The Long Road to Recovery

The view from the top of my driveway yesterday.

Recovery: A return to a normal state of health, mind, or strength.

Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever: A bacterial infection transmitted by a tick that can cause serious damage to internal organs such as the kidneys and heart.  Most commonly found in the southeastern United States.

After the whirlwind of Ironman-- the "Hurray!" and the "Congratulations!"-- what does one do?

My dear brother and sister-in-law
sent me this fruit basket.
The boys ate it in about 12 seconds!

I expected to feel done with triathlon.  I had been warned about burnout and depression after accomplishing this goal.  Neither arrived.  I wanted to train for next year.  Chattanooga 2018.  I thought I could go faster.  Maybe also try to qualify for the Boston Marathon.  Maybe compete in a bike race.  

My poor husband just looked at me like . . . !?X?!  Poor guy.  He thought the craziness was over!

After a mere two days of rest, I felt restless.  I was unaccustomed to sitting around.  I wasn't even sore.  Sadly for my house, I felt no desire to do a thorough cleaning or catch up on other chores.  I enjoyed more time with the boys, but even so, there was still a hole in my schedule.  I wanted to get back on the bike, or take a run, or maybe a swim.  

Back in the saddle with a few
of my favorite C4 folks.

Three days after Ironman, I rode 22 miles on the bike and did a 2,000 yard swim.  Delicious.  The next day, a 30 mile bike ride.  I wasn't fast.  My legs were still recovering, but the movement felt great. I allowed myself to continue doing half distance/half speed workouts for the next several days until a sudden change sucked the strength out of me-- Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever.

It began nine days after Ironman, with a sudden dislike for coffee.  It tasted funny.  Hmmm...  I wasn't hungry for breakfast or lunch either.  Then came the fever.  103.  Nausea.  Headache.  OOoooh!  HEADACHE...

This continued day and night.  I lived on the couch.  I forced myself to eat, and sometimes I kept it down.  One day it was half a bowl of Cheerios.  Another day, five bites of sweet potatoes.  I thought I was staying hydrated, but the continual profuse sweating-- which required daily sheet and blanket washing (Yuck!)-- was literally draining me.  At my mother's urging, John took me to the ER on the fifth day.

After ten hours in the ER, two IVs, numerous tests, and what was to be a $16,375 bill, the doctors sent me home with a shrug: "Maybe it's some sort of virus.  Make sure you follow up with your regular doctor."  Seriously?!  They didn't even test me for tick born disease, which I specifically asked them to do.  Grrr...

Two days later, I saw Dr. Lanclos who diagnosed me appropriately, and prescribed the antibiotics that would heal me.  It took another week before I could stay awake all day without a long nap or drive a car without getting dizzy and nauseated.  It was 14 days before I felt like exercising.  My parents came down for a visit and were a wonderful help keeping the boys busy with activities, cooking meals, shopping, and encouraging me to rest-- which I did!

So here I am-- six weeks and four days after Ironman, and in my third week of regular exercise post Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever.  Where am I headed?  

I want to see if I can knock it out of the park next fall at Ironman Chattanooga.  How much stronger can I become?  How much faster?  

And-- by the way-- I know that in many ways it doesn't matter.  Health, Love, Family-- these three things are far more important than any physical challenge . . . and yet... these physical challenges call to me like a bewitching siren.

This drive to test my limits, however, has been tempered by the knowledge that my body is not superhuman-- despite my Ironman status.  It is humbling to see how quickly the body can falter.  But with the support of my favorite training partner, I think we still have goals to achieve.  Right PBM?