My Runner Girl is trying to peel herself off my van. I'm a little disappointed because I thought we were tight, like coffee and cream or chocolate and caramel. But I'm thinking she is trying to tell me something or maybe she is hinting that she'll stick around but in a different way. Not as secure, not as dependable. She might fly off on I-475 and never come back. So I'm looking for ways to keep her around, entice her with something exciting, so I signed up for a half marathon. Then I bought new running shoes and a week later invested in trail shoes and another stick of Body Glide because I'll be damned if my fat, lazy, overly-social mitochondria are going to keep me from lacing up my shoes and running.
My mitochondria, the powerhouses of our cells, are letting me down. According to my neuro-muscular specialist typical mitochondria should be small in size with smooth edges and evenly spaced in the cell, when she called to share the results of my muscle biopsy she did not use any of those words. Instead she said things like prolific, misshapen, clumping, large. I thanked her for the compliments and told her she forgot to use the word "normal". Better luck next life.
So instead of figuring out the keys to my supposed lupus I have been given a new disease to contend with: primary metabolic mitochondrial myopathy. Try Googling that with the word "runner" and the results are not promising. Lupus was/is (because now it is unclear) a challenge but at least I have these little pills that I can take to keep it in check and I'm ready to travel to Africa at a moments notice. Not so with the mitochondrial myopathy. Right now I take a cocktail of over 30 medications/vitamins/supplements a day to try to kick my mitochondria into behaving. And like the children, they just don't seem to want to listen.