Briar Rose in Memoriam

"Sometimes the smallest things take up the most room in your heart," Winnie the Pooh. I don't think there are any words that could better summarize my feelings toward the loss of my beloved cat Briar Rose. I know this is probably not a normal "triathlon" blog post, but it's my blog and I can do what I want. It's kind of cathartic. It's just a reminder that we are human and we all have love and lives outside of triathlon. Allow yourself grace and room to just feel.

I adopted Briar Rose January 8, 2016 at the start of my second semester of medical school. She had just arrived on the adoption floor at PetSmart that very day that I was looking for a friend from Clark County Animal Control. She had not even had enough time there to be named. I was very broken already when I adopted this nameless, tiny, 4-year-old Siamese cat. I was diagnosed with Ulcerative Colitis less than a year earlier, I had c. diff multiple times my first semester. And a professor broke my foot in class just a few months prior. Basically I was sick and in pain and I needed some love.

As soon as I brought my new, little kitty home and sat on the couch, she curled up in my lap and purred- an unusual occurrence for a new, pet. It usually takes days, weeks, or even months for a fur friend to acclimate to a new environment. But she seemed to know right away that I was hers and she was mine. The next day, we decided on the name Briar Rose for my little princess. My beautiful Sleeping Beauty.

Briar followed me around the house everywhere I went. If I was sitting, she was in my lap. If I was sleeping or lying down, she would curl up in the crook of my arm with her sweet little head resting on me. And if I was in the bathroom sick, well, there she was, purring away to try to make me better.

The guilt part of the emotional processing is so real and strong. From a logical viewpoint, I know that we did everything we could for Briar Rose, but from the emotional viewpoint, I can't help but second-guess every decision. How is it that she saved me, but I couldn't do the same for her?

I noticed in the first year or so that Briar would randomly lose and then regain weight. She was a pretty small cat, so the weight loss was noticeable when there's not much there to begin with. I took her to the vet a few times for labs and weigh-ins, but everything was normal. There were zero signs or symptoms other than randomly losing weight. The vet mentioned Inflammatory Bowel Disease as a possible differential diagnosis, but we had no information to really follow up on it. For cats, a confirmatory diagnosis would require invasive surgery, and why do that from a financial or quality of life standpoint for a wild goose chase? Those intrusive thoughts keep coming back: "you knew all along." And deep down, I just did. One of Briar's vets told me that even if we had known sooner, it wouldn't have changed our treatment course. But, still, what if we had?

So we continued on the next several years, getting a Master's Degree after leaving medical school
with my cat by my side the whole time. She knew when I wasn't feeling well and even started alerting me when I had future c. diff infections. I definitely told one of my doctors that "my cat said the c. diff is back." He ordered a test, despite looking at me as if I were crazy. The cat was right. She was always right.

Two days after my dog, Raja, had an emergency surgery from an obstruction, I noticed Briar was sitting on the floor, just kind of staring off into space. That obviously was not normal for her, but didn't alarm me as much as I guess it should have. I thought she was sad about her doggy sister or just had a little bug. I took her to the vet first thing in the morning and dropped her off for an urgent appointment. Imagine my surprise when they called and told me to come pick up my cat for acute kidney failure and rush her to the kitty hospital. She was there for 3 nights and we didn't know if she was going to make it. She pulled through and we took her home, with the plan to do subcutaneous fluids every night for the next two weeks. The vet did say that she had inflammation of her intestine. It could be cancer or it could be IBD (there it was again). Did that cause the kidney disease? Did we miss something? What could you even do if you had that diagnosis definitively? Not much.

Briar Rose was in excellent health for quite some time when we finished her fluid regimen, tapering the frequency with the increase in fighting (assuming that was the sign for improvement haha). And she had no remaining kidney symptoms for probably close to a year. No GI symptoms. So we carried on, doing her regular checkups and asking to pay careful attention to kidneys. Of course, that eventually lead us to the dreaded Chronic Kidney Disease, which we knew would come eventually. So we switched to the kidney diet and everything was stable again. She weighed slightly less, but she otherwise was healthy. And then we started getting to the dehydrated stages of the vet visits, doing fluids, and some more frequent visits, but otherwise she was good again.

Briar truly saved me last year. I can't go into details, but I almost lost my life last year. I was so sick, couldn't get my medication because of insurance issues, and that was the last line of medication available. I had no where to go. I had lost hope at the possibility of getting better. If you haven't experienced this type of pain, it is impossible to even imagine. Unrelenting abdominal pain that was so bad that if you didn't have that IBD diagnosis already, you would be calling an ambulance. But this was nonstop, unrelenting pain that had me frequently curled up in the fetal position. The vomiting and bloody diarrhea was just miserable. I was so sick that I couldn't shower after vomiting in the shower, so I was just gross. I couldn't walk my dogs. I could barely even clean the vomit off of the living room floor. It was such a tortured existence that I was very close to ending it. But there was my cat. Right next to me, purring away. And what would that do to her? Where would she be? Briar Rose is literally the reason I'm still here. She's the reason I had to fight. She saved me. Her little purr box was going constantly.

A few months ago I noticed that she was not snuggling as much as normal. I didn't think much of it at first, because she is a cat, but then I realized that this was not normal for her. Back to the vet we went. I felt a little stupid for saying "my cat needs to be seen because she's not snuggly." Most people would think, "um, yeah, she's a cat." But my vet understood. It, unfortunately, turned out to be some dehydration and more weight loss. We got her back on some fluids, followed back up, and I thought she was improving. So I went to my race in Lake Placid. Now there's more guilt. What if I hadn't gone? Would she have declined after I got home? But she was doing better! But was it my fault? The thoughts that just come with the whole process are terrible.

And then we had the first bigger sign that something was very wrong- high WBCs. Maybe an infection? She seemed to be improving, but not much. More fluids. And still high WBCs. Switch antibiotic. And then declining some more. But where do we go? There were some signs of improvement and some signs of decline. It was up and down every day. The eating became reduced day-by-day. She would eat more on days that I cooked her special meals- chicken, steak, pork, until she didn't. It was too much for her. She fought and fought, but these two diseases were just too much for her little body.

I miss her every day. I know the pain will ease with time. But right now, when I come home, I'm still half-expecting to see her sitting by the door waiting for me. When the vacuum comes by my room, out of the corner of the eye, I think it's the little cat running by. There are no more purrs. No more chasing ping pong balls at 3 AM. But I have a lifetime of memories. I'll love you forever, Briar Rose. There is no more pain at the rainbow bridge. And all the little steak you can want.

Ironman Lake Placid 2023

I teared up as I walked into Ironman Village inside the Olympic Speed Skating Oval in Lake Placid- The place where Dr. Eric Heiden famously won 5 Olympic Gold Medals. Right next door was the home of the Miracle on Ice. The peaks of the Adirondacks made a gorgeous background. This is where transition was set up. This is where we were going to cross the finish line in just a couple of days. Where legends were made. Ironman Lake Placid is considered to be Ironman royalty. We had 3 Team Challenge athletes out there, and one of my local Gainesville teammates.

When I first signed up for Ironman Lake Placid, I picked this race due to the timing and the extra 100 Kona slots. I've been wanting to race in Kona since I was a kid. As we progressed, I unfortunately was not able to do as much as I wanted  with the Ulcerative Colitis. I struggled with GI issues at Gulf Coast 70.3. After that race, I worked with my medical team to make some tweaks to medications for potential side effects. Those changes helped right away. Unfortunately, one of those changes was stopping the medication that I took for Complex Regional Pain Syndrome in my foot. I did start to have issues with that pretty quickly (CRPS is basically when the nerves go haywire and send pain signals that are not proportional to the injury and can continue even after the injury has healed. To me it feels like someone took a knife out of a fire and is stabbing repeatedly. Even the slightest touch, like a bed sheet, for example, can cause excruciating pain. When I get running shoes, I have to ask for something supportive that won't touch my foot in that spot. It's a whole thing. The best "treatment" is staying active, if able. A lack of activity can actually make it worse, but it can be hard to convince yourself to do it when it hurts since usually you rest pain. If it does get worse, you can have like a clawing up of your extremities and loss of function). When the foot pain started getting worse, I did try to re-start the medication and had GI problems within just a couple of days. So that answered that question- it did seem to be related. That was my last big training weekend, so I was completely out of commission. I knew I had at least done enough at that point to finish the race, even if it wasn't ideal. And I was a bit nervous that there was now no nerve treatment, but that's life.

Also leading up to the race, my poor princess cat got really sick. Obviously she's my priority because so the extra vet treatments, the extra snuggles, the super fun sub-cutaneous fluids took precedent over everything. Briar Rose took good care of me through the worst of the worst Ulcerative Colitis issues with her snuggles and purrs. Getting her better was the only thing that mattered. She is on the mend, thankfully, but will likely be on some form of fluids.

Pre-race bike ride! I got my bike put back together from my flight, and it was not
shifting correctly. TSA took my bike case apart and didn't put it back together correctly and smashed it. Lovely. I was scared of using other options after hearing all of the horror stories of lost bikes at IM California with transport! So it was risk the bike's safety or risk not having a bike anymore. Not good options. Thankfully, the bike shop at Ironman Village got us all fixed up (bent cables). Had to go back the next morning for some additional derailer adjustments. But we got there! Better to know before the race than have shifting issues on a hilly course! During the pre-race swim, I started having foot spasms and it started clawing up, like almost just dragging at that point. None of that was what we wanted before the race.

Race day! I did not sleep well. I had horrible night sweats and actually woke up feeling really thirsty because of it. One of the additional side effects that I get from the Ulcerative Colitis medication. But obviously, that's not what you want prior to an Ironman. If you're that thirsty, that means already behind on fluids, so I had to get back on track before the race. Luckily I was able to, so that ended up not being an issue. One of my Team Challenge teammates, Jeff, and his wife, Kelly, picked me up in the morning. Transition set-up and special needs was pretty smooth. I decided it was kind of cold out and was worried about not having sleeves on the bike. We found some scissors and cut holes in the socks I was wearing. Problem solved- sock sleeves!

It was go time! Jeff and I lined up near each other since I was going to be the end of the 1:00-1:10 swim seed (was aiming for 1:10, so I figured back of that line close to the start of the 1:11-1:20). The cannons went of for the male pros and the female pros started a few minutes after. The crowd was pumped. We were ready. The age-groupers started rolling out. The swim is a skinny rectangle with two loops. One of the unique parts of IM Lake Placid is that the buoys are attached to an under-water cable. If you are on the buoy line, you can watch underwater to make sure you're swimming straight. I found out that this was easier said than done! When you're swimming with 2,300 of your closest friends, there's a lot of jostling around. Even with the rolling start, there are so many people that it's impossible to just stay on the buoy. A few times I tried to catch a draft while staying on the buoy, but that's also really difficult to get in just the right spot without getting kicked in the face. I did catch a bit, which I think really helped conserve some energy, but there were really just too many people all bunched up to stay completely straight without swimming over people. The swim course was 1.2 miles and then you have to get out, go across the timing matt, and get back in for another 1.2 miles. It's so hard doing that because once you're out, you don't want to get back in! But off we went! Once we got to the end of the second lap, it was really congested with everyone bunched up. Some people were finishing and some were starting their second. 1:13:25

1/3 of the activities done and down the blue carpet to transition. I was so amped up from the amazing
crowd and ready to bike. I did take my time transitioning to make sure I had all of my stuff, dried off, etc. The bike course is hilly! The beginning is a couple little rollers. On the very first hill, I started having horrific stabbing abdominal pain. I thought this was going to be an early exit from the race. That was not my plan. I had some pain medication that I grabbed in transition, but I only packed one for the bike, and more on the run. I was not prepared to have issues that early. I got off my bike at the top of the hill, took the meds, and had to try to relax. While I used to be a really strong climber before IBD, I know that for some reason when my heart rate starts getting up, I start to have pain. I think this was probably a combination of the transition excitement and the adrenaline of all of the amazing spectators and volunteers and then the hill. I had to just stop, take a few minutes to calm down, and see if I could try again. Thankfully I was able to get back on my bike, and just made a point to take it really easy on the hills to try to stay in control.

After the first couple of hills, there was one point of Mt. Von Hoevenberg where the bike course took us through the biathlon course. It was incredible. A couple more little hills, beautiful ride along the Ausable River, and then we got ready for the infamous Keene descent. This is a really steep, winding road down to the town of Keene. People fly down this descent. I knew it was going to be intense. My thoughts were running wild. "Be confident. Fear leads to lack of control, which leads to accidents." "I really hope I put my bike back together correctly." "I'm confident that I'm terrified." When I looked at my watch later, I had a max speed of 42 MPH! I know others were even faster, but that was enough for me.

There were some more rolling hills and then one part that went through a more heavily wooded trail. Coming out of that, some more hills, winding through Wilmington, and then a giant climb back to transition. I saw Jeff at one of the aid stations and we chatted a bit and off he went! Doing so well! I made a point to still keep it easy to avoid any more GI issues. Once we got back to town, we had to do it all over again! That was only 56 miles.

I thought I was much stronger on my second lap compared to my first. I wasn't. haha. But at least it felt mostly good until the final climb. That second time was rough. Once I came to transition, the amazing volunteers take the bike back to the rack. Athletes just need to get the transition bag and go back through the tents. My time took longer than I had anticipated. I know I shouldn't have been thinking about that, but I did. This should have been only a celebration of conquering that course. 7:35:44

I was in tears coming through the tent. It was a hard ride. And I still had a full marathon left. I did not want to do it. I took my time getting ready to run, debating about whether I was going to do it, but I had no legitimate reason at that point to stop. I heard the announcer call in the first female pro, Alice Alberts, to the finish. "They're finishing and I still have 5+ hours to go! An entire 26.2 miles." At that point, "Fight Song" came on at the finish line. That song is basically my anthem. I had to get going!

I had a pretty strong start to my run! Most of the first portion was downhill. The spectators and volunteers were amazing. They definitely kept me pumped to keep going! I made a point to walk the hills and the aid stations. The amount of energy spent vs time saved just was not worth it for where I was in my fitness and I also needed to keep that heart rate down. I saw Super Cool Racing Team teammate Andrea, and Team Challenge teammates Sean and Jeff going in the opposite direction as I was headed out. I love racing with teammates! One of the athletes had told me that his mom had Crohn's, so sending all the support to your family, too! That's what we're racing for. Let's find some cures! Coming back from the first lap, we had to go back up that hill we came down. It was a long, steep way. Spectators cheered us on. I was so thankful for all of that support. On to the next lap! 13.1 left to go. I counted down the miles as I went and tried to keep my pace steady. The pros were out on the course riding their bikes and cheering us on. It was so nice of them to have completed that entire race and still stay to support us age-groupers. I could hear the music starting with about 5 miles left and started to get excited. This was it. Final hour. One final climb up the hill. The crowds were incredible. And the finish chute! 5:26:22

Total time: 14:36:25. I had hoped to be between 14 and 15 hours, so I did it! It was also 35 minutes faster than Ironman California just in October! Thank you so much to Coach Skip, my teammates, the volunteers, and the spectators. This wouldn't have been possible without you. Thank you also to everyone who has donated to the Crohn's and Colitis Foundation so far! If anyone wants to learn more about these autoimmune diseases, feel free to ask. My story and donation page are on the link on the right. No Kona yet, so see at a race in a couple years to try again 😁

Gulf Coast 70.3

Gulf Coast 70.3 was probably one of the most difficult races I've ever done. I seriously considered not starting the run. Crossing that finish line took a lot of grit and I didn't know that I had it in me. About 2 weeks before the race, my GI issues started to get worse again (for those who don't know, I have Ulcerative Colitis, an autoimmune disease of the GI tract). I really had to taper back more than planned in the weeks leading up to the race and had to just hope for the best by race day at that point. And this is why I am racing with Team Challenge for the Crohn's and Colitis Foundation. We need some cures!

Panama City Beach is a beautiful city with beach stores, restaurants, and beautiful beaches. It is
definitely a great destination for a race like this with a lot of family-friendly activities. I was excited to be racing with some of my teammates from Gainesville Triathlon Club and Super Cool Bike Team. It was great getting to spend time with new friends! Congratulations on 3rd place AG, Dīna!

Having an ocean swim, means that athletes are at the mercy of mother nature. The only ocean swim I had ever done up to that point was in Mission Bay in San Diego, so it was pretty protected from the rough seas. This race was wide-open ocean, so anything could happen. And it did.

Race morning was pretty standard. Uneventful, which is ideal. There was a long stream of athletes winding from transition to the beach. By the time I got there, the corals were already full, so I just hopped the barrier to my starting time along with a few others. It was recommended that you start at your expected swim time in normal conditions and not to under or overestimate based on what could happen. I lined up in 30-33 minutes, but that was nowhere near the time I ended in. The theory behind swimming in the ocean makes sense- dolphin dive to get past the breakers, don't drink the water, short and quick strokes if it's choppy, and breathe the opposite direction the wind is blowing from, etc. I don't have an ocean in my backyard, though, so theory vs. practice is very different.

The waves were brutal. I did swallow some water trying to get past the breakers. My goal was just to
get past that and then it would be calm. It wasn't. The wind was blowing from the east and the water was choppy. On the way out, I could only breathe to the right (in case anyone was wondering how important it is to know how to bilateral breathe- this is why!). Sting, sting, sting- All over my arms, my face, and inside my sports bra. I couldn't see anything, so I was trying to figure out if I was imagining this or if it was the salt water or whatever. It was about one gazillion tiny jellyfish. Everything hurt. As I kept going I was wondering why I was doing this. Why did I pay money to do this? Why would I voluntarily get into the water with stingy little creatures? I kept moving. Another yellow buoy. Didn't we go far enough though the stingy gauntlet yet? No. Keep going. And then another yellow buoy. Finally, the red turn buoy was in sight. Since this short stretch was now going with the wind, I lengthened my stroke and settled into a good rhythm. But that didn't last. The next red buoy signaled the turn to shore. I couldn't see the buoys very well. I felt as if I had to try to swim diagonally to try not to get blown off course. Finally, the waves started carrying me in. I was so happy to get out of there and go find my bike. 42:35. Remember that 30-33 minutes? Yeah, not quite...

Transition went pretty smoothly, and off we went on the bike. I was having fun now. The wind didn't seem to bad, but it actually kind of felt as if I had a tailwind the whole time. It felt as if I was keeping a pretty good pace. The bike course was mostly flat except for one overpass, but that was more or less it. We road along the coast, and then up toward the forest. It was a pretty ride. At one point in the forest while my mind was wondering, I wondered if there were any bears. About 30 seconds later, I saw a bear-crossing sign, so I guess that answered that question. So basically Florida can be summed up as jellyfish, gators, and bears, oh, my! Part of the course was a bit odd as it wound behind a grocery store, on a little bike path, and then eventually back to the coastal road. I was really happy with how my pace was going, which was definitely going to lead to a 70.3 PR as long as I had a good run. 3:01:33

I grabbed the rest of my nutrition, applied more sunblock (one of the many risks of IBD and the medication is skin issues and easy burning), and put on my running shoes and hat. I was just going to make a quick pit-stop in the porta-potty and then I would be good to crush the run. That's not what happened. I got stuck in the porta-potty with a sudden onset of GI issues. I think I lost so many fluids and then just being in the nasty-roasting potty, I got dizzy. I was nauseous and starting to have pain. I did not want to run. I was done. I just could not fathom 13.1 miles at that point. Another athlete saw me and told me she was stopping and recommended that I stop, too. I thought about it. I just spent 1.2 miles swimming through stingy jellyfish. Would that be all for nothing? I knew my friends and family were tracking me online, too. While I knew no one would blame me if I stopped, it did feel motivating that I had so much support behind me. I thought about everything I overcame last year to complete an Ironman, as well as the years before that. Just one foot in front of the other. Run, walk, or crawl!

I made my way walking out of transition and then walked up the steep overpass. The run course was spectator-friendly consisting of 3 loops. Once I got down the other side, I started running a bit. The next two miles, I did a combination of walking an running and had a tough time getting going. One spectator was on a bike and started cheering me on. I was not feeling great at that point, but the cheering helped. It was hot. I was starting to get nauseous and vomited. Thankfully, I had pain meds and Zofran with me, so I took those and kept going. I took ice at every aid station to keep me cool, putting some in my hat and some in my shirt). Once that kicked in about 3 miles in, I was able to run the next 7 miles. I was getting back on track! I saw the bike guy two more times during that time and he was so supportive! It really helped me mentally having a cheer section! And then it was going back downhill again. Around mile 10, I was definitely starting to bonk. I walked a lot of that mile. At the 11- mile marker, though, I knew I was close and could make it to the end. I started running again and was able to keep going. Bike-guy was there again about 12.5 miles. He told me he was a past Team Challenge athlete. Thank you, for the cheers and support. It helped tremendously when I was ready to stop. The last 1/2 mile, I was so excited when I could hear the crowd and the announcer at the finish line. This was my moment to celebrate. My day that I overcame, I was going to take it all in. I high-fived the crowds coming down the finishing chute and put my hands in the air in celebration. 2:43:05

I didn't quit. Those jellyfish stings weren't for nothing. I was a finisher. I went to the medical tent at this point, though, because I was nauseous again. They let me lie down and iced me down and got me some more Zofran. I got my finisher picture and food! My total time was 11 minutes faster than Augusta 70.3 last year and only 5 minutes off from my PR (pre- Ulcerative Colitis). So considering everything, it was a good finish. 6:39:57. Congratulations to the rest of the athletes that day, too!