This was a hard one to write. I didn’t intend to go dark for this long, but I’ve been offline — in the fight of my life, learning to live in a very different body.
We entered June with audacious summer plans, a calendar full of races, river trips, and adventures. After heavy stressors and big family losses, I leaned into my primary coping outlet of 35+ years: training and athlete mode. My volume was at an all-time high, my stress bucket brimming. We knew I was flirting with over-training, but as I always have, I kept pushing, taming the demons within. After a swim training trip to Kona with K and A, I tested positive for COVID — and the wheels came off.
After months of setbacks, I was diagnosed with Post Viral Syndrome/Long COVID. Since then, my world has shrunken. Daily life has changed, and uncertainty has become a constant. It’s been dark and scary at times.
Two weeks ago, I was diagnosed with POTS (Postural Orthostatic Tachycardia Syndrome) — a dysregulated nervous system often triggered by viral infection. I’m now being cared for and treated by a Long COVID and POTS specialist (and his team) at Mount Sinai, which has provided clarity and direction, giving us a lift despite all the uncertainty.
I’m not new to hard things. This isn’t my first fight. I’ve faced serious health challenges before and I’ve always pushed through. But this illness is different, this time pushing backfired—now that approach causes more harm. Now, my path to healing is pacing.
I’ve got a loud scared part, because a lot of people don’t get better and recovery is far from a sure thing. And still, I’m showing up. Rising and rallying for K and A. Supporting my athletes. Celebrating small wins. Choosing to fight forward by doing less today, so I can be better tomorrow.
It goes against how I’m wired, against my grain — but it’s how I’m fighting forward.
Right now, life looks like rest and recovery.
Believing in my autonomic nervous system’s ability to heal. Taking a let’s see approach to the future.
Living slowly. Doing less.
And I just wanted you to know, that I’m still here.
WNbL, mwl