Nearing the Finish Line

When I first started this blog I sat for a long time trying to figure out an appropriate name, particularly because the point was to blog both about the marathon I was training for and the long road down infertility lane.

A race ends when you cross the finish line.  Our journey through the murkiness of infertility would be over when we crossed the finish line: bringing home a baby. Over the years I’ve learned that neither is quite that simple. Yes,  a race is over when  you cross the finish line but there is always more to learn and do to do better on the next one. Similarly, there is no real finish line to infertility – baby in the end or not. It’s something that stays with you always.

Four days – almost exactly- from now, we will meet our babies. The ones that, from start to finish, we have waited almost 4 years to meet. It feels very surreal. It also means the end, or the finish line, of the pregnancy – something I’ve found I have very mixed feelings about.

Finding out we were expecting twins I went into this knowing there is a good chance this will be my only pregnancy and in a way this makes me sad. Perhaps later down the road we will decide to try again, but for now two seems a good number and I in no way shape or form desire going through the ups and downs of the treatment process again – available frozen embryos or not. I actually think I’d like to donate them, but that’s a topic for another day.

My pregnancy, particularly for a twin pregnancy has been…..well….pretty easy. Aside from the few partially self induced scares surrounding all the Braxton Hicks contractions, it has been pretty free of complications and all in all mild discomfort. This isn’t to say I’ve enjoyed EVERY second, for example:

I won’t miss purchasing witch hazel wipes and other related products. Though I did feel less embarrassed about it given the belly.

I won’t miss taking a daily pill to keep me from vomiting thanks to reflux, and I won’t miss having to drink Miralax every morning to keep my digestive system moving.

I won’t miss hitting everything with my stomach. Well maybe a little – because it is kinda funny.

I won’t miss not being able to find a comfortable position to sleep in for more than 30-60 minutes. Though my sleep is soon to be interrupted for a totally different reason.

I won’t miss not being able to exercise.

I say that knowing that many of you out there might be reading this and thinking you’d give your left foot for vomit and an inability to sleep. I get that because I’ve thought it too. I want it to be understood that this list is not meant as a list of complaints. I always have and continue to feel amazed and blessed that I was able to experience it at all. Heck I may even find that I DO miss it a little. I’m just saying that I’m sorry but NO journey comes without some discomfort, regardless of what it is.

I’m pretty sure though, that when I think back on this pregnancy I won’t be thinking of the above list much anyway. I’ll be thinking of all the belly dance parties, watching it grow while wondering how it could possibly get any bigger (and it always did), the ultrasounds to check growth, hearing the heartbeats. I’ll be thinking about all the compliments I’ve received about how cute I look and how I don’t look pregnant from behind. I’ll be thinking about Bryan talking to my belly at night before bedtime telling the babies how excited he is to meet them. I’ll be thinking about the weekly pictures we took, the beautiful maternity photos, the fabulous baby showers and sharing the news, story and journey with everyone along the way.

I am very excited to meet these babies in 4 days, but a part of me will grieve the end of the pregnancy a little. I’m determined to enjoy these last 4 days as a human incubator (albeit a huge one) as much as possible. To stop and really feel when they move, take a few more pictures, eat a few more desserts. Like nearing the end of the marathon where the finish line is starting to come into view I feel simultaneously excited and sad. Excited to see the finish because it means all the determination paid off….and because everything hurts. Sad because its the end of another journey.

It is bittersweet. With races I sometimes look at the medals and remember them fondly. The same to be with pictures and memories of this pregnancy. The good thing, though, is that in both cases – there is still so much more to come. This journey may be ending, but a new one is about to begin.

Stuff I Want My Kids to Know #2: Strong is the New Skinny

I suppose this one is a bit more geared toward baby girl. (spoiler: name announcement  post coming soon!)

Body image issues and I have a history. And strangely, though I remember WHEN they started, I can’t really remember WHY.I’ve always been an active person starting at a young age: I took gymnastics classes, played softball and soccer and spent many hours running around outside. And I ate horribly. I chuckle as I recall some lunches in late middle and early high school – cheese fries, a HUGE chocolate chocolate chip muffin and a can of Frutopia (anyone remember Frutopia? Oh so good but absolutely nothing but sugar). I once calculated that the muffin itself had nearly 600 calories and the can of Fruitopia nearly 200. That doesn’t even include the cheese fries and that was only for lunch! Now don’t get me wrong, I love junk just as much as any of us but the thought of consuming that and calling it a meal now makes me shudder.

Great, now I’m craving cheese fries.

Don’t even get me started on the whole model thing – why they use women who look like they’ll break in half if they trip down the runway to showcase latest fashion I’ll never understand. I’d rather see women with some freaking muscle tone telling life stories of their involvement of sports stomp down the runway with their soccer balls and running shoes any day. And we wonder why women have body image issues.

Anyway, somewhere around my Junior year of high school, weighing in at a whopping, like 112 pounds – I was fat.

What? Hindsight is 20/20.

At that point my days of cheese fries, muffins and sugary drinks were over. I started packing my lunches, trying hard to avoid eating any fat. A previous color guard instructor told me I once refused to put dressing on my salad, and though I have no recollection of this, I can’t say I’d be surprised. Later on it became less about fat and more about calories. I become obsessed with calorie counting. This lasted through high school, through college and into my first marriage (which I am sure did not help matters much as it eventually ended).  I could tell you the calorie count of practically anything, and I’d walk around campus mentally calculating calories consumed vs calories burned. I based what I was “allowed” to eat on how much I had worked out that day. It never got so out of control as to call myself anorexic, but I definitely had an disordered eating habits for many years. It was mentally distressing for me to figure out I had eaten more than I planned or didn’t burn as much as planned.

It was tiring.

The lowest weight I remember hitting was 117 once after I had the stomach flu and was excited to learn I had lost 3 lbs. I was obsessive about it but somehow kept myself from falling so far in that I reached unhealthy weights. I was always in a healthy weight range, and that frustrated me to no end at the time. In the end it isn’t about the weight, though, its about what was going on in my brain – telling myself I weighed too much, feeling like I had to count calories consumed vs. calories burned. Although my working out was healthy, I wasn’t doing it for healthy reasons. At my lowest point I remember looking at a girl who was clearly sickly anorexic and feeling slightly jealous. She couldn’t have weighed more then 80lbs.

All through college and into my first marriage I probably weighed in the low 120′s.

At some point around my late 20′s  something clicked and I finally had enough. I was tired worrying so much about it. I was tired of counting calories. I started eating more, and more of what I wanted. I think this was about the time I started getting more into running races – maybe that had something to do with it. In order to have the energy to run long distances, you have to eat. It just won’t work any other way. I was finally able to let go, and you wouldn’t believe how freeing that was. Prior to our IVF cycle when I was running regularly and particularly while training for half or full marathons I was in the best shape of my life. I had muscle tone. I had abs. I had definition. I wasn’t super skinny, but I was strong.  Most importantly, able to live without obsessing. For the first time I loved my body. I was proud of it. I felt confident. I’m tooting my own horn a bit here but I looked good!

My weight? 128lbs – my highest weight ever. All those years fretting and worrying and I found myself feeling the most confident and strong weighing the most. That confidence is what attracts people – not how skinny you are or the number on the scale.

Clearly a twin pregnancy has taken away muscle tone and my ability to be involved in intense exercise. Its added 25lbs (and counting!) and  made the number on my scale higher than I’ve ever seen it. But that is ok because even though my body probably won’t be the same, I will get my strong back. At this point at least I am able to try to guide these babies into strong adults and hopefully avoid learning the hard way.

Eat healthy, splurge sometimes, exercise regularly, but not obsessively. Find the middle ground – moderation. Be strong.

Image Credit

My Life In Numbers

A good blog friend posted this idea and I liked it so much I decided to copy it.

I think we all like numbers for different reasons. When you think about it, numbers represent many things in our lives: lists, ages, birthdays, kids, finances…the list goes on.

My life (so far) in numbers:

2 is

• The number of houses I lived in during childhood.
• The number of times I have been married.
• The number of houses I’ve owned (or co owned).
• The number marathons I have completed.
• The number of states I have lived in.
• The number of instruments I’ve learned how to play fairly proficiently.
• And, as luck would have it, the number of children we are currently expecting.
• Apparently 2 is a significant number.

22 is the age I was when I first got married.

27 is the age I was divorced

4 (hours) is my ultimate marathon finishing goal

17 is the number of race medals and trophys I’ve collected

13 was when I got my first pair of glasses

23 is my favorite number

843 is my area code

28 is the age I finally, officially got over my body image issues

6 pairs of jeans regularly lie in my dresser drawer

3-4 is the number of times my house should be vacuumed each week, thanks to dog hair

2 is the number of times it realistically happens

10 is the time I am usually in bed

7 is about the latest I can sleep in, regardless of when I went to bed

25 minutes is the length of my daily commute

82k is the number of miles on my not quite four year old car (sheesh)

5 is the number of years I’ve been a Speech Therapist

In that time I’ve had 3 jobs…my current job the one I’ve been employed with the longest

26 is the age that I got my first tattoo

29 (nearly 30) when I got my 2nd

31 is when I’ll likely get my 3rd, and probably final, added to my 2nd

1,500 is about the number of text messages sent and received on my phone each month

Nearly 1000 days before our first positive pregnancy test

0 is the number of people that I would like to see suffer from infertility

But at this point, wouldn’t change the story.

Leaving a Mark

I never used to think of myself as much of a tattoo person. I like to look at others’, and have always been amazed by the talent that the artists display, probably mostly because my drawing “talent” consists of things like stick figures and smiley faces (if you ever consider that art).

About 6 years ago, my husband at the time had recently gone on a year long deployment to Korea. We married young and I had never really had to learn to *really*survive on my own. I went straight from home to husband, and that year I was left to fend for myself. The idea of that really scared me, even though I knew deep down I’d be fine. Not long after he left, I got a tattoo on my back of a butterfly, chosen to represent my ability to “fly on my own” while he was gone. And when that marriage ended, the symbolism turned into something bigger – from flying on my own temporarily to permanently. Divorce was truly one of the hardest things I’ve been through. Even though that tattoo didn’t originally stem from the divorce, I still consider it my symbolism of beauty through independence and strength.

After finishing my first marathon, I briefly contemplated a marathon related tattoo. For some unknown reason, I didn’t feel like I could get it until I ran more than one marathon, and also honestly it wasn’t something I really felt driven to do.

Then infertility popped its ugly head into my life. I began this blog writing about the training of that second marathon and the journey that has been infertility. I blogged once about infertility being like a marathon in that you spend so much time training, your whole life ends up revolving around it, and how during the race itself you find yourself wanting to give up. But at the end, when you finish, suddenly all the time, effort and hard work is totally worth it.

Since then I’d toyed with the idea of a tattoo that resembled both infertility and the marathon, but had no idea how to put the two together in a way that I’d be satisfied with having on my body permanently. I wanted the two connected somehow, linked, because both of them have made me such a stronger person and both running and infertility have been important in my life – much like my independence. At first I thought I’d simply get the 26.2 somehow connected with the infertility ribbon:

This, but much smaller (image credit)

But then I came across something else, and with the help of a friend at work (thanks Jamie!!) a whole new idea was created:

If you look carefully, you can see giving the arm rest a vulcan death grip

Jamie had suggested using the infertility awareness heart as the main point, creating a key chain like effect so I could dangle the 26.2 from it. At first I didn’t think I wanted infertility as the focal point (I think about it enough as it is, right?) and was going to do the 26.2 with the heart and circles as the dot. But the more I thought about it, the more sense Jamie’s idea made. Like the butterfly, the heart can grow with me. Right now it represents infertility, its tie to a marathon and how the two have made me stronger. Infertility will always be a part of my life even after I have children, however, when it is no longer in the forefront of my life it can serve as a symbol of things that are important to me. Running will always be. Infertility will always hold its place. The idea is that I can add things, namely a mark of my future children (a baby foot or birth stone) or anything else that happens that holds a great deal of significance. Plus I’m turning 30 in 3 weeks and figured what the heck.

Heart derived from the infertility awareness heart.

As we are getting ready to journey down the road of our first IVF, I have a mix of emotions ranging from excitement to nervousness and everything in between.

No matter what happens, I am strong.

My foot says so

The “Not Quite 5k” 5k (and a lesson in strength)

Three months ago I said I was hanging up my racing shoes for awhile.

I cheated a little. (though in my defense I have cut down considerably mileage wise and have followed running restriction rules with the exception of last month)

As posted previously, summer running is not my favorite. The fact that this particular race falls in June is unfortunate. Hosted by Floyd Brace, the Sweatin’ For a Reason 5k benefits wounded warriors  and the company itself helps many of the kids in the clinic where I work by fitting orthodics and prosthetics. Even though I’m not a Physical Therapist, I still see the benefit for these kids and so it was a cause I really wanted to support. As an added bonus, the race is nearby.

registration tables

I ran this race last year as well during its first year. It was a small but nice race through a local neighborhood with some really beautiful Oak Trees.

that’s my shadow on the bottom right

I told myself I wasn’t going to “race” this one, but as I am inherently competitive by nature, I raced it anyway. However, I wasn’t honestly expecting much considering that I haven’t done much distance running and have had this asthma cough that I can’t seem to kick for the last 3 weeks. Regardless, it was nice to be in a race again – and how could you beat this?

this photo is completely unfiltered – meaning I actually took a decent picture all on my own

Right off the bat I could tell this wasn’t going to be my best race. In addition to my ridiculous lungs, I’ve also spent the last several months attempting to fix my running stance, and this was my first attempt at maintaining a decent speed for more than a mile or so. (For the record, I managed to stay on the balls of my feet for about 2.5 miles before I couldn’t concentrate on both breathing and stance). At mile 2 my watch read 15 minutes and some change though, so not bad. I hit a wall though near the end and nearly stopped to walk, but a song came on that helped push me through. (newly downloaded “Titanium” by David Guetta feat. Sia) Imagine my surprise when I was a mere hundred or so feet from the finish and my watch read 20 minutes. Imagine even more surprise when I crossed the finish line and the clock read 20:50- by far my fastest run EVER.

I lived my moment (literally) of glory until I asked a friend how he did, and he showed me his watch said the distance said only 2.8 miles.

Crap. It made sense though because in order to finish that quickly I would have had to pull off a 5 minute mile. My fastest known mile is 6:30. In other words, not possible. Figuring my pace and entering the correct distance, my time would have fallen somewhere between 22:45 and 23:05 – still not bad all things considering. Turns out when they were doing the course, they “left off a little loop somewhere”.

Clearly the person who measured the course was not a runner.

he beat me - butthead

During the awards, the category was announced for the Phoenix Athletes who participated in the race (who, I believe, were also wounded warriors). Not only was I beaten by a guy with a prosthetic foot, but there was another guy walking the entire course with a prosthetic who hasn’t walked more than a few feet in months. We drove by him still walking the course as we headed home.

The perseverance of those guys amazes me. These are people who have suffered a major loss and came back to not only start or keep running, but to kick all of our butts along the way. They didn’t let this loss knock them down. That isn’t to say they didn’t suffer, but ultimately they didn’t let their loss beat them. I wish I had thought to take a few pictures.

I  hadn’t expected a lesson in this race, but there it was. And I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve been feeling more discouraged lately. There is loss in infertility. (and no, I am not trying to say its anything like being a wounded warrior) The loss of hope, the loss of a plan, the loss of the kind of life we imagined, possibly the loss of the family we all desire so much. In many cases, there are the losses of miracles.  If these guys can suffer a loss, (both literally and figuratively) and come back fighting, we can too. This isn’t to say we won’t suffer, but ultimately we can come out stronger, too. That last song that pushed me through the wall suddenly took on a whole new meaning.

I’m bulletproof, nothing to lose

Fire away, fire away

Ricochet, you take your aim

Fire away, fire away

You shoot me down, but I won’t fall

I am titanium

You shoot me down, but I wont fall

I am titanium

An Ode to Summer Running

If you’ve read my blog before you know I love to run……in the winter, fall and spring. In the past I’ve actually stopped running from June through August because one thing I hate more than sweating (yes, I’m a runner that hates to sweat) is feeling as though I am running in a sauna. I can’t even sit in a sauna let alone run in one. And especially since my asthma diagnosis, I spend more time sounding like a hacking smoker even in the air conditioning thanks to what I can only guess is allergies and humidity. Plus, I tend to get more blisters on my feet. Overall, it can make for a very unpleasant experience and I can just as easily get a good workout in an air conditioned gym or by strapping on my rollerblades (they are cool again now, you know).

It was a humid May which does not bode well for June. I’ve been running with a neighbor a few times a week and every morning we strap on our shoes and complain about how uncomfortable it is outside. Today began a bit more pleasantly because it was slightly less humid. We started on a similar route as last week where we had spotted a number of squashed frogs and he suggested that we pass the time by counting dead frogs.

1.5 miles and 8 dead frogs later, we joked about a couple of vultures waiting for us to stop so they can feast on our bodies, and passed a dead, ridiculously smelly (thanks humidity) deer. (So THAT’s what the vultures were there for)

After we finished gagging, The Twelve Days of (Summer) Running began to take shape:

It’s the first day of summer running and what do I see?

A dead deer on the side of the street.

It’s the second day of summer running and now what do I see?

Two vultures eating

The dead deer on the side of the street.

You get the idea. By the end, this is what we came up with:

It’s the twelfth day of summer running and now what do I see?

12 near deaths (thanks to no road shoulder and inconsiderate drivers)

11 horse flies

10 for sale signs

9 candle scents*

8 dead frogs

7 mud puddles

6 funny looks

FIIIIIIVE WALKING BREAAAAKS (hey, its hot)

4 asthma coughs

3 drinks of water

2 vultures eating

The dead deer on the side of the street!

*Candle scents – on a recent (humid) run post rain shower, I mentioned that it was starting to smell like worms. Somehow this turned into a conversation about Yankee Candle creating “man scents” like freshly mowed grass and 2×4. We added a few of our own ideas, including sweaty sock, roadkill, body odor, morning breath, hangover, worms, dog poop, foot fungus and belch. What? Those are manly.

Zombies, Run (no really, run!)

As a fairly frequent (though others might call it obsessive) runner, I’m always interested in new ways to keep myself entertained while plugging away at the miles.

Music is generally my top choice, but gets old after awhile. I found audio books to be quite entertaining, particularly for long runs. The problem is, they are also quite expensive ($20+ a piece…. I mean I like Cynthia Nixon but I’d rather pay less for a non celebrity to read me my book, thanks). Running with others is another great idea, but not always possible. Then there is my brain, and while we all know that I am just so highly entertaining, sometimes I’m running to escape my brain, not tune into it. Unfortunately, running entertainment is fairly limited, as its not really possible to carry much. I suppose I could watch TV, but that would mean I’d have to run on a treadmill, and I LOATHE (not hate, loathe) treadmills.

A few weeks ago, a fellow runner posted a facebook status that read something like this:

Just completed a 7.72 km run playing Zombies, Run!: collected 17 supplies, outran 3 zombie mobs

Intrigued, I inquired about said strange facebook status, and was told that this was a game as I expected. BUT, you could only play it WHILE running.

I have to admit that the price ($7.99) held me off on the purchase for a bit, even after said friend blogged about the game himself.

Finally I decided I was being silly and just bought the thing. How could something called Zombies, run! not be cool?

The game itself it quite simple, really. (And if you haven’t guessed, is an Iphone app – I am not sure if it is made on Android apps or not). You slide to run – you start the mission, and you run. The GPS keeps track of your distance and pace, so all you have to worry about is running. The story is played directly to you through your headphones, and during the game it will play you music from your ITunes if you choose. I have to say that the story line and characters are a bit cheesy, but luckily none of the characters speak long enough to cause an annoyance.

Basically, you’re in a plane full of supplies – I can’t remember where you are headed. You’re hit and crash and spend the first part of the mission running towards safety in Abel Township – and away from zombies. As you go, you pick up supplies. If you choose to allow “zombie chases” during your run, you’ll hear a voice telling you “zombies detected”, and even hear grunting and growling through your headphones. Your job is to speed up to evade the zombies.  It’s forced interval training, and thoroughly entertaining. I stupidly caught myself checking behind me to see if anything was chasing me the first time.

I had planned on a 5 mile run and was slightly disappointed when I realized the mission was over after about 3. However, the game still runs, playing you your music through “zombie radio”. You still pick up supplies and you can still be chased. After I finished I checked the settings and realized you can make missions 30 min or 1 hour. It could be a slight annoyance if you’re trying for more than 6 miles, because you’re either basically just going to listen to your music when your done or you’re going to have to stop to end the mission and re-start another one. Annoying if you’re trying to tract time, but the game saves your info, so not too difficult to figure out. As you run more, you collect more stuff and unlock more missions. Can’t beat that.

Moral of the story?

If you like to run, own an I-phone (or ipod touch I would imagine), have a sense of humor and a spare $8, buy it.

Zombies detected

(this is not any kind of paid endorsement – I’m not cool enough to get asked to do things like that)

One Hundred

(Sorry for my absence recently – life has been BUSY…..more on that in another post, which will hopefully make an appearance in less than a week)

I started this blog a little over 7 months ago. Of course I’d hoped the infertility journey would be over by post 100.

It isn’t.

But it’s been a crazy journey so far.

We started out with zero sperm. Today we have 36 million.

I finished my second marathon.

I cleaned snow off of my car with a spatula.

We made plans, changed them , and then changed them AGAIN.

I wrote an Ode to several different silly things.

I learned a great deal, was reminded that I am stronger than I think, and have started to truely understand that infertility is a marathon – as much as I wanted it to (and still wish it would) be more like a 5k.

I’ve had nearly 10,000 page views which takes me by surprise, even though I think many of them were thanks to strange searches such as c.um shoot a.nus ( I guess even those interested in the stranger side of life may want to read what I have to say….). I’ve always liked to think I’m a decent writer, but it means something totally different to have someone say they enjoy what I write.

All in all, the last 7 months and 100 posts have had many ups and downs. Just today I had a conversation with my friends dad about hard times, and how when you are going through it, it is so difficult to see the positives. But nine times out of ten, when it’s over, you find yourself thinking “that wasn’t so bad after all”.

I’m still ready for this infertility journey to be over, but don’t regret any of what has happened so far.

Here’s to another 100 posts, which will hopefully soon start me towards another finish line: motherhood.

In the meantime, I still have plenty of sarcasm to share.

An Ode to (Silly) Irrational Fears

I’ve noticed a few ridiculous neuroses lately:

1. A few weeks ago after my last 10k, I wrote about that fact that I learned of my own poor running form. At the advice of the nice guy selling shoes (though perhaps he just wanted me to buy new shoes) I googled running form and found this New Balance Website on Good Form Running.

Basically there are four steps involved: posture, cadence, midfoot, and lean. After studying the videos, I decided to try my hand at this new fangled running form, and found that the mid foot wasn’t as difficult as I feared, but did take a good bit of concentration. I’ve also been reading Born To Run, which, in short, says that all humans were born to run (hence the title) and that the invention of super cushioned, pronation controlled shoes has actually INCREASED injuries rather than decrease them. It also advocates for barefoot running, or at the very least, a shoe with very little cushioning. (read the book runners, seriously).

Anyway, the interesting thing about this is that it turns out most runners are doing it wrong and striking on the heel (which, according to the book, is mostly due to the shoe – because if you run barefoot you automatically are forced to use better form in order to protect your feet and use the most padded part), but suddenly I’m finding myself all self conscious about my running style, peeking over my shoulder periodically while on the treadmill at the gym, wondering who  might be staring at me and wondering what the heck I am doing. Perhaps because it partially feels awkward (old habits die hard), but mostly because I feel like I look funny. It’s as if I need a running disguise.

You can’t see me

Clearly I sometimes care too much about what other people think. However, I’m still working on the mid foot strike.

2. Bryan went on one of the more recent trips to the grocery store by himself, and I had asked him to pick up some hair spray. He, unknowingly (though he does pay attention because he did get me the right brand) grabbed the “flexible hold” hairspray, which to me reads: fluffy hair. However, because I don’t want to waste it, I’ve been using it and have had this immense fear of fluffy hair.

In case you don’t know, I have insanely curly hair. It has a tendency, when untamed, to become quite frizzy. Mousse and hairspray are my staple items, neither of which I could live without without an impending panic attack. Those two things, plus chapstick, would send me on a run to a 24 hour drugstore if discovered missing.  If I don’t spray enough hair spray into my hair when the day starts, I spend all day fearing fluff head:

this is actually a tame version

If too fluffly, I’ll refuse to leave my house without fixing it first, so that I might encounter

3. The ball.

I’ve played softball on and off for 20 years. (ugh I sound old). And you know what? I’m afraid of the ball.

Which is why I play outfield or first base, because very few ground balls get hit to first, and outfield balls usually slow down after hitting the grass. For whatever reason (because its never actually happened to me) I have this fear that its going to hit some rock, bounce up and smack me in the chin.

I dunno why the chin.

And yes, I continue to still play softball. I just try to stay out of the war zones.

And sometimes have a glass of wine first.

It’s kinda ridiculous.

 My heart beats a thousand times

I forgot my hairspray

And that means a run to the store

Or I won’t go out today

I could go for a run except

I’ve begun to change my stride

And I think you might be staring at me

At the treadmill by my side

I put myself in the outfield

Avoiding the “fear of the ball” curse

My stupid fears will make me nuts

Unless I shoot them first

Another Marathon, Metaphorically

I’ve finished two marathons.

It still feels weird to say that out loud. That, twice, I’ve trained, run 26.2 miles, and crossed the finish line. A feat I once related only to “crazy people” (well, that’s still appropriate) and people who run way too much (oddly now also appropriate).

When I started this blog, it began as a week by week training log for my second marathon, as I was preparing to do it mostly alone. A journey to the finish line. It also began as a place to log my fertility journey, as I was starting to feel more and more alone. Another journey to the finish line.

Infertility is a marathon.

At the start of the race, the excitement is palpable. We have all trained for this. We got up at the chirp of the alarm (and in my case, after several smacks of the snooze button) and regardless of the weather, regardless of mood, regardless of (most) illness, we ran. We ran 12, 16, 20 miles on a Saturday for no reason other than this day, this opportunity to run this race, cross this finish line, accept this medal, and feel this incredible accomplishment.  We skipped movies and drinks and went to bed early. Months of runs, hundreds of miles. We are ready.

Adrenaline begins pumping right from the beginning, the first few miles a breeze. A thousand or more people in your exact situation are running with you, some a bit faster, some a bit slower, but it doesn’t matter. You’re all in this together. Even if you lose the people you started with, there are still plenty around to match pace with, plenty of energy left to get yourself there.

Discomfort begins to set in as the miles add up. The number of people begin to thin. You begin to realize just how far 26 miles is. You start to wonder what you got yourself into, and start the ipod search for your most motivating songs on your playlist. If you didn’t know you could run 20+ miles already, you might consider dropping out. But ultimately the vision of the finish line, the medal, the feeling of victory keep you going. Somehow, something pops up at just the right time that keeps you from declaring defeat – a random cheer from a stranger, a particular song, knowing who is waiting for you at the finish line.

Pain sets in around mile 20. The end feels so close yet so far away. Your body starts to scream at you. The group of a thousand you started with has dwindled down to 3 or 4. The slight envy you once felt for the faster runners has turned into full out jealousy. You know you’ve trained harder than most of them. Seriously? How are you all finishing before me? You begin to feel every step, every pound of the pavement. Any change in terrain is physically difficult to recover from. Curse words are becoming more regular.  None of the three hundred Ipod songs are gonna do it, and even taking in half a Gu (an energy gel for distance runners) every mile doesn’t seem to be doing a darn thing. You hurt, you’re tired. You’ve gotta be the only one hurting this much. The finish line, though only a few miles away, feels like it’s never going to appear. The warnings that the true test is after mile 20 suddenly make sense.

Somehow, though, through combination of a force of will, stubbornness, training, and the few out of the group that stuck with you, you cross mile 26. And suddenly, though there are only a few runners left in the immediate vicinity, the crowd gets larger. You suddenly forget how sore you are because you can SEE the finish line. Somehow, you muster the energy to finish strong,  because suddenly you hear your cheering section, the crowd clapping, the announcer calling your name.  Somehow, you finished, and you feel incredible.

Also, you still hurt.  But despite it, you kept running.

When I first stepped foot onto the pavement my first run, (which was like, halfway around the block before I couldn’t breathe anymore) – I never imagined myself running a marathon. In fact, even after my first half marathon several years later I thought to myself “who wants to essentially do this twice? No thank you!”

When I first imagined myself with a family, in my house with my white picket fence (though I’d really prefer a privacy fence at this point in my life), I never imagined it would be a problem. I didn’t even know what infertility was.

I’m still waiting to cross the finish line.

In retrospect, I survived marathon training one run at a time, one week at a time, one long run at a time. I survived the race, particularly at the end, one mile at a time. It still hurt, in fact, it hurt quite a bit. At the end my calves were so sore I literally hobbled to the car.

But I’d do it all over again. I’ll remember that day and who was with me for the rest of my life. All of the pain and exhaustion was absolutely, positively 100% worth it.

One day at a time, one mile at a time, I await the day I can say that again.

This post was created as part of The Analogy Project, started in order to help others better understand the infertility experience.