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.
Tuesday, June 20, 2017
Friday, September 23, 2016
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 30, 2016
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.
Saturday, August 13, 2016
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.
Friday, August 12, 2016
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.
Thursday, January 22, 2015
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
"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
Sunday, August 3, 2014
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
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
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