The first step

On April 16, 2013, I weighed 198 pounds at my endocrinologist appointment. I don't remember necessarily crying about it, but I do remember being pretty depressed the rest of the day. It had been five months since Rich's surgery and while he was trying to put back on weight, I apparently was playing along for moral support. I was the heaviest I had been in my adult life and I decided to do something about it. I started using MyFitnessPal on my phone to track food. I used a BodyMedia armband to track all my exercise. It was incredibly slow going. Today I weigh approximately 176 pounds. Given the adjustment for clothing, I have lost exactly 20 pounds in one year. Fascinatingly, I am still basically in the same clothes but they fit differently (not necessarily better). I've gone down one jeans size, depending on the brand, and one cup size. Apparently boobs are heavy.

Over the last few months I've stopped tracking food. I've been coasting for a bit (thank you, F U February) and relaxing. I don't weigh myself that often and I don't put a ton of value in the number I read.

My goals have shifted. I have been going to the gym and lifting weights. Who would have thought that counting to 10, resting 30 seconds and then counting to 10 again could be so fun? I'm learning the difference in an incline press (which is my nemesis) and a reverse fly (which should be called the "how to hold a rapier for 15 minutes straight machine"). I'm having fun. But it hasn't been quite the challenge I wanted.

We walked 8K in March and I was pleased that it didn't wear me out at all. I can barely run a 5K, but I am miserably slow. Running is harder for me because of the cardio. I get scared that I'm going to go low. All the symptoms for low blood sugar are too similar to the same symptoms of just exercising in general (shortness of breath, sweating, rapid heart rate, feeling woozy). I tried running at the gym a few weeks ago but I had to stop because my blood sugar was 40. It's frustrating on so many levels because my muscles could have kept going and my heart could have kept going but my everything else was falling apart.

I want to figure out how to run. I understand the mechanics. I have a training schedule. More specifically, I want to figure out how to run with diabetes, and that is a bit more complicated. Peer pressure and whimsy made me sign up for the Crawlin' Crab 5K in October. Several of my friends are running in it and I can easily cover that much ground.

But today I signed up for the Crawlin' Crab Half Marathon. I'm actually signed up for both, so technically I'm taking the "Shell Yeah Challenge" over two days. As I told my parents the other night, I signed up for a three hour math problem. The running is not concerning me nearly as much as the blood sugar management. Even the training part is intimidating.

I'd rather not run on the treadmill because wow boring. But there's something to be said for being 20 feet from a fridge full of juice if I go low versus miles from home. I think my plan is to map out my run, let Rich track me via Find My Friends (AKA stalk my spouse), and be able to call home if I get stuck. I wish I could just throw on shoes and a high impact sports bra and hit the road, but my life takes a bit more preparation.

For those curious or interested in following along, I'm using the Hal Higdon Novice 1 Training Program. Since I have 25 weeks until the race, I'm doubling up each week to give me time to adjust and not freak out. I'm using MapMyRun on my phone to pick out routes and track my progress.

Yesterday was my first day and I worked on stretching. I chose the Injury Prevention session on DoYogaWithMe.com and it was perfect. Today is my first three mile run and I am a little nervous. I am even more nervous about my four mile run on Sunday, as that will be the furthest I have ever run in my life. I also will be doing it in Richmond for Easter which is not nearly as flat as Ocean View.

I'm worried that I will suck at this. I'm worried that it will be too hard. Not the running, mind you. The math. How many raisins do I need to eat and how often on each run to keep my blood sugar stable? What should my sugar be when I start and when I stop?

This may be the only thing in my life so far that I've felt like diabetes made harder. Pregnancy was annoying but not that bad. Traveling, working, and every day issues don't bother me. But this is the first time I've paused before trying something. Which is why I'm writing today. If I write it down it has to happen. I am equal parts nervous and excited. Wish me luck!

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.

One step at a time

Things I learned this evening during my run. 1) I'm slow. Holy crap slow.

2) The difference between running 5mph and 6mph is the difference between feeling like you might die and knowing for certain that you will die, either from exhaustion, embarrassment or propelling yourself off the back of the treadmill into the screen door.

3) It is possible for the side of your boob, encased in sweaty Lycra to flay open the tender flesh of your upper inner arm as you pump them in time with your legs. The flesh shredding is more intense on the side with the larger boob.

4) There is nothing more ridiculous than "running" at 4mph except doing so with one's tender arms extended out as if performing the Chicken Dance at a roller skating rink. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.

I had a hard time tonight. I spent the last mile loudly chastising myself (with my elbows out to save my flesh. Clap. Clap. Clap. Clap.) about being so incredibly slow. Pure stubbornness is the only reason I finished 3.125 miles (5k) tonight in the abysmal time of nearly 45 minutes. At this rate, those police escorts for the Labor Day half marathon will definitely be shooing me to the sidewalks so that people can get on with their days.

John (the bastard who convinced me to sign up for this damn race) said glibly "if you can do an 18 minute mile you're fine." I would like to point out that a 15 minute mile is currently kicking my ass and I'm only doing three of them. Doomed is a word that comes to mind.

So I'm putting that race out of my head. I'm going to think about the 5K I'm doing in NYC next month. I'll see how that goes. I'll keep running at least 9 miles a week. I'll try some yoga and will ride my bike some more. And when Labor Day rolls around we'll see how I do. My goal is merely to finish in front of the police escorts.

Part of this self pity I later realized was brought on by a plummeting blood sugar. Stepping off the treadmill at 46 mg/dL can make one feel a bit defeated. Weepy even. But a soda and a shower have soothed those pains for now.

And tomorrow is a new day.