Posts Tagged ‘dehydration’

In the spirit of the infamous dehydration race report from 2008, we have a new set of firsts:

1. First blackout
2. First memory hole
3. First hallucination
4. First overnight hospital stay

83 degrees, 69 dewpoint, mostly sunny.  From my dewpoint musings post, when adding temp and dewpoint: “if it’s above 150, forget pace altogether and just focus on finishing.”

I got some great advice from running mentor Adam on how to handle the race, as I’d been freaking about the temps for a few days.  He said bring ice and ice cold water so I did, stashing them in a bush for after the warmup.  Brilliant call on the ice, btw, I suggest everyone do that in summer races.

The Warmup
I go out for a little over a mile, do 4 strides and as usual, they’re slower than shit, about 30 seconds away from my usual stride speed which always happens pre-race but I never get used to it.  “At least I won’t have to worry about leaving the gate too fast”, I think to myself.

As I return to the clump of people standing around, a teenage girl wearing a walker t-shirt calls to me, “Miss…Miss, is that water on you?”  I’m not sure what she’s talking about, then I look at the thick suit of sweat on me and laugh, “Yep, it’s hot out here!”

I go to my ice stash and coat myself with a few cubes, stick a couple in my sports bra, drink some water, visit the porta-potty and line up.   It’s an out and back on the usual race course by the museum, so I know what to expect.  Small field today, more of a walker event.

Go!
I look down at my Garmin and think I see 6:59 and I get pissed with myself, but then look again, realizing it says 5:59.  I have never done such a stupid start in my life, didn’t think it was possible with that sluggish warmup so maybe it was Garmin acting wacky, still, I slow down and the first mile clocks in at 6:40.  Just right.

There’s only one girl in front of me, a young thing, and I pass her around the 1/2 mile mark, then realize, “Wow, if I can keep this up, I can win this thing!”  There’s a water stop at the turn-around point and I take a cup of water and dump it on my head (again, as per Adam’s stellar advice) …ahhh.

The folks going the other way are yelling out at me “first woman, wooohoo!”  “you go, girl!” and other fun stuff like that.  I have to admit, it’s a fantastic feeling.  Second split clocks in at 6:48.

I’m definitely hurting at this point, but I want to win, dammit!  And I wish I had eyes in the back of my head so I could know what kind of lead I have (didn’t think to watch for gals at the turnaround).  I’m slowing and I see guys in front of me stopping to walk but I barrel on, thinking, almost there, just a few minutes more, but at the same time, “man, would I love to stop.”  Nothing that I don’t think at least twice in every 5K.

Then, out of nowhere, my legs go jello, I stumble and fall on the ground – that same knee that’s opened up twice already, gets it again.  Another racer is at my side in a heartbeat wanting to help me up, but I wave him away saying, “You go ahead, I don’t want to ruin your race” but he tells me “This race doesn’t mean anything, c’mon, we’ll run in together”.  So I get up and slowly we go, then I remember stumbling again and my next memory is in the hospital being lifted from the stretcher to the ER bed.

What I’m told happened
Until this afternoon, I thought I had a DNF, but  when I got home, I called the StridesForStroke place and spoke to a girl who was there and who gave me the lowdown (what she missed, her parents saw). I crossed the line with the help of that guy and whoever was standing there.  Then I went over to the sidewalk and I collapsed again, they put me on a chair, then they put me, still sitting in the chair, into an ambulance.  Now that she explained this to me, I’m just this evening remembering little tiny snapshots.

Btw, someone from the race called me while I was in the hospital but I didn’t think to ask about what happened.  Nice of them to check on me, though.

The Hospital

Once in the hospital bed, I didn’t realize till an hour later that I had a big memory hole.  I was too freaked because the 3 friends I could call to get me were all out of town, I didn’t have a cent on me or a phone and I felt utterly alone.   On top of it, I was thinking, “This is humiliating, that’ll teach your stupid ego, you should stop racing for a few months, maybe even forever, you really have no clue of what you’re doing, blah blah…”

About an hour later, I was able to compartmentalize this where it belonged, as a medical/heat related problem and not the end of my racing “career” but it was breaking my heart up until then.

Meanwhile, I was in a bad way physically, they don’t give you water for a while and you’re dying of thirst, plus I had a fever so I felt like death, wanting to barf, too.  They gave me ice to suck on and I started to feel a bit better, eventually everyone dispersed.  A short while later, I start to see things.

Hallucinations
It’s no secret I’ve had my sampling of recreational drugs but never have I had “visions”.  This scared the shit out of me more than anything.   It was like smokey gray dancing ribbons everywhere I looked, ghostly because you could see through them.  I called for the nurse thinking I’d fried my brain or my eyesight, but she told me it’s normal when dealing with exhaustion.

They gave me tons of tests and took chest x-rays.  I’m told I have serious heat stroke, am profoundly dehydrated, my lactic (lactate?) acid is extraordinarily high and they’re concerned about my kidneys.  So I have to stay overnight.  Super duper suckage bummer of the universe.

On a cute note, everyone was taking a big interest in my plight, the doctors and nurses had running/racing stories and called me the “athlete”.  One of the doctors sent in another doc, a 3-time Ironman, to chat with me who told me my case was cool.

Note: The resident that eventually was assigned to me didn’t even think I should stay overnight.  She thought I would be fine to go home and that my levels would return within hours, which they did, but she didn’t have a say-so in it.

Overnight Stay In Cardiac
My nurse in cardiac had done a tri-relay with her sisters and was thrilled to have me.  She was a nutritionist and wouldn’t stop giving me advice, some of it quite loopy, like next time I race I need to fill a camelback with Gatorade.  She also told me a couple times that I’d approached acute renal failure but when I asked the doctor,  the doc said, “WHAT???  That’s not true, she had no business saying that”.  How’s that for weirdness?

My roommate was an obese woman with Lupus and Crohn’s disease, a funny lady, though we talked through the curtain most of the time.  The only bad thing was she slept a lot but left the TV on a channel that alternates Jerry Springer and Maury Povich for hours.  That was hell.

I was monitored all night and this morning got an echocardiagram.  I should have been able to leave early but had to wait for the main doc to start his shift.  So at 3pm I took the “walk of shame”, not in high heels and evening wear, but sports bra, shorts and racing flats.  Just as pathetic.  At least I’d removed my bib.

My thoughts
Yeah,  I pushed, but it drives me nuts that I couldn’t tell the difference between normal 5K suck and heat suck.  I was asked if I had chest palpitations or any other warning signs but I didn’t.

As for the dehydration, I had a couple glasses of wine the night before (not so good) but also a few non-caffeinated sodas and some water.  Drank a huge glass of water a couple hours before the race and water when I got there.  What I’m kicking myself for was not taking S-caps, I keep forgetting to use them this summer – most idiotic, I would have avoided the whole scenario if I’d taken them (or any other type of electrolyte/salt thing).

Other than that, I think my furnace burns hotter than most.  I’ve always thought that and here’s why:  I would like nothing better than to run in sportsbra/shorts at 65 degrees.  The women where I run won’t wear them until it’s near 80.  I would die.  It’s a little embarrassing to be nekkid compared to everyone else, but I “allow” myself to wear one as soon as it’s 70 degrees.  In fact, when it’s 65, I actually wait for it to get to 70 so I don’t have to wear a sopping wet singlet.

I asked a couple docs separately about this today, wondering if maybe it could be due to perimenopause (sorry folks, this is unsexy talk and I hate it because it shows my age, but it’s my reality).  Both doctors said it very well could be.

HTFU?
I wanted to do was making myself do these summer races because I felt like a whiner and excuser when I bitched about how I don’t handle heat well, especially when everyone goes “hey, it’s only a 5K!”  The whole point was to harden up, but I think I’m confusing guts with self-knowledge, something I seem to lack.  Maybe time will give me that.   Until then, I guess it’s my achilles heel.

On the good note, even with the silly start and soap opera finish, it was an improvement over the last 5K and in worse conditions.  But what to do now?  Do I really want to “race for fun” in 80 degrees?  That’s an oxymoron.  I’d hate racing at partial capacity and getting beat.  Stupid ego.  Guess I need to set a temperature limit at which I won’t race (which, if I had my druthers would be 65, but then I won’t be racing much).

Anyway, I’m fine, so no worries – a little weirded out but none the worse for wear.  Thanks for reading this ridiculously long report.  And to think…it was only a 5K.

Yesterday was a good LT session, same as last week: 10 miles w/6 from MP to HP.  After the 2nd LT mile, my Garmin lost satellites so I didn’t know how fast I was going, though I pressed the Lap button at the mile markers so I could figure it out later.  Came out alright – 7:30, 7:26, 7:27, 7:07, 7:03, 7:02…avg 7:16.

I did a hard reset on my Garmin today which seemed to solve the recent satellite problem.  I also did  a body reset when I realized that the likely culprit for my high HR lately is I haven’t been drinking enough water.  I’d surreptitiously gone  back to diet soda in the past few weeks and had stopped drinking water like I used to.  I could see my pee hadn’t been clear in awhile (TMI? not for a runner) but I was just ignoring it.  So stupid.

It was this article on Active.com that got me thinking about it, because I don’t fit any of the overtraining symptoms (except for high HR) so it has to be something else.   If you look at the table near the bottom, only one lb. of fluid loss, which is equal to a 16oz glass of water (yes, 16 liquid oz of water actually does weigh a pound…cool factoid for you) can give a 6-7 beat difference.  Bingo.

So today I drank water like it was my job and on my 14 miler today (9:03 pace) my AHR was just a couple beats faster than my recent recovery runs at 9:57.   I’ll be curious to see how/if my resting HR changes in the next day or so.

On the mice front, as I mentioned in a comment to the last post, the second I turned the light out and went into the bedroom that night, I heard SNAP! and the life of a little mouse ended behind my refrigerator.  Happy to say, nothing has touched the remaining traps and no more turdettes have been found, though I always heard where there’s one mouse, there’s 100, here’s hoping this was one wayward soul.

This was a day of firsts:

1. First Did Not Finish
2. First time my body’s ever given out on me
3. First Ambulance Ride
4. First ER stay
5. First intravenous
6. First EKG

Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

Got to my corral easily, lots of room.  The Star Spangled Banner singer forgot the words which made all 15,000 of us crack up.  Then the race began.

Started off fine, much better racing this year than last, I’ve learned a lot about pacing and not freaking out, so it was steady as she goes from the top.  Started off with a couple 8:03s, the next two were 7:53, 7:54, then 8:01s, feeling pretty good about, too.  At mile 4, I needed a drink, so I got some water at the station, but only managed a sip.

Continuing on to West River Drive, I didn’t take my own advice to get on the sidewalk at the camber because I didn’t want to deal with it and also, I really wanted to run this course the way it’s certified, without any shortcuts or adjustments.  No problem, the camber didn’t even seem bad to me, when it has in the past.

The map showed the next water stop at the 10K mark, so I took my gel too early.  I really missed having a flask, because I had this full mouth of snot (the gel) and had to breathe a few times before I could get it down.  Then the water stop was a bit farther than I’d presumed, so I was getting all anxious about if I’d cramp from the delay.  No cramp, so that was good, but again, I obviously didn’t get enough water in me, though didn’t realize it at the time.  I really hate water stops.

At this point, my pace is starting to lag and I’m thinking I suck, why is this happening, interspersed with positive attempts, like how strong I am and all that jazz.   Well, you can imagine which side was winning.  When we come to the little hill towards Falls Bridge, I push it hard, knowing it’s easier once that bit’s over, but not feeling too good.

I had one more half-assed water stop at mile 11 and that’s when it happened.  I can’t even remember clearly how it started, I think I moved to the side of the road and just basically sat down.  Then this really handsome guy comes over and asks me if I’m OK.  He’s just standing there, I’ve no idea where he came from.  I tell him I don’t feel right, he hands me some Cytomax which I promptly throw up in several heaves.

The medic guys come over on their Segways and ask if I’m ok, I tell them I’m naseous and unsure if I’m alright.  Meanwhile, I ask the handsome guy what his name is, it’s Clarence, which ended up being immensly ironic to me, because if you remember, the angel in It’s A Wonderful Life was named Clarence, and this guy turns into my angel.  He stands there with me and says, I’m sticking with you, you can finish this race, I’ll wait till you’re ready.  I’m like, no, no, my stomach feels awful, you don’t have to wait with me, just go on.  But no, he waits until I say ok, and stand up, so rickety.

And for the next mile, he’s got my hand in his and says, no, this won’t be a DNF, you will finish this race.  Meanwhile, it’s crazy that this total stranger has let me ruin his own!  But it was horrible.  I was walking with this foreign loping uncontrollable gait, feeling like throwing up, telling him that this is all my fault, I was too cocky all this time, I have this popular running blog and I’ve been so sure of what I could do and look at the mess I’m in now.   For some reason, I thought this was my marathon! I was totally out of it.

Btw, picture me in my cute running skirt, covered in dirt and grass (because I wiped my face with grass after I puked).  Runners keep passing, asking, “does she need a medic?” but Clarence says, “no, she’s ok.”

At one point, I say to Clarence, this total stranger, “oh, god, I shit my pants.” which cracks me up in a sick way, as I remember this guy on the Marathon Forum who always talks about The Bear during races.  Shitting in your pants is The Bear.  I couldn’t believe I’d come face to face with The Bear.  So not only was it humiliating looking so filthy, disheveled and weak, I thought I had a huge shit stain on the back of my skirt.  Clarence is nonplussed and says, “no problem, that’s ok” but I’m sure he wondered why I kept muttering on about a bear.

Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore.  I was so disoriented, that although I run on this route every damn day, I had no clue what mile we were at, but I did know that the end was far away.  So I told Clarence I was totally ok with a DNF, I had to DNF, this was the end of the road for me, and just sat myself on the side of the street.  He got help, which came and asked me a few questions, but once I stood up and was totally dizzy, they got into emergency mode.  All these men appeared, opening things and sticking me with things, putting oxygen on me.

Eventually a car comes with the yellow seat of shame.  I call it that because it’s on the end of the car, so you’re facing all these runners coming towards you.  Let me tell you, it’s one thing to be sitting by the road and having everyone (and I mean everyone) who passes, stare at you, but it’s entirely another to be in the yellow seat of shame with an oxygen mask on, especially once it rounded the museum and not a single person didn’t turn their head for a good look.  Horrible.

But what was more horrible was when the medic guy starts asking me simple questions like, “what’s your birthday?” and I can’t quite remember.  I knew my name and my street, but I had no idea what my zipcode was, total blank.  It was at that point that I got scared.

Finally we pull up to the medic tent, two guys take my feet, another takes my back and they carry me in and put me on a cot.  But not before I look at the yellow seat of shame, relieved that I’d left no stain there.

All these wonderful doctor people are around, soooo incredibly nice, it was touching.  The one woman starts asking me questions, “what year is it?”  I thought and thought and finally said, “8! um…2000?  8?” which still didn’t seem like the right answer.  She asked me something else I didn’t know, but the funny thing was when she asked who the president was, I replied with pure vitriol, “BUSH!” (some things you just don’t forget).

They give me some fluids and she tells me I’ll need to go to the hospital because my blood pressure is 80/60 and I couldn’t answer those questions, so they need to know I didn’t have heat stroke. Before I leave she asks me how old I am for the second time, and when I say again, “47″, she said she thought I’d gotten it wrong the first time, didn’t think I was actually that old.  So I loved that woman dearly.

Then I tell one of the guys about Clarence, who wanted to meet me at the Rocky Statue, to tell him I won’t be able to meet him, but there he is in the tent.  I hugged and kissed him but am so sad I didn’t get his phone number, I feel like I at least owe him $65 for the race.  Though it’s a good thing I didn’t continue walking with him when I did, the doc said if I’d continued, I’d have likely blacked out.

Anyway, I turn to get off the cot and onto the gurney, and I can’t even fucking stand.  I fall back on the cot.  So with some help, I get on the gurney and there’s my first ambulance ride.  woohoo

Again, sweetest people imaginable, the girl in the ambulance gives me more fluid and wraps sheets around me because I’m shivering at this point.  My blood pressure’s still a worry, it’s not rising.  Then we get to the hospital, where yet again, incredibly sweet people, everyone smiling and meaning it, just lovely.  This is my first visit to a hospital, so maybe they’re all like this but I had no idea.

They put me in a little room, I tell the doctor what happened, she says my electrolytes are terribly depleted, they hook me up to more fluids, take blood, and eventually my blood pressure rises a bit, though not as fast as she’d like.  Meanwhile, I tell her I pooped my pants which she says is a natural stress reaction to the dehydration.

They take an EKG and it turns out there’s some borderline thing there, might be genetic, but I need to go to my doctor in the next couple of days and get another to make sure it’s not worse.  I can run as soon as I’ve seen my doctor, so it looks like I won’t be out really, since I’m off tomorrow and Tuesday and Wednesday were going to be 5 milers for recovery anyway.

Nick is freaked out when I call from the hospital, and he rushes to my side, waiting with me over 3 hours, bringing a change of clothes, because of course, I told him too that I’d pooped myself.

So how lovely when I’m strong enough to walk to the bathroom to take a piss, I find out I’d never even shat myself! And here I’d announced it to a full assortment of total strangers.  Oh well.

My lessons learned from this surreal adventure are:

1. I am taking my handheld with me for long races from here on in, no question about it.  I don’t care to become a better water stop drinker, I train with the bottle and it gives me confidence to have it on me, so why tempt fate?  Sure, I’ll have to stop at water stations still, but so many fewer and I’m already used to unscrewing the cap as I approach fountains, so what’s the diff if it’s a spigot, fountain, or a few cups from a water station.  Plus, it makes taking gels infinitely easier.

2. Take S-caps for long races if it’s above 45 degrees.  I didn’t bother taking them today, thinking it wasn’t that hot out and besides, I would be taking 2 gels, so my electrolytes should have been covered, but I got fucked up with electrolytes before I even got to my second gel.  If I’d have taken an S-cap, which has about 6 times the electrolytes of gels, I probably would have avoided going down so badly.

3. I’m adjusting my goal marathon time to 3:45.  I know what it feels like to hurt and I don’t like it.   3:45 is only 5 minutes different, but it’s enough to feel I’m still running to potential.  My pace only suffered after I got sick, so I still believe my training has been strong to support a great time in Steamtown, though you can imagine I thought I’d need to bag it entirely when I was in my half-brained state.  I even thought of ending this blog, getting off the forums and quitting running completely.  I was really kooky there for a while.

And now for some silver-linings:

1. It wasn’t a full marathon as I’d imagined it was at one point, so the DNF is only half bad.
2. By experiencing this miserableness in a Half, I’m all the more richer for Steamtown.
3. For the lack of electrolytes, my body never once cramped, if we don’t count my brain.
4. I didn’t shit myself.