An Honest-to-God Princess Dress

So we've addressed that whole "yes, I'm a princess, get over it." thing.

Of course, that means I needed a work appropriate princess dress. 

Pattern: Vogue 1348

I was really surprised at how non-fiddly this pattern turned out to be. It looked rather intimidating, and the directions made it sound complicated, but it really wasn't. I made only one major modification -- I can't put in an invisible zipper to save my life, so I went for a regular zip, with my usual trick of basting it in by hand first, and then running it through the machine.

The pleats were incredibly easy to do. Basically, after pulling the sections together, make the pleat by gathering the fabric. So easy. And such a nice flare.

And it has an awesome petticoat. I did the gathers in sections to make it easier to gather at one time. That ended up being the perfect move, and it has the right about of fullness... there, at least. :) There's lots of volume in the hips, which shouldn't surprise me, considering that you can see that in the line art. I think I'm just not used to things fitting me like the line art says it should. 

And OH so fluffy to put it on. It's definitely a spinning type of dress, and I love the print and the fabric in this execution. 

Plus, it has POCKETS! And the pockets are hidden among the pleats and folds, so it doesn't even look like it has pockets.

I'm not completely thrilled with the fit. It's too big in the upper chest, and no amount of scaling would have fixed that, I think. The waist fits perfectly, but the pleats make the waist appear to have a lower drop than it actually does. It is very cute with a belt though to heighten the waist, so I'm going to keep that in mind as an option. 

I don't think I'll make this again. First off, it's a very distinctive pattern. Second, it's just a little too much volume around my hips. Very pretty, and I do love it, but I don't love it enough to need one in every color. 

Fabric: Italian Green/Gray/Black Abstract Printed Stretch Cotton Woven

Another Mood find, of course.

Mood's site says that I can toss the dress fabric in the dryer, but I think because of the organza and lining, that's not going to be an option for me. Joann says that the organza can go in the dryer, but I'm not finding anything on the lining. 

Lining was a white Bemberg lining from Joann... which of course, I can no longer find on their website. So that tells me that I'll either need to go back to using their Posh lining line, or start buying linings from Mood. I like the Posh, and it's cheaper, so I feel like that's probably what I'll keep doing.

I don't know what I was thinking in picking up a shimmering organza, but I regret nothing. I love how it makes me grin, and it definitely adds to the princess factor.

Trying to Mix Up the Routine

It's not that I have anything against being unpredictable.

OK. So maybe I have a lot against unpredictability. If I'm ever slaughtered by a serial killer, I'm sure my keeping a routine will be pointed to as a reason for why I made an easy target. I can just hear it now. 

So on Tuesday, she always went to barre. On Wednesdays, she always went to Starbucks. She always went to Whole Foods on either Saturday or Sunday. And she followed her weekend barre class with Bruegger's. 

In general, I don't have an issue with this. Where I tend to have more of an issue with it is when people mock the routine, question the routine, or otherwise point it out. 

From my perspective, it's like evidence-based data. If you know something works, you stick with it. 

I sometimes give the Dietitian The Look when she asks about the routine. Usually, it's because she's noticing that something changed, and then she's asking me why it changed. And some days, I really can't answer -- I need a cue either about the meal she's looking at, or the specific day. Because... well, while yes, the routine is important, sometimes in life, it's hard to pinpoint why the routine had to change. 

But, with that said, I will be the first to admit that I am typically thrown into a tailspin when the food routine gets disrupted.

Take last weekend. I saw on Facebook after barre that there was a transformer explosion/fire at the intersection where a) I turn to go home, but more importantly, b) where Bruegger's is. 

But I'm optimistic some days, so I went through that intersection, to see if maybe I could still get my bagel.

Sure enough, closed.

Not a problem, I think. I have food at home. 

Except for the bit when I got home and wandered for 45 minutes because I had no clue what I wanted to eat, nothing was inspiring me, and why should I bother with food that's not inspiring? 

Might need to think that routine a bit. Or, if nothing else, come up with backup routines. 

If Fast Fashion Doesn't Provide ... Make It Yourself

This dress really came about because no mainstream retailer was making what I needed this summer.

I felt like it was a basic request: A knit maxi dress that didn't require a strapless bra. Because sometimes, when it is stupidly hot, a strapless bra is the last thing one wants to deal with.

But I couldn't find one! They're available in maternity, it seems (seriously? only pregnant women get to be comfortable?), and with skinny little spaghetti straps, but nothing with a strap that is actually wide enough to comfortably handle a bra. 

Fortunately, when I got frustrated happened to line up with when fabric and Simplicity patterns were on sale. 

Pattern: Simplicity 1358

Repeat after me: Simplicity patterns are never actually simple. 

So many modifications on this one. It called for bands at the armholes and neck, but after doing the neck, and seeing how horribly it rolled -- it makes for a nice pattern, but isn't quite like what I was picturing -- I decided to use bias tape at the armholes. It worked much better, and gave more of the look and feel that I was going for. The band issue could have been because of the thinness of the fabric, but I don't regret leaving them out for the arms. 

I haven't done a final hem yet, but I think I'm going to lop a good six inches off the bottom. I love the Romanesque drape and flow of it, but at the end of the day, I need to pick up the skirt to walk in it as is, and that's not very practical. I think doing the deep cut will let me keep that flow, but also let me walk like a functional adult.

With that said, I will definitely remake this dress in the shorter version -- likely View E. I have the fabric, and just need to do it. It should be a feasible project for a weekend, as long as I actually stick to it. 

Fabric: Mint Boho Scroll

I so rarely buy fashion fabric from Joann these days. But I wanted something on the cheaper side, and to be honest, wasn't thrilled with any of the knit prints that Mood had. At this price, I could totally justify buying the fabric and not feel guilty about making a dress that I didn't necessarily need.

It was very easy and pleasant to work with, and definitely reinforced that for basic knits and cheap projects, I'll check out my local Joann. The cutting staff were pleasant, and you really can't beat the sales and coupons. 

The fabric flowed perfectly for this project. It came out as the weight that I wanted, and drapes nicely. A good choice, all around!

Thoughts from the Massage Table

I either completely suck at turning my brain off during a massage, or I am the poster child for train of thought relaxation during a massage.

• "I really should get back to blogging again."
• "Does she think I'm fat?"
• "I'm throwing a crapton of money at this. Let her think I'm fat."
• "OW. Yes, OK, my legs definitely needed this."
• "Oh. OK. That's better."
• "Why does a massage make me hungry? This happens every single time."
• "Do I need a snack? Maybe I'll get a snack when I'm done. Hey, that's better, I guess."
• "Ouch. Yes. That's a hip bone. Or maybe the flexor is just tight."
• "Oh, screw it. Everything is tight."
• "On the other hand, this is still more comfortable than an hour with Therapist 3.0." 
• "Maybe. That still really hurts."

I'm lucky in that after a rough start (maybe it is like psychotherapy afterall), I was so lucky to find a massage therapist who is beyond awesome. And, after walking around for way too long with generally tense muscles -- after our first session, she proclaimed that I was quite literally storing stress in my toes -- I decided that OK, if nothing else, I would get a massage after every race. 

In reality, I'd love to get a massage every other month. Sometimes, with the race schedule, that actually works out. But at any rate, still a worthwhile expense. 

Part of what I find invaluable about the massage routine is having someone who can take an objective look at my body, and point out what I may be missing -- or steer me back to a right direction. I've seen this massage therapist enough times now that she's comfortable making comparisons to how I've been before ... and likewise, since she's the one who knows musculature, I'm also comfortable asking questions that I may not be comfortable asking the Dietitian or Therapist 3.0. Especially since I don't feel like the massage therapist may have an ulterior motive. 

Don't see myself as a runner, I said. "I know you don't see yourself as one, but you've got the long and lean muscles of one."

Shouldn't I be gone of this water weight within a week? Cue laughter. "Um, no. Try two to three. At least."

Can I go for a swim since I need to do something to move? "Not unless you want to undo all of the work I just did."

And self-care? "Lots of water, and take it easy, and look at how your shoulder loosened up today."

I'll take it. 

Everyone Has a Bad Day

Second half marathon is down in the books. And oh, was it a doozy.

It turns out that when confronted with 80 percent humidity and lower GI issues, I can actually run faster on a broken toe. 

I started out fantastically -- for me, at least. A good pace, all the way up through mile 5. (5.08, to be precise.) And then, my system decided that nope, no way, we were not doing this thing. 

And on a course with no porta potties, of course. So losing time to go off course to find a public bathroom.

Any time I started at a pace beyond a brisk walk, I started cramping cramping cramping. And it was so humid. I knew that any chance of getting my sub 2:45 proof of time for Disney was out the window.

I was miserable by the time I finished. And I'm OK owning the fact that I was so absolutely miserable by the end. My stomach hurt, my timing and stats were pretty bad (although not absolutely horrible, so apparently other people also had a bad day), and despite planning on hanging out at the beach after, all I wanted to do was find a Starbucks and go home to my couch and Cat. 

And it didn't help that there wasn't actual bling -- just a plastic license plate vanity holder. I ... I can't even.

In a way, it's good to see that I'm not alone. In the days since the race, I've seen comments on one page about how the medals weren't actually, you know, medals. And that the race is so unorganized. And finding this blog post made me realize that OK, it may have sucked, but it wasn't all entirely my fault.

I think part of what made the race such a let down was that everyone I'd talked to who was a local runner praised it for being an easy, flat, fast race that I'd probably enjoy. 

When in reality? Sure, it was flat. And sure, I started out strong. But so unorganized. And I think I like the hills, because then there's the muscle relief when coming back downhill. 

Were there things I could have done better? Absolutely. I think I definitely need to start upping my mileage per week (MPW) and I'd like to start running more consistently. And oh god I am never ever again using a granola bar to try to stabilize before a long run. That was singlehandedly the biggest stupidest mistake I've made as a runner. 

I feel like the saving grace is knowing that I did the Pittsburgh half in a better time, on a more challenging course, and with a broken toe. So everyone has a bad day and a bad race, and learns something from that awful race. And my bad day and bad race and oh lessons learned came on the shores of Lake Erie. 

But hell. I'm still a runner. I still covered 13.1 miles without dying. 

How Providers Fail at Providing Care

I understand that medical provider transition is rough. I totally get it. In the past 18 months I've had two endocrinologists and three therapists. 

I don't expect anyone to totally grasp me and get all of the nuances up front. I don't. Really.

But I expect a baseline understanding of me as an individual patient. And a baseline understanding of what my baggage is, and why boilerplate and treating me like I've never handled diabetes is really not going to work.

I have been with this clinic for almost 10 years now. They have had an electronic health record system for all of this time. 

There is no excuse why a new provider, upon meeting me for the first time, can't take a few minutes to scroll the highlights. Because thanks to the last endo and her level of meticulousness, the highlights are pretty clear without having to scroll back all 10 years. Eating disorder. History of hypoglycemia. Type 1 for 35 years. Previous CGMS user. Refuses to go back on CGMS that requires an abdominal site. And a record of reinforcing that no, we need to find a non-caloric way to handle this hypoglycemia. 

Yet, there I was that morning, listening to the nurse practitioner -- since the clinic was taking a "any warm body" approach to my request of "Um, we have a problem and I have a race coming up" -- treat me like I was a stupid patient who knew nothing about diabetes or my body. For almost an hour. (My favorite line during this time may have been when she looked at my logs, noticed periods with no boluses, and then said "So, do you not eat during this time?")

I appreciate that she took time, but she would have been better used actually reading the history and coming up with a solution that, you know, we hadn't already tried. 

But what did she do instead? 

• Pushed snacks.
• Pushed the CGMS. (And suggested that if I still had any supplies left from my time on it, to go back on it for now.)
• Pushed the clinic's two-week blinded CGMS (WHY? We did this first. I got scolded because I didn't know how to calibrate it. And it provided nothing useful, besides, "Oh, hai, your latte makes you spike. Try this.")
• Pushed checking my blood sugar more often. (Keep in mind that they only *just* got the health insurance to approve eight strips a day. How else is this supposed to work?)
• Reminded me that I need to eat. 
• Told me to fuel while I run. 

And most lasting? 

Told me there was no pattern. I knew there was no pattern. I reached out for help trying to figure out how to mitigate the fact that there was no pattern. And how to mitigate the fact that I'm spiking after workouts, and then getting smacked in the head with a hypo six to 12 hours later ... even on the days when I don't workout. But not all the time.

I get that these are all solutions that would carry merit ... if you were talking to a patient who isn't me. 

But when you're talking to a patient who has a history of saying that no, we need to find basal patterns that work with my life, and I'm not feeding the damn insulin... and a patient who says "I won't go on CGMS because it was horrible for my body image, and I can't wear two sites in my torso because it makes me feel fatter than I am."... Then why do you use these tactics again?

Because what was my takeaway from that appointment? 

That in medicine, here, I am a number. I am not an individual patient. I am simply another type 1 diabetic who needs to be talked down to. That my perspective doesn't matter. 

And it makes me want to not go back.

Thinking About Physique, Fit, and My Past Life

I'm really sorry to anyone who's thought that I'm staring at them during class or while I'm running.

One of my hangups has always been whether something looks too tight, or whether it clings, Or whether it makes me look fatter than I think I am. Or whether it makes other people think that I'm fat. 

And lately, I've been needing to buy some new running and barre tops because my older ones have started to get embarrassingly big. Which I'd usually be OK with, but then I start to worry that people will think that I'm bigger than I am if there's all this fabric. 

But then, what happens is that I buy these tops, and I try them on, and I am convinced that they must be too tight, because they don't have extra fabric, and they actually... well, don't flow. They fit like a workout top is supposedly supposed to look.

So I run, or go to class, and my side thought process is usually "OK, is that how this is supposed to look? Is it too tight? Is mine too tight? Do people look at me like I'm looking at them?" Because I know the look I don't want to have, which I can basically sum up when looking at other people as "She didn't want to buy her actual size so she bought the size she wants to be." 

And I never want someone to look at me, and think that oh, it's such a shame I wouldn't buy my real size, but instead bought a tighter size that clearly doesn't fit.

On a site that I read, a question was posed about what the ideal aesthetic was. A lot of people commented with rather extreme examples, but it got me thinking about what mine was. And I realized (because sometimes, the rabbit holes of the Internet do have usefulness) that I don't want to be thin, because I don't think I ever can be thin. But I want the aesthetic of a distance runner. 

enter awkward silence here

Muscular, but lean. Powerful, but not flabby. Which in turn got me thinking about how my clothes fit me, and what the perception might be to others. And that do I actually have this frame, even though I cover it up? 

When I was in class a few days ago, I was thinking about a conversation I'd had with a couple of colleagues back when I'd been writing a piece on an program expansion in the eating disorder program at Former Employer. 

In what still remains one of the most awkward workplace experiences ever -- the medical director, who I was interviewing, knew I was a former patient, and her colleague, the program director, who I was also interviewing, did not -- at one point, the program director made a comment about how their patients "totally could" wear slimmer clothes because they had the body for it, but because they thought they were fat, they wouldn't. And that they went for baggier clothes.

And at the time, this really didn't apply to me, I thought. I don't think I even used that example in the finished piece because I had to be brief-ish, and there were other anecdotes that worked better. (Because hey, for as awkward as that interview was, it was an awesome feature, and a writing sample that I will continue to use in my professional portfolio.)

But then, thinking about clothes and class and fitness, and the physique that I wanted, made me realize. I wear a size small/XS (depending on cut), with size 4 leggings. Maybe that runner's frame is actually there. 

And I think those clothes aren't big enough because obviously I'm fat and I can't have clothes that show my actual size. Because who would want to see my actual size? 

But then I look at other people, and I look at the website pictures, and I see that how it looks on me is how it looks on them. In my head, though, it's still too clingy, and it still makes me look fat, and hell no does anyone want to see that. 

So. Um. Maybe there are some similar thought patterns after all. 

I don't know what I think about wearing a top that is actually my size. And actually looks like the pictures say it should. Because in my head, it's not my size, and it can't possibly look on me like it does on them -- even though the mirror is pretty clear. 

So that's why I stare. To see if I look like what I think others look like, and whether I can decide if that's what I can accept on me. 

This Time Will Be Different

This time next week, I'll be basking in having (hopefully) successfully completed a second half marathon. 

The last time was pretty momentous, but also horrifying. I did it on a broken toe, which pretty much earned me urban legend superhero status in my school. My times were great for me, and I saw that yup, I can kick ass. 

But then on the flipside, I also was dealing with a sudden enforced taper week... and oh, the weight gain that came from the combination of taper week, no activity, and being told to eat at maintenance calories. It was a horrible perfect storm that clouded the experience.

This time? 

I know my weight is going to do awful things. I know it'll come off in about three weeks. And this time, I'll still have barre, and I have a better grasp of what nutrition works best for me in this situation. And YAY the course is flat, and the weather is predicted to be awesome. 

But. I'm also coming into this half marathon after almost a solid week of severe and recurrent hypoglycemia. I'd like to say that it culminated with the EMS response one morning last week, but since then, I've still been low, and still unable to break out of it. 

So perhaps it's culminated or hallmarked by the endocrinology practice summoning me -- for there's no better way to describe it -- to an appointment Wednesday morning. I'd called simply to notify them (as EMS had asked me to do) and to see if they could make a basal rate recommendation for what my taper week and the half should look like. Because I really don't need to be dealing with hypos while running, or to be stuck in this perpetual cycle.

I suppose it didn't help my case that when they called back, I was dealing with a hypo again, and had had another one that morning. I was then the recipient of a second voicemail informing me that the head of the practice had asked that "arrangements be made" and that I would be seeing one of the NPs on staff, since my appointment with the new endo isn't until August. 

I have no idea what they want. I have no idea whether this is just to discuss the hypos or whether it's something more. I have no idea whether they're going to push a CGMS on me, or whether they're going to push food, or whether I'm going to be getting some hardcore Come to Jesus talks. All I know is that I feel like I'm being blindsided, and I don't know any of the people making this call, or that I'll be seeing, and really, six days before the half isn't when I want to think about this.

So now? 

Sure, there's still the weight that I'm side-eyeing, and the whole "OMG seriously do I need to eat that much nope nope nope" thing going on. And I know I can try to see past that this time. I know my weight is going to do fucked up things, but I also know that I can be smarter this time, and know when it will likely fall off, and that really, as much as the Dietitian would maintain, that nope, I really don't need to be doing this whole maintenance bullshit in the week before.

But now, there's this different cloud, of sorts. Which, as I write this, also has me channeling U2 again. 

You've got to get yourself together
You've got stuck in a moment
And now you can't get out of it
Don't say that later will be better
Now you're stuck in a moment
And you can't get out of it

Thirty-Five

In a way, I suppose this is a landmark diaversary post. 

I hate that phrase, really. I don't understand why chronic illness is something to be celebrated, or commemorated, or otherwise have a big deal made about. 

I mean, I don't remember the day I became hypothyroid (it was in April, second grade, which I only remember because I was on the edge of missing our field trip). I know the day I had the melanoma removed because it was Friday the 13th (December, 2013). It was two weeks before Christmas. 

But I don't celebrate those dates. 

But. Anyway. 

Thirty-five years of type 1. 

I literally do not know anything different. Sure, the technology has changed and improved, and it's not like I'm keenly aware that others do not have to deal with hypos, or managing blood sugars on a long run, or in making sure that yes, it is safe to go workout without fear of hypoglycemia. But all in all, this has been all that I've known all my life. 

It's sort of funny to see people's reactions when I talk about being diabetic, especially if they haven't known. Diagnosis at age 3 isn't that common, it seems, and people -- especially at work -- tend to try to hide surprise when I make a comment about "Oh, since I was a preschooler," with compounded surprise that nope, the only complication is some retinopathy. 

As a relatively well-adjusted adult dealing with type 1 on my own, my goal has always been to make the diabetes fit into my life, and not the opposite way around. My goal is to make it so that people who don't know me would be totally surprised if they see me pull out my ping, or if I need to treat a hypo. 

I never want someone to look at me and think, "Well, she only does that because she's diabetic." Or "It's such a pity she's diabetic. She could be amazing otherwise."

I don't want to be that type of annoying diabetic, where everything is focused on oh, I need to eat now because I'm diabetic. Or oh, I can't go do that because I'm diabetic. Or oh, I can't work late because I need to get home to eat because I'm diabetic. Or oh, I might be low, so you need to bring me food because I'm diabetic. 

Along with that, I don't spend my life focusing on blood sugar and insulin, and how to make all of that work. I use my pump to the best of my time and capabilities. I work with the endos to make sure that basals mean that I am not feeding the insulin. Because OMG I am so the worst person for having to "feed" insulin. It doesn't happen. It shouldn't happen.

And that means that sometimes, maybe the A1c goes a little higher. And that I have a probably uncharacteristic and unhealthy love for cookies and cupcakes (#sorrynotsorry). Or meals happen with no sense of regularity -- although I suppose some would argue that that is also connected to the eating issues, and they'd be right. But I refuse to structure my life in a way that caters to the diabetes. 

Providers who don't understand this? Either I don't work with them long or I simply become the prodigal patient. I come in when I need something, or for an annual appointment that I technically need to get scripts filled and the health insurer happy. 

In a way, I suppose all that is characteristic of me as a whole. I'm not a cupcake to work with, and I know it makes finding providers a challenge. And I'm certainly not the easiest diabetic to work with because I don't accept "You can't" as an answer.

But life? Life isn't easy. Thirty-five years of test strips (I swear, they multiply like bunnies), insulin vials, international travel, pumps, and needles? That isn't easy. 

And I wouldn't have it any other way. 

Balancing My Legs

Something I've struggled with since starting longer runs (I'm still unsure whether I get to call myself an endurance runner) is how to fit in everything that I love.

Swimming, I can squeeze in once a week. Barre fits in on the non-run days. 

But how do I tackle hiking, since that also kills my legs? 

Hiking was really my gateway cardio activity. So it felt fitting that after five years or so after being away from group outdoors outings, I rejoined Venture Outdoors and started going out again.

I figured a nice "moderate" hike up to Ohiopyle would place me fairly middle of the pack, and see how my legs could handle doing a hike with elevations, instead of a steady 10-mile run. 

Because yeah. When it's raining, there's no going back inside, and with a group, I was certainly not going to be bailing out and wandering back to the car in shame (although more on that later). And on the other hand, if my body did decide to try to repeat the Toe Incident two weeks out from my next half, there would be people around to help.

Total win. Apparently, in all these months of pushing myself on the running trail, and honing my balance and core at the barre, I've somehow become an excellent hiker. 

I had to laugh at one point when I nearly slipped (it had been raining like crazy that morning, and we were tackling some rocky areas), and the trip leader exclaimed that wait! He was depending on me to be the stable one. And sure enough, I kept up with his hiking pace the entire time.

Lesson learned, though? A five-mile hike, then barre the next day is a not-fantastic combination. My legs could certainly handle most of it, but my glutes were not loving me come the planks.