Running Again

I got it! I got IT! I GOT IT!!!

The confirmation email came through around 4am this morning. I have an entry in the Houston Marathon in January. I ran the half in 2010 (trained on my own with no input from anyone - I didn't ask.) I ran through pain in my foot. But I kept running. I was excited to finish and I called my family who all live out of town to let them know I had done it. My dad died that night or the next, we're not sure. I had a stress fracture in my right foot and I kept on running - through the pain of that next week. I put on a suit and flew to Sacramento, handling arrangements in a professional, businesslike manner. I ran on the treadmill at the hotel. I put on a dress and heels and looked pretty for his friends at his memorial celebration. I came home and I ran. Then I couldn't run anymore because I ended up in an immobilization boot and was stopped in my tracks. I started gaining weight and I packed it on with a vengence.
Recently I took a good long look in the mirror, laced up my shoes and started walking. My foot has healed. My heart is healing. I started eating healthier. My pace has quickened and my body is starting to show the results of my efforts.

There were times when my foot was hurting so much that I swore I'd never tackle a long distance race again. I don't think I really knew what pain was. Now I know.

I'm going to seek help to train for this race. If there's anything I learned over the last two years, it's to seek help.

I'm so excited - again - finally! And that is a wonderful feeling.

I'm Sorry

For the longest time, I didn’t know what to say once the Litany of Fear began. I searched for the right response, aware that I should be paying attention to the concern that was pouring forth in front of me. The speaker always voiced concern for my safety. The speech took off from there and I was assailed with all the reasons I shouldn’t do whatever it was I was doing. I might hurt myself. Someone might hurt me. There were financial risks. I didn’t know enough about the situation. I hadn’t really thought things through. The weather might change. Things don’t always turn out as we expect and I could be disappointed. What if I failed? What then?


I sometimes nodded. I’d throw in a few humming sounds occasionally.

I’ve learned not to try to converse during the Litany. The Litany of Fear is not a conversation. It’s a stump speech to try to convince someone not to act. I’m not even sure if it’s directed at me. My hunch tells me it’s directed back at the speaker more often than not.

How do I know this? I’ve been hearing slightly different versions of the Litany of Fear regarding everything from: jobs, travel, running, dating, living situations, automobiles, and assorted other situations for the past ten years. I’m not always the receiver of the Litany. I’ve also witnessed it being preached to others as well.

Here’s what I’ve started saying at the close of the Litany. I think it’s about the best response I can use. It seems to satisfy both of us.

“I’m sorry.”

I really AM sorry. I’m sorry that there is so much fear behind the delivery of the Litany.

Growing up I learned from my many mothers that when I felt sympathy and I couldn’t think of anything else to say, saying “I’m sorry” was enough. My Mother taught me when I was a little girl. I joined a sorority and my housemother gave me lessons in polite society behavior. My Grandmother showed me by example when my mom died.

So now, when I’m faced with someone who (in my perception) is using the opportunity of my situation to express their own fears – but not in a direct manner, I simply say, “I’m sorry.” And then I get on with whatever it was I wanted to do.  If the Preacher of the Litany of Fear perceives that my apology means they've swayed me in some way...so be it.  Amen and Amen.

Don’t get me wrong. It’s not as if I’m going to ignore sound advice. If someone suggests that I might be killed, yeah, that will get my attention. I’m just not wearing the heaviness of others’ fears. The weight of my own hang-ups has been plenty enough to carry as I make these decisions.


©Michelle Scofield, June 21, 2012 All Rights Reserved

My Unexpected Move to Make Nice With the Mirror

I was a Houston holdout. I'd resisted for more than a few reasons: Not old enough, not vain enough, not desperate enough. Throw in my frugality and concerns for safety, and there was no way I could imagine having a procedure done for vanity's sake - for cosmesis. The mirrorwoman I greet each morning was beginning to argue with me. She was scowling, making sure I noticed the deep groove between my eyebrows. She was staring at me as I applied creams and potions. Her eye contact was intense. She was intense. She knew everything I knew but didn't want to admit: I'm not all that fond of my aging appearance. For all my talk of self-acceptance, it's a bitter pill to swallow. I am a woman of a certain age. That being...Middle. I'm starting to look it. I have a new friend. She's a bright, happy, enthusiastic woman who is also in her 50's. She manages a Dermatology Clinic. She happened to send me a text last week and asked if I'd like to participate in a demonstration of Dysport® for an Open House tonight. Dysport® is an injectable, similar to Botox®, used to treat moderate to severe frown lines. It took me all of 2 minutes to agree to her invitation. So I've dipped my toe in the waters of cosmetic procedures. I reclined on a table and allowed a Physician to inject a foreign substance into my forehead. It was virtually painless and I'm looking forward to seeing the results in a few days. I'm "this much" surprised at myself because if you'd have asked me a year ago, I would have told you there was no way I would do it. (Honestly, I think I wanted to do something, I just didn't want to admit it.) I'm pretty happy that I had it done for free. I'm still can't imagine having surgery. I've assisted at so many surgeries that I can't envision allowing someone to cut me. I'm also fortunate enough to live in a place that has so many weird facial surgery results that if I want motivation NOT to have surgery, all I have to do is take a look around. What I'm looking forward to is waking up and not having that woman in the mirror scowl quite so hard at me. It's not like we were really angry at each other. Well, maybe she was angry...for making her wait so long. ©Michelle Scofield, April 26, 2012 All Rights Reserved

There's Nothing Wrong With Stumbling Into Goodness

I considered keeping a journal. Instead, I kept my receipts and picked up business cards along the way. I'm going to try to retrace my steps of my recent vacation to New York City. This is more for me than it is for you. I want to be able to pull this up someday and remember...although I don't think I'll forget. I hope I don't forget.

Have you ever taken one of those trips where everything goes so perfectly fine that you wonder if it can possibly continue? For me, this was that trip. I had no trouble parking at the airport. My flight was on time. Even when I arrived at LaGuardia and discovered that I'd be waiting an extra couple hours for my friend, Jacque, I wasn't concerned. There were plenty of seats to be had. Sure, my cellphone battery was nearly drained, but I could turn the silly thing off and read a book. I was on vacation. As I'd learned the previous week in Jamaica, "No problem." (Psssttt!!! Here's where I insert the part about how wonderful everyone I came across was in NYC. Next time someone tells you it's a rude/dirty/mean city, just remember what I said. Most friendly, outgoing, "no problem" people I've ever met.)

As the time for Jacque's arrival neared, I fired up my phone and received her text message. Her plane had landed. I moved to the Delta baggage claim area to wait, and leaned against a wall - on my way dodging the dozen or so town car drivers who were offering me their services. I watched travelers coming and going and noticed a sharply dressed man stepping onto the Up escalator toward Departures. He must have felt my gaze because he turned and looked at me as he rode all the way to the top. I smiled. What else would I do? Mr. Man smiled back and proceeded to immediately step onto the Down escalator and approach me. We were still exchanging, um, information when Jacque walked up.

Well, it was time to catch a cab and see the city. I bade goodbye to the escalator man and our New York adventure began. After collecting Jacque's bag, we got on line for a taxi. The ride in was fun and exciting. It didn't take us long to pull out our cameras and start acting like the tourists we were. We arrived at our hotel in Times Square, checked in, brushed our teeth, waited for our bags to make it to the room and we were out and exploring within an hour. Big Night! Times Square was overwhelming and exciting, exactly like I'd seen on television and the movies only more. The weather was perfect and it seemed like everyone was in a good mood. I was eating it up!

Night one: We stumbled our away around. We started walking and fell into places we thought we'd like to see and yes, we liked them. We found the pizza place next to the studio used for Late Show With David Letterman. We ordered a thin crust pie with pepperoni at Angelo's and it was delicious. We found Rockefeller Center, Radio City Music Hall, and we also stumbled into a crowd of people who were obviously waiting for something...what? We didn't know but it seemed like it must be important. There was a police barricade and reporters, photographers, news people. We fell into the crowd and pulled out our cameras. Turns out it was premier night for Evita, starring Ricky Martin. Word was that Mr. Martin, himself, was about to arrive. Gosh! We decided to wait. We never saw him but we saw Barbara Walters, Kathy Griffin, and David Hyde Pierce. Close, right? When it became clear that the celebrity parade was done passing before us, we decided to move on. Can I tell you where these tired and hungry women grabbed a late-night snack in NYC the first night? Yeah, we ate at McDonalds. (This is me, hanging my head in shame.) We walked around a little more and capped the night off by visiting Toys R Us and taking our picture in the photo booth in the upstairs arcade.

Day Two: We slept later than we wanted to but we got up and got going. Yay for thinking ahead and having granola bars with me. And double yah (YAY!YAY!) for the coffee maker at the Hilton Times Square. (We gave that little thing a workout, even stashing the packets of coffee in the drawers so that housekeeping would think we were out of coffee and leave us extra. We grew to LOVE those afternoon pick-me-ups.) The subway is easier to figure out than one might think. We did it, after going waaaaaaay north once, changing trains and then finally getting to Central Park. (That whole, "Just act like you know where you're going", doesn't actually get you where you're going.) Central Park? I only want to move there. Seriously, I really want to run there. Next trip - and you better believe there will be another trip to NYC soon - I'm taking my running shoes. My son suggested I see the Guggenheim Museum. Wonderful suggestion. Let me tell you about the Guggenheim: The design of the rotunda is absolutely beautiful and absolutely deceiving. You will think you're near the top and there will be two or three more levels to explore. Do it. You won't be sorry. I was thrilled to see several paintings by Camille Pissarro, who is my favorite impressionist. After working our way through the museum we had a hot dog. At a cart. It was just OK.

Night Two: Dinner prior to the theatre at our hotel because we were dead, dog tired. We thought we'd just have drinks and appetizers. We sat at a table and ordered a little more than that. It was a decent meal. I thought they did a great job on the scallops and the bartender made a delicious Sidecar. Being novice New York theatre-goers, we thought our waiter was slow and I think he was slightly amused at our wanting to get out of there a little quicker than he was moving. One very nice thing he did for us was package up the leftovers and order a mini-fridge for our room. We moved on to the Shubert Theatre for "Memphis". Now, know that this was my first Broadway show. On. Broadway. I'm proud of myself for not gushing over the fact that I was there. Well, maybe I did just a teensy bit. We settled into our seats, I bought a five dollar bottle of water (dang!) and the house lights went down. Heaven! We had excellent seats, orchestra level, on the aisle. The cast, music, performance, EVERYTHING was super. I felt like crying when it was over.

Day Three: Room Service breakfast in the room - the most expensive basket of stale rolls we'd ever seen or eaten. We got a good laugh out of it and enjoyed the coffee and juice. I had a good part of the day to myself so I walked through the Fashion District to Macy's and their flower show and then decided to see the Museum of Modern Art. I took my time getting there, enjoying the sights along the way and upon arrival enjoyed a light lunch and sweet tea in the Museum Terrace Cafe. While I ate (and eavesdropped on the ladies at the next table), I took time to plan my viewing of the museum. I had specific targets to see: Jaspar Johns, Paul Cezanne and Pablo Picasso. The Johns Flag was worth the entire visit for me. So many have attempted to copy what he did. I haven't seen anyone accomplish it. One can only be first at a first, right? Jacque and I met up again late afternoon and made a mad dash for H&M. We hoofed it back to our hotel (but being wiser by 48 New York hours stopped at a deli for the next day's breakfast yogurt) and got cleaned up and headed out the door to our dinner reservation at Joe Allen.

Night Three: Dinner at Joe Allen, on 46th Street, otherwise known as Restaurant Row. This is a quiet, dark steakhouse that serves a good steak, a great roasted chicken, and a damned good martini. I have no idea if it's a tourist trap or a hangout for theatre people. I've read that it's both. All I know is that we had a very good meal and it felt great to sit down and take time to enjoy the evening. We saw zero recognizable celebrities but the table next to us carried on a constant patter of conversation about production value and the like and we tuned them out almost immediately. We passed on the dessert menu, deciding to find a place in Times Square. We stopped at Roxy Deli and ordered a massive slice of strawberry cheesecake to go. By the time we arrived back at the hotel we were wiped out and we put the thing in the mini-fridge where it stayed for most of the next day.

Day Four: Easter Sunday. We enjoyed our breakfast of yogurt and muffins, congratulating ourselves on our frugality, then it was time to make our way to 5th Avenue for the Easter Parade. It was what I'd hoped for, completely chaotic and gorgeous, with smiling and friendly people. We took a few pictures and then hailed a cab for the ride to Battery Park. We had a lot to do this day and it was too far to walk. We'd already discussed the sad, sore state of our aching feet. We were springing for cab fare. After checking out the long line for the Ellis Island tour, we decided the Staten Island Ferry was the way to go - it was the original plan for seeing the Statue of Liberty. We made our way to the Ferry Terminal (which was spotlessly clean) and waited to board. I was so impressed with the organization and precision of the Ferry operation. We had a great ride over and back and got some wonderful pictures. From there we walked to the 911 Memorial site. I'd reserved spots for the tour and we were hours early. What would we do while we waited? We were allowed to enter. The Memorial Pools are perfect, from my perspective. I was deeply moved and again, saddened. There are not enough words. We walked away from the area mostly quiet and allowed each other to process what we'd seen.

Jacque and I decided to keep walking, rather than take a cab right away. We pulled out our map and regrouped, realizing we were close to the Woolworth Building and City Hall so off we went. Then came the Brooklyn Bridge and then...Chinatown. We stopped for a meal at Pho Viet Huong. I had Pho Ga, what else? Jacque had Ginger Chicken. It was a little hole-in-the-wall place. The price was right, the food was fair. We shopped a little. I found a great hippy bag that's already getting me compliments in Houston. I had to have it for it's "Peace & Love" on the side. We kept walking and made our way down Canal Street and eventually into Little Italy. We heard some salsa music coming from a place (what?). We ducked in and found ourselves in a CubanItalian bar/restaurant. A little wine, a lot of mambo. Why not?

Night Four: Back to our hotel. Freshen up a little. Back to see what's going on outside. Another slice of pizza? Sure. This time stuffed.

Day Five: My wonderful traveling companion had a morning flight. I had to bid her farewell. I had the day to explore. I decided to see and photograph Grand Central Station and the Chrysler Building. It was a short walk for me and the weather was STILL beautiful. I grabbed a salad at Juniors in the Food Court at Grand Central and then walked all the way up 5th Avenue to Tiffany's. I looked at some beautiful diamond earrings and although the helpful salesman advised me that "treating myself" was the best thing I could do that day, I decided to save my $2800 for another vacation. I walked back to my hotel, detouring through the diamond district. I guess I wanted to make sure they didn't have those earrings for less. They didn't. The helpful bellman at the Hilton retrieved my bag for me and called my cab. I was off to LaGuardia where my plane departed as scheduled for Houston and arrived right on time. There were no luggage problems. My car was in the lot where I'd left it.

When I arrived home, there were no surprises, no catastrophes. My coworkers even missed me. The only thing "wrong" is this desire to be "there" again. New York, I kind of love you.

Maybe if You Read it With a Garrison Keillor Voice and Cadence?

The mockingbirds riot while the pear trees and the redbuds fight to see who will be declared first on scene. My lungs reach out and up and pull for more of the sweet taste of the new grass and I trade an hola with the man on the yard crew at the mall. We both know that that’s all I know and he smiles and waves me past and my shoelaces flick against my ankles as I trot off past more mockingbirds and more mowers. My sunglasses slip down the bridge of my nose and I’m stunned to see the day unpolarized and I can’t resist the urge to stop at a tree and to look straight up, through the branches, into the bluest of skies. I rest with my hand on the bark, knowing the mowers and the birds are watching me. After a moment I move my grass-stained shoes back to the sidewalk and head home. Spring. Promise. Today’s Gratitude.




©Michelle Scofield, March 14, 2012 All Rights Reserved

Risk and Return

I'm hurtling toward my 52nd birthday. I cleverly tucked it into the calender between now and an upcoming vacation so I might overlook it. Try as I might to smooth those pages, there is still a bump pushing from beneath the glossy March page. Last week I had three beautiful, honest conversations that helped me face and accept what I'm feeling.

This is it. Middle Age. I've been here for a couple years, I've been numb. Now I'm feeling again.

You know what? I'm quasi-OK with it.

I told you those conversations were honest. The first was with my nurse. We work together but we're also friends. I'm grateful for that friendship. Being mature and single women, we often bounce personal issues back and forth - not so personal as to interfere with our working relationship but enough to allow trust to flow between us. I won't go into the gritty details of the conversation but what came out of it is my desire to step up my physical presentation of myself to the outside world.

The second conversation was with my best friend, Daryl. We had dinner after an evening at a design show. We'd been walking through exhibits, meeting and greeting, shaking hands, hugging, smiling and laughing. It was nice to take time to quietly reconnect with him, to take time for a meal, and to honestly let him know - again - how I'm being challenged with work (and loneliness) and feelings of not fulfilling my full potential. In life. In general. These feelings have been welling up over the last few months and the question that keeps arising for me is, "What are you going to do about it?" Wait, you don't think we came up with answers, do you?

I hope some of the answers lie in my third conversation, the ongoing one I've been having with myself. I've been listening to myself. It's a learned skill for me. I've very good at listening to others but for years I've ignored what I need and want. Lately, what I've heard myself say more than anything else is that I want to take risks. Being safe is not satisfying to me. The thought of living out this life mediocre is...unthinkable.

Just as I haven't shared with you the entirety of the conversations with my friends, neither will I share here all of my conversation with myself. In a nutshell: attaining middle age (for me) doesn't mean I've stopped growing. I figure I have several choices. I can bury myself in my work, become crazed, or take risks and thrive. Guess which I choose.



©Michelle Scofield, February 25, 2012 All Rights Reserved

Lovelies

I've been scarce. Sorry faithful readers. I've been writing and planning elsewhere. That's what happens when I get an idea in my head. I devote hours and hours of time to it.

Anyway.

Although I love you, I wouldn't buy you roses for Valentine's Day.

I'd take you to a park and we'd sit among the lovelies. And picnic.

Happy Today and Tomorrow to all of you! And the next day, and so on. M