Fibronaut At Home

I Was RUNNING!

Note:  Please read the title in Forrest Gump voice.  Thank you.

Part of my trial-and-error workout program is doing what I think I will enjoy.  My gut has been steering me towards running lately.  Not sure where this instinct came from, but on my walks with my dog and kids, I’ve been feeling like, “I can do eet!”  So I did.

I started slow, running behind Emma on her bicycle or in her Barbie Jeep.  My older two came along sometimes, but mostly it was Emma, Chewie and me.  I have an iPod Nano that will track my walks and my runs.  The music helps me find and keep a pace.  The first day, I ran sporadically, whenever Emma decided to go a little faster than a crawl.  Every day, I ran a little more.  Chewie, Emma and I all needed some practice coordinating who goes where and other logistics, but we have a pretty good routine down.

Well, we did.  Emma just started Kindergarten yesterday.  Now it’s just me and the dog, unless we go after school.  After going on one previous run with just me and Chewie, I wasn’t about to run yesterday.  Running without Emma to watch out for and direct allows me more time to think.  If I’m not careful, I get all up in my head and forget to concentrate on how I’m running.  Pretty soon, my shoulders are tense, I’m not breathing well and I’m feeling discouraged and negative and thinking on all things bad.

Here’s what I did today.  When my brain started rambling, I checked in with my shoulders and loosened them up.  I checked in with my breathing and made sure I was taking deep breaths and letting them out slowly.  I keep my head up and looking ahead instead of looking at the ground.  I made sure my chest was out, with my shoulders lowered and my tummy in.  I’m not sure if I’m doing this running thing correctly, but these things all seem to make the going easier.  Then, I just made a running loop in my head of all these things.  Almost like meditating while running.  Once you’re checking in with your body is automatic and something you don’t have to focus so much on, you go into your happy place.

When I get home, I stretch, take deep breaths and eat fresh fruit or veggies.  I think it helps with any sore muscles I may have.  

I’m up to a mile now.  I only stop if I need to stretch something out, or if we have a situation (other dogs, Emma meltdown, etc.).  I even pushed Emma on her bike, while running with Chewie and while she was screaming about her legs hurting.  I feel you, Emma!

Next month, I’m playing on a rec volleyball team with my hubby.  I cannot wait.  I never thought I’d be able to play volleyball again.  Like everything else I’m doing, I’ll stay positive, keep my head up with a smile on my face and remember to breathe.  Shoulders back, check.  Teeth unclenched, probably not, but that’s why I have to check.  Take a deep breath in, let it out slowly.  You got this.

anteater got this

Running soundtrack:  So far I’ve run to Paramore, The Ting Tings, Panic At The Disco, Rihanna, and Young The Giant.

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Pain

I hurt…really badly.  All my muscles hurt.  Typing this is not helping.  I have a migraine on top of all this.  I think everything I’ve been doing since Tuesday has caught up to me.  I worked on laundry today when I should have rested.  My son is almost out of sports shorts so I felt like I had no choice.  Ugh.  Tomorrow, I have to take my hubby to his upper g.i. and colonoscopy.  My four-year-old doesn’t have school, so I’ll be keeping an eye on her while he’s off being probed.  Then, if he isn’t done before my oldest two get out of school, I have to pick up my daughter, wait an hour for my son to finish cross country and go back to get my hubby.  I will see if I have to run back to pick him up in between picking up my daughter and son.  An hour after picking up my son, I have a parents meeting for fall sports for my son and then his back to school night is following.  I will be lucky if I am still able to walk after all that tomorrow.

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A Poem For Fibromyalgia

I just found out that April is National Poetry Month.  I wrote a poem about Fibromyalgia to celebrate.

A Lament of Fibromyalgia and Chronic Fatigue Syndrome

“Show me where it hurts,” you say?
Well, tell me, have you got all day?
Head, shoulders, knees and toes,
The pain it stays, it never goes.
Hips, back, fingers and gut,
Fibro is an actual pain in the butt.

Insomnia keeps me up at night,
Then all day long, it’s sleep I fight.
Fibro-fog’s the funnest part,
I forget what I’m doing before I start.
With all of the pills I take every day,
Why won’t the pain and fatigue go away?

Is this fibro-diagnosis junk?
Am I just in some sort of funk?
Is all the pain inside my head?
Maybe I should try this or that instead?
Until you’ve held spoons in your hand,
Then you cannot begin to understand.

Invisible, my illness may be,
But watch me closely and you will see.
I cringe when I move, stand or walk.
My face hurts whenever I eat or I talk.
I conserve energy however I can.
My good moments are a flash in the pan.

Yoga, acupuncture, grounding, meditation.
Name it, I’ve tried every new health sensation.
Lyrica, Cymbalta, oxycontin, oxycodone,
Flexerall, Fentanyl and hydrocodone,
All these and more I’ve tried.
They made me wish that I had died.

Write in a journal, and go way back,
Try to figure out why you’re out of whack.
Join a support group, listen to others whine,
Then you’ll realize you’re doing fine.
Take it easy, take it slow,
Breathe deeply, calmly, go with the flow.

Gluten-free is the way to be?
I don’t have the time or the money.
I want to be healthy and eat right,
But our budget is already way too tight.
Sugar and caffeine are bad they say.
When I’m dead, you can take those away.

My Cognitive Behavioral Therapist
Told me what others think of me is none of my business.
But when you can’t work and have to prove you’re sick,
What others see is what makes you tick.
Especially when you feel okay,
You struggle with guilt for feeling that way.

Different doctors say different things,
Depends on which drug company is pulling their strings.
Once I say Fibro or Chronic Fatigue,
They act like my health is out of their league.
I just want to be treated like a human being,
Not like the head case they keep on seeing.

My house, car and life is a mess.
I’ve got too much anxiety and too much stress.
Whenever I manage to take a shower,
Rest and recovery takes an hour.
My definition of dirty and clean
Do not mean what you think they mean.

Every activity is well thought out,
Even then, there is always doubt.
What if I start to hurt half way through?
How long do I rest before I can continue?
What if I need more than a short nap?
What if I still feel like crap?

There is a storm coming in day after tomorrow,
The pain starts today and the fatigue will follow.
No matter the temperature, no matter how nice,
I do way too much and pay for it twice.
I need to move to a climate with nary a storm,
Where the sun is always shining and it’s always warm.

I could go on and on about all this crap,
But I’m starting to yawn and it’s time for my nap.

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Do-whack-a-do-whack-a-do

It has been 5 weeks since I’ve written anything.  Consequently, the little hamster in my head feels like he’s cornered with no chance of escape.  I’ve been fighting panic and anxiety.  My disability appeal with the long-term disability company was denied.  I haven’t been keeping my daily goal of writing in my journal or doing meditation or yoga every day but I have kept my goal of showering, washing dishes or laundry and hugging and kissing the kids and hubby and telling them “I love you.”

I have started seeing a therapist.  She is awesome.  This is my first foray into therapy so I wasn’t sure what to expect, but so far I am really liking her approach, which is holistic and I’m feeling positive that she can help me.  My parents even commented on how much better my attitude seemed and that was after only one session.  I was debating whether to write about this or not.  Then I read a blog post by Halfway Between The Gutter And The Stars and I felt like I needed to put this out there.  I realized that whether people reading this would judge me was not important.  Therapy is helping me.  I’m not a bad person because I need it.  I’m broken and I’ve been broken for a long time.  Taking this step was huge for me.

Whacks, according to my therapist, are those automatic thoughts that pop in your head where you put yourself down or others put you down.  So, here’s to whacking myself less and loving myself more.

Side Note:  If you aren’t familiar with Roger Miller, he is the best.

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