Women Who Go For the GOLD!
This morning at 4:00 am we watched in horror as Lindsey Vonn, the most accomplished woman in downhill ski racing, crashed 15 seconds into her comeback race for an Olympic Gold Medal. Olympic champions get a lot of attention, particularly those who decide to re-enter competition after a knee replacement, and a few more miles on their odometer (she is 41 years old). At the same time, we celebrated Breezy Johnson, who took gold for team USA in the same race.
Some of the criticism these women endure is ridiculous. For some reason in our culture, it is OK to critique a woman’s body size, shape and weight even while they compete at the highest levels in their sport. Mix that in with less of everything compared to their male counterparts: media coverage, endorsements, product sponsorship and cold hard cash. Body dysmorphia and eating disorders run rampant in women’s sports, because as women, we are judged differently and, in many cases, judged most harshly by ourselves.
However, like Lindsey, we carry on. Continuing to fight through our struggle to maintain good nutrition, while we train, incur injuries, face setbacks and still go out and compete.
Warrior Princesses, we are.
Every day my patients and clients make me so proud. All of you face challenges – either in your life, job, family or health. When I suggest to you to change habits, to track food, to eat something new, fuel for surgery, or more importantly, give yourself grace – know I’m coming from a place of support and admiration.
Together with Bailey, who has shared her story about training for and completing a half marathon, below, we must all keep working hard to take care of ourselves. No matter where you are in your nutrition and fitness journey, keep fighting through hard things in order to cross the finish line for the GOLD!
Best,
Karen
Bailey’s Race for the GOLD!
Race Day – February 1st
On February 1, I ran the Galveston Half Marathon. It was 40 degrees, but it was sunny, I was prepared, and, most importantly, it was not after work. Runs like the one I describe below from November paved the way for my successful finish. I am sure we all have training runs that nearly break us, but when race day proves less than ideal, it’ll never be worse than 15 miles after work in the freezing rain on December 1st.
My best friend always told me that my body remembers every run. I believe her. My body will always remember those 15 miles as something we finished, no matter the odds.
Build up to race day………
November 30
To fully understand the extent of how utterly absurd this run was, we must go back to Sunday, November 30.
I woke up at 6:30 in the morning, much too early for any civilized and rational person. Nonetheless, I had to teach Drum Corps. It was cold and rainy, but I had every intention of completing my run at 5:00 pm as soon as I was finished teaching. Drum Corps went fine, but for lunch, they served what was—objectively—the worst pizza that has ever existed. Marco’s Pizza: count your days. It had mozzarella (fine) feta, more onions than socially acceptable, more tomatoes than you could ever need, and one to three olives on the entire pizza.
Perfect.
After a miserable lunch outside of my control, I was already wondering how in the world I was going to run 15 miles on this so-called “fuel.” Drum Corps ended at 4:30, right on schedule. I had big plans of going straight home and just running until my body quit on me.
Last minute, some kind of karmic force swooped in and the entire staff decided to get ramen. This is not some gathering I could say “no” to—these people are the closest thing I have to siblings. I have known most of them since I was 17 years old, including my husband.
Ramen was a resounding success, and I got home at 8:00 pm, much too late to even pretend like I was going to run. And it was 45 degrees and rainy. No thanks!
December 1
Cut to Monday morning. Somehow, my job requires me to commute once a week, on Mondays. Unfortunately, this commute takes a whopping 75 minutes. Typically, I distract myself with an audiobook or a deafening replay of my favorite musical at the moment (currently: books about the Apollo missions).
That day was no different. I arrived at the office at a prompt 9:00 am only to find out that the morning meeting was moved to 10:00. Typical.
I got through the day and began scheming. How long it would take me to get home, how long I would be running, and how long I would have to pretend like I had some semblance of an “evening” before going to bed and inevitably waking up to another day of work, even though—didn’t I just leave work?!
So I left at 4:00, and arrived home at 5:14, and the rest of the night began.
I set out my (stylish) running vest, water bottles, electrolyte salt tablets, hat, headphones, body glide (thick thighs save lives, as they say), and gels (vanilla) the night before every long run, so I only have to walk into my kitchen and go.
Because it was 40 degrees and raining, I landed on an outfit of shorts, a long-sleeve base layer, a light jacket, and a baseball cap.
My warm-up routine is geared toward making my hip hurt as little as possible. I had my left hip fully reconstructed in October of 2016, and I am staring down the barrel of turning 30, so things are starting to get creaky. After about 10 minutes of getting the body fired up after a day of office job-ing, the inevitable happened: I have to run 15 miles.
When I do a long run, it consists of 93% gaslighting myself and 7% dissociating. Every time I walk out of the door I tell myself: “Just run home, it’s easy. All you have to do is run home.” No matter what the distance is, all I have to do is run home. This is obviously absurd, but it totally works for me.
Ok. Lead up is over. Let’s get into what actually happened.
I step out of the door, and my teeth immediately start chattering. It’s freezing. (40 and rainy, remember?) Oh well, here we go.
My neighborhood is split into basically two four-and-a-half-mile sections, with a one-mile street in the middle. Side 1 is new builds, all since 2022, with one street currently under construction (hello foreshadowing!). Side 2 was built in 1972. Our house is three houses away from the seam between the two—the one-mile street.
Miles 1-5 were on Side 1. Somehow, they were unremarkable, other than freezing my butt off. I just remember being frustrated. Somewhere around mile 3, a little group of pre-teen girls cheered for me and I nearly cried.
The downhill slide, sometimes literally, began once I got to Side 2. Side 2 is my favorite place to run. Three laps of Side 2 is exactly a half-marathon. Sometimes I just lap Side 2 and turn my whole brain off.
Not today.
I got about .5 mile into Side 2 and I get a call from my mother. The water pump on the boat, where she lives, is broken. And its urgent. So here I am, fighting for my life—freezing—and my mom is in a full-on panic attack about the water pump on the boat. I go through my entire list of troubleshooting water pumps and we still can’t figure out the problem. It’s not like I am in any position to help (re: suffering), and we end the call with no resolution.
Not less than one minute later, the “low battery” beep of doom happens in my left ear. Perfect. It’s not like I need my headphones for another two hours. No worries, it’s only my left ear and it’s not actually dead yet. We persevere.
A few minutes later, I call my husband. He’s used to being on standby after the first hour in case I need water, fuel, or to chat. Seth answers the phone, and I try to tell him that I do not need a water refill, that I am doing okay, and to see what he’s up to. He can’t hear me at all. I am met with “WHAT” and “HUH?” for about a minute before I give up and rage hang up. Cue the left ear headphone dying.
It’s okay because the right ear is still hanging in there, and I have plenty of music and audiobooks! Speaking of audiobooks, it’s getting good. I am about halfway through “Just the Nicest Couple” and we’re about to find out who murdered the husband. But my hand is wet—well, everything is wet at this point (40 and raining, remember), and I accidentally slide the player widget on my audiobook and completely lose my spot. At this point I am about halfway done with the run, with no chance of finding where I was in my book. I cannot run and figure out my audiobook, and if I stopped running at that point, I fear I would have never started again.
So, I switched to music. It was not ideal, but we made it work, me and my right earbud. I continue running for another couple of miles with no issue. I get to about 10 minutes from my house, still on Side 2, and I decide to call Seth for an aid station check-in. I am trying to tell him to come outside with the Body Glide, that all of it is off because of the rain, and my thighs are chafing like no tomorrow. He still can’t hear me on the phone, but somehow I get the message across.
Cue: right headphone dying. Excellent.
I am about 3 minutes from my house at this point. I have a general idea of how far I have run—probably around 8.5 miles, but I am not 100% sure. I am one of those people who does not check until I know it is close to over. I set my watch to not beep at every mile. I cannot handle it.
I make it home. Seth comes outside with the sacred Body Glide. I slather my legs, which, I realize, are completely numb. They feel like ice packs to the touch. Spirits are high, my phone is blasting the Wicked soundtrack for the entire neighborhood to hear, and Seth sends me on my way.
I run the one-mile barrier and head back over to Side 1. By my rough math, once I complete Side 1 again, I should be pretty close to finished.
Before we head back over to Side 1, it’s important to note the intervals. Every hour or so, I had a five-minute walk break. This would be fine under normal circumstances, but in the 40 degree and rainy atmosphere, it was misery. I got too cold, too stiff, and too pissed off that when I started running again, it hurt worse than I ever imagined. Anyways, pity party over.
I get back to Side 1, and I run for a few minutes. I decided to check my distance—the worst decision I have ever made in my life. 10.81.
10.81 – you’re telling me I’m only 70% done with this run?
Cue tears. The rain has picked up to the point where I cannot see out of my glasses, which are also now fogging up because of the heat from my tears. I told myself that no sane person actually runs a marathon, and I could totally give up and no one would know.
But I am so unbelievably stubborn.
I called Seth (Yes—again. He’s my best friend and does not think I am crazy.) At this point it is 9:00 pm. I said: “I have 5k left. Would you do this with me?” And he did not even hesitate. By mile 12, he was out there with me, in his raincoat and gloves cheering me on and running with me. I was yelling about how I would never run again, and he just kept me moving and going.
The rest of Side 2 was painful, slow, and cold. We ran out of neighborhood around Mile 14.3 or so, so we ran toward the new build section. At this point, the rain was letting up a little bit, and I could see better. What I did not see was the giant muddy area exactly where I needed to run.
When I run alone, I tend to run in the middle of the road, like I am a car. This is mostly so I do not have a weird hip drop (see hip surgery and hip pain history) and I can maintain an even gait. When I run with Seth, I hang toward the side and he is more toward the middle of the road.
The mud.
I slid about 10 feet. I yelled the entire way. I saw it—faceplant, butt plant, torn ACL, broken arm, life flashing before my eyes, at 14.5 miles, dying, terrible. But somehow, for the first time in my life, I did not fall. I just kept going. After I was done sliding, my body just kept running somehow.
We ran back home. You bet I timed out the run so 14.99 was at our driveway and I did not have to spend one second in the cold more than I had to.
Upon entering the house, I could not feel my body. I got in the shower and turned it on as high as it would go for about 45 minutes. Oh, and our heater in the house was broken—a nail in the coffin.
I wish there were some happy ending or moral, but that run sucked.