Let it be clear that I am not an addict nor do I endorse the use of non prescription drugs. That sounds a lot like a statement made on the last day of rehab. "No, I'm not just saying that to get out of here, I mostly...er...I completely believe it."
Like many great athletes, I have fallen into the trappings that come with too much fame and too much money. Wild sex parties, booze, and drugs. Oh the parties. One party rolls into the next and the next and the next, until one day you roll over and find a goat in your bed. At first you're disgusted but upon further examination you see that the goat actually looks better than some of the women you've been with. The goat mumbles something under its breath , trots off to pick up a six pack and never returns. Bastard.
Maybe it's not been quite like that but I will admit to becoming very friendly with some little yellow pills. You see (here comes my justification) my lower back has been hurting. Hurting to the point where I walk like an ape struggling with constipation. It started to seize up and spasm - too much of that and I'm on the floor for a couple days, unable to stand, unable to move. Who would come and empty my pee cup? Thank you. I know you would and that means a lot to me. On top of this, I just finished rehabbing two very tight muscles that had prevented me from running and had just received the all clear to run. F'ing back. I'd kick my own ass if I wasn't afraid I'd go into a muscle spasm and end up curled up in a ball on the floor crying for my mommy. Hey now, I only did that once so let's stop making such a big deal of it.
I was desperate. In the medicine cabinet I found some pills. Little yellow pills. The bottle indicated that they were to be used for muscle spasms and pain. Oh sweet Jesus, I'm saved! Now the prescription did not have my name on it however, there was something glorious on the bottom - the expiration date had not come and gone. Twenty minutes later I had figured out how to open the child proof cap and emptied a few into the palm of my hand. So innocent were they. Small pretty little yellow pills. Maybe I should try one. Then it came. You know, that little voice inside your head. It did not mince words with me. It said loud and clear - "TAKE ONE"....so I did. It was no big deal at first but hours later I begin to feel different. Not better but different. That was a week ago and I had that same conversation with the little voice every day since that day and it never let me down.
Thursday night I was told I was stoned. Today I went with the group on a trail run. I was going to walk to help loosen my back up. Running due to my F'ing back, was still taking a back seat. At the Y and on the drive to the trail, multiple comments were made about my lack of attention, my staring into nothing, and not quite being myself. Little yellow pill jokes were surfacing. I don't have a problem. I was on the trail for over 90 minutes today, most of it alone. At one point I suddenly begin to feel really good. I mean like nothing hurt, I was almost walking on air. I looked at the trail as it laid out before me and I heard it calling to me. Talking to me. Telling me it was ok to run. Everything would be ok. I kept walking and the road kept reaching up to me. I jogged a bit and we both smiled. Shortly I was around the corner and Anneke, Jen, and Robin were in the car waiting for me. I jogged towards them and slide in the car. Happy.
On the way to Starbucks and while sipping a coffee there, the girls mentioned my looking out into nothing and not being myself. I could feel that I wasn't all there but really could do little about it. Holy F'ing shit balls of fire, those yellow pills might have taken hold of me. I'd been taking them every day trying to get better. I probably had some mini interventions. Sharon had told me I was stoned. Jen and Robin giggled and shared similar words. Anneke said I wasn't myself. Gads...I'm a stoner. I committed to not take any more little yellow pills, nor the large white ones in the bottle next to them. That was hours ago and now I'm writing this blog with an ice pack on my back - yup, going old school. So worry not my friends, Mikey will be back to his old self Sunday morning. Maybe a bit shaky...maybe a bit sore...but he will be himself and really, you have to admit it, don't you just love that guy?!?!
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
The Other Side
I have ran many a race in my short four years as a runner. In fact the racing bibs on my wall now tally 37. It may not surprise anyone that I save the bibs. Each one is dated and the finish time etched on the corner, least I forget. A handful have a special notation to indicate a 1st, 2nd, or 3rd place age group win. I'm not the fastest, but in my age group I can often do some damage. Each bib as a story behind it, most also have a blog. All this will help keep me honest when my grandkids ask me how fast I was when I was "young". Let's be clear, when that day comes, I'll still be racing and they'll come see for themselves as their old fart grandpa runs....jogs....wheels....his way across the finish line - no matter how long it takes. "Hey mister, don't take the finish sign down yet, my grandpa is still out there...."
Saturday I was at a 5k. Not as a runner, not as a spectator, but as part of a team putting this race on. While my part was small compared to others, it was the first time I was on the other side. It was also the first time I appreciated what it takes to take a 5k from an idea and turn it into an actual event. Flippin H baby, it's crazy! I wouldn't do it justice to try and list everything that is required because I know I would leave out so much - that's because it takes a village, with each tribe member doing their share to make it happen. The village also needs strong leaders - else you just have a bunch of well intended idiots running around creating havoc...or worse. We had that leadership in Sharon and Dana. Each shared the vision of raising money for a great cause and together they managed to wrangle up some volunteers and put together a plan. Though their styles were different, their hearts were pointed towards the same goal. Without them this race wouldn't have happened and the reality is that some kids would have to go without. Today was not that day however and those two are the reason. Thank you.
Oh, that list of stuff to do? Let's see...humm....Finding a location, getting permission, checking with the appropriate entities about permits and the legal stuff, securing vendors, finding sponsors, obtaining donations of food and goodies for the runners, ordering t-shirts, racing bibs, communicating the event, somehow finding a timing clock and timing gear and the people who knew how to use them, measuring the course, marking the course, securing volunteers to all sorts of duties that most runners take for granted, pre-registration, same day registration, and my friends, that's only half of it. The hours that go into an event like this seem endless.
It came together. The day of the race the clouds parted and we had blue skies above. We all went about our jobs - did I mention we needed to arrive at 6:30am for a 9:30 race? I poo pooed that idea and it turns out that I was wrong. Yup, Mikey was wrong. Dead wrong. There is so much to do on race day! My apologies to those of you who felt my frustration in this regard. I may have been a little snarky...One task I had was to help Steve hang the start/finish sign. One might say that it is a critical task. The day before we eyeballed where we'd put it. Upon further examination on race day, it turned out that we'd have to make an adjustment to make it work. Steve tossed a rope up one tree branch with the skill of a cowboy pulling in a stray steer. In no time we had that sign hung - straight and true. In the meantime, course signs were going up, balloons everywhere, the course re-walked for an accurate measurement, tables set up for registration and vendors, the finish chute and timing station was constructed. Whew....it was something to see. I did manage to grab a donut (two) and chat with some friends and vendors.
The race started only 5 minutes late with some words from the Y about Invest in Youth, some rules regarding the course and safety (me), and the start of the race via a bullhorn (Sharon). Sharon. Bullhorn. Sharon. Bullhorn. I'm not sure those two should have met - she was all over it! OMG she was a natural. It was actually funny to watch her cheer the runners on as they closed in on the finish. She cheered non-stop. At one point she was yelling through it and we realized that the volume was off and it was all her!
Albert and I got to wear these cool timing devices to track the runners when they crossed the finish line. The task was actually easy. Press the orange button each time a runner crosses. Press it once. One time only. Don't press it twice. Frickin hell, I must have an itchy trigger finger cause I double hit it a bunch of times. Albert on the other hand was calm and collected and didn't seem to have a problem at all. Turns out that they used his results and called mine the "backup".....Next year I'll be handing out water.
We had an awards ceremony at the end. Albert's brother Jerry won the race and Carrie (our Y-Tri sister) came in first for the women. Both received a free pair of running shoes from Run26 - how cool is that! Sponsors rock. So much more happen but honestly I don't know what. Once the race started my place was at the finish line, pressing the button and cheering as the runners came in. Runners finished and I'm sure there were celebrations with hugs and high fives. The last runner came in and it was time to clean up the course and pack it in. We hit Starbucks a little tired but happy. The run was a success. Everybody finished. No one got hurt. Everyone seemed to have a great time. I did. I'd do it again. The next race I run I'll be sure and say thank you to as many volunteers as I can. The organizers and volunteers are the heart of any race and I was proud of those I worked with and honored to have been part of something so important.
Saturday I was at a 5k. Not as a runner, not as a spectator, but as part of a team putting this race on. While my part was small compared to others, it was the first time I was on the other side. It was also the first time I appreciated what it takes to take a 5k from an idea and turn it into an actual event. Flippin H baby, it's crazy! I wouldn't do it justice to try and list everything that is required because I know I would leave out so much - that's because it takes a village, with each tribe member doing their share to make it happen. The village also needs strong leaders - else you just have a bunch of well intended idiots running around creating havoc...or worse. We had that leadership in Sharon and Dana. Each shared the vision of raising money for a great cause and together they managed to wrangle up some volunteers and put together a plan. Though their styles were different, their hearts were pointed towards the same goal. Without them this race wouldn't have happened and the reality is that some kids would have to go without. Today was not that day however and those two are the reason. Thank you.
Oh, that list of stuff to do? Let's see...humm....Finding a location, getting permission, checking with the appropriate entities about permits and the legal stuff, securing vendors, finding sponsors, obtaining donations of food and goodies for the runners, ordering t-shirts, racing bibs, communicating the event, somehow finding a timing clock and timing gear and the people who knew how to use them, measuring the course, marking the course, securing volunteers to all sorts of duties that most runners take for granted, pre-registration, same day registration, and my friends, that's only half of it. The hours that go into an event like this seem endless.
It came together. The day of the race the clouds parted and we had blue skies above. We all went about our jobs - did I mention we needed to arrive at 6:30am for a 9:30 race? I poo pooed that idea and it turns out that I was wrong. Yup, Mikey was wrong. Dead wrong. There is so much to do on race day! My apologies to those of you who felt my frustration in this regard. I may have been a little snarky...One task I had was to help Steve hang the start/finish sign. One might say that it is a critical task. The day before we eyeballed where we'd put it. Upon further examination on race day, it turned out that we'd have to make an adjustment to make it work. Steve tossed a rope up one tree branch with the skill of a cowboy pulling in a stray steer. In no time we had that sign hung - straight and true. In the meantime, course signs were going up, balloons everywhere, the course re-walked for an accurate measurement, tables set up for registration and vendors, the finish chute and timing station was constructed. Whew....it was something to see. I did manage to grab a donut (two) and chat with some friends and vendors.
The race started only 5 minutes late with some words from the Y about Invest in Youth, some rules regarding the course and safety (me), and the start of the race via a bullhorn (Sharon). Sharon. Bullhorn. Sharon. Bullhorn. I'm not sure those two should have met - she was all over it! OMG she was a natural. It was actually funny to watch her cheer the runners on as they closed in on the finish. She cheered non-stop. At one point she was yelling through it and we realized that the volume was off and it was all her!
Albert and I got to wear these cool timing devices to track the runners when they crossed the finish line. The task was actually easy. Press the orange button each time a runner crosses. Press it once. One time only. Don't press it twice. Frickin hell, I must have an itchy trigger finger cause I double hit it a bunch of times. Albert on the other hand was calm and collected and didn't seem to have a problem at all. Turns out that they used his results and called mine the "backup".....Next year I'll be handing out water.
We had an awards ceremony at the end. Albert's brother Jerry won the race and Carrie (our Y-Tri sister) came in first for the women. Both received a free pair of running shoes from Run26 - how cool is that! Sponsors rock. So much more happen but honestly I don't know what. Once the race started my place was at the finish line, pressing the button and cheering as the runners came in. Runners finished and I'm sure there were celebrations with hugs and high fives. The last runner came in and it was time to clean up the course and pack it in. We hit Starbucks a little tired but happy. The run was a success. Everybody finished. No one got hurt. Everyone seemed to have a great time. I did. I'd do it again. The next race I run I'll be sure and say thank you to as many volunteers as I can. The organizers and volunteers are the heart of any race and I was proud of those I worked with and honored to have been part of something so important.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Quicksand
We've all seen it in the movies. Someone falls into quicksand and slowly they get sucked down until one of two things happen - a nearby branch is just close enough that they are able to grab hold and slowly pull themselves from the sure death of suffocation (I'm not sure if one can drown in quicksand). The other is that someone hears their cry for help, comes running and pulls them to safety. If neither of these two scenarios play out, the result is an agonizingly slow demise as your body sinks deeper and deeper and no matter what you do, the end is inevitable. In fact the more you try to do and the more you panic, the quicker you sink. Death then, becomes your salvation. The fight is over.
I fell in quicksand a couple weeks ago. I experienced a minor groin pull. So what - sure easier for you to say because it's not you. Go ahead and say it. Why do you run if you're just going to get hurt? Screw you - I hate it when people say that to me. "They" are normally an out of shape P.A.F. that now feel justified sitting on the couch watching some crap on TV with their hand so deep in the bag of chips that you can no longer see their elbow. Anyway, seems that the issue stemmed from a couple very tight muscles that for whatever reason refuse to release. Bastards. So my running suffered. Sinking now. I reach for my branch which in this case is stretching and abusing my hard foam roller. The roller brings muffled whimpers and tears to my eyes but I know I have to do it. I believe it's helping. I do a couple slow 30 minute jogs. It doesn't feel right. It hurts. I sink further. Deep water conditioning is a great way to stay conditioned if a runner is injured. I can't do deep water. Still sinking. I eat. Why not? I eat crap. Weight gain greets me like an old friend. Not a good friend, an old friend I've meant to forget. With the added pounds my attitude slowly begins to shift. F me. I hate this. I feel like crap. Can I sink any further?
I tried a trail run today, super slow pace for me. We had two groups - the long distance runners and the short bus people. In my head I was one of the long distance runners until halfway through the run Sharon told me I was heading back. It hurt at first. Not physically, but emotionally - and that can hurt more. What do you mean I'm going back, I'm a long distance runner? Not today my friend, not today. I finished the run and my entire quad was searing and I simply could not walk without limping. I can taste the quicksand now.
My friends are running. I love to see them run but honestly it pains me to see their joy. Happy little runners zipping to and fro. Like little hummingbirds. What about me? Hello....I'm over here in the quicksand. Can you see me? I have quicksand up my ass and my head is going under. Isn't anyone going to save me? F me. I'm a goner.
I'm feeling sorry for myself even though I know I'm not alone. Albert was right there talking me off the ledge - he does that quite often and thank God he never tires of it. My multisport friends have been fantastic as well. They care. What's this? Have I stopped sinking? Dr Sharon invited me to her house for a "session". I used the black death roller and having survived that, Sharon came over to me with an interesting device that was then thrust with care into various parts of my quad and butt. I will admit that tears were running down my cheeks and I probably called out for Jesus to take me more than once. She then used the tool like a rolling pin up and down my leg with the pace of a sprinter. FH! I know it bothered her to cause me that much pain but I also know it was necessary and she did it because she cares.
My head has cleared the quicksand. Maybe I'll make it after all. My friends are here and the reality is that they always have been. Maybe I just needed to reach out and take their hand or simply ask for help. I'm not good at either. My leg still hurts and my activities are limited. My goal is not to let it change my attitude but to simply follow the path that will lead me to a full recovery. One that is not rushed nor too slow. In the meantime I ask for forgiveness if I'm a jerk - I don't mean to be. Thank you for your help and compassion - LYLACMF.
I fell in quicksand a couple weeks ago. I experienced a minor groin pull. So what - sure easier for you to say because it's not you. Go ahead and say it. Why do you run if you're just going to get hurt? Screw you - I hate it when people say that to me. "They" are normally an out of shape P.A.F. that now feel justified sitting on the couch watching some crap on TV with their hand so deep in the bag of chips that you can no longer see their elbow. Anyway, seems that the issue stemmed from a couple very tight muscles that for whatever reason refuse to release. Bastards. So my running suffered. Sinking now. I reach for my branch which in this case is stretching and abusing my hard foam roller. The roller brings muffled whimpers and tears to my eyes but I know I have to do it. I believe it's helping. I do a couple slow 30 minute jogs. It doesn't feel right. It hurts. I sink further. Deep water conditioning is a great way to stay conditioned if a runner is injured. I can't do deep water. Still sinking. I eat. Why not? I eat crap. Weight gain greets me like an old friend. Not a good friend, an old friend I've meant to forget. With the added pounds my attitude slowly begins to shift. F me. I hate this. I feel like crap. Can I sink any further?
I tried a trail run today, super slow pace for me. We had two groups - the long distance runners and the short bus people. In my head I was one of the long distance runners until halfway through the run Sharon told me I was heading back. It hurt at first. Not physically, but emotionally - and that can hurt more. What do you mean I'm going back, I'm a long distance runner? Not today my friend, not today. I finished the run and my entire quad was searing and I simply could not walk without limping. I can taste the quicksand now.
My friends are running. I love to see them run but honestly it pains me to see their joy. Happy little runners zipping to and fro. Like little hummingbirds. What about me? Hello....I'm over here in the quicksand. Can you see me? I have quicksand up my ass and my head is going under. Isn't anyone going to save me? F me. I'm a goner.
I'm feeling sorry for myself even though I know I'm not alone. Albert was right there talking me off the ledge - he does that quite often and thank God he never tires of it. My multisport friends have been fantastic as well. They care. What's this? Have I stopped sinking? Dr Sharon invited me to her house for a "session". I used the black death roller and having survived that, Sharon came over to me with an interesting device that was then thrust with care into various parts of my quad and butt. I will admit that tears were running down my cheeks and I probably called out for Jesus to take me more than once. She then used the tool like a rolling pin up and down my leg with the pace of a sprinter. FH! I know it bothered her to cause me that much pain but I also know it was necessary and she did it because she cares.
My head has cleared the quicksand. Maybe I'll make it after all. My friends are here and the reality is that they always have been. Maybe I just needed to reach out and take their hand or simply ask for help. I'm not good at either. My leg still hurts and my activities are limited. My goal is not to let it change my attitude but to simply follow the path that will lead me to a full recovery. One that is not rushed nor too slow. In the meantime I ask for forgiveness if I'm a jerk - I don't mean to be. Thank you for your help and compassion - LYLACMF.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Reunion
Reunions - who cares? I realize that a lot of people do, I just never have. I remember going to my first high school reunion. It was our 10 year (I had skipped the 5 year). I was so unimpressed that it was ridiculous. Hadn't these people grown up and finally understood that everything didn't have to revolve around drinking and dirty jokes? Maybe it was me. After all I didn't blend well in school - I did my own thing and had a very small cluster of friends. My goal was to rock the GPA, graduate early, and get a job. I did. Once I determined that I had enough credits to graduate, it was one short meeting with my counselor and I was out of there - see ya suckers! In less than a month I landed a job with the company I would give 29 years of hard work and loyalty too.
I wasn't very social in high school - never dated - didn't care too. I was there to get out. There were many downsides. One being little dating experience...lots of the people I knew "had been around the block once or twice" (or at least claimed they had) and I'd not quite moved off the sidewalk. Whatever. Looking back I was a bit shy. If a girl wanted to talk to me she better be prepared to start the conversation, keep it rolling, and decide when it was over. My job was to maintain eye contact. Don't let the eyes wander...no...stop...look at her eyes...her eyes...that's better. Another downside was that shifting from high school directly to a full time job (earning the monster sum of $450 a month) required me to attack my college degree at night. The downside to that downside was that it took for frickin forever....the upside, I was making bank....or so it seemed. $450 a month and living at home - sweet baby!
So why this blog about reunions? My best friend from high school called me last week about an upcoming 25 year reunion of our city league soccer team. Many moons ago I played quite a bit of soccer. I wasn't great in terms of skill, but I was fast. They put me in the forward position and our main play was for someone to kick the ball as far as they could and see if I could out run the defender, get the ball first, and score a goal. It wasn't the most strategic plan but it worked well. Sooner or later the other teams would put two guys on me and let's just say the game became a bit rougher. I remember dislocating my jaw in this no contact sport. It was a bitch when the doc popped it back into place...ouch! The day came when we got a real coach who used to play for Manchester United and knew his shit. He moved me to defense using the logic that most Americans shove the fast guys up front so we better have faster guys in the back to cut them off, take the ball and turn it back up field. I loved it! Big guys racing down with the ball and 120 pound Mikey would take the ball away and run it back to help set up a goal. Anyway 25 years ago we won our division, made it through the playoffs and had the big city league championship game played in Civic Stadium. We lost 3-1 but it was an incredible experience.
Thus the reunion and I don't want to go. I haven't seen these people in nearly 23 years and even Vince, my best friend in high school and I see each other only once maybe every few years. Why would I want to drive to Portland for what would be an awkward evening, probably too many beers, and stories about the big game that likely are a far stretch from what really happened? Oh, and then there's the "Hi, remember me? Yes, I used to have hair...no, I'm divorced now...." Sounds like a great time. Geez, I reread that and I kinda sound like an asshole. Truth is I am thinking about going (5% yes/95% no) The thing is that Vince wants me to go. The guy has a heart the size of the moon and is all sentimental about this kind of thing. I could hear the disappointment in his voice when we talked. I left him with a "maybe" though we both knew the odds were against it.
Who knows, maybe you'll see a blog about my reunion experience snuck in among the race stories. My life is about moving forward but not at the expense of forgetting the important things in my past. Maybe this is one of them. Maybe I'm meant to go. Maybe we'll go. Looking over at the passenger seat may be all I need to make it a great trip. That in of itself could be a blog but that is for another day. Today I'll close my eyes and remember beating the keeper, tucking the ball away on the far right post, turning toward my teammates and running with my arms held high because one of them had just delivered to me the perfect pass.
I wasn't very social in high school - never dated - didn't care too. I was there to get out. There were many downsides. One being little dating experience...lots of the people I knew "had been around the block once or twice" (or at least claimed they had) and I'd not quite moved off the sidewalk. Whatever. Looking back I was a bit shy. If a girl wanted to talk to me she better be prepared to start the conversation, keep it rolling, and decide when it was over. My job was to maintain eye contact. Don't let the eyes wander...no...stop...look at her eyes...her eyes...that's better. Another downside was that shifting from high school directly to a full time job (earning the monster sum of $450 a month) required me to attack my college degree at night. The downside to that downside was that it took for frickin forever....the upside, I was making bank....or so it seemed. $450 a month and living at home - sweet baby!
So why this blog about reunions? My best friend from high school called me last week about an upcoming 25 year reunion of our city league soccer team. Many moons ago I played quite a bit of soccer. I wasn't great in terms of skill, but I was fast. They put me in the forward position and our main play was for someone to kick the ball as far as they could and see if I could out run the defender, get the ball first, and score a goal. It wasn't the most strategic plan but it worked well. Sooner or later the other teams would put two guys on me and let's just say the game became a bit rougher. I remember dislocating my jaw in this no contact sport. It was a bitch when the doc popped it back into place...ouch! The day came when we got a real coach who used to play for Manchester United and knew his shit. He moved me to defense using the logic that most Americans shove the fast guys up front so we better have faster guys in the back to cut them off, take the ball and turn it back up field. I loved it! Big guys racing down with the ball and 120 pound Mikey would take the ball away and run it back to help set up a goal. Anyway 25 years ago we won our division, made it through the playoffs and had the big city league championship game played in Civic Stadium. We lost 3-1 but it was an incredible experience.
Thus the reunion and I don't want to go. I haven't seen these people in nearly 23 years and even Vince, my best friend in high school and I see each other only once maybe every few years. Why would I want to drive to Portland for what would be an awkward evening, probably too many beers, and stories about the big game that likely are a far stretch from what really happened? Oh, and then there's the "Hi, remember me? Yes, I used to have hair...no, I'm divorced now...." Sounds like a great time. Geez, I reread that and I kinda sound like an asshole. Truth is I am thinking about going (5% yes/95% no) The thing is that Vince wants me to go. The guy has a heart the size of the moon and is all sentimental about this kind of thing. I could hear the disappointment in his voice when we talked. I left him with a "maybe" though we both knew the odds were against it.
Who knows, maybe you'll see a blog about my reunion experience snuck in among the race stories. My life is about moving forward but not at the expense of forgetting the important things in my past. Maybe this is one of them. Maybe I'm meant to go. Maybe we'll go. Looking over at the passenger seat may be all I need to make it a great trip. That in of itself could be a blog but that is for another day. Today I'll close my eyes and remember beating the keeper, tucking the ball away on the far right post, turning toward my teammates and running with my arms held high because one of them had just delivered to me the perfect pass.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Air
Air. Oxygen. Critical for respiration. Safe to say it's something we embrace. There was a time it came easy. A time I didn't really think about it. It was there when I needed it and I took it for granted. As a little kid I would run around the yard, climb trees, ride my bike, scream when the mood hit me, and chase girls (they were faster then TOO). In early 99 I found that exercise induced asthma was the reason for my recent struggles with running. Part way into a race I simply could not get enough oxygen into my lungs and I would become weak and my breathing was more like panting. The final mile was more survival than anything else. The finish line meant a chance to stop and try to catch my breath. As hard as I tried, a full deep breath was impossible. It's a scary feeling to try as hard as you can to breathe and only succeed in a shallow short gasp of air followed by coughing. Wheezing was a partner in this crime. In time I would get back to normal and move on.
After some tests it was determined that I would become inhaler dependent. One for the morning and evening, another if I chose to run. I chose to run and the inhaler was magic. Air was back and running was fun again!!! Best of all, I was able to run with Sharon and Albert again....or is it that they were able to run with me.. :)
So there I was, taking oxygen for granted again - well, not like I used to because sucking on an inhaler is a constant reminder that no one is invincible. We all have our "inhalers" and we find a way to adjust our lives to them. We don't let them change us or at least we shouldn't.
Two months ago I started to struggle again. From time to time I would need to take my exercise inhaler after a run in addition to taking it before. The time to time became more frequent and I blamed it on cold weather. I'm good at deflecting anything related to my health. In fact I excel at it. Can you say s-t-u-p-i-d? The past 3 weeks I've needed it during a run which of course I can't take since I had just taken it. My frickin chest gets heavy and air once again is elusive. F ***! So am I back to square one or am I worse? Logic would say worse because what helped me yesterday isn't doing the trick today. Scary? Yes. Let's hope it's just my asthma and nothing else. Ok mom, I know you're reading this thinking you need to be calling 911. But guess what? I visit the doc on Monday. :) I'm sure I will get some heavy duty inhaler that takes two hands just to hold, with side effects that will make my hair fall out (don't say it), cause me to become impotent, and hell, let's toss in uncontrollable flatulence. Truth be told it'd not be a bad trade to be able to breathe again. You all may not think so nor would many of you sit next to me anymore.
Maybe I should just suck it up. I know people who have much tougher cards handed to them and they step up and move forward every day. That impresses me, they impress me. It could be that my fast days are behind me and my blog will become Jog...don't run. It could be that I get new meds and I start setting new race records. Like life, time will tell. But just because I'm standing next to you and something stinks, it's not necessarily me...
After some tests it was determined that I would become inhaler dependent. One for the morning and evening, another if I chose to run. I chose to run and the inhaler was magic. Air was back and running was fun again!!! Best of all, I was able to run with Sharon and Albert again....or is it that they were able to run with me.. :)
So there I was, taking oxygen for granted again - well, not like I used to because sucking on an inhaler is a constant reminder that no one is invincible. We all have our "inhalers" and we find a way to adjust our lives to them. We don't let them change us or at least we shouldn't.
Two months ago I started to struggle again. From time to time I would need to take my exercise inhaler after a run in addition to taking it before. The time to time became more frequent and I blamed it on cold weather. I'm good at deflecting anything related to my health. In fact I excel at it. Can you say s-t-u-p-i-d? The past 3 weeks I've needed it during a run which of course I can't take since I had just taken it. My frickin chest gets heavy and air once again is elusive. F ***! So am I back to square one or am I worse? Logic would say worse because what helped me yesterday isn't doing the trick today. Scary? Yes. Let's hope it's just my asthma and nothing else. Ok mom, I know you're reading this thinking you need to be calling 911. But guess what? I visit the doc on Monday. :) I'm sure I will get some heavy duty inhaler that takes two hands just to hold, with side effects that will make my hair fall out (don't say it), cause me to become impotent, and hell, let's toss in uncontrollable flatulence. Truth be told it'd not be a bad trade to be able to breathe again. You all may not think so nor would many of you sit next to me anymore.
Maybe I should just suck it up. I know people who have much tougher cards handed to them and they step up and move forward every day. That impresses me, they impress me. It could be that my fast days are behind me and my blog will become Jog...don't run. It could be that I get new meds and I start setting new race records. Like life, time will tell. But just because I'm standing next to you and something stinks, it's not necessarily me...
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Porch Time
I love my porch. Looking at it one would be hard pressed to discern it from any other porch. 2x4's...wood rails...concrete...couple a chairs...ordinary. Is it really ordinary? To me it isn't. In fact my porch can be a magic place, a special place. What makes it magic I don't know. Maybe it's because I feel peaceful sitting out there. My mind wanders. Never so far that it hasn't come back - though there are those of you who have thought more than once that I lost it...it's never lost, just takes frequent vacations.
At times my porch would be an escape portal. I could walk out of the house and be a recluse, a misanthrope. I do like people it's just that sometimes, well, I don't - I like you though and not just because you are reading my blog! Don't you ever feel like you just want to be alone, left alone, not bothered, not spoken too? I do. Granted it's not very often but I admit there are those times. Often I will sit out there and read. In the summer I get the evening sun cutting across my left shoulder so I pop over to the other chair to catch some shade. I would watch my son mow the lawn. You have to keep an eye on those things. Proper mowing requires once around the perimeter then crisp straight strips back and forth, overlapping each time by 50% to ensure a clean cut. Then of course the next mowing will be diagonal, back to straight, etc. You also can't mow too fast or you pull the grass rather than cut it. My observation of the process would slightly annoy Taylor. I could tell because he wouldn't look directly at me but I would see the slight shift of his eyes as he went by. He'd do a great job 99% of the time. Once in a while I'd see a few blades sticking up and he'd need to take another pass with the mower.
Other times I would sit out there and just let thoughts roll in and out. It's amazing how I could work my way though exactly how I would manage my lottery winnings should my numbers suddenly hit. Some of the porch memories never leave me. I remember sitting out there November 29th 2009 at 4:30 in the morning. It was the day of my first ever half marathon. It was raining. I knew Albert would be coming to pick me up and that was that - I was going to run a half marathon. I was nervous, maybe a little scared. I ran through the race in my mind, comforted that Albert would be by my side the entire time - I'd be ok, safe. Sitting on the porch during a rain storm fills me with such an incredible feeling. I love it! Don't come talk to me however, just let me escape in the moment. Listening to the rain hit the leaves on the plants, watching them bounce off the street, even hearing the water roll down the roof and through the gutter. Rain can be good. Now don't even get me started about watching the snow fall.
Have I mentioned yet my attire? Oh heavens, forgive me. I wear my bathrobe. Always in the morning but honestly most of the time I'm out there. Sometimes it's cold enough that I wear a sweatshirt under it. Maybe a hat if it's really cold. I sit out there all bundled up and drink coffee. Paradise. It's not like I'm naked underneath. I'll wear my pajamas. Neighbors drive by and glance over. I simply raise my cup of coffee to them and smile. Surely they think I'm crazy or just a little 'off'. I am not alone in this regard however. Sharon used to live a couple houses down and more than once would call and tell me she was coming down to have coffee. There she be, walking down the sidewalk coffee in hand, wearing her white bathrobe and pajamas. Her hair....her hair would be sticking up and out in so many directions that Vidal Sassoon would have turned and ran. She didn't care. Neither did I. It was coffee time, porch time. We'd shoot the shit and laugh. I remember one time Sue opened the front door, looked at us and just closed it without a word. I'm sure we were quite the sight!
I wouldn't trade my porch for anything, nor the memories I have sitting out there. Tomorrow I'll make a latte from my new machine, toss on the bathrobe, and ease into my chair. I already know in fact what I'll be thinking about. It'll be a good day. My porch is always open. Come by any time. We'll talk, have a coffee, or maybe just enjoy each others company in silence - letting our minds wander, dream, unwind. My porch is your porch, bathrobe optional - PJ's not.
At times my porch would be an escape portal. I could walk out of the house and be a recluse, a misanthrope. I do like people it's just that sometimes, well, I don't - I like you though and not just because you are reading my blog! Don't you ever feel like you just want to be alone, left alone, not bothered, not spoken too? I do. Granted it's not very often but I admit there are those times. Often I will sit out there and read. In the summer I get the evening sun cutting across my left shoulder so I pop over to the other chair to catch some shade. I would watch my son mow the lawn. You have to keep an eye on those things. Proper mowing requires once around the perimeter then crisp straight strips back and forth, overlapping each time by 50% to ensure a clean cut. Then of course the next mowing will be diagonal, back to straight, etc. You also can't mow too fast or you pull the grass rather than cut it. My observation of the process would slightly annoy Taylor. I could tell because he wouldn't look directly at me but I would see the slight shift of his eyes as he went by. He'd do a great job 99% of the time. Once in a while I'd see a few blades sticking up and he'd need to take another pass with the mower.
Other times I would sit out there and just let thoughts roll in and out. It's amazing how I could work my way though exactly how I would manage my lottery winnings should my numbers suddenly hit. Some of the porch memories never leave me. I remember sitting out there November 29th 2009 at 4:30 in the morning. It was the day of my first ever half marathon. It was raining. I knew Albert would be coming to pick me up and that was that - I was going to run a half marathon. I was nervous, maybe a little scared. I ran through the race in my mind, comforted that Albert would be by my side the entire time - I'd be ok, safe. Sitting on the porch during a rain storm fills me with such an incredible feeling. I love it! Don't come talk to me however, just let me escape in the moment. Listening to the rain hit the leaves on the plants, watching them bounce off the street, even hearing the water roll down the roof and through the gutter. Rain can be good. Now don't even get me started about watching the snow fall.
Have I mentioned yet my attire? Oh heavens, forgive me. I wear my bathrobe. Always in the morning but honestly most of the time I'm out there. Sometimes it's cold enough that I wear a sweatshirt under it. Maybe a hat if it's really cold. I sit out there all bundled up and drink coffee. Paradise. It's not like I'm naked underneath. I'll wear my pajamas. Neighbors drive by and glance over. I simply raise my cup of coffee to them and smile. Surely they think I'm crazy or just a little 'off'. I am not alone in this regard however. Sharon used to live a couple houses down and more than once would call and tell me she was coming down to have coffee. There she be, walking down the sidewalk coffee in hand, wearing her white bathrobe and pajamas. Her hair....her hair would be sticking up and out in so many directions that Vidal Sassoon would have turned and ran. She didn't care. Neither did I. It was coffee time, porch time. We'd shoot the shit and laugh. I remember one time Sue opened the front door, looked at us and just closed it without a word. I'm sure we were quite the sight!
I wouldn't trade my porch for anything, nor the memories I have sitting out there. Tomorrow I'll make a latte from my new machine, toss on the bathrobe, and ease into my chair. I already know in fact what I'll be thinking about. It'll be a good day. My porch is always open. Come by any time. We'll talk, have a coffee, or maybe just enjoy each others company in silence - letting our minds wander, dream, unwind. My porch is your porch, bathrobe optional - PJ's not.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Remember
The pain of time,
Moving farther and farther,
Away from a summer of love,
A summer of joy,
A memory that comes to me,
In times of darkness,
A memory that brings me a smile,
A smile stretching from coast to coast,
A memory clearer than the blue sky,
I lay here,
My eyes closed,
Tighter than a baby angel to her mother,
My lips sealed shut,
As if they were hiding a treasure,
My blanket wrapped tightly around me,
As if it were snowing in the room,
But my ears,
My ears are open,
Waiting,
Hoping,
To hear those three words once again.
Another poem my son Taylor wrote. Good stuff from a good kid. At some point in ours lives I think we've all felt this way - losing a love we so desperately wanted to hold on to, hoping that love would come back to us. I like how he put those feelings into words. For his senior project he designed a book on the poems he has written. The official presentation is next week....the review panel better pass him...I'm just sayin....
Moving farther and farther,
Away from a summer of love,
A summer of joy,
A memory that comes to me,
In times of darkness,
A memory that brings me a smile,
A smile stretching from coast to coast,
A memory clearer than the blue sky,
I lay here,
My eyes closed,
Tighter than a baby angel to her mother,
My lips sealed shut,
As if they were hiding a treasure,
My blanket wrapped tightly around me,
As if it were snowing in the room,
But my ears,
My ears are open,
Waiting,
Hoping,
To hear those three words once again.
Another poem my son Taylor wrote. Good stuff from a good kid. At some point in ours lives I think we've all felt this way - losing a love we so desperately wanted to hold on to, hoping that love would come back to us. I like how he put those feelings into words. For his senior project he designed a book on the poems he has written. The official presentation is next week....the review panel better pass him...I'm just sayin....
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