Fat Girl Running

Or for those in the know, physical therapy. Today was my first session, and I was excited. I have been waiting for this since I got the order and made the appointment. This is the first thing to tick off in my “get back to normal” checklist. What I was not expecting, is to be scared. I have anxiety anyway, and I generally don’t like new things. But for some reason, I was legitimately frightened. Heart pounding, stinky sweating, dry mouth, eyes wide terror. It was also the first time I drove myself anywhere since the accident, and we had gotten 4+ inches of snow. I don’t have a handicap tag, and the thought of navigating an icy parking lot on crutches… It was giving me injury flashbacks.

And then, into the office, the doubting starts. “He’s not going to take me seriously. He’s going to think I’m fat and lazy. He’s going to think that if I just get to walking, that’s good enough.”. The therapist was about 12 years old, the Doogie Houser of physical therapy. He was very nice, talking me through the injury, the plan, and then we began the exercises. I think he was surprised at how well I could do straight leg lifts, and I was thinking how easy this all was. Then he had me try to bend my knee. It was like there were rubber bands in my knee, and as I tried to bend it, they quickly tightened painfully. The joint is measured in degrees. My right knee could bend to 120 degrees. My left knee made it to 60. As Doogie helped me possibly stretch further, with deep breathing, to 75. Still 45 degrees away. 4 easy exercises and 1 impossible one. I was thinking there would be a lot of exercises that would be hard for me, that I would have to work on each one to get better and better. Instead it’s a lot of leg lifts in all planes, and trying to bend my knee. Who would have thought that I would struggle to bend my knee?

Not figuratively, of course. It is reminescent of Game of Thrones, as if I can’t pledge my allegiance to the dragon queen. I am not injured, I just refuse to bow before another. Sure.

Doogie is going to see me back twice a week. I don’t know how this is going to help me put weight on my knee, but that’s why he’s the specialist and I’m the one with the torn ligament. I’m not sure how much progress I need to make before surgery. There are still so many unknowns. But it’s one step closer.

Captain’s Log: day 20 since the initial injury. Tempers are fraying. I now can no longer remember a life without crutches, a life where it wasn’t a struggle to get to the bathroom, a life when I wasn’t a one-legged crank. Swelling is down somewhat around the offending joint, but the discomfort and immobility continue. Experimentally upon placing a small amount of weight on the joint, it no longer slides sickeningly to the side. However, I have not had the courage to attempt to fully stand or walk on said appendage. My balance is much improved, and I am able to hobble one legged to most places, but I’m still hesitant as my right knee continues to feel ‘off.’.

As my body did not feel that it had protested enough, my arm where I got my covid innoculation became erythematous and firm. After the application of ice it has much improved, but I continue to have an elevated temperature. Will this prevent me from having my second innoculation? For the protection of my crew and my family, absolutely not. I also began my courses a week early, again as my body protests against everything. This is not uncommon for my stress to be expressed through my uterus.

My basket of fucks has been spectacularly empty. My crew has noticed my negative emotions and have been tiptoeing around my cabin. My clients, however, have been mostly unaware of my malady, and some have been angry with my lack of prompt response to their minor concerns, and frustrated that I am unable to evaluate their person in person. I am disinclined to educate them, as my patience is very limited at this point. Why must people persist in being inflexible, rude, and lacking in accommodation? Why is it so difficult to be kind? Yes I agree, no one likes telehealth, BUT MY FUCKING LEG IS BROKEN, AND WE’RE STILL IN A PANDEMIC! Just do it, for the love of all that is holy! But I digress.

Weather continues to be mild for January, and we remain cautiosly optimistic for a clear, if long, course ahead.

A Long Road. That’s what everyone keeps saying. That’s right people, you are not original, it’s a cliche for a reason. I went to the university of Buffalo orthopedic office Wednesday, to discuss what to do about my f’d up knee. For a place where injured people gimp into all the time, it was not the most easy to navigate. I had to stand to be covid screened, stand to wait to check in, stand to check in, and then hobble on crutches all the way down the hallway which was roughly the length of a football field. Or maybe football was on my brain because there was Bills paraphernalia all over. I don’t give a —- that you are the ortho office for a professional football team, crutches are still hard to walk with. In any sense, I was exhausted before I even reached the room.

They downloaded my mri, and then the overseeing physician came in. He wiggled my knee, pressed his fingers into my swelling, and then we talked about the plan. Both my MCL and my ACL were torn, and the healing strategies for both are completely opposite.

First, heal the MCL. The MCL is the medial collateral ligament that runs along the inside of the knee and keeps you from being bow legged. Apparently MCL tears are rated on a scale of 0-3. I don’t want to brag, but I’ve always been an overachiever. I’ve been falling for years, all in preparation for The Fall. I managed to score a 3, against all odds. That’s right folks, I did it. The elusive 3rd degree tear. According to Dr. Rauh, MCL tears are not surgically repaired. The treatment is 1 week in the immobilizer, non-weight-bearing, for every degree of tear. So I get, that’s right, 3 weeks immobilized. Then, after everything is nice and stiff and weak, we begin ‘rigorous’ physical therapy (PT), 6-8 weeks. Somewhere in the middle of PT I will graduate to a hinged brace. Yay. He was vague about when the crutches go away.

Then, after the MCL is sorted, we can move on to the ACL. The most famous of ligaments. I remember as a teenager a cousin tore his ACL. I knew that it was a knee injury, but I had no idea what a ligament was, let alone what the anterior cruciate ligament did. inside the middle of knee, there are two ligaments that make an X to stabilize the knee, and the ACL is the front of that X. This is the ligament that won’t heal itself, the one that is flipping the bird at me, laughing as I try to put weight on my leg and I feel the whole joint slide. According to Dr. Rauh, a lot of people live forever without ACLs. Without an ACL, I can still bike ride, I can run (on smooth surfaces), I can do daily activities. However, if I want to do anything that requires stabilization, such as hiking, skiing, running from the lake to the biking area in a triathlon, etc, then he would recommend a repair. Surgery would be outpatient and I would go home that day, and then have another 8 weeks of therapy after that. Because of my age, and my activity, and my potential years ahead of me, he would recommend a surgical repair.

What I remind every patient is that every choice is up to you. If you don’t want to take a pill, you don’t have to take it. If you don’t want to have surgery, you don’t have to do it. So this choice lays before me, in 10 ish weeks. A Sword of Damocles, what to do. In 10 weeks I’ll be out of the immobilizer and done with my first round of therapy, and surgery is going to set me back to ground zero. Then I’ll have another 8 weeks of therapy, and THEN after 4-5 months, is when I will have to start all over with actually exercising; building up my strength and endurance, learning to bike ride and run and swim all over again.

When we were talking, I wanted to make it clear what level of activity I aspired to. “I know I don’t look super sporty, but this past summer I worked hard and did several sprint triathlons. Is this something I will be able to do again?” Dr. Rauh, “absolutely.” His immediate, unquestioned response was very reassuring. Me,”possibly this summer?” Him,”weelllll…..” sigh. So no, I’ll have to work all year to get back to here, where I am now, and no events to spur me on. But if anyone knows me, I’m a hard worker, and I’m stubborn AF. There’s a large goal, surrounded by smaller goals to get me there. And there will be setbacks, and frustrations, and a lot of tears. I know I can do this. To end with another cliché: set ‘em up, knock ‘em down.

It’s day 1,234 of my captivity. Approximately. Or day 9, close enough. I’ve binged Bridgertonon Netflix and read the first two books, I’ve survived new year’s by going to bed at 9, I’ve managed to attend an ‘Intro to boxing’ class, going up and down a full flight of stairs on crutches. If you haven’t done it, you have no idea the feat that actually is. I’ve knitted a pair of mittens. I’ve showered sitting down. I’ve applied ice pack after ice pack, essential oils, ibuprofen on a schedule like it’s a med error if I miss it. I’ve had tons of calls, messages, offers of help and condolences. We haven’t had to actually make a meal yet, because so many amazing friends have stepped up to make us food. And everyone asks the dreaded question: “How are you?”

While they are kind and well meaning, what they really mean is,”I know your situation is shitty, but have you managed to find a bright side?”. The short answer is no. No I have not. And I don’t know what to do about it. My knees both still hurt. The swelling has receded slightly, and the bruising has developed into a bilious shade of purple/green. Every move is slow, painful, fearful. I’m stuck inside for an unknown amount of time, but if the lack of progress that I’ve made this week is any indication, it is a ‘while.’. I understand that ligaments and bones a) take a long time to heal, and b) do not re-attach magically. It’s not like two long lost lover ligaments reaching for eachother across the widening crevasse, “darling, grab my hand, I can save you, we can be together again!”. It’s more of a Thelma and Louise, middle finger raised as the ligaments forever rip apart, having no interest in reconnecting. They will need to be stitched together if they are ever to stabilize my joint again, but it will not be of their own free will.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned it before, but I’m a planner. I like lists, I like dates, I like to check things off. I do not like the unknown. I need a timeline. I also find it difficult to work with my immobility and my pain, which seems silly. I’m doing telehealth from home, and it’s awful. My leg is always uncomfortably distracting, my patients are back to back, and I need at least 5 minutes to get to the bathroom and back. If I get behind, then I can’t pee for 4 hours. And my patience is razor thin. I’m usually so kind, so tolerable, my patients like me because I listen to them. Now thats a strain, and I don’t have the mental capacity to handle my discomfort, immobility, and their issues. Plus trying to assess physical ailments over the phone is awful all by itself.

And let’s not even mention the guilt. What have I not done in the past 9 days? I’ve not done the dishes, I’ve not done a single load of laundry, I’ve not put my children to bed once, I’ve not driven, I’ve not vacuumed nor swept, I’ve not made any food with the exception of a bowl of cereal. Sure it sounds great, except that my partner has had to do all of this. And he’s not complained once. He’s helped me bathe and dress and made me meals, gotten me ice packs for my knees and hot packs for my back, as well as water and coffee and ibuprofen. I feel useless. I gain my sense of worth by doing things. Working hard, making meals, cleaning, taking care of my family. Now I’m a useless, depressed lump, who is no use for them. I know this isn’t true, logically in my head, but it’s hard to explain logic to feelings. The six year old told me yesterday, “you were nicer before your knee was dislocated.” He’s not wrong.

So what is the point of this rambling? If anything, it is to get the negativity out of my head and into words. It’s that you should check on your injured friends, because they are not ok. It’s that my family and friends are amazing. It’s that my knees are not any better.

After The Fall, I was seriously laid up. The next day, everything hurt, just like a car wreck. I’m a nurse practitioner and work has been crazy because it’s the end of the year and we’re in a global pandemic. I was able to change my schedule to telehealth and keep working, in bed with my legs propped up, still seeing patients, but by the end of the day I was exhausted, in pain, and not functioning at my best. At lunch I wormed my way onto a co-worker’s schedule, and he very nicely saw me over our lunch break, and ordered an MRI and an Ortho referral.

But mid afternoon the insurance had approved the mri, and I had an appointment the next week with Ortho. I was very happy with this, because sometimes if the urgency isn’t stressed, people can wait weeks or months for a specialist appointment, not to mention one out of town, and in the middle of a pandemic. I called for an MRI appointment, and the woman on the other line said, “are you the nurse practitioner?”. Normally I hate throwing around the meager clout I had, but my knee hurt like hell and it was the size of a volleyball. If there was ever a time to take advantage of my job, this was it. “Why yes, I am!” I exclaimed. She was very sweet,”oh I see your name all the time, let me see what we have, I’m sure we can fit you in somewhere, is there a time that is better for you?”. I assured her that I would make anything work, and she scheduled me for Saturday, with a promise to call me if a cancellation came up. Even this I was thrilled with, because in a tiny town with the only MRI machine for 30 miles in any direction, getting an appointment within a week is great.

Two hours later she called me to say they had a cancellation and could I be there Wednesday morning at 9. I said I’d take it. I arranged to take the morning off, a friend offered to drive me, it was like everything was coming together. Except my knee ligaments of course.

Wednesday morning the panic set it. I’m not generally sick. I’ve never had an MRI. I’ve only ever broken one bone, in my 39 years. I don’t even know what a torn ligament feels like. It hurts when I move, but if I hold still it doesn’t hurt that bad, is that right? What if I just had a bad sprain and I’m making a big deal about nothing? What if I made my office manager rearrange my schedule, made my husband wait on me, strong-armed my way into a fast MRI, and everything was normal? What if Ortho thought this MRI quality was crap and couldn’t read it? What if I couldn’t handle the MRI process? I didn’t know much about them, but I knew you had to hold still, you couldn’t wear any metal, it took a long time, it was loud, and people get claustrophobic. I was panicking. Also I hadn’t been out of the house since my injury, so I was worried about the ice and my crutches. But I got in fine, the MRI took forever, but I just laid there, and they gave me ear protection. It sounded like a mild jackhammer, and I swear I felt the pressure of the magnet scanning my knee. There were warnings all over, “the magnet force is always on!”. And “tell your technician immediately about any implant or piercings!” The signs made me feel guilty just by their severity, as if accusing me of forgetting my earrings or piercings and then having the metal ripped from my body. Nonetheless, I survived unscathed. Then there was the waiting.

I saw patients all afternoon, repeatedly checking for my results. At 3 I gave up waiting and had a nurse call. Preliminary results were scanned in shortly after, and I was floored. It wasn’t just my MCL. it was my MCL, my ACL, my meniscus, all full tears. My fibular head was fractured, and the tibia had a chip off of it. I was worried about nothing being wrong, and here everything was wrong. I couldn’t focus. My mind was reeling. I’ve never had surgery. I’m scared of anesthesia and intubation and catheters, let alone the thought that I might never run again, I might never triathlon again, that all the weight i lost over the past few months might pile back on with my forced inactivity. There’s no positive spin on the end of this one.

I’m scared. I’m hoping the orthopedist will help allay some of my anxieties, but I’ve found specialists are never as helpful and definitive as I want them to be. My kids don’t understand long term illness. I’ve always been the caretaker, I’m not used to ‘not doing.’ it’s where I gain my sense of worth. There’s the fear that people won’t like me if I don’t add value to their lives. If I think too long on it, the fear takes over. Right now it’s all I can do to rein it in.

Once upon a time, a fair maiden went into the forest on cross country skis to enjoy the snow and sunshine with a friend. The weather was perfect, the snow was fluffy, and sparkled like diamond powder covering the trees and earth. A blanket of beauty for the hibernating world. One felt that magic was just around the corner, the pixies and gnomes were scuttling about, enjoying the sunshine and watching the skiers.

We explored the forest, twisting and turning around nooks and crannies. After about an hour I could feel the fatigue start to set in, it was the first ski of the season and my legs, although muscled, were not used to skiing. I fell going around a corner, a sure sign I was tiring. We started to head back to the car. My friend suggested a shortcut, a smaller, uncleared path. The forest gnomes were feeling frisky, and the fates were not on my side. We came to a steep dip that my friend navigated with no issue. However as I stood perched on the precipice, I had a moment of dread, possibly of foreboding. I squashed this as lack of faith in myself, squared my skis, and tipped over the edge. Down I went, my left ski twisted, then they both twisted, I felt a pop in both knees, and I was laying the snow, gasping in pain. My friend sat next to me and talked me through it. Her husband (who had their baby in a front carrier this whole time) patiently waited for us to stand back up. I walked back to the car, and my knees felt wierd. Unstable. Swollen. I couldn’t wait to get home and ice them and take some ibuprofen.

Alas, it was not to be. The parking lot was very icy. I was still wearing my ski boots. I opened my car door, and turned to say farewell to my friend, and I went DOWN. It happened in a split second. I was standing, my knee twisted, and I was on the ground. Pain like I have only felt in labor was in my knee. I felt with my hands around my knee and felt a huge lump along the outside of my knee. “What the hell is that?” I thought to myself. “That is not supposed to be there!” my patella had displaced laterally. I tried to move my knee, and the pain somehow got worse. I was panting, crying, trying not to vomit with pain. Without thinking about what I was doing, I moved my knee and pushed my kneecap back into place, which immediately helped with some of the pain. I caught my breath, Anna and her husband helped me into the car, and they drove me to urgent care. I called Sean who then met us there.

At urgent care, they informed us that they cannot “put anything back into place.” Meaning if anything was fractured or still dislocated, they couldn’t fix it. If we thought something was broken we should go to the ER. I used to work in our local ER, so away we went. My friend took our children, and Sean had to get a wheelchair to get me out of the car. My hands shook as I signed the consent. I was cold and sweating, and inn a lot of pain. They brought me back quickly, and put me in an actual room, which made me think someone recognized me. My nurse was an old co-worker, and she was perfect, with ice packs for my knees and heated blankets for the rest of me. The PA who saw me used to work in Ortho, and she was great. Got my x-rays, felt the laxity in my knee, and said nothing was broken, but she was pretty sure my MCL was torn. Knee immobilizer, crutches, and follow up with Ortho, call on Monday. The pain had dulled, and my right knee could bear weight, so I was able to hobble into the house, although the three stairs in from my garage seemed to present an insurmountable feat at the time. When I accidentally put weight on my left leg, I could feel the joint wobble and slide sickeningly. I’m still not clear exactly how I made it in, but somehow my amazing husband got me through the door, and set me up with pain pills, supper, and ice packs in bed.

I wish I could say that was the end. I was exhausted and felt like I could sleep for days. Except I couldn’t sleep. Every time I started to doze off, I was on top of that hill, about to ski down. Or I was getting into my car, and I could feel the tendons rip in my knee as it gave out. I now understood a tiny tiny taste of what PTSD sufferers must feel every day. I kept reliving the events, and I couldn’t even toss and turn, bc I couldn’t change positions with my damn knee! It was a rough night, to put it lightly, but after every night comes the dawn, and as with any intimidating feat, I conquered it and met the new day.

During these Covid times, swimming indoors is challenging at best. Gyms were shut for ages, and only recently opened with significant restrictions. My gym, which is through my husband’s work, has chosen not to open yet. Yikes. And of course this includes their pool. Double yikes! So I have had a month of panic, trying to figure out where and how I could swim. I’ll explain the logistics, and then the origin of the panic. Schools have also closed their pools to the public, which leaves 2 pools in my tiny town. The Ymca has a pool, but you have to be a member. They are open for lap swim from 7-9 am and 4-6 pm. You have to call and reserve a lane 48 hours in advance. No sharing lanes. Swim time is 45 minutes to allow for transition. With my work schedule and membership costing $50/month, that nixed that pretty quickly. The boys and girls club was option 2. They are open longer hours, but only in the morning, starting at 7. They cost $60 for SIX MONTHS! The price is right, but the timing is bad. Hence the panic.

Why? One might ask. Just do other workouts, what’s your damage? Or some southerners might ask why I need to pool swim at all? The lake had worked well so far? I live in Western New York, where it is winter 6 months of the year. Right now the lake is about 50-55 degrees on a warm day, and the air temp is hanging in the 40’s. I have no desire to experience hypothermia. I also started this year barely being able to swim a lap without getting out of breath, and I’ve always felt my swimming is where I have the least experience. I have built myself up to swimming 1/2 mile continuously, and that took an insane amount of work. I am terrified of losing all of that, and starting all over next year.

Then someone mentioned a gym that’s about 20 miles north of me, whose pool recently reopened. Their website was not the best, with conflicting schedules and fees, but they did seem to be open all evenings and possibly Saturday mornings. My hopes raised against my better judgement, and I called them. Indeed, they were open, their pool was open, and it was open on Saturdays! They had a separate pool membership that was $130 for six months; a little more than free, which was my spoiled, Pre-Covid plan, but you have to adapt or die . Same reservation system. I hemmed and hawed. I discussed it with my husband. I hemmed some more. Then I went for it.

Today was my first swim and it was glorious. I woke up at 6:30 for my 7:45 reservation. I am NOT a morning person and I had eaten/drank too much last night, so this was a struggle. I drove the 30 minutes there and almost fell asleep in the csr. The pre-dawn navy grey haze made everything surreal, and I felt myself fading into slumber only to jerk myself back to focus on driving. Finally I got into the pool, which felt shockingly cool, and I started swimming. With each rhythmic stroke, everything faded away. The fight I had with my husband last week? Gone. My kids’ struggle with hybrid school? Gone My work stress? Gone. Stroke stroke stroke breathe. Focus, head down, breathe to the side. Bring your legs up. Arms move next to your body. Stay in your lane, here comes the edge, and turn. It was meditation, just me and the pool. No waves in my face, no current to fight, no weeds strangling me, no lake monster.

I am so grateful that I am young and healthy and able to afford resources like pool memberships. I am thankful beyond measure that I found a way to swim during the impending COVID winter. Hopefully swimming will continue to bring me the peace and joy of today, and I will emerge from the winter stronger than ever.

I do too much. As a mother with a full time job outside the home, also trying to work out, this is just the way it is. Normally I can keep up the grueling pace, but usually 1-2 times a month I crash. Today I crashed hard, with a migraine that crept in throughout the day, and sent me to bed right after work.

Let me set the stage: I’m a mom of two boys, a healthcare provider working over full time in the middle of a pandemic, and on top of this I’m trying to fit in workouts. Normally I sacrifice sleep and family time in order to exercise. Something has to give, and my job hours and quantity of work are NOT flexible. However, today it was not to be.

This week I am dragging hard. I’m on my period and mentally I am in a deep depression. I got bad news about a friend of mine, my husband is supposed to be heading back to work, we are scrambling to figure out how our children are going back to school part time and how we possibly going to get child care. I say we, but we all know mothers are the planners, the organizers. My husband would cut off his own foot before he asked anyone for help, and he would expect me to do the same. My swim Monday was shit, making me feel like I’m going backwards in my training. I asked my mother (who is retired) to come from Seattle to help with HER ONLY grandchildren while we figure out what we are doing, and she said no. I haven’t talked to her in two weeks, I feel so betrayed, disappointed, forsaken, devastated; I’m not looking for sympathy or solutions, but that’s where I am, and that’s what led to the migraine that took me down.

My body put both feet down full stop and said,”no more!” My brain pounded through my skull. I wandered around in a fog, and it was all I could do to push through my work day, get home and crawl into bed with my meds and my water. Since I need to prioritize, Exercise is what I usually count as my “self care.” But sometimes your body doesn’t need exercise, sometimes it needs rest. I was supposed to run 30+ minutes, 2.5 miles, but my body said a hard no. It made me listen. No means no. I slept off and on for 10 hours, and woke up feeling hung over, but pain free. Ready to start again.

Usually exercise helps exorcise the demons, but sometimes rest is just as important. Be kind to yourself, love yourself, even when you don’t feel beautiful, even when you don’t look perfect, even when you can’t do the 0.5 mile swim without stopping, even when everyone passes you on the bike. I give myself permission to be sad, to mourn, to rest, and I will not apologize for it.

I’m calling this one the first, because I will never count the initial failure, no matter what bullshit is spewed about ‘having the courage to try’ and whatever. I’ll tell you the short version, then I’ll give you a play by play. I finished. Done. Officially a triathlete, with a time of 2:10, which is 30 minutes slower than the next to last person. I was the last, and everyone had to wait an extra 30 minutes for me before tearing everything down, packing up and going home. However, as a friend of mine says, ”the last person to cross the finish line is a finisher.”

The swim was rough. Water was choppy, I had on a new wet suit that I had just bought and never swam in it before. More about that later. I was the last one out of the water and I struggled! Waves in the face, I had to flip onto my back, it was not my best swim.

Then to the bike. It was better. I didn’t stop on top of the dreaded Darby Switch hill, a steep incline about 4 miles into the race. Normally I have to stop on the top of the hill and catch my breath. This time I kept going slowly, but didn’t stop. Got to the dreaded 3-legged hill, 2.5 miles of incline… I passed the point where I got my flat tire and flipped it off, victoriously sailing passed. I did stop once for about 30 seconds on the hill to catch my breath and rest my legs, but then kept going. When I got to the dismount station, I unclipped my left foot and was feeling good. Then I couldn’t get my right foot out and I was so wobbly from biking that I almost fell over, and caught myself on the sign. Dragged my bike to transition, changed my shoes, and headed out to the run.

At this point, when I started the run, everyone was finished but me. My brain said run, but my legs felt like 200 lbs of jello each. I tried to run and they just would not go! I settled for a brisk 4 mph walking pace, and tried to throw in a few jogs from telephone pole to telephone pole. When I got to the turn around I chugged a water and started back, but I was so tired there was no sense of accomplishment or excitement, just wanting to finish this and be done. Of course I had to run the last quarter mile across the finish line, and my kids and husband were there to support me. Everyone who stayed cheered me on, and it felt good to be around such a great group of encouraging people. People who keep the race open an extra 30 minutes just for me. People who wait to eat dinner in order to watch me finish. People who finished the race in half my time, but still genuinely encourage me. My husband who thinks I’m crazy but still supports me.

The fat girl inside wants to hide from the attention, she wants to shrink away from the photos and the cheers. She’s embarrassed that people stayed to watch her, mortified that she was so slow they had to wait for her. But the desire to participate, to reach my goal, to actually do it, had to overcome that. And it’s not a one and done thing. Through the whole race I had to tell myself to keep going, not to quit. “Who cares if you finish? “. The devil on my shoulder asked. “What are you trying to prove? That fat girls can exercise too? You think any of those people care? No, they just see a slow fat girl.”. I had to continually swat him away. In the end, it didn’t matter if anyone cared or not, I finished for me. To show myself how strong I am, how determined I am. For my kids, to show them how anyone can do anything, to show them you don’t have to come in first, your just have to show up and try. Or Tri, as might befit the situation.

Three days after my failed triathlon, life goes on. I went to work the next day, I took my kids blueberry picking, I weeded my garden. I have not gotten back on my bike. The day after The Flat, my partner took my bike into the local bike shop to ask about tougher tires.

The woman at the shop quizzed him,” what roads is she riding on? Maybe she’s riding on a road that has a lot of debris? Maybe she should change her route?”

He said,” everyone else is riding the same roads, she’s the only one who has had 4 flat tires this summer.”

Bike shop,” well we have two different models, this one is more lightweight, which do you think is better for her…”

My partner, who is a serious introvert and knows very little about road bikes or triathlons, said, ”I want the one that won’t go flat on the side of a highway in the middle of a triathlon!” end of discussion. $135 later, I have a new tube, two armadillo tires with ‘anti flat technology’ stamped on the side, and my handlebar tape is re-wrapped at no extra charge.

I picked it up yesterday, and I have a run/cycle date tomorrow with the gazelles. It’s a tough mix between wanting to hang out and exercise with my friends, and always being the slowest one, always having them wait for me. On one hand, they know this and keep inviting me. On the other hand, maybe they’re too nice to exclude me? Or they didn’t know what they were getting into the first time they invited me, and now I’m grandfathered in? Or maybe I overthink this too much and no one else gives it a second thought. Maybe I should just get my ass back on my bike instead of wrestling with insecurities.

The next tri is 8/5. What have I learned? Let me tell you: 1) you are allowed to change a tire during a tri. In fact, if the lag truck catches up to you, they are allowed to help you, since they are officially part of the race. 2) there are Kevlar tires out there with ‘antiflat technology.’ 3) there are CO2 canisters that you can use to inflate your changed tire, as using a hand pump to get up to 110 psi is probably not going to happen. 4) I have an amazing, supportive, fabulous tribe who supports me even when I don’t finish, encourages me to try again, and builds each other up stronger.

My goal this time is the same as last time: show up, race, and cross the finish line. I’d like to say I’m more accepting of the fact that I might not finish, but I’d be lying. I want it now more than ever, and I am determined to make it happen. Here’s to August 5.