutes.  And my sister-by-love beats her time, too. And my niece and cousin, who are actually runners, finish handily.  Apparently this is now something we do.  We have already signed up for another race in March.

Today I am sore in places I didn’t even know existed. And my foot is not especially happy about my life choices.  But I am feeling pretty good.  On January 7, 2014, I was diagnosed with RSD. https://valeriersd.blogspot.com/2014/01/the-post-where-i-catch-everyone-up.html  I was introduced to terms like “incurable”, “remission”, “coping strategies”, and “medical disability retirement.”  But after four years, months of physical therapy, multiple nerve blocks, several unsuccessful prescriptions, and a spinal cord stimulator, I just finished my second half marathon. And I think I have earned my bumper sticker.