Let's Talk About Diabetes, Baby

I guess it's high time that I talked about Diabetes, especially now that I'm doing a fundraiser.  I have Type 2.  I don't like talking about it.  There's a social stigma to it that's embarrassing - the circle of shame and blame.  That somehow Diabetes is a character flaw or I failed in some way to properly take care of myself or if only I ate well and exercised enough it would go away.  The stereotype that I must be a fat slovenly couch potato.  I once made the mistake of telling someone not very close to me and he blatantly looked me up and down.  I asked, "Are you looking to see how fat I am?"  He said, "Yes, actually, but you don't look like a diabetic."  That was the first thing the doctor who diagnosed me said as well and it's a phrase that I hear over and over and makes me feel like my make-up is inherently wrong.  And it is.

I'm selective on who I choose to tell.....but now everyone will know.

Here's some history and I'll keep it brief so I don't get all whiny and throw myself a little pity party.  The first time I had a high blood sugar reading was in my late 20's.  The doctor said "You need to watch that, it's too high."  Pshaw.  I shrugged it off.  Give me a break.  I was active and lean so chalked it up as an anomoly.  Fast forward 10 years to my late 30's and BAM, I have the Epstein Barr virus.  I was getting blood work done alot through this period because I was so sick.  Blood sugars kept coming back high over and over.  Doctor kept wanting to put me on medication and I kept refusing.  Finally, she gave me an ultimatum- If sugars didn't start coming down by the next visit then I needed to get medicated to avoid diabetes damage.  Well, despite my best efforts, the sugars didn't come down by the next visit.  My A1c was 7.5 (normal is below 5.7%).  So through tears and dumbfounded disbelief, I accepted the prescription for 1000 mg of metformin per day.  I got set up with an endocrinologist and he re-ran some tests and made sure I didn't actually have Type 1 Diabetes because he couldn't believe it.  Yep, definitely Type 2. His theory is that the Epstein Barr virus somehow triggered an underlying genetic predisposition to Diabetes. 

I was in denial for quite a long time and even now sometimes I still don't quite believe it.  I ate super low carb for awhile in the beginning thinking that would cure me.  It definitely makes a difference in blood sugar levels but the minute I went off medication, the sugars shot right back up.  Exercise?  Don't talk to me about exercise.  Believe me, I've got that covered. 

For my backpacking trip on The Wonderland Trail, I'll be doing something I've never done before.  I'll be talking about managing diabetes on the trail and sharing results of the stealth blood sugar testing that goes on in my tent in the morning and night.  It's scary to share.  I don't want to be judged.

On 1000 mg of metformin per day, my fasting glucose is typically around 125.  My last A1c test came in at 6.2.  I try to stay below 50 grams of net carbs per day (unless backpacking or longer hikes).  Don't get it twisted; I have been known to eat cinnamon rolls the size of my head after backpacking.  My exercise schedule consists of weight lifting, elliptical, yoga, and hiking.  I do some kind of exercise 6 days a week.  I am 5'6" and within the normal weight range for my height.

That's enough about me.  Lifestyle choices make a big difference in Type 2 Diabetes but don't forget the genetic proponent. 



Here are some numbers you should shoot for to be in the normal range:

A1c:  Less than 5.7%
Fasting blood glucose:  Less than 100 mg/dL
2 hour post-prandial (2 hours after eating): Less than 140 mg/dL

Here is a basic breakdown on Type 2 Diabetes from http://www.diabetes.org/diabetes-basics/type-2/facts-about-type-2.html.

"Type 2 diabetes is the most common form of diabetes. In type 2 diabetes, your body does not use insulin properly. This is called insulin resistance.  At first, the pancreas makes extra insulin to make up for it. But, over time your pancreas isn’t able to keep up and can’t make enough insulin to keep your blood glucose levels normal. Type 2 is treated with lifestyle changes, oral medications (pills), and insulin. When glucose builds up in the blood instead of going into cells, it can cause two problems: Right away, your cells may be starved for energy. Over time, high blood glucose levels may hurt your eyes, kidneys, nerves or heart. Some people with type 2 can control their blood glucose with healthy eating and being active. But, your doctor may need to also prescribe oral medications or insulin to help you meet your target blood glucose levels. Type 2 usually gets worse over time – even if you don’t need medications at first, you may need to later on. Some groups have a higher risk for developing type 2 diabetes than others. Type 2 diabetes is more common in African Americans, Latinos, Native Americans, and Asian Americans/Pacific Islanders, as well as the aged population."

  

Diabetes Fundraiser

In August I will be backpacking The Wonderland Trail on behalf of the American Diabetes Association.  I hope to bring awareness to Diabetes and raise money for a cure.  All of us have been touched by diabetes through family, friends, co-workers and maybe even yourself. My goal is to raise $1000.  

The Wonderland Trail  

The Wonderland Trail is an approximately 93 mile hiking trail that circumnavigates Mount Rainier in the Mount Rainier National Park, Washington. The trail goes over many ridges of Mount Rainier for a cumulative 22,000 feet of elevation gain. The trail was built in 1915. In 1981, it was designated a National Recreation Trail. An estimated 200 to 250 people a year complete the entire trail with several thousand others doing shorter sections of it. The average time taken to complete the entire trip is 10 to 14 days.

 

 

 

 American Diabetes Association

The mission of the American Diabetes Association is to prevent and cure diabetes and to improve the lives of all people affected by diabetes. Diabetes kills more Americans each year than breast cancer and AIDS combined.

“In the next 24 hours, over 130 people will develop kidney failure because of diabetes.

That’s nearly 50,000 friends, neighbors, co-workers or family members every year.

Recent estimates project that as many as 1 in 3 American adults will have diabetes by 2050 unless we take steps to Stop Diabetes®.  Every 19 seconds, someone is diagnosed with diabetes. That’s more than 32,000 friends, neighbors, co-workers and family members in the next 7 days.

1 in 11 Americans has it.
1 in 4 adults who has it doesn’t know it.
1 in 3 adults is at risk of developing it.
It is diabetes.

And it must be stopped.”

Source:  http://www.stopdiabetes.com/get-the-facts/diabetes-by-the-numbers.html?loc=stopd-footer

This cause hits close to home because I have multiple family members with diabetes, including myself.

For more information on how you can get involved with the Stop Diabetes® campaign or make a donation to help support my goal, see the following link:

Go directly to The American Diabetes Association, http://main.diabetes.org/goto/Tina_Hikes to donate. 

I’ll start hiking August 24 and hope to finish by September 2. 

Disclaimer: The Wonderland Trail is not offering advance permits for 2016 so this will be a walk-up attempt.  If I am not able to procure a permit, I will hike another trail in the same area with the same approximate mileage- Plan B!

THANK YOU! 

Facebook:  Look me up under Tina Hikes

 

 

 

Rabbit/Villager Peak Part Deux

The first time I attempted Rabbit/Villager Peak, I didn't write a blog about it.  I had just a snippet posted, "Nancy, Ingrid and I also did a backpack up Villager Peak in the desert.  It ranks on the top of my list as least favorite.  No real discernible trail, unending uphill, 9 liter water carry, and hotter than the hinges of Hades.  That was one stupid hike."  So if this snippet is any indication of how well I enjoyed that hike, then why, I ask, did I go out there for seconds?  I suppose it's the pull of adventure, or the little voice in the back of my mind that points out failure.  I must conquer Rabbit and Villager Peaks.  Not everything should be conquered though especially when the joy leaves.  And the joy done gone on this one.

Carolen, Ingrid and I went out to the trailhead the night before starting the climb.  (Notice that Nancy is not with us? That's because she's smart).  We thought it would be a good idea to walk across the desert floor in the dark and get as close to the start of the climb as possible (2 miles).  Theoretically, this was a good idea.  We needed to keep to the left and skirt around a land formation (Lute) to position us at the climb.  So we walked for a couple of miles, trying to keep to the left as much as possible but nothing was looking familiar.  Finally, we decided to stop in a box canyon and assess the situation at first light.  Even though we were off track (notice I didn't say lost), it was kinda cool walking in the desert at night.  The stars were twinkling and the cacti cast strange shadows through our headlamps. 

The next morning, I climbed out of the canyon to get a better view and saw that we were too far east.  So we cross country trekked back to where we needed to be and started climbing. 

This is a steep, crazy hike.  For some perspective, we gain nearly 5,000′ of elevation, most of it in the first 5 miles.  It's really a mentally tough hike.  Here's a blurb from SummitPost.org:

"Rabbit Peak lies along the southeast end of the remote Santa Rosa Range of Riverside county in Southern California. The summit features views along the Santa Rosa Range to the northwest, to the Anza-Borrego Desert State Park to the south, and the Coachella Valley and Salton Sea to the east. There is no higher peak further south in California, so the views in that direction can span to the Mexican border (and into Arizona as well) on a clear day.

Seemingly desolate and inhospitable, the Santa Rosa Mountains are laced with deep washes and shallow drainages. Summer temperatures are brutally hot, periodically interrupted by thunderstorms that send flash floods cascading down the sandy washes.

The peak lies in a predominantly desert environment, though the summit area is crowned with several varieties of pines. Cactus, Yucca, and other desert flora cover most of the hillsides and surrounding desert floors. Rabbit Peak lies within the Santa Rosa Wilderness which supports the largest herd of rare peninsular bighorn sheep in the United States.

All of the routes to the summit are difficult, though there are no technical challenges. It is highly coveted among peak paggers, appearing on both the HPS and DPS peak lists, commonly believed to be the most difficult (time-wise) on both lists. It is one of seven Emblem peaks on the Desert Peak Section's list, signifying its dominance of its surroundings (another way of saying it has a swell view)."



Upward we climb.  There is nothing up here but rocks, cholla, ocatillo, barrel cactus, pear cactus, yucca, any kind of cactus you want.  We don't get very far up before we see a Bighorn Sheep.  First one I've ever seen in all my desert walkings!  It made the whole trip worthwhile.  He was just grazing along with not a care in the world.

I tripped over a dead yucca and face planted.  Ingrid said I threw my trekking poles out in front of me as I was going down (in slow motion, of course).  I didn't bend my knees because I was afraid the weight of the pack with all the water would injure me.  So I fell into a push-up pose and caught myself right before my face smashed into the ground.  Phew, that could have been bad.  I fell down 3 times on this stupid hike and so did everyone else.

We climbed all day and didn't take many breaks.  Ingrid amazed me with her ability to fall asleep on rocks.  We had positive attitudes and were totally sure we would make Rabbit this time.  We made it to Villager Peak about 4pm and decided to call it a day.  Our plan was to get  up super early the next day, hit Rabbit, then hightail it back down to the truck.

We spent a pleasant evening watching the sunset over the desert.  I had honey bourbon and dark chocolate as a treat, then crawled into my tent to read.  This is sad to say but I think I knocked out around 7:30pm.  LOL. 

We were up before dawn to start walking.  We left most of our gear and just took the essentials with us to lighten our load.  From this point, there is absolutely no trail.  We were going cross country and climbing down the side of mountains and then climbing back up.  A roller coaster of boulder scrambling, sketchy footing, and fall-away cliffs.  Very slow going.  We had given ourselves a cut-off time of noon to turn around to make it back down before dark.  But the slow pace really gave us a reality check.  By 10am we had been hiking for over 3 hours and still had a couple more miles to make it to Rabbit.  So close but so far away!  We made the decision to abort and turn around so we could make it back to the truck before dark.  I was relieved but pissed!  Frickin' Rabbit Peak.   

I had some negative self talk going on when we decided to turn around.  Second attempt, didn't make the peak, you suck, you failed, blah blah blah.  Someone once told me (I won't say any names but you know who you are) that I'm a middle aged woman who sits behind a desk all week and I shouldn't be out there doing stuff like that.  So of course, that little nugget always sits with me and taunts me now. What if that's true? What if I am a poser full of bullshit?  But then I come back to the realization that Rabbit Peak is really hard core and we talked to military guys out there who were on their third attempt.  And then I start justifying - we didn't make the peak because of this or that or the other thing.  But I don't like making excuses.  So it simply is.  What I'm missing here is the joy of the journey.  Once I was done beating myself up about it, I came full circle, and my thoughts then turned toward hamburgers. :-()

So let's get out of here!  We flew over hill and dale..... except it was really steep shale hill and there were no dales.  Some areas going down, we were like What!  Did we really climb up this and look at that steep drop-off!  This is crazy crazy crazy!  I'm here to say that going down is harder than going up.  My knees, hips and toes were throbbing!  About 2pm, I started getting nauseous so began stuffing my face with bars.  Guess I didn't eat enough lunch.  Hamburgers, french fries.....

At last we hit the desert floor.  OMG, I could kiss this desert floor.  Gotta keep to the right and go around this frickin' Lute and we finally see the truck, shining in the distance.  We made it back down at 5pm just as the sun was setting.  I let off a YEEEEEHAWWWW and kissed the hood of my truck.

Then we ate hamburgers!

PS: If I ever talk about attempt #3, you have permission to kick my ass.

Photos on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/permalink.php?story_fbid=1735313446753213&id=100008237237414

Villager Peak:
Elevation: 5,756′
Miles: ~13.78

Rabbit Peak:
Elevation: 6,640′
Miles: ~8.9

The Girl Who Goes Alone

This.


Here’s the thing about being a girl
and wanting to play outside.
All the grownups grind it into you from the get go:
girls outside aren’t safe.
The guy in the car? If he rolls down the window and leans his head out, run,
because the best you can hope for is a catcall, and at worst,
you’ll wind up with your face on the side of a milk carton.
Even when you’re a grown-up girl, your father—because he loves you—
will send you a four-page article about how to protect yourself
while standing at the ATM, while travelling unescorted, while jogging solo,
an article informing you how to distinguish phony police
and avoid purse snatchers, pickpockets, rapists and thugs.
Tell someone you’re going into the woods alone
and they’ll fill your ears with every story they’ve ever heard
about trailside cougar attacks, cave dwelling misogynists,
lightning strikes, forest fires, flash floods,
and psychopaths with a sixth sense for a woman alone in a tent.
To be a girl alone in the wilderness is to know
that if something goes wrong—
you picked the trailhead where the ax murderer lurks
or the valley of girl-eating gophers—
if you don’t come home unscathed, the mourning
will be mixed with I-told-you-sos
from everyone whose idea of camping involves an RV or a Motel 6.
The message is clear: Girls must be chaperoned.
So when, at the end of the day, you zip up the tent
and lie back in your sleeping bag,
fleece jacket bundled
into a lumpy pillow under your head, the second
you close your eyes every least night noise is instantly magnified.
You lie there and consider the pungent heft of menstrual blood,
how even your sweat is muskier, louder, when you’re bleeding.
Not hard to imagine its animal allure—every bear for miles around
sniffing you on the night wind.
You lie there listening, running a mental inventory of any
potentially scented item—
did every one make it into the food bag hung from a tree?
Toothpaste, trail mix, chapstick, sunscreen—fuck.
Sunscreen still in your pack, nestled right beside you
where Outdoor Man used to sleep. So you’re up, out of the tent,
headlamp casting its too-bright spotlight, darkening the dark outside its reach
as you lower the bag, shove the sunscreen in on top of the trash
with its food wrappers and used tampons. Hoist and tie.
Far enough from the ground to elude the bears?
Far enough out from the branch to thwart raccoons?
Tree far enough from the tent to keep from signaling the proximity
of ground level, girl-shaped snacks?
You go alone—in part—to prove that though Outdoor Man has left you,
his body is the only geography he can deprive you of.
He can give his muscled calves and thighs, his shoulders, chest and hands
to another woman, but not the Sauk River old growth, snow fields of Rainier,
sea stacks of Shi Shi.
He can keep from you the sweet, blood-thrilling hum of his body, but not
the sweaty, blood-thumping-back-aching pleasure of a hard-earned
panoramic view, high altitude starlight or the singular blue of a crevasse.
The thing about being a girl who goes alone, who goes
again and again is that it freaks
the potential next boyfriend. He doesn’t want to be out machoed
and he doesn’t want to admit it and he hopes you can’t tell.
The thing about being the girl who still goes alone is that it proves
you don’t need him and no matter how you show him you want him
it’s not the same
and you both know it.
Zipped back into the tent you remind yourself you’ve never really been in danger.
When have you ever been in danger? Well there was that boy, but years ago,
a teenager like you, driving around bored and pissed at the world,
his BB gun and his father’s two rifles
and on the seat beside him. Lucky you.
The gun he leveled on the window ledge
lodged nothing more than a BB in your thigh.
The thing about being a girl alone in the woods is you know too much
about the grain of truth in the warnings.
Even if you seem impervious, weird good luck leaving you so far unscathed,
you know the other girls’ stories—your sister
date raped after a party in college, a friend
raped by a stranger at knife-point, the two women
shot on the Pinnacle Lake trail. The singer
killed by coyotes in Nova Scotia.
The thing
about being a girl
who goes alone
is that you feel like you shouldn’t go
if you’re afraid. If you go it should mean you’re not afraid,
that you’re never afraid. Your friends will think that you go unafraid.
This girl
who goes alone
is always afraid, always negotiating to keep the voices in her head
at a manageable pitch of hysteria.
I go knowing that there will be a moment—maybe long moments, maybe
hours of them, maybe the whole trip—when I curse myself for going alone.
When I lie in the tent and all I am is fear.
I walk in the wilderness alone so I can hear myself.
So I can feel real to myself.
I walk into the wilderness alone
because the animal in me needs to fill her nose with the scent of stone and lichen,
ocean salt and pine forest warming in early sun. I need to feel my body—
taxed and stretched and aching.
I go because I know I’m lucky to have a car, gas money, days off,
the back and legs and appetite
to take me there.
I go because I still can.
The girl who goes alone
claims for herself
the madrona, juniper, daybreak,
she claims hemlock, prairie falcon, nightfall,
nurse log, sea star, glacial moraine,
huckleberry, trillium, salal,
snowmelt, avalanche lily, waterfall,
birdsong, limestone, granite, moonlight, schist,
cirque, saddle, summit, ocean,
she claims the curve of the earth.
The girl who goes alone says with her body
the world is worth the risk.

—Elizabeth Austen
This is the title poem from Elizabeth’s The Girl Who Goes Alone.

Things I Miss about the Trail

It's been since July since I've hiked or backpacked.  Too much stuff going on with Simone's wedding and then buying a house to do any weekend hikes.  As a result, I've noticed an increase in agitation and irritation with moods of melancholy and introspection.  My house is chaos.  I'm not getting enough quality alone time, wilderness time, and just plain old me time.  I have no hiking plans, no permits applied for, nothing on the forseeable horizon.  Hopefully, once escrow closes I can change that.

I was laying in bed last night thinking about the trail, any trail, and all the things I miss about it.  I was surprised to realize I missed even the painful and mundane things. 

I miss sparkling alpine lakes, sun glittering off the surface like winking stars.
I miss sharp, chilly morning air scented with pines.
I miss throbbing feet at day's end.
I miss the gentle curve of the trail as it winds through canyons and verdant meadows.
I miss Mountain House beef stew.
I miss sitting in the dirt, my legs stuck out across the trail, gazing at distant mountains.
I miss the camraderie of my hiking pals.
I miss laying down after a hard day and feeling my spine release into the ground.
I miss the cold edge of granite.
I miss the feel of my hipbelt, slipping around my hips like an embrace.
I miss the anticipation; the sweet feeling of challenges to come.
I miss that first breathtaking sting, as swollen feet are lowered into a frigid creek.
I miss the night sky beaming at me with shooting stars.
I miss sunrises over pristine lakes and mountain peaks.
I miss the freedom of crazy hair and no make-up.
I miss the introspective daydreaming that occurs while filtering water.
I miss the wonderland of marmots, pikas, and butterflies.

So many things, I could go on.


“I remember my childhood names for grasses and secret flowers. I remember where a toad may live and what time the birds awaken in the summer -- and what trees and seasons smelled like -- how people looked and walked and smelled even. The memory of odors is very rich.”
-John Steinbeck in East of Eden