Having diabetes and being an athlete are so similar that they seem to run together in the person that I have become.  Every day I test my blood sugar; everyday I train.  Neither endeavor has a definitive endpoint, only a set of vague ideals and semi-relevant standards of goodness.  Both absorb every ounce of effort that I put in, returning disproportionately small rewards, tiny events that can only be celebrated on an extremely personal level.  I take insulin, complete a workout, and then I wait.  I listen to my body, evaluate the effect, and analyze how to do it better.  I am always adjusting.

There is no owner's manual for the body.  An endocrinologist cannot prescribe an exact amount of insulin that will, over twenty-four hours, ensure perfect blood sugar levels, just as a coach cannot guarantee that his program is the best for my goals.  Both having diabetes and training are unique to the individual; no two people can count on the same insulin or exercise regiment delivering even slightly similar results.  There is no universal standard of "diabetes success," just as there is no single way to measure one's level of fitness.

No can tell me how to optimize my body, so I have to figure it out through an exhaustive process of trial and error.  However, there is more to lose than there is to gain, so I make small adjustments to stay safe.  Nothing is more frustrating than when things do not work out, such as when I spike unpredictably or miss a goal in a race.    Yet, these setbacks are unavoidable, and although that does not remove any of the frustration, they can only be overcome with levelheaded, open-minded analysis and reasoning.  Sometimes, there is no cause for a scary low or heavy legs, in which case I have to redirect all that frustration to getting it right next time, tomorrow, next year.

I run, swim, lift, bike, and ski.  I have raced cross-country, swimming, and track, 5ks, 10ks, 10 milers, and half marathons.  I have run two 13+-mile mountain ascent races and countless trails.  I have competed in winter triathlons, summer triathlons, snowshoe races, cross-country ski races, and even a ski marathon.  I consider myself an endurance athlete- the longer, the better.  My performance improves as the course unfolds, and I often find myself clocking negative splits.

Having diabetes is its own sort of endurance sport, a prolonged effort that requires constant focus and flexibility.  However, there is no finish line.  This struggle epitomizes endurance: "the power to withstand hardship or stress."  I wake up everyday, searching for fresh resolve to put in the time and energy to properly manage my diabetes.   

To be diabetic athlete is to communicate constantly with the body.  I have learned through both my training and my disease to listen to my body, down the most subtle clues it gives me as to what is going on.  I have learned to trust it instead of fight it, and to appreciate it instead of tolerate it.  Having diabetes and being an athlete have become so entangled in my identity that I struggle to imagine one without the other; I am not sure if I am athlete with diabetes or a diabetic who trains.  Either way, it is all about endurance for me, and I am in for the long haul.