I was only 13 years old when a mandatory physical for soccer tryouts turned up something unexpected. The doctor's brows crinkled together and he pursed his lips.
"Shhhh," he told me, "I need to hear this." He craned his head into his stethoscope and pressed the cool metal to a different place on my chest.
"Are your parents with you?" he asked.
I shook my head no.
Geeze just sign my form. I've already been playing soccer for 2 years.
"Please have a seat outside and when they get here bring them back with you," he instructed.
"But you didn't sign my form!"
"We'll talk about that when your parents get here."
My grandparents arrived to pick me up and I led them to the room where the doctor was conducting sports physicals. He pulled us into a private office and asked us to have a seat.
"I see on your forms that your daughter (most people made that mistake so I overlooked it and so did they) was born with a minor heart murmur. Have you had that checked out recently?"
We shook our heads no. "I'm going to refer you to a pediatric cardiologist. I'm sorry but it sounds as if the murmur has grown worse and I don't feel comfortable signing the form so she can play soccer this season."
And that was that. That was the end of my life as I knew it. I had an echo-cardiogram that confirmed that two of the valves in my heart were not working quite the way they should. I was put on some medication and told to restrict my physical activity. I was no longer permitted to play team sports.
To understand the affect this had on me, you should understand how athletic I was. The year before I had run a 5 minute mile and I was the only girl in my county to do it. I had beat the best high school female time by nearly a full minute and I was only 12 years old. I still have a fitness certificate signed by George Bush in a drawer somewhere to prove it. I had been playing on a boys soccer league for 2 years and I'd beaten all of them out to become goalie (and I was good at it too). I had also won a metal for most continuous free throws in a free throw competition--one of the girls I beat went on to play in the WNBA. I was very active and I loved sports.
Then suddenly I was not allowed to do any of the sports I loved. I cannot explain to you how frustrating that was, how gut wrenching it was. I was an athlete (and a good one)....and then suddenly I wasn't.
Fast forward to the December right before my 23rd birthday (which is in March in case any of you lovely people want to get me a gift next year) and everything suddenly got even worse. My heart stopped and I died for 3 minutes. My faulty heart valves had given out and I was in full blown congestive heart failure. It got so bad I couldn't even walk up a flight of stairs. I couldn't walk from my car to my front door without getting out of breath. It was horrible.
I am now 27 years old and I have spent the past 4 years of my life battling congestive heart failure. A marvelous team of medical doctors have finally gotten my leaky valves under control. My heart still beats too fast, but I've been doing cardiac rehab off and on for 2 years now. The fluid around my heart and lungs doesn't build up as fast and is slowing receding to nothingness--a fact for which I am eternally grateful. I'm getting better.
My doctor finally told me I could try running again. He said I had to limit myself to 20 minutes and I had to walk 5 then alternate jog/walk every other minute for 10 then walk the last 5. When I first started in March I couldn't even make it around my block without throwing up. But I did it every single day. Rain or shine. Puke or no puke. I did it.
At the end of April I added an extra street to my daily walk/jog and now I walk/jog for 1.5 miles daily. I walk 3 now (instead of 5), then I run for 1.5 minutes (instead of 1) and walk for 2, then I end with a 2 minute walk. I'm running for longer spurts of time and for greater distances.
Today I decided to try the Greenway in my city for the first time. It's a 4 mile loop. I ran for the first 1.5 miles (ok run/walked), and I walked the rest. It took me an hour and a half. At first I was royally pissed off that it took me an hour and a half to make it 4 miles. I was so mad at myself for not being faster and stronger.
Then it hit me. I made it 4 miles. Four months ago I wouldn't even have been able to make it a quarter of a mile. Three months ago I couldn't even make it a whole mile. But today I made it four miles. So what if it took me longer than I wanted it to? So what if I got a blister the size of Kansas on my big toe? So what if it was 85 degrees and I felt like I was going to die? I pushed through and I made it. 4 miles. I haven't been able to do 4 miles since I was 12 years old. I'll take my hour and half four miles and the blister to boot.
