I AM SO AGAINST THIS! It is my right to wear a set of headphones when I run. It serves as my motivation, the driving sound of thumping bass kicks me into high gear. Call me a novice. Tell me I couldn’t possibly be a serious runner with headphones on. I can take it. But the moment I’m restricted, you better be ready to hear it from me.
I ran in the Thanksgiving 5 miler, and I was frustrated by the fact that I was asked not to wear headphones. Although I understand some of the reasoning behind this request, I think my right to motivation should be heard as well. A kind colleague, and serious runner tried to educate me regarding the banning of headphones. She explained a few things, and they all related to safety.
1) When a runner is on a course, their senses should be open to all obstacles.
2) Runners in a race should be conscious of those behind them as well, so as not to create a crash.
3) Serious runners don’t need to motivation of sound to keep them going.
My rebuttal is not only to her, but to the race world as a whole.
Let’s discuss the obstacles on a closed course. First and foremost, other people; there are serious athletes, children, beginners. All of which are obstacles. The children cause a diversion because you stare at them in awe that they’re hustling past you. Serious athletes push past you trying to make they’re way to the front. The pushiness of competition drives me to send an elbow to their ribcage. Simply because they pushed me. This counts as two obstacles. First I got pushed, second I want to push them back. Perhaps I would be able to shrug it off if I had my music pumping through my ears to distract me. Beginners are an obstacle because they just don’t know what they’re doing. They weave back and forth without the thought that they may be impeding the traffic flow. Beside the people on the course, you also have water stops, and onlookers. Neither are a bad concept, you most certainly need to stay hydrated, and having people cheer you on is inspiring. Nonetheless each is just as distracting as my headphones. Let’s take the water stop for example. Out of no where are pedestrians holding cups out in my face. Shortly after I dodge the tables, I get tripped up on the sea of discarded cups. And there’s always the asshole who spits his water towards my feet, or worse, throws their whole cup at me. Within a few hundred feet, I’ve narrowly avoided disaster. In the same breath, water stops are necessary. People need hydration. So you take a risk because the water is more important then getting tripped up, or spit on. Of all these obstacles one important thing missing; vehicles. There are no cars to be mindful of. I understand having headphones on when you’re running alongside a busy road. But if the course is closed, then the most dangerous obstacle is eliminated.
On to runners being conscious of their surroundings. I briefly touched on this when I mentioned the awareness that beginners lack. In my mind, this is tantamount to the downhill skier/boarder rule. The uphill person is responsible for the safety of the downhill skier boarder. It’s in the code of snow sports, ask my sister. Why should you be responsible for the person behind you? You can’t see them. The person in front of you, however, is in plain sight, and you should be able to judge their next step based on where they place their weight. It’s easy to see a directional shift in front of you. But good luck predicting the actions of the person behind you.
Finally the idea that serious runners don’t need the music. I agree a serious runner, who has trained for years, probably has running wired into their brain. Some of us choose to trick their brain, to cause a diversion from the fact that you’re pushing yourself harder then ever before. My playlist is full of fast tempo songs to keep me at a 10 minute pace or below. The music isn’t distracting my attention from my surroundings, it’s distracting my inhibitions and letting me push further with each new song.
When it came time to for the race, my sister and I glared at each person who ignored the rules. At least 30% were wearing earbud headphones. I was pissed. We wanted to confiscate each i-pod. It just wasn’t fair, I had listened to the rules, and it got me no where. I wasn’t in contention for a spot, in fact, my final number was something in the 2000s.
But I have to end with a look on the bright side. A few things happened without the headphones on. My sister and I really enjoyed each others company. We talked, well she talked while I tried to keep up, and sang, and laughed. There was a little music along the course. Some homeowners chose to play the Rocky theme music. We also got to enjoy the witty commentator who ran near us for 2/10s of a mile. Although I was thoroughly frustrated that I didn’t have my headphones, and others did, I did get a taste of what the Fairfield Half Marathon would be like. They don’t allow headphones either.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Bah!
Bah! That’s my sound for pure frustration. I’m not a morning person. I’ve documented my trials with being an morning person. It just never pans out. So now that we have an alarm clock, a.k.a. Willow, I have to be up whenever she deems necessary. Most mornings it’s just before my alarm goes off around 6:00 a.m. This morning it was 5:30 a.m. I tried everything to ignore it, including burying my head beneath pillows in an ostrich like fashion. After 10 minutes of constant barking, I crawled out of bed, got dressed for the crisp morning air, and stumbled down the stairs. My eyes were so tired that my glasses seemed clouded.
A blurry Willow was enthusiastically wagging her tail in the hopes that I would release her playtime and breakfast. She’s too adorable, even at 5:45 a.m. to be mad at. She barreled out of her cage right into me asking only for attention. I managed to get her leash on and we went out for her morning potty break. The grass was frosted over which caused much displeasure for Willow’s little paws. As she bolted for the back slider I struggled to catch up. Our normal routine began once we were in the kitchen.
I spend the next hour feeding her, playing with her, and making sure she doesn’t tear up the furniture. At 7:00 a.m. I am supposed to be relieved by my husband so that I can get ready for work. He’d already been up once to let her out around 4:00 a.m. So I don’t blame him for wanting to stay in bed as long as possible. This morning he stayed in bed a little too long. Now he put behind schedule. I was able to get in the shower close to 7:10 a.m. I rushed around the house getting ready, running from room to room to try and make up a minute or two.
At 8:00 a.m. I knew I was going to miss the 8:07 a.m. train. One minute later I was in the car speeding out of the driveway. When I passed the police station I was much more conscious of my speed. I hit the third red light concerned that I might now miss the 8:14 a.m. train. After backing into my usual parking spot I grabbed my bookbag and lunch, locked the door, and ran for the train.
Normally it’s about a 7 minute walk from the car to the platform. It was now 8:08 a.m. And there was no sign of the 8:07. When I reached the platform at 8:12 a.m. The 8:07 was pulling away. If only I didn’t spend two minutes searching for my blackberry. At 8:14 the annoying “ding” could be heard over the train loudspeakers, and the mechanical sounding recording followed it. “Attention at Stratford, the 8:14 train to New York will be arriving 5 minutes late. On the bright side, I hadn’t missed the train, however, I was definitely going to be late to work.
When the 8:14 finally pulled in, I sauntered to an open pair of seats and got comfortable. At Bridgeport the train picked up the chattiest passengers. This is what really go me aggrivated. Go ahead, talk to your neighbor, but must the whole train be privvy to your conversation. When we picked up passengers in Fairfield this woman insisted on squeezing in next to me. Perhaps none of the open rows of seats around us were to her liking. All I kept thinking was can I just be left alone?
When we pulled into Stamford station, I had finally accepted that my day was not going as planned, and that I should work with the craziness rather then against it. So we'll see how the day goes.
A blurry Willow was enthusiastically wagging her tail in the hopes that I would release her playtime and breakfast. She’s too adorable, even at 5:45 a.m. to be mad at. She barreled out of her cage right into me asking only for attention. I managed to get her leash on and we went out for her morning potty break. The grass was frosted over which caused much displeasure for Willow’s little paws. As she bolted for the back slider I struggled to catch up. Our normal routine began once we were in the kitchen.
I spend the next hour feeding her, playing with her, and making sure she doesn’t tear up the furniture. At 7:00 a.m. I am supposed to be relieved by my husband so that I can get ready for work. He’d already been up once to let her out around 4:00 a.m. So I don’t blame him for wanting to stay in bed as long as possible. This morning he stayed in bed a little too long. Now he put behind schedule. I was able to get in the shower close to 7:10 a.m. I rushed around the house getting ready, running from room to room to try and make up a minute or two.
At 8:00 a.m. I knew I was going to miss the 8:07 a.m. train. One minute later I was in the car speeding out of the driveway. When I passed the police station I was much more conscious of my speed. I hit the third red light concerned that I might now miss the 8:14 a.m. train. After backing into my usual parking spot I grabbed my bookbag and lunch, locked the door, and ran for the train.
Normally it’s about a 7 minute walk from the car to the platform. It was now 8:08 a.m. And there was no sign of the 8:07. When I reached the platform at 8:12 a.m. The 8:07 was pulling away. If only I didn’t spend two minutes searching for my blackberry. At 8:14 the annoying “ding” could be heard over the train loudspeakers, and the mechanical sounding recording followed it. “Attention at Stratford, the 8:14 train to New York will be arriving 5 minutes late. On the bright side, I hadn’t missed the train, however, I was definitely going to be late to work.
When the 8:14 finally pulled in, I sauntered to an open pair of seats and got comfortable. At Bridgeport the train picked up the chattiest passengers. This is what really go me aggrivated. Go ahead, talk to your neighbor, but must the whole train be privvy to your conversation. When we picked up passengers in Fairfield this woman insisted on squeezing in next to me. Perhaps none of the open rows of seats around us were to her liking. All I kept thinking was can I just be left alone?
When we pulled into Stamford station, I had finally accepted that my day was not going as planned, and that I should work with the craziness rather then against it. So we'll see how the day goes.
Friday, October 3, 2008
BMW Ultimate Drive
Who knew it could be so much fun to support a charity. Well of course it should be fun and meaningful any time you donate time or money to a charity, but today was super special. A coworker who had been diagnosed with breast cancer a year ago, who is a survivor, was honored at the BMW Ultimate Drive support Sunsan G. Komen for the Cure. I am not very close to this coworker, but she is still very inspiring. She and another coworker coordinated a running team for the Fairfield Half Marathon and 5K. This typical athletic event held so much more meaning for this team because they were running for the cure. The Pink Ribbon Runners were made of 30 family members, friends and coworkers, and they all participated in her honor. This special woman, after only months of recovery participated in the 5k. That is strength.
Today we went to the Greenwich BMW to see the CT affiliate of Susan G. Komen honor Laura, and she looked amazing. A picture of her had been placed on silver BMW that had been signed by honorees across the country. She signed beneath her picture commemorating the moment. Part of this ceremony was a fundraising event for Sunsan G. Komen for the Cure. There special Susan G. Komen BMWs that could be test driven. For each mile that a car was driven, BMW will donate $1 to Susan G. Komen. The opportunity to drive any model BMW, at no cost, without obligation, is awesome. It’s an excellent cross-promotion.
My car of choice? An M3, but there were no openings. So instead I went with the Z4 manual, and took it for a 12 mile ride. After going two years without driving a standard, I was terrified that I would make a huge ass out of myself. My coworker and navigator, Dorrie, wasn’t too fearful of the whiplash. The young BMW rep gave us the run down while I fired questions at him about the car. One useful piece of information, the car’s clutch had been replaced 4 times. In my head I was hoping not to be the cause of a fifth replacement. The rep chided kindly that my stilettos would make shifting a little tricky. I love how men always think it must be so tricky to walk in a woman’s shoes. Perhaps if we were speaking figuratively.
The rep presumed I wouldn’t be able to find reverse in the car. I humored him and then reversed the out of the spot. Let me correct that. I skillfully backed out of the spot, and promptly stalled while shifting to first. So much for the skillful part, and so much for my ego. Once I turned the key, and successfully drove a few feet in first gear, I decided to zip out of the parking lot. A quick cover to salvage what was left of my ego. Yes sometimes women are just like men. This could have been more embarrassing if a BMW rep was in the car.
Once out of the road Dorrie was very kind and said her neck didn’t hurt too much. In truth I had been pretty rough on the car when transitioning gears. I got the hang of it after a few miles and decided to open her up a bit. Perhaps I should have paid a little more attention, because instead of putting the car from second to third, I went right to first. Nothing like going from 35 to 15 without using the break. Once we were on the merit (and back in the proper gear) I got it to fourth, and because of my earlier experience, I was terrified to shift into fifth. Dorrie, also nervous, said she preferred not to eat dashboard. So we hovered around 65, without really opening it up. Of course I made it successfully off the highway, but I was sad that I hadn’t gotten it to the highest gear. I wimped out on getting to 6th.
Back at the dealership I maneuvered into the parking spot, with much more confidence. What a great way to spend an midweek afternoon.
Today we went to the Greenwich BMW to see the CT affiliate of Susan G. Komen honor Laura, and she looked amazing. A picture of her had been placed on silver BMW that had been signed by honorees across the country. She signed beneath her picture commemorating the moment. Part of this ceremony was a fundraising event for Sunsan G. Komen for the Cure. There special Susan G. Komen BMWs that could be test driven. For each mile that a car was driven, BMW will donate $1 to Susan G. Komen. The opportunity to drive any model BMW, at no cost, without obligation, is awesome. It’s an excellent cross-promotion.
My car of choice? An M3, but there were no openings. So instead I went with the Z4 manual, and took it for a 12 mile ride. After going two years without driving a standard, I was terrified that I would make a huge ass out of myself. My coworker and navigator, Dorrie, wasn’t too fearful of the whiplash. The young BMW rep gave us the run down while I fired questions at him about the car. One useful piece of information, the car’s clutch had been replaced 4 times. In my head I was hoping not to be the cause of a fifth replacement. The rep chided kindly that my stilettos would make shifting a little tricky. I love how men always think it must be so tricky to walk in a woman’s shoes. Perhaps if we were speaking figuratively.
The rep presumed I wouldn’t be able to find reverse in the car. I humored him and then reversed the out of the spot. Let me correct that. I skillfully backed out of the spot, and promptly stalled while shifting to first. So much for the skillful part, and so much for my ego. Once I turned the key, and successfully drove a few feet in first gear, I decided to zip out of the parking lot. A quick cover to salvage what was left of my ego. Yes sometimes women are just like men. This could have been more embarrassing if a BMW rep was in the car.
Once out of the road Dorrie was very kind and said her neck didn’t hurt too much. In truth I had been pretty rough on the car when transitioning gears. I got the hang of it after a few miles and decided to open her up a bit. Perhaps I should have paid a little more attention, because instead of putting the car from second to third, I went right to first. Nothing like going from 35 to 15 without using the break. Once we were on the merit (and back in the proper gear) I got it to fourth, and because of my earlier experience, I was terrified to shift into fifth. Dorrie, also nervous, said she preferred not to eat dashboard. So we hovered around 65, without really opening it up. Of course I made it successfully off the highway, but I was sad that I hadn’t gotten it to the highest gear. I wimped out on getting to 6th.
Back at the dealership I maneuvered into the parking spot, with much more confidence. What a great way to spend an midweek afternoon.
Wednesday, September 10, 2008
VMAs
MTV, how could you let us down, again? I understand the trend to create “original” programming. I understand that a raw stage and raw production are in-vogue these days. But the VMAs came across totally half-assed. It was as if the job of directing the annual awards show was handed off to a recent high school grad, who was a “visionary” according to his peers. Not only did the host’s jokes fall flat, but the entire show fell short of entertainment. Like a horrendous car accident, you want to look away, but still thousands of people rubber neck, leering at the tragedy unfolding.
MTV decided to have a brand new theme for their Video Music Awards this year. They featured the biggest losers they could find, and shunned true talent. Brittany Spears opened the show, recovering from a year long downward spiral. A coveted responsibility like opening the only music video awards show was given to someone who couldn’t care less. An appropriate title would have been the half-ass awards, hosted by the biggest loser of them all, Russell Brand.
The cracked out Jack Sparrow paraded around the stage spewing rubbish about Americans and their choices. This is a man who dressed up like Osama the day following the 9/11 attacks. A man who boasts about his drug addictions. A man, if you could call him that, with little education, and little comedic talent. Of course everyone should be allowed their opinions, but consider the venue, and the fact that a very impressionable audience was tuned in. His oration on our president of eight years, and frequent degradation of promise rings, and a moral group of teenagers lacked any comedic value. (Props to Jordan Sparks for standing up for the morally conscious.) Furthermore, what experiences has he had that could possibly warrant the opinion? Visiting the U.S. to smoke some crack doesn’t make you an expert on American culture, nor does it qualify him to comment on our politics.
Not only did MTV fail to creatively choose a host with charisma, they failed to produce entertaining musical acts during the show. Rather, they chose to feature real talent during the commercial breaks. We got only a snipet of talent like LL Cool J, and Lupe Fiasco. Sure Rihanna had her moments, but I certainly wasn’t enthused to see child stars Jonas Brother strumming their banjos on Sesame Street. I almost don’t want to mention Lil Wannabee, I mean Wayne. Seeing a rapper’s boxers are nothing new, and neither was not being able to understand him. I will point out that he was not worthy of Phelps introduction. Being one of the most decorated Olympiads should get you more then Lil’ Wayne. But more on that later. Paramore performed well, however I could have done without Brand’s “foreshadowing” their entrance. It became all too predictable when he stumbled over his line “nothing is as it seems” one too many times. Pink also gave an entertaining performance with slightly more originality then the Sesame Street Brothers. T.I. might have been to most fun to watch of the evening. It’s hard to say anything bad about a man that looks that good. Too bad he had to share his spotlight with Rihanna’s second performance of the night.
To conclude an evening of absolute BS, they allowed Kobe to announce the video of the year. Perhaps if Phelps wore his bling to the show they would have allowed him to have the honors. Instead, MTV felt it best to let Kobe and his one . . . medal to announce the winner. Perhaps it was fitting after all since the award went to Brittany Spears. Hmmm . . . how much did she pay for that? I get it, she’s putting herself back together, she should be rewarded. Give her a cookie!
It’s clear that the 2008 MTV VMAs accomplished one thing. They proved that it doesn’t matter how much of a loser slacker you are, you can still shine like a star while torturing millions of Americans who tuned in.
MTV decided to have a brand new theme for their Video Music Awards this year. They featured the biggest losers they could find, and shunned true talent. Brittany Spears opened the show, recovering from a year long downward spiral. A coveted responsibility like opening the only music video awards show was given to someone who couldn’t care less. An appropriate title would have been the half-ass awards, hosted by the biggest loser of them all, Russell Brand.
The cracked out Jack Sparrow paraded around the stage spewing rubbish about Americans and their choices. This is a man who dressed up like Osama the day following the 9/11 attacks. A man who boasts about his drug addictions. A man, if you could call him that, with little education, and little comedic talent. Of course everyone should be allowed their opinions, but consider the venue, and the fact that a very impressionable audience was tuned in. His oration on our president of eight years, and frequent degradation of promise rings, and a moral group of teenagers lacked any comedic value. (Props to Jordan Sparks for standing up for the morally conscious.) Furthermore, what experiences has he had that could possibly warrant the opinion? Visiting the U.S. to smoke some crack doesn’t make you an expert on American culture, nor does it qualify him to comment on our politics.
Not only did MTV fail to creatively choose a host with charisma, they failed to produce entertaining musical acts during the show. Rather, they chose to feature real talent during the commercial breaks. We got only a snipet of talent like LL Cool J, and Lupe Fiasco. Sure Rihanna had her moments, but I certainly wasn’t enthused to see child stars Jonas Brother strumming their banjos on Sesame Street. I almost don’t want to mention Lil Wannabee, I mean Wayne. Seeing a rapper’s boxers are nothing new, and neither was not being able to understand him. I will point out that he was not worthy of Phelps introduction. Being one of the most decorated Olympiads should get you more then Lil’ Wayne. But more on that later. Paramore performed well, however I could have done without Brand’s “foreshadowing” their entrance. It became all too predictable when he stumbled over his line “nothing is as it seems” one too many times. Pink also gave an entertaining performance with slightly more originality then the Sesame Street Brothers. T.I. might have been to most fun to watch of the evening. It’s hard to say anything bad about a man that looks that good. Too bad he had to share his spotlight with Rihanna’s second performance of the night.
To conclude an evening of absolute BS, they allowed Kobe to announce the video of the year. Perhaps if Phelps wore his bling to the show they would have allowed him to have the honors. Instead, MTV felt it best to let Kobe and his one . . . medal to announce the winner. Perhaps it was fitting after all since the award went to Brittany Spears. Hmmm . . . how much did she pay for that? I get it, she’s putting herself back together, she should be rewarded. Give her a cookie!
It’s clear that the 2008 MTV VMAs accomplished one thing. They proved that it doesn’t matter how much of a loser slacker you are, you can still shine like a star while torturing millions of Americans who tuned in.
Monday, September 8, 2008
Pneumonia
Three days into my new routine and I still loved the fresh morning air. It was an opportunity to enjoy the quietness and solitude dawn has to offer. This feeling motivated me throughout the morning. Then afternoon hit, and lethargy grabbed hold of my body. Unlike the days previous I could barely keep my head up. My throat was sore and it was hard to breath. A pounding headache was the ruthless symptom that sent me home. Fortunately my husband was available to drive me home. Suffering through a long train ride with the possibility of infants crying, and loud cell talkers did not seem appealing.
At home I found my bed quickly and curled up with some TLC. No, not from Joe, the television network. I’m not a napper so curling up in bed is usually the closest I come to rest. When dinner time came around I ventured out to get some wanton soup; a home remedy that my mom has given to me since I can remember. She used to add a little ginger powder and told me that the combination of scallions and ginger would help me heal quicker. I trust this method, it’s been proven to kick the nastiest cold, and clear up even the severe allergy symptoms. After slurping down dinner, I journeyed back to my bed. Climbing the stairs to the second floor was becoming more of a challenge. I judge myself to be physically fit. I run a few times a week, sometimes up to 5 miles. And I’m no stranger to weight training equipment. Trouble with a few stairs meant something more debilitating was brewing.
The morning was not well received since sleep had been disrupted by frequent coughing fits. My husband gently woke me enough so that I was attentive. It was the morning of his CPA exam, and I could tell he was nervous. I assured him I would be just fine as long as I stayed in bed. No work for me, at least not until later in the afternoon. The next few hours I just slept. In late August one does not need much more then a sheet to be comfortable sleeping. I, on the other hand, was buried under the sheet, a blanket, and a down comforter. I may have been sweating profusely but I couldn’t get rid of the chill that had settled over me.
Joe stormed home just before noon, he was convinced he failed this part of the CPA. I was in no shape to console him, but I tried. Rather then provide comfort and reassurance, I worried him more. Speaking was difficult to manage through all of my coughing, and apparently I wasn’t making much sense. Too weak to wander downstairs, Joe cooked up oatmeal for lunch for me. After eating only half, I was ready for my second nap. I had set an alarm so that I would be up in time for a conference call at 3:00 p.m. Perhaps I was delusional, but I thought I was well enough to participate, and I could not be persuaded otherwise. My worried husband did persuade me to go to the doctor at the conclusion of the meeting.
Throughout the meeting I left my phone on mute, not wanting to distract people. Joe found me a few minutes after the meeting sleeping. My fever had risen, and I had exhausted the energy well. After waking me, we shuffled out to the car, and took a quick ride to the walk-in clinic. We have been in our town for a little over a year, and I have yet to find a general practice doctor. Going to a walk-in isn’t unusual for me. In fact, I think they have a better grasp on what sicknesses are going around. We must have timed it just right, I sat for about 5 minutes before being taken into a patient room.
I knew the routine. Nurse comes in, does the normal checks; temperature, blood pressure, medical history. Then you just wait. When the doctor came in, I explained my symptoms, and that I’m not stranger to bronchitis. In fact, about every two years, I get bronchitis, trache-itis, or some other breathing related illness. Having a history of asthma came as no surprise to the doctor. Although we did not confirm it with an X-ray, the doctor was sure I had pneumonia. Which meant one thing to me, NO RUNNING. I had just started to get serious about it again. Joe was more concerned that I get better, and the thought they way miss our first year anniversary trip to Newport was a distant concern.
The doctor explained that if I didn’t feel better in two days, she would prefer I come back for the x-ray. The treatment was the same regardless of x-ray results. Then it finally dawned on me. What if I wasn’t better by the weekend. I had made so many plans for our trip to Newport, and I was really looking forward to it. It was the big celebration of our first year of marriage. Nope, that was not an option. I would be fine to go. I would take it real slow for the next 24 hours, and I would feel fabulous by Saturday.
By Saturday, I had enough energy to pack my clothes, and sit in a car. I persuaded Joe that the meager amount of energy I was prepared to expend would be all I needed to get me there. I took frequent breaks to sit, and just breath. Each time concerning Joe even more. We dropped the dog off at his parents, and I was able to put on a good show at their house. I stood longer then 5 minutes. I didn’t sway as if I may pass out. And I was even conversational. After all that activity I needed a good 20 minutes for my energy to be replenished.
We made it to the hotel around 4:00 p.m. that evening. After our 3 hour drive, I had all the energy needed to get unpacked, dressed, and head to dinner. Finally, I felt as though I might be shaking the fever, and the cough. I was comfortable at normal temperatures, and I even sat through dinner in a busy restaurant. Things were starting to look up.
At home I found my bed quickly and curled up with some TLC. No, not from Joe, the television network. I’m not a napper so curling up in bed is usually the closest I come to rest. When dinner time came around I ventured out to get some wanton soup; a home remedy that my mom has given to me since I can remember. She used to add a little ginger powder and told me that the combination of scallions and ginger would help me heal quicker. I trust this method, it’s been proven to kick the nastiest cold, and clear up even the severe allergy symptoms. After slurping down dinner, I journeyed back to my bed. Climbing the stairs to the second floor was becoming more of a challenge. I judge myself to be physically fit. I run a few times a week, sometimes up to 5 miles. And I’m no stranger to weight training equipment. Trouble with a few stairs meant something more debilitating was brewing.
The morning was not well received since sleep had been disrupted by frequent coughing fits. My husband gently woke me enough so that I was attentive. It was the morning of his CPA exam, and I could tell he was nervous. I assured him I would be just fine as long as I stayed in bed. No work for me, at least not until later in the afternoon. The next few hours I just slept. In late August one does not need much more then a sheet to be comfortable sleeping. I, on the other hand, was buried under the sheet, a blanket, and a down comforter. I may have been sweating profusely but I couldn’t get rid of the chill that had settled over me.
Joe stormed home just before noon, he was convinced he failed this part of the CPA. I was in no shape to console him, but I tried. Rather then provide comfort and reassurance, I worried him more. Speaking was difficult to manage through all of my coughing, and apparently I wasn’t making much sense. Too weak to wander downstairs, Joe cooked up oatmeal for lunch for me. After eating only half, I was ready for my second nap. I had set an alarm so that I would be up in time for a conference call at 3:00 p.m. Perhaps I was delusional, but I thought I was well enough to participate, and I could not be persuaded otherwise. My worried husband did persuade me to go to the doctor at the conclusion of the meeting.
Throughout the meeting I left my phone on mute, not wanting to distract people. Joe found me a few minutes after the meeting sleeping. My fever had risen, and I had exhausted the energy well. After waking me, we shuffled out to the car, and took a quick ride to the walk-in clinic. We have been in our town for a little over a year, and I have yet to find a general practice doctor. Going to a walk-in isn’t unusual for me. In fact, I think they have a better grasp on what sicknesses are going around. We must have timed it just right, I sat for about 5 minutes before being taken into a patient room.
I knew the routine. Nurse comes in, does the normal checks; temperature, blood pressure, medical history. Then you just wait. When the doctor came in, I explained my symptoms, and that I’m not stranger to bronchitis. In fact, about every two years, I get bronchitis, trache-itis, or some other breathing related illness. Having a history of asthma came as no surprise to the doctor. Although we did not confirm it with an X-ray, the doctor was sure I had pneumonia. Which meant one thing to me, NO RUNNING. I had just started to get serious about it again. Joe was more concerned that I get better, and the thought they way miss our first year anniversary trip to Newport was a distant concern.
The doctor explained that if I didn’t feel better in two days, she would prefer I come back for the x-ray. The treatment was the same regardless of x-ray results. Then it finally dawned on me. What if I wasn’t better by the weekend. I had made so many plans for our trip to Newport, and I was really looking forward to it. It was the big celebration of our first year of marriage. Nope, that was not an option. I would be fine to go. I would take it real slow for the next 24 hours, and I would feel fabulous by Saturday.
By Saturday, I had enough energy to pack my clothes, and sit in a car. I persuaded Joe that the meager amount of energy I was prepared to expend would be all I needed to get me there. I took frequent breaks to sit, and just breath. Each time concerning Joe even more. We dropped the dog off at his parents, and I was able to put on a good show at their house. I stood longer then 5 minutes. I didn’t sway as if I may pass out. And I was even conversational. After all that activity I needed a good 20 minutes for my energy to be replenished.
We made it to the hotel around 4:00 p.m. that evening. After our 3 hour drive, I had all the energy needed to get unpacked, dressed, and head to dinner. Finally, I felt as though I might be shaking the fever, and the cough. I was comfortable at normal temperatures, and I even sat through dinner in a busy restaurant. Things were starting to look up.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Fire Drill - August 11
It was a typical Monday, work was non-stop, I came home exhausted. Took the dog for a walk, went to the gym to lift. Came home around the same time as my hubby. We chatted briefly and discussed dinner. It was decided that he would help out and cook a frozen pizza while I went for a three mile run. Easy enough one would think.
The very end of my three mile run consists of a 10th of a mile sprint, and then a 10th of a mile cool down. I use the streets to mark my distances. I start sprinting when I turn onto a road that runs perpendicular to the road that abuts my house. I push until I cross the intersection, then I walk down my road.
As I approached my sprint road, I saw a fire truck pulling out. I giggled to myself. It would be a suitable ending to a not-so-fantastic day if Joe had burned down the house in my absence. As I came to the end of my sprint, I got a glimpse of another fire truck. This one was parked in front of my neighbors house. It wasn’t funny anymore. I forgot about my cool down walk and ran an even fast tenth then the last. Neighbors were parading down the small street in droves. Trying to get a look at the situation I suppose. You can always count on people to be nosey. I didn’t notice their faces because I was too focused on the house. I spotted two firemen coming out of the back door of the house. No on seemed alarmed which was calming, but I was concerned that perhaps they put the fire out a while ago, and they were assessing the damage. After all, I had been gone for a while, and I wasn’t sure when Joe started cooking the pizza. As I took my final few bounds toward the house Joe walked out with the dog. Two questions settled, they were both OK. No visible injuries. I was hesitant to ask what had happened for fear that my beautiful kitchen, the one we searched 30 houses to find, was destroyed. God was looking out for us that day. There was no damage to the kitchen. Damage to Joe’s ego was a separate issue.
Apparently as he heated the pizza, flames broke out in the oven. He smelled the smoke and checked out the situation. Instinctively he turned off the oven. Once he saw that he couldn’t put the fire out he grabbed the phone and the dog and headed outside. It’s a gas stove and you can’t be too careful. By the time the firetrucks arrived, the fire had gone out.
So much for a typical Monday.
The very end of my three mile run consists of a 10th of a mile sprint, and then a 10th of a mile cool down. I use the streets to mark my distances. I start sprinting when I turn onto a road that runs perpendicular to the road that abuts my house. I push until I cross the intersection, then I walk down my road.
As I approached my sprint road, I saw a fire truck pulling out. I giggled to myself. It would be a suitable ending to a not-so-fantastic day if Joe had burned down the house in my absence. As I came to the end of my sprint, I got a glimpse of another fire truck. This one was parked in front of my neighbors house. It wasn’t funny anymore. I forgot about my cool down walk and ran an even fast tenth then the last. Neighbors were parading down the small street in droves. Trying to get a look at the situation I suppose. You can always count on people to be nosey. I didn’t notice their faces because I was too focused on the house. I spotted two firemen coming out of the back door of the house. No on seemed alarmed which was calming, but I was concerned that perhaps they put the fire out a while ago, and they were assessing the damage. After all, I had been gone for a while, and I wasn’t sure when Joe started cooking the pizza. As I took my final few bounds toward the house Joe walked out with the dog. Two questions settled, they were both OK. No visible injuries. I was hesitant to ask what had happened for fear that my beautiful kitchen, the one we searched 30 houses to find, was destroyed. God was looking out for us that day. There was no damage to the kitchen. Damage to Joe’s ego was a separate issue.
Apparently as he heated the pizza, flames broke out in the oven. He smelled the smoke and checked out the situation. Instinctively he turned off the oven. Once he saw that he couldn’t put the fire out he grabbed the phone and the dog and headed outside. It’s a gas stove and you can’t be too careful. By the time the firetrucks arrived, the fire had gone out.
So much for a typical Monday.
The Twelve Hour Difference
So I’m a day behind in capturing the essence of my new daily routine. It’s true, this is my third time this summer trying to make this change. To me there isn’t a more drastic schedule change. I’ve been working out between 6pm and 8pm four times a week for the past two years. Now going into my third year I’m decided that it’s time. It’s time to get my ass out of bed and get to the gym by 6 a.m. This 12 hour difference is a radical change for me. I hate waking up before the sun. Why should I have to get up before the daily phenomenon of sunrise? The sun goes to bed earlier then I do, so it would make sense that I wake up later then it does. The previous two tries lasted two non-consecutive days. And at the end of each week, I said this isn’t for me. Now I’m faced with a new situation and changing my schedule is no longer an option. My husband and I are getting a puppy. She comes home in three weeks, and I’m responsible for her evening care. That means that if I want to stay fit, I’m going to have to work out in the morning. Since it’s go time, I have a bit more motivation. I have three weeks to get into my own routine before this puppy comes into our lives. We already have one dog, and he’s happy to get walked regardless of what time it is. So I started with getting up 20 minutes early to give him a walk. Then this Sunday the planets aligned and I was able to get into bed at 10p.m. Seven hours later I had no excuses. It was off to the gym for me. At 5:15 a.m. I walked to my car in the darkness. Every step was filled with doubt. “I’m never gonna pull this off.” “It’ll last a day, maybe a week.” I struggled with every stride on the cross trainer. When it was time to lift, my muscles were jelly. I pushed through it. After 30 minutes on the cross trainer, and 40 minutes on my abs and arms, it was time to go home. When I got there Dakota was waiting at the door. His eyes told me that he was longing for a walk. He wanted to get out there and enjoy the sun, and the cool morning breeze. How could I say no to a face like that? Off we went on our 15 minute stroll through the neighborhood. It was nice to see other neighbors doing the same. If others could do it, why should it be so hard for me. After all, I am 10 to 20 years younger then most of the homeowners in my neighborhood. Once we completed our walk it was time to get ready for work. This time is usually filled with anxiety about my day, frustration that I can’t find a cute enough outfit, yawns of exhaustion and utter dread that after work my day is still not over because I have to hit the gym. Not this morning. I wasn’t panicked about the day. I had this sense of confidence that I could handle anything. I laid out clothing the night before, just in case I didn’t get from the gym in time. I looked adorable in it. I felt as if I had chugged a red bull because I was filled with energy. I knew I would get home by 6 p.m. and still have the entire evening to enjoy.
This euphoria lasted the entire day. It was as if there were no hurdles to leap over, the road ahead was flat and calling for me to run all over it.
Now I am into day 2. Instead of hitting up the gym, I decided to hit the pavement. I refuse to run in the dark for three reasons. 1) It scares me that someone could be right near me and I wouldn’t know it. 2) Drivers can’t see you, and that’s just asking for trouble. And 3) I have no desire to run in to a wandering coyote, or mama dear and her fawns. So I waited till the sun woke up. There was just enough daylight when I started my warm up. Shadows followed me for the first 10 minutes, and then the rays sprawled out across the tree tops and just fell on me. I am not very poetic, but I wish I could convey how beautiful this morning was. I may not have been running at my normal pace, but I felt like it was the best work out I had in a long time.
Songs to get your day started:
House of Jealous Lovers by The Rapture
Wake the Sun: The Matches
Nighttiming: Cold War Kids
This euphoria lasted the entire day. It was as if there were no hurdles to leap over, the road ahead was flat and calling for me to run all over it.
Now I am into day 2. Instead of hitting up the gym, I decided to hit the pavement. I refuse to run in the dark for three reasons. 1) It scares me that someone could be right near me and I wouldn’t know it. 2) Drivers can’t see you, and that’s just asking for trouble. And 3) I have no desire to run in to a wandering coyote, or mama dear and her fawns. So I waited till the sun woke up. There was just enough daylight when I started my warm up. Shadows followed me for the first 10 minutes, and then the rays sprawled out across the tree tops and just fell on me. I am not very poetic, but I wish I could convey how beautiful this morning was. I may not have been running at my normal pace, but I felt like it was the best work out I had in a long time.
Songs to get your day started:
House of Jealous Lovers by The Rapture
Wake the Sun: The Matches
Nighttiming: Cold War Kids
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Cooking adventure
It has been quite some time since I have had a moment to just reflect on the things happening around me. The past month has been packed with meetings, and social events, and planning for the next few months.
For instance, I'm standing in my kitchen, with the laptop open in order to view a family recipe that my step-mother forwarded to me. I'm finally at the stand around a wait part. Sure I could wander into the den and watch some TV, but I have the ability to tune out everything around me, except the TV. So here I wait to listen for the timer. In to oven now is pizza gain, an Italian meat pie, and this is my first attempt. I'm cooking it for my Italian hubby, who oddly enough has never had it. My step-mothers family has it every year, and I didn't want to go a year without it. We plan on spending this particular Easter with Joe's parents. His mom plans on making a lasagna, which by the way, she hasn't made in some 10 years, and even before that she's only made it "once or twice." So in an attempt to blend some traditions, or make new ones, I'm bringing my pizza gain.
To me it's interesting how important food is for the holidays. Besides the obvious need in order to sustain life, food gives us comfort and traditions that we base our holidays around. A lasagna for Easter? I thought the Christmas turkey was out of place. When most people will be enjoying their honey baked hams, or some lamb concoction, we will be sitting down to dig into lasagna. And for the first time, I'm trying to look at it for what it is, a meal with family. Traditions may have been discarded, but perhaps it'll be a new tradition, or at least a funny story that we can share with friends.
For instance, I'm standing in my kitchen, with the laptop open in order to view a family recipe that my step-mother forwarded to me. I'm finally at the stand around a wait part. Sure I could wander into the den and watch some TV, but I have the ability to tune out everything around me, except the TV. So here I wait to listen for the timer. In to oven now is pizza gain, an Italian meat pie, and this is my first attempt. I'm cooking it for my Italian hubby, who oddly enough has never had it. My step-mothers family has it every year, and I didn't want to go a year without it. We plan on spending this particular Easter with Joe's parents. His mom plans on making a lasagna, which by the way, she hasn't made in some 10 years, and even before that she's only made it "once or twice." So in an attempt to blend some traditions, or make new ones, I'm bringing my pizza gain.
To me it's interesting how important food is for the holidays. Besides the obvious need in order to sustain life, food gives us comfort and traditions that we base our holidays around. A lasagna for Easter? I thought the Christmas turkey was out of place. When most people will be enjoying their honey baked hams, or some lamb concoction, we will be sitting down to dig into lasagna. And for the first time, I'm trying to look at it for what it is, a meal with family. Traditions may have been discarded, but perhaps it'll be a new tradition, or at least a funny story that we can share with friends.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
waiting for the hubs
I think the big four have sold their souls to the devil, and all in the name of Sarbanes-Oxley. My husband is an auditor, and he works for one of the major accounting firms. And since it's busy season he's working until some daylight free hour. The hubs works between 70 and 80 hours a week and earns absolutely zero overtime. So beside the obvious conflict of unpaid hard work and dedication, he's also getting frustrated that he has no time to himself. And I'm getting frustrated that I have no time with him. Last night he came home around 2 am, and I left for work around 5am. So yeah we shared a bed for 3 hours, but it seemed as if we were total strangers. I recall grunting at him when he came home. That's about as much of a welcome that he's gotten all week. Well, that's not totally true, one evening I awoke with a start and nearly screamed because I thought someone broke into my home. Even the dog is out of sorts from Joe's crazy work schedule. Dakota must have been in a deep sleep too, because he howled at Joe.
Besides the obvious lack of sleep, or a life for that matter, Joe feels bad leaving me home. I feel bad that I am home solo, but I wouldn't want to burden him with that. I'm sure he feels bad enough about it.
Besides the obvious lack of sleep, or a life for that matter, Joe feels bad leaving me home. I feel bad that I am home solo, but I wouldn't want to burden him with that. I'm sure he feels bad enough about it.
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