I came home from my Disneyland Half Marathon Weekend with four awesome trophies signifying my hard work and running accomplishments.  Tuesday evening I took a picture of all four of them and posted them to my facebook page.

What a disastrous idea.

3 medals and a toenail-- each a trophy I earned

I had 25 responses to this one photo.  And they were not all in the “congratulations you rock” kind of way.

No. 

I got to have a discussion of how, and if, I care for my diabetic feet.

Really??

That is what we needed to discuss in that photo?  Wow. 

I can rationalize these responses into the commenters caring about me because they saw I had a bruised toenail, a lack of a knowledge of marathon running (a result of running 35+ miles/week for several months, bruised and missing toenails are a consequence of the sport), all sorts of rationalizations to avoid telling well-intentioned souls they have completely missed the mark.

But I’m really, REALLY tired of that rationalization and benefit of the doubt I give to others who feel free to offer unsolicited opinions and share unrelated concerns because they see me primarily as a diabetic. 

I usually don’t hear it from people who live with diabetes—it’s the ones who don’t have diabetes who feel a need to remind me I have a disease.  Hmm.

If I had a black eye after a car crash, would you tell me my diabetes might make me go blind someday? 

Did you realize that those comments assure me you see me NOT as Amy first, but as a diabetic?

What a shame.

You’re missing out.

You’re missing out on ME. 

It makes sense why many of us don’t talk about our diabetes.  Why should we?  If we know that whatever mood we’re in will be blamed not on our minds or emotions but on our blood sugars, what worth do we have as individuals?

It’s too bad; I am a complete person AND I have diabetes; they don’t eclipse each other.  They shouldn’t, and if you let someone in your life appear before you as a diabetic first, you are missing out on who they really are. 

Diabetes is hard enough, but when we feel our identities shrink in the face of the disease it is almost intolerable.  I ran all those miles, had all that fun, met all kinds of people and ran alongside people from all over the country for two really fun hours.  I trained for nearly two years to earn one of those medals.  I traveled to cities and towns I’d never seen and saw countless sunrises on the way.  Sure, I brought glucose with me and stopped to check my blood sugar I don’t know how often.  But that wasn’t what you saw.  You saw my toe.  My “diabetic” toe.

What’s more, I don’t check my feet because I have diabetes.  I pay attention to my feet because I worked for a podiatrist for more than a decade, look at them every day when I stretch, paint my toenails myself, sit with my legs crossed and my bare feet underneath me, and am more ticklish than anyone I’ve ever met.  I pay attention to my feet because I am a runner.

But some thought I needed the reminder to take care of my “diabetic feet” because they saw my bruised toe. 

I should have replied “you know, everyone gets bruises—not just people with diabetes.”

Although you don’t usually get bruised toenails from sitting on the couch.

Make sure when you find yourself in a similar spot you remember YOU can eclipse your diabetes.  Don’t let people in your life see things any other way. 

You deserve it.

Since you were born, what has your body done for you? Since you were born, what have you done for your body?  –Zen proverb

Last week I wrote a bit about what my body has done for me.  Today I want to talk about what each of us has done for our bodies.

Granted, those of us living with diabetes are at what some may consider a disadvantage because our bodies don’t function as they were designed to function.  But I don’t consider that a stopping point—I consider that a STARTING point.

It would be easy to say I’m too tired from swings in my blood sugars, too scared of going low, too busy managing my disease to take care of my body.  But as one of my bootcampers said once: “it’s not about easy.”  (Nor did anyone ever claim it would or even could be.)

I’m in this for life.

I certainly haven’t always felt this way; I know I spent time being afraid of my life with diabetes.  Growing up and before I was diagnosed, I was not encouraged to go out and run around—a scuffed knee was a big deal in my house.  But now, I see that scuffed knees heal and I want to get out and encounter the world, interact with it and experience life.

I need my body to help me do that.

So, I take care of my body now in ways I never had to as a kid and didn’t when I was a teen with type one diabetes.  I drink a lot of water to keep myself hydrated.  I try to minimize the chemicals I ingest.  I try to fill up on veggies and fruits before moving to quick carbs or fat-loaded proteins.  I try to fuel my body with quality sources of energy.

Above all, I try to exercise my body so that it knows I care about it. 

I lift weights to keep my bones strong and my muscles challenged.  I run to keep my heart healthy and my joints moving.  I stretch to reward my tired body with relaxation and increased blood flow with the nutrients my body needs.

And I don’t stop. 

Of course I take rest days when I or my body needs them.  But I don’t think exercise is only for a period of time or only until I reach a certain poundage or clothing size.

I was surprised by what happened when I started to exercise my body and get it to a weight it wanted to be.  I felt better.  My confidence rose.  My knowledge that I am a participant rather than a spectator in my life led me to new experiences, new goals, and new achievements.  What amazing benefits.

See, I don’t think any of us are supposed to ever reach the horizon—I think that’s the point.  We need it to be visible yet just out of reach so that we have someplace to dream about, someplace to reach for, and someplace to go. 

Thanks to the way I care for my body, I know I will be dreaming, reaching, and travelling for quite some time. 

Right on.

Since you were born, what has your body done for you? Since you were born, what have you done for your body?

–Zen proverb

See, now this is a question I think separates the men from the boys, as it were. 

I know that most of us with diabetes read that first question and have a vehement response: my body gave me diabetes.  Gee, thanks.

Not.

But then the second question is where the meat is: WHAT HAVE YOU DONE FOR YOUR BODY?

Are you hanging onto your anger at your body over developing diabetes? 

Are you letting it waste away by not challenging yourself physically?

Are you poisoning it with unnecessary chemicals?

Well; are you?

We each get one body.  ONE.  It must last us our entire lives—we do not get another chance at this.  We can’t sit back and passively destroy our bodies.

I don’t want to fight my body any more than I already do with my diabetes: I want to enlist my body as one of my best tools!  Just like I can’t leave my best tools out in the yard all year to gather dust, grime, and rust, I can’t assume my body will be okay if I don’t take care of it.

We need to get moving, get exercising, get thinking about how we can take care of our bodies.  Not only because we “should,” but because we, and our bodies, deserve it.

Since I was born, my body has done an incredible amount for me.  My legs have supported me every place I’ve ever gone.  They have endured four shots a day with only a rare mark to display the unnatural act.  My feet have been bruised, blistered, cold, and sweaty hot yet they have kept me grounded. 

My waist has appeared and disappeared and reappeared as I grew, matured, gained, and lost weight.  My shoulders have remained high as I faced countless challenges, only reluctantly stooping once in a blue moon. 

My arms have hugged more friends than I knew existed, and held onto my parents when my legs hadn’t yet learned to walk.  They reached for the stars and climbed tree branches and caught footballs and threw red rubber balls and bent and straightened for every pushup I’ve ever done. 

My hands have done more than I ever thought.  My fingers have felt more surfaces and touched more and bled more than most, I am sure.  My hands remain strong to hold a friend’s hand in need, to pat someone on the back for a job well done, to high five a child and to shake paws with a good dog.  My fingers have followed the lines of miniscule type in too many law books and I have watched them quiver when I have been low.  My fingers placed my husband’s wedding band on his finger as we held each other’s hands.

This weekend, my body is taking me for a run through one of the happiest places on earth as I run the Disneyland Half Marathon and 5k.

I couldn’t do any of this if I didn’t have this one body. 

My body has done so much for me, despite some considerable flaws.  But when I look at what I have really received from my body, really and truly, the flaws fade away. 

My body has enabled me to BE, in this massive and wonderful world.

What has your body done for you?