Just Doing My Job

We're in Arizona visiting my parents. I spoke with Dad a few weeks ago...

"I have a 15-mile training run scheduled for the first Saturday we're in Scottsdale. I'd like to run on trails if possible. Anything close to your house?"

"We have some GREAT trails two or three miles from the house! I'll send you a map."

The map arrived in the mail. I studied it and was concerned about the topography and elevation gain. I was hoping for relatively flat trails. I called Dad.

"I'm looking at this map. Looks kind of technical, Dad."

"You'll be fine. Those are GREAT trails!"

We arrived in Scottsdale after ten hours in the car with our three boys and the dog on Friday. I had one beer, swam, ate some dinner and was in bed by 9:30 PM. The alarm beeped at 4:00 AM, I got up, drank a cup of coffee, and ate half a peanut butter sandwich. I loaded my water belt, and drove to the McDowell Sonoran Preserve.

The Death March Time Line

5:05 AM - I began running on the trail marked "easy". The trail was not easy. It turned left, then right, then left, then left, then right every 5-10 feet, was very rocky and I was already climbing steadily. I determined it would be very important to pay attention to the trail so I wouldn't trip and fall.

5:40 AM - A Gila Monster was sitting in the middle of the trail 15 feet in front of me. I stopped but the lizard didn't move. Did Gila Monsters move lightning-fast or sloth-like slow? I decided to run around the creature. As I passed, it rapidly stomped it's feet and hissed like a cat. Scared me to death  I screamed and my adrenalin surged for the next three miles as paranoia now joined me on the run.

7:05 AM - Still running, hot, hungry [even though I was consuming gels] and feeling less paranoid because I finally saw a few people on the trails and assumed they would save me from venomous animals.

8:00ish - Still running, unbelievably hot, but almost finished. I had fallen twice, my left knee was bleeding and I was dusty and salty. I was unable to run many sections of the "GREAT" trail so I was out longer than I wanted to be. I'd forgotten how intense the Arizona sun is in July.

??? - I don't know exactly what time I finished, but I ran all 15 miles. I drank lots of water and thought I'd properly recovered. I called Mom to let her know I was okay and I was going to visit Dad at the golf course where he has a part-time job.

9:00 AM - I visited Dad. We drove around in a golf cart and I met all his buddies. I felt fine. A little tired, but fine. Dad suggested I visit Mamaw on the way home. I said, "But I'm gross." He shrugged his shoulders and tilted his head, indicating it didn't matter.

9:45 AM - I arrived at Mamaw's group home. Sadly, she didn't recognize me...

"Mamaw.  It's me, Chrisy."

She smiled but I could tell she didn't know it was me.

"I'm gross, Mamaw. I've been running...and I have braces now. See?" I showed her my teeth.

"Who are you running from?"

"No one.  I'm training for a marathon."

We visited for about 20 minutes and she finally knew who I was. She commented many times on my braces.  "My, you have a mouthful," shaking her head.

10:15 AM - I told Mamaw I would return a few more times over the next week with Chris and the boys. She seemed pleased. We kissed good-bye and I was on my way to my parents' house.

10:25 AM - Something went very wrong. I felt disoriented and dizzy while driving. I felt like I was going to vomit or have diarrhea or both. I pulled over and called Chris.

"Hey, I'm not well. I'm not sure where I am and I think I might faint."

Chris and Mom arrived 15 minutes later. Chris drove me home and helped me into the house. I told him I just wanted to lay on the tile floor.

After resting for an hour on the floor and drinking Gatorade, I began feeling better. I've experienced heat exhaustion before, but never three hours after a workout. I think I was salt and potassium deficient. I actually felt a little embarrassed because I know how to avoid these situations.

As I was laying on the floor shivering with chills, Mom brought me a pillow and a blanket.

I said, "Thanks for coming to get me Mom. I feel like an idiot. Sorry for the drama."

"That's okay. It's your job."

He's Home

With his two younger brothers in tow, I made the 90-minute trip—in closer to 60—and retrieved Oldest Boy from diabetes camp today. He was hanging out by the swings with his cabin mates when we arrived. As soon as he saw us approaching across the field his arm shot up in the air and he waved unabashedly at us.

Toddler Child reached him first...

Oldest Boy had a blast. He shared stories of exciting and good things that happened at camp and a few stories that made my heart ache for him...but mostly good things.

When we arrived home, he was greeted by Mary, the dog, and Wren, the crazy parakeet, with the truest dog and bird love I've ever seen. Because he's a boy after my own heart, he wanted a shower immediately after hugging and kissing the pets. He took a long shower while Middle Boy sat outside the shower door listening to more stories, peppered with jokes, riddles and silly songs. I could hear the laughter echoing in the bathroom, spilling down the stairs and over the balcony while I prepared dinner in the kitchen.  

After a show and tell session where Oldest Boy showed us all the various crafts, trinkets and treasures made and found at camp, we had dinner...a meal a little more special than usual to make Oldest Boy's homecoming as warm as possible.

The kitchen is clean, as are the three Ross boys. They're in their pajamas in Oldest Boy's room, and he's still holding court. I think I'll go join his admirers..

Camp

Oldest Boy is at diabetes camp this week. We began attending family camp the summer of 2003, shortly after he was diagnosed with type 1. He was five-years-old and camp helped us all realize there's life after diagnosis—just make sure you have a glucometer, syringes, insulin and glucose tabs at all times. [Now it's infusion sites, reservoirs and IV prep pads for his insulin pump.] We returned to family camp the next three summers. Oldest Boy "graduated" from family camp the summer before he began third grade. He was officially old enough to attend future camps without his parents. He was eight.

Oldest Boy is eleven now and this is the first year he chose to attend the six-day, five-night camp. He went to a winter camp for diabetics when he was ten and didn't have the greatest experience. Some of the counselors were a little rough around the edges, used foul language and discussed inappropriate topics in front of the young campers. Oldest Boy said he asked them to stop, but it left a bad taste in his mouth. I'm proud of him.

After discussions with the camp director resulted in promises of better counselor training, and a commitment from a school friend to join him, Oldest Boy was ready to give summer camp a try. He's older now, equipped with a little more self confidence, and understands if goofy, teenage counselors choose to act stupid. He can tell someone and choose to walk away and do his own thing. Ironically, it's not Oldest Boy's diabetes care and management that he, his father, and I have had concerns about regarding the decision to go to camp. It's exposure to older kids who don't realize that you can't unring a bell in the mind of a child.

I left Oldest Boy at camp on Sunday. He allowed me to help him carry his things to his cabin before we checked-in with the doctor, dietitian, and other people with clipboards. His friend had arrived at camp before we did which was a huge relief to Oldest Boy.

I was conflicted as I left. I knew he was in good hands and that experiences like this are important for him, but I worried about the insulin reaction he'd had the night prior [He came to our room sweaty and shaking in the middle of the night. His blood sugar was 35]. I worried he'd get homesick. I worried the counselor with the stretched earlobes [gauging, I think it's called] and the five o'clock shadow would have porn under his mattress, as I simultaneously realized the clean-shaven, collared-shirt wearing counselor was just as likely to have porn...and blow.

I quit torturing myself, received my farewell hug and kiss from Oldest Boy and watched as he and his friend walked away, happy to simply be boys...at camp.

Snippets of Oldest Boy from Chris Ross on Vimeo.