Sunday, May 13, 2007
Weird Week
Workouts are going pretty well, even though I've been avoiding the jump squat workout... it's soooo hard! I don't like jump squats, but I only have one more week before I start a new workout. Yay. I've added weight to most of my lifts and it seems like I just keep getting stronger, which is great! Now I need to focus on getting some of this fat off so I can actually wear my summer clothes. It seems like some of them shrunk over the winter in my drawers... And people, I am NOT buying bigger clothes. No. That is not an option. I've been all over the map with my nutrition this week. When I start to feel burned out, I justify poor eating. I'm due for a vacation! I haven't really had a vacation in more than a year! I took a lot of time off with the cancer stuff, but that doesn't really count for a vacation... I need to plan my trip to FL to visit my sister!!! Yesterday I got my hair cut and I think today I will go have a pedicure and manicure. My toes are looking frightful! I still haven't downloaded those pictures from my camera... maybe I will do that this evening.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
I'm all out of sorts...
We finally made it out to Sugarloaf on Sunday and did the 5 mile loop. It was so nice! The weather was perfect - a little windy and chilly when we started out, but it warmed up and by the end my t-shirt was soaked. The sky was so blue and clear, the view was amazing. Usually it's a bit hazy. That always wipes me out good though, and I was pretty baked the rest of the day!
And I woke up Monday morning with a serious pain in my right hip. Probably from the combination of jump squats followed by a 5 mile hike the next day. I decided to take Monday off from the gym, but I was still feeling it this morning!
Plus I had a really shaky workout. I kept feeling like I was about to pass out, and had to sit down and take long rests in between sets - definitely the worst workout I've had recently. I think I was dehydrated? My heart was just racing. I made it through. I also had trouble doing the cable rows because my arm is pretty bruised from where I had blood drawn on Monday. Seriously, I think this lady did it on purpose, I really felt it when she jabbed me! Usually you don't feel hardly anything, if the person knows what they are doing. It seemed like she stabbed the needle in harder than necessary and I was like, OW, that hurt!! And she goes, (in this sugary voice) oh, but I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm like, yeah... whatever. Anyway, it actually made the rows really painful to do!
AND, to top all that off? The mother of all zits has taken up residence RIGHT in the middle of my eyebrows. It never ends.
And I woke up Monday morning with a serious pain in my right hip. Probably from the combination of jump squats followed by a 5 mile hike the next day. I decided to take Monday off from the gym, but I was still feeling it this morning!
Plus I had a really shaky workout. I kept feeling like I was about to pass out, and had to sit down and take long rests in between sets - definitely the worst workout I've had recently. I think I was dehydrated? My heart was just racing. I made it through. I also had trouble doing the cable rows because my arm is pretty bruised from where I had blood drawn on Monday. Seriously, I think this lady did it on purpose, I really felt it when she jabbed me! Usually you don't feel hardly anything, if the person knows what they are doing. It seemed like she stabbed the needle in harder than necessary and I was like, OW, that hurt!! And she goes, (in this sugary voice) oh, but I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm like, yeah... whatever. Anyway, it actually made the rows really painful to do!
AND, to top all that off? The mother of all zits has taken up residence RIGHT in the middle of my eyebrows. It never ends.
Saturday, May 05, 2007
Bad Blogger....!
Despite what you may have surmised by this point, I did not fall and break both of my hands!! I've just had a busy couple of weeks. I flew in from Ottawa late last night where I was attending an intercessional of the Financial Action Task Force (FATF) and meeting all sorts of interesting new people from all over the world, plus seeing my French friends again who I met in Paris last month. Being a diplomat is so fun :) - but the downside is that my job takes up an extraordinary amount of my time and energy. Like all of it on some days. I work 9-10 hour days, plus the 1 hour commute (30 mins each way) and add on my 30-40 minute workouts each morning and 8 hours sleeping (I cannot survive on any less without a major meltdown, my body really wants more!) and that leaves only 4 hours each day to cram in the rest of existence. You know, like fixing and eating dinner and breakfast, making my lunch for the next day, showering and fluffing, and blogging, reading, tv watching, socializing, making phone calls, etc, etc. It's not enough. I cannot comprehend how people do this with children??? I don't know if I could manage it. Because after the work/commute/work-out, my energy for the day is pretty much depleted and I'm in my must-retreat-into-self-to-stay-normal-because-I'm-hopelessly-introverted mode.
Don't get me wrong, I am not complaining! I LOVE my job. Love. It. But my life does often seem unbalanced to me. I do worry about it sometimes and wonder if I'm missing out on something or if I should make a change? But I'm having too much fun at work to think about changing my job right now, even though I daydream about moving back to Arizona to lead hiking and rafting trips in the Grand Canyon or something like that - it's that part of my spirit that doesn't get enough stimulation these days pulling on my heart-strings. And part of the reason I run and lift daily to stay sane, even if it's not a hike in the woods, is because it's still the place where I can get totally unplugged from the "rat race" and just focus, just breathe. Ya know?! I don't think about a possible "other life" too much because it's just not time yet.
Last week I had my mom in town and I finally got confirmed as a real bona-fide Catholic. I was in my "anti-anything that seemed like authority phase" when I was supposed to get confirmed back in high school. Going through cancer treatment was such a deeply spiritual experience for me that this seemed like the right time to do it. I knew if I didn't go ahead and do it while the cancer experience was fresh in my mind, the inspiration would fade as life keeps getting back to "normal" and other things take up my attention. I still have lots of problems with religion and dogma, but confronted with my mortality, I really drew a lot of peace and grace from the Catholic faith I grew up with and I see it somewhat differently now.
I read something recently about how the Celts spoke of "thin times" when the space separating heaven and earth is "thin" (or the divine and mortal or however you want to conceptualize it). For me, that's what having cancer was like - from the moment I was diagnosed until pretty recently - my life was in that "thin place". Maybe that just sounds strange, but it felt like I was on another plane of life. I wonder if other cancer patients feel this way too?
I'm doing really well with being a survivor and the thyroid stuff too. I finally these last few weeks am starting to feel really healthy again -starting to wake back up to normal life. I still have complaints and issues - my hair falling out, still adjusting to the hormonal changes, the extra fat, the pain in my neck (literally!), the emotional/psychological issues - but mostly it's getting better all the time.
I devoured Lance Armstrong's cancer memoir in about two days. There is something so universal about cancer - even though what he went through was WAY worse than my experience. Mine was pretty mild compared to his!
Right now I am procrastinating about going over to the gym. Alwyn Cosgrove must have drank a whole cup of evil right before he wrote this workout he has me doing in this phase - it involves a giant set of jump squats, push presses and good morning's. With no rest in between. JUMP squats, people! I have never in my life been so close to hurling in the gym as the first day I did this workout. I cleaned one of the E-Z bars (already weighted) onto my back for the squats and GM's instead of using the longer regular squat bar so my center of gravity would be more compact and balanced. When I finished my last set, my arms were so baked that I just stood there like, oh shit, how am I going to get this bar off my back, I don't think I can do another overhead press!!! (I was not in a rack). You can always do more than you think you can - thank god so I didn't have to drop the bar on the ground off my shoulders!!!
Anywayyyyyy - wouldn't you be procrastinating if you had to go do those on Saturday morning?!! Alas, my workouts were all screwed up because of being in Ottawa for the week (although our hotel did have a little gym!) - I would normally not put this workout on SATUrDAy!!! :( Weekends are for R&R (mostly) or really FUN exercise like hiking or trail-running :) LOL. oh well.
Our hotel. No I am not kidding.
I'll post some pics tomorrow of Ottawa and the 7 foot tall bishop who confirmed me!!!
Don't get me wrong, I am not complaining! I LOVE my job. Love. It. But my life does often seem unbalanced to me. I do worry about it sometimes and wonder if I'm missing out on something or if I should make a change? But I'm having too much fun at work to think about changing my job right now, even though I daydream about moving back to Arizona to lead hiking and rafting trips in the Grand Canyon or something like that - it's that part of my spirit that doesn't get enough stimulation these days pulling on my heart-strings. And part of the reason I run and lift daily to stay sane, even if it's not a hike in the woods, is because it's still the place where I can get totally unplugged from the "rat race" and just focus, just breathe. Ya know?! I don't think about a possible "other life" too much because it's just not time yet.
Last week I had my mom in town and I finally got confirmed as a real bona-fide Catholic. I was in my "anti-anything that seemed like authority phase" when I was supposed to get confirmed back in high school. Going through cancer treatment was such a deeply spiritual experience for me that this seemed like the right time to do it. I knew if I didn't go ahead and do it while the cancer experience was fresh in my mind, the inspiration would fade as life keeps getting back to "normal" and other things take up my attention. I still have lots of problems with religion and dogma, but confronted with my mortality, I really drew a lot of peace and grace from the Catholic faith I grew up with and I see it somewhat differently now.
I read something recently about how the Celts spoke of "thin times" when the space separating heaven and earth is "thin" (or the divine and mortal or however you want to conceptualize it). For me, that's what having cancer was like - from the moment I was diagnosed until pretty recently - my life was in that "thin place". Maybe that just sounds strange, but it felt like I was on another plane of life. I wonder if other cancer patients feel this way too?
I'm doing really well with being a survivor and the thyroid stuff too. I finally these last few weeks am starting to feel really healthy again -starting to wake back up to normal life. I still have complaints and issues - my hair falling out, still adjusting to the hormonal changes, the extra fat, the pain in my neck (literally!), the emotional/psychological issues - but mostly it's getting better all the time.
I devoured Lance Armstrong's cancer memoir in about two days. There is something so universal about cancer - even though what he went through was WAY worse than my experience. Mine was pretty mild compared to his!
Right now I am procrastinating about going over to the gym. Alwyn Cosgrove must have drank a whole cup of evil right before he wrote this workout he has me doing in this phase - it involves a giant set of jump squats, push presses and good morning's. With no rest in between. JUMP squats, people! I have never in my life been so close to hurling in the gym as the first day I did this workout. I cleaned one of the E-Z bars (already weighted) onto my back for the squats and GM's instead of using the longer regular squat bar so my center of gravity would be more compact and balanced. When I finished my last set, my arms were so baked that I just stood there like, oh shit, how am I going to get this bar off my back, I don't think I can do another overhead press!!! (I was not in a rack). You can always do more than you think you can - thank god so I didn't have to drop the bar on the ground off my shoulders!!!
Anywayyyyyy - wouldn't you be procrastinating if you had to go do those on Saturday morning?!! Alas, my workouts were all screwed up because of being in Ottawa for the week (although our hotel did have a little gym!) - I would normally not put this workout on SATUrDAy!!! :( Weekends are for R&R (mostly) or really FUN exercise like hiking or trail-running :) LOL. oh well.
Our hotel. No I am not kidding.I'll post some pics tomorrow of Ottawa and the 7 foot tall bishop who confirmed me!!!
Sunday, April 15, 2007
Picture from the race
Here's a picture of me with family at the race. I'm related to all but the girl and guy second and third from the left. The rest of us look identical, I think, including Cara's husband in the neon jacket, who is only related to the rest of us by law!
Lazy Weekend??
I saw this on Maggie's blog and just spent an hour making my own doll - I'm easily amused. This is the most productive thing I've done all weekend! (Thanks, Maggie!)
Click here to make your own doll.
Click here to make your own doll.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Lift Strong
As a cancer survivor and gym geek, obviously I am delighted to see this! Especially since I'm following one of Alwyn Cosgrove's programs right now!
I mentioned before that Alwyn is a two-time cancer survivor - he underwent a complete stem cell transplant in June of 2006. After recovering, he decided that it's time for the gym rats to join in the fundraising efforts to support cancer research, without which he would not be around to design brilliant lifting routines and amuse us with his often hilarious and always informative writing on fitness and nutrition.
He got more than 50 trainers and fitness writers to contribute to the book, LIFT STRONG, which turned out to be so long that he decided to release it on a special CD-ROM compilation rather than pass off printing expenses. The digital book is a collection of fitness training secrets and advice from some of the biggest names in fitness and also includes Alwyn’s email diaries documenting his account of everything he went through during cancer treatment. 100% of the proceeds go to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.
It's only been a week since LIFT STRONG was launched and already they've raised more than $10,000!
There will be a cure someday. We will look back and be horrified at how we treated cancer "before" - by cutting into and poisoning the body. It's efforts like this that are going to get us there!
I mentioned before that Alwyn is a two-time cancer survivor - he underwent a complete stem cell transplant in June of 2006. After recovering, he decided that it's time for the gym rats to join in the fundraising efforts to support cancer research, without which he would not be around to design brilliant lifting routines and amuse us with his often hilarious and always informative writing on fitness and nutrition.
He got more than 50 trainers and fitness writers to contribute to the book, LIFT STRONG, which turned out to be so long that he decided to release it on a special CD-ROM compilation rather than pass off printing expenses. The digital book is a collection of fitness training secrets and advice from some of the biggest names in fitness and also includes Alwyn’s email diaries documenting his account of everything he went through during cancer treatment. 100% of the proceeds go to the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society.
It's only been a week since LIFT STRONG was launched and already they've raised more than $10,000!
There will be a cure someday. We will look back and be horrified at how we treated cancer "before" - by cutting into and poisoning the body. It's efforts like this that are going to get us there!
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Perfect Sunday
We did not end up hiking Sugarloaf on Sunday since it snowed Saturday night in MD and we didn't want to risk bad conditions on the trails. Instead we went for a stroll along the Potomac River. It was still a little too cold to be really nice (for me at least), but it was good to get some fresh air. It was my rest day and I had to force myself to not work out. I needed the day off, but it's so routine for me to exercise that I feel weird when I don't do something!
Then I went home and ended up taking a big nap! My sister gave me these hand treatment mittens for my birthday. They have inserts that you warm up in the microwave, and you put this cream all over your hands, then put your hands in plastic bags, then in the warm gloves, and you just relax! It's quite brilliant, really, because (as I realized once I got them on) with the mittens on your hands, you literally can't do ANYTHING! I sat down and I was like, I can't even turn on the tv!! I can't make a phone call or read a book, I have to just sit here??? I almost took the mittens off, but then I decided, you know, that's the point. Just SIT here for 5 minutes. Of course, I promptly fell asleep! zzzzzzz Nothing like a nap on Sunday afternoon.
I woke up in time to go see 300, as we had planned. I thought the movie was great. I have to reiterate what everyone all over the internet has said a thousand times already - those guys were ripped! It was like the quads and abs show, since they didn't wear any real clothes the whole movie. Basically you get two hours of watching 300 of the buffest men on the planet alternately kicking ass and standing around in the equivalent of underwear. What plot?? Haha!
Then I went home and ended up taking a big nap! My sister gave me these hand treatment mittens for my birthday. They have inserts that you warm up in the microwave, and you put this cream all over your hands, then put your hands in plastic bags, then in the warm gloves, and you just relax! It's quite brilliant, really, because (as I realized once I got them on) with the mittens on your hands, you literally can't do ANYTHING! I sat down and I was like, I can't even turn on the tv!! I can't make a phone call or read a book, I have to just sit here??? I almost took the mittens off, but then I decided, you know, that's the point. Just SIT here for 5 minutes. Of course, I promptly fell asleep! zzzzzzz Nothing like a nap on Sunday afternoon.
I woke up in time to go see 300, as we had planned. I thought the movie was great. I have to reiterate what everyone all over the internet has said a thousand times already - those guys were ripped! It was like the quads and abs show, since they didn't wear any real clothes the whole movie. Basically you get two hours of watching 300 of the buffest men on the planet alternately kicking ass and standing around in the equivalent of underwear. What plot?? Haha!
Saturday, April 07, 2007
Is it April or November???
I was totally shocked to see snow covering the trees and cars when I stepped outside this morning. And it snowed a little bit on me just now when I came out of the grocery store! We are having some wacky weather in the East! I hope this means we are going to have a mild summer - that would be so nice. I only really like the weather here two or three months out of the year - April/May and Sept/Oct. The rest of the months are too humid and muggy or too cold!
I am so glad I don't have to run 8 or 9 miles this weekend like the last month or so!! In fact I haven't run at all since the race! Instead, I totally rocked my workouts in the gym this week. I'm feeling stronger and it's so nice to lift and not worry about having to be fresh for a long run coming up!
I've been doing Alwyn Cosgrove's total body workouts for the last couple months and I'm really enjoying them. The man is an evil genius. I spend half the workout cursing him and the other half feeling like She-Ra, Princess of Power, because I'm supersetting squats and weighted T-pushups and I'm dripping sweat and the lady (wasting her time) on the butt-blaster machine behind me is staring at me and I want to hurl and I want to quit, but I don't, I just keep on going... It's great!
I was a little skeptical when I started doing his programs because he doesn't schedule any isolation movements - it's all compound, multi-joint lifts and upper/lower supersets with varying rep schemes. You know, you kinda feel like the gym will implode or something if you quit doing bicep curls, but it turns out nothing much happened. I haven't done a bicep curl or a calf raise in 2 months! I wanted to see if I'd lost any strength, so at the end of my workout this morning, I picked up the 30# db's and banged out a few reps with no trouble. In fact, I feel like I'm developing a more balanced physique than I had before. And it's been a great way to rehab because I've been able to do lots of bodyweight and conditioning exercises that are just as challenging, but I think less stressful than high-volume intense lifting. It's a refreshing change of pace from the bodybuilding-style workouts I was doing before.
BTW, he's also a cancer survivor! :)
Everyone in my office seems to be on a fitness kick... Three of us ran in the Cherry Blossom Ten-Miler and there was much trash-talking before the race about who would beat whom (not from me, of course, I was expecting to run a 10:30 mile avg pace). I guess everyone wanted to join the fun, since now my office and our sister office are having a 5k challenge! At least 6 of us, possibly more, are going to run in the George Washington Parkway Classic 5k race on April 22, and we're going to compete in teams! We're even getting a trophy for the winning office.
That's not all... I've even got one guy following Berardi's nutritional guidelines and an integrated fitness program (weights, intervals, aerobics)!! I gave him Metabolism Advantage so he could try the workouts and he came in the next day with a cooler and 5 balanced meals and protein shakes! I think it's great. I also gave him Eating for Life because he seemed a little frustrated with all the meal planning - I told him not to try to make a bunch of huge changes all at once. I told him to focus on eating more frequently and eating protein every time, and to eat more fruits and veggies, and not worry about the rest right now. He told me yesterday he definitely feels better; he reports to me all the time, actually - telling me how his workouts go, how he tried suitcase deadlifts and now he's SO sore...! Haha... :)
Oh, I also have to tell you that yesterday evening I dropped a glass bottle of flax oil on the kitchen floor. Of course it broke and the oil spilled out everywhere, even under the fridge. Can I tell you how hard it is to clean OIL off lineoleum, especially when it's paired with broken glass?! Egads, it was awful. I finally used dishsoap. Cuts grease, right?! Ugh.
Sigh... I'm off to do more housework. Bah. Tonight we are going to the Easter Vigil at church and tomorrow Adam told me we could hike Sugarloaf if I want!! Happy Easter everyone!
I am so glad I don't have to run 8 or 9 miles this weekend like the last month or so!! In fact I haven't run at all since the race! Instead, I totally rocked my workouts in the gym this week. I'm feeling stronger and it's so nice to lift and not worry about having to be fresh for a long run coming up!
I've been doing Alwyn Cosgrove's total body workouts for the last couple months and I'm really enjoying them. The man is an evil genius. I spend half the workout cursing him and the other half feeling like She-Ra, Princess of Power, because I'm supersetting squats and weighted T-pushups and I'm dripping sweat and the lady (wasting her time) on the butt-blaster machine behind me is staring at me and I want to hurl and I want to quit, but I don't, I just keep on going... It's great!
I was a little skeptical when I started doing his programs because he doesn't schedule any isolation movements - it's all compound, multi-joint lifts and upper/lower supersets with varying rep schemes. You know, you kinda feel like the gym will implode or something if you quit doing bicep curls, but it turns out nothing much happened. I haven't done a bicep curl or a calf raise in 2 months! I wanted to see if I'd lost any strength, so at the end of my workout this morning, I picked up the 30# db's and banged out a few reps with no trouble. In fact, I feel like I'm developing a more balanced physique than I had before. And it's been a great way to rehab because I've been able to do lots of bodyweight and conditioning exercises that are just as challenging, but I think less stressful than high-volume intense lifting. It's a refreshing change of pace from the bodybuilding-style workouts I was doing before.
BTW, he's also a cancer survivor! :)
Everyone in my office seems to be on a fitness kick... Three of us ran in the Cherry Blossom Ten-Miler and there was much trash-talking before the race about who would beat whom (not from me, of course, I was expecting to run a 10:30 mile avg pace). I guess everyone wanted to join the fun, since now my office and our sister office are having a 5k challenge! At least 6 of us, possibly more, are going to run in the George Washington Parkway Classic 5k race on April 22, and we're going to compete in teams! We're even getting a trophy for the winning office.
That's not all... I've even got one guy following Berardi's nutritional guidelines and an integrated fitness program (weights, intervals, aerobics)!! I gave him Metabolism Advantage so he could try the workouts and he came in the next day with a cooler and 5 balanced meals and protein shakes! I think it's great. I also gave him Eating for Life because he seemed a little frustrated with all the meal planning - I told him not to try to make a bunch of huge changes all at once. I told him to focus on eating more frequently and eating protein every time, and to eat more fruits and veggies, and not worry about the rest right now. He told me yesterday he definitely feels better; he reports to me all the time, actually - telling me how his workouts go, how he tried suitcase deadlifts and now he's SO sore...! Haha... :)
Oh, I also have to tell you that yesterday evening I dropped a glass bottle of flax oil on the kitchen floor. Of course it broke and the oil spilled out everywhere, even under the fridge. Can I tell you how hard it is to clean OIL off lineoleum, especially when it's paired with broken glass?! Egads, it was awful. I finally used dishsoap. Cuts grease, right?! Ugh.
Sigh... I'm off to do more housework. Bah. Tonight we are going to the Easter Vigil at church and tomorrow Adam told me we could hike Sugarloaf if I want!! Happy Easter everyone!
Friday, April 06, 2007
That's! Just! Wrong!
Remember when I told you about the woman I saw power walking on the trail while reading a hard-cover novel? Just now at the gym, I saw a woman doing crunches on the swiss ball (half-assed, of course) READING A BOOK. The Bee Keeper's Daughter, I think it was... can it be that good?! Does anyone in other possibly more normal cities see people doing things like this or is it just in DC??
Also? When I left the gym? A light snow was falling. I shit you not.
That's Just Wrong!
Also? When I left the gym? A light snow was falling. I shit you not.
That's Just Wrong!
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
1:38:40!!
A 9:51 pace. I can’t believe I ran it that fast! It was awesome, I had a great time! I was worried, of course, that I would feel tired, or it would be too hard, or I would get injured (or my previous injuries would flare up) – but none of that came to pass. I felt great, it was a fantastic run. It didn’t feel like ten miles at all, it went so fast. I didn’t feel like I was struggling until the last mile really – I was just swept along by the huge crowd. I maintained an even pace, I didn’t slow much throughout the race, although I did walk for a couple of minutes at one water station, partly because my heart rate was running really high at that point, having run uphill for about a mile and a half. Then came the turnaround, and the downhill quick shot to the finish line.
I am SO happy with my time!!! I’m really proud of myself for completing the race, and amazed that I was able to do so well on the minimal training I actually did. The weather even cooperated – it was cold before the start, especially since everyone had to metro downtown and wait outside for busses to take us to the Tidal Basin and then walk almost a mile from the drop off to the staging area. But once we started running, I warmed up even a bit too much. It was that perfect 50-ish overcast coolness – great to run in.
I’m happy to be done, too, and now I can focus on some other goals and interests. It’s not like training was taking up a whole lot of time (since, um, I wasn’t… training…) but it is an element of stress – especially the last few weeks of 8/9/10 mile runs that take days to recover from. Speaking of recovery, after the race I ate SO MUCH, and went for a massage and pedicure (a super birthday present from my parents!!) and that was the PERFECT combination. I was not even sore on Monday, I felt fine. Like I had run maybe 3-4 miles on Sunday, not 10. It was hard not to go to the gym and lift, but I made myself take the break, just psychologically I probably needed another day of rest.
Some of the things I want to accomplish this spring are:
Hike something new.
Visit somewhere historical in VA (maybe Williamsburg?)
Take a trip to Florida to visit my sister.
See muscle definition in my arms.
Do 10 pull-ups in a row.
Run the George Washington Parkway Classic 5k with my coworkers.
Get confirmed.
Finish 3 books (Water Music by T.C. Boyle, It’s Not About the Bike by Lance Armstrong, and Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs).
Start a Roth IRA.
By the way, the cover of Newsweek is a series about living with cancer – in line with the Edwards/Snow announcements of their recurrences. The main article is by a man whose odds of survival were only about 50%, but I still related to much of what he wrote, like:
“With no standard of care for this disease, each expert I managed to get on the phone had a slightly different take on how it should be treated, which I later discovered is common with cancer.”
“Physically, I felt OK; emotionally, I was in hell. A woman I knew who was dying of breast cancer told me that none of the pain she was suffering at the end of her life compared with that first month and the daze of diagnosis.”
“Like the 10.5 million other cancer survivors in the United States, I experienced a bit of extra stress last week. When Elizabeth Edwards's breast cancer recurred in her bones and Tony Snow's colon cancer recurred in his liver, the cold fear that many of us live with every day crept a little closer.”
“The only constant in cancer is inconstancy; the only certainty is a future of uncertainty, a truism for all of modern life but one made vivid by life-threatening illness.”
Definitely worth a read.
I am SO happy with my time!!! I’m really proud of myself for completing the race, and amazed that I was able to do so well on the minimal training I actually did. The weather even cooperated – it was cold before the start, especially since everyone had to metro downtown and wait outside for busses to take us to the Tidal Basin and then walk almost a mile from the drop off to the staging area. But once we started running, I warmed up even a bit too much. It was that perfect 50-ish overcast coolness – great to run in.
I’m happy to be done, too, and now I can focus on some other goals and interests. It’s not like training was taking up a whole lot of time (since, um, I wasn’t… training…) but it is an element of stress – especially the last few weeks of 8/9/10 mile runs that take days to recover from. Speaking of recovery, after the race I ate SO MUCH, and went for a massage and pedicure (a super birthday present from my parents!!) and that was the PERFECT combination. I was not even sore on Monday, I felt fine. Like I had run maybe 3-4 miles on Sunday, not 10. It was hard not to go to the gym and lift, but I made myself take the break, just psychologically I probably needed another day of rest.
Some of the things I want to accomplish this spring are:
Hike something new.
Visit somewhere historical in VA (maybe Williamsburg?)
Take a trip to Florida to visit my sister.
See muscle definition in my arms.
Do 10 pull-ups in a row.
Run the George Washington Parkway Classic 5k with my coworkers.
Get confirmed.
Finish 3 books (Water Music by T.C. Boyle, It’s Not About the Bike by Lance Armstrong, and Running with Scissors by Augusten Burroughs).
Start a Roth IRA.
By the way, the cover of Newsweek is a series about living with cancer – in line with the Edwards/Snow announcements of their recurrences. The main article is by a man whose odds of survival were only about 50%, but I still related to much of what he wrote, like:
“With no standard of care for this disease, each expert I managed to get on the phone had a slightly different take on how it should be treated, which I later discovered is common with cancer.”
“Physically, I felt OK; emotionally, I was in hell. A woman I knew who was dying of breast cancer told me that none of the pain she was suffering at the end of her life compared with that first month and the daze of diagnosis.”
“Like the 10.5 million other cancer survivors in the United States, I experienced a bit of extra stress last week. When Elizabeth Edwards's breast cancer recurred in her bones and Tony Snow's colon cancer recurred in his liver, the cold fear that many of us live with every day crept a little closer.”
“The only constant in cancer is inconstancy; the only certainty is a future of uncertainty, a truism for all of modern life but one made vivid by life-threatening illness.”
Definitely worth a read.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
The forecast for tomorrow. Shit.
 T-Showers |
Sunday
High - 62
Low - 54
Precip: 60%
Showers early then thundershowers developing later in the day. High 62F. Winds SE at 5 to 10 mph. Chance of rain 60%.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
The Finish Line
I dug out my reflector vest and ran OUTSIDE this morning! On the trails! It was downright warm, which was sooo nice. It was 80 degrees here yesterday! That means the dog days of summer are fast approaching, when I will wilt for three months in the oppressive humidity. But for now? We have The Spring! I hadn't run outside in the a.m. in... gosh, months, I think. It felt good.
I wish I had another week to train for this race, just so I would feel more prepared. I wish I had the Europe week back! Not that I think I'd be faster or anything, but that I wouldn't feel like I'm just trying to squeeze out ten miles. I'm not really bothered that much by it... it's more my physical state and recovery!
I will just be proud of myself when I cross that finish line. I'm really glad I decided to go ahead and run the race despite not being physically ready for endurance training. It's like a milestone in my cancer journey - a symbol of survival and a gateway to the next big thing. The cherry blossoms will be erupting around the tidal basin, spring will be rolling around us in all its splendid newness, and I will finish the run on Sunday knowing that I am crossing more Finishing Lines than one.
I wish I had another week to train for this race, just so I would feel more prepared. I wish I had the Europe week back! Not that I think I'd be faster or anything, but that I wouldn't feel like I'm just trying to squeeze out ten miles. I'm not really bothered that much by it... it's more my physical state and recovery!
I will just be proud of myself when I cross that finish line. I'm really glad I decided to go ahead and run the race despite not being physically ready for endurance training. It's like a milestone in my cancer journey - a symbol of survival and a gateway to the next big thing. The cherry blossoms will be erupting around the tidal basin, spring will be rolling around us in all its splendid newness, and I will finish the run on Sunday knowing that I am crossing more Finishing Lines than one.
Monday, March 26, 2007
Apparently running 10 miles is exhausting....
Oh boy am I feeling it. On Saturday after my ten mile run I felt weird and fuzzy all day. I was so tired, like bone tired, that I even had a hard time falling asleep. I was definitely not recovered on Sunday. I went over to the gym thinking I would do some upper body lifts, but I left after a few sets because I was THAT wasted. Even this morning I was still not feeling it and subbed out my 20 minute high-intensity cardio session with a low-intensity incline treadmill walk. I must be getting old :) (should I stop blaming this stuff on my cancer/thyroid now?)!! I have got to get a couple of runs in this week so my body is not so shocked and peevish after the race on Sunday! That's what you get for not running for a couple weeks and then jumping right in with a long one! Oh well. Not like I could have said no to the Europe trip...
My tendinitis turned out to be just a day-long irritation, it's feeling all better today. I actually injured my peroneal right before my surgery in November (I was SO sad I could not run before my surgery!) and it totally SUCKED because I literally could not walk on my foot. I thought I might have fractured something. It turned out to be a lucky time for that injury because I was forced to lay around recovering from surgery, so could not continue to exercise stubbornly like I probably would have done otherwise. And the peroneal injury prevented me from doing something retarded like trying to do cardio a few days after the surgery like I probably would have done otherwise! See, things happen for a reason.
That bout of tendinitis turned out to be not so bad, but I was off that same leg for a few months with illiotibial band syndrome a couple years ago. It was so hard to not run for months! That was when I swam - in the nice olympic size lap pool at the Texas A&M gym (gawd, we were so spoiled at that gym, and I knew it too: it was bittersweet to work out there knowing I would have to leave it all behind.... huge pool, spa, quarter-mile indoor track, full weight room, plenty of cardio equipment, a huge rock climbing wall, indoor basketball courts, etc, etc, etc. FOR FREE. -- let's not get technical about mandatory student fees --. I weep when I think about it.) Aaanyway, after some physical therapy (only $10 per session with a collegiate sports PT... maybe I should go back to college?!) my ITB finally subsided, although it still flares up every once in a while if I do not stretch diligently. Something must be off with my right side because I now have tendinitis problems up the whole leg!
Metro tires me deeply and tries my patience. I therefore avoid using it on the weekends when I don't have to (I would probably go downtown a lot more if I didn't have to ride metro!). But yesterday I just wanted to be outside in the glorious sunny springtime. So I decided to metro to Rosslyn and walk across the Key Bridge to Georgetown to go to church. I walked up the Exorcist Staircase, which I thought was appropriate, being that I was on my way to church. Yes, that's the real actual staircase from the movie - they filmed it in Georgetown! Freaky stuff.
This afternoon I got to go hear the Moscow Chamber Orchestra play a lunchtime concert at the State Department. Apparently it's the bicentennial anniversary of the establishment of diplomatic relations between Washington and Moscow. Who knew?!
My tendinitis turned out to be just a day-long irritation, it's feeling all better today. I actually injured my peroneal right before my surgery in November (I was SO sad I could not run before my surgery!) and it totally SUCKED because I literally could not walk on my foot. I thought I might have fractured something. It turned out to be a lucky time for that injury because I was forced to lay around recovering from surgery, so could not continue to exercise stubbornly like I probably would have done otherwise. And the peroneal injury prevented me from doing something retarded like trying to do cardio a few days after the surgery like I probably would have done otherwise! See, things happen for a reason.
That bout of tendinitis turned out to be not so bad, but I was off that same leg for a few months with illiotibial band syndrome a couple years ago. It was so hard to not run for months! That was when I swam - in the nice olympic size lap pool at the Texas A&M gym (gawd, we were so spoiled at that gym, and I knew it too: it was bittersweet to work out there knowing I would have to leave it all behind.... huge pool, spa, quarter-mile indoor track, full weight room, plenty of cardio equipment, a huge rock climbing wall, indoor basketball courts, etc, etc, etc. FOR FREE. -- let's not get technical about mandatory student fees --. I weep when I think about it.) Aaanyway, after some physical therapy (only $10 per session with a collegiate sports PT... maybe I should go back to college?!) my ITB finally subsided, although it still flares up every once in a while if I do not stretch diligently. Something must be off with my right side because I now have tendinitis problems up the whole leg!
Metro tires me deeply and tries my patience. I therefore avoid using it on the weekends when I don't have to (I would probably go downtown a lot more if I didn't have to ride metro!). But yesterday I just wanted to be outside in the glorious sunny springtime. So I decided to metro to Rosslyn and walk across the Key Bridge to Georgetown to go to church. I walked up the Exorcist Staircase, which I thought was appropriate, being that I was on my way to church. Yes, that's the real actual staircase from the movie - they filmed it in Georgetown! Freaky stuff.
This afternoon I got to go hear the Moscow Chamber Orchestra play a lunchtime concert at the State Department. Apparently it's the bicentennial anniversary of the establishment of diplomatic relations between Washington and Moscow. Who knew?!
Saturday, March 24, 2007
Random bits
I can't believe I've been so productive today! It's only 3 and so far I've been to get groceries, done three loads of laundry, including my sheets, re-made the bed, folded all the clothes, paid bills, mailed in checks to the bank, run ten miles...
Yeah, I'm wiped out from the ten mile run. The fact that I did it is nothing short of astounding. I have not run in two weeks! I brought all my running gear to Europe with me, but... um, yeah. It's impossible to get a cup of coffee before 7 in Europe, I discovered, and as for post-run recovery breakfast... a brioche just wouldn't have cut it. They don't scramble up eggs at the cafe. Plus I wanted to sightsee as much as possible!
It's really foggy and drizzly here today. The National Marathon happened this morning, and I watched some of the press coverage and got all inspired. I didn't want to put it off till tomorrow, so I just went. It was harrrrd. I wasn't sure I was going to run 10 miles until it was over. The first 7 were not so bad, but ouch. The tendinitis in my right leg is irritating me - both my ITB and my peroneal tendon. I put some HPQR on it when I got home - that horse stuff Adam's veterinarian dad gave me when I first injured my peroneal.
I had two Netflix of Gray's Anatomy that were sitting on my counter for weeks. I finally just mailed them back - unwatched. I should have done it earlier. I just can't bring myself to watch that show anymore. It brings back memories of the surgery and laying in the OR and being isolated in the hospital - I prefer not to have that all dredged up watching a tv show!
They are painting the hallways in my apartment. When I walk down the hall I swear I can feel the capillaries in my lungs dying, the fumes are so toxic! They are going to paint our doors on Tuesday, which requires leaving the door open for several hours. This deeply irritates me.
Earlier I had the biggest runner's high, but now my head feels all cloudy and thick. I'm not sure what to do with myself for the rest of the afternoon?! Maybe I will go across the street and watch a movie (yes, I live across the street from a movie theater!) - 300 is playing there, but I know Adam will want to see it and he'll be disappointed if I see it without him :(. Maybe a nap... zzzzzzzzzz.
Yeah, I'm wiped out from the ten mile run. The fact that I did it is nothing short of astounding. I have not run in two weeks! I brought all my running gear to Europe with me, but... um, yeah. It's impossible to get a cup of coffee before 7 in Europe, I discovered, and as for post-run recovery breakfast... a brioche just wouldn't have cut it. They don't scramble up eggs at the cafe. Plus I wanted to sightsee as much as possible!
It's really foggy and drizzly here today. The National Marathon happened this morning, and I watched some of the press coverage and got all inspired. I didn't want to put it off till tomorrow, so I just went. It was harrrrd. I wasn't sure I was going to run 10 miles until it was over. The first 7 were not so bad, but ouch. The tendinitis in my right leg is irritating me - both my ITB and my peroneal tendon. I put some HPQR on it when I got home - that horse stuff Adam's veterinarian dad gave me when I first injured my peroneal.
I had two Netflix of Gray's Anatomy that were sitting on my counter for weeks. I finally just mailed them back - unwatched. I should have done it earlier. I just can't bring myself to watch that show anymore. It brings back memories of the surgery and laying in the OR and being isolated in the hospital - I prefer not to have that all dredged up watching a tv show!
They are painting the hallways in my apartment. When I walk down the hall I swear I can feel the capillaries in my lungs dying, the fumes are so toxic! They are going to paint our doors on Tuesday, which requires leaving the door open for several hours. This deeply irritates me.
Earlier I had the biggest runner's high, but now my head feels all cloudy and thick. I'm not sure what to do with myself for the rest of the afternoon?! Maybe I will go across the street and watch a movie (yes, I live across the street from a movie theater!) - 300 is playing there, but I know Adam will want to see it and he'll be disappointed if I see it without him :(. Maybe a nap... zzzzzzzzzz.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Had to Share
I loved this and totally related to it, so I just had to share:
Excerpt from Grace (Eventually)
By Anne Lamott
Prelude
There is not much truth being told in the world. There never was. This has proven to be a major disappointment to some of us. When I was a child, I thought grown-ups and teachers knew the truth, because they told me they did. It took years for me to discover that the first step in finding out the truth is to begin unlearning almost everything adults had taught me, and to start doing all the things they'd told me not to do. Their main pitch was that achievement equaled happiness, when all you had to do was study rock stars, or movie stars, or them, to see that they were mostly miserable. They were all running around in mazes like everyone else.
On the other hand, sometimes you encountered people who'd stopped playing everyone else's game, who seemed to be semi-happy, and with it, who said, in so many words, I saw the cheese, I lived on it for years, and it wasn't worth it. It was plain old Safeway Swiss.
At twenty-one, I still believed that if you could only get to see sunrise at Stonehenge, or full moon at the Taj Mahal, you would be nabbed by truth. And then you would be well, and able to relax and feel fully alive. But I actually knew a few true things: I had figured out that truth and freedom were pretty much the same. And that almost everyone was struggling to wake up, to be loved, and not feel so afraid all the time. That's what the cars, degrees, booze, and drugs were about.
By the time I had dropped out of college at nineteen, I'd acquired a basic and wildly ecumenical faith cobbled together from shards I'd gathered in reading various wisdom traditions—Native American, Hindu, feminist, Buddhist, even Christian, in a heart-stopping, kick-starting encounter with Kierkegaard's Fear and Trembling. My best teachers were mess, failure, death, mistakes, and the people I hated, including myself.
Drugs often helped. I knew that if you had the eyes to see, there was beauty everywhere, even when nature was barren or sloppy, and not just when God had tarted things up for the spring. Often the people with the deepest insight looked as ordinary as any old alcoholic or serial killer. They might look like Siddhartha or Ananda Mai Ma, but odds were they resembled your bipolar cousin Ruth, or Mr. Burns from The Simpsons. Also, they could be extremely annoying. I already understood that on this side of eternity, we were not going to get over much or see very clearly, and that often what we saw was happening only in our minds: "Things are not as they seem. Nor are they otherwise." Who said this? Rumi? Or Illya Kuryakin? No idea.
Thirty years ago, I was living in Bolinas, California, an exquisite enclave of hippies, artists, and organic farmers on the coast. I had a wonderful poet boyfriend named Ty. We were crazy about each other, even though we were not exclusive—which is to say that I loved him more than he loved me. But he was gentle and funny, and had great stories about his years in India, Tibet, Taos, and Salt Lake City. It had never occurred to me before Ty that you might wake up spiritually as easily in Utah as in Sri Lanka. He was the first to give me books from which I learned that God was an equal opportunity employer—that it was possible to experience the divine anywhere you were, anywhere you could see the sun and moon rise or set, or burn through the fog.
Bolinas was a great place for ritual and celebrations—it was nearly as exotic as India, if you thought about it, but without all those dying animals in the streets and people defecating in the holy waters, which doesn't really work for me at all. We had perfectly good bodily mess right here where I lived. We had burnouts in the streets, nudes on the beach, our own drunken sex lives. Feral cats, three-legged dogs, and horses stood side by side. During our countless festivals and parades, people in cowboy boots and homemade holiday garlands and leis drank beer, and vivid chalk murals decorated the walls downtown—an exuberant aesthetic that celebrated both ordinary community life and tribal-stomp mysticism, but on the Pacific Coast instead of the Ganges. There were altars and candles and veils, people in costume and exotic clothing redolent of human spirit and dreams—not to mention foods cooking in the heat, all that delicious joy, with rot waiting in the wings.
And then Ty fell head over heels in love with another woman, who had so many unfair advantages over me. For instance, she was not a falling-down drunk. She was womanly and celestial. She had money and perfect earth-mother clothes of flowing silk, batiked and embroidered, and soft blond hair, whereas I was poor and looked like a Gypsy wagon with fuzzy curls. She was a gifted artist, soft-spoken and gentle, with an elegant house on the beach, all candles, altars, incense. She even had a beautiful name: Romy.
She did not love Ty as much as he loved her, or as much as I loved him, which stacked the deck in her favor. In the competition between us, she won for caring less. After Ty and I had been sleeping together for six months or so, he left me for her.
I had already come through three heartbreaks, which caused long physical withdrawals, as bad as trying to get off cigarettes, and through two bad acid trips, and everyone convinced me that I would come through this bad patch, too. Luckily I was still drinking. And I had a perfect best friend, whom I saw every day and who drank the way I did.
I learned mostly from drugs and great books: I was a lifelong reading girl.
I already believed that there was something in me that could not be touched or destroyed that you could call the soul. And I was part of two wings of the community—the smartest, funniest alcoholics, and the seekers, who had designed lives based on spiritual values and tried to live up to them. I loved equally reading the great literature of the world and getting wasted. I thought we were here to have spiritual awakenings. When it came to books or drugs, I'd take anything that was offered, and I considered the next day's drug hangover worth the expanded sense of reality. I was sick many mornings, but curious, like Dorothy opening her eyes in Oz: Is there still gravity? Can we breathe the air? Yes. Then might as well go look around.
I was crushed for a while after Ty dumped me, but it ¬really is easier to experience spiritual connection when your life is in the process of coming apart. When things break up and fences fall over, desperation and powerlessness slink in, which turns out to be good: humility and sweetness often arrive in your garden not long after. And I had a pharmacist friend in San Francisco who gave me Valium. The tears were finally helpful, for what they washed away and revealed, which is to say my deep longing for a kind partner, and my bad judgment. Seeds sank into the ground, and who could even guess what might grow? Hey! We all like surprises, don't we?
My best friend and my father and younger brother saw me through; they helped keep the patient as comfortable as could be expected. I finally figured out that I had a choice: I could suffer a great deal, or not, or for a long time. Or I could have the combo platter: suffer, breathe, pray, play, cry, and try to help people. There was meaning in pain; it taught you how to survive with a modicum of grace when you did not get what you wanted. In addition, I got a couple of office-temp boyfriends, and best of all, lost a lot of weight.
By June 1975, life had gotten easier. We were in the delicious bland limbo of Gerald Ford. Our generation had changed the world: the worst U.S. president in history had been forced to resign, the war in Vietnam had at last ended, and the women's movement was here to stay. On one particular day, I was bird-watching at the Bolinas lagoon with my father, and at a certain hour he left to make my younger brother dinner down the road. Not long after he left, Ty stepped through the willows and alders onto the bank where I sat.
We hugged and kissed, and I buried myself in his smells. We smoked a joint and huddled in the chill of dusk. He gave me his sweater. We marveled at the ducks and egrets on the calm waters, white pelicans flying overhead. He told me that Romy and he were still together, but she wanted to sleep with other men. Although he loved her, he spent only a couple of nights a week at her house. I thought this over. "Oh," I said. "Which nights?" He laughed.
He was so handsome, sweet, and so much fun. He asked if I wanted to come to his house for enchiladas. Of course I did. We ate them with a lot of hot sauce and cold Tecate, and went to bed. We could not get enough of each other. Eventually he fell asleep, and I turned on the reading light. The book beside his bed was The Only Dance There Is, which was based in part on lectures on spirituality that Ram Dass had given at the Menninger Foundation. A few people had told me how brilliant and funny it was, and I dove in with cheerful anticipation.
I got to the title page, where there was a calligraphed inscription from Romy, with curlicue hearts, lotuses, and—I am not making this up—a drawing of Krishna.
Hmph, I thought, and put it aside. I found Trout Fishing in America and reread parts. In the morning when I awoke, Ty was at the foot of his bed, in cutoff blue jeans, tying his running shoes. "Where are you going?" I asked.
He said he was going for a long run on the ridge. But then? He paused. It was a bad pause. He was going to an outdoor luncheon at Romy's. I tried to act nonchalant, and did not start crying until he left. Then I lay on my side, naked, and sobbed for so long that I was heaving for breath, for every man who hadn't loved me enough. I showered, brushed my teeth, took some aspirin, found some Visine in his medicine chest, dressed in my tie-dyed tank top and underpants, and crawled back into bed. When Ty returned, he was clearly worried to see me still there. I said I had been throwing up and had a fever.
He looked as if he might be about to burp up a newborn chick.
He got me a cup of tea with honey, toast with honey, yogurt with honey, like I was John the Baptist with the flu. He said he had to take a shower and then head over to Romy's. I said it was totally okay, but I was just too sick to get up. He felt my forehead with the back of his hand, like a father. I was hot from crying and grief and mental illness. He went to shower.
When he came back, I clutched my stomach as if I was about to heave, and he got me a pot to vomit in. This is my kind of date. I lay back in bed, barely able to keep my eyes open.
I pretended to sleep while he got dressed.
"Annie?" he said gently. I opened my eyes, waiting for the boot. "You can stay here as long as you need. But I won't be back until tomorrow."
"Okay," I said in a tiny voice. I tried to look as sick as I could, in the most touching possible way, like the little match girl in tie-dye. He made me more tea and sat with me. I cried when I heard his car drive off, but I knew he would be back later in the day. How could you leave skinny, touching, sick, adorable me? I'll show you, I thought: I won't leave.
Then, because I didn't know what else to do, I started to read the book Romy had given him. This was part maso¬chism, part revenge, and part curiosity. And I was soon mesmerized. There was nothing particularly new about consciousness and God and love in the book, but it was the first time I'd heard this information given in such a hilarious, wise, human, neurotic voice. Ram Dass was a vulnerable mess—just like me. I felt the way I had felt reading A Wrinkle in Time at eight, The Catcher in the Rye, Catch-22, Virginia Woolf, Vonnegut later on, whenever a book had offered me a box with treasure inside. It was what flooded out in the quiet, intimate relationship between me and the writer; the treasure of me.
The physical excitement in me was profound. People say about experiences like this that "the veil lifted," but for me, for the whole day, it was as if an itchy burlap sack had come off my head. Molecules shifted, as in the shimmer before a migraine, the ocular shift at the edges, where I felt as if I might be having a stroke. Ram Dass's book was about his stuckness, his sick ego, his life, his heart, the Buddha, Krishna, his guru—even Jesus, which was truly radical. I felt as though I were snorkeling one concentric circle outside where I had been before.
I read all afternoon in bed, peaceful as a cat. There was only me, the book, the space I was reading in; hands, and the whisper of pages, eyes, and a place to sprawl. The wrinkly flower of my heart was opening in slow motion. I felt one with everybody. Well, except Romy. I felt about one and a half with her, even as I knew deep inside that she was part of the reason that I would never be the same. And I wasn't.
This was the day I pecked a hole out of the cocoon and saw the sky of ingredients that would constitute my spiritual path. This was the day I knew the ingredients of the spiritual that would serve me—love, poetry, prayer, meditation, community. I knew that sex could be as sacred as taking care of the poor. I knew that no one comes holier than anyone else, that nowhere is better than anywhere else. I knew that the resurrection of the mind was possible. I knew that no matter how absurd and ironic it was, acknowledging death and the finite was what gave you life and presence. You might as well make it good. Nature, family, children, cadavers, birth, rivers in which we pee and bathe, splash and flirt and float memorial candles—in these you would find holiness.
I started praying, not the usual old prayer of "God, I am such a loser," but new ones—"Hi" and "Thank you." I viscerally got that God was everywhere; poor old God, just waiting for you to notice, and enter your life like a track coach for slow people. Kathleen Norris said, many years later, "Prayer is not asking for what you think you want, but asking to be changed in ways you can't imagine," and I got the message that day. People were going to come into my life. Many of them would leave. Most of the people in my family would roll their eyes and hope that soon I'd go back to the manic and tranquilizing mall of American life.
Ty still hadn't come back by the time I finished reading the book at seven, so I went to the main road in Bolinas to hitchhike home. I ended up at the bar. It would be ten more years before I stopped drinking, twenty years ago ¬today. But I remember standing there at dusk with my thumb out, euphoric and exhausted as if I'd been at the beach all day, then taken a long, hot shower to wash off all the sand.
Excerpted from Grace (Eventually). Copyright © 2007 by Anne Lamott. All rights reserved.
Excerpt from Grace (Eventually)
By Anne Lamott
Prelude
There is not much truth being told in the world. There never was. This has proven to be a major disappointment to some of us. When I was a child, I thought grown-ups and teachers knew the truth, because they told me they did. It took years for me to discover that the first step in finding out the truth is to begin unlearning almost everything adults had taught me, and to start doing all the things they'd told me not to do. Their main pitch was that achievement equaled happiness, when all you had to do was study rock stars, or movie stars, or them, to see that they were mostly miserable. They were all running around in mazes like everyone else.
On the other hand, sometimes you encountered people who'd stopped playing everyone else's game, who seemed to be semi-happy, and with it, who said, in so many words, I saw the cheese, I lived on it for years, and it wasn't worth it. It was plain old Safeway Swiss.
At twenty-one, I still believed that if you could only get to see sunrise at Stonehenge, or full moon at the Taj Mahal, you would be nabbed by truth. And then you would be well, and able to relax and feel fully alive. But I actually knew a few true things: I had figured out that truth and freedom were pretty much the same. And that almost everyone was struggling to wake up, to be loved, and not feel so afraid all the time. That's what the cars, degrees, booze, and drugs were about.
By the time I had dropped out of college at nineteen, I'd acquired a basic and wildly ecumenical faith cobbled together from shards I'd gathered in reading various wisdom traditions—Native American, Hindu, feminist, Buddhist, even Christian, in a heart-stopping, kick-starting encounter with Kierkegaard's Fear and Trembling. My best teachers were mess, failure, death, mistakes, and the people I hated, including myself.
Drugs often helped. I knew that if you had the eyes to see, there was beauty everywhere, even when nature was barren or sloppy, and not just when God had tarted things up for the spring. Often the people with the deepest insight looked as ordinary as any old alcoholic or serial killer. They might look like Siddhartha or Ananda Mai Ma, but odds were they resembled your bipolar cousin Ruth, or Mr. Burns from The Simpsons. Also, they could be extremely annoying. I already understood that on this side of eternity, we were not going to get over much or see very clearly, and that often what we saw was happening only in our minds: "Things are not as they seem. Nor are they otherwise." Who said this? Rumi? Or Illya Kuryakin? No idea.
Thirty years ago, I was living in Bolinas, California, an exquisite enclave of hippies, artists, and organic farmers on the coast. I had a wonderful poet boyfriend named Ty. We were crazy about each other, even though we were not exclusive—which is to say that I loved him more than he loved me. But he was gentle and funny, and had great stories about his years in India, Tibet, Taos, and Salt Lake City. It had never occurred to me before Ty that you might wake up spiritually as easily in Utah as in Sri Lanka. He was the first to give me books from which I learned that God was an equal opportunity employer—that it was possible to experience the divine anywhere you were, anywhere you could see the sun and moon rise or set, or burn through the fog.
Bolinas was a great place for ritual and celebrations—it was nearly as exotic as India, if you thought about it, but without all those dying animals in the streets and people defecating in the holy waters, which doesn't really work for me at all. We had perfectly good bodily mess right here where I lived. We had burnouts in the streets, nudes on the beach, our own drunken sex lives. Feral cats, three-legged dogs, and horses stood side by side. During our countless festivals and parades, people in cowboy boots and homemade holiday garlands and leis drank beer, and vivid chalk murals decorated the walls downtown—an exuberant aesthetic that celebrated both ordinary community life and tribal-stomp mysticism, but on the Pacific Coast instead of the Ganges. There were altars and candles and veils, people in costume and exotic clothing redolent of human spirit and dreams—not to mention foods cooking in the heat, all that delicious joy, with rot waiting in the wings.
And then Ty fell head over heels in love with another woman, who had so many unfair advantages over me. For instance, she was not a falling-down drunk. She was womanly and celestial. She had money and perfect earth-mother clothes of flowing silk, batiked and embroidered, and soft blond hair, whereas I was poor and looked like a Gypsy wagon with fuzzy curls. She was a gifted artist, soft-spoken and gentle, with an elegant house on the beach, all candles, altars, incense. She even had a beautiful name: Romy.
She did not love Ty as much as he loved her, or as much as I loved him, which stacked the deck in her favor. In the competition between us, she won for caring less. After Ty and I had been sleeping together for six months or so, he left me for her.
I had already come through three heartbreaks, which caused long physical withdrawals, as bad as trying to get off cigarettes, and through two bad acid trips, and everyone convinced me that I would come through this bad patch, too. Luckily I was still drinking. And I had a perfect best friend, whom I saw every day and who drank the way I did.
I learned mostly from drugs and great books: I was a lifelong reading girl.
I already believed that there was something in me that could not be touched or destroyed that you could call the soul. And I was part of two wings of the community—the smartest, funniest alcoholics, and the seekers, who had designed lives based on spiritual values and tried to live up to them. I loved equally reading the great literature of the world and getting wasted. I thought we were here to have spiritual awakenings. When it came to books or drugs, I'd take anything that was offered, and I considered the next day's drug hangover worth the expanded sense of reality. I was sick many mornings, but curious, like Dorothy opening her eyes in Oz: Is there still gravity? Can we breathe the air? Yes. Then might as well go look around.
I was crushed for a while after Ty dumped me, but it ¬really is easier to experience spiritual connection when your life is in the process of coming apart. When things break up and fences fall over, desperation and powerlessness slink in, which turns out to be good: humility and sweetness often arrive in your garden not long after. And I had a pharmacist friend in San Francisco who gave me Valium. The tears were finally helpful, for what they washed away and revealed, which is to say my deep longing for a kind partner, and my bad judgment. Seeds sank into the ground, and who could even guess what might grow? Hey! We all like surprises, don't we?
My best friend and my father and younger brother saw me through; they helped keep the patient as comfortable as could be expected. I finally figured out that I had a choice: I could suffer a great deal, or not, or for a long time. Or I could have the combo platter: suffer, breathe, pray, play, cry, and try to help people. There was meaning in pain; it taught you how to survive with a modicum of grace when you did not get what you wanted. In addition, I got a couple of office-temp boyfriends, and best of all, lost a lot of weight.
By June 1975, life had gotten easier. We were in the delicious bland limbo of Gerald Ford. Our generation had changed the world: the worst U.S. president in history had been forced to resign, the war in Vietnam had at last ended, and the women's movement was here to stay. On one particular day, I was bird-watching at the Bolinas lagoon with my father, and at a certain hour he left to make my younger brother dinner down the road. Not long after he left, Ty stepped through the willows and alders onto the bank where I sat.
We hugged and kissed, and I buried myself in his smells. We smoked a joint and huddled in the chill of dusk. He gave me his sweater. We marveled at the ducks and egrets on the calm waters, white pelicans flying overhead. He told me that Romy and he were still together, but she wanted to sleep with other men. Although he loved her, he spent only a couple of nights a week at her house. I thought this over. "Oh," I said. "Which nights?" He laughed.
He was so handsome, sweet, and so much fun. He asked if I wanted to come to his house for enchiladas. Of course I did. We ate them with a lot of hot sauce and cold Tecate, and went to bed. We could not get enough of each other. Eventually he fell asleep, and I turned on the reading light. The book beside his bed was The Only Dance There Is, which was based in part on lectures on spirituality that Ram Dass had given at the Menninger Foundation. A few people had told me how brilliant and funny it was, and I dove in with cheerful anticipation.
I got to the title page, where there was a calligraphed inscription from Romy, with curlicue hearts, lotuses, and—I am not making this up—a drawing of Krishna.
Hmph, I thought, and put it aside. I found Trout Fishing in America and reread parts. In the morning when I awoke, Ty was at the foot of his bed, in cutoff blue jeans, tying his running shoes. "Where are you going?" I asked.
He said he was going for a long run on the ridge. But then? He paused. It was a bad pause. He was going to an outdoor luncheon at Romy's. I tried to act nonchalant, and did not start crying until he left. Then I lay on my side, naked, and sobbed for so long that I was heaving for breath, for every man who hadn't loved me enough. I showered, brushed my teeth, took some aspirin, found some Visine in his medicine chest, dressed in my tie-dyed tank top and underpants, and crawled back into bed. When Ty returned, he was clearly worried to see me still there. I said I had been throwing up and had a fever.
He looked as if he might be about to burp up a newborn chick.
He got me a cup of tea with honey, toast with honey, yogurt with honey, like I was John the Baptist with the flu. He said he had to take a shower and then head over to Romy's. I said it was totally okay, but I was just too sick to get up. He felt my forehead with the back of his hand, like a father. I was hot from crying and grief and mental illness. He went to shower.
When he came back, I clutched my stomach as if I was about to heave, and he got me a pot to vomit in. This is my kind of date. I lay back in bed, barely able to keep my eyes open.
I pretended to sleep while he got dressed.
"Annie?" he said gently. I opened my eyes, waiting for the boot. "You can stay here as long as you need. But I won't be back until tomorrow."
"Okay," I said in a tiny voice. I tried to look as sick as I could, in the most touching possible way, like the little match girl in tie-dye. He made me more tea and sat with me. I cried when I heard his car drive off, but I knew he would be back later in the day. How could you leave skinny, touching, sick, adorable me? I'll show you, I thought: I won't leave.
Then, because I didn't know what else to do, I started to read the book Romy had given him. This was part maso¬chism, part revenge, and part curiosity. And I was soon mesmerized. There was nothing particularly new about consciousness and God and love in the book, but it was the first time I'd heard this information given in such a hilarious, wise, human, neurotic voice. Ram Dass was a vulnerable mess—just like me. I felt the way I had felt reading A Wrinkle in Time at eight, The Catcher in the Rye, Catch-22, Virginia Woolf, Vonnegut later on, whenever a book had offered me a box with treasure inside. It was what flooded out in the quiet, intimate relationship between me and the writer; the treasure of me.
The physical excitement in me was profound. People say about experiences like this that "the veil lifted," but for me, for the whole day, it was as if an itchy burlap sack had come off my head. Molecules shifted, as in the shimmer before a migraine, the ocular shift at the edges, where I felt as if I might be having a stroke. Ram Dass's book was about his stuckness, his sick ego, his life, his heart, the Buddha, Krishna, his guru—even Jesus, which was truly radical. I felt as though I were snorkeling one concentric circle outside where I had been before.
I read all afternoon in bed, peaceful as a cat. There was only me, the book, the space I was reading in; hands, and the whisper of pages, eyes, and a place to sprawl. The wrinkly flower of my heart was opening in slow motion. I felt one with everybody. Well, except Romy. I felt about one and a half with her, even as I knew deep inside that she was part of the reason that I would never be the same. And I wasn't.
This was the day I pecked a hole out of the cocoon and saw the sky of ingredients that would constitute my spiritual path. This was the day I knew the ingredients of the spiritual that would serve me—love, poetry, prayer, meditation, community. I knew that sex could be as sacred as taking care of the poor. I knew that no one comes holier than anyone else, that nowhere is better than anywhere else. I knew that the resurrection of the mind was possible. I knew that no matter how absurd and ironic it was, acknowledging death and the finite was what gave you life and presence. You might as well make it good. Nature, family, children, cadavers, birth, rivers in which we pee and bathe, splash and flirt and float memorial candles—in these you would find holiness.
I started praying, not the usual old prayer of "God, I am such a loser," but new ones—"Hi" and "Thank you." I viscerally got that God was everywhere; poor old God, just waiting for you to notice, and enter your life like a track coach for slow people. Kathleen Norris said, many years later, "Prayer is not asking for what you think you want, but asking to be changed in ways you can't imagine," and I got the message that day. People were going to come into my life. Many of them would leave. Most of the people in my family would roll their eyes and hope that soon I'd go back to the manic and tranquilizing mall of American life.
Ty still hadn't come back by the time I finished reading the book at seven, so I went to the main road in Bolinas to hitchhike home. I ended up at the bar. It would be ten more years before I stopped drinking, twenty years ago ¬today. But I remember standing there at dusk with my thumb out, euphoric and exhausted as if I'd been at the beach all day, then taken a long, hot shower to wash off all the sand.
Excerpted from Grace (Eventually). Copyright © 2007 by Anne Lamott. All rights reserved.
Thursday, March 22, 2007
300
I've been hearing about this movie everywhere! I guess I'm going to have to see it, especially to check out how ripped those guys got! Here's the "300 workout":
Total of 300 reps, no rest in between sets:
Pullups - 25
Deadlifts with 135lbs - 50
Pushups - 50
24-inch Box jumps - 50
Floor wipers - 50
1-arm 36lbs Kettlebell Clean n Press - 50 reps
Pullups - 25
Holy cow!! Did you check out the floor wipers? I think if I tried those in my gym people would stop what they were doing and stare!! LOL! I wonder if I could even do those? Hmmmm....
Craig Ballantyne had this posted at Turbulence Training.
Total of 300 reps, no rest in between sets:
Pullups - 25
Deadlifts with 135lbs - 50
Pushups - 50
24-inch Box jumps - 50
Floor wipers - 50
1-arm 36lbs Kettlebell Clean n Press - 50 reps
Pullups - 25
Holy cow!! Did you check out the floor wipers? I think if I tried those in my gym people would stop what they were doing and stare!! LOL! I wonder if I could even do those? Hmmmm....
Craig Ballantyne had this posted at Turbulence Training.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Fitness and Intelligence
I had an interesting conversation with a colleague at work this evening. I was chatting with two male co-workers, giving advice to one about where to buy supplements. (I like Bodybuilding.com and WholesaleSupplementStore.com.) The other came back later and asked me how I got into all this "stuff" - meaning fitness, nutrition, etc. He was surprised to learn that the deadlift is actually in my repertoire of exercises. He was doing most of the talking, telling me about the gym he works out in and his routine and it seemed like he really enjoyed lifting weights - he seems reasonably fit, I might add. But he said he "doesn't want to get too big" so he tries not to lift too much.
I'm like, huh? First of all, he's probably a little misinformed if he thinks he's going to get huge without investing some significant energy into his weight training and diet. But even if he is a fast-gainer (which he told me he's not), why would he not want to "get too big"?
His explanation was something to the effect of not wanting to give people the impression that he was some muscle-head (I'm paraphrasing). He mentioned another colleague of ours, J, who he thought was "too big" (which I think is crazy, he's not that big). He says when he sees J, his first impression is "that guy's a big bodybuilder", not "that guy is smart, capable, competent, a hard worker..." He wants others' first impression of him to be more along the lines of "nerdy but brilliant", which is not served by having big muscles.
At first I was feeling confused, but as he kept talking, I realized he's right... (But not that he's right to bend to such pressures...) Most of the people in my line of work with fall well and solidly into the nerd category. They dress very conservatively and not necessarily well. Only a small handful could be considered reasonably fit and even the ambiguous ones are more euro-fit than athletic-fit (by that I mean trim from walking a lot around the city, or eating well, and/or due to a genetic propensity towards being an ectomorph). In other words most don't invest a lot of time in their appearances - it's as if they are somehow "above" caring about that because they are so busy focusing on some worthier cause.
I grew up in the military where the values are quite different from the average population. Being fit is important to military-folk and it's even looked down upon to be too out of shape, especially if you're male. In the military world, you can be muscular and fit and still be considered intelligent, capable and competent. But in the world I work in, and I think the general population, there is a perception that if you're really fit, really athletic, or care too much about your appearance/body, then you're less intelligent. I remember seeing an article in the Economist not too long ago about how many of the members of the Bush Administration are dedicated to some kind of exercise on a weekly basis - Bush's mile time was a decent 8-something, if I remember correctly, and Condi gets up at 5:00 every morning to do the elliptical, even when she's on the road. In the ironic British humor that I love the Economist for, the article was suggesting that they were too busy messing around in leg-warmers to worry about real foreign policy concerns.
I think this is a load of hogshit. Study after study confirms the benefits of exercise to mental performance, energy, and alertness. And I could get into a huge tangent here about what exactly intelligence is and how our concept of that is shaped by society. I'll save that for another time - I'm on my way to lift some heavy shit in the gym!!! Just kidding, I lifted this morning. I just think it's sad that not only is fitness not valued by the general population, but the fit among us get stereotyped as less intelligent or less competent. The two are not necessarily mutually exclusive! There are really "smart" fit people, and fit people who are not so "smart", just like there are really "smart" un-fit people and also people who are neither smart nor fit. Sigh.
I'm like, huh? First of all, he's probably a little misinformed if he thinks he's going to get huge without investing some significant energy into his weight training and diet. But even if he is a fast-gainer (which he told me he's not), why would he not want to "get too big"?
His explanation was something to the effect of not wanting to give people the impression that he was some muscle-head (I'm paraphrasing). He mentioned another colleague of ours, J, who he thought was "too big" (which I think is crazy, he's not that big). He says when he sees J, his first impression is "that guy's a big bodybuilder", not "that guy is smart, capable, competent, a hard worker..." He wants others' first impression of him to be more along the lines of "nerdy but brilliant", which is not served by having big muscles.
At first I was feeling confused, but as he kept talking, I realized he's right... (But not that he's right to bend to such pressures...) Most of the people in my line of work with fall well and solidly into the nerd category. They dress very conservatively and not necessarily well. Only a small handful could be considered reasonably fit and even the ambiguous ones are more euro-fit than athletic-fit (by that I mean trim from walking a lot around the city, or eating well, and/or due to a genetic propensity towards being an ectomorph). In other words most don't invest a lot of time in their appearances - it's as if they are somehow "above" caring about that because they are so busy focusing on some worthier cause.
I grew up in the military where the values are quite different from the average population. Being fit is important to military-folk and it's even looked down upon to be too out of shape, especially if you're male. In the military world, you can be muscular and fit and still be considered intelligent, capable and competent. But in the world I work in, and I think the general population, there is a perception that if you're really fit, really athletic, or care too much about your appearance/body, then you're less intelligent. I remember seeing an article in the Economist not too long ago about how many of the members of the Bush Administration are dedicated to some kind of exercise on a weekly basis - Bush's mile time was a decent 8-something, if I remember correctly, and Condi gets up at 5:00 every morning to do the elliptical, even when she's on the road. In the ironic British humor that I love the Economist for, the article was suggesting that they were too busy messing around in leg-warmers to worry about real foreign policy concerns.
I think this is a load of hogshit. Study after study confirms the benefits of exercise to mental performance, energy, and alertness. And I could get into a huge tangent here about what exactly intelligence is and how our concept of that is shaped by society. I'll save that for another time - I'm on my way to lift some heavy shit in the gym!!! Just kidding, I lifted this morning. I just think it's sad that not only is fitness not valued by the general population, but the fit among us get stereotyped as less intelligent or less competent. The two are not necessarily mutually exclusive! There are really "smart" fit people, and fit people who are not so "smart", just like there are really "smart" un-fit people and also people who are neither smart nor fit. Sigh.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Pictures of Europe!!
Ok, here are the pics. Most of them are at night, since that's the only time I had for sightseeing. I don't know what all the buildings are either.
These are Vienna:
St. Stephen's Cathedral. Nice church but definitely not the coolest cathedral I've seen. We became pretty jaded when we discovered most of it was destroyed in WWII and what exists now is a reconstruction. Boo. Still quite pretty!
The giant organ inside St. Stephens (also a reconstruction of the original).
Looking toward the altar of St. Stephens - mass was going on when we got there. 90% of Austria is Roman Catholic.
The organ and stained glass window.
From the top of St. Stephens. There is an enormous bell up there, too dark to take a picture. We paid 4 Euros to ride this elevator up and look out at the view! From my first trip to Vienna years ago, I remember the catacombs in the basement of the church being pretty cool, but we couldn't go in as they were closed at the time.
Random charming courtyard.
Part of the palace, which goes on forever! All the architecture in Vienna is so grand.
This is actually the Rathaus - a central government building.
The Kunsthistoriche Museum - we spent quite a while in there, it was packed full of cool art. There were ancient Egyptian crypts and statues, Greek and Roman sculptures and paintings from the early to late Renaissance. One of my favorites were these portraits by Arcimboldo who is credited as being, like, the first surrealist. He lived in the 1500s, well before Dali started painting dripping clocks! This one's called Summer:
Below is the Natural History Museum.
Statue of Maria Theresa in the Museums Quarter.
This is the square our hotel was located on:
Ahhh, Paris! Here's a view of La Seine and you can see La Tour Eiffel on the right in the background. I was sooo exhausted and it was about 9:30 pm but I had to go over and see Notre Dame. That was pretty much the only sightseeing I had time for in Paris.
Notre Dame all lit up. It looks totally different than the first time I saw it in the early 90s, before they cleaned it. It was all grey and dirty and now it's white and glowing!
Frieze on the facade of Notre Dame, above the main door.
Some government building:
La Louvre:
No, this is not the rabbit hole to Wonderland, it's an entrance to the Metro!
Oh, I already told you how nice our hotel was... They even had some magic mirror in the bathroom that defogged itself in the middle - no kidding!! It's kinda hard to tell here, but you can see the clear outline of a perfectly defogged square in the center:
And this, believe it or not, is inside the Bank of France! It's called the Golden Room, built in the 1700s:
C'est tout!
These are Vienna:
St. Stephen's Cathedral. Nice church but definitely not the coolest cathedral I've seen. We became pretty jaded when we discovered most of it was destroyed in WWII and what exists now is a reconstruction. Boo. Still quite pretty!
The giant organ inside St. Stephens (also a reconstruction of the original).
Looking toward the altar of St. Stephens - mass was going on when we got there. 90% of Austria is Roman Catholic.
The organ and stained glass window.
From the top of St. Stephens. There is an enormous bell up there, too dark to take a picture. We paid 4 Euros to ride this elevator up and look out at the view! From my first trip to Vienna years ago, I remember the catacombs in the basement of the church being pretty cool, but we couldn't go in as they were closed at the time.
Random charming courtyard.
Part of the palace, which goes on forever! All the architecture in Vienna is so grand.
This is actually the Rathaus - a central government building.
The Kunsthistoriche Museum - we spent quite a while in there, it was packed full of cool art. There were ancient Egyptian crypts and statues, Greek and Roman sculptures and paintings from the early to late Renaissance. One of my favorites were these portraits by Arcimboldo who is credited as being, like, the first surrealist. He lived in the 1500s, well before Dali started painting dripping clocks! This one's called Summer:
Below is the Natural History Museum.
Statue of Maria Theresa in the Museums Quarter.
This is the square our hotel was located on:
Ahhh, Paris! Here's a view of La Seine and you can see La Tour Eiffel on the right in the background. I was sooo exhausted and it was about 9:30 pm but I had to go over and see Notre Dame. That was pretty much the only sightseeing I had time for in Paris.
Notre Dame all lit up. It looks totally different than the first time I saw it in the early 90s, before they cleaned it. It was all grey and dirty and now it's white and glowing!
Frieze on the facade of Notre Dame, above the main door.
Some government building:
La Louvre:
No, this is not the rabbit hole to Wonderland, it's an entrance to the Metro!
Oh, I already told you how nice our hotel was... They even had some magic mirror in the bathroom that defogged itself in the middle - no kidding!! It's kinda hard to tell here, but you can see the clear outline of a perfectly defogged square in the center:
And this, believe it or not, is inside the Bank of France! It's called the Golden Room, built in the 1700s:
C'est tout!
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Paris
That blue and gold medallion there is where our hotel was. And the American Embassy is on the corner of the Place de la Concorde. Gorgeous city! Sigh. The French still allow smoking INSIDE government buildings. There are ashtrays everywhere. Including in meetings/conference rooms. Everyone. Smokes. That, my friends, is the secret of "Why French women don't get fat" not because they somehow enjoy their food/wine/baguettes/brioches more than we do. They just smoke like chimneys. The deadliest appetite suppressant there is.
It's both really disgusting and really made me want to smoke again!! Something about being in Europe, sitting in a little cafe, drinking wine, discussing something lofty and looking chic with a cigarette perched between your fingers, punctuating deep remarks with a pensive puff ..... Don't get me wrong, I would never ever light up again and I think smoking is the FOULEST. I'm just sayin'.......
I'm back!
I'm back! I survived... barely! I think I slept about 8 hours the entire week, but I had a good time and now I'm thoroughly exhausted. I'm currently installed on the couch eating bon-bons (no kidding) and watching TLC. I did manage to unpack just now and I need to work up the inspiration to go get some groceries so I can eat something other than Mozart Kugeln. I have pictures and I'll post them soon!! Sooooo happy to be home!
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