The Purple Tank Top

Yesterday was a sad day for the purple tank top. I'd received it when I arrived at the Roseland 5K Race in June of 1995. I'd worn it proudly as often as possible on my training runs thereafter. I'd won the race that day and set the women's course record. Which astonished me. I wasn't all that fast after going through the first mile in 5:07, I knew I'd pay. I had an added pain going into the race. I felt as if someone put crazy glue and duct tape inside my right groin, let it set for an hour and then ripped off the duct tape. It was that raw, scraping feeling. Only to find out later in the one doctor's office I knew was available on an early Saturday afternoon. "Jody, you have shingles. Didn't you see the blisters in your groin?" I replied, "Well I saw 2 small things, but didn't even think of it last night. And this morning I was too mentally busy getting ready for the race. I had no clue."

1995 was already a running disaster. Yet Norm was happy with his new career, so that was good and I was building my business. That day in June, I arrived at another attempt to show myself improvement. I did a pre-race warm up run after taking an added asthma medication my pulmonologist had prescribed for me. Enough pain resided in my right groin area that it'd become easier to ignore the bigger picture of nerve damage that was still having its way with my right leg since August 1991. 

I figured if I took the first mile hard, just let 'er rip, my limp would be less after the second mile. Also, even with the spasming, I could still win the race. My head no longer got so tired that it'd flop to the right after eight miles. That day I'd hoped for a personal best. There was a chance, for it was only a 5K race. Yet I knew with the asthma medication adjustment, nerve pain, my still being in and out of physical therapy for my right leg, now going on my third year postoperatively it'd be a long shot for that. I'd be thinking plan B or C today, to take the win. I was, after all still building my therapy business. I had no office and traveled all over the Garden State from home to home, sometimes climbing up narrow stairs to an apartment with my gear to fix a body including a fifty pound table. My body tipped the scales just over 100lbs, when I was lucky I'd be 111. Yet I kept myself light between 102 and 106 for my racing and overall health. The Marines told me not to go under 102 and my gynecologist told me not to go under 100. 

I am someone who can forget about eating. This habit was designed by the stomach issues I'd been born into. Too, the food that was available at the time was an issue. That was until I'd made my own money at age 15 and began to change my diet. It was like I was never hungry. But when I was, I eventually found out how scary I looked. 

It was January 2011 as my original fight coach watched me devour 30 ounces of steak in a Bend, Oregon restaurant spoke, "Jody, I think you scared that cashier at the mini-mart just before. You were growling as you scoffed down the beef jerky in front of her. I've never heard anyone growl while they ate." I grunted, then commented, "Hey man. I was a little hungry. What was it? Like, my last eat was yesterday Jersey time. I got two runs in and you let me have 80 calories of a power bar and 4 ounces of coffee after we'd landed and I ran some miles. Almost two days since my last meal. Right?" I paused, "Water was an entree for a while."

So yesterday I'd put the 1995 purple tank top in the wash one last time. When I pulled it out of the dryer last night, I knew it could no longer be worn. If I had worn it one more time, it would be unrecognizable. I couldn't have that, neither could I toss it out. Its a thing with me. Its like a kid's first stuffed animal of sorts. I don't have that. Didn't. But I have this. This is resolve. It is fortitude. It is, never quit.---Jody-Lynn Reicher