Sandwiched somewhere in the middle of almost 16 years of major chronic fatigue, I've been a competitive triathlete for 11 years. They say endurance athletes are always running from something; in my case, it was the mysterious fatigue and weakness that seemed to follow me no matter what I did, or how healthy and "moderate" I made my lifestyle.

In the first three years of triathlon, I actually felt better than I had since my first major fatigue "crash" at age 23. And I ran faster and faster. But the Mystery Condition was running too, and it was only a matter of time before it would catch up with me again.

Now I know I have fibromyalgia. I know that my diagnosis and treatment are still considered "experimental" medicine, but the doctor I'm working with pretty much nailed everything on the head. I've been to many, many health practitioners in 16+ years, as well as before that, as mysterious infections and issues (low blood pressure/fainting, unexplained hormone imbalance, colds, flu, random bacterial infections, you-name-it) popped up at will.

During my 11 years of competition so far, I've known all along I had this mysterious fatigue condition. As soon as I thought I was "really" kicking it for good, it would have me on my back again, out of training for days at a time, sometimes in bed with a no-fever "flu" for days. One week, I'd be stronger than hell; the next, so weak I could barely use my body at all. At ifrst I bounced back, just as strong again. I did pretty damned well in a handful of earlier races. But over time, I bounced back less strongly each time. I took stellar care of my body, and trained wisely (can honestly say I under-trained rather than over-trained, partly out of necessity). I did most of my races and events at 70-80%, always feeling deep down that I was capable of much more, if I could just shake that fatigue and weakness.

Of course I tried long rest periods, "easy" training periods, long off-seasons...and sometimes I'd come out of off-season feeling a little fresher. But it never lasted.

Ad photo shoot for Xterra Wetsuits, 2007 -- How could I look so strong, and yet feel so sick?

Finally I had to drop out of a couple of races. Those moments were the worst, worse than the ominous weeks or days before the events where the flu-like syndrome started closing in. I am probably the farthest thing from a "quitter." But there's a point where your body simply fails, and you have to listen before you do damage.

There's an amazing charitable organization, based in San Diego (home of triathlon), called the Challenged Athletes Foundation. Founder and triathlon presence Bob Babbitt (also founder of Competitor Magazine) started it as a support line for people who wanted to compete in endurance sports, despite major, life-altering physical injury or loss -- from individuals who gave up limbs at birth or in childhood, to war veterans.

Bob Babbitt, founder of Competitor Magazine and the Challenged Athletes Foundation

I don't believe anyone who hasn't gone through such an experience (like myself) can really imagine what daily life is like without, say, one or both of your arms or legs. --Let alone completing a triathlon in said state. But, I feel a kind of special empathy for these athletes who overcome daunting obstacles not just to live somewhat "normal" lives, but to live life to the fullest.

I've always felt like a "challenged athlete." I trained and raced for many years in a seriously compromised state. Even on some occasions where I felt OK otherwise I missed placing first in several long-course triathlons due to multiple, disastrous stops in the porta potty. --This was despite every dietary elimination experiment in the book, plus several other types of treatments...with again, no real answers. I made it to short- and long-course world championships on my 70-80% efforts, and then had relatively mediocre performances on the world stage. --All the while knowing I was missing a few gears.

I kept going, and kept trying my best with the 70% I had, because...I'd rather live life, than sit and wait on the sidelines while still, no-one had an answer. In the face of insufficient information, it seemed the only choice.

I've been fairly quiet about my struggles for all these years.

First, no-one really wants to hear chronic complaining (least of all myself).

Second, there were sponsors, who wouldn't take kindly to knowing I was "chronically ill." 

Third, I did *relatively* well in some events, and never wanted to make athletes I was ahead of feel badly.

Fourth, I desperately needed to hold on to the perhaps-overly-optimistic belief that either I was truly getting better; or I'd finally find out what the hell was wrong and how to fix it.

Then, there was also the constant, aching envy. Such an ugly word. --Envy and even resentment of other people, who treated their bodies far from temple-like, and yet could still do 40% more than I could, without paying with days or weeks at a time of horribly depressing down-time.

True, core energy is what I've been missing. I've been blessed with so many things in my life. Yes, I was able to appreciate good things; but chronic pain and fatigue are like an ever-present bell jar (a la Sylvia Plath), dampening much of your experience.

I didn't know precisly what was wrong with me until recently; but I knew unequivocally that something was wrong. It's just that, no doctor had a productive answer, and no treatment effected change or real improvement. Fibromyalgia is progressive; symptoms worsen with time and age. I've just been running and running, and troubleshooting a multitude of seemingly insurmountable health issues along the way...until finally, I couldn't run anymore.

After eight miscarriages (including three surgeries) in a row (also with no explanation despite a plethora of cutting-edge tests), I had my second massive, long-term fatigue crash. ...And at the end of this nightmarish tunnel came some light: Dr. R. Paul St. Amand and his fibromyalgia research. First, there was Dr. Steven Eisenberg, an Escondido hematologist who really listened and watched, felt that I might have FMS, and pointed me to Dr. St. Amand.

And so, while I am not "better" yet, and I'm still in this long, dark tunnel - which must get windier and darker before it can widen and brighten - at least I believe I finally might get relief from the horrible symptoms and debilitating fatigue I've been tolerating for so long.

In the two months since my diagnosis, I've needed to start grieving the loss of so many opportunities, experiences, fun or social events, accomplishments, even potential friendships, small moments of joy, comfort, or satisfaction. First I need to acknowledge how truly hard life has felt for at least the past 16 years. It's possible I've done more than some people do with able bodies in that amount of time; but for someone like me with a curious, creative mind and love of adventure and positive challenge, stting on the couch was never a welcome option. It's like there was this ghost life parallel to my own, Diana's Potential Life That Hasn't Happened - the life I might've been living already if I weren't sick. (This is the first time I've been able to accept that word, "sick," in reference to myself.) I got to be 70% of the athlete I could be; I had maybe 60% of the overall experiences I probably would've had my energy level been "normal." Many of my private moments involved discomfort, pain or exhaustion. I never showed these to others. Even my husband never really knew until recently how truly uncomfortable I'd been all along. It's not so much that I hid it intentially from him; it's perhaps that it was too painful for me to accept.

Now I'm 38, still with no kids but a loving husband who cares so much he sometimes can't show it, feeling like life is over and that it might be just beginning at the same time. Right now in this uncertain moment, I have tremendous hope that my fatigue and pain will eventually lift, because a few symptoms have already begun to clear. What if I could feel "good" in six months, or a year?? "Epic" doesn't begin to describe that possibility.

It's time to go rest now.