... But El Bandito is noodling around on his guitar (before turning back to work on his computer).
I like the sound of live music in my house, especially since I lack any musical talent whatsoever.
More than that, however, is the joy it brings me to remember those days oh so long ago when we'd first met and he'd play me to sleep. Sometimes over the phone, sometimes in person.
Small things, random moments. Still special.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
cold, crisp air. or, gratitude: my commute
I don't think I've made a secret of the fact I commute by bicycle. I could say that I do so for environmental reasons, and it's true that I am glad my lifestyle doesn't require me to drive to work.
I used to walk to work, and someday, when I have two fully functional ankles again, I probably will intermittently do so again.
Even walking is more efficient than taking transit, thanks to the geography and transit routing in my vicinity.
Seriously, the primary reason behind my bike commute is my complete lack of patience. I'd rather be moving than not.
However, I have an awesome commute, by bicycle or walking. I go through one of this country's great urban park, passing museums, fountains, people doing tai-chi. Dogs chasing balls. Hawks screaming in the trees above me.
This morning, I biked a little extra to fully take it in again. I could be stuck in stop-and-go traffic. I could be in a sardine-can of a train, breathing other people's perfume. I could be in a bus, jerking slowly to my destination.
Instead, I get to start my workday with fresh, crisp autumn air and beautiful sights.
I used to walk to work, and someday, when I have two fully functional ankles again, I probably will intermittently do so again.
Even walking is more efficient than taking transit, thanks to the geography and transit routing in my vicinity.
Seriously, the primary reason behind my bike commute is my complete lack of patience. I'd rather be moving than not.
However, I have an awesome commute, by bicycle or walking. I go through one of this country's great urban park, passing museums, fountains, people doing tai-chi. Dogs chasing balls. Hawks screaming in the trees above me.
This morning, I biked a little extra to fully take it in again. I could be stuck in stop-and-go traffic. I could be in a sardine-can of a train, breathing other people's perfume. I could be in a bus, jerking slowly to my destination.
Instead, I get to start my workday with fresh, crisp autumn air and beautiful sights.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
30 days of gratitude
Last December, I stumbled on the blog of a college friend. She was doing a daily gratitude post for the month of December, and it was delightful to get glimpses into her life.
She's doing it again this year.
She's invited (challenged?) her readers and friends to do the same.
I may not hit every day, and I probably won't have the beautiful photos illustrating the many little (and large) things I'm thankful for in this life.
My parents visited for Thanksgiving this year. We had a lovely visit, with walks, sight-seeing, eating too much tasty Asian food (Burmese, dim sum, Vietnamese). Too short in some ways, although it will also be wonderful to have our house back to ourselves.
So, for the first day... I am incredibly lucky to enjoy my family, to consider them friends as well as relatives. They may drive me crazy at times, but they're also wonderful company, fun to argue with, and I know they love me, as I am. That makes me thankful.
She's doing it again this year.
She's invited (challenged?) her readers and friends to do the same.
I may not hit every day, and I probably won't have the beautiful photos illustrating the many little (and large) things I'm thankful for in this life.
My parents visited for Thanksgiving this year. We had a lovely visit, with walks, sight-seeing, eating too much tasty Asian food (Burmese, dim sum, Vietnamese). Too short in some ways, although it will also be wonderful to have our house back to ourselves.
So, for the first day... I am incredibly lucky to enjoy my family, to consider them friends as well as relatives. They may drive me crazy at times, but they're also wonderful company, fun to argue with, and I know they love me, as I am. That makes me thankful.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
limits
from merriam webster's online dictionary:
limit
1. a. something that bounds, confines or restrains
...
7. something that is exasperating or intolerable
______________________
I'm not good with limits. Not when they're set by things out of my control. I like to push them. I like to push my own limits, physically. Mentally.
Obviously, some physical limits I'll never exceed.
And I absolutely loathe being told I can't do something. That's a fairly sure way to make me give it a shot.
So I have been gritting my teeth and trying oh-so-hard to be patient and cautious with this healing ankle. To listen to my PT and my sport med folks, and to push myself gently within their constraints. But I am chafing at the bit.
The definitions I quote above would be good ones for my ankle injury. It has been a hard 5 months. I've missed most of the "after-work runs in the park" season. My plans for a half-marathon have been delayed and delayed, and then delayed again. I will be wearing this damn brace until Christmas.
I am just now allowed to run outside. In the daylight. With it taped. For short distances.
But. I. am. allowed. to RUN OUTSIDE. In daylight, for short intervals. On relatively flat ground. but ... it's not the treadmill. it's not the elliptical trainer. it's fresh air, outside, me, moving in space.
I signed up for a February 5k. I can't train for the half in time; my ankle won't take that kind of increased mileage. But still. I am allowed to RUN OUTSIDE.
I climbed in the gym twice in November. Easy climbs. Climbs where I could use my upper body and core strength and not rely on foot position. But things are improving.
And yesterday? I did some ankle catches. Not many. But enough to believe in the possibilities again.
And that?
The world is limitless.
limit
1. a. something that bounds, confines or restrains
...
7. something that is exasperating or intolerable
______________________
I'm not good with limits. Not when they're set by things out of my control. I like to push them. I like to push my own limits, physically. Mentally.
Obviously, some physical limits I'll never exceed.
And I absolutely loathe being told I can't do something. That's a fairly sure way to make me give it a shot.
So I have been gritting my teeth and trying oh-so-hard to be patient and cautious with this healing ankle. To listen to my PT and my sport med folks, and to push myself gently within their constraints. But I am chafing at the bit.
The definitions I quote above would be good ones for my ankle injury. It has been a hard 5 months. I've missed most of the "after-work runs in the park" season. My plans for a half-marathon have been delayed and delayed, and then delayed again. I will be wearing this damn brace until Christmas.
I am just now allowed to run outside. In the daylight. With it taped. For short distances.
But. I. am. allowed. to RUN OUTSIDE. In daylight, for short intervals. On relatively flat ground. but ... it's not the treadmill. it's not the elliptical trainer. it's fresh air, outside, me, moving in space.
I signed up for a February 5k. I can't train for the half in time; my ankle won't take that kind of increased mileage. But still. I am allowed to RUN OUTSIDE.
I climbed in the gym twice in November. Easy climbs. Climbs where I could use my upper body and core strength and not rely on foot position. But things are improving.
And yesterday? I did some ankle catches. Not many. But enough to believe in the possibilities again.
And that?
The world is limitless.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Buttercup.
I went from being excited yesterday by making progress in PT to being annoyed at how hard everything felt and how out-of-shape I felt.
Suck it up, buttercup.
I have the feeling I'm going to be telling myself that a number of times in the next few months.
Suck it up, buttercup.
I have the feeling I'm going to be telling myself that a number of times in the next few months.
Friday, August 13, 2010
athleticism
athlete. n. : a person who is trained or skilled in exercises, sports, or games requiring physical strength, agility, or stamina
Turns out? There's nothing in the definition that limits it to competitive athletes.
Just my head.
It's taken years for me to really accept that I am an athlete.
I was not athletic as a kid. Active, but not athletic. We took a lot of walks, some modest bike rides, and played outdoors. My parents were bookish folk, neither particularly athletic themselves (although I remember my mother walking to work for most of my childhood, and swimming at lunch until her mastectomy and associated lymphedema made that difficult). My sister and I were latch-key kids, and the schools we attended had minimal athletic programs at best. And there weren't all the programs there are now. I doubt there were soccer leagues.
I've often regretted that I wasn't involved in organized sports or, at least, organized exercise activity -- maybe not team sports, but something that had more structure.
When I was rehabbing from my shoulder surgery, I got a number of comments "oh, but you're an athlete", often referring to my gritting my teeth and enduring something excruciating in the physical therapy process. I remember being surprised by the description, even though I'd been doing trapeze for a couple of years by then. And one of my trapeze friends asked me then how I had become "such a jock" when I didn't have any childhood background in sports or competition.
I run, not well or fast or far, but for my sanity. I ran, similarly, in college. And I was reminded today by someone I knew in college that I very much hung out with our college's athletic culture. I had become "athletic" without realizing it. And El Bandito, who met me in college, said "I have always thought of you as athletic"
Graduate school squashed my activity. I was too tired and depressed and frustrated, although in the last year or two of dissertation hell, I started doing a lot more walking, hiking, and gym workouts. I needed the balance. And some shortish bike rides with El Bandito.
But it wasn't until I found trapeze that I really fell in love with an activity.
And then, activity it general.
Which is why I've been a cranky wench for the last 5 weeks with this ankle injury. A worse sprain than I had thought: Grade II tears of multiple ligaments, a pulled muscle and a bone bruise. 8-12 weeks with a major brace on it. No ankle catches.
No running. No running. No running. Did I mention? No running.
I've been on the trapeze. Frustratingly limited, but at least I'm getting some exercise and working on some things which needed work anyway. I've been allowed to bike to/from work for about 3 weeks, and I've been slowly adding a little extra in at least one direction. And I can walk up to about 2 miles/day. Just not downhill. PT 2x/week.
I grumbled about this to my primary care physician, and she just laughed and said "If I could get most of my patients to do your "limited" activity, I'd be thrilled." It's still not enough.
It turns out? I'm an athlete. A slow, non-competitive one, but an athlete. Who knew?
Turns out? There's nothing in the definition that limits it to competitive athletes.
Just my head.
It's taken years for me to really accept that I am an athlete.
I was not athletic as a kid. Active, but not athletic. We took a lot of walks, some modest bike rides, and played outdoors. My parents were bookish folk, neither particularly athletic themselves (although I remember my mother walking to work for most of my childhood, and swimming at lunch until her mastectomy and associated lymphedema made that difficult). My sister and I were latch-key kids, and the schools we attended had minimal athletic programs at best. And there weren't all the programs there are now. I doubt there were soccer leagues.
I've often regretted that I wasn't involved in organized sports or, at least, organized exercise activity -- maybe not team sports, but something that had more structure.
When I was rehabbing from my shoulder surgery, I got a number of comments "oh, but you're an athlete", often referring to my gritting my teeth and enduring something excruciating in the physical therapy process. I remember being surprised by the description, even though I'd been doing trapeze for a couple of years by then. And one of my trapeze friends asked me then how I had become "such a jock" when I didn't have any childhood background in sports or competition.
I run, not well or fast or far, but for my sanity. I ran, similarly, in college. And I was reminded today by someone I knew in college that I very much hung out with our college's athletic culture. I had become "athletic" without realizing it. And El Bandito, who met me in college, said "I have always thought of you as athletic"
Graduate school squashed my activity. I was too tired and depressed and frustrated, although in the last year or two of dissertation hell, I started doing a lot more walking, hiking, and gym workouts. I needed the balance. And some shortish bike rides with El Bandito.
But it wasn't until I found trapeze that I really fell in love with an activity.
And then, activity it general.
Which is why I've been a cranky wench for the last 5 weeks with this ankle injury. A worse sprain than I had thought: Grade II tears of multiple ligaments, a pulled muscle and a bone bruise. 8-12 weeks with a major brace on it. No ankle catches.
No running. No running. No running. Did I mention? No running.
I've been on the trapeze. Frustratingly limited, but at least I'm getting some exercise and working on some things which needed work anyway. I've been allowed to bike to/from work for about 3 weeks, and I've been slowly adding a little extra in at least one direction. And I can walk up to about 2 miles/day. Just not downhill. PT 2x/week.
I grumbled about this to my primary care physician, and she just laughed and said "If I could get most of my patients to do your "limited" activity, I'd be thrilled." It's still not enough.
It turns out? I'm an athlete. A slow, non-competitive one, but an athlete. Who knew?
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Bad timing
I'm sure that everybody knows how much my body hates me
It lets me down most every time and makes me rash and hasty.
Those are lyrics from a Billy Bragg song that's been stuck in my head since the end of May. The context and the rest of the song don't fit, but the sensation that my body hates me? That does.
May was a whirlwind of wonderful events and great times -- two fabulous weddings in which I got to play integral roles, a play-off hockey game (even if my boys lost), a brief hit of summertime visiting family around one of the weddings. Catching up with friends, hiking, running, biking.
Then June rolled around. Also full of fun plans.
Three days before I was supposed to line up for Muddy Buddy, I got hit by a nasty upper-respiratory virus. Laryngitis, cough, fever -- I could hardly haul myself from one end of the apartment to the other, and I had to send the dreaded "I can't do this" email. I'd been looking forward to Muddy Buddy for almost 3 years. It was one of the markers for really moving on after the shoulder surgery of October 2007, and it also just plain sounded *fun*. I was incredibly disappointed even though I knew it was the right decision.
That virus affected my breathing for more than a month, triggering some ambiguous form of asthma. So at the beginning of July I ended up on inhaled steroids. They're helping.
Although it's hard to tell just how much they're helping since I can't do much to test my aerobic capacity right now. Just under a week ago, I missed a stair or somehow tripped going down the stairs (I'm still not sure exactly what happened) and sprained my ankle. It's not a bad sprain, although the bruising is spectacular, but it's worst with flexion.
Which means I can't run. I can hardly walk. I can't bike.
and worst of all? I can't do ankle catches. There are three of them in my trapeze act. My act which is in rough shape prior to auditons for the Circus Center showcase. The audition is July 25, so I have *no* idea at this point if I'm going to be ready. Those ankle catches are important transition points in the act, too, so I can't just skip them and I don't have the time to learn new choreography to elide them.
I'm frustrated and cranky. I *almost* wish the injury were worse, so that I had to come to terms with it and there wasn't a remote possibility.
It just seems like ... every time I plan something physical that can't be rescheduled? That I'm really looking forward to? My body sabotages it.
Which is nonsense -- I've taken a month of rock-climbing classes, done fabulous 10+ mile hikes and had terrific bike rides. I'm not over-trained. It's just a dose of bad timing.
and to quote another Billy Bragg song from my college years, also out of context, it's bad timing and me, we find a lot of things out that way.
I guess it's time that bad timing teaches me more patience.
But as I'm fond of saying, Patience is a Virtue, just not one of mine.
It lets me down most every time and makes me rash and hasty.
Those are lyrics from a Billy Bragg song that's been stuck in my head since the end of May. The context and the rest of the song don't fit, but the sensation that my body hates me? That does.
May was a whirlwind of wonderful events and great times -- two fabulous weddings in which I got to play integral roles, a play-off hockey game (even if my boys lost), a brief hit of summertime visiting family around one of the weddings. Catching up with friends, hiking, running, biking.
Then June rolled around. Also full of fun plans.
Three days before I was supposed to line up for Muddy Buddy, I got hit by a nasty upper-respiratory virus. Laryngitis, cough, fever -- I could hardly haul myself from one end of the apartment to the other, and I had to send the dreaded "I can't do this" email. I'd been looking forward to Muddy Buddy for almost 3 years. It was one of the markers for really moving on after the shoulder surgery of October 2007, and it also just plain sounded *fun*. I was incredibly disappointed even though I knew it was the right decision.
That virus affected my breathing for more than a month, triggering some ambiguous form of asthma. So at the beginning of July I ended up on inhaled steroids. They're helping.
Although it's hard to tell just how much they're helping since I can't do much to test my aerobic capacity right now. Just under a week ago, I missed a stair or somehow tripped going down the stairs (I'm still not sure exactly what happened) and sprained my ankle. It's not a bad sprain, although the bruising is spectacular, but it's worst with flexion.
Which means I can't run. I can hardly walk. I can't bike.
and worst of all? I can't do ankle catches. There are three of them in my trapeze act. My act which is in rough shape prior to auditons for the Circus Center showcase. The audition is July 25, so I have *no* idea at this point if I'm going to be ready. Those ankle catches are important transition points in the act, too, so I can't just skip them and I don't have the time to learn new choreography to elide them.
I'm frustrated and cranky. I *almost* wish the injury were worse, so that I had to come to terms with it and there wasn't a remote possibility.
It just seems like ... every time I plan something physical that can't be rescheduled? That I'm really looking forward to? My body sabotages it.
Which is nonsense -- I've taken a month of rock-climbing classes, done fabulous 10+ mile hikes and had terrific bike rides. I'm not over-trained. It's just a dose of bad timing.
and to quote another Billy Bragg song from my college years, also out of context, it's bad timing and me, we find a lot of things out that way.
I guess it's time that bad timing teaches me more patience.
But as I'm fond of saying, Patience is a Virtue, just not one of mine.
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