Friday

This is what I'm fighting today. Fatigue. I worked a nine and half hour clinic yesterday, straight through. I stopped for some grilled chicken tacos, leaving most of the soft taco shells for the garbage can, concentrating on the veggies, salsa and protein instead. I watched a netflix movie and fell into bed around ten last night, thinking I might get up and run but instead let my alarm jolt me up at five so I could be ready for the operating room if needed.

I know the coffee I poured into myself all day today wasn't helpful. Although I'm tired, I have an underlying tremulousness that speaks to anxiety over an unresolved situation that lurks outside my control. I'm trying to find new living quarters, I can't get a straight answer about my retirement account and exactly when I'm vested. A friend asked me for a loan and I had to turn her down. I think that bothered me the most, knowing that she was in trouble and I simply couldn't help her. Some things are simply out of my control. Again, I come back around to that simple fact.

So I get to what is within my control.

I am looking for a new place. This one has become unsafe, a poor value and the lease is up in a few months. I will preview one house this weekend and am talking with an agent.

I signed up for a 5K next weekend. I need to be around other people having a good time. Races are happy places.

I'll talk to a real person at my retirement fund - I won't stop until I get a real date regarding my employment and my money. It's mine, after all.

Less coffee, more running. It's a goal.

My Circled Path

Distance: 3 miles
Start time: 10:15 am
Run Duration: 29:30 minutes
Pace: 9.77 minutes/mile
Temperature: 78 degrees (air conditioned)
Humidity: ?
Location: Gym at my apartment complex

"Are you in town and are you hungry?"

"Yes, and yes."

We arranged to meet at four and we didn't shut ourselves down until close to ten. The plan was to take advantage of happy hour at our favorite sushi place, save a little cash while we caught up on her recent travels (Paris!) and have a couple dollar-fifty saki while we were at it. Happy hour didn't start until five, so we passed the time with edamame and hot rice wine and then ordered off the special menu when the place started to fill up with other cost-conscious diners. We'd had time to fill each other in on the occurrences of the last month or so and to put out the words that we needed someone to hear.

Lonely. Worried. Angry. Surprised. Afraid. Hurt. Sad. Sad. Sad.

We've known each other for six years. We've been through ups and downs where we wondered if our friendship would survive. We always have.

We are both grieving. But we are both survivors.

We finished our dinner and realized it was still quite early. I told her that I planned to run in the morning. She smiled, "That's going to be difficult if we move on to someplace else tonight."

We moved on to another place, and another. We ended up in a quiet spot listening to beautiful music, jazz piano and bass. It's the same spot where I met the man who would eventually cause me to spend so much time in sadness. Life is such a circled path. I asked for a glass of the wine I've enjoyed there countless times. They've taken it off the menu. It was time for a new choice.

She and I poured over the menu, she asked me about why I would choose one wine over another, what makes a cab a cab, a merlot a merlot...it was just the discussion I used to love to have. It was just the discussion I still love to have, I'd simply forgotten. I settled on a peppery shiraz.

Our conversation was interrupted when I heard the pianist break into the full perfect chords of Bacharach's "This Guy's In Love". I turned toward him and smiled and he seemed surprised that anyone would recognize the song. It's always been one of my favorites. I asked him to play "Nature Boy" by Eden Ahbez, popularized by Nat King Cole. He did. It was lovely. I felt myself healing a bit last night.

Two women sat together last night. One experienced the death of her father, a break so fierce that time and distance have been necessary to firm her up again, to allow her to sit with her beautiful smile and shine outwardly. One experienced another kind of death, perhaps only perceived, but a death all the same. Time and distance have allowed her to hear the music that she loves and let it soften the heart she has hardened against future assault.

Jumping on the treadmill this morning wasn't necessarily easy. One saki, one martini and a glass of wine. Much, much water. I'm smart enough not to have done this in the heat.

Today I lift up my gratitude for Bevilee and for our continuing friendship after all these years.

Wake-Up Call

Distance: 3 miles
Start time: 5:40 am
Run Duration: 31 minutes
Pace: 10.33 minutes/mile
Temperature: 80 degrees
Humidity: 87%
Location: Memorial Park, Houston

I decided to set the alarm and get a run in before work today. The traffic was great getting there, not so great getting home. Gotta dash and get my day started. Just a couple things.

1. The men who run without shirts in the morning have my "yes" vote - contrasted to the vast majority of those who run without shirts in the afternoon/evening. Of course this morning was the first time I've really given it any notice or thought.

2. Cologne and perfume do not make up for lack of a shower. Don't do it. Ick, people. Just ick.

Are We What We Eat?

Distance: 3 miles
Start time: 9:35 am
Run Duration: 32 minutes
Pace: 10.67 minutes/mile
Temperature: 83 degrees
Humidity: 84%
Location: Rice University Track, Houston

I watched "Food, Inc." last week. Brilliant movie. I'm an independent film junkie so I'd been waiting for Angelika to bring this one to town. It was worth the wait. I come from farm country in Kansas and I thought I had a decent understanding of feedlots and grain farming. Wrong. I will admit that this film is obviously presented from a certain viewpoint and many of the corporations discussed weren't officially represented, but many times the narrator stated that Monsanto, Purdue, or Tyson declined interviews.

Since viewing the movie, I've been very aware of my food options and I realize - as I type this - that I haven't eaten any beef in a week. I'm not opposed to consuming beef (I don't think I am, anyway), but I absolutely don't want to consume corn-fed beef anymore. I picked up a brochure this week that listed local restaurants that serve grass-fed beef, so there are options.

I'm logging my dietary intake at mypyrimad.gov. The site allows me to track not only calories, but also essential nutrients and it's been very helpful to me in noting where I've been deficient, especially calcium. (I underwent a hysterectomy 8 years ago and am at risk for osteoporosis.) I'm also logging my runs at the site and I can see how my physical activity translates into caloric needs. It's helpful to me.

So, back to the movie. Another change I've made since watching "Food Inc." is to try to purchase more organic products. It's not that much more expensive, given my desire to eat fresh food at home instead of eating out in restaurants. I'm stopping by the grocery on the way home from work and purchasing the ingredients for salads. Fresh fruits are a sweet treat in this hot weather. Something's working. I'm feeling better, my clothes are certainly fitting better, and I'm taking more of an interest in what I eat. I feel more active about it, more involved - less passive.

Thursday night, I was at dinner with a couple of friends. While waiting for our meals to arrive, I mentioned that I had seen the movie. The response I got from one was, "I wanted to see it, but I was afraid I'd want to change the way I eat."

O.K. I smiled and waited for my fish, my spinach and my lentils.

Miss(ed) Manners

Distance: 3 miles
Start time: 8:30 am
Run Duration: 31 minutes
Pace: 10.33 minutes/mile
Temperature: 83 degrees
Humidity: 67%
Location: Rice University Track, Houston

Yesterday's clinic brought one tragedy after another and I felt used up. I was happy to meet friends for sashimi and a movie and I fell into bed, knowing that I should set the alarm in order to beat this morning's heat. I didn't. I woke at 7:30 and decided that traffic would be too daunting at Memorial. Besides, I was done with people. I'd had enough interacting. Rice seemed to be a better choice for a more solitary run.

I tuned into NPR to listen to the news because I haven't taken time to download any new instrumental stuff. That's a goal for this week. No words. No memories. Not right now.

The Rice path is only wide enough for 3 walkers/runners abreast. I'm not sure why people don't fall back (if they're walking or running in a group of 3) and make room for an approaching runner. What's happened to manners? Is there some sort of strength in numbers? It's only common sense, isn't it?

There were so few people on the path that it wasn't a case of crowding. I see this often. I see it happen to other people. It's not just me. It happens to bicyclists on the road, too. There, the safety issue is magnified.

This morning a couple was approaching me from the opposite direction and would need to pass a man who was also running toward me. Rather than wait for the man and I to pass each other, the couple kept running (side-by-side) and edged me off the path. I really don't get it.

Anyway...

Better things about this morning: A man rode by on a bike. It was an old fashioned Schwinn. Baskets in the front and back, all decked out with flowers. I shouted out to him. "Beautiful!" He smiled, waved, and kept on riding.

NPR reported on Fred Hersch and his return after battling AIDS. It's an inspiring story.

http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=106979404

Today's run felt good. I'm going to use it to remind myself to do what's right, to treat others how I want to be treated and to keep what's really important in front of me at all times.

All That I Can

One foot in front of the other. I'm doing all that I can. Today I am grateful for waking to health, for a stimulating career and compassionate colleagues. I am thankful for time with friends who are simply happy to spend the evening with me, breaking bread and lifting my spirits.

One foot in front of the other. I'm doing all that I can.

Connection

Today was for stretching. I woke up and went through 20 minutes of Sun Salutation, Warrior, and Triangle with the Nintendo Wii. I've taken formal yoga classes and done yoga on my own. I like the Wii for a few things, but mostly for making me be accountable to myself. I'm so OCD. The poses felt good this morning, I was able to push gently, easing into my stretch yet not straining.

I had a massage at 10:00 at Massage Envy. It's a company that offers a monthly membership at a pretty good rate. I've had a membership for several years and I pay $49/month and receive 1 massage, then each additional is only $39. It's a good deal for me. I asked Samantha to concentrate on my back and shoulders. A long surgery Monday left me pretty sore from holding retraction. She worked out a few knots. I noticed, as she moved from one side of my body to the other, that she left her hand on me and trailed it across - never taking it from the surface of my back. I asked her to explain that to me. I thought I knew why.

"It's so we don't lose our connection, right?"

"Well, it's more than that. I don't want you to get stressed." She adjusted the bolster under my knees. "Right now this room is dark. You're face down. You don't know where I am. This way you always know my location. This is important when I'm trying to help you to feel better. It's really about your vulnerability. I know you're very vulnerable right now. You shouldn't need to worry. You might not even know you're worried, but your body does. I'm here to take care of you."

All I could do was thank her for her explanation. It wasn't time for more words. I couldn't have produced them anyway.

Losing touch is not the issue, keeping touch is. I don't know what to do with this today, other than write it. I need to write it. It feels like it needs to be examined, perhaps there is more yoga to be done (without Wii) tonight, or a session of meditation/prayer. I am in need of connection.

Tuesday Evening

Distance: 6 miles
Start time: 6:45 pm
Run Duration: 1 hour 12 minutes
Pace: 12 minutes/mile
Temperature: 90 degrees
Humidity: 72%
Location: Memorial Park, Houston

I wavered. Should I run tonight - in the heat - or wake up early on my day off and brave rush hour traffic. I opted to hydrate as much as possible, enjoy a wholewheat pasta salad and head for the park. I got stuck in traffic anyway. I very much didn't want to give up a chance to sleep in tomorrow.

It wasn't so bad. I was hot, but not miserable. I'm finding that my body isn't the problem. It's my mind. I had my MP3 player with me and my old favorite music was distracting, even disturbing. I was becoming sad as I ran, and I started to run out of steam. I actually felt the urge to walk and did so for about a quarter of a mile. I finally turned off the music at mile 4, listening instead to my footfalls. Almost immediately, running became easier. I needed to get away from words and associating my run with my life situation.

In the past I've used exercise as a way to not deal with the emotions that are constantly welling up within me. I've used food in the same way. I don't have what I need to solve certain problems at this time. Basically I can't solve the problems. Only time will. This is an old problem for me. I see a problem, I want to solve it. I want to act. If I can't, I want to do something. I find it difficult to sit still.

This knowledge (of the need to act) can only be helpful to me. I need to remember to identify my motivation for action in order to stay out of trouble with this training.

As I sat in a huge traffic jam trying to drive out of the park, a cool breeze blew through my open windows and I was hit with a feeling of pure joy. I don't know if it was from endorphins or what. I only know I felt happy and free. Lovely. I want more.

What, Me Rest?

Seriously, I don't rest. I'm supposed to rest today. It's there, in black and white, on my training schedule. Rest.

I was (by my own admission and overblown ego) the best Anatomy and Physiology tutor to grace the halls of Hutchinson Community College. Point to a muscle and I'll name it. Frank Netter was my hero. I understand the Krebs Cycle. I know about lactic acid buildup in muscle tissue. I don't, however, like to admit to the truth about my own personal anatomy or physiology. It will break down if not given the opportunity to recover. It holds no special magic over the enthusiasm that would cheer me onto prolonged daily workouts, damaging the goods and spoiling any hopes of future endeavors.

I'm excited and want to get out and run. I won't today. I looked at Zappos website and am considering purchasing my next pair of running shoes online. They've got free shipping - both ways. I know what I like when I run so it seems to make sense to go that way. Registration is already sold out for the Houston Marathon and Half-Marathon, so I'm glad I got in. Record setting registration this year.

Tomorrow is a long run.

Hotcake Sunday

Distance: 3 miles
Start time: 7:05am
Run Duration: 31 minutes
Pace: 10.33 minutes/mile
Temperature: 71 degrees
Humidity: 97%
Location: Memorial Park, Houston

Houston was hit by a major storm last night. My electricity went out around 7:15 and was off for nearly 2 hours. With the initial flickering of the lights, I held my breath and when the apartment plunged into darkness, I was sent back to those long weeks without power after Ike. I tried to remember where I put the flashlight. Moving around in the dark, not knowing which way was where, I stubbed my toe on the coffee table. I'm not ready. As my rooms started to heat up I tried to decide if it would be better to open the windows or save what precious cool air I had in the place. Thankfully, power was restored.

The rain brought lower temperature, but much higher humidity and my run felt like it this morning. I ran the entire distance, but I felt sloggy. Is that a word? I ran on an empty stomach. Not smart. I ate dinner at 4pm yesterday. Well, I guess it was a late lunch. I don't know. Yesterday was a weird day. What am I saying? Everyday is similar to that. When I'm working, I don't always get lunch. Sometimes, if my coworkers are in the office we dash out and grab a sandwich - that's a good day. We eat at our desks, check email and answer phone calls if they come in (and catch up on our personal business, let's be honest). If I'm in my clinic, I throw back a can of Slimfast. And coffee. Lots of coffee.

My refrigerator is stocked with a few fruits and veggies. Some milk. Champagne in case a celebration breaks out. Soy sauce and salad dressing, assorted fancy condiments, not much else. I knew I needed breakfast so I decided to stop for something on the way home. I rarely eat fast food. I know it's not good for me, so I tried to think of what could be the least BAD for me. I ordered the pancakes and scrambled eggs at McDonald's. And a medium coffee. I found the nutritional breakdown here. http://nutrition.mcdonalds.com/nutritionexchange/nutritionComparison.do

My breakfast was 740 calories, 220 from fat, no transfats. I got 845 milligrams of sodium from the meal. There were 23 grams of protein. It could have been better. It could have been worse. Looking through the McDonald's menu, I see so much sodium and I also see foods that I'd never, ever eat. I simply don't go there and I'm really not happy that I went today, but I was hungry.

I need to be be prepared. Hurricane or hunger, I need to be prepared.

Sunrise

Distance: 3 miles
Start time: 5:45am
Run Duration: Don't know (didn't wear a watch, I was in my car and moving again after a short cooldown and good stretch by 6:30)
Pace: Felt like about 9.5 minute miles
Temperature: 80 degrees
Humidity: 73%
Location: Memorial Park, Houston

I set my alarm for 7am. I was awake at 4:30. I didn't want to run in the pitch dark because I've heard of bad things happening at Memorial but I wanted to beat the heat and it made sense to run as early as possible. I laid in bed long enough for my obsessive mind to send the demons into my belly and to start sending the recent tremors there that have never previously lived in my body. I hate anxiety. It doesn't belong in me. I had to get out of bed. Off with the covers and into the shower.

Today starts my training for the Aramco Half Marathon. The race is January 17, 2010. I have 6 months to get ready and to do it the right way this time. Last time I tried this I ended up wrecking my left achilles tendon and in physical therapy. I didn't take the appropriate amount of time in PT and had a very long recovery period. Work came first. This year I have a crazy amount of vacation time on the books - because I hardly took any the last 2 years. I worked my silly butt off, including working a part time job (teaching kickboxing at the Y) the entire time hurting physically. I told my therapist that I couldn't come to appointments three times a week, but honestly, I didn't take a chance and ask for the time off from my surgery job. I was afraid to rock the boat and ask for time off to take care of myself. Big mistake.

This year is different. I'm smiling as I type this.

I'm planning a slow, gradual train. Start with 3 miles at a time. Work in a few 6 mile runs as the weeks go on, then add long runs once a week. I also know how to keep my supporting muscles strong and flexible - thanks to my Physical Therapist. I've got core muscle workouts. I feel more prepared.

This morning, as I rounded into the last 1/2 mile, I was tempted to go around again. My mind told me that 13 miles is only a little over 4 times what I'd already covered and I felt good. My mind is a mess. I have a lot of work to do if I'm going to make it through to January in one piece. Rest, nutrition, hard work, more rest. Oh, I also need to calm this mind. That is an entirely different matter. I will be addressing that issue, to be sure.

Inspiration

Sometimes writers are life preservers as the sea of life wakes over me. Thank God for books on the shelves and for each new bit of prose and poetry - and for those willing to share them with the rest of us. Most of my life I've been able to pick up a book and step away from well...my life. I guess I learned to read when I was about three years old. I know I was reading when I started Mrs. Welch's kindergarden class. Books provided an escape from a life too confusing and chaotic for a little girl to consider. If I was reading, I was quiet and not asking questions. I was out of the way. I learned the value of that state of literary involvement early in life.

I will never forget the day my grade school librarian told me that she wasn't sure where she could get more for me to read. I'd exhausted her rotating supply of materials and I believe I'd exhausted her.

My decorating choices always center around books. There are shelves in every room and I spent more money on my lawyer's case with the glass front than I spent on my couch. Priorities.

As I matured I started to use books less as camouflage and more as tools to allow me to move out of my hiding places. I devoured cookbooks and began to enjoy cooking for the sake of the art itself, rather than the act of putting on an event for strangers. I went back to school and looked at my books in an entirely new way. They were the key to my future. I knew that I could escape out instead of in if only I'd learn what was written on those pages. I can only describe it as a mix of hunger, fear and yearning. I knew how vitally important it was to use those books. I can remember sitting at my kitchen table and being surrounded by five, six, maybe even ten books at a time. I was surrounded. As I moved through the years, I moved my books (my lifelines) with me.

Now I realize that holding on to a physics text from fifteen years ago isn't necessary. If I need to find a formula for acceleration, I can search for it online. I am drowning in books. I even have books on treating drowning. I don't work in emergency medicine. I haven't set foot on an ambulance in over six years. I've been selling my books and I've even thrown some of the most worn away. The only books I hang onto are the ones that touched me. They aren't difficult to identify. They are the ones that I'd put down while reading and wish I could call someone and say, "Hey! You've got to hear this." They are the one that have my scribbles in the margins, that I've underlined. They induce thought.

This week I wrote a piece called, "I Am." The intent was to let an emotion speak in human voice. I issued a challenge to writers to do the same. They came through with many works. The titles included: "Grief", "Hatred", "Poignancy", "Happiness", "Sensual", "Rage", "Impatience", "Suspension", "Unimaginative", and "Sorrow."

I was humbled at the immediate response to my challenge, thrilled at the variation on the theme and at the talent displayed by my friends. I remain most grateful and inspired.

Personalizing an Emotion - An Exercise in Writing

I Am




I am a tincture poured into a chalice.
Your breath across the rim of the ruby-colored
glass sends a ripple that
breaks the surface
and we wait together for
calm’s return before you drink me in.

I am cotton
and linen
and silk.
Each time you hold me to your skin
is both new
and familiar.
Each time you hold me to your skin
you mourn my leaving and
you crave my return.

I am the flutter of the breeze
against the petals by the walk as the
blades of grass stretch to the sun
and dew holds your feet to the lawn
as you stand with newspaper in one hand
and coffee mug in the other.

I am moans and sighs and laughter.
I am the trill of mockingbirds as they
busy themselves over their nests
while you notice the tiny ones in the Magnolia out back.

Lost

I finally got down to it. A decent (if I do say so myself) article was coming along - several pages in, way past draft and into revision. It's gone.

I was offered help when I ran into problems. I turned it down. I am a very stubborn woman. Rats.

Lesson for the day: Accept help when it is offered.