Because They Told Me I Couldn't

What is the number one question runners are asked?

“Why?”  

Whenever you tell someone that you are a runner, this is the question that gets asked most often, along with “How are your knees?” and occasionally the “I don’t even like to drive that far.”  Generally, a quick response is given and we go about our day.  From my experience, it is hard to delve into why we are out on the road or trail in all types of weather putting in miles.

This question, “Why” is a great point of introspection and we should allow ourselves time to process the answer.  Your “Why” will get you through many tough spots during training or races.

I ran track in middle school and cross country in high school. I wasn’t great by any stretch, but I could hold my own and had some nice finishes.  I fell away from running during college and the years after graduation.  Partying and eating were more my style during those years, evidenced by my 30 lbs of weight gain.  In 2007, before my wedding I was having some chest pain and scheduled an appointment at a cardiologist.  They did an echocardiogram and they discovered that I had a bicuspid aortic valve.  I was younger and dumb and really didn’t pay attention to it.  The pain, it turns out, was not related to the discovery and it went away, so I continued on and pretty much forgot about it for a few years.  I also continued to not pay attention to my health (it was a slow build of not caring and when you are in it you don’t really see the changes).  As my son approached three years old, Katie reminded me about the bicuspid valve diagnosis and urged me to follow up on it.  She had been working at Thomas Jefferson Hospital in Philadelphia, so that seemed to be an appropriate place to go.  The cardiologist scheduled a CT along with an echo, she said that sometimes when people have bicuspid valves they are accompanied with an aortic aneurysm.  I didn’t know what it meant but it sounded bad.  After the test, it was confirmed that I did indeed have an aortic aneurysm along with my bicuspid valve.  That sounded worse.  I now needed a consultation with a surgeon.  

Katie came with me to the surgeon consultation.  During the appointment he explained that normally if a person has just the aneurysm they do surgery when it reaches a certain size, I believe 5 cm (I am by no means a doctor and I don’t pay attention to those kinds of details).  However, in people that have both a valve issue and the aneurysm, they are more aggressive and do surgery at 4.5 cm and generally replace the valve when they are in there (in a matter of fact tone).  My aneurysm was initially measured at 4.4 cm, I was 1 mm away from surgery.  I began to sink. It felt inevitable and like I was already doomed for the operating table.  I asked what type of surgery it was, and (again in a matter of fact tone) he said it was a full open heart surgery. I remember Katie started crying as he explained in great detail what to expect before, during, and after the surgery. I sank further, I was 29 turning 30, married, had a 2 year old son, and on the precipice of open heart surgery.  This isn’t how it is supposed to go.  As I was in my daze, he began to tell me the things I could not do.  Strenuous exercising where I would need to exert myself for more than 30 sec to 1 min of spiked heart rate over 180 beats per minute, lifting anything over 10 lbs, and the list of items trailed off.  This felt the worst.  I had generally been active, I played roller hockey (but drank after) and lifted weights.  But having a list of things I could not do started playing on my mind.  Eventually I came out of my daze and asked what I COULD do.  He said light aerobic exercise.  What LIGHT AEROBIC EXERCISE…that kinda sucks.  My recollection of light aerobic exercise were people in bright leotards jumping around on the TV in the late 80’s early 90’s, jazzercise, and Sweating to the Oldies.  How am I supposed to get yoked with light aerobic exercise?  Dejected, I went home.  I have a really close family and I replayed the meeting with the surgeon in my words to them, and everyone shared in my misery.  

After a few weeks of self wallowing and retelling this story to anyone that listened, I asked the surgeon if running counted as light aerobic exercise.   He confirmed it did, but that I shouldn’t have my heart rate over 180 for more than 30 seconds and should have my heart rate in the aerobic zone.  What the hell is an aerobic zone I thought?  You mean running isn’t just going like hell every time you hit the pavement?  He also said that I would never run more than a half marathon.  There was little studies between endurance events and those with my diagnosis back then and there still is a lack of studies.  I started to formulate a goal.  Under the eyes of my cardiologist and surgeon I started back to running (painfully slow), began to change my lifestyle in terms of diet, and set my aim on hitting a half marathon.  In 2013 I dipped my toe back into running and completed 5Ks, 10Ks, and then eventually a half marathon.  I ran the Philadelphia Half-Marathon in 2017 (the marathon and half all had the same start and shared the first half of the course together), and as I finished I saw all the “crazy people” continuing on after I limped through the final miles of my half.  Little did I know that while I was there, I got the marathon itch.  After my 3 month CT scans and tests moved to 6 months then eventually yearly, my surgeon approved the marathon distance, but that was it.  Who the hell would want to run longer than a marathon I thought, of course that’s it.  In 2018 I ran the Philadelphia Marathon and although I was wrecked (I still had no idea what I was doing), I felt accomplished.  Crossing that finish line caused a spark to form inside me. And that spark was begging to become a fire. If I was able to push past this limit what other limits could I run through?

As of this blog post I have run the Philadelphia, Long Beach, and New York City Marathons, and plenty more unofficial ones during training.  I have completed all distances from 5K to 100Ks, run for more than 100 miles in 24 hours three times, and finished the Cocodona 250 mile race twice.  All under the eye of my surgeon and cardiologist.  I have learned a ton about myself, about this community, and about pushing through hard stuff.  If I would have listened to them in the beginning I would be a much different person than I am today.  They became my “Why.”  No more than 13.1 miles, and then 26.2 miles became my “Why.”  It is my “Why” in ultras and in life.  I do what I do and made the changes that I did because I don’t want to go back to that seat and be told what I can’t do.  I want to have them look at me with a weird look and say, “Just keep doing what you’re doing” after my tests, like they did with the last two years.  Since the initial scan the size of the aortic aneurysm has decreased by 2-3 mm.  Now the surgeons will attribute the differences to technical errors and report it as grossly unchanged. Unchanged is great. But, when the only thing between surgery and I was 1 millimeter, 2-3 millimeters is a HUGE change in the right direction! So...I will keep doing what I'm doing and stare my limits in the eye as I pass them.

Your “Why” doesn’t have to be drastic, but it has to be impactful enough to you that it gets you up in the morning, has you working out in the rain, and keeps you going through the tough times.  What is your “Why”, I would love to hear from you.  

I know I jumped over a TON of information on how I went from 26.2 miles to running a 250 mile race through the desert.  Those nuggets are for other posts.