April's Fool

How about wine?

See, the funny thing about a back injury is that it's not really funny.  When a moderate fender bender has the propensity to send me into weeks of convalescence, the humor fades with brevity like no other.  Some days I can push the vacuum with purpose, other days, I need help putting on my pants.  It plays with my ego like a cat plays with a ball of yarn. 

I'm a mover.  I do not sit still very well.  I enjoy having a task ahead of me... it provides me with a sense of purpose and contribution.  Yet this naughty L4 and L5 thingy mocks me on the daily, taunting me with its spasms and stiffness and overall asshat-ed-ness.  Movement is minimal.

Here's a confession: I have grown to loathe the question "How are you?"... primarily because the truthful answer hasn't changed since 4/1/15. 

How am I?  Well, in pain... still.  I can sometimes get off the toilet with ease and I've learned how to pick up all manner of small objects with my toes.  Walking isn't terrible as long as it's not with my dog or anywhere near potential pitfalls.  Sitting is a possibility, but only for brief periods of time lest you wish to watch a 36 year old require 5 minutes to plan out the launch from the edge of the chair.  I've also learned that I prefer chairs with arms on them.  That way, I have some sort of leverage as the catapult takes place. 

As if this wasn't enough to tickle my "I can't stand this" fancy, let's throw a painful cyst in the mix too.  Now NOTHING is comfortable... not laying down, not sitting up... not even breathing at this point.  A tearful trip to the doctor resulted in additional pills. 



Hahahaha... uh, no.

Cue Spinal Tap, because now my pain is up to NUMBER ELEVEN.  Perhaps it was the universe's way of showing me what pain really is.  Okay.  I got it.  It only lasted 3 excruciating days.

Did you know that my breakfast is a smoothie with a handful of pills now?  If you know me, you know how foreign this is for this "I-gag-at-the-thought-of-taking-a-pill" girl.  Unless it's a pain pill... I tend to get over the fear quicker. 



I wanted to jump for joy when the cyst left my ailing body.  Except I can't jump. 

So I had a beer instead.


The hills are alive...

Cue seasonal allergies... I don't have allergies... except for now.  Now I have allergies.  My head wants to implode and my nose wants to fall off.  My eyes almost drifted from my head what with all the watery-ness, and my tonsils are kicking my ear drums with each cough.  Each cough jolts my injured back, and now my voice sounds like Fran Drescher. 


I'm actually looking forward to next week's MRI and nerve blocker.  Yes, please stick a giant needle in my spine.  Please shove me in a coffin-sized tube to take pictures of my innards.  I promise I'll remember to smile.


 

Woe to the Snow

Us southern gentle folk are not made for single digit temperatures for days on end.  No, we're made for wide open porches and sweet tea and golf and stuff.  The mere suggestion of snow is the antecedent to milk and bread disappearing in all surrounding zip codes.  Whole communities shut down with 1/2" of white dusting.  A general sense of incredible joy mixed with life-threatening peril abounds.  Schools cease and desist.  And the novelty that is wintry precipitation takes hold on all of the neighbors... show shovels, sleds, beer. 

The blizzard of February 2015, however, is one for the books.  It's massive wind gusts of 45 mph not only freaked out the dog, it freaked out the humans inside the house next to the big oak tree.  The "white out" conditions could be monitored from the bright lights of the Walmart parking lot across the way... naturally an un-manned, not-even-opened-yet giant corporation was lit up like a Christmas tree while families around the area struggled with no heat. 

The snow fell and fell and fell until all was covered with an albeit beautiful but cold layer of the most powdery and crystalline 6 inches of white your little heart ever did see.  And it was a wonderful experience... for 24 hours.

Then the freezing, refreezing, freezing and refreezing cycle began over the next few days making for life to go back to normal when it really wasn't and I was forced to walk in the snow in my Danskos. 

Don't ever walk in snow in your Danskos.  Not unless you wish to display your God-given talent of mimicking Michael Jackson on your way from the parking deck.  I had a good run for a minute... but was so exhausted by the time I made it in to the actual office, I had to take a nap before I did anything productive.  My colleagues wouldn't let me get any coffee until I moon-walked to the kitchen.

(I may or may not have taken creative license.)

Also, I've never eaten a bread and milk sandwich.  Why are these the items that disappear?  What are households doing with all of the bread and milk?  Is it necessary?  What about things like toilet paper?  Water?  Bourbon? 

The novelty is wearing off.  It's not that I'm interested in rushing through the seasons.  Rather, I'm interested in being able to walk to my car without the bottoms of my pants being wet.  I'm ready to wake up with ease, rather than immediately wondering how many of the coals in my fireplace are still burning.  I'm ready to shower without battling the stark fear of hypothermia.  I'm ready to relive the freedom of shaving my legs without the mockery of leg hair reappearing within 5 minutes. 

I'm ready for temperatures to remain above 20 degrees so that the heat pump doesn't fill me with fear and anxiety that it is on the verge of explosion.  I'm ready to take down the plethora of thermal blankets that have become make-shift curtains. 

I just want my life back.  Dear Winter, you have the propensity for being a real jerk.  I love you in small doses.  But now, I would like to wear my Danskos without being made to jive.  I wish to make that choice alone without your overbearing demeanor.  And my car is filthy with your aftermath. 

You rush in under the guise of seasonal bliss, and trick us all with initial feelings of "yay it's a snow day"-ness.  Only to find that we can't afford to heat the house and personal hygiene becomes a life or death situation.  You have forced me to drink too much beer and not enough wine only because I couldn't make it to the store in time... and no one wants wine sandwiches. 

I will sustain.  I will rebuild.  And I will be happy to find myself standing in 10 feet of dusty blankets to let the actual sunlight into my home.  So take that you wretched cold anomaly of biblical proportions.  What was once white, is now marred with brownish slough and dotted with yellow.  My dog pees on you on the daily.  Why?  Because we're cold; we're wet and we're tired of you messing up our flow. 

Piece of Mind: On Being Mindful

Breathe.  Be present.  Be in the moment, releasing what holds me back.  Let my thoughts quiet down... acknowledge the distraction and gently allow it to float away.  Ahh yes, sweet sweet breaths.

Damn is that flea bite on my ankle? 

Breathing and letting all the stress and anxiety go.  Ahhh yes.  Being one with the univer-

Oh that itches so bad.

Focus... focus... go ahead and succumb to the scratching and focus.  Let's ohm the way to a good day.  Breathing.  Breathing.  Breathing. 

(sounds of dog scratching)

Yes my sweet Lilly pup brings me feelings of joy and happiness.  Oh I should see if she has water.  I will as soon as I'm done because this is important.  Breathe.  Breathe.  Breeeeaaaatttthe.

The fire sure sounds nice.  My shin feels a little warm.  I should scoot back from the fire place a little bit.  I'll keep my eyes closed though so it's not a real distraction.  Breathe. 

Did I bring my chap stick out here?

Breathe.  Gently seeking that still point... that place of perfect calm. 

Oh that's gotta be a flea bite (quick scratch).  Those bastards have mutated into some stubborn brand of flea that laughs at Frontline.  I should probably wash the dogs today with that vinegar stuff.
Do I have vinegar? I need to do laundry.  Where's my chap stick?

Oh Rachel... shhhh.  Okay universe, I'm ready.  Breathe.  Quiet.  Calm.  Breathe.

Did I close the vent on the wood stove? My foot's falling asleep. Ugh, Kirby your breath stinks dude.
You are huffing in my face... why do you always huff in my face?  I feel sleepy.  I will meditate with my eyes open.  That IS a flea bite!  Ugh!  That's it, both dogs are getting baths.  I should probably vacuum.  There are crumbs ground into this rug from last week.  I live in filth.  It takes 5 seconds to vacuum but why does it FEEL like such a chore.

I'm so sleepy.  I suck at meditating.  I used to be SO good at it... but that was also when I worked out all the time and was healthier.  I'm sleepy.

(Walking back to bedroom)

THERE'S my chap stick!  Oh the covers feel so good.  Yes, let's close the eyeballs... breathe... breathe...

I should probably get up and do something productive.  Falling into heavy sedation seems like a productive venue of meditation... breathing is already more relaxed. 

Breathe... breathe...

Have I checked facebook yet? I wonder what everyone is doing today?  I should see if anyone wants to walk dogs together?!  Hmmm, I wonder if I should wash them before or after... Did I bring more firewood in?  I need to work out and get on track before this weight gets out of hand.  I used to be so fit.  My arms are HUGE.  I bet if I meditated and really let go I would find it easier to get on track.  Or maybe it's about meeting me and loving me right where I am.... I don't know... I feel so lazy right now.  And this meditation is about not feeling guilty for it.

I should get up.  There's so much I should be doing.  Did I turn the coffee pot off?  Coffee.  I should make more.  I will when I get up.  Maybe.  I'm noncommittal.  Breathe... breathe.... zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

The Super Moon in my Belly

As much as it grieves me to admit this... I am a sensitive person.  I think "grief" is the correct word.  Maybe embarrassed? Hesitant? Scared?  It's a vulnerable thing to admit to myself much less to you guys.  That's also assuming that I've kept it a secret, which is really more like I didn't want to believe it while those around me see it everyday.  Being honest with myself, then, I admit it - I'm a dote.

A good dote... but a dote.

Over this past year the heavens have hosted a series of "super" moons... meaning that the moon is pretty dang close to the planet.  At the risk of sounding super new-agey, this has meaning for me, personally.  And it can be scientifically based for those of us who need a little more concrete data. 

Let's think about it, the moon is known to regulate the tide and swells of the water.  The human body is made up of a lot of stuff, mostly water.  So, to me, new-agey-ness aside, it makes sense that the human body would equally be affected by the moon and it's phases.  It's our own awareness of this that gets muted and dulled. 

Ask any hospitalist, case manager or nurse's assistant that works within facilities and hospitals... a full moon means an influx of activity.  Perhaps police officers and rescue squads may agree?  The moon affects us because, well, we are walking bodies of fluid. 

The moon is also attributed to having an ebb and flow on emotions... the feely kind.  I was a grade-school-ankle-biter when I noticed that the ocean looked angry... it was choppy and brusque and foamy.  Along the same page, a calm, lapping pond elicits feelings of peace and tranquility.  Religious and lyrical writings alike use similar imagery of water to emulate emotion.  The moon, that dynamic orb of rock in the sky, has a direct influence.

What does this have to do with my belly?  Two words: emotional eating.  I do it.  I have since I was wee.  It's an instantly gratifying activity that distracts as much as it comforts.  A mixture of flavors and textures and immediate enjoyment, eating is a one-way-ticket to instant paradise for me. 

Combine this with normal life ups and downs, and this practice becomes a best friend... always there to lift you up and hold you when stress or sadness or anything less-than-okay knocks on your proverbial door.  It's just an eye-opener... and invitation to look deeper into myself.  I want to discover the why and how that this has become such a second-nature happenstance for me...

So I talked to the moon last night.  I said - Hey you, big beautiful glowing rock thing... if you have sway on the who's and what's of my emotions, would you mind showing me how to respond differently?  I mean, it's cool that you can wreak havoc on my psyche and stuff, but uh... give me a surf board or something okay?

Maybe the moon is just showing me what I already know about myself... the food does not have to be a "weakness"... it is a strength.  My response is the challenge to make choices that actually feed by body; to be mindful of when I'm just putting on a band aid re: circumstance or stress or boredom. 

Sometimes I think she mocks me, the moon.  But last night, she smiled as said "Be gentle with yourself.  You're learning a lot."

So I went out to eat Mexican with some friends.  Also, I had two Sangrias.  My belly was so entirely full and expanded that it was as if the moonbeams crawled inside to make a baby super moon.  And as I gazed up at that lunar sphere from the parking lot, I smiled and said, "Well played you punk.  Well played."

And it's now 3:11 AM...

It's 2:34 AM on July 4... so technically this is day 5. 

If you're scratching your head wondering why the *&#% I'm awake at - now - 2:35 AM, know that you are not alone.  For I, also, remain perplexed.  So, let's do a quick recap.

Day 3 was difficult.  I was hungry a lot and incredibly lethargic.  It was as if someone started putting sand in my eyeballs and heavy weights on my brain by 11 AM.  The moment I walked into my home after seeing several clients, I could no longer stand upright.  I simply proceeded to... how do you say... PASS OUT?.. for several hours. 

So naturally this gave me some serious pause.  Am I doing the right thing?  Is this part of my body adjusting?  Is there something I need to do differently?

Later that day, the pharmacy called.  My thyroid medication was ready to be picked up.  Ding ding ding!  I finally realized that I hadn't taken any medication for my malfunctioning gland for several days.  It explained a lot. 

Thursday (day 4) was an entirely different experience.  I was back to my normal, high energy self.  I did not struggle with the lethargy or even the hunger throughout the day.  It pays to have the right amount of hormone.  Also, it pays to have the wherewithal to remember that you need it. 

And then THIS happens... this wide awake in the wee hours of the morning - it's now 2:46 AM.  The way I see it, it's the powers-that-be tapping the keg of my creative and reflective juices.

Good thing I forgot the "Jet Fuel" today... er yesterday.  ("Jet Fuel" is a term of endearment for 2 oz of fresh apple juice, 2 tb of apple cider vinegar, 1/8 tsp of cinnamon, and dash of cayenne pepper; drink as a quick shot).  That stuff is like drinking a quick punch in the throat followed by elation and perma-grins.  It assists with digestion, absorption of lactic acid (good for the sore muscles), and overall health of the body.  In addition, it will wake up the dead parts of your soul, and you may find that you accomplish more in the 8 hour work day than you thought possible because for some reason vinegar makes you invincible and enables the growth of extra arms.  It's THAT good.

Tomorrow's... TODAY's work out should be interesting.  Luckily, it's a holiday and our normal 6 AM work out shindig has been moved to 9 AM.  See, even the tree huggers like to sleep in every once in a while.  The eluding of sleep at - 3:02 AM - has nothing to do with it I'm sure. 

And where the hell is this hurricane Arthur anyway?  I took the dogs outside and felt a gentle breeze at best.  The trees looked glorious in their gentle sway up against the cloudy moonlit sky.  I did not encounter any gnashing of teeth from the ever so fluid Mother Nature.  She does what she wants.  I like her.

Provided the weather holds out, today's work out will be a mini-triathlon of sorts with swimming in the river, biking and running.  Unless it's monsoon-ing at 9 AM, that's the plan.  I can't think of a better way to start 'Merica's birthday... at 3:06 AM.  =)

Turning Over a New (Kale) Leaf

It's 6:51 pm of day 2.  I have committed myself to a physical and dietary challenge that, up until 5 hours ago, I thought was going to be a moderately easy shift.  With the ideal attitude, it moderately is.  But for me, this challenge is more than exercise and nutrition.  This challenge hits at my core self-care struggles... taking the time to care for me.  In addition, it's about taking the time to say "Hey Rachel, you're worth the effort." 

I have been honestly successful for a totality of 24+ hours. 

Exercise: I am dedicated to waking up each morning to participate in 60 minutes of physical exertion.  This includes jogging, strength training, calisthenics and general breaking a sweat.  I am privileged to have a little "tribe" which does this with me.  Laura Stevens, a recently certified personal trainer (and belly dancer and paralegal and planner extraordinaire) also happens to be a best friend.  Part of the privilege is that I get to be a "guinea pig", a willing participant in this challenge to watch and experience how my body will change with her guidance and instruction. 

The "tribe" consists of Pat (Laura's mom), Jordan (Laura's brother) and Melissa (Laura's sister-in-law and consequentially another best friend).  So in short, this portion of the challenge is likened to a family-affair.  And it's a great way to start my day.  We encourage one another, help one another, and thus far - my uber morning-personess has been gently accepted by my more I-want-to-be-sleeping counterparts. 

The exercise typically happens outdoors; in local green spaces.  We deal with the elements and the challenges brought by mother nature and her landscape.  We run and frolic through streets and fields while others are still wiping the sleep from their eyes.  For me, it's a sacred space... with a lot of built up lactic acid. 

Which brings me nicely to my next point: Nutrition
Having dabbled with vegetarianism in the recent past, I oscillated back and forth about food choices.  I am an emotional eater; have been since elementary school.  And from this created a host of other body-image issues.  Gaining weight, losing weight - it didn't really matter because the underlying remained the same.  My body image, in many respects, defined my sense of worth. 

This is not news to many people.  And I am far from unique in this plight.  Yet I yearned to address it in a way other than diet foods, diet plans or just starving myself.  For example, at the age of 23 not only did I weight-lift 5 days a week, I also did an hour of intense cardio 6 days a week.  I consumed 1200 calories/day.  While I was fit, I wasn't healthy. 

The nature of my calories came from processed and pre-packaged.  It's convenient to just add up numbers in your head with less regard to the actual fuel being put into the body.  Diet sodas, lean cuisines and pork rinds, I have learned, is likened to putting used car oil in the gas tank.  It might run, but it ain't gonna last.  The amount of sodium, preservatives and other unpronounceable items in this "food" is vastly linked to various cardiovascular diseases, digestive diseases... hell, maybe even emotional imbalances.  

This time around, I'm utilizing not only the exercise, but the education on how to best fuel my needs.  Having dabbled in vegetarianism in the past, I decided to go full hog this time and just eat plant-based items.  It sounds terrible doesn't it?  Leaves and carrots and mediocrity.  No flavor or fun. 

So far I have not found that to be true.  What I have discovered so far, however, is that it takes more preparation that I'm used to.  Confession: I'm lazy.  When it comes to eating, I just wanna grab something and eat it.  I don't want to think about it, or cook it or chop up stuff.  I. Just. Want. To. Eat.

This is the most challenging shift for me.  Now, I am thinking about it, chopping it, preparing it, seasoning it, packing it, etc.  I am actually taking the time to do this for myself.  This is probably the most important shift of all.  And I'm eating with consciousness and intention now... not out of boredom or emotional influx... but out of the actual desire to fuel my body (and consequentially mind and soul).

• Disclaimer 1: Yes I know this is only day 2 and the challenges remain ahead of me.  But if I'm feeling optimistic I'm going to go for it.  So there.

• Disclaimer 2: I in no way, shape or form am a plant-Nazi.  I bear no judgment on those who eat meat or dairy.  I support the belief of personal choice and have no desire in nutritional dogma or fundamental conversion to see things the way I do.  Quite frankly, I am not even sure how I see things yet. 

Already I sense the changes, subtle though they may be.  I would like to "talk" about it... here... so I will post updates as I can.  I don't even know if anyone will read them.  It feels good to write it though. 

My ultimate goal is to be healthy regardless of the weight.  And part of that goal is 50 pounds of junk melting away from my bones and muscles.  I say bring it on.  I'll let you know how it goes.

Life Lessons of Nags Head, NC

1. Redefined Relaxation

It's simple really... the idea of just being and not feeling any external or internal pull of duty or responsibility.  To experience immunity from the "I should _______"  thought process is likened to experiencing peace.  But for this inwardly high strung individual, it's a concept I have grappled with since childhood.  And yet, for the entirety of this past week, I found myself sitting... a lot... with little motivation to do anything else.  I had no desire to exercise.  No desire to walk down to the beach


For those who feel led, you can build me one of these.

more than 3 times, and hardly any motivation to think for myself.  My butt was perpetually glued to a solid surface in the lounging position from which I would participate in conversation, eat, drink and breathe.  When I felt frisky I would walk down to the pool and commence to sitting.  There were moments of internal questioning: "What IS this?  Where is my drive? My ambition??"  But they were fleeting and promptly commenced to sitting.

2. Cornhole is Not for Sissies

It's important, when playing a glorified bean bag toss, to remember the score throughout the game.  Only, this requires physical movement to play as well as mental fortitude to remember the purpose of keeping score.  When playing pool-side especially, it's important to practice balance and aim, so as

not to almost fall in to the otherwise refreshing water.  Focus is equally important.  Don't let the music blaring in the background distract you with the need to express yourself through dance; Particularly when it's still your "go".  This proved to be frustrating to the more serious players, and entertaining to the less competitive.  It was a confusing experience.  I only played once. 

3. The Sun is Nondiscriminatory

I donned no bathing suit.  I stuck to the comfort of t-shirts and capris leggings.  Partially because I didn't really have a bathing suit and because I physically feel like a bowling ball with legs.  I kept it covered for my own sense of ease.  But the sun doesn't care about all of that.  Bare ankle?  Exposed
ear?  The sun will zap it, leaving you with unforeseen tan lines to make you feel more awkward than you already do. 

Dude. That sucks.

4. Vacation is Timeless

An entire week devoted to not giving a crap also means that time doesn't have to apply either.  I lost track of time a lot.  Perhaps it's the gentle lull of the tide or the hypnotic breeze with the music of the sea gulls... but time played tricks on me.  I have no watch.  And I would check my phone every once that.


Yep.  This is me.

in a while.  Generally speaking I had no idea.  And it felt lovely.  My work week is defined by time, schedules, appointments, meetings... time management is the back bone of working efficiently for me.  This week, I managed no time.  I worried about no appointments or meetings.  I only had to manage myself, and I hardly did

5. Vacation is Ageless

I forgot how old I was.  Literally.  Someone helped me do the math because I forgot my age.  I was shocked to remember that I am 35.  Stunned, I poured another drink.

Well played Nags Head.  Well played.

Until next time.