I wanted to write a long post about all the happenings of the past week. It was week 2 of the 3-week Peak Phase and it went well. I finished it feeling strong and ready to take on THE Peak Week (which is happening RIGHT NOW!!!!).
I wanted to write about my awesome friends who participated in the TryCharleston Relay, who got up at 5am and stood in the pouring rain when it was 53 degrees, in the dark, just to cheer on the swimmers on their teams – even though we swimmers could neither hear nor see them whilst swimming.
I thought I’d mention that I enjoyed my relay swim immensely, so much so that I swam extra slowly so I could enjoy it longer. Yeah, that’s why I’m slow.
I wanted to write about my relay teammates and competitors who pushed themselves hard during their bikes and runs even though they knew they weren’t going to win anything.
I wanted to write about my friend who, when he discovered an hour before setting up for the half-iron distance race that he had brought cycling shoes without cleats and would have to pedal 56 miles on Speedplay lollipop pedals in his running shoes, said “It’s alright. No biggie. I could’ve been born without legs. This is nothing. It’s all about the journey.” Then crushed a 5:09 overall with a monster bike split. (Note to self: Be like him.)
I wanted to write about how hard it is to stick to your training plan and stay in your 16-17mph Zone 2 heartrate zone for a ride when everyone else is taking off and it’s a beautiful day and you want to chase them. Or how I screwed up my nutrition (not enough calories, carbs, electrolytes or fluid) on the bike ride because my stomach was upset for the first time on a ride in a long time.
I had considered mentioning the various body parts that ache or click or are numb or don’t feel quite right, but these things will hopefully heal during taper – if I can just survive until then – but I decided not to focus on the negative. Besides, everybody hurts, and nobody wants to hear about it!
I really, really wanted to write about how lucky I am to have married such a kind, loving, understanding man, who, when I mentioned I might want to race Augusta Half Ironman again but was afraid he wouldn’t want me to spend all that time training, said “I understand. It’s what you do. We’ll make it work.” (Not sure I'm going to race it, just glad to know I can.)
I wanted to write that I am ready. I am so ready to race Ironman Texas and I am totally going to win. Or maybe not win, but absolutely finish and enjoy it. I can do it. I know I can.
I wanted to… But I won’t.
Instead, I’m going to write about my doctor appointment this morning. (Aren’t you glad you’re reading this blog?) Five weeks ago, she told me I had asthma and prescribed an inhaler and a preventive medicine. I couldn’t tolerate the preventive meds so per her instructions I’ve just been using the inhaler. However, I haven’t used it regularly – just when I felt I needed it – and only half a dose at a time.
Today, she read me the riot act. She told me of a local surgical tech, a woman, who was about my age and in great shape, who didn’t have her asthma controlled and she died alone at home when she had an attack.
Then she had my other doctor, whom I love and trust, call me and tell me how she has permanent lung damage already because she didn’t use her meds regularly when she was in med school and thought she knew everything, and let her asthma go untreated (or poorly treated) for a while.
I told my doc I was afraid to take the whole dose because I might have an attack and need another dose – and I didn’t want to OD. So I would take one puff before exercise (half a dose) and carry the inhaler with me and use it if needed (second half of dose). Perfectly logical, right? Yes, I thought so too. Thank you. You are very smart.
She didn’t see it that way. She thinks I should take the full dose, regularly, as prescribed, so I can breathe, so I can avoid causing permanent damage to my lungs, so I can not die. Then – get this – she prescribed more meds!
Here I am, three weeks and four days before Ironman Texas, and I’m starting a new medication. Steroids. And these steroids won’t even make me recover faster or get bigger muscles. They will, however, help me breathe – and she mentioned that breathing might come in handy for swimming, biking, running, and also just living.
In order to get even with her, I cried. I cried and cried right there in her office. I cried while we talked, I cried while I had an EKG (results were normal - hooray!), I cried in between breaths into the lung function machine, I cried while I took the first dose of steroid, I cried while they drew blood for labs (but I still watched, because seeing your own blood pouring out of your body - when controlled and on purpose - is really fascinating).
Today is the day I accept that I am not a stunningly healthy 23 year old. This cough and labored breathing are not “post-viral” or “just allergies” and they are not going to magically go away. I finally believe and accept that I am 39 and one-twelfth years old and yes, I do indeed have adult-onset asthma. And yes, it can be a big deal. And yes, I need to take it seriously.
But, hey, I could’ve been born without legs. This is no biggie. All part of the journey.
PS – I hope I haven’t offended anyone who was actually born without legs. If I have, I give you permission to say, “Well, at least I didn't get asthma as an adult.”