Keep Christmas With You...

If you now have a sad Sesame Street Christmas song running through your head, you're welcome.

This was my #365grateful picture from yesterday, and I know that may be weird. I noticed my feelings on this when we went to a friend's house and they had their naked Christmas tree on the porch, ready to go away, and it made me happy to see it. It didn't make me sad, but happy. And then, when I saw these trees outside our apartment, leaning against the dumpsters, it still didn't make me sad. Perhaps that's just how much power Christmas & it's traditions have on me: even stripped of decoration and discarded, these trees have the power to make me smile. I love Christmas a lot, and it makes me sad that stores start the season artificially early, so that most people are ready to chuck it all out the door on the 26th. But the 12 Days of Christmas starts on Christmas. Today is Epiphany, when we celebrate the Magi bringing their gifts to baby (or possibly toddler) Jesus. I'm not ready for it to be over, but I'm not sad, either.

Happy To Be Alive Day!

Let's just put this out there right away: 20 years ago today, I tried to kill myself. That's what this is about.

On January 11, 1993, I was depressed, I thought, about a boy, so I took higher than the recommended dose of something and went to work. At work, I promptly freaked out and told my boss what I had done. She told me to go throw up, then she took me to the hospital. We were nervous and laughed, making fun of other people and myself and the situation (drinking charcoal is not pleasant, I say), but when my parents showed up I freaked out. I knew that what I had done was serious. I had to spend that night in the hospital, and I was so afraid to fall asleep, because I thought I would die and go to hell.

I hadn't really wanted to die, but just to escape. I didn't know how to deal with problems and emotions, I had been fighting depression since at least my senior year in high school, and I wanted to leave my life. If I would have had a million dollars, I would have run away and moved somewhere instead of trying to kill myself. I was mostly embarrassed by what I had done and didn't want people to know, but I ended up calling Dom in the morning and telling him, and then Carolyn called and pestered my dad when I didn't show up for biology, so he told her. I believe she said something like, "Mr. O'Brien, Robin wasn't in class, so where is she?"

After that, I got therapy and meds like I needed, though I had darker times to come later. But starting the next year, I called January 11th "Happy to be alive day." Though I had moments where I wanted to escape again and had suicidal thoughts, I knew that I didn't want to die. I don't remember every year to celebrate this day, but I was in the car this morning, heard the date on NPR, and thought, "Jan 11. Doesn't that mean something to me? OH YEAH!"

Twenty years. That's a long time. And I'm still happy to be alive. Don't get me wrong, I'm still depressed. It's part of me that may never go away. It's something in my brain; in my chemicals, and it's not a bad or defective or shameful thing. About 3 years ago, maybe more, I got on some anti-depressants for the umpteenth time and I've stayed on them since. Before I had done the thing that soooooo many people on psychiatric meds do, and after being on them for a while, I thought, "Oh, I feel better now. I don't need them!" DUH. I finally learned that it isn't about me having a bad life or not trusting God enough or any sort of need to pull myself up by my bootstraps. It's just something about my body.

So depression is like an old friend. I recognize it and know the steps to the dance. I'll admit that sometimes it takes me a little while to catch on. I'm dumb sometimes and I'll let my meds run out, then when I want to do nothing but sit on the couch, staring into space, I feel defeated. Then I'll either figure it out or Seth will say, "UM! Have you taken your medicine?" OH YEAH. That. Sometimes, even with my medicine, the depression is particularly strong. Nothing is necessarily going on in my life that is sad or stressful, I objectively know that I'm happy and have a great life, but I don't want anything. Those times always pass. I talk about them at least with Seth, if not with others, too, and they pass. I don't feel guilty about them.

My life is amazing and I'm happy to be alive. I'm thrilled to say that those people that were with me during that time are still my friends and I love them so. I'll use a word I stay away from and say that I cherish them. Thank you, friends, for visiting me in the hospital when it was obviously painful for you. Thank you for playing a super-depressing song followed by yelling at me for ever making you feel that way. Thank you, the boy at that time, for making me go to church with you after that. Thank you, dad, for telling me that "tens of people" would have been affected by my death. Thanks for putting a hospital glove on my teddy bear so that he became "Gregory, the Chicken Bear." I love you.

Thankful

Here's a copy of my latest post from ye ole training blog:

 Since about July 2011 through now, I haven't been doing a ton of running due to one injury or another. First there was some wicked tendonitis on the tops of my feet. I saw a sports podiatrist who gave me some exercises to do & I also got custom inserts. Hooray.

With the exercises & some rejiggered Super Feet inserts, I made it through the Rock n' Roll Half Marathon in San Jose on 10/3, but it wasn't pretty. I was still in a lot of pain & hadn't been able to train enough to make it a good race. I finally got my custom inserts at the end of October. On the 27th, I was going for my first run with the inserts. I was on a trail that I knew, it wasn't hard, and I wasn't pushing myself too hard, but when I went to dodge a pothole, while my foot was still in the air, I felt a pop in my knee. There was no running back to the car at all. I thought I had torn something, but an MRI showed no tear, so I just went to physical therapy for a few months.

It seems that the foot issues & the leg/back/knee issues I've had over the years are all related (who knew?), so I was actually glad to be addressing things, hoping I'd nip it all in the bud. It has taken a lot longer than I wanted it to or expected, and things aren't as perfect as I'd hoped, but I'm getting there. If I had needed surgery, it would have been at least 6 months of recovery afterwards.

I've slowly moved from elliptical only (barf) with no resistance, to some resistance, to taking "brisk" walks outside or on the treadmill with bursts of fast walking. It has been almost 6 months since the knee pop, and I ran for the first time 2 days ago. I haven't been to physical therapy in about 2 months, and my therapist told me not to even think about running until I had been pain-free for a month, but I just couldn't quite do it. I'd say I had a couple weeks pain-free (meaning no "Oh, my Lord! My knee is going to break!" moments or days where I just want to ice my knee, have Seth rub it, and I cry), but then had another "Oh, crap!" day. But I've been doing little pre-running things like jumping and just barely-not-running times in my walks on the treadmill, so I thought it was time. A little competition (even in my own mind) doesn't hurt, either. I ran into some people I knew at the gym the other day, so of course, I wanted to run instead of just walking on the treadmill.

So after a warm-up and a few rounds of 4.2 mph walking, I decided to try the jog. Just 4.3 for 30 seconds. And it was great. I walked for 3 more minutes then decided to try it again. I wasn't hurting, so I planned on just repeating that for a while. It was VERY difficult to not push it too far, so I kept telling myself what I needed to do and that I do NOT want to be injured again/longer. I focused on my stride, being sure my feet weren't rolling, I wasn't pounding, and I crouched a tiny bit, while still keeping my torso long. I did end up shortening my walk breaks to 2.5 minutes, but I stayed at 30 seconds of running. I did that until I had about 5.5 minutes of running total, then I noticed that I was at 2.9 miles. Well, I might as well do a 5k, right? Of course. So, I may have been dumb. I ran out the last .2 miles, which ended up being 2 minutes, which may have not been the smartest thing I've ever done, but it didn't come back to bite me.

So, 7 minutes or so of running out of 50, and I felt good. My knee was definitely sore and very stiff, so I've been icing & stretching a lot. Yesterday, I just went on the stationary bike for 30 minutes or so. My knee was definitely stiff, but the bike didn't really hurt. Then today, I did an outside run for the first time in almost 6 months. The dog & I walked down to the creek, and I let myself run for 30 seconds at a time for only 3 minutes total, with 3 minutes of walking between runs. Oh man, was it hard to not do more, but I am really trying to be smart about this. I wanted to run more, but I was outside and it didn't hurt, so I'm happy. The tendons on the back of my knee were pretty tight, but no sharp pain or real aching.

I've signed up for The Color Run on July 14th, and I wasn't sure if I'd be walking or running, but I think I'll be running, which is a lovely thought. I'm going to find a good training plan and stick with it, so I hope that I can do a half this fall and actually get a PR. If I'm smart & listen to my body, I'm pretty sure I can do this. Here's to trying to get into Nike this year!

Oh, I do that.

Oftentimes, when people watch musicals they think, "Who does that?  Who bursts into song for no good reason?"  I think this all the time, too.  I'm really not a very big fan of musicals because I find them quite painful.

But I do burst into song for no good reason.  I sing about dinner, I sing to my husband (yes, he sings back), and today I sang about brushing my teeth.  I am one of those people. 

The difference is that I don't have serious conversations in song.  No marital spats, theological debates, or really anything that would take stomping, furrowing the brow, or pointing a finger while doing either of those things.  I am not Jean Valjean (24601).  I don't comfort my friends with heartfelt ballads about the pain they're going through.  (Okay, maybe I'd do this, but only to get a laugh out of them at the right time.) 

Perhaps I'm in a light-hearted musical about daily, domestic life.  I'll watch out for my dogs secretly practicing synchronized moves to complement my twirls and flourishes.