I spent the weekend in urgent care with a brutal stomach virus and migraine—absolutely miserable. But as I lay there, hooked up to IV fluids and pain meds, my mind went back to the years I lived with chronic illness on the regular. And I realized just how grateful I am that this isn’t my everyday anymore.
The mystery symptoms. The relentless migraines. The slow erosion of actually living. It sucked the life right out of me!
Most people think stories like mine start with a sudden event—but mine didn’t. It was slower. Sneakier. A steady drip-drip-drip of symptoms creeping in so quietly, I barely noticed… until I couldn’t even remember what “feeling good” felt like.
The Beginning of the Spiral
If I’m honest, the spiral started years before I ever realized I was sick.
It started with years of marathon and Ironman training. (Paired with my workaholic mentality in corporate marketing) – it was a recipe for disaster, and I didn’t want to admit that I was playing with fire — I loved the thrill of doing it all, and doing all of it pretty damn well, too.
And this went on for years…. Yep, back-to-back-to-back years of full Ironman training — the kind of training plan that eats your life whole. Long swims before sunrise, endless brick workouts, 100+ mile rides on weekends, 20-mile runs just to get ‘time on my feet’
I never took a day off. Ever.
I trained no matter what was going on — work stress, life chaos, aches, pains — nothing was allowed to stand in the way of that finish line dream. I missed weddings, baby showers, graduations — you name it, nothing trumped my training plans.
I told myself it was discipline. Commitment. Mental toughness.
But really? It was fear. Fear of letting myself down. Fear of falling short. Fear of losing the identity I’d built as “the one who always pushes through.”
I was willing to do just about anything, but in the end, it took almost everything…
“I was willing to do just about anything… but in the end, it took almost everything.”
The Crash After the Finish Line
The first Ironman Louisville left me tired, but the high of accomplishment was intoxicating.
So I signed up for another before we even got home from Kentucky.
And another year of relentless, no-rest training followed as I prepared for Ironman Arizona, then again in 2017 for Ironman Cabo, and Ironman Chattanooga in 2018.
I was on the right track, stepping back to Half Ironman 70.3’s in 2019, but it likely had already been too much and somewhere in the grind, my body started to fray at the edges.
After competing in the Nice 70.3 World Championships (and Berlin Marathon 3 weeks later…) little things started nagging me — aches and pains that I couldn’t sleep off, a nagging head pain, stubborn fatigue — I tried to brush it off as “just part of training.”
But the muscle soreness didn’t fade. The migraines become frequent visitors. And the brain fog became permanent.
The Medical Leave That Wasn’t
By the time I stepped away from work — a 12-week medical leave from a job that was “killing me” — I thought all I needed was a good long rest.
I’d trained through worse, right?
Except this time, the rest didn’t work. I woke up each day just as tired as I’d gone to bed. And then came the migraines. The joint pain. The weird symptoms that didn’t seem connected but somehow were?
What I thought would be a quick bounce-back became something darker — a slow slide into a permanent state of chronic illness.
My body wasn’t just tired — it was shutting down.
My hormones had flatlined. Cortisol? Shot. Estrogen, progesterone, testosterone? Practically nonexistent. My iron levels were so low I was on the verge of needing infusions, and my gut was in full rebellion — anything I ate went straight through me. The scale dipped to 110 pounds, not because I was trying to be lighter or faster, but because my body simply couldn’t hold onto anything. I didn’t feel strong or fit anymore. I felt hollow, fragile, broken…
The Mystery Symptoms and the Search for Answers
Doctors were baffled. My lab results were abnormal, but nothing pointed to a clear diagnosis.
I became my own research department — spending hours a day Googling symptoms, reading medical journals, testing out every diet and supplement protocol I could find. (Which drove Paul crazy — he would come home each day and I would report my latest findings, frustrating us both more in the end)
Vegan. Plant-Based. Keto. Anti-inflammatory. Low-FODMAP. Gluten-free. Dairy-free. If a blog or a “functional health coach” suggested it, I tried it.
I told myself I was fighting for my health, but I was still in the same Ironman mindset — push harder, do more, find the fix. I hadn’t yet realized that this constant striving and stressing was probably hurting more than helping?
Did you know?
80% of people with autoimmune diseases are women (NIH).
Migraines affect 1 in 7 people worldwide, making them the 6th most disabling condition (World Health Org).
Athletes in endurance sports are at 2–3x higher risk of overtraining syndrome compared to recreational exercisers (Journal of Sports Medicine).
Losing Life as I Knew It
The physical pain was one thing. The loneliness was another.
I couldn’t run — my escape, my joy, my identity, my friends!
I missed birthdays, dinners, races, weekends with friends. This time, not by choice, but because I was too unwell. I couldn’t show up for my marriage or my family and I fell further into the darkness.
It was Groundhog Day: wake up sick, search for answers, blame myself, go to bed sick.
Repeat.
The Medical System Maze
I tried everything. Specialists. Clinics. Hospitals. The “best” doctors in Texas. Even the Mayo Clinic. The Mayo trip was the lowest of lows. I’d pinned so much hope on it, but instead I left feeling smaller, sadder, and more hopeless than before.
If you don’t fit into a tidy insurance-coded box, you don’t get the tests you need. And if you’re not “sick enough” for those tests, you wait. And suffer.
My primary care doctor suspected lupus from the very beginning.
But I wasn’t sick enough for it to show enough markers clearly on my labs.
So, I continued to live in limbo — my body quietly fighting an under-the-radar autoimmune disease that was stealing years from me and stirring the most intense migraines of my life…
Finally, a Name
Lupus.
The word felt heavy but also… validating.
Suddenly, the migraines, the fatigue, the joint pain — they weren’t “in my head.” They were real. And yet, the diagnosis didn’t come with a magic fix.
It was still months of managing symptoms, adjusting medications, and learning how to live within my limits. At this point, I was up to 12+ prescriptions and adding in the dreaded prednisone. With so many meds in my system I couldn’t tell what was helping, hurting, or were so-called ‘side effects’ from everything I was taking?
I had some answers, but still not getting much better.
The Slow Turn
Healing wasn’t a straight line. It came slowly, almost imperceptibly at first.
An animal-based diet helped. So did real rest — the kind I’d never allowed myself in all those years of endurance training or while searching for health answers.
I also slowly stripped away my medications (which was incredibly painful, but necessary!) to see what was actually helping.
One day I realized I’d gone a whole week without a migraine.
Then two. Then almost a month. That was the real turning point… I could handle the fatigue, the joint pain, the lupus symptoms — but migraines, that took me down for days at a time…
But coming back to life after years away was harder than I expected.
Friends had learned to live without me.
My marriage had changed.
Family rhythms had shifted.
I thought I’d just jump back in where I’d left off, but life had moved on.
And… I had too.
I still have more aches and pains than most and usually some constant nagging head pain most days, but from where I was at, I felt alive!
Within four to six months I was in remission from my Lupus. I’ll always have to live with this autoimmune disease lurking under the surface, but I also know how to keep it from creeping up on me again.
Living Differently Now
It’s been almost 2.5 years since I crawled out of that chronic illness hole.
I still run — but for joy, not for PRs.
I still train — but I take rest days. Non-negotiable ones.
I no longer expect my body to be a machine.
I no longer see rest as weakness.
Life doesn’t have to be lived at 100 miles an hour.
In fact, sometimes the bravest thing you can do… is Stop. Rest. Recover.
Or your body will give you a forced slow down…
“Don’t confuse discipline with self-destruction.”
What I Learned the Hard Way
- Your body always whispers before it screams. Learn your signals and honor them early.
- Rest is not a reward. It’s fuel.
- Don’t confuse discipline with self-destruction. Training through every ache and pain is not grit — it’s sabotage.
- The medical system has limits. Be your own advocate, but pace yourself and trust the experts.
- Joy is still possible. It might look different, but it’s worth finding again.
The Wrap
I used to believe finishing an Ironman was the life goal — the ultimate proof of strength and grit. Now I know that real strength is in listening to my body and loving it enough to stop before I break it again.
Still, to this day I have to live within these so-called limits, which is a daily reminder of how important slow living,rest and downtime are to my health. I’m not weak — I’m strong for recognizing my needs and taking care of myself, but it can still feel unfair. Why am I wired to hit my breaking point so much earlier than others?
Being sick the last week and urgent care for several hours, hooked up to IVs and monitors — I’m not going to lie — it scared the crap out of me. Being back in that place… the trauma reminders were instant. Seeing Paul’s face across from me — helpless, confused — broke my heart all over again.
I wouldn’t wish chronic illness or pain on anyone. Please, take care of your body. It’s the only place you have to live. If you take anything from my story, let it be this: learn to tune into your own body and its rhythms. Stop chasing whatever the world tells you is “success” or “progress.”
You are the captain of your own life. You are enough. You are exactly how God made you — and that is more than enough.
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