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16
HEALTHY LIFE
HEART & STROKE
May 1-2, 2013
By NANCY TOWNSLEY
Pamplin Media Group
F
or a few hours the other day I couldn’t find my heart
monitor. So I did the only sensible thing I could do: I
went on a 5-mile run.
As a late-in-life athlete (I use that term loosely, be-
cause prior to 1998 my only street cred in that department
was as a varsity cheerleader back in high school), I never ex-
pected to run a 10K, let alone a marathon. But to date, I’ve fin-
ished eight — all with what my doctors describe as a “non-
pathological cardiac arrhythmia.”
Sometimes my heart flutters like a yellow jacket caught in
a jelly jar, and other times it beats so slowly I clutch my wrist
to make sure I still have a pulse. One is known as tachycar-
dia; the other as bradycardia. For me, these heartbeat ex-
tremes are nothing new. I’ve noticed them since I was in
grade school. Doctors have never pronounced me anything
other than physically fit, weird cardiac symptoms notwith-
standing.
“You have a big heart,” one told me in 2007. I was about to
thank him for the compliment when he explained that pos-
sessing a slightly enlarged ticker
wasn’t an unusual thing for a run-
ner. The heart is, after all, a mus-
cle, and when exercised, such tis-
sues tend to grow.
Fortunately, I caught his mean-
ing before I embarrassed myself.
I was happy to have that physi-
cian’s stamp of approval, because
I was there for a second opinion.
A cardiologist I’d seen the week
prior, after landing in the emer-
gency room due to a fainting
spell, had recommended a pace-
maker.
At 49, I wasn’t ready for that,
nor for the extended period away from running its placement
surely would have dictated. I may not be Grete Waitz or Kara
Goucher, but running is an inextricable part of who I’ve be-
come. It reflects my journey and celebrates my passion. It’s
as much a part of my day as brushing my teeth, tackling a
newspaper deadline or sharing dinner with my husband.
Even though I wasn’t eager to tone down my fervor for run-
ning, I’m no fool. I’d read about marathon champion Alberto
Salazar’s close call on the Nike campus in Beaverton six
years ago, when a heart attack at age 48 would have killed
him if not for speedy medical intervention. I knew about Ryan
Shay, cut down at age 28 during the U.S. Olympic Marathon
Trials in New York City that same year. He had an enlarged
heart, the medical examiner said, and died from a massive
heart attack.
And, I’d been a longtime fan of the legendary Jim Fixx.
Credited with helping to start America’s fitness revolution
during the 1970s as author of “The Complete Book of Run-
ning” and, ironically, the man many people still point to when
trying to make a case against exercise, Fixx succumbed to a
heart attack at age 52 while on his daily jog in Vermont.
Benefits trump costs
Sobering stories, all. Since my 50th birthday I’ve experi-
enced a slow pulse and unexplained fatigue, about which I’ve
consulted a nurse practitioner. But with a clean bill of health
from a trio of doctors to back me up, and recognizing that the
benefits of running far surpass the risks — even for a person
with a quirky heart — I continue to hit the road.
The truth is, I’m somewhere between a pragmatist and a
fatalist when it comes to running. On my imaginary cost vs.
benefit spreadsheet, there are far fewer items in the first col-
umn than in the second.
Running has given me the freedom to think my own
thoughts, in a stream-of-consciousness kind of way, as part of
a cacophonous world whose demands pull me in multiple di-
rections all other hours of the day. It revs me up ... it wears
me out ... it allows me to perform better as a journalist, friend,
wife and mother ... it lets me sleep better at night.
Its gifts come in other forms, as well: a sense of accom-
plishment on days when it feels like running is the only thing
I’ve done right; the opportunity to share time with my adult
daughters when we spend an occasional Saturday morning
hitting Portland’s Forest Park trails together; amazing mo-
ments during races, when I observe one runner cheering an-
other on with a hearty, “You can do it!” or “Only a couple
more miles!”
All of it takes heart, and heart is what I have to give. I’m
not unaware that the responsibility for safeguarding my
health is incumbent on me. “Cavalier” is not a word I want ut-
tered by anyone describing my attitude toward well-being —
mine or anyone else’s.
To the contrary, becoming a dedicated runner has pushed
heart health to the forefront of my mental list of existential
considerations. During a typical week, when I’m not training
for a long-distance race, I’ll log between 25 and 30 miles. Aver-
age weekly mileage during a marathon-training season hov-
ers around 50.
A year ago, according to my running calendar, I covered
1,261 miles.
One of the beautiful things about running is that it takes so
little equipment or preparation. You pull on your shorts, lace
up your shoes and you’re out the door. But what it does take,
every single time, is heart, in the metaphorical sense, but in
the literal sense, too.
I ran my first marathon the year I turned 50 and my most
recent one this past November. I’ve tackled the hills at Whid-
bey Island, smelled the salt air in Newport, enjoyed the view
of fallow farm fields on Sauvie Island, endured the heat in
Sarasota, Fla., and trekked through the mist in Seattle.
My personal 26.2-mile record is 4:01:39 (and no, I’m not
fibbing like Paul Ryan). That finish doesn’t particularly give
me bragging rights, but it’s nothing to sneeze at, either.
I still have designs on running Boston one day, and now that
I’m in the 55-60 age group, I only need to post a 4:10.
It is, as the fairy tale goes, still possible.
Proceeding with caution
There are times I wonder, however. A couple episodes of
unexplained dizziness, along with several sharp nighttime
chest pains, sent me to a cardiac electrophysiologist — a doc-
tor who specializes in the diagnosis and treatment of the
electrical activities of the heart — at Oregon Health & Sci-
ence University in March. He’s the one who fitted me with a
Holter monitor “as a precaution” (his words) because his
read of my medical records only convinced him I’m doing
just fine. It’s basically an electrocardiogram in a box, good
for 24 hours, 48 hours or weeks at a time.
Wear this contraption for 30 days, the specialist advised. It
keeps track of every heartbeat, fast, slow or in between. Push
the button if you feel faint or experience an anomaly. Then
come back, and we’ll analyze the results together.
“A lot of athletes have arrhythmias,” said the good doctor,
his fleece vest, boasting the insignia of a well-known golf
club, the only clue to his preferred sport. “It’s probably just
something you’ll have to live with.”
So I’m wired for sound until the end of April. It’s a bit awk-
ward finding work clothes that hide the device, and it’s no fun
wearing it at night. I feel a bit like the bionic woman, only
without the million dollars and the notoriety.
I’ll go back to the doc at Portland’s South Waterfront in a
couple weeks and hear what he has to say. In the meantime,
I’ll continue to run, and to pay attention to how I’m feeling. He
didn’t tell me to stop — so at least for now, I don’t intend to.
What he did say was very wise, I thought. We all are mortal.
We can choose to be careful and not overdo. We can be con-
scious of times when we feel less than our best, and get things
checked out. But none of us is getting out of this world alive.
As an athlete, I’m naturally tuned in to my body. I’m aware
of its vagaries. I’m grateful for its power and grace. And I’ve
mostly come to a place of peace about its purpose.
Nancy Townsley is editor of the Forest Grove Times and
Hillsboro Tribune.
■
Benefits outweigh the risks for runner with arrhythmia
It takes heart to be an adult athlete
One of the beautiful
things about running
is that it takes so
little equipment or
preparation. You pull
on your shorts, lace
up your shoes and
you’re out the door.
SUBMITTED PHOTO
After the Boston Marathon bombings, the author took to the
streets to run 5 miles in solidarity with others in the running
community — without her heart monitor.