Sunday, May 5, 2013

Renewal and (Re)growth

I helped my mom start our garden today, and the joy of nurturing these plants filled me with some necessary hope...



For as long as I can remember I've had a recurring nightmare in which my legs simply stop cooperating.  The setting varies but the experience always involves the terrifying sensation of willing my body to run, or even walk, with little or no success: I feel as if I am pushing through hardening cement, with nearly imperceptible forward progress.  I'm sure a therapist could mine this for various juicy psychological insights, but that isn't why I mention it.

Unfortunately, physical reality has begun to resemble this nightmare over the past five-plus years due to what I recently learned is a type of inflammatory arthritis (one of the spondyloarthropathies related to the HLAB27 genetic marker, which include psoriatic arthritis and ankylosing spondylitis). I'd continued to run long-distance (including a 50-miler and a marathon last October) as the effects of the arthritis grew increasingly difficult to ignore.  As someone who had probably averaged 60- to 70-mile weeks for more than ten years (and who often danced for two to three hours a day as a child) I'm very familiar with (and even appreciative of, in that warped way common to most endurance athletes) constant, underlying soreness and fatigue.  I chalked up any change in that "normal" discomfort to changes in training, shoes, sleep patterns, diet, stress, etc.  

Eventually, though, the stiffness (especially in the morning, when I lurch around like a drunk zombie) and fatigue (I pretty much always feel as if I could close my eyes and fall into a deep sleep) persisted even as I cut back on mileage and gave up long runs (my pace would slow to a laughable shuffle after, and sometimes well before, the hour mark).  In addition to roving pain in my heels, ankles, hips, and lower back my wrists and elbows started hurting occasionally and without noticeable reason.  This all came to a crescendo when I traveled back to Asheville, North Carolina, with intentions of training as a yoga instructor and immersing myself in the vibrant trail/ultra-running culture that had once been such an integral part of my life.

The insidious stiffness and fatigue wiped out all desire to carry out my plans.  Taunted by the beauty and vibrancy of the mountains and people around me I knew that something was terribly wrong.  My practical side took over and I returned to my parents' home in Connecticut to address the problem.  In addition to the healing power of my family's love I also recognized that it was time to seek some medical guidance, and returning to my job here gave me access to generous health insurance and top-notch physicians.  

By now the bittersweet relief that often comes with a diagnosis has given way to a determination to find a way to manage this condition so that it no longer buries my dreams.  Traditional treatments are out of the question for now--  even just Aleve and the mildest prescription NSAID wreaked havoc on my already tempestuous gut, so the more heavy-duty "biologics" seem out of the question.  Not to mention the major concerns I have, as an ethical vegan, about consuming substances that were tested on animals (if not also derived from them).

I just ordered a natural alternative to ibuprofen (sadly none of the local health food stores had it in stock, so the jury's still out) and am trying to be more conscious about getting more sleep.  The rheumatologist that I see didn't advise me not to run; she just said that the pain (especially in my feet and ankles) would probably get to be too much after so many miles.  Still, to her credit she admitted that she's never had another long-distance runner as a patient and was open to helping me retain that label (runner, not patient!).

So now my goal is to adapt to and accept some level of pain/discomfort as the new baseline (and accept that I may never again be told, or feel, that I run as gracefully as a deer...).  Who knows? In the long run (pun very much intended) this could actually make me a stronger runner as a deeper capacity for, and ease with, pain allows me to push beyond limits I had previously thought were impassable.  

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