It's when you don't want to move that you have to

Being the 'healthy spouse' has an interesting set of challenges. Worry, sure. Weariness, yes. Patience? You better believe it. Until Team Challenge, though, the challenges had always been about him and us. Now, as they say, it's personal.

When Mark first brought up the idea of walking this 1/2 marathon to raise money for CCFA and find a cure -- or, more immediately, new treatments -- for Crohn's, my initial response was elation at his wanting to be part of something. The light around him as the idea caught fire -- the idea that he could be actively participating in a solution to this disease rather than simply surviving one more day -- was infectious. There was no way I was going to deny him.

What didn't truly sink in until after I began the training regimen was how this was going to affect me. Physically, emotionally, mentally.

While he's been physically unable to participate in any type of sports for a number of years, Mark has a history of being an athlete. In high school and JuCo, he played soccer rather religiously. So he understands the demands of a training schedule. In contrast, I have never been part of an organized sport. I rode horses in my youth, but that didn't require the same level of stamina as this training is requiring. And while I've always been moderately active, I lead a rather sedentary life.

I work two jobs to support our family, both via the computer/internet. So on any given day, I can be seated for 10-12 hours at a time, just to get things done. Once our daughter passed the I will cry if you set me down phase, my activity level tapered considerably. Even knowing that we'd "start small," and build up to the 13.1 miles was enough to make me want to crawl under my desk and pretend I had never heard the words 'half marathon.'

But I'm doing it.

I've not missed a day of weekly training; I've hit all the pre-determined miles in the training chart (via treadmill, walking path, and high school track). Sometimes before work, sometimes during a mid-day break, sometimes after work. I've alternated between silently swearing as my legs ache and my feet hurt and my back whimpers and feeling an elated rush of accomplishment that I am doing this.

I. Am. Doing. This.

Most days, I'm only doing it for him. I'm doing it because I love him and because as he's suffered, I've suffered with him, just on a different scale. I'm doing it because we have a daughter together and I want him to be part of her life -- every moment a father should be part of, I want him there. I'm doing it because of the endless hours during our 10 year marriage where all I couldn't take away the pain or make anything better. All I could do was hold him. I'm doing it because our whole life has changed due to IBD; nothing today is how I envisioned it would be 10 years ago.

When I don't want to move.... When I hear all the excuses for staying home, staying in bed, staying still, make so much sense in my head....When I hear myself saying I can't do this, how am I going to do this...that's when I know I have to. I have to get up, get out there. Keep doing this.

-- Amanda