Wednesday, September 17, 2014

Finding Heart


I looked at my watch. Shit. The plane was boarding in five minutes. My athletes were already through the checkpoint but we were separated by security earlier on and I was motioned to a much longer, slower moving line.

I finally made it through and saw Waverly’s text that our gate was 1/2 mile down the terminal and the doors were closing in 5 minutes. Perfect.

I strapped my backpack tight, threw my duffel bag over my shoulder, and started sprinting down the terminal. I made it, totally winded and stressed out of my mind, but was able to charm the stewardess and board the plane on time. As I stood there waiting for the people in front of me to take their seats, I started feeling nauseous. Things began spinning, I lost my hearing, and just as I realized what was about to happen, down I went.

I woke up, laying across the seats of the plane. Muffled sounds started becoming more clear. 

“Miss. Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?”

I was drenched in sweat and still felt nauseous. Everyone around me looked terrified. This can’t be good.

They eventually wheeled me off the plane in a wheelchair and loaded me on to an ambulance. Embarrassing

This medical mess was more than five months ago. I ended up laying in a hospital bed for three days, listening to a different doctor every few hours give me their hypothesis on my situation. 

One doctor advised me to stop running. “I’m not sure how much running means to you,” he said. “But you may want to look into other forms of exercise that are less stressful on your body.”

I just glared at him, holding my breath. Inside, I was screaming GET OUT, NOW! He obviously knew nothing about me.

I was warned by another doctor that I may have to consider a pace maker. And then told by a nurse I should make sure I’m eating enough. Lady... take my blood sample and get the hell out of my room. I felt like I was surrounded by idiots. 

To make a long story short, I am fine. I have a lower-than-average resting heart rate, and a fairly high max heart rate. Because of the two extremes, I’ve passed out on some occasions as my body attempted to lower my heart rate and blood pressure back to “normal.”

After all the drama, I was hesitant for a long time to push my body hard. I didn’t run for a few weeks, and when I finally did, I would hardly call it running. Jogging, if you will. 
Months went by, and the main reason I continued getting my butt out to Central Park was so that I could continue the NYC lifestyle of social eating and drinking without gaining 50lbs. I wasn’t happy about my fitness, but I felt I was so far behind and so far from the healthy lifestyle that those elite dreams were a thing of the past.

That all changed in June when my biggest fan and the rock of our family, my Poppy, passed away unexpectedly. I’ve never lost someone that close to me, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. At first, it was easy to keep my mind off of it. I kept busy, preparing my athletes for NCAAs the week after he passed, and from there, I had a vacation to New Zealand already planned. The distractions worked until I returned home in mid-July. My family was obviously still hurting, and that’s when I turned to running.

I’d run in the mornings to my Poppy’s grave and back (7 miles). Then I’d pound out a night run to deal with the day’s frustrations (4-6 miles). Without even planning, I ran just over 80 miles--my highest mileage week ever. I wasn’t exactly fit, but I was enjoying pushing through the fatigue again. I was craving the burn. I had not felt this way in years. 

Visiting a Saratoga rec practice with plans of having lunch with the Kranick’s, my high school coaches at Saratoga, in early August was the ultimate hook back into hard training. (Mr. Kranick...you sly dog, you.)

Over the phone, the Kranick’s told me to come up to practice, maybe run with the team a bit, and then we could go to lunch afterward. Well, it just so happened to be a workout day for the team, and when I showed up, Mr. Kranick casually asked me if I wanted to “hop in” a couple of 800’s with the girls. Classic. Sure...why not.

I got through the 800’s and got my butt kicked on some 200’s, and although it was hard, I wanted more. It was fun. And I guess most importantly, I didn’t pass out.

Over lunch, Mr. and Mrs. Kranick continued working their magic. We reminisced on all of the good races and great battles... “You know, you’ve still got a good 10 years left of elite running.”  She had a point. Women are rocking it in their mid-30s. The more we talked, the more motivated I became. 

Before I finished my last sweet potato french fry, I was all in. Mrs. Kranick had written down upcoming road races and future goals... it felt good to have a plan again. 

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