I Am a Fighter

I've been thinking a lot about my previous post and wanted to write a follow-up, but just couldn't get my thoughts organized--until this morning.

Yesterday I woke up very melancholy for no particular reason.  Not "sad" per se, but a deep sense of dread that made me want to hide under the covers and cry all day.  I'm sure you have experienced the same thing from time to time when life gets hectic or overwhelming.  As a woman with depression, I have to be careful not to minimize those feelings because they can quickly snowball out of control.  I have to respond as if I am under attack and am fighting for my life.  I know that sounds overly dramatic, but that is how I've learned to manage my depression.  Medication is a helper, it is not a cure.  I have to CHOOSE to not let guilt and self-loathing take root for even a moment. 

My first line of defense is my husband, Herbert.  We have been married for 13 1/2 years and I wasn't diagnosed with MRDD (Major Recurring Depressive Disorder) until about 15 months ago.  He has slogged through my emotional muck--not understanding, just being there.  It hasn't been pretty and I am so grateful to God that Herb didn't give up on me.  My feet hadn't even touched the floor yet and I tearfully tell him that I'm having a rough morning.  "Do you want me to hold you for a while?" he asks.  Yeah, I do.  I curl myself up into his strong arms.  I resist the voice in my head that tells me that if I don't get up that second, my day will train-wreck beyond all repair.  For 10 glorious minutes there is just silence.  No judgement.  I can breathe again and I can start my day.  The point of sharing this personal moment with you is that I tell him what's going on.  I don't assume that he will figure it out or "should know me by now". 

I am also consistent about taking my medication.  It is really easy to think, "Wow!  I'm doing great!  I don't need that today." Well a day can turn into a week or even a month and before I know it I am in the bottom of a deep, dark pit trying to figure out how I got there.  It is not a sudden fall, but a gradual slide that is almost imperceptible until it's too late.  Depression is sneaky that way.  After we moved from Arizona to Tennessee this year I fooled myself into thinking that I didn't need my medication because it is so beautiful here (weird, I know, but that's how my brain works--looking at living green things makes me happy).  I was wrong.  It wasn't until I was on the phone with my sister lamenting about some issue that she said, "You don't sound like yourself.  Are you ok?"  It wasn't that I was venting, it was the hopelessness she heard in my voice.  I am so grateful that she pointed out what I couldn't see.  I got my prescription refilled and within a couple of weeks I felt like I was on an even keel again.

I practice "self-care".  Let me tell you how much I distain this concept.  I wanted to smack my therapist every time she asked me what I have been doing to take care of myself.  Bubble bath? Pedicure? Skipping through a field of wildflowers at sunset singing Kum-bay-ya? (ok, I just made that one up). I wanted to scream, "ARE YOU INSANE?! I have three kids with special needs and a husband who works hard to support all 5 of us so I can stay home. I don't have time to spend on such frivolousness!"  You see, I thought that "self-care" meant being selfish and depriving my family of the dedication and caregiving they deserved.  I also (mistakenly) believed that I had to do something that most women would consider pampering.  Well, I'm just not that kind of woman.  I like to be feminine, but I don't wear make-up and wear my hair long and straight.  I don't get manicures because I will wreck them while out chopping wood or clearing brush from the yard--so why spend the money?.  And I hate shopping.  I had to find something that lifted my spirits and also benefits my family.  Well we definitely moved to the right state, because I love yardwork.  Give me a leaf blower, lawn mower, chainsaw, etc. and a good podcast and I'm one happy girl.  I love the feeling of grit on my face and a sweaty brow as I look at the results of my hard work.

My second outlet is writing.  I love it and I find it very therapeutic to get my feelings on paper.  Unfortunately I thought spending a couple hours clicking away on the laptop was not a productive use of my time, a selfish privilege.  I had to be ok with taking this "me time".  When I write, whether by journaling or this blog, I feel refreshed and accomplished. 

I also had to face reality.  Our pastor in Tucson (quick shout-out to Josh Reich at Revolution Church--woot, woot!), said that when you say "yes" to something, you are saying "no" to something else.  For example, saying "yes" to working overtime could mean saying "no" to having dinner with your family.  Or saying "no" to taking on one more commitment means saying "yes" to less stress. Don't get me wrong; I'm not saying that working hard to provide for your family is wrong, just that there will always be something you have to give up to do it. 

For me, I had to say "no" to being Super-Mom--or at least the unattainable expectations I had for myself.  In my mind I could (and should) be able to do all the things "good" stay-at-home moms did:
Homeschool my children,  home-make everything, volunteer, keep a perfectly tidy and spotless house, etc. Add to that being a foster-parent (which I don't regret for one second) and life became more and more overwhelming.  When I couldn't keep up, I knew it was because...well...I suck.  I learned (and am still learning) it is ok to say "no" because the "yes" is worth it.

--Saying "no" to homeschooling meant saying "yes" to adoption.
--Saying "no" to foster-parenting meant saying "yes" to being able to give more attention to my children's needs.

Giving up these things was not easy for me.  They had become my identity and I felt lost and like a failure.  I had to grieve the loss of two things I am most passionate about.  I started thinking about going back to work but the more Herb and I prayed about it, God kept showing us that I was to be home, to be available.  Not to add more obligations to my schedule.

So now I spend my days attending to the mundane tasks of being a homemaker.  Not perfectly or obsessively (I am currently ignoring the pile of laundry that is giving me the stink-eye).  I am also conducting an experiment to see if the earth will spin off it's axis if I don't fold my kitchen towels--so far the data seems to indicate no impending Extinction-Level-Event. 

I also give myself permission to write. 

Looking back now, I can clearly see that I have limits and I need to show myself the same grace and compassion I try to show others.  Depression is not going to rob me of the life to which God has called me.  I am a fighter.


 

  

I am not a psychologist, psychiatrist, or licensed therapist.  I can only talk from my experience and what I’ve learned through my treatment process. There are many theories about depression, its causes and how to treat it. If you don’t agree, with something I’ve said here that’s fine.  In fact, I’d love to hear your opinion so we can have a free flow of ideas and possibly learn from each other. 

Prayer or Prozac?

In approximately 6 years, I have written exactly THREE blog posts; each one delving into a particular event (whether physical or spiritual) that had a profound impact on me.  The impact being so strong that I had to write about it while my memory was still fresh with the events.  I have had many more than three life-impacting events over those years, but for some reason writing became fearful to me and I denied myself something that has always brought me joy and comfort. 

As I read over those blogs, it was like visiting with an old friend.  Yes, I had written the words, but I felt encouraged and refreshed as if I was reading someone else's work.  I am very self-critical especially when it comes to writing, so I was pleased that my first instinct was not to re-write them in my head. The main reason I have never pursued writing more seriously can be boiled down to one simple, yet paralyzing word--depression.

This is a very hard topic for me to talk about. In fact, I prefer to just pretend it doesn't exist. So I'm going to take a deep breath and just throw it out there...

1.  I have Major Recurring Depressive Disorder (MRDD) with Anxiety.
2.  Yes, I'm medicated for it.

Whew! That's almost as hard to write as it is to say out loud.  If you think, "Oh, sure! Just pop some pills to make yourself feel better.", I hope you will stay with me a bit as I share my story of living with a disease that wants nothing better than to kill me.

At 47 years old, I can look back and reflect on the events of my life and I have come to the conclusion that I have suffered from depression my whole life, I just didn't know what to call it.  As  a kid I was subject to frequent bouts of melancholy or rage that seemed to come out of nowhere.  I imagine that I was just considered a "moody" kid.  My parents would ask me what was wrong and had no answer because there usually isn't a specific event that precipitates a depressive episode.  I would just feel sad, anxious, or mad for no particular reason.  As I entered the teen years, I pretty much blamed these feelings on PMS because my symptoms were exacerbated by the hormone surge of my monthly cycle. Also, there was a lot of chaos in my life from an early age, so it didn't seem particularly strange that I was generally not happy. 

I guess my first clue should have been that my paternal grandfather committed suicide when my dad was just 13 years old.  My mom implored my sister and me to not talk about it because it might upset my dad, so this just became a historical family fact--end of story, suck it up and move on. 

Except there is no "moving on" with depression.  Unlike the little rain cloud floating above Eeyore's head, depression envelops you and weighs you down like a wet woolen blanket.  Oh, there are some times you get a respite, but mostly you end up dragging this burden around while trying to act and feel "normal".  But what was normal? I saw friends happy and succeeding in school, work, or relationships and I just assumed there was something inherently special about them (or wrong with me) that prevented me from experiencing the same things.  This resulted in me living a very reactionary life.

I was convinced that I was just a victim of circumstance and really had no control over my life.  I spent a lot of time searching for what would finally make me happy.  I had the "when-s"...

I'll be happy WHEN...

...I have a boyfriend
...I graduate college
...I get married
...I have kids...etc.,

Get the picture?  Well the problem with the "when-s" is that once that prized event happens, it NEVER fills that empty place.  The sun shines for a while, but sooner or later the clouds roll in, the sky darkens and you just can't stand who or what you are.  You either learn to live with it and give up hope for the life you want, or you give in to the darkness and take your own life. Yes, I have had those thoughts and have entertained the notion that everyone would be better off if I just wasn't around to be such a burden.  Life is to hard.  I don't want to hurt anymore...

Instead, I decided that I was the one in control and could change from pure will.  I didn't like being introverted and insecure, so I started to mimic the personality of those around me who I thought were secure or confident.  My earliest memory of this behavior was when I was in second grade.  There was a girl in my class who was blonde and cute and had lots of friends.  I wanted to be JUST like her.  Well, she also had a lisp--half way through that school year I ended up in speech therapy.  Not the result I had hoped for. Even now I wonder if I am really me or just a Borg who has assimilated enough other people to create a collective personality.

Another way I thought I could feel good about myself was to not speak out and just "go along" with the crowd.  It really isn't accurate to say that I was influenced by "peer pressure" because there was no "pressure".  I just did whatever my peers did even if I felt in my heart that it was wrong.  My biggest regret is that since I had been the victim of bullying in grade school, I made friends with a bully in middle school.  Well actually I was more part of her entourage.  I didn't agree with what she did, but I didn't want to be on the receiving end of her abuse, so I said nothing.  Just thinking about it brings waves of shame and regret. And so it went throughout high school and into my early adulthood. My "following" had moved on to smoking, alcohol and drugs.  I thought that was how I was supposed to behave even though it wasn't any fun.  By my early 20's I had given up those things but still didn't have any sense of self. 

At 28 years old I was a year into a bad marriage when I felt like my whole life was spinning out of control and there was nothing I could do to stop it.  I was in college at the time and had to drive half an hour to campus every day. I know it was divine intervention that lead me to listen to Dr. Charles Stanley's teachings during my commute.  I learned about how much God loves me and how Jesus died for my sins. No one wants to admit that they are a "sinner".  I mean, it sounds like you've committed some horrible act like armed robbery or murder. My spirit was still hardened, but I continued to listen every day.

It took about 6 months, but I finally yielded to the Holy Sprit and understood that I was broken and needed a Savior.  God's plan for me was far better than anything I could imagine--I just had to let go and trust Him in a way I couldn't trust anyone else.  It was April 21st, 1996.  A glorious spring morning. I sat in my truck and cried out to God.  I admitted that I was (and still am) a sinner, that I wanted a relationship with Him, and accepted the gift of salvation he provided through Jesus' sacrifice on the cross. I knew my life was never going to be the same, but not in the way I expected. 

It has taken almost 20 years for me to truly understand grace, forgiveness, and that God loves me no matter how broken I am.  He can't love me any more or less than He already does.  But I still have depression and that is a conundrum that has baffled me for years.  If I am truly saved, how can I be depressed? Why didn't God take away this burden even though I had begged him repeatedly to do so? Was I REALLY saved? Was there a special prayer, Bible study, or group that would "fix" me? I've heard countless times from the pulpit that all you have to do is rebuke your infirmity in the name of Jesus and you will be healed. That wasn't my experience, so I felt scared and ashamed.

I knew God was punishing me when I chose to end my marriage after 5 years of living through hell.  Christians aren't supposed to get divorced, right?  During that time I did do a lot of work with the help of a Christian counselor to be more confident and to speak up for myself (much to the chagrin of some who liked the passive and pliable Ericka).

After that I began to live my life the way I thought would please God.  No, I can't be perfect, but if I at least showed Him that I was trying my best, He would answer my prayers for healing.  I was able for the first time to start living my life outward-focused.  I went on short mission trips and volunteered at my church.  I was learning that serving and putting others first does not make me a doormat.

However, my theology was flawed and even though I was doing God's work, I was still trying to earn His approval.  With great devotion, I began to build a house of cards. I believed that my Christian life was solidly built on rock of Jesus, but I alone was holding up the walls while treading in quicksand.  If I felt myself sinking, I would fervently pray and tread faster because I didn't know what else to do.  I was bound and determined to keep everything level and plumb through my own efforts.

Now I was remarried, a mother of a child with special needs, homeschooler, foster-parent, and soon-to-be adoptive mom of two siblings--also with special needs. I soon found myself way over my head, overwhelmed, angry, and despondent.  One day, a little bit over a year ago,  I started crying and couldn't stop. I knew I was drowning, and that I needed help. 

I thought I would spend a few sessions with a counselor, pull myself together and no one (besides my beloved husband, Herbert) would know how close I was to a complete mental breakdown.  Instead, I spent months talking about painful events from my past that I thought I had dealt with. I was diagnosed with MRDD and put on two anti-depressants.  I HATED the idea of being medicated and was afraid that it would affect the pending adoption. 

But a funny thing happened, I started feeling better.

No more bouts of uncontrollable crying. No more fits of rage.  I also could think clearly and I was like, "Wow! Is this what it feels like to be normal?"  No, the meds did not magically cure me.  I had to learn new skills to recognize and fight a depressive episode.  For the first time in my life, I could really hope for happiness. 

Another amazing thing happened.  I could see how I was preventing the Holy Spirit from working in my life.  It is like hiking with a very heavy backpack.  You are exhausted and there is someone there who is offering to carry your burden.  You say, "Yes!", but you don't give it to them.  Somehow there is security in holding on.  The pain is almost unbearable now.  "Why aren't you helping me?!" you cry.  Your knuckles are white because you refuse to let go. Your friend is not going to forcibly take it from you--you have to give it up willingly.  When you finally do, there is freedom.

I had to let go of the idea that I could be all things to all people.  Because our family had grown and my younger children had significant needs, I had to give up homeschooling and being a foster-parent.  This left me feeling like I once again had no identity--who was I now?

I grieved.

I also began to pursue God more fully.  I found a new desire to read His word--to get to know Him.  I feel closer to God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit than I ever have--even more than that day I first gave my life to Christ.  I'm not living a shame-based life and I no longer have the "when's".  I can live in the moment, whether that moment is good or bad.  My life has not magically become easy or stress-free.  I still have three children that have challenging needs and a husband who needs my time and support too.  But I can feel the presence of Jesus and I know that no matter what happens next He will always be with me.

I also felt ready to write and share my story.  I will always need my medication, and will need to see a Psychologist from time to time because I can still become very overwhelmed with the struggles of life.  But now I feel no shame. 






          

Being pruned by the Master Gardener

Today was a bad day. 

I'm not talking about a can't-find-my-keys-and-I'm-already-late kind of day; but a gut-wrenching-sobbing-crying-out-to-my-Lord kind of day.  Were my cries for God to take away my fear and pain falling on deaf ears?  No.  Through His Spirit, he reminded me of an episode of "Ask This Old House" I had seen a few weeks ago (I know that sounds crazy, but just hang with me for a bit)...Professional landscaper, Roger Cook was showing a homeowner how to properly prune a sickly hedge and I believe this is also the way God, our Master Gardener was pruning me...

Don't use an electric trimmer - This method is quick and easy and gives a very groomed exterior, however the exterior of the plant grows so thick that light cannot penetrate its surface, leaving the inside brown and lifeless.  I, (like many people I suppose), want my transformation into Christ's likeness to be quick, painless and to be obvious.  I want people to see Jesus alive in my life--the groomed life, not the aching, struggling life--who would want that?  But God doesn't want to groom our exterior, he wants to plunge his shears deep into our hearts, removing areas that may seem alive, but are really dark and preventing further growth.

Use sharp, hand-held pruning shears - Using the right tool means clean cuts which will not injure the plant and allows for new growth.  Although God's pruning is often painful, it is never harmful.  God knows exactly what needs to be removed from my life in terms of control, attitude and stubborness.  These things will grow out of control and choke off any fruit that may be trying to develop.

Make cuts deep inside the plant to allow light to penetrate the surface and to foster new growth  -  God needs to cut deep so that His light will shine in our spirit and create the growth He knows is possible.  The homeowner in the ATOH episode asked, "Won't my hedge look like swiss-cheese?".  And that's what I feel like when God is using his shears in my life--exposed, full of holes where everyone can see the ugly browness underneath my green exterior.  I don't like being vunerable.  It makes me feel weak but trusting God means that He is strengthening me for longevity in His purpose.

Only remove about one-third of the plant at a time, be patient - Sometimes when I feel the Pruner's hand, I want it all overwith at once.  Ok God, if you need to prune, just take it ALL so I will never need pruning again!  Taking too much of the plant would harm it and it could die.  God will NEVER harm me with his pruning.  I know that my Lord loves me so much that He takes his time to groom me into Christ's likeness.  I am his work of art, not to be beautiful on the outside, but to be strong, vibrant and flourishing on the inside.  This is a cycle of pruning, healing, new growth, then more pruning.  Each time I allow him to work on my heart, I become stronger and more like Him.

Proper pruning creates uniqueness - Ever drive down the road and see "perfectly" groomed shrubs or trees and they look like large tennis balls, all the same?  Just grooming the exterior my produce an eye-pleasing look, but there is no uniqueness to those plants and underneath they are really dead.  God created me perfectly unique and so the way He prunes me will also be unique to me.  Transforming to be more like our Lord Jesus does not mean God wants us to be carbon copies of each other.  The gifts, talents and passions he gave me were His special blessings in my life, for no one else, just me.  So allowing myself to be pruned, not fighting against it will help me use those gifts, talents and passions for His purpose, not mine.  I imagine that He will need to prune certain areas again and again because my pride is like a fast-growing weed that doesn't allow his light to shine.

As my eyes swell from the seemingly never-ending flow of tears, I can feel the loving hand of my Creator perfecting me for His glory--Thank you Lord for loving me this much!

Thank you, SMSgt Reese

I just have to share a story about an event that happened this weekend that moved me in a powerful way, but first a little history...

On December 31, 2012 my husband Herb retired from 26 years of military service.  He enlisted in 1986 and spent 10 years in the Air Force--8 years stationed in Holland and 2 years stationed at Davis Monthan Air Force base here in Tucson before deciding to leave the Air Force.

Herb spent a year and a half as a civilian working as a computer store manager before deciding to join the Air National Guard.  He started as a "traditional" guardsman (one weekend a month, two weeks a year), then applied for a full-time position when one came available.  He was hired back into his old AF career field as a Munitions Specialist.  The bonus was that this position was classified as "Active Guard Reserve" (AGR) which meant that Herb was back on active duty and his 10 years of previous AF time would count towards retirement.  He knew that he would stay in until he was eligible to retire after another 10 years of service (20 years total service).

Everything was going according to plan and we both were looking forward to Herb's retirement.  Unfortunately when Herb was getting ready to submit his retirement paperwork, the economy took a nose-dive and without complaint, he immediately reinlisted.  He knew that preparing for a civilian career was going to be more critical than ever, so he also enrolled in ITT Tech's Computer and Electronic Engineering program.  Going back to school was not easy for him but his determination to succeed was unflappable and in August 2011 he graduated with is Associates Degree (with honors) and then his Bachelors Degree the following September.  I was so proud to share this milestone with Herb. 

Immediately after graduation Herb submitted his retirement paperwork with the ANG and began searching for a civilian job.  The economy was a bit better but there didn't seem to be many positions open in his new career field of electronics.  After a couple of months of promising leads that didn't pan out, we were trying not to get discouraged.  Finally in December 2012 Herb accepted a job with Accura Systems here in Tucson--unfortunately his retirement date was not until February 1st, 2013 and the company could not wait for him to retire to start working.  Herb did some quick negotiating and Accura agreed that he could work part-time to start (which would be mostly training anyway).  He then was able to switch to night shift at the Guard so he would work both jobs until retirement.

Herb was used to long hours after being in school for four years, but working two jobs and getting less than 4 hours of sleep a night started taking its toll right away.  He looked into the option of moving up his retirement date and wrote a letter to the base commander explaining the situation.  The commander agreed that Herb could move his retirement date to December 31, 2012!  That would save him a whole month of double shifts--praise God!

Herb was very excited to be getting out but the expedited date meant that his transition from the military would happen quickly and I was concerned that this momentous event would go relatively unoticed.  Due to the holiday schedule, his actual last day at the Air National Guard was Friday, December 29th.  We had a quiet celebration by going to dinner with my mom and step-dad.  I hoped to do more for him.  I evisioned a big retirement party with all our close friends, but with the holidays and the fact that we had just accepted a newborn foster-baby into our home on the 22nd, such plans were just not possible.

Fortunately, Herb's supervisor, Senior Master Sergeant (SMSgt) Reese had a plan...but first, some more history...

In September, the 162nd Munitions Storage Facility (affectionally known as the "bomb dump") got a new supervisor, SMSgt Reese.  So at the time of Herb's retirement he had only been the bomb dump supervisor for three months.

 Now I mean no disrespect to the previous supervisor, but he was more concerned with his own upcoming retirement than running the shop.  Morale had really bottomed out and Herb found it an increasingly frustrating work environment.  I do not want to belabor this point, just sufice it to say that things were really bad--at least until SMSgt Reese became the new supervisor.

So when Herb informed Sgt Reese of his new retirement date, SMSgt Reese asked if Herb would be willing to come back during January's drill weekend so that he could give Herb a "proper send-off".  So we went as a family to the ANG base this past Saturday morning.

When we arrived the whole shop was waiting for us and we gathered in one of the classrooms.  Without fanfare, SMSgt Reese called Herb to the front to present him with his retirement flag.  SMSgt Reese told Herb how much his dedication and service to his job was appreciated and how much his computer knowledge would be missed.  As he spoke, I could see a physical change come over Herb.  I could tell that he was genuinely touched by what Sgt Reese was saying.  These simple words of appreciation had both of us blinking back tears. (It may not seem like a big deal, but remember, Sgt Reese has only known Herb for three months and Herb's previous supervisor, who had been there for years, was not in the habit of acknowleging the hard work of his staff.)  As the new supervisor, SMSgt Reese was determined to make sure that Herb knew how much his service meant and that it deserved to be acknowledged. 

As SMSgt Reese presented Herb with his flag, he explained that when he had ordered the flag and box (from wherever they order such things), he was told that the government no longer gave flag boxes to retiring Guardsmen. 

So SMSgt Reese made one. 

An avid woodworker, SMSgt Reese used solid maple he had brought back from Virginia.  I imagine that he had plans for that wood, but sacrificed his own project to build my husbands flag box.  I was speechless.  Even now as I look at the flag, beautifully encased, I get choked up. 

But wait, there's more...

Then Sgt Reese presented Staff Sergeant Herbert Balli II the Meritorious Service Medal.  This is one of the highest honors a Guardsman can achieve.  Among other things, it says:

"...The singularly distinctive accomplishments of Sergeant Balli culminate a distinguished career in the service of his country and reflect great credit upon himself, the Air National Guard, and the United States Air Force."

Of course I'm exceptionally proud of Herb and his service to our country, however this story is not to glorify him but to express my sincere gratitude to SMSgt Reese for his kind words and for going above and beyond the call of duty to recognize Herb's accomplishments.  He did not have to do all the things he did and he even said that he wished he could have done more. 

SMSgt Reese, what you did do was so special to Herb and our family.  Words cannot express how much your simple words and act of caring will live on in our hearts--again, thank you.

But wait, there's even more...

After we left the bomb dump, we had to go to another office to check on Herb's retirement paperwork.  Across the hallway are the Commander's offices with a small lobby.  I happened to look over there and I saw SMSgt Reese.  He had changed from his BDU's to his "Dress Blues"--he was waiting to go before the promotion board. 

This amazed me because the "boards" are very stressful, especially for higher ranks where sometimes service members will interview four, five or six times before they are granted promotion.  In the Air National Guard, promotions are not that frequent because there has to be an open position before you can be promoted (unlike the Air Force where you can be promoted then transferred to a base that needs you).  SMSgt Reese again showed self-sacrifice by focusing on Herb's retirement instead of the promotion board.

The 162nd Munitions Storage Facility is very blessed to have SMSgt Reece in command.  It is my prayer that he will be rewarded with the promotion he is seeking (most likely Chief).  He is an asset to his unit and the Air National Guard.  I also hope that when he retires that someone takes the time to recognize his accomplishments.

Wife, Mother...TRIATHLETE!

There are some events in my life that I like to document in writing.  It has been a long time since I felt that almost physical need to get my thoughts and emotions out on "paper" so to speak.  The Amica Championship Triathon in Lake Pleasant, Arizona is one such event that had very powerful emotional, spiritual, and physical elements that I just need to tell the story.  Sorry if this is long, but I hope I can keep my thoughts organized so I can share this tremendous experience with you...here we go!

I originally wanted to blog about the training process, why I decided to do a triathlon and how I got involved with Team In Training (TNT).  That never happened, so I will briefly summarize here:

1.  My friend Mindy made me do it. Heee, Heee...that is kind of a joke between us because she was the one that first mentioned doing a triathlon and I said, "OK!"  

2.  We were introduced to TNT through Mindy's daughter's P.E. coach at her school (Barb).  TNT is the fundraising arm of the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society that trains amature athletes to compete in marathons, half-marathons, triathlons and century (100 mile) bike rides.  In the process, you as a participant raise money to fight blood-related cancers.

3.  Our neice, Sarah is currently battling leukemia, so it was an easy decision to join TNT. 

Lots of hard work, time away from my family, sore muscles, emotional breakdowns and a change in race event and coach later...

...it's one week away from race day and I get the creeping crud that seems to be going around.  I wanted to freak out, but I trusted my homeopathic remedy regimen and God that I would be ready on race day. Fortunately I was feeling 100% better by Friday (two days before the event).  I needed to be mostly packed since we were leaving for Phoenix around 8:00am the next day...

Saturday (one day before race):  I was actually pretty organized so I wasn't stressed out until I went to load my bike in the van...flat front tire.  No worries though, because I had just purchased two brand new tubes to carry with me during the race in the saddlebag on my bike.  I have changed tire tubes several times before, so this was not a big deal...new tube in, tire pumped up, bike in van, now off to Phoenix!  Ten minutes later...

Pshhhhhhhhh!!!  That terrible sound of a tire quickly deflating...hmmm.  I'm concerned, but not overly worried at this point because I still had one spare tube with me and we would be seeing my coach in just a couple of hours.  Also, because it was still so early in the day, I knew that if I needed to get to a bike store, I had plenty of time, or so I thought.

Unfortunately, once we got to Phoenix, we had very little time to deal with my bike, so Coach Josh (who is awesome, by the way!) decided that he would go over bike issues after the "Inspiration Dinner" that night, and we all headed out to the Carefree Resort for the pre-race meeting and expo (lots of cool shwag like pom-poms, t-shirts, bells for spectators, and Samantha got to make a "GO MOMMY!" sign to cheer me on--love it!).  During the meeting, they went over the course and that is when we learned that the bike AND run portions were very hilly (can I say Sabino Canyon or Old Spanish Trail?).  I actually started to panic a bit because even though we had done lots of hill training, I hadn't been on my bike for over a week.

After the meeting, Herb decided to take Samantha back to the hotel to meet up with my mom and stepdad who were coming up for the event.  The team headed out to Lake Pleasant for a practice swim in our wetsuits.  Ok, so here I could go on, and on, and on, and on...AND ON about how far it is from Carefree to the lake, I mean, really...why so stinkin' far???  And that no one had a good map of the  lake so we drove around the stupid thing until we were almost dizzy just trying to find an access road to the water since all the main roads had been blocked in preparation for the race the next day.  By the time we found a spindly little sandbar that we practically had to 4-wheel to get to, we were able to get our wetsuits on, swim MAYBE 100m, then back out to get to the hotel in time for dinner...not a huge confidence builder and I was still thinking about my flat tire at 4:30pm...argh!  So....

Back to the hotel and cleaned up for dinner.  Dinner was great and everyone was excited! Samantha sat next to Thera's boyfriend, Roland and practically talked his ear off! He was so sweet about it too.

Mom and Samantha...my cheerleaders!

After dinner, family and friends went off to bed (around 8:00pm) and it was finally time to deal with my bike!  Josh demonstrated how to change the tube and in the process checked the tire to see if he could see anything that could be poking through causing the flats.  Nothing obvious was noted, so he put my last spare in and filled the tire using a Co2 cartridge (we were wondering if I had just bought a faulty tube and hoped that the other one would hold up for the race).  Now it was time for all of us to get some sleep because the team was meeting in the lobby at 5:30am to go to the lake.

Sunday, 4:15am (race day!)...WHAT IS THAT NOISE?...oh, yeah...alarm clock.  Mindy (my dear friend, teammate and roommate) and I get our gear together, have a quick breakfast and haul our stuff downstairs.  At 5:40am the team was all loaded up and ready to go...off to the lake!  Fortunately there was only one wrong turn along the way and we still got to the transition area about 6:15am...

Josh was right, they don't give you much space...

 

All looks good, I even did my last-minute fill up of my tires.  Josh had used Co2 the night before and he said that Co2 does not hold pressure like regular air, so I needed to "top off".  After that, some of the team decided to take the advice we got at Saturday's meeting and walk through the transitions, which meant going from the water back to our bikes, then out the bike exit and back to transition, then out to the run exit and back again.  This was to get a feel for where things were and to practice finding our spots again.  You would be amazed how you can walk right by your bike and not even see it because of how close together they put the transition spaces.

At this point, I'm feeling good because we have some time to hang out and enjoy all the event activity.  There was an M.C. who made announcements, but also signaled the start of each wave and controlled the transition area (when you could be in there, when you had to leave, etc.).  There was music playing and a general festive atmosphere as more and more athletes showed up.  It was fun to look at the professionals and their high-tech gear.  When we got back to our transition areas, I heard those dreaded words..."Ericka, your front tire just went flat"...ARGH!!! 

How can that be?? Did I just get really crappy tubes?  I started to panic, then Mindy grabbed me and we prayed over the situation right away.  We knew that God had it handled and if I was meant to race, that everything would be fine.  Josh and the Phoenix TNT coach took my tire apart and realized that it wasn't the tube, but that I had a whole in my "rim tape" which was causing the tube to get pulled down into the rim until it burst like a balloon.  If that whole wasn't fixed, then every tube that I put in my tire was bound to fail.  One of the coaches was able to find some electrical tape to repair the hole in the rim tape. 

Now I just needed to find a replacement tube...and here's the rub...Josh was concerned that the only tubes available at a race will be for road bikes, mine's a "hybrid" so the tubes may not fit...great.  Well Josh and took my tube to the bike maintenance tent and had a professional put a patch on it.  He also gave me one of his spare tubes (just in case) to put in my saddlebag.  Everything looked good and Josh put my tire back together and aired it up so I could go down to the water before the race.    Actually, I was checking out the steepest boat ramp I had ever seen that we had to climb after our swim to get back to transition.

All the way down and up I was praising God.  Not because my tire was fixed, but because I truly felt at peace and felt like I was trusting Him with all things in that moment.  With hands raised and getting weird looks from some of the other athletes, I rejoiced in the day the Lord had made...T-minus 15 minutes to our "wave"...time for wetsuits...

 Arms are always the hardest... 

Now it's really getting exciting because the professionals are just about to hit the water, then the men's wave goes 5 minutes later, then the women's wave 5 minutes after that.  It was something to watch the professionals race.  They were coming out of the water before we even got into start positon!  Now our turn to get wet...

I'm the one in the green cap... (sorry Min, had to steal your joke!)  We just bobbed out in the water as the M.C. counted down.  I stayed toward the back since I am still not comfortable with open water swimming and I didn't want anyone trying to swim over me.

5...4...3...2..1...  time to swim!  I am trying to find someone who got good pictures of the swim course and I will post those later.  Swimming is still my weakest event, so I was so happy when I was done!...

I can't believe I actually beat one of the men out of the water!  Now off to T1...

I decided to take a little extra time because I was actually still dreading all the hills that were waiting for me on the bike course, and I wanted to get some nutrition going (Cliff Mocha Shot...yum!) and to get my heart rate under control.

 

    Time to off-rack and ride!               Then I saw it...yup, flat.

I have to admit, that I actually thought that my race was over, that there was no way to recover from a recurring flat.  I mean, what if I changed the tube AGAIN and it went flat on a huge downhill?  I pictured myself flying off my bike and ending up in the hospial or worse...NOW WHAT?

Well I turned around and saw Herb (my personal photgrapher) and holered for him to go get Josh as I stood there dumbfounded.  Then I remembered that I would be disqualified if anyone helped me.  I took a deep breath and decided to at least try to figure out the problem.  I dug out my tools from my saddlebag and realized that Josh had used 2 of my 3 tire levers to change the tire, and he still had them...grrrr!  With my one remaining lever, I was able to get the tire off the rim.  I had to take it completely off because my first thought was that the repair to the rim tape had failed...nope, still holding.  Then I looked at the tube and there was a tiny hole on the side of the patch where it had not sealed properly...no way to fix that. 

So I grabbed the only thing that might get me through the race and that was Josh's tube.  I could feel the pressure building and time just ticking away.  As I said before, I had changed tubes several times, but in a pressure situation, I was all thumbs and my hands were shaking really badly.  Fortunately Josh had arrived and was shouting directions to me from behind the spectator barricades.  I got to the point were I HAD to have another tire lever or I was never going to get the tire completely on the rim.  I screamed my dilema at Josh and a few seconds later a police officer was handing me some levers.  They turned out to be Josh's which I think was probably illegal, but really, I didn't really care.  I finally got the tire put back together when the next problem became obvious.

Josh's tubes have a different valve system than mine.  Ordinarily that would not be a problem, since my bike pump accomodates both types, however there was one major problem (excuse me as I digress into a rant)...

The problem with buying a bike from Walmart, is that they are made in China.  Big deal, you say?  Well they design their tires for looks, not function, and because of their design, the tubes have an extra long valve stem to accomodate the extra deep rim.  Where can you buy such replacement tubes, you ask?  MAINLAND CHINA!  They do not sell them in the United States!  The problem arises when you go to inflate your tire and if there is not enough of the valve stem coming through the rim, then you can't get the pump nozzel on it to inflate it...brilliant!!!  My suggestion for anyone who needs the affodability of a Walmart bike, but plans to put some miles on it, replace both wheels the minute you get it.  It will cost about $50 per wheel, but it is really worth saving a ton of aggravation.

Ok, really had to get that out.  So the obvious has happened...tire on rim, but can I air it up?  I pulled the valve stem as far as I dared without breaking it, got the pump nozzle down enough so that air was going in, but air was leaking out as well because I couldn't get a good seal on the valve.  At this point the M.C. came over...

M.C. (off mic, thank goodness):  "Are you alright?"

Me:  "Yes, almost done"

M.C.:  "You know I can't help you."

Me:  "Yes, I know"  (Me thinking to myself: "your not helping me now by wasting my time!")

M.C.:  (walks away)

Me: (pumping furiously to put air in the tire faster than it's leaking out.  Get tire on bike)

M.C.: (with cat-like stealth, reappears)

M.C.:  "You have one minute to leave transition before I close it (translation:  I'm going to disqualify you and your coach is going to go all spider monkey on my ass which will look really bad).

Me:  (panic attack!)

M.C.:  "Now run to the mount line!"

Me:  (running to the mount line)

I mounted my bike and headed out onto the course.  In less than half a mile was the first huge hill.  Huffing and puffing, I made it out to the main road for the 7+ mile loop (the "fun" about a loop is that once you get back to where you started, you get to do it again).  Lots more hills--not as big as the first, but still quite daunting.  It took about 15 minutes for me to be completely comfortable that the tire was holding and that I was going to complete the race.  I have to admit that I don't think I was pushing as hard as I could have on the hills.  I just kept my breathing steady and enjoyed the ride--very beautiful country.

It was during the ride that emotions started crashing over me.  I was actually doing this crazy thing and it felt good.  I was in last place, but so what?  God's word kept coming to me...

For God did not give us a spirit of timidity, but a spirit of power, of love and of self-discipline.

                                                                       2 Timothy 1:7

I can do all things through Christ, who strengthens me.

                                                                                  Phil. 4:13

God gave me a tenacious spirit for a reason; He knew that I would need it to endure the challenges of life.  They call a triathlon an "endurance race", but I think that doesn't really describe what's happening.  When I think of the word "endure" it seems passive.  Somthing happens to you, and you just hang on to get through it.  A synonym for "endure" is "survive".  Was I surviving this? No, I was DOING this--big difference.  I have "survived" a lot of things in my life that I had no control over, but I chose this and I was determined to finish strong.  It is hard to describe in words the tremendous sense of peace and joy I had during that bike ride.

1:44:23.3 (1 hour, 44 minutes, 23.3 seconds) later... 

                                           

Back to transition, getting ready to run (note all the people hanging out in the transition area--pretty aggravating.  I had to roll my bike over peoples gear because for all they cared, the race was over.  I think they should keep people out of transition until all athletes have completed the course)...

    

The whole time I trained for the run portion of the event (what I feel is my strength), I envisioned a nice flat 3.2 mile course where I could maybe make up some time...HAHAHAHAHA!!!  The first 1.2 miles was the same as the bike course, which meant running (ok, I actually had to walk it) that fist major hill.  After that, we were diverted onto a dirt road with more...wait for it...HILLS...argh!!!  Everytime I got to the top of one, there was another one waiting for me.  I was actually starting to wonder if they forgot I was out on the course and had taken down the "turn around" point.  Well, they hadn't and there were smiling volunteers waiting for me at the bottom of the 3rd or 4th hill, really I couldn't keep it straight.

I grabbed a cup of cold water at the turn around, and that's when something really cool happened.  Two of the volunteers were packing up for the day and they said that they'd run that first hill back with me--how cool is that?  They just poured words of encouragement over me, telling me how great I was doing and that they could never do it themselves.  Those guys were awesome!  That gave me the extra bit of adrenaline I needed to get to the finish.  About a half mile out, I could hear the crowds, music and cheering.  As I started to pass people along the side, they were all cheering for me, which was so cool and weird at the same time.  Then I saw my sweet Samantha and my mom holding signs and cheering "Go Mommy, Go!" over and over.

When I entered the home stretch to the finish, the crowd got really loud, cheering me on and I broke into a fast run, just shy of an all out sprint...it was crazy!  I had done it!  The first person to greet me was my wonderful friend, Mindy.  I couldn't help bursting into tears as she gave me a huge hug and told me how proud she was.  Next thing I knew was Samantha was in my arms and she said, "Mommy, you didn't crash?".  Laughing through tears, I said "no, I didn't crash".

Standing at the finish line with Mindy, Liza and Samantha...

                                             

My official time was 2:56:46.9 (that does NOT include transition times).  Dead last and loving it.

Final Thoughts:  Words are not enough to describe our incredible team and coaches.  The love and support for each other is something I will always cherish.  But remember, we didn't do this for ourselves...

Between the Tucson and Phoenix teams (15 people) we raised over $39,000 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society!

On the day we completed this race, my 16 year-old niece took a 10 hour drive back to Memphis, TN and St. Jude's Children's Hospital for a spinal chemotherapy treatment--she's MY hero.

I'm already thinking about my next event and Herb is thinking about training for the 2010 "El Tour de Tucson" with Team In Training...GO TEAM!!!