Fair Weather Friends

I want real. I insist upon real. I don’t like chit chat and I’m not going to pretend something isn’t bullshit when it’s clearly bullshit.

One of the most toxic traits a person can have is attempting to invalidate someone’s feelings. It shows a complete lack of empathy and it is hurtful. Allowing it is not an option for someone who respects themselves and honors their emotions.

But there are some people who just can’t handle real. Take the blue pill, I guess. Stay in wonderland. Believe whatever you want. There will be plenty of fair weather friends for you to find along the way and to share a beer or three with.

But whenever you sober up you will realize what you’re missing.

Maybe it won’t be too late.

Non-local Quantum Soup

“There but for the grace of God go I.” A sentence spoken by the single most influential person in my life. I trust in the divine intent of the Universe and know that, as always, that which “I” experience may not be originating from “me”. This becomes especially important to realize in times of stress and discontent, and emphatically so for a physical empath such as myself. (Although truly I believe that we are all physical empaths to an extent and that people some are just unaware.)

“In the vastness of the ocean there is no individual “I” clamoring for attention. There are waves and eddies and tides, but it is all, in the end, ocean. We are all patterns of nonlocality pretending to be people. In the end, it is all spirit.” -Deepak Chopra

Witnessing the end of life

Some don’t ever truly experience witnessing the process of slow death. I’ve seen it closely, so many times, and from such a young age, and I’m not still not sure it makes any sense to me. For many years of my pre-teen and early teenage life, I lived with the slow and very painful process of my grandfather’s dying. I had to empty his urinal and clean his commode, bring him his liquid nutrition, change the television for him when he needed it, and listen to his endless wailing and loud crying about how he wished he was dead. This was every day, for years. I didn’t think a lot about it at the time, because it was the normal that I knew and it didn’t occur to me to evaluate my feelings about it. But, none of my childhood was actually normal and I knew that quite certainly, so this just went along with everything else.

Before that, when I was even younger, I think 7 years old, I had seen my grandmother in her coffin, and was told to give her a kiss as she lie there. Again, this did not seem odd to me. She died a tragic and quick death as she was sitting in a broken down car on the side of the road when a kid who was underage and drunk and driving illegally slammed into the car. My grandfather had tried to wave him away and had tried to get my grandma to get out of the car, but she was holding a painting she had recently painted of my mother and she refused to get out of the car, to her demise. When the phone call came about that, I was in the crib. I slept in a crib until I was about 8. After she died is when I was able to eventually have another place to sleep, as after that I went to stay with my grandpa in his one bedroom condo. Anyway, when the phone call came, everybody started screaming and I knew what had happened before they told me what had happened. After her death is when my grandfather quickly began to deteriorate, and I lived with him for the entire process, without my Mom. She would make an appearance daily and at night, but it was just me and bedridden him in the next room, in his hospital gown, unable to walk at all, with his constant screaming and crying in physical and emotional pain. I can still hear it now. I can still see him lying there. I’m so sorry grandpa. I should have spent more time in there with you. I usually just came and went after doing whatever I needed to do. It was so smelly and so hard to see, a grown man so defeated. My grandpa, who was a farmer and an upper level Mason who was so tough and such a good, honest, strong man. He is mostly what made me the strong person that I am, toughening me up every time I would get hurt, saying “it’ll be gone before you’re married”, telling everyone when I was a little girl carrying my rocking chair over my head that “she doesn’t just smell strong”. He taught me my multiplication tables and would play cards and games with me for hours on end. He used to ride his moped everywhere until he was in his early 80s, until grandma died, and then quickly he was consumed by terrible, debilitating arthritis and the ensuant onslaught of problems with lack of mobility. He suffered a lot for a lot of years and I was there, by myself mostly, for it all.

When Mom’s boyfriend Joe died, I had a dream the night before it happened telling me that he was going to die. Joe was kind of like a father to me, but he was also like a really good friend. I remember when the brain tumor began to impair him and watching his behavior change. I didn’t understand it at the time but I knew something was wrong and then suddenly he had to go to the hospital and have surgery I think, for maybe a seizure (I can’t remember). They thought he was going to be ok; he was doing better. Then I had the dream, I think I was probably 10 at the time. The dream was his name written in flowers in a memorial garden. The next day, when I got a call from Mom at the hospital, asking for his brother’s phone number, I knew that my dream from the night before had become a reality. Mom didn’t know it yet. It was about to happen a few hours after that. His process was more subtle and elusive, with false hope for everyone at the end, but yet it was also quite obvious to a young me, apparently.

What happened with my Dad was a little different. It was also a very painful and slow process, the physical downfall of which began with a kidney stone emergency that sent him to the hospital. He had developed dementia, however, and the emotional downfall began a few weeks prior when his wife (my stepmom) had to go to the hospital for something. My Dad called me when she was gone and I knew then that something was really, really very wrong with him. I had not seen the dementia in him prior to that. He had hidden it very well and everyone seemed to unconsciously cover for him, but when he called me last May in the panic that he was in, the mental rapid decline began and the physical would follow and cascade rapidly less than a month later. The way that the process manifested in him was troublesome and confusing to him, which when coupled with the pain he was feeling made it all very frightening. That one was the hardest for me and remains the hardest to accept. What I don’t understand is why the suffering has to occur. Nonetheless, having dealt with death already at such close range has probably helped me in coping with his loss. I recognize that he is at peace now. I’m glad that he didn’t have to suffer longer. It was already a long time, but not like my grandfather. My grandfather’s process went on for so many years. For way too many years. The closing in of my Dad’s end of life wrapped up in about a year at the most. Still, too long. Really, it was the last 6 months that were very bad.

That brings me to the reason I am writing this right now, my Mom. She has dementia. She can’t walk or stand or move her legs at all. She can’t lift her head up. She has to constantly wear diapers, obviously, because she can’t move. She has stopped eating for the most part. She will eat a few bites if you stay in there with her, but otherwise not. She has some pain, and she is on heart medication as well, but in general she doesn’t actually have a real pressing thing that is causing her end of life, other than severe weakness. She has been on a rapid decline after having caught covid in early December. Before that time she was able to walk to the bathroom with a walker, barely, but she could. Now she has just been getting steadily worse. When I saw her today, she recognized me and perked up very briefly, but that was all the response I got. I just lay there with my head on her shoulder and held her hand and told her I love her for a few hours and then left, but she was in and out of awareness (put loosely) for most of that, and didn’t say more than a couple sentences. She, however, unlike every other experience I’ve had with witnessing the end of life, does not complain. Maybe it is that her mind is so far gone that it doesn’t occur to her to complain. She appears not there mentally, but when I would ask her if she was ok she would reply that she thinks she is. So, I don’t know. This one is difficult to assess. It would appear that she is in the end of life process but she, unlike every other experience I’ve had with it, remains calm and unaffected. Logically, it seems that this can’t possibly go on for very long, but emotionally I am unable to determine what I am witnessing. The energy was solid, although very weak. I hope that she is spared the suffering. I’m not sure if I am witnessing the end of life at this time with her or not. I think perhaps not. I hope that when I do witness it for her that it comes swiftly and gently. I’ve seen her go, during the course of my life when I was a tiny child, from screaming and crying and talking about burning the house down with everyone in it and writing suicide notes after my Dad left when I was 1, to now being this being of genuine fearlessness and acceptance. Before her recent rapid decline she would say things like “it’s better than the alternative” when referring to her condition which, to me, seemed barely true even then. Yet somehow silently, it seems that she still holds this view of her condition. I think that level of fearlessness deserves the reward of a peaceful transition, whenever the time should come.

X marks the spot

Pernicious prophecy portended by the razor’s slice, stigmatizing an apoptotic abandonment.
Reminding me that part of me is dead inside, by my own choice and of my own hand.

Nothing is real here anyway, on this side of the veil. That all ended years ago when I crossed over.

As of today, however, that part of me is gone and I am all the better for it. Goodbye, Scratch.

Thank You, Florida

I had a wonderful weekend. I was able to complete my 20 mile training run in more temperate weather and then I got to spend some time with a long-time friend and also do a super fun scooter cave dive.

I ran on the Suwannee River Greenway. The weather was mid 50s, breezy, sunny, and beautiful. There were adequately spaced out gas stations for the temperature so that I was able to keep my hydration bottle refilled. Marathon training persists! I will teach pigs to fly.

Sunday was a bit chilly but the good thing about that is you’re not sweating in your drysuit before the dive.

We scootered. It was super fun and so much better than swimming, especially after having run 20 miles the day before. I liked this scooter. They’ve gotten lighter since back in the day when I started with them and it was very easy to ride and to handle. It is a Bonex Discovery RS, distributed in the U.S. by Subgravity.

James showed me around some cool places in Ginnie. The next words are taken from his social media post, verbatim. “Ultimately we found ourselves at 3000′, visiting the Bone Room, Big Room, Double Domes, Hiller Tunnel and Bats along the way. Water level is up a bit from all the rains last week, so flow is down and the crowds were sparse.”

Thank you, Florida, thank you James and thank you Hidden Worlds Diving.

Teaching Pigs to Fly

My running performance and, thus, my excitement about running a full marathon has steadily waned since October 2019, when I got really sick in Chicago right after running the marathon. I’m sure it was a kid on the bus the day before, coupled with the cold windy weather and immune suppression of running a marathon that did it, but I digress. Sure, I did run a few marathons since then, but none of them were good experiences at all. I’ve suffered ailment after ailment and just gotten slower and slower. I’m not entirely sure why, either, and it sucks.

I had been supposed to run Boston in April 2020, having qualified with my Marine Corps Marathon time from 2018, but, as you probably know, it was cancelled. I did the “virtual” Boston that year only, and I mean only, because it was Boston and because that year nobody was allowed to do the virtual if they had not actually qualified and met the cutoff time for the in-person race that year. Then I did the Publix Atlanta Marathon and it was also pretty miserable, as was the Chickamauga Battlefield Marathon. It’s just not as much fun when I’m not as good at it. I don’t know what went wrong. I think probably I felt defeated when Boston was cancelled and then just emotionally checked out. I spoke verbal curses along the lines of “I missed my only chance”, stupidly. I’m working on being better at controlling the verbal spells I release into the void. I know better. I formally retract that statement. I did not miss my only chance. I didn’t even believe that when I said it. There is always a way, even if that way ends up being aging up a bunch of times or running for a charity. If I want it badly enough, there is a way. I didn’t miss my only chance. I only missed that one chance. Fine.

This year I had chosen to use my deferred entry from Chicago 2020, so that was already on the books. I really was hoping for a better Chicago experience this time, but with the way things have been for me as a runner it just didn’t seem all that hopeful. I had been registered for the Publix Atlanta Marathon, which took place on February 27, but I decided to switch to the half marathon distance instead in early January after Winter and the ongoing cascade of suck persisted. I’m glad I switched. It rained the whole time. Despite that, however, I didn’t have a terrible experience during the half marathon. I wasn’t fast but it wasn’t awful. It was much better than the Red Nose Half had been on January 9. So, I made a decision that day and I registered for the Flying Pig Marathon on May 1 in Cincinnati, to get me prepared for my Fall Marathon training season with a warm-up race. This strategy worked very well for me in 2018, when I ran Buffalo Marathon in May and then achieved my PR and Boston qualifying time at the Marine Corps Marathon in October. It seemed appropriate also to choose this one over the other races around the same time, since it felt like pigs would fly before I ran a full marathon again. Well guess what, pigs are gonna fly.

https://flyingpigmarathon.com/

That means I have not a whole lot of time and have to jump right into the part of marathon training where it all begins to get very real, with 8-10 mile runs on Mondays and Wednesdays, 6 miles or so on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and 18-22 miles on Saturdays from then until race day. Now all I have to do is convince my body and mind to play along.

We’re currently in the first week of that, the week after the Publix Half Marathon. It hasn’t gone well for me at all this week. I don’t know exactly what has caused the ailments I’m experiencing, but they’re not unfamiliar to me and I imagine they are all related in some way. I’ve had gastrointestinal issues all week, bad insomnia on 3 of the 4 days so far, water retention, joint pain in my knees and wrists, something like a slight UTI for a couple days, a little hint of a sore throat today only, and headaches every single day. So what the hell is causing all this? More importantly, how can I override it? Obviously, I don’t know the answer to that, but damn if I’m not going to do everything I can to overcome it.

I’m pretty sure it boils down to some sort of systemic inflammation. My guess is that it is related to Hashimoto’s Thyroiditis, which I have. That can cause leaky gut, which can cause systemic inflammation, and it can also cause insomnia. I also probably didn’t give myself enough recovery after the race before jumping into working out and training. But, I had to get on the training schedule because time is short. The only thing I can really control is diet, which I have cracked down on as of today. I don’t think I had been eating poorly this week, but maybe it was just enough to trigger a problem and Hashimoto’s was waiting and ready to be a jerk about it and to make it all worse.

What I am certain of is the truth about marathon training is that it is mostly emotional, mental, psychological, and to a lesser extent physical perseverance that will get you through it. I want this. I want to rise from the flames. I’m done suffering and I’m done having an unpleasant experience doing my favorite sport. So, I press on.

This morning I couldn’t run at all. It was 50 degrees, so theoretically ideal, but I was more in the mood for something warmer. I overdressed. I couldn’t catch my breath. I walk-jogged and my heart rate was pushing 168, which I don’t even usually reach in a race unless it’s at the final sprint. I cut it short. I did 2.25 miles instead of the 6 I was supposed to do. That’s not ok. I was very upset.

This evening, I set out to get the rest of my mileage in. You just can’t skip mileage during training and expect a marathon to go well. You have to put in the work, period, or you can not do it. Thankfully, even though whatever is ailing me has not vanished yet, this evening went slightly better. I did still have pain in my knees, which means that inflammation is definitely running rampant in my body right now because I never get that. I’m also still retaining a ton of fluid and my gut is still all backed up, but I did not walk and my pace was, although not good, a closer approximation of normal. I will teach the pigs to fly.

To whatever is causing the inflammation that has been making me miserable lately, know that I will defeat you. Do you even know who I am? I’ve been to hell and back with greater beasts than you. You can not beat me. You think you can make me suffer? I will beat you into submission so hard that you will forget your safe word.

I’d like to extend my gratitude to: the weather in the upper 70s (which allowed me to run in shorts and a t-shirt), the handful of supplements I took, the gallon of water I drank, my stone cold determination to get the mileage in one way or another, someone special in my life who has been very supportive to me recently, the humor in the thought of “teaching pigs to fly” as motivation, and my Eminem playlist for getting me through it tonight.