Week 14

Maybe I was a little too excited about Lizzy’s marathon finish….

Sunday, November 18th I trained hard for the New Jersey Marathon last spring. I ran 6 days a week. I hit paces I never thought I was capable of maintaining. I PR’d a half marathon during a training run and went on to run 5 more miles at the end of the race. By all counts, it should have been my best 26.2 performance yet. It wasn’t.

Brad stood at the starting line next to me. The weather was perfect for a marathon. My plan was to run with the 3:30 pacer - even splits all the way. My coach told me to start out slow, behind the 3:40 group and pick up the pace after the half. I knew I could keep my pace even and I trusted the 3:30 pacer whom I had run with in prior races at different paces. I didn’t listen to the advice I was given. I lined up with the 3:30 pacer.

The 3:30 group ran the first 3 miles of the race at a 7:30 pace, 30 seconds faster per mile than they should have. I dropped back. Brad stayed with the group. That was our plan. We stick with the group. I didn’t see Brad again until mile 7 or 8. I was rattled.

When I saw Hillary cheering on the sideline around mile 6, I shook my head in defeat. She knew I wasn’t having a good day. I held on as long as I could. Eventually, Brad ran back to find me and spent the rest of the race running back and forth between me and the 3:30 group. He ran 30 miles that day.

Somewhere around mile 21 when I was in my deepest darkest hole, I saw Lizzy and Hillary on the sidelines. Lizzy jumped in the race and ran the last five miles with me, every step of the way. She listened to me curse and complain and she offered words of encouragement, promising a cold beer at the finish line if I could just stick with it for a few more steps. I think I would have walked off the course if it weren’t for Lizzy’s support in those last miles. I was so disappointed and crushed. I was full of regrets.

This morning, Brad & I drove to Philly to watch the marathon. He coached many of the Fueled by Doughnuts athletes leading up to the race. We both wanted to be there to support them. Shortly after my accident, Yana said spectating this race should be my recovery goal. I wanted to be strong enough to walk to my position on the course and stand for four hours cheering and ringing a cowbell. It seemed attainable a couple weeks into my recovery and, after I made it through the NYC marathon, I knew I could claim my victory.

I wore my running shoes. We made it to mile 15 just in time to see Lizzy heading down Kelly Drive for the long out and back. She looked strong and capable. After cheering for the rest of our runners, we crossed the street and took our position at mile 25. That’s when I decided I was going to run Lizzy to the finish line. We heard reports that she was struggling around mile 18. The only thing I’ve experienced that can hold a candle to the pain of childbirth is finishing the last miles of a marathon. I knew Lizzy could use a little help to get over the last hill and I was determined to return her favor. Yana asked me what I was going to do if she picked up the pace. I’ve only been running 9:30-10:00 pace and only for a maximum of 3 minutes. I told Yana I was going to stick with her, no matter what. If she picked up the pace, I would pick up the pace. Yana was on deck next to me. She was going to run the last mile with Liz Russell who was just behind Lizzy on the course.

I kept up with Lizzy and told her as many silly stories as I could think of to try to get her mind off the pain. She gutted out that last mile, picked up her pace and finished strong to spite a number of set backs earlier on the course. I was grateful my body allowed me to be by her side and witness her strength and determination to get over that line.

Monday, November 19th Today was another challenging day at physical therapy. I ran for 10 minutes straight on the treadmill. Then I completed a series of jumping, some jumps with my left side only and some with both feet. All of the surfaces were higher than I would consider jumping off from in a non-injured state.

At the end of my visit, I asked if I was able to run 4:00 on and 1:00 walk with the Tuesday morning group. Dr. C. laughed as he reminded me I just ran 10 minutes on the treadmill. I would not be going back down to 4 minute intervals.

1st Grade Hoedown

Tuesday, November 20th

5:00am - Wake up, get dressed to run (left clothes out last night).

5:15am - Go to bakery, get coffee. Check on quality of baked goods. Almond croissants look amazing. Take pic. Post to Instagram.

5:30am - Fueled by Doughnuts Sunrise Run - 3x 10:00 run, 3:00 walk = 4 miles! I was able to comfortably hold a 9:30 ‘conversational’ pace throughout the run. Highlight of my day.

6:30am - Get kids dressed, shower, break up fight, continue shower, find lost sock (in the middle of the floor), get myself dressed

7:00am - Make eggs & toast for kids, break up fight, find lost backpack (in the middle of the floor)

7:30am - Locate white shirt & jeans for Mac who is performing in the 1st grade Hoedown today. Note the growing mountain of dirty laundry. Roll up sleeves of white shirt that is at least two sizes too small. Hope other parents don’t notice.

8:00am - Eat cold eggs, empty dishwasher, go on expedition to find the missing kitchen counter, throw out 87 empty paper coffee cups.

8:30am - Check email, respond to emails, place order for porta-potties for 5K, calculate 5K water needs: 4 ounces x 2 water stops x 2500 runners/128 ounces = 156.25 gallons + buffer = 175 gallons of water. Calculate 5K hot chocolate & coffee needs = 4 ounces x 2500 runners/128 ounces = 78.125 gallons/5 = 15.625 or 16 bladder bags of Ronnybrook Chocolate Milk

8:55am - Go to bakery, check in with bakers, check in with retail team, check in with customer service, see stack of thanksgiving orders, retreat

9:05am - Go to elementary school to watch the 1st grade Hoedown. Hope there are no traffic delays, not a minute to space.

9:14am - Park in the handicap space right in front of the door to the school (having the placard was the only prize I won during this ordeal)

9:15am - Enter the gym, find a space to stand - all the seats are taken, watch Mac square dance with his classmates.

9:45am - Organize playdate with Mac’s friend Charlie

10:00am - Return to bakery, hope no one took my parking space

10:05am - Check in with Thanksgiving production. We are short on puff pastry dough. Need more pie shells. Need a case of apples peeled. Shuffle croissant numbers for the end of the week. Review staffing.

10:10am - Return home to get my computer

10:12am - Turn on computer in bakery office. It’s dead.

10:14am - Return home to get computer charger

10:15am - Turn on computer in bakery office. Send Jessie sponsor logo files for 5K shirt. Discuss 5K shirt design. Text with Hillary about March race.

10:45am - Check on production. Take pic of Pumpkin Brioche. Post to Instagram.

11:00am - Check in with Brad who is working on Montclair Running Co. renovations. Take lunch orders for his team. Take lunch orders for bakery team. Order lunch for everyone.

11:05am - Write Sunday blog entry. Open memoir file. Stare at computer screen. Text Yana. Text Lizzy. Text Hillary. Look at Facebook. Close memoir file.

12:00pm - Check on food delivery. Discuss holiday staffing for the rest of the year. Bitch about teenagers who STILL can’t seem to work their scheduled shifts and/or give proper notice about shifts they can’t work. Discuss the merits of pulling Josie out of school to work with the customer service and retail team. Discuss whether Josie would be more useful on the baking team or answering phones.

12:10pm - Email teachers about Mac’s playdate/alternative transportation home tomorrow

12:15pm - Meet delivery driver outside. Distribute lunch to the staff. Inhale my falafel.

12:30pm - Discuss Fueled by Friday set up with Anthony. Better mics? Better filming? How to improve the process. Need an ipad.

12:45pm - Review Fall 19 Oiselle catalog. Orders due 12/6. Respond to emails. Clean out inbox after google decides I am 173% over capacity.

1:00pm - Decide it’s not too late to have one more iced coffee. Review inventory needs for boxes, discover vendor shorted us on pie boxes and didn’t deliver doughnut boxes for Saturday’s wedding order. Work on back up plan. Refresh UPS tracking screen 934 times.

1:15pm - Get message from kids’ nanny. Their father rescinded his offer to her. She doesn’t have a back up plan. Enlist friends to help figure out a back up plan. Consider how to tell the kids. They will be devastated.

1:30pm - Follow up with paper vendor regarding leaky coffee cups. They can’t guarantee they won’t leak. More expensive cups are an option but can’t guarantee those either.

2:00pm - Meet with Stephanie & Jessie to finalize design for back of shirt/sponsors for 5K. Discuss 5K expo. Discuss signage needs. Email shirt vendor.

2:30pm - Call with Gina. Discuss 5K expo, vendor set up, volunteer needs, water numbers how are we going to heat the hot chocolate????

3:00pm - Check on running store. See progress of renovations.

3:10pm - Start peeling apples. Pause to find apple cider. Remove 3 racks from walk-in fridge to unearth apple cider in the back. Return racks to fridge. Dump cider in pot to heat on burner. Alert customer service team cider is hot. Fill everyone’s mug with hot cider and bourbon.

3:20pm - Resume apple peeling. Kids arrive home from school. Ask Keegan to go home for more apple peelers. Encourage kids to help peel apples.

3:30pm - Kids peel one apple each. Josie starts folding boxes for Saturday’s wedding order. Jessica found an extra ipad from the farmer’s market. No longer need to order an ipad.

5:00pm - Still peeling apples. Call Brad for dinner order. Take bakery team’s dinner order. Take kids’ dinner orders. Order dinner.

5:30pm - Finish peeling apples. Remove all three racks from fridge again to unearth butter to make puff pastry dough we need for tomorrow. Return racks to fridge. Start slicing apples.

5:45pm - Dinner order arrives. Distribute meals. Start rolling pie dough.

6:00pm - Discover my dinner order was made incorrectly. Decide not to eat. Continue rolling pie dough. Carolyn & Josie crimp edges of pie dough while I roll.

7:00pm - Finish rolling pie dough. Convince Carolyn to stay at my house instead of driving an hour home to come back to the bakery 6 hours later. Pack up kids & Carolyn & Brad to go home. Discover an uneaten burger and fries in the bakery office. Eat cold burger & fries while walking home.

7:15pm - Watch terrible food network shows with Josie. Break up fights. Listen to whining about what’s ‘not fair.’ Organize bedroom for Carolyn.

8:00pm - Put kids to bed.

8:05pm - Break up fight, more whining, more fighting, lights out!!!

8:10pm - Turn on CNN. Hope breaking news is the real thing this time. It’s not. Jut more of the same.

8:15pm -Break up fight, more whining, more fighting, lights out!!!

8:20pm - Dig PJ’s out of Mt. Dirty Laundry. Check email, check FB, post apple pic I forgot I took on instagram.

8:25pm - Pass out in bed.

Wednesday, November 21st Repeat Tuesday only the kids came home from school at 1:40pm, I replaced the school hoedown with a PT appointment and I was able to finish one load of laundry before bed. Brad’s daughter joined the chaos, er, family. Add 378 customers, 65 advanced order pick ups and 1493 phone calls from people trying to place last minute orders. To put that in perspective, 80 dozen soft dinner rolls, a few hundred loaves of bread, over 2000 doughnuts, a couple hundred pies and so on. To put that in perspective, in two weeks, at the 5K Doughnut Run, there will be 2000 doughnuts for customers, 100 boxes of a dozen doughnuts for preorders, 7500 mini doughnuts for finishers and 5000 doughnut holes on the course, give or take. There’s no sleeping. There’s no days off.

Thursday, November 22nd I don’t think I would be content if I wasn’t in constant chaos. Thanksgiving at the bakery is complete insanity, slightly controlled but still nuts. Christmas is the same. If that wasn’t enough of a bang to end each year, I decided to put the Doughnut Run in between them, just for good measure.

My life has never been calm. Thanksgiving is a perfect example. My parents divorced when I was a year old. As long as I can remember, I ate at least two meals on Thanksgiving day, one with my father which my step-mother and her family cooked, and one with my mother which my grandmother hosted. When I was 12, my mother had a falling out with her parents after she married my step-father. Two meals became three. By the time I was 14, I was eating a fourth meal at my dad’s uncle’s house, my only local relatives on my dad’s side.

Every year, I would try to minimize the meals and choose which house to go to. It never worked. The other cooks would reschedule so I could fit their meals into my rotation. The earliest dinner started at noon, after which, I hopped houses until 8pm. There were frequent fits of ‘oh, I see you’re not eating my stuffing, you must have liked your father’s better….’ Nobody was happy, EVER.

I finally had enough when I was 16. I told everyone I was eating dinner with my friend Linette’s family and I wouldn’t be dining with them. All four houses were unified in their discontent with my decision. The guilt game was intense. How could I choose a friend over my family? It was the best Thanksgiving I ever had. One meal. One focus. No fighting.

If I ate Thanksgiving dinner with family after that year, it was accidental.

After a short 5:30am run with Kim, I showered and returned to the bakery to help organize Thanksgiving orders. In between customers, I made candied yams and mac & cheese to take to Brad’s parents house where we would be dining later. The bakery customers were split between people who were thankful we were open and people who complained we didn’t have what they wanted. We closed at noon.

This was the first year I haven’t cooked the dinner since opening Montclair Bread Co. Typically, I invite anyone who doesn’t have a place to go, to the bakery where we set the table and dine together. The last time I depended on someone else to make dinner was the year Mac was born. He was due to arrive before the holiday. My family pledged to bring the turkey and all the sides to my home in Montclair so they could feed us and meet the baby. When the baby didn’t come (he was 9 days late!), my family didn’t come. They were afraid dinner would be interrupted if I went into labor and they didn’t want to waste a trip to NJ if there wasn’t going to be a baby to coddle. Thankfully, Whole Foods was still taking orders the day before the holiday.

This year’s meal was amazing. It was a small gathering of family. The kids were happy. I didn’t have to cook. I would say the day was a success.

Hershey Park

Friday, November 23rd I took today off. I slept in until 6am. I was up just before the kids which gave me 30 minutes to send out a few emails and write a couple paragraphs. Brad’s dad made waffles for breakfast.

We decided to drive the clan to Hershey Park for the afternoon. My kids left their hats and mittens at their dad’s house. I drove to a nearby Wal-Mart to find replacements. When I got back, we reheated Thanksgiving leftovers for an early lunch. Mac ate a bowl of mac & cheese. Josie at a turkey sandwich. Keegan ate sweet potatoes, cranberry relish and two bananas. Olive ate turkey and asparagus.

After a 20 minute argument about who is riding in what car, we finally got on the road. The kids slept the whole way to the park. When we arrived, I received a message from the bakery letting me know we were out of croissants. The inventory taken earlier in the week was incorrect. My dreams of having two consecutive days off were shattered. Emergency croissant production is on the schedule for Saturday.

The whole blended family went on the Hershey factory tour first. My dad took me when I was in elementary school. It hasn’t changed much in 30 years. After the tour we went into the park where it was a balmy 27 degrees. I made it though a couple rides before my hip started aching. I still don’t know what each new day will bring and this was the most time I’ve spent out in sub-freezing temperatures since my surgery. The pain continued to build throughout the rest of the afternoon until it was almost intolerable. It might have been the cold or it may have been a week of 18 hour days on my feet or it may have been my build back into running but it definitely was not fun. I get nervous and anxious when the pain returns. I never know what I’m in for, how long it will last or if I’ve done something I shouldn’t have to make my hip angry.

After we called it quits and drove back to Brad’s parents house for the night, I took a heavy dose of tylenol before bed and hoped for the best. All the weeks I spent laying on my back, wishing I could get into any other comfortable position and now lying on my back is my go-to when I’m in pain. It’s the only way to get relief.

Saturday, November 24th After a solid night of sleep, the pain subsided. Brad and I packed up the kids to head back home. Within minutes of pulling into the parking lot, I was rolling out croissant dough. This week has been exhausting. It has challenged my endurance and my psyche in every way possible. Just a few short weeks ago, my recovery and therapy were the only thing I had to focus on, any given day. Now I have to fit my strengthening exercises in whenever I can. I’ve been put back in my place where everyone else’s needs come before my own. This is the place I was in when I didn’t think I could cope anymore. It’s the place I was in when running saved me. I am grateful to be able to run again. I’m not sure I would have made it through this week without the miles.

Lamination Success

Week 13

Pumpkin Pie

Sunday, November 11th Thanksgiving has always been my favorite holiday, probably because it’s centered around food. When I was a student at the University of Florida, we only had Thursday and Friday off. It wasn’t enough time to return home to Maryland so I stayed in Gainesville. I invited my friends who were also holiday orphans to have dinner with me. I cooked the turkey and everyone brought a side.

One year my grandmother Jackie, who lived in Gainesville, joined my friends and I for the big dinner. It was one of my vegetarian years but I still cooked a turkey. Jackie was kind enough to bring a Tofurkey, only she pronounced it Tofu-Curry. A couple people were really disappointed when they didn’t get to eat Curry.

When Jackie arrived, she met a homeless man in the parking lot. She thought he was one of my friends and she invited him in for dinner. My father has never missed an opportunity since, to remind me that there was no discernible difference between my friends and the homeless population in Gainesville. I guess he had a point. Half of our meal that year was made with produce procured from grocery store dumpsters.

***

Working in the baking industry, I’ve never had a Thanksgiving off. It’s one of the busiest days of the entire year. When I was baking at Amy’s Bread in NYC I worked with a diverse team. The bakers hailed from South Africa, Sri Lanka, Mexico, Puerto Rico, Columbia, the Bronx, Seattle, San Francisco, Maine, Brooklyn, China, Michigan and more. Since all of us had to work the holiday, we decided to have Thanksgiving dinner at the bakery together after we finished with the breads at 4am. We cooked a turkey and we used the leftover breads to make stuffing. Everyone brought a dish. The table represented the multicultural team: pork dumplings, tamales, three different kinds of bean and rice, coquito, vindaloo, lamb, ox tail…you name it, it was on our table. It was the greatest feast there every was.

I’ve never been able to completely recreate Thanksgiving at Amy’s Bread but I have hosted a Friendsgiving every year since. Today was the first Fueled by Doughnuts Friendsgiving. I have so much to be thankful for from this group. It just seemed fitting that we gather to celebrate each other. There have been potlucks in the past where there is more to drink than to eat. I tried to steer everyone in the right direction with a guided sign up this time around. The meal did not disappoint.

Before long, the bakery was filled with runners and their families. There was barely enough space for the food as dish after dish came through the door. It was an outpouring of friendship and love between people from all walks of live. The evening encapsulated everything that’s great about this club. It doesn’t matter if you’re young and single, married with three kids or retired. It doesn’t matter if you’re a surgeon, a teacher, a carpenter or an accountant. Your religion doesn’t matter, your skin color doesn’t matter, your gender, your political views….everyone joins together because we all love to run and, as it turns out, eat! I know this community we’ve built is a special kind of bubble but it gives me hope for the future generation. I am so thankful I am raising my kids in this kind community that has become my family.

Monday, November 12th - The focus of PT this week is impact. Today, Dr. C asked me to jump of a box and land on both feet. The box was so tall, I needed a stepping stool to climb to the top of it. Even if I had a perfectly normal, injury free, hip, I would have stood on the top of the box with the same amount of trepidation before I jumped off. I nailed the landing and kept a slight bend in my knees, as instructed. I repeated this process 20 times.

I thought that was difficult but it was nothing compared to the single leg jumps I completed next. Balancing on my left foot, I hopped forward 20 times. Then I had to jump up, turn, and land facing a different direction, 20 times. When the jumping was over I was treated to side planks, squats, lunges and the balance board. It was an hour jam packed with activity.

At the end of my appointment, Dr. C told me I could progress my run/walk to two minutes running, two minutes walking on Tuesday morning. If I don’t experience any pain, Thursday I can run for two minutes and walk for one minute and on Saturday, I will be up to three minutes of running and one minute walking. I made it the whole 3 miles.

Tuesday, November 13th - This morning, I got up to run with the group. It was pouring rain. I was concerned the road might be slippery but I reminded myself I’m supposed to be taking it easy during my walk/run. As long as I pay attention to where my feet are landing, I should be fine. I have a hard time going back to sleep after my alarm goes off anyway.

It was a small group. The rain deters the fair weather runners. Only the stubborn, fearless bunch remain. Or maybe it’s the people who will do anything to get an hour break from the rest of life’s pressures to go for a run.

I used one of our three mile routes to complete my run/walk. Lizzy, Necole and Barbara joined me. When I got back to the bakery, I had run for a total of 20 minutes and walked for the same. It was the most amount of running I’ve completed so far and it was pain free. My muscles were stiff later in the day but not in pain.

***

It’s November 13th and I’m in my 13th week of recovery.

My grandfather, George (I called him Pop), operated a small laundromat in Chestertown, Maryland.  After dinner each night, he would tell my grandmother and I, "...time to make the doughnuts."  This was his way of alerting us that he was leaving to go lock up the laundromat. Whenever I hear that expression, I think of Pop.

Locking up the laundromat meant that Pop got to sit outside on the park bench in front of the shop and drink coffee with his friends.  My grandmother called them the ‘old farts club.’

Pop was my number one supporter from as early as I can remember.  He loved food. He was my first taste tester. He never missed an opportunity to stick his finger in the frosting of a cake while I was trying to smooth out the edges.

Pop also loved the number 13.  We would celebrate every Friday the 13th.  He wore a silver '13' pennant around his neck.  I don't know when he got his 13 and he never told us why he chose 13.  My grandmother said he wore it when he was in the service.

I was six months pregnant with Josie, his first and only great granddaughter, the night he passed away.  Soon after he left us, my grandmother gave me his 13 and I still carry it with me every single day. I carry him with me every single day.

In April, 2012, I was in the process of purchasing the Bread Company from the Reinhardt’s, the couple who previously ran a bakery out of the space on Walnut Street. My family thought I was crazy.  "You'll never sleep," they said. "You'll never make any money," they said. I was starting to believe them. I was ready to give up on this crazy idea to have a bakery of my own. Late one night I got a call from Sally Reinhardt.  She asked if we could meet on April 13th to finalize the terms of our agreement.

"I know it's Friday the 13th," she said, "but it's always been a lucky day for us because our son, George, was born on a Friday the 13th."  

That was all I needed.  I knew I could move forward.  It was fate.

It could be a date on the calendar or an exam room door, every time a 13 appears, I think of Pop.

Wednesday, November 14th - Ten years ago, in September 2008, I moved from Queens to Milford, PA to help my friend Mark Edmonds open a bakery inside a carriage house connected to the Hotel Fauchere. Josie was three months old. One of Mark’s first employees was Carolyn, a recent culinary school graduate. Carolyn had virtually no experience baking breads. Her strengths were cakes and pastries.

I was always the first one into work. I started between 2-3am. I scaled the ingredients for my doughs and mixed them before Carolyn arrived between 4-5am. I spent the hour by myself, thinking of all the things I couldn’t wait to tell Carolyn. When she walked in the door, I was armed with a million questions while she tried to prepare the croissants and danishes to go in the oven.

Most of the time, I was able to complete the bake on my own. When I made specialty bread that required more finesse, I asked Carolyn to help. In December, I started baking German Stollen. This is quite a process. Days before the dough is mixed, the filling is made. Almond paste, sugar, egg whites and almonds are creamed together and formed into little logs which dry out before they go inside the loaves. The loaves are supposed to represent a swaddled baby Jesus, therefor the logs become hundreds of baby Jesus’s which have appeared on our production schedule every year in various degrees of non-politically correct verbiage.

The final dough starts with a sponge…flour, milk & yeast are mixed and allowed to sit for 30 minutes while the yeast starts to activated. We cream butter, sugar and almond paste together first before adding the sponge and more flour. The dough rests for another 30 minutes before adding candied orange & lemon peel currants and sliced almonds. Once everything is incorporated, the giant mass of dough is divided into 18 ounce portions. It rests for 15 minutes. Then the almond logs are shaped into the dough to form the loaves of Stollen. They rise for an hour before going into the oven.

When the loaves are hot from the oven, the tiny pieces of burnt fruit are brushed off the surface. Each loaf is dipped in clarified butter while it’s still almost too hot to handle. Immediately after the butter bath, they are dredged in granulated sugar to form a crust. Once they cool completely, they are dusted with powdered sugar and wrapped in plastic. They can stay like this for months without losing their freshness.

Carolyn and I have made Stollen together every single year for the last 10 years, first in Milford, then in Montclair. She has taken over the dough preparation. Last year, we hosted an open house and invited the community to spend the day at the bakery with us while we wrapped baby Jesus in dough. This year, we created a Stollen making class. Participants were able to be a part of the actual production throughout the day, today. After four back-to-back groups and 200 loaves of Stollen, I was exhausted beyond reasonable belief. When Carolyn and I had hit the wall for the fourth time and we didn’t think we had it in us to finish the last batch, Gina showed up with a six pack of Brooklyn Lager to save the day!!!

First Taper Tamer Run - 2015

Thursday, October 16th - In 2015 when I trained for the NYC marathon, I experienced my first taper. Two weeks before the race I stopped building miles, I cut back on my training significantly to let my legs recover from all the abuse and get them ready to run 26.2 miles. Going from running 7 miles a day to 3 miles a day is enough to make any runner go a little nuts. I had phantom injuries. I thought I was getting sick. I thought there was no way I could run a marathon.

The Thursday before the race, I had three miles on my training plan. Anne, in an effort to calm my nerves and make a three mile run more exciting, invited everyone to run to the bagel shop with us at 5:30am. The Fueled by Doughnuts running club didn’t exist yet.

We ran two miles to Sunrise Bagel, stopped and had breakfast, and ran a mile home. Anne dubbed it the Taper Tamer Run.

When the club was formed six months later, we started hosting the Taper Tamer before every big marathon. In the fall, it we have one every other week. The ritual has gotten so popular, we have to pre-order bagels and coffee so we don’t create too much chaos in the bagel shop.

This morning, we hosted the Taper Tamer run for the Philadelphia marathoners. The best thing about everyone’s mileage dropping down is that I have lots of ‘running’ buddies as I build back my strength and endurance. I ran two minutes on and one minute off for two miles to join everyone at Sunrise Bagel. All these baby steps help me to feel more normal every day.

2018 5K Doughnut Run Medal

Friday, November 16th - The medals for our 5K Doughnut Run arrived today. This year the ribbon is striped with sprinkle colors and the medal itself has our 5th Anniversary logo. Each year, we carefully plan the colors and designs for every single item we order for the race. The medal must incorporate colors from the shirt design but in a way that it highlights them. We have to make sure it doesn’t blend into the shirt when runners don them at the finish line.

Every aspect of the shirt is custom ordered from the color of the shirt itself to the color of the stitching down the sides. We choose the fabric and the cut of the shirts. This is a very scientific process. Gina and I strip down in the office and try on sample shirts the company sends us before picking the one we like the best. If we’re feeling really thorough, we will run in the sample before making a final decision.

Last year, our beanie vendor submitted several designs for our hats. They were good but not exactly what we wanted. I asked my daughter to sketch a hat for me. What would she want to wear? She did and we had her hat design put into production. It was fun to see 300 kids running with Josie’s beanie at last year’s race and even more fun to see kids standing out for the bus, still wearing them, a year later.

The shirts, the medals, the pom-pom beanies - they all work together to make the race kit complete. We try to keep the signage and branding consistent from the sponsor letters to the notices sent out to residents. Every detail of this race was a decision we had to make down to the stickers on the doughnut boxes. The coordinating colors for the next two years are already in the works.

Saturday, November 17th - This morning I ran with the group again. I decided to use the 5K Doughnut Run course for my three miles. The weather was sunny and cool. The perfect day to run. By the third mile, the three minutes I was permitted to run felt shorter than my one minute of walking. I’m ready for the next step.

Over the years, Gina & I have answered question after question about our 5K Doughnut Run through Facebook, email and Instagram. Here are a few of the highlights from our file as stupid question season is fast upon us with the 5K just three weeks away.

My wife is having a baby sometime in September.  Can you hold a registration for me? No

Can I pick up my friend’s race packet? Yes

I see the race sold out, is there any way I can still register? No

 Can someone else pick up my packet for me? Yes

 My son isn’t registered but he wants to run with me, is that okay? No

 Can I pick up my friend’s race packet? Yes

 I won’t be able to run this year but I want to claim my finisher medal, who do I talk to?

Finisher medals are for finishers only.

 Can someone else pick up my packet for me? Yes

 How long is this 5K? Exactly 5 kilometers

 Can I pick up my friend’s race packet? Yes

 Do I have to run to eat the doughnuts? Yes

 Can someone else pick up my packet for me? Yes

 Do I have to eat the doughnuts on the course? No

 Can I pick up my friend’s race packet? Yes

 I see the race is sold out.  Will there be race day registration? No

 Can someone pick up my packet for me? Yes

 What are the dates of your summer baking camp for 2019? Go fuck yourself

 Can I pick up my friend’s race packet? Yes

 Can my dog run with me? No

 Can someone pick up my race packet for me? Yes

 Can my cat run with me, she’s really well behaved? No

 Can I pick up my friend’s race packet? Yes

 How fast do I have to run? Like the zombies are chasing you.

 Can someone pick up my race packet for me? Yes

I know the race is sold out but I'm friends with Dan Murphy, can I still register? No

Can I pick up my friend’s race packet? Yes

My daughter has a dance recital at 9am, can you start the race an hour earlier? No

Week 12

My first run on the road with Josie & Mac supporting me along the way.

Sunday, November 4th Today is the day. Last week was a challenging time in our home. I experienced my first ever mantaper. It’s like the man-flu but worse. On Monday, Brad was convinced he had a stress fracture or maybe shin splints. Tuesday, he thought he might have a hernia or at the very least a severe muscle strain in his abdomen. By Wednesday the pain moved into his back…maybe his siatic nerve??? The lost wallet count was up to 37 midweek. On Thursday, his cold symptoms were so unbearable that he started downing cough medicine and hot tea. We finally made it to Friday when the outfit discussions started combined with race pace plans. He asked me no less than 18 questions before I opened my eyes in the morning…what do you think about….? What if I….? Should I wear…? Saturday, all bets were off with 24 hours left before the race. He spent the better part of the afternoon getting the perfect flat selfie. He started in the living room, then the hallway and ended up in the girls’ room so he could use their bunk beds for a better vantage point. Once everything was laid out, he decided he needed to wash his kit and set it up again, fresh.

Behind the Scenes.

At 4am he woke up, showered, made coffee, did jumping jacks in the living room and searched for his left glove for the next 45 minutes before grabbing an extra pair of socks instead. I drove him to Fort Wadsworth and dropped him on the side of the road before heading back to Jersey.

At 8:30am, I met Brad’s parents and his aunt at the bakery. I was in charge of the cheering plan for the day. I drove everyone in and found parking a block away from our post-race rendezvous point…a dive bar on Amsterdam and 81st Street. The four of us walked across town to 5th Ave. It was empty when we arrived. We had an hour to wait before the elite women passed. As we took our position at barricades, just above mile marker 17, Hillary texted to say she came in early and she just happened to be a half a block away from us.

Hillary and I were glued to our phones waiting on Roberta updates. Our friend was running with the elite women. The excitement was palpable when we saw the pace cars come over the hill and head towards us. Roberta sped past us, doing her best to make marathon running look effortless. Watching Shalane, Molly, Des and Allie run by was like having front row seats to the red carpet event. Unfortunately, we didn’t have any friends running with the elite men so it was a little lackluster when they flew by. We were entertained counting the number of Nike 4%’s represented in the elite field.

I told Brad we would be positioned at 101st St. but we chose to stay at 85th instead. I was worried he wouldn’t see us. Amazingly enough, he did and he stopped for a second to tell us it was getting hard. After he jogged away, we headed back across town to 1st Ave so we could spot him again around mile 23 of his race. We found a spot at the top of the park and nestled in. I got to cheer for Mauricio, Tony, Ingrid and Dan as they raced by us. Brad stopped as he passed. He didn’t have much energy left to finish the last two miles. His legs were cramping. In all his race planning, my only hard stop was, ‘just don’t DNF.’ I think it’s hard for runners who were once collegiate superstars to be anything less than great and there is a tendency among them to walk off the course and ‘save their legs.’ I couldn’t be more proud of Brad for sticking with it through all 26.2 miles and finishing his first marathon in a very respectable amount of time…just under 3:30.

The Barkets and I walked across the park and waited at the bar until Brad arrived an hour later. The NYC Marathon is a special form of torture. Runners have to walk almost two miles after they finish the race to get out of the park. We stationed ourselves two blocks away from his exit point. The ride out of the city was easy. We were back home just before 4pm, 12 hours after Brad and I started on this adventure. I was almost as proud of my successful cheering logistics plan as I was of Brad’s finish. Last month, I didn’t think I would be well enough to make it into the city on race day. My goal was to be in a comfortable position to cheer for the Philly Marathon coming up at the end of November. I’m thrilled I was able to walk back and forth across town, pain free and be there for Brad’s marathon debut.

Monday, November 5th As a small business owner, I tried, for a long time, to be apolitical. I wanted to appeal to the widest audience possible and not alienate any group of people. When I took over the bakery space on Walnut Street in 2012 there was a framed picture of President Obama hanging in the retail area. It was one of the first things I removed.

In June 2015 when the Supreme Court declared gay marriage legal in all 50 states, the joy felt all over America was incredible. I never thought of this as a partisan issue but rather a basic human right. I made rainbow ‘Love Wins’ doughnuts to celebrate. Minutes after posting the first picture of the doughnuts on Instagram, I quickly realized not everyone shares my beliefs. I started receiving hate mail from groups across the country. A woman from Caldwell, NJ said she was organizing a protest to take place outside of my bakery.

I had to block users on Facebook & Instagram. I spent the better part of the next day reporting hate speech on both platforms. I reported two people to the local police department because I felt their threats were real.

I stood behind my convictions and continued to make the “Love Wins” Doughnut throughout the month of June and every June thereafter to celebrate Pride Month. I continued to refrain from any other political doughnut messages throughout the 2016 election cycle. When the results came in and my kids were laying on the kitchen floor sobbing because they were sincerely fearful of what would happen to our country under the new regime, I lied to them and told them it would be okay even though I didn’t believe it myself. I wanted to be in control of something when I felt l like everything else in life was on a rollercoaster barreling out of control. I made doughnuts that looked like the poop emoji and posted a picture with the caption “Having a bad day? Maybe a little chocolate can cheer you up” . It wasn’t overtly political but everyone got the message. Then came more hate mail, more blocked social media users, more hours spent reporting threats.

In January, I went a step further. The Woman’s March was being organized. Again, I felt this was about basic human rights and not one political party. The buses were leaving Montclair at 3am to head down to DC. I decided to open the bakery at 3am and offer free coffee to anyone getting on a bus. I made pink ‘kitty’ doughnuts for the occasion. One of the buses contacted the bakery to ask if we could make sandwiches for the passengers. We decided to offer bagged lunches to everyone and charged just enough to cover our cost. Over 400 lunches were ordered. Customers volunteered to help assemble sandwiches at 2am!!! It was one of the most spectacular displays of kindness and generosity I’ve witnessed since opening the bakery…an outpouring of love against hate.

The next month, I made doughnuts that looked like people. They were all different skin tones and hair colors. I donated $1 from the sale of each doughnut to the ACLU. The bakery raised over $2000!!! Again, I thought the ACLU was about protecting fundamental human rights across party lines but it didn’t stop the hate mail from rolling in.

In August, Tina Fey’s Saturday Night Live “sheetcaking” skit aired. She encouraged anyone unhappy with the current politics to stay inside and eat sheet cake. I couldn’t NOT make cake. It was the best national campaign to support your local baker, EVER. The public pushback to my American Flag cakes was not what I expected. Some groups viewed Fey’s message as anti-semitic and racist because she was influencing people to ignore the problems with the system and rather than protesting the upcoming white suprematist rally, stay home and eat cake. New messages of hate filled my inbox. One of my employees walked out and threatened to bomb the bakery on her twitter account. Another police report was filed.

Throughout everything, I tried to straddle the line and send vague political messages without taking a side. Shortly after Brad and I started dating, before he knew what happens when a doughnut goes viral (like the time Mindy Kaling’s post about my doughnuts crashed my instagram feed) he sent me a pic of the next day’s Daily News cover that had been leaked to the press. He remembered seeing images of my poop doughnuts and thought it looked familiar.

I sent a text message to Carolyn, ‘too bad we can’t make these in the morning.’ She told me we could if we had chocolate ganache but it would have to be made now, at 10pm, in order to set in time. I went to the bakery in my pajamas and mixed a batch of chocolate ganache. The plans were laid.

When I posted pictures the next day, media outlets started calling from MSNBC to the local news and everything in between. Brad was in awe of the audience participation on Instagram. It was a great collaborative effort from the staff and the first time my message became very clear. My conservative Dad called. He said it was a bold move but ‘if you know your audience….’ One would think by now, all the negative users had been blocked already but there was still more hate mail flowing through the gates.

Now it’s the eve of election day. The staff and I discussed our options. We decided to bring back the Pink ‘Kitty’ Doughnuts we made for Women’s March and only use blue sprinkle on the doughnuts that would normally have rainbow sprinkles. We plan to give free coffee and doughnut holes to anyone who votes. Here’s hoping….

No Restrictions!!!

Tuesday, November 6th Everyone is anxious about the midterm elections. I woke up at 5am to attend Adrienne’s class at Architect Studios to work off some of my nervous energy only it’s not the midterms that had my stomach in knots today. I had my 12 week post-surgical follow-up appointment at 8am.

I was able to drive myself to the hospital this morning. At my last visit, six weeks ago, I still wasn’t cleared to drive and I was using crutches to walk. The doctor had instructed me to work up to walking without the crutches over the span of time between my appointments. I’ve been walking unassisted for five weeks now.

After I checked in, I was sent to radiology for yet another series of x-rays. Each time, it gets easier. After the first of five films, the x-ray technician went into the back to see if she got a proper image. I heard her say ‘Jesus, that’s a lot of hardware!’ before she returned to take the next angle.

Once my x-rays were complete, I returned to the orthopedist’s office and waited for Dr. Adams to tell me the news. I feared something shifted in my pelvis. What if I need another surgery because the last one wasn’t quite right??? Or worse, what if he told me I couldn’t run again based on the results?

When he came in to evaluate my progress, he remarked at how effortless it looked when I was walking down the hall. He asked me to balance on my left leg, then the right. He wanted to see me do a squat on both legs followed by a single leg squat on each side. He was smiling from ear to ear. He told me I’ve surpassed the progress he sees in most patients that are six months post-op. He was in awe of how far I’ve come in less than three months.

He reviewed my x-rays with me. He said the bone recovery is complete. My pelvis should remain the same from this point forward. I have slightly less cartilage separating the ball and socket on my left side than on my right, which will always be this way. I have an increased risk of developing arthritis because of my injury. He explained why I continue to have a lack of sensation in my hip. There is a nerve that runs along the muscles located on top of the hip. The muscles and the nerve had to be moved to access the joint during the surgery. It takes time for the nerve to recover. It could be a few more weeks or it could be years before I regain sensation.

Finally, he asked if I had anymore questions and I mustered the courage to ask, ‘can I run again?’ He said, as far as he’s concerned, I’ve made a full recovery and I can resume all normal activities, including running. My pelvis is intact and it can handle the impact. I couldn’t hold back the tears of joy. Who knows if my new construction will be able to serve as a foundation for all the miles I hope to build over the years to come but at least I know I have the opportunity to try, once again.

Wednesday, November 7th Jessica was supposed to leave for Arizona this week, but when her son broke his foot on the playground, she decided to cancel her trip. I’m certainly not happy she didn’t get to go on vacation but I’m glad she was around to help manage the sea of staffing issues at the bakery.

Since opening the second Montclair Bread Co retail location, we’ve been publicizing job openings to cover the additional hours of operation.  I am continually amazed by the number of moms, dads, aunts, teachers and ‘friends of the family,’ who think it is proper job seeking etiquette to enter my establishment, sans son, daughter, niece, nephew, teenager and try to get this person hired.  How could I possibly put someone on the payroll who can’t speak for themselves??? If a young person has any hope of being a responsible adult in the near future, they should, at the very minimum, be able to reach out on their own. They should also be able to follow-up on their own and not depend on friends and relatives to do the nudging for them. If they check all the boxes and manage to secure employment on their own, all communication with the employer should come from him/her and not his/her guardian.

Since working with teenagers, I’ve gotten more texts from parents than I can count, informing me why their son/daughter can’t come to work. When we fired someone for giving food away to her friends, I received a lengthy email from Dad about how distraught she was and how we obviously made a poor decision. Shockingly, she didn’t tell him about the theft when she told him we fired her. I am running a business, not a playground. There are rules.

In the last week, I’ve had two teenagers oversleep and miss their 7am opening shifts.  One teenager “forgot” about a lacrosse tournament the day before it was happening and NEEDED the Saturday off even though three other teenagers already asked for this particular day off, weeks in advance, following the proper guidelines for making the request.  One teenager can’t work two weeks from now because he/she is required to attend a funeral that just happens to be during a four day weekend. Who dies with three week’s notice??? Last weekend someone had to take an “unexpected family vacation,” and called out an hour before their shift was scheduled to start to let us know.

On Saturday, four hours after a no-call, no-show, the culprit texted to say “between work, school and a hundred other things going on,” she/he is “just mentally exhausted,” and will not be coming in for today’s shift or the rest of the shifts they are scheduled for in the next two weeks. This is after she asked for as many hours as possible because she needed to save money.  I’m assuming these employees come from families who let them quit name-your-after-school-activity because it’s not fun anymore.

This drama doesn’t count the call outs we have to cover from the responsible staff members who are actually sick and can’t come to work.  It doesn’t account for the vacation time we need to cover for the people who gave us an adequate amount of notice.

In the last week, we lost three employees to ‘it doesn’t fit in my social calendar anymore.’ I sent a message to the entire retail team, begging them to help cover the shifts so that Jessica could get the fuck out of the bakery for a few days and preserve a tiny bit of mental sanity before she has a nervous breakdown. When someone doesn’t work the shift they are scheduled for, it negatively impacts the entire team and I think the remaining survivors are starting to understand.

Remarkably, everyone came together to help. High school students picked up 5:30am weekday opening shifts before school! Other students worked together to break up shifts and share the responsibility. Everyone shuffled their schedules to cover every unmanned hour. A couple people needed to have shifts covered next week. They worked with the rest of the team to get them covered without involving Jessica. We promoted two people to shift supervisors because they displayed such maturity and professionalism throughout all of this unrest.

Thankfully, the small handful of dedicated, responsible people who make it work, keep the bakery running. I have 17 year olds who think cleaning is fun. A couple teenagers were so excited about watching me make croissants that I scheduled them to help me so they can learn the craft for themselves.  One of the students stepped up after my accident to take over all the kid’s baking classes on the schedule. She did so well, we scheduled more classes for her to teach on her own.

My baking team rarely misses a day and when someone needs to take time off, they all come together to bridge the gap. They start working at 12:30am, every single day, and stay until the last baguette is out of the oven. The bakery is bustling with activity at 3am, doughnuts are frying, breads are baking, doughs are mixing, orders are being packed. They are truly a remarkable bunch.

Thursday, November 8th The kids only had two days of school this week. Two weeks ago, the Board of Ed decided to close schools on Tuesday for Election Day, even though it was originally a school day. I’m not sure why this was a last minute decision. The candidates have been campaigning for at least two years but the school board only figured out that there would be a conflict two weeks ago. To add insult to injury, election day is the same week as the NJ Teacher’s Convention meaning the kids are home on Thursday and Friday too. A full week of school is a rarity in the fall.

Josie went to a pop-up art camp for the day. She was due for some time away from her brothers. The boys spent the morning at the bakery in the office with Jessie while I went to PT. Keegan played Fortnight with his friends and Mac asked Jessie a million questions. She said she should start commentating her activities to avoid 1000 ‘what are you doing’s?’.

The boys both had appointments with the dentist at noon. I knew it would be a tight turn around between PT and their scheduled visit. Jessie agreed to chauffeur the boys and I met them at the dentist’s office as soon as I got back. Once everyone’s teeth were in good shape, the boys and I went to the park to kill some time before we picked up Josie. I sat on a park bench while the boys played. A girl appeared and and asked her mom, who was sitting next to me, what she was eating. The mom showed her daughter she was just chewing gum. She didn’t have any food. The girl responded, “oh, I smelled doughnuts.” Oops! None of us can go anywhere without taking the bakery along.

It would have been an action packed day, if it ended there, but this was only the start. When the kids and I got back to the bakery at 2:30pm, we had to start the croissant production, a six hour process. Keegan retreated to the office. Mac and Josie stayed to help me.

The lamination process is repetitive. It starts with 6-8 trays of dough and the same number of trays of butter. The first step is to “lock-in” the butter or essentially, encase the butter in the dough. Then the dough block is rolled out and folded before moving to the next dough block. I put each block on a rack in order. When the last one is finished, I go back to the top for more rolling and folding. This repeats 3-4 times depending on the type of dough. Only then can the dough be rolled out and shaped into croissants.

Josie jumped in and locked the butter into the dough while I worked on the first round of rolling and folding. It’s hard for me to realize her potential. She has matured so quickly. I’m still stuck in second grade. She can handle virtually every task I give her and in most cases, better than the adults I’ve asked to do the same.

When it was time to shape the dough into the finished product, Mac stepped in to help. Alex and Kate stopped by before their evening run. I told the kids we were going to try to finish all six dough packets before the duo returned.

When I was little, my grandfather got home from work every day at 5:30pm on the dot. My grandmother and I would play a game called ‘Beat the Pop.’ I helped her clean up the house, set the table and have dinner ready before he got home. I still set tangible time goals for myself with virtually every task I start. This time, we were trying to beat Alex and Kate.

We rolled out four trays of dough for chocolate croissants. Mac and Josie filled each square with two bars of chocolate before wrapping them up and placing them on the trays. Then the kids worked together to shape tiny logs of almond paste to seal inside our almond croissants. They stayed focused and worked fast. We put the last almond croissant on the tray just as Alex and Kate walked in the door. With Josie and Mac’s help, I was able to cut over an hour off the standard production time.

Keegan rejoined us to help pack up our things and return home to start cooking dinner. By 8pm we were all sufficiently exhausted. There was not one single complaint when I said it was bedtime. I think I fell asleep at 8:05pm.

Friday, November 9th I woke up at 5am to go to Sarah’s class at Architect Studios. Every time I go down the steps in the morning, I remember how difficult it was to take each step six weeks ago. I needed to have someone to spot me and help with my crutches or I couldn’t make it to the front door. Now, I’m waking up hours before anyone else in the house to speed down the stairs and take an interval class with weights, cardio and agility at 5am.

After my winning appointment with the surgeon on Tuesday and six minutes of running at PT this week, I’ve thought a lot about how I made it this far. When I strained my peroneal tendon (it’s located in your lower leg…not to be confused with ‘perineum’ which is located in an entirely different place) a couple years ago, I wasn’t able to run for more than 12 weeks. Granted, I was never completely immobile, I just couldn’t run. Now, with a shattered pelvis and enough hardware to fill the aisles of Home Depot, I’m returning to running 11 weeks in.

It would have been easy to stay in the hospital bed. The doctors said I could. I wanted to move. I wanted to go home. The doctors gave me a list of restrictions. I heeded their advice and did what I was permitted to the fullest of my potential at the time.

Each step of the way, I kept moving. The more I moved, the better I felt even though it was difficult and painful at times. The less drugs I took, the easier it was to move. I became more mentally aware and less tired.

I wish I had a special formula to share that everyone could use to recover faster from injuries. In truth, I don’t know why I’ve come this far, this fast. I don’t have a clear concept of what’s ahead of schedule and what’s taking too long because I’ve never recovered from a shattered pelvis before. I don’t feel any more or less determined than at any other point in my life. I refuse to sit still and feel sorry for myself. Instead, I just keep forward momentum and take recovery one day at a time.

Part of this quick recovery is undoubtedly attributed to my cheerleading squad. There is nothing more motivating than having a whole community of runners, customers, staff, family and friends celebrating every new achievement.

My Walk-Run Group! Minus Barb & Mac who were held up at the playground on the way home.

Saturday, November 10th I trust Dr. Mayes implicitly. I trust that he will challenge me to go outside of my comfort zone while staying inside the constraints of what my recovery progression allows. I rarely ask to do more. After running for six minutes at my last PT session, I worked up the courage to ask if I was allowed to run on the road. I specifically wanted to run with the Fueled by Doughnuts group this morning. I asked if I could run for one minute followed by a four minute rest, six times. He made my day when he told me I could run for one minute followed by a three minute rest, seven times!

When I was getting ready to leave the house and trying to figure out what to wear to stay warm enough during the three minute walk and not be too hot during the one minute run, Josie and Mac asked if they could run too. The last time I ran with Josie was during her Girls on the Run 5K which was 47 minutes of sheer hell. If I ever experience that level of whining again in my lifetime, it will be too soon. However, I knew Josie completed a two mile walk/run Mary Rose when she was nine months pregnant, six-ish months ago. I agreed to let her come along. Brad made bet with Mac. If Mac completed the seven minutes of running, Brad would give him $2. If he didn’t finish, he would owe Brad $2. This is by far, the best way to incentivize Malachi.

At 8am, the club gathered for the group run. There was a group running 10 miles and another running 6 miles. Even though she was recovering from a non-training related fall and she was a little black and blue, Yana came to support me and run by my side for my first steps back on pavement. Hillary, Barbara and Mary Rose also joined us.

I chose a two mile loop that didn’t include the giant hill going up Claremont Ave but rather stayed mostly flat and free of heavy traffic. As much as these choices were precautionary to keep the kids safe, they were also caveats set up by Dr. Mayes. As we worked through the series of walking and running, physically it felt remarkably boring, just as Dr. Mayes said it should. Mentally, I was floating on clouds.

The thing I miss most about running is being able to connect with the group, especially this particular group of ladies. These woman have been by my side for every climb up to the top of Highland Ave, for every 20 mile training run, for every speed workout before the sunrise. We have shared so many miles together and through the miles we’ve developed unbreakable bonds. When I can’t run with them, I feel like a giant piece of my life is missing but it’s not about the endurance or the cardio workout, it’s about the friendships. Sure, we can spend time together off-road but there’s something about running that creates an safe space to talk candidly about life…relationships, work, kids, goals, bodily functions…there’s nothing off limits. It’s like therapy but a lot more fun.

Being able to share this run with my friends and have my kids by my side has been the highlight of my recovery so far. Josie and Mac stuck with me through all seven minutes of running. Mac collected his $2 from Brad. Josie was able to ensure I didn’t get hurt. She’s still my most fastidious nurse even though I no longer need one.

I have a long way to go before I can start piling on miles again. For now, I’m content to have another piece of my normal life back.

I’ve thought a lot about the lifespan of this blog. When will it be complete? My goal is to keep it going for 52 weeks, full circle from the time of the accident. I’m sure nothing will be as exciting as coming home from the hospital, taking my first step without crutches, getting back on my bike or running for the first time but I would like to document the small progressions throughout my training journey in the year to come. I don’t know what lies ahead. I don’t know if my new hip will tolerate 3 miles let alone another 26.2 miles. For now, I’m grateful for each new day and each step forward.

Week 11

Healing

Sunday, October 28th It rained all day yesterday. Today was supposed to be sunny and mid-50’s but it was cold and overcast. There seemed to be a window of sunshine just after 4pm, before dusk. I wanted to test my mental and physical strength and I needed somewhat perfect weather conditions in order to do so.

I dropped the kids off at their Dad’s house and started gathering my bike gear. Thanks to my trainer rides, I wasn’t completely unprepared. I grabbed my helmet, dug my gloves out of a drawer and put on my bike shorts. I walked my bike outside, off the curb. I was nervous about clipping my shoes into my peddles. I always put my left foot in first.

I waited for all the cars to pass and the street to clear. I planned to ride to Brookdale Park, where I could bike loops around the park with little traffic to navigate. I was nervous about the 2.2 mile ride to get there, which included stopping at two traffic lights. It wasn’t terrible. I knew I needed to let go of the nervous energy if I wanted a smooth ride. I talked to myself the entire way to the park, trying to convince myself I could do this. I followed the rules of the road and pulled into the street when cars were parked on the right side. I didn’t want to chance another door opening in front of me.

Once I got to the park, I felt more comfortable. Each loop was easier than the last. I used to ride these loops to do my fast interval workouts but today, I took it easy, hoping my hip would allow me to keep riding. After my 5th loop, I rode back home. My 45 minute ride was the closest I’ve come to feeling normal. To be outside on a beautiful fall day doing physical activity, was truly a gift. I’m glad I ripped the band-aid off. I was able to overcome my fear.

Monday, October 29th The healthier I get, the harder it is to manage a never ending to-do list. Everything I missed during the first four weeks post-injury has been piled on top of my normal daily time commitments. The weeks my kids live with me, I cram all of their appointments, play dates and after school activities on top of my work schedule. When they’re with their father, I double down on my meetings and responsibilities. I am constantly playing catch up. I feel suffocated.

Today, was no exception. Before 7am, I went to the bakery to finish making the split pea soup I started late last night. My work day finishes when I am no longer able to tolerate standing and/or I can’t keep my eyes open for one more minute. Such was the case yesterday, when I put the soup on hold until this morning. It needed to be heated and puréed before the lunch crowd arrived.

Once all 10 gallons of soup were ready to go, I went back home before my PT appointment. I spent the hour ‘break’ trying to find the floor and reclaim my apartment from the legos, art projects, empty cups and endless supply of non-matching socks.

Dr. C started my PT session with a five minute warm up on the stationary bike and lots of stretching. I yearn for the day the stretching isn’t brutally painful. My tight hamstrings are loosening but they are still the reason I have limited range of motion on my left side. All the weeks I was using a walker and crutches and not allowing my left foot to touch the ground, shortened the muscles in my leg. I am able to sit with my legs crossed on the floor but I can not get deep into a squat position, like I could prior to the surgery.

Running is a series of small, single legged, squat jumps. To prepare for the day I’m cleared to run again, Dr. C. is starting a progression of jumping exercises. I was instructed to jump straight up and land in a bent knee position 30 times followed by 30 jumps side-to-side. It was the first time both of my feet have left the ground at the same time and the first time I’ve experienced any impact on my newly rebuilt hip. I was fine.

I returned to the bakery to start my next major project of the day…croissants. For the last 6 years, my friend Eric has been making the croissants for the bakery and shipping them from Connecticut. His creations are incredibly consistent and make it easy, in part because I don’t have to make them. As Eric’s company grows, I see more and more bakeries using his croissants and danishes and mine become less and less unique.

One of my goals this year was to bring croissant production in-house in order to make my viennoiserie one of a kind. This isn’t easy. Each croissant has 217 layers of dough separated by thin layers of butter. In order to achieve this, there’s a series of resting and folding where temperature, time and dimensions have to be maintained to a level beyond perfection. This process is a dream job for anyone with OCD. However, I suffer from an immense fear of failure which is 90% of the reason I’ve put this off for so long.

I’ve been testing recipes and practicing my lamination skills for weeks. The last time I put forth any lamination effort was in culinary school, 15 years ago! At one point, I decided it wasn’t worth the effort but Brad & Jessica changed my mind after they tried my test batches and showered me with compliments. I’m a sucker for pastry praise.

Before I called it quits and passed out in my bed, I had completed 144 croissants, 10 gallons of split pea soup and 60 jumps. It was a good day.

Mrs. April reading to me (on the right with the bad hair) and her boys circa 1988.

Tuesday, October 30th In an effort to avoid as many derailments as possible, my bakery staff screens visitors for me. Several times each day, people drop in to “speak to the owner,” about a fundraiser, a service they’re selling or an event they’re promoting. If I have to stop what I’m doing to talk to them, it takes time away from the task I’m trying to complete. So, unless I tell the retail team I have a meeting scheduled and I’m expecting a guest, they inform everyone who asks that I’m not available. Occasionally, I’m standing right next to the person who is being told I’m not in the bakery at the moment. I know, it’s mean but it’s the only way I can get in a full day’s work.

I heard my barista, Jo, telling a customer that I wasn’t available and I glanced over my shoulder to see if I recognized the person asking. I couldn’t believe who I saw standing there. Mr. Bill, my childhood neighbor, came all the way from Maryland to visit me. He was dropping a friend off in Brooklyn and decided to extend his drive a little further north to see my bakery for the first time.

Mr. Bill and his wife April, lived next door to my mother for three years when I was in elementary school. At the time, they had three boys, all younger than me, Micah, Timothy & Levi. Joshua, their fourth son, was born during their short time on Old Worton Rd.

I spent every possible minute with the Haddocks. Their home had everything my mother’s house didn’t. For starters, there were other kids to play with. Their toys weren’t like mine. They didn’t have video games and gadgets. There were boxes of building blocks and legos. Nothing required batteries. Mrs. April read us books and let us help her prepare meals. It was at her house that I developed a lifelong addiction to toasted whole wheat bread with natural peanut butter, drizzled with honey. It was my introduction to whole wheat bread, peanut butter that needed stirring and so many other foods like alfalfa sprouts, tofu and textured vegetable protein. Taco night at the Haddocks was just about the best thing ever.

Health food became my vice. I could have sugary cereals (my favorite was Apple Jacks), Wonder Bread, Pop Tarts and Tasty Kakes whenever I wanted but I longed for whole wheat bread and soy milk. When I think back to the biggest influencers in my life, the Haddocks are on the top of the list. Mrs. April had her babies naturally, at a birthing center with a midwife. They shopped for food at a local co-op where they were able to purchase grains, beans and granola in bulk. They are vegetarians and they tended a vegetable garden they used to sustain themselves throughout the year. This was almost 40 years ago, long before their lifestyle was mainstream or at least Montclair mainstream.

Mr. Bill and I only had a few minutes to catch up. I was so happy to see someone from home in New Jersey. I’m often reminded that I made the choice to move here, away from my family, so I have to be the one to pack three kids in the car and drive for four hours down the Jersey Turnpike if I want to see my relatives. It was a treat to have someone I haven’t seen for 20 (or more) years, show up at my doorstep. It was more than 30 years ago and I was so young but I never forgot about how much the time and the experiences I had with the Haddocks helped shape who I am and the choices I’ve made for my family today.

Halloween 2014

Wednesday, October 31st It’s Halloween. It’s the first Halloween I didn’t create a theme for the kids’ costumes. I didn’t create costumes at all. The kids were scheduled to be with their dad this year.

From the time they were born, there has always been a theme…Josie was Sweet Pea and I was Olive Oyl for her first Halloween. The next year we added Keegan to the ensemble. Rena & Chris sent the kids University of Florida gear and we all went as college co-eds. After that, we were cowboys and cowgirls. Once Mac was in the mix, we had enough people to be the whole Scooby Doo gang. Mac was Scooby. The next three years were all Day of the Dead. I got really good at the makeup and the kids played the parts well. When the skeleton faces lost their luster, we went with an Alice in Wonderland theme. This was the year Mac told the person behind every door he knocked on that he was the White Rabbit, “I’m yate!” and “Mommy is holding my big c(l)ock.” We’re still working on getting him to enunciate his l’s.

Last year, I dressed them up as marathoners who had been trampled. I dipped my Hokas in paint to put footprints on their singlets and across their faces.

I knew the number of years I could convince them to dress in collaborative costumes were limited but I’m still sad to see it go. Hopefully next year they will be old enough that it’s socially acceptable to pick characters from the Rocky Horror Picture Show. I think Mac could rock a Frank N. Furter get up. It will be a great addition to the elementary school Halloween parade.

In lieu of trick or treating, I got to double my number of jumps today at PT. In addition to the straight up and down jumps and the side to side jumps, I did 30 box jumps for a grand total of 120 ups and downs!

Halloween 2017

Thursday, November 1st Every Thursday, my PT appointment is with Dr. Mayes. I look forward to our session with healthy amounts of hope and fear. I know he will push me out of my comfort zone in a way that no one else can. It will hurt. I will have a renewed confidence when it is over.

Dr. Mayes lived up to my expectations today. He placed orange cones on opposite ends of the exercise zone in his office, 20-30 feet apart. We stood side by side at one cone. He told me he wanted me to jog to the other cone. He demonstrated the ‘jog.’ I stood paralyzed. I couldn’t hold back tears. Here’s this thing I’ve wanted to do more than anything else and now I’m being told I can, but I can’t. My legs won’t move. My brain can’t compute the instructions.

Finally, I let myself go. That short jog across the office was spectacular. This is what progress feels like. I spent the next five minutes jogging to one cone, back peddling to the start and side stepping in each direction. After the multi-directional drills, Dr. Mayes set the clock for two minutes and let me run around the cones until the timer ran out. I didn’t know what to expect. It wasn’t pain free. My hip ached with each pivot around the turns. No amount of preparation to run can replace the actual body mechanics of running.

My surgeons told me it would take 6-12 months of physical therapy and recovery before I could think about running again. It’s been less than three months since my surgery and I just ran for two minutes straight. Nothing, including the 250 croissants I had to make after PT, or the bottle of Tylenol on my nightstand, could bring me down from this high.

Brad’s first NYC Marathon

Friday, November 2nd - Brad and I went to the NYC Marathon expo to pick up his bib today. Although he ran the NJ Marathon to pace me, this will be his first time racing his own marathon. Supporting him has been one of my biggest mental challenges throughout my recovery. This was supposed to be my race too. I’m angry, jealous and every other unsavory emotion. On the way home, I realized how bitter I’ve been. I thought about how Brad’s unconditional support is a huge contributing factor in my speedy recovery. I let go of my anger and I told him how proud I am of his marathon debut and how hard he’s trained to get to the starting line.

Four years ago, I met my friend Peter for lunch in the city. He founded the company I used to work for. After he sold it to become a full time philanthropist, donating and delivering fire trucks to his hometown in Zimbabwe, I resigned. When the company lost Peter, it lost its soul.

At this particular lunch meeting, I had completed my first half marathon the day before. I told Peter about my training and my accomplishment and he was in awe. I wasn’t a runner when I worked for him. He asked if I would be running the NYC Marathon in the fall. I told him I never wanted to run a marathon BUT, if given the opportunity, I would run NYC. The lottery was closed for the year; there were no remaining spaces in the race. Peter said he had a friend who could get me in but he wouldn’t make the call unless he knew I would take it seriously. For the next couple months we went back and forth…I was hesitant to train because he might not get me in. He was hesitant to get me in because I might not train. Finally, we both had a little faith and I was registered for the 2014 NYC Marathon.

I ran all my training miles with Anne Arthur and Ryan Trimmer. I didn’t know many people in the Montclair running community. Little by little, Anne introduced me to her friends and my training group grew. I ran three days each week and I went to Architect Studio for strength training two days each week. On my tempo days, when I had to pick up the pace, Anne literally ran circles around me encouraging me every step of the way. When I couldn’t make it through the end of my first 15 mile long run, she let me walk until I felt strong enough to finish running.

Meandering through the expo today brought back memories of all my running milestones leading up to my first marathon. This year, I get to experience a new first when I stand on the sidelines and cheer for everyone as they run by. I thought the stress and logistics of getting to the starting line were difficult until I sat down to figure out how to get in and out of the city to spectate the race. I have a newfound appreciation for everyone who showed up to cheer for me four years ago.

My first NYC Marathon 2015

Saturday, November 3rd Since my PT appointment on Thursday, or maybe even the session on Wednesday, I’ve been in a good amount of pain. It’s not unbearable pain but it is unbearable to think that it could be my body having a negative reaction to the jumping and the tiny bit of running I was allowed to do this week. With the exception of standing on my feet for the better part of every day, I haven’t participated in any additional physical activities like riding, swimming or strength training.

I try to dissect the pain to rationalize it. When I first started walking without a cane, I was in more pain than usual and I got through it. This is the same thing, right? It’s not bone pain, it’s definitely muscular so I’m just building newer, stronger muscles, right? But what if it’s not? What if I pulled something or damaged something? What if all the progress I’ve made gets taken away and I have to start back at the beginning? Is it actually new pain or has it always been there and I’m just feeling it for the first time because the nerves are regenerating? What if I can’t run? What if I can’t build miles on top of miles and I’m stuck running 5Ks forever? What if I can’t handle speed workouts again? How can I manage a running store if I can’t be a runner?

This is what keeps me up at night. Every night. At least I know I can bake bread.

Week 10

Not terrible for my first time in 30 years!

Sunday, October 22 My grandfather had a bad heart. He was frequently hospitalized, undergoing angioplasties to remove blockages. When that wasn’t enough, he finally underwent triple bypass surgery. This had a lasting impact on my life but not in the ways you’d think.

After his surgery, Pop told me it hurt to sneeze which is something I can relate to now that I’ve gone through it myself. I taught myself to hold my sneezes in, so I could teach Pop to do the same. More than 30 years have passed and I still hold my sneezes.

To prep Pop for a procedure, the doctors put an X on each of his feet to mark his pulse. I would lay in the hospital bed next to him and they put X’s on my feet too. I had almost forgotten about the X’s until I got a pair of my very own just before my surgery.

Thanks to Pop’s time in intensive care, I learned to knit and to crochet. My grandmother taught me how when I was five or six. I wasn’t allowed in Pop’s room unless the nice nurse was working and she snuck me in. I had to sit in the waiting room for what seemed like hours while my mom and my grandmother were visiting with him. My grandmother gave me a giant ball of shaggy cream-colored yarn and a couple knitting needles to occupy my time. I don’t think I ever completed a project. My blankets were closer to triangles then rectangles after all the dropped stitches. My grandmother, on the other hand, could turn out a new afghan in a couple days. There was an entire dresser, brimming with her accomplishments, in her basement.

During my recent homebound week with the kids, Angela & Paulette each dropped off baskets of yarn and knitting supplies they didn’t need anymore. In the early days, the drugs made me too dizzy to focus on stitches. Now that my head is on straight and the kids have given up on being helpful and returned to constant fighting with each other, it was time to refocus their energy. Thanks to YouTube and my distant memories, each of the kids had their own yarn project. Josie finished knitting a hat before the night was over. Keegan gave up after a couple rounds and went back to playing video games. Mac is on a mission to knit mini hats for every baby he knows. After several false starts, I succeeded in reteaching myself how to knit a granny square. I’ve been channeling memories of my grandparents with every new loop.

Monday, October 23rd In March 2016, I signed the lease for what would be the bakery space on the corner of Forest and Label Streets. My bakery on Walnut Street was 600 square feet total. All the baking, selling and storage were crammed into the tiny space. The plan was to move the bakery’s production into the new 1300 square foot space and renovate the Walnut Street shop to be purely retail.

Everything was going as planned until a month before the $80,000 renovation project on Walnut Street was complete. This included laying hard wood floors throughout the space and a complete overhaul of the bathroom to repair the two foot hole in the floor that was a skylight of sorts, straight into the basement. My landlord sent a certified letter demanding a 250% rent increase because the upgrades to the space, the upgrades I paid for, make it more valuable. Even though this demand wasn’t legally viable mid-lease, it didn’t stop him from trying to take advantage of a small business owner. An eleven month legal battle ensued. Finally, I decided it wasn’t worth it for me or for my business to be in a contract with such a vile person, especially when the Walnut Street space was far less than perfect and needed significant upgrades to the plumbing, electrical and heating which he, of course, was not willing to pay for.

I had to vacate the Walnut Street space by April 30th, 2018. There was a cold front that hit New Jersey the last two weeks of December 2017. They called it a ‘polar vortex.’ The heating in the Walnut Street space gave up. After 10 days with no relief from the frigid temperatures, the staff refused to come to work unless there were better conditions. I didn’t blame them. It was awful. Even the doughnuts were freezing.

On Saturday, December 30th, I decided to move as much of the retail fixtures as possible into the Label Street production space, overnight, in order to be open to customers on New Year’s Eve. Brad, Jessica, Cori and I carried as much as we could. Jess and I pushed the retail counter down the street. The running club got word of the debacle and before long there were two pick up trucks and 10 runners at the door eager to help. It was an incredible display of kindness and support.

The last 10 months have been a struggle. The retail team and the bakers are constantly fighting to find space. Even though we once managed to work together in 600 square feet of space, we’ve grown so much that we just don’t all fit. I’ve stared at the space from every angle and tried to find ways to create a better flow for work and for customers. I spent the entire day cleaning, purging and reorganizing the bakery. I started my mission after the kids went to school and I threw away the last load of garbage just in time to feed them and put them to bed. We were all completely exhausted.

I am proud of the bakery I have built. Sometimes I get caught up in the day-to-day grind and forget how much I love this space and the community around it. Leaving the Walnut Street space behind is the best decision I didn’t get to make. At least the doughnuts keep people happy while the space continues to be a work in progress!

Tuesday, October 24th I’m getting reacquainted with 5am alarms. This morning, I went back to Adrienne’s interval class. Though I can’t quite keep up with 100% of the class, I managed to complete my share of squats, lunges & planks. I haven’t noticed any pain related to my surgery this week. Instead, I’m experiencing muscle pain from the work I’ve put in at PT and with Adrienne. It’s a great feeling.

Last December, I was approached by Julie from Keller Williams Realty. She was constructing a new office space for her agents in Upper Montclair and she wanted me to open a mini version of my retail store in the front window. The town approved the project and I started preparing to duplicate my retail presence. After living through the build-out of my Label Street bakery, I knew these projects never go as planned so I sat and waited to hear someone say ‘go,’ before I wasted valuable time jumping through hoops.

The last week of July, seven months behind schedule, I finally got the call. The space was ready for Montclair Bread Company. My carpenter, Shaun, who built the fixtures for the Walnut and Label Street bakeries started building a new counter for the Lorraine Street space. My coffee partner, Stumptown, helped me figure out what I needed to duplicate all the brewing systems.

All progress was halted when I won a surprise vacation to downtown Newark. I asked Jessica, my #2 at the bakery, to add this to her growing list of responsibilities. Through August and September, she picked up where I left off with Shaun and Stumptown. She met with electricians, interviewed potential new staff, ordered supplies and coordinated with our vendors.

Today was the first time I was able to see the new space she created. We went together with carloads of supplies to unpack. Although we have no choice but to blend into the Keller Williams aesthetic, our little outpost is taking shape and it’s starting to feel like an extension of our home base. Jessica has done a remarkable job handling all the moving parts, most likely better than I could have done myself. This is yet another shining example of my inability to ‘do it all,’ and my ability to depend on a strong team of independent, motivated people to get the job done.

Wednesday, October 25th I knew my marriage was over five years before I had the strength to leave. Five years spent with one foot out the door and one foot hoping for change. I was so angry. I took my aggression out on everyone around me….the cashier at the grocery store who was too busy looking at her phone to ring up my cereal, the customer who asked if anything was gluten free or vegan or gluten free AND vegan, the bank teller who lost my deposit…

Running didn’t make me happier but it did refocus my anger. I was training for a half marathon. There were lots of days I would only run three miles (I know, “only” is subjective). On these days, I ran as hard as I could. I ran until I couldn’t feel my anger because the pain in my legs was greater. I felt myself running faster and faster each day.

Every time I signed up for a race, I got a new PR…5K, 10K, 13.1, 26.2. When my body started to tell me it couldn’t go any further, I used my rage to get me to the finish line. Jokingly, I told my running friends, I could never go through with a divorce because I wouldn’t be able to run fast anymore.

The joke was on me. The year after I finally succeeded in making positive life changes, my training times were the fastest ever. I ran my fastest mile on the road and I could run even faster during track workouts but my race PR’s stayed the same. Some of them, like my marathon time, increased. I lost my edge. I lost my ability to push through the pain in those final miles.

I was happy. I am happy. It didn’t matter if it was the 5K Lager Run or the Chicago Marathon, I would get to the point where I needed mental strength above physical strength and I would give up. I didn’t NEED this race. I didn’t NEED to prove anything. I just wanted to be comfortable and finish.

For the last 10 weeks, comfort has not been an option. In fact, there has not been one single day that my body has been comfortable. I’m training for the race of my life, the race to recovery. All the doctors and health professionals are in disbelief with the amount of progress I’ve made in such a short time. I’m months ahead of where most patients would be if given the same obstacles.

I am taking each day as it comes. Some days I feel good and I move forward. Some days, I need a break and I take a two hour nap in the afternoon. I don’t have the ability to settle into a comfortable place because there isn’t one. I have a greater understanding of biomechanics. I know what pain is good, what pain I can push through and what pain is telling me to stop.

The good pain reminds me of all the finish lines I pushed, with all my anger, to cross. This accident has given me a new reason to push through the pain, only the anger has been replaced with gratitude. I am thankful I can feel the pain and thankful I have the ability generate enough power to feel discomfort in my muscles.

I often feel guilty about the progress I’m making because I know for so many people, it’s not attainable. Then I remember the countless early morning hours spent training for the next big race. All the tempo runs settling into a seemingly unreasonable pace for 10 miles, all the 800’s looping around the track holding back puke, all the miles, all the races, prepared me for this. My surgeon said, if someone could train to be in this situation, if someone could be the perfect candidate for a speedy recovery, it would be me. The hours of my life I devoted to running are hours I can shave off my recovery time. I am comfortable with discomfort. I earned this.

Thursday, October 26th When I was in the hospital, Yana brought me a sandwich-sized ziploc bag filled with granola made by her mom. She told me, for years, it was the only thing she could eat in the morning. During the rest of my hospital stay, it became the only thing I could stomach for the first part of the day. It’s the perfect blend of oats, nuts and fruit to make you feel like you’re eating something indulgent but know, at the end of the day, it’s still pretty healthy.

I made the little baggie last as long as I could. When I was out, I begged Yana to bring me more. I was more addicted to that granola than the pain meds. Unfortunately, Yana’s mom lives on the west coast AND her oven isn’t working. I had to wait weeks before she was able to bake at a friend’s house and ship more granola my way.

Yana came over early in the morning to deliver the goods. This time, I was gifted a giant freezer bag full AND the recipe to make my own which may have been in lieu of a note saying ‘fuck off, quit asking me.’ Either way, I am incredibly grateful for the supply and the means to make my own batch. Hopefully, I will do it justice.

I’ve become so addicted to Yana’s mom’s granola that Yana and I have hatched a plan to sell jars of it to the general public or at least the general running public. It’s best if it’s covered in milk. I let mine get extra soggy before I eat it. On at least two occasions this led to Josie and/or Brad throwing my bowl away when it had probably reached it’s maximum flavor potential. Yana has offered up her favorite repurposed Bonne Maman jelly jars as vessels for the sale.

It’s interesting to see the ripple effects of this accident. A lot of good has come from of a very bad situation.

Friday, October 27th Two weeks after my surgery, I had my first follow-up visit with the doctor. My stitches came out. I was granted permission to shower. It was the best thing I could have hoped for. My next appointment was scheduled for four weeks later. I didn’t ask the surgeon if I could start putting more weight on my left side, get in a swimming pool or drive a car at the end of the four weeks because it seemed so far outside the realm of reality. I couldn’t possibly be ready to drive in that short amount of time.

When the four weeks was up and I was in the office again, I couldn’t wait to ask about driving, weight bearing, and swimming. In fact, I couldn’t tolerate one more day if I couldn’t get approval for at least one of these activities. Of course, Dr. Adams said yes to my requests and a few more. I also asked about the stationary bike which was given a green light.

For the last month, I’ve lived to my maximum potential within the limits established by the doctors. I’ve been in the pool. I’m riding my bike on a trainer. I even went to a spin class this week. Dr. Adams said I was to spend the six weeks after my visit with him working up to full weight bearing and, at the end of the six weeks, I might be able to start strength training. One week after my appointment I was full weight bearing and a week later, my strength training began, five weeks ahead of schedule.

I didn’t ask about running. At the time, I couldn’t walk on my own. My left side ached with pain. I couldn’t lay on my right side and I couldn’t even think about laying on my left. Just thinking about running was painful, there was no way I could possibly be ready to run before my next appointment with him. After all, when I was in the hospital, I was told it would be 6-12 months before I would be able to pound the pavement again. I’m still a couple weeks shy of the three month mark.

Just like the pool and the car at my first appointment, I wish I’d asked about running. It was in the back of my head. I didn’t ask because I didn’t want to be let down when he said no. Before this week, I wasn’t anxious to run again. I knew my body couldn’t handle it. I was expending enough energy just getting through one day of normal activity. PT, swimming and riding my bike on the trainer was a lot to do and to be grateful for having the strength to do.

Yesterday at PT, I asked Dr. Mayes for a timeline. I need a goal. For so many weeks, walking was the goal. I’m at the point where every daily activity, walking, lifting bags of flour, going up and down stairs, getting in and out of the car, feels normal. I don’t have any pain in my hip. There’s still a huge chunk of my thigh that doesn’t have any nerve sensation which is uncomfortable but not painful. I’m no longer experiencing extreme fatigue during the twilight hours after too much activity caught up to me. I don’t need 24 hours to recover from a workout or PT session. I’ve completed a tough workout every day this week. Life feels normal in every way, except I can’t run.

Dr. Mayes has enough experience with runners to know, he can’t commit to a date or even a concrete timeline for my return to running. He knows that if he gives me a date, I will do everything I can to make it happen, even if it means jeopardizing my progress thus far. I can say I won’t and I can even convince myself I won’t, but I will. For now, he told me I can walk the 5K Doughnut Run course and report back. That’s exactly what I did with Hillary today, pain free after 3.1 miles of brisk walking. Now that it’s checked off my list, I’m eagerly awaiting my next assignment.

Saturday, October 28th Feeling normal doesn’t feel normal without goals. I can’t remember the last time I wasn’t registered for a race. I’m a planner. When Brad and I first started dating, I struggled with his inability to commit to a plan. At first I thought he wasn’t sure if he wanted to spend time with me, then I realized he just wasn’t keen on scheduling things in advance. Both of us work in industries where things change constantly and it is legitimately difficult to plan ahead. He has photo assignments pop up out of the blue. I have staff call-outs or last minute orders throw a wrench in my plans.

I tried to hide my type-A and pretend that I could go with the flow too. That lasted until a major scheduling error left us with a canceled trip to San Francisco. This was the trip that was rescheduled for the day after my accident. Third time’s a charm??? Now I try to look ahead for both of us. I communicate this-is-set-in-stone dates and I’m flexible with the rest of the calendar.

My eagerness to plan is especially prevalent when it comes to training. I often register for races at the earliest possible opportunity. In the case of the Lake Placid 70.3, it was a full year prior to the start of the triathlon. Now that my body feels normal, the only thing that doesn’t feel normal is a lack of race goals.

Taking mandatory time off from training has given me a different perspective. I’ve spent the last four years focused on distance and shaving minutes off my marathon time. Running any less than 40 miles a week made me feel lazy. My half marathon pace and my 5K pace are the same. I have the ability to settle into uncomfortable for miles after miles but I lack the strength and the fast twitch muscles to make uncomfortable even more so.

A date is set and registration is finally open for the sprint triathlon in my hometown I’ve set my sights on. My primary goal is to swim 750 meters, bike 11.5 miles and run 3.1 miles on June 2nd. Like any good goal, I need a plan to achieve it. Over the six months leading up to the race, I want to set new PR’s in the 5K and the 10K. Having never trained for short distances before, this should be realistic. The only wild card is the new hardware holding my pelvis together and that I haven’t been cleared to run at all…..yet.

If all goes well, I should be able to train for distance again next fall and put the NYC Marathon back on my calendar. I’ve tried my best to be supportive and happy for everyone running the race I had to drop out of this year, but it has been incredibly difficult to let go. Setting new race goals for myself is part of my healing process. Sometimes the mental wounds hurt more than the physical pain.

Week 9

Peach Prosciutto Pizza on Sourdough Crust

Sunday, October 14th Three months after Josie was born, we moved from Queens, NY to Milford, PA. For months leading up to the move, I consulted on a bakery project. One of my former co-workers, Mark Edmonds, was turning an old carriage house into a bakery. The kitchen was tiny. I helped designed the layout, connected Mark with equipment vendors and worked out a bread menu. I loved the space. When Mark asked me to leave my position as Production Manager at Amy’s Bread to be the Head Baker at The Patisserie, I agreed.

I baked baguettes, ciabatta, miche, focaccia and brioche daily, along with seasonal loaves based on ingredients local farmers dropped off. I had one bread mixer and not a lot of time to get everything mixed, shaped and baked before the customers arrived. While the French dough was mixing, I used plastic tubs to mix the ciabatta and focaccia by hand.

The focaccia was the simplest of all the recipes. It didn’t require a preferment or starter or mother or levain, all baker lingo for dough that needs to be mixed the day before. Instead I squirreled away lumps of fresh focaccia dough for the next day’s loaves. Using old dough helps to add flavor and longevity to the bread. It’s a little less complicated than mixing a preferment.

Amazingly, one can work in a bakery yet, when hungry, starving even, find nothing to eat. I quickly discovered, or maybe Mark discovered, these lumps of old dough made great pizza crust. Using the dough to make focaccia the day it’s mixed, yields a thick, airy crust that we topped with a few fresh slices of tomato and basil leaves. When the dough is refrigerated overnight, it can stretch ten times its size into a thin, crisp pizza crust. Pizzas became the go-to family meal for the bakery staff. We never sold our pizzas to customers.

I lasted for nearly three years in the country before taking a job closer to civilization in Carlstadt, NJ. At Tribeca Oven, I was responsible for developing and testing bread recipes or ‘formulas’ as we say in the industry. I worked with large retailers and restaurant groups like Target, Wegmans, Whole Foods, Uno’s and Hyatt. HMS Host was one of the biggest accounts. If you eat a sandwich in an airport or at a stop on the Jersey Turnpike, the bread was my design!

French dough for baguettes was produced 24/7 in the baking facility. It accounted for 80% of sales. The shaping process created barrels and barrels of scrap dough called “trim.” It couldn’t be incorporated back into other doughs, like I did with the focaccia in Milford, because the fermentation levels were not consistent enough. When working with major corporations, consistency is the number one priority.

The only major difference between French dough and focaccia dough it that focaccia has olive oil blended in and French dough doesn’t. I pulled trim dough off the production floor and let it rest overnight before turning it into pizzas for the staff the next day. The best part of my job at Tribeca Oven was the steady flow of ingredients vendors wanted me to “test.” These cheeses, veggies and seasonings became the pizza toppings for the week.

Flash forward a couple years to Montclair Bread Company. I can’t remember the first time I made pizza in my bakery space but it was 100% a byproduct of something else I was making and it was undoubtedly for a staff meal. Pizza was never the first goal, until the early days of the running club, when I mixed focaccia dough to use for pizzas served at our leadership team meetings. Anne Arthur became an expert in pizza dough stretching and topping. In the months between our meetings, we plotted the toppings for the next month.

• Sweet Potato, Blue Cheese & Bacon

• Puttenesca

• Short Rib, Sauteed Onions & Peppers

• Asparagus, Corn & Ricotta

• Proscuitto, Peas & Caramelized Onion

As the club grew and we designed the membership structure, we opened our monthly pizza sessions up to all the members. In the beginning, before there were 250 members, everyone was able to make their own pizzas with toppings I prepared. After a few of these pizza parties, I realized we could offer pizza making to the general public and I designed a doughnut decorating/pizza party for children’s birthdays.

It wasn’t until three years later, when the MBCo patio became a destination and musicians were scheduled for Friday nights, pizza first appeared for sale on our menu….ten years after I first baked pizza in Milford, PA.

Why the pizza story today? Pizza has become such a huge part of the bakery’s life force that I have commissioned a wood-fired pizza oven to be built for the patio space. Pizzas will be made outdoors, in a beautiful copper domed oven with clay stones imported from France, constructed by a small family-owned company in Maine. This oven has been my dream since I first laid eye on it, six years ago. I’m finally taking the plunge. I put the deposit in the mail today.

Completed Peacock on my left thigh

Monday, October 15th After a long activity-filled weekend, it was nice to have a quiet leisurely morning before heading to PT. At my therapy session today, I continued to work on single leg squats, lunges and core strengthening. Dr. C told me I’ve progressed beyond the scope of my injury and I’m currently doing all the same exercises he would assign to any weak runner. No one thought I would be in this place for another 4-5 weeks.

After lunch, I went to see Anna at Powerhouse Tattoo. I wanted her to create a positive reminder that this crazy thing happened. My friend Allison once told me that my business strategy - giving my staff creative control and allowing them to take ownership - is like that of a peacock, always leaving beauty in its wake. It resonated with me and I spend a lot of time thinking about that peacock when I’m feeling anxious.

When I was in elementary school, my grandmother would take me to visit her parents. They lived a couple miles away, down a windy country road with no visible neighbors. They had an acre or two of land where they grew fruits and vegetables for the family and a trellis supporting clusters of grapes my grandmother turned into jelly every fall. My great-grandfather was a milk man, delivering dairy to doorsteps, before it fell out of style. His Model-T Ford was parked in his garage. My great-grandmother was a teacher in a one room school house until she retired. She was also an expert in caning chairs. She always had a project in the works…soaking cane in basins, chairs turned upside down on the porch. Going to visit them was like stepping back in time.

Aside from the grapes, my great-grandfather’s napkin animals (his bunnies were the best!) and his harmonica playing skills, what I remember most about visiting the farmhouse are the peacocks that roamed the yard. They were often in the giant oak tree perched on a branch. They never showed their feathers…they were always dragging behind them in a tight coil. I do remember, they would create quite a ruckus, chattering back and forth to each other.

When I mentioned peacock to Anna, she was all over it. I wanted to her include a few Pennsylvania Dutch influenced flowers to give a little nod to my childhood. She has a way with colors and flowers. I saw the design for the first time, minutes before Anna made it a permanent fixture on my thigh, the thigh that was slammed against the pavement two months ago. Now, when I look down, I’ll know this accident WILL leave beauty in its wake. I WILL be strong again and I WILL NOT take life for granted.

Hudson Valley happiness

Tuesday, October 16th Yesterday at PT, I realized most of the exercises I completed were the same as what I would do in a group class at Architect Studios. This morning, I got up at 5am to attend Adrienne’s HIIT class. I wasn’t sure how much I would be able to do but, having joined her after several other progressions back from minor injuries, I was too familiar with modifications. Thankfully, this particular class focused on body weight. I was able to keep up with the group and make it through to the end. It felt almost normal.

I didn’t have much time to shower and reassemble myself before it was time to drive to Hyde Park, NY for the Culinary Institute of America’s career fair. This was my longest car ride, or length sitting in one position.

Students in the Baking and Pastry program are only given a total of six weeks out of a two year program to learn about breads. When I enrolled in the program, I wanted to make fancy wedding cakes, just like my grandmother. I think 98% of the students enrolled for the same reason - the showmanship. The program was set up as a progression. The students move through a series of classes, three weeks at a time, starting with Hearth Breads & Rolls. Everyone dreaded the bread class. Yeast is scary. It was simply a stepping stone to move on to something more fun, like Chocolates & Confections.

When I walked into Bakeshop 6, it smelled like my grandma’s basement - damp, yeasty, earthy. Chef Nick Greco was so passionate about fermenting flour, it was impossible not to get excited. Each of us created our own sourdough that we fed and nurtured for two weeks until we were able to use our culture to create a loaf of bread. I was hooked! I decided then and there, I wanted to be a bread baker. Fancy cakes are great but they’re only a part of someone’s life for a special occasion. Bread is everyday life…toast in the morning, a sandwich at lunch, on the table at dinner. Being a bread baker would allow me to be a part of my community every, single, day.

Returning the the Culinary Institute of America reminds me of the reasons I chose this life. It makes me forget the angry customers, the staffing issues and the equipment repairs. It inspires me to return to the basics and bake better bread.

Pizza making with Sharon Burns Leader (Bread Alone) and Paula Olin (Balthazar’s). This was taken two weeks before my fall.

Wednesday, October 17th - This morning, Brad and I woke up in Poughkeepsie and drove up route 9 to Rhinebeck where we turned to head across the river into Kingston. When I was a student at the CIA, I navigated this course at 2am, almost every day. I continued past Kingston and up Route 28 to Boiceville, where I snuggled in next to the bakers to shape as many loaves of bread as they would allow before my shift as a barista started.

Three weeks in bread class wasn’t enough to learn all I wanted to know. I needed more. I asked Chef Greco what I could do. He sent me to his friend Dan Leader who owned Bread Alone Bakery. When I met with Dan, he told me there was no work for bakers, he had a strong team already in place. He had an opening for a barista, which I happily took. That’s when I started driving an hour every morning to arrive at Bread Alone, four hours before my retail shift started.

I nudged my way in between the bakers and tried to keep up. The bakery smelled like yeast and toast. Reggaeton blared over the speakers. The team worked to the beat to keep pace. They could shape eight loaves in the time it took me to shape one. Their hands stayed clean. Mine were covered in tacky dough. After weeks of trying to not make a mess, I finally started to get it right.

Somewhere along the way, I was introduced to Sharon, Dan’s business partner. Sharon was the life force of the bakery. She ran the business end but that was just the beginning. She handled all the large catering orders, trained the staff, participated in community events, developed new recipes, figured out delivery routes and logistics for farmers markets…she really did it all. She called on me for help from time to time and I did anything and everything she asked, just to have a little time learning from this amazing woman.

Nearly fifteen years later, I’m still learning from Sharon. We spend a week together in Maine at a Kneading Conference most summers. Last summer, she taught me how to take my pizza dough to the next level and egged me on when I told her I wanted my own pizza oven. She recently visited my bakery to see how I handle my doughnut production. It was the biggest compliment I’ve gotten in my professional lifetime.

Sharon gave Brad and I a tour of her new baking facility in Kingston. Three years ago, when she opened, the bakery had more space than she could have dreamed but she’s already outgrown it. It’s comforting to know we all have the same struggles with space and time.

America’s Best Raisin Bread: Currant Seeded Loaves

Thursday, October 18th When I was pregnant with my daughter Josie, I gained 85 pounds.  Truth be told, I was a solid 110 soaking wet, before my pregnancy…the annoying girl who could eat an entire chocolate cake and lose 10 pounds.  Morning sickness took its toll and I lost weight during my first trimester. Then, Ronnybrook Dairy opened across the hall from Amy’s Bread in Chelsea Market, where I was working. I drank a quart of their chocolate milk nearly everyday.

My midwife told me I needed to stop eating bread (and drinking chocolate milk) because my weight gain was excessive.  Instead, I developed a bread recipe that would support a healthy pregnancy and included all the vitamins and nutrients she told me I needed to eat.  I included black strap molasses for iron, flax for omega-3’s, pumpkin seeds for B vitamins and potassium and currants for vitamin C, magnesium, more B vitamins. The loaves were made with 100% whole grain flours. I had the recipe certified by the Cleveland Clinic with their seal of approval for healthy foods. Five years after I developed the Currant Seeded Bread, I competed in the America’s Best Raisin Bread Competition and it won the Grand Prize!

As I struggle to keep my weight at a normal level with less activity, I crave this bread. During the last couple months, I’ve wanted to be strong enough to bake a batch but I wasn’t quite ready. Today, I lifted a 50 pound bag of flour…or six of them to be exact. The whole wheat flour bin was empty and the bag I needed was buried under a stack of five other bags.

I mixed the sourdough biga and scaled the ingredients. Everything is prepped and ready to go for a Friday bake!

When I returned home from the bakery, I carried my laundry down two flights of stairs to the basement. The flour bags and the laundry process were two major obstacles standing in my way of returning to full functioning. At this point, the only thing I really can’t do is run.

Croissants in the making

Friday, October 19th I pushed myself to my limit today. I’m not sure what I was thinking. In addition to my currant seeded bread, I set up a croissant dough test yesterday to be completed today. I greatly underestimated the amount of time it would take me to finish these doughs because, at the same time, I had to prepare for our open house at the Montclair Running Company.

I woke up around 5am, made coffee, sat at home and worked on the computer for a couple hours. At 7am, I went to the bakery to mix the seeded dough and assess the croissant situation. I pulled butter out of the fridge to soften. At 9am, I drove to the new bakery retail space in Upper Montclair to meet with the electrician. I rushed back to Label Street by 10am to divide my seeded dough into loaves. By 11am, I moved onto laminating the croissant dough. I had to pound the butter flat and roll the dough thin enough to wrap around the butter. Over the next 3 hours, I laminated layers of butter between layers of dough through a series of resting, folding, rolling and repeat. I was working with 25 pounds of butter and dough. It was exhausting.

During this process, around 1pm, I loaded the seeded loaves into the oven. I think that was the also the time I took a break to inhale a meatball sandwich. Once I finished creating the layered dough, it was time to shape it into croissants. I rolled the four inch thick dough down to a sheet that was 3 millimeters thin. I could only handle a small portion of the dough at one time. It spread across my entire work surface where I cut it into triangle which I rolled into croissants…36 of them. I repeated this process three more times. I finished the last croissant at 4:30pm, ran home, showered off the flour and made it back to he bakery just in time to set up for the event at the running store.

The first runners arrived at 5:30pm. While I was busy tending to my dough, Brad was cleaning, stocking and organizing the running store. Miraculously, we were set up for sales, just in time. Over the next three hours, Brad and I enjoyed a ‘relaxing’ evening chatting with running friends about our plans to complete the Running Co. space and the new inventory we’re stocking.

We made it home just in time to beat the food delivery I ordered for dinner. I went to bed the second after I took the last bite. It was a long day.

Saturday, October 20th Not a day goes by without a note from a kind-hearted soul. So many people have reached out to share their injury and recovery stories with me. Even more have shared relatable stories about people in their lives. I read every word and I am grateful for every well wish, even if I don’t have a quick response. Your cards, your emails, text messages and notes on social media have been instrumental in my recovery process. Some are from people I hardly know, some are from people I haven’t spoken to in years, and some are from people I see every day.

I’m keeping this recovery journal public in hopes that someone going through a similar situation will find comfort knowing they are not alone. It helps me communicate my feelings, mental and physical, with the outside world. The word, ‘inspiration', is thrown in my direction often but all of your well wishes are the real inspiration. Your kindness inspires me to be a better, kinder person and to stay connected with my community here and communities I’ve left behind over the years. I will be forever grateful for your thoughtful support.

Week 8

Then vs. Now with a month in between

Sunday, October 7th Two months ago, I went out for an easy, long bike ride that turned out to be anything but. I was told it would be 6-12 months before I could run again. Nike will release two new versions of my running shoes before I can lace up again. They’ve already released one.

Today, I can walk without the assistance of crutches, canes or walkers. I still feel every step. I wouldn’t call it painful but there’s a constant ache in my hip. The nerves haven’t fully regenerated. My leg feels like a dead weight I have to lift to move forward. My left thigh has lost all muscle tone. It’s half the size of my right thigh.

My right leg has been compensating for the weakness in my left. As my body starts to realign and I shift weight onto my left side, the tightness in my right calf is reducing. My wrists no longer ache from clutching the handles of my crutches. There is no swelling in my left leg. I no longer need to wear thigh-high compression socks daily.

The bloating in my stomach has disappeared. The 14 inch scar across my abdomen is almost invisible. The shape of my torso is distorted from being taken apart and reassembled. I believe this is permanent. There is scar tissue built up below the surface of my skin, restricting my movements.

Although I’m not up to lifting a 50 pound bag of flour, I am able to carry tools and ingredients around the bakery. I can cook dinner for my family. I can last for two hours on my feet before I need to rest. I still require a nap every afternoon.

I can take a shower. I turned in my nightshirts and sweatpants for jeans. My clothes fit. I do not need help getting dressed. I can put my own socks on both feet.

I sleep through the night, although I often wake up from nightmares of my time spent in the hospital. I am able to comfortably roll onto my right side. I am no longer condemned to sleeping flat on my back.

I can drive my car. I don’t have to ask for rides to and from my PT appointments. I’m not able to sit in the car for long periods of time but I can go to the grocery store and take the kids to their activities.

I am able to get on a stationary bike and ride for an hour. I can swim a half mile of laps in the pool. My cardio fitness is starting to come back a little at a time. Running is still far out of reach. My hip throbs with pain just thinking about the force it would take to pound the pavement.

All of these are things I took for granted two months ago.

Monday, October 8th Last night when I went to bed, I was in a lot of pain. Although I didn’t bike or swim, I was more active than I’ve been used to in my daily activities. Over the course of the weekend, I made 10 gallons of white bean kale soup for the bakery and I hosted Keegan’s friends for his birthday party, two weeks late. There was a lot of moving around.

I strongly considered calling the doctor and telling him I couldn’t make my PT session today. I knew I would be pushed to my limits and when I woke up, just walking to the bathroom was enough of a push.

Reluctantly, I gathered myself and arrived just in time for my appointment. Now that I can walk without a cane, my exercises have become more demanding. So many of the stretches I’m doing are beyond what my body would have allowed before my injury.

I practiced lunges trying to get my back knee as close to the floor as I could. Dr. C started with three pads to raise the ‘floor’ high enough to meet my knee. Little by little he took the pads away until there was only one. This is a good six inches lower than I’ve ever been able to lunge.

Next, I completed two sets of squats, trying to keep my body as centered as possible. My right side is still very dominant. It’s hard to squat without leaning. My left knee is weak. It tries to buckle inward.

Dr. C helped me to roll onto my left side. This side has been off limits since my surgery. I was afraid it was going to be unbearably painful. It wasn’t. It was uncomfortable after a couple minutes but it’s no longer out of reach.

I moved on to side planks. I held each plank for 10 seconds before taking a break. What I think I should be able to do and what my body allows are not the same. I tried to lift my upper leg while in the plank, not for bonus points, because Dr. C instructed me to. It wouldn’t budge. My abdominal muscles are still recovering.

Finally, I worked on single leg balancing. It’s not obvious but walking is a series of single leg balances and running becomes a series of single leg squats. Even though I can walk, I was afraid to balance on my left leg for any length of time.

Once I mastered balancing on one leg at PT I came home and showered without the use of a stool for the first time. I stood to put my pants on one leg at a time. Before today, I was too afraid to hold the balance for the time it took to get my right foot in a pant leg. Yet again, PT has given me the confidence to progress.

Tuesday, October 9th I’ve never had a problem bouncing out of bed when the alarm goes off. For years, the alarm was set for 3am. Before I went to sleep, I put my clothes in the bathroom so I could get up and get dressed without waking the kids. I would arrive at the bakery to fry doughnuts by 3:30am.

Once I was able to hand off the 3am shift, my alarm was pushed back to 5am. I still followed the same routine only the clothes in the bathroom were of the poly tech variety and I made sure to include my socks, sneakers, head lamp & reflective vest so I could meet Anne & Ryan for a 5:30am run.

As long as I can remember, I’ve been an early riser. When I was in elementary school, I woke up hours before my mother. I turned on Saturday morning cartoons and sat in front of the TV until she finally got out of bed.

As a teenager, I loved staying with my grandparents because they were always up before the sunrise. My mom’s dad, Pop, would come into my room when he finished shaving and slap my cheeks with Old Spice aftershave to wake me up. Then I would sit and have coffee with my grandmother while I watched her make sandwiches. She packed school lunch for my cousin and I every day. When no one was looking, Pop would take one huge bite out of my sandwich and put it back. Seeing the missing bite when I opened my brown bag at the lunch table made me smile.

A couple weeks out of every year, I stayed with my dad’s parents. Depending on the season it was either in Gainesville, FL or Edgartown, MA. My grandfather, John, and I were always the first out of bed. We would walk to the nearest bakery to buy muffins or bagels for breakfast. He would purchase copies of the Wall Street Journal and the New York Times. While he looked at stock prices, I tried my best to complete one of Shortz’s finest. This routine solidified my everlasting love affair with the Times crossword puzzle.

Now, I feel like I’m in a perpetual state of jet lag. This morning, I turned my alarm off and went back to sleep rather than joining the running club to see the sunrise. I can’t seem to get back on a regular schedule. Some nights, my body is restless and doesn’t allow me more than a couple hours without waking. Other nights, I sleep soundly for nearly 10 hours straight. No matter how restful the night, I can’t get through the day without laying down for a nap. I have no endurance to complete daily activities, let alone of the athletic variety. I know if I can get back on a normal early morning schedule I will feel better in so many ways but I continue to struggle.

Wednesday, October 10th After my three pregnancies, I never did lose all the weight I’d gained.  I held onto 20 pounds from each baby. When my youngest was a year old, just about the time I started making doughnuts at Montclair Bread Co, I started gaining back the pounds I’d lost while nursing him.  I remember looking at the production photos from my TV appearance on Donut Showdown and not recognizing the person I’d become. I was so uncomfortable in my body. I was clumsy because I didn’t understand my own mass.  I decided to take drastic measures.

I signed up for high intensity interval training at Architect Studios.  My mom friends and I met Adrienne when she was a personal trainer and fitness instructor at the Y. When I heard she opened her own gym, I was eager to check it out. Much like our running club, Adrienne makes everyone feel good about showing up no matter what their body condition.

For months I went three days a week. I started to feel in control of my body.  I stopped drinking soda. My clothes started fitting better and then they started falling off.  It was a very slow process. I wasn’t losing much weight but I was losing my belly fat and I was gaining muscle mass.  When December rolled around and I hosted the first ever Doughnut Run, the time I spent with Adrienne at Architect prepared me to run with the group.  Until that day, anytime I’d tried to run, I gave up after a couple blocks, too winded to go any further. All the work I put into Adrienne’s classes gave me the abdominal strength, the leg muscles and the cardio fitness to complete the 2.2 mile run with ease.

My friend Kyra tried to get me to run with her for years. One time I met her for what she considered an ‘easy three miles.’ I made it a mile before we walked home. Kyra was the first person I called to tell her about my 4K achievement. She told me I should sign up for a race to give me a goal and keep me motivated. Naturally, I chose the Sleepy Hallow half marathon, three months out.

I continued to go to Architect Studios during my half marathon training.  I only ran 3 days each week, no more than 16 miles total. The pounds started dripping off me like warm butter.  By the time I’d reached my goal race, a year after I took my first interval class, I’d lost more than 30 pounds. More importantly, I felt great about my body, my clothes fit and I could still eat doughnuts.

One of my biggest struggles in the no-run-zone is managing my weight and my diet. It’s fall. It’s hard to resist apple cider doughnuts and hearty meat stews. I try to keep my meals as healthy as possible but I crave comfort more than anything.

Thursday, October 11th When I went to PT this morning, Dr. Mayes gave me the form I filled out one month ago, when I started seeing him for this injury. It was a functionality checklist. Today, I had to complete the same list to compare my answers and see my progress. It’s crazy to think, when I first visited his office, Brad had to escort me in so I didn’t fall. I couldn’t sit on a chair without assistance. Resuming normal activities seemed light years away.

My biggest accomplishment today was balancing on a wobble board for three minutes while playing catch with Dr. Mayes. I don’t have a good sense for where I should be in terms of progress but I’ve been told this is overachieving.

To celebrate, I decided to treat my family to a pot of chicken and dumplings the way my grandmother made it. It’s the first time I’ve tried to assemble the recipe since she passed which means it’s the first time I haven’t been able to call her with silly questions throughout the process. She started with a whole chicken or chicken breast which she stewed on the stovetop for hours. I put a couple pounds of chicken thighs in the dutch oven with garlic and herbs and slow roasted them until the meat fell off the bones.

Once the chicken was deboned and shredded, I covered it with water, added a few bay leaves (this was my grandmother’s secret ingredient for everything) and let it simmer. My grandmother made a basic pie dough recipe using shortening, salt and pepper for the dumplings. I did the same but I replaced half the shortening with butter to give it a little more flavor and a better mouthfeel. Josie helped me roll out the dough and cut them into one inch diamonds.

When the pot with the chicken was bubbling, I added the dumplings one at a time, stirring it after every dozen so they didn’t stick together, Cracker Barrel style. Once the dumplings puffed and started rising to the top, I added a bag of frozen peas and let the pot simmer for another hour. The flour from the dumplings turned the stew into a creamy, thick blend of nostalgic yum.

After all the preparation, no one in my family would actually eat my chicken and dumplings. I thought Keegan cleaned his plate but he just hid it in the refrigerator where he puts all the food he doesn’t want eat. He says he’s “saving it for tomorrow.” Ungrateful assholes, all of them.

Friday, October 12th What a rollercoaster. Recovery is like life amplified. My ups are really high and my downs are really low. Today was a down day. I’m finding that I need a full day to reset after each PT appointment. Though the exercises seem easy at the time, the muscle & bone fatigue a day later is harrowing.

Yesterday, I was at the peak of productivity and today, I feel like I’m letting everyone down. I’m unable to focus on simple tasks and I just want to lay in bed.

As I’m able to walk and look seemingly normal, everyone around me expects me to operate at 100% even though I feel like I’m at 50%. Everyone needs something….Josie needs help with math, Keegan can’t find his socks, Mac wants a different dinner than everyone else, Brad can’t find his keys (again), the accountant needs sign off on my (delayed) tax filings, the sales reps from 15 different companies need face-to-face meetings, the entire town of Montclair (and all the surrounding towns) needs donations for fundraisers, the bakery needs staff for the Upper Montclair location, the elementary school needs volunteers for the book fair, the carpenter needs construction permits filed for work on the running store, the running club needs waivers…this is just today’s list. It’s my mom’s birthday and I didn’t send a card. I’m unraveling more and more with every demand. I need solitude.

On the bright side, I reheated the chicken and dumplings I made last night and served it for dinner, again. I guess they were desperate because they ate it without too much grumbling.

Saturday, October 13th As Josie spends more time helping me in the bakery and gains more independence in her baking endeavors, I think about the first time I attempted a solo baking project.

The summer I turned 8, I stayed with my grandmother on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. She lived less than a mile from my mother and six doors down from my aunt.  Her house third from the the end of a row of 12 Nanticoke homes. Behind the houses was a cornfield that stretched as far as I could see. I spent hours getting lost in that field.

My grandmother let me help tend to her vegetable garden. She and her neighbors had a contest every year to see who could grow the first red tomato. The garden remained unchanged every year….tomatoes, bell peppers, zucchini, watermelons and cucumbers.

I lived in her pool, a four foot deep, above ground structure in the backyard.  Every few hours, I’d run inside to get Schwann’s ice cream sandwiches, refuel and jump back in. She had pool floats that would hold me and my soda. She also had a float for the dog.

One day, my grandmother was outside mowing the lawn. I decided to bake a batch of brownies.  I knew where to find the recipe in the red, gingham covered, Betty Crocker cookbook because the pages were stuck together from all my previous brownie endeavors.  I wanted to surprise everyone with brownies I baked without any help. I preheated the oven. I was so proud of myself for remembering this critical step.

I assembled all the ingredients. I melted the butter in the microwave. I started measuring the dry ingredients into a big metal bowl. While stirring them together, I started to smell something strange, like melting plastic. I turned around to see smoke billowing out of the oven and flames inside.  I ran out to get my grandmother. She sprinted into the house, turned off the oven and threw two boxes of baking soda onto the flames to put the fire out.

I forgot to remove the Tupperware bin of sliced white Wonder Bread and Muller’s potato buns she kept in America’s favorite secondary storage space. Melted plastic dripped through the racks and puddled in the bottom of the oven.

When Pop came home from work to see the charred wall behind the stove and the melted mess that would force them to replace the entire oven, he told me ‘that’s why pencils have erasers.’ Years later when I backed the car out of the garage and knocked out the side wall, he repeated this adage. 

I’ve never set an oven to preheat without checking to make sure it’s empty since 1988. I still have the Betty Crocker Cookbook with the gingham cover and the brownie batter covered pages. In fact, I have multiple copies. I can’t go to a used book sale without rescuing it from the piles of unwanted fad diet and Junior League cookbooks

Mom Mom, Pop & Me - summertime in the 80’s

Week 7

Full weight bearing on my injured side!

Sunday, September 30th Sundays are for doughnuts. The line at the bakery proved it once again this morning. I know I should be thrilled to have such a thriving business and I am BUT it’s also very difficult. Currently, my biggest struggle is being around crowds of people. Part of my brain is occupied thinking about each step I take and each obstacle coming toward me. The other part of my brain is consumed with trying to find the right thing to say to everyone who asks questions.

My mom came to visit for the first time since she came to help me prepare for my birthday party, 7 weeks ago. After she left to drive back to Maryland, Brad told me he had a conversation with her about how I can be very short tempered with people and he advised her not to be offended. It’s the new me. I was thankful he was looking out for me and for her, but it made me realize how much this accident is affecting everyone close to me.

I get rattled so quickly. I remember a time when my co-workers described me as unflappable. I long to get back to that mindset. Minor disturbances become deafening. A few months ago, the guy on the patio with his yappie dog would have blended into the noises on the street but today, I can’t hear past it. The sound of the the toddler kicking the wooden bench seemed as if it was amplified. Every time the door closes it echos in my brain. It’s overwhelming.

I think I am ready handle a given situation and I can, until I can’t. My mind and my bones are almost the same. Neither can tolerate more than an hour in one position. Bakery meetings, group runs, social gatherings…I enjoy being around people but then it’s like someone flips a switch and it goes from fun to torture in a few seconds. I start to become short with people until I can finally flee the scene.

Hillary was at the bakery preparing food for our annual Oktoberfest Run. It’s my favorite Fueled by Doughnuts event of the year. Runners are given half pint cups to carry through three miles of beer stops. There are a total of five stops, each highlighting a different local brewery. When participants complete the course, everyone comes back to a smorgasbord of bratwurst, pretzels & beer cheese.

I didn’t know how I could possibly muster the mental energy to make it through the event. After my mom left, I went home and showered, hoping to reset my brain. When I returned to “help” with preparations (I sat and pointed to where things reside), Necole, Lizzy & Chris had arrived. I felt at ease.

I wasn’t able to make it to the end of the party but I hung on as long as I could. It was the first time I felt comfortable drinking a beer outside of my apartment. Even though I’ve been drug free for a week now, I didn’t trust my balance enough to add another variable to the mix. Sitting on the patio, eating bratwurst and drinking beer with my running family is the most normal I’ve felt in a very long time. My brain is finally starting to heal in time with my bones.

Monday, October 1st A few weeks ago, I bought a collapsable cane. The bulk of all my supporting devices was getting overwhelming. I wanted to take up less physical space.

On Saturday, I was feeling strong. I tried to take a couple steps with the cane instead of the crutch. My left leg buckled as the cane wobbled from side to side. I wasn’t ready.

I realized how much weight I was putting on my single crutch and how dependent I still am on my devices. Over the next couple days, I tried to walk more upright, lean less and ultimately, put more weight on my left side.

I went to PT and told Dr. C about my cane trial. After evaluating my walking form, he asked me to put my crutch in the opposite hand, on my bad side. This would force me to put more weight though my left leg. The first couple steps were shaky. It’s like the rub your tummy, pat your head routine where you body is forced to do something that just doesn’t make any sense. Then I got the hang of it.

Next, he put the crutch in my right hand but turned it around so I only had the handle and not the forearm support. I was able to walk without any buckling or wobbling. He told me I was ready to use a cane.

When I got home, I swapped my crutch for my cane, showed Brad my new party trick and never looked back.

Tuesday, October 2nd Last night, I asked Barbara and John to help me set up my bike on a trainer. A trainer is a metal frame that attaches to the back wheel of a bike to render it for stationary use. In minutes, they had my bike ready to go inside our running clubhouse.

I set my alarm to get up for the 5:30am Sunrise Run with the group. I struggled to put on a pair of bike shorts, remembering the pain I felt the last time I had to take them off. I unearthed my bike shoes. For a while I thought I’d never be able to wear them again. I spent weeks searching Ebay and other resale sites for these shoes last year. The company didn’t make them anymore but they were a perfect match to my bike and I NEEDED them. They’re designed for triathletes. They have one big strap across the top rather than several straps and/or those little knobs that need to be tightened. They drain fast, dry fast and I can wear them without socks…perfect for going from swimming to cycling. My dented helmet and scuffed up gloves match my bike perfectly too. I was obsessed with making all my accessories look like one cohesive unit.

I wanted to replace every reminder of that day. Then I decided, they’re just shoes, they’re only here to serve a purpose and this morning that purpose is allowing me to take part in a physical activity. I went downstairs to meet the morning runners. When they took off on their run, I headed to the back room to ride my bike.

Learning how to go up and down stairs on crutches, I used a single practice step borrowed straight from a 90’s step class. The step proved itself useful again this morning. I placed it next to the bike to help me get on and off. When I’m fully functioning and riding on the road, I can tilt my bike to the side to swing one leg over. Having the bike positioned on the trainer, upright, makes getting on and off difficult for any rider. The step gave me enough height and allowed me to balance on my good side while hoisting my bad leg over the saddle.

My bike felt foreign to me. I thought I took the brunt of the fall and the bike was unscathed but there are a few things slightly out of wack. My left handlebar is bent just enough to remind me that neither of us are back to normal.

My goal was to move the pedals around for 15 minutes, no tension, no speed, just rotate my feet. I queued up My Favorite Murder to entertain me. I have a serious podcast addiction. Some of them like This American Life, Serial and Freakonomics, I listen to the second a new episode is released. Others like Wait, Wait, Don’t Tell Me, I reserve for car rides. I have a whole list of podcasts I only listen to while running, like My Favorite Murder, because the banter between the hosts is like having a couple of friends along for the miles but too distracting to listen to while I’m at home.

After I reached the 15 minute mark, I thought 5 more minutes wouldn’t be so terrible and they weren’t. My 20 minute ride made me feel like a whole person again. I set my alarm and got out of the house before sunrise. I wore workout clothes (good thing because the laundry hasn’t been done in a couple weeks and there’s nothing else clean). I broke a sweat! It was the only thing resembling a cardio workout I’ve completed in nearly two months.

Of course I couldn’t just rotate the peddles. I had to push the pace ever so slightly toward the end. When I got off the bike, my legs felt like they had really worked. Having the ability to use my bike AND get in a pool gives me hope. Lifting a 50 pound bag of flour or running a mile may still evade me for the next several months but this is enough for right now. I’m not longing for the next big thing. My stitches are out, I can sleep on my right side, I can (mostly) walk, I can drive and I can break a sweat!

Wednesday, October 4th In all the times an injury has prevented me from being able to run, the only thing I was unable to do in life was run. I could walk, lift heavy objects, spend hours sitting or standing, I just couldn’t run. I was completely miserable, every time…stress fracture, strained tendon, plantar facisitis, tendonitis…

When I went to the doc, I’d try to get a few more miles, or any miles at all, approved. If he said walk/run one, I’d run two. I’ll never forget how angry Dr. Mayes was when my ‘Snow Run’ posted on Strava. It was the kind of anger only a dad could invoke. He cleared me to run one mile. I ran three (in four inches of snow) because it was too pretty not to and everyone else was doing it. I told him it didn’t hurt but I’m certain it did.

This injury is different. There’s something about being unable to do anything at all, lying in bed for weeks, winded by a trip to the bathroom, that changes the perspective.

Tonight, I was able to join the Fueled by Doughnuts trainer ride led by Mara Miller. Every Wednesday, during the group run, Mara sets up bike trainers in the clubhouse and invites everyone to bring their bike for a coached cycling session. The bikes are set up in two rows facing each other. You can see the pain on the faces of the people across from you as they push through the workout. During the hour long session, I wasn’t maxing out my effort by any stretch of the imagination. I just kept the peddles rotating and picked up the pace a bit when everyone else did.

What I realized, while watching Francois’s face show his struggle, is how profoundly happy I am to be able to get on a bike and move my legs. I’ve chased so many goals and I’ve achieved many of them but no BQ, no AG award, not even standing on the podium as the fastest female alum at the Culinary Institute of America (it’s a small field, fast is relative) made me happier than having the ability to sit on that bike and move my legs.

My goal for this recovery isn’t to crush a 5K once and for all. It’s not to finally shave enough time off my BQ to actually run Boston. I’m not even sure if I want to train for a marathon again. My goal is to hold on to this happiness as long as I can.

Every other injury made me so angry even though they didn’t limit my ability to live, work & play. This injury rendered me completely useless in every possible way but rather than anger, I feel joy every day I can take a step forward. I never want to forget what a gift it is to be able to take that step, get on the bike, get in the pool or just to be able to stand up and hug my kids.

So many people told me this was a ‘life changing’ accident. I thought that meant I would never run pain-free again. My hip will always ache when it’s rainy or cold. Now I realize, my life HAS changed forever. I’ve gained more than I’ve lost. I am learning to be more patient and more grateful. I’m learning to be less angry and more accepting. Above all, I’m learning to find happiness in the seemingly mundane.

Thursday, September 4th Before I started running, I didn’t know much about physical therapy. I’ve never been prone to injury but I did have some interesting accidents in my lifetime. As a freshman in high school, I broke my shoulder performing a cheerleading stunt. I was supposed to jump onto another cheerleader’s back into a star position where my legs rested on the backs of her bent arms or something along those lines. Ridiculous, I know. I made it up and then I went down. My arm was in a sling for weeks. It was the end of my cheerleading career. Thank God.

Once my shoulder healed, I decided the tennis team was a lot cooler than the cheerleading squad. They smoked cigarettes and drank beer before, during and after practices. Ryan Grim wore tie dyed shirts to every match. Uniforms were seemingly optional. I came from a long line of exceptional tennis players. My great uncle coached the local college team. I was mediocre at best. I held down a solid #5 singles position when I wasn’t pushed back to #2 doubles.

One day at practice I was at the net and my cousin Mike was behind me. I missed the volley and I turned to see if Mike returned it. He did. The ball hit me square in the eye. I was blinded. I wore hard contacts at the time. The lens shattered in my eye and my retina detached. I had to spend five days in a dark room with my eye taped closed until it healed. I missed my National Honor Society induction banquet.

The most extensive injury I experienced was in college. I made meat fondue for my boyfriend on Valentine’s Day. I dropped a pot of hot oil on the floor. It exploded. Burning oil launched up my sundress and stuck to my skin before dripping all the way down my legs to pool on my feet. I spent a week in the hospital where they nursed, dressed and redressed my third degree burns. I was in a wheelchair for a month. It made getting to and from classes difficult. I almost failed out of school but I settled for a couple D’s on my transcript instead. On a scale of shattered pelvis to third degree burns - I’ll take the broken bones.

None of my prior injuries required physical therapy or maybe they did but I never went. I associated PT with geriatrics. I’ve since discovered PT isn’t just for injuries or old people, it’s for general body maintenance as well…like getting an oil change to keep your car lubed. The best part of PT is knowing I have a safe, supported space to test my limits.

Since surgery, I’ve been extremely cautious of every move I make. Part of me is afraid if I move in a certain way, it’s going to hurt. The other part is afraid, moving in a certain way will disturb the plates and screws and put me in line for another surgery to repair the damage. During my sessions with the physical therapist, I learn what pain is acceptable muscle soreness and what pain means my joints and bones are doing too much and I need to take a step back.

The doctors know how to push me just to the edge without going over. Today, Dr. Mayes took my cane away from me. After I showed him I could walk without wobbling, he instructed me to march, holding my knee up as high as a could for three seconds at the top of each step. This forced me to put all my weight on my left foot and hold my balance. I would have never mustered the courage to try this on my own.

After the marching, I moved on to walking side to side and front to back with a giant rubber band tied around my waist. Dr. Mayes held one end of the band creating resistance and making it difficult for me to take each step. If that wasn’t enough, I finished out my exercises with forward lunges, trying to get my back knee down as low as I could without toppling over. The tightness in my left quad and hamstring made it almost unbearable but I persevered.

When I got home, I couldn’t wait to show Brad how I learned to walk, unassisted, for the first time in two months! I can finally pack up the crutches, canes, walkers & wheelchairs.

Friday, September 5th As my mobility increases so does my ability to integrate back into society. I went to the grocery store this week. Thankfully, Trader Joes has a small footprint so it wasn’t too difficult to maneuver. Between the meals prepared by friends and the easy access to the bakery, I haven’t needed to brave the aisles until this week. I didn’t realize how much I enjoy picking out my own avocados and bananas. It’s these simple tasks we take for granted.

After the grocery expedition, I drove myself to the Y where I discovered that handicapped parking spaces don’t require meters. I felt like a princess getting a spot right by the door that I didn’t have to pay for. Although I was moving very slow, I didn’t need to use my cane to get in and out. I walked all the way to the back set of lockers to change. The shower and walk to the into the pool were far less scary this time.

Once I made it into the water, I was determined to swim at least 800 yards. I alternated between 200 pulling and 200 swimming. I lost track of a few laps and ended up with 950 yards total or about half of what a workout would have been for me before my injury. It felt great. I didn’t experience any of the uncomfortable pulling around my incision I felt the week before. My kicking capability has definitely diminished and I didn’t try to push it on the cardio front but overall, it was a solid swim.

I only required a 30 minute nap to recover from my exertion in the pool this week. When I woke up, I went to the bakery to catch up with the staff and caught my kids getting off the bus. Keegan was the first to notice I was walking without a cane. The excitement they displayed to see me walking is something I will never forget. I imagine it’s how I felt the day I saw each of them take their first steps. My career has been dedicated to showing my children they can follow their dreams and work hard to achieve their goals but none of the newspaper stories, television appearances or marathon finish lines could hold a candle to the amount of happiness on their faces when they saw me walking today.

Group PT

Saturday, September 6th Occasionally, I stop to reflect on what an incredible community the Fueled by Doughnuts Running Club has become. Most often, the reflection comes when I see it through someone else’s eyes. In addition to the group run this morning, Iron PT coached sidelined runners through strengthening exercises as an ongoing series of alternative activities for our members. Being injured can be incredibly isolating when running and socializing is a normal routine. This ‘bubble wrap’ group, created by Barbara Foley, allows everyone to continue to have the social interaction while they’re healing OR taking a break OR adding another component to compliment running.

There was an incredible turn out for our first week. Dr. Castania & Dr. Wortman spoke to me about how impressive our community is both in size and in substance. There have been several businesses and organizations who have tried to replicate what we have, once our club started popping up on the radar. The thing is, there’s no checklist or formula to making it happen. If the goal is to get a huge group of runners to show up 3 times a week, it’s not going to happen. If the goal is to find a couple friends to run with and create a welcoming environment other runners want to join, then and only then, it could grow to be more.

Anne, Anne, Cara, Ryan and I struggled to launch the first Fueled by Doughnuts group run. When word of our desire to create a running club got out, other groups were upset. Some thought we were looking to take away from existing organizations which couldn’t be further from the truth. I can’t count the hours we sat around Anne’s dining room table orchestrating. We went through all the group runs currently being offered in the area. We looked for gaps where we could create new opportunities for people to run together.

November 2015: Fueled by Doughnuts Running Club founders Anne Arthur, Me, Anne Perry & Cara Constantino during one of many planning meetings. Not pictured: Ryan Trimmer

In planning the launch, we considered the elements that make running with a group desirable and the things that make us feel uneasy about joining. Our number one goal has always been to ensure no one runs alone, no matter what pace they’re running. There is nothing worse than showing up to run with a group, only to be left to run by yourself. Then, we wanted to make sure to acknowledge runners new to the group and introduce them to everyone. Again, there’s nothing worse than feeling like the odd duck in a sea of friends. We decided to focus on people first and running second.

When it came time to organize the running part we wanted to create a variety of routes with different distances and amenities already in place. Our courses never take runners more than three miles away from an existing public water source. Each of the weekly group runs use a different route to vary the Montclair experience as much as possible. The runs have easy cut-offs available so runners ending at 3 miles and at 8 miles get the same benefit of running with a group for the majority of their distance. Anne quickly became an expert at maximizing the capabilities of Google Maps and Strava. I’m pretty sure the help desk at Strava headquarters knew her by name.

After an internal email about how we were going to ruin the running community and our friendships if we moved forward with the launch, lots of anxiety and more strained relationships…Anne A., Ryan and I decided to invite other people to join our standing 5:30am Tuesday running date. Cara and Anne M. were evening runners; they would lead the PM group in due time. There were seven people, including the three of us, who attended the first run. Anne and Ryan took turns circling from the front of the group to the back of the group. We had doughnuts and coffee waiting when we returned to the bakery.

The group picture at the start of every run serves as a token to memorialize time well spent with friends but it’s so much more. We take the photo at the exact time the run is supposed to start. No one wants to miss the photo so everyone is on time. It is quiet when the photo is taken. This provides the perfect opportunity to make announcements and find buddies for new runners. Who knew the simple act of taking a picture could play such an essential role in building our community?

As more and more people join the club, more and more ideas are brought to the table. I do not have the bandwidth to act on them all myself but I do have a foundation to support them. This is how Hillary came to organize Oktoberfest, Sarah leads our community service initiative, Wayne was given the opportunity to start a trail race and Barbara created the Bubble Wrap group! It’s not about the doughnuts, it’s not about the miles or the time on the clock, it’s about the people. It’s about the family we choose, the family we created.

March 2016: First Fueled by Doughnuts Sunrise Run

Week 6

Pumpkin Brioche Doughnuts

Sunday, September 23rd I’m trying to get off the drugs. The more distance I have from the surgery, the more my brain is fully functioning and aware. My body, however, has served as a chemistry lab for the last six weeks.

When I was first admitted to the ER, I was given Motrin. After three trips for x-rays, a CT scan and 10 hours of waiting on a gurney, the nurse brought me morphine tablets. Prior to being checked in to my room for the night, an IV was inserted and a saline drip was added. The following morning, I was prepped for the OR. The anesthesiologist told me I would be given a drug to calm me prior to being given a drug to knock me out completely. I only remember the calming drug going into my tube as I was wheeled into the OR before I woke up in recovery with a second IV.

Soon after I came to, there was another anesthesiologist with two assistants. He gave me a sedative through my IV and his team inserted an epidural to block the feeling in the nerves surrounding my pelvis and left leg.

Hours later, when I was sobbing because I was still in the recovery ward listening to machines beeping over and over, the doctor came back with another sedative. They never told me what it was or asked if I wanted it.

Later that evening, once I was in the room I would be calling home for the next week, I was hooked up to a morphine drip and given a button I could push every six minutes to deliver another dose. Along with the morphine, there was a bag of saline and an antibiotic drip and the epidural drip feeding into my spine.

Every few hours, the nurses came with more drugs for me to swallow…stool softeners, laxatives, anti-nausea, Tylenol…after a while I lost track or I didn’t care to ask what they were giving me. I had daily shots of a blood thinner in my stomach.

Two days after my surgery, I was left sitting in a chair and I didn’t have anyone to help me get back into bed despite several attempts to call the nurse. When they finally arrived to move me back to my bed, I was crying in pain. Had they asked, I would have told them the pain subsided once I got into bed but they didn’t ask. They gave me Fentanyl to quiet me.

Four days post-op the epidural was removed and the nurses added Gabapentin to my pill set. The following day, the morphine drip was removed and replaced with oral doses of Oxycodone.

I was discharged with perscriptions for Oxycodone for pain, Gabapentin for pain, Aspirin to prevent blood clots and Metoclopramid to combat the nausea brought on from all the drugs.

Three days after I came home, I replaced the Oxycodone with alternating doses of Tylenol and Advil…maxing out the daily allowance for each. After my adverse reaction, I dropped the Advil doses.

Near the beginning of week five, I started reducing my doses of Gabapentin from four daily to three and by the end of the week two. I stopped taking the Metoclopramid and the Tylenol. I discovered reducing the doses of Gabapentin makes me really, really dizzy. I’ve also found that taking this drug makes my brain foggy. My ability to recall is drastically diminished. I forget words and names. Sometimes I stop mid-sentence, unable to finish my thought. I feel uncomfortable conducting bakery business because I can’t connect my thoughts. It’s as if I’m a clone of myself but a couple key pieces got lost along the way. I’ve decided my sensitivity to sound can be connected to the Gabapentin too. I avoid calls from business associates, family and friends because I’m just not myself.

As of today, I am only taking one Aspirin and one dose Galbapentin daily. I’m fighting through the pain and managing the best I can with ice packs and naps. The good news is, a lot of the side effects are wearing off. However, as my brain returns to normal, I’ve been having flashbacks and nightmares about my accident and my time in the hospital. At times, I can’t shake them and I just want to forget it ever happened. I’m desperate to move on but I’m stuck.

Monday, September 24th . If I had a dollar for every time someone asks, “how do you do it all,” I probably wouldn’t have to “do it all.” The bottom line is, I don’t do it all. I have a lot of help. I try to surround myself with people who are extremely capable and who have a skill set different from my own. If I only worked with people like me, there would be gaps in productivity.

I consider myself an ideation expert. I almost put that on my business card after trying to determine my role at Montclair Bread Co. My ideas are never attempts to get rich quick. In fact, the right-brainers in my life, shut down a large portion of my ideas because they would lose too much money before they came to fruition. Now we operate in a break-even bubble with the hopes of one day turning a profit.

My ideas are based on needs. I often determine what would make my life better (or more fun). Every Friday night, my kids are nuts. They’ve just finished a week of school and their pent up energy is exploding. I’m exhausted but I need to find something for them to do. Wouldn’t it be great if there was a place to go for dinner with adults but also have a space for the kids to move around freely? The patio at Montclair Bread Co would be the perfect spot! I can make pizzas in the bread oven and grab some beer to share with my friends. After telling potential customer number 183, the bakery is closed, this is a private gathering, I decided to open my concept to the public. I thought the ambiance could be improved if I hired local musicians to play semi-acoustic tunes. I reached out to my neighbor Alan, a local musician, to book talent. Giving Alan this responsibility also saves me the headache of telling the parents of Montclair’s musical prodigies, no. That’s how Friday Music Nights at MBCo were born.

Recipe ideas come about in much the same way, to fill a need. My grandma’s carrot cake recipe sets the standard by which I judge all other cakes. It’s just carrots & cinnamon with a cream cheese frosting…no nuts or pineapple or coconut, just plain carrot. I make it at home on special occasions and for friends’ birthdays. Little by little, word of Mombo’s Carrot Cake spread and desperate husbands started calling me to make birthday cakes for their wives who would only be satisfied with this particular cake.

I put my foot down years ago. Montclair Bread Company is NOT a cake bakery. We’re a bread bakery. Doughnuts are made with a yeasted dough so they get a pass. Cakes require an entirely different set up and skill set.

Earlier this year, I gave in and decided to add Carrot Cake to the bakery menu and sell it by the slice. Brad tells me all the time, I can’t just make one thing, I have to make 100. In staying true to my reputation, I decided to add other cakes to the rotation, five in all. There are several places in Montclair where customers can purchase beautiful custom cakes but not so many places they can purchase a delicious cake (that may not be beautiful) by the slice. I polled friends to see what flavors they consider to be staples and I added Coconut, Chocolate Mocha, Classic Birthday Cake and Red Velvet to the new cake menu.

The last time I talked to my grandma before she passed away, I told her about how much people love her cake. It had only been a couple weeks since we started making it daily. She couldn’t believe we were selling a cake a day, by the slice. She really couldn’t believe customers were calling to order whole Carrot Cakes. In her mind, carrot cake was along the same lines as a peanut butter & jelly sandwich, everyone loves them but it’s something you only make at home. Although, in fairness, I’ve purchased more than my share of pb&j sammies for the kids!

My keys to successful idea implementation:

• Don’t do it for the money. I can’t scream this loud enough!

• Build a team with varying skills. Don’t micromanage. Have confidence in them.

• Find a gap. Fill a need.

• Crowdsource. Ask & listen.

• Don’t underestimate simple comforts and basic needs.

13 is a lucky number in my family.

Tuesday, September 25th . I wasn’t sure what to expect at my follow-up appointment with the surgeon today. When I arrived, I was immediately sent for x-rays. This time, instead of being rolled down the hall on a gurney, or in a wheelchair, I was able to walk myself on crutches. Being in the space made me anxious. The x-ray tech was cheery and female both of which made me more at ease. I was able to position myself on the table and move from side to side as she progressed through a series of pelvic films, pain free. This alone brought a smile to my face.

My tech was training someone and offering detailed explanations of her work for him to follow along. She told him the skinny patients are the easiest to work with because you can see all their bones. I don’t think she intended it to be a compliment but I’ll take it!

After the x-rays, I met with the Dr. Adams, my surgeon. He reviewed the x-rays with me from the initial fractures to the immediate post-op to the images taken minutes before our meeting. He explained more details about my injury. The ball of my hip had actually pushed into the socket, so far, that it was extruding through the other side of my pelvis. So when the ER nurse commented on my left leg being shorter than my right and I argued that it was only because my knee was bent, she was right. I was wrong.

I wanted Dr. Adams to show me where my bones grew back over the last 6 weeks. He did not. They did not. He was looking to see if the day 1 post-op images matched the 6 week post-op images to show the hardware is still exactly where he placed it. He was also looking to see if the space between the ball and socket of my hip joints matched on my left (bad) and right (good) side. He liked what he saw.

“Can I get in the pool?”

“Can I get on a stationary bike?”

“Can I drive a car?”

The answer to all my questions was, “yes!” I tried to think of other things to ask just so I could illicit more positive responses. I’m used to putting up more of a fight to get what I want. I did not ask if I could start running before my next visit with him, 6 weeks from now. I wasn’t ready for that fight.

My biggest fear was being told that I can resume bearing my full weight on my left side although my second biggest fear was being told that I couldn’t. I’ve spent the last 6 weeks wanting to be a whole person again but I feel so fragile that I don’t know how I could possibly get to the point of normalcy again. Dr. Adams told me I’m allowed to start increasing the weight on my left side, slowly, over the course of the next 6 weeks. At 12 weeks post-op I should be at full weight bearing.

After visiting with my doctor, I went straight to PT with my walking orders. Getting on the stationary bike was a little difficult with one foot but I managed. I spent five minutes peddling slowly to ‘warm-up.’ It was one of the single greatest feelings I’ve had since the accident - at least in the top 5 most glorious moments. I went through a series of exercises similar to what I’d done last week only with a little more resistance and a few more repetitions. Leg lifts, clamshells, more leg lifts…all designed to strengthen my absent core and gain mobility in my hip joint.

Dr. C. explained that the next 6 weeks are going to be about getting to square one. At the end, I will be able to walk and conduct my day-to-day activities like a normal non-runner.

Before my PT session was over, Dr. C. asked me to walk across the office with my crutches, putting more weight on my left foot. Then, he took one of my crutches away. Although he showed me how I should use a single crutch to move forward, I was terrified. I tried to take a step and when I almost fell over, he grabbed my hand. He left me hold on for three steps before he took his hand away. I took a fourth step on my own, using only one crutch to assist me. It didn’t hurt. I was able to walk the length of the office, twice.

Dr. C. instructed me to practice using one crutch at home but continue using both crutches as a rule. In the evening, I understood why. The pain in my hip was a whole new experience. I used muscles and tendons today that hadn’t been fired in 6 weeks. I was in so much pain, I couldn’t cope. I was like a hurt dog. I barked and snapped at the kids before I finally put myself to bed at 8pm.

Wednesday, September 26th Swimming, for me, is a necessary discipline to complete a triathlon or something I do when I can’t run. When I’m was training for a race, I NEVER missed a scheduled day on the plan, except for the swimming days. I put off my swim workout because I did’t have time to fit it in on the day it was supposed to happen and then it just didn’t happen. It’s hard to fit it in when a 20 minute workout takes me 40 minutes to complete. I have to block out a good 90 minutes to be able to get to and from the pool, change, shower and complete my swim. Some days, it just doesn’t work. However, if it were a 90 minute run, I’m sure I would find the time.

I have so much anxiety about swimming. If I go to the Y before 8am, the lanes are filled with people who I’m certain were former collegiate athletes or they might currently be on a competitive swim team. They glide through the water with perfect form, barely coming up for air. I, on the other hand, have to take a breath every time I take a stroke with my right arm. I haven’t figured out how to breath on my left side without dropping to the bottom of the abyss and I’m pretty sure what I’m doing looks a lot more like flailing than swimming.

The first workout my coach gave me for my most recent triathlon training plan was 6 x 200 yds or 4 complete laps of the pool. I had to google it because I didn’t know the length of a pool or if a lap was considered from one side to the other or there and back. Asking would surely alert Trizilla, sharing the lane with me, of my ineptitude. Each pool length is 25 yds, a full lap is 50, etc.

Last year, when I learned to swim, I stuck with it long enough to complete the Jersey Girl Triathlon, accept my AG award and never look back. The ocean swim had me jostled so much that I never wanted to do it again. My 6x200 workout was the first time I’d been in the water in almost a year. After one lap, I knew it just wasn’t going to happen. I was barely able to touch the wall, turn around and make it back to my starting point without drowning. It took me a minute between each 50 to recover enough energy to do it again. I stuck with it and completed the full 1200 yds as an adjusted two sets of 12x50.

As the weeks went on, the laps got easier. I still felt completely inadequate but I worked up to 600 yds before needing to rest, only stymied by my ability to keep count of my laps. Sometimes, I would lose count and swim more than required, sometimes less. My workouts totaled anywhere from 1600-2400 yds.

I’ve never been more excited or more nervous to get in a pool than I was today. My steri-strips were gone. I got clearance from the surgeon. Bring it on.

Thank you to Yana, Barbara, Jessica, Angela, Eric, Brad and everyone else who offered to be my pool buddy on my first dip back. I was terrified to go by myself which is exactly why I knew I had to. If I could conquer this, I would be so much closer to independence. In the last 6 weeks, I’ve had to ask for help to go to the bathroom, get dressed, prepare meals, get rides to PT and so on. I just wanted to have one thing I could do without asking for help.

Brad dropped me off at the Y. As I walked through the sliding doors, the receptionist greeted me and expressed her heartfelt concern for my condition. I hobbled down the long hall to the locker room and I thought about all the times I was in a rush and I blew past a lady using a walker or a gentleman with a cane.

On a normal day, I would walk to the end of the room and find a locker in the very last aisle. Today, I took the first open locker. I got myself organized, locked my clothes away and headed to the showers with my pool bag. My biggest fear was losing traction with my crutches on the wet floors. I took every step slow and steady.

After I showered, there was another long hall to the pool. A man stopped to wait for me to make it to the end before he passed. I would have lost my impatient mind if I had to do the same for someone in my condition two months ago.

The pool was mostly empty except for a group of seniors in an aqua-aerobic class taking up the first two lanes. I was happy to see multiple canes resting by the steps into the pool. My crutches would soon join them. I dropped my bag by an empty lane before putting on my swim cap & goggles. I headed back to the steps and laid my crutches off to the side as I used the railings to hoist myself down one step at a time. When I made it to the bottom, the aquacisers applauded me.

The weightlessness I felt in the pool was the greatest feeling I’ve had in a very long time. I spent a few minutes walking up and down my lane as if my body was in perfect working order. Then, I placed my buoy (a floating foam block) between my legs so I wouldn’t have to kick and I swam to the other end of the pool. It turns out, tear-filled goggles are very difficult to see through. I had to stop to rinse them off before I completed 200 yds. As I lengthened my torso, I could feel the skin tightening and tugging around my incision. At first it was uncomfortable. Then it started to subside.

I paused and grabbed a kick board to see if I was capable of using my legs to propel myself forward before I tried to swim without the buoy. It felt like I wasn’t moving at all but I somehow managed to get to the other end and back. The next 200 yds I swam with fins on my feet to help my legs stay on the surface. I barely kicked at all but I was able to get a little more rotation through my hip sockets.

I wanted to stay in the pool forever but my body wasn’t ready. After another couple laps, I felt like I was going to puke. I didn’t get anywhere near the point of a cardio workout but the energy I did expend was far more than my system was used to. I retraced my steps to get out of the pool, out of the Y and back home where I enjoyed a bowl of hot soup and a two hour nap.

Thursday, September 27th During my first bread baking class in culinary school, we made wheat rolls daily. Each roll weighed 60 grams. We worked in pairs to divide 20 pounds of dough into 60 gram pieces and round them into rolls. It took what seemed like forever.

In the second week of bread class, the chef showed us a piece of equipment called a divider/rounder. This machine takes a big lump of dough and cuts it into 36 equal portions before it rounds them into rolls. What took us an hour to do by hand took this machine seconds to accomplish and with more accuracy.

Knowing the machine existed made it impossible to go back to cutting each roll individually, even though we were instructed to do so….for the sake of learning.

On Tuesday, after learning how to use one crutch to walk, it was impossible to go back to using two. I knew there was a more efficient way to get from point A to point B and I wasn’t going back.

I spent my PT appointment walking the length of the office with one crutch while Dr. Wortman made adjustments to my posture. Making minor adjustments now will prevent injuries in my ‘good’ body parts and make it easier for me to walk on my own when I can finally give up the crutches all together.

Recovery is exhausting. After PT, I came home and took a two hour nap before the kids came home from school. Then, for the first time in almost two months, I emptied the dishwasher and put the dishes away. I wiped down the counters in my kitchen and I picked up all the empty glasses in the living room. I finally have the ability to carry something and walk at the same time.

I am completely drug free. I took my last dose on Monday night. I’m fighting through a lot of muscle soreness and joint pain. I can’t always distinguish the two. I still have no feeling in my hip area. My supporting limbs are starting to ache too. My wrists and forearms are sore from the crutches. My right calf has a knot the size of a baseball.

Time and time again, on-lookers ask if I miss running. I respond, “I’ll let you know after I am able to walk.”

Friday, September 28th I was an only child for eight years. I think my dad breathed a sigh of relief when my baby brother was born. He finally had a son he could take on his hunting and fishing trips.

I remember sitting in a cornfield with Dad, waiting for doves to fly into the sky so he could shoot them. As he steadied his shotgun and put his finger on the trigger, I cried. I didn’t want him to shoot them. It was my first and last last dove hunting trip.

One weekend, Dad took me to his shooting range. He nailed a clay pigeon. As it shattered, a shard flew back and hit me in the eye. It was my first and last trip to the range.

Fishing was a slightly better experience than hunting. We went fishing a lot. Sometimes, he would take me out on a canoe on the Chester River. Other times, we fished off a dock on the Chesapeake Bay. I caught a lot of catfish. Dad made me throw them back into the water. I was always told they were inedible.

Dad and I finally found something we both enjoyed when we started collecting baseball cards. We spent hours in line at card shows to get autographs from ball players. We slept on the street in Baltimore one night, to secure our place in line to get Cal Ripken Jr’s signature on a baseball. I wasn’t quite a teenager yet. Hanging out with Dad was still pretty cool.

What I remember most about growing up with my father is running just to walk. He is notorious for parking in the very last space in any given lot. He says you’re going to go inside to walk around anyway. Why not walk a little more? Dad is undoubtedly the source of my life-long impatience. He walks fast and he has long legs. I’m not short but my length is in my torso, not my legs. I had to jog just to keep up with his average walking pace.

Once, I left my Garmin running while I was walking from one meeting to another in NYC. My average walking pace is a solid 15:00 mile. Being able to walk somewhat comfortably, albeit on crutches, is hindered my my inability to go slow. I never mastered the slow saunter but I’m trying to learn. Not only do I have to focus on every single step so I don’t fall, I tire so quickly that I need a nap after walking to the end of the block.

Saturday, September 29th I’ve been so focused on returning to my life as an athlete, I forgot about returning to my life as a baker. I can sit at home and plan the launch of Montclair Running Company and the 5K Doughnut Run in December. I can call 17 different campgrounds to find the perfect fit for our 2019 Fueled by Doughnuts Running Retreat. I can outline chapters for a book proposal. I recognize how much I can do given this huge setback but I can’t begin to fulfill the requirements to make it through a day at the bakery.

To complete my job as a baker, I lift 50 pound bags of flour, several times a day. I move 30 pound vats of water around and pour them into the mixer. Once the dough is mixed, I deadlift it out of the bowl in 20-30 pound chunks and pile it onto my workbench.

The dough is then divided into equal portions and placed into tubs to rise. I have to stack the 10-20 pound tubs in a tower that stretches above my head. After the sitting for 30-90 minutes, the tower is unstacked so each lump of dough can be folded over before it is re-stacked into place.

After another 30-90 minutes, the dough is cut into smaller portions, loaded onto wooden trays and slotted onto a baking rack. Each rack holds 15-30 trays which span from just above my toes to slightly over the top of my head. In order to get each tray onto the rack, I need to hold the rack cover in one hand and balance the 10-20 pound tray in the other hand while I shimmy it onto it’s resting place. This process repeats to form the smaller lumps of dough into actual loaves which may also require moving 25 pound containers of seeds/toppings around to complete the shaping process.

Once the loaves have spent a little more time on the racks, tray by tray is loaded into the oven. I have to balance a tray against my hip and use one hand to hold it into place while I use my other hand to move each loaf from the tray to the peel (that’s the giant wooden spatula that moves them in and out of the oven). I cut each loaf with a straight razor, lift the peel over my head and load the bread into the oven.

When I unload the loaves, I drop them into plastic nesting baskets we call lugs. The lugs are lifted and stacked once they’re full. Each one holds about 20 loaves of bread ranging in weight from 12-18 ounces per loaf. This process repeats 120 times or so before my baking shift is complete.

I’ll admit, I do miss running a little but I miss baking a whole lot more. Earlier this week, I helped plan the October bakery menu. Over the last several months, I was working on a new doughnut idea that never quite got off the ground. I thought the shape I made resembled a flower. Then I realized it looked even more like a pumpkin. With Carolyn’s help, we made a batch of pumpkin brioche dough and I was able to shape it into little pumpkins. They fermented overnight before Carolyn fried them, glazed them and topped them with candied pecans and spiced pumpkin seeds. It was a small contribution but shaping the dough gave me a sense of calm in knowing this situation is just temporary. I will not be useless forever.

Week 5

Chocolate Oatmeal Bars

Sunday, September 16th It’s hard to believe it’s been an entire month since the accident. In real life, I would have run 200 miles in the time I’ve been sitting still. There are reminders of what I’ve been through, all over the house. There’s an unintended shrine by the front door: my dented helmet, my bike shoes and my still unwashed padded shorts. I think about moving them but I can’t.

I opened the refrigerator this morning to grab an iced coffee. Sitting next to it, on the top shelf, was a macintosh apple someone brought to the hospital. I remember the nurse walking into my room and asking where it came from. It definitely did not come from the hospital cafeteria.

My friend Jackie came to help me around the house. She cleaned the kids’ room, the kitchen and the bathroom. I didn’t get to ask her if she’d been in the military but the kids’ beds suggest she may have.

While Jackie scrubbed, I sat to go through the bags and baskets that were covering my kitchen table. For the first time, I read the birthday cards everyone left at our party the night before my ride and, for the first time, I read the get well cards everyone left in the hospital during the week I spent there.

Our fridge is still full of beer from our party, the cans we bought to celebrate and the cans we were gifted. Although my exploits in my college years may suggest otherwise, I can’t drink them until I’m off my medications. At first, I thought I might get through this motionless time without gaining weight because I’m eliminating my liquid carb consumption. Unfortunately, that only took me so far and now the pounds are coming back as quickly as a few 20 mile runs took them off.

I tried to stick to a healthy diet during the first couple of weeks post-op. Now, more than ever, I crave comfort foods including, but not limited to, cookies, cakes & doughnuts. I started running because I wanted to stick with my two-doughnut-a-day diet. If I could burn the calories, I could eat whatever I wanted and stay at the same weight….if I could burn the calories….

Monday, September 17th I slept for 8 hours last night! I’m able to get myself into more comfortable positions. Before bed, I was laying on the sofa with both of my knees bent toward the ceiling. I hadn’t noticed it was a new achievement until Brad commented on it.

I’m starting to revert to my old standbys. I sat on the floor with the kids in a modified ‘criss-cross-apple-sauce’ position. That’s ‘Indian-style’ for anyone who grew up in my politically incorrect generation. I can lay on my non-surgical side with a pillow between my legs. After my last PT appointment, I was instructed to have daily ‘tummy time,’ where I go through a series of stretches designed to break up the scar tissue around my incision. It’s terrifying and relaxing at the same time.

I have exactly 12 steri-strips left to fall off before I can get in a pool. When I was in high school, I figured out how to remove my own braces using toenail clippers. Once the wire is cut and removed, the brackets have two points, one on each side, that when pressed at the same time, pop right off. I’m not sure who was more angry, my dad or my orthodontist. I’m fighting every urge not to pull off the last 12 strips of tape.

My partner in pelvic peril, Rebecca, told me that at a certain point during recovery from her surgery, her skin started to peel away. I’m glad she warned me. My stomach and legs look like a snake shedding it’s skin. Maybe it’s a good sign of new things to come.

The intense swelling in my leg has finally receded and I no longer have to fight to get the compression sleeve on each day. Without the fluid settling around my joints, I’m able to bend and there’s less weight to drag around.

I’m regaining more feeling in my thigh. There are still places, like the crease where my leg meets my torso, that are completely numb. I’m not sure if it’s difficult to bend forward because of the lack of sensation or the scar tissue build up.

Tuesday, September 18th The number of motions it takes to put on a sock is something I never thought about before. Not only do I have to be capable of bending over my abdomen to reach my toes, I have to be able to rotate my leg in my hip socket, just enough to reach the outer edge of my foot. Then, I have to muster the strength to push my foot forward and down into it’s sheath. This isn’t taking into account the dexterity I must have in my hands. Thankfully, my fingers, hands and arms are fully functional.

Today, for the first time, I put my left sock on my foot entirely by myself. I fought through the pain as I rotated my left thigh to cross my left foot over my right knee. I forced myself to bend over the mass of scar tissue built up around my incision as I reached to hook the sock around my toes. Then I sighed with relief as I let my leg drop back to the floor.

Last week, I asked Dr. Mayes at PT for helpful pointers on how to carry things when I’m on my crutches, like my dinner plate. He told me restrictions are in place for a reason and he will not contribute to my delinquency during recovery.

On Saturday, I was craving oatmeal fudge bars from Esther’s Treats at the farmer’s market. I gave Keegan money to retrieve one for me. When he returned empty handed because Esther was sold out of oatmeal bars, I realized this was one of the great divides between men and women. If I sent Josie on this mission, she would have come back with three alternative options to satisfy my sweet tooth. Keegan returned with my money.

Still craving the oatmeal chocolate bars, I decided to go to my bakery and make them myself. It would be a test of my dexterity and stubborn need to accomplish more. My staff has been incredible during this journey. The hardest part of my recipe test was getting them to let me struggle through on my own.

My options to ‘carry’ an item are limited. I can move it from one surface to another, one step at a time, until it’s in the right place - like my iced coffee from the fridge in the mornings. I can tuck it into my mini-messenger bag which I am never without these days. This worked for the can of sweetened condensed milk and the eggs. If it’s not too heavy, I can wrap it around the handle of my crutch and drag it along with me, like my pillow case. If it’s mostly flat, I can tuck it under my armpit. This works for my laptop and sheet pans and, as I discovered today, Pam cooking spray. Last but not least, I can use my mouth as was the case for the wooden spoon and the spatula I used to stir the ingredients. I discovered, this method also works for conventionally hand-held food items like pizza slices and PB&J sandwiches.

In spite of a couple hiccups along the way, I managed to get through the entire recipe on my own. It took two hours to assemble everything before it was ready to go into the oven. This is one of those dump-everything-in-a-bowl recipes that should have taken 15 minutes to prepare. I haven’t been able to figure out how to carry anything with two hands and the sheet pan was too heavy to carry using any of my other techniques. I had to ask for an assist to get it into and out of the oven. I was able to rotate it halfway through the bake time on my own.

Once I finally completed my oatmeal bars, my craving disappeared completely. They didn’t go to waste. Brad devoured the better part of the tray before we went to bed.

Wednesday, September 19th After my baking adventure yesterday, I decided to could carry one crutch under my arm, like I mastered with the Pam cooking spray. Every time I want to leave my apartment OR return to my apartment, I need someone with me for the sole purpose of opening heavy doors and holding a single crutch so I can use my free arm to do push-ups on the railings. It’s a road block to progress.

Brad was having a just-wait-for-me-to-do-one-more-thing morning. I was impatient. I tried using my butt to hold the door as I exited the apartment. Going through the door while on crutches requires a lot of faith in myself. If the door is attached to a self closing mechanism, it’s going to snap shut the second my foot leaves the ground. If I misjudged the amount of space I need to get that foot to meet the other foot I’m either going to catch my heel in the door, throw myself off balance and fall or both. I made it through the first door.

I tucked a crutch under my arm and made it down the first two staircases. Using both crutches, I wiggled up to the second door. This one is especially difficult because it’s heavy, it requires a step down and there’s no railing. I was certain I was going to fall on my face. I didn’t. I made it down two more flights of stairs and across the street to the bakery before Brad joined me.

Finally, I can have a little more independence as I continue on my journey.

Thursday, September 20th One of the kindest, most helpful parts of my recovery has been the meal train organized by my running club. Every night, dinner has been prepared for my family. There are always leftovers which means we also have lunch for the next day. It’s not just about the meal itself. The meal train saves me from figuring out how to get groceries, how to prepare the food and how to clean up after the preparation. If my oatmeal bars were any indication of my speed in the kitchen, I would have to start making dinner the second I wake up in the morning to have a meal on the table before bed.

From the time I graduated from culinary school, my friends and family stopped cooking for me. If they do cook for me, the meal is met with 1000 apologies of why it isn’t up to snuff. It is important everyone take a minute to familarize themselves with my all-time favorite meals:

Mac & Cheese, Tuna & Peas: In my family, we say it really fast so it almost sounds like one word. This is the number one go-to in our house when I don’t have anything else on hand to make the kids for dinner. It requires a box of Velveeta or Kraft Mac & Cheese, a can of tuna and a bag of frozen peas. Once the mac & cheese is finished cooking, I dump in the tuna & peas and call it a day. When Brad first learned of this dish, he literally threw up in his mouth. Tough audience.

Franks & Beans: In college (University of Florida NOT culinary school) my roommate, Jason, taught me how to up the ante on the trashy food front. He sauteed slices of hot dog with onions until the onions started to caramelize before adding a can of baked beans. This still remains a delicacy in my house.

Cream Chipped Beef Gravy Over Toast: This one is difficult for me to make because it was my grandfather’s favorite and it stirs up a lot of memories. He lovingly referred to it at ‘Shit on a Shingle.’ It was a frequently occurring menu item during his days in the Marine Corps.

When I was growing up, my grandmother would prepare a huge pot of the gravy, almost as if it were a stew. She would put the pot in the center of the table along with a bowl of chopped hard boiled eggs which we had the option of using as a garnish. My grandfather, my cousin and I would each grab two slices of toast and cover them with the gravy. My aunt would revolt because in her world - foods can’t touch. My grandmother continued to fill toaster after toaster with sliced white bread until we’d eaten through a loaf and a half!

This culinary masterpiece starts with dried chipped beef. Some areas of the US do not sell it. My grandmother would ship it to me when I lived in any of these regions. It’s found near the bacon, bologna and sausages in the refrigerator aisles. To make the gravy, I start by melting a stick of butter in the bottom of the pot. I add diced chipped beef to the butter and let it brown slightly. I like to leave big pieces of chipped beef, not the little bits that are often served if you have the guts to order this dish at a diner. I crack an egg into the pot and stir it quickly to scramble it into the butter and beef. Then I add about a cup of flour until the whole mess becomes a paste. Later in life, I discovered this is called a ‘roux.’

Once I’ve cooked and beaten out all the flour lumps, I switch over to a whisk and add whole milk a little at a time. With each addition, I whisk the gravy until it’s smooth and wait for it to thicken before I add more. I keep adding milk until the overall texture is thin enough to spoon over toast but thick enough to coat the back of a spoon.

Meatloaf on Wonder Bread: Don’t get me wrong, meatloaf & mashed potatoes are a sure winner but cold, leftover meatloaf with mayo on squishy white bread is where the real magic happens. Whenever anyone bashes commercialized, processed bread, I let them know there is always a time and a place. This is the one time no other bread will do. It has to be the squishy white stuff that tastes more like sugar than flour. When my grandmother sprung for the actual Wonder label and not the supermarket brand, we knew we were in for a real treat.

Pistachio Salad: Only it’s not a salad. It’s made with a box of pistachio flavored (I don’t think there are any actual pistachios in the box) jello pudding mix, a tub of cool whip, a can of mandarin orange slices, a can of crushed pineapple and half a bag of mini marshmallows. If that’s not over the top enough, it gets garnished with halved maraschino cherries and more marshmallows. This dish was served alongside the savory items on the dinner table when I was growing up. Despite the insistence of the ingredients, it is not a dessert.

***

I have truly enjoyed sampling everyone’s home cooked meals. I’ve eaten classic American dishes like I grew up with, along with homestyle Italian, Puerto Rican, Colombian, Spanish, Indian, Irish, Mexican and more. It’s been a trip around the globe every night and I couldn’t be happier.

Ask any chef or baker to describe their favorite meal and I bet anything they’ll tell you it’s the one the didn’t have to make themselves.

Friday, September 21st When tragedy strikes, it’s impossible to know what to say. Here are a few things you NEVER want to say to someone (ME) who can’t do what they love for the next 6-12 months. I promised Tracey I would put this list together. I may edit to include any new additions as they come.

“It could have been worse.” Um, yeah, or I could have stayed in bed when the alarm went off.

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

And along the same lines…”You’re going to be so much stronger when you get through this.”

“This is your body’s way of telling you to slow down,” or “Maybe you needed to take a break, you move too fast.” ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING?!?!

“Are you going to get back on your bike?”, “This is the risk you take when you ride a bike,” and “This is why I don’t ride bikes.”

“How much longer before you can XXXX,” If you’re not asking me how much longer before I can consume alcohol, don’t ask.

“Do you miss biking more or running more?”

“Are you sad you can’t run with me (or ‘the group’, or ‘in the race’)?”

“It doesn’t look like you’re going to be running anytime soon.” (Upon seeing me on crutches walking out of the Running Co.)

“When is your location in Upper Montclair opening?”

If you were the one who uttered any of these things, don’t worry, I’ve heard them each 1000 times. They come so often, I’ve developed an immunity to them. I know it’s difficult to find the right thing to say to someone who is going through a period of recovery or grief and I appreciate everyone’s way of expressing care and concern.

Thank you to everyone who tells me “you look great,” even if you don’t mean it. It’s a daily struggle to stay positive. On the other hand, please don’t hesitate to tell me I look like shit, if that’s the case.

Chocolatey Kisses

Saturday, September 22nd Nine years ago today, I woke up from a restless sleep, soaking wet. My water broke. It was start of my labor with baby number two. I called my midwife, Jessica. When she arrived, 30 minutes later, Keegan was already crowning. I was on all fours on my bedroom floor. The water birth I planned, was not in the cards. This would be the last time in his life Keegan did anything fast or even on-time.

After his head emerged, his shoulder was stuck. In this moment, he tried to take a breath and he couldn’t. Once he was finally out and resting on my chest, he was completely blue. His breathing was so labored, his chest caved in with every his every attempt for air. He had to be transferred to the hospital.

While I waited for Jessica to organize everything for our trip, a 15 month old Josie came in to meet her baby brother. She had been eating the chocolate chip cookies I made the day before and her face showed it. She gave Keegan a chocolatey kiss on his forehead that would remain in place for the rest of the day.

Jessica loaded me and the baby into her van and drove us 40 minutes away to the closest hospital. Her assistant covered Keegan’s face with an oxygen mask until we arrived. When we checked in, Jessica explained to the nurses what happened. Keegan’s face was bruised from his precipitous trip down the birth canal. The hospital staff thought we dropped him. They wanted to fly him to another hospital. Although he was barely getting any air, he was nursing and latched on stronger than Josie did during the 18 months she was on the boob. I fought to keep him where he was.

I have never cried harder than I did when they put an IV in my baby boy’s arm. They couldn’t find the vein. There were several failed attempts.

Keegan and I spent four days in the hospital. They wanted to give him formula. I said no. They didn’t want to wake me to nurse him. I insisted. It took him a little while to figure out the whole breathing thing. Once he finally got it, my 9 pound 8 ounce baby boy and I were cleared to go back home.

The nurses in Newark were shocked by my lack of personal experience in a hospital, hooked up to machines. They asked several times over “don’t you have three kids?” I told them, I wasn’t sick or injured, I was pregnant and I had my babies at home.

Happy Birthday Keegan.

Week 4

My village preparing to race the Lake Placid Iron Man 70.3 while I watch from afar.

Sunday, September 9th I woke up at 4am.  It's the same time my alarm would have sounded if it was my race day, the race I'd been preparing for since June.  Rather than gathering my gear, I'm sitting on the sofa, creating a command station to track the 30+ Fueled by Doughnuts swimmers, bikers and runners competing in Lake Placid today.

It's hard to find an athlete who hasn't had a side-lining injury.  Even though my current injury is a little extreme, I've experienced the FOMO of race day before.  I know the text messages about when and where to meet for the long runs are still happening. I was taken off the conversation because they are afraid it will upset me.  I can feel the chatter around me shifting from running to awkward topics no one really wants to discuss.  Strava alerts pile up. I don't want to open the app to see all the miles I'm missing.  Brad comes home from every run giving me a mile by mile recount.  I waver between excitement for his progress and desire to throw the nearest heavy object at him.  I've learned that saying 'that's not where my mind is right now," ends the discussion.

While I am sitting still, life is speeding past me.  Brad is up and down the stairs 800 times a day.  I'm lucky if I get to go out twice.  It's hard to watch the flurry of forward motion around me.  On the other hand, I don't want to wake up from a coma to discover a completely new reality.  I want to know.  Hearing about what everyone else is doing is the only means I have to live beyond these 4 walls.  Celebrating everyone’s PR's and athletic achievements reminds me to keep fighting through the pain.  I DO want to know about Brad's mile splits and I DO want to know about the Saturday long runs.  I may not be as excited as I would if I was running by your side but I still love this sport and I want to feel like I'm still in the game, even if it will be months before anyone texts me about mileage again.

***

The Iron Man Lake Placid tracker was visible from my computer screen all day.  In addition, I was texting the relay runners, who had eyes on the athletes, until they were tagged in to start the last leg of the race.  I forgot about not being there.  I stopped feeling sorry for myself.  All I felt was unconditional love and excitement for my friends.  I knew who was nervous about the swim and who had reservations about the bike.  I audibly cheered when they made it through each discipline and onto the next.  I was tracking 11 relay teams and 4 individuals from our Fueled by Doughnuts Running Club.

It was almost a year ago when I put the call out to see who would be interested in a trip to Lake Placid.  Swimmers, cyclists and runners filled out google forms listing their anticipated race times and intentions for this event.  With help from Hillary & Lizzy, I created teams who were just out to have a good time and I put together teams of people with similar athletic ability.  Introductions were made and a year went by before the big day.  As race day was closing in, I realized one of our teams had the potential to win...not age group win, overall win.

I don't know all of Mike Kerr's aquatic accomplishments but I do know that he is a swim instructor and he coaches local swim teams. I spent months going to his swim clinics.  His reassurance helped me gain comfort in the pool.  I swam my first mile with him!  He's also 'that guy' who shows up to a local triathlon, gets in the water last and gets out of the water first.  I think he may have gills. 

Tony K. races the Boston Marathon every year.  Without any formal coaching, he pulled off a 2:44 marathon.  For the last 6 months, he's been working with one of the best running coaches in the business...look out! Tony is also an accomplished cyclist.  He talked his bike buddy, Jim, into riding on his LP relay team.  

When Mike was one of the first 10 people out of Mirror Lake, swimming 1.2 miles in 27 minutes, I knew this team was headed for the podium.  Their cyclist stayed 2 minutes ahead of the next fastest team for 56 miles.  Tony tagged in and ran the first 5K in under 20 minutes, THEN he dropped down to 6:14 miles. My kids and I were glued to the computer screen, waiting for him to cross the next timing mat.  Team 'Tri These Donuts' finished in first place out of 71 teams, 6 minutes ahead of the next team to finish.  

Victory comes in all sizes.  I continued to watch my friends finish the race.  I wondered if they were passing each other on the course.  I wondered if Stacy knew Geno was just a tenth of a mile behind her.  Hillary was the runner for Team 'FbyD Tri-Hard.'  When she signed up, she didn't know she would be 5 months pregnant on race day.  Her team assured her, times didn't matter and she persevered through 13.1 miles of hills.  Her husband, Kevin, was racing his first 70.3, impressively cycling on a vintage road bike from the 70's. Everyone told him it wouldn't make it through the course.  When both of their trackers showed the same mileage progress and same pace, I hoped they found each other.  My IMLP insiders told me not only did they find each other, they were side by side, completing the end of the journey together.

Monday, September 10th I slept for 7 hours last night.  It's the longest I've slept since the accident.  Sleeping through the night is bittersweet.  I feel rested but the pain is the most intense I've had to overcome since surgery. It's not a stabbing, sharp pain. It's a horrible muscle cramp combined with a deep, deep ache in my bones. I've had no drugs in my system for almost 8 hours. On a positive note, the swelling in my foot has gone down to the point that I can almost see my bunion again.

Josie, Keegan and Mac came to stay with me for the week.  I called a family meeting.  The last time I called a family meeting, it was to tell them their dad and I were getting a divorce.  

I told them life would be different.  I won't be able to pack their lunches. They have to eat 'hot lunch' at school.  Mac asked if he could pack his own.  Keegan & Josie reminded him, he can't survive off buttered rolls and that is a terrible idea.  I can't pick their clothes out for them in the morning. I can't tuck them in, read them bedtime stories and lay with them until they fall asleep at night.  I can't put their freshly washed sheets on their beds.  I can't make dinner.  Our friends are making us dinner every night.  They have to fix a plate for me.  Not only do they have to make sure their plates and dishes are in the sink and their garbage is in the trashcan, they have to take mine too. Nothing can be on the floor - NOTHING!  I'm not always stable on my crutches.  One lego could take me down for the count.

After our meeting, I discovered I'm not such a terrible mother.  I watched my boys clean up after themselves and each other.  Together with Josie, they put a pot on the stove, ignited the burner and stirred the chili my friend Katie delivered, until it was hot.  They filled mugs for each of us and they even sprinkled cheese on top.  All the dishes were returned to the sink after our lunch together.  They littered the floor with toys and games which they reassembled and put away when they were done.  They paused their video games to help me reach my pills or my water or whatever else was further than an arm's length. The learned how to put my socks on my feet and help me get dressed and undressed. They helped me get in and out of the shower and they worked together to change the toilet paper roll. There was no moaning, no whining, no fighting just three fiercely independent, capable kids. I could not believe my tear-filled eyes.

Tuesday, September 11th I set my alarm for 5AM in order to be up for the Fueled by Doughnuts group run.  I'm not sure why I thought for a second, I would sleep past 5AM.  I was up at 3:15.

As the days drone on, my impact on everyone around me becomes greater.  Brad has to do the work of two people around the house. Now that my kids are with us, that's no small feat. Jessica and Carolyn are doing their jobs and mine at the bakery, with no end in sight.  I asked my Dad if he could come stay with me for a few days to help with the kids and the house.  He said no.

In so many ways, my Dad has been my role model.  He opened a business when he was 21.  Suds 'n Soda, a convenience store with booze, ran successfully for 25 years.  When I was 6, I could sit on a stool and operate the lottery machine for customers.  Give me a number pad and I'll show you how fast I still am!!! By the time I was 10, I could ring up customers on the register, count bottle inventory and use the price gun to mark merchandise as it arrived.  Dad worked every day.  He worked on Thanksgiving, Christmas and every other holiday imaginable. He worked no less than 12 hours every day.  When he was at home, he would call the store every 5 minutes to check in.  He wasn't home much.

When I was a young adult, I knew I would never have kids.  I wanted a career and I didn't want to put kids through the same life I had growing up...a Dad who was never there.  Once I was married and settled into my dream job as a production manager at Amy’s Bread in NYC, I changed my mind. I could right the wrongs. I could give my children a different life.

During the first year I owned my bakery, I was still working a full time job in recipe development, on a plane to a different city twice a week AND putting in another 40+ hours a week at the Montclair Bread Co.  I was never home.  I called Dad and asked him if he had any regrets about his choices.  He said he doesn't remember the hours he worked.  He remembers the weeks we spent in Ocean City every summer, seeing the Orioles play at Memorial Park and Camden Yards, riding the ferry to Martha's Vineyard and traveling to Gainesville to visit his parents.  He remembers teaching me to fish and hunt with him, going to my dance recitals, taking me horseback riding and watching every single tennis match I played (I was terrible).  He said without the store, without working so hard and putting in so many hours, none of the fun stuff would have been possible.  Then I realized, he was always there.

One afternoon, Dad was robbed with a gun pointed in his face.  He put the store on the market the next day and within a year it was under new ownership.  I was in college when Dad left his home (and mine) of 30 years and moved to Virginia where he is currently a Business Manager for  Westmoreland State Park.  He always said he was going to retire and move to the mountains.  His new job is a good stepping stone.

My Dad puts 120% into any job he does.  It was no surprise he couldn't leave his post during the peak fall season to make a 6 hour drive to New Jersey to stay with me.  Although my feelings were hurt, I knew I would make the same decision if it were me.  After all, I decided to stay in Montclair to ensure the Baker's Dozen Half Marathon went off without a hitch, rather than drive to Maryland to be with my grandmother as she took her final breath.  The last of the runners were crossing the finish line when I got the call.

There are two very important things to note here: 1. My family isn't close enough (in proximity or emotionally) or wealthy enough (they have day jobs they can't leave) to help out for any length of time. 2. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.  My inability, physically and emotionally, to leave my bakery, inadvertantly spawned a community stronger than family.

The Running Club, the Sunday Dinners, the Friday Music Nights, the Holiday Cookie Classes, the Pizza Parties....these events were launched out of a necessity to bring my friends and neighbors to me.  If I have to be at the bakery, I might as well create circumstances that allow for everyone to join me.  People thought they were all brilliant money-making schemes! Ha!  Nothing is ever about the money.  In fact, most of these events lost money several times over before they started to break even. I truly believe businesses focusing on making money over making people happy, will never succeed. 

My stats before impact: 21.9mph, 313w, 98rpm. I went down just after this traffic light.

Wednesday, September 12th The pain is real.  I spend most of my day thinking I should be doing more. I should be more active.  The swelling in my leg continues to recede, making it easier to mobilize. Every inch of bone from my knee to the middle of by back, aches.  If you've never broken a bone, imagine what it feels like to be in one position for so long, your back or leg or arm starts to get stiff - then multiply it by 10 and know that if you change positions, the stiffness won't go away.  

The steri-strips (they look like reinforced white tape) placed on my incision after my stitches were removed, have started to fall off.  I may have assisted in this by feathering my hands over them in the shower.  I'm not supposed to touch them.  They have to fall off on their own.  It's a sign of healing.  They've been stuck there for over a week.  They itch.  They're starting to look like the worn out temporary tattoos my kids wear with pride, refusing to bath so they will stay on just a little longer. Insert vomit emoji here.

Having a huge running community means the likelihood someone you know is also going to physical therapy to nurse an injury is high.  Lucky for me, my friend Anne's appointment lined up with mine today.  Maybe the ease at which I was able to find a friend who's PT appointment was the same time as mine in order to bum a ride, should be a sign that we're all nuts for doing these things we do...or not.

PT is getting harder.  I am pushed to my limits.  It is funny at times.  Dr. C. bent my left knee at a 90 degree angle, twisted my foot to the right and pushed it toward my chest until I said stop.  He asked what hurt.  It was my hamstring.  He remarked that it wasn't a very good range of motion and then he tried to do the same with my 'good' side which turned out to be exactly the same as the 'bad' side.  Runner problems.

I told him about my aching femur. He said it’s very likely I have a deep bone contusion from the accident. It’s not broken. It won’t show on an x-ray. It hurts like hell. All I can do is wait it out. The more I learn about the extent of my injury, the less I want to know. The part of my pelvis I broke is called the acetabulum. When I first started googling ‘how long before I can run after a pelvic fracture,’ several articles popped up about stress fractures and easy entries back to the sport. Then I moved on to ‘pelvic surgery,’ and I got a lot of geriatric hip replacement results. Finally I typed ‘acetabular fracture recovery timeline,’ and I immediately wished I didn’t. It took me this long in my recovery process to search for more information. Until now, I was too broken to care.

Thanks to Dr. Google, and a lot of research studies, I know that my particular fracture is rare. It typically only happens in high impact accidents. Car crashes and competitive cycling were mentioned. Until this moment, I thought I wasn’t capable of cycling more than 20mph on a flat surface. My memory told me, Yana and I had just stopped at a traffic light and we were not riding downhill, therefore I could not have been peddling more than 14-15mph when I fell. That’s what I told the doctors and surgeons in the ER. Thanks to Strava and Garmin, I know I was going exactly 21.9mph. We did not stop at the light. We sped through it before it turned red. We just wanted to get home.

Dr. Google told me my injury is frequently life-threatening. The chances of a patient with an acetabular fracture dying from internal bleeding are high. Immediate surgery is recommended but delayed in cases where a patient has to be stabilized (won’t die on the table) prior to operating. Yana and Brad consulted Dr. Google from the ER. They knew I would not be boarding a plane to San Francisco the day after the accident to spite my continued urgings.

Thursday, September 13th Even though I can’t drive, I’ve been riding along with Brad when he takes the kids to school in the morning. It requires me to get cleaned up and dressed and it gives me a reason to get out of the house. After we dropped them off and returned home, I decided I had a little more energy left. Brad helped me navigate the streets on my crutches. We walked a block away to Ray’s Luncheonette on Walnut Street. I was able to sit on a cushy stool at the counter and order breakfast. It was the first meal I’ve eaten outside of the hospital or home, since the accident. We walked back home after our breakfast and I took a nap.

An hour of activity seems to be my limit. Too much longer and I have to change positions. My hip starts to ache. Fatigue washes over me. I’m incredibly sensitive to sound. I’m not sure if it’s the drugs, the pain or a combination thereof. In real life, I can handle several streams of information coming at the same time. In the last few weeks, I can barely handle one. It’s as if my brain can’t process fast enough. I feel stupid.

Places with lots of activity, like my bakery, are complete hell. I can focus for a small amount of time and then the frenzy of sounds become unbearable. When the kids come home from school and the three of them start talking at one time, I want to scream or cry or both. I have a very short fuse and it makes me sad. I used to love being on the patio at the bakery and seeing it filled with activity - moms & babies, high school students, people working on their laptops. Now, when it starts to get busy, I retreat.

I tried to drop a dose of my nerve medication, thinking if I could stop taking it, my brain would be normal again. I didn’t take it at lunchtime when I normally would. I traded the Oxycodone for Tylenol a couple weeks ago, with great success. I’ve gotten used to a certain level of constant ache and pain. It’s always there but it’s tolerable. How bad could this be?

By 5pm the kids were home from school, fighting with each other about everything. The noise level in my apartment could rival a college football game. I started to feel a pain like I’ve never felt before. The area around my incision was on fire. I quickly discovered the pills I’d been taking were not only dulling the bone pain but they were keeping me from feeling the area where I’d been hinged open like a Pez dispenser. I won’t try to wean myself off the drugs again anytime soon.

Friday, September 14th This morning I decided to hobble to the bakery to see everyone. I felt pretty strong. For the first time, I decided to brave the giant staircase leading up to my office. Jessie helped me with my crutches. Going up is a lot harder than coming down. I knew if I had the energy to go up, I could easily make it back down. Winded, I made it to the top. I was able to sit at my desk and strategize about baking classes with my team. I almost felt normal. I had to cancel the entire fall schedule when I realized I wouldn’t be able to teach. Together, we brainstormed creative solutions to add classes back on the calendar without requiring my presence or my full capacity. We picked dates and times. One of the new classes sold out before the end of the day.

***

Having three kids ups my ability to not give a fuck about most things. My house is a mess. Buttered rolls can be a substitute for dinner. The television can be on 24/7 blaring the worst cartoons known to humanity. I once had a sitter for an entire summer and I never knew her last name.

Having three kids and not being able to fend for myself, conjures a whole new level of inability to care. I take that back, I do care but I realize there is absolutely nothing I can do to have more control over this situation. Open peanut butter jars sit on the counter over night. The bathroom, oh the bathroom….I can’t even describe what’s become of my bathroom. All three kids are sleeping without fitted sheets on their mattresses. The room they share reminds me of a summer camp bunk house, if all the counselors quit.

Mac’s socks haven’t matched all week. I almost started to care when I saw one of his socks had ‘Balega’ across the top. I can assure you, my 6 year old does not own Balegas! The laundry hasn’t been done all week. My laundry room is down two flights of stairs. It might as well be Antartica. When I couldn’t convince them to go sockless, I let Josie and Keegan pick socks from my drawer of $15 running socks that I covet. Josie selected a nice pair of pink no-show Balegas. Keegan grabbed a pair of my pink bike socks, covered in doughnuts and pulled them up to his knees.

Mac lost a tooth yesterday. I panicked. The Tooth Fairy is dead. Fuck! This morning, Josie woke up at 5am and sat down next to me on the sofa. “Mama, do you want me to put money under Mac’s pillow for you?” My first thought was to tell her the Tooth Fairy would take care of it….she is real!!! Then, on second thought, I realized I have a pretty smart 5th grader and I handed her a dollar. When she returned, tooth in hand, she asked “Does this mean we’re not getting presents under the Christmas tree this year?” UGH!

I am 8 & 12 years older than my little brothers. I got to be an only child AND have siblings, the best of both worlds. Christmas Eve was one of my favorite days of the year. Once I was old enough to have a say, I always asked to spend the night with my Dad and Stepmom. After the boys were tucked into bed, we got to assemble all their gifts and put them under the tree. I remember chasing my Mom around the house playing laser tag at 11pm, racing remote control cars up and down the living room and playing Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Robots for hours. Every year it was something new and every year we got to test drive the hottest boy toys on the market. Hanging onto these memories helped realize the death of the Tooth Fairy wasn’t so terrible after all.

When Mac came home from school, he had a second tooth in hand. I think this is his newest money-making scheme. I told him he doesn’t have that many teeth and he couldn’t make more than $20 so he should call it quits. He and Keegan went outside to play and Josie stayed with me. “Should I swap out his tooth now?” she asked. Why not? When he returned and discovered his tooth was already gone, he questioned the Fairy. I told him Fridays are the biggest missing tooth day of the week and she’s got a lot of ground to cover. She must have started early. He shrugged and stuffed his money in his pocket.

Saturday, September 15th In early 2012, I was nursing an infant, tending to my 2 and 3 year old toddlers, working 60+ hours a week to create bread recipes for clients all over the country and completing my final semester in my MBA program.  I was passed over for promotions numerous times. My boss actually said I wasn't management material "with my 3 kids and all," to spite my previous management experience. I thought an MBA might finally be my ticket to get to the next level. I was the sole breadwinner for my family in more ways than one. My meager salary wasn’t enough.  I filled the gaps by leaning on good ol' Uncle Sam’s assistance programs to put food on the table, provide health insurance and child care support.

When I worked on a new recipe for a client, the process created hundreds of loaves of bread, technically, unfit for consumption.  Practically, these were perfectly good by any normal standards.  I started freezing the samples throughout the week.  Every Thursday I brought the breads home and I hosted a pick-up in my apartment from 6-8pm, free for anyone who wanted to take one loaf or 10.  The only people I knew in Montclair were the moms whom I'd met in my prenatal yoga class, just before my youngest was born.  These were the people who attended my Thursday evening carb fest.  The pick-ups went on for several months before this simple act would change my life forever.

In April, 2012, one of the moms, Stephanie, came to pick up her bread for the week. She informed me of a little bakery on Walnut St. looking to find a new owner.  The current owners were retiring and leaving the country.  Even though I was feeding my family from a government assistance program, my bank account was negative and the home I'd once owned before moving to Montclair was in foreclosure, I STILL thought I had a chance.  

I cashed in all my vacation time.  I spent a week at the Montclair Public Library working on a business plan.  It was my final assignment for my MBA program but it now had real meaning.  I researched how many commuters leave from the Walnut St. train station each day.  I sat in the Starbucks on Church St. and counted the number of customers they processed each hour.  I wanted this plan to be ironclad.  I was risking everything and not just my everything.  

Once the plan was complete, I reached out to anyone who ever said 'you should open a bakery.'  I gathered four people who wanted to invest in my proposal.  Three of my investors were moms who had been picking up bread from my apartment.  The fourth was a co-worker and mentor from my day job. To spite all my hardships, they still believed in me.

On May 2nd, 2012 I used my key to unlock the door of my bakery for the first time.  In the first few months, it was slow.  It was so slow that I reached out to my mom friends and asked if they could fill the tables and chairs in front of the bakery in exchange for coffee and croissants - you know, to make it look like the place to be.  Before too long, it was the place to be. 

As the bakery grew and became more demanding, my time for fostering friendships diminished. The only adults I have time to talk to regularly, are the ones who meet me at 5am for runs. When word of my accident spread, the first people to show up next to my hospital bed were from the group of moms I'd met 7 years ago, before the bakery, before the running, before life got in the way.  I hadn't seen some of these ladies in YEARS!  Eslin brought me clothes & magazines, Gina picked my kids up so they could visit, Kelly & Lara sent daily notes to check in, Chandra & Marika brought food, Melissa brought flowers and crafts to keep my kids busy and countless others reached out to see how they could help.  The whole group came back together again as if no time had passed.   

None of my progress in life would be possible without an incredible community standing behind me, believing in me when what lies ahead seems like an impossible journey.  Montclair Bread Company wouldn't exist nor would it continue to prosper.  Fueled by Doughnuts wouldn't exist.  Seriously, there wouldn't even BE doughnuts, those were imagined by my mom-friend, Kyra, or a 5K Doughnut Run, thanks to Jessica & Gina.  And now, yet again, I fall back on my community to provide me the strength I need to take one more step forward.

Week 3

The 14" scar that goes from one hip to the other and includes three holes in my leg where the blood & fluids were draining out of me.

Sunday, September 2nd It's all about the ups and the downs.  In real life (because this can't possibly be my actual life) I don't cry.  I used to cry ALL. THE. TIME.  I was trapped in an emotionally abusive relationship.  I spent hours laying in bed, sobbing.  I was depressed and laden with anxiety.  The person you know, the successful & confident bakery owner...she's just faking it to make it.  At home, in front of my family, I was a pool of sorrow.

In 2014, I started running and I stopped crying.  I made a conscience decision to shut down my emotions and remain completely unaffected by hurtful words.  I built an imaginary glass wall around myself.  I didn't let anyone in.  Then I met Anne Arthur.  We started running together.  A few 200 mile months allowed for a lot of conversation.  I started to gain more confidence with every step.  For the first time in my life, I started making friends.

I've always had friends but I was a loner as a kid. I spent all my time with adults. I keep in touch with exactly one person who went to grade school with me.  Every other friend I've had, I've met at work because work is all I do. Angelique was my manager at one of my first restaurant jobs.  She called last Friday wanting to know, "GIrl, what the hell were you doing on a bike!"

Rena sat next to me at my marketing research internship in college.  She called the night I got out of surgery (and every day since), ready to get on a plane and fly here from Jacksonville, FL to sit by my side.

Since my accident, I've been an emotional mess. I spent hours crying crocodile tears today.  I can't tell you why.  I'm not sure myself.  Maybe I feel sorry for myself.  Maybe I can't understand how a community can display so much love for one person.  Maybe I feel like I've let my partner down because I can't be the fun, active person I'm supposed to be.  Maybe it's because I'm a terrible mother.  I haven't spent more than an hour total with my boys since the accident.  My 10 year old daughter, who hasn't left my side, has been catapulted into adulthood and she needs to be a kid. Maybe it's because I can't clean up after myself and all the responsibility is on everyone else.  Maybe it's because I'm a burden to everyone around me and all I want is a little bit of control.

Monday, September 3rd I smell terrible.  It's the smell of not showering for over 2 weeks.  It's the smell of a Saturday night party, a 43 mile bike ride, 8 hours of surgery, 8 days in the hospital, 8 more days at home, iodine, bandages, hot sweats, cold sweats, armpits, urine, sani-wipes and dry shampoo.  It's the smell of visiting my 88 year old great grandmother in the nursing home.

My mornings at home are becoming routine.  I wake up between 2-4am.  While still laying on my back, I shimmy my legs to the edge of the bed and let them drop off the side.  I tug on the sheets to hoist myself up to sitting.  I sit still for 2 minutes to let the dizziness subside.  I take a dose of galbapentin, aspirin and anti-nausea meds from the night stand.  I tuck my cell phone into the pillow case along with the meds I will need in 2 hours.  I grab my crutches and hope I can manage yet another one-legged squat upward on my right foot.  I squeeze the pillow & pillowcase in one hand, with the crutch, and hobble to the living room sofa where I toss the pillow so I can use it to sit comfortably when I return.  I continue along to the bathroom.  I carefully lower myself onto the toilet hoping my stiff legs can bend just a little more.  I'm thankful for my tiny bathroom as I stay sitting to brush my teeth, wash my hands and use a soapy cloth to clean as much of my body as I can reach.  Another one-legged squat up and I'm hobbling back to the living room.  I stop at the fridge to get the can of Stumptown Coffee Brad left on the top shelf so I can reach it.  The lower shelves might as well be in Antartica.  I move the can to the table and take a step forward.  I reach back for the can and move it to the arm of the chair and I take a step forward.  This back and forth with the can continues for 10 more steps and surfaces until I can finally sit on the sofa where I left the pillow.  I reach for my computer and I write.

One of my bakery customers, Greg, is a local yoga instructor.  I love going to his classes post-marathon when I'm supposed to take time off running.  I should go more often but it's always difficult to fit into training even when I know it would be the best thing for my body.  Greg came to my apartment and taught Brad and I the basics of meditation.  It was one of the scariest things I've ever done.  Run 26.2 miles?  Sure, no problem!  Stop my brain from thinking and doing?  No fucking way.

I embraced the lesson with open arms. I found the meditation helpful.  It allowed me to think past the pain for a moment.  It silenced the anxieties of recovery.  Greg said thinking about the past will cause depression and thinking about the future will cause anxiety.  Live for right now. I am grateful to have such inspirational people in my village.

Although I've mastered my trips to the bathroom and going down the stairs, I'm still exhausted easily and I have little to no range of motion in my left leg.  It remains non-weight bearing.  I have to lift it to move it off the bed or sofa.  It's a giant dead weight.  At the end of the day, it's so swollen I start consulting Dr. Google, quickly scrolling past the first account of why this is normal to focus on how many different ways I could die based on these symptoms.

The biggest of several fractures.

Tuesday, September 4th I woke up at 4am and immediately started preparing for my first post-op doctor's appointment. I put on a fresh nightshirt. I tossed my pills, notebook with questions, handicap placard request and phone into a tote bag.  The 5:30am group run was in full swing.  Brad was coaching at the track so I called Carolyn at the bakery and requested her assistance getting down the stairs.  I sat on the patio, waiting for 7am to arrive.

Brad drove me, my crutches, my wheelchair, my tote bag and a dozen doughnuts back to the hospital I called home for 8 days.  We had to wheel around the entire building before we figured out where the orthopedic doctors were hiding.  We arrived with 15 minutes to spare before my 8am appointment.  Unfortunately, it would be another hour and 15 minutes before they called me to see the doctor.  Sitting in one position for any length of time is very painful.

Once I was in and the nurses had the doughnuts, I forgot about my pain and focused on my nervousness.  Did I screw up the bones that time I slipped a little going up the stairs and put weight on my left foot?  Is my wound infected because I went outside on one of the super hot days and I was sweating too much?

The nurse came in right away and immediately started removing my bandages.  Wait!  Those have been on for 16 days, are you sure they can come off?  They were put on when I was spread out on the operating table.  Those are sacred.  Nope, no waiting, just what felt like a trip to the waxing specialist and there it was.  For the first time, I was able to see the full length of my incision.  I knew it was bad but I thought I'd convinced myself it was so terrible anything I saw under the bandages would pale in comparison to my imagination.  I was wrong.  It was worse.

In addition to the new hardware, I am now the proud owner of a soon-to-be-scar that stretches from one hip all the way across to the other and three mini scars (holes) on my upper thigh, where the drains were inserted.  I couldn't hold back my tears.  I sobbed.  Brad told me I did it to myself...I really fucked up.  Carolyn said I look like Sally from the Nightmare Before Christmas.  I started rationalizing it, thinking about all the money I spend to get tattoos and this is kinda the same, only I didn't get to pick this one.

The doctor arrived.  She checked out my battle wound and was happy with the progress.  The stitches could come out.  I can start showering.  After she said shower, I lost my ability to concentrate on anything else.

She reviewed the before and after X-Rays and CT Scans of my injury.  There was one giant crack going down the part of my pelvis that looks like a wing and several smaller cracks all stemming from the ball of my hip joint.  It was like a hammer shattered a block of ice. The post-op pics showed how the plates and pins reduced the gaps created by the breaks.  They also showed me why my body aches every second of every day.  

I learned the swelling, which makes my foot turn into a giant marshmallow every night, is normal.  The dull ache in my thigh, where I have virtually no feeling, is also normal.  My nerve sensation will return at the rate of one millimeter per day.  It could be weeks before all the feeling is restored. The bulge in my belly is normal too.  It's trapped air from the surgery and it will go away.  

I can use my left leg in any way that I please - full range of motion - so long as it bears no weight.  This was great news, not because I can actually move my leg but because I feel more confident that I'm not going to fuck up all the work the surgeons did during my day-to-day activities, like getting out of bed.

I asked about the recovery timeline.  If all goes well, I can get in the pool in two weeks (4 weeks post-op) and I'll be back on a bike (stationary) in 4 weeks (6 weeks post-op).  This is also when I may or may not, depending on x-rays, start putting weight on my left foot. I won't be able to drive until week 12 which is also when I could potentially be cleared to run.  Running is relative, of course.

Once the doctor left, the nurse arrived to remove my stitches.  40 minutes and 30 stitches later, I had a belly full of steri-strips and I was ready to go back home.

Helene was bringing a shower chair for me when she got off work but I couldn't wait.  Brad put a small stool in the shower for me as soon as we got home.  There I sat for what seemed like minutes but was probably hours.  It was the best shower I've ever taken, better than any post-marathon shower!  I finally felt clean.

The comfort of the shower was capped off with a little comfort food from Marcella.  Her mac & cheese was the perfect ending to this day.

Wednesday, September 5th.  I always used shin splints as my excuse for not running.  I played tennis in high school.  Pounding the courts brought them on.  They were always lurking just under the surface.  When I ran my first 2.2 miles at the Montclair Bread Co. 4K Fun Run, I knew it wouldn't be long before the shin splints returned.  It wasn't.  After the fun run, I started to build mileage leading up to my first half marathon.  When the shin splints came back in full force, my friend Gina sent me to her Physical Therapist, Dr. Geno Mayes, at Iron PT.  I'd never been to PT before but I quickly learned, a few torture sessions with Dr. Mayes was all I needed to run pain free.  He helped me with my running form too, which allowed me to get rid of the shin splints once and for all!

A year after my first PT session, I was coming down off a high from running the NYC Marathon.  I never let my body recover from the 26.2.  I just kept pounding the pavement, putting in the miles.  The day after Christmas, I was diagnosed with a stress fracture of the tibia and I had to wear a boot for 8 weeks.  Back to PT!

I didn't learn my lesson from my first marathon.  After my BQ performance at the Mohawk Hudson Marathon in 2016, I kept running 40+ mile weeks.  My peroneal tendon strain side-lined me for more than 12 weeks and took my spring marathon goal off the table.  It was THE WORST, or so I thought at the time.  Back to PT!

While the tendon strain healed, I was sitting on the table as Dr. Mayes did his thing with the crazy metal tools, digging into my muscles to break up the tight spots.  I started feeling sorry for myself.  Tears were rolling down my cheeks.  Dr. Mayes didn't comfort me or wipe away my tears.  He scolded me.  "No more crying!  You need to be good at one other thing, you can't just run.  Get in the pool.  Do NOT come to my table and cry when you are capable of achieving more."

I was terrified of the pool.  I signed up for swim lessons at the YMCA.  Twice a week, I felt like a 5 year old as my instructor taught me how to kick.  We progressed to breathing and a couple weeks later, I learned to stroke.  It wasn't pretty but it was something for my brain to focus on until I was cleared to run again.

Dr. Mayes is also an athlete.  He does whatever he can to get his patients back up and running.  When I was in the ER, I texted him. "Had a bike accident.  In the hospital.  Fractured Pelvis.  Who should I see."  At this point I was A: Convinced I was in the wrong hospital and B: Convinced this fracture was NBD...just like my stress fracture that healed in less than 8 weeks.

Having just completed the West Point Triathlon and en route to the Midland Mile, Dr. Mayes responded, "They'll give you crutches and tell you to take it easy on the bad side.  Let me know who you're seeing and I'll help you accordingly."

A few X-Rays and CT scans later,  "It's shattered.  I need surgery."  Dr. Mayes assured me I was in the right place for the reconstructive surgery and he insisted I keep him posted through the ordeal.  He sent daily messages during my hospital stay reminding me to keep my spirits high.

When the ortho doc told me I could go to out-patient PT, I called Dr. Mayes before I left the exam room.  Sure, I could barely walk to the bathroom but I was determined to find the light at the end of the tunnel and I knew Dr. Mayes could help.

My appointment was nothing like I've been to in the past.  He didn't dig into my muscles with the Graston tools or make me stand on a wobble board, with one foot, while playing catch.  Dr. Mayes, very gently, conducted a full evaluation to determine the limits to my range of motion.  He gave me a couple "exercises" to practice at home that will help me restore my left ankle & knee to full functionality while my hip continues to heal.

I thought PT was as much fun as I could have in one day but, when I got home, I was met by Rebecca, with a brand new table so I can create a proper work station from my sofa without hunching over my computer on my lap.  I don't think she intended 'work station.'  I'm probably supposed to be reading inspirational books and writing my inner thoughts in journals.

The day continued with positive excitement when my favorite ladies from Lululemon came over with clothes for me to try on.  They heard about my injury and they knew my wardrobe did not contain the proper pants to fit loosely over my wounds.  As I write this, I am sitting very comfortably in my oversized, On The Fly pants.  It's incredible how much getting dressed in 'real' clothes improves ones dignity. 

I am very grateful for the huge displays of love I experienced today.  Not only PT, new tables & Lululemon but also the box of peanut brittle I devoured from Yana and the delicious shrimp pad thai from Colleen & Ben.

Thursday, September 6th.  Sometimes I experience a pain-free moment and I forget that I'm injured.  I almost stand unassisted before remembering.  Seeing pictures of myself from the days leading up to the accident is one of the hardest things to swallow.  I continue to have moments of deep sadness when I think about how quickly life changed.

I went back to PT.  It's hard to adjust to this new way of life. Last month, a tough workout was biking up and down snake hill 10 times.  Now, a tough workout is bending my left leg at the knee (with assistance), 10 times.  Accomplishment takes on a new meaning.

I was happy to have the support of our village today.  Wendy picked me up from my PT appointment and helped me up the stairs to my apartment.  Anne & Levon came to visit for a while and Hillary, Charlie & Tessa brought dinner. 

I spent the afternoon with my daughter, Josie, or I guess she spent it with me.  She sat next to me sewing while I feigned interest in work-related productivity for hours. She made a plate for me and brought me my dinner. We watched a bad rom com.  I'm not sure what I would do without my 10 year old granny. I'm so proud of her for how much weight she's carrying and with such grace.  I'm so sorry for putting her in a position where she has to shoulder this tremendous responsibility. 

Friday, September 7th The plan was to leave in the morning.  Brad & I would get to Lake Placid early afternoon-ish and have the rest of the day to settle in.  I've never been to Lake Placid.  I picked the Iron Man 70.3 because it appears on just about every one of the "triathlons to do before you die" and "world's most beautiful triathlons" lists.  It's a hilly bike course.  Angela and Barbara were coaching me on biking the hills for weeks.  Angela is one of the strongest cyclists I know.  She taught me how to descend. I practiced every Wednesday morning as we went up and down Garrett Mountain together.  My goal each week was to brake less. Barbara taught me how to climb, sitting up tall, making more breathing room in my torso, and staying light on my peddles.  Yana and I went on long rides with similar elevation to the Lake Placid course.  I rode in every weather condition to prepare for every potential obstacle on race day.

I've only been cycling for a year.  Scratch that, I recently reconnected with cycling a year ago.  In college, I biked everywhere.  It was my only form of transportation.  One day, I was going to class and someone walked in front of my bike.  My handlebar caught on her shirt sleeve and I went face first over the front of the bike, slamming down onto the pavement.  I looked like I'd been in a bar fight.  My front two teeth were completely knocked out, there was a hole through my bottom lip and the rest of my face was covered in road rash.  The thought of getting back on a bike after this accident made my palms sweat.

Last year after I started swim lessons, I decided 2017 was the year to conquer my fears.  I made an appointment to get the root canal I'd been putting off and I bought a bike.  There was absolutely no way I was going to get clipless pedals....who in their right mind would attach themselves to a bike?!?  A week after my bike purchase, I returned for an upgrade, including a clipless pedal system and proper bike shoes.  I toddled around Montclair for a few weeks before I was comfortable enough to go on longer rides.  I liked being on the bike ALMOST as much as I liked running.

For now, Lake Placid will remain unchecked on my bucket list.  Someone asked if I was more disappointed about missing out on the 70.3 Iron Man race or the NYC Marathon, my two fall goals.  I'm more disappointed I can't get dressed by myself.  I can't cook myself a meal.  I can't leave my apartment unless someone is by my side, down every step.  I'm more disappointed I can't be there to cheer for my friends who have put so many hours into training for this day.

The second my body hit the ground, I knew this season was over.  I stopped thinking about races and I started thinking about basic human needs.  I thought about the people I love and how close I came to leaving them.  I continue to think about progress.  This is just temporary.

My win for the day was leaving the house to get a haircut.  I had to cancel an appointment with my favorite stylist during this ordeal.  When he heard, he offered to come to my house to do the job, knowing it was make me feel a little more human.  After sitting in the hospital waiting room for hours on Tuesday, I knew I would be okay in his salon. Last month, I would have crammed 176 appointments and meetings into a single day.  Now, I'm thrilled to have one single destination requiring me to change settings. 

After my appointment, I was treated to lunch by the Montclair Police Department.  The officers also hand delivered my handicap permit.  Over the years of hosting races in town, we've developed a close working relationship.  It was a thoughtful surprise and I am very grateful for their care and concern.  We are lucky to have such a kind family of officers to look over us.

Dinner was served by Mary Rose & Tim.  I got to cuddle with baby Katrina.  Perhaps we should start a trend of therapy babies instead of therapy dogs.  I've enjoyed the distraction this week.

Saturday, September 8th Before this accident, Brad and I were still in the honeymoon phase of our relationship. Aside from an occasional running-related ingrown hair or nasty toenail, we kept our gross bodily functions to ourselves.  Since we are both long past the desire to have more babies, I thought I could keep up the ruse for years.

Although he never had to wipe my ass, he's been catapulted into a caregiver role that has forced him to do just about everything but (or butt?).  I knew the fun was over when we both stopped closing the door to pee.  I couldn't physically finagle the door with the crutches; he just didn't give any more fucks.  

Every day, my body becomes less and less recognizable.  My left leg is so swollen, each toe like a tiny balloon. It is almost as if it doesn't belong to the rest of me.  Before I can leave the house, I have to put on a compression sock to help reduce the swelling and prevent life-threatening blood clots.  I WISH my new sock was anything like the fun, cute calf sleeves everyone wears on runs.  Nope, mine goes all the way up my thigh and it is tighter than any Spanx I've ever squeezed into.  In fact, it takes Brad 30 minutes to help me get the single sock on.  30 minutes includes at least 2 mental sanity breaks to avoid either a huge fight or something that ends in me sobbing in pain or both.  Neither baby powder or olive oil make it any easier.  We've tried. If anyone would like to attempt stuffing my sausage leg into the casing, be my guest! It may save my relationship.

In addition to the swelling in my leg, my stomach is bloated and distended from the surgery.  I wish I drank the amount of beer it would take to get this way, in real life.  I'm still covered in black residue from the sticky bandages.  I get a little more funk off every time I shower. There's so much more I can't see or reach.  I'm covered in white steri-strips along my 14" incision and covering the 3 holes in my leg in which I still have no sensation from my knee up.  

I'm starting to gain weight.  I knew it would happen given my inactivity, all the medications and all the comfort food.  It doesn't make it any easier to endure.  I have a slight allergy to ibuprofen which causes painful sores in my mouth.  Each time I take it, I think this will be the time it doesn't affect me.  After a week of alternating acetaminophen and ibuprofen, in an effort to avoid taking narcotics, my mouth is full of sores.  This will certainly help with the food consumption portion of the weight gain.

I woke up this morning to a message from United Airlines.  In consideration of my current state, they provided a full refund for our missed flights to San Francisco...not a credit, an actual refund.  I guess there is a little humanity left in the airline industry.  Unfortunately, endurance athletics, specifically the Iron Man complex, do not feel the same way.

Week 2

My last ride and the space between the site of the accident & home.

Sunday, August 26th Is it called 'waking up' if you don't really sleep? My nights at the hospital consisted of a 10pm vital check & pills, 12pm vital check, 2am vital check, 4am vital check & pills, 5am blood draw (yes daily), 6am vital check, pills, shot of blood thinner....  A good night's sleep at the hospital is relative.  

This morning I discovered the tremendous back pain that's been preventing me from sleeping more than an hour at a time is actually the place in my pelvis where all the hardware is installed.  At least I'm getting acquainted with my anatomy.

The day started (the part where I give up on ever going back to sleep) with coffee from Brad followed by a visit from Laura.  Brad left to go for a run.  I'm trying my best to be supportive of others who can still run but every day it's a little harder to fein interest.

My ortho doc came in and asked if I wanted to go home.  He told me he could make it happen if I could get him a dozen doughnuts.  I called Gina, who appeared with the box that would break me from this joint 20 minutes later.  It wasn't just the doughnuts, it was a clearance from PT too.  Laura watched me 'walk' down the hallway clip-clopping away with the walker.  When I got back to my bed, the PT said she couldn't really release me until I conquered stairs - I asked where I had to go to get to the stairs and if we could please go there right now.  She told me to stay in bed.  I think my persistence paid off though.  Around 11am, ortho doc was back with instructions for my release!!!

I rallied the troops to start coordinating the jail break.  Brad brought me real-ish clothes.  I couldn't really go home in my bike cleats.  In fact, we quickly discovered I couldn't fit an actual shoe on my swollen left foot.  Barbara, Necole & Chris were on standby at my apartment.  They would have to help transport me up 3 flights of stairs to my front door.

At 4pm, one of my favorite nurses, Rasheeda, who also operates an ice cream truck, wheeled me out the front door, where I breathed fresh downtown Newark air, for the first time in over a week.  I lowered myself into Brad's car and we rushed to get to the pharmacy before it closed at 5pm.   Although I phoned ahead to find out what one needed in order to pick up heavy narcotics, there was still a glitch.  Our ID's weren't sufficient.  The paper scripts with an actual signature weren't sufficient.  They had to speak to the doctor on the phone to validate the order...on a Sunday at 4:58pm.  Brad became my knight in shining armor when he used my discharge paperwork to plead our case to the pharmacist and emerged from CVS with a multitude of pill bottles.

When we arrived at our apartment, I was greeted with balloons & banners! I couldn't have been happier.  I was also greeted with a something that resembled a chair or maybe it was what happens when you cross a stretcher with a chair.  In any case, I was belted onto this device prior to being hiosted up all 3 flights of stairs by Chris & Brad.  It pays to have EMT friends!  Finally, I was inside my home...the home I'd left at 6am a week ago, thinking it was the perfect morning for a bike ride.

Before I went to bed, I was treated to dinner from Cori.  Sarah came bearing pitchers and a water basin which were used to wash my hair for the first time in more than a week.  A shower isn't in my cards for at least another week, probably longer, due to the placement of the the surgical incision.  It doesn't quite go all the way around my waist but I was cut from my bellybutton to my back.  If I were a cartoon character, I could hinge open.  Clean hair, clean apartment, all the comforts of home were finally in reach.

Monday, August 27th If the nurses don't wake me every two hours, the pain will.  To spite the drug regime, sleep doesn't seem to be in my cards.

Barb stopped by with breakfast and coffee.  She also brought new toys for me to try out....a fancier walker & crutches.  Walking to the bathroom still equates to a 10 mile run.

Wendy brought a slew of options to bath without bathing.  I didn't know what a huge part of my new life this would be.  Not being permitted to shower takes away all my dignity.  Before this injury, I was a twice a day girl.  My 10 year old daughter, Josie, is staying with me.  She started cleaning my legs and was fearful I was turning into Donald Trump because the more she scrubbed, the more the towels were covered with orange residue from the iodine used in surgery.

Kim stopped by with lunch & a new night shirt.  Along with the no-shower life alteration, the no-pants world is also new to me.

I was actually able to spend a couple hours working on 2018 5K Doughnut Run preparations with Gina.  It was the most human I've felt in a while.  I have an intrinsic need to be productive.

The day finished with a wonderful home-cooked meal from Tracey.  Josie said it was the best dinner she's had in a very long time.  Thank God for Jersey corn!

Tuesday, August 28th Being home is bitter sweet.  I missed being in my space and having my things.  On the other hand, it makes me feel like I should be doing more because I no longer qualify for hospital status.  Even the people close to me leave me linger longer, forget I can't get anything outside of arm's length and generally just go on with their lives.  Meanwhile, my world is the smallest it's ever been.  I'm so much closer to normalcy but I have so much further to go and it's palpable.

I hosted the weekly Montclair Bread Co. leadership meeting in my apartment...more productivity.  Carolyn's mom made me my favorite garlic pickles, the same pickles that sustained me during my 2nd pregnancy.  

Chloe dropped off dinner for us.  Lizzy came to visit in the evening.  My comfort level using forearm crutches (like the young Forrest Gump), greatly increased.  I walked a couple laps in my apartment and did 10 single leg squats.  I felt hopeful about my progress.

Wednesday, August 29th was a set back.  The pain at night is no joke.  I can't sleep for more than 2 hours at at time.  I dread going to bed but I'm so exhausted, I have no choice.  When I lay awake trying not to think about how broken my body is, I think about the last night I was in control.  Brad & I hosted our birthday party just over a week ago.  It was the highest high having all our loved ones in one place, celebrating.  Less than 24 hours later, it was the lowest low and I realized it was going to be a very long time before I regained control of my life.  

It was a hard day.  Nothing could stop the pain.  It wasn't just my wounds but all the drugs started to catch up to my system.  My stomach was in knots. I felt feverish. I just wanted to be alone to lick my wounds in a quiet place.

There are things I never have to worry about as an amateur athlete.  I can stand on one foot.  I can open the tightest spaghetti jars.  I can wake up every morning and take a dump before I leave the house.  Well, no longer my friends.  Inactivity thrust me into a world of constipation & unopenable jar lids.  Did you know you use your abs to get a better grip and force those suckers open?  You do and I can't because I have a 12 inch incision across my stomach that makes it impossible to go deep.  Same goes for that poop problem.  It really fucking sucks and yet again, I feel helpless.

Khushbu brought us a beautiful taco dinner with fresh peach salsa.  My grandpa had a peach tree in our yard when I was growing up.  Peaches are my favorite fruit.  They make me think of him.  However pissed off Brad is that I went for a life-altering bike ride through an urban area, Pop would double his sentiments.  I wish he was here to yell at me.  The peaches were a close second.

Just as I was getting ready for bed, Barbara came over and taught me how to go up and down the stairs.  I took four steps down and four back up.  It was the first time I've been outside my apartment.  I could see the front door of my building.  It was another 10 steps away.  It was like the scene in Beetlejuice when the newly dead Geena Davis & Alec Baldwin try to leave their house but the door opens to a dessert pit filled with man-eating sand worms....

Thursday, August 30th Three weeks ago was a "peak week" in my training plan.  I swam 2000+ yards on Monday, ran 3x 1.5 miles at sub-7:45 pace on Tuesday, biked 20 miles on Wednesday, killed 4x1200 on the track Thursday (7:23, 7:22, 7:19, 7:15 pace per rep), swam 3x 600 Friday, ran for 2 hours Saturday morning and completed all 3 hours of my Sunday morning ride before my accident.  If you asked, I would tell you, I was in the best shape of my life.

I am grateful for my coach, Alden, and his training plan.  Prior to this season, I was only focused on running...6 days a week of running...50+ miles of just running.  It didn't allow for any cross training.   If this accident occurred then (only one could argue I didn't have time to cycle back then), I would have been devastated and depressed - 1000x more than I am right now.  I am fortunate to have spent the last three months in the pool, on the bike and only running 3 days each week.  Running wasn't my entire life anymore, just a big part of it.  My body is all-over strong, not just leg strong.   When Barbara came to teach me how to go down the stairs, all I could think about was how lucky I am to be physically fit.  The amount of upper body strength I've gained has allowed me to become more and more independent every day.  I can lift my body down one step and then another, without putting an ounce of weight on my reconstructed left side.

After lunch, I decided to try the stairs again.  Brad spotted me down the first four steps to the mezzanine in my building.  I could see the sun shining through the front door.  I decided to try a few more stairs.  Before I knew it, I was walking across the street and through the front door of my bakery.  It was emotional to say the least.  Just a few days ago, this seemed like an impossible feat. Note to readers: Going up is much harder than going down.  Save some energy for the back half.

Tracey brought us another incredible home cooked meal.  Jodi stopped by with chocolate caramel ice cream bars, more coloring books and a hand-crafted Wonder Woman robe! It was a delicious way to end a positive day.

Friday, August 31st I set my alarm for the first time since the morning of my last ride.  I wanted to watch the opening registration for the 2018 5K Doughnut Run.  Gina was coming over at 5:30am to watch with me.  I slept from 9pm-2am last night, the longest stretch to date.  If I don't wake with pain, I wake with cramps.  I'm only able to sleep laying flat, sitting up or somewhere in between.  Before the accident, I was a solid side-sleeper, pillow-cuddler.  

Gina & I watched the registrations come through.  We didn't sell out as fast as last year's race but it was still fun to see all the hype.  Wayne came to make egg sandwiches with the eggs his chickens laid.  Cara, Aileen & Colleen stopped by after their morning run.  Jess was in and out most of the day, updating me on bakery operations and bringing me treats - like clean bedsheets & washcloths so I could trade in the kitchen towels I asked for earlier this week.  Not being able to shower reduces me to this.  Eric Z, who is 4 weeks post-op from a nasty hamstring surgery, stopped by with a bag of tricks he used to help recovery.  Laura brought dinner.  Anne brought a bag of clothes that I might be able to fit over my bandages.

Saturday, September 1st It's been 3 days since I traded my heavy duty pain meds for tylenol.  I got tired of feeling fuzzy and although the pain is more intense, my brain is fully functional and I can poop.  Imagine the worst charlie horse you ever had then multiply it by two.  That's the pain I feel in my bones.  If that were the only pain, it maybe tolerable but it's not.  There's also the 12" incision across my stomach.  When I cough, it feels like my guts are going to explode out of me and land in my lap.  When the pain is managed, the charlie horse is just a dull ache and the incision throbs slightly.  I also haven't fully regained feeling in my leg from the epidural.  My thigh is in a constant state of pins and needles which, I'm told, can take up to 5 weeks to dissipate. 

Earlier this week, I wrote to the organizers of Iron Man Lake Placid, my former goal race, to request a deferral.  They said no.  They gave me a link to the 'no refund, no deferral' policy if I wanted to refresh my memory.  They lost a customer.

What I like most about running are the goals.  I can set a goal that will only take me 12 weeks of training.  If I put in the time, I meet the goal.  Or, I don't meet the goal and I set another one for the next 12 week cycle.  I'm always working toward something.  I have goals for my bakery too but the fires that pop up in the way of them are so derailing that I may not ever meet them.  I'm not completely in control in the way I am when I run (or bike or swim).  

Now that next fall's IMLP is NOT my recovery goal, I found a new one.  It's a sprint triathlon hosted by Kinetic Multisport (NOT Ironman), in my hometown in June 2019.  When I was growing up, I didn't give two f**ks about athletics so naturally, I had no idea that such a race even existed.  I definitely got annoyed when hoards of cyclists showed up at the restaurant where I bussed tables, asking for water.

My new goal is a little more than 12 weeks away. It's 7 months and 12 weeks away.  I'm hoping in the next year, I'll be able to rotate my hip bones to ride a bike, jostle them back and forth to kick in the pool and, eventually, allow them to take a pounding as my feet hit the pavement in a constant forward motion.

Week 1

This is what 2 plates, 12 screws and an IUD look like.

Saturday, August 18th was pretty much like every other Saturday.  I woke up at 5am, ran 13ish miles before 7am with my Fueled by Doughnuts running crew, organized the troops at Montclair Bread Company, and made sure my kiddos weren't killing each other.  This particular Saturday was a little different.  My partner, Brad, and I were hosting a birthday party for ourselves because our big days are only two weeks apart.  Our families and friends were descending upon us for an evening of good food, good drinks & good company.

I spent most of the day preparing for the party which went off without a hitch.  I enjoyed a few craft beers, talked until I couldn't talk anymore and called it a night before 10pm because I had an early morning bike ride scheduled for Sunday with my friend Yana.  Yana and I are both scheduled to complete the 70.3 Lake Placid Iron Man on September 9th and we've been putting in a lot of miles on two wheels together.

Sunday, August 19th, we met at 7am, a little later than normal because I wanted post-party sleep.  I was groggy, slightly hungover but ready to clip in and get this over with.  After the 3 hour ride, I had to run for 30 minutes.  The ride was only the beginning of Sunday Funday.

We rode to Chatham, NJ which was a major win for us.  We've been trying to get there for the last few weeks but we always manage to miss a turn.  On the way back, we did miss a turn and went through a bit more of an urban adventure than we'd planned.  That said, we've ridden all these roads before and we just had a little bit further to go before we were back to the starting point and ready to run.

We got to West Orange, 2 miles from home, and I saw a driver open a car door just in front of Yana.  She gracefully swerved to miss hitting it.  The driver stepped out and stood next to the door making the obstacle slightly larger for me to avoid.  I swerved, my wheels slipped on the damp street and, my left hip slammed on the pavement taking the full brunt of the fall.  I screamed.  Yana ran back for me.  Strangers surrounded me telling me not to move.  My bike was on top of me.  My leg was twisted with pain.  The cops arrived.  The ambulance arrived.  Before I knew what happened, I was en route to University Hospital in Newark, NJ.  I remained conscious.  

Transport became the dirtiest word in the English language.  Transport meant I had to be moved.  Moving hurt.  I was convinced my hip popped out of the socket.  My IT Band was on fire.  Brad beat the ambulance to the hospital.  There was more transport, a series of x-rays, more transport, a CT scan, Yana was there, Necole was there, more transport. Every Xray, every CT scan meant I had to move myself and all my still unknown injuries onto a different table.  The pain was beyond unbearable.  Transport meant I was alone.  In this final transport, I was left alone with a tech named Manny who told me I had pretty legs and I should keep them covered.   

Finally, a diagnosis, my pelvis was shattered.  The force sent the ball of my hip straight into the socket which pulverized the bone.  I needed surgery.

Monday, August 20th I was woken by nurse Lina at 4am. This should have been my alarm waking me to get ready to catch an Uber to the airport.  Brad & I were supposed to be flying to San Francisco this week for my first real vacation that I can remember.  Lina was there to prep me for surgery, the surgery they told me would be Monday at the earliest.  I was alone, with a complete stranger, getting prepped for my first surgery.  I was alone when they wheeled me into the operating room.  I have never been so scared in my life but I knew in order to get some relief from the pain that kept building, I needed this. I don't remember counting backwards.  I don't remember a breathing tube being inserted. I do remember the nurse with the fabulous earrings. 

I woke up in the recover ward.  Brad was there waiting.  It was 4pm.  Then transport, more x-rays, more transport, another CT scan (The machine died while I was inside and I was left to wait for 20 minutes while they called engineering. It was never repaired), more transport, more time with Manny.  This time, Manny he didn't stop with compliments, he decided I needed to be touched.  I was completely alone and helpless.  I was sobbing as he touched me.  I had no way of calling for help.  I begged for anyone to call Brad who was waiting for me to return.  After almost 3 hours disconnected from all pain meds and too much time with Handsy Manny,  I was finally transported to a room of my own where Brad & Barb were waiting to put me to bed.  The surgery was successful.  The surgery they said I might not need.  The 8+ hour surgery that produced a 10 inch incision, two metal plates and at least a dozen screws to reconstruct my pelvis.

Before I passed out after the longest and shortest day of my life, the surgeon came to say it was a success.  I can not bear any weight on my left side for 6 weeks.   I will be lucky to start running again in 6 months.  I will be able to swim & cycle before I can run.

Tuesday, August 21st I woke up at 2:42am to the sound of the people in the hospital room next to me having sex.  I woke up with 3 canisters of blood attached to me with tubes to drain the surgical spillage.  I woke up to a nurse throwing a bin of cold water and a rag at me, telling me to wash my slits and pits.

In addition to the drains, I had a catheter and two IV's connected to countless bags of saline, drugs & antibiotics.  Both legs were dressed in compression sleeves and hooked up to a system inflating and deflating around them to prevent blood clots.  I had a bandage covering the better part of my abdomen & upper thighs. Washing myself was not an option.  I didn't even know what I could touch if I could even reach it.

I had visitors from the running club, Wayne, Barb, Lizzy, Yana, Sarah & Kyle. Jessica brought lunch and let me know the bakery was in good shape without me.  Gina brought my kids to visit me for the first time since the accident.  They had lots of questions. Everyone brought food.  Sarah made sure my hair was clean & brushed. Jodi delivered chocolate covered strawberries & coloring books. I went to sleep in a much better place than I was when I woke.

Wednesday, August 22nd the doctors removed out the catheter and I had 8 hours to pee on my own or they'd put it back in.  Little did they know, I'm one for a challenge and this hydration game is one I know very, very well.  2 hours later, I peed on my own, in a bed pan, on the bed.  I told the nurse, it wasn't my style.  I wanted to sit in a chair to pee.  The angel found an adult version of a potty chair and allowed me to go from the bed to the chair so long as my feet didn't really touch the ground.  Finally, a small bit of dignity was brought back into my life.

My visitors were plentiful and they all came bearing food.  John & Angela brought coffee first thing in the morning.  Hillary came with lunch and informed me of all the steps the Fueled by Doughnuts running club has taken to ensure I have the support I need.  Meal trains were arranged to prevent me from suffering through hospital meals. Anne, Colleen and Laura brought more food & entertainment. Rebecca came with fried rice and stories from her recovery after she broke her pelvis and returned to be a stronger runner than ever before.  Lizzy braided my hair while Sarah & Yana kept me company before bed.  Lina who prepped me for surgery, was my nurse for the next two nights and I couldn't be happier.

Thursday, August 23rd started with a cup of coffee from Barbara, not only a fellow triathlete but also a PT and my number one advocate through this whole process. Shortly after her visit, the first of my drains were removed. The last two were removed just before I went to sleep for the night.   I was able to sit in a chair for an hour today.  My physical therapist moved my potty chair onto the actual potty.  I began using the walker to get to the bathroom myself regaining more and more of my dignity and independence.  Granted, I needed a nurse, friend or Brad to help me swing my bad leg off and onto the bed for me and I still required a lot of help getting unhooked from all the tubes in order to leave the bed. I took every opportunity to get every friend who visited me to take me to the bathroom before they left.  If I had to wait for a nurse, I might wait for an hour.  I was also finally able to stop ignoring texts, phone calls & emails from concerned friends who are in the medical know, asking if I'd pooped yet - if ya know what I mean. Cara brought the kids to visit for a second time, along with a stash of magazines to keep me entertained.

Friday, August 24th was my 38th birthday.  It was also the day I got my morphine drip removed and one of my two IV's out.  It was the IV they placed in the ER which was in the bend of my elbow.  I've heard they place them there because it's an easy vein to find and they don't actually think you're going to be staying for long.  It makes life difficult because it means you can't bend your arm which in my case was my right arm making eating very difficult, especially when you can't fully sit upright.

Brad brought me coffee. Ora followed closely behind with my favorite strawberry birthday cake baked with love from Carolyn at Montclair Bread Co & soup!  Eslin stopped by for lunch with a dress I could actually put on to replace the awful scratchy hospital gowns I'd been living in for almost a week.  The rest of the afternoon was filled with visitors...Joel, Brian, Huan & Kate.  Barbara helped me take my longest walk yet and she stayed with me until I fell asleep.

Saturday, August 25th I discovered a member of our running family is also an bone surgeon.  She was doing rounds nearby and brought me breakfast.  I began feeling confident (and scummy) enough to go to the bathroom unassisted.  I stood (on one foot) at the bathroom sink and brushed my teeth for the first time since Sunday morning.

Brad was on coffee duty again.  Anne came by but the hospital bouncer wouldn't let baby Levon come see me.  Brad took me for a walk to the end of the nurses station and back.  Marika brought salad and stayed to catch up.  Cruz & Wendy brought a new bed shirt & robe for me to change into along with latin food.  Together, the 3 of us walked halfway down the hospital hallway and back to my bed.  Chandra brought dinner and talked to me about her experience recovering from plates & pins.

I missed the Saturday morning group run.  I didn't miss the minute by minute updates from Chris & Necole who were inside my apartment all day, deep cleaning (not sure this has ever been done) & handicapping (absolutely positive this has never been done).  They tested stairs & railings, moved doors, replaced smoke alarms, raised the height of my bed and scrubbed away all the germs that might delay my recovery.  

Week 1 has been unexpected and challenging to say the least.  It has allowed me to see the mass of love I'm surrounded by in my community.  I can't imagine what life would be like without such incredible souls.  I thought I was lucky to have them run beside me but little did I know, that was only a small part of what this community is capable of supporting. I don't feel alone.  I have a very long road ahead and a very long list of people to help me travel it.

PS - If I missed your name on my list of visitors or mixed up the days - I am highly medicated and this whole week is a little fuzzy so please forgive me!