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Running: Microlactin As A Race Recovery Aid

June 16, 2012 By

When I ran a personal best at last year’s Fall half-marathon, I could barely walk for about a week afterward, and I didn’t even attempt to run for about two weeks. I knew that I should get out and run as soon as possible, that the best cure for tight muscles was motion. But when you have trouble getting from your bedroom to the bathroom without looking like a 200-year-old, the idea of a 5K jog around the neighbourhood is akin to climbing Mount Everest.

Initially I blamed the bag pickup setup at the race. The bag pickup area had been placed at the end of the finish line chute, which meant that twenty thousand runners were forced into a corral the width of a three-lane city street. It was absolute chaos. I stood in that line for two hours waiting for my bag, with no place to stretch or cool down and dehydration making my mind go moggy.

While that experience undoubtedly hindered my race recovery, it could not have been the only factor. All I had to do was cast my mind back to my long training runs. I had been in pain for several days after each one, even when I had not pushed myself particularly hard. There had to be some other factor that was preventing my body from bouncing back in the way that I thought it should.

I was introduced to a supplement called Microlactin in early May, about three weeks prior to the Toronto Womens Half-Marathon. Among the things promised in the promotional material were decreased joint pain and enhanced recovery from strenuous exercise.

Microlactin is made by Swiss Natural, the same company that manufactures the only multivitamin that my body tolerates. The active ingredients are micronutrients found in cow’s milk, that slow the emigration of neutrophils from vascular spaces into the joint spaces.

What’s that? Oh never mind, I didn’t understand that sentence either.

Here’s a translation: the milk proteins in Microlactin help reduce the inflammation associated with joint pain, thereby enhancing mobility and recovery from strenuous exercise. All I had to do was take it for a minimum of two weeks to see these benefits.

Well, this would be interesting. My first thought wasn’t whether this supplement would actually benefit me, but how it would fit in with all of the other stuff I take. My daily regimen already included multivitamins, vitamin D, calcium, and a vitamin B/C complex. Could I really add something else to the mix?

Before taking it, I Googled Microlactin. I didn’t see anything that indicated an adverse reaction to Microlactin, either taken alone or with other supplements. Best of all, it made no difference whether it was taken with or without food.

According to the instructions on the bottle, the recommended dosage is four capsules twice a day. That seemed like an awful lot, especially considering how big the capsules are. I soon found, however, that as long as I swallowed one capsule at a time and washed them down with plenty of water, it wasn’t a problem.

I took my first dose on a Wednesday, and I did a long run the following Sunday. It was an intense phase of my training cycle, so I pushed myself hard on the run. To my amazement, I woke up the following morning feeling nothing more than some residual aching in my hamstrings, which dissipated as the day went on.

Well, this couldn’t be right. No supplement could possibly yield such dramatic results in only four days. The manufacturers themselves made it clear that it could take two weeks to see a difference. I decided that it was a fluke.

The following weekend I ran further, faster and harder. By rights I shouldn’t have been able to get out of bed the next day. Not only did I get out of bed, I was nimble about it. There was none of my usual Monday morning post-long-run moaning and groaning as I got ready for work.

The real test, of course, was the half-marathon on May 27th. By then I had been taking Microlactin for almost three weeks. I was definitely benefiting from it, but now I was going all-out in an attempt to run a personal best.

I ran hard on a tough course, missing my personal best by 25 seconds – no mean feat, especially considering that my iffy ankle was acting up. After the race I was really hurting. My ankle was throbbing painfully and my legs just didn’t want to have anything to do with anything. I hobbled painfully to the designated pickup spot that my husband and I had agreed on prior to the race.

The following morning I woke up, fully expecting to be in a lot of pain. But no! I had some stiffness in my legs, but I was able to move around easily enough. My ankle was very sore, but even that seemed to be better than I would have expected. While I had been focusing on the race recovery aspect of the Microlactin, I had not paid much attention to the fact that it could help ease the  pain of a very old injury.

Two days post-race, I had an appointment with my sports massage therapist. When I walked into his office, he looked up in surprise and said, “What happened? Did you miss your race?”

“Ummmm, no, I was there,” I replied, going on to give him an account of my run.

“So why aren’t you hobbling in here on one leg like you always do after your races?”

During the massage itself, the massage therapist was amazed at how loose my muscles were. When I told him why this was, he joked that Swiss Natural Microlactin was going to put him out of work.

The following day I went out for a leisurely but very comfortable 6km run, and two weeks later, I am ready to start my training program for my autism run in October. This time, I will take Swiss Natural Microlactin throughout my training. Speedier recoveries might just help push me to a personal best time.

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

(Disclaimer: this review, which is kindly sponsored by Swiss Natural, is based on my own personal experiences and observations. Any statements made here or elsewhere on Running for Autism are not intended to replace the advice of a certified medical professional.)

Filed Under: Half-Marathon, Microlactin, Product Review, Race, Race Recovery, running, Swiss Natural, Uncategorized, Vitamins & Supplements Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , ,
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Autism Acceptance Does Not Mean Entitlement

June 14, 2012 By

 

Since my son George was diagnosed with autism five years ago, I have learned – to some extent, at least – how to field the rude comments of strangers and the blatant stares of their children. Through my writing and through daily interactions, I do what I can to educate and inform, to discourage people from discriminating against my child on the grounds that he is “different”. I strive for awareness and acceptance, and I work towards a world in which everyone accepts George for the wonderful, albeit a bit quirky, person that he is.

In this quest I am part of a not-so-secret society of autism parents who have a common goal. We post and share autism awareness messages on our Facebook walls. We circulate articles about what to say and what not to say to an autism parent, and we brainstorm ways to make things easier for our children. In all of this, our message to the world is this: Accept our children, include  them to the extent to which they are capable, and discover what wonderful people they are.

As passionate as I am about this cause, I do believe that if we’re not careful, we can take it too far. We can make the mistake of expecting the world to bend to our children no matter what, without making any effort to equip our children to live in the world.

During my afternoon commute from work, I regularly encounter a blind woman who has a service dog. When we get off the subway, we go to the same bus bay, although she doesn’t take the same bus as me. She waits patiently for her bus, politely asking people to let her know when her bus has arrived. She is so nice and charming, and people practically climb out of their own skins in their eagerness to assist her.

In contrast, there is a man during my morning commute on the subway who is confined to a wheelchair. He is rude and aggressive. He seems to be completely OK with literally pushing people out of the way in his efforts to be first onto the train when it arrives, and he acts as if he can behave as badly as he likes because he is disabled. People are not that inclined to help him and feed his sense of entitlement.

When George has meltdowns in public, there is often very little I can do about it, but that doesn’t stop me from trying. As I try to engage strategies to help him, I offer explanations of autism to anyone who might be nearby. Am I obligated to explain my son’s behaviour? Maybe not. But I do recognize that my son’s behaviour at those times can be disruptive and a little frightening to the people around us who cannot be expected to magically know that he has a invisible disability.

In the vast majority of cases, my explanations are met with smiles and nods of understanding. On the odd occasion, I have even received offers of help. Yes, there are always the people who tell me that I shouldn’t have my child out in public if he cannot control himself, or that my bad parenting is to blame, but there’s very little one can do about people with that kind of attitude.

The point is that the road to acceptance is a two-way street, with some effort required from both sides. It shouldn’t be all up to other people, who in many cases may not know how they’re supposed to act around someone with autism. The individual with autism (depending on the level of functioning) and his or her family should do their part to make things easier too.

When I was on the subway to work one morning, a girl of eleven or twelve boarded the train with her parents. With the sense that autism parents develop as an instinct, I knew that this girl had autism. She clearly had communication deficits, but she appeared to have a reasonable level of functioning in other ways. Since this was during the morning commute, there was standing room only on the train.

The girl lost it. Over and over, with increasing intensity, she screamed, “I want to sit down.”

Bear in mind that although I knew the girl had autism, in all likelihood the other passengers didn’t. Why would they? Autism is not a visible disability. To most of the people on the train, that girl was simply a brat acting out. Her parents did not offer any explanations, nor did they make any effort to stop the screaming or help their daughter.

As the screaming escalated to an ear-splitting “I! WANT! TO! SIT! DOWN!” a woman close to where I was standing gave up her seat to the girl, who instantly calmed down. No-one thanked the woman who had given up her seat: not the girl, and not her parents. The woman, quite justifiably, was annoyed. She said something to the girl’s mother about manners, and the girl’s mother made some obscure comeback about a commuter’s responsibility to give up their seat to people with disabilities. The woman shook her head in bafflement and moved towards the opposite end of the carriage.

I didn’t mind that the girl had started melting down over the lack of seats. People with autism do not have control over what triggers them.

However, I do mind that her parents expected everyone else to accommodate her without offering an explanation, and I mind even more that they allowed the situation to escalate without trying to help her. I believe that in their lack of action, they did a great disservice to the autism community.

The next time any of those commuters encounters a child having a meltdown in a public place, how understanding are they likely to be? Does this kind of thing not reinforce all of the negative stereotypes about autism that we are trying so hard to beat?

We (autism parents) spend a lot of time talking about how we wish people would accept our kids. But we cannot really expect someone to accept something when they don’t even realize there’s something to accept.

Is it acceptable for people to be rude and discriminatory towards individuals with autism? Absolutely not. That doesn’t mean, however, that everyone has an automatic obligation to cater to us and our children, no matter what, without a little bit of effort from our side.

We have to meet the world halfway on this one. Working with society, not against it, is ultimately what will build awareness, acceptance and inclusion.

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

Filed Under: Acceptance, autism, Discrimination, parenting, Society Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,
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2012 Run For Autism: Starting The Journey

June 10, 2012 By

Many of you already know the story.

You already know how I was a runner way back when, and then stopped and completely neglected my physical health after the birth of my kids. You know how I always wanted to get back into running, but never found the discipline. You know how I became completely comfortable as a couch potato but never quite got rid of that residue of regret.

You also know how an email landed in my inbox one day that completely changed everything. The email was an invitation for me to join the team being put together by the Geneva Centre for Autism for the forthcoming Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront races. Participants could run the 5K, half-marathon or marathon, and in the process raise funds for services for children and youth with autism.

It turned out to be just the motivation I needed. Within 24 hours I had made the transition from couch potato to speed demon extremely slow runner. Six months later, I had dropped almost sixty pounds and I was standing exhausted but triumphant at a half-marathon finish line, clutching my finishers medal and sobbing with emotion.

Here I sit, three years later, getting ready to embark on training and fundraising for my fourth Run for Autism. Since that first half-marathon in 2009, most of the weight has stayed off, my half-marathon time has improved by almost ten minutes, and I have raised over $2000 for the Geneva Centre for Autism.

This year’s race is on October 14th. My fundraising goal is a cool thousand dollars. This means that for the next four months, I will be shamelessly asking people for money – friends and family, complete strangers, and everyone in between. The money will go towards supplies and services for children and youth with autism. These are services that can provide skills that will last a lifetime, enabling people like my son George to lead happy, productive lives as fully integrated members of their communities.

Some examples of what $1000 can do are as follows:

  • Art supplies for 40 children and young adults
  • Sports equipment for 20 children and young adults
  • Musical instruments for 15 children and young adults
  • Job training for 15 young adults
  • Field trips for 10 children and young adults
  • Summer camp for 4 children and young adults
  • 2 iPads loaded with apps for individuals with autism
  • 1 piece of state-of-the-art sensory equipment

This list goes to show that every single cent really does make a difference. If you have the ability to, please consider sponsoring my Run for Autism and contributing to this incredible cause for my child and for other people with autism.

To donate, please visit my fundraising page.

It takes a very special kind of village to raise a child with special needs. Today, I invite you to be a part of my village.

(Photo credit: Brightroom Professional Event Photographers)

Filed Under: autism, Autism Services, Finish Line, fundraising, Geneva Centre for Autism, Half-Marathon, running, Running for Autism, Scotiabank Toronto Waterfront Races Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , , ,
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GUEST POST: Talking About Bulbs

June 8, 2012 By

Today we wrap up what’s been a great week of guest posts. So far we have heard from an autism parent, a woman embarking on a weight-loss journey, a mom who suffers from mental illness, and  an Asperger mom who runs. Today’s post comes to us all the way from Spain. Gati Presumida, like my guest writer yesterday, participated in the Health Activist Writers Month challenge. She has Lupus – a condition I knew nothing about until I started reading her blog. She’s not talking about her Lupus today, though. She is talking about her father’s battle with dementia.

Yes, bulbs.

Light bulbs.

You are not crazy. You read that.

I am not crazy. I wrote that.

And, as per mental health, no one is ever crazy.

Because, as crazy as it may sound, talking about bulbs for an hour was the thing that made my yesterday complete.

By the time you finish reading these lines I only hope you can agree with me on this: talking about bulbs can be the greatest thing ever.

My dad suffers a condition called Frontotemporal Dementia. Although God only knows when it started, he was diagnosed 4 years ago, when it was too late for many things.

Dementia has altered our life in such ways that you cannot imagine. However I am not going to tell you another of my “soap operas” today.

I would like you to see what I see. I would love to give you the key of perspective so that you can see how talking about bulbs can make your day.

My dad’s dementia has forced him retire 10 years earlier than what he planned. He is not allowed to have any money nor credit cards or bank accounts and whenever he goes out he gets 1000 questions afterwards so that my mum can be sure he hasn’t done any “crazy” thing like buying a new car or getting a loan on my behalf.

Although my dad can walk he feels under so much  control that he feels house bound.

He gets told off whenever he tries to help and does something. He feels useless and that’s unfair because he may have dementia, but dementia does not have him… yet.

Maybe next year things are different. But nowadays he can do so many good things! And he, nor anyone, should never feel useless.

You see my dad and see a “crazy” person you should not trust. But I see a person that is trying to fight. He knows dementia is meant to have him, but he knows it is up to him to slow the process down.

I know he can do it. That is why I bought him a e-book so that he can train his mind by reading. I ask him for help whenever I need. Not because I pity him, but because I really think he can help me. He is so wise and so capable of doing things and everything. He is worth more than anything to me.

Yesterday I sent him an e-mail asking for help. Do you want to know what he replied? “It comforts me that you think I am capable of doing anything”. It breaks my heart.

He would tell me things like “I am glad you don’t think I am crazy” every time we have a chat.

If I had an idol that would be my dad. Only because I know I would not be able to cope with dementia in the way he does.

Although he sometimes has moments in which he forget things or he does things he should not do without realizing (like buying a car), most of the time he is fully aware of his situation. He knows he is doomed to be defeated by dementia and yet he is fighting. To be honest, had I been in that situation, I would have never tried to fight. And he does. Every single day.

He fights dementia. He fights to show people he can do so many things, and that he can do them right. He really fights to show the world he is still capable of doing things.

People say my dad is crazy. That Dementia is getting worse… Just because somehow he bought a new car. While others see this as an act of dementia I see a gesture of guilt and gratitude. Because he buys that car for my brother as a way to say “thank you for giving up your life, your family, your job and everything to help me out”. I now guilt can be stronger than anything.

I constantly hear “your dad has one of those bad days” just because he forget things. I forget things all the time! Oh, so he is worse today because he doesn’t know which day it is? I rarely know what day is today! What for? My everyday is the same, so why should I bother about what day it is? I am happy being clueless about if it is Monday or Friday because whenever I got something important coming up I set an alarm to not forget. My dad does the same.

My dad’s dementia has got worse because he rumbled about bulbs for like an hour yesterday.

Really? Have you thought about his life?

He has no job, he is not allowed to do anything on his own… He feels house bound like I am.

To tell you the truth, I have one million Ph.D on stupid things. It is what you do when you have nothing to do and the internet is your only window to freedom. So, yes, if that day you need to look for an energy equivalence table in order to get a new bulb, you may take the chance and “surf” a bit deeper into the matter. Well, do you have anything better to do that day?

Oh, so you think you do? Maybe, if it is only one house bound day. But when you are in that cage for 4 years… What now?

Well, there you have it. Bulbs are great thing to get a Ph.D on. It is just a matter of perspective.

Dementia has given my family many reasons to be sad and worried about, but every time we have a family get together you only hear laughter, jokes and that funny teasing that my family knows to do so well. I love that. I treasure each one of those moments.

Maybe during those family get together you see my dad’s upset face at some point. You would probably think it is one of his dementia black-out moments.

I don’t see that. I see guilt and sorrow for having destroyed so many things, for having taken his kid’s lifes away without realizing. I know he wonders how he could not see all that coming…

My dad gets to my mums nerves if he talks about bulbs for an hour. Don’t judge her because we may not know what it is like to be 24/7 with a person like my dad. Like many parents that lose their nerve and smack their kids with apparently no reason, my mum probable loses her nerve. Dementia has altered her whole life, so I guess she deserves the right to lose her patience from time to time.

Light bulbs are not a crazy thing to talk about. I love, I treasure, each one of those “crazy” conversations. Firstly, because I don’t think it’s crazy. I understand my dad and each one of his sudden interests.

I love talking bout bulbs because it is my dad I am having that conversation with.

I will always be up for another bulb chat because I don’t know when that will finish and when dementia will have my dad. Because today he knows who I am, but I don’t know when that will come to an end. So, yes, I am number 1 fan of bulb chats.

You may think that my dad is crazy. I don’t. I see it from another point of view. I only wish people did the same. Not only for my dad, but with many other people that, alike him, have a mental issue.

As you see, Mental Health, from my point of view, is a matter of perspective. So why don’t you give it a go? I am sure you will get surprised by how things can change just with a tiny bit of perspective.

Don’t let yourself get carried away by words like dementia, bipolar or depression. Don’t focus on the wording but on the person you are talking to.

From a different perspective I am sure you will see so many things that were hidden behind those names.

Take this key of perspective I am handling to you today and I am sure you will also tell others how an hour bulb chat made your day.

To learn more about Gati Presumida, check out her website!

(Photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/born2bmild/5158015580/. This picture has a creative commons attribution license.)

Filed Under: Attitude, Dementia, Determination, Father, Fighting, Gati Presumida, Guest Posts, Independence, Lupus Tagged With: , , , , , ,
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GUEST POST: Back Into The Stride

June 7, 2012 By

In March, I received an email inviting me to participate in the Health Activist Writers Month Challenge hosted by WEGO Health. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” I thought, and signed up. I had never participated in a month-long blogging challenge before and didn’t really know what to expect. I thought that maybe my readership would increase slightly. Perhaps I would come across a couple of blogs that interested me.

I didn’t anticipate becoming immersed in an entirely new (to me) community of bloggers. During the challenge I read many blog posts that were humourous, surprising, heart-wrenching, thought-provoking, informative, or just downright good. I have been fortunate enough to keep in touch with some of the writers, and I remain an active participant in the goings-on at WEGO Health.

One of the writers I “met” during the challenge is a woman who has much in common with me. She is the parent of an individual with special needs. She is also a runner, and therefore totally gets why the highlight of my weekend was going out to buy a new pair of running shoes.

Today, Gretchen Stahlman tells us about her train of thought as she returns to running after a break.

 

I hadn’t run in about a month, the longest stretch since I started running distance six years ago. I normally run three or four times a week, depending on what I’m training for. Last December I started training hard for the half-marathons I ran in the spring. I had a good base from running the NYC marathon in November and I wanted to capitalize on that, plus I wanted to keep myself motivated through the dark, cold winter months. And it worked: I had a PR at my half in March, and I felt like I was really coming into my own in running. But by the end of April when I ran my last half, my body and my mind were too tired to do what I wanted them to do.

Soon enough I’ll start training for the Chicago marathon, so the month of May was a good time to rest and recover and finally address that twangy right hamstring. When I traveled to Denver on business, I purposefully didn’t take my running gear so I’d be forced to take the time off. As it turns out, I liked resting. And I’m pretty good at it (better at it than running). So I took another week off. I stretched my hamstring and, amazingly, it got better when I wasn’t running on it. So I took another week off. I decided that I would run again when I felt like it. Day after day, I didn’t feel like it.

Then last week, my mind got stuck while working on a new essay. In writing, there is the required butt-to-chair time when the words manifest themselves on the page, but for me, I also need running time that frees my mind to go where it will while my body churns away at the miles.

I made my triumphant return to running last Saturday. Just three miles and I knew it would be hard, making me wonder how I had ever run 26.2 miles before and how I would ever do it again. I ran with a new friend on a route I like a lot, one that takes us on the canal path where there are always other runners, owners walking dogs, couples strolling with cups of coffee. We ran smoothly over the brick sidewalk, saying good morning to those who came our way.

A white haired man in old-school running gear came our direction, not terribly fast and with a little lurch in his stride. His left hand held his right arm to his chest as he ran, and when we drew closer, I could see that it was shriveled to half the density of his left. I said Good morning as we passed, and then Wow to my friend when the man was out of earshot. Wow, she said back.

When my friend slowed to walk, I ran on by myself. Now free of conversation, my thoughts drifted to my son who is 22 and only recently diagnosed with Asperger’s although he’s been this way his entire life. He hit a dark skid last fall where he stayed in bed all day, didn’t shower unless told to, didn’t go out, shrank back from the difficulties of the world. That’s when we sought professional help, that’s when the diagnosis came, and now he’s getting out of bed and doing a few things on his own, more each week, a slow stuttering rise to a new life. The social interactions are hard for him, going new places, doing new things, but equally hard to go old places and see people he already knows. But he’s doing it. He’s putting himself out there, making the effort, like the old man who has found his own way to run, holding himself together, not letting what he can’t do prevent him from doing the things that he can.

The route I ran turned down a dirt road and then along a short stretch of trail. The wet of the morning grass come through my running shoes. The trees arched over the path, dimming the sun, muting the world. When I picked up my right foot to clear the rocks and roots, that old achy hamstring sang out like an old friend. The path ended and I turned onto the road, the one that lead me back to where I started. My first run was done, not as hard as I thought it would be. It felt good to be back, in both mind and body, ready to begin my own arduous climb to the marathon.

To learn more about Gretchen Stahlman, check out her website!

(Photo credit: Gretchen Stahlman)

Filed Under: Aspergers Syndrome, Gretchen Stahlman, Guest Posts, Injury, running, Special Needs, WEGO Health, Writing Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
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GUEST POST: Fighting With My Shame

June 6, 2012 By

Kerry White has a few things in common with me. She was also born in South Africa, and she also lives in North America (Texas, to be exact). Like me, she knows what it’s like to parent a small energetic boy. And like me, she knows what it’s like to live with mental illness, including depression and social anxiety.

I first got to know Kerry through a now mostly-defunct Yahoo group called Homesick South Africans. During its heyday, this group was the venue of some lively discussions – a few of them controversial, many of them humourous, almost all of them supportive. Several friendships that formed during the group’s active existence have continued through social media. I am so grateful to the Internet for existing, because without it, my friendship with Kerry would not have evolved in the way it has. This is a woman for whom I have a great deal of admiration and respect.

As I strive to talk about my own struggles with mental illness, I am immensely grateful to Kerry for this post, in which she frankly and courageously shares her own journey.

So I think I’m crazy. Absolutely strait-jacket-heavily-medicate-me-and-lock-me-up crazy! I have felt this way for a very long time, probably since I was about ten years old and reading my first Stephen King books. I recognized the signs of madness in my mind from the characters in some of his books.

As a much more jaded adult, I now recognize myself for what and who I am. I have severe depression, social anxiety, obsessive compulsive disorder, and it all comes bursting forth in the less than neat and tidy package of major panic attacks. I live with mental illness, and I am terribly ashamed of it. I feel broken, less of a person, less of a woman, and worst of all I feel like a terrible mother because of it.

Growing up in South Africa in the 80s, my mental illness was not recognized for what it was. My anxiety, and shyness, and my odd acting out behaviors gave the impression that I was a difficult child; not that I was a child in dire need of some thought of help.

Don’t get me wrong, my childhood was not unpleasant at all. My parents were hard-working and loving individuals who did the best they could for us during rocky financial times. But there was no such thing as depression, anxiety, panic attack, mental illness. There was just doing what needs to be done, threatening electroshock therapy when I refused to communicate about an assault when I was a teenager, and threatening to send me away to a mental institution. At 16 I was admitted to a psychiatric hospital for teenagers who are in crisis. I felt normal! I felt accepted! I felt safe! I was there for two weeks and then released, but promptly tried to kill myself because I didn’t get the support I needed at home. I spent another several weeks in there, but soon learned that I was better off shutting the part of myself I thought to be crazy away. I was never going to get support outside of the walls of that mental health hospital. I was always going to be told to just suck it up and get over it. Because that was just the way things were handled.

I have spent the better part of my adult life trying to just get over it, trying to avoid the idea that I have a problem that no amount of “getting over” will fix. I have tolerated abusive partners, abusive bosses, and abusive coworkers; because I felt I wasn’t worth more.

When I had my son, my depression and anxiety kicked into high gear – but I expected it to. I refused to take the prescribed antidepressants, in case they made me worse (as others have done in the past), or someone saw me as too weak to raise this child. But I do recognize now that I should have not only taken the medication but sought out help. Help wasn’t offered for my “baby blues” and I didn’t go find it. It got to the point, several times, where I wanted to end my life because I was so miserable and felt like such a failure.

I’ve found myself mentally standing on a ledge, with nothing behind me, not even one hand to reach out and pull me to safety. But then the knowledge of the small body pressing against me, raising out a hand and calling out for “mommy” reminds me that if I jump off of this mental ledge then he loses himself, too.

As my son’s needs have changed, so has my mental illness. It has to. I have to get us dressed and get him to daycare so that I can work. I work at home, which just encourages my social anxiety. We need to go to the store and get milk and the occasional toy car, so I steel myself and leave the house. For him.

I’ve made myself get on a plane to visit family; I’ve made myself go visit friends. But it is hard. I have to find a way to change this, for my son.

So what is my next step then? I have more anxiety than will allow me to even see a therapist. What if they deem me to be as unfit of a mother as I feel some nights when sobbing over a panic attack or crying in my office when he is at school? I can’t just “suck it up and get over it.” I have tried. Believe me, I have tried.

I feel crazy. Insane. Broken. But this is my normal. I just wish I didn’t feel so much shame and fear along with it. How do I find the inner strength I need to get help and not feel so broken? Help that will not judge me as being weak or unfit as a single parent?

My heart breaks for others who feel like I do, and I do my utmost to help them. I even write helpful blogs and books for a counselor who helps women like me!

Why then can’t I find what I need in order to help myself work through this? At what point will my son notice that his mommy isn’t like other mommies? I do not want to continue trying to bury my mental illness, but I do not know any other way to function. I am not strong, I am doing what I need to do in order to provide for this boy that the universe has seen fit to place in my care.

To find out more about Kerry and the children’s books she is writing, visit her website!
 
(Photo credit: Kerry White)
Filed Under: anxiety, Depression, Guest Posts, Kerry White, Mental Illness, OCD, parenting Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , ,
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GUEST POST: A New Journey Begins

June 5, 2012 By

This weekend, I decided that I had had enough of not being as healthy as I need to be. I catch too many colds and take too long to get rid of them. I am always tired and run-down. I don’t run as fast as I know I’m able to, and in spite of having lost a lot of weight, I’m still about twenty pounds overweight.

Since I was a teen, I’ve had a one-extreme-or-the-other approach to eating. Either I consume calories as if they’re going extinct, or I live on the smell of an oilrag. That I have psychological issues with food is without question. Part of my problem, though, is good old-fashioned lack of discipline.

My nutrition habits suck because I haven’t tried hard enough to fix them. This weekend I decided that I was going to turn over that particular leaf. Right after I made this resolve, I went to see if anything interesting was happening on Facebook. And there, right on top of my newsfeed, was a status update from my good friend Mimi, who had made a very similar resolve.

I emailed her excitedly, and we decided that as we strive to improve ourselves, we will swap guest posts once a month, to tell each other’s readers how we are doing in our quests.

Mimi is a special needs mom like me, only with way more special needs kids. She is patient and kind, and she knows the true meaning of friendship. I recently did the 2012 Blogathon alongside her, and I am so thrilled to be embarking on another challenge with her – albeit a challenge of a different nature.

Today, Mimi tells us what her goals are. I am delighted that she is sharing her journey with us.

When I look back, I can see myself at various weights.  Some bother me and others make me wish I was back there again.  Before I had my first daughter at age 19, I weighed in at a whopping 97 pounds soaking wet.  I had no shape to my body whatsoever, but as soon as I got pregnant, through those 10 months of pregnancy (yes, my daughter was 28 days late!) I gained 91 pounds!  That was a whole me that I put on!  I worked very hard to get the weight off, and I managed to get most of it off, I got myself down to 120 pounds and was happy there, but then I got pregnant again and up went the scale.  This time I went up to 150 pounds with my daughter and after her birth, I managed to get myself to GAIN an additional 10 pounds.  See, my daughter was born with Down Syndrome, so I was more concerned with her health, than mine at the time.

I got married in 1994 and my weight was 160 pounds, which I was technically happy with.  I had a little pudge on me, but nothing that I was embarrassed about.  But then I had our next daughter and I immediately put on the weight again, and this time with each pregnancy I had, the weight just kept piling on, I couldn’t get back down to 160 no matter how hard I tried.

I remember the day that I was at the doctors office and I stepped on the scale and it said “200” in big bright orange numbers.  I about died right there on the spot!  It affected me so badly that I started eating my emotions, and my favorites are carbs.

I have since given birth a total of 6 times and am currently sitting at 225 pounds.  Just in March I was 216, but I’m stressed, there’s no doubt about it, but to pack on 9 pounds in just a little over a month, that’s a problem to me.

So I decided that now at my age (44) I need to fix this problem for once and for all.  My doctor has promised to take me off of my diabetes medications if I can get down to 175, but I want to do better than that… My goal is 160 pounds, like I was 17 years ago when I married the love of my life.

I want to lose the weight not only for me, but for my family.  If I can do it, then it will show them that they too can do it.  My hubby is over-weight as well and I think this weight loss program that I started would be great for him too.  He had one knee replaced last year, and is going to have the other one done this summer, so if he could take some of the extra weight off his knees, they will last longer.

But really, I’m just tired of looking at myself in the mirror and looking pregnant.  I’m not fat anywhere else except in the stomach, butt and hip area, which is of course where all of women’s weight tends to go.

The program that I am doing is the CTS300 which is sold at Complete Nutrition.  I’m really excited about doing this program because I’ve seen the pictures of the locals who have lost the weight and I am more determined now than I ever have been before.  I’ve tried Weight Watchers, that didn’t’ work for me… So I’m hoping that this program does.

I have an exercise routine that I do two times a day, I walk the treadmill at various inclines for 20 minutes, 2 times a day and I carry two 5 pound dumbbells with me as I’m walking.  By the time I’m done, I’m glistening like a diamond ring – because women don’t sweat!  My thighs are usually on fire by the time I’m done on the treadmill, but that just means I had a good workout, which is what I’m looking for.

So I’m not looking at this as a “diet”, but more as a lifestyle change.  I’m changing the way I look at food now, and I think before I go reaching for something to put in my mouth.

Check out Mimi’s blog at Wife… Mom… Writer… All Blessings!

Filed Under: Eating, Food, goals, Guest Posts, Mimi, Nutrition Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,
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GUEST POST: It’s A Marathon, Not A Race

June 4, 2012 By

The first time I met Jennifer Krumins, she was having a fight with her laptop. She was slated to give a parent education presentation at George’s autism therapy centre, and she couldn’t get her technology to work. She endured some good-natured heckling from the front row (read: from my husband), got her PowerPoints to work, and went on to deliver a riveting presentation.

Jennifer is an autism parent, educator and author. She willingly shares her hard-earned wisdom for the benefit of parents who may be feeling a little overwhelmed by the whole special needs gig. Thanks to what I have learned from her, I have become somewhat good at advocating for my son in the school system without alienating anyone along the way. Whenever I start getting my annual IEP-related panic, I start posting stuff about it on Facebook in hopes that Jenn will respond with a gem of wisdom, and she always does.

Since the first time I met Jenn, I have attended more of her presentations and roped my mom into filling out a questionnaire for her book entitled Autism and the Grandparent Connection (which you really should read, even if you’re not a grandparent). We have become friends and we’re looking forward to having a drink together at this year’s autism symposium that Jenn will be presenting at.

Today, she tells us about her journey as an autism parent, and offers us some advice to help us along the way.

I don’t run marathons. I really admire people who do. I have some friends that train faithfully and test their endurance over the course of a few hours…by choice!

I am the parent of a sixteen year old boy with autism. Biggest marathon of my life. Yes, raising a child with autism is perhaps the supreme test of endurance. And yet, like many of my running friends, I would sign up to do it again because in my memory, the moments of success were far more remarkable than the moments of pain, exhaustion and heartbreak.

So what are the secrets of our successful marathon? Is it a medicated state of euphoria that I am experiencing….only to be rudely awakened by reality when the meds wear off?

No. I can honestly say that while the road has been long, harrowing at times and I have fallen on my butt on many an occasion…the journey has delivered far more emotional, intellectual, spiritual and social growth than our family could have dreamed.

The secrets have been revealed to me through fellow “autism marathoners,” trial and error, and most of all through the wisdom of children with autism (my own son and those students whom I have had the privilege to teach). I have learned some valuable tips to enrich the journey and increase endurance:

1. Instead of carb loading…try optimism loading. It’s very good for you and your child! Optimism is a way of looking at life and its inherent stresses. Being an optimistic person does not mean that one is always happy and peppy… it is that you choose to look for opportunity in the middle of adversity. Feed your brain with daily/hourly reminders that adversity is temporary, and that your child is making progress (even if it’s tiny steps). “Children learn what they live,” and as the adults in a child’s life it is our responsibility to model an attitude of positive persistence and hope. We can choose to believe that there is hope, meaning and joy within any given moment.

2. Take a long term approach to training. You would not be able to run your first marathon immediately after deciding to do so. You need to train. It’s the same thing with raising your child. Too often, we get stuck on a panic button in the early years. We may feel like we have to do it all right now in order to win the race against autism. It doesn’t work that way. Live in the present but plan for the future. Each day, each hour that you invest in being the kind of parent you want to be has a cumulative effect. In the long run, it is the lessons of perseverance, self- advocacy, and hope that will develop your child’s ability to be resilient and to ignite a sense of self- worth and self -confidence. Children learn by doing….by failing and trying again. They do not gain self- confidence when we tell them they can do it….and then we do it for them. The values you live by will be the greatest gift you give your child with autism….more than any treatment/intervention.

3. Visualize and rehearse the route. What are your long-term goals for your child? What do you envision for your child in the future? Design your plan so that you not at the mercy of someone’s map. Take the time to write down your thoughts on the following: What are my child’s strengths, skills, interests, challenges and limitations? What about my child gives me the most joy? What are my biggest fears or worries? What goals do I value for my child’s development? What specific behaviours, or other problems, have I observed? How did I react? What did I do in the situation? What could I do better next time, if anything? Have I recently noticed any changes in behaviour or ability? Be prepared to share what you know with those who are on the journey with you (even if you don’t like them). But remember, your plan must be in writing.

4. Talk with folks along the way, enjoy the course, smile often. The autism marathon is a social event. Too often we try to do it alone and we burn out. We need each other. We even need the people that drive us nuts because they keep us running; trying to learn more, be more and advocate more. Choose not to allow bitterness, resentment and hatred ruin the journey. We are the ones who suffer (as do our children) when we allow destructive feelings to shape us. Advocate one step at a time, one person at a time with patience and humility. The journey is much richer when we allow others to help. It is a sign of strength and selflessness to say, “Yes, I could use your help.”

5.  Set goals. Work to achieve them and stay focused on the things you want. Your life does not wait until you “fix” the autism. This is it. Treat your life as the gift it is. The time is now to take figure out what you will be living in the next five years (ten and twenty). Start with small steps towards those goals. Catch yourself if you are waiting to live your life. Perhaps, autism is in some way a vehicle for achieving those goals. Seize the time and model for your child what it looks like to live a goal directed life.

The marathon continues. There are more times of peace now…but never for too long. Struggle creates a rich environment for personal growth. Just set your eyes and heart on the target and keep putting one foot in front of the other.

To learn more about Jennifer and the books that she has written, check out Autism Aspirations.

(Photo credit: Jennifer Krumins)

Filed Under: autism, Coping Skills, Guest Posts, Jennifer Krumins, parenting, Special Needs Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , ,
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Random Ramblings On A Sunday Morning

June 3, 2012 By

Yesterday, I got a new pair of running shoes. In a dramatic departure to the norm, I did not get New Balance – the shoes I have insisted on running in right from the start. Instead, I got Newtons, which are designed to help runners improve their form. These shoes are going to change the way I run. My heel-striking days will be over, and I will become very aware of my calf muscles.

I will have to break the shoes in gradually, and as I sit here on a Sunday morning – the day of my long run – I have to resist the temptation to put the shoes on and take them for a 10K run.

I developed an interest in running long before I actually took it up. That is to say, I always enjoyed watching it, even if I was too lazy to get off my butt and do it. As a teenager, a prominent day in my annual calendar was the annual Comrades Marathon, an 89km run between the South African cities of Durban and Pietermaritzburg.

On Comrades Day, my dad and I would be up drinking coffee by five in the morning. We would turn on the TV to watch the pre-race goings on, wondering what the start-line energy must be like for such a huge event. Then we would watch the start, and spend the morning trying to predict how long it would take Bruce Fordyce to win. That he would win was never in question. He won the Comrades a record nine times. Eight of the wins were in consecutive years.

While Dad and I were glued to the TV, Mom would be making a huge batch of cookies in the kitchen, relishing the opportunity to bake without us hanging around asking why there weren’t any cookies yet.

After the top ten  men and women crossed the finish line, Dad and I would drift away from the TV and do something else, but we would always return at about five in the evening, to watch the final half-hour of the race. By that time, hundreds of runners would still be out on the course, trying desperately to make it to the finish line before the twelve-hour cutoff. When the finishing siren went off, we would always feel the agony of the runners who had made it into the stadium, but just couldn’t get to the finish line. So near and yet so far. For some of them, a split second was all that stood between them and a medal.

I miss those days, when the Comrades was as much a day for me and my dad as it was a day for the runners to give themselves the ultimate test. Now, my Comrades experience is limited to what I can see on the Internet, which is not the same as curling up in front of the TV. My dad, who died seven years ago, is not around for me to chat to about the runners or whether the number of participants has perhaps become too large. There is no aroma of freshly baked cookies coming from the kitchen.

One thing hasn’t changed, though. As I am scouring the Internet for Comrades-related news, my dad is with me.

Just as he always is when I go running myself.

(Photo credit: Kirsten Doyle)

Filed Under: Comrades Marathon, dad, Memories, running, Running Shoes Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , ,
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Writing: Beyond The Challenges

June 1, 2012 By

2012 is shaping up to be a busy year. In the last five months, I have taken an emergency trip to South Africa, run three races, and had my website revamped. I have also participated in two consecutive month-long blogging challenges, ending yesterday.

Today I am publishing a post for the 62nd day in a row. While I have thoroughly enjoyed these opportunities to indulge my passion for writing, I am ready to change the pace for a brief period of time. Blogging every day in addition to holding down a full-time job, parenting two young kids, and training for a half-marathon – well, it can be tiring.

I’m not planning on fading away into the sunset (particularly today, since it’s raining and there will be no sunset). Instead, I am going to work on other parts of my website that I have not had the time to get to yet.

I will be putting together a blogroll (if you would like your blog to be included, send me an email). I will be creating resources pages for the autism and running communities, and once I have made up my mind about the rest of the racing season, I will be updating my list of races.

My actual blogging will take a backseat for the next week or two, but I have lined up some guest writers to take care of that. I am truly excited to bring you some great stories from different walks of life, starting on Monday.

Before I quietly slip out through the side door to get more coffee, I will leave you with some highlights of the last two months of blogging. The posts mentioned below are the ones that have attracted the most views.

Highlights of the Health Activist Writers Month Challenge in April:

In Week 1, I described a conversation I had with my younger son about his understanding of his brother’s autism.

In Week 2, I wrote a letter to my 16-year-old self offering some words of hard-earned wisdom – not that she would listen to an old fogie like me.

Do you ever get stressed out about little things that really don’t matter? In Week 3, I gave myself a bit of advice, the gist of which was to just chill out.

I ran my second race of the season in Week 4, and wrote about how I found the zone.

Highlights of the 2012 Wordcount Blogathon in May:

I keep hearing people talk about how kids with autism are incapable of affection or empathy. In Week 1 of the Blogathon, I decided to try and bust that myth.

In Week 2, my younger son lost his first tooth, in more ways than one. We had to get the tooth fairy to come, even though we didn’t have the actual tooth.

May was Mental Health Awareness Month, and during Week 3 of the Blogathon, there was a Mental Health Blog Party. I wrote about postpartum depression, in hopes that sharing my experiences would help someone.

In Week 4 I wrote about the most precious of gems: those little moments with my family that make me feel like the richest person in the world.

I was feeling introspective for much of Week 5, and wrote about how I made peace with a decision that parents all over the world wrestle with.

The blogging challenges are done – at least for now. But the writing continues, because I will never run out of words.

Filed Under: 2012 Wordcount Blogathon, blogging, Challenges, Guest Posts, Health Activist Writers Month Challenge, website, Writing Tagged With: , , , , , , , , , , ,
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