complete

Running and writing. 

Two things I haven’t done in awhile. 

Two things that tend to elicit emotions and change within me. Here I am, doing both after a long period of resisting both. 

Today, on a long-awaited NO PLANS Saturday, I watched the Baylor basketball game and generally lounged. See, I LOVE the idea of having nothing happening, but once that day comes around, I typically self-destruct. The idea of lazing about is so appealing, but actually kind of makes me feel like crap. Upon scrolling through old photos, I got nostalgic about the Disney Princess Half Marathon, which was this weekend in 2018. I posted an old picture of it on my story. And then deleted. And then dug out those same running shoes and green socks (because I was Tinkerbell, of course), put on my headphones, and broke out the old Couch to 5K training app. Goodness knows how many times I have started that program over the past 10 years.

I started my little “run” - if you can call alternating 60 seconds of jogging and 90 seconds walking running - thinking how far I’d let myself slide in two years. 

At some point, though, I remembered things really weren’t all that awesome two years before either. I BARELY finished the race. I had had bronchitis and begged for a steroid shot and inhaler before I made the trip. My friends were far ahead of me. I eventually was passed by the “balloon ladies” - the very last pacers who supposedly are NOT supposed to pass you, or you will meet certain doom. I remember seeing the buses lined up that swept runners off the course and being quite sure I’d be put on one, and soon. And honestly, being perfectly okay with that. My feet hurt. I was coughing. The Florida sun was starting to beat down on me. I texted my sister and told her I didn’t think I would make it. She told me to turn up my music and keep moving my feet. At one point, while on a sidewalk right before going back into the park, a trooper on a bicycle tried to say something to me. I couldn’t hear her with my headphones in. As I took out one ear bud and turned behind me to hear her repeat it, I could see she blocked the sidewalk with her bike. She was closing the course. I literally was the last person to be allowed through right there, of about 25,000 who ran the race. My goal then became to get some people behind me. I kept moving one foot in front of the other, picking up pace as I got back through the park gates. I FINISHED. 

I got a participation medal, and I earned it. 

So today, I once again put one foot in front of the other. It was slow. It hurt. I kept my head down to avoid eye contact with passing drivers. When I turned back toward home, on my 7th interval out of 8, the very song that made me move at Mile Marker 10 of the race after my sister encouraged me came on - and judge away, but as I turned up the volume to “Gas Pedal” I felt my pace pick up yet again two years later. My body felt stronger as the momentum of my speed only helped me. I smiled really big and felt like the biggest nerd. I finished my last two rounds, then as I cooled down “Eye of the Tiger” by Katy Perry played on that silly old playlist and the smiles turned to tears. 

Let me backtrack for a second. 

Last week I got bloodwork results after my annual physical. Everything was spot on, except for low iron, and a TSH of 11.5. Despite faithfully taking my Synthroid. Normal ranges are 0.4 to 4.0. Typically under medication and treatment, it really shouldn’t go above 3.0. 

I sobbed as I read the charts in front of me on my computer. A medical reason I am SO TIRED. That my emotions have been out of whack and I’ve felt the haze of brain fog. That the new hair stylist I went to actually yelled at me for my hair being broken off and almost wouldn’t color my hair. The reason I keep losing my voice and having coughing issues. That my skin feels dry. 

I felt so validated. 

Maybe I’m not all that lazy and worthless and broken. Or if I am broken, there’s got to be a fix. 

My TSH levels and my physical body have a hostile relationship, and they have since I was 11 years old. It’s a wicked game of which came first, the chicken or the egg. The weight gain or the thyroid problems. The biggest problem being, I don’t really want chickens OR eggs or any type of poultry in my metaphorical medical farm. Since I was 11 years old, I have taken the dosage of a middle aged obese woman, when I was a lot farther in demographics than I currently am from either of those qualifiers. Initially my mom had noticed her 5th grader stop growing and needing a nap daily, and she knew something was off. The blood tests began. Once hypothyroidism was determined to be the cause, an x-ray was taken of the growth plates in my wrists. The images confirmed they were almost closed, years too early. So, I’ll have you know, despite my current 5’2”, I believe I am genetically tall and my thyroid just quit on me. 

Anyway, the new-to-me Nurse Practitioner I visited earlier this month (that I had gone to on a whim because it worked schedule-wise) saw my current dosage of Synthroid and 17 years after my initial diagnosis (holy smokes, I did NOT process that number until just now), she recommended that I add a different medication. I’m only a week and a half in, and have yet to tell if it is making a difference beyond a placebo effect, but emotionally it feels like the biggest burden has been lifted. And actually, physically, the fog seems a little less overwhelming too. 

As I finished walking home, I heard the song Golden by Ruth B. The lyrics of this ballad speak of a bad experience being the fire that turns her into bright, shining gold. 

'Cause I'm not weak, I'm not broken, I am bold

And the fire you put me through turned me into gold

I'm not done, I'm no loser

Watch me take on my bright future

Tonight I'm no bronze I'm no silver

I have to think it was initially written with an ex-lover or an enemy in mind. In my case, I dedicated it to myself, to let these adversities be poured into something beautiful. God gave me the word “complete” for 2020, so here I am, ever a work in-progress, believing “that he who began a good work in you will bring it to completion at the day of Jesus Christ.” That’s a whole different topic… the first time in four years and the second time ever I have felt a strong sense of a “word of the year.” Big things happened that year, where I could trace both God’s hand and my faithfulness to what I was asked. 

I’m excited to see what’s going to happen next this time.