An Open Letter to the Man at the Firestone Store

Dear Sir, 6/10/20

I watched you approach the seating area and I waited to see where you would choose to land. You weren’t wearing a mask.

There were many (at least a dozen) seats available, yet you chose to sit about 6 feet away from me. I was wearing a mask.

Almost immediately after sitting down, you stood and walked to the service counter. I moved to a different seat (about 15’ away from yours).

During the next 20 minutes or so I saw you:

Set up your laptop on a small table. 

Move your jacket over to a chair by the table. 

Try 2 different plugs for your power cord.

Approach employees at the store and ask them about the WiFi password.

Set your laptop on a counter at the center of the store.

Sit down in yet another chair and talk on your cell phone.

Your phone conversation was not discreet. It was held in the waiting room of a business open to the public. You told someone that you “tested positive but I don’t have any symptoms”. You told someone that you “have to work from my hotel room for 14 days to satisfy my employer.”  I heard these things. I also heard that your hotel smoke detector chirped all night and you are being moved to another room.

When the manager brought me my paperwork, I told the manager what I'd heard. I told him I’d have to leave my car and come back later because I couldn’t take a chance and wait in a room with an unmasked person who stated he tested positive. I told the manager, “Good luck with that.”

The manager immediately asked you about it. He directly asked you if you’d tested positive.

You said. “No, I don’t have Covid 19. You need to mind your own business.” You and I both know what you said on the phone. It’s absolutely my business. It's also the business of every person you interacted with this morning.

Oh, sir. I sincerely hope you remain symptom-free. I sincerely hope you don’t have to go through the terrifying experience of becoming breathless. I sincerely hope you don’t have to be placed on a ventilator and I sincerely hope you don’t die from COVID19.

I hope even more that you don’t infect someone. I hope that their family members don’t have to go through the pain of losing a loved one. I hope you don’t cause someone to become so sick they lose months and months of time and are unable to work at all. 

Most of all I hope you (somehow, someway) felt a tiny bit of awareness during our uncomfortable encounter this morning. I hope you are led to responsible behavior regarding your fellow human beings.

Most Sincerely,  Michelle Scofield, Houston, TX

Real Life Application of CrossFit Theory for a Grandma Who Lifts

Why do I CrossFit?

Let's use today as an example.

I completed my appointment at the World's Largest Medical Center and made my way to my car. Earlier this morning, I parked on the 6th floor - toward the top of the parking structure. At 8:30 am, I had my pick of spaces and there weren't a lot of cars on that floor. By 10:00 am, the place was jam-packed. As I approached my space, I realized I had a problem.  Although my car was easily between MY two yellow lines, a big ol' red extended cab pickup was parked just inches (maybe 2? maybe 3?) from my driver's side. He was angled over the line and into my space. A sedan was on the passenger side, also over the line and into my space.

Well, shit.

I took a minute to assess the situation and, happily, looked up to see a security vehicle making the rounds. I flagged the officer who got out and he immediately started shaking his head.  "Yeah, that's not good."

I had to laugh at the way he summed it up.  He called the Texas Medical Center police switchboard who said the Parking Department would have to handle it. He jotted down a phone number for me and went on his way.

Again. Shit.

I tried to call the parking department but the number I was given wasn't in service.

Big breath. Oh, look! Here comes a TMC police cruiser.  The police officer stops, gets out of his vehicle and asks me if I'm a good driver. Hell, yeah. I'm a good driver! I told him I used to drive an ambulance in Kansas - sometimes in the snow. "Great! You can do this!"

Let's talk functional fitness here. And heart rate control. And following direction. And trust. And teamwork.

We folded up the mirrors of my car and the car to my right. That left a sliver for me to eek through but I had to do a squatting/limbo kind of move to even enter and THEN I had to balance on my right foot while I wiggled my way in to get a foothold on the floor of the passenger side. Once there, I only had to crawl over the console to get into the driver's seat. Whew!

I was kind of wound up by then. I needed to be calm and listen.

Windows down so I could hear instructions. Deep breath. Concentrate.

Inch by inch, we worked together to get the damned thing out of that parking spot. He gave me corrections, I made them. When I finally got clear (without a scratch to any of the cars), we cheered together.

This entire episode literally mirrors my White Board and WOD experience every time I go to the gym.  Gather information, pay attention to the details, trust in the coach, listen and make adjustments as needed, celebrate achievement.

Seriously, celebrate your damned achievements! Life is too challenging and too full of possible disappointments not to cheer when you can.

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

This summer, my financial times aren't tough but neither are they golden. I've worked fewer hours. I had to buy a couple tires for my car. Insurance prices have increased. And so on. And so on. And so on.

I pulled my purse strings as tight as I could but still couldn't eek enough out of my budget for a summer vacation. No early morning walks on tropical beaches for me. No second (or third) cocktail at a bar on a cruise ship where I didn't have to be concerned about driving the next day. No "yes-I'd-love-dessert-after-my-steak-dinner" dinners.

I accepted my situation but was also feeling a little deprived.

What to do?

I signed up for summer camp.

No, not the kind of camp where you make keychains or learn to code or ride gentle horses.

I signed up for an Olympic Weightlifting class.  Actually, it was 6 weeks of twice a week classes. When I saw the notice for the class, I was immediately interested. It worked out to less than nine bucks a class. I would be making a commitment to drive across town in evening traffic but it beat sitting on the sofa all summer long.

Lifting has become my favorite part of CrossFit. It appeals to me for reasons I'm not entirely clear about but when I see strict presses or deadlifts on the white board, I'm excited to get to them. I think it may boil down to my competitive nature. I may not be able to run as fast as most and burpees wear my ass out quickly but I can hold my own in activities that require an element of brute strength. I get a little thrill out of seeing that I'm posting a relatively high number when we report our scores for a lifting workout. Still, complicated technical lifts have been known to intimidate me. Remember, I haven't been squatting much since a big arthritis flare in my knee sidelined me in November of 2017. Also, I may be one of the only people who ever hurled a PVC pipe at the athlete in front of me when going through snatch drills. I'm not the most coordinated person you'll ever meet. Intellectually, I thought an Oly lifting class would help me "get the steps down".

So, back to the actual Oly lifting class. When we gathered for our first session, the coach asked us to state our goals for taking the class. I opened my mouth and out fell my vulnerability.

"I want to have less fear and more confidence."

Where did that come from??? I'd told it to hide deep down where I was the only one that knew how I really felt. Yup. I was afraid of hurting myself and I wasn't confident in my ability to move more weight safely. So much for looking at my motivation intellectually. Isn't that how it often goes, though? We have these sunny, positive goals that are safe to put out for general inspection but when the deep, dark, scary stuff is exposed...

There's a fine line between humility and shame.

Each class, I was forced to examine my weaknesses and my strengths. There's no hiding when you're one of a handful of athletes under the watchful eye of a skilled coach. Grace saw everything and it became easier to trust my physical AND emotional learning to her. I can't begin to imagine the vast knowledge she has around lifting - and more importantly - around coaching lifting. I don't need to imagine it, I've been living with the outcomes of her application of that knowledge.

I fully committed to her programming. I attended each class and did the homework. As the weeks went by, I began to marvel at my accomplishments. Yes, I can squat. Yes, I can squat much more than I thought. And yes, I can perform snatches and cleans with much more weight than I ever imagined possible. I'm still not comfortable with split jerks and given my knee situation, I may never become so. I'm OK with that. Deciding to do a push jerk instead of a split jerk comes down to that humility vs shame thing. I'm good with being the strongest humble athlete I can be. I'm not good with being an injured athlete who is ashamed at not knowing better.

So, that's what I did on my summer vacation. One of the best yet.

Thanks to Grace Lin for being such a great coach and to CrossFit Central Houston for providing such a valuable program.  Also, thanks to Viv. She's about the best lifting partner a gal could ever ask for. I like to travel with friends, and she made this staycation one for the books.

Let's Talk About Age

My 59th birthday is approaching with force and velocity over which I have no control.  For some reason this seems like a bigger deal than 60.  Maybe I'll change my mind next year but at some point (in my 40s, maybe?) marking decades began to take on more importance to me than marking years. After next Friday, I'll start rounding out my 5th decade. Although I don't have an expiration date stamped on me,  I am aware of an underlying sense of urgency about my life and my accomplishments.

Birthdays are funny.  We go to bed one age and wake up the next day another. We haven't actually aged a year overnight but we sometimes act as if that's exactly what happened.

I'm not 58 years old. I'm 58 years and 360 days old.  Not quite ready to call it quits.

I had a text interaction with a friend earlier this week that initially caused me to bristle. Long story short, she told me I'm an inspiration and she hopes to be "as dedicated to fitness in my later years as you are at your age." It's not the first time this person has mentioned my age to me and I was, honestly, a little stung.  Here was a young, beautiful, strong woman telling me I was...let's just say it...old. It hurt a bit. But, why? Why should I be hurt by someone stating her truth?

Giving it a lot of thought I've come back around to the 1st line of my 2nd paragraph (above). Age is approaching with force and velocity over which I have no control. Anyone who knows me will tell you that loss of control is crazy-making for me. Take a look at my linen closet and you'll realize that I'm a woman who likes order. My spice cabinet is an even better example.  Allspice is left of basil which is left of cardamom, etc, etc.

Aging is an unknown. I have no idea what might come first or what might not come at all. There are  shit-tons of variables lurking in the upcoming decades: illness, financial challenges, climate change, political upheaval, loss of friends/family.  When will my hair finally tip over to full-on gray? How deep will these wrinkles get? (Why, oh why, do I always come back around to the physical?)

So the question is: How do I control something that is uncontrollable? Time -by definition - ticks on.

I prepare for it. That's how.

I nourish my body and my relationships. I get stronger. I stock up on what I'll need to make it through those challenges. I build muscle. I build friendships. I build my reserves.

"Old" is not objective. It is a subjective construct. When I was 25, I thought 60 was old.  Recently I've shifted more to thinking 80 might be old. A few weeks ago I attended an 80th birthday party for a friend who does yoga daily and works at a fairly demanding job. Each time I see her, she's impeccably dressed. She's not old by any measure. So, 80? Not so sure anymore. Perhaps 90.

Getting back to that text conversation. I bounced my immediate emotional reaction off my brother (a wise man of 57) and he advised me to cut her some slack. It's a matter of perspective. I don't know why my friend thinks I'm in my "later" years or even what she means by "later".  Her life experience is as much a mystery to me as mine is to hers. My mom died at 45. I don't have a close frame of reference for "later". Such a smart guy. We (my brother and I) joked about just how very kick-ass we will be when we're 80 and beyond. I look forward to that.

I'm also looking forward to relishing each day as it comes. With maturity I've honed in on what brings me happiness and what detracts from that state. I'm grateful that some of the very activities that help me live longer also make me happy. My goals for the next year:

Lift heavier
Live lighter
Get stronger
Try harder
Listen better

Quantifiably, I have specific lifts with target weights I'd love to hit before I'm 60. I think a personal record (PR) of 300# in deadlift is reachable for me and I have plenty of room to improve my back squat, bench press, and strict press.

Every day is a PR, when you think about it. We wake up and we've lived 1 day longer than we'd lived yesterday. When I look at it this way, "later years" sounds pretty good. I hope my friend who unwittingly pushed me to putting these words out there for all to read knows how much I appreciate her. This is about my truth and I'm grateful she helped me get around to it.

Anniversary

On August 1, 2016, I stepped into a new world. I was terrified of many things: the equipment, my lack of strength and coordination, the strangers who might judge me. I had an abject fear and loathing of team sports participation. I signed up for an introduction to CrossFit at my son's urging (encouragement? prodding?).  A lot has changed for me in 2 years.

This afternoon I was thumbing through my CF journal where I keep a record of the workouts and my weights/times.

2 years ago my deadlift weight was 25#.  I could bench press 45#.  Light weight kettle bell squats were too much for me, I modified to air squats. Weighted overhead squats were virtually impossible due to instability and immobility.

The first few months of journal entries are sprinkled with happy faces, occasional sad faces, notes regarding painful joints, "next time"s, "atta girl"s, and lots and lots of exclamation points.  I was still learning the language and had no grasp on acronyms so I wrote out EVERYTHING.

After a while, I started marking the margins with asterisks.  *Did a box jump! *Hero WOD. *Benchmark.  *PR!!!

When my knee pain became more than I could/should handle, I saw a doctor and had to modify many of the workouts. The coaches were great about helping me switch things up to avoid further injury and to strengthen surrounding muscles.  They worked with me on technique and mobility. I didn't squat for a very long time. In reviewing my journal, I see that I started setting more and more PRs when I started taking care of myself.

My participation in the 2018 CrossFit Open was actually FUN!  For 5 weeks, I looked forward to Thursday nights (when the next workout was announced) and I enjoyed pushing myself to be as fast and strong as I could be. Spending time recovering from joint damage (at least acutely) gave me the confidence to complete a couple of the Open workouts as prescribed (as opposed to scaled). I placed better this year than last and I'm looking forward to 2019.

I'm lifting much more weight now. I'm mostly past my social anxiety, and I enjoy partnering up for some workouts.  I try to welcome newcomers to the gym as soon as I see them.  I'm much more accepting of my body and look at joint limitations as a challenge rather than a hindrance.  I'm still not a big fan of the schoolyard-type games that we sometimes play during warmup.  (Everything is dodgeball to me. Everything.)  I play along, though, knowing that it will only last a few minutes and then we're on to the fun stuff.  I've made real friends at the gym. My social circle is brighter for it.

Likely related to my strengths and weaknesses, I've developed a fondness for strongman exercise and some weightlifting.  Sure! I can carry that heavy thing from point A to point B. Let's go! I get a silly little thrill when I realize dead ball cleans are on the schedule. You want me to lift something over my head? Yes!

I have a new understanding of discomfort related to time. I can do almost anything for just 1 more minute - no matter how fatigued I think I am. Working out in a facility without air conditioning has made me appreciate sweat. It means I'm working hard and (I tell myself) it's also great for my skin.  I've become more tolerant of being uncomfortable and I think I've gained some perspective about actual pain. Perhaps...I've become a little tougher?

Back to that team sport thing.  Encouraging, high-fiving, cheering, competing (with and against)...all of these things are activities I've kind of missed out on my entire life. I'm surprisingly thankful for them now. Go, team!

My CrossFit journal is almost full. Time to buy a new one. I can't wait to fill it up.

Week 5 Update - Numbers Driven

For those following along, I've completed 5 weeks of a vegan diet.

Workouts:  5 CrossFit classes.
Percent vegan diet: 100%
Weight: Minus 14 lbs since May 7.
Mood: Good.



For now, it's all about the numbers.  This picture speaks loudly to me.  That's my A1C and estimated average glucose sliding down into the normal range. I'm no longer diagnosed as "pre-diabetic".  Can I get an Amen and a Hallelujah?  Believe me, I shouted them when I read the results.

More numbers:  Two. That's how many pairs of shorts I had to buy because my old ones were falling off.  Eight. The stairs I nimbly stepped down with no difficulty whatsoever after sitting through a full-length movie. And finally...One. One little baby girl that will be coming into the world with a healthier and happier grandma. I'm thrilled to be working toward being the strongest and most active grandmother I can possibly be. Can't wait to meet her and to start building our own adventures.

I don't want to overdue the updates so this is the last weekly one.  I'll let y'all know in a month or two how I'm doing.  In the meantime, thanks for all your support and I encourage you to take whatever steps you need in order to be the healthiest YOU possible. 

Week 4 Recap

For those following along, I've completed 4 weeks of a vegan diet.

Workouts:  5 CrossFit classes.
Percent vegan diet: 100%
Weight: Minus 12 lbs since May 7.
Mood: Good.

This was a good week. This is becoming more routine and less of an effort.

I've had a few discussions with friends and acquaintances about the "why" of my dietary changes. I'm struggling a little with the word "vegan" because I'm not living a vegan lifestyle in other ways. I still carry a leather bag. I haven't researched my cosmetics. I'm using "plant-based" more and more to describe my eating choices.  It feels more honest, overall. Perhaps it's just semantics and perhaps I have more time on my hands to think about semantics. Basically, I'm experimenting with this diet to see if my health improves. It's all about me.  I left the vegan descriptor in my introduction above because I have adhered 100%...it might be nice to use a little honey now and then, though.

Time.  My free time has changed in a couple of major ways.  I spend more time prepping and cooking meals now.  Those brussels sprouts aren't going to shred themselves and I've found that pre-cooking and storing in the fridge tends to cause some foods to degrade a little.  Some things are tastier if I prepare them right before I'm going to eat them.  I spend more time consuming my meals. There's a lot of chewing to be done when the plate is full of plant material. I spend LESS time snacking on the sofa in front of the television.  I'm simply not as hungry as I was a couple months ago.  On days I go to the gym, I'm able to sleep a precious 15 minutes extra because I stopped having pre-workout snacks. (My go-to a couple months ago was half a peanut butter sandwich.)  I'm not starving when I get home from the gym even though I'm going 12 plus hours without eating. Finally,  I'm spending less time at the grocery store. I hit the produce department and a couple aisles for grains/nuts, and I'm out of there.  I'm no longer browsing the aisles of the grocer like I'm on an entertaining shopping expedition.

So the question is, what to do with all this time?  I've been thinking of taking up knitting again. I'm also browsing travel sites to dream about my next big adventure.

I'm looking forward to seeing my physician later this week. I'll let you know how my bloodwork turns out. As good as I feel, I expect to see improvement in my labs.

Thanks again for all your kind words of encouragement.  Your support is highly appreciated.

I'm Kind of Amazed

For those following along, I've completed 3 weeks of a vegan diet.

Workouts:  5 CrossFit classes.
Percent vegan diet: 100%
Weight: Minus 10.5 lbs since May 7.
Mood: Good.

I encountered some challenges this week.

I was invited to a birthday party and I knew there would be an open bar. I've abstained from alcohol since the first week of May for several reasons. I don't want to succumb to disinhibition-induced eating. I don't want the empty calories. I'm avoiding processed food as much as possible. But, hey, it was a celebration. Right? I had 2 drinks and avoided the adorable cupcakes on a platter nearby. My feet were aching (high heels and a little dancing) and my friend and I were hungry. We pulled out our phones and searched the neighborhood.  Mai's!!!  Mai's is a local Vietnamese restaurant that's open until 4am. I was happy to see tofu pho with vegetarian broth on the menu.  I could only eat half of that beautiful bowl of soup but it was a good choice.  I was in bed by 12:30 but had to be up early Saturday for an 8:00am crossfit class followed by a clinic to work on handstand pushup progressions. If I say that I was pretty sore, quite fatigued, very thirsty, and a little cranky, I'm not exaggerating.  So those reasons for avoiding alcohol? Number one continues to be dehydration.  It's just not worth it to me.

My next challenge came with the Memorial Day weekend.  Because I'm not traveling this weekend, I've had a lot of time on my hands. In my quasi-boredom, I've surfed social media and there are a lot of pictures of BBQs, beginning-of-summer celebrations, etc, etc.  I was invited to a couple cookouts.  I declined. I don't trust myself with all that grilled meat yet.  My commitment to a plant-based diet is for 30 days. I NEED to honor this commitment to myself. I want to see the results, look at the data, and make a decision for my lifestyle based on reality - not some "hope" that things can be better.  I'm attempting to stay busy at home. I ironed some clothes in the back of the closet that now fit me.  I planted a tomato plant and some herbs out on my patio.  This morning, I'm participating in the Memorial Day Murph workout at my CF gym.  Doing 3/4 and planning to smash last year's time.

Things ARE getting better. My sleep is improving. My workouts are more intense and I feel like I'm getting more out of them.  Best of all, my arthritis pain is drastically improved. I've had ZERO ibuprofen or Tylenol this week.  Zero. It's been decades since I could say that. I'm kind of amazed.

As always, thanks to all who have reached out and asked me how it's going and offered their support. Much appreciated.



(A snapshot of this week's farmshare. It's easier to be excited with all this beauty available.)

Week 2 Recap

For those following along, I've completed 2 weeks of a vegan diet.

Workouts:  5 CrossFit classes.
Percent vegan diet: 100%
Weight: Minus 8.4 lbs since May 7.
Mood: Remains overall upbeat.

It's getting easier, y'all.

I haven't experienced too many cravings for meat but thought about cheese more times than I think one usually would in a normal day.  Years ago I took a meditation class and worked with a technique to gently push intruding thoughts away from my mind's eye.  I've been calling on that method to deal with intruding thoughts of cheddar and mozzarella.  I imagine the back of my hand ever-so-gently pushing the thought off to the side. It's working so far.  In reality, simply acknowledging that I'm THINKING about cheese during the day tells me that I probably haven't thought about it enough. It was an easy grab from the refrigerator when I was hungry and I fooled myself into thinking it had something I needed to sustain me. Don't get me wrong. It's delicious. I simply ate more of it than was healthy for me.

The other epiphany I had this week was around my use of food as entertainment. I stayed at a friend's house this weekend - watching his place and his dog. I do this fairly often (every month or so) and previously, I haven't taken much of my own food because there are so many great restaurants close by.  I rationalized not cooking because: I didn't want to dirty up the kitchen, he uses different oil/condiments/etc, and I was allowing myself the "treat" of hamburgers, fries, chinese food, chicken caesar salad, beer.  You get the picture.

This weekend I carted all my own food to his house. I cooked all my meals. I drank oceans of water.  I still felt as if I'd been treated but the difference was I was treating myself better.

None of this is earth-shattering and I'm aware of that.  I hope that by putting some of my thoughts into words, I can start to cement the changes I'm experiencing into my behaviors. Maybe someone reading will be encouraged.  I certainly appreciate the encouragement I've received from those who are reading along. Your kind words mean the world to me. Thank you.

One more thing. I received a HUGE dose of inspiration watching the team from CrossFit Central Houston compete at the regional CrossFit competition.  Congrats to them for their strong showing.

Rambling in a Recap - Week 1

For those following along, I've completed 1 week of a vegan diet.

Workouts:  5 CrossFit classes.
Percent vegan diet: 100%
Weight: Minus 3.3 lbs
Mood: Generally good and upbeat.

Welcome to my wanderings.  I'm kind of free associating this recap. I'm not sure how else to do it.

Evenings:  Less drifting off on the sofa in the evenings. I brush my teeth immediately after dinner. One night, I had pistachios...otherwise no evening snacking.  When I find myself thinking about grabbing something to eat, I realize it's mostly a matter of boredom - not hunger.

CrossFit Classes have been good. My energy flags the last 5 minutes of each workout but I'm pushing through and it feels great not to quit. In my mind, I keep going back to that day in class when Coach Phil told me that until I committed to the intensity of the workout, I wasn't getting out of it what I potentially could.

Feeling more comfortable yet more interested and curious about the vegan diet.  Working through which proteins I like and which don't do that much for me on a satisfaction/taste level.  Yesterday, I made a field trip to Whole Foods. "Beyond Meat" burger was OK. I give it a 7/10.  Bought protein powder and a daily multivitamin. THIS is where the expense of a vegan diet comes from.  Walking the shelves at Whole Foods showed me a lot of processed vegan choices - things I'd rather steer clear of. I note that tofu is easy and pretty neutral (as far as taste goes) but considering my mom died at 45 of breast cancer, I don't want to rely too heavily on soy as a protein source.  I finally settled on a pea protein supplement to make smoothies for some meals. (Not really a change for me to have smoothies for some meals.  I take my lunch to work most days and smoothies don't make the office smell like whatever leftover cruciferous vegetable I might heat up. One must be considerate above all else.)

I developed a weird sore throat earlier in the week. It lasted about 3 days and was very focal with no other symptoms to speak of.  For a few fleeting moments, I thought it would be cosmically hilarious/tragic if I had some unexpected oral cancer just when I was attempting to get my health together.  This is a perfect example of the all-or-none thinking my brain likes to play with.

Speaking of all-or-none:  Prior to starting this adventure, I purchased a package of Oreo cookies. I didn't throw them out.  I read somewhere that they're actually vegan.  They're still in my cabinet. I haven't eaten even one since starting this plan.  I think they're the equivalent of a pack of cigarettes in the desk drawer of an ex-smoker. There's a strange power derived from knowing they're available but I have a choice.

I'm strangely disappointed at a weight loss of 3.3 lbs in 1 week.  I "should" be happy with that. I think I've watched too many Biggest Loser type shows.  I'm not going to lose 17 lbs the 1st week because I don't weigh 400 lbs. My body image is fairly warped. I love reality TV because it's so far from my own reality. Food for damned thought.

If you're reading this, thanks for your interest. And, also, BIG thanks to all who contacted me offering support and information. You're appreciated. MS

The Eve of The Great 30 Day Vegan Diet Adventure

Tomorrow is V Day.  Not Valentine's Day, Vegan Day. I've been kicking this idea around for months and it's finally here.  Why now?

Why not?

Will I stop the melting of the polar ice cap by declining meat for a month?  No, but it's a start.

Will I suddenly be able to do an unassisted pull up?  Not sure, but I bet I'll be a lot closer if I don't have to pull as much body weight.

Will my skin clear up?  Will my sleep improve?  Will I have increased stamina? Will I be able to lift more weight?  Who knows?

I say I've been kicking it around for months but there have been a few triggers that convinced me to start now.

Trigger 1:
I had some lab work done March 13 of this year.  I'd been feeling sluggish and my weight wasn't dropping despite 4-5 times/week CrossFit workouts.  I requested a test to check my thyroid stimulating hormone (TSH).  I was secretly hoping my doctor would find a lazy thyroid and I could place the blame squarely on a gland in my neck.  (I'm a Physician Assistant. It's not like I wasn't fooling myself on this one. I was.)  My TSH is normal.  My Hemoglobin A1C, however, is not. At 5.7, I can be classified as pre-diabetic.  HgbA1C is an indicator of blood sugar levels over a period of weeks versus Blood Glucose which tells us where we are today - this minute of this hour.  Having an elevated A1C tells me I'm headed for territory I don't want any part of.

Trigger 2:
A close friend set a quit date for alcohol.  He realized he had a problem and needed to stop drinking. Now.  He did an inventory of his current situation and of his support network (including his Physician).  He came up with a plan and he stopped drinking.  I've been super-inspired by his attack on his addiction and the matter-of-fact way he is handling his issue.  Watching him has helped me see that I've been hiding my head in the sand for way too long.  Not to make light of addiction...my name is Michelle and I have a problem with food. Is it addiction? Could be. I certainly use a substance to find escape, comfort, and (occasionally) self-loathing.

Trigger 3:
My knees are not my friends.  I spent years running long distance and I'm paying for those miles with osteoarthritis.  It's affecting my daily life.  Although I'm happy to scale workouts at CrossFit, I'm sure I can do more with less pain if I'm at a lower body weight.

So here's my plan.  After researching scientific literature, reading blogs until my eyes are bleary, and reaching out to those I trust for guidance and support, I'm starting a vegan diet tomorrow.  I've been to the grocery store. I'll do some food prep tonight. My "people" know who they are and they tell me they're going to support my efforts.  I intend to eat only plant-based foods for the next 30 days.  I have an annual physical appointment on June 7, so we'll see what happens to my blood work. This blog is the accountability segment of my plan. Even if no one reads this, I'm putting my efforts out for the universe through writing. Wish me luck. Wish me strength. I'm excited but I think I can use all the positive energy I can gather. Here's to the adventure.

Benchmark

Thoughts generated by a benchmark:

I've been CrossFitting for about 16 months.  I made it through those first few months only by gritting my teeth and manufacturing quasi-determination to move forward. Each time I walked through the gym door, my heart raced, I became short of breath, and I had mild nausea - due simply to the load of insecurity I was carrying on my shoulders. I felt pathetically weak and was afraid I'd never get past the weakness. I was confused by the language and embarrassed by my awkwardness.

I still have insecurities and weaknesses but I'm not so fearful of having them exposed.  Hiding behind my ego/self-doubt is a recipe for failure. I've learned that accepting my awkwardness is paramount to developing technique.  I listen very, VERY carefully to coaching instruction. With time and dedication to getting up and going to the gym, my strength, endurance, and attitude has improved.

I've become friends with physical discomfort while also becoming friends with my 6AM workout buddies. All of this is good for this shy person who spent over 50 years comforted by isolation. I'm part of a community in and out of the gym.

In November I saw an Orthopedic Surgeon to address a problem I'd been kind-of-sort-of ignoring. My chronically moderate knee pain was more severe and was limiting daily activities. Walking was painful. Climbing stairs was painful. Descending stairs was excruciating. I was in pain at work and while I fitfully slept. 

I went to the Xray department the morning of my appointment and was then placed in an exam room to await the doctor. Having read a few films in my life, I knew what I was seeing when she swung the monitor around and asked me to "take a look". There's no missing the obvious signs of arthritis in a joint. All the pain I'd been dealing with now made perfect sense. I got the advice I expected and a prescription I didn't. 

After a few days, the flare began to wane and I contacted my coaches to let them know I was coming back and I'd appreciate their help in modifying my program for continued progress while protecting my knees from further damage. It's been a trip back to feeling:

Weak

Awkward

Insecure

While my class does squats, I can't. While my class runs, I can't. My jumprope is collecting dust. I am, however: rowing more, using the ski erg more, and getting a lot of upper body work. At the white board, I'm thinking through possible modifications and my conversations with the coaches feel more collaborative now. We're working together to make this successful.  I'm reading more about mobility and do more work at home than ever before. Taking ownership of my fitness has been a wonderful gift.

So, to the benchmark. Yesterday the WOD was front squats. A lot of them. Obviously, I'd need to do something completely different. I asked the coach if I could work on my deadlift. He kept an eye on me during the workout and although I was in my own zone, I was still participating along with everyone else. All these months of listening VERY carefully to instruction paid off yesterday. I took my time and worked up to a 200 pound deadlift. So, so, so excited.

Here's where things get interesting. (At least they do to me.) I downplayed my accomplishment when a couple people congratulated me on my PR. I literally shrugged and said, "Not bad for an old lady" and "I know you lift way more than that."  What?!? Why do I do this to myself? 

Circle back to my first paragraph. "...due simply to the load of insecurity I was carrying on my shoulders." That load is heavy as hell.  Imagine how much more I'll be able to lift when I set that load down. I'm on the fence about resolutions - not sure if they're all that helpful but today I'll make a couple for the upcoming year. I resolve to recognize insecurity, acknowledge it, and get on with what I need to do. I also resolve to value accomplishments: Mine and ours. They have meaning and they have weight.

Lesson Gainz

It seemed simple enough to me.  Six rounds of twelve calories on the Assault Bike followed by twelve jumping pull ups followed by a minute of rest.  I was biking as a substitute for running four hundred meters.  The pull-ups were to be done without stopping.  If I stopped that set my number to achieve for the next round.

OK.

3.2.1.Go!

Twelve calories - not so bad.  I don't love the bike but running sets me up for pain and dysfunction the following day.  I moved over to the pull up bar, stepped onto the box and went to work.  At four I was starting to fatigue. After five I stopped.  Five out of twelve.  Not great but it is what it is. Rest one minute.

And..."Michelle!!!"  My Coach was yelling at me from across the gym.  Really yelling.  He asked me what I was doing.  He told me what I had done was bullshit.  He went on to let me know I didn't need chalk for jumping pull ups.  He watched me do twelve and then addressed my RPMs on the bike.  I needed to go faster.

He was right.

As a distance runner, I spent years pacing myself to a very slow pace.  My goal was to finish not to finish fast.  I started my running career (in my forty's) rarely breaking a sub-nine mile.  I finished my running career happy to coast along at thirteen minute miles for hours.  Hours.

Occasionally CrossFit calls for pacing.  If you've got several longish distances (none of them are really THAT long) in a workout, you don't (generally) go all out from the start.  You use your energy wisely so you'll have something left in the tank to finish.  Usually, though, the pace is fast and borders on furious.

I've been working on getting my head around this.  I have a thousand reasons to be slower than everyone else.  I'm middle-aged creeping up on Senior status.  I carry more pounds of fat than I should.  I have chronic joint injuries.  Blah, blah, blah.

In the last ten months I've dropped fat and gained muscle.  In the last ten months, I have more soreness in my muscles and less pain in my joints.  Sure, I'm chronologically older now but my blood pressure is lower, my sleep is better, and my mood is massively improved.  I'll take it.

In the last ten months I've accepted that I'm not that crazy about running.  To me it's boring AND my joints don't appreciate the pounding.  I've learned to kinda-love rowing.

Anyway...

I needed to be called out today.  I needed to try harder, to strive for more intensity.  Phil was absolutely right and his candor is appreciated.  The lessons I'm gaining from CrossFit are worth every penny I'm spending on my membership.  Work hard. Work fast. Work harder still. This ain't no marathon and this ain't no solo sport where I can cruise along unaccountable to anyone but myself.  I'm good with that.

Recess Again

Do you remember recess?  Or PE?  (We called it gym class in Junior High.)

For me, recess started out as...fun!  I got to be outside and I got to try new things - often mastering them.  A few of those things were quasi-dangerous. I'm sure today's second graders wouldn't be allowed to do a penny drop over packed dirt and gravel. We had no concept of spotting.  We either picked up those who crashed or we ran to get the teacher - depending on how much blood there was.  The metal merry-go-rounds provided stomach-flipping thrills the faster we pushed them. Those ladders leading to the slide?  How many rungs could we climb and then jump off?  Who needed a slide?  Swings were made to be bailed out of - not just swung.

I learned to be social, encouraging, and competitive all at the same time.  There were a couple ways to draw a hopscotch grid.  You couldn't double-dutch by yourself.  Freeze tag was more fun the more people who played.

Things started changing for me in the fifth grade.  I was terrified of one particular girl in my class.  She started with threats of finding me after school and escalated to literally beating me up on the playground one day.  I dreaded being outside of the safety of my classroom.  (The same girl was taken away by the police when she brought a handgun to school and threatened a teacher.  Yes, we had these problems in the sixties, too.)  Anyway, I found reasons to be in the library during recess.  I mean, who doesn't love a little girl who chooses to write extra reports?  Or reads just about every book she gets her hands on?

After sixth grade, we moved to the West side of town and I started attending a new school.  I didn't go to the same elementary schools as the other kids and I was a fish out of water, for sure.  I didn't own a pair of blue jeans.  I had kinky brown hair.  I wore glasses.  I obviously didn't fit in.  I was eventually befriended by a group of girls who probably saved my life.  I'm not sure if any of them know that.  I'm still in touch with most of them and I cherish the decades we've known each other.  The thing is, as a teen I didn't recognize their value nearly enough.  My glass was half full and I was waiting for some beautiful West side cheerleader to spill what little I thought I had in that glass.

We had to wear uniforms to gym class.  The institutional green shirts and shorts mortified me.  How could they look so cute on the popular girls and so awful on me?  Why wouldn't my mom buy me tube socks without the black stripe at the top?  Would I ever get a pair of gym shoes that didn't make my feet look like two bricks at the bottom of my legs?

Also, the showers.  I had to be naked around people I didn't know and I was never cooled off enough to stop sweating.  I often left the locker room feeling like I was emitting a cloud of steam.  My glasses would fog, my dark brown hair would curl even further, and my clumsy attempt at mascara would smudge.  I was surrounded by pretty, glowing, blonde cheerleaders.  I was Judy Blume middle school dramatic in a quiet, introspective, sweaty, and suffering way.

The activities in gym class were tough for me.  I hadn't taken private gymnastics lessons so I was essentially a remedial student for that portion of the year.  It wasn't unusual for some girls in my class  to do back handsprings and flips.  I fell off the balance beam more times than I can count.  Just walking.  No tricks. I saw the trampoline as a death trap.  When we moved on to basketball,  I didn't make baskets.  I counted on my friend, Kelly, to tell me to run to the other end of the court when it was time.  I had no concept of the rules of the game.

Summers were a relief.  My brothers, my sister, and I were on the neighborhood pool's swim team.  We walked to morning practices together, swam all day, and then practiced again at night.  Our coaches kept a close eye on us and guided us to some decent times - and a lot of fun.

But school? I don't remember any REAL coaching or training going on at my schools.  We were left to our own devices to either succeed gloriously or fail miserably.  It's no wonder I hated PE and gravitated toward classwork and teachers that challenged and coached my brain (Thanks, Mr. Z!).  The thrill of physical accomplishment stayed back in grade school.  I lasted one season on my high school swim team and felt real pleasure at turning in my team suit.  As soon as gym class wasn't mandatory, I filled those elective hours with classes which caused me less discomfort and embarrassment.

I was on my way to becoming a loner athlete and didn't even know it.  As an adult I found that running allowed me to get the physical activity I craved and I could run alone.  The thing is...again, no coaching/training/teaching.  I got through thousands of miles and what I have to show for it is a few dozen medals, a calcified left achilles, and poor upper body strength.

Since starting CrossFit, I've discovered what attentive coaching and encouragement looks like.  I'm gradually getting stronger.  My fifty six year old body's creaks and aches aren't as pronounced but I have the confidence to grunt and groan louder than ever before.

Sometimes we have to make some noise to make some moves.

Today I ran 6 X 200s.  (The prescribed workout was 6 X 400s.)  I'm able to scale down as a beginner and sometimes I really need that.  I'm not intimidated by the accomplishments of others in the class because I'm not comparing my accomplishments to theirs.  They're concentrating so hard on their  workouts that they're not judging me.  I'm not intimidated by them, I'm inspired by them.  Even more than that, I'm enjoying being part of a bunch of people running around outside with a beautiful sunrise to light our way.

I wear my glasses for most workouts. (Safety first!)  My hair gets curlier as the workout progresses.  I wear the shorts and shirt that is the most comfortable and I haven't thought about how my socks look.  Not once.  I wear a bandana as a headband and I sweat.  A lot.

It seems I'm experiencing recess all over again.  I get to be outside and I'm trying new activities.  I expect to master some of those skills.  I'm re-learning how to be social, encouraging, and competitive all at the same time. Rather than doing quasi-dangerous things, I'm doing challenging things and I have someone coaching me to make sure I do them as safely as possible.  If I want to lift heavy, I know I'll have someone to spot for me.  Succeeding gloriously now means finishing a workout.  The only way I can conceive of failing miserably would be not to participate but using a superlative combined with the word "fail" seems middle school dramatic so we won't go there.

Option Not Taken

There was always the option to punk out.

No, not really.  No matter how intimidating the workout looked, I was there.

Push that sled 25 meters and push it back.
Pick up that 50# ball and carry it 50 meters.  Then carry it back.
Sprint 200 meters.

Start all over again.

Oh, do all of this outside in the heat and humidity - on an asphalt parking lot.

Go!

I have eliminated caffeine at least 4 hours prior to a workout.  I thought that might help me with the sensation of my heart pounding out of my chest and also with the very dry mouth.  Nah.

It's not caffeine. It's adrenaline.  I'm fighting and flighting my way through workouts more intense than any I've ever done.

No punking out.   My heart will beat as fast as it needs to and I'll fill my lungs with the air they require.  My dry mouth is a sign that my chemistry is doing what it's designed to do.  To me, the most outstanding aspect of Crossfit is that I'm learning just how hard I can push myself.

So that's easy enough to say about the physical aspect of starting a new program.  It's not quite so easy for me socially.  When a task is completed, there are high fives, fist bumps, pats on the back.  After that sled/heavy ball/sprint workout, a woman remarked that I'm strong.  I immediately joked about my previous marital history and how it made me stronger.

???

Maybe it did but I didn't need to shrug off a compliment by putting myself down.

Lessons learned.   I like it!  Now, I must remember to say this:  "Thanks!"

I'm no punk.

Waiting for the Rain

So this is supposed to happen later today.

Supposed to.  We've been waiting for it all day.  I was done with my Hermann Park walk by 7:15 AM.  I straightened my place, did a little paperwork, and watched an episode of Breaking Bad. (I'm rewatching the entire series because a friend is watching for the first time and this way I can remember what he's talking about.  Binge-watching is fun but my retention is awful.)

I read a couple chapters in a novel and then took off my glasses.  I thought I'd lay down and take a nap.  That lasted about 10 minutes. It's Saturday and it's not 100 degrees out.  Why was I wasting a perfectly good low-traffic day in Houston?  I got up and got myself over to the Arts District in the 6th Ward.  I'm not buying now - at least not planning on it - but I like to know who's out there with what.   I like to touch base with my artist friends.

I accomplished all of that and then some.  

If you're looking for a way to while away a couple hours, the Sawyer Yard area is great. We have a real gem there.  I cut my collecting teeth at Winter Street so it will always be my first love.  It's not slick.  The air conditioning is iffy at best.  It has character.  I gathered 3 hugs but passed on several offers of wine and cookies.  (Priorities.)

The newest addition to the complex (The Silos) is housed in an old Success Rice plant.  The lighting is wonderful and the studios are new and polished.  You can still smell the paint.  You can also catch the faintest aroma of rice.  Passing through a connector hall, I was suddenly in my mom's kitchen - on those days when we had instant rice with ground beef and ketchup.  Not a great meal but a wonderful memory.

The rain can do it's thing and I'll be happy knowing that I spent some time with myself and with a few friends (old and new).  I'm back home with a cup of coffee and my own art collection.  Not a bad way to spend the rest of the afternoon.  If you're ever in the frame of mind to meet some local artists - even better, to support some local artists, let me know.  We'll do a Second Saturday together and I'll introduce you to my friends.  

The Heaviness of Fear

Today I completed the 2 week On Ramp class at CrossFit Central Houston. I'm amazed at the amount of learning and change I've undergone in the past 2 weeks.  I've been sore in places I didn't know could hurt.  I'm drinking more water and my diet is much cleaner.  My clothes are fitting better.  My sleep is deeper. Now comes the hard part.  Even with coaching and encouragement, I'm super-hesitant to jump into classes 2 or 3 times a week.  I trust the coaches.  I observed them observing me and I listened as they explained how I can do things better.

I've learned about proper use of equipment and body mechanics.  I've also learned a lot about my state of mind and how it can help or hinder my progress.    

Fear.

It's heavier than any weight in the gym.  It offers more resistance than the thickest of elastic bands.  It looms higher than the highest of pull up bars.

Twice this week I was close to tears while working out.  

The first time, I was feeling a kind of euphoria - I guess.  (The runner's high mostly eluded me in my years of distance running.)  Toward the end of Monday's workout, I was having fun.  The rowing machine is in my wheelhouse.  I felt comfortable with deadlifts.  I was getting the swing of kettle bell swings.  My heart rate was up and I was soaked in sweat.  It felt great!  And then I realized I felt like crying.  Huh?

Today we learned the Clean lift. Let me back up a bit and say that we started off with Wall Balls.  That exercise requires a start from squat and powering up to throw a medicine ball above a painted line on the wall.  Flexibility is something I've steadfastly ignored through my years of running.  Performing a squat is tough for me.  Really tough.  I was moved back to air squats so I could work on my form and depth.  Great!  Or, not.  Ego rears it's ugly head at the most ridiculous times.  I am working hard to allow my gratitude for coaching to outweigh my fear of embarrassment. 

So we move on to the lift.  It's hard, people!   These movements don't come naturally to me.  A major portion of the lift is allowing the bar to move through potential energy and then finishing with kinetic energy.  The control freak part of my brain wants to JUST MOVE THE WEIGHT!!!  Not exactly efficient.  This is a great lesson for me, though.  Muscling my way through the lifts (and through life) isn't good for me.  I want what is good for me.  Awesome!  And now I feel like crying again.  But I don't because I'm just not going to.

Finishing the class, we were given general information on membership.  Fear sat with me in that room.  Here was my verbalized question:  "Does anyone ever repeat On Ramp?"  The answer: "Some people do."  The coach followed with encouragement to keep working, go to classes...step up and face the challenge.

I'm going to let Fear have it's place here.  It exists.  It's been my near-constant companion for over 50 years.  The thing is, it's not beaten me yet.  I can't muscle past it but I can work smart and get the job done.  I'm looking forward to exploring the feelings associated with this new endeavor - emotional AND physical feelings.  

Now where did I put that foam roller?

I've Been in a Snowstorm

So, yeah.  It's been a long time.  I've heard:

"I miss your blog."
"You have a blog?"
"What happened to your blog?"

I've been busy living and (sometimes) running and trying to sort out things too numerous to count.

Resolutions can be strong motivators.  I made one on the first of January last year.  I resolved to be out of my job by the last of December.  You see, I didn't like my job - in ways too numerous to count although I wasn't really doing anything about it.

As the year went on, the count increased along with my unhappiness.  I wasn't sleeping well.  I was gaining weight.  I was losing interest in activities that used to make me happy.  Look up depression in the dictionary.  Doesn't matter which one, any will do.  I was a textbook case.  I was also irritable, struggling very hard to focus, and withdrawn. I was not only depressed, I was burned out.

Several things happened in rapid order:  My job responsibilities increased dramatically without increase in compensation. I lost my lease and had to move immediately. I required surgery (that called for at least two weeks off work and six weeks off running).  My work hours increased on top of the additional job responsibilities.

Do you remember the experiments we did in Chemistry class to demonstrate saturation?  We'd take a glass beaker and fill it with solution, heat it up, stir in another solution - bit by bit - until, Presto!  A precipitate would form in the beaker and we'd document the exact time/temperature/volumes at which we'd created a snowstorm in a glass.    

My snowstorm happened on the twenty-first of November.  It wasn't really that cold outside but when I left a meeting and walked into the fresh air, I knew that I was saturated and that I was doing something.  Finally.

By the thirty-first of December, my resolution was accomplished.

So that's behind me now.

Let's move on.

Remember those six weeks of no running?  Sure made a marathon last weekend seem difficult.  Once cleared to walk, I did. I switched to the half marathon and with very few training miles under my belt ran it anyway.  I'm happy to tell you that I finished and I have the t-shirt.  (And a medal.)

Thanks to my faithful friends and readers who encourage me.  I'm excited about the next chapter(s) in my book.  What's most exciting is that I get to write them every day.  I didn't make a New Year's resolution this year.  Instead, I've made lists - too numerous to count.  

Stay tuned.


©Michelle Scofield, January 22, 2015, All Rights Reserved 

Recap of This Week's Great Things

I've been trying to think of a way to quantify the gratitudes that I've experienced this week. They slide on a scale that's difficult for me to gauge. Just when I think I have an understanding of how thankful I am, something happens to nudge me further along my path of quasi-comprehension.

Rather than try to rank them, I'll put them in a list in more-or-less chronologic order. More-or-less.

I made the decision to do my mid-week runs after work rather than risk ankle-turning morning darkness. Along with this decision came what appears to be some sort of acclimation to 90 degree plus temperatures at 5:30 PM.

My Advil usage has declined dramatically since I started drinking a cup of ginger tea each evening. (I'm steeping fresh ginger for this.) I'm not advocating that anyone ELSE use ginger. It's working for me. It's likely placebo effect. I only know that I was taking an overabundance of Advil and took only 400.mg total in the last week. HUGE change for me.

The cause of my eye problems seems to be...wait for it...age. I've been dealing with red eyes, dry eyes, and problems with blurred vision for several weeks. I threw out all my makeup, I've done all the things I would tell my patients to do, and I saw my eye doctor a couple days ago. I'm not good at making tears anymore. No, it's not a metaphor. After plunking down a hundred bucks for medicine, I'm starting to feel better. I'm very relieved it's not something more serious.

White Linen Nights in the Heights is a huge deal. It's a see and be seen scene notorious for traffic tie-ups. Last night I went to exactly one event at one gallery and I had a great time. I received hugs from my friends, had a glass of champagne, socialized for a bit and then went home. Perfect White Linen Night for me. (See the above paragraph re: age.)

I accepted that I'd have to order a Fitbit in order to comply with upcoming health insurance changes at work. This was a source of grumbling and dragging of heals for me. After receiving the device, I promised myself to use it. (What's one more fitness tracker, right?) I lost it this morning. The kind employees at HEB found it and had it waiting for me at the Customer Service desk. That's like finding a hundred bucks. (Yes, that hundred bucks!) I wrote a glowing letter to HEB. I hope those employees are recognized for helping me. I really do. I am uber appreciative.

I continue to have friendly and interesting people come into my life. Today I met two fascinating guys who write about baseball. Their enthusiasm for the game and for their craft was exciting to see and I enjoyed sharing a cup of coffee with them. I'm encouraged to see people who strive to spend their time working at their passions and living in gratitude.

Finally, I found a gift of a video. It's called "Mile...Mile and a Half". It's a documentary that follows a team along the John Muir Trail. Artists, photographers, videographers, hikers, nature lovers - consider watching this film. It's available on Netflix and it's gorgeous. I watched a little each evening before drifting off to sleep. The colors and sounds are amazing. It made me want to hike. It was that good.

©Michelle Scofield, August 3, 2014, All Rights Reserved

Blue Tanzanite Christmas in July

"I hope you don't mind if I run next to you. You just keep going and I want to quit. But you don't quit"

I wanted to quit. The stairs were right there, ten feet away. My plan 15 seconds prior had been to head for those stairs. I kept running with her.

It was unbelievably hot and humid in Progresso, Mexico. The ship was docked and there was no breeze. Not a whiff. My clothes were soaked through. My Tuesday was to go like this: sleep in, shower, eat breakfast, then make my way to the spa for a long-anticipated full-body massage. I woke earlier than expected and did what I do when I have extra time on my hands. I made my way to the 10th deck's tiny track and started running. The thing was...I didn't have much oomph. After 15 minutes of pushing myself and cursing myself, I wasn't enjoying it and I wanted to quit and take that shower. I was starting to consider my breakfast. Then she told me I don't quit.

So I ran next to her and we talked about why we run. She's a teacher and she is determined to set a good example for her students. She wants to be able to tell them (when/if they ask) what she does for exercise. She runs. Her name is Holly. She was traveling with her family, none of whom share her passion for running and she was getting up and exercising before any of them started their day so she didn't cause a kink in the vacation works. She talked about balancing her desire to party with the gang and still wake up early and run. She talked quite a bit while we ran and honestly she was a LOT younger than me so I was happy just to let her talk while I concentrated on not guppy breathing in the thick Mexican air.

A couple days later, I was having a little difficulty finding a lounger in the shade. After a full day in the sun at Cozumel, I needed shade. Ah! I spotted one next to a woman and a teenish-looking girl. I arranged my book, my phone, my earbuds, and looked around for a waiter. Time for a cold drink and some quiet time. The woman next to me turned out to be a talker. That turned out to be an okay thing.

She is originally from Serbia and is recently divorced. She is apparently doing everything she always wanted to do but her husband didn't allow. She obtained a driver's license. She cut her hair. She got a tattoo. She is traveling - a lot. The girl on the chair next to her is her granddaughter. Last month my new friend took another granddaughter to Disney World. She will go to California for Christmas - with her divorced male neighbor.

She will never marry again but plans to take, "as many lovers as will have me". She tells me all her friends call her Snow.

I met Steve at a bar on the ship. He's also divorced and the father of 1 son and 2 daughters. His girls were his travel mates. They're old enough to spend time on their own, which they did for a good part of the cruise. We talked over cocktails most evenings and went to a couple shows together. Steve and I shared laughs with the bartenders and with other passengers. There is a wonderful phenomenon that can happen when traveling with strangers. Past and present journeys somehow get mixed together in the telling of tales at the end of the day. One evening, Steve told me how he lost his relationship with his son. He told me that it was embarrassing to admit his fault as a parent. All I could do was reassure him and let him know he isn't traveling alone on that particular journey.

I've been suffering from post-vacation blues. It seems as if as soon as I got back home I was hit with a crazy work schedule including covering another hospital - which doubles my time spent in rush hour traffic. I started marathon training and knowing I have runs planted on my calender makes me feel simultaneously resentful and relieved. January is a long way off and some afternoons are as hot as Progresso out there as I step out the door for my runs. I'm doing what I can to stay motivated, including asking for a week off work in August. Hopefully a friend will be flying in to town to help me enjoy it. I'm trying to figure out a way to spend Christmas with friends and/or family. (I feel like I was given a particularly big nudge by Holly and Snow regarding that.)

Me and those blues. We're not strangers to each other. I know how to keep them at bay, even if I don't rid myself of them forever. I think they're wound into my DNA. My helix runs a deep shade of Tanzanite. (That's a reference JUST for you, Jacque and Raquel.)

When I was running the other day, I was tempted, again, to give up. (That's how it works, you know. It's damned HARD to keep going when it's 95 degrees out and you've been up since 5:30 am and have worked a full day.) I was listening to music. "Falling Slowly" from "Once" started playing. I was back in London, a trip I worked my ass off to pay for. I was in the theatre listening to one of the most beautiful songs ever written and sung.

"Take this sinking boat and point it home.
We've still got time.
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice."

Always. I have a choice. Running on.



©Michelle Scofield, July 30 2014, All Rights Reserved