Lessons During a Pandemic
warning, don’t be shocked
I’ve written this story in my head while pounding the pavement so many times in the past month.
No, it’s not a tear jerker. (maybe) Yes, it has curveballs.
It just so happens that I have time to sit down and write this out as the year is ending. So pull up a chair because we might be here a while. I’ve got some reflections to do.
But I promise you, like all stories, lessons were learned.
Summer came and went, and before I knew it, I was setup to start my 2 A races of the year. Ironman Michigan 70.3 (half Ironman) in September followed by Ironman Muncie in October.
I wish I could tell you that my experience in Michigan rivaled that of my closest friends I traveled with. But I can tell you, I was never more thankful to have such a supportive group of people by my side than that day. I planned on making huge strides in Michigan. I had my eyes set on a *possible* PR if I played my cards right. I had some great fitness in the bank and my bike confidence had reached an all time high since my accident just over a year ago.
And honestly, I was doing great the entire race, until mile 15 on the bike course when I flipped over my handle bars.
I knew you weren’t expecting that one. After one of my best 70.3 swims to date, I hopped on my bike only to have it abruptly ended around mile 15 when I was descending at about 30 miles per hour. My back wheel locked, causing my tire to flat, fishtail and then skid out of control until I finally flipped over my handlebars, all while moving at about 30mph. I had a split second that I knew something was wrong before it happened. I can’t entirely explain it. As soon as my wheel locked I braced myself and it was less a second later that I flatted, started to skid and fishtail, and immediately hit the pavement over my handlebars. Something came over me, I knew exactly what to do.
Tuck your head, lead forward, protect your head & neck, fall to edge of the road, grab your bike, move out of the way, don’t let anyone hit you from behind.
I remember so much flashing across my mind. The next thing I knew, I was on the side of the road, my bike was on top of me, and I jumped up (just like I had a year ago) and my adrenaline was firing. The first thing I remember seeing was a police officer running towards me. My helmet was in 2 pieces and my bike might have been in 3 of 4. One of the wheels detached and the chain was on the ground, along with a solid chunk of my flesh. Police officers and spectators flocked to me, making sure I was ok and doing what they could help me and my poor bike. I was lucky, the bike course isn’t usually lined with people. I just so happened to go down near a small crowd.
The policeman took a first aid kit out of his squad car and began to dab my wounds. A sweet lady watching for her family gave me her phone so I could track down my spectators via Facebook {because who knows phone numbers anymore?} And then there was the icing on the cake. A very nice man was out watching his wife and he offered to take my bike and I back to transition so I wouldn’t have to wait for an ambulance (not needed) or race support (could take quite a while). So, moral of the story, I took a ride from a male stranger in the year 2021 in my most vulnerable state, complete with blood and shredded clothing. But he couldn’t have been more kind. I’ve found myself in these situations more than once over the years, and each time I find myself relying on strangers to care for me. And let me tell you, it restores my faith in humanity EVERY.SINGLE.TIME.
I made my way back to transition and found Michelle, my saving grace. She was the only spouse of our group that was able to travel to the race and I could not have been more thankful for her. She hugged me tight, told me everything was going to be ok, and helped me collect myself. I eventually found myself in the medical tent to get cleaned up and then ended up on course cheering in my friends as they got off the bike. ALL of them saw me and immediately stopped to ask what was wrong, and each time it brought tears to my eyes. Talk about a mind f*ck. Totally not the day I had planned.
Each of them had an amazing day. More than you could have hoped for, truly. We even had a podium in the group and my heart ached and bursted at the same time. Never have I been so conflicted with emotions in one day. I cried in private more than once, a few times on the phone with my husband. That didn’t stop the celebration from happening that night. We sat on the porch of the rental house and drank and ate and laughed and cried and toasted to each other more than once. I gave a very honest and emotional speech to my friends. Immediately following that, Jodi had to give me a sponge bath because I couldn’t bath myself, or even take off my own shirt. Reality had set in, this wasn’t good and it was possible I’d have to rethink my Ironman in just 3 short weeks.
The next day proved to be harder. Turns out, making contact with the pavement hurts more than being hit by a truck. The side panels of a truck have a little give to them, pavement shows no mercy. I had to have a friend drive my car home for me, and we had barely reached the Illinois border when my world really turned upside down.
My mother called to tell me that my Dad had taken himself to the immediate care. He was dizzy, disorientated, feverish, pale, and weak. He had tested COVID negative a few days prior so the fear was high. I got home and met him in the ER waiting room. I’ll spare you the details, but it wasn’t good. He didn’t look well at all. Suddenly I no longer felt physical pain. Only emotional stress and worry. It took another 2+ hours for the doctors to confirm that he was COVID positive. Fully vaccinated and all. My heart dropped. My world collapsed. I instantly flipped gears to survival mode. The doctor informed me that I needed to leave the room because of his current medical state. I had to make a deal with him, “Sir, I have a mother at home who needs care and her caretaker just tested positive for a virus during a global pandemic, you’re going to have to give me a minute to plan out the next 2 weeks of my life right now.”
I made my way back to my parents house (after I stocked up on wound care items from CVS) and went to work sanitizing the ENTIRE house, top to bottom for the next 2 days. I moved in with my mom while Dad checked himself into a hotel. I was the new caretaker, missing a few layers of skin. We all tested negative, so we just tried to count down the days until Dad outlived his quarantine period. One day we woke up and Dad wasn’t answering our texts. He had had a rough night, couldn’t breath very well, and decided he needed to go back to the ER. My brother and I met him and by the time we got there he was already on oxygen and having his vitals checked. We stood and watched our father; limp, pale, and lethargic. He could barely tell we were there. He spoke slowly and confused. His eyes were lifeless. It took all of his energy to cough. The nurses finally come to grab him the waiting room and wheeled him back for admission. I’d be lying if I was fearful this would be the last time I saw him.
The next 48 hours were some of the hardest. I called the nurses station and received updates I couldn’t possibly pass on to my mother. I didn’t sleep. I had conversations I never imagined having with my husband. I called Denise with absolute guilt because I couldn’t work and her only response was, “What can I do for you?” #saint
I’ll spare you the details that bring tears to my eyes. All you need to know is that 6 LONG days later, I received the phone call I’d been waiting for.
Meg, come get me. I’m free to go home. Love, Dad.
I ran out of the office faster than ever and went straight to the hospital to claim my father. They wheeled him out and he was pale, attached to his oxygen, and F E I S T Y. Jack Hode was ready to break loose and he didn’t care who heard it.
The next part of this story involves Jack coming home, my Aunt and Uncle moving in for a week to help care for both of my parents, and me coming the realization that I *might* actually be able to race this Ironman in a few short DAYS…
Long story short, I made it to the starting line of Ironman Muncie. I still had open wounds from my bike accident 3 weeks earlier. My diet was subpar at best. My stress levels were through the roof. I hadn’t slept a full night in weeks. Coach, this is the perfect lead in for an A race, right?
I had a few meltdowns within 48 hours of the race with my husband. He didn’t know what to do with me. I didn’t know what to do with myself. At times before the race I fully considered coming home and not racing. At some point, these levels of stress and anxiety become unsafe and I was worried I had reached that point.
Spoiler alert: I stayed to race. And I made it to the finish line. Not without 60+ miles of rain and crosswind on the bike, though. You know, my strong suit. #exaggeration. My bike PTSD and anxiety had reached a record high after my accident. I had worked so hard to regain what I lost in 2020, and overnight it was demolished.
There were moments on the bike course I white knuckled my aerobars. The fear was real and all I prayed for was my running shoes. I wanted to make it to my running shoes. Sure enough I found them, and it was only then that I knew that I would be able to finish this race. I took off on foot and felt FANTASTIC. The fear and anxiety melted away and I was doing what I was meant to do, R U N. Rob popped up on course multiple times, always smiling and ready to tell me he loved me. I made it to the finish line in one piece and relief set in. I was safe.
I don’t think I’ve ever cried on a race course, but I was really close to crying during that run. Emotions swept over me as I ran with my thoughts. Jack really gave us quite the scare. He’s done it before, but this one for sure took the cake. He had been off of his oxygen only a day when I decided to leave them and race. While I was running, I remember thinking about the phone calls I’d made to my him while he was in the hospital, gasping for air and coughing. I remember telling my mother that he was fine, just about to lay down for a nap. I remember the fear the unknown that COVID brings. I remembered that I owe my Godparents the world for coming to help me take care of both parents when my father came home. I remember all of the emotions I felt over the last 3 weeks and I’ll be damned if it didn’t give my legs life when I needed it.
If you would have asked me in the middle of September what the rest of my year would look like, I never would have guessed it would end up the way it did. I can’t believe I’m typing this, for the world to read. But the reality is, this pandemic is R E A L, compromised or not. You just NEVER know what it can bring.
As the year comes to a close, I leave you with my final thoughts.
- Life is short. Hug those that are close to you, even if you have to wear a mask. Just do it. Broken record, I know. But it’s true.
- Do what you have to do to live your life. I was shocked that I come away testing negative during that time of my life, but I did. But I would do it all over again in a heartbeat. I’d expose myself as many times as needed if it meant keeping my parents here.
- Do what you need to do to keep you and your loved ones safe. Vaccinate or not, do what you need to to protect your family. But one thing I’ll always stress… #wearthedamnmask. I mean, how hard is that one, at the very least?
- Don’t forget to keep your tribe close. Find your group and don’t lose them. I wouldn’t have made it through this year without my people. Those that wiped my tears, wiped my blood, gave me a sponge bath, and did everything I needed to stay afloat.
- Don’t forget to have a little fun. The day Jack was admitted to the hospital I was supposed to go to the Cubs/Brewers Game in Milwaukee that night with my work family. I almost didn’t go. How could I leave my family at home during a time like this while I had a night of “fun?” I decided to go, my brother and mother insisted I go. I went. I laughed and cried so much that night. I went through ALL the emotions in one day and exhaustion had reached an all time high. But I can’t imagine missing that night. I sent Jack our group photo and my die-hard Cubs fan father responded as joyful as he could be.
- Don’t let other people tell you how to feel. Be stressed. Be vulnerable. Be scared. Celebrate. Be happy & joyful. It’s healthy, afterall.
- But let me play devil’s advocate; you must be willing to give others the same grace. Don’t judge when someone snaps at you, don’t take things personally, don’t be so sensitive when someone else is having a bad day. Because at the end of the day, it could just be a bad day and nothing to do with you. The world is going through some serious sh*t right now, we could all use a little more grace.
I recently sat down with my next door neighbor and my mother on Christmas Eve. We shared a glass of wine and some conversations. The conversation shifted to tempers, how some people in the world seem to lose their daily. My neighbor paid me one of the biggest compliments, telling me she couldn’t imagine me upset or mad or frustrated. I assured her it happens, but far and few between. I try to give people the benefit of the doubt, every time. Strangers, friends, & family. I don’t like to assume or judge. Some times are harder than others, but the older I get I understand more and more that people just need more grace in their life. I try to give that, allowing myself to react to stressful situations in a calm manner.
- My Starbucks is taking longer than usual? OK, no biggie.
- The pool is closed for maintenance? OK, I’ll switch up my day!
- Traffic on the way to work? More time to brainstorm.
Sure, these are menial examples, but it’s the little things that carry into the big things and set the mood and tone for your life. So here’s my goal for 2022, continue this trend. Allow myself and the world more grace. We’re all trying, and I can’t say anyone is working harder than the other. All I can say is, go you. You’re doing a great job.
As for us Sloan’s, we’re doing quite alright over here, navigating this life we never imagined living through, one day at a time. From our home to yours, we wish you a Happy New Year. With our heads held high, onwards to 2022.
