“Nothing is impossible: The word itself says “I’m possible!”–Audrey Hepburn
“Your body will argue that there is no justifiable reason to continue. Your only recourse is to call on your spirit, which fortunately functions independently of logic.”–Tim Noakes
I am so cold. I’m freezing.
I was shaking so badly as I stepped out of bed during this nocturnal, chilly wake up call; my legs did not want to hold me up.
What is happening?
Waves of nausea immediately flooded my middle, and I became suddenly aware of the sharp tinges of a headache that reminded me of an illness, but I couldn’t think clearly enough to define the association. Did I have a stomach bug? The flu, or something else?
In the bathroom, I retrieved sweatpants and a sweatshirt and donned them in protection of my pervasive cold shivers. On wobbly legs, I humbly returned to my bed knowing that something was off. Trembling under the covers, sleep came in fitful waves, with bouts of shuddering wakefulness and nausea in between. Tossing about from side to side, my left shoulder was noticeable tender each time I rolled onto it. The injection site. Images danced dreamily around in my head.
“You have the hardest arm to stick,” the young pharmacy student stated with a grimace as she pushed harder to get the vaccine needle inserted into my arm.
Across the way, I watched as another pharmacy student injected my husband, John, as if his arm were a stick of room temperature butter, despite the fact he has spent years exercising with weights. John winked at me as I winced at the second effort of pushing by the pharmacy student into my arm.
Oh, yes, I had my second dose of the COVID-19 vaccine. My arm was sore last time; it is sore again.
When the alarm eventually did go off at its usual Saturday morning time of 5:30, I groggily reset a new alarm for 6:00. This was followed with a 6:30 alarm, and a final 7:00 am alarm.
I never sleep this late on a Saturday. Must. Be. A. Stomach. Bug. Surely, it’s not a reaction to the vaccine. Can’t be, right?
Saturday was also the day I was to run my first 10 miler in preparation for my first virtual half-marathon since my back injury five years ago, and I could barely walk due to my convulsing shivers. With sudden clarity, it occurred to me that I could take acetaminophen to mitigate the symptoms.
Why hadn’t I thought of that during the night?
Opening the childproof medicine bottle, I discovered that I had five pills. Great. I decided to start with two and see what happens.
Making my way into the kitchen area, I started a pot of coffee, guzzled down several ounces of water, although my stomach protested, and sat staring out the window. The nausea was pervasive, my headed pounded, and the chills were ever-present as I pondered the day ahead. I felt extremely thankful that it was Saturday, and I did not have to work. Otherwise, I would already be at school preparing for the arrival of students at 7:30.
Slowing sipping coffee–not sure if my stomach would revolt or not, a plan for the day began to take shape–assuming the acetaminophen kicked in. By 8:15 am, the chills had mostly subsided, the nausea and headache were present, but felt more the muzak of years ago softly played in elevators. I made the decision; I was going to try to run. First, however, I needed to locate a name to honor from the Honor the Fallen website.
A few clicks later, there came a name. Sgt. Christina M. Schoenecker, a 26-year-old was an Army Reserve soldier assigned to the 89th Sustainment Brigade, out of Wichita, Kansas. She was so young looking. Her eyes were bright and full of empathy, but her slightly crooked smile looked wry–as if engaging in conversation with her was sure to be filled with quick-witted, sharp comments. As I read her story, I felt a surge of inspiration.
Given my suppressed chills, I ruled out running outside and opted instead for the treadmill. Besides, I told myself, the treadmill offers less impact on my back. An hour or so later, I was on the treadmill hoping for the best, but ready to abandon the training plan if needed.
Don’t look down at the numbers. Eyes straight ahead, arms at right angles, melt those shoulders away from your ears, keep the speed slow and steady. One mile at a time, Steph. One mile at a time. Focus on the name: Sgt. Christina M. Schoenecker. Pretend her name is written on the wall.
Podcast playing, my mind semi-focused on its content as my stomach continued its somersaults. I decided to save walk breaks until later, when all of my reserves might be running low. Walk breaks would be the reward for early efforts.
As a teenage girl, I often rode my bike to and from summer bandcamp. There was a hill on the way home that was steep and wound round a hill. At that time, a childhood jingle would enter my mind, “Just think you can, and know you can just like the engine that could.” This same jingle entered my mind as I jogged on the revolving belt of the dreadmill, I mean, treadmill. Sgt. Christina M. Schoenecker. Sgt. Christina M. Schoenecker. Sgt. Christina M. Schoenecker.
One mile turned into another and another. One hour passed, and one podcast was over. Walk break taken long enough to start a new one. Thirty more minutes passed; another walk break began. Can’t take another moment of the incessant talking. Time for the power button–music. A driving playlist of beats began its encouraging cadence. Nausea grew greater and legs grew wobbly again. So close now. Increase the determined self-talk. More nausea, more achiness. . . keep pushing. Sgt. Christina M. Schoenecker. Sgt. Christina M. Schoenecker. Sgt. Christina M. Schoenecker.
It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t fast, but it was purposeful. My struggle was nothing compared to the struggle of those who have served in our military. Christina M. Schoenecker, the name I found on the website, served during Operation Inherent Resolve. Assigned to the 89th Sustainment Brigade, Christina was an Army Reserve soldier out of Wichita, Kansas. This young woman died in a non-combat incident in Baghdad, Iraq. She was the third casualty of this operation at the tender age of 26.
It is through the mission of wear blue: run to remember that I often run, “in honor of the service and sacrifice of American military.” My contribution is minimal. There are local and national groups who do so much more work and efforts to increase awareness and honor the fallen and their families. My only contribution occurs each Saturday, when I search the name of a fallen person–someone’s family member–write their name on a post-it note, place that paper the zippered pocket of my running tights, and send up words of gratitude to the heavens for this person’s service as well as to the family each one left behind. My steps, no matter how challenging, still do not equate to the service of those brave men and women freely gave to our country. It is my hope though, in some minor way, I honor their memory and offer their family some form of unseen comfort.
Thank you, Christina, for your service. Thank you, for your ultimate sacrifice. Thank you, Christina’s parents. Your daughter was remembered this past Saturday, step by step. Her memory truly inspired me to finish.
For more information regarding wearblue: run to remember, visit their national website, or look/join the local Ashland community, found on Facebook, or via email: Ashlandcommunity@wearblueruntoremember.org.