I will eventually get around to talking (briefly) about my last outing, but first I’m going to bore you with a PSA.
In short, men of our age tend to be somewhat negligent about their health. It can range from not getting annual physicals (they are generally free in the US), or ignoring that little problem, until it becomes a big problem. Like a tennis buddy of mine. He asked me to sub to play doubles. After we were finished, I noticed his eyes were yellow. He mentioned going to get it checked.
Seven months later, at 63, he died of pancreatic cancer.
I belong to a golf group, and I’m the scorekeeper/treasurer (we play for chump change–usually $4 to $6 a round). I remind our members–our oldest is 92–that if you aren’t feeling well enough, don’t be stoopid, stop playing–especially with middle of the day Midwestern heat (like this summer).
This story will show I listen to my own advice.
I’ve written before about participating in shorter length triathlons, generally ones up to a little over three hours. I did my first in 1987, and although I haven’t done them every year, I’ve done a fair number, including roughly five to eight a year since I retired fourteen years ago. The races motivate me to exercise and work out, which means a healthy heart and good health–and good-looking legs in heels and hose (and that is Dee-finitely motivation too).
The first weekend in August I was signed up for back-to-back races in Milwaukee, the USA Triathlon National Age Group Championships. I had a longer race on Satur-Dee, then half the distances (swim-bike-run) on Sun-Dee.
And, after training for two months, and having my best race of three training races the weekend before, ten minutes into the swim of the longer race I couldn’t breathe and my chest was tight.
I wasn’t sure if I was having a panic attack (I was telling myself to chill the eff out, but I wasn’t saying eff) or whether my wetsuit (a full-length wetsuit, meant to help lower my swim times) was restricting my chest. Trying to problem solve–AND swim when I was having difficulty breathing–I swam to two lifeguards on a jet ski and asked them to unzip the back of my wetsuit, to see if that would solve the issue. They did unzip it, but after about 50 yards that did not solve the issues.
I swam to another guard on a kayak, and decided I simply wasn’t able to swim another 1,000 yards, and the only smart choice was to withdraw. The guys with the jet ski zoomed over to me, I climbed onto a float towed behind the jet ski and hung on for dear life as they gunned me to where the paramedics were stationed. For all the guards on the jet ski knew, I was having a heart attack and time was essential.
I’m able to get off the pad and walk to a bench. The paramedics stick a blood pressure cuff on me and take my BP. I never knew the score because I think it was so high they didn’t think it was working properly.
Fifteen minutes after sitting, I was fine. Was able to walk without a problem. Returned to my nearby hotel room, where my wife was still sleeping, to let her know I was OK.
Stubborn as always, I intended to do the second race the next day–but I was smart enough to go visit the same paramedics, to thank them for helping me the day before–and to ask them to take my BP again. The automatic machine didn’t seem to be working again, so one of the paramedics took it manually. When I heard 193 over XX–and after asking a second time he said 193 over XX, I knew I wasn’t racing that day either.
Since then–roughly three weeks–I’ve had my annual physical, blood work, an EKG, an echo cardiogram, a stress echo cardiogram (twelve minutes on a 16-degree incline treadmill to get my heart rate up to 150), and an appointment with a cardiologist, and everything seems normal for someone my age who’s extremely active. I now have a device that I take my BP several times a day, and my PA has prescribed a BP medicine (which I take daily, because I’m stubborn but not stoopid). I feel fine, and I plan to do two more races this year, because I need to get past the memory of not being able to breathe during the swim.
The best I can tell–thanks, Dr. Google–is that my full-length wetsuit cut off the circulation from my legs, and that caused my breathing issues and chest tightness. There’s even a term for it, SIPE, Swimming Induced Pulmonary Edema, and a fair number of recorded incidents that seem exactly like what happened to me.
Needless to say, anyone want a full-length triathlon wetsuit, lightly used?
My races did not turn out the way I wanted, but although I was disappointed, I wasn’t disappointed in myself for choosing not to try to finish. I did the smart thing–and since then have done as much as I can to ensure I am reasonably safe to continue doing races going forward (there are no 100% guarantees).
And on that note, I’ll wrap up this PSA, with the suggestion that if you haven’t had a physical in a while, or something that is bothering you, make the call and set up that appointment.
On a more pleasant note, between my wife being back in town, family commitments, and a family friend staying with us, I haven’t been able to get out except once in late July to see Death Cab for Cutie. I wore a new dress from my expanding American Eagle collection. A fun show, and a good opportunity to get my Dee on.
P.S. I am signed up again to attend Dee-Va Las Vegas in mid-October. My flights are booked, and hotel reservations made. So, if nothing else, I’ll have a few weeks’ worth of posts from my times out there. Now I just need to get my body bikini ready. 😀👙
