T-shirt of the Day
Digging through my dresser drawers recently, I decided that
I needed to restock my T-shirt supply. There seemed to be an
absence of shirts more accurately reflecting the particular
performance status on a given day. The majority merely illustrated
that either my husband, Bruce, or I had participated in a given
athletic event (some with nearly prehistoric dates). However,
few seemed to actually indicate the frame of mind of the individual
about to wear said shirt during a workout. For example, it might
be handy to have shirts with phrases such as: "I've already
run 10 miles" or "My high intensity workout was yesterday" or
"I was up until 3 a.m. with sick kids." In this case, I was
looking for a shirt that said, "Give me a break-I'm recovering
from surgery!"
A little more than a month ago, our family had the interesting
experience of dragging everyone out of bed and into the emergency
room to try to figure out why Mom was having acute abdominal
pain. Before we left the house, I'd thrown on an old race
T-shirt, as though this would somehow sway fate in my favor
for having exercised on occasion. In spite of my visual proclamation
that I'd once run the "Race for the Cure," I found myself
waking from surgery the following evening, minus a portion
of my small intestine. Although I'd been pretty convinced
this must have simply been having a terrible bout of food
poisoning, the surgeon and pathologist confirmed that more
serious problems had been afoot, and I'd actually ruptured
the affected section of small intestine. With the diagnosis
of Crohn's Disease, I set myself to the task of recovery from
the surgery and figured I'd not focus just yet on having a
"condition" that was not simply going to go away.
While the nursing staff on my floor did not provide T-shirts,
I found myself automatically part of an athletic team of sorts
with the singular mission of, well, getting kicked OFF the
squad so that we'd be well enough to go home. Our uniforms
consisted of the ever-flattering hospital gowns, and we convened
several times daily at the popular workout facility, the hallways
of our wing and the nearby sections of the hospital. We'd
shuffle up and down, passing each other with tubes swinging
this way and that, armed with IV stands on tipsy wheels. The
nurses became the constant cheering section, and those patients
who were feeling a bit more energetic would add their encouragement.
It was like being in a really slow "Race for the Cure," with
each of us competing against ourselves on a daily basis. Yet,
the cheers of "Way to go!" and "Keep it up!" were as present
as in any race in which I've participated.
With any training regimen, one tends to measure progress
with each small step in the right direction. In the first
few days of recovery, I felt a bit like one of the Borg from
"Star Trek: The Next Generation" (part human, part machine),
with tubes sprouting here and there. As the days progressed,
the loss of each tube and the dependence on some outside help
that it signified, became a small victory. Being able to take
walks unaided was like being allowed as a teenager to take
the family car for my first solo drive. My lungs, which had
been showing up as flat-bottomed sacks by X-ray, were beginning
to remember what aerobic capacity is all about. Deep-inhalation
exercises were reminiscent of the old "Saturday Night Live"
sketch with body-builders Hans and Franz: "We want to PUMP
you UP!" The irony of having registered for the Twin Cities
Marathon a few weeks prior to this was not lost on me as I
huffed and puffed up and down my new exercise course, but
at least I was a self-propelled mobile unit again.
A week after surgery, I graduated away from my various medical
support systems and was pronounced capable of eating normal
foods (and processing them) once again. I was given the green
light to be released for home, and once again I put on my
"Race for the Cure" T-shirt, this time bearing an entirely
new significance. The discomfort from the surgery was still
pretty strong as I set out for my first walk on home turf,
my oldest son Bjorn keeping a close eye on Mom as I tottered
down the street. A neighbor, out walking his dog at the time,
noted my awkward posture and commented that I looked pretty
sore. Ah, no need for a T-shirt to explain why I was hobbling
instead of running. My posture said a lot all by itself, and
I confirmed his observation as I told him I'd just had surgery.
With each passing day, I would walk and assume a bit more
upright stance-a little less like Cro-Magnon Man (or Woman).
Still, I was exhausted all the time, and it seemed that my
aerobic capacity had all but flown out the window. Eventually,
I graduated to an odd sort of jog, trying not to jiggle my
insides too much. It was like shuffling along with a cup of
water on top of my head that I was trying to prevent from
spilling. Surely anyone seeing me would realize that I must
have been recovering from something, right? As the outward
signs of my surgery began to diminish, I wished for T-shirts
that would remind passersby that the reason for my slow pace
was the surgery a few weeks past. I imagined their nods of
understanding as they read, "Hey, I'm STILL recovering from
surgery."
After one particularly discouraging day of jogging a small
loop near out house, I began to mentally list all the reasons
contributing to my frustration. How could I expect to exercise
in this heat, with "flabby" lungs, with weak legs, with soreness
from scar tissue? I wanted folks who may have witnessed this
discouragement to understand that I'd had surgery recently,
yet the outward signs of my discomfort were no longer as obvious.
As I sat there wishing for my nonexistent "I just had surgery"
T-shirt, Bruce returned home with several photos from a juniors
workout led by Kevin Brochman. I skimmed through the photo
set and Bruce pointed out a particular photo of Brochman with
his young athletes. The former Olympian's T-shirt spoke loud
and clear the mantra that I should have during a workout,
regardless of my current physical state, regardless of what
happened to me yesterday or what I am preparing for tomorrow.
His shirt read, "I did the best I could TODAY."
In the coming months I look forward to resuming more and
more of my normal training activities. I'll also need to focus
on coming to terms with Crohn's Disease and its possible influences
on my lifestyle. Each new medical test will bring a bit of
anxiety but also a further understanding of my own biology.
Monthly shots of vitamin B-12 will help to overcome the functional
loss of a portion of my small intestine and to ensure a continued
supply of precious oxygen-toting red blood cells. Beyond this,
I have fortunately had to make few significant changes thus
far. I am enormously grateful to be able to exercise again
even at a slower pace, and I can once again stay on my feet
for a 45-60 minute run. While there will surely be "bad attitude"
days where I conjure up appropriate excuse slogans in my head,
I'll try to remember that when all is said and done, the only
thing I can ask of myself is that "I did the best I could
TODAY." Who knows? Maybe I'll even find myself at the starting
line of the Twin Cities Marathon after all. Rather than improving
on a previous finish time, I may be simply trying to stay
in front of the "sag wagon." I could always make room for
one more "race finisher" T-shirt.
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Margaret is married to Bruce Adelsman, and they have two young
boys who hopefully will be future cross-country skiers. She skied
competitively at Bemidji High School and Bemidji State University
during the 1980's, and then in some citizen races in the early 1990's
while in graduate school. She hopes to share new commentaries on
a periodic basis related to various aspects of life as a cross-country
skier.