Thursday was an eventful day: I finally conquered my canyon! It was a good omen that Boulder’s Park Management had opened the lavatories at the base of the trail for the season.
I was optimistic and boldly confident of my chances with the task at hand. I even added an extra hill at the onset of my run, as if to rub it in the face of the canyon. It was also unavoidable given the added restroom excursion. All things told it was 4.33 miles of non-stop canyon action, with 2 miles uphill and 2 back down. I averaged a 13 min mile, which is not to shabby for me in a canyon. Afterwards I celebrated with a half mile swim at the gym. The most noteworthy event that happened occurred shortly after the fact while I was devouring my lunch. I was so hungry I bit my ring finger all the way down by the tip knuckle while I wolfed down my chicken apple sandwich, chomping recklessly to expedite its pathway to the pit in my stomach.
I can only hope this does not become a routine occurrence as my appetite increases simultaneously with my mileage.
And that’s all I really have to say about it. Seems rather anti-climactic given the build up for this momentous occasion. I had hoped that the juicy details of my victorious canyon run would have proven more blog worthy, and the remainder of this entry could have remained unwritten. As it is, I have knowingly delayed discussing the meeting I had with my female doctor (wink, wink) for over a week, and regretfully, I have nothing else left to talk about.
It is the weekend and as I lick the remains of my second glass of wine, I find myself wishing my cardiac woes would allow me the entire bottle to facilitate my open discourse on the matter. As it is, the second glass makes it better than none, and I will do my best to proceed with courage and honor, holding my head high above the water, so to speak.
It had been a year since my last visit and at the last encounter we had discussed an interesting electrical stimulation machine designed to zap my bladder control muscles into proper order. As luck would have it, the combined electrical force fields of my implanted defibrillator and this device presented an absolute contraindication and I was unable to partake in the surely joyful experience offered by its usage.
I informed my doctor of my persistent leakage issues while running despite Kegelling away for the past year.
I expected my doctor to be equally impressed by my mastery of the exercise, however after completing her exam she raised a discerning eyebrow and told me, “Oh, you can do better than that.” Well. That was helpful. Now that I know that she thinks I can do more, I will REALLY start trying. Apparently, the threat of imminent leakage has been insufficient to prompt me to Kegel hard enough. Ok, there may have been a couple of weeks there when I lackadaisically slacked in my compulsive, covert contractions, but who wouldn’t when the results were not forthcoming? Regardless, truth be told I have become a Kegel master. If they offered black belts in Kegelling, I would have one. I told her this in slightly different terms and informed her that I wanted to discuss alternatives.
A few weeks ago I learned through the grapevine that there is a minimally invasive, (practically non-invasive, really) procedure involving some sort of sling that would cradle and cure my overstressed bladder and require no more than a day of down time. I was excited to hear about this and I first mentioned it to my husband. He looked at me with his omniscient eyebrow raised and said, “Honey, you told me to slap you if you ever suggested signing up for another surgery…ever.” True, I had. However, this sounds like it is so non-invasive that it would be almost scalpel free and I would not need to be fully sedated either, so it is more like an office visit. In an operating room.
I mentioned this procedure to my doctor and she raised her discerning eyebrow again and said, “but you don’t do well with surgeries.” I explained to her how it was practically not a surgery at all and that I really missed dryness south of the equator while on the run.
She agreed that I would likely be a good candidate and referred me on to a specialist. That appointment won’t be happening for another month. In the meantime, I also approached the topic on the phone with my most trusted and fastidious family physician, my mother. She asked what my husband thought of my plan so I told her about his eyebrow and she said she loves him above all others in the family. I could hear both her objecting eyebrows raise accompanied by a loud and simultaneous cock of her head to the right as she proceeded to tell me I needed to carefully consider every possible complication ever known to exist (as well as those thought to potentially exist), and assume that each will undoubtably, positively (with 100% certainty) happen to me.
Well. That is great news because how could there possibly be any complications to something that is really not even a procedure? And now that everyone is united behind me in exploring this magical change in climate for my drizzly running weather, I have nothing to do but wait for the next consultation to learn more about the surefire sunshine ahead! My eyebrows are flying high with unflappable gumption, somebody get me some sunglasses!