Tangled.

Getting older has not been the most graceful part of my life. One day, I could run 13.1 miles, go to soccer practice, hike with family then bounce out of bed and do it all over again the next day. Then I turned forty.

Yeah. That.

I turned forty and the universe assigned me my medical mystery. There must be a handbook for this stuff because the memes are off the charts. As it turns out, my spin of the wheel assigned me heart failure caused by a virus. Yes, that is a thing. I went from marathon runner to “couldn’t climb the stairs” in just a few months. Now I am a stubborn person by most measures. Reflecting back, I firmly believe this was the Universe’s way of humbling me.

Deep into my diagnosis, I was determined to get back to running. Walking was for suckers. I threw on my gear to the body that was carrying a good 35 lbs more that it had when I purchased said running gear. Just let that sink in for a minute…spandex does not lie. Gear on, I head out. Walk. Run. Walk. Run. I was a good patient, keeping that heart rate in line with what my doctor had asked. Walk. Run. Walk. Run. I finished with a quarter mile uphill climb to my house,\ at a mere 6% grade. I was a sweaty mess.

I finished my run/walk (I called them intervals to make myself feel better), chugged some water, stretched, then headed upstairs to shower and get on with my day. Enter humility. The shower is running and I get undressed. I am feeling good. I tell myself, “I am not as sick as they said. The docs have no idea. I am all good. Look at me getting my run in,” and other nonsense to help boost my morale. I am down to my sports bra. The mother of all evils. Its like a vice for your boobs with a swoosh on the front. I have gripped each side with the opposite hand to tug and pull it up over my head, right? Sure.

I tug. I pull. I shimmy. I tug some more. I shimmy some more. Hmmmmmm. It is not moving up and over my head. In fact, the sweaty black piece of stretchy with the big swoosh is in fact, stuck. I am stuck with my sports bra halfway off. The shower running. I can’t call for help, I have boys! There is no help.

My arms were stuck up over my head in the air due to the location of the stretchy black nightmare. I could no longer reach the band for any kind of leverage. Breathing was optional but only when my head was cocked to the side between my shoulder and flailing arm that was in fact going numb. If I weren’t slightly panicked, I would have laughed at the sight of myself in the mirror.

It took a good ten minutes to catch my breath and slowly tug and pull until the stretchy piece of evil finally made its way over my head and into the laundry hamper. I burned more calories getting out of my gear than I did on my run. My smart watch told me so.

I considered burning the swoosh to teach it a lesson and believing in my soul that the garment was possessed but then I would not have gotten a shower due to the smoke alarms and children and dogs freaking out. I settled for the shower and a large dose of humble pie.

I felt defeated that day. A mystery illness I could not have prevented hit me hard and robbed me of a very important part of me. It robbed me of my strength. I had never been the weak link. I could always go the extra mile, climb the bigger hill, get the damn bra off after a sweaty run. I was scared. I was angry. I didn’t know what to do to fix it. The universe humbled me in a way that only the Universe can and then it showed me a new way to be.

It has been a year since my fight with the evil black swoosh. We’ve made peace. We still aren’t friends. The Universe has given me a slow and steady recovery, allowing me to battled back with the help of wise clinicians to coached me along the way and humility to understand that I will make it back to marathon status, slowly, step by step.

You may not get tangled in your garment intent on killing you but you may face that uphill battle you didn’t expect. I recommend that you slow down, pause if needed and take a position of humility, really look at the challenge you are facing. There is a lesson the Universe is trying to help you see. You can always burn the sports bra later.