I'm starting to read "Born to Run: A Hidden Tribe, Superathletes, and the Greatest Race the World Has Never Seen" by Christopher McDougall. It's timely that I'm reading this book because I am running again! Yippee!
I had a follow-up visit with my doctor (note to self: send this man a "thank you" card) Thursday, and he gave me the green light to start running, albeit, slowly. I wasted no time. With wobbly nervous legs, I walked straight to my gym after work that day and onto the treadmill (I changed into running clothes first, of course), and I ran two miles. Before I got injured, I rarely ran anything shorter than three miles. So, back on the treadmill to run for the first time in 10 weeks, I wanted to run and run and run. Pre-injury Brady would have kept on runnin'. Post-injury Brady is smart and knows she'll break her heel again if she doesn't take her return to running seriously.
I ran Sunday and Monday, but I took today off -- from running, that is. I still biked for an hour. During this transition to running and even afterward, I plan on biking. Biking while injured (BWI) helped me get to where I am today -- a state where I might even be more fit than I was prior to my injury. I thought I might feel out of breath or my legs might feel heavy when I went for my first run. But I felt great. Granted, it was only two miles. But I think I can thank BWI for staying in shape and sane.
More running-related posts to follow. Yay!
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
Wednesday, April 21, 2010
Brady and Brooke raise money for multiple myeloma research, one mile at a time
I have good news and bad news. The good news is I'm finally getting around to posting the story I wrote for my hometown paper, the Headlight Herald. The bad news is that I'm only posting the copy I turned in. It's the best I can do since a.) I don't have a PDF of the story, b.) a scanned copy of the printed article might be difficult to read.
So please enjoy the raw copy, sans edits, subheads and a headline.
Originally published in the Tracy Headlight Herald on 4-7-2010
By Brady Gervais
Six months from now, on a Sunday morning in October, my sister Brooke Ortmann and I will toe the starting line of the Chicago Marathon with 45,000 other runners.
We have signed up to run 26.2 miles – about the distance from Tracy to Tyler – on behalf of the Multiple Myeloma Research Foundation (MMRF). Every step will be for our dad, Eugene Averill, who lost his battle with cancer 15 years ago this week. He was 46.
My sister and I were 10 and 11 when our dad’s body succumbed to multiple myeloma, a blood cancer. He never got to see us in action on the track field or on the golf course, wave to us from the stands at our high school graduation or walk us down the aisle when we got married. He'll never get to hold future grandchildren or grow old with our mother.
When he died, he left a void in us that has never been and never can be filled. His sisters, nieces and nephews, in-laws, wife, daughters and friends miss him always.
Brooke and I will log hundreds of miles training for the Chicago Marathon this summer for our dad, for the time he didn't get to have. For his family and friends who miss him. For the thousands of children who have lost a mom or dad because of multiple myeloma. For those who have suffered and survived. For those who won't. For paying better attention to our bodies.
Our dad was diagnosed with cancer in the fall of 1993. Soon after his diagnosis, he underwent chemotherapy and radiation treatments. He spent the following summer at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minn., where he had an autologous stem cell transplant, which means his own cells were harvested and frozen before treatment.
For a brief time following the transplant, he felt stronger. After another trip to the Mayo Clinic in December 1994, our family was hopeful Dad might go into remission. But in the early months of 1995, his body failed him again. No chemotherapy, treatment, radiation or surgery could save or prolong his life. In March, he went into the hospital in Tracy for the final weeks of his life. On April 4, he died.
Many of you reading this probably remember him. He wore Wrangler jeans, a starched button-down and cowboy boots most days of the week. At 6 feet, 5 inches, with shiny jet black hair, a handsome smile and confident gait, he was hard to miss. You might have grown up and attended Tracy Area High School with him, or played dice with him at the Red Rooster on weekday mornings.
He loved horses and spent years slowly cultivating a name for himself in the world of quarter and paint horses. If you ever passed by our former home west of Tracy on US 14, you would have likely noticed the sign: “Gene Averill Quarter Horses.”
Our family spent weekends at horse shows in Cannon Falls, Minn., in South Dakota, IowaKansas. At the time of my dad’s death, we owned dozens of horses, some bearing champion titles. and even
For more than 10 years, my dad made a living as a Justin Boots salesman, and he spent a lot of time on the road. I tagged along on two trips and even at nine years old, I could see how his clients respected him. For a time after my dad died, I was convinced that I would grow up to be a Justin Boots salesman just like him so I could preserve his legacy.
To my sister and me, we were princesses and our dad was our king. He was someone who could do a rockin’ Elvis Presley impression. He bought us ponies so we could learn how to ride horses. He brushed our hair after a bath and picked out outfits for us from Nordstrom so we would look our best on our first day of school. He took us to the Tracy Bakery for long johns.
I wish I could have held onto my dad and made him stay on this earth longer. Eleven years with a parent isn’t enough. With each passing day, the image of him gets fuzzier. This is what happens when you lose a parent as a kid.
Brooke, the tomboy of the family, lost her best friend. She and Dad did chores together; she helped him feed the horses and visit them in the pasture. She rode the three-wheeler with him and “helped” mow the lawn. He videotaped her climbing trees, playing with toads, catching squirrels and releasing them back into the wild.
“After he passed, I didn't have anyone to do these things with,” she told me.
Our mom was a source of strength and love, and it’s because of her that my sister and I thrived despite our father’s early passing. She went to every dance line competition and piano recital. She supported us when we competed in Miss Tracy. And it was my mom, along with my sister, who walked me down the aisle when I got married.
As runners, we are taught to listen to our bodies. If we hurt, we take a break from running. If the pain persists, we see a doctor.
For years, our dad never had an annual physical or saw the doctor when he felt pain. He complained of chronic back pain for years. He chalked it up to life. Between spending thousands of miles behind the wheel for his job and working with the horses, he was bound to ache now and then, right?
According to the MMRF, multiple myeloma is a cancer where the plasma cells in the bone marrow grow out of control, and the cancerous cells cause bone pain.
Dad put off seeing a doctor for too long. All it would’ve likely taken to determine the source of his pain was a simple blood test. If only he had listened to his body.
Since our dad died, the MMRF has helped bring four new treatments for multiple myeloma patients. My sister and I hope our efforts will help fund research for new treatments that will prolong the lives of the next generation of cancer patients.
As members of the MMRF team, we have pledged to raise a minimum of $2,000. Ninety-three percent of every dollar raised will go directly to research and related programming.
Brooke and I welcome your support, whether it’s in the form of a donation or encouragement.
Our dad was never a runner, but my sister and I like to think that on race day, he will be running every mile with us—probably in cowboy boots.
As you consider whether to donate, please note:
--The MMRF received a four-star rating from Charity Navigator.
--The foundation has raised $130 million since its inception in 1998 and has been able to fund 120 laboratories throughout the world.
--The MMRF educates and supports multiple myeloma patients.
Donating is simple. You can visit our donation page and contribute any amount by using your credit card.
Originally published in the Tracy Headlight Herald on 4-7-2010
By Brady Gervais
Six months from now, on a Sunday morning in October, my sister Brooke Ortmann and I will toe the starting line of the Chicago Marathon with 45,000 other runners.
We have signed up to run 26.2 miles – about the distance from Tracy to Tyler – on behalf of the Multiple Myeloma Research Foundation (MMRF). Every step will be for our dad, Eugene Averill, who lost his battle with cancer 15 years ago this week. He was 46.
My sister and I were 10 and 11 when our dad’s body succumbed to multiple myeloma, a blood cancer. He never got to see us in action on the track field or on the golf course, wave to us from the stands at our high school graduation or walk us down the aisle when we got married. He'll never get to hold future grandchildren or grow old with our mother.
When he died, he left a void in us that has never been and never can be filled. His sisters, nieces and nephews, in-laws, wife, daughters and friends miss him always.
Brooke and I will log hundreds of miles training for the Chicago Marathon this summer for our dad, for the time he didn't get to have. For his family and friends who miss him. For the thousands of children who have lost a mom or dad because of multiple myeloma. For those who have suffered and survived. For those who won't. For paying better attention to our bodies.
Our dad was diagnosed with cancer in the fall of 1993. Soon after his diagnosis, he underwent chemotherapy and radiation treatments. He spent the following summer at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minn., where he had an autologous stem cell transplant, which means his own cells were harvested and frozen before treatment.
For a brief time following the transplant, he felt stronger. After another trip to the Mayo Clinic in December 1994, our family was hopeful Dad might go into remission. But in the early months of 1995, his body failed him again. No chemotherapy, treatment, radiation or surgery could save or prolong his life. In March, he went into the hospital in Tracy for the final weeks of his life. On April 4, he died.
Many of you reading this probably remember him. He wore Wrangler jeans, a starched button-down and cowboy boots most days of the week. At 6 feet, 5 inches, with shiny jet black hair, a handsome smile and confident gait, he was hard to miss. You might have grown up and attended Tracy Area High School with him, or played dice with him at the Red Rooster on weekday mornings.
He loved horses and spent years slowly cultivating a name for himself in the world of quarter and paint horses. If you ever passed by our former home west of Tracy on US 14, you would have likely noticed the sign: “Gene Averill Quarter Horses.”
Our family spent weekends at horse shows in Cannon Falls, Minn., in South Dakota, IowaKansas. At the time of my dad’s death, we owned dozens of horses, some bearing champion titles. and even
For more than 10 years, my dad made a living as a Justin Boots salesman, and he spent a lot of time on the road. I tagged along on two trips and even at nine years old, I could see how his clients respected him. For a time after my dad died, I was convinced that I would grow up to be a Justin Boots salesman just like him so I could preserve his legacy.
To my sister and me, we were princesses and our dad was our king. He was someone who could do a rockin’ Elvis Presley impression. He bought us ponies so we could learn how to ride horses. He brushed our hair after a bath and picked out outfits for us from Nordstrom so we would look our best on our first day of school. He took us to the Tracy Bakery for long johns.
I wish I could have held onto my dad and made him stay on this earth longer. Eleven years with a parent isn’t enough. With each passing day, the image of him gets fuzzier. This is what happens when you lose a parent as a kid.
Brooke, the tomboy of the family, lost her best friend. She and Dad did chores together; she helped him feed the horses and visit them in the pasture. She rode the three-wheeler with him and “helped” mow the lawn. He videotaped her climbing trees, playing with toads, catching squirrels and releasing them back into the wild.
“After he passed, I didn't have anyone to do these things with,” she told me.
Our mom was a source of strength and love, and it’s because of her that my sister and I thrived despite our father’s early passing. She went to every dance line competition and piano recital. She supported us when we competed in Miss Tracy. And it was my mom, along with my sister, who walked me down the aisle when I got married.
As runners, we are taught to listen to our bodies. If we hurt, we take a break from running. If the pain persists, we see a doctor.
For years, our dad never had an annual physical or saw the doctor when he felt pain. He complained of chronic back pain for years. He chalked it up to life. Between spending thousands of miles behind the wheel for his job and working with the horses, he was bound to ache now and then, right?
According to the MMRF, multiple myeloma is a cancer where the plasma cells in the bone marrow grow out of control, and the cancerous cells cause bone pain.
Dad put off seeing a doctor for too long. All it would’ve likely taken to determine the source of his pain was a simple blood test. If only he had listened to his body.
Since our dad died, the MMRF has helped bring four new treatments for multiple myeloma patients. My sister and I hope our efforts will help fund research for new treatments that will prolong the lives of the next generation of cancer patients.
As members of the MMRF team, we have pledged to raise a minimum of $2,000. Ninety-three percent of every dollar raised will go directly to research and related programming.
Brooke and I welcome your support, whether it’s in the form of a donation or encouragement.
Our dad was never a runner, but my sister and I like to think that on race day, he will be running every mile with us—probably in cowboy boots.
As you consider whether to donate, please note:
--The MMRF received a four-star rating from Charity Navigator.
--The foundation has raised $130 million since its inception in 1998 and has been able to fund 120 laboratories throughout the world.
--The MMRF educates and supports multiple myeloma patients.
Donating is simple. You can visit our donation page and contribute any amount by using your credit card.
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Stay tuned...
Stay tuned...
--For an analysis after tomorrow's workout with a trainer at my gym. The trainer, who gave me my assessment back in November, is leaving to work at another (read: better paying) L.A. Fitness. I was the first girl (what does this say about me?) he approached at L.A. Fitness when he started in November, so it's only fitting we work out together on his last day. And no, he wasn't hitting on me back in November. He has a girlfriend, and he was just trying to score some clients. As much as I'd like to have a personal trainer, I can't afford one, especially with my mounting medical bills. There's a deal going on at L.A. Fitness tomorrow, which would make training sessions way more affordable. Since my trainer is leaving, though, he can't guilt me into buying sessions after our workout. Score! Another trainer at the gym said I could have a free session with him because I deserved it because, despite my fracture, I still worked out four to six times a week. I hope he makes good on his promise.
--For my story that ran in Tracy's Headlight Herald last week. The article did not appear in its entirety online. So I have to go old-school, make copies of the actual newspaper story, scan the article and post the PDF's on the blog. Be patient, dear readers.
--For an update on fund-raising for the MMRF. In addition to the story in the Headlight Herald last week, my sister and I enjoyed some coverage in the Chicago area, too. We haven't hit our goal yet, but we will.
--For an update on my injury and my return to running. Tomorrow marks one week since I got to ditch my crutches and air boot. I'm still not running, but I'm walking and enjoying every crutch-less step.
--For an analysis after tomorrow's workout with a trainer at my gym. The trainer, who gave me my assessment back in November, is leaving to work at another (read: better paying) L.A. Fitness. I was the first girl (what does this say about me?) he approached at L.A. Fitness when he started in November, so it's only fitting we work out together on his last day. And no, he wasn't hitting on me back in November. He has a girlfriend, and he was just trying to score some clients. As much as I'd like to have a personal trainer, I can't afford one, especially with my mounting medical bills. There's a deal going on at L.A. Fitness tomorrow, which would make training sessions way more affordable. Since my trainer is leaving, though, he can't guilt me into buying sessions after our workout. Score! Another trainer at the gym said I could have a free session with him because I deserved it because, despite my fracture, I still worked out four to six times a week. I hope he makes good on his promise.
--For my story that ran in Tracy's Headlight Herald last week. The article did not appear in its entirety online. So I have to go old-school, make copies of the actual newspaper story, scan the article and post the PDF's on the blog. Be patient, dear readers.
--For an update on fund-raising for the MMRF. In addition to the story in the Headlight Herald last week, my sister and I enjoyed some coverage in the Chicago area, too. We haven't hit our goal yet, but we will.
--For an update on my injury and my return to running. Tomorrow marks one week since I got to ditch my crutches and air boot. I'm still not running, but I'm walking and enjoying every crutch-less step.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Almost famous
My sister and I made an appearance today on the RedEye blog, MarathonMissFit. We're almost famous!
To read the post, click here.
To read the post, click here.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
I have something in common with an elite runner.
Like Meb, I've been recovering from a stress fracture in my heel that was officially diagnosed Feb. 25, but likely occurred during my last long run on Feb. 14. Also like Meb, I've been battling pain in my tensor fascia latae (while sitting and after running), a hip muscle, and IT Band syndrome.
His resume inculdes a silver medal at the 2004 Olympics in Athens; mine shows I've finished three marathons. Yet I can relate to Meb and his battle with injuries. And the man inspires me.
I was reading Runner's World today while biking at the gym, and the May issue featured a story on Meb. After winning the silver in 2004, he was considered the favorite to make the team for the 2008 Olympics. But in 2007 at the Olympic marathon trial in New York City, he floundered. For days afterward, he couldn't even walk, according to the article. Turned out, he had a stress fracture in his hip.
Meb's injury stumped him and doctors for a long time, and his road to recovery was long and hard. Two years after an injury that forced him to consider retirement, the 34-year-old went on to with the ING New York City Marathon, according to the article. And later this month, he aims to win the Boston Marathon.
His injury taught him to listen to his body. And he worked hard to become stronger by stretching, strengthening and going to physical therapy, according to the article.
My journey of healing has been shorter than Meb's, and the stakes are much lower. But, like Meb, I will continue working hard to build a stronger core, hip and butt area, so I will be a stronger runner who's less prone to injury. And as I've written here before, I'll continue taking Calcium and Vitamin D supplements. I may not win any races any time soon or break any records, but I hope I can mimic Meb's positive spirit and perseverance.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Week 6: Injury Update
It's been more than six weeks since I got hurt running along Montrose Harbor in Chicago. At some point, the tears finally dried, and I made peace with my stress fracture.
Instead of dwelling on it, I've learned from my mistake. I'm already stronger for it. I'm sharing what I've learned with my friends and family: I'm strength training, and I'm making more of an effort to get adequate calcium and Vitamin D. I've quit the Viactiv caramel chews and traded them in for pills. The chews were nasty and reminded me of medicine. And even smothering 'em in Nutella didn't help. My sister likes Viactiv chews, so she'll be the lucky recipient of my leftovers. I also finished my eighth (but sadly probably not the last) physical therapy session yesterday.
As I've probably said this here before, I'm really making the most of getting hurt. A case in point: Last week, I went to the gym six times to bike and do some strength training. I feel strong, and I think I look it, too. If I had to run a marathon tomorrow, I think I could. Would I probably hurt my foot? You betcha. I'll have to take baby steps instead of major strides toward running again -- and only when the doctor says it's OK. But if I had to run 26.2, baby, I imagine I could do it.
Not only have I thrown myself into working out at the gym to become a stronger athlete, I'm devoting some spare time to raising awareness about multiple myeloma, the work of the Multiple Myeloma Research Foundation (MMRF) and my dad. This Sunday marks 15 years since he died. I find my involvement rewarding and therapeutic -- and I wish I would have gotten involved with the MMRF years ago. Better late than never, I say.
--It's been six weeks since I went for a real run.
--It's been five weeks since I wore shoes on both feet.
--It's been four weeks since I started walking with the aid of crutches.
"Sometimes the moments that challenge us the most define us." -- U.S. Olympic Marathoner Deena Kastor
Instead of dwelling on it, I've learned from my mistake. I'm already stronger for it. I'm sharing what I've learned with my friends and family: I'm strength training, and I'm making more of an effort to get adequate calcium and Vitamin D. I've quit the Viactiv caramel chews and traded them in for pills. The chews were nasty and reminded me of medicine. And even smothering 'em in Nutella didn't help. My sister likes Viactiv chews, so she'll be the lucky recipient of my leftovers. I also finished my eighth (but sadly probably not the last) physical therapy session yesterday.
As I've probably said this here before, I'm really making the most of getting hurt. A case in point: Last week, I went to the gym six times to bike and do some strength training. I feel strong, and I think I look it, too. If I had to run a marathon tomorrow, I think I could. Would I probably hurt my foot? You betcha. I'll have to take baby steps instead of major strides toward running again -- and only when the doctor says it's OK. But if I had to run 26.2, baby, I imagine I could do it.
Not only have I thrown myself into working out at the gym to become a stronger athlete, I'm devoting some spare time to raising awareness about multiple myeloma, the work of the Multiple Myeloma Research Foundation (MMRF) and my dad. This Sunday marks 15 years since he died. I find my involvement rewarding and therapeutic -- and I wish I would have gotten involved with the MMRF years ago. Better late than never, I say.
--It's been six weeks since I went for a real run.
--It's been five weeks since I wore shoes on both feet.
--It's been four weeks since I started walking with the aid of crutches.
"Sometimes the moments that challenge us the most define us." -- U.S. Olympic Marathoner Deena Kastor
Monday, March 22, 2010
Blessings in multitude
My sister and I feel blessed. Today, thanks to the power of Twitter, we received a donation to our charity, the Multiple Myeloma Research Foundation (MMRF), from a runner in Texas. He's a follower on Twitter and runs for charity. Beyond that, we have no connection to him.
During the past few weeks, I have witnessed how good people can be. My decision to run for the MMRF and my injury have afforded me the opportunity to witness the human condition close up. I've seen a mix of the good, the bad and the ugly. But mostly, I've experienced the good. Here's a recent snapshot:
1. There's a man who works in my building with whom I've never spoke (besides saying "thank you") but always opens the door for me because of my current state.
2. Individuals at my gym have been mighty supportive, showering me with kudos for working out despite my injury.
3. My colleague sent me a text last week, offering to pick up breakfast or a morning latte for me. Indeed, he brought me coffee with a steamed skim topper.
4. Also last week, my cousin's college roommate donated to the MMRF. We haven't seen or spoken with each other in years, yet she felt compelled to contribute to a cause so important to my family and me. That's pretty cool.
5. A woman stopped midway through washing her hands today to open the bathroom door for me. OK, so that was a little awkward (I totally could have opened the door myself), but I appreciated her attentiveness and compassion.
Injury update:
--I have one more physical therapy session next Monday for my hip (IT Band Syndrome). Today's session was supposed to be my last but I had a "relapse" last week. Basically, my hip hurt every day at work. I gotta find a job where I'm moving. Sitting at a desk = intense pain!
-- I have a CT scan of the heel scheduled for Tuesday, April 6, at noon. I need all the prayers you can offer!
-- I return to the sports medicine center to meet with my doctor on Thursday, April 8. My foot has been sore lately. I hope the crappy weather and the air boot (I realized recently that the boot hasn't been very inflated -- oops!) are the culprit. Again, prayers please!
During the past few weeks, I have witnessed how good people can be. My decision to run for the MMRF and my injury have afforded me the opportunity to witness the human condition close up. I've seen a mix of the good, the bad and the ugly. But mostly, I've experienced the good. Here's a recent snapshot:
1. There's a man who works in my building with whom I've never spoke (besides saying "thank you") but always opens the door for me because of my current state.
2. Individuals at my gym have been mighty supportive, showering me with kudos for working out despite my injury.
3. My colleague sent me a text last week, offering to pick up breakfast or a morning latte for me. Indeed, he brought me coffee with a steamed skim topper.
4. Also last week, my cousin's college roommate donated to the MMRF. We haven't seen or spoken with each other in years, yet she felt compelled to contribute to a cause so important to my family and me. That's pretty cool.
5. A woman stopped midway through washing her hands today to open the bathroom door for me. OK, so that was a little awkward (I totally could have opened the door myself), but I appreciated her attentiveness and compassion.
Injury update:
--I have one more physical therapy session next Monday for my hip (IT Band Syndrome). Today's session was supposed to be my last but I had a "relapse" last week. Basically, my hip hurt every day at work. I gotta find a job where I'm moving. Sitting at a desk = intense pain!
-- I have a CT scan of the heel scheduled for Tuesday, April 6, at noon. I need all the prayers you can offer!
-- I return to the sports medicine center to meet with my doctor on Thursday, April 8. My foot has been sore lately. I hope the crappy weather and the air boot (I realized recently that the boot hasn't been very inflated -- oops!) are the culprit. Again, prayers please!
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