Happy One Year Anniversary to my Heart Condition!

Last year on this day, I was standing at the trailhead, one week out from my first 100k race. My training had been pretty damn awesome. I felt ready. I felt locked and loaded. But on that day, I also felt something else.

I had been on nights the entire month of January, and fitting in my training between getting off work, eating, answering emails, and sleeping from time-to-time was going as you would probably expect. I was still on shift that morning at about 5 a.m. and this weird, spasm was driving me crazy. It was like when you have a little muscle spasm in your arm or leg and you can see it jumping, your skin vibrating and moving. It's happened a million times but never on my left side on my ribs and close to my heart.

I thought about it but not for long, finished my shift and laid down to rest. I was aware that it was still jumping around but I tried to brush it off. I got up and headed out to the trail. I was feeling pretty sluggish, but pushed on. After all, I was winding down a pretty intense four-plus month of gnarly training. As I took off down the trail, I knew something was wrong. I couldn't get out of first gear. I could barely maintain a 14 minute pace and after several minutes, I shut it down.

After getting back to the car, I took a look at my watch, disappointed and worried that something was about to happen that would cancel my race the following week. Little did I know, that my life was about to change forever. My heartrate was all over the place and every runner knows -- that although most of our watches aren't super accurate in terms of heartrate -- that seeing it go from 170 down to 80 probably isn't a good thing.

After some cursing and animated body movements in frustration, I decided to head to the closest urgent care facility. I walked in and told the front desk what was going on, and in a blur I was hooked up for an EKG and heard an ambulance getting closer. Next thing I know, I'm in the back of the ambulance and being told that I'm in A-Fib (Atrial Fibrillation). I don't know what the hell that means at all, and the EMT tells me suddenly he is going to inject me, and that it would shut me down like a computer and reboot my heart. Before I can object he hits the plunger and I feel like a computer being restarted. Eerie as hell, and it's not something I ever want to do again, until he mumbles that it didn't stabilize my HR and does it again. If you have ever seen those cartoons where the spirit of the body leaves the body and floats above it, that is exactly what it felt like.

Fast forward to the ER, an IV drip and my family showing up, a couple of hazy hours pass and my HR is finally stabilized. I am released, put on a blood thinner and now have a brand new Cardiologist to call my own.

After what seems like never ending testing and imaging, followed by a CT scan, I'm told that the A-Fib was likely a one-off thing and that it probably won't happen again. Their expert guess is that it was electrolyte imbalances, which seems likely since I wasn't eating well, hydrating, or sleeping very much. They go on to explain that it is entirely possible that it could have been Covid related as well. Awesome.

The curveball came with the CT scan. The imaging revealed that my aortic stem was enlarged, and I was diagnosed with an aortic aneurysm. A potentially life threatening condition that could result in instant death if it burst. Once the measurements came back, I was informed that the bulging wasn't an immediate threat and it's possible that it has always been this size. I'm cleared to resume training but nothing over 10 miles. Or was it 15 miles? I'm not very good at following orders, so I did train up to 15 miles for the next six months but was very careful and cognizant of my heart rate.

What this did for my training was actually a blessing and life-changing in itself. It forced me to SLOW down. It forced me to re-examine my balls-to-the-wall approach to life. That reckless edge of the cliff intensity and moments of insanity that I have always had. It forced me to realize that I'm not immortal and that I'm also pushing 50. Those are all sobering facts to face as an athlete, but it is more sobering to realize that you could have died right there on the trail.

After six months -- this past September of 2021 -- I followed up and received the news that the size of my aorta had not grown. A huge blessing and a big shoutout to God for always having my back. The bigger blessing is I now see life through a different lens, good or bad. I approach life differently, and I think about the changes that I needed to make to ensue longevity on this planet. From nutritional changes, to reducing salt and caffeine, hydrating properly, to actually resting and caring for my body better (still a struggle).

So here I sit, on this day that marks one year from that fateful day. And again I find myself a week away from toeing the line for my first 100k. It's the same race, but hopefully with a different result. Last year I had to resign myself to helping others that I was supposed to be racing with, and what an amazing and rewarding experience that was. This year some of those runners will be crewing and pacing me. This journey that all of us are on, is for us and only us. And it is time that we all started listening a little closer to what the universe and world is trying to tell us. So with that... Let's go!!!