Better Than the Alternative Tuesdays: Sunrise

Happy Better Than the Alternative Tuesday, friends! I barely make it through Mondays this semester. 10+ hours of sitting in class feels like a death march. My brain hurts, my body hurts, and by the the end of the day, I don’t even want dinner.

I know. Shocking. I don’t want food? Something is deeply, deeply wrong with Mondays.

Pizza lasts exactly one day in my apartment.

Pizza lasts exactly one day in my apartment.

Not even pizza sounds good, just sleep.

And then I woke up this morning and went for a run. It wasn’t a good run, I felt like crap. I was hungry (duh), tired, and even though I was trucking along at 8:15s most of the 7 miles, I felt like I was running through mud.

But I saw this on my run. This Sunrise over The Lake and Bow Bridge.

Good morning, my beautiful Park.

Good morning, my beautiful Park.

It didn’t change my pace or give me the energy to run faster, but just seeing this beautiful Sunrise was reward enough for getting up early.

When I was chained to the bed recovering in the hospital, I was on the 14th floor overlooking the East River. When the sun rose the day after surgery, I couldn’t help but to breath deep (as deep as my stitches would allow) and appreciate seeing that Sunrise.

It wasn't a sunny morning and the view wasn't even that great, but it was a sunrise I worried I wouldn't see.

It wasn’t a sunny morning and the view wasn’t even that great, but it was a sunrise I worried I wouldn’t see. And there was pudding.

Anyone who goes into surgery and tells you they aren’t scared is…not me. I was scared both times. Terrified, actually.

That Sunrise meant I made it through the operation. That Sunrise meant I got through a horrific night of pain. That Sunrise meant that Mrs. Obi-wan and JB would soon be by my side, keeping me from freaking out.

It wasn’t pretty, it didn’t have to be, it was just a new day and a new life starting.

My 2nd surgery sunrise was far more spectacular. Same floor, same hospital, same staff (oy), different facing bed. Different perspective.

My 2nd surgery Sunrise was far more spectacular. Same floor, same hospital, same staff (oy), different facing bed. Different perspective.

That’s what I like about running at Sunrise. It’s the ultimate symbol of a new day starting.

Just because today’s run was crap doesn’t mean tomorrow’s will be. Just because I’m dragging ass this morning doesn’t mean I will tomorrow. Just because my J-pouch hated me yesterday doesn’t mean it won’t love on me today.

Sunrise is my favorite symbol of starting over and the opportunity to do something different. I know it’s obvious and trite and cheesy, but it’s true.

Sunrise on the Brooklyn Bridge. (Image courtesy of MK Photography)

Sunrise on the Brooklyn Bridge. (Image courtesy of MK Photography)

 

When I woke up from surgery, I was a new me and it was a new day. Those Sunrises were a new start to me. And they certainly made it better to be here, to wake up, to keep going, than not to. And I love that about those Sunrises and every Sunrise I get to see.

Happy BTAT, guys. What does Sunrise mean to you? Does it get you going or is it something you rarely see? Are you more of a sunset kind of person? Tell me all about it!

Now go out and run!

(I mean, it’s 40 degrees out there, NYers! Heat wave!)

 

Untitled (and really long)

I have thought long and hard about whether or not I would actually write this post. Then I hemmed and hawed about how much detail I would get into if I did decide to write it. In short, I have spent way too much time thinking about one blog post over the past two months.

Well, I’ve decided to share the part of my own journey that I feel is pertinent to this blog. It is, in fact, called Run Stronger Every Day and I am starting from Square One on the way to running again at all. Here goes: this is my journey from surgery to marathon.

Marathon #9…when will marathon #10 happen?

One month ago, I had a planned surgical event that was medically necessary and landed me in the hospital for five days (= FOR-EV-ER). I have never had a serious surgery or any other type of major medical event in my entire life. I’ve had my wisdom teeth pulled, which produced very adorable chipmunk cheeks and my very first case of hives, and I broke my pinky toe right before I left to be a camp counselor for the summer back in college. But that’s it.

The longest I’ve been away from running is one month back in 2009 because of my stupid left gluteus medius. But I could still bike and lift and swim and, you know, WALK. This surgery was major. No, really. It’s classified as “major surgery”. Walking would be a challenge, I was told. Weird.

I like spinning, I do. But running is my 1st love.

Funny aside: I knew I was ok with my decision to go ahead with the surgery when, after my Physics final three days prior, I only felt relief as I headed into the weekend. No anxiety about the surgery. No stress about the what-ifs. Just relief that Physics was finally over. Priorities, I suppose.

Drinks. There were a lot of drinks when I found out I passed Physics.

The morning of my surgery, I tried making jokes as the nurses and doctors hooked me up and stabbed me with needles of all sizes. My Mom, angel that she is, flew in to be with me and JB during my hospitalization. I was nervous, but not as scared as I thought I’d be. Probably because when I asked about a possible complication I’d read about my surgeon responded, ” That doesn’t happen in my hands.” Exactly what I want to hear!

Off I went to the operating room (which was a lot smaller than I expected) where I met my surgical team and briefly reminded my surgeon that I am a vain woman and small, neat scars would be greatly appreciated. He assured me he’d do his best and out I went.

I “woke” up to JB and Mrs. Obi-wan by my side once again in recovery, in the most immense pain I have ever felt in my life. Thankfully, now that I was awake, they could give me the good drugs. I definitely didn’t do any recovering in the “recovery room”. I kept hearing rumors the my room was “almost ready” but, not having any concept of time due to the wonderful narcotics, I was seriously perturbed that everything seemed to be taking so long.

The view from my room. Rainy New York days were just fine by me.

Shortly after I got to my room, my nurse told I was going to walk soon. I told her she was dreaming. I was in a tremendous amount of pain. Turns out, my pain treatment had briefly gone awry and OHMYGODWHYDOESTHISHURTSOMUCH?!?!?!!!! was basically what I said to her.  She fixed the problem, God bless her, and made sure I got several boosters so I could sleep.

These bruises were the result of my least favorite daily interruption: shots. Ouch. Maybe next time we choose a different place to torture? They lasted for nearly 3 weeks!

Early Tuesday morning, she woke me and said we were going for sure taking a walk before her shift ended. Still, the idea of heaving myself out of bed and walking was akin to climbing Everest. Me, a 9-time marathoner, often 2-a-day workout girl, thought that getting out of bed and walking seemed impossible. I was attached to an IV and several drainage apparatus but with the aid of the most wonderful nurse in the entire world, I walked. It was approximately 30 yards, round-trip.

They were the hardest steps I have ever taken in my entire life.

You know how you feel exhausted after a marathon? That’s how I felt. I hadn’t had food in three days, my surgery was four hours long, I was on serious pain management drugs and was terrified I wouldn’t make it.

I did. I made it. I made it to Day 2 and was getting a handle on my new body, new gear, and new surroundings.

The morning after surgery. See, Dad? I’m ok!

Day 2 was crazy. Between flower deliveries (my favorite!), emptying my various drains, an endless stream of checking my vitals, my surgical team making the rounds, figuring out how everything worked, social workers (yes, social workers…don’t know why), and the very awesome Dr. Boz and PAK stopping by to check up on me (how awesome are they?!), it was a whirlwind of activity in my room. I dozed on and off but woke up whenever I got a flower delivery 🙂

Pretty view from my room. The flowers everyone sent brightened every moment of my stay in the hospital.

With the help of the very awesome Mrs. Obi-wan, I walked even more on Day 2. I think we went to the entryway of my wing and back twice. Mom kept chatting about this beautiful mural as you walk onto my floor that I never got to see since I was only semi-conscious when I was brought to my floor. On day 3, I finally got to see it.

The very cool “Chalk Mural” depicting the World’s Fair in Queens, NY on my floor. It wasn’t actually chalk, but we never could figure out what it was.

But in order to get that far, they had to let me EAT REAL FOOD!

French toast never tasted so good.

French toast, turkey sausage and orange juice. Food, I missed you. I was so happy that I took a picture and sent it to my family. Being allowed to eat real food is a big marker post-surgery. I blasted by the “soft foods” order that my resident prescribed in less than 24 hours and was onto “normal diet” so quickly the food delivery lady couldn’t keep up with his orders.

My recovery went about as well as you could expect. I walked more and more, further and further. And while it was never really “easy” to get out of bed, once I was up I was able to make multiple laps on my floor several times a day. I was out of the hospital by Friday afternoon and home sleeping on my couch Friday night.

My pillow fort.

In all the fuss over my surgery, I had forgotten that my birthday was just days later. By then, I was showering and getting dressed all by myself, walking the streets of New York (with a bodyguard), and eating delicious takeout.

My birthday this year was a very laid-back celebration of survival, the gift of life, modern medicine and Sprinkles Cupcakes. I have never been so happy to have a birthday come as I was this year. Not only did it mark the end of a reeeeeeally trying year for me, but it was the kickoff to a year of entirely new adventures, new body and better health.

Happy birthday!
Love,
Doggie Howser

I am still not running. I am walking lots and hoping to maybe jump on a bike sometime this week, but I’m in no rush. I am respecting the healing process and allowing my body time to recover. When I do get back to running, it will be entirely different than it was before–and that’s ok. Things will feel different. I might move differently. God knows I’ll be slow as molasses. But I’ll be back and I will learn what it is to Run Stronger Every Day as the new me.

So, here I go. Starting from Square One, I am working toward running the Marine Corps Marathon this fall in Washington, D.C. for Team Fisher House. That’s right, a marathon. Will I make it? Don’t care. I will at least show up and run a few miles at my favorite race. If I have to drop out at some point, I don’t care. I will be there. I will run (a little or a lot). I will celebrate my life and do what I love: run.

I will run…and then we will celebrate!

So far, my journey back has taught me two things.

  1. The body is the most perfect instrument every created.
  2. I can do anything if I set my mind to it.

It’s not always easy. I get frustrated sometimes and the fatigue is more annoying than anything else. The days are not always sunshine and butterflies, though there have been an awful lot of double rainbows in the city lately.

RAINBOWS!! (picture shamelessly stolen from Erica Sara, who makes really beautiful jewelry)

The thing is, it had to be done so there’s no use being all upset about it. I’m going to be healthier for it. I’m already able to do more than I could before. And one day soon, I will Run Stronger because of this surgery. And for that reason, it will always have been worth it.

Now go out and run!