T1D Looks Like Me – Climbing Burnaby Mountain
When my Saturday Cycling Friend suggested we ride Burnaby Mountain I gave her a big fat no – for 4 straight months! And then one day, I said yes.
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Blood glucose
Hypoglycemic doozies
The other night I was lying in bed and I couldn’t sleep. I tossed. I turned. I was tired, but my brain wouldn’t shut off. It took about 20 minutes of this before I decided to check my blood sugars. They were 3.4; I should have known. For the most part our bodies are pretty good at telling us when things aren’t right, and for me, a surefire sign my blood sugars are low at night is when I battle with sleep. And yet, it’s almost always the last thing I check. As far back as my teenage years I’ve been fighting sleep the same way I did the other night. I’d stuff a pillow over my head. I’d get up to go to the washroom 5,000 times. I’d berate the sleep demons in my head. Anything but actually check my blood sugars. Nine times out of 10, they were
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24 weeks: Counting down the days
Dear Blood Sugars, Are you unaware that my birthday, one of my most favourite days of the year, is just around the corner, five days around the corner to be exact, which means we’re in birthday three week time, a time that is supposed to be happy and joyous and beautiful and wonderous – NOT TEAR FILLED! Or, are you just being plain nasty? Because after the week you’ve put me through, I’m having my doubts about you. I’m beginning to think you hate me and I’m wondering why. Don’t keep me in the lurch here, dear BG, I would very much like to know, because then maybe I could tackle your evilness, put a stranglehold on it, kick it to the bloody curb. Oh yeah, that’s exactly what I would like to do. Because right now, you’re making me look bad, real bad, and in case you haven’t noticed,
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Sloth in sneakers
Okay, so maybe climbing the Grouse Grind, and drinking beer and eating decadent cheesecake the day before a long run wasn’t the smartest running decision made. The first 5 km felt like my body was twisted up into a million knots and it was not going to untwist kindly, oh no. I was struggling to maintain a constant pace, or even just a good pace, I was slow, oh man, was I ever slow. And my ankles and calves were so super tight, I was begging the running gods to take pity on me. And yet, I wouldn’t have changed a thing. That cheesecake, ohhhhh that decadent Princess-famed cheesecake, was worth every tight step endured. Loving the post-run stretch. After two and a quarter years of living in the loft, Mario and I finally had my brother, sister in law and three nephews over for dinner on Saturday. And because
Types 1, they know
The last week has been pretty rough. I’ve been really struggling with my blood sugars, and as I’m sure most of you are aware by now, I’m somewhat OCD when it comes to my BG averages; I like perfection. And for the most part, I’m pretty close to it, but every now again, my BG likes to rebel, take me on a roller coaster ride of extreme highs and serious lows for seemingly no reason whatsoever. Nothing has changed. I’m eating the same foods. My infusions appear to be okay. I don’t have a virus that I know of. But for some jerk-like reason my BG has decided to flip the middle finger up at me. Previous times, I’ve suffered through it alone. Sure I had Mario and my family to rant about it to, and I had the specialists and the diabetic nurses and the pump manufacturers to send
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