Born to Run

My family doctor in Philadelphia had a way of making everything about my weight. I would go see him for strep throat and he would find a way to connect it to being overweight. “Maybe if you didn’t eat so much, Joy, your throat wouldn’t be so taxed and susceptible to strep.” OK, he never really said anything like that, but I knew a visit to him for a tetanus shot or an antibiotic would be accompanied by a hefty dose of guilt.

The only exception occurred in the late 90’s. I lost 65 pounds, went to him for some malady and he didn’t say word. I went in fully anticipating a, “Wow! Great job, Joy!”, but all I got was a prescription. It was because he didn’t recognize me. He later told my mother he had no idea who I was.

I tell you this as background. Doctors are not people I see often. I’m blessed to be very healthy, so I rarely darken the door of a medical practice. This spring, though, I decided to take action against some varicose veins in my legs. Since there is no at-home cure for them, I have found myself out of my comfort zone, sitting in doctors’ offices.

Before my initial consultation with my new family doctor, I was anxious and worried that she would blame me, and my weight, for the varicose veins. I was prepared to defend myself—I am on my feet all day teaching! Cute shoes are not supportive! I’m trying to lose weight! Instead, she was super understanding and quickly referred me to a vein specialist.

When I got the referral message, they told me the doctor’s first name was Todd. It freaked me out. Todd is the captain of the soccer team, the cutest guy in school. I did not want that guy touching my legs while I was wearing paper shorts. Thankfully, if Dr. Todd was that guy, it was a long enough time ago that it was not awkward to have him feeling my calves. (In case you’re wondering, I still shaved my legs for the occasion. No reason to make the experience unpleasant for all of us.)

This morning I met the vein specialist. I prayed that he would be kind, that he would take his time with me, that he would not blame me for my nasty veins. When I walked into the waiting room, the average age dropped by about 50 years. As I talked with the nurses, I got the feeling they don’t see many patients my age. While one nurse took pictures of my legs, I joked about working my angles and making Tyra proud. When they told me I’d have to wear compression hose for three months I told them I hoped the What Not to Wear cameras wouldn’t be following me around. They were all very kind to me and I was greatly relieved.

In three months, after I have tried compression hose, Dr. Todd will do something magical to my veins that will close them off. He will then snip out the busted-up parts of my veins that show below the surface of my skin. My legs will no longer look like they belong in assisted living. Hopefully, they will look like the legs of a 30-something girl who runs a couple miles every day.

To get my compression hose, I had to visit a medical supply store. While I waited for a fitting room to become available, I sat in the store surrounded by the inevitable: guard rails for your bed, walkers, toilet railings, and boxes containing something called a cervical collar that I am really afraid to Google.

I often tell my younger friends that 30 is no joke—your body starts doing things you don’t want it to do. After sitting in that store today, I realize 30 is just the beginning. Right now I can avoid seeing doctors, but how long will that last? The reality of my body breaking down scares me.

What do I do when something scares me? I run. If it means waking up at 4:30 in the morning to get on a treadmill before work, I will run. If it means running on a beach with a good friend while everyone else eats breakfast, I will run. I will run from diabetes. I will run from stroke. I will run from heart disease. I realize this will only postpone the inevitable, but if it gives me a few more years to live a life that glorifies my Father, I will keep running!

I share this with you for a couple reasons. First, I wanted to give an update about my health that would inform and (hopefully) entertain. Mostly, though, I am inviting you to hold me accountable to my commitment to running. And, if you're so inclined, I invite you to run with me.