But I'm going to complain. I don't like to vent and be all negative on the blog, but today I have to.
This Saturday is June 12th. Many of the 3 or so people who read this blog remember that I am running a half marathon on Saturday.
Excuse me, was running a half marathon on Saturday.
That's right. I have allergies, asthma and OCD - which means I can't run on Saturday. Okay, maybe the OCD has nothing to do with my running, but that diagnosis came this week too. Here's the story:
I've been having asthma attacks much more frequently the past couple of weeks. I know it is because of the cottonwood trees that are shedding their little cotton balls all over the place around here. So, it's been really hard for me running.
I've been working for five months now, building up the endurance I need to run 13.1 miles. Three weeks ago I ran 8 miles and thought I was in great shape. Two weeks ago I was supposed to run 10. I hit about 3 miles, had an asthma attack and ended up walking 1.5 miles home. Last Saturday I was supposed to run 8-10 miles. I did 6 and thought I was going to die.
This leads me to Monday. I was sitting and sewing, and I had an asthma attack. That's right, no activity at all and I couldn't breathe. So, I went to the doctor. He suggested (told me) that I shouldn't try to do the run on Saturday because it was likely I would push myself through an asthma attack and end up in the hospital. But he didn't absolutely forbid my running.
I debated long and hard. I talked to Brad, I asked sister, and I talked to Kimberly at work (who has been a big support in my running - she's doing the full marathon on Saturday hoping to qualify for Boston). After that and a lot of soul searching, I decided finally that it wasn't worth the risk, and I haven't really wasted the last five months, because as soon as I get my asthma under control I can keep training to run a half marathon (maybe Vegas in December?) in a much faster time. I can set a new goal for myself, instead of just finishing, to finish in under two hours.
It's hard. I still really want to run this week, and part of me still thinks that I've wasted a lot of time for nothing. After all, I was hoping this would help me get healthy and lose weight. I haven't lost a pound (and no, my jeans are not fitting any looser either) and I get winded just walking up the stairs. But then again, I get winded just walking up the stairs and so I know I can't run 13.1 miles this weekend. I just have to realize that I'm at least a little healthier, because five months ago there is no way on earth I could have run eight miles at once and been okay afterward.
And now here's the funny part. I have been teased a lot about some of my quirks. Yes, I call them quirks. Some call them freakish behaviors. It has always been a kind of joke that I'm "a little OCD." Well, a few weeks ago I came up the stairs at my house, and was so bothered that I had to go down and do it again. Turns out, it was just because I started on the wrong foot. That got me thinking really hard, noticing more of my "quirks."
I have a system when I get in the car. If I don't do things in the right order, I have flashes of horrible accidents while I'm driving. Not so much if I start off right.
I can't start cooking a meal when things in my utensil turn-about on the counter are in the wrong place. Like, if Brad has put the dishes away (which he does a lot. I have a good husband.) and he just sticks things in there wherever they fit, I have to stop and sort it out right before I start cooking. Even if I'm not using anything in there. I think about burning food and catching the house on fire if I don't fix those things.
Well guess what... that means I have OCD. There's a distinction between quirky behavior and liking things in order and OCD. A tell-tale sign of OCD is associating horrible events with certain quirky behaviors.
I'm not at the "What About Bob" stage... and I will probably never be. I'm not even at the needing medication or a therapist stage. I am supposed to talk about my behaviors and thoughts. If I feel like it's taking control of my life, that's when I would start seeing a behavioral therapist. For now, all of you, my good friends and family, get to be my therapists.
And yes, you can tell me I'm crazy. Because let's be honest here. I am a little bit crazy. (The first time I said that, it was to Brad. And I'm lame enough to have finished it up with "and you're a little bit rock & roll.") And really, as I heard once... "I don't have OCD. I have CDO, because I believe everything should be in alphabetical order."