Making it Real

The re-commitment paperwork was due on Thursday, so Saturday was a celebration of sorts. Yogurt sundaes following this week’s mileage.

Even keeping in mind that the people doing the Disney 1/2 Marathon and those doing the Long Beach Full Marathon were doing more miles than I was, 7 miles still felt like a hell of a lot. It was the first moment I actually conceived of the sort of physical endurance this was going to require. It was also the moment I allowed myself to feel glad and not mildly ashamed that I’d chosen to do the half marathon this go around.

I’m not terribly competitive (okay, I like to be right, I like to be perfect) but I’m not… racing doesn’t thrill me. I always hated the actually meet parts of swim team, particularly in high school where your competitors were people you’d otherwise like to hang out and eat pasta with. Plus, I’m lazy. I only wanted to do the “easy” events – the sprints – which were over quickly instead of the endurance events my body was more suited to.

This training is helping me internalize some of the things I’m competitive about, and matching them with stuff I’m not. I will work faster and harder when I think someone’s watching, but at the same time, I will also push myself harder than I expect. Even if it’s only a little, I’ll keep pushing, setting these personal goals and boundaries through the training session, modifying them to meet my endurance and abilities. I hit that moment of runner’s high on Saturday (for a minute, a sheer blissful minute) and now I understand the running just a little bit more. The way that it can feel like another set of movement, like another existence before the pain hits and exhaustion numbs your legs.

Reconnecting

Went home last weekend for my younger step-sister’s wedding, a really lovely, simple affair in Evergreen.

My sisters’ father died a few years ago, and I know that one of the things put a damper on that day was his loss.  I feel deeply for them, even if I didn’t know at the time what to say or what to do, what to offer.

Sitting with my own father at the reception, I managed not to bawl, not to get grim and uncomfortable when he said that he’d like to be able to dance at my wedding (so many ifs there that the prospect alone is far-fetched – that I’d get married, that I’d have a wedding, that he’d move beyond the stage he is now in order to achieve that goal). But I was able to tell him honestly that nothing would make me happier.

Maybe the event sparked something for both of us. When I talked to him yesterday, he said he’d gone to the gym, done enough reps that he could feel a good burn. It makes me proud.

My own training proceeds. I missed the weekly ass-crack of dawn distance training on Saturday morning due to being at the wedding in Colorado, but I did manage to hike with my mom in Palmer Park (earning myself yet another stellar special occasion sunburn), walk a little, do the elliptical and the stationary bike (in a gym at the hotel, at higher elevation, with me panting and sweating like I’d never raised my heart rate in my life), and walk some more.

Interval training yesterday because I’m determined to become at least somewhat of a runner – and that was made far easier by the super smart shoes I just bought. The Running Store in Colorado Springs spent an hour watching me walk and run until we found the perfect shoe.  (I have so much more understanding of my friend Stephanie now, who used to ask for running shoes for her birthday. Of course, Steph does marathons now, so she’s already someone to emulate).

It’s the most I’ve ever spent on a shoe that didn’t sport a wicked sexy heel.

I’ve finally come to realize that the marathon itself doesn’t mean much to me personally. It’s the training I need, the daily and weekly and monthly assessment of myself, of my surroundings, of my needs and abilities. It’s that discipline of mind and body, that way to find a center when I’ve spent so much time floundering.

Oh Man, Am I Bad At This

So, the lack of updates has little to do with the training schedule and everything to do with my typical ability to get rah-rah enthusiastic about a project and then abandon it.  Since I can’t/don’t want to do that with the training, the reporting lost the battle of inertia, but I’m back!

For the past three weeks, we’ve increased the mileage on Saturdays (and man oh man, do the extra miles feel longer as I continue to fail at getting enough sleep to sustain me.  Honestly, I’m trying, but 6 a.m. is just not natural for me.  People keep telling me it’ll get easier. Those people? Clearly delusional).

However, I can feel myself getting stronger again. And while my ass is still the size of a small country, I can feel the muscles reappearing that squirmed their way out of existence after I stopped dancing and really taking care of myself.  My body is starting to feel like my own again, and that’s an intensely rewarding thing.

I’m being slightly more careful about what I eat and drink, although I need to dial that back into really careful, really cognizant. But I’m watching out for portions, trying to increase my fruit and vegetable and whole grain intake, decrease my alcohol and fat intake. Mmmm, tasty tasty booze and fat.

Having been busy preparing for several shows with the troupe, I’ve also lost out on some training time (re: it’s so easy to say ‘I don’t have to run today because I’m rehearsing’, but that’s just not an adequate excuse).  So, it’s summer, I got a super cute shuffle from my mom for my birthday, and as of Monday I’m rejoining the Y to get myself some alternate forms of exercise in addition to the training.

So, not much profound today, strength and returning stamina aside.  I am, unsurprisingly, terrible at the team nature of this endeavor.  I want to be teamy, but the lack of organic team-building is a challenge for me. Plus, as I’m still walking far more than running, I’m smack in the middle of the pack, alone. Faster than most of the walkers, slower than all of the runners.

But I keep going. I’ve gotten tons of music from people, stuff to pump me up (and man does it make me feel old to remember those SNL skits), and just the general support from my friends and loved ones continues to buoy me and strengthen me as much as every footfall on the pavement does.

Official Kick-Off

1.3 miles officially walked.

9:00 a.m. officially early. 7 a.m. will be earlier, but it’s 94 degrees out already. 7 a.m. may seem like a godsend midsummer.

Too much coffee and one banana officially eaten for the cause.

One story of a 27 year old who survived a stroke with minimal residual effects thanks to TPA. Apparently, this was also given to my dad, but without the miraculous effect. Or maybe his life was the miraculous effect. Regardless, not every hospital has that med to offer. This money will help that. I don’t actually need to know anything else.

1 hat earned (you get one at $500). I’m rocking the fundraising. Actually, everyone who has been unbelievably, amazingly supportive is rocking the fundraising. I’m not doing much at all. It makes me want to do more – increase my goal, have a fundraiser, something. I want to dump a whole bag of money on someone’s desk and say “Fix this!”

Gotta establish a cross-training schedule though. I’ll get bored just walking. Gotta renew my Y membership so I can swim, but that’ll mean bye-bye to the pink hair. Sigh.

Tiny Steps, Miniscule Even

First, thank you so much to everyone who has donated already! I am astonished and overwhelmed and fairly teary with pleasure and appreciation.  The support means more to me than I can say (and anyone who knows me knows that’s saying something!)

My physical efforts so far have been… tiny: a few vigorous walks, some dance classes, a rehearsal or two.  I struggle with getting up in the morning to exercise.  Hell, I struggle with getting up in the mornings. However, I’ve made this goal a priority, and I am – in my own way – sketching out a plan of attack to balance the training schedule provided by the stroke foundation.

I also spoke to my dad and step-mother, both of who are pleased and proud in that way that makes me vaguely uncomfortable, that makes me not want to tell them about this endeavor.

It feels like begging for approval, like holding up this effort and saying, “Look, I do care!!”  And there’s a part of me that feels like fundraising marathons are the AIDS ribbons ripoffs of the ’00s.  Something no one can really say no to, but feel vaguely embarrassed to still be supporting (not the sentiment, certainly, not the research, but the symbol, the hollowness of the gesture. Like, “really, I’m going to donate money to a cause so you can make your ass smaller? really?”)  C’mon, donate money for  me to marathon train to support the cause of Japanese butterflies in Central Togo.

I know it’s not true, but it sort of reflects my embarrassment at doing this, even while I’m pleased and proud that I can. It’s that idea of having the wrong kind of spotlight on me. I’d rather have the, “look how hot she looks in those shoes.” spotlight, or the “wow, that novel was the sleeper hit of the summer.” spotlight.  Not the, “her ass is too big and her family is still sort of in shell-shock from this medical crisis or maybe it’s just her because everyone else seems to be coping” spotlight.

Anyway, more miles is the key.  More steps. More fundraising. More patience. Less ego. Less pride. Less overthinking.

Tiny steps. It’s all about the tiny steps.

Update and Apology

My coding skills leave legions to be desired, so please forgive the bad links (and all those people I told to just try it again, it was them, equal apologies!!!)

The links below are fixed and should actually take you where you want to go!

Marathoning

Welcome to my training blog. Hopefully, it’ll be more exciting than me recording the endless steps I take to get ready to walk a whole bunch more steps. But I PROMISE NOTHING WORLD!

It will be an updated venue of how the fundraising is going, and any insights I have about the process. And possibly a recitation of everything that hurts and what gross and gory thing has happened to my feet. I can’t help myself. When I see something disgusting, I have to share. Feel free to look away!

But first, some background:

My father suffered a massive, debilitating stroke in 2002. It has left him largely immobilized and dependent upon his family and caretakers for many of his basic needs. My dad’s always been bright, funny, compassionate, generous and vaguely embarrassing in that way that parents often can be when they’re clever and enjoy the minor mortification of their children. The stroke has left him with most of his mental faculties – his intelligence, his wit, his kindness, but without most of his physical acuity. He can’t indulge in any of the hobbies that brought joy and meaning to his life – woodworking, playing the guitar, cooking, walking his beloved dog, going on trips with his wife.

Modern medicine worked a sort of miracle on my father – he’s alive. I say that completely without irony. Probably, he shouldn’t have been. The doctors told us he wouldn’t survive, that he would go into a coma and not come out of it. Our gratitude, my gratitude, that he is still here is immeasurable.

My father’s stroke impacted everyone around him – my step-mother, my step-siblings, their families, my grandfather, my aunt and uncle, even my own mother, my relatives on my mother’s side. Watching someone go, overnight, from active, vibrant, challenging and amazing to completely dependent and utterly changed is terrifying. It’s heart-wrenching, and it’s all too common in our current society.

It changed everyone’s life without a single warning.

Genetics worked against my dad. Lifestyle choices worked against him. Medicine worked against him (a small hole in his heart that should have been found when he was a child allowed the blood clot through that caused the stroke).

I have struggled with many aspects of my relationship with him – our divergent and completely similar personalities; his need to have his way constantly; his reluctance to accept his situation and make the steps and strides I think he should – but in all that, I am terribly, terribly happy that he is still here and making me utterly nuts.

This was not the only medical scare that I, or my family, faced over the next few years. Ironically, they all involved blood clots, involved that same tiny little inability of the body to do what it was supposed to do.

Several months ago, when looking for a way to give some of my time and energy to a cause, I came across the training program for the Stroke Foundation. It only took me a minute to decide that it was something I wanted to participate in. Training for a marathon (or in my case, more likely, a half marathon) while raising money to fund research for something that has immediately touched my life and those of my loved ones? Not a choice that took a lot of thought. (Those of you who know me, who know my attitude towards running if not being chased, stop laughing right this minute! You can walk the marathon too, or walk/run it!)

This was a way to change my own life and habits, and support my father in a way I have not always been able to do face to face. While raising money to fund research may not seem very personal, it is, for me, a way to answer many of his fears and hurts over the years – that I am not on his side, that I am unsupportive, that I’m too angry to be there for him. He isn’t wrong. He’s not right either. I am angry that he set himself up for this to happen. I am equally angry at his body, at fate, at everything that led up to and allowed this to happen.

But I love him, and I want him to know how much. Plus, I want other people who face this issue, who’ve watched friends and loved ones combat this issue to have more options, more knowledge, more possibility.

So, I’m doing something that makes me vaguely uncomfortable (asking for donations) to do something that will make me physically uncomfortable (marathoning) in order to hopefully provide something for others that will make their lives more comfortable.

My dad was relatively young – 54. It’s something that can happen at any age, and certain factors make the risk that much greater (when he was in the hospital, a woman only a few years younger than me had suffered a similar stroke to my father’s).

The website for my donation page is http://lattes.kintera.org/andreanna_ditton. Info about the American Stroke Association is here:http://strokeassociation.org/

Regardless of whether or not you donate, I appreciate the support and the forum to put this out there into the vast world of the internets.