Hooray--I am Complicated

Not long ago, I woke up with pins and needles running down my left leg. I expected it to go away. But it didn't. It got worse. My left foot was throbbing and every step added to the pain. I had no idea why. In fact, although I often have some joint pain and my hip flexors are always too tight, I had been feeling really good up until this point. So good that Greg has been suggesting that I run the Broad Street this year. I have not said no. Although, ten miles seems... well I guess it seems like one mile used to.

At the beginning of my next session Greg asks how I am. I tell him something is really wrong. I describe all the symptoms and the strange fact that the problem is relieved somewhat when I where shoes with heels. For the first 20 minutes Greg stretches my hips and calves and back. Its not like a massage...I have to concentrate to keep from clenching. There is a spot halfway down my spine that is so tender I involuntarily recoil off the table. When we move on to the day's "workout" every exercise is precisely chosen to address today's ailments. Afterwards, I am setting up my next appointment, I can tell something is better. I wonder if my pain and numbness will recur as soon as I sit or sleep; but it doesn't. I am not completely "fixed" but I am so much better.

A few days later I ask Greg,
"What happened? What do you think is wrong with me? "

He won't say and reminds me that he is not a doctor. I know this. I also know I have surrendered myself to doctors who know much less. But, he concludes...'

"You are complicated Tricia. There is more than one thing going on here."

Complicated doesn't play well in infomercials or on magazine covers. Maybe that's why my going to those venues never really worked. Because portraying a simple answer may get people motivated, it may make the developers rich, but acting like the answer is simple doesn't make it simple. Maybe all along, I wasn't weak, or lazy, or a miserable failure...maybe everything I tried was.

The Burning Building

During an interview (about losing weight and getting in shape) a reporter asked me "How proud are you of what you have accomplished?" I answered, "I'm not proud. I am happy about it. I am grateful. And I do defend my time in the gym -vehemently. But, I was in a burning building and someone hauled me out. It was a prison break."

I am not just being modest. I am not too humble to see that I worked at it. Maybe if you have never been there you would think staying as I was, was effortless. It isn't. It is like shoveling snow in a blizzard, using all the wit and strength you have and getting nowhere, losing ground mostly.

Have you ever watched a baby learn to walk? They fall over and over. In a way, all of my failed attempts to lose weight were like that. But, in every corner of my mind, all the corners of my world all I heard was "Stop Falling." It's idiotic. Who learns this way? So, I'm not really "proud" that when someone pointed the way out, I listened, I did what I could to assist in my own escape. But without someone better and stronger and wiser than I was I would still be stuck there.

In fact, the truth is that even now I end up in the burning building some days. I have more experience now and usually I can put the fires out on my own. A good workout usually does the trick. But, not always. So, I do my best to always have an "emergency exit." When the heat and stress of life, work, relationships, illness, and injury erupt beyond my ability to manage, I spend less time lamenting my flaws and more time calling in reinforcements. Do I feel the sting of other people's opinions and judgements of the money, ego, time and resources this costs me? Yes, I feel it. I hear the voice in my head that says "when are you going to be able to handle a crisis on your own, like other people?" This is how I handle it. I don't stand there wishing there wasn't a fire. I get the fire out. That's my reward. I don't care who gets the credit.

No Afters

In the beginning our goal would be just to walk a mile without pain in her legs--when she was injured." Greg Hoak to NBC10's Jade McCarthy Jan. 2009



We were at least two years beyond that goal and talking about running a ten miler that day. And, maybe I never truly believed, until now, my own assertion that "there are no afters. " I know I detest being back at the beginning. How did I end up here--with shooting pain in what used to be "the good hip" and the grinding right knee, and a cruel and constant ache in both ankles? I meant something all together different when I said "This is about forever." That was the good Forever--the mantra you cling to. Forever is an unbearable idea on a day when the warm up leaves you in a cold sweat: the sum of regret + worry.


What can I possibly work toward today? Every step on the treadmill is a painful study of my connective tissue as the heat in the socket of my left hip flares up and down. I turn the music up, the incline, silence the fan that is annoying me; but none of my alterations gets me beyond the overbearing drill in my mind:" step forward, step forward, step forward." Despite six years of change and ambition (and no matter how much I wish it weren't true) I know that I am lame-- in every sense-- no matter how much I try not to be.


The realization stings more than the injury and the expression that comes with it begs the question: "How is your leg?"
"It hurts."
"I know, " Greg replies, "I can hear you limping."


And then I know--I know why I'm here. Because no one else I know HEARS this--even I don't HEAR it. And, I feel a smile all at once try to raise the corner of my mouth and my spirit. Because maybe, just maybe someone-- who in 15 seconds HEARS this, this antithesis to everything that is fluid and productive, maybe that means he also HEARS a way to UNDO it. And the chance of that is enough, just enough, to make me unwilling to cave in here today. Somehow I refuse to accept pity for progress, like my past life of late night binges once trained me to do.

"Can't walk today? Crawl then, it worked when you were one-- still works. So, it's inch worms and bear crawls today. Then you'll walk , then you'll run. Then you'll...who knows what's next? But, let's just say it'll be something better than --sympathy."

It sounds like Greg, but it isn't It's... ME

Somehow that mindset seeps into your brain if you let it...
"Are you ready to quit?"

"NO."

"Then, you must be ready to start."

And, then I find it--"Yes."

A Game of Mercy

So here I am 6:04am; even the prospect of this morning's cardio divides my mind. Shannon is down the hall with "the cousins" and I debate leaving these two young ones--even though they won't wake up; even though my sister is just steps away; like the devil is always whispering how remiss I am under his breath. But, they are so sound asleep; so safe here together; so likely to understand that my iPod , Nikes, and I will be back long before Spongebob is over. Rheumatology sets term limits in this campaign; even so I am probably sealing the deal for my eventual hip replacement. I can't help it though. I need this workout. Because 6 am at the beach, with the tide underscoring my playlist, is a day too sacred not to unleash your soul.

For once I am glad that Josh's "Show me what you've got" is just a memory today. What I've got on the outside is so paltry compared to the inside. Still, I endeavor to apply my training. There is a negotiation that never stops in my head. A tug of war between what I want to do and what I should do. There are days I trade my adrenaline futures like Wall Street commodities. But, I give conservative a shot today.. I walk for a long time, all the way to the lighthouse coaxing my joints like reluctant children as if to say, "Please come with me--it'll be so much fun..." They are full of spite, though not without provocation. They remind me of all the times I beat them up back when I had the upper hand. They enjoy a game of "mercy" at my expense. You see, deep down they know, and force me to admit, that there is still a trace of poison in the miracle I am living. A thing that says "a walk is not enough, there are 70 year olds flying by me with their cocker spaniels. And, here I am pushing through this ridiculous swollen ankle and ever tightening hamstrings, and the ache in the good leg. You pathetic girl...you are still the same glutton for punishment you ever were..."

And I almost fall into this pit AGAIN but an angel comes and sits on my shoulder and says "Today we will climb out of this cesspool and leave a ladder behind for anyone who comes after us." Instantly I'm done with pity. I run the 54 stairs up to the lovely room at the Inn and check on my sleepyheads who are still crashed on the king size bed. I grab my coffee , a notebook and pen and climb high into the lifeguard chair hours before they will need to take this post. Each in our own way searching for drowning victims. I write and write and write; lighting a candle in my cathedral.

For Me, Deja Vu is a Bad Thing

Ok, March was a bad month, so I didn't panic when the scale inched up a little. But, now it's mid-May. The inching isn't a solo gig anymore. The inching has backup now: a discordant band of dread and craven echoes all around. I feel myself holding a shallow breath for much of the day. I tense as I drive past DQ ...the drive up menus run like movie trailers in my mind. I don't enter. But find myself instinctively counting the cash in my purse anyway.

She is with me--within me...the girl from 6 yrs 9 months ago. Tuning her out is wearing me down. She won't shut up. My workouts are barely enough to drown out this siege.
I freeze and pray she goes away. A pathetic strategy...standing still in a minefield.

Got to get the map or medivac to Find Yes.

THE WHY & HOW OF IT

The shift from No to Yes really started on Feb 1st, 2007. I remember exactly because I had to have an in-home session. Our refrigerator died and I had one of those irritating delivery windows that keep you chained to your house. During the workout, I said "I have been working out faithfully. I could stay on the elliptical for 2 hours if I had time. But why can't I run half a mile without stopping?"

"You're running too fast" came the reply.

Now, there are many flaws in my running, but you have to believe that "too fast" was one I had never suspected! "That can't be right" I thought (and probably said too). I am pathetically slow. Shouldn't I be able to run a lot faster than I walk? (Granted, from the MRIs and XRays I really wasn't supposed to be running at all). But sometimes a good song comes on and I just want to. And, I wasn't stopping from joint pain or muscle pain--at least not yet. Every time I ran for more than a minute or two I was gasping for air even though I was working out every day.

Why? Well, there was a really good technical answer that Greg gave me about the physics of running vs walking or pedaling. And, I wish I could explain it all. But, it wouldn't change the advice he gave me:

"Run as slow as you can and still be jogging."

As soon as I tried this it worked. I ran a mile. It was barely faster than I could walk a mile and I was drenched. But on that one piece of advice I went from NO I can't run a mile to YES I can. And no amount of conventional wisdom could hold a candle to that. But, I still worried about that grinding in my knee (a patellar tracking problem), my nine Advil-a-day days and all those specialists and their restrictions. You can't just ignore these things.

In fact, we did the opposite. My all but forsaken quads were now the major focus of every week. The idea being that the only way to take the pressure off my knees was to build up my quads and hamstrings. (You have to remember that for at least 18 months I had stopped all this and nothing about my condition had improved. ) In order to do this without pain or injury, all the usual exercises like lunges and squats had to be altered just for me.

It worked. I was probably running 2 miles straight when he sprung it on me.

"You should run the fall 5k."

I seriously thought at first that someone had walked into the room when I wasn't looking. But, no, this suggestion was in fact, meant for me. A stream of objections rushed through my mind:

NO...
I am not competitive;
I don't think my joints can handle the pavement;
Where will I put my water bottle;
I will be the last one if I finish at all,
There will be other people...right?

The loud negative chorus in my head halted on one thought alone... whatever I believe about myself, if I sign up for this Greg will get me to do it...my inner demons are struck dumb by this (temporarily).

I agree with a simple "Ok." I have roughly five months to train-- or at least that's what we thought.

By mid-summer I am running three miles a few times a week at the gym. But outdoors it is another story all together. The changing terrain and the elements (temperature, wind, humidity) are all new challenges for me. On the treadmill, I just dialed in the pace, now I have to pace myself. John buys me the Nike plus for my iPod to help me keep track. But, I do best during my session when Greg runs outside with me. Running is intense, but has an amazing side effect...it is suppressing my appetite. Another...if only I had known... that training has uncovered.

In July we leave for North Carolina where 17 members of my family have rented an enormous oceanfront house. I decide this is the perfect time to work on running outside: no traffic, no hard surfaces, no real schedule to contend with, just miles and miles of beautiful beach and cool mist off the Atlantic. I never think to mention this to Greg. Big Mistake.

For the first couple days in NC, the plan is working perfectly. I am up first and back before my kids are out of their pajamas. But, on day 3 or 4 I am so focused on the horizon I miss the halfway mark--by a lot. The rows and rows of mansions peaking out over the dunes all look the same. I have to run up to the street to figure out where I am. I come home that way. Each step gets slower and heavier. I have nothing left when I get to the house. My iPod says the distance is 6.18 miles. My legs are jiggly and throughout the day my right thigh sets a signal fire to prove to me how much I overdid it. The next day I am not surprised that I am too sore to workout. But, later in the day we try to go for a leisurely bike ride. I can't manage a pedalling motion. This is the first time it occurs to me that something is really wrong.

I am trying to assess myself. There is a twisting pain at the top of my right leg that travels diagonally toward that knee. No amount of Advil will touch it. I wonder if I have tendonitis. Greg calls John later that day, forgetting momentarily that we are away. I describe my predicament hoping for an answer and recommendations. Instead I get:

"I really wish you would have told me this (the beach running plan) before you went." He points out how uneven even the wave-packed sand is, creating a million invisible inclines and declines for your body to adjust to all at once. He tells me not to run. But it is a moot point. I am barely ambulatory.

When we return home I go to the doctor. They order Xrays which reveal nothing. There are a lot of theories from arthritis to labral tear to sciatica. I am frustrated beyond my capacity to adapt. Greg wisely puts me in front of a punching bag and has me striving to do real "guy" pullups. There is an unspoken plea for him to bring all the kings horses and all the kings men to work with him every day. Months of referrals and insurance battles ensue. It is September before we can get approval for an MRI of my right leg. When the films come back my doctor does not know what to make of them. She sends me to the best specialist in the area. It takes him 30 seconds to tell me that my right leg has been fractured for the past 10 weeks. Even though my pain has subsided a lot he says in no uncertain terms that the Oct. race is out.

Now, this goal which started out as just short of preposterous, has become epic in my eyes. All of that work. I was so close. I am stung by the cruelty of not believing than believing and being robbed of this now. I cannot even watch the race or volunteer for the worthy charity it represents. I am sure my running "career "is over for good. A ghost within maliciously drives home the point that my years of gluttony and sloth are surely to blame. A rational voice interrupts this assault:

"There is always a 5K somewhere, Tricia."

And the training resumes. In February, the same specialist who diagnosed me clears me to run again. I build up to the distances faster than the first time around. When the May race comes I enter despite my doubts because:
Am I healed...Yes
Can I run 3.2 miles...Yes
outside...Yes
without a water bottle...Yes
Well...let's go then.

ENDURANCE

You might think this is the end of the story. At the time I thought so too. I had lost over 100 pounds. I had pictures to prove it. But pictures are for “before” and “after” and life is for “during” or in my case, “enduring.” And not even the Kodak people can make “enduring” that photogenic.

Everything I have done, inside and outside the gym has been in some way upgraded by what I have learned by training with Greg. His sheer refusal to accept that a goal cannot be met (and met safely) has seen me through many, many firsts. The first mile I ever ran, the first pull up I ever did, he has gotten me through the first bone I ever broke and the heart wrenching, fist slamming frustration of being injured.

More than the tangible “athletic” results, training of this caliber has made me see that there is advantage in what is hard, what makes you feel your lungs heave and your pores gush. When you overcome one of these hurdles you begin to be oddly grateful that they keep showing up. It’s a throwback to early childhood I guess a constant tide of failing and succeeding: sitting, crawling, walking, running, and on and on. The struggle is… oh so infuriating… but it’s also kind of a map to our own buried treasures, miracles yet to come if only we don’t stop the digging. For me the miracle is better than the one I fervently prayed for- for decades: losing weight, being able to wear whatever and shop wherever I choose; the miracle is that if you told me I could stay this way forever without exercising I wouldn’t stop, couldn’t even bear the idea of stopping. What began as simply a means to an end has become a gift in and of it self. I began personal training to increase my metabolism intent on converting fat into muscle and we did. I continued training because in the process we turned dread into enthusiasm, capitulation into fight, work into sport, fleeting into forever. All of which has made me want to eat less, eat slower, eat better, and eat less often merely as a byproduct.

Every day I feel the need to repay the people who hauled me out of that spiral that I could not have revealed to them even if I wanted to. But how do you repay that? You answer the question not just with a statement but with your life. Do you keep training because you are afraid to stop? No. I don’t train because I am afraid that I will skip workouts or forget about supersets or proper form. I train because every minute of every day the darkest part of humanity lies in wait to snatch me back and all I have to beat back those demons is the muscle we build. Our effort is not just for me now but to strengthen the better angels in any one who feels like they can’t start over again. As Greg would say…”There is always something you can do”. Intellectually most people believe this; but they don’t know what the “something” is. If I have learned one thing it is that soldiering on alone and hoping for inspiration when there is expert help available is the worst kind of arrogance and waste.

After all, the whole world loses when someone, even someone as inconsequential as me, withdraws their power, their dreams, their light. If you or I press on without joy how can we live up to our purpose? How will I live with myself if I don’t live a life that says: “You can do this because you were born knowing how and learned how not to.” “Your muscles are designed for this and have no choice but to comply. “You can transform just like a child, who has wisdom beyond vocabulary and whose actions constantly say: “My body (I) can build on the simplest skill.”“I won’t die if I fall down or fall short”“I can try an infinite number of times”“Smart caring people who know how to do this will be right with me”

They reminded me and I want to remind you:

• Moving is a birthright.
• Being stranded is an abomination.
• There are people who come with torches no matter how dark it gets.

In some small way I pray these words make me one of them.

RECRUITING MUSCLE

So, I had this revelation. My body is not the problem. I am the problem. Now what? God knows I had tried everything short of surgery and Phen Phen. I am thinking: I have been fighting this since the second grade. I mean if mastering the calories in -calories out equation hasn’t happened since before I was allowed to write in pen or stay up past 8:30PM, what am I going to do now that I am 35 that’s going to make a difference?

In December, 2002 I walk into my friend Stephanie’s gym for the first time. I was so intimidated just crossing the threshold there was no way I could face the calipers and tape measure of the club’s initial health assessment. I decline the health screen and race through the orientation. Essentially I doom myself to the care of the least expert person in the building--me. I spend all of my time doing cardio and have no idea what to do for strength training. I saw the trainers working with clients every day; but considered this a service for “serious athletes” and an extravagance for someone like me.

One day, in passing one of the trainers asked me if I had any questions. “How bad is it that I never do any strength training?” was my reply. We talked about signing me up for 5 sessions so that I could at least get comfortable with the equipment, etc. After two sessions I recognized the huge benefit of working with someone who is simultaneously applauding your efforts and raising the bar. The impact went far beyond performing the prescribed exercises; so, I doubled my sessions. It was a major investment to me and still is today. But, if they offered me my money back in exchange for the education, motivation, and measurable results that personal training delivers, I wouldn’t take it. How much academic or professional training can you say that about? I would rather give up my college degree than what I have gained in personal training, because with every rep the person I want to be gets stronger (literally) and her opposition (doubts, excuses, and inertia) dims.