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