Racing and Letting Go

Grief is a funny thing... sometimes, it hits you out of nowhere. Well, not nowhere.
You can see the calendar. But you very carefully ignore the date that is coming. Until something demands full attention about the date. Like an email.

I was doing ok- good even- about pushing this date into the back of my mind. I'd see it on the calendar, and it was a painful little reminder of things lost, but I could turn the calendar page or not look at that week, and I was ok. Until the email. The email reminding me of the date approaching. The email pointing out the life lost. Of course, it didn't know that's what it was doing, but it was an anvil none the less.
So I made a plan. I was going to challenge the grief, head on. I was looking forward to it. Then everything got derailed again... change of plans, regression, and renewed loss. No opportunity to challenge the grief... instead I have to shy away from it, something I hate doing...

My life before POTS was busy. Too busy probably, but I loved it. I had discovered my love of running long distances, and had completed 9 half marathons and had signed up for a full marathon. I loved the training, the science in it all, the perseverance, and ultimately the heart and the passion. In my 6 months before my POTS diagnosis, I had been pretty sick with Valley Fever, a respiratory infection caused by a fungus that is present in the dirt in the desert. But I still did 3 half marathons in that time, on top of working full time as a night nurse, single-mom, and going for my masters in nurse practitioner school. (Did I mention I did too much?)

My Racing Bling

Even after my POTS diagnosis, I continued to try to run. I ran on the treadmill at the gym, and continued to run races when I could, although the farthest I did was a 15k (9.5 miles). I was told by the doctors to exercise, so I did. A lot. And I loved to run, so that part wasn't hard for me. In one period of time when I was feeling and running well, I had signed up for 2 more half marathons- the Phoenix Half. I was determined to make up the 2016 and do the 2017 race as well... except that I only got worse, sicker, and no matter how much I exercised, it didn't make the POTS better.

The 2016 & 2017 Phoenix Marathon Medals

Races not completed

So I have been dreading the date of the race, this reminder of the life I used to live and love, that is foreseeably gone for good. And as sad and morose as that makes me, I had been starting to feel a little better with the help of a new medication the doctors were letting me try. I had an idea- maybe, just maybe, I could walk a tiny, little bit of the last of the course (with one of my kids as a chaperone). I would feel like I was part of it all again, even for a very short time. Maybe that other life wouldn't feel so dead and gone then... hope.

Hope can be the worst thing.
I had to stop the new medication the day before the race.

I was back to being unable to stand, eat, or walk across my house. There was no way, no hope that I could go and walk any part of the course. Disappointed doesn't even begin to describe it.
Usually I love to go watch the races, see the runners, cheer them on-- because I know exactly how much it means to the runners out there. Today, I couldn't bear to even look on Facebook until much later. My dear friend texted me and wanted to give me her medal from today... and I'm just speechless.
I didn't earn it.
I really wanted to though.

My race shirt and bib

I hope that someday I can run again. I'm not sure that will happen this side of heaven, but once I get past those pearly gates- you can bet I'll be running around up there ☺