I stopped dancing during my third year of medical school. For the majority of my twenties, I fought diligently to regain the technique that came naturally to me in my teens. I had never been a great dancer, but my skills peaked at age 17 and declined during college. At age 27, I gave up the losing battle when I realized my twenty-something body would never have perfect or even acceptable extension or turnout. I was filled with trepidation about what activity could take the place of ballet. What sort of activities did adults do? After several hours on the internet, I decided to train for a triathlon.
I had run intermittently in years preceding, but always with extreme caution because of issue of muscle bulk. I was warned by my childhood ballet teachers that running was not for dancers. Dancers need long, lean muscles, I warned myself. I put this all aside as I reminded myself that the “warm up” duathlon I had just signed up for included 18 miles of road biking and 5 miles of trail running. It was an early spring day, but still cool, so I put on pants and a sweatshirt and went out for a run.
I made it one mile. By that point my entire abdomen was in spasms and I could not breathe. This was going to be harder than expected. I walked home to regroup and find a website to tell me if I was suffering from some horrible congenital disease that precluded my running. I was, after all, a medical student at the time. After I was convinced that my condition was benign, I formulated a plan. I religiously trained for about 4 months. By the end I was a slow runner, but I could complete the two hours of exercise that would be required for the race.
Spring in Tennessee that year had been amazing. But the week of the race in mid-June produced a heat wave into the 90’s. As I mounted my bike at the start line, I told myself to stay calm. It will be okay. Don’t overhydrate. At this point I still suffered from side stitches essentially every time I ran. I hoped that just the right amount of fluid would prevent this phenomenon. I felt good on my bike as the gun went off and a parade of bikers meandered the knolls ahead. The second half of the course was very hilly but I made good time. I had some abdominal discomfort towards the end, but focused on the task and thought through the transition station.
I arrived at the transition station and was ready to run. The heat was suffocating. I poured water over my head and started running. I got no more than a mile before my stomach began seizing up. At first I thought it was a side stitch, but it was much worse than that. My stomach felt hard and was tied in knots. I tried to keep going but I thought I would throw up. Doubled over in pain, I lay in fetal position on the side of the trail for no less than two minutes. I did not know if I would get up. Maybe a mile to the next aid station. I can make it that far. I did a combination of walking, crawling, and leaning on trees to get to the aid station, which was the turnaround for the run. I drank some water which, to my surprise, revived me enough to start running again. This is weird. A mile from the finish it started falling apart again. I felt my vision going black around the edges, my ears were ringing and my abdomen felt like a cement mixer. I toughed it out to the finish and then collapsed in the grass. Adam (who had done the triathlon version of the race which included a kayak portion) had long since finished and was munching on some lunch. He told me that I looked like shit. I told him I could not see or hear and could he please get me some Gatorade? He lept into action. Two waters and three Gatorades later I was perking back up.
Although I finished third from last and could have wound up hospitalized with heat stroke, this race sparked my interest in running. I was not very good at it, and it was excruciatingly painful. I have loved it ever since.
I had run intermittently in years preceding, but always with extreme caution because of issue of muscle bulk. I was warned by my childhood ballet teachers that running was not for dancers. Dancers need long, lean muscles, I warned myself. I put this all aside as I reminded myself that the “warm up” duathlon I had just signed up for included 18 miles of road biking and 5 miles of trail running. It was an early spring day, but still cool, so I put on pants and a sweatshirt and went out for a run.
I made it one mile. By that point my entire abdomen was in spasms and I could not breathe. This was going to be harder than expected. I walked home to regroup and find a website to tell me if I was suffering from some horrible congenital disease that precluded my running. I was, after all, a medical student at the time. After I was convinced that my condition was benign, I formulated a plan. I religiously trained for about 4 months. By the end I was a slow runner, but I could complete the two hours of exercise that would be required for the race.
Spring in Tennessee that year had been amazing. But the week of the race in mid-June produced a heat wave into the 90’s. As I mounted my bike at the start line, I told myself to stay calm. It will be okay. Don’t overhydrate. At this point I still suffered from side stitches essentially every time I ran. I hoped that just the right amount of fluid would prevent this phenomenon. I felt good on my bike as the gun went off and a parade of bikers meandered the knolls ahead. The second half of the course was very hilly but I made good time. I had some abdominal discomfort towards the end, but focused on the task and thought through the transition station.
I arrived at the transition station and was ready to run. The heat was suffocating. I poured water over my head and started running. I got no more than a mile before my stomach began seizing up. At first I thought it was a side stitch, but it was much worse than that. My stomach felt hard and was tied in knots. I tried to keep going but I thought I would throw up. Doubled over in pain, I lay in fetal position on the side of the trail for no less than two minutes. I did not know if I would get up. Maybe a mile to the next aid station. I can make it that far. I did a combination of walking, crawling, and leaning on trees to get to the aid station, which was the turnaround for the run. I drank some water which, to my surprise, revived me enough to start running again. This is weird. A mile from the finish it started falling apart again. I felt my vision going black around the edges, my ears were ringing and my abdomen felt like a cement mixer. I toughed it out to the finish and then collapsed in the grass. Adam (who had done the triathlon version of the race which included a kayak portion) had long since finished and was munching on some lunch. He told me that I looked like shit. I told him I could not see or hear and could he please get me some Gatorade? He lept into action. Two waters and three Gatorades later I was perking back up.
Although I finished third from last and could have wound up hospitalized with heat stroke, this race sparked my interest in running. I was not very good at it, and it was excruciatingly painful. I have loved it ever since.
