Chapter 1: The Race
June 10th, 2010 I completed a half ironman triathlon in Boise, Idaho. That means I swam 1.2 miles, then immediately got on my bike and rode 56 miles, then changed my shoes and ran (walked) 13.1 miles. In less than 8 hours. While I am proud of the physical and mental achievement, it was also a pivotal moment in my journey through depression.
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Our first four years of marriage weren’t a cake walk. Don’t get me wrong, we had a great time. We would not have gotten married if we weren’t “in love”, but it took awhile to figure out how to live with each other with my free spirit messy habits and his German flavored OCD. He talked loudly and I shut down. Conversations turned to arguments easily with our combination of personalities. I’m sure my undiagnosed depression didn’t help a bit.
We had our struggles with regular marriage stuff like in-laws, money, and all the little things that constantly nag at couples. We had been in and out of therapy to help us overcome our arguments over laundry, dirty dishes and of course “tone of voice”. He folds laundry differently than me. Sleeves in, fold square. I'm more of a, fold it till it fits in the drawer, kinda girl. It seemed like the silliest things brought on, what I thought at the time, were big fights. We would work through it and move forward, get over it and be fine for a while.
We kept ourselves very busy; every weekend was scheduled. Evenings were set for workouts or nights out with friends. We had a full life, as in our life was full of things and stuff and places and friends. But somewhere in that full life a piece of us, or maybe just a piece of me, was starting to decay.
We had been trying to get pregnant for two years. Something I was pretty hesitant about. Why? I don’t know. I wasn’t ready. I had always said, I’ll have kids when I’m thirty. I want to spend my 20’s having fun! Fun? Define fun?
Really, I needed my twenties to figure out who I was with and without my husband. Though, maybe having a child would help me settle down emotionally. Maybe having a child will fix my anxiety. I needed something to work for. At 26, I had graduated college and started a career in fitness. Something I wasn’t passionate about, but something that passed the time and kept me in shape. After two years in that job I was getting bored. I managed a corporate fitness center in the basement of a large building. No windows. No employees. Just me. I wouldn’t say the best thing for a depressed person is to be stuck in a dungeon with a bunch of heavy weights. I wasn’t motivated and I didn’t want to be there. Sure, people came down a few times a day to workout and I would lap up their conversations if they were willing. I did have some great friends that came out of that job. It was an easy job too so I’m not sure what I was hoping for. Something more challenging? Something less challenging? Does this exist?
I told my husband I was going through a quarter life crisis. Post college, thinking I should be making a massive difference in the world. I guess it is perspective. Are you making a difference to one persons life today? Do you have to be changing thousands or hundreds of thousands of lives to make a difference? I believed at the time that one wasn’t enough. So every moment of every day I was contemplating my next move. My world takeover. Deciding to get pregnant was the best solution. I could be a stay at home mom and take over the world later. You know, when I had it all figured out. I had a plan. Alas, God… the universe… Yoda… had a different plan.
There was no reason we should be infertile, but here we are exploring some very confusing territory. Infertility. We had no family history of it. My periods were regular. I was fit. My husband was fit. In those two years countless friends had made their joyous announcements while we continued scheduling sex and booking weekend trips only couples without children can really enjoy. Which really weren’t all that enjoyable because everytime we booked a trip, I would assume THIS would get me pregnant. If we plan a trip to Vegas, for sure I will get pregnant. If we get scuba certified, for sure I will get pregnant before the trip. Without a doubt booking a skydiving adventure would get me pregnant, but alas I still had to jump out of a plane because apparently I would never get pregnant. Apparently you can’t trick your body into getting pregnant. But I had some tricks up my sleeve I hadn't yet tried. I’m sure your asking yourself, well did they try having sex? Did they try xyz? You know, my sisters cousin-in-law got pregnant by eating organic pomegranates from the Amazon (the forest not to be confused with the internet industry we have today) all day every day for 3 weeks. Have you tried that?
Yes. I tried all of it. EVEN SEX.
I refused to get any fertility treatments. I am too young to be infertile, I said. It's a waste of money, I said. Maybe Yoda doesn’t want me to get pregnant. What if, my spawn is darth vader? The truth was, I couldn't emotionally do it. It was too much for me to handle if it didn't work. I had too much anxiety as it was, I didn’t think I could take one more bit of failure and I knew this would fail. I would end up blaming myself. I’m blaming myself anyway, but that would be worse. To make a consious decision to become a total and utter crazy person.
So we continued going, going, and going on with life.
You have to understand Justin and I a little bit. When I met him…in a bar…he was dressed in a see-through Elvis costume and for some unknown reason, kept talking to me. A year later, after getting the image of his tighty whities out of my head, we started dating. When I started dating Justin I learned, he was working full time as a spacecraft engineer, in the process of getting his masters degree, playing on a club volleyball team 3 nights a week, volunteering as a ski patroller 3 hours away on the winter weekends, training for a few triathlon/cycling events so he could race on the summer weekends and apparently he had his pilot’s license on the side…you know just in case he a spare moment. I on the other hand, was working full time, playing at open mic nights one or two nights a week, and finishing my associates degree. We like to DO and GO. The whole BEING isn’t really how we work. We move forward. If one thing isn’t working, we go to the next and we keep on going. Either we get better or we move on.
Four months later we moved in together, and two months after that we were engaged. Once we knew, we knew. It was a done deal. No time for being -- only doing. I suggested we elope but we were the first of both of our families to be married so we went the traditional route. Also, my mom offered to pay for some of it. Or all of it. Regardless… marriage.. It happened.
I had big plans for us. He had an extremely stable career and was very fit. All of the jobs I had worked at created massive anxiety in me. I would cry on my way to work and cry on my way home. Every job I held had this effect on me. So I kept looking for less stressful jobs. First I was an administrative assistant – for four different companies. Maybe it’s the people causing me stress, so I would move to another one. I don’t do well sitting in sorrow, so I would move on. Then I figured it was the career field, so I went into the fitness industry. We worked hard paying off all our debt so I could go to school full time and fulfill my “right now” dream of becoming a fitness guru. I could make my own hours and be super fit. I could be as fancy free as I wanted to be. Once I was out of school I got a job “just until I got pregnant” because really I just wanted to stay home and do as I please. Play music, do a little fitness business on the side, meet with friends, be a mom and be free.
Well here we are at 2010 and I’m not pregnant, I’m still working, I’m super fit, and I’m pretty depressed. My life wasn’t moving forward as fast as I needed it to. When I say I was pretty depressed, what I mean is I was suicidal. I didn’t think I was suicidal, because only crazy people are suicidal. I was clearly not crazy, just depressed. Look, all I wanted to do was throw myself off a bridge and get injured long enough to get some good pain meds and lay in a hospital for a few months where I could finally rest. I didn’t want to DIE, but living in this way with constant anxiety was not my idea of living. That, my friends, is the definition of suicidal. There was no reason for this. I had an amazing husband, a good job that was pretty darn easy, a flexible schedule, a house, and an occasional vacation…and I was depressed.
Instead of throwing myself off a bridge, I decided I would just sign up for a Half Ironman. As fancy free as I wanted to be, I also wanted to control all the things. For sure if I sign up for an Ironman I will get pregnant.
It’s possible that rather than partying through my twenties I just made a series of decisions that forced me to avoid my emotions all together? How do I know this… years of therapy in my thirties.
Part 2
I started Ironman training on top of teaching several exercise classes a week at my job. I wouldn’t hit every one of my workouts, but I probably hit seventy percent of them. That was good enough. It didn’t really matter; I was going to be pregnant before the race anyway.
Training for a long race is probably the most boring thing I have ever done. I remember sitting on the bike trainer in the middle of winter literally going nowhere in my basement for two hours. I did this on a regular basis. It was mind numbing. How the hell did (and still does) my husband do this all the time? There were also those beautifully warm Colorado winter days where I could run or bike outside. I preferred those days. My long run route took me past a little farm that included one buffalo. I did some extra sprints past the buffalo, as if that would save me. As my cattle ranching father says, “Fencing is merely a suggestion for buffalo,” which is probably why he stuck with cattle. Don’t worry, the suburban buffalo spared me each and every time.
Often times I’d find tears running down my face as I was running indoors or outdoors. A few memorable times I collapsed to the ground in tears hating myself...in so much emotional pain. So I would get back up and run until I had enough physical pain to cover the emotional pain.
As the training progressed over the weeks and months I would get more and more tired, to the point where I remember coming home from work, opening a can of coca cola and jumping on my trainer. Like I had to have caffeine and sugar just to physically get on my bike at home. I recall laying on a table while teaching spin class once. Yes, laying on the table shouting out commands. My class was less than pleased, but I was too exhausted to care. I locked the spin room after everyone left and napped on a yoga mat. I did this every day for weeks.
Shortly after, I went to the doc, obviously hoping for a positive pregnancy test and instead getting a positive mono test. It was clear to me that my body was fighting back pretty hard. How about I give you all the symptoms of pregnancy without the baby? Does that sound good? So I fought back harder. I booked a half marathon a month before the ironman. The night before the half marathon I was puking my guts out. Do I even bother with a pregnancy test? Of course I do, because I’m sick and twisted like that. Congratulations, you are carrying…the flu. The mother fucking flu. Seriously. I skipped that half marathon and schedule another one two weeks out. This time, I started and I finished in a raging sprint. I’m ready for the Half Ironman.
The goal in the half ironman is to not die. Finish the race and don’t die. Or do die, by this time I’m so done with my body I don’t really care. Again, maybe I can get some sort of triathlon injury that will keep me at home and on pain meds for a few months. My body has screwed me over so many times the past year.
During this entire training period I am angry. I am pissed off and angry. I deserve better than this body, so to prove my point I will complete this Half Ironman. I will finish this race and push my body to the brink of failure. My body has already failed in so many ways without my choice, so on this day I will physically break myself. I now have control over this. Or so I thought.
I started the race that day with fire in my belly. I was nervous, but I was also pissed off. I got in the 60 degree water and swam faster than I had ever swam. I think I put most training into swimming out of fear of drowning or being chased down by fresh water sharks. Look -- open water is scary. I swam for my life and I lived. This may need to be said. I don’t actually believe in freshwater sharks, but when you are in open water and you can’t see what is beneath you, it’s scary and your mind plays funny games and makes up terrible monsters. I literally had a panic attack every time my hand hit something squishy or solid. Why? Why are there squishy or solid or stringy things in this lake? Just finish this part, live so you can kill yourself later. Either way, I finished the swim even with the mythical beings in the lake.
I felt I was winning. My mind was beating my body into submission! I got on the bike and started down this long two mile 20% grade hill. I my plan was to coast those first two miles down that magical hill, but alas the heavens erupted and wind came down as if to tell me… Game on sister. Game. On. It came so hard that I had to pedal down that hill, just to hit the bottom of it and pedal up the next hill. Every direction I turned on the bike the wind was in my face. Twenty-five mile per hour wind in my face for 56 miles. It was happening again. The winds are on the side of my uterus. My uterus was on the side of whoever decided to make me a short five foot two. And the universe wanted me to suffer. They want me to fail. I became angry, I cried, but I pressed on. This isn’t over.
I got a flat tire and praised God for his mercy on me. Now I don’t have to finish the race. I can be done of no fault of my own. I parked my bike and sat down on the side of the road with a sigh of relief. I didn’t quit, I’m just too tired to change my tire. Ok, I probably could change my tire I just didn’t want to. I was arguing these things with myself when a volunteer for the race came over and fixed my tire. I thanked him, begrudgingly. The winds weren’t done with me, they wanted more. So I got back on the bike and continued on. I took my beating. I deserved it. Yet, I had hours on that bike ride to think about all the reasons I didn’t deserve the life I wanted.
I decided I would be done when I hit transition. I could not continue on. It was over. I pull into town coasting, tears streaming down my face.
Then, triathlon magic happened. Every couple of miles there were crowds of spectators cheering and since I was the only bike coming through at the time, they were cheering for me. I gained energy through the cheering crowds and would coast through the quiet neighborhoods. Pretty soon people were on every corner on the street and I couldn't coast anymore. This odd feeling of excitement came upon me.
Then there was my mom. I get into transition and I see my mom waving two rainbow colored dusters she had picked up at the dollar store. (Her favorite store) My parents had driven 13 hours to watch me destroy my body and there she was jumping up and down with her dusters like a crazy woman. She isn’t one to show a lot of emotion and she was making a spectacle of herself just for me. My father was keeping his distance from her for obvious reasons, but smiling at me which is code for YOU CAN DO IT and also PLEASE don’t tell anyone I’m with your mother! Justin’s parents had flown out to watch us race as well. There was also the twenty members of our local triathlon team I was traveling with waiting to see me on the run. So I told my angry mind and my tired body to shut up. You don’t get a say anymore. I got my shoes on and hit the streets of Boise on foot. I could not disappoint my people. 13.1 miles and I will have done it. I will have conquered this feat. I am in control of creating physical pain to my body today and I am achieving it.
Every person I recognized gave me the energy to make it just one more mile. It was a two loop race, which means you run right past the finish line halfway through just to get back out on the course for another six and a half miles. That is something I like to refer to as ‘super shitty’. Although, I did get to run past the finishers crowd and got some necessary encouragement to push through the next six miles.
I remember seeing families along the race course cheering their spouses on. Little kids screaming, “GO DADDY GO!” Will Justin ever get to hear the screams of his kids cheering him on? Will I ever get to hear the screams of my kids cheering me on? My sadness returned. Why am I doing this race? Why am I doing this to myself? I am only here because I cannot have children. I just knew I would get pregnant if I signed up for this race and here I am, not pregnant and in the middle of my own suffer-fest. I need someone to blame for this.
We didn’t even know why we couldn’t have children. For the past two years I had been calculating ovulation and scheduling sex. We had a few tests done, but ultimately there was no specific reason for our infertility. Was it because we worked out too much? Clearly I was so anxious about getting pregnant, that was probably the reason I couldn’t get pregnant. At least that is what “everyone” said. Once you forget about it and relax you will get pregnant. I didn’t understand how I could just forget about it. How do you forget that your life isn’t moving forward in the way you had expected it to since you were a child? How do you just let that go? Just give it to God, they would say. Every time anyone made mention of God during our infertility struggle I drew further away from the church and from my spirituality. If God required me to relax to have children then God should not have put the desire in my heart for children. God is a jerk, I would think.
My chest was getting tighter and I realized I needed to get my head back in the race or I would collapse of emotional exhaustion. The goal was physical exhaustion, not emotional exhaustion. I walked a ways and took a few deep breaths. Pick up the pace and told myself, “It will help you forget.” My emotions were giving me chest pain, let’s see if I can replicate it through physical pain. Oh good, I can. I maintained that pace for a while then would fall back into walking which would bring back up the thoughts and push me back to running. Then I would see someone I knew and would notice myself completely adjusting my demeanor. I was running eyes to the ground, hunched over, frown on my face, crying…or almost crying. Oh right, people are cheering me on, pull it together.
My team thinks I’m here because I want to be here. They didn’t know why I was racing. I suppose everyone has their reasons. The physical challenge! The mental challenge! To prove I can do it! To push myself!
Those were not my reasons. I was punishing my body. I wanted to suffer. I wanted to prove that I had some control of my body and that I could push myself to do something I wanted it to do.
I was getting close to the finish line now. The crowds were getting closer and closer. I had to push through and finish the race strong. They must see that I am strong enough. They must see that I have the courage to run the race strong. They must not see me as I am. A failure.
The finish line was just ahead, but my physical and emotional struggle were far from over. I crossed the finish line relieved that the race was over, but nothing was over. I had finished, but I felt like I never started.
I proved to myself that I can make my body finish 70.3 miles in one day, but I cannot make my body give me children.
I am tired. I can’t live like this.
