Why I Run
I love to run. I'm not particularly good at it, mind you, but I love it anyway. It's one of those things that I always come back to. Sure, the miles get cut back when life happens or goals shift to triathlon training, rock climbing, school... copious amounts of stress that eat up every minute of time, marathoning Netflix because I got addicted to a new show. But when all is said and done, when the triathlon is finished, the climbing vacation passed, exams complete, and TV show up to date, or when everything is just too much, I run.
The running never stops, it just becomes less frequent. It grounds me, fights off insanity and frustration, lets me push myself as far and hard as I need to at that moment in time. And at the end of the day, it's just me, myself, and I, free of technology, leaving the stress and anger behind, living in the now, doing something I love because I can.
When I broke my ankle, I was terrified I would never be able to run again. The amount of damage I did, the complications with the recovery, the indescribable fear when the words 'if it gets any worse, we might have to amputate' were uttered... when, 4.5 months after the injury, I limped out door and ran the most painful and satisfying quarter mile of my life, I was on Cloud 9 for weeks. And 3 months later I somehow managed to drag my crippled ass 13.1 miles with my sister on her first half marathon. The long, slow, painful recovery was an 'Aha!' moment. It's how you respond to the terrible things that make you face your greatest fears that show you what's important. For me, it turns out that not being able to run is one of my worst nightmares.
I can show you every run I've done since 6 September 2013 when I started tracking my distance to prevent myself from over-training. I can tell you when I was dumb enough to run 6 miles at -36F (18 January 2014) and got hit by a car (19 February 2012). I can prove that I ran every day in December 2013 and had bloody noses on 16 of those runs. I know when I've replaced my shoes because they had too many miles on them.
And I've loved every minute of it.
Ok, maybe not all of them (the car incident put me off my go-to route for almost a year), but even the crappiest run is worth it when you're done. I regularly have to force myself out the door because it's so much easier to not put on pants. It's easy to talk yourself out of a run when it's cold, rainy, or windy. Because running navigates the line between Type 1 and Type 2 fun. And that's why it's worth it.
At the end of the day, if I had to pick one, climbing, swimming, biking, or running, running would win every time.
Because it keeps me sane. It centers me and helps me process. It makes me a better person.
It's a part of my identity that I love.
Plus, it gives me an excuse to wear rainbow tie-dye tights.
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Why diabetes is a BS excuse not to
I'm told on a (disturbingly) regular basis that the fact I run endurance races, do triathlons, and/or go rock climbing is amazing. People are surprised that I push my physical limits. Not because I'm exceptional (I'm far from it), but because apparently my diabetes is often perceived an insurmountable obstacle. How impressive that I can keep my blood sugar under control during a marathon! Am I not afraid of what might happen? Doesn't having to know your body and how it responds to exercise and exhaustion make it all but impossible to do something that everyone else can do if they put their mind to it?
I am not unique. There are many other diabetics who run long and hard and are better at it than I am. The kind of person who can run a marathon can do it with diabetes. It's not as hard as you think. You have to be a bit of a stubborn masochist to run anyway, so why not add an additional layer of complexity? It's just diet and being prepared and listening to your body. And lots and lots of time figuring out what you need to do.
Having a kick-ass support crew helps.
But seriously. It takes time. And effort. And being really, really careful. When I started running and set my eye on endurance events, I had to deal with drastic changes in insulin sensitivity and blood sugar patterns during and post-run. When I was running shorter distances (4 miles or less), my blood sugar would drop quickly during, then spike insanely high two or three hours later. As running became a habit and distances increased, the spikes leveled out, my insulin sensitivity skyrocketed, and I began to figure out how to mitigate the lows. Only recently have I sorted out how to keep my blood sugar (mostly) level during long runs.
The hard thing about diabetes is that everyone has a different experience. It's taken me almost 6 years to take the edge off the little voice in my head that mutters about the 'what if's' and envisions the worst case scenario. To make running less scary (and appease that little voice), I always carry Gu and/or glucose tabs. I go into a run a little high and reduce my insulin to 15-20% of my regular basel rate, depending on what my blood sugar is and how long I'm going. I can feel when I start getting low - I get a bit fuzzy and stop picking my feet up all the way. So, like every good diabetic who's too stubborn to quit (and that really is most of us. We don't really have a choice in the stubborn department), I've built a safety net. My running partners know the signs and will tell me if I'm getting dumb (they often notice before I do), and they know how to administer glucagon and cajole me into eating the damn sugar packet of nastiness. On marathons, my parents/friends/whoever will meet me at predetermined points with a glucose meter, insulin pen (just in case), extra tabs, Gu, and other flavors of slightly gross sugar.
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| Glucose tabs dissolved in water for easy intake? Really, really, really gross. It works, but it TASTES SO BAD! |
I'm lucky to have this support network. I've figured out what I need to do in order to run the way I want by trail and error. In hindsight, there are some stellar training programs for diabetics who want to train for races, and I would have saved myself a lot of time and heartache if I'd done my research up front. But shit happens. I've learned to pick out diabetics during races (we're usually the ones with a glucose meter or insulin pump. Or a tube of tabs) and have on several occasions shared my supplies. On one memorable occasion (the Gold Discovery Run in 2011), I gave a woman my insulin pen. I've had people ask how I'm doing when they see me testing my blood at mile 15. This is one of the reasons I love running: people care about each other because we're all in it together. And suffering is better with other people.
When I ran the Rocky Mountains Half Marathon in August, a woman struck up a conversation with me around mile 6 when she noticed my insulin pump. It turns out she's a PA and wanted to know how distance running was for a type 1. We chatted for the next 7 miles about adjusting insulin, figuring out when to eat in order to keep everything level, dealing with changes in insulin sensitivity (by the time I was running 18 miles a week I was using around 40% less insulin per day), and how annoying having a little black box bouncing around on your butt for hours is.
We also talked about our favorite races, running shoes, places we've traveled, the strange effects of running on our bowel movements, and the wonderful and terrible reasons we run.
We decided, like every race buddy and running partner I've ever had, we do it because of the sheer joy of it.
Also, because it's really, really, really nice to be done.
Seriously. Stopping is the best part.
