The Fear of Letting Go

The fear of letting it all go…

 

Back day in the gym:

 

Approaching the rack. …

“Come on…pro card T. Pro card. (Wrapping straps around the bar)

In 3, 2, 1. UP! (blow out) 1, 2, 3, up 4, pull 5, pull 6, (hand slipping) up 7, pro card T. 8, hold on tina!  9, 10, don’t let it fall!  5, go 4, go 3 almost there!  Go 2, up up up! 1”

(Unwrap straps and peel off my fingers from the bar… trying to block out the incessant pain gnawing at my left hand)

 

Every Sunday I step into the gym with a fleeting feeling,  a sense of worry and all-knowing of the agony I’m about to put myself through due to my body rebelling against itself.  Some days are better than others, but lately with the weather, exterior stressors and lack of sleep, the reality of my pain is more and more succumbing. It’s a misory that is mind numbing and unavoidable,  preventing me from really getting the gains I need on my weakest body part to go father in the sport that I love but every week I close my eyes and blow through my frustrations, rep after burning rep praying for the set to end…

 

As I’ve mentioned before I have Fibromyalgia which is a disorder characterized by widespread musculoskeletal pain accompanied by fatigue, sleep, memory and mood issues that is degenerative. With me it seems to most affect my hands, feet, knees and stomach. Some days are better than others but due to the severity that my left hand is suffering from, days where I’m doing pulling exercises seen to be the most painful.  I’ve learned breathing techniques and how to mentally coax myself through the reps but there are some days that after I leave the gym I’m nauseous with pain.  I’ve tried the meds, but the side effects caused from the prescription aren’t worth the efforts because it would be hard to get through my daily activities with the migraines I have gotten and nearly impossible to compete due to the weight gain.  I use wraps, versa gripps and hooks but even they are no match to the weight my back can handle vs what my hands can hold.  The disease effects everything from mood to stomach to joints to even concentration so it’s not just my hand that gets hit hard with the pain but there are days where my head and body feel so disconnected from life in general that it takes everything in me to get into the iron castle I love.  Body throbbing and mind in a slump, the days where the disease attacks can be the most trying but in the end the most rewarding.

 

If you have read any of my entries prior to this one, you know how passionate of a person I am. My amorous spirit and dedication to the world that I live in is apparent in every breath I take, every weight I lift, and every word I speak. I live for what I love to do, motivate…grow…defeat…but with my wistful character comes also a heavy worried mind so when a person with such a passionate personality as myself has the burden of having what you love potentially taken away, well the heartiness I show towards living gets turned around to the petrifying fear of not.  Imagine having what you live for possibly taken from you; the universe you reside in gradually stripped from your grasp only to watch rather than be able to fight the ultimate fear. The reality of your reality aware all too well to your determined mind by the physical pain and anxiety of your daily activities let alone engaging in the enterprise that you lust for.  Combine my personality with the fear I just described and add the fact that I’ve already lost something I truly loved, well take that mind fuck and try to run with it. Guarantee you would be moving at a snails pace, moping with the step of temptation to throw in the towel and take a breather on the corner of fuck my life and are you kidding me?! You think I’m joking? Step back in time with me for a minute.

Let’s travel to 2010/2011 when I got the news that shook me to the core; the moment that changed my life for good and bad. While I found body building from the loss, the scars from giving up one of the biggest joys in my life remain deeply scorn.  There’s a part of me that will always miss what I once had and while Im grateful for God granting me the strength to pull through the battle, I remember all to vividly the pain of letting go.  Doctor gave me the prognosis, I took their “finality” and pushed my body to its limits but in this instance the prediction may actually be the final result.

Running was my core, the air to my lungs, the relief in my sigh. It gave me a pleasure so pronounced that when in my stride, the world around me was a haze and all I could hear was the pitter patter of my nikes against the pavement as I gave into my pace. I had everything in the moments on the road, I could give it my all and it didn’t fight back or give me trouble. I just was…me, the look of pure happiness gleaming from my sweat ridden smile. There was a peace in my manner when I returned from my run too, as if the universe was a better place and not that I ran from my problems necessarily but ran through them, physically and mentally.  When I finally ventured to the doctor due to the pain in my leg being cumbersome to my runs, I wasn’t expecting to have to schedule one of 3 surgeries to rebuild my knee let alone be eventually told that even though they tried their hardest, I wouldn’t ever be able to race again. Heart sinking like a battle broken ship at sea, I spent the next year and a half on my couch inbetween 4 physical therapy sessions a week and countless tears shed due to physical and emotional distress. Running was all I knew; my best friend to turn to when I was being beaten by my ex, my partner when needing to practice for a race, my celebratory event when proclaiming something of importance. I invested every part of my being into something that I could control, or so I thought  And in the end, I couldn’t have depicted the catastrophe I had to succumb to. Luckily the silver lining in the black cloud was that a friend introduced to body building during the healing process and I fell in love due to its similar mindset (which I have described in past blogs). It gave me the uplift I needed and just like running did, it helped me to find happiness again.

 

I was diagnosed with fibro about 4 years ago, after I was having stomach and joint issues (who would have thought the two would coincide) that were hindering my therapy for my knee. It was more of an annoyance at the time compared to the pain of being strapped to a table and having the scar tissue in my knee broken down, so I didn’t think much of it. When I heard the diagnosis I wasn’t really concerned but as time when on and the symptoms got worse with just my daily activities, I began to wonder if this was more serious especially being that I began falling in love with the new sport of body building. I tried the meds but even the best of them (lyrica) gave me HORRIBLE migraines and detrimental weight gain, so I decided to up my anti inflammatory minerals, get more rest and just deal with the gnawing annoyances. As I progress in my new found passion I notice my body resisting more, my hand getting less mobile and the known symptoms of this becoming more prominent. My pain receptors have been much more alert lately and especially with the weather turning from horrible to down right fuckin freezing, the anxiety driven from pain has been effecting my mood a lot too. I have highs and lows, but I notice that with the uptake in difficulties comes the downfall in my mood. Its hard when you are prevented from certain things when you want to excel in something as much as I do. My back has always been my weakest body part, partially due to not being able to hold the weight or bar position due to the degeneration of my hand, so every time I walk in to hit back day my mood is like a nervous nelly. Anything underhanded I cant hold AT ALL, especially in my left hand, and even with straps rowing actions take everything out of me to hold on tight without using my forearms to heave the load. Pealing my hands away from the bar, I try to shake off the stiffness and breath through the misery but man are some days arduous. (I think that’s why I love leg day so much…no hands involved)

The reality is this, I’m going to progressively get worse. It’s a disease that does decline your health over time and I’m VERY aware of this as the days pass on engaging in my lifting lifestyle. Yes there are medications and helpful momentary reliefs but the bottom line is, I may have my heart broken again. For the second time, something that I’m enamored with may be taken away from me and I may not be lucky enough to find a substitute. I know I know it sounds hopeless in a way but as a reader, unless you have this affliction you may not understand how painful it can get. I have to be careful or my stress, sleep patterns, supplement intake because due to it being a autoimmune disease, anytime my body is more susceptible to getting sick, there’s more of a chance of having an attack…which puts me physically out for at least a day. It’s painful for someone to even touch me let alone attempt to lift a weight, so during prep I especially have to stay on top of my health so that I don’t lose precious time. With so many variables, from mind to body and prep to health, the vision at times can be blurred with doubt. See I want this…this whole card thing not for anyone but myself. Yes sponsorships and notoriety are nice but the truth of the matter is that with all this “underdog” has battled though (Maz called me that last year and it brought me a smile) it would be the icing on the comeback cake. (preferably peanut butter and chocolate flavored) I have this longing for success that can’t be described through a blog or my voice, but more through the actions I present to the round table on the battle field, the mannerisms I enact upon and the heart I  put into my workouts. It brings tears to my eyes remembering how desolate I felt after being told I’d never run again and the thought of having to give up again, nearly breaks my fevering soul. There so much more then just weights being thrown around with me, its the exhilaration of challenge, of beating the odds, of knowing that I can do what I want to do without the luxuries many others have. I’ve fought some cold, hard times and the last thing I want to do is look back and say I had to literally and figuratively let go of the weight I sling around because of something I couldn’t control. To suffer from that great of a loss again…would and could be something I may not recover from…

We all have our own idea of what fear is…what scares us to our center…and whether it grounds you or unearths you, the fright we fight with can impact our lives greatly. I fear that when my story is told to my family, friends or even the world, it won’t be memorable or motivating. I write to help soothe my fears and help me heal while showing others that while life throws some fast curve balls it gives us strength to stand up against our doubts as well. I’ll keep putting up a massive fight, go through the strain of this affliction and triumph on this path God set me to walk forth on…but I’ll always fear the loss of the lifts or the defeat of a dream and with that fear I’ll treasure every bit more of my time spent chasing my dream.