Speed Demons: T1D Triumphs at the Soap Box Track
Lily Randolph and her dad, Ed Randolph, live in Wallkill, New York, a town about 65 miles northwest of New York City. This is their type 1 diabetes (T1D) story, told through their perspectives. It’s a tale of how a shocking and sudden diagnosis has led to personal triumph. It’s also a story about going fast and paying attention.
Lily
My name is Lily Randolph. I try to outrun my competition. This is my story.
Where to start? Well, I’m 10 years old, and I live in Wallkill, New York. In November of 2016, without warning, I started to show all the symptoms of T1D. By early December things had gotten much worse, and my mom took me to the doctor. We were immediately sent to our local hospital. While at Vassar hospital in Poughkeepsie, we were informed I would be transported by ambulance to the pediatric ICU in Albany. I rode in the ambulance as my mom followed. We both were scared.
At Albany I met a bunch of nice doctors and nurses who explained to us what type 1 diabetes was. They told me how I was going to need insulin for the rest of my life. My dad and my sister were on their way along with my grandparents.
Ed
Getting a phone call that your daughter is being rushed to Albany pediatric ICU is not a call any parent wants to receive. Upon arriving we were ushered into the emergency room, where my bean (that’s Lily) said, “Hi, daddy, I have diabetes.”
I was overwhelmed by emotion. All I could say was, “It will be okay. How do you feel?”
“I have Band-Aids on every finger from them pricking me,” Lily said. “They hurt.”
It was a long and painful night for my Lily bean. Her mom was by her side the entire evening. The next morning her sister (Emma) and I went to see how she was. I gave Lily a hug and asked her how she felt.
“Daddy,” she said. “Please make the needles stop.”
I broke down with my baby in my arms. It was the one thing she had asked for, and I knew I could not in any way provide it. She cried. She was scared. She had never seen me cry before—well not since the day she was born, which I don’t suspect she remembers.
As parents, it was time for us to learn about T1D. We had to get up to speed on how to make her life with diabetes as high quality as possible and fast. I started to notice how resilient and observant Lily was when the doctors talked to her about what she would have to do going forward. She had always lived an active lifestyle, whether it was figure skating, racing go-karts, playing soccer, or immersing herself in science and art. While she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to do these things any more, her doctors reassured her that with monitoring and correction she could.
After a couple more days in the hospital, Lily was released. She came home and started to live her life with T1D.
Lily has always had a big and compassionate heart. Once she got caught taking a handful of markers on the bus. When her mom asked her why, she said, “A little girl on the bus lost her markers and was crying because her mom would be mad at her. I want to give her some of my markers so she doesn’t get into trouble.” I’d like to think compassion is a family trait. We have a small BBQ company, and we try to help out as many charities as possible. It was right around the holidays, and shortly after her diagnosis, when Lily approached me and asked if we could do something to help raise awareness of T1D. I hit the Web to find a way to help and quickly discovered Beyond Type 1, the perfect platform and organization I was looking for to help my daughter spread her word.
In the meantime it was important for Lily to get back to a normal routine. She needed to see how a life with T1D could be similar to what she’d been accustomed to before. From snowboarding to snow tubing to kids’ BBQ competitions, it was about regaining normalcy in our lives. We went to the local indoor go-karting track, and we spent an afternoon racing. My bean is fast, and she took to it again the moment her feet hit the pedals. For a day she forgot about her diabetes.
We returned to the track a few weeks later. After a brief run in the kids’ karts, someone at the track suggested she race the larger cars with the teenagers. Really, I thought? She was only 10. Those kids were 15 and older. The cars had twice as much horsepower. Terrified, I reluctantly agreed after Lily assured me she would slow down or pull to side of the road if she felt uncomfortable.
Lily didn’t just feel comfortable, she set the second-fastest time and finished third in that day’s race. I could see Lily’s smile in her helmet as her cheeks were squished against the visor. I told you my bean was fast.
There was a national soap box derby qualifier coming up, and I thought that would be a great time to bring Beyond Type 1 into the fold with us. After a few emails we had an agreement in place. Lily would be driving the Beyond Type 1 car (number T1) at the Port Jervis Soap Box Derby. By now Lily was using the Beyond Type 1 app for reference and to make new friends. She also set about educating her current friends. When she tests her blood glucose levels (BGLs) it’s like she’s holding court. The other kids gather around to watch, and she explains to them exactly what she’s doing.
We received such great support from friends and family leading up to the race. Especially from the LeBlanc family. Dave builds great cars and is a wealth of knowledge. Kim is the glue that holds the team together. And their boys, Donovan, Devin, Dayton and Dylan, are all involved in the sport and past champions. The family took Lily under their wing and prepared a car for her that would suit her style.
Lily
The Port Jervis derby is the largest local soap box derby in the world and it was a blast getting ready for it. We worked hard, practicing, getting the car right, practicing more. After practice each night, my dad and I stopped for an ice pop (only 13g of carbs). My life didn’t feel that different. I like to go fast and have fun and that’s exactly what I was doing.
The car Dave prepared for me was a chassis I’d raced with and won in before. Even though I was really comfortable in it, I was still really nervous on race day. But I didn’t tell anyone. I did my stretches, got in the car and went down the hill sitting as low as I could and trying to be as smooth as I could.
I made four qualifying runs down the hill trying to set one of the top 24 times (only 24 cars qualify for the eliminations). After my runs I had to wait for a long time before they announced my division. I had plenty of time to test, have lunch, then wait a bit and test again before announcements. Each time I tested the group of kids watching got bigger.
Finally it was time for them to announce the 24 cars that qualified for the super stock division. The first car the announcer said was T1. The first car they announced was me. I was so happy. Later my dad told me I was the fastest qualifier.
I won my first two races and was headed to the quarterfinals. It was like 95 degrees out, and I was trying to stay cool. My dad made sure I tested, and we kept my numbers between 130 and 185 all day long. I had to race a teenager, and I was worried. He was bigger and had won the event before. My dad told me a bunch of stuff I should do. Then he said, actually, don’t do any of it, just go fast. I went down the hill twice and beat the kid both times.
I was in the semifinals now. That meant I’d at least get a trophy and my name announced. But after another win in the semifinals, I wanted to win the whole thing bad. Really, really bad. We tested, and I had some Scooby Snacks to get my sugar up. Then it was time to put the Beyond Type 1 car on the starting line.
I lost the first race by just a little—they said it was almost a tie. To win the championship I had to win the second race. They dropped the gate, and my T1 car flew down the hill. And just like that, I won.
Now I get to go to Akron to compete for the world championships in July. There’ll be 500 new kids there, and I can’t wait to meet them and inform them all about T1D.
And, in case you were wondering, yes I did make my dad stop for an ice pop after the race. It is tradition after all.
Read T1D Parental Guilt: A Parent’s Response by Cole Fenske.
