I get a lot (okay, not a lot, but let's pretend half a dozen is a lot) of emails from people who find my blog who are newly diagnosed that ask me lots of questions. How do I keep my BP down? What diet do I adhere to? What alternative methods are available? How do you manage pain?
Biggest one of all--HOW DO I STOP THIS DISEASE FROM PROGRESSING?
I don't really have any answers, especially not to the big one. But 4 years into this, I've learned some things. And I've given up some things. And so this is how I live with PKD:
I eat like a normal person. Over the years, I've tried lots of different diets. I even went vegetarian for a year, and the result was increased creatnine levels, 10lb weight loss (which sounds good, but can be really bad. In my case, it was bad), and a constant feeling of hunger and general crappiness. I was happy and relieved when Dr. Steinman's dietitian told me that eating a cup of broccoli with my hamburger was probably more beneficial than leaving out that hamburger altogether.
So now I just eat mostly normal food. I work hard not to eat food out of the box, to prepare stuff fresh. I don't always succeed, and I don't beat myself up about it the nights my family eats Kraft Mac'n'cheese. I don't eat ham, bacon, beef jerky or sausage (well, okay, sometimes I eat sausage, but only if my husband grills it) because of the high sodium content. I almost never eat canned food, and if I do buy it, I always (or I try to always) buy low sodium varieties. Since changing to this diet, I've gained back my 10lbs (which is a good thing), my creatnine has stabilized, and, most importantly, I feel a thousand times better. So, that's what I'm going with until somebody tells me something different.
I manage my pain with exercise. And not only some exercise--really regular exercise. I need to work out at least 3 times a week to keep my flank pain away, but when I do manage that, it's like magic. No pain. I know that I haven't been moving enough when I feel pain again. It's not an exact correlation; last night my kidneys were really bothering me, and I ran a 5k on Saturday and another 3 miles on the trail on Monday, so sometimes pain just comes, no matter what. But flank pain used to be my constant companion. Since I've stepped up my activity, that's not the case. And that's been really nice.
I keep my BP down with meds. I'd like to say the exercise helps, and maybe it does, but I wouldn't trust exercise alone to keep me healthy. That's the bummer part of it all, but I'm grateful for meds that keep me stable.
I don't know how to stop this disease from progressing, but I do know that thinking about it can make a person crazy with fear and anxiety. I've worked through that part of the equation with some anti-depressants. I've never been on them before, and I was hesitant to add another medication to the mix. After all, can't I just depend on the endorphin rush from running to keep me sane?
Apparently not. The night my husband found me, at 3am, curled up in the bathtub sobbing was the night I decided that I couldn't live like this.
I'm grateful for those kinds of meds, too. With them, I'm able to approach life with a lot less anxiety and anger, and my family has benefited from having a wife and mother who is physically AND mentally stable. I have been told, as a rough estimate, that probably about 50% of people with PKD are being treated for mild-moderate depression. So either PKD is kind of a big thing to manage emotionally, or genetically, we're all seriously whacked. Either way, I love my Lexapro.
So that's the gospel according to me. Everybody is different, and I don't expect everybody to live like me. Coming up on the 4th anniversary of my diagnosis, this is how I am living with PKD.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Done. Now what?
13.1 miles done and done. 2:23:21. I can honestly say I felt great crossing that finish line. I had a big dopey grin on my face, and I was whooping like an idiot. My knees complained at me the next morning, and I was moving a little slower than before, but all in all, my body handled the 2 plus hours of pounding remarkably well.
I was back on the treadmill 4 days later, and ran a 5K yesterday at my son's school. I got complacent--what's 3 miles after 13?--and didn't prep for the race at all. No stretching the night before, no breakfast, no liquids.
I almost puked at mile 2.
Lesson learned---even the smallest races still require preparation.
And so I find myself now in the best shape I've been in my life. And yet, there's an odd sense of let-down. This goal has sustained me for months, and I achieved, pretty much, exactly what I wanted to achieve. I wanted to run the race maintaining a 10 minute mile pace. Done (well, 10:12, but close enough) (and don't mock me for being slow until YOU'VE run for 2 hours straight). I wanted to feel good enough to sprint the last mile. Done. I wanted to cross the finish line with dignity and happiness. Done.
Now what?
Another lesson learned---races don't change who you are on the inside.
I'm not sure what I expected would happen after I ran the half marathon. Certainly not that my PKD would go away. I wanted to do it to prove something about my body, which I think I did. I proved that my body is still capable of doing great and amazing things, that I can push this thing beyond what I think possible, and that it will respond better than I had hoped. I also developed a more profound sense of gratitude for what my body is. That's certainly something I wasn't expecting.
But I'm still the same person. What's up with that?
And so another lesson learned. If I want to change who I am, it has to come from something deeper within. I'm not sure exactly what that means---I'm still pondering it. I'm still trying to figure out who I want to be, and where PKD and my body fits into the bigger picture. And after almost 4 years of sort of obsessing over my body and the numbers and the doctor's appointments and all the rest of it, the idea that who I am transcends physical space is something that is going to take some getting used to. It's an idea that I took for granted before my diagnosis, an idea that has gotten lost in the shifting sand beneath my feet as I've struggled to find my footing. It's an idea I have to spend some time getting reacquainted with.
In the meantime, I'll be hitting the trail tomorrow with my running buddies, getting ready for another 5K in December, and perhaps even another half marathon in April.
Yet another lesson learned: post race let down notwithstanding, running is addicting.
I was back on the treadmill 4 days later, and ran a 5K yesterday at my son's school. I got complacent--what's 3 miles after 13?--and didn't prep for the race at all. No stretching the night before, no breakfast, no liquids.
I almost puked at mile 2.
Lesson learned---even the smallest races still require preparation.
And so I find myself now in the best shape I've been in my life. And yet, there's an odd sense of let-down. This goal has sustained me for months, and I achieved, pretty much, exactly what I wanted to achieve. I wanted to run the race maintaining a 10 minute mile pace. Done (well, 10:12, but close enough) (and don't mock me for being slow until YOU'VE run for 2 hours straight). I wanted to feel good enough to sprint the last mile. Done. I wanted to cross the finish line with dignity and happiness. Done.
Now what?
Another lesson learned---races don't change who you are on the inside.
I'm not sure what I expected would happen after I ran the half marathon. Certainly not that my PKD would go away. I wanted to do it to prove something about my body, which I think I did. I proved that my body is still capable of doing great and amazing things, that I can push this thing beyond what I think possible, and that it will respond better than I had hoped. I also developed a more profound sense of gratitude for what my body is. That's certainly something I wasn't expecting.
But I'm still the same person. What's up with that?
And so another lesson learned. If I want to change who I am, it has to come from something deeper within. I'm not sure exactly what that means---I'm still pondering it. I'm still trying to figure out who I want to be, and where PKD and my body fits into the bigger picture. And after almost 4 years of sort of obsessing over my body and the numbers and the doctor's appointments and all the rest of it, the idea that who I am transcends physical space is something that is going to take some getting used to. It's an idea that I took for granted before my diagnosis, an idea that has gotten lost in the shifting sand beneath my feet as I've struggled to find my footing. It's an idea I have to spend some time getting reacquainted with.
In the meantime, I'll be hitting the trail tomorrow with my running buddies, getting ready for another 5K in December, and perhaps even another half marathon in April.
Yet another lesson learned: post race let down notwithstanding, running is addicting.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Crossing the finish line
When I started this whole hare-brained (or is it hair-brained?) idea of running a half marathon, I asked 3 other women to do it with me. Along the way, we've picked up a few more who come to our training runs, and for a while, it looked like we would have as many as 8 women run on Saturday.
As it has gotten colder, and life has happened (pregnancy, heart problems, knee issues, unemployment--these women have been hit hard, I tell ya), we're down to 4. It's not the original 4 who were going to run, interestingly, but still, 4 is a good number.
Today, it might be down to 3.
My friend twisted her ankle today, possibly spraining it. I haven't seen it yet, but she says it's pretty bad. I'm almost as upset as she is, just because I know what this training has cost her, what it's cost all of us, and I know how hard she's worked. It's been an awesome pleasure, training for a big race with this amazing group of women. And I know that sentence has far too many adjectives, but sometimes you just have to break those babies out.
So she called me tonight and jokingly said we should follow Rick and Dick Hoyt's example of running, with me pushing her in a wheelchair.
I actually don't think it's a bad idea.
Where does one get a racing chair, anyways?
Still, there's a chance she just twisted it, and it will be okay by Saturday. But if she doesn't run, then we'll just have another excuse to train for yet another race.
And that's okay with me.
Wish me luck on Saturday.
Oh, and if you don't know who Rick and Dick Hoyt are, then seriously, look it up. Spend some quality time with Google and learn about one of the coolest human beings on the planet. You won't regret it.
As it has gotten colder, and life has happened (pregnancy, heart problems, knee issues, unemployment--these women have been hit hard, I tell ya), we're down to 4. It's not the original 4 who were going to run, interestingly, but still, 4 is a good number.
Today, it might be down to 3.
My friend twisted her ankle today, possibly spraining it. I haven't seen it yet, but she says it's pretty bad. I'm almost as upset as she is, just because I know what this training has cost her, what it's cost all of us, and I know how hard she's worked. It's been an awesome pleasure, training for a big race with this amazing group of women. And I know that sentence has far too many adjectives, but sometimes you just have to break those babies out.
So she called me tonight and jokingly said we should follow Rick and Dick Hoyt's example of running, with me pushing her in a wheelchair.
I actually don't think it's a bad idea.
Where does one get a racing chair, anyways?
Still, there's a chance she just twisted it, and it will be okay by Saturday. But if she doesn't run, then we'll just have another excuse to train for yet another race.
And that's okay with me.
Wish me luck on Saturday.
Oh, and if you don't know who Rick and Dick Hoyt are, then seriously, look it up. Spend some quality time with Google and learn about one of the coolest human beings on the planet. You won't regret it.
Thursday, October 08, 2009
Night at the ER
I got another "wow" from yet another health professional. I LOVE that.
Last night, I drove myself to the ER with excruciating abdominal pain and vomiting that had occurred almost every half hour over a 4 hour time frame. That wouldn't be all that impressive, I suppose, except that I'd been vomiting for 3 days. The ER doc, who I have since heard is a good and competent doctor, did a thorough exam of my abdomen. When he got to my overlarge kidneys, he got a confused look on his face, so I filled him in.
"That's a cyst. From my kidneys."
He looked even more confused, and felt the outline of my entire kidney, starting at my back, and palpating forward. He nodded, and said, "Wow. I'm impressed."
Seriously, I love that. I'm not sure why--I guess I just like to think that if my kidneys are failing, at least I can be impressive while I do it.
I told him that he should do an ultrasound, just to look at them, because kidneys like this don't just come in every day. I informed him that he was missing a GOLDEN opportunity. He hesitated, and then just laughed it off and left. I like to think he considered it. I am, if nothing else, a kickin' medical learning experience.
Instead, he ordered an X-ray, had the nurse put in an IV to rehydrate me, and ordered anti-nausea meds. As the nurse emptied the syringe into my IV, I asked her what she was giving me.
"Zofran", she answered.
Nice.
They give that stuff to chemo patients.
But I understand why it's so expensive ($100 a pill?). That stuff ROCKS. I shudder to think what our hospital bill is going to be, but I gotta tell you, it might just be worth every penny.
As it turns out, my kidneys are not failing, at least not at the moment. The ER doc thinks it was a just a nasty stomach virus that flattened me but good. He sent me home with more Zofran (score!) and told me to contact my primary care physician or come back if the vomiting doesn't subside. But he said that with the Zofran, that wasn't likely.
Have I mentioned that stuff ROCKS?
So it's been a long and puke filled week, and I'm a little pooped out (no pun intended). But I'm grateful it didn't turn out to be something more serious, and that it was nothing to do with my kidneys. I'm having an ultrasound tomorrow just to be sure (something about my condition makes my PCP want to cover all his bases. My husband told him that he had a headache, and the doctor shrugged and said "So, you have a headache." I told him that I had a headache, and he told me to call his office for an MRI.) I have never been so happy to see an IV in my life. And I have no bruising from that IV, which has to be a first, which means my nurse pretty much rocked too.
My ER visit has done nothing to ease my fears about health care in this country, and I still think there is a lot that is seriously screwed up about the way we do things in this country. But I do just want to say one thing:
Thank heavens for patented chemo drugs.
Last night, I drove myself to the ER with excruciating abdominal pain and vomiting that had occurred almost every half hour over a 4 hour time frame. That wouldn't be all that impressive, I suppose, except that I'd been vomiting for 3 days. The ER doc, who I have since heard is a good and competent doctor, did a thorough exam of my abdomen. When he got to my overlarge kidneys, he got a confused look on his face, so I filled him in.
"That's a cyst. From my kidneys."
He looked even more confused, and felt the outline of my entire kidney, starting at my back, and palpating forward. He nodded, and said, "Wow. I'm impressed."
Seriously, I love that. I'm not sure why--I guess I just like to think that if my kidneys are failing, at least I can be impressive while I do it.
I told him that he should do an ultrasound, just to look at them, because kidneys like this don't just come in every day. I informed him that he was missing a GOLDEN opportunity. He hesitated, and then just laughed it off and left. I like to think he considered it. I am, if nothing else, a kickin' medical learning experience.
Instead, he ordered an X-ray, had the nurse put in an IV to rehydrate me, and ordered anti-nausea meds. As the nurse emptied the syringe into my IV, I asked her what she was giving me.
"Zofran", she answered.
Nice.
They give that stuff to chemo patients.
But I understand why it's so expensive ($100 a pill?). That stuff ROCKS. I shudder to think what our hospital bill is going to be, but I gotta tell you, it might just be worth every penny.
As it turns out, my kidneys are not failing, at least not at the moment. The ER doc thinks it was a just a nasty stomach virus that flattened me but good. He sent me home with more Zofran (score!) and told me to contact my primary care physician or come back if the vomiting doesn't subside. But he said that with the Zofran, that wasn't likely.
Have I mentioned that stuff ROCKS?
So it's been a long and puke filled week, and I'm a little pooped out (no pun intended). But I'm grateful it didn't turn out to be something more serious, and that it was nothing to do with my kidneys. I'm having an ultrasound tomorrow just to be sure (something about my condition makes my PCP want to cover all his bases. My husband told him that he had a headache, and the doctor shrugged and said "So, you have a headache." I told him that I had a headache, and he told me to call his office for an MRI.) I have never been so happy to see an IV in my life. And I have no bruising from that IV, which has to be a first, which means my nurse pretty much rocked too.
My ER visit has done nothing to ease my fears about health care in this country, and I still think there is a lot that is seriously screwed up about the way we do things in this country. But I do just want to say one thing:
Thank heavens for patented chemo drugs.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Everybody has an opinion
When I had trouble having kids, I got all kinds of advice.
"You have to gain some weight. That will help."
"You need herbal supplements."
"You just need to relax."
"After having sex, stick your legs up in the air. That will help the sperm get to the egg faster."
I so wish I was kidding about that last one.
When I got diagnosed with PKD, the same thing happened. Surprisingly, the advice was similar, with the suggestion of weight gain and herbal supplements. People who had never even HEARD of PKD went spouting off about this remedy vs. that remedy, and how this one program helped them SOOOO much, never mind the fact that they had absolutely no idea what polycystic kidneys were. I mean, if it worked for their fibromyalgia, it would work for my genetic defect, right?
(No mention of sexual positions, though, which is actually slightly disappointing. I mean, can you think of a more fun way to get rid of a life threatening disease?)
Now that I'm running, I'm surprised that I'm STILL getting advice, now on how to run. I mean, isn't running sort of basic? Like, you just put one foot in front of the other? Oh, heavens no. There are all kinds of things to know about shoes, clothes, hydration, training schedules, nutrition, and everybody seems to think he (or she) is the expert. I found myself having a hard time not getting irritated when somebody told me that I was heading straight for injury if I didn't run a specific program, which, when explained to me, sounded like it would drive me completely crazy.
(And still no sex tips. What's up with that?)
It all makes me wonder if any of us knows anything about anything. It makes me realize how much we are at the mercy of the loudest or most popular voice, and how unless we want to spend a huge amount of time researching every method ever developed for whatever we are working with, we have to just rely on what other people tell us, and go with our gut.
My gut tells me that running 3 miles and feeling energized at the end of it is a good thing, that 8 hours of sleep and 3 days of rest during the week and eating food that is recognizable will go much farther than taking some unregulated herbal pills mixed with fish oil.
And sex. Sex is a good thing. But don't worry--I won't be sharing any tips either. You'll have to figure those out on your own.
"You have to gain some weight. That will help."
"You need herbal supplements."
"You just need to relax."
"After having sex, stick your legs up in the air. That will help the sperm get to the egg faster."
I so wish I was kidding about that last one.
When I got diagnosed with PKD, the same thing happened. Surprisingly, the advice was similar, with the suggestion of weight gain and herbal supplements. People who had never even HEARD of PKD went spouting off about this remedy vs. that remedy, and how this one program helped them SOOOO much, never mind the fact that they had absolutely no idea what polycystic kidneys were. I mean, if it worked for their fibromyalgia, it would work for my genetic defect, right?
(No mention of sexual positions, though, which is actually slightly disappointing. I mean, can you think of a more fun way to get rid of a life threatening disease?)
Now that I'm running, I'm surprised that I'm STILL getting advice, now on how to run. I mean, isn't running sort of basic? Like, you just put one foot in front of the other? Oh, heavens no. There are all kinds of things to know about shoes, clothes, hydration, training schedules, nutrition, and everybody seems to think he (or she) is the expert. I found myself having a hard time not getting irritated when somebody told me that I was heading straight for injury if I didn't run a specific program, which, when explained to me, sounded like it would drive me completely crazy.
(And still no sex tips. What's up with that?)
It all makes me wonder if any of us knows anything about anything. It makes me realize how much we are at the mercy of the loudest or most popular voice, and how unless we want to spend a huge amount of time researching every method ever developed for whatever we are working with, we have to just rely on what other people tell us, and go with our gut.
My gut tells me that running 3 miles and feeling energized at the end of it is a good thing, that 8 hours of sleep and 3 days of rest during the week and eating food that is recognizable will go much farther than taking some unregulated herbal pills mixed with fish oil.
And sex. Sex is a good thing. But don't worry--I won't be sharing any tips either. You'll have to figure those out on your own.
Friday, September 11, 2009
Missing the walk
Normally, at this time of year, I'd be timidly asking folks to donate to the PKD walk, and I'd be packing up my kids and heading down to Virginia Beach or wherever to participate in the Tidewater PKD Walk.
We're skipping it this year.
The Tidewater Walk got canceled, (I think nobody was willing to be in charge, and I wholeheartedly put myself in that category) which means that I would have to go to DC to participate in the walk. That's all fine and good, and DC probably has a kickin' walk going on, but that's quite a drive for me and my kids. The DC walk is also tomorrow morning. I have other responsibilities on Saturday night I can not ignore, and it would have meant a crazed weekend of driving.
So, like I said, we're skipping it.
I feel guilt.
The PKD Foundation is full of folks who are doing their best to help people like me. They are working with legislators, funding the research I'm a part of, and dedicated to getting as much information as possible about this disease out to the general public and to primary care providers. Sometimes I feel like I owe them a lot. Okay, I DO owe them a lot. They are an anchor in this crazy world of chronic illness.
But I really didn't feel like driving my kids on a 5 hour round trip journey.
Does that make me ungrateful?
I got a call from somebody from the PKD Foundation not long ago, asking me specifically if I could head up the walk in my area, or if I was willing to take on a more administrative role in the Tidewater chapter. I had to be honest and tell her no. All kinds of no. Adminstrative duties and fundraising aren't my thing. I know my limitations, and I know it would drive me crazy trying to manage all of this stuff. And I have little kids who are giving me a run for my money as it is, and I have to think of their needs first.
Maybe I'm using their needs as an excuse not to be involved. It's possible. But sometimes I feel like PKD invades so much of our lives already--my daily meds, my trips to Boston, my trips to my local nephrologist (wow, that's a weird phrase), my dietary restrictions (which I don't follow nearly as much as I should, but they are there). I feel like if I open the door to the PKD Foundation right now, we would all drown in a sea of constant talk about kidneys. And my kids deserve more than that, don't they? Can't they at least have the illusion of having a normal mom?
That's my thinking anyway, and that's where I am right now. Which is to say, that's why I'm not at the walk.
I'm not closing the door on involvement with the PKD Foundation. I have only awesome things to say about my interactions with people over there, and they are doing fine work. I just think I need a little while before I can be a part of it. And this time around, the walk just didn't work out for us.
So I wish everybody a happy PKD walk weekend. And don't worry--my guilt about missing it will fester enough that I'll be sure to make it next year. So you can look for my timid plea for cash then, too.
We're skipping it this year.
The Tidewater Walk got canceled, (I think nobody was willing to be in charge, and I wholeheartedly put myself in that category) which means that I would have to go to DC to participate in the walk. That's all fine and good, and DC probably has a kickin' walk going on, but that's quite a drive for me and my kids. The DC walk is also tomorrow morning. I have other responsibilities on Saturday night I can not ignore, and it would have meant a crazed weekend of driving.
So, like I said, we're skipping it.
I feel guilt.
The PKD Foundation is full of folks who are doing their best to help people like me. They are working with legislators, funding the research I'm a part of, and dedicated to getting as much information as possible about this disease out to the general public and to primary care providers. Sometimes I feel like I owe them a lot. Okay, I DO owe them a lot. They are an anchor in this crazy world of chronic illness.
But I really didn't feel like driving my kids on a 5 hour round trip journey.
Does that make me ungrateful?
I got a call from somebody from the PKD Foundation not long ago, asking me specifically if I could head up the walk in my area, or if I was willing to take on a more administrative role in the Tidewater chapter. I had to be honest and tell her no. All kinds of no. Adminstrative duties and fundraising aren't my thing. I know my limitations, and I know it would drive me crazy trying to manage all of this stuff. And I have little kids who are giving me a run for my money as it is, and I have to think of their needs first.
Maybe I'm using their needs as an excuse not to be involved. It's possible. But sometimes I feel like PKD invades so much of our lives already--my daily meds, my trips to Boston, my trips to my local nephrologist (wow, that's a weird phrase), my dietary restrictions (which I don't follow nearly as much as I should, but they are there). I feel like if I open the door to the PKD Foundation right now, we would all drown in a sea of constant talk about kidneys. And my kids deserve more than that, don't they? Can't they at least have the illusion of having a normal mom?
That's my thinking anyway, and that's where I am right now. Which is to say, that's why I'm not at the walk.
I'm not closing the door on involvement with the PKD Foundation. I have only awesome things to say about my interactions with people over there, and they are doing fine work. I just think I need a little while before I can be a part of it. And this time around, the walk just didn't work out for us.
So I wish everybody a happy PKD walk weekend. And don't worry--my guilt about missing it will fester enough that I'll be sure to make it next year. So you can look for my timid plea for cash then, too.
Saturday, August 01, 2009
The whys
I went shopping for new shoes tonight. We took the whole fam-damily, as the store was having a buy one, get one half off sale, and my husband needs new shoes too. So we wrestled our overtired toddler through the aisles, trying on shoes and getting socks that won't give us blisters. You should see the blister I have on my heel. It was bleeding profusely after my run today. There is something morbidly empowering about running until your feet bleed. Either that, or I'm totally insane.
Which brings me to the main point of the post. Why am I doing all this? That's what somebody at the store said to me as I asked his wife about her shoe preference, although I think his exact words were, "Why you be doin' all this running?"
Why I be doin' all this running stuff, indeed. I gave him a short answer. "To stay in shape," I said. He said, "You already in shape, girl! Why you be runnin' for a marathon?"
A half marathon, I reminded him, but he just shrugged and kept looking at me, waiting for a good answer. I said, "So when I'm old, I can still get around! And look good doing it!" His wife said, "Yeah, so we don't fall apart, so we can keep going!"
I gave her a little powah to the sistah fist pump, and walked away, laughing.
But he brings up a good point.
I'd like to say that it's because of my PKD, and that's partly true. Exercise helps with pretty much everything in life, including blood pressure and kidney function, and training for a big race with people who are counting on me to show up at the trail head at 6:30 am ensures that I am getting that regular exercise. I'd also like to say I'm doing it because I have something to prove to myself and others, but if that were really true, there are less painful ways to make a point about how awesome I am. And none of them involve bloody blisters.
It is also true that exercising makes me less moody, and being stronger and more fit helps me feel better and sleep deeper. These are all good reasons to do what I'm doing.
But I finally figure out the real reason I'm doing this.
I just want to look good naked.
Not a reason I can share with a stranger in the Reebox store.
Nonetheless, I feel it's a valid reason as any.
My husband wholeheartedly agrees.
Which brings me to the main point of the post. Why am I doing all this? That's what somebody at the store said to me as I asked his wife about her shoe preference, although I think his exact words were, "Why you be doin' all this running?"
Why I be doin' all this running stuff, indeed. I gave him a short answer. "To stay in shape," I said. He said, "You already in shape, girl! Why you be runnin' for a marathon?"
A half marathon, I reminded him, but he just shrugged and kept looking at me, waiting for a good answer. I said, "So when I'm old, I can still get around! And look good doing it!" His wife said, "Yeah, so we don't fall apart, so we can keep going!"
I gave her a little powah to the sistah fist pump, and walked away, laughing.
But he brings up a good point.
I'd like to say that it's because of my PKD, and that's partly true. Exercise helps with pretty much everything in life, including blood pressure and kidney function, and training for a big race with people who are counting on me to show up at the trail head at 6:30 am ensures that I am getting that regular exercise. I'd also like to say I'm doing it because I have something to prove to myself and others, but if that were really true, there are less painful ways to make a point about how awesome I am. And none of them involve bloody blisters.
It is also true that exercising makes me less moody, and being stronger and more fit helps me feel better and sleep deeper. These are all good reasons to do what I'm doing.
But I finally figure out the real reason I'm doing this.
I just want to look good naked.
Not a reason I can share with a stranger in the Reebox store.
Nonetheless, I feel it's a valid reason as any.
My husband wholeheartedly agrees.
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