run

Week Seven, Day 2

Thursday, August 24th, 2023

It really is a wild thing, witing these two weeks ahead of when they publish. Today, I posted the one from when I hit 2.6 miles. When I was feeling dropped into myself. I remember how I felt that day, riding that high, feeling good about myself and where I was at. I think that post was called What A Difference A Day Makes. Well. What a difference two weeks make. 

I’m sitting at my table today, waiting for Colby to get dressed so he can come with me to my doctor’s office, which has me feeling like a little kid. I feel like a little kid, helpless and unqualified to advocate for myself. Like I’ve reverted back to this version of myself who lets other people push her around. 

I am sitting at my table today, trying to build up enough armor to walk into this doctor’s office, to meet with a doctor I’ve never met before, and give him the entire, albeit abridged, run down of my medical history. He’ll ask me to step on the scale. I’ll tell him and the nurse that I’d like to not know the number, and then we wait to see if that boundary is respected or if he, like my PCP who is on vacation, will just say the number out loud. 

I am sitting at my table today, and I am wondering what happens if insurance, even after this check-up that I have put off for literally years, will deny the request for this medication. I am so unbelievably scared of that reality. Amy, my therapist, talked through all of this with me yesterday, and god fucking bless that woman, as we were signing off she looked me dead in the eyes and said, “If this falls through with the medication, we will get through it together. You are not alone.” And I heard her words. I felt them somewhere deep inside of me, but right now, as I am 40 minutes out from this appointment, even with Colby dressing in the other room, I feel so unbelievably alone. 

I am sitting at my table today, and what little dosages I have of the medication call to me from the refrigerator, but I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. Do I take today’s shot? Do I lower the dosage? Do I just stop all of this madness and cut it off cold turkey and tell this doctor and my insurance to go fuck themselves? 

I am sitting at my table today, the table that was a wedding gift to my grandparents, and I am so unbelievably sad and frustrated and scared. I don’t like to fail, you know this about me by now, but I don’t. I play the games I know I can win. This game with the medication was a game I didn’t know I was playing. The cards were stacked against me from the start, and I was blindfolded. Which is a really fucking shitty feeling. 

I am siting at my table. And I don’t want to get up. I don’t want to deal with any of this, and I’m wondering how I can just blip myself out of existence for just a little bit. Because I feel like such an abject failure right now, and that feeling is unbearable. 

I am sitting at my table, and I’m looking at my running shoes. My morning run has been coopted by this great, big, scary unknown thing that I am at the mercy of this doctor and Empire Blue Cross Blue Fucking Shield. I could always wear the shoes to the appointment and then run on the way home, but honestly, I don’t know if I have that in me. I’ll wear them anyway, maybe I can trick myself into thinking this is all normal. 

I am sitting at my table. And I am so afraid that you will judge me. That you’re reading this and think I’m weak. Maybe I am. Maybe I’m not as strong…I don’t know. 

I am sitting at my table, and it’s time to go. 

POST-RUN MORTUM

Time Running: 35 minutes 

Distance Achieved: 2.53miles 

Tunage: Finished Hadestown then Spotify started to play Heathers and I didn’t stop it

I am sitting back at my table, and I feel relief. Dear god, do I feel relief. The doctor that I met today was not only respectful, but engaging and empathetic. He took my stats and honored my boundary for not wanting to know the number on the scale. He asked about my level of activity, which I get because I’ve only just met the man, then looked me dead in the eye and said that I am doing a great job. 

Did I cry when he said that to me? Yes. Do I feel shame about crying over that validation? Get the fuck out of here, no I don’t feel shame. For the first time in my adult life, I had a medical professional tell me that weight is only one component of health, and that sometimes medication is needed to assist with that. He is taking me off of my old medication, and he put in a prescription for Wegovy, an FDA-approved injectable for weight loss and management.

I feel weird admitting this to y’all, that I’m going to be taking this. In a lot of ways, I worry that you’ll think I’m cheating or that I’m not strong enough to do this on my own. In many ways, I feel these same things, and again, anything you could say to me is likely FAR kinder than anything I would or have thought or said about myself. I’m not doing this to lose 100 pounds, nowhere near that. I need help to regulate and potentially lose this small chunk of pounds that simply will not budge. And, honestly, at the end of the day, I am more worried about what I know am I likely to do to myself to achieve that loss without the assistance of something on a metabolic, hormonal, medicinal level. There will be people out there who will not understand. Who will tell me that this is not a solution. That this is a quick fix designed to quiet the hunger voices in my head, that I am becoming more detached from my body. Maybe all of this is true. But the comfort I feel in knowing that this medication, that continued medicinal therapy, will keep me from harming myself is palpable in a way that I struggle to fully put into words. 

So, today, at this table, I ask for grace. I ask for understanding. I also don’t need any of these things from anyone but myself, because this is happening. I spoke last time about building a better team, I think Wegovy, for right now, at least, and only if it gets approved by insurance becuase they could always deny it which I’m trying to stay mentally and emotionally prepared for, is going to be my center forward. Or line backer. Or base hitter? God, I don’t know why I always go to sports metaphors. Ok, Wegovy is going to be my….fuck, I’m trying to think of a theater equivolent, and there just isn’t one. Point is, Wegovy is on my team. And this new doctor might be on the team as well. We’ll see if he makes it through the first round of draft cuts – do you cut in drafts, or only draft….- after my follow-up with him in a month. 

I want to thank you all for riding the emotional whiplash of the last few weeks. This is supposed to be about running, but this is also about a fat girl running. There’s been a lot of focus on the fat side over the past few posts, and that’s not lost on me. Thank you for being along for this ride. Thank you for your continued support. Now hopefully I can just get back to talking about my poor technique and throbbing IT bands. 

Love you all.