Books, Disability, Faith, Family, God speaks, Kids, Low vision, Multiple Sclerosis, Stories, Visually Impaired

Learning to sit in the dark

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I recently read a book for book club called Learning to Walk in the Dark by Barbara Brown Taylor. Ever since, I’ve been thinking a lot about the dark, and my relationship to it. When I lost my vision and hearing I became very afraid of the dark. My limited field of vision leaves me wanting more. If I could just get more light in, maybe I could see the whole picture. With more light, maybe I could see it all. But that’s futile wanting. Even with full light, I still can only see fractions. I’ve had extra lighting installed everywhere in my home. Extra lamps in the bedroom, recessed lighting in the living room, under the cabinets in the kitchen. It does help when I’m trying to get work done and need to see specific things. Paperwork, food I’m preparing, the dust on the couch. But it doesn’t fix it. I’m still partially blind.

How long to you feed the longing for something you lost? How long do you entertain the yearning when you know it’s not coming back? Is the frustration worth it? Probably not. When is it time to give up the striving? Probably now.

I’m learning to sit in the dark. I woke this morning to get the kids up for school. I know they are teenagers and should be able to do this for themselves, but I enjoy it. I enjoy being around them in the calm of the morning. I know I’ll miss it when they are gone. This morning when I came downstairs to let the dogs out, I intentionally did not turn on the light in the kitchen. We have under-cabinet lighting, so it wasn’t completely dark. But it wasn’t completely light, either. It was nice. Calm. When I let the dogs outside, out of habit I flicked the outdoor light on and our deck flooded with artificial light. It was harsh, and as I looked out into the yard I noticed the moon hanging low in the sky. It was a near full moon, and it was majestic. So majestic, that I decided I needed to turn off the floodlight and let the moon shine in all its glory. I stood on the deck as the dogs ran around the yard and just absorbed the blend of early morning light and dark.

Normally I would have been trying to conjure up some profound thoughts in response to this moment, but today I just wanted to be. I just wanted to breathe in the morning, thank God for giving me the moon, and let that be enough.  Over ten years into this disability, I am still grieving my losses. I don’t think grief is a checklist to be completed. It ebbs and flows, and it never truly ends. But I am thankful that it has waned, and is not so soul-crushing as it used to be. I am learning. Learning to sit with the dark, look up to the sky for solace, and be okay. Because today, that is enough.

Faith, Family, Food, Friends, Hearing Loss, Low vision, Multiple Sclerosis, Visually Impaired

Thinking about the spoon theory

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Today I used up too many spoons folding laundry and fixing lunch, so I had to make the decision to stop part way through and cross some things off today’s to-do list.

Spoons? What?! No, I’m not having a stroke. I’m referring to the Spoon Theory. I was trying to explain this Spoon Theory to my therapist this week, because she had never heard of it either. This article explains it much better than I can: https://www.goodrx.com/health-topic/mental-health/spoon-theory. Basically, it is a way that many people living with chronic illness conceptualize how to manage our energy levels. Each day we wake up with a set number of spoons, and as we go through our daily tasks, we use up those spoons.

I can say that for me, I never know how many spoons I’ll wake up with each day. My spoon rations (I.e. energy levels) are unpredictable and sporadic. I often have moments in the day where I feel energetic, but it hardly ever lasts very long. That happened today. I woke up feeling pretty well, considering the excessive fatigue I’ve been struggling with over the last month or so. I folded a load of laundry, started on a second load, and then noticed the time and realized I needed to eat. I went down to the kitchen and fixed myself a breakfast taco. After eating, I went back upstairs to finish with the laundry and just couldn’t. I had to sit down. Lie down, actually. Like it states in the article linked above, everyday tasks demand extreme effort. Getting dressed, brushing my hair and teeth, all cost daily “spoons”. I forget that fact and tend to overdo it. Repeatedly. I may never learn. But that’s why I’m grateful to have loving family members and friends who graciously remind me of my limitations (something like, “you have M.S., remember?”) and give me permission to rest (I know, I can give myself permission, but sometimes it helps to hear it from someone outside yourself.)

So. It’s only 2:30 pm and I’m thinking about what I have on my plate for the rest of the day, and how many spoons it will take to clear that plate. I am attending a sporting event for my son tonight and I know that’s going to require several spoons, so I’m resting in order to reserve my energy for that. Because even if I have enough spoons to get there, it’s likely I won’t have enough to pay attention to what’s happening or carry on conversations. With cochlear implants, having conversations uses up a lot more spoons than it did before I was deaf. Same with the vision. It takes a lot more effort to get around than it did before. Thankfully, my husband will be there to support me. That is always reassuring. But that act of evaluating my daily activities and how it will likely affect my energy levels is a daily thing. I think about it all. The. Time.

I’m not sharing all of this to whine, and I hope that’s clear. I just thought you might be interested in hearing a bit about what my daily life is like living with this chronic illness. As I told my neurologist earlier this week, managing M.S. is like a full-time job. Seriously. And I’ve had it “easy” for a long time now, so I suppose I was due to have some difficult days. I’ll get through this. Lord knows I’ve done it before and with His help, I’ll do it again. Slowly but surely, one day at a time.

So with that I say – take a break, reader! Go outside, listen to fun music, take a nap. And happy Friday… have a wonderful weekend.

Multiple Sclerosis

This is a “Full Disclosure” post

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I want to be clear here: I am not posting this to gather pity. I am posting this to inform you, my readers, that my life with M.S. is not all sunshine and roses, and I do have difficult days. I ask that as you read this, that you keep in mind those you may know who also suffer from M.S. or any other debilitating illness, whether it be physical or mental or a mixture of both. I tend to post a lot of the positive spins on my disability, the overcoming moments, the victories big and small. Today I have no victories to share. Today I’m just sharing the real. If that’s cool with you, read on.

I’ve been experiencing extreme fatigue on and off (mostly on) for several weeks now. I tend to expect this every month before my infusions, but this time it came on sooner than expected and continues to persist beyond my infusion this past Tuesday. It crept up on me, and I wasn’t really realizing the severity until I noticed my left leg was seriously dragging. When I try to move that leg it hesitates like a 4 year old who was just told it’s time for bed. I pulled my walking cane out of storage for safety. I hate using it, but I need it in large spaces where I don’t have a wall or a handrail to steady me when I lose my balance. Losing my balance happens often throughout the day, and it’s quite unpredictable. I have to move slow. If I turn too quickly, I quickly lose my balance. Picture a human Weeble, if you will (“They wobble, but they don’t fall down!”). That’s me. I haven’t fallen so far, cross your fingers!

The other thing that’s been going on since around Monday is that I have a nearly constant burning sensation on my back, just below the right shoulder. This is extremely similar to the sensation I had on my arm in the months leading up to my M.S. diagnosis in 2009. It feels like a sunburn, and is painful to the touch, which really limits my clothing selection. Soft, silky fabrics only. I’ve had my husband inspect the area, and there’ s nothing wrong with the skin. It seems to be neurological. It quite literally could be all in my head.

With those two things going on, I had been hemming and hawing for the last couple days, wondering if I needed to contact my neurologist. With some encouragement from my Mom and sister, I did just that. My neurologist’s office recommended starting with some laboratory tests, and are hoping to get me in to see them early next week. So I’m waiting for the next step, and doing my best to stay active and not completely lose my mind in the meantime.

The type of M.S. I have is relapsing-remitting, which means it comes and goes. You relapse, experience symptoms, and then those symptoms go away (mostly, sometimes, not always). My hearing and vision loss are permanent and have never gone into remission. The fatigue also never entirely goes into remission, but mostly it’s been manageable. Until it isn’t. Which is where I am at the moment. I am frustrated to be unable to do even a fraction of the things I usually do. Taking care of my home, feeding my family, visiting with friends.

I am grateful I haven’t been in this position for many years, and in that way I can say M.S. has been kind to me, but now that I’m here, I’m angry. I whined the other night while walking a measly 2 miles per hour on my treadmill – “M.S., this isn’t fair! You’re not playing by the rules!” This haughty response came back to me, “There are no rules here. I get to do whatever the hell I want.” It’s a serious mindf#*k, and that fuels my anger. I’m angry that it’s slowing me down. I’m angry that I can’t run. I’m angry that I have to drag the stupid cane around. I’m angry that I had to spend my Friday morning at the medical lab instead of the gym. I’m also a bit scared that I don’t know if this is a true relapse, or if I’m just overreacting (my sister reminds me this is not how I am, in general). I’m scared that it won’t go into remission this time. What if my running days are over??

But, of course, those are panicked, alarmist thoughts, and they are never very useful. I can focus on what I still have today, and hope for what I could have tomorrow. So in an effort not to get sucked into the depths of my personal pity party, that’s what I’ll be focusing on. The gift of today, and hope for tomorrow. I’m really okay. I just wanted to be honest with y’all about the realities of this disease, because I know sometimes I’m a little “rose-colored glasses” around here. And I want you to understand that M.S. really does suck sometimes. Truly. It can be cruel and unpredictable. However, It’s made me a hell-a strong human, so I’ll always be thankful for that.

Rant over. Carry on!

Disability, Exercise, Friends, Health, Low vision, Multiple Sclerosis, Running, Stories, Visually Impaired, Writing

Moving on…

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Wow. I knew I hadn’t posted in awhile but I didn’t realize it’s been nearly two months. I’ve been okay, really. I’ve just been focusing on a lot of other things. And I’ve still been writing in some capacity all along, because I am still the ME who lives and breathes for writing. Writing seems to be one of those things that actually gives me energy. Mental energy mostly, not physically. The running helps with the physical energy. Since it is winter in Michigan, I have struggled to run consistently, because I detest the treadmill, and running outside is neither safe nor desirable. Even when I can bundle up for warmth, I still have the ice and snow to think about. I walk out my front door after a good snowfall and it’s a sea of white, covering potential icy hazards. So I’ve been trying to get to the gym for treadmill running and strength training, but it’s been a bit sporadic.

Also, all the sleeping! With shorter winter days and limited sunlight, I feel like I’m not alone in this. Needing more sleep seems to be the trend, so I’m not blaming the multiple sclerosis for this one, though I do think it’s heightened. I’m definitely needing more sleep than usual. And this year, I’m just accepting that. It’s fine, I’m fine, everything is fine.

We lost a close friend to cancer last month, and that has motivated me to stop wasting time with my memoir. Because he was too young. Life is short and we are not promised tomorrow, so we need to cherish every moment. So I’ve been chugging away at my memoir a little teensy tiny bit every day. All the books I’ve read on writing memoir compare it to training for or running a marathon, which fortunately I’ve done! So I can compare the two, and I honestly believe writing this memoir is proving to be more difficult than training for a marathon. But I also think it will be more rewarding once I’ve completed it.

Writing memoir requires a lot of introspection, self-awareness, and emotional gymnastics. I’m comfortable with this, but it does exhaust me in surprising ways. So I’m learning – again – when I need to take breaks, and giving myself permission to do that. Hi, my name is Mel and I’m a recovering over-achiever. Most nights I try to go to bed with a to-do list for the next day, and very rarely do I tackle everything on the list. The excessive sleeping has been a huge hinderance to that, for sure. Some days I’m writing stories, other days I’m organizing my ideas and brainstorming, and still other days I’m reading about writing. But if I can give the memoir even 15 minutes per day, I’m calling that a win because it’s progress. Snail’s pace progress, but still progress.

So that’s kind of a snapshot of what I’ve been up to. Sleeping, writing, and sporadic exercise. What else, folks? I guess that’s all I’ve got for now, but I wanted to pop my head up and let you know I’m still around, and I’m doing well, overall. I hope the same is true for you. Shalom, my friends. Shalom.

Family, Low vision, Multiple Sclerosis, Stories, Visually Impaired

I’m a Human Viewfinder

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I stood in the aisle at Wal-mart, flooded by the harsh florescent lights above. Crafts to my left, kitchen goods to my right. I said to my sister, “Kari, I just have to say… I really hate not being able to see things.” And then the tears quickly started to fall from my eyes. She came over and wrapped an arm around me and said “I know. I mean, I don’t actually know, but I know how hard it is for you.” She held me for a minute, just knowing I needed that moment to process some of my never-ending grief. You have to let yourself move through it. It comes in waves, but thankfully doesn’t linger for long.

We had been shopping all day for Christmas gifts for our families and this was our last stop. I still had one gift to find for my husband and I was exhausted. Sure, my feet were sore, but I was more mentally exhausted than anything else. It’s tiring having to find things when you can only see a scattered portion of what’s in front of you. If you’ve ever been overwhelmed by the vast varieties of mayonnaise in a large supermarket, then you have a glimpse into my frustrations. Multiply that by 100.

I said to Kari, “it’s not like this at home. At home it’s easy; I feel like I can see everything.” And that’s not because I can physically see what’s there, but it’s because my brain knows. It knows because I live there and interact with every inch of every surface, every drawer, every cupboard. I know because I put it there. Unless someone moved it (or I did, and just forgot), I don’t have to wonder. I don’t have to move my eyes or head around to find things or to read labels. As long as the cans are where I put them last, I know where to find the soup from the beans.

At home, I don’t feel so slow. Out in the world, out shopping, I’m slow. And I am sure I look it. Strangers walking by might think, “Wow, she’s really taking her mayonnaise choice seriously.” No, I’m just trying to find the one I need out of the thousands in this Wall O’Mayo. I’m not conflicted about the decision; it just takes a long time to find and read the words on the labels when you can’t see most of the letters. In my world, patience has become a virtue I would not survive without.

My visual impairment is a permanent result of optic neuritis. Optic neuritis is a fancy term for inflammation of the optic nerves, and for me, it comes out of the grab bag of damage multiple sclerosis has left me with. It presents differently for everyone, but my particular case has left me with permanent blind spots and atypical color blindness. The blind spots are like thick, scattered clouds that impede more than half of my visual field. I’ve compared my vision to taking a completed 1000 piece puzzle and randomly removing 600 pieces. And then spilling water on it to mute the colors. The atypical color blindness means I have a difficult time distinguishing colors like blues, greens, reds, browns, etc. unless they are highly contrasting. This is why I often can’t see cracks in the sidewalk or the texturing on the white walls in my home. I lived in my current house for six years before I discovered the front facing was painted two different colors. The loss of visual field means I can’t see whole faces. I’ve hugged complete strangers thinking they were family members; I’ve stared blankly at friends I’ve known for decades. Again, patience has become a necessary virtue for me.

When I described my vision to a friend recently, she said it sounded like I was a human viewfinder. Which sounds a lot more fun than it really is, but I’ll take it for the laugh. It’s either that, or cry. I’ll take the former, always. Unless I’m at Wal-mart, I guess.

Funny story, Punky, Stories

My nights are dark and silent

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I had an odd experience this morning and used it for today’s writing practice. Enjoy!

The bedroom is dark. I’ve just removed my eye mask and stood up from my bed. I slowly creep my way to the bathroom, like a drunken sailor, and look at my watch. It’s 4:24. I turn on the closet light and sit on the toilet. I don’t turn on the bathroom light because it’s too much light and I don’t want to leave my sleepy state. I fear falling asleep on the toilet. I put my face in my hands as I relieve myself. I’m still so tired, but the bladder wins every time. Once I’m done, I wash my hands and slowly walk back to my side of the bed. I always love this part. You’re chilled when the air in the room hits your bare skin, until you climb back under the covers, still warm from when you left them minutes ago. Except when you reach to pull up the covers, instead of finding the fuzzy fleece, your hand touches a warm mass of fur. You are confused. You feel around the fur, it’s long, and it’s slowly moving up and down. It’s breathing. It’s your golden retriever, who in your brief absence from the bed has taken your place. You quickly shoo her out of the bed, where she knows she is not allowed. When you climb into bed you find your pillow is not laid horizontally as you left it, but vertically. Like a savage. And now you are just fuming with rage at the audacity someone had to alter your sacred sleeping space. Who knows? Maybe it was me. Maybe it was the dog. It doesn’t matter, I’m mad at the world and my heart is racing. I’m wrapped in this warm fleece blanket again, sans dog, and I need to find a way to get back to sleep, because the sun is still hours away from rising. And it’s Saturday, for Pete’s sake. Slow breathing, think of other things. It’s fine. Your body is comfortable again, in a relaxed state. Let your mind join in. Sleep will come.

That was fun to write, but I wasn’t sure how to end it. I’ve never been great at landing the plane. Practice, Mel. Practice. This is fun!

Books, Running, Writing

Thoughts about writing

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I’ve been thinking a lot about writing lately. This isn’t new, of course. I’ve always thought a lot about writing. But while I was consumed (obsessed?) with training for the marathon, my writer brain took a little vacation. Now that the marathon training is over, and there are no races *officially* on my calendar, my writer brain has emerged its naggy head.

Also, it’s December. This means my whole brain and body are shifting into “hunker down” mode. Hunkering down for me looks likes a cup of hot coffee, cozy blankets, crocheting, and reading or writing. Sometimes I’ll crochet while listening to an audiobook, in front of my laptop so I can pause to take notes on what I’m hearing, or just jot down random thoughts that appear.

Which reminds me of a line from one of my favorite movies, “Empire Records.” Lucas – “Who knows where thoughts come from? They just appear.”

And back to my winding stream of consciousness…

The audiobook I’ve been listening to this week is “Writing Down the Bones” by Natalie Goldberg. Apparently, it’s a classic and is often used in college writing courses. I had no idea. I learned of it listening to a podcast interview with Ms. Goldberg, and immediately added it to my list of books to read. I don’t know why I waited so long. Oh wait, yes I do. I was busy running. Which brings me to the interesting comparisons Goldberg makes between writing and running. Writing is a lot like running, in that your writing muscles can atrophy when you cease practicing. If you’ve been sitting on the couch for 3 months, you can’t expect to get out and run a speedy 5k. You’re going to feel a bit rusty and sore until you can get yourself back “in shape”. The same is true of writing. I had taken an extended break from writing, had neglected this practice, for so long, that every time I sit down to write here on the blog, I feel like I’ve lost the ability to write anything well.

So that’s going to be a focus of mine going into this winter season. I’ve decided to write every day. I’m going to warm up those muscles and I’m going to practice writing, every single day. If I am going to continue to call myself a writer, I need to be writing. Plain and simple. It may not always be good, but that’s okay because that’s not the point. I’m working those writing muscles of my mind. And hopefully it will result in some useful material for the blog here, because since marathon training is over, I’ve got absolutely nothin’ lately. We shall see!

Daily Snippets, Deafness, Deep thoughts, Disability, Family, Friends, Health, Holidays, Low vision, Mental health, Multiple Sclerosis, Nonsense, Running, Stories, Visually Impaired, Writing

Some Friday Ramblings

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**Note, I started this post several days ago and didn’t finish it. I just didn’t feel like I was writing the way that I used to, or would like to, or “should”. All kinds of silly reasons to abandon a post, but whatever. I’ve been trying to hop back into the art of writing that I have loved, on and off, my entire life. After completing that marathon I was exhausted in so many ways and then lots was happening here at home that required my energy and attention, and then Thanksgiving, and on and on with the reasons/excuses for my absence here. I really desire to get back to regular blogging, regular writing. Lots of changes have happened with me over the last two years so I’m hoping “Writing Mel” is still alive here. I believe she is, and we are just dusting her off a bit. Bear with me, por favor. Gracias. Now back to the original post.**

I noticed when I logged onto WordPress today that they had a writing prompt; the question was “what will your life look like in three years?”. Which is interesting to me, because I was just hopping on here to tell you about a discussion I had with my husband recently that was along these lines. We were basically discussing whether we were content with our lives. And if asked that question, I would say that absolutely, I am content. However, if you had asked me 15 years ago if I would have chosen this life for myself, the answer would have been “hell, no.” I would never have chosen to be disabled and unable to work a job. Having multiple sclerosis, being deaf *and* half-blind, simply put – SUCKS. But I’m 10 years into this, and while it’s taken time, I’ve slowly learned to see (not literally, unfortunately lol) and be thankful for the benefits that have come from it. I’ve learned from these struggles. They have made me who I am today, and I love who that is.

I feel like I’m coming into a new season of life. I’m done training for marathons (for the next few years, at least). My kids are teenagers and can feed themselves (and prefer to, actually). The dogs are pretty low maintenance. So now I’m at a point where I’m learning how to rest. I’m learning how to be okay with sitting still. For as long as I can remember, I have had trouble with sitting still. Not that I physically can’t, but that when I do, there is a general unease felt underneath my skin and deep in my spirit. Like I’m “supposed” to be doing something. I’m often noticing my shoulders are hunched up and I need to consciously pull them back down.

I was actually discussing this general unease with a friend the other day, and she expressed how completely opposite she was from me in this regard, and we had a laugh. She seemed like she was saying she rests too much, and finds herself procrastinating. Sounds a bit like we would do well if we came more to the other’s side and met in the middle. But then where would be the fun in that? I love the variety I see in all of my friends and family members. It’s funny to me the things we experience and think are normal for everybody, when really we are all so different in so many ways. It makes life a lot more interesting, and brings us closer together as we support each other in our areas of strength and weakness.

So back to the season of rest. That’s where I am currently. I still have an ongoing list in my head of all the things I want to *do*, but I’m trying to be more kind to myself. While I’ll never regret running that second marathon, I will admit that I made the commitment without full consideration of my limits; physically, mentally, emotionally. So you could say I’m taking a break. Ish. A semi-break. Evaluating what I value most, and then easing those things back in. It feels a little like riding an inner tube on a lazy river. I’m enjoying it so far.

And that, my friends, is a little taste for you of the rambling that goes on in my brain on the daily. You are welcome. See you next time.

Faith, Family, Multiple Sclerosis, Photos, Running, Stories

Marathon 2.0 is in the books!!

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I so badly want to tell you all about this marathon, but it’s 9 days post-race and I am still processing. The mental fatigue is real. I have really struggled to put pen to paper and that is why I decided to just give you this brief update and save the full rundown for another time. So for now I will leave you with this:

This race marked a 10 year anniversary and celebration of how far I’ve come since becoming permanently disabled. I have healed in so many ways mentally, emotionally, and physically over these past 10 years. I didn’t realize it when I signed up for this race, but it has served as a symbol of that healing. Completing this marathon marked a tangible victory representing a thousand little intangible victories that have happened over the past decade. I am truly grateful to all of the family and friends who have supported me through everything. All the difficult moments where I didn’t know if I could stand, literally and figuratively. I would not be here today without them. Drawing from my faith in Jesus Christ and the support from so many others, I was able to complete this second round of marathon training and ultimately, the epic 26.2 mile race at the end.

My husband and kids, and my fabulous cousin and guide runner Zack. I’m in a wheelchair because you get special treatment if you can’t stand up at the finish 😉

Now my only real goal for this second marathon was to beat my first marathon time, which was 6 hours and 59 minutes. I had trained for and run a half marathon at the end of May, so I took that into account when deciding where to jump into a marathon training plan. My official marathon training then began in June and I trained for an additional four and a half months. In that time I ran and walked 306.2 miles for a total time of 76 hours, 17 minutes, and 7 seconds. As for the race itself? I finished my last 26.2 miles in 6 hours, 20 minutes, and 4.8 seconds. And if you are having a difficult time wrapping your head around all that? Now you know why I’m still processing 9 days later. It was so much work and I doubted myself from start to finish, but I stuck with it and I completed my goal. No, I crushed my goal. Obliterated it. I am proud of myself for completing this monumental challenge and I may do it again someday, but for now I’m going to hunker down and rest. An aggravating part of me is really itching for the next big goal but I’m giving myself the time I know I need in order to decompress and recharge.

Thank you for following along with me on this marathon running journey. It has been truly unforgettable. Good night and God bless.

Deafness, Disability, Exercise, Faith, Family, Low vision, Multiple Sclerosis, Photos, Running, Stories, Visually Impaired

The countdown continues

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Flat Marathon Mel

And above we have your girl, Flat Marathon Mel. This is basically what I’ll be wearing tomorrow. Unless I change my mind on the way and switch out accessories. I’m going by the forecast so we’ll see if the weather cooperates. It’s looking to be around 50 degrees and dry. The rule of thumb is to dress for 20 degrees warmer because your body heats up while you’re running. I’ve always followed this rile and it works, but it does feel a little like torture in the beginning when you are standing in the cold feeling drastically underdressed. But I know my body, and I heat up quite a bit, maybe more than 20 degrees, so I believe the tank and shorts should be perfect.

I seem to have forgotten why I signed up for this race so I’ll be spending the rest of the night reminding myself. It’s gonna be fun. It’s gonna be worth it. And God has and will give me the strength to keep going when it gets hard. This race represents all of the ways Jesus has healed me physically, mentally, and emotionally over the past 10 years. This one isn’t about proving i can do it. This one is about enjoying the growth process and celebrating the outcomes. This race for me is about proclaiming victory. We can do hard things when Jesus Christ is our strength.

Lord Jesus, please be with me extra close tonight as I pretend to sleep and tomorrow as I pound the pavement for 6 or 7 hours. May you get all the glory for this one. I couldn’t do it without you.

And also thanks to my cousin Zack, who agreed to be my guide runner without hesitation! He enthusiastically agreed and I’m looking forward to our extended time together. This is such a unique opportunity to share. It’s truly a gift, and I’m excited.

Now it’s off to bed folks! Wish me luck!

Deaf and half-blind runner with multiple sclerosis