My Top Diabetes Moments

My diabetes historical timeline has very few moments on it. Only the very biggest of accomplishments gets noted.

The discovery of insulin on July 29, 1921.

The release of the first insulin pump in 1976, the year I was born.

My diagnosis on April 14, 1998.

The release of the first Dexcom on March 27, 2006.

Those are my big moments.

Well, those, and two more huge ones. One happened in October of 1983. The other happened October of 2016, exactly 33 years later.

In 1983, number 239, Bill Carlson became the first ever athlete with diabetes to even attempt the Ironman in Kona. And he did it in a time where the diabetes equipment was almost barbaric.

When he exited the swim, he took fifteen minutes to transition from the swim to the bike. For most athletes, that takes an average of three minutes. But Bill had a few more things to do to get ready for the bike.

For one, he had to insert the site for his insulin pump. And there were no easy, automatic inserters to help him out. This was time to jab a huge needle into his stomach. A needle that would put to shame the “needles” we use today. He was using a gigantor needle.

He wore a big silver box, strapped around his waist. It was his Delta insulin pump that was as big as a tape deck. It was huge and ancient. Though at the time, it was a brand new technology.

It adjusted his insulin rates using dials. Dials! Just like your old black and white TV.

He tested on a meter just as big as the pump and it spit out blood sugars in minutes not seconds.

He completed one of the hardest races in the World without any of the conveniences we have today. And he did it before anyone ever knew for sure it was possible. He left an indelible legacy to every single person with diabetes since. He busted wide open the doors of what is possible.

For those of us diagnosed within the last decade, that may not seem like a big thing. Now, it is commonplace for people with diabetes to do these amazing things. There are hundreds, if not thousands, of athletes with diabetes who have completed an Ironman. I can count at least six within my circle of real life friends, and probably a good fifty in my online circle of friends.

But there was a time when this was unheard of. When doctors told patients at diagnosis never to exercise. They told them diabetes was a death sentence. That women would never have kids. Diabetes was uncontrollable.

Along comes Bill, who decides, at the age of 23, that all of that was bullshit and set about to prove it in a big way. He knew that we could do more. Be more.

He took to the world’s stage to declare that nothing is outside of our grasp. That whatever we set out to do, there was a way to do it. With enough education and planning and training, the world was at our fingertips. All we had to do was reach out and grab it.

Now at the ripe old age of 56, Bill is still just as strong-willed and spirited. He is still moving at

a million miles an hour, accomplishing more before sunup than most Americans do in a day. It is not unusual for him to ride his bike to his friend’s house, 85 miles away, just to stop in for dinner.

So 33 years after he changed the way that a whole generation would look at diabetes, he decided to do it again.

When he completed Ironman Wisconsin in 2015, he did well enough to qualify for the World Championships in Kona. And, so, this last Saturday he toed the line in Kona, ready to once again take his place in the history books.

He will forever inspire thousands upon thousands of people who get that dreaded diagnosis, but who won’t hear from their doctor that this is the end of their life. That they must throw away their dreams.

Because their doctor will have heard of Bill Carlson. And if they hadn’t heard of his amazing feats in 1983, they have heard about it now. And from now on they will give their patients the prescription of exercise, not in moderation, but in crazy big doses. Doses big enough to have propelled Bill into the forefront of my diabetes historical timeline.

And to become the standard that I one day hope to reach.

Thank you Bill, for being yourself, and for kicking ass big time!

So Close To Diabetes Burnout

I’ve seen it before. Nine years back, slumped on my kitchen floor, unable to move another step. It got me so good, I couldn’t even figure out how to get up.

I sat there in a puddle until my husband recognized what was wrong and what needed to be done.

It wasn’t low blood sugar that demolished me, though. It was burnout. And at that moment in time, it had burnt every last piece of me.

I had been fighting diabetes for a solid twelve years without any support. Sure, I checked in with my doctor every three months to have my efforts graded based on one solitary blood test and then sent away. But that was the closest I ever came to talking to any person beside my husband about diabetes.

I was fighting alone and I was starting to lose. The fix was to find other people to fight alongside.

After my husband demanded that I take the day off work and spend some time to do for myself, I headed online to find other people who were fighting diabetes the same way I always had, through adventure.

Over the next few years, I dove in deep with the amazing crew of people living right around the corner from me who were running marathons, racing Ironman, and going on climbing adventures as a way to deal with diabetes.

Over time, the diabetes burnout faded and was replaced by a fellowship that, not only increased my knowledge of the disease, but surrounded me with people who understood the emotional aspects of a life-long situation that has the ability to suck the life out of the best of us.

I began to share my story with people who might not have had the built-in community that San Diego is so blessed to have. And for the last seven years, I have been going on outrageous adventures and sharing with anyone who wants to listen.

In 2011, I sailed 100-miles down the Florida Keys alone because my first endocrinologist told me that as a person with diabetes, I would never be able to sail alone again. In 2012, I wrote and published a book about that first trip, Islands and Insulin, an adventure in itself. In 2014, I led a team of Type 1’s in the 12.5-mile Swim Around Key West. 2015 brought another 100-mile trip, this time on stand up paddle boards in the Intercoastal Waterways of North and South Carolina.

Every adventure gave me a year of intense physical training, which, as we all know, is essential to having good blood sugars. Each one introduced me to a new group of people. And each stretched me as a person as I learned to share my story with larger audiences, a very difficult thing to do as a naturally introverted person.

Now as I finish out 2015, I have begun to notice the signs again. Each September, I begin again to dream and plan for the next summer’s adventure. This year, I couldn’t decide on an adventure. The natural excitement this time of year usually brings was noticeably missing.

I stopped writing. I stopped posting anything on social media. I stopped reaching out to make plans with friends. I climbed further and further into my introverted cave.

I let myself off the hook and decided that, for all of October, I would not do any work for the Sea Peptide Salties, the website I run as a vehicle for sharing my story. When October passed, and I still had no excitement, I finally realized the scope of what I was dealing with.

In endurance training, athletes walk a fine line of pushing their bodies to their max without pushing too hard for too long. Without any athletic stress the human body will not get any stronger. Runners run longer each week. Weight lifters increase their weights and reps. Paddlers will paddle more and more miles. But, if too much stress is applied, athletes will go into the dreaded “overtraining.” Their bodies no longer get stronger and faster; they get weaker and sicker. It can take three to six months of serious rest to get back to training again. There is no short cut.

However, if an athlete recognizes the signs of impending overtraining, a zone doctors call “overreaching”, and can rest appropriately, they can avoid a six-month hiatus. A few days or a few weeks off, followed by a redesign of the training plan that brought them to the brink of overtraining in the first place will fix the problem before it becomes disastrous.

My lack of interest in next years adventure, my desire to drop off the face of the diabetes world were early warning signs of impending overtraining. After spending every waking moment fully invested in my day job, in helping my kids to grow, in enjoying my relationship with my husband, tending to my diabetes, and in going on and sharing my wild adventures, I was overreaching.

If I kept up that pace, I would burn out. I would throw in the towel on the Sea Peptide Salties. I would have to take off years to recover. And we all know, with a disease like diabetes, you don’t get to take years off without some horrible consequences.

If I was going to do a good job with my health over the next 58 years of life I have left, and continue to try to help others, I had to do something before I got to overtraining.

As soon as I discovered this, I scrapped my plans for another 100-mile adventure in 2016. But I can’t motivate myself to exercise unless I have some sort of adventure on the books, so I had to do something.

I needed something simple. Something more medium-sized. Something that takes about ten minutes to plan. And I needed to do it with someone I know so well that I won’t be stretched to be outgoing with people I don’t know.

With those requirements, the adventure I had to take became clear. It would be an overnight backpacking trip with my best type 1 adventuring buddy, Michelle. After an afternoon planning, the trip was set.

Hundreds of hours planning, training, building a team, securing sponsors, and getting media coverage had now been taken off my schedule for the next year. I was left with the unheard of “Free Time.”

After making this decision, the first time I found myself sitting and not doing anything, I realized it had been about three years since I spent any time doing nothing. Every minute had been utilized to accomplish one goal or another. Most days it was well after nine at night before I sat down for the first time. Well, more accurately, collapsed.

And now I was watching TV. And playing with my kids more. This

November, I turned off my automatic sprinklers and watered my yard with a hose, just because I had the time to do it and because it was so relaxing. I sat in the sun, and just sat. I didn’t return emails or write blogs or work on the Adventure Academy. I just sat and did nothing.

It has so far been amazing. My desire to go out and paddle again is coming back. I am excited to start writing again. Slowly I can feel the overreaching start to fade. I am coming back out of my cave.

We all walk a fine line between wanting to do everything we can to combat this disease and doing too much. And we have to walk this line for the rest of our lives (or at least until one of the many cure possibilities makes it through the FDA and we get our insurance to cover it).

There are so many amazing things we can do to stay healthy. We test. We shoot up. We analyze data that would make any statistician cry. We worry and cry. We exercise and stress. We share our heartache publically. We support others in our community. We fight our insurance companies to do what is right. We fight our politicians to do what is right. We fight employers to treat us with dignity and compassion. We try not to worry our loved ones with our ups and downs.

But if we fight too hard, if we don’t look up once in a while to notice when those first signs of overtraining arise, we will burn out.

With all we have to carry, we need to remember that it’s ok, every once in a while, to let ourselves off the hook and just kick back. To sit in a chair and enjoy the beauty around us. To surround ourselves with people who let us be ourselves without having to try. To not accomplish anything for a day, or at least for an afternoon. To do nothing.

As this year wraps up, it may be a good time to take stock of your current level of burnout. Are you at a point where it may be necessary this year to let go of a few things that you have convinced yourself you have to do, so that you can still do diabetes well? Maybe you just need a good weekend off. Maybe you are at your prime right now and can carry a few more burdens for those of us who need a momentary rest.

Whatever your level of burnout, take stock this year. Take stock every year. Don’t let diabetes burnout sneak up on you. Attack it before it gets the best of you.

100-Mile Paddle Plans

Plans for the second Sea Peptide Salties adventure are coming together nicely. In late June/early July we will travel to Wilmington, North Carolina to begin our Stand Up Paddle adventure.

Each day we will paddle for three to four hours in the morning, stopping for a nice lunch.

Then we will paddle for a few more hours to our stop for the night. After a hot shower at a local hotel we will be off to explore the town and eat a great meal in a local restaurant. Then our warm beds will welcome us as we rest up for the next day.

Each day we will get to see different seaside towns and explore a different part of the Intracoastal Waterway. We will test our blood sugar together and experience the camaraderie that comes from working towards an adventure of this magnitude.

But the adventure won't start in June when we board our flights. It will start the day we finalize our team and we begin to discuss training strategies and blood sugar strategies. It will come as we all have a fresh new look at what it takes to stay in good health not just to stave off long-term complications down the road, but to reap the rewards in the short-term.

By working hard to take care of ourselves, we will train harder and stay healthier. By focusing our attention on preparing for this adventure, our overall care will benefit.

So will you join us on this journey? We would love to have you on the team.

If you are interested, it would be great if you could let me know by filling out an application at bit.ly/spsupapp . It's nothing formal. Just a way for me to see who's intereste

If you don't want to paddle, but still want to be a part of the team, we will be bringing a photographer to get amazing footage of our adventure. An application for that is at www.bit.ly/spspjapp .

If you know anyone who might be interested in joining us, would you be kind enough to let them know. You could also post on your social media sites.