When good results disappoint
![Image](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP6DQ-bm_WwwgCi11hfSU9vR_lBhK9R3icJ-dI-oaH3O7uqYpWJvBJH1Kjiu5R2YEq-HLFI5kJ8VvYUQ3ULkeaMw6UrPf37N4E5dDHGGzLv3YtnRnNCFkDi2Rkj6hyphenhyphenRYca2-q2UZtA6QLDyHqc9ejBMqFnVoHlF8uiu4lO3Z_GsDhmRZMkJUMJnh2rgeuI/s320/IMG_6265.jpeg)
"If you don't find something you can fix, I will be greatly disappointed," I stated matter-of-factly to my cardiologist. And I was serious. Dead serious. I was laying in my hospital bed waiting to be wheeled into the cath lab to get a clear picture of what was happening--or not happening--inside those skinny little coronary arteries. If he did not find something to stent, like he did five years ago, my symptoms would have no chance of being validated. I will spare you all the details, but my running has really taken a dive over the last few months. The group of women I run with can be chatting it up having a great time, only to unintentionally pull away and leave me eating their dust. I try to keep up but it's like my engine is throttled back by a governor, heart rate zooming upwards to no avail. I simply can't go. I feel my chest tighten and throat close. I have to walk. I hate being the anchor. Lately, I make excuses to why I can not join them on those long Satu