Getting stronger

I ran yesterday and it was fun. And today, I had Rich take this picture of my arm.

I'm no Linda Hamilton by any means, but there is certainly more definition there than there has been in ... well, ever.

I took a "Step and Sculpt" class today at the JCC after work. Ian went to the playground for a bit and then played basketball with Rich and then they came up to see if I was done yet. He informed me that I was gone "forever" and then was full of questions. "Mommy, why are you so sweaty? Mommy, you looked like you were dancing in there! Mommy, why did you go to that class?"

I told Ian that I went to that class because it was fun. But also because it makes me stronger. And just like we tell him that he needs to eat good food to get strong, he also needs to use his muscles to get strong. I told him that since he keeps getting heavier, I need to exercise so I can stay strong enough to lift him. I'm actually very proud of myself that my answer for him had nothing to do with weight.

After we went to dinner and Home Depot (seriously, we've been there almost daily for the last two weeks), he ran into my arms as we headed to the parking lot. He shouted out, "Mommy! You exercised today so you can carry me!" And as much as my knees wanted to buckle at first and my arms burned from his 45 pounds, I grinned.

Don't sweat it: adventures in type 1 diabetes, weight loss, fitness and bladder control

My goals are to have good blood sugar control over time, lose another 10-15 pounds, and have Michelle Obama arms. But nothing is simple, you know? I was on target Friday for a reasonable set of meals. Unfortunately, I went low twice on the plane while we were stuck on the tarmac and the only snack I had handy was pretzel M&Ms. They're delicious, but that was 360 calories more than I had planned to have while just sitting on my ass in a plane. So I started dinner with 196 calories left for the day. That was unrealistic. I ate reasonably and at 10pm my blood sugar was 160. I was fine with that and figured the pump would alarm if my sugar started to climb. My pump did its duty faithfully from about 1am until 7am when I woke up, but it was under the 50 pounds of covers provided by the Marriott so I never heard it. I woke up with a sugar of 331 and a low pump battery. So. Angry. I love that my Minimed sensor is built into the pump but I hate that it doesn't have sufficient range that I can put my pump outside the covers and still have it work. I could really be tempted to get a separate sensor just for that one reason.

I grumpily put on my workout clothes and wasn't sure how much insulin to take as a correction. I was about to get on a treadmill, but my sugar was really high. Rich was heading to breakfast and I wasn't sure if I should eat yet and how much. I also hated that all this had put me in a foul mood first thing in the morning and my teeth felt all fuzzy and my head hurt and dammit, why didn't my sensor work better? I opted for oatmeal, a banana and a bagel with Rich and then planned on running all that off.

I ran for 45 minutes. I didn't turn off my pump like I normally do, but I also hadn't taken any insulin for my breakfast which would have been probably 6-7 units. About 30 minutes in, I decided to take 3 units and see how that would fare. After running my sugar was 153 but I had two down arrows on my pump telling me it was going to possibly tank. I suspended the pump for 30 minutes or so to see what it would do, since I still intended to do some sit-ups, push ups, and other stuff in our tiny hotel room. By 11am I was at 147 and fine with that.

We walked 1.25 miles down Michigan Avenue to lunch and my sugar was 114 when we sat down. I had salad and a small steak sandwich. I only took 3 units for the bread, anticipating another 1.25 mile walk back to the hotel. My sensor has not quite recovered from this morning so it keeps thinking my sugar is around 150 (so it keeps alarming to warn me) but it's really more like 120.

That's all the logistics from my day so far, but I wanted to talk about some of the emotional stuff. It's frustrating that blood sugar maintenance and calorie control can seem at odds with each other so often. I also would have loved to run down to the Navy Pier this morning versus watching Good Morning America on a tiny TV in the crowded Marriott fitness center, but I'm not willing to risk a low blood sugar miles from home and there were just too many factors this morning between a roller coaster of sugars and foods and travel.

I absolutely love running. I thought it would be boring but it's very zen for me. I am so slow but I just don't care. No really, however slow you are? I'm slower. I don't have to change the pace on the treadmill between my warm up walk and my run. I rock the 15 minute mile and I'm fine with that. I don't want to run with other people. I just want to listen to my playlist and do my thing.

And holy smokes would I love to not have to get off the treadmill every time I have to cough in order to avoid wetting my pants. It's a little ridiculous. I would have to jump off the treadmill to the side bars, cross one leg over the other, do a little squat, cough, and then hop back on. We'll just call it cross-training. As a few coughs snuck up on me, I failed to make it through my entire workout with my bladder control intact. I am going to make one of those Map My Run apps that rates how many of the miles I ran were with clean, dry undies. You all can click "Like" on Facebook to cheer me on through my kegels. Absolutely. Ridiculous.

But once you've wet your pants, you no longer are worried about if you look ridiculous singing along to your iPod.

Beating the Heat (and my feet)

Saturday was my second 5K race, this time in sunny Richmond. I finished Couch to 5K in early May just in time to have my first 5K on my 35th birthday (May 20). But as I've been reading from others, once you can run a 5K it's a little tough to know what to do next. Some try to increase distance. Some try to increase speed. Some try to do both so that they get a more intense workout. But I decided to decrease footwear.

Instead of my next run after my inaugural 5K being 3.2 miles or so, it was a measly mile. But it was a mile without shoes. Several things came of this. First, I learned that I'm still pushing off with my feet a bit, though only on the right side (as was evidenced by a blister forming on only one foot). But more importantly, I learned that if I use the right form, I'm faster, stronger and significantly happier! All those sounded like good reasons to stick with it.

This entire month I've worn nothing but my huaraches sandals to work and around town. And whenever possible I've been dumping them in favor of going barefoot. All that has been great. It's nice that it's warm outside so I don't have to worry about getting "cold feet" in this new endeavor. And all my workouts on the treadmill have been barefoot. They've been ridiculously short as I work on toughening up my feet, but they've been pain free and I'm still breaking a sweat.

Fast forward to this Saturday, though, when I wasn't sure what to do about the race. I was up to running 1.5 miles or so barefoot but that was all on the treadmill which is an extremely controlled environment. I wasn't quite ready for downtown Richmond, particularly considering when we parked that morning for the race I opened the car door to an entire chicken wing dinner discarded in the street at my feet.

I brought the huaraches and my Vibram Bikilas. My feet felt good in the sandals while we wandered around the starting area. I foolishly thought I would be fine in them given I'd been walking in them exclusively for the last two weeks. Nope!

Mr. Smith had registered for the race with me and when they sounded the siren to start, we headed off together. Mr. Smith is already much faster than I am, talking about how he's working on getting under a 9 minute mile, but he kept pace with me as we both ran down the hill and around the first corner. At that point, I had already realized the error of my ways, but it was too late to turn back. My sandals were too loose for running so they shifted from left to right under the ball of my foot. The cord between my toes would shift so that it would actually be under the ball of my foot as I landed. This was not part of the plan.

I made it maybe the first 3/4 of a mile before I had to walk. Surprisingly, Mr. Smith walked with me. We talked about my shoes and his shoes and races. After a bit I thought I was ready to try running again. We took off, but it was the same problem all over again. I could keep the sandal stable but only by curling my toes, which is the exact opposite of good form.

I stopped and tried to tighten them but was afraid of going too far in the other direction. I was also feeling really short of breath and frustrated by that. I'm just so damn slow! So we walked again. We talked about the trains. We talked about Facebook and camping and the kids. It was really nice. I tried one more section of running but after suffering through the big hill I felt the balls of my feet starting to burn and I was afraid blisters were not far off. I broke the news to Mr. Smith and he reminded me that he drove to Richmond so he could run a 5K with me, not so he could just run a 5K by himself in a strange city. I was relieved.

When we got to the last stretch towards the finish, we decided to give it one last go of running. My form was awful. I was heel striking. I was shuffling. I was panting. But I was at least running so that I could run across the finish line.

Our time was crazy slow. We finished at 39:23. I picked up my medal, walked over to the curb, took the water that Regan handed me and immediately poured it all over my naked feet. Holy toes that felt amazing! I surveyed the damage and was pleased to see that I managed to avoid any blisters, just some tender spots. I was also proud that I started the race with a blood sugar of 116 and finished it at 112. By the time we got to brunch, I was still at 106. Diabetic running success!

On the drive home I was disappointed in myself. I felt slow and crappy and sore. My stupid Vibram shoes were in my bag! If I had just worn them I could have probably shaved five minutes off my time. I told Rich how I felt naive and foolish.

In retrospect, the people who finished five minutes ahead of me didn't get anything that I didn't. We all got water and bananas and medals and t-shirts and friends standing around smiling and congratulating. There were folks cheering us all on no matter if you finished in 18 minutes or 57. But unlike many of those that finished ahead of me, I learned more about my body on Saturday. I learned that I still need to work on my lung capacity. I learned that hills aren't as bad as I thought they'd be (easier than the head wind we had on the oceanfront last month!). I practiced not braking as I came down a very steep hill while a mother and daughter next to me made airplane arms and laughed. I listened to my feet and heeded their warnings. I felt my hamstrings engaging and my quads relaxing. I bent my knees. I kept my head up. I spent the entire race with Mr. Smith (thank you, Jason!) and got nearly 40 minutes of uninterrupted company with him.

And today, 36 hours post race, I am 100% fine. We went for a long bike ride yesterday and my legs are pleasantly sore from that. My feet are barefoot right now and don't hurt a bit. My ankles and calves and achilles all feel strong.

I saved both race bibs from these last two races and decided to write notes on the back of them about how they went. I noted the date, the distance and my time. But I also noted what shoes I wore, how I felt about it and what I learned. Writing all that down, I realized it's not about my finish times but about the experience. Running barefoot feels really amazing. It's all about muscle memory and perfecting a form. I really get that. I get that more than I get mileage or heart rates or anything else.

My next official race isn't until BlogHer at the beginning of August. We'll see what footwear I bring that day and what I learn from it. But I'm still looking forward to it!