Breast Implant Illness: Yeah, It's an Actual Thing.

Chronic Fatigue Syndrome sucks. If you would've asked me even a few years ago about it, I would've laughed at you. I was diagnosed with Mono/Epstein Barr Virus in 2013. It's the third time I've had active EBV in my lifetime. I had it for the first time at 14 years old. Again, I was about 24 years old. Then, the third time, I was 34.

Celebrating our first GORUCK event finish.

I was burning the candle at both ends, because that's what moms do best. Two toddlers, a new house to run, a job to do, obstacle course races, a GORUCK, and back to school. Of course, I was tired and run down. Who wouldn't be? My family doctor told me it was weird I had it a third time, but to get some rest and I'd get better soon. "Weird?" That's what you want to hear from a doctor. "Rest?" Are you kidding me? I'm a mom. That word doesn't exist. I did my best though. Naps when I could. I'd even hire babysitters to watch the kids, just so I could sleep for a few hours.

Well meaning friends: "Have you had your thyroid checked?"

I took all the appropriate supplements that were supposed to help. I slept as much as possible. I didn't get better. Oh goody, an unexplained rash. "Here's some meds. Oh, you had an allergic reaction to that medicine? Weird..."

Well meaning friends: "Have you had your iron count checked? Thyroid?"

My oldest daughter feeling very cuddly that day when I
was feeling rough. She was such a little mama to me. I think
she was the most verbal about how much my illness
affected me.

More blood work. More "everything's normal, just active virus. Try to take it easy." I didn't get better.  I quit teaching bootcamps. I quit taking college classes to remove that time commitment and stress, hoping that would help boost my immune system.

Well meaning friends: "You probably have lyme disease. Thyroid checked?"

I went back to the doctor. More blood work. More "you're normal, just still some active EBV. Let's try this for your rash. Oh that medicine made your rash worse? Weird..." More immunity boosting meds or supplements. More rest. I didn't get better. I got worse. We don't know why you can't kick this.

Off to all specialists I go... The Naturopathic doctor tested me for all sorts of stuff, and did the most extensive health history of my life. She casually mentioned she wasn't a fan of silicone breast implants but didn't elaborate. She jumped into tests for food sensitivities, nutrient deficiencies, things my MD didn't test for. "Oh look! Here's a whole mess of stuff your body doesn't like! Avoid these foods, start the Myer's cocktail IV therapy to boost your immunity and come back in a month." SWEET! There's an answer AND a treatment! I followed the meal plan to a "T". I did nutrient IVs 2-3 times a week. I'd feel ok for a few days but ultimately, I didn't get better. I got even worse.

My first competition. Daily workouts and goals
kept me sane.

Well meaning friends: "Have you had your thyroid checked? Lyme? Normal? You have kids. We're all tired." I stopped discussing it with my friends. I didn't want advice or the condescending looks anymore. I knew they thought I was over exaggerating or making it up.

I chose not to get any more blood work after the next specialist talked to me like I was stupid for even coming in for an appointment. Thank you endocrinologist for talking down to me. My MD sent me because she's afraid my adrenal glands are shot. I didn't come in just for fun. Normal... All that blood work normal too... Hair is now falling out in clumps. Nails, dry and brittle. More skin issues. Joint pain everywhere.

Well meaning friends: "You know my husband's cousin's college roommate's aunt had XYZ and they got better after they saw this particular doctor. You should go see them and let them check your blood."

Normal. Thousands of dollars, and hours, spent to find out I'm "normal". Oh here's a random FB post about breast implant illness. No way. That's rare. It's gotta be ruptured. Wasn't there an MTV story several years about a girl with breast implant illness? Hmmmmm

I'm losing my mind at this point. Literally. After 4 years of worsening exhaustion, my brain fog was worsening right along with the fatigue. I felt dumb. Beyond dumb. I'd lose words in the middle of sentences. Forget the names of people I'd known for years. I started having anxiety issues. I've never been an anxious person.

My "normal" trying to stay awake and watch
my kids do anything, face.

Fatigue. Let's discuss what started as "mom tired" to a Chronic Fatigue diagnosis. The morning I walked into my MD's office, I burst into tears because of the daily, DEBILITATING fatigue. It can best be described as one of these three things. I figure almost the entire population can relate to at least one:

1. Waking up from anesthesia. That moment you can hear the world around you but in no way can you do more than stare off into space, much less move your hands or make sounds with your mouth.

2. Staying awake for 48 hours then being asked to solve a trigonometry problem in 10 seconds, while a child screams "MOM" over and over again from a room you can't find.

3. Being completely submerged in wet cement from the base of your neck down, and trying to sprint.

ALL DAY, EVERY DAY.

Well meaning friends: "Have you had your thyroid checked?" In my head, "I'm going to punch you in the thyroid..."

I was finally sent to the sleep doctor because they wondered if it was a neurological thing. Even my MD was as baffled and frustrated with the blood work as I was. At that point, a typical day for me looked like this.

Graphic taken from hershashtaglife.com

*Wake up at 3:47 am. Hit snooze for 15-20 minutes. (Yes, I know that's all normal. Sit tight.)
*Stumble to shower and stand for 20 minutes until awake enough to shave. (Yes, still somewhat normal)
*Get dressed, no make up. Head to the gym.
*Get to gym with no recollection of the drive. (Still super early, could be normal for some.)
*Follow written work out in precise order otherwise, I'd have no idea what all I had already done. (Not so normal)
*Leave gym 2 hours later after a solid workout and some small talk. (Did I do all my sets? What did I lift today? I'm physically tired.) Workouts always leave me in a good mood and having spent 2+ hours "waking up", I can get my kids out of bed as a calm and happy mom.
*Wake kids at 7:15 am, get them off to school at 8:00 am. Immediately go back to bed.
*Sleep from 8:00 am until noon or 1:00 or whenever my body decides to wake up.
*Do 2 loads of laundry OR manage to go to grocery store for an hour.
*Take a power nap. Wake up cranky.
*Kids home from school. Don't sit down. Sitting down means I'm asleep/coma mode for at least an hour.
*Run kids to various activities. Fall asleep in car at practice. Fall asleep in lawn chair. Fall asleep at hair salon. Fall asleep in waiting room at dentist. Embarrassed children wake me up. You get the picture.
*Get kids in shower by 8-8:30. Maybe. Attempt to help Mike with the bed time routine, but typically couldn't.
*7:30-9:00 pm. Bed time for me.

I was sleeping 7-9 hours a night. Taking a 3-6 hour nap in the morning. Taking another 1-3 hour nap in the evening. Never feeling rested. See my previous list. I felt like that EVERY SINGLE TIME I tried to wake up. NOT NORMAL!

Well meaning friends: "Have you had your thyroid checked? Maybe you should try to eat healthier. Have you given up pop or tried Whole 30? Maybe you should drink coffee." HAVE YOU MET ME?! I haven't had pop in years, and eat healthier than most of the population. Caffeine would elevate my heart rate but not change how awake I felt. No thanks.

Show number 3. Ten days before removal.

SIDE BAR: Through all of this I chose to do another NPC competition. Plus, being a personal trainer, it was the logical next step in my personal challenges. It also went hand in hand with the few things that made me feel better. Exercise, lifting heavy was the best therapy for me. Emotionally, it was one of the few things I could still control and it made me happy. When you feel so helpless about everything else in your life, the weights are there for you. They don't bitch, they don't need, they don't take away. It's a constant amidst chaos. Somehow, physically exhausting myself was the best part of my day. It would mentally wake me up. The stress relief was immeasurable. I was a better mom and wife because of it. The days I wouldn't work out, I was a crazy, tired, cranky ball of stress. It was more than noticeable. My family didn't want to be around me. The meal plan kept me eating the right foods so I wouldn't have a reaction that would set me back. I ate the same thing every single day. It was easier for me and took that stress away. I know for some, it wouldn't. However, even a simple decision of what to have for lunch when not on a meal plan, would exhaust me.

Well meaning friends: "Have you been tested for Lyme disease? Are you anemic?"

Back to crying at the doctor. She sends me to a sleep doctor. I describe my symptoms. He looks at me, and talks to me, like I'm making it all up. Everyone thinks I'm making it up. That I'm just lazy. That I'm just whiny. My kids believed me. They're the ones that saw it up close. They're the ones that had to fend for themselves every afternoon. I always prayed that nothing serious would happen, because I wouldn't know if I could get to them in time if I was dumb enough to sit down knowing I'd fall asleep if I did. My husband believed me. He was the one that would have to pick me up out of the truck and damn near carry me into the house. I was asleep in the passenger seat if we had to drive for more than 20 minutes. I could hear him talk to me, but I couldn't move. He was the one that would lift me off the couch and carry me to bed 30 minutes after we'd start a movie. He's the one that would hold me while I slept in church and slowly start to wake me up 10 minutes before service was over so no one would see how out of it I looked. The few times anyone outside the family would see me like that, I'm sure they thought I was on drugs. As I'd wake up, I'd stare right through people. My family felt the effects right along with me. It was becoming our new normal. I was not willing to accept that.

Sleep doctor time. It went just like I said it would. Fall asleep almost instantly. Every single time they asked me to lay down. If you've never been to a sleep doctor, it's not as fun as it sounds. You sleep all night. If they determine you don't need a CPAP, you're asked to stay. The day is then filled with 5, 20 minute naps. I was not a nice person by the end. They wake you up at the 20 minute mark, if you've fallen asleep. I did. Every single time. Just like I said I would. Doctor was shocked! I wasn't making it up. My labs came back clean. He remarked that I had the cleanest labs he'd seen in a while. Wow. So, I'm actually a case of someone not in there trying to get drugs? I'm telling the truth. SHOCKING. (note sarcasm). He prescribed me modafinil. I guess it's a medicine they give to shift workers. Safe. Effective. I was on cloud 9. FINALLY, I had something that would help me. I had a diagnosis. Granted, being diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome wasn't exactly what I wanted to hear, it was something, and I could be fixed!

Left: 2 hours before surgery
Right: exactly 24 hours later same bathroom
Was trying to hold my face the same, but I couldn't help
but smile at how much inflammation was already gone.

Wrong.

Hives. My face and neck completely peeled off from a reaction to the meds. I lost it. I'd never felt so defeated.

Which brings me to Facebook scrolling. Breast Implant Illness. Someone I actually knew in real life posting about it. That's when I finally allowed the figurative light bulb to come on. I'd received a few messages before from friends sharing blog posts about it. I dismissed it. I didn't want to believe it. Only my ND even mentioned it might be an issue. "They're totally safe" right? "All the doctors say they're safe!" "It could be the hardware in your knee." "Maybe its the mercury fillings in your teeth."

I'm not one to just let things happen to me. After 4 years, I was taking matters into my own hands. Breast implants are gone ASAP. If that doesn't work, knee hardware gone. If that doesn't work, mercury fillings out. If none of that worked, I was resigned to accept that CFS was my new normal.

Post explant competition #4.
Fake boobs were not necessary. 

This past year is a blur so I'll sum it up.
*I join FB group with THOUSANDS of women just like me.
*I believe implants could be the problem.
*I find doctor that also believes implants could be a problem.
*Suck it up and totally kick ass at my bikini competition.
*10 days later, fly to Dr Marguerite Barnett's office and get my "still look amazing" implants removed.
*Wake up next morning with inflammation gone.
*4 days later, realize fatigue is gone.
*Spend the summer with my kids AWAKE and having fun.
*Turn 39 happier and healthier than I've been in years.
*My hair has grown 4-5 inches in the last 5 months. It hadn't grown more than an inch or two over the last few years.
*Currently spend all day, every day, giving zero fucks about what my boobs look like. I'm currently between a 34 B and C. I was a 34 DD with the implants. They aren't shriveled or deformed. I'm almost 40 years old. I have two kids. I don't expect them to look like a 19 year old's. That's just weird anyway. My husband thinks they're pretty cute just the way they are.

*******

Post explant. Still adorable.

My measurable symptoms started 3 years after I had them implanted. They were Mentor Smooth Silicone placed under the muscle. My health continued to decline for the following 4 years. My explanting doctor showed them to me at my post op appointment. They were not ruptured. The shell had stretched out and there was some rippling. So basically, the shell was deteriorating. Even if I had saline, the silicone shell was still slowly poisoning me. She thought they probably would've ruptured within a year. I wouldn't have made it to the recommended 10 year mark. As of today, I'd guess 99% of my symptoms are gone. I still have some lingering food sensitivities and a little inflammation in my rib cage.

What I've learned since my explant.

*Never take your health for granted. Big boobs aren't that great if you're bedridden.

*Your worth is not defined by the size or shape of your breasts. One of the worst comments I've heard was "but my implants are the best thing about me!" No girl. No, they're not. You are not ornamental. I promise if you ask your kids, or any one that loves you, they'll have lots of great things to tell you that have nothing to do with perky boobs.

*I'm way more content and confident with my body more now than I've ever been. Yes, even without "perfect" boobs. They aren't perfect if they're poisoning you.

*Just because you can't see how sick someone is, doesn't mean they aren't fighting a constant battle. We get pretty good at hiding how crappy we feel. Please don't be dismissive.

They are my "why". They are worth my health. They are worth being awake for. They are more important than my vanity.
They are worth learning the lesson with me, and growing up confident in who God made them.

When the clock runs out...

It's cold. The kind of cold only post season brings. The air is so frigid you can see steam rising off of the bodies on the field. Gone are the days of 115 degree 3-a-days. Gone are the days of pre-season shenanigans. Dumping water onto our mattresses to cool ourselves against dorm rooms without air conditioning. We've made it. Against all odds, we've made it. Game after game. Win after win. Surprising everyone, especially the competition. They never saw us coming. Teamwork. Unselfishness. Guts. Heart. Glory. I'm nervous. I never get nervous before regular season games. This is it. Last season, EVER. There just aren't a lot of opportunities for women in sports after college. I look around the locker room during pre game and wonder, "am I the only one?"

We're about to play a post-season game that our school has never made it to before. We're a proud bunch. Some of us louder about it than others. I'm a leader. I fall easily into the role. I'm comfortable being uncomfortable and drag everyone along with me. Comfort doesn't win games. I hurt. I'm coming off injuries that have haunted me for some time. A torn ACL sidelined me during a freshman season at another school that I cared little about. A lateral release while coaching a season I should have cared more about. Another torn ACL during this season, a season I cared a great deal about. A dirty play should have sidelined me forever. It's hard to lead from the bench. Half a season from the bench. Your team won't follow you from the bench. Stubbornness will take you far. The willingness to swallow pain will take you far. Pain is subjective, right? It doesn't hurt that bad, right? Your team is watching. They will follow. If you can keep going so can they. You can lead again.

After 14 years, they still fit perfectly. 

I do. I lead. I lace them up. My best friends, my Copas, have become a part of me. They've formed to my feet, and no one else's. The scuffs, the holes, the dirt, tell a story. I drag my toes when I slow a run. The cleats on the outside of my right foot are shorter from years of limping strong to that side. The hole through the left insole show countless digs onto that foot from defensive hip-checking. The aggressive move served two purposes, knock the opponent off the ball and show that your knee brace doesn't equal weakness. The leather of the shoes are perfect molds of my feet. There is still red clay from a heartbreaking game in Oklahoma staining the outsole. A reminder to hold my position strong.

I take the field. I look at the outside hinge of my knee brace covered in grass left over from the last slide tackle on our home field. I loved the way the grass sounded as it tore up from the soil. The sound the ball made as it hit my foot. A blocked shot. The frigid cold numbs my legs and I run like I did before the injuries. Even now, if I close my eyes, I can still feel the turf and ice break beneath my cleats. I can still smell the cold, wet air. I can still hear my teammates cheer, and yell, and cry out in frustration as we battled.

I can help. I can help. I can help.

It doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt. It doesn't hurt.

Only it does. It hurts. Hours in the ice baths add up. Fake "I promise I'm better" smiles to the trainers. Bonds with other injured athletes. I convince myself I'm better. I convince myself I'm stronger. I'm a leader. If I'm strong, my team is strong. Eventually, we lose, and it's over. Sudden and final. My heart hurts worse than my knees ever will. Did I lead them the best way I could? Was I strong enough? What could I have done differently? Where do we go from here? I've collapsed to my knees at the top of the 18. I've given everything in me to this game. It's over. A few teammates walk over. One extends a hand, and the look in her eyes mirror mine. She helps me up, and I let her. I finally accept help for the first time in months. We walk together without speaking.

An athlete's heart doesn't graduate. After competing at that level, finding some way to fulfill that void is challenging. The scenery changes, but the injuries don't. The heart doesn't change. New challenges, new teammates, new opportunities, new ways to feel powerful and strong come along. You lead again. You try again. You succeed again. You inspire again. The injuries and surgeries continue. Six major knee surgeries in all, with number 7 on the horizon. You smile, you shrug, you ice. Pain. You read the quotes, you live the quotes, you live the lies.

My husband and I's first GORUCK Challenge.

"Pain is temporary. Pride is forever."

"Pain is temporary. Quitting lasts forever."

You don't quit. You have pride. You have pain. It isn't temporary. You wonder to yourself, which is worse? What kind of pain are they talking about? The emotional pain of admitting you are human or the physical, daily pain? Both interfere with life.

An athlete has a hard time distinguishing between "stop" and "quit". We don't process the difference. We find something else to replace our love with. A different position, a different sport, a different challenge to convince ourselves that we are improving and evolving. We're still leaders! We're still physically strong! We don't know how to "take it easy". We weren't made that way. We take it as an insult, on the highest level, when those closest to us say "just quit" and scoff, because "it's a simple choice". They don't understand they are telling you to give up a piece of yourself. It ISN'T that easy. Logically, you know they are right, but you don't listen. We will slow down on our terms, when WE are ready.

Our last race. 

Other athletes just give you the nod when they ask about your limp. "Yeah, it hurts pretty good today." They know for you to actually admit any pain means that it must be almost unbearable if you can't hide it. Want to go for a run? Want to play a pick up game? Want to do another GORUCK? YES! YES! YES! But you don't. You turn down more and more of the activities that made you happy, that made you feel whole, that made you feel like a powerful athlete again.

Soon, the physical pain finally becomes enough to convince our brains to say "Stop, please stop. It's not quitting to just stop". The pain in our hearts is far greater. We have a moment that hits like a ton of bricks. We admit we aren't invincible. Not to anyone else, just to ourselves. It still hurts. Our hearts are heavy. We share our experiences. We teach leadership. We teach teamwork. We hope our children love their sport, whatever that may be, as much as we loved ours. We hope they never live through the physical pain, but experience just enough emotional pain that they too, are leaders. Leaders don't come easy. We stop thinking about the past glory, and pass along smiles, and nods, and pride. We reflect. We want the opportunity to bow out quietly, gracefully.

We grieve, just the way we played. We grieve, just the way we led. We grieve hard. It was worth it.

GORUCK What?!?!

It all began last winter when a buddy of mine from high school invited me to this facebook "event". A custom GORUCK Challenge on May 4. Dude, what the hell is a GORUCK Challenge? I googled it. Very inspiring video. The 8-10 hours part is what had me hesitating. I'm not sure why he invited me. Maybe because he'd done a few and they needed some more chicks to carry around. Perhaps he thought "Hey, she's a trainer, maybe she won't pass out." Could be that he invited his entire "friends" list just to see who would show up. Regardless, I'm intrigued.

I click "maybe". Almost instantly, I get a message from another buddy of mine. "Seriously, with the 'maybe' on the GORUCK?"

FINE. It doesn't take much to peer pressure me. I'll only do it if Mike can come. Not true, I totally would've done it without him. I tell them that he's pretty tough, and they give me the thumbs up. I *might* have signed him up before he actually agreed to it. Remember from our Tough Mudder experience? I'm cute, and he's agreeable. On that note, we tell one of Mike's best friends about it. Apparently, he's pretty agreeable too. After a few well timed Miller Lites, and inspiring videos, we are all on board.

So begins the spending of money. OF COURSE, we NEED the pack that they recommend and sell, as well as the headlamps. It just so happens that Christmas is approaching. PLEASE Santa!!!! Santa provides. BRICKS! We need bricks and duct tape. Gotta do it just like they do on the website. I take the girls to Lowes and let them pick the tape colors. Let's involve them in the mommy-turned-badass process. Hot pink for Emerson, purple for Brinley and black for Mike. They pick out the bricks. Masonry bricks with holes in them. Is that cheating? Do they weigh enough? I don't want to be a slacker!

The brick wrapping process was exactly like I imagined it would be. A little messy, kinda loud, and a good reason to have a few more Miller Lites. Wow! This is fun! Wait, these are heavy. How long do these have to be on my back? How do I keep them from shifting around? One of the guys on the facebook page is up to 10!?! What is the matter with these people?

Fast forward a few months and we're on a ruck with some of the fellas from the team. After some brief introductions, and a "so whatcha been up to?", we are off for a 2-3 hour course through downtown Wichita. A little PT here, some getting into a fountain illegally there, and some speed rucking there, we feel pretty decent about our decision. It's hard. I hate bear crawls. Pack your GR1 better.

Another few months go by. New bricks, new tape, new way of taping. I wear my pack to the zoo, on walks and to the park. Wearing it while teaching my bootcamp classes, and poorly explaining what it is I'm training for. I don't feel like it's enough. We start meeting up with a few friends every Sunday to go on rucks. We carry cement, stumps, and each other. We hike for a few miles while stopping every few minutes for PT. Some weeks are better than others.

The girls' finishing touches
with their favorite tape.

The week of the Challenge comes screaming in. OH CRAP. Week of... I still need a decent pair of shoes. I still need a decent pair of gloves. I still need a hydration bladder. I still need to figure out why I signed up. You've got to be kidding me, it's going to be 40 freaking degrees and raining that night? Seriously? Every. Single. Race/Challenge. Mike is NEVER going to do anything with me again if the weather is always so crappy. Great, now I have to figure out what I'm going to wear because what I had planned is out of the question. Basically, all the news I had gotten was to guarantee that I would be in water, cold water, and that I would need web strapping with carabiners. They weren't wrong.

The Ruckoff is a little hazy. We meet at the bar to hang out and learn each others names before we spent the night together. You could tell who had done one of these before. They were the ones drinking beer. They must know something I don't. No way I'm drinking a beer now. After chicken and water, and a few sketchy trips to the bathroom (hey, the nerves get to me) we head outside. Time to suit up!

After several minutes, HE walks up. Younger than I expected. Hey, he's kinda good looking. Oh, did I say that out loud? Mike rolls his eyes. *I love you, baby* He's got his hood up, and a camo GR1. "I'm looking for Keith ..." I might throw up. This is actually happening. I actually have to do this now.

The beginning is kind of a blur. He only speaks to Keith for a bit, who relays information. Pack is open for brick inspection. Drunk women on stand-by for random inappropriate comments, and facebook posts. We ARE in Oldtown, after all. He speaks again. He tells us to get down to the Keeper of the Plains as fast as possible. He's not in the mood for drunk idiots.

I'm in the middle somewhere. Right before the pack
drilled me in the head.

We get stared at. ALOT. We make it down there. A few of the other participants friends and family are there. I know them. It helps. I'm still a ball of nerves. PT time. One of the girls says "just keep smiling! It'll help you through!" She's done a few. I believe her. Within what must have been the first 30 minutes, I have my first "dark moment". After a hail storm of crab walk, bear crawls, push ups, etc, my shoulders are tired. So tired. We're doing walking lunges and pressing our rucks over head. I WAY overpacked. So dumb. I can barely grab the pack to keep it from falling on my head. I can't even pick up the smallest girl to fireman carry! Why did I have to have so many knee surgeries?!? How on Earth am I going to go another 10 hours if I can't get through PT!?! Just don't quit. Just don't quit. You can't quit. You can't quit. No one quits. Oh, are we doing something else now? Handstand pushups on the bridge. Awesome. Oh the pack that hit someone on the back of the head, and landed on the ground? Sorry folks, that was mine. I'm THAT guy. "We can't start until everyone is ready!" Hurry up, Laura. In my mind, I imagine he's thinking "this poor, sad, little girl." Hope we don't get extra punishment because I'm the MORON that took off my waist strap and left it at home.

"Run here. Run there. Run over that bridge. Hey idiots, don't forget your flag. You have 17 seconds. Get to know each other. You seriously don't know each other? What kind of group is this? Wichita sure has a lot of museums." *I'm ad libbing, of course.*

"Just keep smiling" 

Oh good. He has a sense of humor, and we can actually talk to him. I finally catch his name. Cadre Rich. Wife, 3 kids, and one is a month old. House for sale. All I can think is "I bet she is pissed he's out of town chasing a bunch of idiots all over Wichita".

"I'm bored, and I think you guys ran too slow. Get in the river."

Awesome. Penicillin shot anyone? Our river is nasty for those of you that don't know.

"There's a log down there. Go get it, and carry it to Cowtown (a museum). Oh, and you have to carry someone in this." He throws a piece of fabric with handles on the ground. All the girls look at each other. I think I was the first one in. Within 2 minutes you realize how much it sucks. We traded out but I'm not sure how often. At one point, we were all wearing someone else's packs as we switched in and out of the "litter".

Break time. A little food and bathroom time that will come back to haunt me.

"I hope no one changed their socks! Get back in the river, and carry that log, and your litter, to the 13th street bridge. You have 45 minutes."

Deafening silence. We get back in. The water stinks. We put our smallest girl in the litter as the guys start strapping up the log.

"Quit floating the log! You just lost 15 minutes off your time!"

We trudge along. That even sounds faster than what we were moving. Some of the guys on the log are switching out with the guys carrying us, only to realize it sucks just as bad. At one point, we may have been moving backwards. He tells them to lose the straps and carry it on their shoulders. As they make their adjustments...

"I'm getting F-ing bored! Pick up the F-ing log! Get the F off the sandbar, and get the F to that bridge!" (only it wasn't just an "F")

Yes, those are my clown shoes. So comfy.
Yes, that's my butt in the river. So cold.

The water is getting a little deeper. At that point, I'm being dragged through the river. I'm soaked. I'm getting kicked in the back of the head. I'm cramping. No point in complaining. Everyone is equally miserable as we weave in and out of the sandbars that we weren't allowed to be on. I sing a little Zac Brown Band to my group. You know the tune... "Wishin I was, knee deep in the water somewhere...."

We're moving too slow. He calls us up on a sandbar. I breathe a little relief. Maybe he realized that it's going to take too long to complete our task. Maybe he really meant the 9th street bridge. NOPE. Time for "quit being babies" PT. I'm wearing someone else's pack. She doesn't have one on because she was the one being carried. Which means, some poor sap has two on.  Crap. "Up! Down! Roll! Throw sand! Up! Down! Roll! Throw sand! Miserable yet? Get back in the river! Midgets on the litter! That means 5'8" and under! Get moving!"

There's a giant log in there somewhere.

It's a blur now. It's cloudy and misting. When I'm in the litter, all I can see are the ever changing backsides as they switched in and out from the middle carry location. Then when I was carrying, all I could do was apologize and try not to splash water on the poor girl. I hear a splash. THE LOG IS DOWN! Oh no! We're going to get in trouble for that! Wait, the fellas are climbing. Does that mean we can stop too? I haven't seen Rich in a while. How many hours has it been? I think he was playing "spy" in and out of the trees. We caught glimpses of him every so often.

We stumble up the river bank. Break time. Food time. Try to remind your husband why he loves you time.

Moving on. Back in the litter. Not allowed to speak we keep moving. It felt like an eternity. My left leg is stiffening up. I can't bend my knee. My hip flexors start to cramp. I spend some time praying for strength for my team. I pray for the soldiers that are actually injured, and have to be hauled out of danger like this. I sing "Amazing Grace" (the movie Maverick version) in my head. I'm spiraling into my second "dark moment", and then, are those birds chirping? Do I see a few lights on? It must be close to dawn! Squirrel!

Suddenly (for me), we're in a park. As they pull me up from the ground, I find my pack and start squatting just to get my knee to work halfway properly again. "Hey Laura, you know you don't have to do squats? We're resting." We get a short break, and Rich lies down by a slide. I start walking circles. I definitely had the sleepy sillies at this point. My knee is clicking pretty loudly on every step and I'm quite amused by it. Wait. It's been longer than 5 minutes. Is he asleep? "Laura go check. He won't yell at a girl." Maybe I'll just walk near him and my clicking knee will wake him up. What if it's a test and we're failing! One of the guys tells me to wake him up. I decide just to make a lot of noise, while the team decides to get into formation. Oh he's up! He's not yelling.

New leaders go up for our next assignment. "Murmur murmur murmur Wichita State." WHAT?!? Did he just say Wichita State?! Yep. That's happening. Let's try to avoid the road construction and the gang neighborhood, shall we?

Someone get in the litter. NOT. A. CHANCE. One of the other girls jumps in and off we go grabbing various logs, sandbags, and other "injured/casulties" along our way. Constantly rotating our "cargo" or whatever it's called. I believe, during this leg of the journey, I hit "acceptance". We're just going to go until he's sick of looking at us. Since it's been dark for several hours, I'm sure he has a few more hours of seeing just how miserable he can make us in the daylight. Beer? Someone is drinking a beer? Sure, I'll take a pull of that! Oh, that didn't taste nearly as good as I hoped. Wait, maybe it did.

"Wichita sure has a lot of liquor stores."

The "acceptance". Just make it happen.

We make it to Wichita State. Oh good, it's raining again. I see my friend pull up to take more pictures. Surely, we're not done yet. He wouldn't have us finish so far from where we started. Oh, we missed our time by 20 seconds. Awesome. Sprints? Yes. That will feel great on my legs that haven't moved for 30 minutes (I think I was in the litter again, who can say for sure). Sprint again? Splendid. Oh we're being timed? Great. I enjoy vomiting in my mouth. *I hope you all are sensing my sarcasm.*

Now, we get to do 553 reps of any combination of exercises we choose. Rich has a tradition of taking the class number, we're class 553, and having them complete that many reps. Let's make sure we choose the most difficult or ridiculous, shall we. Burpees to finish? Why not? My clients would not be proud of my form. Those were the most horrendous burpees of my life. Just keep smiling. Just keep smiling...

"Back to downtown. You can leave the sandbag but someone has to be carried, doesn't have to be in the litter. Better pick up those logs too. Get moving. You have 2 hours."

Our firemen that must be superheroes on the side, grab one of the girls and they take turns basically running with her for miles. The rest of us rotate carrying a log we found along the way. I take a turn being carried, but his shoulder is digging into my stomach, I do all I can not to vomit down his back. Blur, blur, blur. I can see the clock tower. That's our goal. I'm carrying someone's pack now. The work gets distributed, and we all just seem to make it happen.

Rich makes eye contact with one of the guys and I hear "You stubbed your toe and your leg fell off. It was the weirdest thing!" Crap! Now we're carrying a big guy. Down goes another! We're within a few blocks. Down goes another! QUIT MAKING EYE CONTACT WITH THE CADRE! Half our team is down. We race to get back to the square where we started and to stay in fomation. We're allowed to put down our "wounded". We're thinking it's done. We survived. Spirits lift. I'm sorry, did he just say we didn't make time and now we have to go run stairs in that parking garage? But this is such a nice place to take a picture! I feel like I'm more than a little whiney. In the back of my head, I think "Whatever. It's just a staircase. It can't last forever."

Did he just say "run stairs"? 

He gets us all the way over to cross the street, then laughs at us. "Just kidding, go line up. You guys are done."

We all look around. Sooooo does that mean we can set the team weight down? Like done done? After several hours, you just sort of get used to the extra weight, and you're still nervous about taking it off. We receive our patches. Besides my baby girls, I don't think I've ever been more proud of something. I could have made out with that patch. Lining up to take pictures after the fact, that euphoric feeling takes over. Everyone walks a little taller. Smiles a little more contently. Beer tastes a little better. Wow, we really just did all of that. That actually happened.

I look at Mike. He says to me, "There is no way you are ever talking me into doing this again." I kiss him and tell him that's ok. I've already scheduled a GoRuck Light on my birthday. He claims he'll have no part of it.

GORUCK CHALLENGE CLASS 553

We head home, shower, coach soccer, head over to softball practice, beg my parents to watch our children for another night, grab some food and hit the hay. After all, life goes on and we have work to do the next day.

Monday, 9:13 am: Text from Mike: "I will do the lite with you" Of course you will, Baby.

We all feel it. Once you get it in your head that powering through is the only option, you want to do another, and another. You want to be more efficient. You think of ways you could help your team more. What weaknesses you need to work on. What your strengths are. The Cadre pull it out of you without you knowing it. You may not even realize it at the time. Even though I could barely wash my hair the next day, I was already looking at the schedule for another chance to make myself better. Because that is exactly what happens. You walk away BETTER. You are more sure of yourself. You have less time or energy for the BS in life. You are happier. Why? Because you know it's worth it. You know that YOU'RE worth it. You realize that yes, if fact, you are capable of far more than you would ever give yourself credit for, and you wonder just what else you could be capable of if you would just make the choice to try.

Good livin' indeed....



P.S. Use your headlamp to identify any poisonous plants before stomping around looking for somewhere to go to the bathroom. Rashes covering both legs are no fun my friends. No fun at all.

See. He still likes me a little bit.

P.P.S. For those that like the details, we covered 13.7 miles in 11 hours and 47 minutes. No watches. No phones. Sometimes a random bank sign with the time.

48 inches around

24 feet long

*PHOTOS COURTESY SELINA BELTRAN. THE BEST CHEERLEADER THERE IS.

Tough Mudder is Right! Part 3 and FINAL

Here, we entered the second half of our little adventure. Miles 6-12 weren't nearly as much fun as the first 6. After crawling out of the mountain lake, regaining my lung capacity, and noticing a nice clean pair of shoes, we trudged on a while longer. At this point, my mood started changing. That cold gear top I was so grateful to have, became more of a burden. It did not wick moisture away. Instead, it held it nice and tight to my body. At 40-45 degrees, windy and cloudy, it wasn't the best option. It slowly leaked water onto my hands the rest of the course. Mike kept calling my fingers Jimmie Deans because they were swelling like sausages. They went from purple to white and back to purple. 

How am I supposed to grab this if I can't feel my hands?

As I slid across this wall, I kept thinking "I will CRY if I fall in that water!" I had just started shivering but jogging and jumping jacks helped with the blood flow. I did make it over the wall. Later that night, I pulled several splinters out of my hand that I *think* I got here.

Mike's shirt was better. He could still feel his hands and he cruised right over.

We pressed on and came up to the Hold Your Wood challenge. You choose your log from a giant pile trying not to look like a wimp. Some did partner carries. Mike and I chose individual logs, then we carried them up and around a hill before throwing them back on the pile. I wasn't feeling very tough at that moment so I chose a small one.

Yay! The sun came out! I kinda feel my fingers in a pins and needles sort of way.
I bet that marine behind me was thinking "This is boring. How did I get stuck here
and not pushing people off a 2 story platform?"

Hmmmm, this is awkward to carry.

Now this is more like it. Show off.

Mike wasn't so sure about Trench Warfare. That whole thought of being buried alive came to mind. However, once we got through it, not so bad. No wind. Calm. I could've laid down and taken a nap. 

Headed in quickly. Sun still out.

At least I could see where I was going.

The end already?

Made it out faster than this guy! 

That wouldn't be the only time I made it through an obstacle quicker than he did. This one, speed didn't matter as much as it would later on.

Where I received a sweet looking mud goatee.

Beat him again!

After Kiss of Mud, my hands were definitely numb again. You can't see it but there is a marine with a firehouse off to the side of this one washing people off. Mike had so much mud on his shirt and pants, he had to get sprayed. Me? I made it through without getting any mud on my shirt. Even if I was covered, there was NO way I was volunteering to be sprayed with ice cold water that wasn't part of the obstacle. You'll notice I made it through faster during this one, too. Hmmmm. I see a trend forming. Those big, strong guys dominate most challenges, but the little people, like me, coast through anything close to the ground.

That guy made it over both walls without help. 

Berlin Walls were no joke. I made some friends really fast on this set. Mike told me later he had NO problem with a stranger grabbing my backside as long as he didn't have to chuck me over that thing alone. Any feeling I had in my hands on miles 6-7 were long gone at this point. Maybe I got some splinters here?

Of course, he made the first one solo.

Mike got a small boost to help him over the second one. We were pretty sure it was 6-12 inches higher than the first. You know, to keep things interesting. I saw a few more girls walk around these. Seriously! Make a friend and get tossed over! Plenty of single, strong guys looking to be heroes. Earn that headband, ladies!

Soon after came Twinkle Toes. This is when my brain started to shut off. I wasn't worried about making it over. Mike started discussing structure and stability again. All I heard was Charlie Brown's teacher talking. WAH WAH WAH, Wah wah... In my head: "Ok Laura, what do you tell your clients? Lower your center of gravity. If you look down, you'll fall down. Just. Keep. Moving." I hear the volunteer yelling "You have to go fast!" and watching people dump in the water. I swore if I hit that water, I would lose my mind.

I took off. Step. Step. Step. THERE'S AN ELEVATED BOARD IN THE MIDDLE?!? Don't fall. Don't fall. Don't fall. Keep moving. Keep moving. Don't look down. Don't look SPLASH! (At this point, if you know me, you can hear what I yelled when I hit that water.) Some chick walked across the platform as I was pulling myself out of the water. I about grabbed her ankle and pulled her in at the exact same moment Mike came running across the beam, and almost shoulder charged her into the crowd. Be aware of your surroundings, woman.

A little wobbly.

I was definitely shivering at this point. So mad I was dripping wet again, not that I ever dried off. I couldn't bend my fingers. I tried squeezing as much water out of my sleeves as I could, to no avail. Oh goody. More mud and waist deep water just past the balance beam. I tried to take another picture of the mud hills, but the camera was completely coated.

It seemed like miles 7-9 took forever. We saw a personal trainer pushing her client up one of the trails. Now that is dedication. We don't think her client made it to the end. She looked rougher than I did. Maybe she did. I hope so. I wouldn't do one of these with a client if I didn't think they could finish. 

After a mile or so of mountain trails, we approached this ginormous thing. Cliffhanger. It looked scary. Wait a minute? We have a hill in Wichita we run. This wasn't too much taller, even if the dirt was looser. We scanned the area a bit, then took off. No problem. Made it to the top with fairly minimal effort. I felt a smidgen cocky as I passed several guys struggling. I was grasping at straws for confidence at this point.

Speed is key

Then another freaking wall! Seriously, with these. At least this one had ropes. I couldn't feel my hands, but they were still working. Mike followed me over in case I spontaneously let go and attempted a head injury.

Just like Junior High gym class.

We trekked through some actual brush. It was a single lane trail for a while. I was amazed at how many people laying on the side of the course, cramping. There were several, super sized, golf carts hauling people around. The last 4-5 miles, more people had foil wrapped around them than didn't. I kept telling myself I didn't need all that. Hindsight...

We approach Black Lightning. I have no clue what that is supposed to mean. I had gotten very flaky at this point. Still shivering uncontrollably, but now it was so bad, other mudders would point at me and whisper. If I could've felt my fingers, I would've showed them one. I just couldn't bear any more water. Please, for the love, no more water. "Is there water in there?" I asked the marine. He smirked and said "maybe a little". Hmmmm, what is so funny there, smart guy?

A giant tarp covered a low structure. People were very slow to enter.
They know something we don't.

Hmmm, what's going on in there?

This is what we could see.

Mike went in first. I chose a tunnel off to his left. It was very quiet until you turned the corner. Then I heard it. Grown men screaming like little girls and a chorus of F-bombs. It was LOUD. What on Earth is going on?!? I had the camera with me. It didn't have a flash but it did have enough light that I could see the little, live wires. Sneaky... I kept the camera on and pointed forward. Again, being a little woman paid off. I stayed low and slithered my way between them. One guy did knock one right into my ponytail. It certainly didn't tickle. I had a headache for the next several minutes. If it wasn't for him, I probably would've made it through with no shocks. Mike wasn't so lucky. Sorry about your big muscles there, babe.

I made it through faster and he wasn't very happy coming out.

That definitely perked me up a bit. Hey, a mild, electric shock will do that to you. We approach the main camp area and hear the music. Finishers are yelling and encouraging us. "Only 1 mile left!!! 4 more obstacles!!! You got this!" Are they messing with us? That would be awesome. Which ones haven't we done yet? My brain is scrambled from the jolt, the dehydration, and the hypothermia. Whatever, Laura. One. More. Mile. One. More. Mile. Water. My heart dropped. Boa Constrictor.

I'm on the verge of tears just looking at this. The spectators crossing
were wearing ski gear and stocking caps.

Mike takes off down the tube on the right, and I slid in the one next to him. That water didn't look that deep. I bet I can stay out of it! NOPE. Barbed wire. Of course, there was barbed wire. Well, there was no backing out. I crawled through, and the water was warmer than I was. Pleasant surprise. Up the other side, I made it out before Mike. I looked down his tunnel and he was stuck. He couldn't get traction to climb up and out. I sat down and gave him a foot to grab. I had to use my leg to pull him, and the next guy, up, and out of the tube.

We discuss that it wasn't too bad as we come around the corner, just to look down the hill at this. That's Walk the Plank down there. You might have noticed Mike and I haven't stopped to take pictures of each other participating in each obstacle. We were just trying to get through them as quickly as we could and it was a miracle I snapped any at all. I am pitching a pretty good fit as we approach this one. Mike said I could walk around it, but reminded me how tacky I thought it was when those other girls skipped obstacles. FINE. I climbed up onto the platform and stood shivering so hard I looked like a white guy trying to dance at the club. The very attractive (this helped) marine looked at me and asked "Are you OK ma'am?" DO I LOOK LIKE A MA'AM TO YOU!? is what I thought in my head. What I said was "I'm so FREAKING cold!" Only I didn't say "freaking". He asked if I needed a push. I'm thinking "Seriously, dude. If you dare push me, I will climb back up here and push YOU in." Instead I pointed to Mike and said that we'd be jumping together.

I take a leap, and grab my headband. Why I cared so much about the sleeve of a t-shirt at that moment, you've got me. I hit the water feet first then ended up doing a backwards roll. Oh crap. There's a camera in my bra. Ok. Still there. Nice Laura. Worry about the headband and not the 4 hours of pictures documenting this "wonderful" journey. (Can you all sense my thick sarcasm and crankiness?) Then some woman is sitting in my path to get out of the water laughing at her friend that probably got pushed off. "Get the heck out of the way!!!" I yell in my head, only I didn't use "heck". She saw the death look on my face. It must've been enough to get my point across.

It looks way higher when you are standing up there. 

I come out of the water. People were staring and pointing now. I couldn't control the shivering. I couldn't feel my hands or forearms. For the first time, I notice my feet were cold. What a blessing it was just one set of limbs up until this point.

Then this happened. Electric Eel. I stood right there and cried. Not for long. Only a few tears. Mike grabbed me. I knew he was miserable, too. I got so mad at myself, I dried my tears on the only spot of his shoulder that didn't have mud on it and went for it. I laid flat on my face in the water I dreaded so much. I think that scared me more than the electric shocks. At least we could see these. The same chorus of cuss words and screams surrounded me. I made it to the very end. Took one shock on my right calf as I was being pulled out. I remember yelling "Please someone come get me!" and they did.

P.S. That's NOT Mike with the fanny pack.. He's WAY more bow-legged than that. 

Ok, water obstacles are over. I made it. It renewed my spirit slightly as we approached Everest. I did grab some foil as we waited for all those people in front of us to go. Most of them loitered a bit. Mike looked at me and said "I'm cramping, babe. I gotta go before my knee locks up." We drop the foil and he takes off. He is so fast. I knew he'd make it. If some chick "helping" at the top would've gotten out of the way, he probably could've made it on his own.

My turn. I run as fast as I can and jump right at Mike and a marine pulling people up. These guys must be so tired at the end of the day after dragging tons of us over that wall. Mike and I locked hands like we were in a movie. The marine and I, not so much. He let go. I yelled "I'm NOT going back down!" He grabbed my wrist and pulled my hand over. I hung on for dear life as he and Mike dragged me over. It wasn't pretty, but it only took one try.

Wondering if I have enough left in my legs for this. 

There it is. One obstacle left. Electroshock Therapy. The only thing between me and an orange headband. I deserved it. Those punks standing there joined together as a team and wouldn't move. I'm yelling all sorts of things to get them to go. Someone is spraying a fireman hose through the wires at people that won't start running. Mike and I jump around them and over those hay bales. We're on a dead sprint. Neither one of us waiting on the other. Teamwork? We both knew we could hold hands later. We wanted to be done. I believe he got hit 3 times and guess what? I only got hit once. The guy with the hose either felt sorry for me shaking as badly as I was, or respected that we charged right in, because he didn't spray us once. 

Bring it on.

DONE!!!! WE'RE FINALLY DONE!!! Give me that headband before I punch you in the throat! Where's the beer?! Screw it, I can't feel my hands. Mike lost his wristband so they won't even give him one. Are you freaking kidding me?! We may have earned that beer but we didn't want it.

Well, why wouldn't the sun come out once we were done?

Why are our faces so fat? Hypothermia? Dehydration? Who cares. We finished....

The mile and a half hike back to car was cruel. Mike's knee locked up and he couldn't hardly walk. I have hands? I couldn't feel them. Once we made it back, I stripped naked in the mostly empty parking lot and didn't care who saw my bare backside. I was so excited to get something dry on. We finally sat down, car heater blasting, and smiled at each other with dumbfounded looks on our faces. "Well, that was stupid..."

Can't wait to do it again! Well, I'll prepare better. I'll get there early enough to shop before, and not after. I won't wear a chamois, I'll wear something that wicks water. However, it only took 2 days before we decided it was worth it!

Follow me on Twitter: @LauraHeddenPT

Find me building a snow man tomorrow with my babies!