DISCLAIMER: this is a very graphic post and there is lots of swearing. Look away now if squeamish or don't like swear words…
. . . I have wanted to write this particular blog for years now but never had the courage to do so. I am normally a very open person (read: over sharer!) but this particular topic has held me to secrecy through shame and embarrassment. You may have seen on the news some months ago, of a person getting around Melbourne pooping in someone’s carport, nicknamed the Poo Jogger. Well I have a confession to make. I am a poo jogger. Not THE Poo Jogger of course, but alas the name still fits. For those of you reading this that I know in real life, if the next time we meet in person I don’t make eye contact, this is why. It’s not you, it’s me. For some reason, poop and bowels and basically anything in that region is still considered to be taboo. It shouldn’t be, but unfortunately it is and I am suitably embarrassed by it. However, maybe by sharing my story it might help others to feel less embarrassed and to even seek help from a professional. It all started a few years ago, very occasionally and random, but sometimes I would be running and feel the urge to go #2. Once or twice, I would’ve been far away from a toilet and faced with the dilemma of what to do. Do I get someone to come and pick me up? Or do I stop running and walk home instead? I didn’t really think much of it, until the time I realised that it wasn’t waiting for anyone and I needed to go NOW. I ducked off into a nature reserve and crawled under a massive bush, praying that no one could see me and no one would walk past. I was deeply ashamed and mortified and fled the scene like a criminal. Except this wasn’t the only time it happened, and the frequencies increased. I started changing my routes so that I was passing more frequent toilets, and I spoke to my dietician at the time about making changes to my diet. Now the term ‘runners trots’ is not a new term, and is discussed on a regular basis on different forums and chat groups. People swear by coffee before a run, others swear by no coffee. Eat carbs, don’t eat carbs. Run in the morning, only run at night. Wake up early and poop before you run. Everyone has an opinion and a solution. But what happens when none of that works. What happens when you wake up 30 minutes earlier just to let your stomach wake up first so you can go to the toilet before you run, but then you still have to go during the run as well? What about when you lose the ability to HOLD it as you do the desperate waddle to the closest public toilets? Now my bowel is an arsehole and when we’re about 400m from a toilet it seems to get excited and think “now? We let go now?? What about now?” No, not now! We are not sitting with pants down on a toilet yet, don’t you dare fucking come out now!! So many times, I will be running and have to pause my watch multiple times to let the cramping pass as I try desperately to maintain control over my bowel that is doing its darn hardest to vacate. A few times (ok many times, more than I care to admit) I have sadly lost that battle. And then it becomes a walk of shame to the toilet to clean myself up and then psych myself up to get back out there and finish the run. I could no longer run in larger groups or on routes with no toilets, as what happens if this occurred when out with others? How could I poop in a bush when I had company? Or worse, if I made a mess of myself, what would others think? I started to reduce the number of people that I felt comfortable running with, and started running at stupid o’clock where no one can see me duck off into the bushes if I need to. About 13 months after my hysterectomy, I started shitting blood. A lot of it. Unless you’ve had the joys of looking into a toilet bowl and witnessing what looks like a murder scene and realising that the massacre has occurred from within you, I can’t begin to describe how truly terrifying it is. I remember training for the 50km at GC50 and stopping multiple times in a long run, pooping more and more blood as I went, wondering if I was actually going to make it back to my car or be found dead in a toilet block from loss of blood? Something wasn’t right and so I had a colonoscopy in December 2018 where they removed multiple polyps and identified some internal haemorrhoids that could be the potential cause of the blood. Once the polyps were out, the blood stopped yay, and my runs became a little less problematic. I still designed my routes around public toilets but the urgency wasn’t there anymore and so things were fine. Fast forward to the end of 2019 and my body was in a bad way for multiple reasons. My endo was flaring back up, ovarian cysts were multiplying at an alarming frequency, and my bowel habits were changing. I started needing to take medication just in order to poop, which then became a vicious cycle as the pain got worse, the medication increased, the pooping got worse, so the poop medication increased. I was in so much pain I wouldn’t walk properly let alone try and run. I was working with a dietician to try and eliminate foods that were making it worse and at one stage was down to only 20 safe things I could eat. By the time I had my surgery in March 2020, my body had stopped absorbing anything and I was alternating between pooping black and bright green and my skin had turned yellow. I was very sick. After I recovered from that surgery, I felt amazing! I was pain free for the first time in ages, I wasn’t struggling to poop, the urge to go multiple times on a run disappeared and I wasn’t shitting myself without warning, and it was back to a normal colour and frequency. Life was good. But in about May, the blood came back. And so did the episodes of frequent pooping and sometimes not being able to hold it. I tried ignoring it at first, knowing what the first colonoscopy had identified, but it all got worse and worse. An hour run would sometimes take almost 2 hours with all the toilet stops and pauses to let the cramps pass. I reluctantly had another colonoscopy in June, and more polyps were removed and the internal haemorrhoids had increased. My surgeon also referred me to a Colorectal Surgeon for some functional testing to try and identify the cause of the “occasional faecal incontinence”. Imagine being 39 and reading that on your referral letter - isn’t it only old people that have incontinence? What the fuck is wrong with me??? So let me tell you about the fun that is functional testing. There is lots of looking and probing, squeezing and holding, and they even stick a balloon-type contraption up there to measure your responses to it being blown up in increments. The surgeon makes it as comfortable and less-awkward as possible, but it is what it is, a balloon up your butt. What was interesting to him was that it only seemed to occur during road running – on trails I could be out there for 10hrs and not have the urge to go once. But give me a 5k run on road and I will shit 3 times!!! There also did not seem to be any patterns or obvious triggers to the occurrences. The surgeon suspected that I have a partial internal prolapse of the bowel which could be contributing to the incontinence episodes as it could be dropping down and pushing on everything else, but the only way to accurately diagnose that is through a Defaecogram/Proctogram. Which is a procedure that takes an x-ray as you poop. Yes, you read that right. You do it at hospital and have to poop while a machine (and maybe a person watching the screen, I don’t know??) takes imagines of you through the whole bowel motion. Kill me now! Unfortunately (or fortunately?) the solution needed for the procedure is currently out of stock across the country so that is on hold. He also referred me to a pelvic physio to see if she could provide any guidance or assistance – side note, of all the fucked up things in my body, my pelvic floor is not one of them and is working like a champ! Well actually, it is working a little too much and doesn’t know how to relax fully, but that’s not impacting my bowels. Great, so we have some things to work on and further tests to do, I can handle this right? Well what do you know, my friend the blood from my butt comes back. Only this time, it is completely different and more terrifying than before. Some days I fart blood. Other days, there is no faecal matter, it is pure blood and tissue. Sometimes bright red and everywhere in the toilet bowl like a B-Grade slasher flick, sometimes darker and chunky like my insides are falling out. My exhaustion levels suddenly hit an all time low. The actual frequency and appearance of my poop changed and became much thinner and harder to push out (not to be confused with constipation, different sensation). My bowels and insides would sometimes ache a lot, and the pain after going to the toilet or having sex was increasing. Of course, I googled. And promptly scared the fuck out of myself. Yes, haemorrhoids bleed and they can bleed quite a lot. Yet the amount of people with bowel/colon/rectal cancer that were originally told (and sometimes multiple times, sometimes too many times until it was too late) that it was just haemorrhoids and not to worry. Now as I said, I am an over sharer and my few running buddies understand this. I took a photo one morning and showed one of them and she fucking freaked out as well! As gross as it was, I actually felt some relief. I finally felt vindicated and validated, like it wasn’t all just in my mind, and no this kind of thing ISN’T normal. So I called the surgeon in tears, not knowing what I should be doing. So, in 2 weeks I will be having another procedure to band the internal haemorrhoids and investigate if there is anything else there. My surgeon is a Colorectal Specialist that specialises in all types of cancers in that region, so I am really hoping that a) he finds nothing and b) that will then ease my stress and anxiety a bit. Because on top of everything else going on in my body and my life, stress and anxiety make all the symptoms worse. Of course they fucking do *insert eye roll*. Oh and just to make it all the more interesting, lets see how all this plays out with the new medically induced menopause ride I’m on… Now whilst I would never want cancer of any sort, as this blog has been rolling around in my brain for awhile now the thought that kept popping in was that at least if it was cancer there would be some importance to it, less embarrassing and more of a legitimate answer or need for awareness if that makes sense. Because if it’s not the Big C, then I’m just a girl that sometimes shits herself when she runs and poops blood right? How mortifying. The term haemorrhoids has also always embarrassed me and I don’t really know why. Probably like anything else in that region, they’re not talked about openly I guess. My limited understanding is they can be internal, external or both. External is easier to treat with both creams and banding treatments as they are visible. Internal is more difficult as they cannot be easily seen and treatments are more invasive. Which is another reason why I have tried to put things off, because to be honest I’m getting really pretty sick and tired of there always being something wrong with me, always one drama or another. If it’s not my useless ovaries, it’s my butt. If it’s not my butt, it’s my boobs. If it’s not my boobs, lets throw in digestive concerns or maybe we can add back in the migraine issues? Take your pick people, there’s plenty to choose from! GAH! But I digress. I could have held off posting this blog until after my procedure, which may have been a nicer way to wrap it all up. But I have had a few close friends confide in me about their experiences and I thought fuck it, we can’t be the only accidental poo joggers out there dammit and why should everyone have to suffer in silence because society has decided that butts are bad and we can’t talk about poo! I say this statement bravely behind the safety of my computer screen, but again I assure you I am still mortified and embarrassed, and so please don’t try to make eye contact with me for awhile while I process the fact I have yet again bared myself open on social media. If you keep inviting me on group runs and wonder why I keep declining, this is why – my poor little soul just can’t handle anything else right now. I’m a sucker for punishment perhaps, but I do truly believe in being real about everything. I have tried to hide these issues and pretend that they didn’t exist for too long, and have suffered in silence along the way. I don’t have the answers yet, and there’s a chance I never will, but if along the way someone reads this and can identify with just a small part of it and suddenly feels just a little bit better about themselves and no longer have to suffer in silence, then great. Just know:
Meanwhile if you drive past me at 4.30am walking out of the bush reserve next to the highway, there’s nothing to see here so just keep on driving mkay….
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I had initially been looking at going back to run UTA100 this year, but logistically and financially it was out of the equation for me unfortunately. So instead, I started looking around for potential options a bit closer to home and the Guzzler 100 caught my interest; a brand new event quite local to the Gold Coast with a lot of familiar faces in the area that would likely be running or at the event. Initially the timing was perfect for my husband and daughter to crew for me as the weekend was a bye for his soccer team (unfortunately the draw then changed boo! But I got another super crew instead yay).
Working with my awesome coach Dave again, my training in the months leading up to the race had been 100% spot on. Until a few weeks before the race, I had only missed about 3 sessions in total and was feeling physically the best I had been going into a race. Unfortunately, my Mum’s battle with dementia worsened and she passed away 3.5wks beforehand. Emotionally, it was the worst prep I could hope to have leading up to attempting another 100km ultra – I wasn’t sleeping properly, my mind was a mess, and I would cry at the drop of a hat. But I shifted my focus for the race; I was not going to run with time or pace in mind, it would simply be a day and a night in the forest and just taking each moment as it came. Yes there would be highs, and lows, and tears no doubt, but I would embrace them all and just keep moving forward. In the days before the race, I felt very calm and relaxed, no nerves at all. I am a notorious planner and organiser (did someone say OCD) and so I was preparing lists and instructions for my crew, packing my checkpoint bags, packaging up all my nutrition I would need etc. I dropped everything off to Sue the morning before and then stayed the night at one of my friend’s parent’s house in Brisbane to avoid a super early start in the morning. We arrived at the race precinct with plenty of time and still there were no nerves, instead I was taking moments to chat with friends and grab a few pre-race selfies. The first time I would see my crew was at CP3 at 31km, and so I had arranged to text them as I passed through CP2 at 23km and again with a few km to go. That way they could have a restful morning before being up all day and night. My husband had mentioned that spectators could come to CP1 but I said there wasn’t any point as I would be passing through pretty quickly and unsure of what time I would. Before we knew it, 6.30am rolled around and we were off. At that exact moment, I was hit by a rush of adrenalin and couldn’t breathe as we ran through the starting arch! Awesome lol thankfully though it passed quickly enough and I was off. The beginning of the race starts with a few km of uphill and I settled into a nice easy hike up. The very rough plan was to hike every up, run all the runnable downs very conservatively and run the flats. No times in mind, but as a rough guess I would get to CP1 around 9.30am and CP3 around 12.30pm. My fuelling for the day was planned to be 30 mins shot blok, 1hr potatoes, 1hr 30 mins shot blok, 2hr gel, repeat, plus Trailbrew for hydration and water. During this section, I fell into step with an awesome gentleman who was running his first ever 100km only a few years after a total hip replacement, what a legend! I was so pleased to see that he finished and achieved his goal! A few km in and the front runner (and eventual winner) of the 50km, Ben Duffus, ran past me – they started 30 minutes later than the 100km runners. In 10 seconds he was gone from sight, but it was honestly a thing of magic to watch him run down those hills. I came through CP1 just after 9am, feeling nice and relaxed. Quick pit stop for the toilet and refill water and Trailbrew and I was off. The section between CP1 and CP2 was a little technical in spots, quite rocky and little steep incline/declines etc. Through here, I was being overtaken by more of the 50km runners as both 50km and 100km do the exact same course up to CP3. It was actually a little scary at some points, as I was trying to be conservative and careful especially on the downs as my knees are notorious for playing up in races, yet on narrow single tracks people behind me were trying to fly past. I would pull off the moment I could in order to let them pass but there were a few moments that could have ended badly... I got to CP2 safely though, and almost out of water meaning I had drunk 2L of water and 1L of Trailbrew in 23km. I hadn’t expected the day to be quite so warm, and it seemed a lot of others were surprised by the heat also, not what you think when you think of mid winter. I thought briefly about texting my crew but then realised they would be tracking my progress on the live tracker and decided to just text them a few km out. Straight after CP2 is the infamous Hell Hole shuffle, quite a steep down and up section that we would actually do twice – now and again after CP5 around approx. 84km. As I was going down the first time, I was thinking of strategies I would need to adopt the second time around. At the top of that section were some lovely people with Crampfix sachets. I had never tried them before but picked one up and added it to my pack just in case. Around here a lovely friend of mine Sally caught up with me, as she was running the 50km. It was so nice to run/hike together for a little bit, catching up and chatting away. With 2km before CP3 I messaged my crew to say I was close. After descending down the hill to CP3, I said hi to some friends that were there and looked around for my crew but couldn’t see them. I checked my phone and saw the following message “f*cking hell, we’re still on the highway, we will be there in 20 mins”. SH*T. Turns out the live tracker hadn’t been updating reliably and so they were still working on me getting there around 12.30pm, when in fact I was ahead by an hour!!! Eeeeeeeek!!! The set up of CP3 was that you ran through it, did a small loop up around Gold Creek Reservoir wall and then came back down again. So I grabbed a handful of chips, some watermelon and a straight black coffee shot (wooooo!) and set off on the small loop with Sally and another mate Ryan who was doing the 100km and started 30 minutes late as he had the start time wrong lol and then came back to wait for them. Thankfully I only had to wait for another 5 minutes before they got there, poor loves were so flustered, so I didn’t have to think about heading off without my nutrition. Sue told me that my husband had still driven up to see me at CP1 but missed me by about 40 minutes (told you so!) I refilled all my nutrition and Trailbrew, added more chafe cream and sunscreen and off I went. The track looped around the reservoir and then the 100km branched off away from the 50km at this point. By this time of day, the heat was roasting (it was 26 degrees WTF! Go home QLD winter weather, you’re drunk!), and this particular section was fairly uncovered, rocky AF, unrelenting ups and void of any people at all. My watch was out of sync to where the elevation map on the bib said, and I kept waiting for the downhill that was supposed to be coming and it just wasn’t ☹ I struggled greatly on this section, trying so hard to get out of my head, even resorted to putting on my music to distract me (which I had wanted to save for night time). My hot flushes started coming on thick and fast, and I was overheating pretty quickly. There was a water station around the 41km mark and when I pulled in there were a handful of people that looked as dead on their feet as I felt, including a FB friend Lisa who we had been messaging for weeks trying to coordinate a training run together unsuccessfully. I didn’t want to wait around too long or I may not get moving again, so I refilled everything, took some Nurofen as my left knee and back were a bit achy and off I went. A group of guys headed off just after me and we kind of ran/walked with each other through to CP4 at Lake Manchester which was supposed to be around 55km but my watch said 59km. By this point, I felt like I had been cooked from the inside out and was exhausted. Physically feeling fine in my body and mind, just no energy. I had continued to follow my fuelling schedule to this point and had consumed about 5.5L of fluids by this point. I felt fine to continue but figured I would just be hiking the rest to try and conserve some energy. My crew were there and had everything laid out for me (no running late this time! lol). My stomach was starting to feel a little over the sweet stuff so I ate some more chips and nibbled on my vegemite sandwich, and had some coffee. I got a few leg cramps here so didn’t sit for long, just moving around to not allow them to set in. Refilled everything up and then I left the checkpoint just as sunset was starting and was rewarded with a beautiful stunning purple sunset over the lake. I had been looking out for signs of Mum all day, and whilst I didn’t get to see any butterflies or rainbows, I was seeing purple things everywhere and felt a lot of comfort. I was taking teeny sips of the Crampfix to hold off the cramps, but dear god that stuff needs to come with warning alerts - it’s like sipping straight vinegar! Though they must work as no more cramps. I fell in step with another guy and we chatted for a bit as it got dark, but he still had a bit more energy and headed off to run the runnable bits and I was then left alone. I had been nervous about being by myself in the dark but it wasn’t bad at all. Around 58km (by the course map, 62km on my watch), I started to vomit. It wasn’t huge soul shaking vomits, but they were quite regular and I couldn’t seem to put anything in my mouth long enough for it to be absorbed before it came back up again. I didn’t stress too much at this point as I knew how much nutrition and hydration I had taken on during the day, and just decided to hold off trying to take anything else to let it settle down. Unfortunately this continued each time I tried to eat or drink anything. I put my music back on to try and distract me, as I knew a gnarly 3km of continuous up was coming and there would be a water station at the top. Mentally and physically things were really tough on this section. I kept trying to remind myself that time and pace didn’t matter, it was just a day and a night in the forest. But the track was horrible, my stomach was massively swollen and sore, I had to undo all the straps on my pack as it was cutting into me, and I was starting to get dizzy heading up the hill. I picked up a big stick to help steady myself and just kept moving very slowly forward. The water station actually ended up looking like a mini aid station, and as I arrived I was weaving a bit over the track. The volunteers sat me down as I was looking very white in the pace and dry heaving. I messaged my crew to let them know what was happening, and I wasn’t sure what to do from this point. I think I sat at the water station for around 30 minutes (no idea of time) and during this time, my friend Lisa and her friend Adrian had arrived and she was feeling much better than when I saw her at the 41km water station. After managing to keep a few sips of hydralite down as well as some ice and a potato, Lisa offered for me to head off with her and Adrian to the next checkpoint which was supposed to be 83km. Now just after this water station was one of the worst sections of the race known as Township Break – 1.5km of super steep decline followed by 1.5km of super steep incline. I was nervous about continuing as once you start that section there’s not a great deal anyone can do to come and get you out easily. But I put my big girl pants on and away we went. In the weeks before, I had managed to train on this section and knew how brutal it could be, and so I made the decision to go down backwards on my hands and knees and thankfully it worked a treat and I got down to the bottom with no damage or falls. Getting back out was exhausting and super slow, I had to keep stopping to try and regather myself as I had zero energy. The trail between the water station and CP5 sucked – it was again so rocky, so many steep hills, just not enjoyable at all. I was continuing to vomit each time I tried to put something in my mouth, and so was just trying to soldier on with no food or hydration. My watch clicked over 83km and we were no where near CP5, which is so soul crushing when you’re on struggle street like that. Physically I was fine as far as no injuries or niggles etc. My feet felt like I had been walking on concrete for 100 years, but nothing I couldn’t keep doing. But the dizziness was getting worse and I had to keep stopping to steady myself. Lisa kept checking maps.me to see how far off we were as I kept contemplating walking out to the road and sitting there for my crew. Lisa messaged ahead to let them know that I was in a bad way and with about 1.5km to go, one of the volunteers from CP5 Geoff met us in order to walk me back while letting Lisa and Adrian go ahead. He kept telling me to not make the decision yet to pull out but I was feeling so sick and dizzy, and I couldn’t contemplate continuing on for another 17km-ish km in that condition. I arrived at CP5 around 2.30am, which means it had been around 7hrs since I had kept anything of substance down and had been going for 30km with no food or hydration. As I walked up to the CP, my crew came over to me and I was quite unsteady on my feet. I was directed to a chair in front of the portable heaters and the medics came over to check me over. My memories of CP5 are fairly vague and blurred, but I remember my vitals being checked, being asked weird questions like “does anything hurt?” (um, I just ran 88km what do you think?), and just an overall sick feeling. My blood pressure was in the normal zone but high for me and I remember the medic saying I was dehydrated. My crew can probably fill you in more on what went down at CP5! I’ve pushed through some fairly tough races, run with injuries and been completely underdone going into a race, but I’ve also seen people first-hand suffering from Rhabdo and ending up in hospital. I thought to myself I’m not an elite racer, this isn’t my job. I’m just a Mum who runs, and above all else my daughter needs her Mum to be home and not in hospital. The section from CP5 to the finish line covers some fairly rough remote terrain including parts with no phone reception and I wondered what would I do if I got worse out there and couldn’t contact anyone, or fell over or passed out? At what point was it worth pushing on? After sitting in CP5 for awhile, I finally made the call to stop my race at an official time of 19:52 (the CP was supposed to be 83km, but my watch said 88km and others said over 90km). At the time I was too sick and exhausted to even cry about my second 100km DNF, I just wanted to go home. My crew were telling me about other people who had DNF while they were waiting for me to come in, lots of unwell people that day it seemed. The next day I tried to process more of what happened – the usual What Ifs swirling around my head; what if I had a nap at CP5 first before quitting, what if I could keep some food down eventually, what if I made the call too early and could have pushed on, what if I’m not strong enough after all and I keep fooling myself into thinking I am? To be honest, the only thing that made me feel slightly better was to hear how many others also pulled out due to heat and vomiting. I am sad for them of course, but it at least confirmed to me that I was right to take it seriously. In the days that have followed, I have focused on the positives to come out of my Guzzler experience:
So there you have it, my attempt at the inaugural Guzzler 100. It tested me physically and mentally, and whilst it may have got the better of me, I learnt a lot during the day and night. I need to say a massive thank you to my crew Sue, Natalie and Alicia, who gave up their day and night to follow me around a forest, who made sure I had what I needed and then got me home safely when I broke. To my awesome coach Dave, thanks for the fantastic tough training program that enabled me to get to that start line in the best shape I could be and gave me the confidence to attempt another 100km race. Whilst it wasn’t the outcome we hoped for, the training has put me in such a good position physically that I’m ready for the next challenge already. To my husband and daughter, thank you for putting up with me these last few months – it isn’t easy to support someone training for an endurance event. The long training sessions, the super early morning sessions which mean super early bed times, the mood swings etc. Not to mention the support I needed to get through saying goodbye to my Mum in the middle of it all. And finally, to the people that take the time to read my blog and comment on my posts etc, thank you for all of your messages of encouragement and support, and of commiseration and condolences. It may not seem like much but it means the world to me that people actually take the time to read and respond, so thank you x Gear: Shoes - Inov8 TrailTalon 290 Watch - Suunto 9 Baro Pants - Pink Punk Active short tights Socks - Injinji Pack - Salomon Adv 12 set 2019 model Headlamp - Petzl Actik Core Hydration - Trail Brew Nutrition - Spring Energy gels (Canaberry flavour), Shot Bloks, steamed salted potatoes Chafe cream - Squirrels Nut Butter and tube of Paw Paw cream for on course As we get closer to The Guzzler Ultra, my coach is starting to set me longer and more challenging
training runs. The weekend just gone, he scheduled me 45km however as I was already registered to run the 12km Hightail Trail Race, we agreed that I could complete the race and then go run an additional 33km somewhere else. My wonderful amazing friend Sue agreed to join me, even though she is not running the Guzzler herself, but because she is as crazy as I am and up for a challenge! In the days leading up, Sue was a bit stressed about being able to do the whole distance, and so we made up the mantra “just a day in the forest” to take the pressure off. Didn’t matter how long it took us, and we warned our families we would be out all day, just time on legs and having fun! Sunday morning we left home at 4.45am to allow enough travel time to Mt Coot-Tha and to ensure we got to the place in time. Lucky we did leave early, as twice Google Maps directed us the wrong way! Nevertheless, we managed to still get there in plenty of time, caught up with our Good Times Running Club crew and a number of other friends and then it was time to start. Now my body, especially my calves, usually takes a few km to warm up nicely and would prefer to warm up on flat or slight decline trails first, however the Hightail Trail Race started with about 3km of up up up – my poor calves were not happy! The rest of the race was lovely though, the marshals and volunteers on course were amazing and it is a very well run event by the Mountain Goat Trail Runners. We had people commenting on course about how we managed to run while constantly talking – what can I say; it’s a gift! Lol After finishing Hightail, we quickly got in the car and drove to the Walkabout Creek Discovery Centre for our next loop. We chose to do the “Thirsty Pair” loop from the Guzzler training courses, which included Hellhole and a loop around Gold Creek Reservoir. A quick re-fill of our pack with hydration and nutrition and we were off by 10am. I had downloaded the loop onto maps.me, an app on the phone that allows you to follow a course in real time using GPS location. As it was just the two of us, running on a course we had never seen, the security of having the map with us was very reassuring (and would prove to be VERY helpful later on!). I was checking the map regularly to make sure we were on the right path, most of the time it was easy enough to spot the right path to take. A few km in and I check the map again, whoops we missed a turn! Thankfully, we didn’t have too far to back track, maybe 1km in total. This particular loop was a lot more runnable then a previous loop we did, which sounds great in theory but I legs were actually getting tired from the constant running and we were starting to welcome the hills for a walk break! We made our way down to Gold Creek Reservoir and could see some grey clouds in the distance, but didn’t think too much of them. It was cooler around the reservoir and after checking the map a few times, we made it all the way around and back up to the main loop again. We were just about to get to the infamous Hellhole (about 25km in to our loop) when the heavens opened!!! We found ourselves in the middle of nowhere, with no idea exactly where we were except for the map, in a crazy thunderstorm – complete with torrential rain, thunder, lightning and fog! The rain was so heavy, mini torrents of water started immediately pouring down the slippery rocky muddy hills, and the rain was so heavy I couldn’t pull my phone out to check the map. We just had to hope we continued on the right path to get home. Approx. 5km to go, we found a little shelter that we hunkered under for a few minutes to see if the storm was going to pass. Lightning was getting closer but the thunder started to sound a little more distant. I messaged my husband to explain what was happening but that we had about 5km to go before we were done. I managed to dry off enough to check the map and determined the path we needed to be on before we would turn off. We made the decision to brave the rest of the storm and headed back out. Just as we popped out, we came across a guy running by himself in the opposite direction, and he confirmed if we just kept on the main path, we would be fine. As the rain was still insanely heavy, I couldn’t pull out the map to check. We start making our way along the path, slipping and sliding down the hills and trudging back up again. Eventually we start heading down a super steep and even more slippery hill and end up at a creek. By this point, I have a feeling we’re not on the right path, but don’t remember turning off the main one. The rain has eased enough for me to whip out the phone and confirm yep we’ve taken a wrong turn. I absolutely did not want to go back up that crazy steep hill so I checked for another path and the map showed me that one that went parallel to the creek for a bit and then would connect up to the original path. So I made the executive decision that we would take this path. There was no path. Even though it was on maps.me, there was not a visible sign of a path for ages. Instead we had to physically bush bash our way through lantana, vines, under logs, over logs, around rocks – I’m sure Sue thought the rain must have gotten to me and I’d gone insane. I was holding a plastic bag over my phone so I could continue looking at the map even in the rain, and praying to the running gods that the little blue arrow was continuing to point us in the right direction and we would eventually get out without needing to be rescued. It takes a special kind of friend to blindly trust someone to lead them through bush like that, and thankfully I didn’t let her down (just led her astray!). We eventually came across something that resembled a path, which led to an actual signed path, which then finally led us back to the original path – success!!!! Praise the inventors of maps.me!!!!! By this point, we still had a few km to go, and I was so paranoid about taking another wrong turn that I practically kept my phone out the rest of the time until we got to the final turn off. It was such a welcome sight when we started back up the original path we started on, all those hours ago. By the time we got to the carpark, it was almost dark. However, I had 350m to go until I clicked over to 100km for the week and Sue had 500m to go before she would have run 50km in one day – her biggest achievement by far. So there we were, a couple of drowned sopping wet runners, doing slow trudging laps around the bloody carpark until our watches ticked over the right distances. If you’ve never run laps to make the run up to an even number, are you even a runner?? Joking, though I know so many of you will be reading this and nodding, knowing you would have (and probably have at some point!) done the same thing lol From about 5am, we had been talking about how good our coffee would be after our run. It’s a bit of a post-long run ritual of ours to grab coffee afterwards. It didn’t matter that we were finishing at night, coffee was needed! However, by that time, the only place open was Macca’s we still went and grabbed our coffee (and some extra salty chips!) and had a quick debrief of the day. We still couldn’t believe the crazy day that we had, and the adventures we just went through. We knew it was going to be a long run and extra time on legs, but geez we weren’t banking on that level of excitement that’s for sure!!! Looking back even now, I have to say there were some parts that were downright scary but when you’re in that situation what do you do? Stand still and hope you don’t get hit by lightning, or keep running forward and hope you don’t get hit??? I’m happy to say my body has pulled up fantastic after the big day, no pain or niggles just the usual aches and tiredness. This week will be a bit of a recovery week before my next long run the following week. I have planned a doozy of a course, but fingers crossed the actual day is less eventful then yesterday!!!! A Facebook memory popped up yesterday of a post that I wrote about my Mum titled “the beginning of the end…”, describing my Mum’s current state of health and how we were not anticipating her to live for much longer. Well she surpassed all expectations and is still here with us – but this is not a celebratory post, as I don’t think that’s a good thing that she is.
In the past 12 months she has deteriorated so far into the horrible world of dementia, she is completely unrecognisable. She is basically non-verbal, her eyes are vacant and void of life, she can’t remember how to put on a seat belt or pick up a cup of coffee, and her pain is increasing. In the last few weeks in particular, her pain levels have gone up. She is starting to have the same telltale signs of bowel issues that she did this time last year, however her Advanced Medical Plan has now removed all treatment except for pain relief. The last time she was admitted to hospital, the doctor explained that there was nothing they could do for her, so rather than schlepping her in and out of hospital all the time just keep her home and keep her comfortable. So we changed her medication and added as extra “as required”. The problem with “as required” is you need to be able to identify and understand when the person is in increased pain, which is difficult for a non verbal advanced dementia patient, who is still able to move around so you can’t monitor them constantly like someone confined to their bed. The nurses at Mum’s home are lovely, but they are understaffed (as are all nursing homes!) and so it’s almost like out of sight, out of mind with Mum. The last few weeks every time I have visited on the weekend she has needed more “as required” pain relief, and it was really starting to stress me out and upset me as I’m sure it wasn’t just a coincidence that it happened on the weekends when I visited, so what was happening during the week when I wasn’t there to advocate for her. After a number of teary phone calls to her doctor and the nursing home, her pain patch was increased and she was also put on additional pain relief regularly not as required. If the bowel issues are going to be what kills her, then it will be incredibly painful and we need to be on top of that pain, not playing catch up. When I visited her this weekend just past, she looked like a completely different person. Her face was relaxed for the first time in ages, which broke my heart as it was evident in hindsight that she was in incredible pain that even I missed because I was so used to seeing her expressions like that. One of the nurses that I get on really well with also commented on the change in her face, and her lack of agitation in the morning. So the arrangement now is the moment she shows any more signs of discomfort or distress, we increase the regular medication with no more as required, and continue increasing until she slips away for the final time. We are officially in the palliative stage of dementia. This may be days, weeks, months – we just don’t know. She has surpassed all previous expectations and the women of my family are a stubborn breed so who knows how bloody long she will continue hanging on. I have tried having the conversation with her to let go, but I am not convinced anything is getting through anymore. At my last visit she hadn’t opened her bowels in a few days, but given her history of bowel issues they can’t give her anything to move it along or we run the risk of popping her bowels – and no pain relief in the world will make that feel better until she passes away. I have gone through every stage and emotion attached to the grief of losing someone with dementia, and now I just want it to end. I lost my mother a long time ago, and the bag of flesh and bones that is still behind is suffering an undignified demise and deserves better. A few weeks ago I couldn’t find a nurse to change her pull up, and so I had to take her out to the shops with a shitty nappy on. What universe do we live on that this is an acceptable way for someone to live the last moments of their life? If she were my dog, I would have done the humane and caring thing for her years ago and let her leave this world. I’m at the point where I am wishing for her the end, so that she can finally be free from this hell. This may be confronting to some, but I make no apologies. Until you have watched someone die in front of you, but their body still remains behind, you will never know what this is like. I am tired, I am sad, I’m done and just want to get off this ride now please. They say when someone dies that you instantly remember them as they used to be, and not what they were like at the end. I’m scared that I have lost the memories of who she used to be, and that this will be etched into my mind forever. I’m scared that Ruby no longer remembers visiting Grandma’s house and sharing those special moments with her, that all she will know and remember is hospital visits, and the vacant stare from the person that used to be her Grandma. My mum is not a religious person, but I am and I am praying hard that this final stage happens quickly – so that she can be free and happy again, and we can begin to get back our happy memories of times gone past. Today is the first anniversary of my hysterectomy, my hysterversary if you will. A lot has changed since this time last year, both physically and mentally. Physically, my initial recovery was great with almost no issues and I was back to walking, then running and training with a minimum of fuss.
Mentally, it has been a tougher battle and one that continues. I never really wanted children when I was growing up, but my husband comes from a huge family and grew up always wanting two kids. When Ruby came along, my life was complete but he still desired to have another child. We talked around and around about it for years, the timing never quite right. When Ruby was diagnosed with Perthes Disease and the unknown thrust our lives into a completely different direction, we talked at length about how another child may impact us all and made the decision that we would not have another child, at least until she was out of the Perthes phase. Then 2 months later, I received the diagnosis of Adenomyoisis and pre cancer cells and was faced with the decision of having a total hysterectomy. Suddenly the finality of our decision hit me, and whilst I was comfortable with our decision, I grieved for the unknown and for my husband who will never get his second child. I know we came to that decision together, but ultimately my body decided to rob my husband of his childhood wish and that hurt. Although I am back into training, physically my body is different and will likely never be the same again. Menopause has been a bitch, even though I kept both ovaries in they decided not to wake up and so I’ve been hot flushing all over the place in addition to many other delightful symptoms. Menopause has affected me in ways I never imagined. Recovering post-surgery and building your fitness back up is hard enough, but to have your training efforts impacted by hot flushes is very frustrating. When I get a hot flush, it starts deep in my core as if I’m on fire and starts to radiate out through my legs and arms. If I try to run through it, I feel like I’m being cooked from the inside out and so instead I’m forced to walk. Now imagine you’re in a race, and you’re feeling fit and fine and cruising along a beautiful runnable stretch of trail. And you get a hot flush and have to walk when you could easily be running. And then another. And another. So frustrating! My first race post-surgery I ran a whole hour slower than the previous year because of all the enforced walking I had to do. I have days where the fatigue hits me hard and I don’t even have the energy to get out of bed let alone train. For someone who lives to train and whose mental health is directly connected to my ability to get out and run, this has also been an extremely frustrating and testing symptom to come to terms with. For a long time, I was beating myself up for not pushing through it and berating myself for not being fully recovered and back to “normal”. But then one day I realised, what is “normal” and who am I to say that I’m not there? Huge parts of me have been surgically removed, of course I’m not going to be the same person anymore. Parts of my body that controlled and maintained functions in my body and were interconnected with many other bits inside me, I was naïve to think that I could just have them taken out and things would be perfect after that. And so Rhiannon 2.0 was born. The old Rhiannon is gone along with her faulty uterus and other bits, and with that all her previous PBs and achievements as well. Its now time for me to build my new PBs and achievements, and discover just what this post-surgery menopausal body can do. There are many things I have no control over in my life now, which for someone with anxiety and OCD tendencies, this has been very challenging to accept. But between my surgery and Ruby’s Perthes, I have been forced to let go of the planning and controlling aspects in my life as there is absolutely nothing I can do to manage the unknown with both and instead, simply embrace each day as it comes with whatever challenges it may present. It’s scary but refreshing, and I must say less exhausting then the constant planning and organising that goes on in my head :) But this isn’t meant to be a doom and gloom post, quite the opposite in fact. Post-surgery, I am mentally stronger and physically in a better place. I will not say I’m 100% as I still continue to experience pains and issues, my weight is still fluctuating and menopause continues to test my patience and strength. I have severe recurring Endometriosis, which is not cured by a hysterectomy and so I will continue to need surgeries in the future to keep clearing it out – which means I’ll be back to trying to find a down time between training to go in for a clean out lol However, in the 12 months since my hysterectomy I have successfully run a number of races and finished strong, including a 7 minute PB in a 50k trail ultra; I’m training for my first 50k road ultra in December and looking forward to attempting another 100k ultra in the future. I am enjoying rediscovering my strength and learning how far and hard I can push this new body of mine. Menopause aside, I 100% do not regret my surgery and am so thankful to have had a wonderful surgical team and live in a country where I was able to financially afford to put my health first. So Happy 1st Hysterversary to me, and here’s to the future and Rhiannon 2.0 x For those who may be new to the page or unsure of my history, I had a total hysterectomy in October 2017 (uterus, cervix and both tubes but retained both ovaries). My physical recovery was great, I was up moving pretty quickly and out walking within a week. Around 3mths post-surgery, the tell-tale signs of my ovaries packing it in and starting menopause started to rear their head – chronic fatigue, hot flushes, hair loss, teenager skin, and weight gain, despite being back into a fairly regular training regime and eating (what I thought was) healthy. I had been warned that they can sometimes take a little while to settle down up to 6mths, so I waited until the 6mth mark and then had my hormones tested and I was borderline menopause. Bastard ovaries gah!
As much as I did a great deal of self acceptance and love over that 6mths, realising that some of these things were out of my control and I needed to let go of that, I was also getting frustrated with the weight gain. I wasn’t able to fit into most of my clothes and was actually bigger then I was pre-surgery and some days back then I looked 6mths pregnant!!! I wondered how much of the weight gain was related to the surgery and menopause, and how much was me becoming complacent as a result of the surgery and menopause. So I decided to undertake another 8wk shred challenge to kick start my body and see what results I could achieve with careful meal planning and training. Below is a round up of the last 8wks. To note, I weigh each Monday morning before the week starts, except for the two weeks that I didn’t have access to a scale on the Monday, and the last week was cut down from 7 days to 5 days as we’re heading overseas tomorrow yay! In my previous shred, I had way too much cardio in my training, and so this time around I had 2-3 weight sessions and 2 runs, sometimes 3 depending on how the weekend panned out, to see if that would also make a difference to the outcome. I make a conscious effort not to talk about losing weight and fat etc in front of Ruby, so I told her I was doing a muscle challenge to see if I could grow some ab muscles etc. She was very intrigued by it and decided to do it with me, doing a lot of exercises and even eating some of the meals with me. I actually quite enjoyed sharing some of this with her, knowing that I was inspiring her to be strong and active. She was a bit devo she didn't take before and after photos as she was positive she had bigger abs then me lol So here we go.... Week 1, 23rd- 29th April – starting weight 64.7kg. Fuck, I couldn’t remember the last time I was that weight, on a 5’3” body even a few extra kgs is obvious, and whilst I don’t weigh myself on a regular basis, going off the fit of my clothes I was certainly bigger than I had been in awhile *sigh* I reluctantly took before photos and started the morning with a weight session at the gym. My biggest shock this week was how bad my portion control had got over the last few months. I served up 100g of chicken and 200g of vegies, looked at my plate and thought “where was the rest of my food?!?”. I was pretty hangry the first week while my body was adjusting to the new “normal” amount of food, particularly on my low training days when I would have no morning or arvo tea snacks. Week 2, 30th April-6th May – weigh in 64.0kg. Woohoo a loss of 700g in one week, happy days! I found this week to be much easier as my body adapted to the new food levels. My favourite breakfast by far is on weight training days – mince with tomatoes and baby spinach over brown rice, nom nom nom! Not much else to report except still trucking along well. Week 3, 7th-13th May – weigh in 62.9kg. 1.1kg down booyah!!! If I keep this pace up, I’ll be back to goal weight in no time, oh yeah! Training had been going well, and I was feeling less bloated at night time (another delightful post-surgery common side effect). Mothers Day was on the Sunday and I took Miss Ruby and my mum out for lunch to Real Food Kitchen in Burleigh. I chose a chicken and salad option and was pretty stoked with both my choice and the food, though a bigger portion then I had been used to. Week 4, 14th-21st May (note this was an 8 day week) – 62.5kg Only a 400g loss, must have been the Mothers Day lunch lol this week I had to go to Canberra for work for a few days which I managed to meal prep well while I was there, but we also travelled to the Blue Mountains for Ultra Trail Australia. I raced the 22km on the Friday, I had an egg at 6am before leaving the house, snacked on Shot Bloks during the race and Trail Brew for my hydration, and due to logistics etc I didn’t get anything else to eat until the buffet dinner that night. Which I came close to eating my weight in food in. Whoops! The next day Ruby and I crewed for Nath as he attempted the 100km race, and unfortunately food nutrition was out the window as my main focus was Nath and being where we needed to be. Needless to say, copious amounts of coffee, packet chips (not much else to grab on the go when you’re both gluten and dairy free) and lollies were consumed. We also drove down and back, and except for an awesome service centre in Port Macquarie that served organic healthy fast food, Ruby and my options were pretty much limited to Smiths plain chips the whole way. I went to bed that night feeling like crap. Week 5, 22nd-27th May – weigh in 63.1kg Crap, a gain of 600g. Dammit I knew that would happen but I was so cranky with myself. Also, due to the crap I had eaten over the last few days, I was unable to do my normal morning poop before weighing in lol Time to knuckle down and remove the sneaky lattes that had been finding their ways into my mouth a few times a week (my shred plan had a black coffee at 9am only). I went out to dinner for a friend’s birthday this week, and was amazed to look at the menu and see the protein portions listed. It was a low day for me which means dinner was supposed to be 100g chicken and veg, however the smallest protein I could find was 150g tofu, with the smallest meat protein being over 200g! No wonder the nation as a whole seems to be getting bigger! But my meal was absolutely delicious and I was happy with my choice. Week 6, 28th May-3rd June – weigh in 62kg Down 1.1kg from the week before. Yay for more progress but I couldn’t help but compare that to if I hadn’t put on the weight the week before where would I be. Gah, moving on! The week went really well and I was on track for another good weigh in. Then we had friends over on the Saturday for a few hours, and nibblies were put out. I nibbled too much, my resolve is terrible obviously when presented with deliciousness SMH. I went to bed on the Saturday with the most sore and swollen stomach, even though it was all Rhiannon-friendly food e.g. gluten and dairy free, there were crackers, chocolate, marinated vegetables, creamy dips. Everything that I hadn’t been partaking in for the last 6wks and my stomach just said FU. Week 7, 4th-10th June – weigh in 62.3kg Another gain of 300g fuuuuuuuuuccccccckkkkkkk! I still couldn’t poop from the blowout on Saturday, so surely that was the problem right?? I had another dinner out this week and we went to LoveChild which is a vegan marketplace that’s just opened on the Gold Coast that I have been dying to try! I was cranky that I didn’t choose what I really wanted to order which was the delicious looking pizza, but I did thoroughly enjoy my GF ramen with broth and vegies instead (note to self, go back post-shred!). I was also mindful that I was getting to the end of my shred and next week was Phase 3, which only lasts for a week but is hell week as the food sucks and there’s less of it waaaaaaaaah! Week 8, 11th-15th June (note this was a 5 day week as mentioned above) – weigh in 61.5kg Ooooh so close to getting under 60kg but unsure if I will make it. Enter HELL WEEK. Where I consume 58 egg whites (and 2 whole eggs) in 5 days *shudder* - breakfast consists of 6 egg white omelette with red capsicum, broccoli and baby spinach, plus ½ banana on the days I train, lunch consists of the same omelette with a tin of tuna, and dinner is 100g chicken with 2-3 cups of green veg and red capsicum. I remembered wanting to stab people last time I did the shred challenge, and this week is no different. I am hangry, I am irritable, I have no energy, it’s shit. Does everyone else hate the last week as much as me or am I the only one? I went for my usual early morning run and it honestly felt like I was running in cement. I lost my shit over the smallest things so many times this week, and mood swings is not usually something I suffer from. Thank god it’s only for 5 days, so I can do the weigh in and final photos on Saturday before flying out on Sunday to Europe (and trying not to put it all back on again in 3wks lol). Wednesday was a slight reprieve as the meals changed a bit to accommodate an arvo heavy weights session but the rest by the end was blergh city. 16th June – final weight 59.5kg FUCK YESSSSSSSSSSSSS!!! 2kg since the last weigh in and a total loss of 5.2kg (would've been more if not for the gains in those 2wks lol) I must say that I have been happier with this shred then I was the last time. I don’t know if I put too many expectations on myself last time or what the difference was, but this time I felt like I was more in control and seeing regular losses over the weeks, in spite of my slip ups. I was also able to pinpoint those slip ups, as opposed to last time I didn’t achieve any losses for a few weeks straight and no idea why. Physically I’m still not where I want to be, but it was a really good process for me to go through so that I could see that it’s not just hormones and menopause, and that I do still have some control over things including what and how much I put into my mouth. Life post shred – I find I work better with a plan and set goals, and so moving forward I will adopt a number of the principles and meals from the shred into my daily life. I enjoy a lot of the meals and I like knowing what I am eating and when. I will be a bit more relaxed around dinners as I do miss eating the same thing as my family, and I miss a lot of our fav meals. However I will be making modifications, particularly around portion size. But I’m really happy that I underwent this shred challenge again, for no one else but me. I learnt a lot and it’s given me hope that I have some control over what's happening in and to my body, and for the future that some day I will fit back into all of my clothes again :) As you may be aware by now, my Mum hasn’t been well for a while. She is 62 and has been in a nursing home for 4.5yrs with dementia. In the last 6wks she has been admitted to hospital 4 times, and each time she has regressed further with the dementia. She is now officially in the late stages of dementia and is mostly non-verbal, and becoming aggressive at times. In the last week alone, she was diagnosed with a tumour in her lung that is unable to be operated on (and chemo is not an option), giving her 12-18mths to live, as well as a condition in her bowel that, given the advanced state of her dementia, is also unable to be treated and will continue reoccurring until the end – flare up, hospital admission, treat symptoms, discharge back home. Lather, rinse, repeat. As each admission causes her to deteriorate further, it appears as though the original guesstimate that she would not make it to the end of the year was grossly inaccurate and it is believed it could now be months instead. After the initial numbness and shock wore off, I felt relief. Followed by guilt that I should be relieved my mother is close to dying. But sitting with her day in day out when she’s in hospital and watching the shell of a human being in front of me lose all dignity and life, it reminds me of a conversation we had years ago before the dementia took hold. She once told me she never wanted to be left in a vegetative state if she ever got sick – well the current life she’s living feels like as close to a vegetative state that one can be without actually being hooked up to machines. Imagine being wheeled to a toilet by strangers, while they wipe your arse and clean up yet another accident you had, while you just sit there sobbing before staring vacantly at the floor. This woman – who was once a warrior, who fought the hard battles all her life before her demons became too strong to overpower anymore – reduced to a lump of flesh that often needs draining from both ends. I’m sorry for the graphic details and the harsh descriptions, and this isn’t a dig at the health care professionals and everyone we have come in contact with recently have been amazing. The nursing home staff love her like one of their own mums and are just as heartbroken to hear the latest prognosis, and the hospital staff now welcome us like old friends and care for her with as much respect and dignity that they can. But surely this isn’t how the last months or years of someone’s life should be? My mum used to be a huge advocate for euthanasia and would tell me that she wished she had the money to fly to a country where it was legal before things got too bad. Unfortunately for her, we never got that in writing and signed as a legal document and so my hands are bound. Imagine your non-verbal relative, who hasn’t spoken more than 5 clear words in over a month, turns to you and says as clear as day “I just want to fucking die!” What would you do? Well I sat there, I said quietly “me too” and then I cried. I am the only person who can legally make decisions surrounding my mother’s ongoing health and happiness, and even I can’t give her the one thing she wants. A dear friend of mine is experiencing the end stages with their parent right now, and yet their experience is completely different to mine. My friend talks about death being as special as the birth of a baby when loved ones are around and supportive, and knowledgeable. They have described their previous experiences with it as being magic and something amazing to be able to experience. My friend’s parent has physical ailments but their mind is still 100% and they have been able to have many wonderful conversations about the end, and what they both hope it to be like. When I first read their messages I was confused, how the hell could this be lovely? This is hell on earth right now. But the mind is a powerful thing, and it’s amazing just how much influence it has over many different situations. To be at peace with what is happening and to be able to describe it to your loved ones while they sit there, embracing you with love until you take your final breath on this earth. Wow. I am so thankful that they are able to have such special moments with their parent as they near the end of their journey, and yet I can’t help feeling ripped off that both my mum and I don’t get the same experience or closure. It brings up the old feelings of resentment and frustration, where I get angry with my mum for doing this to herself and to us (her dementia is called Korsakoff’s, which is alcohol induced dementia and is caused primarily by being a chronic long term alcoholic). Frustration that my 7yr old daughter will have memories of her grandmother walking around with no pants on and the room smelling of shit as she had soiled herself again just before we got there. Or that she won’t be around to see Ruby graduate or do any of the other epic shit that her granddaughter is destined for. Or that she no longer has any idea of who I am, and yet I will continue to sit there day in and day out as she gets cranky at me for not giving her clothes and tells me to fuck off (again – she’s non verbal people but the few words she does have are crackers! Lol) To be honest I don’t really know what the point of this post was. I guess I just needed to get it all out. Bare myself in a way that I haven’t been able to do for a while, as I need to be switched on all the time around her and the medical staff. To anyone that has been touched by the evil curse that is dementia, I am truly sorry. I wouldn’t wish this hell on my worst enemy. To those that haven’t experienced it first hand, please make sure that you have the difficult conversations with your loved ones before they are no longer able to have them. I touched on this briefly in a post 6wks ago when she was first admitted, and many of you messaged me afterwards to thank me for being so open as it prompted them to begin those conversations. I have just finished completing an Advanced Medical Plan with both the nursing home and the hospital, and believe me when I say you need to be specific and down to the extreme fine details so it’s best to know this now about your loved ones so they can help shape what their final months, weeks, days and hours will be like. Don’t leave it till it’s too late and the livelihood and actual life of another human being rests solely in your hands. I will end with once again, a big FUCK YOU to dementia!
In 2017, I had high hopes for 2018 – working with my coach, we had begun to set some pretty lofty goals, both for 2018 and beyond. They would require a lot of hard work and dedication, and maintaining a good level of fitness.
But for those playing along at home, we all know how 2017 turned out. I took a lot of time off training to help my daughter through major surgery and her recovery, and finished out the year minus a uterus, cervix and tubes due to Adenomyoisis, Endometriosis and pre cancer cells. I knew there would be an initial healing period and transition back into training, but I had visions of coming back to do UTA100 again, improving on last years’ time. Wow, look at Real Girl Runner go with her training post surgery! Hey, there goes that woman who ran 100km only 7mths post hysterectomy! I could almost feel the pride coursing through me and was excited for the New Year to start so I could meet with my coach for my next training plan. I naively thought that once the offending organs were removed and I physically healed, I would be good to go. I was wrong. After the initial time I took off to recover, I was able to slowly get back into my training again but my fitness overall has taken a beating, and temporary menopause was, and continues to, kick my arse. Although I only started my UTA100 training plan in January last year, I had a much better fitness base behind me then I do now. I was initially disappointed and defeated, and felt almost like I had let myself down. But as I have really learnt through the last year, I realised I need to focus on what I can control and not on what I can’t. Realistically, if I were to try and front up to the start line of the 100km in 4 months’ time, I may or may not finish the race, and if I did somehow finish I would be likely to have done some damage to myself. This may impact on future races and plans, and general overall health. In the scheme of things, there will be other races – but I only have one shot to get this recovery right. So I changed the picture in my head. Again. 2018 will now be the year of recovery and enjoyment. I have a few races lined up between now and September, and instead of pushing hard to achieve certain times or challenges, the goal will simply be to have fun and enjoy myself. I’m looking forward to training with different friends, introducing others to new tracks and paths, and experiencing some new races. My challenges instead will be to try and not beat myself up when fatigue means I can’t get up and train. To look around and soak in the beauty of my surroundings when my body is struggling up a hill. To focus on my strengths instead of my ever expanding waist line lol My lofty goals are definitely still there though and they will be revisited. They just need to be pushed back a little longer than first expected. And that’s OK x If you’ve ever been someone that has experienced persistent and/or chronic pain, or know someone who has, then you would understand what it’s like to just “deal with it”, to put up with it until it fades into the background of your everyday life. You sense it’s there on some level, but you’ve become so used to that constant ache and pain, that it doesn’t really effect you that much anymore.
I have suffered from chronic recurring endometriosis for the last 24 years. I am one of the small number of people that having a baby did not “fix it” and instead it steadily got worse as I got older. I have had multiple surgeries over the years to keep cleaning it all out and even tried using the Mirena to alleviate some of the symptoms. In 2013 when I was at my worst, I ended up in emergency surgery twice as my body rejected the Mirena. If you’ve been following my blog then you would know early 2014 is when I began to turn my life around and started re-discovering my passion for fitness and running. The passion grew as the distances got longer. I’ve experienced amazing highs and dramatic lows in my running journey and I feel like I’m just getting started. But my passion and the constant search for those new experiences and highs can often lead me to neglect other parts of my life. For almost a year now I’ve felt that something wasn’t right “down there”. I had begun to feel the familiar niggly pains of my endo coming back, especially on my right side. Then I started to get random pains and aches that at the time I could easily pass off as training pains and fatigue as I was training for my first 100km and that puts your body under a lot of stress. To put it simply, I didn’t have the time to take any time off from training in order to go get things checked and so, like my endo pain, I allowed the new aches and pains to just become part of my new daily life and learnt to deal with it. On my mother’s side of the family, we unfortunately don’t have a great history or track record when it comes to Women’s issues, losing many fine women too early to one form of cancer or another. My mum had a hysterectomy when she was 41 due to persistent out-of-control fibroids, and prior to that she always had horrendous periods. I remember seeing her in so much pain and praying that this was one thing I did not inherit from her. Guess the health gods weren’t listening to me back then lol After UTA100, I took some time off from intense training, mainly to focus on Ruby and her journey with Perthes Disease, and so my body wasn’t as fatigued and yet the pain and symptoms were still there, and with nothing else to distract me I became acutely more aware of them. Suddenly, I was noticing that it sometimes hurt during sex, or that sometimes after I would go to the bathroom the pain would be so bad I would nearly cry. Think of a roaring pain like someone had given me a swift kick up the lady bits. I could be standing there having a conversation, and then out of nowhere an invisible hand would grip my ovary and squeeze for dear life, and I would have to bend over momentarily to get my breath back. I suddenly developed new smells about me, which to me made me smell worse than the worst man’s BO you could think of and I was mortified, and I began to experience bladder control issues (like the time I wet myself at the GC Marathon, but that’s a story for another day….!) But still I chose other things in my life as my priorities and pushed those thoughts out of my mind. Ruby is, and always will be, my number one priority. In the last few months we’ve helped her through major surgery and rehabilitation, we’ve bought and moved into our new house that will help her long term prognosis, I’ve travelled extensively to Canberra for work and progressed my career, and I somehow scraped the bottom of the barrel and dug deep to achieve my goal of a sub 2hr half marathon. See, I just didn’t have time to be unwell as there was too much life to be living! I just met with my coach a few weeks ago to work through our goals for the rest of this year and next year, including moving onto some longer term goals as well, and I had just started another fitness challenge to kick start my physical health again after a few months of over indulging. I was going to finish the year off with a bang by running 50km in Gold Coast Ultra, and I was super excited. But you can only ignore something for so long. As much as I was telling myself that these new symptoms were just related to my endo, deep down in my heart I knew different. So I reluctantly made an appointment to see my specialist, the first time in 4 years. I explained all these new little things that I had noticed happening, continually downplaying the situation “oh you know, it only hurts sometimes. I’m probably just being paranoid over nothing. It’s likely just my endo flaring up a bit nothing major”. He started with an examination, and straight away asked when my last pap smear was. Um, well I’m not exactly sure but I’m pretty sure I’m up to date as I think I’m on the register with my doctor, but I can’t tell you the date sorry (PS, I checked, and it was April this year. So not overdue thankfully, and I clearly have a really shit memory!). “Well there’s more visible abnormal cells here again so I’ll just take a swab and then we’ll finish the exam”. Ugh shit, not again. He then proceeded to put his hand up there and then push around with the other hand to feel any pain or swelling, and I instantly started to scream and swear. My whole uterus was seriously swollen and enlarged and pushing against other organs. He asked again about when I felt the pains and told me he was surprised I was getting any action or able to run at all with that amount of pain and swelling. Oh. Seems I have developed a higher pain threshold as I’ve got older lol In addition to the endo I have Adenomyosis, which in laymen’s terms is like endo but inside the muscle wall of the uterus, and each month it causes bleeds that can’t go anywhere. This leads to swelling, bloating, irregular periods, severe period cramping, pain during sex and going to the bathroom, hormonal fluctuations, acne, etc etc etc. There is no cure. Treatment options are either a) deal with it, b) insert a Mirena to see if that alleviates some of the symptoms or c) a hysterectomy. Given the severity of my condition and the recurrence of abnormal cervical cells, combined with my family medical history and what happened last time with the Mirena, options A and B are not on the table for me. So here I am instead with option C - 36 years old, facing a total hysterectomy (uterus, cervix and tubes) and biopsies to determine the next course of treatment. Thankfully I have had a bit of time to process the news and have been through a rollercoaster of emotions so far. My initial feelings were anger. I had specifically said to the health gods after Ruby’s surgery and her chicken pox that the Mulhearns were done for the year with health issues thanks, and go find another family to pick on for a change. Well the god damn health gods didn’t listen to me all those years ago and they sure as hell weren’t listening to me now. It wasn’t fair. I was used to dealing with shit over the years, but my poor husband probably didn’t sign up for this when he proposed to me all those years ago. And Miss Ruby has had to endure more in her little lifetime then some people ever will and now on top of her own worries and concerns, her mummy needs major surgery. How do I protect her emotionally when I can’t protect myself? My first real question after getting the news was “right, and when will I be able to train again?” and almost felt more crushed by the news I would need 6 weeks off from anything then the original news of the hysterectomy itself! Lol there goes my goals for the rest of this year, there goes the remainder of my fitness challenge, how the bloody hell am I (and by I, I mean my mind and my family having to deal with my mind) going to cope with NO EXERCISE FOR 6 F#@$%*G WEEKS?!? I don’t have the attachment to my bits like some women do, so I don’t feel like this will make me less of a women, but it’s a strange feeling to know that soon you will be missing some key body parts that make up who you are. I really want to hate my uterus for all the hell its put me through since my early teens, and have on many occasions threatened to remove it myself during yet another horrendous debilitating period. But at least once in our relationship it must have got its shit together long enough to make and house my beautiful girl, so I just can’t bring myself to hate on it that much. But believe me, I won’t be sorry to see it go! I was nervous that it will somehow change me afterwards, or that it will change my relationship. Luckily Nath and I had (only very recently) had the serious “more kids?” talk and decided that Ruby is more than enough for us. So I didn’t have that added pressure to think about. However, there’s a big difference in making that decision verbally, and then following it up with something completely permanent and irreversible. Thankfully, whilst they will remove my uterus, cervix and tubes, the plan is to leave my ovaries (assuming there’s nothing wrong with them) so at least I hopefully won’t have to contend with battling surgical menopause as well. I had always known that this would be on the cards for me some day, but there’s a difference between “some day” and right here and now. It’s here, it’s real and I’ll be honest, I think I was naïve before to think I would breeze through something like this just because I knew it would occur in the future. So far, no breezing! Then I was scared. Obviously. Any major surgery comes with risk, not to mention the potential for the Big C. No one wants to go through life with having to contend with either of those situations, let alone at the same time. I was scared of complications, of short term or long term suffering, of either surgery or follow up treatments not working. But now, I am onto the stage of acceptance (what can I say, I’m an over achiever and progress quickly lol). It is what it is, and I am choosing to focus on the positives that this will bring to me, my life and my family. No more chronic pain, no more doubling over in agony, no more intense hormonal issues (please let that include no more pizza face or bloody hot flushes!!!), being able to fit into my regular clothes again (right now I look like I am 4-6mths pregnant and have to contend with those knowing glances from people at work, like I’m hiding a big secret. Nope, not pregnant, just bloated from a uterus that is trying to kill me lol), and no more fear of me following in my relative’s footsteps. I asked Nath one night “how do you feel about it all? Are you worried about anything, does it stress you out?” and he was like “nah, whatever happens we’ll deal with it”. Oh, to live in my husband’s blissful world where nothing ever phases you and anxiety doesn’t exist lol but then I thought about it a bit more, and I realised that he’s right. There is nothing I can do now to change the outcome of the next few months. I also can’t go back in time and change something to magically make it different. So rather than waste these next few weeks stressing about what may or may not happen, I am choosing to focus on the now and the moments I have with my family and myself that make me happy. I’m not saying this is the answer to life, or that I won’t still have moments of stress and anxiety, but it seems like my husband might be onto something here (why are they always right?!? *insert eye roll*) I have always been a big believer that everything happens for a reason, even if sometimes I struggle to identify that reason (like with Ruby and her Perthes). However, if I hadn’t taken the time off to focus on her during her recovery, then I would have continued to ignore the new and changing symptoms due to my constant high intensity training and reluctance to take time off, which may have led to me having a complete different prognosis and outcome right now. I realise my Real Girl Runner blog hasn’t really been as much about running as I would have liked this year, but I’m definitely fulfilling the “real” quota right?? If I can ask for you to take anything away from this, is please don’t ignore that little voice inside you, it’s called intuition for a reason. No, you’re not being paranoid and you know what, even if you are, it is better to be safe than sorry. Don’t put off getting things checked out because the timing is inconvenient – who knows if you will get another chance. Life is too short, so yes live in the moment but please try to do what you can to make sure you’re here to live the next one too. So here’s to the new path my life has decided to take. I know I will likely have more emotions leading up to my surgery next week and beyond, where I may not feel as strong and confident as I do now. But I have a family who loves me and are in my corner, an amazing support network around me, an awesome surgeon and my faith and belief that I can do anything I set my mind to, including to fight and survive. I wanted to finish this year off on a high note by completing another ultra race. Well I will still be finishing the year with a race, just not one that I run with my feet. Bring on the next few months and then in 2018, watch this space for Rhiannon 2.0: New and Improved. For those that are interested, I will continue to post on my page. Though, as the posts aren’t likely to be running related for awhile, I will understand if you choose to unfollow – I promise that I won’t be upset or offended. Because whilst I may only have a small following, if something I post makes a difference to even one person’s life, then it will be worth it. Much love to you all x It’s been a long few months.
After everything that happened at UTA and the aftermath, I haven’t set foot on a trail since. I’ve been in a bit of a dark hole. I would tell myself that I’m recovering from the big race, that I’m training for a road half marathon, that I’m focusing on Ruby right now. I would pretend that everything was fine, and these were my choices. But in reality, I was avoiding the trails as I was scared to go back in case so much had changed that they no longer felt like they used to. The longer it went on, the worse my fear became. I started to have heart palpitations at the mere thought of going for a trail run. I would find any excuse to avoid them. What the fuck is her issue you might be thinking, it’s just a run. I don’t blame you for not understanding, my husband doesn’t get it either and I barely get it myself. I can’t explain in words why or how this happened, but the fear inside me is real. And crippling. A friend of mine has never run on trails and has always said to me that she would love me to take her out one day. We’ve been saying this to each other for years – kind of like when you see an old friend and you both say “oh we must meet for coffee soon” knowing that it’s not likely to happen, and that you’ll utter the same sentence to each other in 6 months time when you run into each other again. So we were chatting Friday night and she said the same thing again, and I answered with my stock standard “for sure, sounds great” knowing I was safe with my response because nothing would eventuate from it. I sent her a text yesterday saying that my husband would be home after lunch if she was free to go Sunday arvo, assuming she would say no as she has 3 kids and runs an international company, but I had fulfilled my end of half heartedly trying to arrange something. . She wrote back 3 minutes later saying “Yep! Let’s do it x”. Fuck. Instantly my heart started pounding and my stomach dropped so low it nearly fell out of me. This wasn’t how this was supposed to go dammit! I started getting teary and practising deep breaths, while my husband looked at me like I was from another planet. This morning I threw myself into housework so I could try and switch off my mind, doing anything I could to distract myself. As the day wore on, I started to feel a knot in my stomach, and it was tightening as I got dressed. My husband said to me “remember this is fun”. Yeah right. I can assure you, right now this is anything but fun! I got to her street 10 minutes early, so I pulled over to wait. I ended up having a full blown panic attack in the car. Think yelling, screaming, crying, shaking. No wonder I got strange looks from the family walking past me – would you be able to keep a straight face witnessing a grown woman yelling to herself “just put your bloody hands on the fucking steering wheel already!” I typed and retyped a message to my friend about 15 times to cancel, but the only thing that stopped me sending it was her last message – “OK I’m set and still excited! All good signs”. I had to push past my own fears and focus on my friend, who is trusting me to take her out on a trail run without killing her or getting her lost. I can do this, deep breaths, compartmentalise my feelings and deal with them later. I drove up to her house, and she came bouncing out full of excitement. Meanwhile I was a basket of nerves, but fake it till you make it right? Thankfully she knows me and knew already the background to how I was feeling. I kept telling myself you’re ok, you can walk if you need to, she’s your friend and she won’t laugh if you cry, you can turn around if it gets too much, you can do this, your friend needs you (OK the last one might be a bit dramatic but I say what I need to say lol). I chose one of my favourite tracks, as I have never had a bad run out there and it holds many happy solo memories for me. It is a pretty little loop with some flat open trail to begin followed by some winding single trails. As we started out, I was talking a hundred miles a minute, hoping that my voice would drown out the swirling emotions inside me and hide how I was feeling. I’m sure she was thinking OMFG will you just shut up already, but she responded with the appropriate responses lol As we got further along, step by step, I felt my body start to relax. My chatter started to slow down and I was beginning to really feel the run. The smell of the earth, the colours of the bush, the sounds of the birds, the feeling of air rushing into my lungs and my legs moving along. The longer we ran, the more at peace I felt. A spring came into my step, my movements becoming more fluid. I was running along with my hands stretched out, feeling the bushes brush through my fingers, the sunlight flitting in between the trees. I was home. We finished our run (way too soon waaaaaah!) and I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. My friend was beaming too. On the drive home we were chatting away and she said everything happens for a reason. Now, I have always lived my life by that philosophy, even when I couldn’t understand the reason at the time. But to hear someone else say it made it all the more real. She explained that she had been wanting and planning to do this for years, but the one time things actually aligned was the exact time I needed something (or someone) to kick me up the arse and get back out there. They say it’s like pulling off a bandaid. Well not only did I rip that fucker off, but I metaphorically poured Dettol on the wound and gritted my teeth until it stopped burning. No more mental infection for me!!! I don’t think I’m ready to say I’m back baby, but I am already planning my next trail run so that’s a definite positive sign right? |
AuthorHi, I'm Rhiannon and welcome to my blog. I'm not an elite athlete and I may never win any races, but I'm a "real" runner, juggling work, family and life to achieve my running goals. Archives
October 2020
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REAL GIRL RUNNER | My Blog |