May 4, 2009:
I ran a track race. The 2-mile race. My coaches were terrified and my parents were debating whether to jump the fence of the track to pull me out of the race. But they didn’t. They let me run. I finished the race happy, accomplished, and really freakin’ tired. But I finished, and I ran the next day. And the next, and the next, and the next.
I finished track season, started summer cross-country, and loved every minute of it. I’d wake up, run 7-12 miles with the team, go volunteer at a summer camp, take a nap, then sit by the pool, all the while basking in my runner’s high. It was wonderful!
July 1, 2009:
I’m running with a friend one afternoon. We had run 6 miles in the morning, and were finishing off our 3 miles in the afternoon. A total of 9 miles, but it was just an ordinary day for me. As I finished the run, I noticed that familiar, dreaded aura. I recall walking up my driveway, frightened, yet afraid to say anything. I waved goodbye to my friend, walked into my house, slammed the door, then had a seizure right in the middle of the foyer. My mom noticed immediately and had my sister call 911. I stopped breathing and turned blue. An ambulance arrived a few minutes later, and it took my mom and I to the hospital. My sister hitched a ride with one of my mom’s friends, and she got a free frappucino out of it. Funny the things you remember.
The next thing I know, I wake up to my family looking at me from above. My first thought was, “Oh crap, it happened again!” I lay in the hospital bed for about an hour and a half, though I wanted to go home earlier. I was pumped full of lorazepam, which made me happy and spacey before it made me really really tired. Doctors still didn’t know what was wrong with me. I went home, slept late, and missed a day of running.
July 4, 2009:
I ran a 5k. I got my PR. I won 3rd place in my age division. I had to prove that I could still run.