Back to the thoughts on weight loss...
One of the other things I think is true with me is a distorted body image--like anorexics, but in reverse. I'm not saying I look in the mirror and go, "WOW! GODDESS!" (I can't even do that for my internal self, let alone external.) I'm not saying I even look in the mirror all that much--and when I do, it's more like a show-my-teeth grin to check and make sure there's no food stuck.
By distorted, I mean that I don't feel my extra weight, except in certain things.
If I'm standing or lying or sitting, I really only feel the lean aspects of my body: muscles (yes, I have them, they're just hidden under a protective layer), bones, internal organs. I don't know if adipose tissue has less nerve endings or if it's just me. It's like since I can't feel it there, it's sometimes a bit of a shock when I look (and pay attention) in the mirror because I don't feel like my reflection. It's a very strange disconnect.
And when I DO feel the extra weight, it's when I try and bend into certain positions, like a small tucked ball (stomach gets in the way, sometimes hard to breathe like that too), or my butt running into something when I had no idea it was sticking out that far, or when I sit and look down towards my lap and see rolls sticking out from below my chest. It's like my brain goes, HUH?! How can that be there and my body touching itself and I don't even feel it? And then, since I can't feel it, and I can't make it disappear instantly, I deny it, figuring I'll deal with it later.
It goes further. I know what number size I am--and don't want to share it because I have an image of that size in my head, and I don't feel like that's me. And when I do occasionally fold my laundry and hold up my pants, I'm appalled at the size of them. It's like looking at something that belongs to someone else--some stranger that is this enormous person and thank GOD I'm not big like them.
But they're my pants.
And they fit--and have been tight at times.
And it's like I take that conscious knowledge and suppress it, and for me it gets filed in the "diminishing self-esteem" category in my head.
So I make a joke about it, someone laughs, it balances out, and I can live in my little denial land.
At least, until the next time I do laundry.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
A Day at the Beach
We'd scheduled a day at the beach and planned on leaving at 9:45am. My husband was very firm that this was the EXACT time we needed to leave.
Sad thing is, when he's not actually on Moroccan time, I seem to take over that mode.
I got up plenty early, got mostly ready, then hopped in the car to run to the grocery store and pick up some supplies to make a nice breakfast and pack a lunch.
Forgetting that there is construction on the road from my house to the grocery store, I got stuck waiting about 10 minutes on my way there. No big deal, I thought. I have plenty of time.
At the grocery store, I decided to return some bottles and cans. This is one of those stores with the "Can-Do" machines. I HATE those machines. I used to work at a grocery store when I was 17 and it was my job to count out and give slips to people who brought their cans into the store. I was MUCH faster than the dumb machines, and even the slow guy that took over for me was faster.
On top of that, one of the machines was out of order. Of course it didn't post this until it was time to print my receipt. Which meant I had to go into the store, complain that the machine ripped me off, and then go outside and wait for a manager to come and fiddle with the machine. Finally, I get my receipt for my whopping twenty cents.
Seriously? Aside that the whole process, requiring a manager's time to come out and fix the stupid machine probably costs more, is so un-customer-service-friendly that I really don't understand why stores do it.
I get so wrapped up in my annoyance at the whole thing I lose track of time and forget (again) about the construction instead of taking an alternate route. This time I wait nearly twenty minutes.
And walk in the door about five minutes before we need to leave. Somehow, I manage to cook (and inhale) breakfast, prepare snacks, drinks, and lunch for four, pack for my daughter, me, and the dog, and get into the car in about thirty minutes. My husband was annoyed, but there wasn't much I could do about it.
It never ceases to amaze me how "fun" days end up being so much more stressful in some ways than regular days.
We end up arriving at the beach in early afternoon--normally about the time we try to depart--and miraculously there is an open parking space in the lot, despite the cars parked up and down the sides of the highway. We hop out, grab our bags and the dogs (my husband's friend brought a dog too), and hike down to the beach.
My daughter has a blast letting the ocean chase her back and forth. I watch her with envy, knowing that although I'm feeling better than I used to, that kind of energy seems to be part of my past. What I am excited about is that although I'm not feeling as energetic as her, my back handled the walk just fine, which is a huge improvement from last year. My weekly hikes are more challenging, so this should seem easy in comparison. Last year I couldn't carry anything (my poor husband was responsible for gear, toddler, and dog) and I was so sore when we got to the beach that I spent the whole time just trying to find a sitting/lying position that wasn't painful. The hike up was pathetically slow and I'm pretty sure I moaned the whole two-hour car ride home.
I may have moaned a bit this year on the car ride home, but it was because I was in the back seat, slightly overheated again, and it's a curvy drive most of the way.
But it wasn't because my back hurt and it wasn't because the walk aggravated it.
Doubtful that little difference made the moaning any less annoying to my husband who had to listen to it.
But what would a day at the beach be without drama?
Sad thing is, when he's not actually on Moroccan time, I seem to take over that mode.
I got up plenty early, got mostly ready, then hopped in the car to run to the grocery store and pick up some supplies to make a nice breakfast and pack a lunch.
Forgetting that there is construction on the road from my house to the grocery store, I got stuck waiting about 10 minutes on my way there. No big deal, I thought. I have plenty of time.
At the grocery store, I decided to return some bottles and cans. This is one of those stores with the "Can-Do" machines. I HATE those machines. I used to work at a grocery store when I was 17 and it was my job to count out and give slips to people who brought their cans into the store. I was MUCH faster than the dumb machines, and even the slow guy that took over for me was faster.
On top of that, one of the machines was out of order. Of course it didn't post this until it was time to print my receipt. Which meant I had to go into the store, complain that the machine ripped me off, and then go outside and wait for a manager to come and fiddle with the machine. Finally, I get my receipt for my whopping twenty cents.
Seriously? Aside that the whole process, requiring a manager's time to come out and fix the stupid machine probably costs more, is so un-customer-service-friendly that I really don't understand why stores do it.
I get so wrapped up in my annoyance at the whole thing I lose track of time and forget (again) about the construction instead of taking an alternate route. This time I wait nearly twenty minutes.
And walk in the door about five minutes before we need to leave. Somehow, I manage to cook (and inhale) breakfast, prepare snacks, drinks, and lunch for four, pack for my daughter, me, and the dog, and get into the car in about thirty minutes. My husband was annoyed, but there wasn't much I could do about it.
It never ceases to amaze me how "fun" days end up being so much more stressful in some ways than regular days.
We end up arriving at the beach in early afternoon--normally about the time we try to depart--and miraculously there is an open parking space in the lot, despite the cars parked up and down the sides of the highway. We hop out, grab our bags and the dogs (my husband's friend brought a dog too), and hike down to the beach.
My daughter has a blast letting the ocean chase her back and forth. I watch her with envy, knowing that although I'm feeling better than I used to, that kind of energy seems to be part of my past. What I am excited about is that although I'm not feeling as energetic as her, my back handled the walk just fine, which is a huge improvement from last year. My weekly hikes are more challenging, so this should seem easy in comparison. Last year I couldn't carry anything (my poor husband was responsible for gear, toddler, and dog) and I was so sore when we got to the beach that I spent the whole time just trying to find a sitting/lying position that wasn't painful. The hike up was pathetically slow and I'm pretty sure I moaned the whole two-hour car ride home.
I may have moaned a bit this year on the car ride home, but it was because I was in the back seat, slightly overheated again, and it's a curvy drive most of the way.
But it wasn't because my back hurt and it wasn't because the walk aggravated it.
Doubtful that little difference made the moaning any less annoying to my husband who had to listen to it.
But what would a day at the beach be without drama?
Friday, July 30, 2010
Weight Issues Part I: Denial Through Humor
This past week I've been thinking a lot about weight loss and what blocks people (not just me) from taking action, sticking to action, or even simply comprehending that action needs to be taken. It's such a multilayered complex issue that I really think is so individual.
I started writing down some of the things I've been pondering, not even getting to most of them, and discovered this was going to get really long really quickly. So after typing for over three hours (no kidding), I decided that maybe I should break it into segments. Welcome to Part I: Denial Through Humor.
Some (I think I'm one of them) brush comments off or insert comments into conversations where things might be (accidentally) offensive with the intent of humor. For me, that laughter was (still is) positive feedback--even if others were laughing because they were uncomfortable and weren't sure how else to react. So when I joke about going from hippopotamus to healthy, I am trying to make people laugh (chuckle?), seeking that positive feedback, and maybe in some weird way, reinforcing the base for those jokes.
If I can't make fun of myself that way, will people still laugh? Or will I have a harder time at finding humorous content to entertain others?
Has poking fun at myself because of my weight become part of my self-identity?
Or perhaps there's an underlying sadness that I try to use humor to pull myself out of?
I don't know. So sadly, this closes and I can't even make it funny.
I started writing down some of the things I've been pondering, not even getting to most of them, and discovered this was going to get really long really quickly. So after typing for over three hours (no kidding), I decided that maybe I should break it into segments. Welcome to Part I: Denial Through Humor.
Some (I think I'm one of them) brush comments off or insert comments into conversations where things might be (accidentally) offensive with the intent of humor. For me, that laughter was (still is) positive feedback--even if others were laughing because they were uncomfortable and weren't sure how else to react. So when I joke about going from hippopotamus to healthy, I am trying to make people laugh (chuckle?), seeking that positive feedback, and maybe in some weird way, reinforcing the base for those jokes.
If I can't make fun of myself that way, will people still laugh? Or will I have a harder time at finding humorous content to entertain others?
Has poking fun at myself because of my weight become part of my self-identity?
Or perhaps there's an underlying sadness that I try to use humor to pull myself out of?
I don't know. So sadly, this closes and I can't even make it funny.
Holy Countdown, Batman
I've now been saying that I will do the triathlon in November for almost a month, despite my back issues. Today my countdown meter on the left side of this blog went from triple digits, which in my head felt like the twelfth of never, to double digits, which seems like TOMORROW.
HOLY COUNTDOWN, BATMAN, that's SOON.
This afternoon I walked to a garage sale with my daughter and the neighbor girl. I think I spent the most I've ever spent at a garage sale: $25.50. I left with a $10 (paid $2) candleholder I've been eyeing at IKEA, but hadn't previously been able to justify, a $1 paperback book by an author I've been wanting to check out, a $1 photo album that will hold 48 pictures (which will be a granddaughter scrapbook for my mother-in-law), a $4 ski helmet one size up for my daughter (my husband was so THRILLED at this he didn't even complain about me spending the money on everything else), a $7 queen comforter and pillow set, and a small microwave for $10 (to use in my massage practice).
My daughter picked out a toy for 50 cents that she wouldn't let go of.
Did I mention I WALKED to the garage sale?
The neighbor girl was kind enough to haul everything in bags for me.
Except the microwave.
Which I decided I would carry.
All the way home.
Because again, not so good with the moderation or common sense.
I lost count of how many times I shifted it from shoulder to shoulder and hollered, "MOVE PLEASE" to my daughter who kept coming to a dead stop in front of me.
She would laugh hysterically, run forward 10 steps, slow to a walk, and then repeat.
Booger.
I did manage to make it home without any actual mishaps, and was a bit achy (my abdominal muscles and my back), but was still better off than when I started this whole project.
Later, we went swimming at family swim night again. I was so excited to see my three-year-old swim all the way across the pool by herself, using front crawl, back crawl, then later doing elementary back stroke on her own. I was utterly amazed at the improvements she made in just one week.
Oh dear. I'm sounding like the overproud mom I never wanted to become, bragging about how exceptional MY child is.
Still, considering the number of kids over six that were wearing arm floaties or lifejackets in the pool, I am very pleased with my three-year-old because she could, in an emergency situation, survive at least a little while. This was our whole purpose in putting her in swimming lessons.
Of course, it doesn't mean we're going to stop now. She loves it, so we'll keep her in it as long as we can--ideally at least until she can swim a mile (this is an arbitrary thing I picked out since I think I swam my first mile around age 8).
If she's anything like her mother, she may eventually have something else to say about that, so I may end up eating my words in the interest of family peace.
At least when I eat words I don't have to worry about the effect on my waistline.
HOLY COUNTDOWN, BATMAN, that's SOON.
This afternoon I walked to a garage sale with my daughter and the neighbor girl. I think I spent the most I've ever spent at a garage sale: $25.50. I left with a $10 (paid $2) candleholder I've been eyeing at IKEA, but hadn't previously been able to justify, a $1 paperback book by an author I've been wanting to check out, a $1 photo album that will hold 48 pictures (which will be a granddaughter scrapbook for my mother-in-law), a $4 ski helmet one size up for my daughter (my husband was so THRILLED at this he didn't even complain about me spending the money on everything else), a $7 queen comforter and pillow set, and a small microwave for $10 (to use in my massage practice).
My daughter picked out a toy for 50 cents that she wouldn't let go of.
Did I mention I WALKED to the garage sale?
The neighbor girl was kind enough to haul everything in bags for me.
Except the microwave.
Which I decided I would carry.
All the way home.
Because again, not so good with the moderation or common sense.
I lost count of how many times I shifted it from shoulder to shoulder and hollered, "MOVE PLEASE" to my daughter who kept coming to a dead stop in front of me.
She would laugh hysterically, run forward 10 steps, slow to a walk, and then repeat.
Booger.
I did manage to make it home without any actual mishaps, and was a bit achy (my abdominal muscles and my back), but was still better off than when I started this whole project.
Later, we went swimming at family swim night again. I was so excited to see my three-year-old swim all the way across the pool by herself, using front crawl, back crawl, then later doing elementary back stroke on her own. I was utterly amazed at the improvements she made in just one week.
Oh dear. I'm sounding like the overproud mom I never wanted to become, bragging about how exceptional MY child is.
Still, considering the number of kids over six that were wearing arm floaties or lifejackets in the pool, I am very pleased with my three-year-old because she could, in an emergency situation, survive at least a little while. This was our whole purpose in putting her in swimming lessons.
Of course, it doesn't mean we're going to stop now. She loves it, so we'll keep her in it as long as we can--ideally at least until she can swim a mile (this is an arbitrary thing I picked out since I think I swam my first mile around age 8).
If she's anything like her mother, she may eventually have something else to say about that, so I may end up eating my words in the interest of family peace.
At least when I eat words I don't have to worry about the effect on my waistline.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
My Learning Curve Is Curving the Wrong Way
Okay, WARNING because there is oversharing ahead.
The day actually started off well. For the first time since I started this, my scales reflected enough of a difference I could finally say that I'm making a dent, although at this point the dent is really more like a small dimple, but STILL, I'm making a small dimple in my weight loss efforts.
Yes, I did type "scales." No, it wasn't an accident. This is because I have two bathroom scales. Now before you go assuming I'm nuts (this is beside the point), let me try to explain.
Scale #1 I've had for probably 13 years. It's broken. I keep it not because I'm sentimentally attached to it, but because even though it's broken, it's consistent in how it measures. It's about a half a pound light for every 10 pounds. People love using this scale when they come to visit because it's very encouraging. I didn't replace it for ages because despite knowing it was off, it is kind of my standard of comparison for past points in my life. So I keep it.
Scale #2 we got shortly after my daughter was born. It's a Weight Watchers scale that goes to the tenth of a pound. We got it because she didn't put on weight terribly quickly when she was born and we were constantly having to do check-ins. Unfortunately, this scale is also broken. We tried to take it back but the store wouldn't take it. Why do I keep this one? Because although it's broken, it's usually a closer shot to my actual weight. It's off by plus or minus up to 10 pounds--and usually by the plus, but it's a more realistic gauge than my other one.
So scale #2 showed a number lower than it has ever shown me before and scale #1 showed me a number lower than I've been at since well before my daughter was born.
This meant I started the day feeling positive and like I'm on the right track.
Today was one of my hikes with my friends and instead of a where the HEK, this is a what the HEK story.
Last week I got dehydrated, didn't feel well, was fairly queasy for a couple of hours in the evening, but it passed. I figured I needed to 1) hydrate more beforehand and 2) eat better (more) during the day--I'd really kind of used up all my available energy and then some. While I know that ideally you want to PARTLY be in this situation in weight-loss terms, there's also a level of maintenance energy that needs to be taken in before your body turns on itself. Last week I totally felt like I was on the border of that.
So, I drank plenty of water through the day, ate honestly as much as I could--I can't seem to eat as much as I used to, even when I try. This is a good thing, with the single drawback of getting my money's worth at an all-you-can-eat buffet not possible. I rarely go to that type of a thing except for my husband's and my birthday, when we visit Todai, an all-you-can-eat sushi buffet where the birthday person eats free. I doubt we'll be going this year because he can't eat fish right now due to the mercury poisoning and I wouldn't be able to enjoy it quite as much. Oh well--it's a loss I'll accept.
Anyhow, I couldn't take in as much as I thought I'd need, so I took in what I could and figured I would just not push myself if I felt like it was getting to be too much.
Yeah, so I still haven't got the idea of "moderation," "balance," and perhaps even "common sense" quite down yet.
We took a slightly different trail that connected to the one we took last week. This actually had a much more gentle slope (ironically, more along the lines of what I'd expected for last week) and then connected to the more up and down trails we took before.
Since it started out so well, I figured I could make it the whole way with Ijja on my back. I had one opportunity to hand her over, which I didn't take because even though I was ...*PANT*... telling ...*PANT*... stories ...*PANT*PANT*PANT*... slowly again, I felt stronger.
I probably am, but at the next opportunity to hand her off, I did. Despite wanting to make it the whole way, I just had a feeling I was pushing it too much, so I decided to be sensible.
Apparently "sensible" is also not something I completely have the grasp of, because the sensible thing to do would have been to hand her off earlier as I think I overdid it even more than last week. I stopped on the way home and got four bottles of Recharge. I ended up drinking a whole bottle, plus another of my full water bottles.
I also scarfed up a chicken strip and a half (not much, but again, all I could seem to get down) and a couple of mini croissants.
I then took my daughter to gymnastics class and taught a private lesson (despite the increasing pounding in my head--and trying to offset it by drinking more water and sticking my face/head in the water fountain).
Driving home, I actually was thinking I shouldn't be driving since I felt so awful...headache turning to stomachache.
Less than a mile from my house, I had to pull over and dash out of the car.
Let's just say that by time I got back into the car, my stomach was no longer bothering me. And I hope you can't get arrested for leaving a biohazard in a public space, or if you can, no one connects it to me.
I came home, told my husband that I left our daughter sleeping in the car and would he mind getting her out because I was going to go lie down. Which I did, with a cold washcloth on my head. (For some reason, I find this extremely soothing for the following ailments: overheating, headaches, upset stomach, general yuckiness, and even just plain grouchiness.)
It's now 2.5 hours later and I feel better. I managed to eat (and hold down) another mini croissant as well as some more water. Don't ask me why the mini croissants appeal--I'm sure I could find something more nutritionally valuable, but one of the things I've noticed when my stomach is in "revolt mode" is that there are only certain things that appeal and I should (selectively) stick to them.
I don't think my calves will be as bad this week, so although in some ways the effects of today's hike were more dramatic, perhaps they were more short-lived.
I think I prefer the sore calves anyway.
The day actually started off well. For the first time since I started this, my scales reflected enough of a difference I could finally say that I'm making a dent, although at this point the dent is really more like a small dimple, but STILL, I'm making a small dimple in my weight loss efforts.
Yes, I did type "scales." No, it wasn't an accident. This is because I have two bathroom scales. Now before you go assuming I'm nuts (this is beside the point), let me try to explain.
Scale #1 I've had for probably 13 years. It's broken. I keep it not because I'm sentimentally attached to it, but because even though it's broken, it's consistent in how it measures. It's about a half a pound light for every 10 pounds. People love using this scale when they come to visit because it's very encouraging. I didn't replace it for ages because despite knowing it was off, it is kind of my standard of comparison for past points in my life. So I keep it.
Scale #2 we got shortly after my daughter was born. It's a Weight Watchers scale that goes to the tenth of a pound. We got it because she didn't put on weight terribly quickly when she was born and we were constantly having to do check-ins. Unfortunately, this scale is also broken. We tried to take it back but the store wouldn't take it. Why do I keep this one? Because although it's broken, it's usually a closer shot to my actual weight. It's off by plus or minus up to 10 pounds--and usually by the plus, but it's a more realistic gauge than my other one.
So scale #2 showed a number lower than it has ever shown me before and scale #1 showed me a number lower than I've been at since well before my daughter was born.
This meant I started the day feeling positive and like I'm on the right track.
Today was one of my hikes with my friends and instead of a where the HEK, this is a what the HEK story.
Last week I got dehydrated, didn't feel well, was fairly queasy for a couple of hours in the evening, but it passed. I figured I needed to 1) hydrate more beforehand and 2) eat better (more) during the day--I'd really kind of used up all my available energy and then some. While I know that ideally you want to PARTLY be in this situation in weight-loss terms, there's also a level of maintenance energy that needs to be taken in before your body turns on itself. Last week I totally felt like I was on the border of that.
So, I drank plenty of water through the day, ate honestly as much as I could--I can't seem to eat as much as I used to, even when I try. This is a good thing, with the single drawback of getting my money's worth at an all-you-can-eat buffet not possible. I rarely go to that type of a thing except for my husband's and my birthday, when we visit Todai, an all-you-can-eat sushi buffet where the birthday person eats free. I doubt we'll be going this year because he can't eat fish right now due to the mercury poisoning and I wouldn't be able to enjoy it quite as much. Oh well--it's a loss I'll accept.
Anyhow, I couldn't take in as much as I thought I'd need, so I took in what I could and figured I would just not push myself if I felt like it was getting to be too much.
Yeah, so I still haven't got the idea of "moderation," "balance," and perhaps even "common sense" quite down yet.
We took a slightly different trail that connected to the one we took last week. This actually had a much more gentle slope (ironically, more along the lines of what I'd expected for last week) and then connected to the more up and down trails we took before.
Since it started out so well, I figured I could make it the whole way with Ijja on my back. I had one opportunity to hand her over, which I didn't take because even though I was ...*PANT*... telling ...*PANT*... stories ...*PANT*PANT*PANT*... slowly again, I felt stronger.
I probably am, but at the next opportunity to hand her off, I did. Despite wanting to make it the whole way, I just had a feeling I was pushing it too much, so I decided to be sensible.
Apparently "sensible" is also not something I completely have the grasp of, because the sensible thing to do would have been to hand her off earlier as I think I overdid it even more than last week. I stopped on the way home and got four bottles of Recharge. I ended up drinking a whole bottle, plus another of my full water bottles.
I also scarfed up a chicken strip and a half (not much, but again, all I could seem to get down) and a couple of mini croissants.
I then took my daughter to gymnastics class and taught a private lesson (despite the increasing pounding in my head--and trying to offset it by drinking more water and sticking my face/head in the water fountain).
Driving home, I actually was thinking I shouldn't be driving since I felt so awful...headache turning to stomachache.
Less than a mile from my house, I had to pull over and dash out of the car.
Let's just say that by time I got back into the car, my stomach was no longer bothering me. And I hope you can't get arrested for leaving a biohazard in a public space, or if you can, no one connects it to me.
I came home, told my husband that I left our daughter sleeping in the car and would he mind getting her out because I was going to go lie down. Which I did, with a cold washcloth on my head. (For some reason, I find this extremely soothing for the following ailments: overheating, headaches, upset stomach, general yuckiness, and even just plain grouchiness.)
It's now 2.5 hours later and I feel better. I managed to eat (and hold down) another mini croissant as well as some more water. Don't ask me why the mini croissants appeal--I'm sure I could find something more nutritionally valuable, but one of the things I've noticed when my stomach is in "revolt mode" is that there are only certain things that appeal and I should (selectively) stick to them.
I don't think my calves will be as bad this week, so although in some ways the effects of today's hike were more dramatic, perhaps they were more short-lived.
I think I prefer the sore calves anyway.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Most "Real" PT Appointment So Far
Okay, I've had physical therapy for a number of things in the past: my knees, ankles, and my back. I'm used to appointments taking about an hour and consisting of being guided and watched through specific exercises, having some sort of passive modality done (electrical stimulation, ultrasound, heat, ice, etc), being guided and watched through stretches, and then given instructions on how to do them at home.
With Kaiser, aside a reasonable intake, all I've pretty much had is instructions on how to do things at home.
I'm pretty good with this kind of thing, but the problem is that apparently I've been doing a few things wrong, so when I go back and they ask me to demonstrate, I do it wrong.
They describe to me how to do it right, ask me to keep working on it, and despite trying to make the fixes, apparently I'm incompetent and can't. So I go back and it's wrong and now I'm starting to repeat myself.
They apparently got sick of me (which is kind of okay, because even though my physical therapist was very nice and I liked her, I was kind of sick of going in for the same thing and it not making a difference.
So they referred me to their physical therapy assistant. She did take me through a couple of exercises and stretches last time and even had someone else (an intern?) do the ultrasound on me (amazing! an actual treatment!) and then this week checked on me and walked me through even more exercises.
NOW I feel like I'm getting physical therapy. I was actually pretty excited until at the end of the visit I was told "okay, well, work on these and check back in in a couple of weeks."
*SIGH*
I know it's probably not the professionals fault or choice, but rather the system they are forced to work within. It's just frustrating for me. The exercises I can do on my own, but if I'm doing them wrong, it doesn't help, and the different passive modality work really helps, and I've had that exactly once.
What's sad is when we looked at the health plan options through my husband's work, we discovered it would be cheaper to keep Kaiser and pay out of pocket for actual care through our naturopath, chiropractor, and acupuncturist than to upgrade to the other plan.
Both of us having lived in other countries, we can compare the differences between what we've experienced. Even Morocco, a third-world country, has less expensive and easier-to-access care. Granted, if you're out in the middle of nowhere, you're kind of hosed, but then, the same thing goes for people here, even just on Mt. Hood.
With Kaiser, aside a reasonable intake, all I've pretty much had is instructions on how to do things at home.
I'm pretty good with this kind of thing, but the problem is that apparently I've been doing a few things wrong, so when I go back and they ask me to demonstrate, I do it wrong.
They describe to me how to do it right, ask me to keep working on it, and despite trying to make the fixes, apparently I'm incompetent and can't. So I go back and it's wrong and now I'm starting to repeat myself.
They apparently got sick of me (which is kind of okay, because even though my physical therapist was very nice and I liked her, I was kind of sick of going in for the same thing and it not making a difference.
So they referred me to their physical therapy assistant. She did take me through a couple of exercises and stretches last time and even had someone else (an intern?) do the ultrasound on me (amazing! an actual treatment!) and then this week checked on me and walked me through even more exercises.
NOW I feel like I'm getting physical therapy. I was actually pretty excited until at the end of the visit I was told "okay, well, work on these and check back in in a couple of weeks."
*SIGH*
I know it's probably not the professionals fault or choice, but rather the system they are forced to work within. It's just frustrating for me. The exercises I can do on my own, but if I'm doing them wrong, it doesn't help, and the different passive modality work really helps, and I've had that exactly once.
What's sad is when we looked at the health plan options through my husband's work, we discovered it would be cheaper to keep Kaiser and pay out of pocket for actual care through our naturopath, chiropractor, and acupuncturist than to upgrade to the other plan.
Both of us having lived in other countries, we can compare the differences between what we've experienced. Even Morocco, a third-world country, has less expensive and easier-to-access care. Granted, if you're out in the middle of nowhere, you're kind of hosed, but then, the same thing goes for people here, even just on Mt. Hood.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Better than Yesterday, But That's Not Saying Much
Got up early for physical therapy.
Arrived on time to find out didn't have appointment. Informed it is tomorrow. Beginning to look like yesterday already.
Go back home and sleep, but still managed to get up at a reasonable hour to get down to Dad's house and pick up the pressure washer.
Got a quote for having the driveway and front walkway redone with paving stones. Knew it was out of our financial league, but now we know by how much.
Ended up coaching the private lesson I was supposed to coach last night, and they gave me $20 extra for last night.
Much better day.
Arrived on time to find out didn't have appointment. Informed it is tomorrow. Beginning to look like yesterday already.
Go back home and sleep, but still managed to get up at a reasonable hour to get down to Dad's house and pick up the pressure washer.
Got a quote for having the driveway and front walkway redone with paving stones. Knew it was out of our financial league, but now we know by how much.
Ended up coaching the private lesson I was supposed to coach last night, and they gave me $20 extra for last night.
Much better day.
Monday, July 26, 2010
After Monday and Tuesday, Even the Calendar Says WTF
(Note: I wish I could claim my title for today's post as my own insight, but unfortunately, it came from somewhere online and my husband read it to me. It felt like it fit today.)
Plan for today:
Visit my dad in the morning to pick up the pressure washer, massage client at 1:00, daughter's swimming at 3:00, and teach private gymnastics lesson at 5:00 after stopping by local county animal office to renew dog license.
What really happened:
Woke up around 10:00, too late to get myself and my daughter together in time to get to my dad's house in time to get back for my client, so called him and told him. He wasn't pleased. (He does NOT live on Moroccan time--he'll be visiting the inlaws with us this year, so that will present its own level of challenges I bet.)
About 10:30 my client called. Apparently the appointment wasn't 1:00, it was 10:00 and I was now a half hour late. We rescheduled for 1:00 after more profuse apologies on my part.
Realize I have not scheduled a babysitter for either the massage or for the private lesson in the evening.
Call neighbor girls to see if they can babysit.
They can.
*WHEW*
Scramble around trying to get miscellaneous things done, call Dad to apologize some more and see if I can pick up the pressure washer tomorrow, but get voice mail.
12:30 Drop off daughter.
Give massage to client.
On way home, realize how tightly I have packed my schedule. Run into house, grab daughter's swimsuit and goggles, run to neighbor's, pick up daughter.
Drive short 1-mile distance that we should be walking to get to pool.
Dress her on poolside for lesson--normally classes run about five minutes late on the start. Despite managing to arrive exactly on time, lesson actually began early, so we're late anyway.
Finish lesson, give daughter robe/towel and ask her to put it on (usually she likes to do this by herself anyway). Take two minutes to talk to teacher. When I turn around, stranger helping her take off swimsuit to get dressed (well-meaning grandmother, not creepy or anything, but still annoying).
Dash daughter back to neighbor girls' home to babysit, take off to go teach private lesson.
Get to gym a few minutes early; return a phone call I didn't have time to return earlier. While I'm on the phone, friend calls and leaves voice mail.
Check voice mail, it's my friend asking where my daughter is. Suddenly realize I was supposed to drop off daughter elsewhere for playdate and that I did have childcare arranged, but had forgotten.
Check clock. 15 minutes past time to start private lesson.
Get text from father of students. They are stuck in construction.
Wait another half hour (now 45 minutes late) and get a call. Reschedule as I have to get home to pick up my daughter before husband leaves for soccer.
Drive home, exchange parenting responsibilities as hubby goes to play soccer.
Try to take care of a few tasks while husband is playing soccer.
Have accomplished nothing by time he gets home between dog, high-maintenance cats, and high-energy daughter keeping me busy.
When he returns, have high-emotion "discussion" about state of house. He is not pleased at the mess.
Have no energy left to explain my day.
Go to bed.
Hope tomorrow is better.
Plan for today:
Visit my dad in the morning to pick up the pressure washer, massage client at 1:00, daughter's swimming at 3:00, and teach private gymnastics lesson at 5:00 after stopping by local county animal office to renew dog license.
What really happened:
Woke up around 10:00, too late to get myself and my daughter together in time to get to my dad's house in time to get back for my client, so called him and told him. He wasn't pleased. (He does NOT live on Moroccan time--he'll be visiting the inlaws with us this year, so that will present its own level of challenges I bet.)
About 10:30 my client called. Apparently the appointment wasn't 1:00, it was 10:00 and I was now a half hour late. We rescheduled for 1:00 after more profuse apologies on my part.
Realize I have not scheduled a babysitter for either the massage or for the private lesson in the evening.
Call neighbor girls to see if they can babysit.
They can.
*WHEW*
Scramble around trying to get miscellaneous things done, call Dad to apologize some more and see if I can pick up the pressure washer tomorrow, but get voice mail.
12:30 Drop off daughter.
Give massage to client.
On way home, realize how tightly I have packed my schedule. Run into house, grab daughter's swimsuit and goggles, run to neighbor's, pick up daughter.
Drive short 1-mile distance that we should be walking to get to pool.
Dress her on poolside for lesson--normally classes run about five minutes late on the start. Despite managing to arrive exactly on time, lesson actually began early, so we're late anyway.
Finish lesson, give daughter robe/towel and ask her to put it on (usually she likes to do this by herself anyway). Take two minutes to talk to teacher. When I turn around, stranger helping her take off swimsuit to get dressed (well-meaning grandmother, not creepy or anything, but still annoying).
Dash daughter back to neighbor girls' home to babysit, take off to go teach private lesson.
Get to gym a few minutes early; return a phone call I didn't have time to return earlier. While I'm on the phone, friend calls and leaves voice mail.
Check voice mail, it's my friend asking where my daughter is. Suddenly realize I was supposed to drop off daughter elsewhere for playdate and that I did have childcare arranged, but had forgotten.
Check clock. 15 minutes past time to start private lesson.
Get text from father of students. They are stuck in construction.
Wait another half hour (now 45 minutes late) and get a call. Reschedule as I have to get home to pick up my daughter before husband leaves for soccer.
Drive home, exchange parenting responsibilities as hubby goes to play soccer.
Try to take care of a few tasks while husband is playing soccer.
Have accomplished nothing by time he gets home between dog, high-maintenance cats, and high-energy daughter keeping me busy.
When he returns, have high-emotion "discussion" about state of house. He is not pleased at the mess.
Have no energy left to explain my day.
Go to bed.
Hope tomorrow is better.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Back to the Gym To Do ... Something
Spent much of the first part of today on an attention deficit type of action plan. I had stuff to clean, bows to make, papers to organize, and more. I would start on one thing, get distracted, go to something else, need a supply and pass by another thing, which I would stop to do with the intention of completing...and so on. None of it got done.
One of my massage clients came by. I know I shouldn't have favorites, but over the years, I have developed a closer connection with some--and they have been such good clients that without them, I might not have stayed practicing. This particular favorite client also happens to have disc issues in her low back--although she is going in for surgery this week.
After her appointment I decided to go to the gym for a swim. Unfortunately, on the way there, I realized I'd left my goggles in the toy bag from family swim night. No big deal, I thought, I'll just go for a walk/jog on the treadmill.
Except I'd left my running shoes at home.
So I hopped on the bike for a little bit. I was so unmotivated that it was just a short workout.
As I unwound afterward in the hot tub, it occurred to me that even though it was a little workout, it was enough to be aerobic, and doing something like that daily would probably be better for me than my over-the-top push-myself-to-illness routine that I seem to practice otherwise since I still can't do the moderation thing.
And since I can't do the moderation thing, when I looked up from my book (I just sat on the steps in the hot tub and read), I was stunned to notice that I'd been in there for 1.5 hours.
Yeah, yeah. It's a good book. And I could have worse hobbies than reading.
One of my massage clients came by. I know I shouldn't have favorites, but over the years, I have developed a closer connection with some--and they have been such good clients that without them, I might not have stayed practicing. This particular favorite client also happens to have disc issues in her low back--although she is going in for surgery this week.
After her appointment I decided to go to the gym for a swim. Unfortunately, on the way there, I realized I'd left my goggles in the toy bag from family swim night. No big deal, I thought, I'll just go for a walk/jog on the treadmill.
Except I'd left my running shoes at home.
So I hopped on the bike for a little bit. I was so unmotivated that it was just a short workout.
As I unwound afterward in the hot tub, it occurred to me that even though it was a little workout, it was enough to be aerobic, and doing something like that daily would probably be better for me than my over-the-top push-myself-to-illness routine that I seem to practice otherwise since I still can't do the moderation thing.
And since I can't do the moderation thing, when I looked up from my book (I just sat on the steps in the hot tub and read), I was stunned to notice that I'd been in there for 1.5 hours.
Yeah, yeah. It's a good book. And I could have worse hobbies than reading.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Another Example of What Is Wrong With Me
This morning I had a chiropractic appointment. My back has been considerably better, especially considering I managed the hike with my friends and it really didn't bother my back.
The living room step still receives a glare from me as I wince against the effects it has on my still-sore (if not more-sore) calves.
So I mentioned my progress and my poor pathetic calf muscles to my chiropractor. She offered to do Grasston work (I LOVE this on my back) on my calves. Because of the muscle soreness, it was quite intense (but in a good way) on my calves.
Being me, and apparently needing some reason to do things oddly, I suggested she only treat one calf--I wanted to do a self-experiment so I could feel the difference between treating muscle soreness with a massage technique and without.
She did the Grasston on my right leg and ended up doing regular massage on my left leg. The Grasston leg felt better more, and was over it more quickly, although both were comfortable by the evening.
After the chiropractic appointment, I went grocery shopping and then DASHED home because I had a friend coming over that I hadn't seen in ages and I hadn't cleaned.
I didn't quite finish cleaning (read: I had to scoot over unfolded laundry to provide a place to sit on the couch, among other offenses) but my friend was so gracious that she told me she was coming to see me and not my house. She brought over her son who is one day older than my daughter and so much bigger he could literally rest his chin on the top of her head. They had fun running around the house, even though they got several time-outs for it.
We then went over to one of my husband's co-workers homes for a barbeque. Weirdly, I was full and just couldn't seem to eat much (which I'd also experienced at lunch).
I don't think I've mentioned this yet, but we just found out that my husband has high levels of both mercury and lead poisoning. We aren't sure of the source, although this does explain the strange illnesses he's had since January (diagnosed for four months continuously as "the flu"). Finally after those four months we gave up on Kaiser and with the exception of going there for specific tests the naturopath requested, stuck with the naturopath.
So we spent much of the evening talking about his illness and him feeling strange from the effects of the medicine he has to take which, scarily, is the same stuff that was developed for and given to the survivors of the Chernobyl nuclear accident.
We did have a nice time though, but ended up cutting the evening short when I was getting mosquito bites UNDER my clothing.
The living room step still receives a glare from me as I wince against the effects it has on my still-sore (if not more-sore) calves.
So I mentioned my progress and my poor pathetic calf muscles to my chiropractor. She offered to do Grasston work (I LOVE this on my back) on my calves. Because of the muscle soreness, it was quite intense (but in a good way) on my calves.
Being me, and apparently needing some reason to do things oddly, I suggested she only treat one calf--I wanted to do a self-experiment so I could feel the difference between treating muscle soreness with a massage technique and without.
She did the Grasston on my right leg and ended up doing regular massage on my left leg. The Grasston leg felt better more, and was over it more quickly, although both were comfortable by the evening.
After the chiropractic appointment, I went grocery shopping and then DASHED home because I had a friend coming over that I hadn't seen in ages and I hadn't cleaned.
I didn't quite finish cleaning (read: I had to scoot over unfolded laundry to provide a place to sit on the couch, among other offenses) but my friend was so gracious that she told me she was coming to see me and not my house. She brought over her son who is one day older than my daughter and so much bigger he could literally rest his chin on the top of her head. They had fun running around the house, even though they got several time-outs for it.
We then went over to one of my husband's co-workers homes for a barbeque. Weirdly, I was full and just couldn't seem to eat much (which I'd also experienced at lunch).
I don't think I've mentioned this yet, but we just found out that my husband has high levels of both mercury and lead poisoning. We aren't sure of the source, although this does explain the strange illnesses he's had since January (diagnosed for four months continuously as "the flu"). Finally after those four months we gave up on Kaiser and with the exception of going there for specific tests the naturopath requested, stuck with the naturopath.
So we spent much of the evening talking about his illness and him feeling strange from the effects of the medicine he has to take which, scarily, is the same stuff that was developed for and given to the survivors of the Chernobyl nuclear accident.
We did have a nice time though, but ended up cutting the evening short when I was getting mosquito bites UNDER my clothing.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Did I Say I Wanted a Challenge?
Because if I did say that, now I would like to say that I didn't really mean it.
Because apparently yesterday was more of a challenge than I'd realized, even as I was huffing and puffing through it.
In fact, it was the first time since I started this that I was actually able to push myself to muscle soreness, which I am now experiencing, especially in my calves, just in case you wanted to know, or in case you would like to come over and massage them because OW it hurts to go down the one step into our sunken living room.
Fine, I'm a pansy.
But we're going back next week.
We did go to family swim tonight. It was the first time that I didn't go down the slide at all. I didn't want to go up the stairs. So what did I do instead?
I spent much of the time in the hot tub.
Because apparently yesterday was more of a challenge than I'd realized, even as I was huffing and puffing through it.
In fact, it was the first time since I started this that I was actually able to push myself to muscle soreness, which I am now experiencing, especially in my calves, just in case you wanted to know, or in case you would like to come over and massage them because OW it hurts to go down the one step into our sunken living room.
Fine, I'm a pansy.
But we're going back next week.
We did go to family swim tonight. It was the first time that I didn't go down the slide at all. I didn't want to go up the stairs. So what did I do instead?
I spent much of the time in the hot tub.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Can't...Keep...Up...
The title of today's post has two meanings. One, I still can't seem to keep up with this blog, and two, I went on a hike today and well...see the title.
I have a couple of colleagues, one of who is in great shape, and the other who is in pretty dang good shape. The second one feels very out of shape, and so when we were all at a meeting together, decided to start going out hiking together. We set this as a date.
The ironic part is that if you take our initials and put them together, it spells "HEK." So I decided to call our group What the HEK. I get a kick out of calling them up and saying "Where the HEK are we going to meet?"
I know. I'm a dork. When my daughter is a teenager, I will be the living body of embarrassment for her. I can only dream of reaching embarrassment heights like Dave Barry, a former columnist for the Miami Herald and my all-time favorite author. In one of his books he talked about how he felt it is his role in life as a father to embarrass his son whenever possible. His proudest achievement? Getting to pick up his son from Junior High School in...get this...the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile.
I could never live up to that. So I have to settle for stupid puns that don't even always make sense.
Anyway, the plan was that the two of us that have dogs would bring them along and I would bring my daughter in a hiking backpack. Since they are both aware of my back issues, they said they could take over with the pack if needed. (I am blessed to have such good friends.)
We met at a park that is in the middle of the city. Now for some dumb reason, I had assumed that being in the middle of the city, it would be at least mostly flat.
This was stupid.
First of all, the city is NOT flat, considering it goes from hills down to a river.
Therefore, a park would likely be built in areas that regular buildings can't be; i.e., the not flat parts.
Therefore, the park was definitely NOT flat.
Being the chatterbox that I am, we set off and I was telling one of my stories. Pretty soon, I was ... telling ...*PANT*... one ...*PANT*... of ... my ...*PANT*... stories*PANT*.
Eventually they pretty much informed me they were now going to carry my daughter for me.
I left out the part that my daughter kept leaning sideways in her carrier, picking leaves, and shredding them into my hair. She thought this was HYSTERICAL.
Of course she stopped when my friend carried her.
We got back to the park lodge, refilled water bottles, and my three (me, my daughter, and my dog) departed.
The other two kept hiking, probably at a much faster pace.
I decided not to go to the gym. Those hills were TOUGH and really made me rethink the run part of this triathlon.
But I'm still crazy enough to think I could do it. I should probably get around to registering before it fills up, like my sister keeps telling me.
I have a couple of colleagues, one of who is in great shape, and the other who is in pretty dang good shape. The second one feels very out of shape, and so when we were all at a meeting together, decided to start going out hiking together. We set this as a date.
The ironic part is that if you take our initials and put them together, it spells "HEK." So I decided to call our group What the HEK. I get a kick out of calling them up and saying "Where the HEK are we going to meet?"
I know. I'm a dork. When my daughter is a teenager, I will be the living body of embarrassment for her. I can only dream of reaching embarrassment heights like Dave Barry, a former columnist for the Miami Herald and my all-time favorite author. In one of his books he talked about how he felt it is his role in life as a father to embarrass his son whenever possible. His proudest achievement? Getting to pick up his son from Junior High School in...get this...the Oscar Meyer Weinermobile.
I could never live up to that. So I have to settle for stupid puns that don't even always make sense.
Anyway, the plan was that the two of us that have dogs would bring them along and I would bring my daughter in a hiking backpack. Since they are both aware of my back issues, they said they could take over with the pack if needed. (I am blessed to have such good friends.)
We met at a park that is in the middle of the city. Now for some dumb reason, I had assumed that being in the middle of the city, it would be at least mostly flat.
This was stupid.
First of all, the city is NOT flat, considering it goes from hills down to a river.
Therefore, a park would likely be built in areas that regular buildings can't be; i.e., the not flat parts.
Therefore, the park was definitely NOT flat.
Being the chatterbox that I am, we set off and I was telling one of my stories. Pretty soon, I was ... telling ...*PANT*... one ...*PANT*... of ... my ...*PANT*... stories*PANT*.
Eventually they pretty much informed me they were now going to carry my daughter for me.
I left out the part that my daughter kept leaning sideways in her carrier, picking leaves, and shredding them into my hair. She thought this was HYSTERICAL.
Of course she stopped when my friend carried her.
We got back to the park lodge, refilled water bottles, and my three (me, my daughter, and my dog) departed.
The other two kept hiking, probably at a much faster pace.
I decided not to go to the gym. Those hills were TOUGH and really made me rethink the run part of this triathlon.
But I'm still crazy enough to think I could do it. I should probably get around to registering before it fills up, like my sister keeps telling me.
Monday, July 12, 2010
Better than Yesterday, Sort Of
I finally "recovered" late last night enough to take care of getting things ready for today. I had a meeting out of town that I had to prepare for, as well as get my daughter packed for the babysitter.
By the time my 7.5 hour meeting was over, my migraine was back.
Home.
More.
Sleep.
By the time my 7.5 hour meeting was over, my migraine was back.
Home.
More.
Sleep.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
To Balance Out Yesterday, Today I Did Nothing
Because really, life is all about balance. Yesterday too much. Today not enough. That's balanced, right?
Okay, so perhaps balance is more about moderation.
My dehydration migraine was so bad this morning I had to cancel a massage appointment. I slept much of the day trying to get the bright lights to stop burning through my eyeballs into the back of my head.
By "bright" I mean the light seeping through the closed curtain into my darkened bedroom with a closed door.
Balance? Would also mean the room isn't rocking in a manner that makes me hang on to the covers for fear of falling off of the bed while lying still.
Okay, so perhaps balance is more about moderation.
My dehydration migraine was so bad this morning I had to cancel a massage appointment. I slept much of the day trying to get the bright lights to stop burning through my eyeballs into the back of my head.
By "bright" I mean the light seeping through the closed curtain into my darkened bedroom with a closed door.
Balance? Would also mean the room isn't rocking in a manner that makes me hang on to the covers for fear of falling off of the bed while lying still.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Perhaps Too Much of a Good Thing
I hauled myself into the gym very late--it was nearly 11:30 pm when I got there. I didn't want to cut my workout short, so I asked the front desk guy if women are allowed in the locker room when it's being cleaned. I was thrilled to find out that not only are we allowed in, but that the cleaning guy is supposed leave if we ask him.
YAY! I can use the locker room late at night.
Boogers. No more excuses about not being able to go in at X time of night because of the locker room. Oh well.
Anyhow, I started out with a little bit of time on the recumbent bike because I actually hadn't done much of that lately. It only sorta challenges me, but what I feel like I need to push is the "running" so I've been trying to spend more time on the treadmill. So after only about 20 minutes on the bike, I moved over to the treadmill.
I'm not sure if I mentioned this previously and it's too much effort to go back and read what I've already posted (or it distracts me for so long I get nothing else done), so I'll lay it all out here. The first time I completed 3.1 miles (the triathlon run distance), it was all walking and took me over an hour because I went so slowly. I don't even remember the exact time. That's okay, because if I already put it in print, it certainly doesn't need to be out there twice.
The first time I mixed jogging (with how slow I went, it's totally not running) with my slow walking, I just barely finished my 3.1 miles in 60 minutes.
Friday, I got it down to 56 minutes.
Tonight, 53:20.
I would say yay me, but I actually may have pushed myself a bit too hard. This time though, I'm not talking about my back (which is the usual, but that bit is getting old). Instead, I'm talking about my poor it's-been-so-long-since-I-had-endurance-I-don't-remember-what-the-word-means heart. I interspersed my slow walking with jogging, but made the walking stretches shorter and the jogging stretches longer.
Pop quiz: how many of you know how to calculate heart rates? Here's the answers:
Take 220.
Subtract your age. Just for fun, let's say you're 35.
This gives you 185.
This is your "maximum" heart rate. In other words, supposedly the maximum your heart can tolerate.
For the record, apparently either this "fun example" is only 30, or the calculation of when I should drop dead is wrong.
Continuing with the "example" though...
To calculate an "aerobic/fat loss" heart rate, one should work out maintaining a heart rate at 55-70% of the maximum heart rate. In other words, between 102 and 130.
To calculate a "cardiovascular training" heart rate, one should work out maintaining a heart rate at 70-85% of the maximum heart rate. In other words, between 130 and 157.
(Note: these are general and there are more specific and updated ways of calculating this, but this is just a "fun example," right?)
So I'm jogging along for my terribly brief bursts as usual, but again, trying to up my speeds a little bit since I seem to be able to tolerate a little more. When Examplechick then goes to put her hands on the heart rate calculator on the treadmill is when I discovered she should be dead.
It's also about when I realized my lungs were BURNING and I felt kinda weird.
I slowed down for a bit and took longer walking stretches.
Then something possessed me and I pushed myself on another jogging spurt.
And sent my heart rate over the top, again.
Lungs. Burn.
Chest. Feels funny.
Brain. Hey stupid, knock it off.
So I walked much of the rest of it. I tried picking up speed on the walking (since I couldn't seem to do the jogging in moderation), but still can't go very fast yet.
When I was done, I went and sat in the pool for about 20 minutes to try and cool myself down. I could already tell I was dehydrated (not just from the general ickiness of my shirt), so I was chugging water.
I fell asleep quickly when I got home at 2:00 am.
YAY! I can use the locker room late at night.
Boogers. No more excuses about not being able to go in at X time of night because of the locker room. Oh well.
Anyhow, I started out with a little bit of time on the recumbent bike because I actually hadn't done much of that lately. It only sorta challenges me, but what I feel like I need to push is the "running" so I've been trying to spend more time on the treadmill. So after only about 20 minutes on the bike, I moved over to the treadmill.
I'm not sure if I mentioned this previously and it's too much effort to go back and read what I've already posted (or it distracts me for so long I get nothing else done), so I'll lay it all out here. The first time I completed 3.1 miles (the triathlon run distance), it was all walking and took me over an hour because I went so slowly. I don't even remember the exact time. That's okay, because if I already put it in print, it certainly doesn't need to be out there twice.
The first time I mixed jogging (with how slow I went, it's totally not running) with my slow walking, I just barely finished my 3.1 miles in 60 minutes.
Friday, I got it down to 56 minutes.
Tonight, 53:20.
I would say yay me, but I actually may have pushed myself a bit too hard. This time though, I'm not talking about my back (which is the usual, but that bit is getting old). Instead, I'm talking about my poor it's-been-so-long-since-I-had-endurance-I-don't-remember-what-the-word-means heart. I interspersed my slow walking with jogging, but made the walking stretches shorter and the jogging stretches longer.
Pop quiz: how many of you know how to calculate heart rates? Here's the answers:
Take 220.
Subtract your age. Just for fun, let's say you're 35.
This gives you 185.
This is your "maximum" heart rate. In other words, supposedly the maximum your heart can tolerate.
For the record, apparently either this "fun example" is only 30, or the calculation of when I should drop dead is wrong.
Continuing with the "example" though...
To calculate an "aerobic/fat loss" heart rate, one should work out maintaining a heart rate at 55-70% of the maximum heart rate. In other words, between 102 and 130.
To calculate a "cardiovascular training" heart rate, one should work out maintaining a heart rate at 70-85% of the maximum heart rate. In other words, between 130 and 157.
(Note: these are general and there are more specific and updated ways of calculating this, but this is just a "fun example," right?)
So I'm jogging along for my terribly brief bursts as usual, but again, trying to up my speeds a little bit since I seem to be able to tolerate a little more. When Examplechick then goes to put her hands on the heart rate calculator on the treadmill is when I discovered she should be dead.
It's also about when I realized my lungs were BURNING and I felt kinda weird.
I slowed down for a bit and took longer walking stretches.
Then something possessed me and I pushed myself on another jogging spurt.
And sent my heart rate over the top, again.
Lungs. Burn.
Chest. Feels funny.
Brain. Hey stupid, knock it off.
So I walked much of the rest of it. I tried picking up speed on the walking (since I couldn't seem to do the jogging in moderation), but still can't go very fast yet.
When I was done, I went and sat in the pool for about 20 minutes to try and cool myself down. I could already tell I was dehydrated (not just from the general ickiness of my shirt), so I was chugging water.
I fell asleep quickly when I got home at 2:00 am.
Friday, July 9, 2010
Apparently There Is Progress
Let me start by saying that nothing went as planned today.
I forgot to schedule babysitting for my daughter during my massage appointment. Luckily, the woman whose husband I work on was willing to watch her (and even took her to get her nails done!!! Yes, three exclamation points for someone who paid to have a toddler's nails painted)
When my husband got home, we decided to go to family swim again. When we arrived, I discovered that despite laying out two separate swimsuits at home, I had packed none for my daughter. Fortunately, the lifeguards let her wear her shorts and T-shirt and we drove her home soggy. (She thought this was great fun though.)
I got home and my workout clothes were in the laundry still. Which meant no trip to the gym. As I was sitting around annoyed, I started working on the computer and ended up reading back through my blog from the beginning. I discovered a few things that are quite a bit different than when I started.
1) I (partly) know what is wrong with my back. I have actual structural damage. While I'm not pleased that something is wrong, it is a strange relief because I had been made to feel like I was just a weenie by several doctors over the years. I may still be a weenie, but not completely since there is something wrong.
2) I'm taking a lot more painkillers now (although rarely hitting the maximum daily dosage prescribed). This scares me in that I don't even want to take them in the first place. HOWEVER, it is making a HUGE difference in how much I can do in everything from working out to cleaning the house to spending time with my family without being miserable.
3) Despite not feeling like I was progressing much at the beginning--I wasn't, I think I am now in terms of my endurance. I'm sure some of this is because I take painkillers so that I can do things, but I can run a little bit, I can walk at a faster pace, and--I can't believe I'm even saying this--I don't hate the treadmill any more. Maybe it took discovering that I hated the elliptical more, but whatever it was, the treadmill isn't my enemy. It's still challenging, I still can't run much at all, but I can do some. And I'm getting better.
4) I still have a barrel of excuses and then some, but the web I used to weave seems to be unraveling. Now when I don't work out, I look at why or what came up during the day and set out things for the next day that will make a workout more likely to happen and excuses less likely to hold up. I set times and plan what I have to get done in order to leave so that I can be in and out of the gym by 1:00 (locker room deadline). I am more prompt in packing my workout bag (usually), so that when it is time to go, I just have to grab it and leave (as opposed to spending half an hour running around grabbing things).
5) I have made lifestyle changes in that I do go to the gym regularly. When I looked back at the first few entries in this blog, I was a little bit stunned at some of the things i was thinking less than two months ago that I now no longer consider--like what the guy at the front desk is thinking--and how now I'm more annoyed by rude people in the hot tub than I am self-conscious in the gym.
6) Although my weight really hasn't changed, it has shifted. Forgive the oversharing, but the bra I bought for proper support to work out in went from being on the loosest strap to the tightest one and it's now probably needing to be tossed for a smaller size. My favorite shorts now fall off if I don't cinch up the drawstring and initially they were a bit snug. I have a long long ways to go, but I can feel progress starting. Still nowhere near fitting into a cute dress I saw today, but it feels like something that COULD happen instead of something that would require a magic wand and an alternate universe.
7) My concerns about the triathlon--my initial goal for this whole thing--are different now than before. I think, barring any medical advice or procedures related to my back that could prevent it, that it won't be a "big" deal. My concerns are not longer about being able to finish or being able to move after I finish but rather that I really have no idea how these events work. Some of the reading I've done talks about how the "transitions" between events are sometimes considered a "fourth event" in a triathlon because they affect your final time so greatly.
Apparently there are entire lines of gear designed specifically for triathletes so that they can go from water to bike to run with minimal or no clothes changes between events--strapping on shoes in seconds with cinching laces rather than ties, wearing spandex and a sports bra under the wetsuit so that they just peel off the wetsuit, cinch on their shoes, and hop on a bike. Thing is, I don't care how fit I get, I'm not wearing spandex bike shorts and a sports bra as my outfit, and I have no idea what the space is like for the transitions, so I'm going to have to figure out some type of apparel that is both appropriate, modest, and quick to change.
In any case, my concerns are not whether I can physically do the event, but more about the logistics. A shift, to say the least.
8) There are days that I literally forget about the triathlon all together. My workouts when I started I thought more about the final event--it really was a good motivator to get me going for an end goal, and ultimately, it still is. Now, though, I don't just work out for the goal of the triathlon, but also just for me. It's keeping on a schedule that is challenging for me still, and the triathlon is a good kick in the pants reminder if I can't get going for a couple of days. One of the things that was (and is) important to me about this whole thing was finding something inside that would motivate me and make me do this FOR me. I can't name what that IT is, but again, this is another positive shift that I'm finding.
9) My house is actually cleaner. It's weird because when I started, one of my many thousands of excuses was that I didn't have enough time in the day to do everything--it was one of the reasons I didn't work out AND didn't clean. I actually still think that was true. I spent a good week cleaning to get ready for my daughter's party and have made efforts (mostly successful) to try and keep it that way. It's weird how much stress that alone lifted.
10) My husband no longer has to shove me out the door to work out. He still occasionally hints at it if I don't make it into the gym for a couple of days, but he really is being very supportive without pushing me in a way that makes me feel like I'm only going to make him shut up. (Again, working on the self-motivation has been the biggest deal for me.)
So a lot of progress, actually. I can't really go on a shopping spree for new clothes yet or show off any trophies. But there has been change--and that in itself is even a change from the beginning when there was nothing.
Although I think those posts were much more funny, so maybe this is killing my sense of humor.
I forgot to schedule babysitting for my daughter during my massage appointment. Luckily, the woman whose husband I work on was willing to watch her (and even took her to get her nails done!!! Yes, three exclamation points for someone who paid to have a toddler's nails painted)
When my husband got home, we decided to go to family swim again. When we arrived, I discovered that despite laying out two separate swimsuits at home, I had packed none for my daughter. Fortunately, the lifeguards let her wear her shorts and T-shirt and we drove her home soggy. (She thought this was great fun though.)
I got home and my workout clothes were in the laundry still. Which meant no trip to the gym. As I was sitting around annoyed, I started working on the computer and ended up reading back through my blog from the beginning. I discovered a few things that are quite a bit different than when I started.
1) I (partly) know what is wrong with my back. I have actual structural damage. While I'm not pleased that something is wrong, it is a strange relief because I had been made to feel like I was just a weenie by several doctors over the years. I may still be a weenie, but not completely since there is something wrong.
2) I'm taking a lot more painkillers now (although rarely hitting the maximum daily dosage prescribed). This scares me in that I don't even want to take them in the first place. HOWEVER, it is making a HUGE difference in how much I can do in everything from working out to cleaning the house to spending time with my family without being miserable.
3) Despite not feeling like I was progressing much at the beginning--I wasn't, I think I am now in terms of my endurance. I'm sure some of this is because I take painkillers so that I can do things, but I can run a little bit, I can walk at a faster pace, and--I can't believe I'm even saying this--I don't hate the treadmill any more. Maybe it took discovering that I hated the elliptical more, but whatever it was, the treadmill isn't my enemy. It's still challenging, I still can't run much at all, but I can do some. And I'm getting better.
4) I still have a barrel of excuses and then some, but the web I used to weave seems to be unraveling. Now when I don't work out, I look at why or what came up during the day and set out things for the next day that will make a workout more likely to happen and excuses less likely to hold up. I set times and plan what I have to get done in order to leave so that I can be in and out of the gym by 1:00 (locker room deadline). I am more prompt in packing my workout bag (usually), so that when it is time to go, I just have to grab it and leave (as opposed to spending half an hour running around grabbing things).
5) I have made lifestyle changes in that I do go to the gym regularly. When I looked back at the first few entries in this blog, I was a little bit stunned at some of the things i was thinking less than two months ago that I now no longer consider--like what the guy at the front desk is thinking--and how now I'm more annoyed by rude people in the hot tub than I am self-conscious in the gym.
6) Although my weight really hasn't changed, it has shifted. Forgive the oversharing, but the bra I bought for proper support to work out in went from being on the loosest strap to the tightest one and it's now probably needing to be tossed for a smaller size. My favorite shorts now fall off if I don't cinch up the drawstring and initially they were a bit snug. I have a long long ways to go, but I can feel progress starting. Still nowhere near fitting into a cute dress I saw today, but it feels like something that COULD happen instead of something that would require a magic wand and an alternate universe.
7) My concerns about the triathlon--my initial goal for this whole thing--are different now than before. I think, barring any medical advice or procedures related to my back that could prevent it, that it won't be a "big" deal. My concerns are not longer about being able to finish or being able to move after I finish but rather that I really have no idea how these events work. Some of the reading I've done talks about how the "transitions" between events are sometimes considered a "fourth event" in a triathlon because they affect your final time so greatly.
Apparently there are entire lines of gear designed specifically for triathletes so that they can go from water to bike to run with minimal or no clothes changes between events--strapping on shoes in seconds with cinching laces rather than ties, wearing spandex and a sports bra under the wetsuit so that they just peel off the wetsuit, cinch on their shoes, and hop on a bike. Thing is, I don't care how fit I get, I'm not wearing spandex bike shorts and a sports bra as my outfit, and I have no idea what the space is like for the transitions, so I'm going to have to figure out some type of apparel that is both appropriate, modest, and quick to change.
In any case, my concerns are not whether I can physically do the event, but more about the logistics. A shift, to say the least.
8) There are days that I literally forget about the triathlon all together. My workouts when I started I thought more about the final event--it really was a good motivator to get me going for an end goal, and ultimately, it still is. Now, though, I don't just work out for the goal of the triathlon, but also just for me. It's keeping on a schedule that is challenging for me still, and the triathlon is a good kick in the pants reminder if I can't get going for a couple of days. One of the things that was (and is) important to me about this whole thing was finding something inside that would motivate me and make me do this FOR me. I can't name what that IT is, but again, this is another positive shift that I'm finding.
9) My house is actually cleaner. It's weird because when I started, one of my many thousands of excuses was that I didn't have enough time in the day to do everything--it was one of the reasons I didn't work out AND didn't clean. I actually still think that was true. I spent a good week cleaning to get ready for my daughter's party and have made efforts (mostly successful) to try and keep it that way. It's weird how much stress that alone lifted.
10) My husband no longer has to shove me out the door to work out. He still occasionally hints at it if I don't make it into the gym for a couple of days, but he really is being very supportive without pushing me in a way that makes me feel like I'm only going to make him shut up. (Again, working on the self-motivation has been the biggest deal for me.)
So a lot of progress, actually. I can't really go on a shopping spree for new clothes yet or show off any trophies. But there has been change--and that in itself is even a change from the beginning when there was nothing.
Although I think those posts were much more funny, so maybe this is killing my sense of humor.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Bye Bye Turdbucket
My college roommate departed today, but not after we took a trip to Powell's together. We only went to the Beaverton store since we really didn't have time to go all the way downtown and didn't want to bother with parking.
Weirdly, both of us made it out of there without buying any books. I think this is some kind of a record for me, and some kind of self-restraint personal achievement. Shortly after we got back home, she packed up her things.
My daughter was sad to see her go and gave her new "Auntie" a kiss goodbye. Then my daughter instructed ME to give Auntie a kiss goodbye. We had a good laugh over that and I mentally added "No, I'm not going to give Auntie a kiss" to my list of things I never thought I'd hear myself say before becoming a parent.
My daughter had gymnastics tonight. Honestly, I don't know how the poor kid made it through class. The instructor told me to bring a water bottle next time and I felt like an idiot--it was literally over 100 today and I hadn't worried about water since there are water fountains there, but with 8 toddlers in class, it's easier when they have their own water bottles (and probably cooler water, too).
Anyway, she left the class rosy and pink, so I took her outside and hosed her down like I used to do with my team kids back when I coached. Then she waited with her babysitter while I taught a private lesson.
I left there soaking wet. Not because I dunked my head in the water fountain or because I sprayed myself down, but because I turned into a human fountain of sweat. Sorry for the graphic description, but I do NOT do well in heat. In fact, I dehydrated so much (despite chugging water) that I was headachy and miserable when I got home.
My daughter and I both immediately fell asleep. I didn't go work out when I woke up because I was still miserable from the heat and figured going to sweat on the treadmill or any other equipment would only make me worse. I chugged as much water as I could, opened up the house and turned on the fans to try and get our not-air-conditioned house to cool off (or at least get out of the 80s). My headache was finally gone around 5:00am.
Plan for a better tomorrow...
Weirdly, both of us made it out of there without buying any books. I think this is some kind of a record for me, and some kind of self-restraint personal achievement. Shortly after we got back home, she packed up her things.
My daughter was sad to see her go and gave her new "Auntie" a kiss goodbye. Then my daughter instructed ME to give Auntie a kiss goodbye. We had a good laugh over that and I mentally added "No, I'm not going to give Auntie a kiss" to my list of things I never thought I'd hear myself say before becoming a parent.
My daughter had gymnastics tonight. Honestly, I don't know how the poor kid made it through class. The instructor told me to bring a water bottle next time and I felt like an idiot--it was literally over 100 today and I hadn't worried about water since there are water fountains there, but with 8 toddlers in class, it's easier when they have their own water bottles (and probably cooler water, too).
Anyway, she left the class rosy and pink, so I took her outside and hosed her down like I used to do with my team kids back when I coached. Then she waited with her babysitter while I taught a private lesson.
I left there soaking wet. Not because I dunked my head in the water fountain or because I sprayed myself down, but because I turned into a human fountain of sweat. Sorry for the graphic description, but I do NOT do well in heat. In fact, I dehydrated so much (despite chugging water) that I was headachy and miserable when I got home.
My daughter and I both immediately fell asleep. I didn't go work out when I woke up because I was still miserable from the heat and figured going to sweat on the treadmill or any other equipment would only make me worse. I chugged as much water as I could, opened up the house and turned on the fans to try and get our not-air-conditioned house to cool off (or at least get out of the 80s). My headache was finally gone around 5:00am.
Plan for a better tomorrow...
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Seriously? SHUT. UP.
So another great day hanging out with Turdbucket (my college roommate). My daughter absolutely LOVES her, especially since the former painted a picture of horses for the latter. AND she got to play with Play-doh AND she had TONS of stories read to her AND we had a PARTY.
My daughter's definition of a party, by the way, is whenever we have people over, a barbeque, and eat outside. It was really hot--so hot that I took the revolving fan out on the deck to create an artificial breeze during dinner.
I did make it into the gym and did a moderate workout. Moderate because my back turned out not to be up for much. I spent some time afterward cooling down by sitting in the swimming pool (just on the steps) and reading and then in the hot tub and reading.
I actually really look forward to my time in the water at the end of my workout. For me, it's like a little bit of down time to de-stress and relax.
Unfortunately, tonight it was the opposite. Shortly after I got in the pool, Two guys got into the hot tub, which is right next to the pool. One had a horribly annoying nasally voice and was L-O-U-D. What's worse was he talked nonstop. What's even more worse is that he was basically doing a high-pressure sales pitch to get the other guy into a multi-level-marketing business (it only costs $139 out of pocket to get started, but you can totally make it back in your first month).
He talked the whole 15 minutes I was in the pool, the whole 20 minutes I was in the hot tub, and I don't know how much longer he went on, but he was so loud his voice was echoing through the women's locker room. It took me about 10 minutes to change and get out of there and for all I know, he's still talking.
I was so irritated by the time I left. While I was there, I wanted to say something, but I was sort of trying to be polite. I think next time I'm going to skip polite and go straight to SHUT UP.
My daughter's definition of a party, by the way, is whenever we have people over, a barbeque, and eat outside. It was really hot--so hot that I took the revolving fan out on the deck to create an artificial breeze during dinner.
I did make it into the gym and did a moderate workout. Moderate because my back turned out not to be up for much. I spent some time afterward cooling down by sitting in the swimming pool (just on the steps) and reading and then in the hot tub and reading.
I actually really look forward to my time in the water at the end of my workout. For me, it's like a little bit of down time to de-stress and relax.
Unfortunately, tonight it was the opposite. Shortly after I got in the pool, Two guys got into the hot tub, which is right next to the pool. One had a horribly annoying nasally voice and was L-O-U-D. What's worse was he talked nonstop. What's even more worse is that he was basically doing a high-pressure sales pitch to get the other guy into a multi-level-marketing business (it only costs $139 out of pocket to get started, but you can totally make it back in your first month).
He talked the whole 15 minutes I was in the pool, the whole 20 minutes I was in the hot tub, and I don't know how much longer he went on, but he was so loud his voice was echoing through the women's locker room. It took me about 10 minutes to change and get out of there and for all I know, he's still talking.
I was so irritated by the time I left. While I was there, I wanted to say something, but I was sort of trying to be polite. I think next time I'm going to skip polite and go straight to SHUT UP.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Losing My Mind
Today started out fairly normal. I had a meeting to go to, came home, put my daughter down for a nap (and accidentally ended up taking one with her--catchup sleep, I guess), and woke up just shortly before my college roommate arrived.
We'd planned this visit for a couple of months, discussed dates, confirmed them, I'd given her driving directions, and last night before updating my blog even sent her my cell number.
Despite all of this, I had totally forgotten that she would be arriving TODAY. Clearly, the shock of seeing her was written all over my face because she had a good laugh over my astonishment.
Fortunately, the house wasn't too much of a mess--although considering that the two of us were known for having the messiest room on campus, she's probably the only person in the world I wouldn't be embarrassed to have visit when the house looks like the aftermath of Hurricane Heather.
My husband took my daughter grocery shopping so my roommate (who calls me Boogerhead to this day--I return the favor by calling her Turdbucket) and I went out to sushi for dinner.
We stayed up late talking, just like in college, and before I knew it, it was too late to work out.
Argh. At least it was a LOT of fun catching up and just hanging out. Not to mention that it was nice to be able to talk to someone other than a toddler and about something other than the current status of bodily functions.
We'd planned this visit for a couple of months, discussed dates, confirmed them, I'd given her driving directions, and last night before updating my blog even sent her my cell number.
Despite all of this, I had totally forgotten that she would be arriving TODAY. Clearly, the shock of seeing her was written all over my face because she had a good laugh over my astonishment.
Fortunately, the house wasn't too much of a mess--although considering that the two of us were known for having the messiest room on campus, she's probably the only person in the world I wouldn't be embarrassed to have visit when the house looks like the aftermath of Hurricane Heather.
My husband took my daughter grocery shopping so my roommate (who calls me Boogerhead to this day--I return the favor by calling her Turdbucket) and I went out to sushi for dinner.
We stayed up late talking, just like in college, and before I knew it, it was too late to work out.
Argh. At least it was a LOT of fun catching up and just hanging out. Not to mention that it was nice to be able to talk to someone other than a toddler and about something other than the current status of bodily functions.
Monday, July 5, 2010
I Just Love It When I Can Blame Someone Else
This morning I got up and aside not having slept terribly well (I'm not sure why other than a series of bizarre dreams that were oddly emotionally distressing), felt pretty good. REALLY good considering how hard I had pushed myself on the treadmill last night.
I picked up my daughter, carried her into the family room, and set her down to go get her breakfast. Something tweaked in my neck. ARGH.
The weird thing is, as long as I look forward, my neck doesn't hurt. Only when I try to move it (like looking to change lanes while driving) do I even realize it's not working so well.
I was feeling rather unmotivated (and guilty for feeling that way) and trying to get together my things to go work out when my husband announced that he was leaving to go play soccer. At 10:30 pm. Which means he won't be back until midnight. Which means I can't go work out because of the locker room cleaning schedule.
Which means I'd better write that letter....tomorrow. I'm going to rest my neck now.
I picked up my daughter, carried her into the family room, and set her down to go get her breakfast. Something tweaked in my neck. ARGH.
The weird thing is, as long as I look forward, my neck doesn't hurt. Only when I try to move it (like looking to change lanes while driving) do I even realize it's not working so well.
I was feeling rather unmotivated (and guilty for feeling that way) and trying to get together my things to go work out when my husband announced that he was leaving to go play soccer. At 10:30 pm. Which means he won't be back until midnight. Which means I can't go work out because of the locker room cleaning schedule.
Which means I'd better write that letter....tomorrow. I'm going to rest my neck now.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
Happy Independence Day!
We slept in quite a bit this morning--despite not going to bed too late, we were up a number of times during the night. Our neighbors came over yesterday and had asked us to "keep an eye on the house."
Apparently some sales guy had come by, offering to do lawn work (they don't have any lawns). The mom had accidentally and naively said, "We're going to be gone this weekend, but let me check with my husband."
When she went back out to talk to the guy, he was gone (and her family annoyed with her for telling a stranger they were leaving the house for the weekend).
So we agreed to "keep an eye on the house." We actually take this somewhat seriously, trying to be good neighbors, and since the only windows facing their house are from our bathrooms and give only a view of the side of their garage, we'd step out front every couple of hours and look around.
We also, whenever the dog barked, went running out to see what the excitement was.
Nothing.
I don't know what got into our dog, but she barked more times last night than when we locked her in a crate for housebreaking. I kept getting up, putting on my robe, opening the front door, and peeking around to the neighbor's place. Quiet. Every time.
Except that I had very little sleep until daylight.
Our exciting plans for the fourth were to have a barbeque at my dad's house. He had some friends and relatives over and we took down the whopping $15.00 worth of fireworks I bought.
When it got dark, I noticed the time and hurried up to get us home. I wanted to go and work out. I ended up leaving our house at nearly 11:00pm to head to the gym.
They still clean the locker room at 1:00am. A two-hour workout may seem like a LOT, but when an hour of it is slowly plodding on a treadmill, then I change, then I swim, then I sit in the hot tub, then I shower and dress--it's about 2.5 or 3 hours total. I knew I'd have to cut it short, which still annoys me (even more than getting home at 2:00am after a workout).
Anyhow, I managed to do my 3.1 miles on the treadmill in a record 56 minutes, but kept walking very slowly for another half hour for two reasons. 1) my heart rate had hit my supposed "maximum" during my tiny little running spurts and I was trying to get it back down under 100 BPM and 2) There was an interesting episode of Cold Case that I wanted to see the end of.
It left me only 30 minutes to get into the hot tub, soak, shower, and get dressed.
I hesitate to complain about the locker room issue. I don't want the guy to lose his job (or lose hours). Also, I only pay $49 a year for my membership, so I really don't have much room for complaining about anything. BUT I don't think it's right that women are limited in the time they can use the facility based on the locker room cleaning schedule--and it's not like it's a brief cleaning--it's two hours long and there are no other options for the locker room--not even a showering area or changing area with opaque walls.
So I guess I have something else to complain about now.
Apparently some sales guy had come by, offering to do lawn work (they don't have any lawns). The mom had accidentally and naively said, "We're going to be gone this weekend, but let me check with my husband."
When she went back out to talk to the guy, he was gone (and her family annoyed with her for telling a stranger they were leaving the house for the weekend).
So we agreed to "keep an eye on the house." We actually take this somewhat seriously, trying to be good neighbors, and since the only windows facing their house are from our bathrooms and give only a view of the side of their garage, we'd step out front every couple of hours and look around.
We also, whenever the dog barked, went running out to see what the excitement was.
Nothing.
I don't know what got into our dog, but she barked more times last night than when we locked her in a crate for housebreaking. I kept getting up, putting on my robe, opening the front door, and peeking around to the neighbor's place. Quiet. Every time.
Except that I had very little sleep until daylight.
Our exciting plans for the fourth were to have a barbeque at my dad's house. He had some friends and relatives over and we took down the whopping $15.00 worth of fireworks I bought.
When it got dark, I noticed the time and hurried up to get us home. I wanted to go and work out. I ended up leaving our house at nearly 11:00pm to head to the gym.
They still clean the locker room at 1:00am. A two-hour workout may seem like a LOT, but when an hour of it is slowly plodding on a treadmill, then I change, then I swim, then I sit in the hot tub, then I shower and dress--it's about 2.5 or 3 hours total. I knew I'd have to cut it short, which still annoys me (even more than getting home at 2:00am after a workout).
Anyhow, I managed to do my 3.1 miles on the treadmill in a record 56 minutes, but kept walking very slowly for another half hour for two reasons. 1) my heart rate had hit my supposed "maximum" during my tiny little running spurts and I was trying to get it back down under 100 BPM and 2) There was an interesting episode of Cold Case that I wanted to see the end of.
It left me only 30 minutes to get into the hot tub, soak, shower, and get dressed.
I hesitate to complain about the locker room issue. I don't want the guy to lose his job (or lose hours). Also, I only pay $49 a year for my membership, so I really don't have much room for complaining about anything. BUT I don't think it's right that women are limited in the time they can use the facility based on the locker room cleaning schedule--and it's not like it's a brief cleaning--it's two hours long and there are no other options for the locker room--not even a showering area or changing area with opaque walls.
So I guess I have something else to complain about now.
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Or Not.
My first cat that I got once I lived on my very own was a beautiful tabby that I named Nyx. Sadly, he is no longer with us, but the holes that he left in the screen when he was irritated by being left outside are.
Our good friend with the Doberman has moved out of state and the only physical remains we have of her are the detached parts of the screen from when she ran through it.
This morning we had a party for one of the semifinal games of the World Cup (soccer). My husband's friends brought over their Pug. When the Pug and our Golden got mad that they were put outside after being too rambunctious in the house, the Pug decided to chew to bits what was left of our screen door.
Once the soccer party was over (the next World Cup I swear I'm starting a "World Cup Widows" Support Group), we did some housework and then ran some errands, including a stop at the home improvement store to get a quote on new patio doors.
We got the quote, but left instead with replacement screen (supposedly pet proof--we'll see about that) and a splining tool. Since we didn't know what size splining to get, I figured we'd try what was left from the previous screen and get something else later if it didn't work.
I spent a good hour and a half sitting on the deck fighting with the door frame, screen, the splining tool (useless), and screwdrivers. During that time, my husband invited a foreign exchange student salesperson in to try to sell me books--you wouldn't think this would be a hard sell with our current library, but it wasn't that great of a deal and since we'd just gotten a quote on new doors, it was fresh in my mind where I'd rather have our money go. She seemed irritated that after a considerable sales pitch we didn't want to purchase. I didn't feel that sorry for her considering right at the beginning we told her, "We like the books. How much?" She didn't answer but went on and on about how learning is good for our daughter, don't we agree? And so-and-so from around the corner loves them because of the beautiful pictures, blah blah blah. When we finally discovered that you can't buy just one book, but you have to buy the whole entire set (it's only $166 for the first set and $149 for the second), we told her we weren't interested.
By that time, I was irritated, covered in mosquito bites, and my screen door was only half-screened. When it was installed at 11:00pm, I went to bed.
Our good friend with the Doberman has moved out of state and the only physical remains we have of her are the detached parts of the screen from when she ran through it.
This morning we had a party for one of the semifinal games of the World Cup (soccer). My husband's friends brought over their Pug. When the Pug and our Golden got mad that they were put outside after being too rambunctious in the house, the Pug decided to chew to bits what was left of our screen door.
Once the soccer party was over (the next World Cup I swear I'm starting a "World Cup Widows" Support Group), we did some housework and then ran some errands, including a stop at the home improvement store to get a quote on new patio doors.
We got the quote, but left instead with replacement screen (supposedly pet proof--we'll see about that) and a splining tool. Since we didn't know what size splining to get, I figured we'd try what was left from the previous screen and get something else later if it didn't work.
I spent a good hour and a half sitting on the deck fighting with the door frame, screen, the splining tool (useless), and screwdrivers. During that time, my husband invited a foreign exchange student salesperson in to try to sell me books--you wouldn't think this would be a hard sell with our current library, but it wasn't that great of a deal and since we'd just gotten a quote on new doors, it was fresh in my mind where I'd rather have our money go. She seemed irritated that after a considerable sales pitch we didn't want to purchase. I didn't feel that sorry for her considering right at the beginning we told her, "We like the books. How much?" She didn't answer but went on and on about how learning is good for our daughter, don't we agree? And so-and-so from around the corner loves them because of the beautiful pictures, blah blah blah. When we finally discovered that you can't buy just one book, but you have to buy the whole entire set (it's only $166 for the first set and $149 for the second), we told her we weren't interested.
By that time, I was irritated, covered in mosquito bites, and my screen door was only half-screened. When it was installed at 11:00pm, I went to bed.
Friday, July 2, 2010
If You Could Call It a Track
I had truly planned to go and work out. However, my daughter had missed swimming lessons this week and we wanted to take her to the pool and some friends wanted to go as well. So we went to one of the community pools (it has a slide that my daughter LOVES) as a group. The open swim is from 7:30-9:00pm.
I realized after we'd been there a bit that I probably wouldn't end up going to work out afterwards because we hadn't eaten yet and by time we got home, ate, and I let it digest, I wasn't going to drag my butt to the gym. So I decided I had to make family swim a workout in itself.
The water slide has a set of stairs equivalent to 1.5-2 stories in a normal sized home. There wasn't a line, so I would go up the stairs as fast as I could without getting yelled at by the lifeguards, whoosh down the slide (squeezing my tummy muscles as my back exercises), and go again. I did that for about 45 minutes--and it tired me out a lot more than my 2.0 miles per hour on the treadmill--so I counted it as my workout.
And spent the last 10 minutes of open swim in the hot tub, of course.
I realized after we'd been there a bit that I probably wouldn't end up going to work out afterwards because we hadn't eaten yet and by time we got home, ate, and I let it digest, I wasn't going to drag my butt to the gym. So I decided I had to make family swim a workout in itself.
The water slide has a set of stairs equivalent to 1.5-2 stories in a normal sized home. There wasn't a line, so I would go up the stairs as fast as I could without getting yelled at by the lifeguards, whoosh down the slide (squeezing my tummy muscles as my back exercises), and go again. I did that for about 45 minutes--and it tired me out a lot more than my 2.0 miles per hour on the treadmill--so I counted it as my workout.
And spent the last 10 minutes of open swim in the hot tub, of course.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
Back on Track
Wow. It's been nearly a month since my last post, which makes this less of a blog and more of a billboard for an event that already passed. In other words, useless.
A quick summary of the last month though before I get going. The pain was getting worse and the workouts harder to do because of it, I was regressing instead of progressing and overall getting very frustrated. I hadn't given up on the idea of a triathlon, but wasn't sure if I really should be trying to since I still didn't know the cause of my back pain and whether I'd be making things worse or if I was on the right track.
So after my horrid visit to the doctor, had a rather comical visit for my MRI. I was scheduled for 9:40pm. This meant that I had to enter the facility through the emergency room. I parked off to the side of the ER and walked up a hill and across the parking lot (figured since I could at least sorta walk, I should leave the ER parking for people who might actually need it.)
I checked in and they sent me on this winding path through the ER to the elevators and told me that there are "lots of signs to MRI--just follow the signs."
I got out of the elevator and there were NO signs for MRI. Fortunately, there was a map. Unfortunately, the map was oriented incorrectly (I DO know how to read maps), and the first option of a route I picked led me to a janitorial closet. The second one led me to an area where I ended up being questioned as to what I was doing there. When I explained that I was trying to find the MRI center, I was then escorted back past the elevator to the opposite end of the building.
This took me about 15 minutes and I probably walked further than I did in some of my treadmill workouts. I got to the MRI center (finally) and they gave me the standard drawstring pants and see-through flappy hospital gown.
Now, I've joked before about needing size extra elephant for my ski pants, but this was ridiculous. I probably could have fit two of me into each leg. The pants were about a foot too long in addition to being too large. Since I also had to take off my bra and was trying to support/cover myself through the transparent gown, I was doing this weird shuffle walk because I was trying to hold up and cover the continental shelf up top while also holding up both pantlegs on the bottom so I wouldn't trip over them.
When the guy came to get me, he informed me I'd probably need my shoes because of where we had to walk. I went back in and sorta scooted into my shoes without pulling them on properly or tying them because I (incorrectly) assumed we wouldn't be walking terribly far.
He led me out into a hallway where there were normally dressed people walking around--including construction crews (did I mention they're remodeling the hospital?). So I'm still holding things up in front, drafty in the back, holding the whale pants up, which more makes me look like I have to pee and am trying to physically hold it in, and scuffling along in my tennis shoes that I hadn't bothered to put on properly. Add this to the fact that my face is still broken out in my weird rash and my hair is full of static from changing, and I'm quite a sight.
In other words, the only thing different between me and someone belonging in the funny farm is that I'm actually a bit self-conscious of my state.
To make it even more fabulous, my MRI tech then leads me OUTSIDE. In my current state of (un)dress, it's a tad bit cool. I look around and notice that we are literally walking through scaffolding and then we have to step aside for a construction worker shoving a loaded dolly cart through. We wind through the construction and into a mobile MRI unit which is, no joke, about 20 feet from where I parked.
The MRI only takes about 15-20 minutes during which I learn that
1) Apparently I AM claustrophobic
2) Breathing and closing my eyes only does so much for this when my arms and legs are touching the narrow chamber walls
3) Lying on my back is terribly uncomfortable and
4) This is the longest I've laid on my back in five and a half years.
When I finally get out of the chamber, I start talking to the tech, asking him what he did wrong that he gets sent out to the MRI doghouse to work while everyone else gets to be inside. I also comment that I have mixed feelings about the results in that I'm hoping that something IS wrong so that I'm NOT crazy and there IS an explanation for my pain, but that I don't actually want anything to be wrong because that wouldn't be a good thing.
I wait over three weeks for my results during which time I have my first PT visit (and find out I can't get in for my next visit for another month--gotta love Kaiser), and a "Taking Care of Your Back" class, which is all nice and good except that I know nearly everything presented and have been doing them already. When I still don't hear back from my doctor about the MRI, I finally call.
When I get the call back, I find out that I have a tear in the disc between L4 and L5 and the disc between L5 and S1 is protruding. I am referred to a Physiatrist.
In the meanwhile, I also start visiting my chiropractor again and getting some relief (finally) that is nonpharmaceutical and which is bridging the gap that the painkillers don't cover.
Today I got on the treadmill and went for one of my walk walk walk walk jog walk walk walk walk jog walk walk walks. Then I sat in the hot tub.
A quick summary of the last month though before I get going. The pain was getting worse and the workouts harder to do because of it, I was regressing instead of progressing and overall getting very frustrated. I hadn't given up on the idea of a triathlon, but wasn't sure if I really should be trying to since I still didn't know the cause of my back pain and whether I'd be making things worse or if I was on the right track.
So after my horrid visit to the doctor, had a rather comical visit for my MRI. I was scheduled for 9:40pm. This meant that I had to enter the facility through the emergency room. I parked off to the side of the ER and walked up a hill and across the parking lot (figured since I could at least sorta walk, I should leave the ER parking for people who might actually need it.)
I checked in and they sent me on this winding path through the ER to the elevators and told me that there are "lots of signs to MRI--just follow the signs."
I got out of the elevator and there were NO signs for MRI. Fortunately, there was a map. Unfortunately, the map was oriented incorrectly (I DO know how to read maps), and the first option of a route I picked led me to a janitorial closet. The second one led me to an area where I ended up being questioned as to what I was doing there. When I explained that I was trying to find the MRI center, I was then escorted back past the elevator to the opposite end of the building.
This took me about 15 minutes and I probably walked further than I did in some of my treadmill workouts. I got to the MRI center (finally) and they gave me the standard drawstring pants and see-through flappy hospital gown.
Now, I've joked before about needing size extra elephant for my ski pants, but this was ridiculous. I probably could have fit two of me into each leg. The pants were about a foot too long in addition to being too large. Since I also had to take off my bra and was trying to support/cover myself through the transparent gown, I was doing this weird shuffle walk because I was trying to hold up and cover the continental shelf up top while also holding up both pantlegs on the bottom so I wouldn't trip over them.
When the guy came to get me, he informed me I'd probably need my shoes because of where we had to walk. I went back in and sorta scooted into my shoes without pulling them on properly or tying them because I (incorrectly) assumed we wouldn't be walking terribly far.
He led me out into a hallway where there were normally dressed people walking around--including construction crews (did I mention they're remodeling the hospital?). So I'm still holding things up in front, drafty in the back, holding the whale pants up, which more makes me look like I have to pee and am trying to physically hold it in, and scuffling along in my tennis shoes that I hadn't bothered to put on properly. Add this to the fact that my face is still broken out in my weird rash and my hair is full of static from changing, and I'm quite a sight.
In other words, the only thing different between me and someone belonging in the funny farm is that I'm actually a bit self-conscious of my state.
To make it even more fabulous, my MRI tech then leads me OUTSIDE. In my current state of (un)dress, it's a tad bit cool. I look around and notice that we are literally walking through scaffolding and then we have to step aside for a construction worker shoving a loaded dolly cart through. We wind through the construction and into a mobile MRI unit which is, no joke, about 20 feet from where I parked.
The MRI only takes about 15-20 minutes during which I learn that
1) Apparently I AM claustrophobic
2) Breathing and closing my eyes only does so much for this when my arms and legs are touching the narrow chamber walls
3) Lying on my back is terribly uncomfortable and
4) This is the longest I've laid on my back in five and a half years.
When I finally get out of the chamber, I start talking to the tech, asking him what he did wrong that he gets sent out to the MRI doghouse to work while everyone else gets to be inside. I also comment that I have mixed feelings about the results in that I'm hoping that something IS wrong so that I'm NOT crazy and there IS an explanation for my pain, but that I don't actually want anything to be wrong because that wouldn't be a good thing.
I wait over three weeks for my results during which time I have my first PT visit (and find out I can't get in for my next visit for another month--gotta love Kaiser), and a "Taking Care of Your Back" class, which is all nice and good except that I know nearly everything presented and have been doing them already. When I still don't hear back from my doctor about the MRI, I finally call.
When I get the call back, I find out that I have a tear in the disc between L4 and L5 and the disc between L5 and S1 is protruding. I am referred to a Physiatrist.
In the meanwhile, I also start visiting my chiropractor again and getting some relief (finally) that is nonpharmaceutical and which is bridging the gap that the painkillers don't cover.
Today I got on the treadmill and went for one of my walk walk walk walk jog walk walk walk walk jog walk walk walks. Then I sat in the hot tub.
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