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Stop the world, I need to breathe!

May 8, 2010 By

To say that the last week has been a bit eventful would be like saying Hitler was a bit aggressive.  It’s either feast or famine in my life.  Things will chug along, same-old-same-old, for weeks at a time, with nothing changing and nothing really newsworthy happening.  Then all of a sudden, I will have several weeks’ worth of events will flock to me like mosquitoes flock to my husband (seriously, bugs love him and for the most part, avoid me.  Why is that?)

Last Sunday I ran a race, the Sporting Life 10K in downtown Toronto.  It was a phenomenal event featuring more than 14,000 runners and superb race organization.  The logistics of planning something that involves that many people must be akin to a nightmare, but these guys pulled it off flawlessly.  The run itself was a lot of fun.  The route was easy, downhill most of the way, and the weather was perfect.  The predicted thundershowers failed to materialize, but the cloud cover and the gentle breeze were in evidence.  I completed the run in 1:05:00 – fast enough for a personal best time for the distance, but still leaving plenty of room for more personal best times in the future.

A quick word about something Gerard did for me before the race.  When he and James dropped me off at the start line, I gave James a kiss, and then went round to the back of the van to pick up my bag.  Only to see that Gerard had propped up a framed picture of my Dad next to my bag.  Dad, who died five years ago, was also a runner – one of the best in South Africa at his prime – and this was Gerard’s way of telling me that Dad was with me.  I was so touched, it brought tears to my eyes.

Several hours after the race, I started feeling a little off.  I figured that I had pushed myself on the run, not eaten soon enough afterwards, and consumed way too much coffee.  Feeling a little sick made complete sense to me.  But then – there’s no polite way to describe this, really – I started tossing my cookies.  Big time, for several hours.  Many hours, in fact.  Until 4:00 the following morning.  Even when there were no cookies left, the cookies continued to be tossed.  It was clear that I had a bug.  I had felt fine for the run – perhaps the bug was lurking there in the corner, just waiting for its moment to arrive.  Although the throwing-up incidents came to an end after about sixteen hours, I felt weak and drained for several days.

On Sunday afternoon, about an hour after I started feeling sick, I heard from Robert, the brother of my friend Tim.  Tim, who had recently been diagnosed with stomach cancer, had passed away.  Tim and I were friends for years.  We wrote columns for the same e-zine, and Tim was my unofficial tech support guy.  When George was diagnosed with autism, Tim was the guy who recognized my need for an outlet; a place to write and vent about autism and what my family was going through.  He gave me a forum to do so, and he was supremely supportive of everything – my parenting, my running, my writing.  He was also one of the funniest people I’ve ever known.

Fast forward to Thursday afternoon.  I was sitting at work, an hour away from going to the Keg with a few of my coworkers to bid farewell to someone who was leaving to go and live in Abu Dhabi.  I had resolved to drink nothing but water at the Keg – I was still feeling mild effects from the weekend stomach bug.  Work was going smoothly enough, when I got a phonecall from George’s therapy centre.  The news was good and bad.  The good news is that they wanted to put George into something called the school stream.  Instead of receiving one-on-one therapy, he would be in a simulated classroom environment with four other children.  The concept sounded good but the timing sounded bad.  When I expressed the opinion that George would not be ready for this by the proposed start date of September, I was told that if he continued with his one-on-one therapy, he would most likely be discharged in December.  Meaning that by January, he would be thrown full-time into a school system that he is nowhere near ready for.  The one day a week of school that he does get is challenging enough.  What this whole conversation left me with is the feeling that I am having to make a critical decision that could make or break George.  It’s like playing Russian Roulette with my child’s future.  What I decided, there and then, was that we had to fight as hard as we needed to to get the best for George.  Thanks to the advice of someone I know who has been through these fights for her own son and knows the system backwards, I was able to tone down some of the anger and gloves-off fighting attitude that I would have gone in with.

I didn’t only drink water at the Keg that afternoon.

On Friday morning, Gerard and I had a meeting at the therapy centre.  We got to see the classroom that is used for the school stream kids, and we were allowed to observe proceedings.  We asked a ton of questions, and got a clearer picture of the program.  In school stream, a teacher works with a group of five children in a mock classroom setting.  Each of the five kids still has a one-on-one support staff member with them, to prompt them as needed.  It’s kind of like a cross between what George is getting now and school.  The whole idea is get kids used to the idea of following school routines, walking in line, participating in class discussion.  In essence, school stream prepares kids for full-time school.  It’s a half-day program; for the other half-day, the kids are in fact in school.  That aspect of the program is simply to get the kids used to being at a real school every day, even if it’s just for a couple of hours.

Here’s what sold us on this program: social communication.  That is George’s single biggest challenge – one that, by its very nature, one-on-one therapy cannot really address.  The school stream program could be hugely beneficial to George from that aspect alone.  The whole thing is based on group interaction and the need to communicate and participate.  The program typically lasts for a year, but if the child needs it for longer, it can be extended.  It includes regular speech therapy, occupational therapy, and social communication workshops.

We said yes.  On seeing the program in action and getting all the facts, it does seem like the right thing to do.  It is the next logical step in this roadmap that is George’s life, and I am excited about the potential it has for him.  He will be continuing with his current program until September, and then switching to school stream in September.

After this was all sorted out, Gerard and I went on to James’ school where there was another occasion for us to attend.  James is a new inductee to the school system, having just started Junior Kindergarten last September.  With a Christmas birthday, he is the youngest and smallest kid in his class.  He needed special nurturing in the beginning, and his teacher, Mr. T., took him under his wing.  James adored his teacher, who was popular with the entire student body: he doubled as the school librarian and frequently gave the kids a break on their late fees.

In December Mr. T., who had recently celebrated his thirtieth birthday, contracted pneumonia and died.  It was a huge shock for everyone; I found myself with the task of explaining the meaning of this to a kid who was still a couple of weeks away from his fourth birthday.  I had to try and make him understand that Mr. T. loved him very much, but was never coming back.  Over the last few months, James has dealt with alternating cycles of grief, denial, and acceptance.

On Friday, he got to say goodbye.  The school put together a memorial assembly, a celebration of life in honour of Mr. T.  James and his classmates sang a song called “It’s a Great Day”, a cheerful song that Mr. T. would have approved of.  My heart swelled with pride and my eyes filled with tears.  There were more songs performed by other classes, quotes, a wonderful slideshow.  I had the honour of meeting Mr. T.’s family – his wonderful parents, brother, and partner.  Will this be effective closure for James?  Only time will tell.

So now I am in a state of exhaustion and very heightened emotion.  I feel overwhelmed and a little stressed.  I know that I just need to give myself time to wind down from all of these happenings.  I am sure tomorrow’s 19km training run will help!

Filed Under: autism, Bereavement, Medical, running, School, Teacher Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,
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Against the wind

April 28, 2010 By

Preparations for my weekday runs usually involve a great deal of stealth.  I wake up at five in the morning, and then sneak around in my own house, getting dressed as silently as possible.  There’s a lot of tiptoeing and feeling my way around in order to avoid alerting the short people to the fact that I’m actually awake.  It’s dark and I look like a burglar.  Once I’m dressed, I make my way to the front door in my socks, grab my shoes, and leave.  I close and lock the door behind me as quietly as possible, and then put my ear up against the door to listen to the blissful sound of silence coming from within.  Now that I have successfully made my escape, I put on my shoes, plug in my music, fiddle with buttons on my training watch, and set off.

If the kids wake up at any point during this process, I can say goodbye to my run. They tend to be somewhat Mommy-centric in the mornings (if they wake up and I’m already gone, Daddy is an acceptable substitute; but if they wake up while I’m there, they want me and only me). On those days, I tend to their needs and then get ready for work, staring wistfully at my pile of discarded running clothes.  In general, though, I have become very good at the art of stealth.  I could probably give James Bond a run for his money, except that I can’t fire a gun, I don’t have any fancy gadgets in my car, and I like my martinis stirred, not shaken.

Anyway, yesterday I was able to go for a run at a normal time of the day, without the stealth factor.  I was working from home, which meant that I had an extra two hours – time that is usually spent commuting.  So I got up at a time of day considered by most people to be reasonably civilized, offloaded James at his daycare, and returned home to work.  I planned my day’s activities around an early afternoon run, which would have me back by the time George got home from the therapy centre.

Halfway through the morning, though, I was not so sure about this plan.  I had been steadily working through the morning, and had gradually become aware that the house was feeling a bit stuffy, like a vacuum cleaner’s armpit (to borrow a phrase from comedic author Douglas Adams).  I poured a cup of coffee and went out onto the back deck, where I almost got blown away by a gust of wind.  If I’d had an umbrella I would have been like Mary Poppins.

I don’t mind a bit of a breeze, but I hate wind.  I can handle just about any other weather condition, but wind makes me intensely irritable.  It blows my hair everywhere, makes my ears hurt, and generally sets me on edge.  I will not forego a training run because of rain or snow, but I must confess that I have rescheduled runs because I just didn’t want to run in the wind.  So when I went outside yesterday and stood there in the wind, I seriously questioned whether I really wanted to go running in that.

I quickly got a hold of myself, though.  I have a 10km race coming up this weekend – one that I’ve been looking forward to for weeks – and this is really not the week for me to be flaking out because of a little bit of wind.  I need to be well-conditioned this week; my limbs need to be loose and agile.  And besides, what I am going to do if it’s windy on race day?  Whine about how I don’t want my hair to get messed up?

So yesterday afternoon, I surfaced from my work and got ready to go running as planned.  I braced myself, opened the front door – and stepped out into a stunningly gorgeous afternoon.  The sun was shining and a light breeze was blowing – nothing like the gusty wind that had set my teeth on edge just four hours previously.  As I set off down the road, I could not believe that I had almost foregone this run.

It turned out to be fantastic.  The sun was gently touching my shoulders and the breeze was keeping me cool.  In the beginning I was taking it slow and easy; for the last two kilometres I was flying.  I was on a high for the rest of the day; the physical activity boosted my energy, and as always after a run, I felt a sense of accomplishment.

If I felt that great after a 5.5km training run, imagine how I will feel standing at the finish line of my run for autism.

Filed Under: running Tagged With: , , , , , ,
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Back to the start line

April 7, 2010 By

On Saturday, the day after World Autism Awareness Day, I officially made my comeback to the world of racing. My previous race had been a ten-miler back in November – a fairly miserable affair in which I had been overdressed, over-complacent, and completely confused by poor course marshalling.  I was scheduled to run in the Resolution Run on New Years Day, but my freshly acquired pinched nerve took care of that ambition.  So now, during the Easter weekend, I was ready to race again.

I did not really have any great expectations. Even if I had been healthy in the interim, I would have expected a bit of a slowdown due to the challenges of running in winter conditions.  You just cannot maintain any kind of speed running into strong icy winds with snow coming at you, while wearing multiple layers and a balaclava that makes you look like a burglar.  As it was, I was out of action for almost three months because of various things that were wrong with me.

So my goal on Saturday was simply to finish the 10km race.  I had a friend with me who was running in the 5km event.  Fran and I have known each other for years, and she has recently been bitten by the running bug.  Saturday was her first race ever, so there was a sense of occasion for both of us.  Although we were running different distances, we had a common goal – to cross the finish line.

Ten minutes before the race started we discovered that the 5km and 10km races were starting from different places.  The 5km runners stayed in the designated starting area, and the 10km runners were sheperded to a different point, about 600m away.  I set my training watch, listened for the starting siren, and off I went, wondering how far I would be from my pre-injury pace of 6 minutes 30 seconds per kilometre.  In defiance of my usual strategy to start slow, I ran my first kilometre in exactly 6 minutes and 30 seconds.  The second kilometre was slower.  The third one was very fast by my standards – 6 minutes and 13 seconds.  There were still seven kilometres remaining; I knew that I was going to regret this early spurt later on.

At around six kilometres, I passed Fran, who was coming in for her final stretch.  She was looking good; we waved at each other and went on our way. And true to my predictions, I started to seriously flag in the eighth kilometre – this unfortunately coincided with a couple of pretty intense hills along the course.

But mental power means a lot in running, and the fact that there were only two kilometres remaining helped restore some energy.  I got a further boost thinking of George, the ultimate reason I’m doing all of this running in the first place.  I used the ninth kilometre to recover, and I was able to run the final kilometre fast and come in for a strong finish.  My final time was 1:06:14.  My pace was 6 minutes and 38 seconds per kilometre – not far off from my pre-injury pace.  I was very happy with how I did.  I am now looking forward to my next race – also 10km – at the beginning of May.

It is now four days after the race.  I have been for one run since then, and my legs have not complained too much.  I must be in better shape than I’d thought!

Filed Under: running Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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World Autism Awareness Day

April 2, 2010 By

Today is World Autism Awareness Day.  This is the day to reflect on people of all ages who are touched by autism.  Wherever they happen to be on the spectrum – whether they are verbal or not, high- or low-functioning – they are important members of society.  They deserve love, respect, admiration for all they have to live with and overcome, and opportunities.  Autism manifests in countless ways.  There are probably as many forms of autism as there are autistic people.  Some auties talk, some don’t.  Some have enough capacity for academic learning to complete high school and go to university, some don’t.  There are auties who are brilliant artists, some who are mathematical whiz-kids, photographers, musicians.  Some become famous.  Some don’t become famous, but manage nevertheless to carve niches for themselves in the communities in which they live.

We had a very good World Autism Awareness Day.  It started with George requesting and wearing a pair of shorts instead of the long pants I had selected for him.  Traditionally, George has a hard time with the transition of seasons.  If he’s used to wearing winter clothing, he doesn’t want summer clothing.  If he is used to shorts and T-shirts, he will not wear winter clothing until he has experienced the freezing cold weather for himself.  So the fact that he transitioned so seamlessly into summer clothing is a big deal indeed.

Once we were all dressed and ready for the day, me, my mother-in-law, and my friend Fran sat at the kitchen table chatting and having a lazy morning.  James was playing with his cars, George was wandering around the room, not really doing anything.  Gradually, we became aware that he was counting while he was wandering.  So far, not really a big deal.  For a long time, George has been rote counting, and even doing mathematical sums, but it’s never really been applied to the real world.  This morning, however, we realized that there was a purpose to his counting.  He was counting how many chairs were in the room, how many tables, how many cups were on the table.  Instead of rote counting, he was counting groups of objects.  He was using the concept of counting for something real.

While I was still celebrating this very meaningful accomplishment, George paused his constant activity to tug at my sleeve.  “Let’s sing O Canada”, he said.  And he started singing our national anthem.  Admittedly, he wasn’t word-perfect, but he did really well for a six-year-old, especially one with autism and limited verbal skills.  He sang sweetly, with lots of heart.  He made me proud to be Canadian, and proud to be his Mom.

Later in the day, we went to the park.  I sat on a bench watching my boys running and playing, I pushed them on a swing and showed James how to go down the fireman’s pole.  I laughed as James grabbed a handful of leaves and dumped them over George’s head, and I smiled when they insisted on holding hands with each other for the walk home.  It was a perfect brotherly moment for the two boys.

And so I wrap up a wonderful day, and I prepare for tomorrow’s 10km race.  I am eagerly looking forward to the race.  It will be a significant and exciting step in my quest to run for autism.

Filed Under: autism, parenting, Siblings Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,
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Pledging for my Run for Autism can begin!

March 24, 2010 By

Today marks an exciting milestone in my journey towards my run for autism.  I registered for the race back in November or December – about three seconds after race registrations opened.  About a month later, I registered for a number of other races over the course of the summer months – events that I will participate in as I lead up to the main event in September.  I have my training plans, my custom orthotics, my training watch with heart rate monitor and GPS.  As time goes on, I will need to get some new running gear, including a new pair of shoes.

Today is a milestone day for two reasons.  The first is that I since I am not only a runner but a member of the Geneva Centre for Autism committee that is organizing this endeavour, I will be attending the first committee meeting later on.  There, we will set our fundraising goals and discuss ways to get more people to participate, either by running or by pledging.I will be a runner’s voice on the committee, offering my views on how to encourage and motivate runners leading up to the event, and ways to ensure their success on the day itself.

And secondly, the race organizers have officially opened up the Charity Challenge, meaning that my own personal fundraising page is now up and running.  I invite one and all to click on the link and take a look.  Look at the pictures that I’ve uploaded, watch a couple of videos and see the beautiful boy that is my inspiration, my son who I am doing this for.  If you are interested in adding a pledge, it will be very gratefully accepted and will make a positive difference to someone with autism.

More pictures and videos will be added to this page as time goes on. But for now, this is what I’ve got.  I am so excited that this is all now official!
http://my.e2rm.com/personalPage.aspx?registrationID=841310

Filed Under: autism, fundraising, running Tagged With: , , , , , , , , ,
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Can I do it? Yes, I can!

March 22, 2010 By

I was a little nervous about going running yesterday.  Since I resumed running after an absence of three months just a week ago, I have been sticking to the somewhat safe distance of 5km.  I needed a slightly longer run yesterday,though.  I have a fairly full race schedule this year, starting with a 10km race on April 3rd.  I cannot run in any of my planned events by doing 5km training runs – it was time to start upping my Sunday run distances.

On the one hand, I wasn’t sure if I was ready for a longer run.  The last time I ran more than 6km was three months ago.  On the other hand, though, I have learned that long runs are all about the strategy.  You have to rely on more than your legs and a good pair of running shoes.  You have to plan your approach, and when you’re out on the road you have to listen to your body and interpret the signals.  With this in mind, I planned on 8km – not exactly a long run, but longer than anything I’ve done in a while.

To my surprise, it went very well.  When I run 5km, I set a brisk pace from the beginning and maintain it as best I can.  For my 8km run yesterday, I switched on my “long run” mindset.  I started out slow and ran the first kilometre or so at a very easy pace, not caring that the virtual partner on my training watch was streets ahead of me.  As I warmed up, my pace gradually increased.  I always find it intriguing how that happens.  I don’t make any conscious effort to run faster.  It just happens.  So without putting any effort into it, I ran the second kilometre a full minute faster than the first.

Throughout the run, I did what I always do on long runs – I took a one-minute walking break every ten minutes.  I even use this amazingly effective technique (learned from the good folks at Running Room) for races.  It would be easy to think that this would slow a runner down, but in truth, I complete my long runs and my races faster by doing this than if I were to run the whole way.  Those walking breaks are an opportunity for me to avoid lactic acid buildup in my legs, to let my heart rate drop a little, and to drink some water without having it slosh all over my face.  Drinking and running at the same time is not as easy as you might think!

Before I knew it, the 8km was up and I was running back into my driveway.  My total time was about a minute and half behind target, and I was very happy with that.  Considering the fact that I hadn’t run 8km in months, the fact that I was only a minute and a half behind was pretty good!  My pace over the last three kilometres was right on track.  And most important – something I aim for on every single run, long or short – when I came to the end of the run I felt as if I could have continued had I so chosen.

So yesterday’s run counts as a resounding success.  I now have two weeks to build from 8km to 10km, and then another seven weeks to build to 21km.  For the first time in weeks, I am confident that my race schedule is safe.  As long as I don’t break a leg or something.

When I finished my run yesterday, I stretched and then went into the house.  In the living room, the kids were playing.  James, the little brother with a big brother’s role – exuberant, energetic, always with plenty to say.  And George, my beautiful boy who is my inspiration every single time I lace up my running shoes.

Whenever I wonder if I can keep on running, all I have to do is picture my boys in my head to know that yes, yes I can.  George, touched by autism.  And James, sibling to an autistic child.  For them, I could do anything.

Filed Under: autism, running Tagged With: , , , , , , ,
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