January sucked. I had high hopes of putting 2023 behind me and having an amazing year. But apparently the universe had other plans. First, both Don and I got Covid for the first time. Thankfully, it was mild for both of us but it was still a blow to the running miles. Then, we were suddenly faced with unexpected loss of two of our pack.
Ellie. Our pain in the ass. Our problem child. Our stubborn, trash panda, 11-year-old border collie pittie mix. She had battled cancer for years. Learned to adjust with a torn ACL and severe hip dysplasia that slowed her down — unless a squirrel was anywhere nearby and then it was game on. She drove us crazy but always knew how to sucker her way into our hearts, and everyone who saw past her initial tough girl facade adored her. We were living on borrowed time, and we knew it, but at her annual vaccination appointment, the vet found a large mass under her tongue growing over her teeth and a biopsy confirmed the worst.
Quesa. Our boxer bulldog. This one hurts so bad. Barely six years old. The absolute best dog ever. She would happily get out and run miles or adventure with us, but was just as content as a couch potato snuggler. She was a blanket freak and would steal one from you before you even realized it was gone. Her whole body would wiggle in excitement when meeting anyone or anything and every time we walked in the house, she would run to bring us a toy as a welcome home present. She suddenly stopped eating. Dropped a drastic amount of weight. Lost all energy. We thought PRAYED it was just a bad case of irritable bowel disease. But after two weeks and multiple tests they found her stomach and intestines full of lymphoma.
Devastated, we made the heartbreaking decision to let them go together. Putting down one dog is hard enough. Two at the same time … we’re still broken. Fuck Cancer. Fuck fuck fuck. There’s a huge void in our house and hearts.
Running in January was rough. Between being sick and losing our babies, I struggled for time and energy — physically and emotionally. Last year, I made a goal to run a minimum of 100 miles per month. It was a reasonable number given where I was and where I wanted to go. I hit it nine of 12 months last year missing only the month my mom got diagnosed with brain cancer, and November and December, the two months after Canyonlands 125k. Which meant I was hell bent to hit it for January. In spite of everything, somehow I pulled it out. Did 20 miles over the last two days of the month to hit 100.2 for January. Too close for comfort but done.
Hopefully I’m done with loss for awhile. I really don’t think I can take much more.