The Path Through the Fog?

 

Quick post (sorry for all the reading at once!).  I thought it best to break things up a little bit.  Thank you for reading.

The search to understand the what, why, where consume me.  I do not imply that this obsession remotely resembles a healthy preoccupation.  And yet I stay up late searching, trying to put thepieces together.  Surely someone has missed something.  Surely the key sits there in front of me, ready to provide thatdesperately needed “Aha!” moment.  It’s a terrible prospect - the thought of losing one’s mind.

Attempting to backtrack through my Wood, attempting to determine at least when I started entered the twilight, I recall a definitive downturn in September 2013.  My training became more… dreaded; my performances became stagnant, if not faltering.  With my the Ironman World Championships quickly approaching (mid-October), this faltering registered as par for the course, as I was knee deep in the hardest part of my training.  But really it went deeper than that.  I no longer wanted to race Kona.  I just wanted to get it over with.  In retrospect, my sense of burnout in doesn't really surprised me.  I had trained hard for over a year, beginning with preparations to race Ironman New Zealand, where I qualified for Kona qualifier, in March of 2013.  I trained harder than ever before; certainly so with regards to the day-in / day-out intensity.  The proverbial fork had become well-planted in my flesh and more importantly, in my mind.  While I took great satisfaction in having obtained the Kona starting line once more, the desire to suffer again - and severely in the case of racing an Ironman - had fled sometime during the summer.  

"Regular" readers will recall that last June I did a half-ironman in Bend, Oregon (Pacific Crest) a few days after violent food poisoning in June - losing many pounds overnight.  Having no appetite, and being severely dehydrated does not equate to a good race-week taper, in case anyone needs that advice.  I contemplated not starting numerous times, including on the bus-ride to the start.  I thought about dropping out numerous times on the bike, and regularly in the run.  But I struggled on, digging deeper, going slower.  The emotional depths to which I went, simply to finish ("racing" had been forgotten 10 miles into the bike), were unparalleled in my experience.  It took literally everything my mind had to get me to the finish line.  I am proud that I finished.  Even if, again in retrospect, it was foolish to have even started.

Finish what you start.

Yet with Kona still approaching, I kept pushing across a couple more months of hard training.  Not only did I continue to remind myself that my family had granted me the time and the mental energy to train hard for World Championships, they did so enthusiastically.  I had also long-ago learned that you never know when, let alone if, you’ll ever get back - particularly true with the unpredictable nature of MS.  More importantly, so many people had come to my aid in raising funds and awareness of MS, believing in my cause and in myself.  I couldn’t let them down.  Truly, I am happy to say that I feel I held my end of the promise.  I am in their debt, and endlessly in the debt of my family.  I am content with my Kona performance, if not satisfied.

My thoughts have begun to stray from triathlon.  I have finally unearthed a potential source of my discontent across the past few years.  It has taken quite some time, but I feel my priorities may need realignment.  MS Fitness / Family / Career / then Sport.  More percolation time should help develop the flavor of my needs. 

With this realization, and with antidepressants, the fog has begun to lift, even if just a little.  Ironman Lanzarote has begun to weigh ... differently on me.  It approaches quickly -  2 months away now.  I have put in 5 hours per week of training on average, and generally all at low intensity.  I took a couple / few weeks off completely in February.  I had competitive aspirations for IML in November and December.  They then shifted towards being a participant rather than a competitor.  My goal resides squarely in that corner now.  I have said many times through the years that I am constantly in good enough shape to complete an Ironman any day of the year - maybe not quickly, but to the end.  Lanzarote will test that supposition.  Now it's simply a matter of training to make that experience as pleasant as possible.  But I will finish what I start.

 

“If you’re going through hell, keep going.”  Good advice from Churchill and Dante.

Alas, easier said than done. 

Black Dog - Foggy Wood

Quite a bit of time has passed since my last post.   I am fairly regularly surprised to hear that folks I know (and some I don't) actually read my blog, and some are inspired by it.  Will wonders never cease?  Thank you for reading.  I'm glad I can inspire.  

Quite a bit of reflecion and soul-searching has taken place since my last post.  The following post represents the time period between December 2013 and February 2014.  More posts will follow.  I'm afraid they may be less than inspirational.  However the reality is that many of us - with MS and without MS - deal with some of the topics below on a daily basis.  We usually just don't like to admit it to anyone - possibly even ourselves.

It has not been a fun few months.

Winston Churchill, made famous through his words, war, and drink, also seemingly struggled against bi-polar disorder.  A condition characterized by dramatic, pendular mood swings ranging between highly energetic, manic phases to disparaging depression.  Churchill referred to his depressive side as his “Black Dog”, harassing him through much of his life.   It fascinates me that someone could earn a hallowed alcove in the Hall of Fame for World Historical Figures in the face of such a condition. 

I suppose it should console me to find myself in such good historical company.  But it’s not.  Incomprehension of the catalyst impelling me on my journey doesn’t alter that I have, somehow, returned to my detested Foggy Wood.   My brain has turned murky.  A place where concentration yields headaches, maintaining a thought remains short-lived, and the ability to recall the appropriate word dubious.  And my fatigue - the damnable fatigue - has become overwhelmingly ubiquitous; I am drained of energy, let alone motivation for anything and everything.   Something in my mind changed along with my vision that Friday early last December. 

Things there have finally begun to clear some.  Now my eyes play tricks on me primarily when fatigued, when it’s foggy or rainy, or when I concentrate hard.  When this happens, I’m reminded of when I took a ride in a high performance bi-plane in 2003.  Rolling and banking through G-forces I have never otherwise experienced found me audibly grunting (between laughter) to keep my head as clear as possible.  Now I occasionally find myself swearing and grunting when driving.  I’m not afraid of losing control of my vehicle, nor worried that I’ll have an accident so much as feeling like my eyes want to focus on a point not quite the same as the one I’d like: very close, but not quite it.  Watch through your rear-view mirror on a rough road, with the world easily decipherable, but not quite in focus as the mirror bounces around a bit - your eyes always playing catch-up.  The world doesn’t move like that in my eyes, but the sense of inability to focus is similar.

All tests thus far continue to come back unremarkable.  MRI: unchanged from last February.  Optometry assessment:  near perfect, right a little worse than the left, but time for low-power progressive lenses (hello 40’s!).  Neurologist: probably vestibular issue.  Ear Nose Throat MD: unremarkable (clinical) vestibular test, hearing almost normal, slightly diminished in the left - but generally, unremarkable.  Blood work:  pretty much normal.  Low testosterone.  OK, treating that.  Otherwise I’m theoretically healthy as a horse.  Full vestibular workup (“tilt-a-whirl”) and neurophthalmology appointments scheduled in March.  Personally, I have begun to consider psychosomatic sources.  I’ve tried to convince myself that what I’m experiencing in my head as I drive into work each day really exists only there:  in my head.  “I believe it’s in my head.  I believe it’s in my head.  I know it’s in my head.”  I wish I could say it helped.  Mabye I just don't believe it enough.

My wife requested on multiple occasions that I consider going back on antidepressents.  Then one day she (nicely) insited.  I could no longer disagree with her - the time had come, even if I was too stubborn to admit it.  That little pill and I stared at each other for a long time before it passed my lips.  

I think my mood has improved, but my vision issue it remains.  Regardless of what the tests and MD’s otherwise indicate, something is most definitely wrong.  I’m exhausted, and yet I cannot sleep.  I am not motivated to train.  Strike that, I do not even want to exercise.  I am restless, and uninspired.  Listless, I sit and wander the well-trodden pathways in my Foggy Wood. 

The introspection continues.

Good Night.