Rant of the day: Hurricanes (Again)

See, this is exactly what I'm afraid of. That - even with everything I've been through - the worst isn't over. Things aren't going to get any better.

I'm stepping away from telling my cancer story today to rant about hurricanes again. Lord knows I've earned the right to rant.

My family and I are fine, btw. We live further down the Gulf Coast, and while there were storm surge warnings in our area, there really was very little impact down here. But my God. My heart goes out to everyone in the panhandle.

So let's all give a big "F* You" to hurricanes and do the following, in order:

1. Give all you can to help the victims of hurricanes. There's plenty of organizations out there that can use the help, but if you need a suggestion, I like the Red Cross and Team Rubicon. 
2. Support organizations that are working to protect the planet and combat climate change, like The Sierra Club. Then monitor your own consumption - remember, we should all "Reduce, Reuse, Recycle" in that exact order. 
3. VOTE. For the love of Pete, vote as hard as you can in November. We can't let things continue this way.

Plan of attack

The days following my cancer diagnosis were some of the longest, hardest days I had to endure (and that includes the days I've experienced chemotherapy). I felt lost and overwhelmed, torn between the three miserable choices I had for treatment, knowing that making the wrong decision would have an impact on the long and fulfilling life I've envisioned for myself. I tried to read as much as I could about triple negative breast cancer on the internet to help guide me in the right direction, but it was tough reading. The outlook is not nearly as good compared to other types of cancers.

I thought I would wait for the results of my genetic test to come back before making a decision on surgery and treatment, as a positive result would encourage me to think more strongly about having a double mastectomy, but my insurance company denied the testing procedure. Something about my having Jewish ancestry makes the procedure unnecessary because I'm already at high risk of developing breast cancer (well, obviously, because I already have cancer). I'd just like to say that whoever made the decision that genetic testing is unnecessary obviously hasn't been faced with having to make a choice between keeping one or both of their boobs. Although the genetic testing company would do the test eventually anyway at no expense to me (they want the data, of course), it just resulted in additional delays, and it really felt like every second I waited to make a decision on treatment was acting against me.

Meanwhile, I had to start making phone calls to friends and family about my diagnosis. The first was to my mother, of course. Having been through this herself when she was just 32 years old, she's been my best supporter and ally. Of course, she's also been very adamant that I should follow in her exact footsteps as she's about to turn 60 this year and has had no recurrence. Mastectomy, chemo, radiation, two years of a crazy vitamin regimen... on the one hand, I wanted to believe that there's been better breakthroughs in cancer research in 28 years that I wouldn't have to do exactly what she did, but on the other hand I was grateful that I have a role model that has lived through this to give me hope that I'm going to be just fine.

But every call after that was much harder. It's just a depressing conversation... I felt like I was ruining everybody's day, even though I tried to sound as optimistic as possible by reminding people that I've got both my mother and grandmother to look up to as cancer survivors all these years later.

There was one call I almost didn't make - the one to my father. He lost his second wife, my stepmother, to cancer in 2016, right after I ran the Dark Side Challenge which was the race that prompted me to start this blog. She was only 60 years old, it all felt very sudden and unexpected, and it has left my father in a bad place ever since. He wakes up every day wondering what bad news will befall our family, and I knew his thoughts would immediately jump to the death of my stepmother instead of the long, healthy life my own mother has had after cancer. But I knew I needed the support of my entire family behind me. Maybe it was selfish to tell him. I know he worries every day about me. But if he didn't know... he wouldn't understand why I wasn't feeling well most days, or why I wasn't traveling anywhere, or why maybe I wouldn't be up for having him down for a visit, or why I'd be bald. I can't keep all of that a secret, right?

One week after my diagnosis, I did receive some good news. Remember that enlarged lymph node my surgeon did a biopsy on? It came back clear. It didn't necessarily rule out that cancer had spread, but was still somewhat comforting. It became clear to me that I could eliminate one of my choices from surgery - double mastectomy. There was no reason at that time to remove a healthy breast and have a more complex surgery that could possibly delay chemotherapy. I can always opt to have that surgery down the road if I want to.

So that left me with either pursuing what I've read as the best option according to the internet (neoadjuvant chemotherapy followed by lumpectomy) or following in the footsteps of living proof of something that worked in my own family (mastectomy followed by chemotherapy).

And on July 17th, I said goodbye forever to my left breast and what will hopefully be goodbye forever to cancer.

My mother took this photo as they were wheeling me away to surgery. I thought it was fairly ridiculous that she wanted to capture that moment, but I have to say I like that I don't look too bent out of shape, all things considering.

Next steps

The thing with cancer is that nobody tells you what to do.

When I went in to see my surgeon the day I got the results of my biopsy via email, I expected her to lay out the exact plan of attack. I wanted her to tell me exactly what to do for my best chance of survival and give me my action steps.

But she didn't do that. Instead, she gave me "options." Leaving me to make decisions about extending my life that frankly I'm ill-equipped to make.

What the hell do I know about cancer?

The only thing that was made clear to me was that at some point, I was going to need to undergo chemotherapy. The biopsy showed a triple negative cancer - meaning hormones weren't driving it, and tamoxifen is not an option. If you google triple negative breast cancer, you'll find some scary shit. It's particularly gnarly and aggressive. So chemo was a must.

But how and when chemo would happen would be dependent on how I wanted to remove the tumor. Here were my options as presented to me by my surgeon:

Option 1: Double mastectomy (I remember my reaction: "You want to take both of them???") - given the diagnosis and higher chance of recurrence, I could choose to have both breasts removed at the same time. Pros: getting all surgeries done at the same time - but there's no definitive evidence this prevents recurrence. So why do people do it? Peace of mind maybe? Cons: obviously, having 0.0 boobs is not ideal. Plus you have to wait until you are fully healed to begin chemotherapy, which is of the utmost importance. If anything goes awry with the surgery (infection at the surgical sites), chemo would need to be delayed which is not good.

Option 2: Single mastectomy - Just remove the broken boob. Pros and cons are similar to having a double mastectomy, except you are only losing one breast and the surgery is less complex so hopefully you'd heal sooner with no problems and begin chemotherapy asap. This is what my mother had done so many years ago, and was the option she was pushing for me to do.

Option 3: Neoadjuvant chemotherapy with a lumpectomy to happen at the end of treatment - There would be a chance to save the broken boob by going this route. I google'd the hell out of triple negative cancer and it seemed this was a popular approach given how important chemotherapy is in the treatment of this type of cancer. With this approach, chemotherapy is given before surgery. The tumor actually shrinks as a result of chemo, making removal a little bit easier. Pros: Starting chemotherapy sooner results in a better prognosis, and you have visible confirmation treatment is working because your tumor shrinks. Plus, who wouldn't want to save their boob? Cons: You're living with an intact tumor in your body for a longer period of time. You also won't know your cancer staging and whether or not cancer has spread to the lymph nodes until surgery actually occurs. You also risk not getting cancer-free surgical margins with a lumpectomy.

So I couldn't really take any next steps until I made a decision about surgery. My surgeon couldn't give me any information about staging - that would happen after surgery once they removed some lymph nodes to see if the cancer had spread. She did share that they could see an enlarged lymph node on my ultrasound and suggested performing a biopsy that day on that particular lymph node to check. If positive, we'd know sooner rather than later if it had spread. If negative, we'd still be unclear on staging as they'd have to check all of the "sentinel lymph nodes" as they are called to be sure it hadn't spread.

Of course I said yes, even though biopsies suck. I also provided some blood for genetic testing as it had been a few years since my mother had completed testing and maybe there were some new findings since then. A positive result could help me lean towards double mastectomy. But overall, I left her office feeling overwhelmed by the fact I really had no clear plan for treatment.

She did refer me to an oncologist, at least, whom I met with later that week. He - just like my surgeon - wouldn't tell me what to do, but suggested if I were his wife/daughter/sister/mother, he'd encourage a double mastectomy. But, as I understand it, oncologists are scared shitless of triple negative cancers so I think they all lean towards the most aggressive approaches.

It took two weeks to make an official plan for treatment - and it was the longest two weeks of my life.

Bad things happen in threes

So let's recap - last September, I feared it was the "End of Days" with Hurricane Irma pounding down on my city in Florida. In October, I feared for my ability to continue being a productive member of society after I learned my job was being eliminated. Scary stuff, eh? But if you've been following along, you know each of those scenarios ended up being a-ok in the end. The hurricane did 0.0 damage to me and my family, and I was offered employment again in April with the company that laid me off, with a start date of mid-June, giving me some ample time to rest and recharge from all of the networking and interviewing I did to desperately seek new employment. 

And then May 22nd of this year came and that's when I felt the lump. And I knew. Life was not about to cut me some slack.

I was in the shower and had an itch on my upper left chest, so I scratched it. There was a firmness that felt unfamiliar to me. I quickly felt around my upper right chest to confirm that something was off, and I could feel the blood drain from my face. 

Breast cancer. It's a family curse. My mother was the first to be diagnosed when she was just 32 years old. I was only 11 at the time, and remember very little about the trials and tribulations she had to go through: being newly divorced, "single-momming" it up, while running her own business and going through multiple surgeries, chemotherapy, and radiation. Not long after she was diagnosed, my Grams in her 60's also received the cancer sentence, although hers was caught much earlier than my mother's and she did not have to go through as much in the way of treatment. 

I had always assumed in my 20's that the same ill fate would befall me in my 30's. It's one of the reasons I shaved my head during my stint on Semester at Sea - I figured knowing what I looked like bald ahead of time would make it less traumatic in the event I would ever need to go through chemotherapy. 

From Vietnam

I had my first mammogram at age 32, the same age my mother was when she was diagnosed, and it came back clear. Shortly after that, Angelina Jolie made headlines for having a double mastectomy because she tested positive for cancer genes. I thought that surely I too had the genes, and should consider following in Angelina's footsteps. I went to see a genetic counselor, who encouraged me to talk to my mother about having genetic testing completed. I would have done it myself, but the counselor suggested it was preferred for the actual cancer survivor to have the testing done first to determine if it is even necessary for the relatives. 

My mother, who thought I was nuts to be considering having a prophylactic double mastectomy, volunteered to have the genetic tests completed, and we were both relieved at the time to find her results came back negative. The genetic counselor agreed there was no reason for me to consider testing, and I took it a step further and made the decision to save myself some money and forget going back for any more mammograms. I suppose now that may have been a mistake. 

Anyway, on that day I found my lump, I didn't sleep much. I had an appointment with my primary care doctor on the schedule within two weeks, so I decided to wait it out to get a referral for a mammogram. She not only referred me out for a mammogram, but also immediately put me in touch with a breast care surgeon in our area. 

I needed multiple appointments to get my diagnosis - the surgeon performed an ultrasound, sent me out for my mammo and MRI, then did a biopsy on the lump. It was tough juggling starting my brand new job in June with all of the doctor's appointments I needed just to get a diagnosis, but I scheduled appointments at lunchtime and at the end of the day when I could, and just explained to my boss that some of these things could not wait. She was understanding and supportive, but man... being the "needy" one is not the position you want to be in when you start working for someone new. 

And then I got an email from Quest Diagnostics on June 25th at 2pm, 2 hours before I was to meet up with my surgeon again. Yup, email delivered the news. The results of my biopsy were in. 

Invasive Ductal Carcinoma. Grade 3. Triple Negative. A bunch of things I didn't fully understand, except for the word "carcinoma."

And thus begun my cancer "fight."

 

The end of my career

Fast forward three weeks to Monday, October 2. I booted up my work laptop from home, as I had done every Monday morning since becoming a full-time remote employee, and was greeted with an instant message from my co-worker in Michigan. "Something bad is happening," she said, and named a few of my peers that had been pulled into meetings with human resources that morning. "And they just took Mike."

I froze. Mike held the same job title as me. If he was being let go, it meant I was next.

"God, I hope I am wrong and they aren't laying off everybody," came her next message.

I went about my own business for the next twenty minutes until I saw Mike's green light appear on his instant messenger. I wrote him a quick note - "I understand today is a bad day. Got a sec to talk?" He said yes and I gave him a call.

He confirmed the bad news - that his position was eliminated effective end of year. "They shared 40 other people are being let go due to a reorganization," he said. "I don't know who they are, they just gave me a sheet of job grades and ages (a requirement to prove nondiscrimination, I guess), so you may still be safe," he shared.

But as he finished that exact sentence, an incoming call came in. "I gotta go," I said to Mike. "It's them..." He wished me luck and I clicked over to the other line to hear from a director I barely knew and an HR rep I didn't know at all that my position was being eliminated come end of the year.

I barely heard the details of my terms of severance. All I could think about was how long I had served this company, how stupid they were to get rid of someone like me with so much institutional knowledge, how I might never find another job here in Florida, at least not one that paid what I needed to earn and allowed me to still work from home full time. And how cruel could they be to do this to someone who just went through the scariest thing in her life at that point in Hurricane Irma?

Over the next three months, I went through every emotion that comes with loss. I was furious. I was in denial, thinking something was going to change and they'd see how much they needed me. At times, I was relieved to be getting out... thinking about those who had managed to keep their jobs but were somehow going to have to figure out how to do the work of 40 people that had just been let go. But mostly, I was sad to think that this chapter of my life was ending, and my time with an employer that I loved... even though I didn't always love the job... was ending.

I began applying for a few jobs half-heartedly, focusing my search on positions that allowed remote work arrangements. I also applied for a new job that had been created as a result of the reorganization with my company, but was notified on Christmas Eve that I didn't get it. The fact that they dragged the interviews out from October through November and then didn't notify me until Christmas Eve... what a holiday gift, eh? It's hard to this day to forgive how they treated me during that time.

December 29th came faster than I was ready for, and I found myself packing up my computer equipment and shipping it back to the company. And then 2018 came, and I found myself - for the first time ever - facing unemployment.

The job search was... painful. As an introvert, networking and interviews drain the heck out of me, yet that became my daily life. I thought - without work weighing me down - I might actually be able to focus on health and running (remember, I had signed up for the Princess Half Marathon last year thinking I was going to be able to get the pink coast-to-coast challenge medal, but we know that didn't work out as planned), but I didn't get anywhere closer to meeting my health goals during that time.

In all those months of searching, I did manage to earn one job offer in March - for 30% less than I was making at my former employer, and no chance of a work-from-home arrangement. I couldn't sleep that night after the offer, dreading saying "yes" but fearing that I'd be losing out on the only opportunity I'd ever have for gainful employment again. But something in my gut told me it wasn't right, and I spent all night "upping my game" so to speak. I created a personal resume website, and immediately started looking for jobs that I knew would pay me what I'm worth and give me a chance to work at home again. I went to my old employer's website, and found a posting on one of the old teams I used to work for. Sure, it wasn't a marketing job, but it had a great shot of giving me the right salary and would be a full-time remote job. I sent an email at 4:43am to an old colleague of mine asking for some inside info on the job, and applied the next day.

I then politely declined the offer I had received, butterflies floating in my stomach the entire time, worrying I was blowing my one shot for decent work. I know today that was the right choice... because within one month, I was given the offer for the job I had applied to with my former employer.

And, just like Irma, one of the scariest moments in my life had finally had some closure with a very happy ending. But two weeks after I started my new job, I received my cancer diagnosis. It seemed like I was only picked up just to be knocked flat on my face once again.

The last year

Let me summarize today what's been going on since 2017. I'll extrapolate about each of these awesomely terrible things in a future post.

Irma was pretty traumatic for me. The days leading up to it were absolutely frightening, and our last minute escape from Florida was particularly harrowing. Once things settled down in the days following, even though I knew how lucky we had all been, I just couldn't shake the "End of Days" feeling I had. With Hurricane Florence hanging out in the Carolinas this week, I'm feeling that general uneasiness again, even though I'm well outside the path. I just worry for all those who are in the path and hope they can claim the same good fortune I did after Irma.

But I didn't have good fortune after Irma. Just three weeks after the storm, a new storm brewed in my life. For the first time ever, I was facing unemployment. An employer I have served on and off again (by my own choice) in the last ten years had decided my services were no longer needed, and I'd be jobless come 2018. It was a crippling blow to my psyche - even though I didn't love the job I was doing, I loved the comforts it afforded me - the ability to work from home, something I had gotten used to and enjoyed as an introvert over the last three years, and a salary that allowed me to indulge my Disney addictions. I didn't like my job prospects for finding the same kind of work here in Florida.

Spoiler alert... I did eventually find new work. And I believed my luck was turning. But then, two weeks after I started my new job, I was diagnosed with stage 2 breast cancer.



Oh, there's been running, too. St. Pete Run Fest... well, it happened and I "officially" got my sub-2 run. The Princess Run also happened. So more to come on those.

When You're the Villain in Your Own Story

When I was seeing a therapist about my eating disorder, she tried to help me recognize "triggers" - events in my day that would inevitably lead to a binge. The problem was that binge eating was such a habitual occurrence for me, anything could really have been labeled as a trigger. Sad? Binge. Happy? Binge. Stressed? Binge.

Yes, emotional eating is a thing that some people like myself need to control. But I think looking for a specific trigger in order to avoid or negate it is flawed logic when everything can be a so-called trigger.

I can, however, recognize triggers that send my mood spiraling downward, resulting in outbursts of despondency much like I had yesterday. Long-time followers of the blog have probably recognized patterns of general contentment followed by majorly low lows. When I go back and read some of my own writing, I myself am like "Wow, this person sounds like she needs an intervention."

SO new goal... try to minimize my exposure to these triggers, but recognize them when they occur and don't jump to "end of the world" thinking.

Yes, I have a lot of work to do on myself. Didn't I just acknowledge that last week? Twenty-two years of treating my body like shit isn't going to be reversed overnight.

This same podcast that had me all bent out of shape yesterday reminded me that it could take some time through trial and error to figure out the right dosage of thyroid meds to get me running optimally. The only way I'll know for sure what's going on is to go back for some additional blood testing now that I've been on the meds for a while - something I knew I'd have to do again, but have been putting off because, well, I'm a wimp.

And we'll see where it goes. If no improvement, then I'll know I may need to try not exercising for a while, but that's not something I need to worry about right this instant. Quitting running isn't an option for me right now since I still have a half marathon coming up in November. If I'm still struggling after the Avengers Half, then we'll try changing it up.

I just have a lot more work to do than most in order to be able to go the distance..

Status

I thought I was doing really well. I've got my eating under control. Still taking my thyroid meds. I even saw improvement in my morning body temperature for a solid week, which I thought meant better metabolism.

But now I'm back to low body temps, and still accomplishing nothing when I try to run. My right foot hurts every damn morning, reminding me it will probably never be the same after April's stress fracture.

Then I go reading stuff like this to help me figure out why I never improve at running, and it's so overwhelming because pretty much everything on that damn page applies and I don't know what to fix first.

And then I listen to podcasts like this one about hypothyroidism and hear that I shouldn't be exercising at all. WTF? How am I supposed to believe this after a lifetime of hearing diet and exercise is the path to health? My identity for quite some time has been bundled with hard core fitness routines, how am I supposed to just stop?

Maybe I should just care a little less. People are sometimes surprised by what they can achieve when they stop trying so hard. But not caring is not easy for me to do, either. I've always been taught to work for what I want.

How is it that I can be so disabled inside? It doesn't seem fair that I'm otherwise a productive, functioning member of society, but will never be able to have this one thing I want.

I thought maybe I'd be getting closer once I beat my eating disorder, but no. Not binge eating isn't enough.

It's not enough.

I'm not enough.

Will I ever be enough?

For every step forward I take, it seems I always find a way to go two steps back.

Saving my year

2016 was supposed to be my year. It doesn't seem to be working out that way. I look back on some of the things I wrote around Christmas last year and wish I could go back and have a realistic conversation with myself.

I know we're not even halfway through the year yet, but given the events of the last month, it's going to take something really epic to feel better about life right now. Maybe that would be finally running a sub 2 half marathon. But truthfully, I think even that's not going to be enough.

Either way, I've got to put the Dark Side behind me and start looking forward to Super Heroes Weekend in November. It's exactly six months from today.

Three concerns:

1. Travel: I anticipate needing to travel more frequently over the next six months, which interrupts the routine I've built for myself here in Florida.
2. Weather. Those who ran the inaugural Avengers race last year had a miserable time. Hoping weather patterns change for this year's race. This is a minor concern compared to:
3. Injury. Almost a month has passed since I ran the Dark Side half, and my foot still isn't healed. 

It's killing me to not be able to go out for a run. I know I should look beyond running to improve my fitness levels, but I just don't enjoy anything as much as running.

To be frank, everything I'm doing right now isn't giving me much enjoyment. My husband suggested we go to Disney this weekend, and ... for the first time ever... I said no.

I need a hero to rescue my year. I'll take Thor, please. Or even Captain America.

(Ok, really... I'd prefer Ant-Man. Always go with the guy who makes you laugh:) 

A Natural Part of Life

Apologies in advance to those of you looking for my usual "eat/sleep/think/train like an athlete" blog posts. This isn't going to be one of those.

My stepmother passed away exactly one week ago. It still doesn't feel real.

I hate that word by the way. "Stepmother." Fairy tales and Disney haven't done right by the stepmoms out there, portraying them as something inferior or evil. Not Becky. She has always treated me like her own daughter.

I had hoped for a different outcome for her and the rest of my family. And though her death prompted me to take a hard look at my own health habits, I still couldn't make an immediate commitment last week. Italian families grieve over food, Irish families grieve over drink, and - lucky me - I claim heritage from both.

Sleep was hard to come by, but tears were plentiful during my last ten days in NJ. I knew that if I didn't want to continue spiraling downward, I'd have to return to Florida as soon as possible. Leaving my father yesterday was one of the most painful things I've had to do, but I hope he took some comfort in knowing that I will be returning a few times in the next month for business travel.

But besides work... I foresee a lot of spontaneous travel back to NJ in my future. Which means I need to build it into my healthy routine and no longer treat trips home as an excuse to go nutritionally offroading.

Becky's death has made me contemplate my own mortality. I know my untimely death would be emotionally trying for my husband and parents, so I'm going to do whatever it takes to ease their burden by planning ahead. If you have others that are dependent on you (spouse, children, etc.), I don't care how old you are or how uncomfortable the conversation makes you, get the following straightened out RIGHT NOW. Wait, and it may be too late. You just never know. (Quick disclaimer: please speak with your financial professional about all of the below. This is not meant to be dispensed as advice for your specific financial situation.)

• Life insurance - get it. A financial professional can help you figure out how much you need. Even if you don't need it for income replacement... funerals are $$$$. And your loved ones are going to be way too emotional to make pragmatic decisions about how to send you off. Speaking of...
• How do you want to be sent off? Tell a few people, not just your spouse (prepare for the unfortunate case you both end up in the same accident). In the past week, I've seen two very different approaches to celebrating the lives of loved ones. And neither really resonated with me. So I'm going with being donated to science. And maybe someone will recount the tale of how I finally achieved a sub 2:00 half marathon at a party somewhere. But I digress...
• Wills - No, you aren't too young to have one. Most of the time, your assets will go to your spouse - but what if you aren't married? Or what if you are, but you both end up in an accident? A will directs what should be done with things like your house, cars, etc. Otherwise, a judge is going to end up deciding for you.
• Naming (and updating) beneficiaries - speaking of, make sure things like retirement accounts (401k, IRA, etc) have a current beneficiary named. I'll give you two problematic scenarios:
•  If no beneficiary is named, your dollars go into probate, and those dollars could be used to pay off creditors first. So say you die from a really horrible illness, leaving a huge hospital bill behind. You are no longer around, so you don't have to pay it. Great! However... you don't have a named beneficiary on your 401k plan, so it goes into probate... which means the hospital can have at it, not leaving much left for your loved ones. Not so great, and something that could easily have been avoided by naming a bene.
• Your bene was your first wife/husband... and you forgot to update it when you got remarried. Even if your first spouse was a stand-up guy/gal and wants to sign over the check to your current spouse, they can't do that without tax implications.

There's more to think about, for sure, but that's enough morbidity for today. Just needed to bring some closure to the last week and thought this would be a good way to do it. While I would have liked to create a post for Star Wars Day yesterday, my heart just wasn't into it. Tomorrow I'll get back to the stuff I usually write about.

Game Over

It struck me while I was at Disney on Sunday that my very next visit to the parks would likely be the weekend of the Star Wars Dark Side Challenge.

If that didn't strike me as coming up quickly, this came in my email today:

Cue panic.

I quickly double checked the countdown box on my blog, and sure enough, it’s 25 days out.

I’m toast! I have never felt so unprepared for a race before.

I never thought there would come a day when I’d be envious of running 10-minute miles.

It's not that I have a fear of getting a DNF (did not finish). It's just that every other half marathon I've run, I've always had hope. I've gone into every race thinking that it would be my day to hit a PR. It never worked out that way, but I still had the hope.

This will be my first race knowing that a sub 2:00 is really out of reach. I actually have no idea how long it's going to take me to run 13.1 miles this time around.

I am trying so hard to focus on other things for this race. Really. But there is not a single goal I can get jazzed about as much as hitting that time goal. Nothing else matters.

I'm trying to remember that this is likely not the last half marathon I'll do. But that just leads me down the path of wondering what the point of this half marathon is. And it's so frustrating because I have such positive associations with all things Star Wars, but now maybe I like Star Wars just a tad bit less.

The Dark Side Challenge. Truly, this race could not be more appropriately named.

For me, it has nothing to do with running 19.3 miles in one weekend.

My challenge? Pulling myself out of the darkness that is this self-hate and anger, and getting to a spot where I'm ok with exactly who/what/where I am at any given moment.

Can I get to this spot in 25 days?

Today's exercise: 6ish mile run:
M1: 15:53
M2: 16:47
M3: 17:07
M4: 16:53
M5: 15:19
M6: 15:50

Back to normal-ish

Per my promise to myself yesterday, I did get up bright and early for a run this morning. It's the first day I've felt really energized and motivated in over a week. I cranked out my 4.5 miles at a sub-optimal pace, but it didn't dampen my spirits. I may still have just enough time to get to a spot where I don't have my worst half marathon ever. My slowest half marathon was the runDisney Wine and Dine half in 2013 at 2:10:12. That's 9:56 min/mi, so I have some work to do if I'm struggling right now with only doing 4+ miles at a 10 min/mi pace.

Still wishing I could go *this* fast.

I hate thinking that my new goal is just not to have my worst race ever. That's not very inspirational.

Part of me thinks I just need to give myself permission to be right where I am today per these wise words.

Another part of me hopes that I could at least improve over my 2015 Star Wars half. That would still be moving the needle in the right direction, but means I need to be faster than a 9:42 min/mi pace. Keep in mind that I also raced the 10k the day before, and will be doing so again this year.

Although 44 days sounds like a good amount of time to pick up the pace, I have to factor in tapering time. Meaning I really shouldn't be running the week before the race. But... I've actually never tapered before a half. I might have taken a day or two before a race off from running, but never a full week or more. I've been doing all kinds of things I have never done before this go-round, so maybe we'll throw a taper in there too.

Today's exercise: 4ish mile run w/ core work:
M1: 10:05
M2: 10:17
M3: 10:09
M4: 10:06

Tiger Blood and Adonis DNA

Even at my lowest moments over the last week, the one thing I never gave up on was my commitment to seeing the Whole 30 through. I know, a day or two or of not eating isn't really within the spirit of the Whole 30, but it's not like I caved to sugar and bread. So today marks day 17, and I'm still looking for that elusive "Tiger Blood" phase.

I have been doing a lot of reading to help get me back into a state of being, well, more like this when I wake up for the day:

And I actually found this article to be quite helpful: 4 Steps to Get Back on Track When Something Terrible Happens. I know what you are thinking, this 'absence of a half marathon goal' is hardly 'terrible' and I have an excellent flair for the dramatic, but hear me out - I think a lot of pent-up emotion was released at this triggering event and my brain read into this as 'trauma'. I'm the first to admit now that none of it is rational.

Anyway, 4 steps...

1. Get your feet on the ground - that is, don't indulge your impulse to hide in a corner and despair. This was particularly easy for me to do last week since my husband was traveling for work, and I now see what a few minutes of FaceTime with good friends can do for my spirits.
2. Pursue positivity - do anything that will trigger positive emotions. Meditation counts, as does exercise (see also: Exercise and Meditation Can Reduce Depression Symptoms), although I don't think running was going to be a very positive trigger for me last week. Last night, I went out to a local game night MeetUp group with my husband, despite the introvert in me wanting to just take a warm bath with a good book.
3. Confront your feelings - this step sounds a lot like what I was discussing yesterday about avoiding negative self-talk.
4. Get back out there - My natural reaction to my 'trauma' is to avoid running - because it reminds me of my failure. But... do I really see a future for myself without running?

No. The answer is no. So best to get back out there as soon as possible and continue trying to improve any way I can. Funny that Active.com sent me an article today entitled "How to Run a Sub-Two Hour Half Marathon." Gee, thanks Active, where were you six months ago?

Today's exercise: Rest. Tomorrow... "Getting back out there."

Catharsis

Running is my abusive lover. So good to me at times, but mostly just breaks my heart. Figuratively and literally.

And I still keep going back to it.

I can't find my goal. My running today felt just as purposeless as yesterday. I tried slowing my MAF pace down another 5bpm - probably where I should have been for the last three months. When I hit my first mile at 17:54, I felt the tears coming. I wanted to quit my run right then. But I brushed them away and continued on.

I wish I could get a do-over on the last three months. I can't.

I wish I had more time. I don't.

Right now, it feels like I'm going to keel over running the 19.3 miles of the Dark Side Challenge. My husband does these races all the time with little to no training (sorry Ben, you know it's true) and I don't know how he survives. At least if we both die at the race, we go together.

Perhaps that's my new goal. Don't die during the Star Wars Half. Let's see if SMART still applies:

Specific: I will continue to exist by the end of the Star Wars Half.
Measureable: If I'm still upright and breathing, it's a win.
Attainable: Sure, lots of people run half marathons without dying.
Realistic: God, I hope so.
Timely: I have 48 days to figure out how to not die during the Star Wars Half.

/petulance

This is ridiculous, right? The last I checked, there was no "despondent" phase of the Whole 30. The "official" Whole 30 timeline indicates I'm two days away from the "Tiger Blood" phase. I could certainly use some of that right this second.

Well, with or without tiger blood, I'm ready to begin digging out of rock bottom.

I just need to figure out what my new strategy is for this race.

Today's Exercise: Recovery "Run" -
M1: 17:54
M2: 17:25
M3: 18:12 (and yes, the last minute of this was going through my head when I saw this appear on my watch)
M4: 18:04
M5: 17:24
M6: 18:20

Bringing balance to the Force

If I truly am in grief over the loss of my goal, today must represent the anger phase of grieving.

What's been so difficult for me to accept this past week is not the fact that I'm likely not going to achieve my sub 2:00 half marathon goal - it's that I'm actually on track to have my worst half yet. When I changed the way I trained last November, I knew I was taking a risk that I might not become faster.

I was not prepared to handle the possibility that I'd lose speed, though. My run today confirmed it, and now I only have 49 days to get it back. I just don't understand.  I've put so much more time, thought, and effort into this than any other race.

When I take the 30,000 foot view of myself, I see that everything I am and everything I do is insignificant. It really doesn't matter to the universe whether I run a race in less than 2 hours. It doesn't matter to the universe whether I even show up to the starting line or not.

Why does it matter so much to me then? Why is *this* the thing I'm fixated on to make me happy?

If I zoom in a little bit closer, I see I have so much else to be thankful for. A great career, a wonderful husband and others who care for me, an inviting home (finally) in paradise.

The one thing I'm missing, though - the one thing that started this whole journey - is health. I was stuck in a destructive cycle between my eating disorder and purging through running, and knew I needed to cut the cycle by quitting running. I just didn't want to do that until I reached a sub 2:00 half marathon.

I have learned a lot over the past few months, and it has certainly put me on a healthier track. So what more could I possibly want?

A half marathon PR.

The universe finds ways to balance everything out. Maybe nobody is really allowed to have everything they want in life. What would I need to sacrifice in order to have this too?

Today's exercise: 5 miles

M1: 10:11
M2: 10:19
M3: 10:24
M4: 10:29
M5: 10:39

Mourning the loss of a sub 2:00 half

Think of a friend who motivates you. Inspires you to greet the day ready to see what new feats you might accomplish. Challenges you to be at your best. 

What if that person wasn't in your life anymore? 

My goal to run a sub 2:00 half marathon has been my best friend over the past few months. When my housing situation was at its most tenuous, when my grandfather passed in December, and when I couldn't breathe under all of the projects my employer piled on top of me, my friend was there to remind me there are always things in life to look forward to.

When each morning came, I could easily jump out of bed to go work for my goal - no more pulling the covers over my head and dreading the day. My goal helped me make good, healthy choices daily (mostly - there were a few times his back was turned and I'd sneak some treats). My goal pulled me out of my comfort zone, encouraging me to do things I wouldn't normally do. 

This week, he abandoned me. 

When I first felt his absence, I called out to him. Thought maybe, just maybe there was something I could do to get him to return. He didn't respond, and I withdrew under the crushing realization that he was in trouble.

Where do goals go to die?

There was nothing there to pull me from bed in the morning. Running? Too painful. Blogging? No point. Eating? Maybe tomorrow. I felt physically sick and emotionally empty. I know I did *something* to earn a paycheck this week, but I no longer had any inspiration to draw from to offer my best work.

No goal, no husband (work travel this week), no social circle here in my new neighborhood to lean on. Isolation has not been nearly as good a friend to me as my goal was.

But Isolation reminded me today that I should check the facts.

The race hasn't happened yet.

My goal is still alive.

He's just on life support somewhere right now. And sitting around wallowing in my grief isn't going to help him return.

So I'm going to go find him and bring him home - I just need to be prepared that he may not be exactly the same as I remember after the harrowing experience he's had.