Out into the Cold

We've had an usually warm fall this year, although October brought us an early snow which cost some tree branches. For the most past, however, this autumn has seen superb running weather even as we march our way into silly season. For those of us who love to run steps or hit the asphalt around our neighborhood, the relatively balmy days into the fifties and sixties late into the season have allowed us to continue to run in comfort outside.

Until, of course, yesterday.

When I tentatively stuck my nose out the front door to test the atmosphere it was greeted with a chill. Probably in the low forties, thereabouts. I put on a snowboarding jacket, cap, and gloves. Headed out, hood over my head, tunes merrily blaring.

I made it barely a mile before my hands gave up the ghost.

Despite the thick gloves, my fingers were in agony. Despite the fact that I was running steadily they had lost all their circulation and hurt like hell. So, rather than finish my three-mile run, I had to cut myself short at barely halfway to sprint home, and run hot water over my frozen fingers. It hurt. They turned bright purple as the circulation screamed back into my digits.

I hate this game.

This is what it's like to live with Reynaud's. There are twenty-eight million of us in the United States alone who deal with this disorder. Nine times more women than men have it. Our extremities turn white, then blue then bright red as our circulation departs our fingers and toes. In extreme cases, entire limbs can lose their circulation. It can cause gangrene. It's no joke. There are people with this disorder who barely live north of the Mexican border. Sometimes it's indicative of another, more serious underlying problem.

As an athlete, living with Reynaud's, especially here in Colorado, is a challenge. I have battled the cold both in our mountains as well as Nepal, Kilimanjaro and while kayaking icy cold waters. What works for normal people is woefully inadequate for me. I've been known to spend nearly $400 on a pair of "bomb proof" gloves only to have my fingers freeze inside them. Mittens are marginally better but dexterity is a joke. As a horseback rider, they are useless for handling reins. I dearly want to go dog mushing in the far north. Really? Imagine the challenge I'm going to have getting a team of Huskies hooked up with my fingers completely frozen. And once they are, there is no warming them back up inside a glove. Gloves and mittens only hold in the warmth you bring with you. Those of us who are environmentally-minded hate the waste of pocketsful of hand and toe warmers.

Battery-operated gloves work fine for a few hours, especially on a high setting. However if you're in the outback like I am for weeks, trees don't come with electrical outlets. Sometimes we're reduced to jamming our frozen fingers into our armpits, which results in the one-legged Masai stork dance. Warms hands for a few minutes but has to be repeated regularly. Not functional if you're in the middle of an actual sport but hugely entertaining to anyone standing nearby.

Among the rather useless pieces of advice given to those of us athletes who deal with Reynaud's is "stay inside." "Move your arms around." "Wear mittens." "Wear a hat outside." "Wear layers."

Um yah, ya think? We all know that already. And no, we're not going to stay inside in the cold. It's one of the most lovely times of the year and besides, who wants to miss out on all that scenery?

Not me. Training in cold weather is part of life. Living with Reynaud's is just part of my being an athlete. Next time I run, I will have to wear a better pair.

Reynaud's did not keep me off the Everest Base Camp climb. Nor did it prevent me from summitting Kilimanjaro. It didn't prevent me from riding for hours on the windswept mountainsides of Patagonia by the Chilean border.

I might be damned uncomfortable at times but like other athletes I'm also indomitable. We deal. I'm not moving to Mexico nor am I staying inside when the snow starts falling.

Reynaud's may still be a mystery to doctors. There is no known cure. I may head out looking like the Michelin Man but I am heading out. And one of these days that will include hooking up those Huskies.