Running in the rain

Running in the rain used to be one of my favorite things to do. I start out and it’s cold and the drops are like cold spikes against your skin but as I go, I warm up, and the drops are soft and cooling against my skin. There is something to be said, too, for being out in the rain without layers of clothes against getting cold or wet, with my legs bare and shoes soaking wet and to still be running in it.

I say it running in the rain used to be one of my favorite things to do but then I got Lyme and couldn’t withstand getting cold, much less wet. My doctors ordered me to stop running because the blood-brain barrier becomes permeable to the Lyme spirochete with cardio. I didn’t run for eight years. I wrapped myself up in 700 fill down vest in 90 degree weather. I lived small and tight and cautious.

I started running again, a year or two ago, but I’ve been running as sporadically as I’ve been writing this blog. Then the rains came. The first storms had me running to buy rainbows, umbrella, rain gear to bike in. Clothes that would make me impermeable to the wet and cold. The next storms came rolling through and I went out walking in it, hesitantly. Would I get sick? Would my body collapse under the strain of cold layered over illness? Would this be the one thing too much that would knock me by the wayside? Nope. I’ve apparently tip the scale back from collapse to resiliency.

Then storms came through again this week and I went out running in them, without layers of ranger. Just me, shorts and the rain. Rain soaked my hair and ran down my back, my legs were spattered with mud and my shoes go so wet that I didn’t hesitate to run through puddles. I heated up and the rain was a welcome cooling.

My shoes are still drying in the hallway from yesterdays run and my tulips are blossoming in my window box.

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On Knowing Myself in Motion

I was on the wall last week and as I was working my way up a challenging route, the thought percolated up to me: I know myself best when I am in motion.

When I am climbing, as when I am running or dancing, doing yoga or pilates, capoeira or boxing, walking, biking, swimming or any of the myriad other sports that I have done throughout my life, my mind quiets and my whole self integrates into focused movement: I know myself best when I am in motion.

It is also when I love myself the most.

Which is why the hardest thing for me in the years I was sick with Lyme Disease was giving up nearly all forms of movement. When I was diagnosed, I was 25 years old and I was a mess. I was fully in third stage Lyme and could no longer read or write, could barely speak, routinely got lost, even in my hometown. I’d lost my hair, couldn’t keep any weight on, had had a migraine for four years and was so tired I didn’t leave the house for anything but work for six months. My doctors ordered me to immediately stop anything aerobic, as it opens up the blood-brain barrier and allows the Lyme bacteria to pass into the brain, where it destroys neural synapses, memory, coordination, decision-making, you name it. They also told me not to push myself physically, to keep my efforts under thirty percent, to take slow and gentle walks, to do restorative yoga, to make sure that my body had the energy to heal.

I wanted to get well badly enough that I stopped do anything other than walks, yoga and pilates, but I still pushed myself hard enough that I’d get fevers and be exhausted for a few days. As the seemingly endless years of treatment have rolled by, I’ve gotten better, then stagnated. Or relapsed. I’ve tried to start new things, a dance class, maybe, or trail running or even just getting to a regular weekly yoga class but I’ve always had to quit after a few weeks because I just wasn’t recovering, because each class or run seemed to build my energy deficit, I’d get sick again and then take a few months to get back on top.

It’s different now. I’ve been consistently climbing and in the gym. Instead of being destroyed my efforts and stopped them to get better, I’ve steadily gotten stronger—both on the wall and in my constitution. I am beginning to be able to add in other activities, to explore the limits of my body without fear of collapse and I remember that being in motion is, to me, the purest form of joy that I know.

I am beginning this blog for several reasons. I’d like to talk about getting, being and staying physically active with a chronic illness. Movement, being in my body in motion is, like writing, an act of discovery for me, the way I know and learn things about myself. It allows things to percolate up, usually about my understanding of healing and I want to share that. This will be a mix of personal narrative, with training and healing tips and write-ups of my exploration into the types of body and energy work available in the Bay.