Three years ago, I ran a 10k. Then I got up the next day and ran a half marathon.

My newsfeed shows me pictures from the WDW Glass Slipper Challenge.

Little did I know I had l LADA (latent autoimmune diabetes of adulthood), and within 18 months of that event, I would be on insulin for the rest of my life.

You can get insulin dependent diabetes anytime. It used to be called juvenile diabetes – and to this day, most people I meet assume I am a type 2 diabetic because I was diagnosed type 2 eight years ago.

That erroneous diagnosis got me eating healthy, and turned me into a runner. Yes, the girl who hated gym in high school, and who hated to exercise, became a half marathoner – and on this weekend three years ago, ran 19.3 miles in two days.

The whole time, my immune system was attacking my pancreas. I bought myself extra time with the healthy choices I made, but eventually my pancreas was overwhelmed.

I’m grateful beyond words that that for over 4 decades diabetes was not in my vocabulary. I have not had to live the bulk of my life with this disease.

There is still a part of me in mourning, however. I see the photo of me with no insulin pump or CGM (continuous glucose monitor) on me, and I remember when I could exercise with no worries of having my sugar bottom out.

I could eat without calculating carbs and ratios beforehand on my medical devices.

The stubborn resistance to the false type 2 diagnosis got me off the couch.

The reality of being type 1 will prompt me onward, and I will find a way to run half marathons again.

I know I’m capable.

I’ve proven it over and over.