Weeks 4 and 5: Hurts... So... Good...

Over and over again, I am astonished at the levels of physical exertion to which I am able to push myself. Admittedly, I've harbored the deeply buried and shameful idea that being a diabetic makes me more brittle than a non-diabetic. I am proving to myself that this is wrong.

Which, of course, is staggeringly life-changing. Though I've always believed that I should be just as physically capable as a non-diabetic, I never thought I actually was. Since the beginning of my training in January, noticeable changes have been appearing in my physicality, performance, and appearance. This is truly an achievement for both myself and diabetics everywhere; to know that the condition does not have to dictate your abilities. Attitude and discipline are everything.

This past week or so was intense. As my climbing technique, strength and stamina are all increasing and developing steadily, I conquered my most challenging climbs ever at the rock gym; a couple of 5.9's a few times and one 5.10! I'm not at all solidly on that level yet, though, because even some 5.7's challenge me. I am hoping to master 5.9's very solidly within the next couple of months so that I can learn to sport lead, a much more demanding and dangerous style of rock climbing.

To feel my body changing is very exciting, and it's almost at a rate too fast for my consciousness and awareness to maintain. When I am up on the rock wall, my muscles feel much stronger than I can ever remember, and I'm moving in ways I don't fully understand. My creativity in climbing movements is surprising me, and it's encouraging to feel myself improving in my skill and ability. Needless to say, I'm still in the honeymoon phase of my physical training.

This last weekend was perhaps my most physically demanding of all. I managed to do a 7-mile hike over very rocky terrain with a 44-lb. pack (approximately 32% of my body weight) that lasted about 4 hours. Three days later, and my gluteus maximus is hurting so very, very good. Buns of Steel's got nothin' on that hike.


The hiking crew and I, far left. I'm the dipstick with the massive pack.

If that weren't tortuous enough, I just had to go climbing at the rock gym immediately afterward to bag those tough aforementioned climbs. Whoo dillay! I am hurtin' from my ankles, to my calves and things, to my back, shoulders, forearms, and everywhere in between. I need some aspirin, a massage, and perhaps a punch in the face for having lost my mind. Does anyone know a good masseuse/ dojo/ pharmacy?

Truth be told, I loved every minute of the grueling agony of physical exhaustion, and I had even more energy left over. In fact, I wanted to push myself further, but enough is enough! There is always time for more masochism later...

Since that hike, my blood sugar has practically resolved itself. In the graph, take a look at the last third of the readings. Those are my blood sugar results since the hike and following climbs. It may not be easy to see, but my blood sugar finds a much tighter range, with one high reading of 285.



This is a breakthrough in my understanding of how exercise affects my metabolism, and I'm excited for the good news. Also, I blasted through all of my emergency sugar while on the hike, so I can't be too careful about that. I'd rather carry too much than too little, and that's a lesson I don't ever want to have to learn the hard way.

Lastly, I will be doing a late winter climb of Mount Washington come March. Weather conditions ought to be crushingly cold and windy, perhaps below zero and >40 mph winds. I can't wait! What a great opportunity for me to get some instruction and experience with snow travel, crampons, ice axes, and self-arrest. Also, I'll be anxious to see how my glucometer and insulin will fare in such harsh conditions. I'd rather make some mistakes and learn from them on Mt Washington than Mt Rainier.

Home is Where the Heart Is

In the deathly hot European heat wave of summer 2003, I bought little 6-oz. bottles of water for 8 Euro. Then, that was the equivalent of about six bucks, rounding that out to about a dollar a gulp. Believe you me, it was worth it at the time. And those peddlers selling them out of backpack coolers made a killing! In the Netherlands and in Amsterdam, and in Paris and London, I braved the searing temperatures to take in the extraordinary experience of travel.



For the first week, I stayed in a suburb of The Hague, where Slobodan Milosevic was being held at the time for war crimes committed during the Kosovo war. Passing by his place of residence, the International High Court of the UN, I recall feeling a sense of connection to the world.

Yes, this was an "I've-arrived" sensation, a rare feeling of delight and worldly wonder, and I continued to experience this throughout my incredible trip. Cavorting around bustling Trafalgar Square, gazing at the languid, sparkling canals of Amsterdam, taking in the power of the cold North Sea, and listening to the midnight laughter and gaiety of Paris' thoroughfares, I fell in love with a world that existed in girlhood dreams. Books and stories filled my imagination as a child, and I created fantasies of romance and travel and intrigue, desperate to fulfill them. This was my dream coming true, thrilling me entirely.

The sprawling metropolises, dizzying diversity and staggering history of Europe were overwhelming, and I happily submerged myself in its complexity. I felt alive, and excited beyond expression. Only during a brief trip to New York City, years before, had I felt such passion for my surroundings.

Europe was perfect, it welcomed me with all its offerings, and I loved it back. Still, I look upon my memories there as my most precious, and I hope to return one day.

Those feelings of interconnectedness with the Great Big World, and the excitement it gave me, brought me to the belief that I wanted to make my home a place where that could be experienced always. And I also want to bring that into the rest of my life, where my job and pastimes can reflect secularism and global awareness. I'm not certain what that even means; I just know I have to do it. I simply have to. To be a part of something bigger; that's what makes me feel real and here; to feel that I belong.



Upon my return, I was duly homesick and ready to be in my own bed again. Were I not so exhausted, I would have taken a moment to bend down and kiss the American earth. I've never been so happy to be home, even despite my wish it were elsewhere. My trip afforded me the extraordinary ability to see the world through a broader perspective, and that alone was worth the time and money. Let alone the fun I had!

My family moved from the house we returned from Europe to the next summer, and I was happy to go. That was the second home I'd lived in, and there have been many since. But perhaps home is not the right word. In truth, I never wanted to live there. I was utterly restless and did not feel that I belonged. Later, I lived in Alexandria, Virginia, a very posh suburb of Washington, D.C., and then moved many times after that. Alexandria was certainly the most hip and happening of all, and that was the closest I got to feeling that lost sense of belonging.

Now that I've moved again and I have effectively established myself, for all intents and purposes I mean, I find that I do not consider my home my home. Not just the physical house, but the environment, the community.

What makes a home? Familiarity? Comfort? Family? Perhaps it takes time for all of those things to settle in, and also the effort of home-making. Personal touches and routines, and the safety and trust of a welcoming, inviting place of living.

While I am happy to sink into a bed that is safe and made warm by the comforts of my little world, and though my "stuff" is everywhere, and I have cluttered my home with the familiar objects of daily life, I feel a calling to somewhere I cannot fully describe; a higher place that satisfies my thirst for secular belonging. I hope to find it and make it my own, and I have no doubt that I will when the time is mine to claim. My passion for discovery will fuel my restlessness. In fact, I may never really rest at all, for there is so much World to be found, and I have only but a lifetime.