In which I decide that 5 am is still early but *NOT* too early.
One of my outreach classes gifted me a photo of me doing storytime and, baaaaaybee, I need an old priest, a young priest, the power of the heart-shaped herb, and a new training plan because oooooh hell no; I hardly recognize myself!
When I examined the photo I tried to reason with myself. Perhaps it was the angle which the photo was taken; my theory is that any storyteller worth their salt should never look cute in photos but that wasn’t it. Maybe it was what I was wearing. I have taken to wearing looser fit items as my midsection was bloated after surgery and I continue to wear these skirts as it’s allowed me to lean into that boho, flower child look that I always liked. I tried to blame my anti-rejection meds; the major offender being prednisone. During my last round of prednisone, I ate from sun-up to sun-down but when I think about it, the low dosage that I am on is not the cause of this damage. The plain and simple truth is that I love cookies and bread and sleeping in more than getting up to work out.
Each day when my alarm goes off, I choose to lie in bed for five more, ten more, an hour more of sleep and “rest” until I am either rushing to do a quick stretch and then rushing our the house to get to work at a decent time. On the days that I do (reluctantly) get up with the alarm and get my workout going, I have a lovely breakfast, and as I leisurely sip coffee, always vow to “keep it up!” until the next long night or next lazy lie in.
Pre-surgery I was sorta pretty disciplined about my workouts. Partly out of spite, partly because I loved the results. due to spite. I was determined not to have to do dialysis and tried to save what kidney function I could. Also, there was the bragging rights at work. Seeing the faces of my coworkers when I shared that I ran 6 miles before work was…*chef’s kiss. I would be lying if I didn’t mention how much I loved the way my clothes fit. I could tuck in a shirt! I had a waist?!
Post-surgery, I leaned into the bits of recovery that I liked. Resting, sleeping in, NOT GETTING UP AT 5 AM unless it was because I had a cat zooming around my room or I had to use the bathroom. I got the kidney, and my follow-up appointments had not revealed anything spectacular therefore I felt like I was “done.” Done with pushing myself to run, done with 5 AM workouts, done with that cleaner diet but the reality is that this is just the beginning. I *am* “done” with the kidney disease part but it’s time to focus on the recovery part. Life with a transplant. Surgery was the end but also the introduction of something new that might see a new version of Rachee and that’s ok.
I’m taking it one day at a time. With my group or solo, one foot in front of the other, my playlist in my ear, and chugging through Philly as I explore this new version of Rachee and running and restarting the 5 am love affair. I don’t always love it but I am not really hating it either. I’ll see you out there, I’ll be the one huffing and puffing and wogging, inspired by a photo.
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