In my last post, I left you hanging.
Sorry about that.
I hate cliff hangers.
So, I get it.
However, because there is so much to share about this journey, I felt the need to break it up into several smaller posts.
I left off where my world was about to be turned upside down.
After the races at Disney, I took a week or so off from running to allow my legs a break. When it was all said and done, I clocked over 100 miles that week between the races and all the walking in the parks.
I tried to get back into my regular running routine because I had another half marathon coming up in a month, and I needed to stay in shape for that.
But...
I.could.not.run.
My IT bands (a band that stretches from your knee all the way up to your hip) would not loosen up.This is a common injury among runners, and it's due to hip instability.
Here again, I thought I was just like everyone else.
I just needed a little physical therapy and everything would be fine.
I was not missing this next race for anything.
Hubby was running, and it was his first half marathon.
I wanted to share that with him.
And I did.
I WALKED 11 of the 13 miles because I couldn't run.
It hurt too bad.
However, it was fun, and it's a memory I will always cherish.
I realized after that race it was time to take an extended break, and really hunker down with physical therapy.
The therapists worked so hard to help me find relief.
Bless 'em.
They guided me in hip strengthening exercises, they massaged my IT bands, and they even did dry needling (which hurts like the dickens!! I almost passed out the first time).
Nothing seemed to work.
I got tired of the therapy not giving me the results I wanted, and as much as I loved the girls who were working on me, I was really tired of seeing their faces.
So I quit going.
I had other things to focus on like my sister's wedding.
The weeks turned into months, and running was no longer and option. This disturbed me greatly because running was my outlet with homeschooling.
It was imperative that I run in order to cope.
I was a much nicer person when I could run.
Also, I could eat whatever I wanted, and it not really effect my weight.
Since my coping mechanism had been postponed until a later date, I began to deal with my stress in other ways.
I ate my feelings.
And folks, when you eat your feelings, your skinny jeans become vulgar.
Just sayin'.
I started gaining weight.
I wear a lot of Matilda Jane clothing, and that stuff just stretches along with you.
You don't know how much you have gained until you go to put on your jeans, and the waistband stops at the base of your saddle bags and says loud and clear, "I ain't doin' it."
Even though I had ditched my physical therapists, they did not forget me.
I thank the Lord for their dedication and their kindness because they were able to figure out what was going on with me, and get me to the right doctor, to properly diagnose me.
Never in a million years would I have dreamed I would end up in a geneticists office.
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