It's Chronic Because It's Constant

I adore the sitcom "Brooklyn Nine-Nine," particularly for Terry Crews, America's most muscular softie.  The writers aren't shy about incorporating his herculean physique into the script, and in one episode, the young detective Jake Peralta makes a comment about his musculature, saying "How do you do it?"  Terry's response is brutally simplistic:  "Exercise and diet.  It's not that hard."

Jake's reply is the ugly truth no one likes to admit:

"Eh, seems pretty hard to me.  I don't think I'm going to do that."

We are rapidly approaching the end of the first month of 2019, and this is the season when resolutions start to slide.  Once people learn how much effort is actually required to achieve the goals they set for themselves, motivation tends to wane.

I'm here to tell you: it's all worth it.   All the things you do to achieve chronic wellness are worth it.

Let's start by unpacking what I mean when I say "chronic wellness."  When I was first diagnosed with Hashimoto's disease, I found myself emblazoned with the label of being "chronically ill". 

Dictionary.com defines "chronic" thusly:

1.  constant; habitual; inveterate:

a chronic liar.

2.  continuing a long time or recurring frequently:

a chronic state of civil war.

3.  having long had a disease, habit, weakness, or the like:

a chronic invalid.

4.  (of a disease) having long duration (opposed to acute).

Those last two definitions are awfully on the nose and a little hurtful.

On the one hand, having a diagnosis gave me an answer and a direction to turn for treatment.  On the other, I did not fancy the idea of being sick all the time.  I felt like I had had enough of that experience over the past year, trading a stomach virus for mono for an ear infection for bronchitis and then back to a stomach virus to relive this Moebius loop of never-ending illness.

I was going to try every single thing I could learn to do to bring my mind and body to peak health.  This is when I started my personal crusade for chronic wellness.

If you've read some of my older posts, you know how I used an elimination diet to determine my food sensitivities, and have given up all caffeine.  I drink alcohol very rarely and in small amounts.  I eat virtually no grains and have tested positive for allergies to a bizarre list of the most commonly consumed 'basic' foods.

In addition to my diet changes, I keep a strict schedule of sleep, exercise, meditation, and down time.  Virtually eliminating an evening social life has been my greatest gift to myself. 

To give you an idea of what I do to remain chronically well, here's a sample itinerary of my daily routine:

4:10 AM -- My alarm goes off.  It is entirely unnecessary for me to rise THIS early, but I actually relish early mornings and I like to take my time getting ready for the day.

I feed the cats and grab either a protein shake or bone broth.  I drink that down, plus a glass of water with vitamins, and head to the bathtub for my morning read.

4:15 AM -- I take a bath.  Really.  It's a small tub, but the hot water helps my muscles relax from yesterday's lunges and pushups.  I soak for a pretty long time while I read the book that I keep stashed by the tub for this very purpose.

5:00 AM -- I finish my bath with a cold shower for 12 breaths, and continue preparing for the day as I drink another glass of water, this time with branch chain amino acids.  I put on my gym clothes and check my work email (I go to bed early, so the messages pile up while I'm asleep).  I place my breakfast (I made it last night) in my backpack and put up my hair.

5:25 AM -- If I'm riding my bike today, I need to be getting out the door.  If I'm driving, I have a few minutes to tidy and/or journal before I leave.

5:45 AM -- I arrive at the gym for my pre-workout warmup.

6:00 AM -- Crossfit class begins.  *This* is when I do my socializing.  I spend most mornings with my friends, talking, laughing, and doing hundreds of burpees.  I have to keep my body in top shape to avoid debilitating back pain, and I believe the exercise helps mitigate the hypothyroid response to my autoimmune condition.  Fitness is medicine.  It's not everyone's idea of a happy hour, but for me, it's way more fun than sitting in a loud bar at night attacking my own liver and watching other people exercise professionally on TV.  

7:00 AM -- I perform my final morning ablutions at the gym if I'm driving (if I'm on my bike, I wait until I get to work to do this). 

7:30 AM -- I arrive at work and eat my pre-made breakfast: two hard boiled eggs and 1/2 an avocado.  I have fruit and/or plantain chips for a snack.  Sometimes I snack right away.  That's okay.  I keep beef jerky, sports gummies, and Lara bars as a backup.  (I can't eat most of the school's offered snacks, and sometimes my work days go late into the evening.)  On rehearsal days, I bring an extra protein shake and a green smoothie for 'dinner'.

8:30 AM -- The school day starts (I currently work full-time as a middle school teacher: French, Chorus, & Drama).   I put a hot water/lemon/ginger tincture in my travel mug to keep me warm and hydrated throughout the morning. 

11:50 AM -- I have lunch with the middle-schoolers.  I frequently compose a sort of dairy-free chef salad, as the main hot dish being served is often off-limits with my dietary restrictions.

3:15 PM -- My "official" workday is over.  If I have meetings or rehearsal, the day may go as long as 7PM (longer for parent-teacher conferences and evening events).   I do not go to Crossfit the following day when I work past 6PM.  I have learned to respect my limits in terms of energy expenditure and rest requirements.

4:30 PM -- On a short day, I'll be home at this hour.  I do yoga, I meditate, I cook dinner, I read, and/or I do homework.  If I didn't journal in the morning, I do it now.  Most importantly, I pack my outfit and food for the following day. 

6:00 PM -- I eat dinner and I wind down.  As you can tell by my opening statement, I enjoy a cute TV show.

7:10 PM -- I go to bed.  Really.  I give myself 9 full hours to rest, knowing that I might take a while to fall asleep or awaken in the middle of the night (I keep myself very hydrated). 

4:10 AM -- Start all over and do it again.

It's a strict regimen, but once you've been down a rabbit hole of sickness, you'll do literally everything in your power to be well, and this system is what seems to work for me.

That's where I'm really going with all this (Oh, really, Dianna? You have a POINT? That's a first).  You (and I mean YOU, the reader) have so much in your power regarding your own wellness.   It can feel daunting, accepting that your personal health is your greatest responsibility (even and especially if you care for dependents--you're no good to anyone when you're not well enough to be there for them). 

Please don't misunderstand me--I'm NOT suggesting that your medical doctor isn't a great ally--it was a medical doctor who first suggested I try the elimination diet.  It was a medical doctor who discovered my autoimmune condition.  Doctors are there for you when you are sick and injured, but they are disease-treaters, not wellness-enablers.  My ability to function optimally each day is heavily influenced by my own actions, regardless of pharmaceutical intervention or medical treatment.   To me, that is empowering.  I have power over my health.  Everyone can do something to make themselves more well.

I get it.  It's hard.  It's a lot of work.  Chronic wellness takes constant effort.  That is the very definition of chronic.

The worst part is, it never gets easier.

It would be easy for me to take just one cookie from the faculty lounge.  One slice of cheese can't do that much harm, can it? 

Then I remember the searing stomach pain, the debilitating coughing, the paralyzing fevers and fatigue. 

I don't take the cookie.  I leave the cheese.  My stomach feels wonderful, and my lungs are working.  My temperature is normal, and I don't feel like a Mack truck hit me. 

If you're thinking of backing out on your New Year's Resolutions now, ask yourself this:  why did you set goals for yourself in the first place?  What is your "why"?

I bet you.     I bet you.     I bet you.

I bet you it's worth the trouble.  

YOU'RE worth the trouble.

It doesn't get easier; YOU get stronger.

Don't give up on your goals now.  I believe in you.

image credits:  https://www.reddit.com/r/fatlogic/comments/567btp/brooklyn_ninenine_hit_the_fatlogic_nail_on_the/

Bone Broth: Liquid Gold

Bone Broth!  It's a miracle food!  Everyone's talking about it!  Hipsters are selling it out of trucks on the streets of New York!

So what's the fuss about?

Broth (bone or otherwise) is not a new invention, and its health benefits have been lauded by grandmothers and athletes alike for generations.  (By the way, if you're suuuuuper nerdy, like me, and want to understand the difference between broth and stock, this website will explain it clearly for you).  

Not all broth has bones in it--you can make vegetable broth or meat broth, or a combination of both.  There is (by the way) technically no such thing as vegetarian stock, so anyone selling it is definitely mis-labeling their broth as stock and should probably visit that website explaining the difference (don't even get me started on all the companies selling jam as 'preserves').

...ANYWAY...

In order to make 'bone broth', you need to have water, bones, and meat.  All other ingredients are optional.  The reason this stuff has gained so much popularity in the wellness world is its unparalleled nutritional benefits.  I made it a daily habit after reading (okay, listening to the audiobook) "Eat Dirt" by Josh Axe.  Not only does it give me superhuman powers, but it's delicious (I literally drink it straight up, like coffee, first thing in the morning).

You can buy bone broth in liquid or powder form, and you can also buy broth bones with meat and marrow on/in them.  My favorite way to make bone broth, though, is from a previously-enjoyed roast, especially if there's lots of skin to boil.  Most people use chicken, but as I am allergic to chicken (but not other poultry, amazingly), I use turkey.

I start by roasting a turkey.  I generally roast about one or two turkeys a month--it's way easier than most people think.  Really.  Yes you *can* brine or wrap in bacon or spatchcock or whatever other business you want to do.  Or, you can just yank out the giblets and stuff the bird in the oven for a few hours, maybe with some veggies.

Ta-Da.  Easier than pie.

Most turkeys come with some prizes inside:  

neck + organ meats

Some people like to do special culinary things with these.  I just toss them in the broth after we've eaten the bird, so in the meantime, they go in the freezer.  The hubs and I can do a fair amount of damage to a smallish turkey in a week:

mostly devoured bird

So, you've roasted a turkey and eaten a turkey.  Congratulations.  It's been a week, and now it's time to get even more bang for your buck by boiling the heck out of its carcass, with the aforementioned giblets and neck thrown in for extra measure.  Fill your roasting pan with water and let boil/simmer for multiple hours (at least 4, as many as 8).  Should you add other ingredients?  Vegetables, spices, salt?  Maybe, if you want to.  My turkey usually has some residual spices and a few veggies floating around the pan.  I generally don't add any further ingredients.  If I add salt, it's post-process.  Consider this--if you add salt now and decide to use your broth in a reduction later, you're going to get a verrrrry salty reduction.  For that reason, I advise against adding salt in this step, though a few nice veggies (onions and celery are great) can give your broth some flavor dimension and added nutrition.

bubble bubble toil and trouble

Strain out the solids with a colander, strainer, and/or cheesecloth, and you've got yourself a magical healing brew!

Wonder Woman mug optional, but recommended.

I keep the broth in the fridge for up to a week.  Don't be alarmed if it becomes semi-solid in the cool temps--that's protein-rich gelatin setting up, and it's really, really good for you.  It will re-liquify when you heat it.  Broth can be stored in the freezer for an absurdly long time--I guarantee you'll want to consume it before it could go bad in there.  Just be cautious when using glass containers to freeze liquid, as it will expand when frozen.  Leave the lid off until the broth has become completely solid.

Bone apétit!

Me Too

Content Warning:  sexual assault

In my last post, which was mostly about running, I briefly mentioned my experience of being attacked on the street by a stranger.  I did not go into detail, as the post was about running, and it didn’t seem necessary to extrapolate.

And then came the Kavanaugh hearings, and with that came the flurry of social media activity that comes with such things.

And along with millions of Americans, I found myself stewing, boiling, trembling, and remembering.

And along with millions of Americans, I find myself compelled to share.

I was 20.  I was riding the bus home from the center of Nantes, France, to my host family’s house a few miles out of town.  I’d ridden the same bus dozens of times, sometimes in the wee hours of the morning.  It was a nice neighborhood outside of a quiet city.  I was nearing the end of my semester-long stay, and this evening was our school’s farewell party.  It was around 1 in the morning when I got on the bus, after a dinner and dance cruise with my friends and teachers; we sang ‘New York, New York’ with a table full of French strangers.  I was wearing a floral lavender skirt and Mary Jane shoes with a 1” heel.  I carried a black leather purse over one shoulder.  The lights in the bus were bright and I casually glanced around the blue seats to see who else was riding home after midnight.  My eyes lingered on a man whose vest reminded me of the vests my boyfriend (now my husband) liked to wear.  I might have smiled slightly, lost in my thoughts of being soon reunited with my love.  I barely registered the fact that the stranger looked back at me.

This is my stop.  I get off the bus.  As I begin walking, I hear footsteps behind me, just a little faster than I’m walking.  I don’t look back.  It’s a free country.  He can walk as fast or as slow as he wants.  The footsteps speed up.  He sprints.  He throws his arms around my waist, hands clumsily reaching for my pelvis as he drags me to the ground.  I land hard on my knees, and I think to myself as time stands still:

“This is happening.  This is the moment when I get raped.”

I scream.  With 10 years of singing and acting classes to support my voice, I scream:  “Arrêt!  Laisse-moi!”  He instantly releases his hold on me as I watch the lights in the houses along the street turn on.  The entire neighborhood is awake now.  He runs.  His footsteps get farther and farther away until I can no longer hear him.  I stand up and take inventory.  The purse, which had been dangling loosely on my shoulder, is still with me.  I’m unharmed.  Even my stockings aren’t ripped.  He ran away.  I'm okay.  It didn't happen.

I decide I’m not a victim tonight.  I refuse to run.  I walk the rest of the distance to my host family’s house and let myself in.  They are awake.  They heard the screaming, and they feared it was me.  I tell them what happened.  We all thank our lucky stars it didn’t end worse.  I go to bed and fail to sleep.

I reported that attack the next day.  My host parents took me to the police station where I pored over hundreds of photos of men who all looked very similar to my attacker.  None was him.  I’m sure he was never caught.  When I returned to college in the states the following semester, I began taking Tae Kwon Do (I later also dabbled in Muy Thai and Kung Fu), swearing that the next time I was attacked by an unarmed man, I’d make sure he didn’t get away.  I never did more than a year or two, and I'm far from having lethal hands, but I could break a nose if I needed to.

I am a very fortunate person to be able to say: that was the worst aggression I’ve ever experienced.

It wasn’t the only.  Of course it wasn’t the only.  I’ve been female my whole life, after all.

There was the high school church sleepover, where one of my classmates saw an opportunity to slip his hands into my pajamas while I pretended to sleep, paralyzed with fear and shame.  I later found out he had done the same to my friend.  Neither of us breathed a word to anyone.

There have also been the many minor physical offenses, the drunk older men on the Essex Steam Train who saw high school drama club students as easy targets for wandering hands when we were performing for Halloween.  There was the friend at the New Year's party who saw my festive top as an invitation to grab a handful of my bosom.  In front of his wife.  In my kitchen.  There were the strangers in NYC who pressed themselves against my backside on subway trains, using every bump in the tracks as an opportunity to push a little harder.  There were the middle school boys who snapped my bra and slapped my behind as part of some point-gaining pursuit with their cohort.

And let’s not forget the cumulative psychological effect of “micro-aggressions”, the countless catcalls and comments:  the boss who had something to say about my ‘décolletage’ when the summer heat and broken air conditioning coaxed my sweater off.  I haven't fogotten the boy on the bus who called me a ‘flut’ (that’s a combination of ‘flirt’ and ‘slut’) because my blouse had slipped to expose my bra strap.  And in spite of my advancing age, I still get calls from bros on the street shouting out of their cars, thinking it’s hilarious to make some comment about how lucky my bicycle is because it’s between my legs.  

So.  If sexual aggression and assault are so common, why do women refrain from reporting?

Because.  Because it's SO common it's normal.  Because the aggressors are often our friends, our family, our colleagues, our bosses.  Because it will hurt the community.  Because it brings up shameful and embarrassing feelings.  Because for generations we’ve been taught that it’s our fault.  Because we’ve been conditioned to see feminine sexuality as dirty, and male sexuality as predatory.   Because we’ve trained women that it’s their responsibility to protect themselves from men’s uncontrollable desires.  And when women do report, they get dragged through the press and social media, and frequently nothing happens.

Of course it’s not all men.  

But it’s so many women. 

So. Many. Women. 

Is it any wonder we’re finally choosing to speak out? 

The Long Run Day : an itinerary / existential crisis

Disclaimer: in the year 1998, I was attacked on the street while walking home one evening.  I was jumped from behind and tackled to the ground by a man who had followed me off the bus.  He was definitely not reaching for my purse when I screamed at the top of my lungs to stop and leave me alone.  The lights in the houses along the street lit up at the sound of my mighty holler.  He immediately ran away, and I was fortunate to escape without so much as a bruise.  I am one of the lucky few who can say they got away.  Many women's stories have far worse endings.

Running while female has always been a risky endeavor, and when I make reference to recent events in this post, please understand that, although the overall tone of this post is humorous and light, there is nothing light or humorous about the risk of being attacked by a stranger on the street.  Ladies, be vigilant.  Run with a buddy when possible, and avoid poorly-lit or unpopulated areas.  Gentlemen, if you see a woman jogging alone on the street, put her mind at ease by leaving her very alone.  Avoid eye contact.  Keep a generous distance.  Look at your phone.  Do anything to reassure her that she is not the least bit interesting to you.  She will be watching you like a hawk.  Don't do it back.  And for the love of all things holy, if you are jogging, do NOT come up behind a woman to pass her.  Cross the street or find another road to jog on.  No, it's not your fault that she sees all men as potential threats, but stories like mine (and far worse) are so common that it's in her best interest to assume you are a predator, and you can be a helpful citizen of Earth by doing everything in your power to reassure her you're not.

Thank you, and we now return you to your regularly scheduled blog.

In this post, I will be taking you through the process of a Long Run Day, which looks different for every runner.  Some athletes can roll out of bed and pound out 14 miles with little preparation or recovery.  I am not one of those athletes.  

Join me as we start our day:  Sunday, September 2nd, 2018 (a retrospective)....

4:30 A.M:  The alarm goes off.  It's going to be hot today, so I need to run early, while the temperature is still humane.  I get up.  I question my reasons for choosing to train for this marathon.

4:35 A.M:  I weigh myself.  I am attempting to assess how much fluid I lose through sweat on these long runs, so I weigh myself first thing in the morning and right after the run.

bone broth

4:40 A.M:  I heat up a cup of homemade turkey bone broth (instructions coming soon to a blog near you!).








4:50 A.M: I stir up a protein shake with glutamine and collagen, and a vitamin cocktail with branch chain amino acids.

protein shake

vitamins and BCAAs

5:00 A.M:  I spend the next hour consuming (and then un-consuming) the approximately 2 liters of liquid fuel I've just prepared while intermittently stretching and rolling my legs and back out on the torture device also known as the 'foam roller'.  It's genetically related to the demonic tennis ball I use to roll out smaller muscles, and the devil's golf ball I use to roll out the bottoms of my feet.  I perform my morning ablutions.








6:00 A.M:  I pick out today's running outfit.  This is more important than you might think.  Not only do I have to consider form, fit, and function, but I have to match my socks to my shorts and headband, because I like to look put together for the Instagram selfie.  The armbands are made of repurposed knee-high stockings with the toes cut out to help curb armpit chafing.  (Running is super glamorous.)

6:15 A.M:  I mix up the gatorade, and prep the "energy chews" (runner's candy) for the duration of the run.  I fill one thermal bottle with ice water, mostly for rinsing out the mouth when my teeth start knitting sweaters.  After my hyponatremia experience during the last half marathon I ran, I have learned to avoid drinking much water in favor of sports drinks with electrolytes (it's got what plants crave!) and the results have been successful.  No more barfing and cramping.  (Running is super glamorous.)



6:25 A.M.:  I get my phone all set up with podcast and running app, and I step outside to place the running refreshments on the stoop.  It's still cool and the sky is overcast.  Sunrise was 5 minutes ago.

6:30 A.M:  My husband, who rolled out of bed fifteen minutes ago (he's one of THOSE runners) steps outside to join me.  The rubber hits the road and we start our first 5k loop.

6:41 A.M:  I took that first mile a little fast.  I slow down.  I'm saving my juice for the 2/3 push at mile 10.  Sebastian Junger is talking to Joe Rogan about how happy he is without a smartphone.  My smartphone lovingly tells me how far I've run, what my average pace is, and the time of day.  I wonder if I would be happier not knowing.  I question my reasons for choosing to train for this marathon.

6:55 A.M:  I have to pee already.  Hydration is tricky that way.  I want to keep my pace slow to start, but it's a mile and a half back to home and I'd kind of like to hurry.  I try to relax and keep my pace slow and steady.

7:10 A.M:  I take the first of what will be two potty breaks (to be expected when I only give myself and hour and a half to hydrate before running.)  The husband waits outside, stretching.  He is a camel and has consumed about 3 ounces of fluid this morning.

7:20 A.M:  I notice that not many people are out right now.  I remember that, for most humans, this is considered an early hour for a Sunday.  I've been awake for nearly three hours already.  I wonder what it would be like to be the kind of person who sleeps in till noon on the weekend and meets friends for brunch when the sun is already past its zenith.  I remember that, while I love friends, I hate brunch.  I notice that the sun is burning through the clouds.  It's getting warm.  Sebastian Junger says that social media is destroying our culture and making us solitary creatures.

7:45 A.M:  I start to realize the ramifications of my earlier realization.  There are very few people on the street, and I notice what a dangerous time on a Sunday this is.  My neighborhood is relatively safe, but so was the suburb where I was jumped 20 years ago.  I thank my husband for joining me this morning.

8:15 A.M:  Now the sun is really out.  I'm breaking a sweat.  Last week was squat-intensive at my CrossFit Gym.  Self-pity is telling me that my legs are getting tired.  No, they're not.  Yes, they are.  No, they're not.  SUCK IT UP AND DEAL, DIANNA.

8:20 A.M:  I question my reasons for choosing to train for this marathon.  I question my reasons for running at all.

8:30 A.M:  4 miles left to go.  I take another pee break, wanting to finish the run in relative comfort.  The husband tells me he's going to do small laps around the block to finish his 4 miles.  I tell him I'll join him.  I last one lap and decide that I can't handle the shortness of the loop--it's too maddening to be that close to home.  I decide to run on my own.  We kiss and split up for the last 5k.

8:35 A.M:  It's hot.  I question my reasons for choosing to train for this marathon.  I question my reasons for running at all.

Sebastian Junger describes the neurochemical benefits of practicing generosity.

I remember one reason for choosing to train for this marathon.  I remember the 280,000 breast cancer patients desperate for a cure.  I remember that we still have $3,500 to raise for our campaign for Team Think Pink Rocks.

https://www.crowdrise.com/o/en/campaign/think-pink-rocks-2018-tcs-nyc-marathon/adamdiannabaritot

I dig a little deeper and remember that I'm not even halfway through 26.2 miles.  I'm not tired.
Sure, I'm not.

8:40 A.M:  I notice that it's still pretty quiet on the streets, but that one guy is looking me straight in the eye as a car pulls up alongside while I pass him.  I reassure myself chances are slim that I'm about to be abducted.  Try not to think of Mollie Tibbets.  I cross the street.  Another guy looks me straight in the eye.  Run faster.  Get off this street.  Get off this street.  Get off this street.  Turn the corner.  Run faster.  Your legs aren't tired.  You're fine.  I glance back ONE time (because you're not afraid you're not afraid you're not afraid.  You're just checking.)  No one there.  Of course not.  You're fine.

I slow down and start to relax.  The sun is bright and it's getting hotter.

8:50 A.M:  Sebastian Junger is done, and now Russell Brand is talking about his battle with addiction.  This podcast is depressing me.  I switch to 'The Dollop'.

8:55 A.M:  These comedians are annoying me.  I'm tired of listening to people talk.  I decide I don't like podcasts anymore.  I put on Spotify.

9:05 A.M:  Spotify just Rickrolled me.  I chose wisely.

9:10 A. M: I move my phone into my hand as I tick down the last tenths of the last mile.

9:15 A.M: 14.2 miles done.  I stop the app and walk back home (I like to finish a few blocks away from home for a post-run stroll).  I take a little video for the 'anti-social media' (as Sebastian Junger calls it).  My legs become more and more cramped the longer I walk.  Home gets farther and farther away.


I question my reasons for choosing to train for this marathon.  I question my reasons for running at all.  I question my reasons for existing in this universe.

Nothing matters.  Everything matters.  We're all made of stars.

9:25 A.M:  Selfie time!  Existential dread cured by Instagram.  I meet up with the husband and we take our weekly "please please please help us raise money to fight breast cancer" picture.  I feel good about my outfit selection.

https://www.crowdrise.com/o/en/campaign/think-pink-rocks-2018-tcs-nyc-marathon/adamdiannabaritot

blueberry kombucha

9:30 A.M:  I peel off my soaking wet gear and weigh myself.  I have lost three (net) pounds of liquid since the start of the day.  I begin my re-hydration with a bottle of homemade blueberry kombucha (more on kombucha coming soon to a blog near you!)









I spend the rest of the day napping, lounging in the hammock, and sitting by the fire.  Because my legs aren't very tired a lot at all.

I take to the internet to beg anyone who will listen to please, please, please help us raise money to fight breast cancer.   We really do need everyone's help; even small donations can make a big difference to our cause, which was chosen in honor of the too-many friends and family we have known to become unwitting warriors in a crusade for their own wellness.  The link below will take you to our Crowdrise site, and if you prefer to send a check, please send us know, and we can give you the instructions for donations by check.  A million thanks to everyone who has helped us so far, and thanks in advance for the gifts yet to come.

https://www.crowdrise.com/o/en/campaign/think-pink-rocks-2018-tcs-nyc-marathon/adamdiannabaritot