Here’s an excerpt:

The concert hall at the Sydney Opera House holds 2,700 people. This blog was viewed about 20,000 times in 2011. If it were a concert at Sydney Opera House, it would take about 7 sold-out performances for that many people to see it.

Click here to see the complete report.

The veil between us and God is a little bit thinner in Africa. Here in the States it seems like a drape hanging between us and the throne; the kind that is so thick it blocks the light from coming in the window to wake you up. In Africa, it seems like gauze billowing in the breeze; you can make out images of the Spirit, but it’s still not completely clear. Minus the thick heaviness of gathering material possessions, or bank deposits, or the busyness of success, there is the freedom to feel—to allow—the breeze of grace and compassion to be the wind that carries you, that connects your soul to another.

My favorite part of the trip was shaking hands at a local high school we visited in Lira. Our team was to be the highlight of their assembly. They weren’t ready for us when we arrived so they sat us in the middle of the courtyard to wait. Sitting in a fishbowl is an understatement. Several hundred kids, maybe a thousand, sat two or three deep around the perimeter on the sidewalks of the buildings…all staring at us, the “moonos,” the white people. Because of another assembly that was running late, it was decided we would not stay and talk to the students. Our team leader instructed us to go around the courtyard and quickly high-five the kids sitting and waiting. I didn’t want to be quick. I tried to shake as many hands as possible, looking each one in the eye, smiling, saying hello. Some shook my hand, some gave me the knuckle bump, some took my hand with palms up, and one young man put a fist to his chest. I asked what that meant. “Friend. You are my friend.”

For most of the trip I felt very inadequate and out of place. I painted the buildings at the COTN orphanage with other team members, but this isn’t what was needed. What was needed was something I didn’t think I had. I’m not a good conversationalist; mingling at cocktail parties is worse than a root canal. I’m not good at praying; especially out loud in front of an audience. I’m not good at imparting spiritual wisdom; I don’t know the right words to use to make someone feel better. I needed to offer them my soul but my soul was blocked off. I felt all I had to offer was a smile and a handshake. A simple touch that said, “You matter. You are not forgotten.”

That orphan girl, the one that wouldn’t leave me alone, needs to hear that she matters and that she is not forgotten. Physical poverty is one thing; wells can be dug, food can be brought, medicine can be supplied, to end the deprivation . But spiritual deficiency is something else entirely. It is up to the individual, a decision must be made, to see and believe. Spiritual fullness doesn’t get delivered in a package from another person. It is first a personal decision to reach up vertically and plug our soul into the soul of God himself, to allow Him to be everything we need, to depend on Him for the very breath in our lungs; and then it is reaching out horizontally and connecting our soul to the souls of our fellow human beings, validating them, breathing life into them, putting our arms around them and never letting go.

The orphan girl wanted to show me something. I told her no.

If you want to read more about my mission trip to Uganda, type in my name and the words write with grace africa and the site I blog about the trip should come up.

The longer answer is this:  The lungs are a muscle. The more you use them, the stronger they get. But, one sentence is not very helpful for such an ambiguous disease. There are a lot of hills to overcome, many rainstorms to get through, humidity to sweat through, and freezing temperatures to play mind games with: do I stay inside my cozy house and watch a movie or go out and freeze while I break a sweat?

The correct answer is this: We first need to build a base of consistency. I suspect that many of us, myself included, want to do better without first laying the foundation. If you have asthma, laying your running foundation takes twice as long and twice as much discipline as our non-asthma-running counterparts because we need to rest more.

I remember vividly it taking two or three days for me to recuperate from a two mile run. Once my lungs were inflamed from a run, any type of movement–laundry, straightening the house, running errands–would be understood by my lungs as exercise. I had to stop moving and rest. That was when I was on four asthma medications per day. I am now med-free and training for my fourth ½ marathon scheduled for November, 2011. It took me a couple of years to build my base because I had to rest A LOT. In hindsight I should have taken shorter walks or runs but my ego got in the way. Self-imposed chaos!

We who have EIA have the added benefit of thinking we’re going to pass out and die right in the middle of the trail. When I first started running with asthma, as soon as I felt my quads or lungs (weak muscles), the mind trip began. I have to stop, I can’t do this, I can’t breathe, I’m in pain, and on and on. I had to train myself where my boundary line was. I had to remind myself that I’ve climbed that hill before and nothing happened. I didn’t pass out, I didn’t die. I’m fine.

Regular, consistent running, all year long, will provide what is called a “base.” This is your foundation to stand on. Maybe you can only walk for one mile. Maybe you can run for two miles. Regardless of where your starting point is, increase your overall exercise time by 10% per week. This prevents injury and safely gets you to your next goal. Work your way up to running, or walking, three or four times per week. A base, or foundation, takes several months of consistent workouts to put in place. Once it’s there, you can stand tall to reach your next goal: the 5K race, the ½ marathon, a new personal record in track or cross country, a ten-minute mile.

Remember, it’s not just the lungs that need consistent workouts, it’s also the mind. We need to train our brains, through consistency, that we can do this. We can run with asthma without it running us.

Before I realized I had EIA, I tried, and failed, several aerobic classes.  I could never keep up. I was immediately tired and about halfway through the class I was spent. The instructor would see me lagging behind and “encourage” me to keep going. I just couldn’t do it.  My body was so weak from lack  of oxygen that I had to stop. Completely embarrassed, I tried as best I could and then made excuses at the end of the class for why I couldn’t participate the way the others did. For three or four days after the class I was completely exhausted and wanted to sleep for hours. Eventually I gave up trying, thinking I was just too out of shape to attend an aerobic class.

I’ve always had the desire to run, but again, could never keep up. I tried, and failed, at running for the better part of twenty years.  When running with other people, I stopped to walk early in the run, like, in the first five minutes.  They would all say the same thing: are you tired already? Yes.  So I stopped running with other people.  I ran alone but never had much success going more than two miles.  Even two miles was hard.

Once I figured out I had EIA, the real work began both physically and emotionally.  I wanted to run; I had the desire, but I felt my lungs were holding me back. What I realized is that my head was holding me back.  I immediately began an unhealthy dialogue in my  head: I can’t run that far. I can’t run that fast. I can’t climb that  hill. I can’t do sprints. I can’t run a ½ marathon. I can’t, I can’t I can’t.  The reason I gave myself? I have asthma, so I can’t. It took me many months, if not years, to overcome this.

Runners need trainers to improve. Or at least good advice from reputable places such as Runner’s World. But here’s the thing, I discounted myself as a runner.  I was a runner with a handicap that a trainer or magazine or even a fellow runner didn’t understand. I would look at other runners who seemed to excel at their sport and immediately put clarification to their success: they don’t have asthma. I needed to trust myself and my body before I could have ears to hear the information that would make me a better runner, with or without asthma.

I had to trust that I wasn’t going to pass out on the trail.  I had to push myself to my absolute limit before I could trust anyone else to push me to the limit. I had to learn how the asthma affects me on hills, in wind, in 100 degree heat, in rain, during allergy season, and during spin class. I am a member of a running team at church and they are all experienced runners. It’s hard for me to take their advice so that I can run faster or longer because…they don’t have asthma. I don’t trust that my body will be able to do what their body can do.

I’ve made huge strides in the last four years.  I’ve completed four ½ marathons and more than 35 5K events. My time has improved, my speed has improved, but I still have trust issues. I’m learning to tell myself that I am a runner. Period. And runner’s need help if they want to improve. But to put yourself in a vulnerable position, to allow another runner, or an instructor, or a trainer, to tell you what to do and how far to push your body is just downright scary. It’s a major trust issue.

He made the comment during his explanation of the mind-body connection in relation to illness.  When our minds are not in the right place, when we stuff our pain instead of dealing with it, the body takes it in and turns it into disease: tumors, cancer, acid reflux, gastrointestinal disorders, asthma, you name it. We swallow a lot of pain from life through divorce, death, abandonment, rejection, etc. and if we don’t purge it out of us in a healthy way it will stay in our body and reek havoc.  This was all fine until he said the asthma was all in my head. He laughed and insisted that I did not have exercised-induced asthma.

I did what any good rebellious woman would do. I went into the hills and ran. The dirt is my thinking ground. I did three loops on the cross country track, up and over, around and around.  Five miles later I was pooped and my lungs were burning. I couldn’t stop thinking about something else he said:  You need to set some boundaries and stop letting other people run your life. I knew this to be true so I resolved to make it happen. I made an appointment with my mom and set the ground rules: no more men. One dad and two step dads is enough for me, I do not want anything to do with number four. Keep it to yourself. For the next year I had to practice keeping that boundary each time she pushed it.

Next I set boundaries with my husband. No more being responsible for his guilt and insecurities. Again, practice makes perfect to keep everyone on their own side of the fence. Once successful, I was gaining some self confidence. The half marathon was coming up and I was determined to run this one med free.  I wanted to be done with the twice-a-day Advair, the once-a-day Singulair and Alegra, and the just-before-a-run Albuterol  for a total of $150 per month.  The thought of running 13.1 miles med free was frightening, but I was determined so I pushed harder.

In another run through the hills, I started thinking about my mom and the more I thought the angrier I became. I had never been given permission to grieve the divorce, now 20 years in the past, because my anger made her feel guilty; so it was banned.  Running up the hill I felt my body begin to give out, I was running out of steam.  My breathing was labored.  My inhaler was back in the car. I allowed the anger and began to scream in my head, “She’s not my mother! She’s not my mother!” To this day, I do not know what I meant by that, but at  the time it worked as a release. As I came down the other side of the hill I was overcome with grief. For the record: it is physically impossible to run and cry at the same time. The lungs cannot multi-task. I stopped running, bent over and sobbed. Tears and snot ran from my eyes and nose. I let it all pour out of me and into the dirt. I stopped running away.

Sometime later I was forced to acknowledge that my asthma was getting better. There was no denying the relationship between my mental health and physical health; as the mental got better, so did my physical and vice versa.  I slowly weaned myself off of all the medication and ran the ½ marathon completely med free.  Then I came across some sort of spiritual book, which I can’t remember the name of, that listed all types of medical problems, from bladder infections to eye diseases, to cancer, to you guessed it…asthma. Each diagnosis had a corresponding reason to go with it. I flipped to the only one I cared about. “Asthma:  comes from not having a voice, feeling trapped.”

So I guess that annoying therapist who doesn’t run and who’s never had a breathing problem was right, much as I hate to admit it. My symptoms were real. My diagnosis was real. I failed the breathing diagnostic test at the hospital with flying colors. My disease was real. But the problem wasn’t in my lungs; the problem was in my soul. My mind, being the control freak that it is, and not knowing what to do with a soul feeling of being trapped, a feeling of not having a voice, sent the problem to my lungs. It was too much for them to bear;  they began to shut down and I couldn’t breathe.

I’ve run five ½ marathons so far, two of them med free. I feel free when I run; the wind blowing my hair, the music in my ears.  And my soul is happy with every deep and relaxing breath.

-Tara Schiro

Showing off our medals after the Columbus 1/2 marathon

I recently ran a 1/2 marathon in Columbus, Ohio with my childhood friend, without the use of Advair, Singulair, or Albuteral.  This was a first.  I had weaned myself off all the medication during this past summer, 2009, because I was feeling so much better from two things: First, all the running.  The key for me seems to be steady, long distance running that is providing the healing.  The more miles I log, the better my lungs function.  As a disclaimer, lest you think all I do is run, let me say that I log on average about 15-20 miles per week.  Not very much in the grand scheme of things.  When I run I try to do between 4 and 6 miles on weekdays and longer on the weekends.  Consistency is the key.

The second component is mental stability.  A mother of an 11 year old girl wrote to me recently about the medication her daughter is being prescribed during cross country and track season and wondered if I had any thoughts.  Here is my responses to her: “Again, I’m not a Dr., but I will share with you my experience with this. First, looking back at my childhood, I can see that I had EIA and did not know it. My ’symptoms’ began showing up in PE class in middle school. (Asthma is hereditary and my dad had regular allergy induced asthma as a child and grew out of it in his teen years. My asthma seems to be exercise induced.) While running the required 1/2 mile at the beginning of class, in the required timeframe, I “couldn’t keep up” and thought I was just out of shape. Through high school, I wanted to be on the cross country team but when I practiced, I was immediately tired. Like, I had to stop and walk within the first two minutes of running. I walked and jogged the rest of the way but I mistakenly thought that I couldn’t do it; I wasn’t good enough. Interestingly enough, this is the same time frame when my parents began having problems with their marriage. I did not know it at the time, but, my 13 year old brain translated their problems into a self esteem issue for me: I’m not good enough. EIA is REAL. Please do not hear me as dismissing symptoms or that it is all in the head. But, what I am now exploring in my own story, is the possibility that my feelings of not being good enough shows up, to this day, in my running. Running is something I want to do, but it is a competitive sport that puts me in an arena where I am constantly comparing myself to other runners. Can I keep up? Can I do what my coach expects of me? Can I beat my time? Even this very second as I type, my lungs are tightening just thinking about it. I will be posting more on this topic in the near future so keep reading the posts. But, let me also answer a few questions for you. Encourage your daughter to run consistently all year long, not just during XC or track season. The reason is that once a person stops running for a few weeks or months, the body then needs to start over again with the new season. Any momentum is lost and needs to be regained.  If she wants to be competitive, she needs to be consistent throughout the year. She needs to keep her base miles, her foundation, really strong so that when she begins a new season of competition she will have a steady base to use as a spring board for improvement. There is a lot of mental stress that will occur if she has not been running and then all of the sudden begins a new season with the expectation of doing better than last year. Her lungs and her brain will go into shock with this new responsibility.  If you read through my posts, you will see that every year I participate in a 7 week 5K series. Each year I improve my PR by about 4 minutes or so but this is only because I run all year long. If I were to keep starting and stopping, I would not have this kind of improvement. If she is serious about wanting to run, and is having symptoms, you should take her to a pulmonary specialist who has patients who run. But, in my experience, two things have become the cornerstone for my improvement: consistency and mental strength. Self esteem, self image, value, self worth; these are all huge barriers to any sport if they are in the negative category. If your daughter keeps running, she will learn mental strength and mental toughness. Running has a way of putting these into perspective real quick. Again, thanks for writing and please keep reading as I work through this myself.”

2009 has been a year of upheaval and tremendous growth at the same time.  I don’t want to hear that my asthma isn’t exercise-induced but self-induced.  However, I also cannot ignore the fact the my mental strength is getting stronger and stronger and my asthma and my running are getting better and better.  I cannot ignore the evidence that physical and mental healing are happening at the same time.  They seem to be going hand-in-hand.  The reason I put the word “cured” in quotes is because I don’t know if I am.  I don’t know that a person can ever be “cured” of asthma.  Remission, maybe.  I will keep exploring and keep running and keep posting to let you know what I discover.  Thanks for reading and thanks for sharing.

We started out at a pace that was slow for her and fast for me.  This compromise turned out to be a major disaster for me.  It was only a 10 minute mile.  But, I had to quickly remind myself that “I can’t” run that fast right off the bat.  During the Santa Barbara 10K my average pace was about 10:37.  My fastest mile ever was 8:50, but that was for one mile and then I had to stop.

So here I am, running too fast for the first mile, not wanting to slow down and look like a wimp, not wanting to stop and look like a complete failure, and not being able to breathe.  My lungs made the decision for me.  I had to stop and walk after one mile! Then we started the slow ascent up the hill and my lungs completely rebelled.  “Hello up there, did you forget we have asthma?” they chided.  My running partner finally agreed to run along without me.  She ran up the hill, down the hill, and back up the hill without so much as an extra breath. And there I was, walking, gasping for air, and wanting to sit down in the middle of the sidewalk.  Shameful.

Shame on me for not honoring how far I’ve come.  Shame on me for getting too cocky and thinking I was ready for a big run.  Shame on me for not enjoying the journey and being so competitive.  Shame on me for being embarassed that I couldn’t keep up.

The next day I ran with one of the fathers on the condition that we run ‘really slow’ and he agreed.  He doesn’t run very far anyway.  The first mile was an 11 minute mile and every mile after that was between 11 and 12.  I ran a total of 5.5 miles.  I felt so good!  Great even!  I had so much energy afterward which continued throughout the weekend.

So what’s the takeaway that I need to hear?  I have exercise-induced asthma.  I can run, and I’m getting stronger, and my average pace is improving; I need to remember this.  I need to be okay with being slower than other runners.  My pace does not invalidate my efforts.  It is okay that other runners can run 7 or 8 minute miles and I can only do 10 or 11 minute miles. It is okay because I’m out there participating.  I am a runner.

Some of the most recent comments left on the home page of this web site deal with “I can’t.”  The lady in the military says that her superiors think she is lazy and not trying hard enough.  Another lady runs with her husband and can’t keep up.  Another lady wants to run a full marathon but as soon as she hits a certain mileage, she’s suddenly symptomatic. The words “I can’t” are so powerful.  When others say we can’t, we mistakenly believe them.  I seriously doubt that the lady in the military is lazy.  She wouldn’t be there if she were. But we believe the lie, that we can’t.

Last month my husband and I ran a 10K in Santa Barbara, CA.  It was so, so gorgeous. It was 10 miles along the coastline; 5 out and 5 back. The weather was picture perfect: clear, 58-65 degrees, little breeze.  I had so much fun taking in the scenery, thanking God that my body could participate in the run…and then the unthinkable happened. I posted a PR. I would have to go back and look up my official time but I think it was about 1:48:21.  My average speed was a 10:46 mile (remember that when I started running my average speed was a 15 minute mile!). I remember feeling so good as I was running.  No anxiety, no pressure, just enjoying the run and taking it all in.  I can run well.

This past Sunday my husband and I ran to a historic park behind our neighborhood.  It is exactly 4 miles, out and back.  The 2 miles to get there are up a slight hill (I’m guessing a 2-4% incline). It is the first time I ran the whole way up the hill without stopping. Upon our arrival, my husband said, “let’s go another mile; I want to show you the canyon.”  “I can’t,” said the peanut gallery in my head. But we pressed on and I watched my Garmin like a hawk.  As soon as we hit the mile, and not a second after, I stopped and said, “That’s a mile.”  “The trail I want to show you is just up ahead, let’s keep going.” “I can’t,” said the peanut gallery but we kept going, at a walk.  Finally, the trail was close but there was a bigger hill to get there so I said no and we turned around. I believed the lie that I couldn’t.

We started running back toward the house, which was  now 3.5 miles away.  The chatter in my head was ridiculous:  I didn’t prepare for all these extra miles, I only prepared for a total of 4.  I didn’t eat enough, I didn’t drink enough; I can’t do this.  We ran the whole way back, except to say hi to a friend coming toward us on his bike.

I can run.  My body is stronger than I think.  I felt completely fine when we got back; great even. It is my mind that is weak.  It is my mind that tells me that I can’t “because I have asthma.”  Whenever someone asks me about my running, I usually start off with, “well, I have asthma…”  Translation: I can’t run as well as you because I have a defect. I can’t.

Yes, I can.  I just have to believe that.  I have to choose to believe that.  My goal is to run the LA marathon next May of 2010. I’m thinking that if I finish around 5 hours, which is around 12 minute miles, I’ll be happy.  Can anyone say lazy? My long time goal is to qualify for Boston. That means, if I wait to do it when I age up, I would have to run a 9 minute mile…26 miles in a row.  I can’t do that; there’s no way. I have asthma, I’m not strong enough. I would pass out.  I once told my husband that with my long legs, if I didn’t have EIA, I would be a really great runner.

The hypocracy is so glaring.  I need my sunglasses.

This is bad.  I did not pass out after the run on Sunday. I felt good. My mind is trying so hard to hold me back from running because…because…I don’t have an answer.  I don’t know why it does that. Because it thinks it should?  Silly.  The evidence is in the pages of this site that I am getting stronger.  If you read the posts in chronological order, you will see the medications I was on, and now, I am happy to report, I am down to once per day of Advair 100.  This is progress!  I am off of the Singulair and Alegra except in extreme conditions like high pollen days, even though I’m not allergic.

The mind is a powerful thing; more powerful than the lungs.

So back to the cross country runner.  Maybe there is some new element in the air this year that is causing her to run slower.  Or maybe she isn’t logging as many miles overall that she used to.  Or maybe she lost some of her base over the winter that she isn’t aware of.  Or, maybe, she has just stayed static in her runs and so her body has not been challenged to improve.  Let me flesh this last theory out a little bit with my own story.

It is not news for me to say that in the summer my husband and I run a 7 week long 5K series; one of the miles is through the hills.  I am trying to improve my time (see previous posts on this to catch up if you’re new).  I have run two 1/2 marathons and have goals to run more of them, including a full marathon.  But, I really want to get my 5K down to 27 minutes this season and 24 minutes next season.  So far my PR is 31:31 and my slowest overall time is 46:00 on the same course.

I have realized, and this is true for all runners, not just those of us with asthma, that the more I push my body, the more I improve overall.  Let me tell you why I am pointing out the obvious.  Many people have written to me that “I am doing the same schedule of exercises and I’m posting slower times.”  I can’t answer them specifically because I haven’t met them in person to get all the details and I am not a physician or trainer.  I am a runner trying to figure it out like everyone else.  But, I do know, that in my own training, if I stay the same, I don’t improve.

Last week I came home from a six mile run and I told my husband that it was “one giant suffer-fest.”  I hated it.  Everything hurt.  I struggled.  The chatter in my head was loud.  I really had to buckle down and force myself to keep going.  Why?  Why was it such a struggle?  Because, as the responders to my posts have said, I’m not really doing anything different so why all of the sudden am I struggling?  I’ve been doing 6 mile runs once a week for a year now.

One look at my watch gave me the answer. I have a Garmin that connects to the satellite so it tells me how many miles I’ve gone and how fast.  It also breaks it down per mile.  And therein was the answer:  my first mile was a 9:20!  Coming up the hill I posted a 14:30 mile.  Overall, I arrived back at the house in about the same time as all the previous six mile runs.  But a check with the watch told me I was running two minutes faster in the beginning half of the run than I was a few months ago.

Also according to the watch, my overall average mile had dropped from a 12:00 minute average pace to an 11:00 minute average pace. This is progress people!

So here is my adivce for today for those of you who can’t figure out why you are running slower than before.  Get yourself a running journal/log (mine came from Runner’s World with the subscription) or you can make your own on the computer.  It needs a space for every day of the week, distance, time, course, and notes.  In the notes category, put information such as weather, heart rate, temperature, mood, lungs, etc. This is especially key if your asthma is affected by the environment.  You can record the weather and if you struggled that day, put that down as well.  You might see a trend emerge. 

Second, get yourself a Garmin and start tracking those miles.  If I hadn’t had run with the watch, I would not have known that I was actually getting faster.  My overall time was the same on the six miles, 1:08:30, but I struggled a lot more because my first few miles were much faster.  I would not have known this without the watch to tell me. I would have just thought that I was struggling much more than I used to and I would have come to the false conclusion that I was getting worse instead of better.

Record keeping is the first key to understanding how you run with asthma.

Start line for the marathon. I'm in there somewhere...

The short answer is that I finished the 1/2 marathon in November.  If you read my previous posts, I was really anxious about whether I would be able to go the full 13.1.  I did.  The longer answer is that as soon as I crossed the finish line, I went into a full blown asthma attack!  It wasn’t pretty.  The medics came over with a gurney and wheeled me over to their first aid station, but not before I had  my finisher’s medal around my neck.  Priorities!

I ran a second 1/2 marathon in December.  I wasn’t going to sign up because I was afraid.  What if it happened again?  The day before the race in December, my husband talked me into running.  I hadn’t been training, just doing my normal runs.  My goal for the run in November was to finish; this time it was to finish without passing out!

Goal accomplished.  I had a little more fun the second time around, took in the scenery and just relaxed.  However, once I came to the finish line, my emotions started to get away from me again and my lungs threatened to close again.  My husband said it looked like I was running backwards and forwards at the same time.  I think I was because that is what it felt like.

The ambivalence of seeing the word “finish” and then having to run under and across it is uncomfortable.  I suppose that is why it took me so long to add this post.  I’m just not sure  what to think anymore.  Obviously I can run 13.1 miles. Obviously the asthma isn’t holding me back to the point of not doing what I want. But what?

My neighbor said to me it’s all in my head.  The whole asthma thing.  I rolled my eyes of course, because that is what I do when I hear something silly.  He thinks it is my body’s response to some mental blocks of “not being…” (fill in the blank: not being good enough, not being able to keep up, etc. etc.) Okay, whatever. Maybe it is organic as he says.  I don’t think so.  But I’ll keep thinking about it.

I do know that short runs seem to exacerbate my lungs more than long runs; the harder I push up a hill and force them to open up, the better I feel. Metaphor?  The more long runs I do (5 or more miles),  the faster I become and the better my breathing is. One of these days I’ll figure this out; when I do, I’ll let you know.  In the meantime, read Runner’s Word Magazine.  It’s amazing.