I’m hanging on to see where this one goes 
looking forward to the results.
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Yep, I agree with all of you, and here is another good quote from Eric’s post. Of course, Eric IS an athlete and endures the tough training but the will to win is icing on the cake!!
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And of course, @Eric is also a master of the written art of suspense!
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The Coordinator
Before I go on, I want to mention that the research coordinator who was working on all of this was extremely conscientious. A very diligent, caring, meticulous, and organized person. I have nothing but praise for her.
It was not her fault there would be a lunatic on her treadmill. That was my fault.
Continuing now…
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Training
I usually train happy and race angry. This one was different…
I made a deal with myself early on. If my body could not do something, that was okay. But I would never quit on a workout just because my brain said it hurt too much. Physical failure was fine. Mental failure was not.
Something that a lot of people misunderstand about race training - you don’t train so that the race doesn’t hurt, you train so you can tolerate it. Yes, it was physical training, but an equally important part of it was the mental training.
A couple times a week, there were workouts I would dread. I had names for them - the brutal mile, the beat-down, treadmill madness. An intense mix of speed and inclines.
Initially I would dread those days. It took a while, but eventually over time the dread left. It was just acceptance - today’s a day I get my butt kicked. No fear, no dread, no apprehension. Just a normal part of the day. Come on down and get your whipping.
The other days were a mix of distance, base miles, or recovery runs. The concept of a 10 or 12 mile easy day became somewhat funny to me. Speed, incline, intervals, threshold, tempo, distance, recovery runs, base miles…over and over.
Sometimes I would set my mp3 player on preview mode. It would play only a part of each song every 15 seconds, and then go to the next song. I would just try to get to the next song, that was all. It didn’t matter how much I had left, or how far I had gone. The only thing that mattered was trying to get to the next song. Just 15 seconds more. Anyone can run 15 seconds. You can run forever in 15 second bits. Just more mental training.
I built a rack for my treadmill so that I could increase the incline. When my son was helping me put the treadmill on the rack, he said, “Dad, this is insane.” And I told him that sanity had left long ago.
The workouts would hurt. But I learned to embrace that pain. I would wrap it around myself like a warm soft blanket.
Many times my workouts would end with me lying on the concrete, enjoying its cool embrace which told me I was done. Sometimes I could stand up right after I was finished. Sometimes I couldn’t. And occasionally, the hardest part of the day was trying to remove my running clothes when I finished.
On some days I would be too tired to stand in the shower, so I would soak in a hot bath until the water turned cold, and I had to try to pull myself out of the tub.
Putting on Biofreeze at night became routine. Often time I couldn’t sleep at night, the adrenaline from the workout would be pouring in and it would take me hours before I could fall asleep. I’d wake up the next day and do the whole thing again.
40% temp basals became pretty much standard. No sense in calling it a “temp” basal if it’s going to last for days, weeks, or months, right? 
I tried to cut as much weight as I could. I’d eat big on the hard days, and eat nothing on the easy days. I dropped a bunch of weight, to make it easier to get up that treadmill. It’s easier to run with less weight. A hungry dog runs faster…
One of the things I noticed was a huge drop in my A1C. It had absolutely nothing to do with my control. I was shocked at the number. I didn’t think I was managing the diabetes any better, it was only because of how inhospitable my body had become. It was a horrible place for any cells to live. My red blood cells didn’t last long.
This A1C was not a measure of diabetes control at all. It was nothing but a measure of how hard I was pushing my body.
I am not advocating any of this. I was pushing the limits on everything.
But in all of that time, I never once felt weak. I was Diabetes Strong. Without even knowing it, I had been training 47 years for this.
I was on fire now. Ignited on every run. Totally consumed by it. At that point I had to take a few months away from FUD, I could offer nothing here.
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Wow, intense! That says it all! I wanted to ask how in the world could you manage your BGs through all of this, but then you answered. A permanent, temp basal! I’m anxious for the next installment of your training!
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That is getting serious…
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I understand your feelings, and i respect them completely; however, you always have something to offer us. ALWAYS!!!
i am so happy that you are sharing your experiences with us. you are a major building block in our FUD community. you are priceless. 
i know that i am not alone in these feelings!!! and i, personally, am so grateful for having a human being like you in my life. you have been an inspiration and a teacher. guru and hero. and i say this knowing that it will not inflate your ego, as i know that you are one of the most humble people i have ever known.
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Would’ve paid good money to see this.
To have both the mind to think this way… and the skills to carry it out…
Out of your entire account so far, I have to say this is the only part I have a hard time believing.
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I know it’s meant for the parents, but I’d be a liar if I said it’s not just what I need to hear.
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I completely get this…
Just not as good at it. 
I know you’re talking about running here, but this feels like my relationship with diabetes. Not in a negative way— which is what one might think with the come on down and get your whipping, but just the general acceptance of it all. And the learning to shed the fear, dread, and apprehension. I like this a lot… I’m going to let this one sink in.
I admire this thinking. There’s a lot of determination in this thinking.
Wait… you mean you were gone?? 
That was a much nicer response, and I couldn’t agree more.
I appreciate this magnificent demonstration… of everything from attitude to knowledge and skill, but I would like to second what I hear @daisymae saying— and that is that you demonstrate these things every day. I can’t speak for the parents in here—can’t be sure of what they’ll get from it— but I can tell you your stories, your presence, and your energy are an unlimited source of empowerment for diabetics big and small—and are immovable. Every day.
Enough of that. You’ve gone away, done something crazy and gutsy and heroic, and I can’t wait to hear the outcome. And to hear the three words. Haven’t forgotten about those…
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I’d say there’s a solid takeaway for everyone here.
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A Glimpse of Possible
As hard as I was working, I still wasn’t there. In my workouts I had not been to the “end” yet. I hadn’t even seen it.
It was two weeks before the test, and I was still about 50 seconds or so away. That was a lot of time to pick up, and not a lot of time to do it. It was starting to look like the test designers really knew what they were doing with the breaking point.
With two weeks to go, I got something in the mail. It was all I needed. It strengthened my heart more than 1,000 workouts. It was a card from a precious little one here, wishing me luck.
I can’t describe how wonderful I felt reading it, and how much more it made me want to do this. It amplified my intensity and directed my focus on the true reason for this insanity - I had something important I wanted to say, and this is how I was going to say it.
After reading it, I went to my treadmill and set myself on fire.
And on that day I finally caught a glimpse of possible. 17 seconds away. Still a lot of time, but at least I could see it now.
My last hard workout was 7 days before the test. After that point, there was nothing else I could do. As they say, “The hay is already in the barn.” Any further workouts would only move me away from the target. I needed to rest.
That last week of waiting is frustrating. It’s a time when even the smallest kernel of doubt can grow, and you don’t have the hard workouts that normally prevent it from spreading.
A few days before the test, I saw this quote. I tucked it into my heart for the remainder of the time I was waiting. It carried me through the last few days.
The night before the test, I slept like a baby. It was the first time I slept well in months. I slept straight through for 8 hours. No worry, no fear, no doubt. Just sleep.
I woke up in the morning. It was test day…
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The power of love and caring can be the one thing that inspires us humans like none other 
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It was her version of your kneeling talk after your marathon–when you told her she could be anything she wanted to be. She was giving that back.
And, at the risk of ruining this very uplifting post, to appease my obsession of numbers… did you see the end in that last workout?? You mentioned 17 seconds that day… but then said you had a hard workout 7 days before…… and I’ve gotta know. Did you go into 7 days of waiting knowing you did it?
I’m very nervous for you. Though it does help to know you obviously survived.
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My final hard workout was not an attack on the end. I wanted to do something that helped me both physically and mentally. So I ran a workout I had done previously, and I was able to increase the number of repeats and the duration of the repeats I had done before.
So I left that final workout with a big confidence boost. But I still had not been to the end.
I knew that gaining confidence at that point would help me. But if I tried to get to the end and failed with a week left - and no opportunity to redeem myself before the test - it would be devastating.
It’s not just physical exercise. It’s mind games.
She will never know this. None of them will know. But all the little ones here - every single one of them - was with me on test day. That treadmill was crowded.
And I will share the picture that shows it.
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participating in something like that to just see where u measure up is awesome. Can’t wait to hear more
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Test Day
Since I was not going to be on a pump, I had practiced my Levemir a few days before the test to try to get it dialed in. It was perfect during the practices, but game-day is different. I kind of figured I’d have some adrenaline spiking in the morning and leading up to the test. I had prepared some diluted insulin in a vial for doing micro-boluses when driving down to the test and before I went in, and I ended up needing to take quite a number of injections to counter the adrenaline.
I had come up with the best plan for breakfast, which would be my pre-test meal. Usually for a race I eat 2 hours before the gun. That lets me carry some carbs and IOB into a race. It helps for fueling and to counter the adrenaline.
It’s one thing to be waiting in the corral for the start of a race. You can test freely and eat sugar and inject insulin. Nobody cares.
But this test was different. I couldn’t do any of those things in their sight. I would have one chance to use the restroom before, but after that I’d be hooked up to the machines and they would be doing all the pre-test setup, and I couldn’t do any adjustments. This was a challenge. Additionally, once the oxygen analyzer mask was on, I would not be able to consume any carbs or even drink water (or my secret “water”, which was the stealth sugar-water mix I mentioned previously). So no testing, no CGM, no pump, no insulin, no carbs.
In my mind all of that was okay. It would just be a way of making it fair to the non-diabetics.
So I settled on doing breakfast 3 1/2 hours before. Just to try and remove the IOB and carbs. I would not have the normal race fuel, but that’s just how it had to be, considering the circumstances.
Since my pre-test bathroom break would come an unknown time before the test (to allow for machine hookup and setup), I could not take very much insulin before to counter the huge adrenaline spike I was anticipating. I had no idea how long it would be before starting the test. I felt like a 100 point spike is what I would see from the adrenaline.
My last BG check in the bathroom before hookup was 114, and I took a 0.15 unit micro-bolus from a syringe. That would be it for the diabetes until I was back in my car.
(It ended up that it was about 25 minutes between the time of my last BG check and bolus, and when I started running, so it was a good thing I did not take a larger bolus in the bathroom.)
Without any insulin to counter the adrenaline spike, I would get no benefit from all the glucose that would suddenly be dumped into in my blood. Nothing I could do about it. I would have to do it all on muscle glycogen alone (muscle glycogen needs no insulin to fuel you).
Again, that might make it a little more fair to the NDR’s.
I checked my pulse frequently while driving down to the test. My resting pulse was double the normal number. I was pounding. Body and mind were anticipating. It had been 7 days since my last hard workout. I could not wait to be uncaged. My body yearned for what it had grown accustomed to.
I can’t really describe what it felt like when I walked into the hospital. I was in a zone, with a thousand-yard stare. I could feel the confidence radiating all around my body. I felt incredible. I was just an animal now.
I had some preliminary talks with the researcher. My mind was not really there for the questions. I could process very little of what she was saying. The friendly, talkative, relaxed and very chatty Eric she had previously encountered was gone. It was a Jekyll and Hyde transformation that certainly made no sense to her. I was glaring, fire in my eyes.
She checked my pulse and blood pressure and commented on how much higher it was than what she had normally seen for me. She asked me if anything was wrong and if I still wanted to do this. (She was so very kind and concerned about me). I said yes. She asked me to sign the release, and then asked me a few more questions. I was giving her a blank stare and she had to say things several times to get my attention. I was no longer “in there”. She wasn’t talking to me, she was talking to the shell of my body now.
One of the things I had planned ahead was to cover the treadmill display. I had little post-it notes in my bag to cover it. The treadmill was automatically controlled by their computer, so the display was not needed. I asked for permission to cover the display, and they said I could.
They may not have understood the reason, but again, it’s more mind games. Looking at the time would make me think how far I had gone, how far I had left, the current treadmill incline, etc. I did not want any of that. Time did not matter. Thinking that I had 2 minutes left, or 1 minute left, or I had gone 17 minutes, none of that would help me.
None of that mattered. My equation was very simple - if the treadmill was moving, I was running. Nothing else mattered. I blocked the numbers out. None of that mattered, so I removed it from my mind.
After I covered up the entire treadmill number display, I had one last thing to put on there. A picture.
For all the other test subjects, they were the only ones on their treadmill.
But I would have some help. I would not be running alone. I had a guarantee. I taped this picture on the treadmill.
And then the treadmill began to move…
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Eric, this is awesome. and if you ever decide to give up your day job, you could always become a writer and go into publishing. taking us through your journey is one thing, but doing it so masterfully is quite another…and you are.
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Getting teary-eyed at this point. Hearing this story and seeing, and feeling your unwavering love and care for the little T1s is truly humbling and to know it’s what gave you the “heart” (the drive) to do this insane thing is truly moving.
I can’t wait until Liam is old enough to grasp the significance of this project.
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