tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-117862802024-03-07T19:37:40.037-07:00athenadiariesHerself, the GeekGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17990186920123895227noreply@blogger.comBlogger1278125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-42756440137510084182021-11-21T09:16:00.001-07:002021-11-21T09:18:00.250-07:00Moved.<p> I'm no longer involved in multisport or endurance sports. I've started my own business, a psychotherapist specializing in anxiety disorders and OCD, and in my spare time</p><p><br /></p><p>6 years of coughing took their toll, and I don't know that I'm interested in long-distance pursuits any more. I still go to the gym, and walk in the foothills, but running seems to be out of my realm, at least fornow.</p><p>In my spare time, I hike out into the same places where I used to run, and paint them.</p><p><a href="http://www.mistypilgrim.studio " rel="nofollow">You can find my new blog here. </a></p>Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12495593714171530779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-52763123385027022352018-12-01T20:14:00.001-07:002018-12-01T20:16:52.019-07:00...and I, I have a goal.Dear Diary,<br />
<br />
For the first time in 7 years I have a goal.<br />
<br />
It takes a lot to get me motivated. I am the demotivation queen. The princess of laziness. In 2006, I had a goal. Finish an Ironman. I barely finished Ironman Lousiville. Annoyed by my +17 hour finish, I vowed to finish another Ironman. Faster. I had a goal.<br />
<br />
In 2008, I finished Ironman Coeur d-Arlane about an hour faster.<br />
<br />
In 2011 I had another goal: Complete a double-double. I trained to complete four marathons in 9 days. I completed The Flying Pigg and Nashville Marathons the first weekend, returned, went to work, and then completed the Wisconsin marathon and Kalamazoo marathons the following weekend. The Wisconsin marathon was my personal best, about 4:45. For me, that's blazing fast.<br />
<br />
I weighed 155 pounds. I was 46 years old. I felt great. After that, but after that...I have a hard time feeling motivated about anything.<br />
<br />
in 2015, I started feeling motivated again. I was working on getting 30,000 steps per day, which amounts to about 4-5 miles of running and 5-6 miles of walking, every day. I was doing great. I was getting back into shape. And then the coughing started, and It's taken 3 years to get back on top of that. My times have gone up, along with my weight. It takes me 6 hours to finish a marathon now. More if there's hills.<br />
<br />
Today, Himself the Baboo was picked in the lottery for the Hardrock 100. He's been entering the bleeding lottery for 7 years. He's aged 7 years. So have I. This year, he was picked.<br />
<br />
And now, I have a goal. I will pace him to the finish. I'm ready. I'm motivated.<br />
<br />
I'm 25 pounds heavier. Certainly slower.<br />
<br />
My tools are two IOS apps on my phone:<br />
<br />
<b>Zen Labs "26.2"</b>. I've used the C25k before. It's well done. Right now, it's crazy cold in the foohills behind my house, so I'm doing a lot on my treadmill in the garage. During the week, the running plan. On the weekends, I'll be doing a long power walk with Himself throughout the hills of east Albuquerque.<br />
<br />
<b>NOOM. </b> It's not free. It uses a lot of cognitive behavioral methods to address eating issues and problems. I started it last week, and it's working for me so far. Despite myself, I find my diet changing. It's not necessarily a calorie restriction. It's more like retraining me to get the most nutrient dense foods I can get into me. Frustrating, it's app-based. I can't use a web browser to access it. It's also not cheap. In addition, I completed a series of webinars at work this fall on the Mediterranean diet. I find myself eating more whole foods higher in potassium and other nutrients.<br />
<br />
Current stats: 178.2 lbs, this morning. Goal: 155.<br />
53.8 years old. Not much to change that.<br />
current marathon time: about 5:45 to 6 hours, if it's flat. Goal: 5 hours.<br />
Current 50K time: about 9 hours. Goal: 8 hours.<br />
<br />
So...here we go!<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12495593714171530779noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-16764026798834944612018-10-16T19:21:00.001-06:002018-10-16T19:23:28.248-06:00What shall I do with my shiny, stress-free life?Dear Diary,<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>This week marked the end of six years of tyrrany. </b><br />
<br />
A person in my life, who shall remain nameless, left town, never to return, and I now have what feels like a whole new job. Instead of 100% case management, I'm now doing 50% case management and 50% group therapy. And, I'm doing it without constant micromanaging and what I assume is the tacit understanding that with three master's degrees in my field, I might be <i>a fucking professional. </i>I'm still working on the organizational aspect of it - until I've done a month's worth of groups I need to write a month's worth of groups for younger children AND for teens both, but luckily, they are short-term groups for the inpatient setting where I work.<br />
<br />
And if you thought I was tough before: this week I did a mindfulness group with about eight children under the age of 13. Some of them were still, and, well, mindful. Many of them wiggled and a couple folded themselves up inside their yoga mats and looked like little wontons. Then we colored. It was great.<br />
<br />
I just finished my 5th Barre class tonight and I am starting to feel the difference. I have never cared much for "the burn" but I force myself to give it <i>just five more seconds...</i>before collapsing into a quivering heap. I notice that I am holding poses a bit longer. I feel a bit less hopeless. I feel a bit more stronger. I can turn my head and look over my left shoulder. <br />
<br />
Thursday nights I'm taking a basic painting class. I told the teacher I had painted before, and in fact I sold 3 paintings last year and 2 pen-and-ink drawings this year, but the truth is that 2 of the paintings and one of the pen drawings were done under supervision, and I really want to be able to learn from the very basics what to do. So far we studied color theory. I have really wanted to take a college-level painting class, but unless I can get every Friday off, that's not going to happen.<br />
<br />
After a pretty warm fall the temperature suddenly plummeted and there were 20 mph winds. Since I'm not acclimated I run on the treadmill in the garage, still working through the couch-to-5k program to get my out of walking/hiking mode and more into running mode.<br />
<br />
That's it for this week so far. Just checking in.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12495593714171530779noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-35392829711929218012018-10-14T14:32:00.001-06:002018-10-16T19:22:11.815-06:00Who turned off the heat?Dear Diary,<br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyYiLLmxG7hNjN5U11v5m3DqXQEd-fNqdfE5SMrkZ8wAYrEkd3CID2JQkOFDQp-bEtBPwx8ONHzjFl4y2v26EIaJUwfjrCkCd3yWoKbmaBBkf6HzhgpugdCuapIPt3cDNgbVo/s1600/IMG_1949.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyYiLLmxG7hNjN5U11v5m3DqXQEd-fNqdfE5SMrkZ8wAYrEkd3CID2JQkOFDQp-bEtBPwx8ONHzjFl4y2v26EIaJUwfjrCkCd3yWoKbmaBBkf6HzhgpugdCuapIPt3cDNgbVo/s320/IMG_1949.jpg" width="315" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dedicated to my mom, who died way too young at 61 of heart<br />
failure from idiopathic cardiomyopathy. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
It seems like just 2 weeks ago I was commiserating with Sweet Baboo of how this seemed like an unusually long summer and warm fall. Then this week someone turned the heat off. This is awesome, because I'm much more likely to get out of the house when it's cool out.<br />
<br />
Last weekend I completed the 50k at Hennepin--<b>Sweet Baboo ran the 100 miles in 22 hours</b> and HEY, WE WERE TALKING ABOUT ME. PAY ATTENTION TO ME. (but seriously, he's like from Krypton and shit). The Hennepin 50k started at 5 pm and the sun set 90 minutes later. That left 7.5 hours for me to run through the dark and rain. <br />
<br />
Of course, my Garmin does not last until I finish a 50k, so I have to switch to my Apple Watch after about 6 hours. So this is the result:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5glctmKDTRcFHL7JgrMb_JXbbqAGDz5ufbl7fQ4OCWLX4xoZgxr-z2lBz7IJeZVD-x1ikp7XBMeyWgZfLmTt-GyHPmSzWsy4_pyeHl4K1f5FzRpXMgP9E3gjWgyIPQVKsqBM/s1600/IMG_1952.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5glctmKDTRcFHL7JgrMb_JXbbqAGDz5ufbl7fQ4OCWLX4xoZgxr-z2lBz7IJeZVD-x1ikp7XBMeyWgZfLmTt-GyHPmSzWsy4_pyeHl4K1f5FzRpXMgP9E3gjWgyIPQVKsqBM/s320/IMG_1952.jpg" width="293" /></a><br />
<br />
Illinois is the 46th state I which I've completed a marathon or longer.<br />
<br />
It was chilly, but luckily most of the rain held off until 11:30 at night. I managed to do a run-walk the first 16 miles or so, and then after that I had to Walk. I'm just not in the best shape right now, although I do have pretty sturdy feet and legs. They carry me, just not quickly. <br />
<br />
It was also disappointingly not a real "trail". Most of it was blacktop. I'm definitely losing 2 toenails. Himself, the Baboo, is still recovering from what to me would be a sprint for 22 hours. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggnwvzn704hT26103TSahxnwq_m6e5gJHSRc0Jo4h1liXMqQCGMF_dxYJDXjkk6opAaxlErS0NXTOOz0MRmWqN6WfyvxdHW8JYmZA-f12y5EHzOF1chdw5v2V4o-TDOXeEehE/s1600/IMG_1894.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggnwvzn704hT26103TSahxnwq_m6e5gJHSRc0Jo4h1liXMqQCGMF_dxYJDXjkk6opAaxlErS0NXTOOz0MRmWqN6WfyvxdHW8JYmZA-f12y5EHzOF1chdw5v2V4o-TDOXeEehE/s320/IMG_1894.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglt3PZK2ns70DKHmQj9ySL_FGXmq4GdZK9Z6jA3l_cEqUMPHoaYp0U2scAgVd4a2101P5zBaNTezcX86sqzItdQA2NM5qY1QnkSx3qgYk__M6Qzgt5uiLaKyoqjxoWvz963z0/s1600/IMG_1908.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_hZenGw0mLjwcXVWgWe_07LQs1NwN1ETuGDMdg2OLLHyhi5sPSxs0TjhyphenhyphenHERiV43hUUEso4x6oLBxgdUSTb3ucuCL4-OcfBcWXQ_OS1sWte8BRT0b1sIuO-QSa1MA5UX8KIo/s1600/IMG_1893.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_hZenGw0mLjwcXVWgWe_07LQs1NwN1ETuGDMdg2OLLHyhi5sPSxs0TjhyphenhyphenHERiV43hUUEso4x6oLBxgdUSTb3ucuCL4-OcfBcWXQ_OS1sWte8BRT0b1sIuO-QSa1MA5UX8KIo/s320/IMG_1893.jpg" width="320" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_hZenGw0mLjwcXVWgWe_07LQs1NwN1ETuGDMdg2OLLHyhi5sPSxs0TjhyphenhyphenHERiV43hUUEso4x6oLBxgdUSTb3ucuCL4-OcfBcWXQ_OS1sWte8BRT0b1sIuO-QSa1MA5UX8KIo/s1600/IMG_1893.jpg" imageanchor="1"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIqpfsZ_jeJmfSp5_eXXrvK5tGeIaXbJbLKPfAsdDjKtgusEDgJhPX5lv8cEjJtjkBuMzjPZ28A1hbzxl2OAuDooh2JcAKKXcwYHXIVcdOlUAwQ4QoV7un598ONnYlrYpTd2A/s1600/IMG_1907.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_hZenGw0mLjwcXVWgWe_07LQs1NwN1ETuGDMdg2OLLHyhi5sPSxs0TjhyphenhyphenHERiV43hUUEso4x6oLBxgdUSTb3ucuCL4-OcfBcWXQ_OS1sWte8BRT0b1sIuO-QSa1MA5UX8KIo/s1600/IMG_1893.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_hZenGw0mLjwcXVWgWe_07LQs1NwN1ETuGDMdg2OLLHyhi5sPSxs0TjhyphenhyphenHERiV43hUUEso4x6oLBxgdUSTb3ucuCL4-OcfBcWXQ_OS1sWte8BRT0b1sIuO-QSa1MA5UX8KIo/s1600/IMG_1893.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9WYXlMSui5oLiME6IBeLTBaAsLNZ4a7_yFZHIXOdYNgWlnerd-Z7NrAjO17EEFtHdL9vh9JWYLhjRPkAfo4iIcg2EU9WMgqLYqPAQGqyRRUM9sgMLz7k7Jnm31ud0gMb5GvQ/s1600/IMG_1906.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9WYXlMSui5oLiME6IBeLTBaAsLNZ4a7_yFZHIXOdYNgWlnerd-Z7NrAjO17EEFtHdL9vh9JWYLhjRPkAfo4iIcg2EU9WMgqLYqPAQGqyRRUM9sgMLz7k7Jnm31ud0gMb5GvQ/s320/IMG_1906.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I took several pictures at the start line, and then two others after I started as the light started to dim. <br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglt3PZK2ns70DKHmQj9ySL_FGXmq4GdZK9Z6jA3l_cEqUMPHoaYp0U2scAgVd4a2101P5zBaNTezcX86sqzItdQA2NM5qY1QnkSx3qgYk__M6Qzgt5uiLaKyoqjxoWvz963z0/s1600/IMG_1908.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglt3PZK2ns70DKHmQj9ySL_FGXmq4GdZK9Z6jA3l_cEqUMPHoaYp0U2scAgVd4a2101P5zBaNTezcX86sqzItdQA2NM5qY1QnkSx3qgYk__M6Qzgt5uiLaKyoqjxoWvz963z0/s320/IMG_1908.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPxru2Yj4rZEycV2jMq8VymbYx439e3eSy6JQfF2nInZuHQq4OukJaHuTKHwmbe5cSkfax1-G4AXPnbkzGvFMmz7X3bJemkGxTAOAmsvTQwtpqY1ICR5GChQ-XJbjnVoFg1FA/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPxru2Yj4rZEycV2jMq8VymbYx439e3eSy6JQfF2nInZuHQq4OukJaHuTKHwmbe5cSkfax1-G4AXPnbkzGvFMmz7X3bJemkGxTAOAmsvTQwtpqY1ICR5GChQ-XJbjnVoFg1FA/s400/images.jpeg" /></a>The week prior to my run, a coworker talked me into taking a <b>Barre</b> class, which I tried, and liked well enough. It's a combination of ballet conditioning, pilates, and yoga, and it's tough. I like that I can reserve a spot in a class, and that the classes are capped.<br />
<br />
It also makes me feel like a bit of a cliche, a woman of a certain age packing my sticky socks, capris, and tank top into the back of my white SUV and heading there after work... It is a LOT tougher than I imagined, and I discovered after my first barre class that 1) I have no upper body strength, 2) Even my lower body isn't what I would call "strong", and 3) my core--well, fuggetaboutit. I went to class once before the run, and twice during the week. <br />
<br />
The good news is that owing to my constant wearing of high heels going up on my toes ain't no big thang. I have good balance, too.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxmrhnhg3lQrJozt9AY4YLyQbgvIo_m9DckybuMxvq7clidIof1rGiIIUcEBlnxUGcJEukBQ3ZW10xHrqoRHiib0go44CvwQUBLb6OsM2_dXKnNoDO2u-ZX70t8s_GlhngvkA/s1600/IMG_1953.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxmrhnhg3lQrJozt9AY4YLyQbgvIo_m9DckybuMxvq7clidIof1rGiIIUcEBlnxUGcJEukBQ3ZW10xHrqoRHiib0go44CvwQUBLb6OsM2_dXKnNoDO2u-ZX70t8s_GlhngvkA/s320/IMG_1953.jpg" width="231" /></a>I discovered after I put this in manually that my Apple Watch has a "yoga" setting, which I'll use for future workouts. I burn a whopping 200 or so calories in an hour, according to Garmin and Apple. <br />
<br />
For the record, I am, without a doubt,<br />
<b>the <span style="font-size: large;">largest</span> <span style="font-size: x-large;">person</span></b><br />
<br />
in every barre class I've been in so far. It doesn't help that like many exercise classes, there is a large wall-sized mirror so I get to look at myself trying to work out at my heaviest weight since 2005 <br />
<br />
This morning, my class was full of 19-year-old sorority sisters trying out the class. Literally. Happily, most of them were struggling. Sorry, but yes, I am that petty. If I have to look at your size 0 ass bent over in front of me in exercise class, you had better be suffering. <br />
<br />
I spent the week in recovery going to barre class and started my new painting class, as well. More on that another time. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
At work we've had a series of webinars on the Mediterranean diet and I've discovered that for the first half of the day, I'm basically on it. Then it all falls apart as they start bringing in sheet cake, donuts--holy shit, hospitals are the unhealthiest places to work EVAR. <br />
<br />
I discovered in the webinar about the existence of these:<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgux1SlmcqSj7HL-CFL-7tCxxe9q0opDCknqgjQCAAWQ8KtY6RVAYpbdguG6Z5maToKmGpO_G75Udrxwmhted_jER4_0qWxHzoMjcVclIDX6o8ASAQH80FDhsIFd6I9wthEiE/s1600/IMG_1956.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgux1SlmcqSj7HL-CFL-7tCxxe9q0opDCknqgjQCAAWQ8KtY6RVAYpbdguG6Z5maToKmGpO_G75Udrxwmhted_jER4_0qWxHzoMjcVclIDX6o8ASAQH80FDhsIFd6I9wthEiE/s320/IMG_1956.jpg" width="320" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht1Pjd0wL1zofWz3FEDOQQh7GUqcDDYTPc6dcnKtp_bRJtjbMH68TsoPEWme6ddCm3nlpxzZ8kzV2E4VzbBfvBwAKowxV2JbJ1hcMUxRbxaVO4z3U5qftukPh9n5L2aiIBYck/s1600/IMG_1957.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht1Pjd0wL1zofWz3FEDOQQh7GUqcDDYTPc6dcnKtp_bRJtjbMH68TsoPEWme6ddCm3nlpxzZ8kzV2E4VzbBfvBwAKowxV2JbJ1hcMUxRbxaVO4z3U5qftukPh9n5L2aiIBYck/s320/IMG_1957.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
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Tomorrow, I go back to running my 2-3 miles every morning, hopefully working my way up to 4-5 miles on most days. My plan for Barre class it to do it for at least a month to help get my arms and core back into shape. <br />
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I canceled the marathon double I was supposed to do next weekend in MD/NJ. No way am I ready for this. I did, however, sign up for the <a href="https://aravaiparunning.com/network/blackcanyon/">Black Canyon 50K</a>. Actually it's like a 55k or a 60k. Aravaipa Running does put on a good race--I have to admit that as much as I hate Southern AZ. This will be my 3rd attempt at what should be an easily finished run for me. The first year, there was a series of freak rainstorms. The second year, 2018, I started seeing double. By the time I was checked out and rehydrated, I'd missed the cutoff for leaving the aid station. so 2019 is it.<br />
<br />
I have 4 states left. I hope to get them in 2019. <br />
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Meanwhile, at work, things are settling down nicely and the pain in my neck and shoulder has dissipated with the exit of my toxic coworkers. I can turn my head and everything. Next step is to reverse 6 years or so of stress eating hospital food. <br />
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<br />Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12495593714171530779noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-48675221430210468912018-09-30T20:14:00.001-06:002018-09-30T20:16:37.406-06:00I decree that my next run will be awesome. <div style="text-align: center;">
<b>This is an <a href="https://www.amazon.com/UltrAspire-Lumen-600-Color-Size/dp/B07476NMMN/ref=asc_df_B07476NMMN/?tag=hyprod-20&linkCode=df0&hvadid=216953350784&hvpos=1o3&hvnetw=g&hvrand=17533479535102724070&hvpone=&hvptwo=&hvqmt=&hvdev=c&hvdvcmdl=&hvlocint=&hvlocphy=9030463&hvtargid=pla-372367621657&psc=1" target="_blank">Aspire Lumen running lamp</a>. It is mounted on a waist belt. </b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6LCKdOPC3TyT3cyZKl3Xqm6jBaEt2jrNQ0ZFMC_zXHXDUQyryh2RX_bFQCOZpUU7kYoQ2cwZebDoC3cPHc9R59TcLXyeM6IYWEc_Eoh_7oMusy5ksdjFG9wWa6zCU3O1YvTI/s1600/IMG_1797.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6LCKdOPC3TyT3cyZKl3Xqm6jBaEt2jrNQ0ZFMC_zXHXDUQyryh2RX_bFQCOZpUU7kYoQ2cwZebDoC3cPHc9R59TcLXyeM6IYWEc_Eoh_7oMusy5ksdjFG9wWa6zCU3O1YvTI/s400/IMG_1797.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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It is quite possibly the most amazing thing ever invented. It is LED, rechargeable, and incredibly bright. I've used it from time to time to run in the mornings during Winter.<br />
<br />
I only like to run in the morning. I've tried running in the afternoon, but after a day as a social worker in a children's psychiatric hospital, I just want to sit and stare. A couple Autumns ago, I told Himself that I couldn't run outside, because it was getting too cold in the mornings. Soon after, I had a brand new running jacket. Then I told him it was too dark to run in the mornings. Soon after, the Aspire light appeared. It. Is. Amazing.<br />
<br />
Himself does that frequently. He simply cannot abide me not being healthy. I, however, Am. Lazy. I'm also somewhat agoraphobic when I'm under enough stress. And so, whenever I come up with some reason why I can't run, he will endeavor to discover whatever technology exists to overcome my self-imposed difficulty.<br />
<br />
Anyway: the beauty of a waist mounted belt is that there's nothing on my head, which I hate...and it sits low enough to throw shadows. Head-mounted lamps tend to wash out the trail and it's hard to see the relief I the terrain, much less roots and rocks. A hand-held lamp or waist lamp eliminates that problem.<br />
<br />
But anyway. I'll be using it this weekend at the <a href="http://www.hennepinhundred.com/course-description/" target="_blank"><b>Hennepin 50k.</b></a> We are still trying to finish a marathon in every state, and for me this will be number 46. The Hennepin 50K starts at 5 pm at night. I'm hoping to finish in 9 hours at my pace which will be hiking, mainly. With some very cool <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Black-Diamond-Distance-Carbon-Trekking/dp/B00LU1E0MM/" target="_blank">lightweight Black Diamond poles</a>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghM5VfWrmcfB3dcz0dftB20wU6C5JBTKLQrWzzRAwmncNJuKK5CLzGffoStU1debUfYPhIxZac4u7oUBjK2amaM7yH9duVXpnjx44kc4mFdqJ83849HTMfzD3qVi1aF6dLqwQ/s1600/IMG_1795.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghM5VfWrmcfB3dcz0dftB20wU6C5JBTKLQrWzzRAwmncNJuKK5CLzGffoStU1debUfYPhIxZac4u7oUBjK2amaM7yH9duVXpnjx44kc4mFdqJ83849HTMfzD3qVi1aF6dLqwQ/s320/IMG_1795.jpg" width="240" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghM5VfWrmcfB3dcz0dftB20wU6C5JBTKLQrWzzRAwmncNJuKK5CLzGffoStU1debUfYPhIxZac4u7oUBjK2amaM7yH9duVXpnjx44kc4mFdqJ83849HTMfzD3qVi1aF6dLqwQ/s1600/IMG_1795.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a>... <b> This is the weather forecast.</b></div>
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So. It's gonna be <i>dark</i>.</div>
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It's gonna be <i>wet</i>.</div>
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It's gonna be <i>awesome</i>.</div>
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I decree.</div>
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...Herself, the GeekGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17990186920123895227noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-580495401130376862018-09-29T09:05:00.004-06:002018-10-16T19:22:25.062-06:00Week 1 of the reboot<b>Dear Diary,</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Week 1</b> involved me returning to an old friend: <b>The couch-to-5K-training plan.</b> In 2005, when I first started running, I printed it from a website, put it in a page protector, and took it with me to the gym, where I ran each workout on a treadmill.<br />
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Now, though, I'm <span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>rugged</b></span>. And <i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;">fancy. </span></i><br />
<br />
Now I run it in my neighborhood, using my Apple Watch and my iPhone C25K Pro app. I take each Wednesday off and do yoga, usually, or nothing. I have a favorite route that has uphills and downhills and a few flats. I'd love to show the profile, but sadly, my apple watch stopped giving me that, and I don't know how to get it back. (Any ideas?) I may switch back to using my garmin because I do loves me some hill profiles. Makes me feel all badass.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyYdE9JU8w6At3fnG60jGmW-Knx-m2iuUmhF_jNVsbGhjMcyvmZ1ldFmEmFsGYl_WenX4DqAjRxTq6Opo8Qg-NBbGi5H6LFGQ99ER2AjZMk2FkjpwtCYnojYaxGDPL2H3ekHk/s1600/IMG_1760.PNG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyYdE9JU8w6At3fnG60jGmW-Knx-m2iuUmhF_jNVsbGhjMcyvmZ1ldFmEmFsGYl_WenX4DqAjRxTq6Opo8Qg-NBbGi5H6LFGQ99ER2AjZMk2FkjpwtCYnojYaxGDPL2H3ekHk/s320/IMG_1760.PNG" width="180" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirEWXkNKLxaYktwCug6l1M-AWIt6L3mTBh5RxZYkNaPc94IaXq4RoZzeXeffuao_m7AM1FBB3xrDXVgLAe8hbdd9pHf6aI31B0214cafVV8PueFhdW57AgLaU2dbyKXU2VUO0/s1600/IMG_1761.PNG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirEWXkNKLxaYktwCug6l1M-AWIt6L3mTBh5RxZYkNaPc94IaXq4RoZzeXeffuao_m7AM1FBB3xrDXVgLAe8hbdd9pHf6aI31B0214cafVV8PueFhdW57AgLaU2dbyKXU2VUO0/s320/IMG_1761.PNG" width="180" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVBBFEmgIX9nt5VKl31MBvwZEf4fdiV9AlzJJXNgV3wvkFKr04y0UrEBOyUJCsA4P-BHligf0_IguvL0fk6FWSSrhDu-_DY-T2Qh73Ko9_qk2eIVWXPl5aqcZYqD4xJWc63p8/s1600/IMG_1762.PNG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVBBFEmgIX9nt5VKl31MBvwZEf4fdiV9AlzJJXNgV3wvkFKr04y0UrEBOyUJCsA4P-BHligf0_IguvL0fk6FWSSrhDu-_DY-T2Qh73Ko9_qk2eIVWXPl5aqcZYqD4xJWc63p8/s320/IMG_1762.PNG" width="180" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBu1TYDysW1MilMvtQTJICb4f_DacnmonckJDiX65Gj14gE_c7ONf-bo_CDePxLb6U90-WtnrMc9eZHJcmqg-TignyDx5QB8D9_5sDesobed1vjXya5WNNbPpICKj-txEp3H4qmQ/s1600/IMG_1763.PNG" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBu1TYDysW1MilMvtQTJICb4f_DacnmonckJDiX65Gj14gE_c7ONf-bo_CDePxLb6U90-WtnrMc9eZHJcmqg-TignyDx5QB8D9_5sDesobed1vjXya5WNNbPpICKj-txEp3H4qmQ/s320/IMG_1763.PNG" width="180" /></a><br />
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I'm assured by everyone who knows me that my progress will happen much faster this time than it did the first time. Surprisingly, this seems to be true as my pace has already been dropping.<br />
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I did not track my eating this week. (Bad girl! No biscuit!) Current weight: 184 lbs. (EEK!) Although, I'm determined to focus on moving more, getting fit, and not staring at a number on a scale. (But you know I will).<br />
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<b>Best of all,</b> a major pain in my ass who has endeavored to get me fired several times over the past few years left this week, for good. As in, left the city and state.<br />
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I did not leave. I'm still here.<br />
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I win, motherfucker.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-gWDWfJKifwLi-sOcE_tVAg1SltE6R2rSxPbYOC6OWeUw9wQkO5PRKrS7stf6cXOGT226xLKgUvpwnPNCwQRkWOl2Y1EA2dA5a8yggpNM-mw-xTU5gEkoXhdtACTgF56yyeIDXw/s1600/IMG_1747.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-gWDWfJKifwLi-sOcE_tVAg1SltE6R2rSxPbYOC6OWeUw9wQkO5PRKrS7stf6cXOGT226xLKgUvpwnPNCwQRkWOl2Y1EA2dA5a8yggpNM-mw-xTU5gEkoXhdtACTgF56yyeIDXw/s320/IMG_1747.jpg" width="305" /></a><br />
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<i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: large;"><br /></span></i>
Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12495593714171530779noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-91292252967558177862018-09-25T06:32:00.000-06:002018-09-25T06:42:03.375-06:00I'm on my way.This seemed like a good title for the post, not only because it's descriptive, but because the song "<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VEzLTSF6XaU" target="_blank">I'm on my way" by the Proclaimers</a> is stuck in my head this morning. <br />
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One of the good things to come out of my hospitalization in April was that I was paid for being in the hospital. I had purchased one of those Aflac policies the year before, during open enrollment, thinking--what the fuck? I'm in my 50s. I guess I should have one of these. It not only covered the time I missed from work but some extra, too. So: new laptop, which means blogging is easier again.<br />
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I have a clean bill of health from the GI doc--Negative Cdif test, and all labs are normal. The endo is still trying to normalize my thyroid; my TSH was 14 in the hospital, then went up over the next month, and now it's very slowly coming down after she doubled my medication. The ENT has me on a nasal spray to control the rampant nose running that was causing the coughing that started all this mess.<br />
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My coworker abruptly quit in June and then dragged it out, long story, so that we couldn't hire anyone for 2 months, leaving me to do twice the work. Now I finally have a new coworker who is lightening fast with technology and knows children's services inside and out. Seriously. I show her something once and she gets it. I've learned that I'm valued at work, and I'm grateful for a job that does what they can to make me happy. My employer really puts a premium on self-care so that are flexible with my schedule.<br />
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I'm a strong hiker, but my running is blah. I've started over with the same<a href="http://www.c25k.com/" target="_blank"> Couch-to-5K program </a>that I used to start running back in 2005, but this time, I'm using the <a href="http://www.c25kfree.com/" target="_blank">apple watch app</a>. Then I'll progress to 10K, and so on. It's funny, because in 2005, I had the program printed on a piece of paper in a page protector. How technology changes!<br />
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Starting September 1, each day, I do squats, lunges (ow), situps and pushups, the number depending on the day of the month. I'll do that one more month and then switch it up, maybe to squat jumps and burpees. Sweet baboo and I are doing 3 marathons this fall, which I may end up walking most of, but they'll give me states 46 (Illinois), 47 (Maryland), and 48 (New Jersey).<br />
We're no longer excited about the 50 states. We're all, "Let's just get this over with." Our final states, which we'll do in 2019, will be North Carolina and Delaware.<br />
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I just did a 20 mile [run] hike in Oregon that was brutal. The inaugural Old Cascadia course was at a 45 degree angle, either up or down. Over 5000 feet of climbing in 20 miles. It took me over 9 hours.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUc-Yxar68vAXzTxHOHlICj29QWYlKzKAwWLGCNHkwlYJjum2-Rm2wf_ubuWupweb4D3mzvDaZLvxr-RPanwzV0iYSW9tWNPBHK0oRLPDzW9TaQb9nGiNpGDlQP3qOsLcEKU14jg/s1600/oldcasc20.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="960" height="120" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUc-Yxar68vAXzTxHOHlICj29QWYlKzKAwWLGCNHkwlYJjum2-Rm2wf_ubuWupweb4D3mzvDaZLvxr-RPanwzV0iYSW9tWNPBHK0oRLPDzW9TaQb9nGiNpGDlQP3qOsLcEKU14jg/s320/oldcasc20.webp" width="320" /></a></div>
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I just signed up for Black Canyon 50K. It's an early season race in January that can be hot. I did the 20K back in 2015, I think. Then I tried the 50K in 2017, and they had a freak multi-day rainstorm, there in southern Arizona (just north of Phoenix) that created unavoidable mud that sucked the shoes off my feet. I timed out at the first aid station. In 2018, around mile 19, I started seeing double and by the time I got checked out and rehydrated, I timed out again. So 2019 will be my year. <br />
It better be. <br />
I hate Southern Arizona. Like, really hate it. <br />
Seriously. But I'm finishing this damned race. I have several of their t-shirts, but the best one got accidentally left in a hotel room this year, and I want another one.<br />
<br />
Just checking in.<br />
...Herself, the GeekGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17990186920123895227noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-53962266475541034242018-06-02T15:39:00.001-06:002018-10-16T19:22:42.135-06:00Dear Diary,<br />
<br />
I'm sitting here, looking out the window. I did 3 miles this morning. Big whoop. After recovering from CDiff last month, I got a cold. Just a cold. I guess. For he past 2 weeks, when I've tried to go out and do a run, I've doubled over with coughing. Fucking coughing. It's my nemesis. <br />
<br />
At what point do I simply give up?<br />
<br />
At what point do. simply say, "I'm destined to be sickly and coughing for the rest of my life. The end." ? <br />
<br />
After recovery from Cdiff, for three glorious weeks I was working my way up to running most then mot of my workouts. Then I dipped into a petris dish. I bought a cold. Just a cold. I've been drowning ever since. Coughing and choking, peeing my pants, and trying to walk 2 miles without coughing and choking. I have a pain in my side. I think I may be developing a hernia from all he coughing. <br />
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Will I ever be not sick?<br />
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Will I ever be normal?<br />
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I'm beginning to thing I won't. I'm beginning to think I should accept that my life, as I had planned it, is not what I thought it would be. I will not be an ultra runner. I will be sickly. <br />
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that is not what I wanted my life to be.<br />
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I wonder if I will need to redefine myself as someone else. Someone who is sickly and does some stuff. I hate being this person, the whining person who has excuses and reasons. I'm not that person. <br />
<br />
Fuck. I feel hopeless. <br />
<br />
<br />
....Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12495593714171530779noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-29263210431276350382018-05-21T19:45:00.001-06:002018-09-25T06:44:58.886-06:00nowhere to go but up. (Part II)<div class="WordSection1" style="background-color: white;">
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Dear Diary,<br />
<br />
So, I’d been admitted to Presbyterian hospital <a href="https://athenadiaries.blogspot.com/2018/05/rock-bottom.html">with a Clostridium Dificile infection and resulting colitis </a>Friday afternoon, on the 13<sup>th</sup>. The staff couldn’t have been nicer. They had a white board in my room and each shift change they would come in, introduce themselves, and write their names on it. One of the techs snapped a bright yellow band around my right wrist, signaling to everyone that I was infectious and if I left my room, I needed to have a mask, gloves, and gown on. </div>
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But I wasn’t to leave my room, because I was on “fall precautions.” I had to be escorted any time I wanted to get out of bed. I was given morphine in my IV, and assorted other drugs. I still had problems eating, and couldn’t sit up straight because my colon was so inflamed. I struggled to eat macaroni and cheese and soup – it took me nearly 3 hours to eat that dinner; my inflamed colon was crowding out my stomach or something like that. I drifted off the sleep. At 2 am they ultrasounded my liver, which involved the tech coming into my room because they didn’t want me leaving and infecting the rest of the hospital. At 4 am another tech took one of many blood draws that I would get frequently during the day and night. Otherwise, I was able to drift off into a nice morphine-induced nap. <o:p></o:p></div>
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But that was just at night. That’s when the pain was the worse. The next morning, I was still pretty tired, but they discontinued the fall precautions, and the pain wasn’t so bad. I napped on and off all day.</div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">I also was relieved when I realized I had bought an Aflac policy the previous fall. Throughout this ordeal I’d missed a week of work, was likely to miss another, and had no more PTO or sick leave left. I hadn't had more than a half day off for illness in the 6 years I'd worked at my job. </span><o:p style="font-size: 12pt;"></o:p><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I hadn’t taken multiple days of sick leave since having a baby in 1987. I worried that they hadn’t really needed me at work. </span><br />
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I had time to sit and reflect, between episodes of Fixer Upper, et al. I realized I had fallen into a bad habit of self-care. I'd been restricting and binging food. I'd been skipping workouts. I was stressed out, and way more invested in work than even they work required me to be. I talked with Sweet Baboo about it, and he agreed that I'd been pretty stressed the past couple years. </div>
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I deleted the work email app from my phone. </div>
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That night, on the 14th, I took what was to be my last dose of morphine. The pain was finally leaving. I continued eating maraconi and cheese, soup, and peach tea. </div>
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Baboo visited frequently and taught me to play canasta. He was busy washing everything at home with bleach, trying to get his long runs in, and looking after his mother, who had now of course, been diagnosed with C. Diff . That night, I requested one last dose of oxycodone, just in case. But slept through most of the night. It was my last dose of pain medicine, and the first full night of sleep I'd gotten in weeks.<o:p></o:p></div>
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On Sunday the 15th, I got to take a shower. There’s nothing more amazing than a shower. I also had a cheese omelet with a little bit of sausage. My liver enzymes were returning to normal. I had a chicken sandwich and more soup. I was getting pretty tired of watching HGTV but it was really all that was on. I was getting antsy and was tempted to don the gown and gloves just to walk a lap around the 3<sup>rd</sup> floor.</div>
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On Monday, the 16<sup>th</sup>, the doctor said he was inclined to let me go home, but he wasn’t 100% sure. I told him that if I went home Monday night, I could wake up in my own bed, go sit in the sunshine and walk on the path behind my house. <span style="font-size: 12pt;">They delivered my prescriptions to me bedside, a very cool service they have there at that hospital, and Baboo took me home about 8:00 that night. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #6a6a6a; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: small;">The next day, I struggled to walk a mile on the trails behind my house. It wore me out. The following day, I walked 2 miles and </span><span style="color: #6a6a6a; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="caret-color: rgb(106, 106, 106);">slept for a couple hours afterwards.</span></span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnlnMHYfnpLsBTRuRg6mVXQoKCJax3VkFptcMPqxqhT4dSlbymlMQ710BPwXLlBC8jXBImw04TaUcI0CD7my1IlZGiysOJDdZbpFGXvf0Re5z82gFD8FXg68981S8egoTYZ5k/s1600/april.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1166" data-original-width="1242" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnlnMHYfnpLsBTRuRg6mVXQoKCJax3VkFptcMPqxqhT4dSlbymlMQ710BPwXLlBC8jXBImw04TaUcI0CD7my1IlZGiysOJDdZbpFGXvf0Re5z82gFD8FXg68981S8egoTYZ5k/s320/april.jpg" width="320" /></a>I saw my family practitioner on <span style="font-size: 12pt;">Thursday the 19</span><sup>th</sup><span style="font-size: 12pt;">, and she signed off for me to return to work. </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">I was </span><i style="font-size: 12pt;">weak</i><span style="font-size: 12pt;">. My PCP said, “you’ve burned through all your reserves.” The 15-lb weight loss in less than a week wasn’t fluids, and it wasn’t muscle; it was an imposed fast that probably sucked all the glycogen out of my muscles. I really felt like I was starting all over. My fitness had been eroded away. </span></div>
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The first two weeks were tough, especially the day I set out to walk 6 miles and had to bag it at 5.5 miles. That was tough on me emotionally.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIwk5u2YOwoR9ceRZrdva85QFqCGP03JcJgdpqScadGzi5veX-baVlyedFx5puR1JzAICk3Rz9xbclJ3_hFbomplfCxVRAqj4-K6IB48kAH1ux1qlXbw_cptp38Wnqr5zZ_G8/s1600/IMG_9931.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1056" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIwk5u2YOwoR9ceRZrdva85QFqCGP03JcJgdpqScadGzi5veX-baVlyedFx5puR1JzAICk3Rz9xbclJ3_hFbomplfCxVRAqj4-K6IB48kAH1ux1qlXbw_cptp38Wnqr5zZ_G8/s320/IMG_9931.jpg" width="209" /></a>But, as long as I eat carefully and rest, my progress has been steady. Last week, I started actually jogging longer lengths on the trails and did an 8-mile hike. I had a brief setback this weekend, partially related to allergies, and maybe partly due to the increased mileage, but I rested this weekend, and then this morning I did a 4-mile hike-jog that felt pretty good. I will never take strength for granted again.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhca8RRfC3lwpYYQ-fbvBs79U87WTxc0deFs06TyliFY_oO1-iqXiZGdVwFCne-GuKjOI5kpH2cAZWhDJJQw2vxyVhInEdBLM5LANyqtv1R4FxmCQQ4M5JJ4fEm2a_VFv4_rqg/s1600/IMG_9932.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhca8RRfC3lwpYYQ-fbvBs79U87WTxc0deFs06TyliFY_oO1-iqXiZGdVwFCne-GuKjOI5kpH2cAZWhDJJQw2vxyVhInEdBLM5LANyqtv1R4FxmCQQ4M5JJ4fEm2a_VFv4_rqg/s320/IMG_9932.jpg" width="179" /></a>Every time I get the slightest cramp in my stomach or gut, or feel tired, I worry that it’s coming back. I take probiotics at least 2x a day and my post-workout smoothie includes a banana and kefir. I search the internet <i><b>way too much </b></i>looking for assurance that this won’t come back. </div>
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I’m afraid of lettuce because of all the E. Coli recalls. I use a filtration pitcher at work. I’m weirdly paranoid about germs and bugs now. I won't eat stuff from the sample bowls at the store. Obviously, there’s no guarantee that it won’t come back. But hopefully, I can beat the curve.<br />
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I had to slowly add food groups back because nobody knew what kind of shape my gut was in, what good bugs were left, and what enzymes I might or might not have left. I<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-size: 12pt;">am the probiotic queen.</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUvnkArWOHwvWzChwgVCxipWoDhmIO1RFHKSZiXIc0M_ou66FJc3LncvvoYdgoq7zDQlllCL0Kt1bPXwsjnrAadbmP0XtMaqZeaFzAuhIFaNHLBk64ym9cjBg0FKhWIB-ENk4/s1600/IMG_9933.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUvnkArWOHwvWzChwgVCxipWoDhmIO1RFHKSZiXIc0M_ou66FJc3LncvvoYdgoq7zDQlllCL0Kt1bPXwsjnrAadbmP0XtMaqZeaFzAuhIFaNHLBk64ym9cjBg0FKhWIB-ENk4/s320/IMG_9933.jpg" width="177" /></a>I bought myself an Apple Watch, a little tech bauble to mark my new life devoted to good self-care, and to mark the end of this particular grueling experience. I love all the kudos and chimes it gives me. <span style="font-size: 12pt;">I also bought a laptop, which I haven' had in years, possibly why I haven't been blogging. Blogging from my phone is a bitch. </span></div>
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With respect to my fitness, I am starting over. I’m working my way up again. I’m following a training plan that Himself and I devised. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUvnkArWOHwvWzChwgVCxipWoDhmIO1RFHKSZiXIc0M_ou66FJc3LncvvoYdgoq7zDQlllCL0Kt1bPXwsjnrAadbmP0XtMaqZeaFzAuhIFaNHLBk64ym9cjBg0FKhWIB-ENk4/s1600/IMG_9933.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUvnkArWOHwvWzChwgVCxipWoDhmIO1RFHKSZiXIc0M_ou66FJc3LncvvoYdgoq7zDQlllCL0Kt1bPXwsjnrAadbmP0XtMaqZeaFzAuhIFaNHLBk64ym9cjBg0FKhWIB-ENk4/s320/IMG_9933.jpg" width="177" /></a>I canceled 3 planned endurance runs this past spring. My next trail race will be more of an energetic hike, in Montana, called the “Rail Trail Run.” It has a generous cutoff and I plan to take my poles and plenty of water. It’s flat with a slight net downhill loss of elevation, and I’m really hoping I’ll be back close enough to finish it, even if I had to stop and rest every now and then. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So that's it. That was my spring. And this is where I am now.<span style="font-size: 12pt;"> Starting over, from rock bottom. </span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt;">Nowhere to go but up.</span></div>
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Mistyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12495593714171530779noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-20196212512367084642018-05-20T14:58:00.000-06:002018-05-20T20:34:01.513-06:00Rock. Bottom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
Dear Diary,<br />
<br />
I am sitting here in my living room feeling pretty good about the 31-mile week I just had. 31 miles. Thirty-one. I used to do that in a day. And this is the most miles I've gotten in the past month, since I started recovering from <a href="https://medlineplus.gov/ency/article/000259.htm" target="_blank">C. Diff Colitis</a> in April. It was, without a doubt, the sickest I have have been, and the most pain I have ever experienced for 4-5 days straight. It was like being in labor. Waves of pain wrapped around me, usually worsening late in the evenings, carrying on through the night, and abating slightly the next morning. It is a cautionary tale of what happens when providers don't pay attention, or lack the right training to manage symptoms appropriately. <br />
<br />
Part I of II.<br />
<br />
In February and March, I had a respiratory thing. I developed laryngitis from the perpetual coughing, over and above the usual coughing I'd experienced for the past 2 years. But I had an appointment with an Ear, Nose, and Throat doc...so I gutted it out. It was actually getter when I saw the physician's assistant (not doctor) who examined me. She me scoped me and said, "you don't have acid reflux."<br />
<br />
<i>Thank god</i>, I thought. <i>Now everyone can shut up about that.</i><br />
<br />
She prescribed a nose spray...and an antibiotic called <b><i>clindamycin</i></b>. I announced it in rounds the next day at the hospital where I work as a social worker. The doctors sucked air through their teeth when I said the word. I didn't know why then. But I know now. And that sharp intake of breath from my colleagues who went to medical school, that was warning #1. I just didn't know why at the time, and wasn't interested in hearing about it. <br />
<br />
Within a few days I was breathing better than I have in years. I visited my mother-in-law in the hospital who unfortunately had contracted bacterial pneumonia and was also put on broad-spectrum antibiotics. I visited her in the rehab hospital where she was for about a week, and drove her home from the rehab hospital. She had diarrhea, which they thought she might have from a norovirus. Mornings, I started practicing hill repeats, and on March 23rd, I took my last dose of clindamycin. <br />
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A week later, on Good Friday, I flew to Pennsylvania for a trail marathon. I was freakishly tired that afternoon and evening. I ate some fried calamari, but just wasn't hungry for pizza. (Warning #2) <br />
<br />
That was the night that the diarrhea started. Except it wasn't like the usual stuff. I mean, at first it looked like your garden variety diarrhea, but then eventually it became clear, amber-colored. Maybe a tablespoon at a time. Like jelly.<br />
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Fuck this, I thought. I'm not ditching this marathon. There was a much longer run going on at the same time, which meant I had 12 hours to finish it. I would walk it. It was exhausting. I drank like crazy, and walked through the woods in the Pennsylvania countryside. <br />
<br />
I flew home. I wasn't hungry. I turned up my nose at fried chicken. (Warning #3)<br />
<br />
On Monday, April 2 I went back to the ENT. She asked me about breathing, coughing, etc. All were good. I mentioned the diarrhea, and her eyes widened. "If you still have that in a couple of days, let me know." Then, she looked in my mouth, and frowned. "Do you have thrush?" I laughed. No, of course not. Probably just stuff from the chronic sinusitis. But later than night, I thought of that again. I went to look in the mirror. <br />
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Fuck. I have oral thrush. I also still had a couple tablespoons of amber jelly coming out of me every couple of hours. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEi6k0izJlWqebHQc_uH8Y57TPxPMjMB05cY8AyEHWwlaSgXk1D9XzvL1_5SM6Ol15pV1MYGZUGk5yBQs2CayInsXT7tmn7aZEj6Bq3QfSPmq_qzYfcEMVWiY4HQpMwjkCr8mZMDwdILhOdqx97uuYDlccU3R1Iuae6psaot07znnBOD=" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Related image" border="0" class="irc_mi" src="http://www.healthspectra.com/wp-content/uploads/2017/09/Oral-Thrush.jpg" height="133" style="margin-top: 62px;" width="200" /></a><br />
The next morning, April 4, Day 5 of the diarrhea, I went to Urgent care. I told them my story, and said, I'm really worried that something bad is happening. The PA patted my hand. "We're going to test you for diabetes."<br />
<br />
<i>What? No. I don't have diabetes</i>.<br />
<br />
She acted as thought I hadn't said anything at all. "Yeah, we're going to test you for diabetes." <br />
<br />
She also tested me for pregnancy, salmonella, cryptosporidium, shigella, ghiardiardia, all were negative. She gave me a script for the thrush. Then I told her, "I'm having trouble eating. My stomach is cramping and it's like I can't get food in. I've been drinking gatorade and Boost." She responded, "you have to stop that right now. It will make your diarrhea worse." She gave me a handout of the BRAT diet, and sent me home. I made an appointment with my PCP for the following Tuesday, (April 10).<br />
<br />
Days 6, 7, 8--April 4, 5, 6th...went by. Nothing changed except I started having an ache in my middle. It was worse at night. I started eating Tylenol and Advil every 4 hours, and getting up at 11 pm and spending the next few hours with a heating pad, going to the bathroom constantly. Always that same, weird stuff coming out. I couldn't eat. My daily calorie intake plummeted to between 400 and 900 most days. I started googling CLYNDOMYCIN and DIARRHEA and reading the articles. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp8AxcEFrII6xZEFbLzll6QXB532WOgJQ3ni81SCJURbKu7dd1IIHU4OqzAcKntkV6QkxB7g3glL76bpH-RkpjzeMt1DV6ugxL9_d4e3boxAKvxizoBWfKjn3Zzk95SSdIshtIFg/s1600/google.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1099" data-original-width="1600" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp8AxcEFrII6xZEFbLzll6QXB532WOgJQ3ni81SCJURbKu7dd1IIHU4OqzAcKntkV6QkxB7g3glL76bpH-RkpjzeMt1DV6ugxL9_d4e3boxAKvxizoBWfKjn3Zzk95SSdIshtIFg/s320/google.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I kept seeing <span style="color: #6a6a6a; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-weight: bold;"><i>Clostridium difficile</i></span><i>. </i>It rang a distant bell in my mind. I think I did a training on this. Something about gloves, and gowns being required around someone who had it.<br />
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Shit.<br />
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I wrote the PA and asked her why she hadn't tested me for it. No response, except a scripted one from another PA telling me I should go see my PCP.<br />
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On Tuesday, April 10, I saw my family practitioner. She ordered a test for <i>C. Diff,</i> and started me on treatment before the test came back positive. I had lost 10 lbs. I called in to work, and they immediately employed a "terminal cleaning" in my office. I started taking <i>Flagyl</i>. But it was too late. The next day, the pain was no longer going away with Tylenol, and I was exhausted and dehydrated. I had started throwing up. I was too tired to stand up long enough to comb my hair. My weight had started climbing again back up to normal, but I couldn't sit down for long because of the pain in my middle. I could only lie down. That evening, Sweet Baboo was working, so I asked Dread Pirate to take me to the emergency room. <br />
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The ER dictated to his scribe as he examined me. He used words like "starving" and said my urine was brown. My liver enzymes were elevated. He dictated, "patient is writhing." He asked me if I wanted morphine. For the first time in my life, I said yes. I drifted off to sleep. Something during the night Dread Pirate and Sweet Baboo switched places, and I was offered a choice between being admitted and going home. I chose the latter. I was sent home about 2 am on the 12th of April with scripts for Oxy and an anti-nausea medication. I went home, and asked Sweet Baboo to get my some loaded baked potato soup at Kroger. It's loaded with cream, salt, and potatoes, and I was able to get my calorie count up for the first time in days.<br />
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But later that night...the pain started up again, like it did every night. Oxy didn't make a dent. The next morning, I asked Sweet Baboo to take me back to the hospital.<br />
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And that's the backstory to why, on Friday the 13th in April, I was admitted to the hospital, diagnosed with <i>C.Diff Colitis, </i>on contact precautions, in a single room with intravenous everything (including morphine). <br />
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To be continued.<br />
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<!-- Blogger automated replacement: "https://images-blogger-opensocial.googleusercontent.com/gadgets/proxy?url=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.healthspectra.com%2Fwp-content%2Fuploads%2F2017%2F09%2FOral-Thrush.jpg&container=blogger&gadget=a&rewriteMime=image%2F*" with "https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/proxy/AVvXsEi6k0izJlWqebHQc_uH8Y57TPxPMjMB05cY8AyEHWwlaSgXk1D9XzvL1_5SM6Ol15pV1MYGZUGk5yBQs2CayInsXT7tmn7aZEj6Bq3QfSPmq_qzYfcEMVWiY4HQpMwjkCr8mZMDwdILhOdqx97uuYDlccU3R1Iuae6psaot07znnBOD=" -->Herself, the GeekGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17990186920123895227noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-53633234204994544152017-07-15T17:05:00.001-06:002017-07-15T18:56:34.637-06:002016<span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">Even though I was in awful shape in 2016 I was still stubborn and foohardy...so I spent a year running down whatever fitness base I had left. It's probably the reason I started getting interested in art. </span><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">In January, I ran the Bandera 50k. I didn't take any pictures. I didn't do too badly, because by then I'd only been coughing a few months and was still in pretty good shape. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">In March, I ran the Puerto Rico marathon. </span></div><div><img id="id_9a24_8d4f_2cb8_cbb5" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-d4W1GPqWj5E/WWqmVj08BsI/AAAAAAAAGKA/Q5mM6ee73CAq1Ar8E7KgGz5YtkGHjUVTQCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">That's blood on the ribbon. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">I didn't take pictures of the PR course, but I started taking pictures around this time...during the trip. </span></div><img id="id_1da8_3976_8792_ffe9" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-eOGB5_1Wwh8/WWqmV_dd2GI/AAAAAAAAGKM/eRFY56gDGQEWZOvO9v-xHkvKJMWU5RSEwCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_ef3f_d836_33f7_3649" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXFXfdmdUjHlo-LcBlgnjAtjdpPWdGXmml8AH6hbAZtEt0sJp9f-oyrZVwSClkRSPddl9QHpXqqgAzvN3IWhRZ-4niHfOPFQhUDOGRQWGcf64Rtn5YdUrBfO8aPvheILysRECzkg/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">After the marathon, I passed out. My glasses cut next to my eye when I fell. </span><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">It turns out that when you get stitches right next to your eye you get s he'll of a shiner. </span></div><div><img id="id_bad7_5104_aba5_ae16" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-7ZeEf1vtIXs/WWqmV0kX3wI/AAAAAAAAGKE/3GsT5H8onA8BbejNwIP_mKYNZVzDM7k9wCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">I ran two half marathons soon after, the same weekend. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">In June I ran the North Umpqua Trail (NUT) 50k, otherwise known as Now I Hate Oregon 50k. It is an all-uphill run through mosquitos and poison oak. It is also breathtakingly beautiful. </span></div><div><img id="id_6bd1_3616_1696_5008" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-vc0eiGvFOBg/WWqmWGBqW7I/AAAAAAAAGKQ/PmJd1_7uRRI1qQjqK6QdBpdC41TJFXb8QCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">I drew a picture of my legs after this trail marathon. That's a picture of Poison Oak in the upper left corner. And that's why I hate Oregon. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">I was doing a lot of pencil drawings about this time. This is one I did of the Oregon coast during the trip to do the NUT. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br></span></div><div><img id="id_8722_2d0e_e3d9_cc2d" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-VaRKtMcqA3k/WWqmWJbqfyI/AAAAAAAAGKU/EexzJrtGJS4iQYYOmpQ3gY9tsLVqencXACHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;">I took this picture at the finish line of the NUT50k<br></div><div><br></div><div><img id="id_1199_81ad_d8c_9502" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-3AwVaJ7DlhQ/WWqoEa2HriI/AAAAAAAAGKs/OEqZ1xbiFWMZ10azLlDgfiYw2J3elXoxgCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br></div><div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">=========</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">In July, I finished the Tahoe Rim Trail 50k. </span></div><div><img id="id_8dac_22aa_3dc8_aa53" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlzPHcp1A_apjtbMQoq0Vj0J3TIt-FLchh7sa0Tm6adrHzR-4_WUEq0y6yJYaQjWdTOUiegVf0cr756xvAVpkCLSWWuGXO3tJL8Vuw8ZkdVcHqdj3dDW-yARTfAns5V3LAd43rOA/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Sweet Baboo started the 100 miler, but ran into some problems and only finished 50 miles. He's running the 100 again <b>today</b>.</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><br></span></div><div><img id="id_50ff_4d81_d882_4a7a" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-J7qJi7PFf1k/WWqmWUsWvjI/AAAAAAAAGKY/wB56zTuQsDkQHJtnpHeIgVAD_xyuper6QCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">I did this painting of a picture I took of the course. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;">In August, I tried to do the La Luz. It's a 9 mile climb up to 10,400 feet. I was so slow people were worried and wondering where I was. But I finished. I painted this picture later, with watercolor, Pitt pen, and micron pen. </span></div><div><img id="id_8ac8_93c_b73c_36d9" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-fs1YpKCl3aE/WWqrEE7Y7YI/AAAAAAAAGK0/VCYinLUdqPA034rAtrb1oiGsmwTQqhh3gCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto;"><br></span></div><div><div><br></div><div>In the fall, finished the Morgantown marathon. Easily the hardest road marathon I've ever done. Finishing directly and accepting a finishing medal behind me was a woman who admitted she "probably" cut the course when I passed her the <b>second </b>time. I write the race director three times. They never wrote back, and never removed this local from the results. Ergo, it's cool to cheat at the Morgantown marathon. I guess.</div><div>This is the only picture from the course. <br><img id="id_7292_33ec_653e_f493" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-bn8U_4YU9BA/WWqfttERpGI/AAAAAAAAGJo/KWioYCOSegctwGbPCVxg7dWfPNR6p_AaACHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><br>In October I completed the Cloudsplitter 50k, which rivals Tahoe for the hardest 50k I've ever done. </div><div><br></div><div>It's also probably <b>the most beautiful</b>. This 50k, which has over 9000 feet of climbing and rubs along a rudgeline that comprises the Kentucky/Virginia border, I would so do again. <br><img id="id_c062_211a_feb4_2298" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-qj-zl0WQaP4/WWqfuEmb_TI/AAAAAAAAGJs/GzandPj_lOAk863xmJhgHTfSiuMmJJprwCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">It was beautiful. The kind of beautiful that fed my soul and filled me with hope for all the wonder that ultrarunning offers. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">Experiences and memories like this kept me going through some pretty hopeless times. </span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br></span></div><div><img id="id_3034_46a6_f4d7_7d9b" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWlTlPOI7tlrW9jA4T9B7bAVlnabOeFZ0BzjavH-vpRYJTO2Ilo81oxSW19Vppe4I4AffDgyENBVh4UziOBGmJQuq8jgX-4oes10lj6wRFq9ib_FTP8Br7AN-mPZrSZUBnlHJIvQ/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">It was so beautiful, I had to make a slide show. Enjoy. </span></div><div><a href="https://youtu.be/fIegLgIRhYk" id="id_da59_a6bc_c597_e6f9" target="_blank">Athena Diaries: The Cloudsplitter</a><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br></span></div><div><br></div><div><img id="id_bdf1_e9e3_6ae5_b7e3" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-QGqCJ-sWZ6c/WWqtQdkMurI/AAAAAAAAGLA/tjs2oBmwqNEYRlnSPRi_skS2iXwVNjRNQCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br>(Above:Birch Knob, Kentucky. )</div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">===================</span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);"><br></span></div><div><span style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0);">A week later, I did the New York marathon. I got in on the lottery. Sweet Baboo ran it with me. Of course, I was appallingly slow. But it was a great time. <br></span><img id="id_9c80_94a1_ec77_e197" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-9tzPU0Y9cA8/WWqfuA-TAAI/AAAAAAAAGJw/4jCWKOdP0fg-Li9JZXgsu9nSO9vFmYeVQCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br><img id="id_22d8_31b_4170_e1cd" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/--aN9ScFs9RA/WWqoEHkyE0I/AAAAAAAAGKo/EyC-LvhDA5Y5sMOoAaqyr9H5Ijqm7H7HQCHMYCw/s5000/%255BUNSET%255D" alt="" title="" tooltip="" style="width: 392px; height: auto;"><br><br>And, well, that's it for 2016. I spent the year not able to train but doing things anyway, and wearing down completely. </div><div><br></div><div>...<br><br></div></div></div></div>Herself, the GeekGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17990186920123895227noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-64947586899623424872017-07-09T17:47:00.005-06:002017-07-09T17:48:01.881-06:00Art journaling<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<i>Dear Diary,</i></div>
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Even though I haven't been blogging, I <i>have </i>been journaling. It's just a different kind of journal. </div>
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I journal about things that are important to me. I journal about times that I'm happy</div>
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<b>I journal about things that I'm frustrated or angry about</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCy8MsO4zKBA03__OkraQjtwcf_Y80fQ-mFerJ2Tpsk3I7JQRM3L4zENnq3AmASHhurm3_vmcGbmEa2bbx-CLpfV0Q2oGM8wGSvGNldZufse-UjktA18gwYxhyphenhyphenCDemo1KQLij2hQ/s1600/asthma.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="335" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCy8MsO4zKBA03__OkraQjtwcf_Y80fQ-mFerJ2Tpsk3I7JQRM3L4zENnq3AmASHhurm3_vmcGbmEa2bbx-CLpfV0Q2oGM8wGSvGNldZufse-UjktA18gwYxhyphenhyphenCDemo1KQLij2hQ/s400/asthma.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNNU18OZBV269HZ1018cuEZpZ06cXbcJYdWNq7UH3hlruDye9II4Md6k9UD71-vQH7-Q7de4qu7PMM1KuHaYgiS7Srns7dFdu6lzGn806pB5fm1pRMP5Ge8fs3flGWEJhvJsOGgA/s1600/becareful.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="295" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNNU18OZBV269HZ1018cuEZpZ06cXbcJYdWNq7UH3hlruDye9II4Md6k9UD71-vQH7-Q7de4qu7PMM1KuHaYgiS7Srns7dFdu6lzGn806pB5fm1pRMP5Ge8fs3flGWEJhvJsOGgA/s400/becareful.jpeg" width="400" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNNU18OZBV269HZ1018cuEZpZ06cXbcJYdWNq7UH3hlruDye9II4Md6k9UD71-vQH7-Q7de4qu7PMM1KuHaYgiS7Srns7dFdu6lzGn806pB5fm1pRMP5Ge8fs3flGWEJhvJsOGgA/s1600/becareful.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
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(above) on this day I was tired of seeing all the "<i>bloom where you're planted" </i>posters. </div>
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<b>I journaled selfies to get my feelings out of my head about how I felt about myself that day.</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA4XbJ2tcFhzsE5uqA0i8CUyax4-7Y9j4HPrMIcjTk-prXH6OF8CNjJw6Y9WAkprsD5DGMpQw12oLpOepVzYNzH8m48rtrkLsJKj2KNvaJj8V_xOsd05Ed8GzlHZauhYd6zDQ/s1600/portrait_of_the_artist_on_a_bad_day___by_lyndasdaughter-datgkeu.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="994" data-original-width="803" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA4XbJ2tcFhzsE5uqA0i8CUyax4-7Y9j4HPrMIcjTk-prXH6OF8CNjJw6Y9WAkprsD5DGMpQw12oLpOepVzYNzH8m48rtrkLsJKj2KNvaJj8V_xOsd05Ed8GzlHZauhYd6zDQ/s320/portrait_of_the_artist_on_a_bad_day___by_lyndasdaughter-datgkeu.jpg" width="258" /></a></div>
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I did this little watercolor when I was near my heaviest. </div>
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<b>sometimes I journaled to try to say to myself, "buck up, little cowboy".</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-G_B-Q6G0MdaydUZO50fNCqo9O4wHTtp2bddH1nJFSnRxTlHbHU38M_53U6Im67gZ2XD-WLfld5Oy20VosQTMrD6ZCzWtdxuKXQ2C_7d0PuLtm1VEkltsvwnVJ74upQP-UkcIVg/s1600/dothething.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="307" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-G_B-Q6G0MdaydUZO50fNCqo9O4wHTtp2bddH1nJFSnRxTlHbHU38M_53U6Im67gZ2XD-WLfld5Oy20VosQTMrD6ZCzWtdxuKXQ2C_7d0PuLtm1VEkltsvwnVJ74upQP-UkcIVg/s400/dothething.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div>
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i journaled (sometimes) about runs I did</div>
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which I did do. </div>
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slowly.</div>
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so this is one thing that's different now. I journal in pictures that I draw myself. </div>
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<br />Herself, the GeekGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17990186920123895227noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-1319274219624081322017-07-08T12:48:00.000-06:002017-07-08T14:54:38.206-06:00shattered. (long post)<i>Dear diary,</i><br />
<br />
is anyone out there?<br />
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it doesn't take a genius to notice the rapid decline in the number of posts on this blog in the past few years. going back, it would seem that it started around 2012, 2013. Ish. which is when today's story begins.<br />
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i think things are on the upswing. i hope they are. <br />
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this is long. but here we go.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj64vt4totnEszKHiQYaBgPaNV0VMHrlcshBGQqwQ-V6STOV2GyFC_xhkbQIOst4bTpbfsTiTxQ79RmdQG-XOhfFS7mXcwju-LKD2fdwvrXFK82VzWr63wZfT58A3Wz8tH-EQGCgQ/s1600/2013-11-18+21.14.22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="494" data-original-width="462" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj64vt4totnEszKHiQYaBgPaNV0VMHrlcshBGQqwQ-V6STOV2GyFC_xhkbQIOst4bTpbfsTiTxQ79RmdQG-XOhfFS7mXcwju-LKD2fdwvrXFK82VzWr63wZfT58A3Wz8tH-EQGCgQ/s200/2013-11-18+21.14.22.jpg" width="186" /></a>in 2011, i was at the top of my game. i'd been diagnosed with hypothyroidism, but was on good meds. I ran four marathons in 9 days, and the third one was my personal best: 4:45. <br />
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I was battling my weight, but hey, who wasn't? in 2012, i started a new job, which i love. and that was the last year i really felt good. for the past five years, i've been applying every bandaid i could to the increase in weight, decrease in depression, as well as someone without any medical training can. each new bandaid was followed by a declaration that <b><i>things are going to be awesome now.</i></b><br />
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in late 2012, or perhaps 2013, Sweet Baboo went back into the military full time. i was required to give up my family doc, who'd treated me for 12 years and who had started me on estrogen, and i also had to leave my endocrinologist. my care was now at the military base, clinic. they do an adequate job there on base, especially with healthy young servicemen and women who aren't approaching maturity, and who doesn't love free prescriptions? however, the care providers on base, nurse practitioners, have been rotated out every year. i'm about to begin on my 4th or 5th PCP. i've lost count. <br />
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in any case, the first thing that happened is that my second PCP informed me that i didn't need to be on two thyroid medications. am i a doctor? i am not. so, i said okay. and that was how citomel, aka liothyronine, was dropped from my regimen.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYp4kB3f1FFOHtf0KuOKsH-jLbo3qYJx4RJkCz2Gzz746Kh3LpFZ7wNRW0oCkqZzKzuan0Cwyu00DC4Q1AKoWXtxCpbcwpe0bbnlaT4FDUGvhvzCopPzKK1Bdgoa_fkmwMCdSdxw/s1600/broken1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYp4kB3f1FFOHtf0KuOKsH-jLbo3qYJx4RJkCz2Gzz746Kh3LpFZ7wNRW0oCkqZzKzuan0Cwyu00DC4Q1AKoWXtxCpbcwpe0bbnlaT4FDUGvhvzCopPzKK1Bdgoa_fkmwMCdSdxw/s320/broken1.jpg" width="217" /></a><br />
<a href="https://www.peoplespharmacy.com/2015/01/15/new-study-reveals-why-1-in-6-thyroid-patients-still-feels-bad-on-levothyroxine/" target="_blank">the weight began creeping on. </a> i blamed it on the new job, which i imagined involved more sitting (it didn't) and the fact that early menopause occurs in my family. the hot flashes began. with a vengeance. two to three times each hour, sweat would bead up on my legs, roll down between my breasts--i stopped sleeping through the night.<br />
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a black depression descended on me. i woke up weeping, and when i wasn't sad, i was numb. they upped my dose of wellbutrin. when i started at the base clinic, they had changed my estrogen pills because the ones i had been on weren't in their formulary. the new pills were making me nauseated, so we tried several iterations of estrogens--vaginal cream was just gross, and the patch had a latex-based adhesive that made me itch like crazy. finally, my third PCP said, "we really don't like people to be on estrogen more than 5 years anyway." all attempts to treat menopause symptoms with hormones ceased. i tried decreasing my caffein and taking black cohosh, which really didn't help much. i told myself it was temporary, and i could ride it out. right?<br />
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<b>the weight gain accelerated throughout 2014 and 2015 but then leveled out at around 165,</b> assuming, of course, that i ran a few miles nearly every day and did olympic weightlifting 2x per week, and kept my average calorie around 1600 per day. i still felt a little dull, and sluggish.<br />
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then in october 2015, while out on a walk with Himself, i started coughing. <br />
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i didn't quite put it together that this was when i started using my new office; i simply assumed it was because of the fall bloom of the chamisa bush. i looked into getting allergy shots at the base clinic, and was told that my asthma was "too poorly controlled". they offered a referral to a civilian specialists. after a six months' wait, i saw a pulmonologist. he said my asthma <i>was</i> under control. he referred me to an allergist; after another five months i saw the allergist, who said that my asthma was well-controlled, but a chronic post nasal drop was aggravating my airways and causing my coughing. he tested me for allergies, and then started me on allergy shots. ever monday and every friday, for seven months, i went in before work for three shots each. i'm allergic to molds, evergreens, grasses, molds, dust, mites, and cats. <br />
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none of this explained why i was coughing <i>now. </i>i've always had a lot of allergies, especially to grasses and mold it's why i live in New Mexico. why was i coughing now?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0XY33hzMo4Z3OGkuB7Zd4FQ9N9VbDTkVtVYeY5uxpHuzVSzCv7GDcHImJLr5IzxEV-zVlSddNSs85__KNgPpbYmBaeuv2rNxgI6jp838bx7DGwtWojIshpzw0fk9-4t5a4lVUDQ/s1600/shattered.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0XY33hzMo4Z3OGkuB7Zd4FQ9N9VbDTkVtVYeY5uxpHuzVSzCv7GDcHImJLr5IzxEV-zVlSddNSs85__KNgPpbYmBaeuv2rNxgI6jp838bx7DGwtWojIshpzw0fk9-4t5a4lVUDQ/s400/shattered.jpg" width="272" /></a>my mood continued to decline. i struggled to accept that this is what a body in its 50s looks and feels like, even though it felt like it was someone else's body. someone's older, heavier body.<br />
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i coughed throughout the winter, and into the spring of 2016. by the summer of 2016, i was nearly incontinent and my marathon time had increased by an hour. i couldn't run. i began studying drawing and painting; i figured if i couldn't run, i needed something else to give me meaning. i gained another 5 lbs. i struggled, daily, with <i><a href="https://heleo.com/fake-till-feel-9-tips-boost-happiness/4322/" target="_blank">fake it until you feel it.</a> </i>i bought air cleaners, dust covers, and <i>everything</i> had HEPA filters it. i was constantly tired...depressed...heavy...sluggish. <br />
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in early 2017, i had gained another 5 lbs. i was up to 175. i went online to buy some second-hand clothing to fit the new, larger me because after consulting with a nutritionist, i gained another 10 lbs. <br />
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but, by early 2017 i had also figured out that there was something about my office making me cough; although i coughed almost constantly, sometimes until i gagged, it was worse at work. i brought in an air cleaner. that seemed to help a little. the allergy shots continued. i started feeling a tiny bit better. <br />
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<b>then in february 2017, i came in one day to find that the walls near my office, which is partially subterranean, were encased in plexiglass. men in suits and respirators were walking in an out, and inside the enclosure, were removing wallboard.</b><br />
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<b><i>mold</i></b>, the workers told me. lots of it. as far down as they could dig. after 6 weeks they had cleaned up and removed everything. <br />
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and i had stopped coughing, abruptly, after 15 months of coughing. my cough was gone. i took the air cleaner home. i started running again. <br />
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5 months later, i was up to running 4 miles per day, except for Tuesdays when I have crossfit. my mood started to lift. and in 5 months of substantial exercise, i lost 4 lbs. <br />
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after i stopped talking, i was feeling particularly energized by the lack of <i>coughing </i>and had a new mission to be assertive with health providers. <i> </i>in march i requested and received a referral to see a specialist in women's issues. i waited 3 months for an appointment. she referred me out "you really should be followed by an endocrinologist." i requested and received a referral to see a civilian endocrinology specialist. i waited another 2 months for an appointment. that appointment was 4 days ago. <br />
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there were blood tests for estrogen, testosterone, progesterone, and thyroid hormones. the new provider explained why: "it's not about the numbers," she said. "it's about how you're feeling." i nearly started crying on her office. she listened to me talk. i told her, forget that i'm a 50-year-old. i'm a 50-year-old who's done a <i>lot of shit. </i>she prescribed a different thyroid medication that includes liothyronine. she scheduled me to begin hormone replacement therapy. on July 13th, i will have pellets implanted that contain hormones that last for about 3 months. tricare will not pay for it. <br />
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i'm so tired of being tired. i'm so tired of not sleeping, of feeling to heavy to run. i am up to 4 miles per day now, running and hiking on trails each morning. i realize that you can't be "young" again but i would like to get back to where i have been, to enjoy running again..to have energy...to not feel like my days of competing in sporting events are over.<br />
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I've had my hopes dashed repeatedly. I"m more cautiously optimistic. <a href="http://jeffreydachmd.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/03/White-Paper-Guidance-for-Physicians-on-Hormone-Replacement-Therapy-2007-A4M.pdf" target="_blank">i've talked to some women who have had the pellet HRT,</a> and although it's anecdotal, they talk about "getting my life back." I would just like to have enough energy to be able to run and do the things that make me healthy.<br />
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i hope.<br />
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<br />Herself, the GeekGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17990186920123895227noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-33225588172786594812016-07-12T21:51:00.001-06:002016-07-12T21:51:21.361-06:00Taking a breakif you hadn't noticed, I'm taking a bit of a break from blogging to pursue a new passion. Don't worry, I'm still doing ultra running. For now, you can catch up with me here:<br />
<a href="http://lyndasdaughter.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Lynn's Daughter</a>.Herself, the GeekGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17990186920123895227noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-38726962158482039212016-05-15T09:31:00.001-06:002016-05-15T10:05:39.515-06:00How Misty got her groove back.Dear Diary,<div><br></div><div>This past two months have been difficult. My asthma flared up during last fall's pollen bloom…and then never went away. I finally went to the doctor and ask for help, and after several false starts, and after having nearly lost my voice, she put me on some new asthma medication. I may also be starting allergy shots soon.<br><br>As a result of not being able to breathe, as you might guess, my training fell off by quite a bit, as evidenced by me passing out after the Puerto Rico marathon. I lost a lot of my robustness, my ability to recover quickly, my ability to run every single day. <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">But finally, back in late March, I was able to slowly get back on the trails again.</span><div><br>As a result of my airway shenanigans, my "marathon double" that was planned for Pennsylvania and Virginia became a "half marathon double". However, I was able to complete the Cedro Peak 45k, A somewhat rocky trail run in the Manzano mountains.<div></div></div><div><br></div><div>This weekend, that is to say, next weekend, I'll be attending the "ham is" i mean "hey Ms." 50 K. [gotta love Siri! that's supposed to read "Jemez 50 K"] Here's the profile. </div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl6f2Kahhf-7vUl7J28rwFNZF0_cCecPZPJhVOK6etFC7kTwDBI7MD-9PlKJETmrAfQVDZXqtiMAgIF0e9AAhA_Rf9UzxIAuOVBAnsVFlxwtmg2qu2Dt7nbO09i7W84Qv6RYMs7A/s640/blogger-image-1815960139.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgl6f2Kahhf-7vUl7J28rwFNZF0_cCecPZPJhVOK6etFC7kTwDBI7MD-9PlKJETmrAfQVDZXqtiMAgIF0e9AAhA_Rf9UzxIAuOVBAnsVFlxwtmg2qu2Dt7nbO09i7W84Qv6RYMs7A/s640/blogger-image-1815960139.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>I've even painted my nails blue in preparation for the high altitude.</div><div><br></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyNooSHI5d68gMNXmvhwp3AMPl7XZ4_ADovcp7vRVW0GbPhEiPIuiYBadMTZ1nZqiZGZKzINzFFqje2LeugsKJViErfDPq4FiTwvfy_bNskTNS2VSi-xo_IJg-vmokZkLSIIuzLw/s640/blogger-image--127410329.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyNooSHI5d68gMNXmvhwp3AMPl7XZ4_ADovcp7vRVW0GbPhEiPIuiYBadMTZ1nZqiZGZKzINzFFqje2LeugsKJViErfDPq4FiTwvfy_bNskTNS2VSi-xo_IJg-vmokZkLSIIuzLw/s640/blogger-image--127410329.jpg"></a></div><br></div><div><br></div><div>I am prepared to fail. But I'm not prepared to quit.</div><div><br></div><div>I have discovered that I am lousy with my nutrition. I spent the last month trying to do Weight Watchers. Weight watchers does not work for old runners or ultrarunners. Weight watchers works for people who perhaps do yoga or Pilates to keep fit or maybe jog a couple miles every day, but it doesn't work for people who run until they throw up, or for cross-fitters, i'm guessing. I was getting dizzy spells while climbing. I would eat my plan dutifully, and then around 3 pm, go look for a pie to eat.</div><div><br></div><div> I started to suspect this earlier this year when I do the 50 K and, at mile 20, I ate a small bag of jellybeans. It lit a fire under me and kept me going. I also drink cola at every single aid station and just put the worry about calories out of my mind. The problem is, I frequently lose my appetite when I'm running. But there are three things that will keep me going: First, any kind of hazelnut spread on anything at all. Second, certain flavors of jelly beans. Not the sportbeans. The real ones. Buttered popcorn and coconut are my favorite flavors. Third, cola, which I rarely drink in any other context.</div></div><div><br></div><div>I also confess to subscribing to the belief that maybe if I don't eat very much I can get my body to burn some fat. And then immediately after a long run I would eat a whole pizza. Or an eight-piece chicken dinner. Because a girl's gotta replenish, right??</div><div><br></div><div>So i"m going to try something new. At least I think it's new for me. I'm going to eat like a normal person so that i have the energy to run snd work out, and so I'm not prowling through the hospital at 3pm looking for day-old birthday cake. </div><div><br></div><div>...</div>Herself, the GeekGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17990186920123895227noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-54107910981137385802016-03-19T11:56:00.001-06:002016-03-19T12:58:21.274-06:00R55, S01.111ADear Diary,<br />
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After competing the Puerto Rico marathon (yes, it was hot and no, it wasn't flat, thank God for the rain <br />
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">showers) there was no shuttle to take us back to our car. I was suffering, too. I'd done a fairly difficult 53k trail run the week prior, and then 12 or so miles of walking and hiking a few days later. </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">So, after drinking some water and sitting a bit, Sweet Baboo and I walked up a small hill looking for a shuttle, but alas, if you're a slow runner, much of the time you can screw yourself, because the pizza, masseuse, and shuttle will be long gone. Baboo finally parked me in the shade and went to get the car, a couple miles away. I </span><span style="font-family: "helvetica neue light" , , "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">squatted down to stretch out my lower back and glutes a bit. "I'll wait here," I said. And then I stood up. All the way up.</span></div>
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Baboo described what happened next. "I was walking away and I heard a noise. You went down like a sack of wet rocks."</div>
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I refuse to believe that I did anything other than swoon gracefully but nevertheless, I was suddenly laying on the ground on my side in a pile of wet leaves and dirt, and my sunglasses were broken. My first thought<i>: I must have laid down to take a nap. And Baboo's back already--that was fast! But why is he yelling?</i> Eventually I made out that he was yelling for an ambulance, and he gave me a piece of dry clothing and told me to press against my face.</div>
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<i>Why</i>?</div>
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Just trust me, he said.</div>
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There was blood. A fair amount. At first we thought I had hit my head, hard enough to split the sin 1/2 away from eye, but eventually I reasoned that my glasses broke and cut me: there was no dirt in the cut and I never had a headache. </div>
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In the ambulance, I was finally able to start talking, and i babbled to prove I was oriented. I babbled my name, the date, the president, etc., to the attendants, who looked puzzled, "que?" And finally were able to get some information out of me that they needed.</div>
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At the hospital, the ambulance the driver indicated that they would like to be paid <i><b>right now, please.</b></i> Luckily, Baboo was able to get Tricare Military insurance on the line to tell people they were going to get paid, and after speaking to them they never approached us for money again. I am so incredibly thankful to have good insurance.</div>
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As a social worker, the experience of being in an emergency room where nobody spoke my language was pretty eye-opening. I asked several times for a blanket, as did Baboo, because I was still soaked and in addition, when I'm nervous and in pain, I shake like crazy. Plus, who knew what the hell was happening to my blood sugar. In any case, I got a CT scan, an EKG, and bloodwork, but I never got that damned blanket. I got sheets. Eventually I had five sheets, none of which coverd me fully and at least one of which was immediately soaked through, since I was comletely soaked from running 26 miles in the rain. All the lab work was negative.</div>
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The people around me, though, they got blankets. The lady across from me, the lady next me, they got blankets. Not me. Wtf?</div>
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Baboo left to go find the car, and eventually I was taken to 'trauma', to sit alone, shake, and anticipate what was going to happen next. I knew what happened next, but I'd never gotten stitches while awake before.</div>
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Fuck me, that shot hurt.</div>
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I got seven stitches, in the cut next to my right eye. By the time Baboo <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">returned I was tearful and self-pitying and huddled under a pile of sheets. He brought me dry clothes and walked me out to the car, and later bought me the best pizza I ever had. Meanwhile, it turns out that that much crap happening that close to your eye results in an impressively black eye. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXE_UuED_g7JnuzqVCs2cBEYs-kr-jE91gbDHYzc163_-8vQJ4gkXJIVVU9IbC9HGbx-CGTnFaSHSxy4lLYrKRnmGQhj5qSXS45huTuhyCmmlftoxItS0vL3vQ9GazLo8JLPlLFg/s640/blogger-image-1669153426.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXE_UuED_g7JnuzqVCs2cBEYs-kr-jE91gbDHYzc163_-8vQJ4gkXJIVVU9IbC9HGbx-CGTnFaSHSxy4lLYrKRnmGQhj5qSXS45huTuhyCmmlftoxItS0vL3vQ9GazLo8JLPlLFg/s640/blogger-image-1669153426.jpg" /></a></div>
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I didn't get to snorkle, obviously.</div>
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And that's the story of why I need to go back to Puerto Rico, (to snorkle) and why I'm creating a medical information card in Spanish, and why I have a black eye.</div>
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Herself, the GeekGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17990186920123895227noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-77065025598437709062016-02-07T17:56:00.001-07:002016-02-28T19:03:40.781-07:00To run fast, you have to run fast. But to get it done you just have to
do it.<div><br></div><div><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Dear Diary,</i></div><div><br></div><div>For a very long time I labored under the misconception that there was really no point in doing a training run unless it was a quality workout. And so, I would wake up, feel like I didn't have a good run in me, and then do nothing at all.</div><div><br></div><div>But what I've learned is that since I apparently not getting offers for sponsors anytime soon (anyone? Anyone? Buhler?) I should focus on making myself comfortable. So on weekends, I do long hikes with lots of hills. On weekdays, I was doing run 3 or 4 miles in the dark, but now I've switched to afternoons, to try to hurry and get heat acclimated for Puerto Rico. </div><div><br></div><div>I figure this will result in two outcomes: 1) I'll enjoy the race more, even in last place, and 2) I'll stay injury-free long enough to outlast most of my competition. </div><div><br></div><div>Sweet Baboo shared with me one of his 'tricks' for training for trail runs. What he does is this: he divides the total elevation gain for a race by the number of miles, to get total elevation gain per mile. He then makes sure that his long runs have the same elevation gain per mile.</div><div><br></div><div>So, let's look at my upcoming races:</div><div><br></div><div>MARCH</div><div><div>Sierra Vista 50k (31 mi) 2255 ft, <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">72 ft/mile </span></div><div><br></div><div>Puerto Rico Mary (26 mi) 361 ft, <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">14ft /mile </span></div><div><br></div><div>APRIL</div><div>Cedro Peak 45K (28. mi) - 3727 ft, <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">133 ft/mi </span></div><div><br></div><div>Pa/va marathon double</div><div>April 10, 500 ft elevation gain VA</div><div>April 9, 686 ft elevation gain PA</div><div><br></div><div>MAY</div><div>Quicksilver 50K (31 mi) - 6050 ft, 195 ft/mi </div><div>OR</div><div><div><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Jemez 6600 feet/31 miles = 213 feet per mile</span></div></div><div><br></div><div>JUNE</div><div>NUT 50K (31 mi) - 5700 ft, <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">182 ft/mi </span></div><div><br></div><div>Tahoe Rim Trail 55K (34 mi) - 6042 ft,<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">178 per mile [A-RACE]</span></div><div><br></div><div>OCTOBER</div><div>Cloud Splitter 50K (32 mi) - 8983 ft, <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">282 ft/mi (oct) oook!!</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">So far, I've only rin 176 miles in 2016. However, I've climbed over 30,000 feet. Much of this has been up into the Sandia Mountains. Today Sweet Baboo took me and DreadPirate on a hike over 7ish mikes and over 2200 feet of climbing. I'm extremely blesseed to live right on the edge of Albuquerque and have easy access to the foothills trails. Yesterday I headed out and climbed 2200 feet up the Embudo Trail into the Sandias, and felt pretty great about that--i had about a 240-degree view from up there. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Today, my knees hurt. Cause I'm oooooold. </span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">And I want side of beef. Now.</span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;"><br></span></div><div><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">Tuesday March starts, and I start throwing in some distance. </span></div><div><br></div><div><br></div></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><div><br></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZPZ_GG1ave163EOAHaY8l9N52RPFiXWmdn68I_ANiWoHnXh6U_FieKF_V73QQXnhJwIpZ-DfGCYe1OwCugEj2SG0wZXY28Mg8Jl5yUgvg3-1QerglUMqv13XEy7nsZSXaSyXLoQ/s640/blogger-image--1102883768.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZPZ_GG1ave163EOAHaY8l9N52RPFiXWmdn68I_ANiWoHnXh6U_FieKF_V73QQXnhJwIpZ-DfGCYe1OwCugEj2SG0wZXY28Mg8Jl5yUgvg3-1QerglUMqv13XEy7nsZSXaSyXLoQ/s640/blogger-image--1102883768.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuAxdadEYE0c_83kWe0RzweZlhtg8HfW6J64x1YLJHYwnh_JwiE5UW_pxLQwxZwum2ETKCokVLNxWdRQVzwg_aQxaz0f03TfAPLSd2N9YZScodUmHQcIMqtqdux7xCvcAtktWoaQ/s640/blogger-image-692475304.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuAxdadEYE0c_83kWe0RzweZlhtg8HfW6J64x1YLJHYwnh_JwiE5UW_pxLQwxZwum2ETKCokVLNxWdRQVzwg_aQxaz0f03TfAPLSd2N9YZScodUmHQcIMqtqdux7xCvcAtktWoaQ/s640/blogger-image-692475304.jpg"></a></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihLMuGvTjngekAMOZOINNQNwVCh2Ngi05ZfJIOGnHuAnKWEksVVRkguqjaNDyR_Y9dAhXDKHZw88xJkrICZ-Nujk67JMKqc4mCMdZcSUySBoit0CmHyI3zJ2wmqs7Bu-XLNQ4dNA/s640/blogger-image-1024944132.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihLMuGvTjngekAMOZOINNQNwVCh2Ngi05ZfJIOGnHuAnKWEksVVRkguqjaNDyR_Y9dAhXDKHZw88xJkrICZ-Nujk67JMKqc4mCMdZcSUySBoit0CmHyI3zJ2wmqs7Bu-XLNQ4dNA/s640/blogger-image-1024944132.jpg"></a></div>Herself, the GeekGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17990186920123895227noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-55923826531724573492016-01-23T22:01:00.001-07:002016-01-23T22:09:44.361-07:00Things that go boo for me.<div><i>Dear Diary,</i></div><div><br></div><div>There are things I have always feared, and avoided.</div><div><br></div><div><b>Cold</b>. I have always avoided going out when it's cold. I'm not sure why. All winter long I would sit inside, stare outside, and eventually Baboo would come home. "I didn't get around to it," I'd say.</div><div><br></div><div><b>Dark</b>. I also have avoided running in the dark.</div><div><br></div><div><b>Cold and Dark</b>. Yeah. Fuck that. Fuck winter. All winter long, I'd only run on weekends, if at all, long after the sun came up.</div><div><br></div><div><b>Hills</b>. I have avoided hills like people avoid going to the dentist. I would sign up for a race that had some, and then perseverate on all the suffering that lay before me. Of course, I would avoid them in training, and then suffer throughout the race.</div><div><br></div><div>For 2015, I made a resolution to face my fears. There is an old song, called "wear sunscreen" that is a commencement address speech set to a beat. In it, the speaker says, <i>do one thing every day that scares you.</i> I done a few of those. Staring into the water of my very first olympic distance triathlon. Standing on the shore of Lake Coer d'Arlen at the beginning of Ironman CDA. Crossing a rushing river on foot with nobody around to help. Cutting my hair short. For 2016, it was returning to Bandera.</div><div><br></div><div>I did the Bandera trail 50k two weeks ago. Throughout 2015 I ran more consistently than I ever have, mostly on the foothill trails which, I might add, are rarely flat. Much of this occured after a secnd peson was finally hired to help me at work. When I run in the foothills, I usually hike the hills, leading me to believe that frankly, i probably wouldn't get much benefit. So throughout Bandera, I was tense, and looking at the profile I kept on my phone. I knew that at mile 22, the climbing began. Towards the end there would be two monster climbs. At mile twenty, I pulled out a package of Buttered Popcorn flavored Jelly Belly beans, which I love, to chew on and keep my mouth moist. </div><div><br></div><div>The challenge of Bandera, you see, isn't just that the are hills. It's that the hills are all covered with loose, base-ball-sized angular rocks. There are also some places where you can't step up, because the next step is waist-high. So you hoist yourself up,as Baboo says, like climbing a very large, very fucked-up staircase. Coming down can be treacherous. To train, Baboo suggested that I do certain trails in the foothills that had similar conditions. I did those.</div><div><br></div><div>Also, there is <i>sotol, </i>which is yucca with serrated leaves. There's a couple of thickets of them. It's best to run through them, arms overhead, with tights on. They will cut your legs, arms, and hands, otherwise.</div><div><br></div><div>Mile 22 came...and....went. Then mile 23...24...25...i stared at the profile again, puzzled. I'd encountered a few knolls, but not the monster climbs I remembered from the last time I was out here. Not at all the ones I'd memorized from the elevation profile. Where were the monster climbs? I jogged along, enjoying the cool air on my exposed neck, </div><div><br></div><div>I finally decided, they must have changed the course. </div><div><br></div><div>So, moseyed along, chewing on my jelly beans, surprised by a rather nasty little climb near the very end, but it was short. I trotted past a guy standing still at the top, breathing heavily, leaning over. i picked my way down the final difficult descent.</div><div><br></div><div>Eventually I finished, in about 9:15, which made me pretty happy because I'd hoped to finish under ten. </div><div><br></div><div>But not as happy as I was when I realized, they <i>hadn't </i>changed the course. My definition of <i>monster</i> <i>climb</i> was what had changed. All because I started working on my fear of cold, and of hills.</div><div><br></div><div>I went back to our rental car to keep warm until Baboo finished the 100k in 14 hours and some change. [Freak] <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">We returned to Albuquerque and our lives. </span></div><div><br></div><div>Last week, I went back to the hair dresser. <i>Cut it, </i>I said. <i>It's getting in the way.</i></div><div><i><br></i></div><div>Yesterday, I got up and headed out before dawn. It was cold, and it was dark. It was a short run, but I did it. It felt marvelous. I didn't die. It was easier than I thought.</div><div><br></div><div>So maybe hills aren't scary. Cold isn't deadly. And armed with this knowledge, I went shopping on ultrasignup.</div><div><br></div><div>Gonna be an interesting year.</div><div>...</div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimQdNCZThe6qW6nCJpOYKY02EnE-DiZtw6SxGs6ZgdH-P1fivIfjUDRfMdNg5M4Ji_JiEMvfNYUBQZonOTJ7BmOkjGEUU3Ef7UVnxGyHGr2Xf5eh8J7_q7sIkZTvXDomcVc5h8xg/s640/blogger-image--276013292.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimQdNCZThe6qW6nCJpOYKY02EnE-DiZtw6SxGs6ZgdH-P1fivIfjUDRfMdNg5M4Ji_JiEMvfNYUBQZonOTJ7BmOkjGEUU3Ef7UVnxGyHGr2Xf5eh8J7_q7sIkZTvXDomcVc5h8xg/s640/blogger-image--276013292.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><br><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihRCPO6X4hKljDpRPqDP24IpBYXaX3s7_J-D7P8VQ1KCpt36-JCRAUpCNKz7SVLvUousEo6h_-i29cg5TkXZbO8q6TvSrE5LJ02qouCkilgiqajv1eMxnfgYi15JW1vuuoXUdW9A/s640/blogger-image-2126198598.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihRCPO6X4hKljDpRPqDP24IpBYXaX3s7_J-D7P8VQ1KCpt36-JCRAUpCNKz7SVLvUousEo6h_-i29cg5TkXZbO8q6TvSrE5LJ02qouCkilgiqajv1eMxnfgYi15JW1vuuoXUdW9A/s640/blogger-image-2126198598.jpg"></a></div>Herself, the GeekGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17990186920123895227noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-32402512213292378552016-01-10T09:27:00.000-07:002016-01-10T09:48:53.458-07:00An overdue race report.Dear Diary,<br>
<br>
On November 14th 2015, I did the Franklin Mountain 25k. That might seem like a departure, but when I tell you about it, you'll understand why I had to write about it.<br>
<br>
<b>First, </b>it was hilly. Like crazy hilly. As in, you were nearly always going up or down, steeply. Over not-quite 25k, there was a little over 4200 feet in elevation gain. To put that in perspective, the Devil Mountain half has about 2200 feet, the Jemez mountain heavy half has 3400 feet, and the entire Bandera 50k only has 3800 feet of elevation gain. <br>
<br>
<b>Second</b>, it was rocky. I mentioned Bandera above because more than 80% of THIS trail, in my estimation, was covered in fist-sized, ankle-breaking, angular rocks.<br>
<br><b>
How to train for it.</b> Basically, just pour your toddler's toys all over the stairs at home and go up and down them a few hours per day. Blindfolded. While drunk.<br>
<br>
<br>
That third hill is right about the place wher I said, <i>fuck this race. Fuck it right in the face.</i> There are several false summits so you don't realize how long this very steep climb is, but eventually you get to the top and get a breathtaking view of, well, El Paso, Las Cruces, and Juarez in the winter. A woman near me in the race stopped nearby and said, <i>isn't it beautiful? </i> I looked to see if she was kidding, and she was not. I said, <i>meh</i>, and she looked stunned and a little hurt. <i>You don't think it's beautiful?</i> I started laughing, part of of actual amusement, and part out of hysterical fatigue. <div>No, no. <span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">I don't think it's beautiful. Come to Albuquerque. I'll show you beautiful views. </span></div><div>
<br>
Throughout the race i was surrounded by members of the Juarez running club. One of them jogged backwards and offered me <i>Gummy bear? They are very good.</i> I took one, out of politeness.<br>
<br>
It was very good.<br>
<br>
I finished and was asked about the race, ostensibly by one of the race directors, and I told him this race was harder than any half I'd done including B<span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">andera, Devil Mountain, and the Jemez heavy half. He was all, </span><i style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">woo-woo</i><span style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue Light', HelveticaNeue-Light, helvetica, arial, sans-serif;">! And wanted to do a fist bump.</span><div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwg8tawJMpZl8xDNMxsZ_cFJM-GPlYHNgN2ZzRE3NzfFEHmprDLB6MY6Y6vFWQ-7sOqKP7JwoRM3Yp1rWm7pfBsg9FGmi7CQz9sIqQCuvNllRgBroRQhNOZHUYXj-eAgEXeAidJg/s640/blogger-image--1230220791.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwg8tawJMpZl8xDNMxsZ_cFJM-GPlYHNgN2ZzRE3NzfFEHmprDLB6MY6Y6vFWQ-7sOqKP7JwoRM3Yp1rWm7pfBsg9FGmi7CQz9sIqQCuvNllRgBroRQhNOZHUYXj-eAgEXeAidJg/s640/blogger-image--1230220791.jpg"></a></div>
<br>
<a href="https://connect.garmin.com/modern/activity/956922321">Map, splits and elevation profile are here.</a><br>
<br>
But here is why I did it, as a slave I am to my contingencies: the medal. <div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv5q20YMpo9Ahqr7Giaj7d3zSusfFZFjRjhHKxRx-iVqR8A6ctG7WoK4SW279XG5pOZzvE_p8MRPR9sDE75EDu2l3JQ3GFO5Hkmyk8cvKbfBruqVTMLfD_NiPrbeAwfljaDDr3-A/s640/blogger-image-466714253.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv5q20YMpo9Ahqr7Giaj7d3zSusfFZFjRjhHKxRx-iVqR8A6ctG7WoK4SW279XG5pOZzvE_p8MRPR9sDE75EDu2l3JQ3GFO5Hkmyk8cvKbfBruqVTMLfD_NiPrbeAwfljaDDr3-A/s640/blogger-image-466714253.jpg"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">As one of the organizers said, <i><b>this a race for grown ups. </b></i>You've been warned.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><b>What you get: </b>serious badass creds. Climbing practice. Friendly aid stations and enthusiastic volunteers. A very, very cool medal that I'm trying planning to put on display. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><b>What you won't get:</b> running, or breathtaking views. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><br></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><b>Recommended</b>: highly. At least once. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">...</div> <br>
<br>
<br>
<br></div></div></div>Herself, the GeekGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17990186920123895227noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-44009644930631213692016-01-03T15:27:00.002-07:002016-01-03T16:29:52.489-07:00It was the best of times, it was--ah, fuckit.What I did with 2015.<br>
<strong>January</strong>, i again attempted the foothills fatass. I have have every year previously, i bagged after a 12 miles. I never seemed to be acclimated to the freezing cold that it always is on New Year's Day, and the initial climb up the canyon wears me out. Later that month, I did a marathon in South Carolina, and picked up that state. At the finish line, they gave us shrimp, grits, and beer.<br>
I was selected to interview at UNM for their doctoral program.<div><br>
<strong>February</strong>, I did the Black Canyon 18k. It wasn't that hard of a run, but I had a hip thing going on. When I finished (heads-up) i got a curt nod and a verbal notice that the pizza was only free for the 100-kers. That's it. It's boring, it's ugly, and totally not worth it unless you plan to do the 100k. I said fuck this, and had wonderful Indian food in town. Sweet Baboo did the 100k, and afterwards, we waited in the chilly night air for thirty minutes for his free personal-sized, wood-fired pizza. Oh, also, he did get a buckle. You decide. <br>
UNM said, in response to my application to their doctoral program: we'll put you on the wait list. Which was crushing. It never occured to me that I'd run out of time to get my PhD. This, along with some other problems that affected my self-esteem, sent me into a bit of a tailspin. </div><div><br>
<strong>March</strong>, I turned 50. FIF. TY. My friends took me out to 10,000 waves, where we hung out and then went for lunch. I took a couple days off. Later that month, I tried to do the Clinton Lake 50k, and failed. I was undertrained and the trail had large patches of slick, wet mud on the uphills. I bagged it after 20.<br>
I got a letter from UNM. I rushed home to open it. It said: <em>Just to let you know, you're still not in</em>.<br>
Assholes. <br>
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<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-WPNBVIPicPM/VomqgSEuUNI/AAAAAAAAGBs/3O5Q2gGi9bw/s2048/Photo%25252020160103161025210.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="" class="alignleft" height="240" id="blogsy-1451862749680.4778" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-WPNBVIPicPM/VomqgSEuUNI/AAAAAAAAGBs/3O5Q2gGi9bw/s500/Photo%25252020160103161025210.jpg" width="180"></a></div>
<strong>April and May</strong>, I agonized over my hair. Should I grow it? Keep it short? In the end, I asked myself what my priority is, it is fitness. I kept it short. Essays <a href="http://www.newstatesman.com/laurie-penny/2014/01/why-patriarchy-fears-scissors-women-short-hair-political-statement" target="_blank" title="">like this one</a> helped bolster my self-esteem while crazy assholes sought to tear it down. I won't link to the crazy asshole, but I will link to someone <a href="http://www.salon.com/2015/04/17/pickup_artist_women_with_short_hair_are_committing_self_harm_should_be_monitored_by_authorities/" target="_blank">talking about the crazy asshole. </a><br>
For the rest of the year I was able to run an hour in the morning and then jump in the shower, 5-minute blow-dry, then head to work. <br>
I injured my right rotator cuff, probably throwing medicine balls. I could barely lift my lunch bag.<br>
<br>
<strong>May</strong>, i did the Lake Woebegone marathon (highly recommended) and the Jemez half marathon. (half doesn't sound like much, but it is.). I got help at work, which started freeing up more time for fitness. <br>
I thought about why I wanted a doctorate, and it was all about teaching. So, I put myself out there and offered to take on another Intern. Two people applied, since it was a last minute decision. I selected one, and it as one of the most rewarding experiences I've had, professionally</div><div><br>
<strong>June</strong>, i went back to the Bighorn trail run and finished a race I'd tried to do several years ago. It was a 50k, and I picked up Wyoming as a state.<br>
And then I had my first colonoscopy. Go me.<br>
<br>
<strong>July</strong>, i ran short runs about 3-4 days per week. I was pretty demoralized over a shoulder injury I'd gotten in April. My doctor wanted an MRI before beginning PT, and the VA was supposed to MRI it, but nobody could decide if my stapes implant was metal or not. <br>
Himself and I celebrated our fifteenth wedding anniversary. <br>
I discovered articles on how to shop in bulk and then freeze meals to go into a crockpot each day. Yet a little more time opened up for exercise.<br>
<br>
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<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-B3MvtvRV4fU/VomquvWAKjI/AAAAAAAAGB0/-KWmNyYovGc/s2048/Photo%25252020160103161025607.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;" target="_blank"><img alt="" class="alignright" height="300" id="blogsy-1451862749609.3406" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-B3MvtvRV4fU/VomquvWAKjI/AAAAAAAAGB0/-KWmNyYovGc/s500/Photo%25252020160103161025607.jpg" width="300"></a></div>
<strong>August,</strong> we ran the Alaska marathon and I saw a moose and a glacier in real life. For an earth science geek it was a thrill. We went for a pre-run the day before through one of the parks near a disappointing town whose name I forget. The run was beautiful. The town was fully of wrecked, rusting ships. <br>
I request records from the hospital where I had my stapes implant in 1983.<br>
That marathon was painful, because I'd been pretty lazy with my training. It was at this time that Baboo challenged me to run every day for a month.<br>
<br>
<strong>September,</strong> I ran 29/30 days. The hospital where I had my stapes implant essentially said, "who? When?" <br>
I had an xray or my head to find out if anything was in there (don't say it.)<br>
As another deadline approached to apply again to UNM, I pondered it. <br>
<br>
<strong>October</strong>, we and some friends did a marathon double in Maine and New Hampshire, and ate some of the best seafood I've ever eaten. I ran 30/31 days.<br>
I finally got my shoulder MRI. My shoulder was healed by then. There was no tear.<br>
I ran 4-5 miles most mornings and then walked 4-5 miles most evenings in September and October, getting over 280 miles in October.<br>
And then, I started coughing when the chamisa bloomed.<br>
The deadline for the application to UNM's doctor program in counseling was November 1. As Lady Chablis said in <em>Midnight in the garden of Good and Evil</em>:"Two tears in a bucket, mother fuckit."<br>
I went to a training at the Beck institute in Philadelphia and got to do a role-play with Judith Beck. If you don't know who that is, that's okay; but for me, it was huge. Himself and I went for a run along the Schulykill river, and no, that's probably not spelled right, and I don't care. We ran up the front steps of the museum. Just like Rocky. <br>
<br>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-qTcJR__Gv-g/Vomq20EtbHI/AAAAAAAAGB8/bI9e1Pfk50I/s2048/Photo%25252020160103161025969.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right;" target="_blank"><img alt="" class="alignright" height="267" id="blogsy-1451862749671.1123" src="http://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-qTcJR__Gv-g/Vomq20EtbHI/AAAAAAAAGB8/bI9e1Pfk50I/s500/Photo%25252020160103161025969.jpg" width="357"></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Along the Schulykill River.<br><br></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<strong>November</strong>, i coughed through most of the month. I did the Franklin Mountain 25k, which was crazy hard, with a course that was rarely flat and always covered with fist-sized, loose rocks. However, the medal was <em>Awesome...</em>The day after Thanksgiving, it was a crazy windy day, and I had to sleep sitting up due to asthma/coughing. The next day, I finally hooked up my nebulizer and used it in a steamy bathroom. Then I could function. But I still coughed like crazy outside. The running fell dramatically back to what it used to be, 4-5 days per week.<br>
<br>
<strong>December</strong>, i finally admitted to myself that I was doing a lot of things that asthmatics are NOT supposed to do, which was pushing me to my threshold. So, bought a new air cleaner for the living room. There's already one on my side of the bed, so we put long-overdue new air filter in that one. We bought a HEPA furnace filter. We bought dust covers for the mattress, pillows, and dog bed. All our scented cleaners and household products were swapped out for "fragrance free," as was all my personal care products. All my laundry, including linens, started getting washed on very hot water with an extra rinse. <br>
Slowly, the coughing decreased. I started doing steep climbs on weekends.<br>
My Intern, who had finished up her required hours, took me to lunch to thank me. I'll miss her, but I wish her well. I got a request for three other interns. I agreed to take two, for the first time. I've only ever had 1 at a time.<br>
<br>
<strong>January 1, 2016:</strong> i attempted the foothills fatass. I was acclimated, for the first time. I ran, slowly, but I ran, up the initial climb up the canyon. For the first time ever, I finished 20 miles of that fucker.<br>
<br>
And so here I am.<br>
<br>
I will be blogging more in 2016. That's one goal. <br>
<br>
<br>
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</div>Herself, the GeekGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17990186920123895227noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-56312361856253844922015-03-21T16:02:00.001-06:002015-03-21T16:02:09.925-06:00Stuff old people do.
<p> Dear Diary,</p>
<p>For my fiftieth birthday I did not run a 50K, like Perky plans to do later this year for her fiftieth. Remember, I. Am lazy. I had a spa day, and then the next day...I had another. I lounged in a hot tub in Albuquerque and read a few chapters in the book, "Positivity" by Barbara Frederickson. The next day, I lounged in a hottube in Santa Fe with my awesome buddies who took me up there for my birthday.</p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-aO-Tf5LDFuo/VQ3bjN2Jq1I/AAAAAAAAF88/vbv9tTiy8ms/s1280/Photo%25252020150321145824168.jpg" target="_blank" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-aO-Tf5LDFuo/VQ3bjN2Jq1I/AAAAAAAAF88/vbv9tTiy8ms/s215/Photo%25252020150321145824168.jpg" id="blogsy-1426975173587.157" class="alignright" alt="" width="215" height="286"></a></div>
<p>(I am running a 50K next weekend.)</p>
<p><strong>Apparently, they watch matinees. </strong>On my birthday, which I share with my mother in law, we went to an afternoon matinee. I was the youngest one in the theater.</p>
<p><strong>They get facials. </strong>And have aestheticians.</p>
<p><strong>They go blond. </strong>Well, at least I did. Inexplicably, I decided last week I wanted to be a blonde again. So I am.</p>
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<p><strong>They join AARP. </strong>I'm doing it for the discounts. I'm like a discount ninja now with my AARP card, my AAA card, and military dependent card. HOOwahhh! Pick a card!!</p>
<p><strong>They join the Y.</strong> Everyone seems pretty friendly. Everyone I saw at the Y, walking in and out of various classes, was around my age or slightly younger. Apparently, when you reach a certain age, you join the Y.</p>
<p><strong>They shop at "senior super-stores" and buy assistive devices. </strong>There are entire industries aimed and helping people having to avoid moving too much. </p>
<p>You don't have to bend or move too much to dress, or wash yourself, with the right accoutrements.</p>
<p>Things to help you squeeze the toothpaste tube</p>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;">Things to make it so you don't have to bend down to wash your scaley feet</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4lJJfKRoFvH3EFQDMymwkuTHeOBBkC-PHHv4Vr5pgXB04OKmbNWwb0FMHgFgQjRYRJehEUXF2FhXZqDhdt00mknL8acRHtgmGkgB5jKXDtmd4aN9CEDqYKfa318hLw4t4o6TEzA/s600/Photo%25252020150321153245064.jpg" target="_blank" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4lJJfKRoFvH3EFQDMymwkuTHeOBBkC-PHHv4Vr5pgXB04OKmbNWwb0FMHgFgQjRYRJehEUXF2FhXZqDhdt00mknL8acRHtgmGkgB5jKXDtmd4aN9CEDqYKfa318hLw4t4o6TEzA/s195/Photo%25252020150321153245064.jpg" id="blogsy-1426975173516.8728" class="alignright" alt="" width="195" height="260"></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="text-align: center; clear: both;"> Things to keep you from having to reach to wipe yourself</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg_mRsmpScRED8X302uprNFH5YJQgOd8TQGin0OKpDmy9xF_EjzNE5bZu-3RjvYKydezjxxubJeWcH3tK_bfKV_6X3ze7sdGXJZR3djgiK-H9YchLfbpvHYkw0N7aZ2hwAg63L0g/s1177/Photo%25252020150321153245131.jpg" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhg_mRsmpScRED8X302uprNFH5YJQgOd8TQGin0OKpDmy9xF_EjzNE5bZu-3RjvYKydezjxxubJeWcH3tK_bfKV_6X3ze7sdGXJZR3djgiK-H9YchLfbpvHYkw0N7aZ2hwAg63L0g/s500/Photo%25252020150321153245131.jpg" id="blogsy-1426975173533.4412" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="500" height="241"></a></div>
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<a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-6NvDegMzNYw/VQ3jvDyoMoI/AAAAAAAAF9o/efHUqM8t9as/s236/Photo%25252020150321153245083.jpg" target="_blank" style=""><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-6NvDegMzNYw/VQ3jvDyoMoI/AAAAAAAAF9o/efHUqM8t9as/s236/Photo%25252020150321153245083.jpg" id="blogsy-1426975173551.2178" class="alignnone" alt="" width="236" height="232"></a> And help you stand up off the toilet.</div>
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<a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-CLafwUFwKJ4/VQ3jua-BgZI/AAAAAAAAF9g/MlOcvWeNOg4/s321/Photo%25252020150321153245118.jpg" target="_blank" style=""><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-CLafwUFwKJ4/VQ3jua-BgZI/AAAAAAAAF9g/MlOcvWeNOg4/s321/Photo%25252020150321153245118.jpg" id="blogsy-1426975173557.0977" class="alignnone" alt="" width="260" height="321"></a> This will help you get your socks on.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrk0C0zB3kkccKPKhZ2cFLd08fxalwdLVvhUWxtMBXp-8ZNIcmpf3k6sr_LtSV1_OPPGZH7bwxQ1dTBluo2n7Iui7PikzK6vNthgAVFvgOf1Cv8xhgSMgB8E1JRXA8p5mRiV7hOQ/s1440/Photo%25252020150321153800821.jpg" target="_blank" style=""><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrk0C0zB3kkccKPKhZ2cFLd08fxalwdLVvhUWxtMBXp-8ZNIcmpf3k6sr_LtSV1_OPPGZH7bwxQ1dTBluo2n7Iui7PikzK6vNthgAVFvgOf1Cv8xhgSMgB8E1JRXA8p5mRiV7hOQ/s500/Photo%25252020150321153800821.jpg" id="blogsy-1426975173520.7263" class="alignnone" alt="" width="500" height="175"></a> This will help you pull your zipper up.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: none;"> There are things to help you open jars, turn knobs, pour tea, and carry your dishes.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJuHrIMOnZ-z7Wh8MK4mdysv9LJuXwfDmVFS-jjGbjKjZaP946EoxqGvaQbR5DqFJ2d6IxsG3oppPkFL5uMw87-MSYXs6w6lWHPOCJ6J6quZ1oyt0b_FKh9Hht4HBWbnvDD3NssQ/s1158/Photo%25252020150321153800813.jpg" target="_blank" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJuHrIMOnZ-z7Wh8MK4mdysv9LJuXwfDmVFS-jjGbjKjZaP946EoxqGvaQbR5DqFJ2d6IxsG3oppPkFL5uMw87-MSYXs6w6lWHPOCJ6J6quZ1oyt0b_FKh9Hht4HBWbnvDD3NssQ/s300/Photo%25252020150321153800813.jpg" id="blogsy-1426975173537.6177" class="alignleft" alt="" width="300" height="274"></a></div>
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<p>I think I want to do that on my own for as long as possible. I'm a huge believer in "use it or lose it."</p>
<p><br></p>
<p> So Here's my assistive devices:</p>
<p> </p>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEv2URSbLeHb56ykM4ZkRqNDDsoQdZunmz_I4AOUwCCX1iP10k_ZCr0cfCcW5Tvog2V6b_IyAVzCZoJxDaalcSXiUp8rr0gIf7EBO8N-VmYgVLI1fLTYITCU14HRzeM147XmHpew/s300/Photo%25252020150321154848838.jpg" target="_blank" style=""><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEv2URSbLeHb56ykM4ZkRqNDDsoQdZunmz_I4AOUwCCX1iP10k_ZCr0cfCcW5Tvog2V6b_IyAVzCZoJxDaalcSXiUp8rr0gIf7EBO8N-VmYgVLI1fLTYITCU14HRzeM147XmHpew/s300/Photo%25252020150321154848838.jpg" id="blogsy-1426975173565.7595" class="alignnone" alt="" width="300" height="300"></a><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-OnbZhWfDVx4/VQ3nW_TOvyI/AAAAAAAAF_Q/DtjN4R-sCa4/s980/Photo%25252020150321154848829.jpg" target="_blank" style="text-align: right; line-height: 1.3em; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-OnbZhWfDVx4/VQ3nW_TOvyI/AAAAAAAAF_Q/DtjN4R-sCa4/s500/Photo%25252020150321154848829.jpg" id="blogsy-1426975173562.8623" class="" alt="" width="500" height="204"></a>
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<a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-bcjVZzTy_yY/VQ3nVRDYSPI/AAAAAAAAF_I/2lhcSK-fYIg/s265/Photo%25252020150321154848834.jpg" target="_blank" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-bcjVZzTy_yY/VQ3nVRDYSPI/AAAAAAAAF_I/2lhcSK-fYIg/s265/Photo%25252020150321154848834.jpg" id="blogsy-1426975173583.3794" class="alignleft" alt="" width="265" height="265"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVwk8DR5OJcFXCrizTekBDgc0J4Goxp8CSjTzs-ZTNqHYUc7VlKKF_N-XEVKDgdJTjPez-n6LBjLadDoSRiRGWqV4X2DzlX6CCjvkhrwZC5BS4o-HQAYgItwGa2aeNS-yaeckDjw/s180/Photo%25252020150321154848820.jpg" target="_blank" style="line-height: 1.3em; text-align: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVwk8DR5OJcFXCrizTekBDgc0J4Goxp8CSjTzs-ZTNqHYUc7VlKKF_N-XEVKDgdJTjPez-n6LBjLadDoSRiRGWqV4X2DzlX6CCjvkhrwZC5BS4o-HQAYgItwGa2aeNS-yaeckDjw/s180/Photo%25252020150321154848820.jpg" id="blogsy-1426975173517.466" class="" alt="" width="180" height="152"></a>
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<p> </p>
<p>It's tempting. I need more sleep than I used to. But I am more vain than I am lazy, and I see the carnage all around me. </p>
<p>So, this fifty+ woman is going to go for a trail run, or to BootCamp. At the Y, of course. </p>
<p> Because that's what some old people do.</p>
<p>...</p>
<p> </p>
<div style="text-align: right; font-size: small; clear: both;" id="blogsy_footer"><a href="http://blogsyapp.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" alt="Posted with Blogsy" style="vertical-align: middle; margin-right: 5px;" width="20" height="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>Herself, the GeekGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17990186920123895227noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-13995158945910187142015-02-27T06:26:00.001-07:002015-02-27T06:38:49.988-07:00The Oldometer is rolling over.<p> <em>Dear Diary,</em></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0pzDmpi6M2A9O7ZMP1I554CcldYvntTeDxnbzYL5eINKGuiQpnvEu33z8XN9rRz7hw6RuCgiyNzceZpL_yF8JTjsXzihDgyEQrodUPHzcHNZnUfB7uKrcarwGrtbYZ-PXtxVVDQ/s258/Photo%25252020150227054315496.jpg" target="_blank" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0pzDmpi6M2A9O7ZMP1I554CcldYvntTeDxnbzYL5eINKGuiQpnvEu33z8XN9rRz7hw6RuCgiyNzceZpL_yF8JTjsXzihDgyEQrodUPHzcHNZnUfB7uKrcarwGrtbYZ-PXtxVVDQ/s258/Photo%25252020150227054315496.jpg" id="blogsy-1425044009776.851" class="alignright" alt="" width="230" height="258"></a></div><p><em> It's 5 am and the wind is still. Fucking. Blowing.</em></p><p><em>I'm not talking about a breeze rustling through the trees. We live near a canyon and I'm talking about about the wind howling by the house, squeezing through crevices under the door. Rattling the roof vents. That wind. I hate it. HATE IT.</em></p><p><em>I will not run in high winds.</em></p><p><em>There's a scene in the old miniseries "Centennial," where a kid dies during the depression on the Great Plains; his model-T or whatever the fuck, rolls over, pinning him, and he's covered with dust blown by the wind, and suffocates. When his mother is told, she rocks back and forth with a crazy look in her eye muttering, "'twas the dust that kilt him...the dust, and the wind." Later a neighbor, trying to keep the wind and dust out of her house, goes apeshit crazy and kills eveyone in the house. </em></p><p><em>I'm not saying I'm going to go batshit and take everyone with me. I am just sayin': I can relate.</em></p><p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> </div><p>Anyway.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-isjuyBnXDGo/VPButSoAHXI/AAAAAAAAF7c/XE8e6toN2xs/s480/Photo%25252020150227061814314.jpg" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-isjuyBnXDGo/VPButSoAHXI/AAAAAAAAF7c/XE8e6toN2xs/s480/Photo%25252020150227061814314.jpg" id="blogsy-1425044009812.3882" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="480" height="320"></a></div><p>2015 has several important meanings for me.</p><p>First, it's the ten year anniversary of when I started this blog. I started this in January 2005 when I weighed 195 pounds. I've yo-yo'd my way back and forth between 150 and 170 since then, between a size 8 and 12, but I've never been back up to where I was at size 16. </p><p>Second, it's the year I turn 50.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_bFF8rLsnZ7U5uoH20XpUon6Sn2j-7hmbZSElx1pjOkEnVxaeMJl4h05D0SrqjF37ZyyD5CdCp0EOBfvSosGgW2570tg1tOGWwTzsDXjCJOeEZotTmHQjfQH5fbUvaGx630PqTg/s300/Photo%25252020150227061802836.jpg" target="_blank" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_bFF8rLsnZ7U5uoH20XpUon6Sn2j-7hmbZSElx1pjOkEnVxaeMJl4h05D0SrqjF37ZyyD5CdCp0EOBfvSosGgW2570tg1tOGWwTzsDXjCJOeEZotTmHQjfQH5fbUvaGx630PqTg/s300/Photo%25252020150227061802836.jpg" id="blogsy-1425044009816.4915" class="aligncenter" alt="" width="300" height="225"></a></div><p>FIFTY. Fifty has a lot of meaning for me. My mother was 53 when she was diagnosed with cardiomyoathy and given five years to live. She lasted eight, but she still died too young, after a lifetime of obesity.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-gLUBRWEfw3c/VPBqi-BZxiI/AAAAAAAAF64/80xxkRotrHQ/s640/Photo%25252020150227055859401.jpg" target="_blank" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-gLUBRWEfw3c/VPBqi-BZxiI/AAAAAAAAF64/80xxkRotrHQ/s184/Photo%25252020150227055859401.jpg" id="blogsy-1425044009806.4453" class="alignright" alt="" width="184" height="184"></a></div><p>Several older women I admire have listened to the news of my impending fiftieth, saying Quietly to me, "fifty was a hard one for me."</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-dfTjXsrQVsk/VPBqMMj_EMI/AAAAAAAAF6g/L0nszLJ8MrI/s193/Photo%25252020150227055833675.jpg" target="_blank" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-dfTjXsrQVsk/VPBqMMj_EMI/AAAAAAAAF6g/L0nszLJ8MrI/s193/Photo%25252020150227055833675.jpg" id="blogsy-1425044009790.38" class="alignleft" alt="" width="160" height="193"></a></div><p>The interesting thing is that appoaching fifty was far more anxiety-inducing than actually being here. Once actually got here (in two weeks) I shrugged, and said, <em>fuckit</em>. </p><p>Upon approach to the big 5-0, I did spend far more time than was necessary trying to figure out which hair style or makeup or clothing would make me appear younger. I even read books on the subject. </p><p> Then one day it hit me: it's not the hair or the makeup, I'm really doing as well as I can. What is making me look older is....</p><p> </p><p>...Wait for it...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>...Wait for it...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Getting older. (What a concept)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-x1StxIkMcYc/VPBqUV0sINI/AAAAAAAAF6o/h8ERavG3AHs/s2048/Photo%25252020150227055833627.jpg" target="_blank" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-x1StxIkMcYc/VPBqUV0sINI/AAAAAAAAF6o/h8ERavG3AHs/s271/Photo%25252020150227055833627.jpg" id="blogsy-1425044009783.5894" class="alignright" alt="" width="271" height="203"></a></div><p>In any case I have made some observations that may have something to do with what my great Aunt Lucille said to me when I was eight and asked her why she wasn't married. Aunt Lucille, a Lauren Bacallish woman who became a lawyer in the 1940s when women Simply Were Not Lawyers, looked and me. <em>Well, the truth is that the older I get the less shit I'm willing to put up with.</em></p><p>So here they are, in no particular order.</p><p style="text-align: right;">First, I have never had a diamond ring, so, for my impending fiftieth, I bought myself a present. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-xY0P073704g/VPBql2bsolI/AAAAAAAAF7A/2EjfYjp95QU/s960/Photo%25252020150227055859321.jpg" target="_blank" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-xY0P073704g/VPBql2bsolI/AAAAAAAAF7A/2EjfYjp95QU/s275/Photo%25252020150227055859321.jpg" id="blogsy-1425044009834.82" class="alignleft" alt="" width="275" height="275"></a></div><p> </p><p><-- Second, I don't care if it makes me look slightly younger, I'm tired of fucking with all that hair. Goodbye, ponytail.</p><p> </p><p>Third, running on roads makes my hip hurt (apparently, a greater trunchsomething bursitis), so I'm going to be nearly all trails as a runner from now on.</p><p>Forth, I love bootcamp-style workouts. I feel younger, stronger, and lithe. I'm joining the Y and signing up there, because it gives me more time flexibility, and a shower. i'd been doing them in a private gym, but it's really cutting into my budget and I had less control over when I could work out. Also, I like the Y. Because shower.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/--iIBzLmKEnM/VPBurHTT-TI/AAAAAAAAF7M/N3VSfNeSLRY/s600/Photo%25252020150227061744991.jpg" target="_blank" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/--iIBzLmKEnM/VPBurHTT-TI/AAAAAAAAF7M/N3VSfNeSLRY/s224/Photo%25252020150227061744991.jpg" id="blogsy-1425044009781.1975" class="alignright" alt="" width="224" height="224"></a></div><p>Fifth, where the fuck is my AARP card, anyway? I want those damned discounts.</p><p>Sixth, heLLO, senior Olympics, here I come.</p><p>Seventh, and I'm polling all the other old cool people out there, is this where I get to start saying whatever crazy shit is on my mind? And then people chuckle and say, <strong style="font-style: italic;">OH, old lady Misty is such a hoot! </strong>Let me know I'm wrong.</p><p>Eighth, I fucking hate Blogsy. But it's all there is. Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit.</p><p>Ninth, I find myself gravitating towards facials and massages more. Is that normal?</p><p>Tenth, I still have no desire to talk to, hold, talk about, show pictures of, shop for, or babysit <em>grandchildren</em>. I don't have any yet, so it's just as well. Oh, sure, maybe I'll change my mind when one of my kids plops a wiggling bundle of joy in my arms. Or maybe not. I work with mentally ill children all day, so it may surprise many to know that I'm not really all that into kids on the weekends. </p><p>Last, as the baby of the family,I can remember <em>thinking, now that I,m thirty, I'm seriously a grownup. You <strong>hav</strong>e to take me seriously now!. </em>They didn't<em>. </em>I thought the same thing when I turned forty. They didn't. Now I'm fifty, and there's nobody left to say that to.</p><p>So, let me know if any of these things are weird. And let me know what else weird might happen.</p><p>...</p><p> </p><div style="text-align: right; font-size: small; clear: both;" id="blogsy_footer"><a href="http://blogsyapp.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" alt="Posted with Blogsy" style="vertical-align: middle; margin-right: 5px;" width="20" height="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>Herself, the GeekGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17990186920123895227noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-57024363337128390352014-12-15T19:16:00.001-07:002014-12-15T19:16:53.860-07:00Even the holidays won't make me conform.<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-Sf9cbkeZnrs/VI-WEAig6uI/AAAAAAAAF58/Fb50cC4bFKg/s2048/Photo%25252020141215191549382.jpg" target="_blank" style="clear: left; float: left; "><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-Sf9cbkeZnrs/VI-WEAig6uI/AAAAAAAAF58/Fb50cC4bFKg/s500/Photo%25252020141215191549382.jpg" id="blogsy-1418696210367.2544" class="alignleft" width="377" height="281" alt=""></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our back yard this past weekend.</td></tr></tbody></table><p><em> Dear Diary,</em></p><p><em>I love the holidays. There are many reasons why.</em></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-RoRdYGKEdjA/VI-KahET2vI/AAAAAAAAF5k/q6H7A9PKA1E/s2048/Photo%25252020141215182511231.jpg" target="_blank" style="clear: right; float: right; "><img src="https://lh5.googleusercontent.com/-RoRdYGKEdjA/VI-KahET2vI/AAAAAAAAF5k/q6H7A9PKA1E/s432/Photo%25252020141215182511231.jpg" id="blogsy-1418696210353.7805" class="alignright" alt="" width="432" height="323"></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Medals from the current year are always tree ornaments on our 4-foot tree.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>First, it's about the time that we in Albuquerque get out first snow. </p><p>Second, since it's finally cold enough to do that, Himself starts digging into the wood pile and building cozy fires. </p><p>Another reason I love the holidays. Take a look at my kitchen below: see anything missing?</p><p>I have no oven. Nope. None. Well, if you look really closely you'll see a small toaster oven that Sweet Baboo bought me way back when the oven first quit. I refuse on principle to spend that much on a single appliance that I use, at most, three times per year. Not because I'm cheap; I have an induction cooktop and I love to cook. But I don't even bake. </p><p>And probably won,t ever. Without an oven, there is no expectation that I'll pull off something spectacular.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-ua6k7pxNwlQ/VI-KmBVIQXI/AAAAAAAAF5s/zUNTlTOgzFM/s2048/Photo%25252020141215182511227.jpg" target="_blank" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img src="https://lh4.googleusercontent.com/-ua6k7pxNwlQ/VI-KmBVIQXI/AAAAAAAAF5s/zUNTlTOgzFM/s373/Photo%25252020141215182511227.jpg" id="blogsy-1418696210384.704" class="alignleft" alt="" width="373" height="279"></a></div><p>For a while, I stored oven pans in the non-working oven. Eventually, I had a handyman remove it, and Sweet Baboo put a shelf in the empty space for the toaster oven. </p><p> The rest of the space contains the following oft-used appliances: rice cooker, bread maker, Indoor griddle, and an electric pressure cooker. </p><p> I'm considering upgrading to a larger toaster oven with a built in rotiserie, extra fancy, and still about 1/10th price of an oven. </p><p>Two years ago, when Himself was gone for Thanksgiving doing Army things, I baked three cornish hens in it for me and the boys. </p><p>Oh, I think about how nice it would be bake every once in a while. Then I go to the bakery department at the local grocery and get over myself. I have made some quite nice pies and cakes, one at a time, in the toaster oven, along with the occasional casserole, some hot wings, and other things. From time to time I roast a whole chicken in the toaster oven, using a cast iron dutch oven.</p><p>Over all, though, it's just as well. I don't need something that holds cookie sheets. I don't need the ability to make cookies easily and quickly at home.</p><p>Just think of the freedom! I am automatically exempt from:</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-MsW38p8ZxfA/VI-KMmsp7AI/AAAAAAAAF5c/xL_OUE1sghA/s2048/Photo%25252020141215182511237.jpg" target="_blank" style="margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-MsW38p8ZxfA/VI-KMmsp7AI/AAAAAAAAF5c/xL_OUE1sghA/s500&/Photo%25252020141215182511237.jpg" id="blogsy-1418696210316.987" class="" alt=""></a></div><ul> <li>Hosting holiday dinners </li> <li>Baking pies, cookies, or cakes for special occasions.</li> <li>Making large roasts for ANY occasion</li></ul><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-MsW38p8ZxfA/VI-KMmsp7AI/AAAAAAAAF5c/xL_OUE1sghA/s2048/Photo%25252020141215182511237.jpg" target="_blank" style="clear: right; float: right; "><img src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-MsW38p8ZxfA/VI-KMmsp7AI/AAAAAAAAF5c/xL_OUE1sghA/s381/Photo%25252020141215182511237.jpg" id="blogsy-1418696210361.526" class="alignright" alt="" width="381" height="285"></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Buttery pecan tarts. Heatable in the microwave.</td></tr></tbody></table><p>I am my mother's daughter. My mom announced abruptly in 1984 that we would not longer eat holiday dinners at my parents' home. Instead, she said, we would eat at the country club. </p><p>Between sobs, I insisted that she was <em>ruining</em> the holidays. RUINING THEM. No, she assured me, cooking ruins the holidays. I realized she was right when I beheld the country club holiday buffet, which included three kinds of shellfish and four kinds of roasted meat, among other delights. My mom was a good cook, but thi<em>s kicked ass. </em> I never complained again. </p><p>Even better, marrying Himself caused me to inherit a mother-in-law who loves to bake. Win-win.</p><p>I will not be pressured into buying expensive things because everyone is supposed to have them. And honestly, I don't know what's for sale these days because I listen to Pandora, itunes radio, and I don't get cable.</p><p>Some other time I'll write about why I don't have a couch.</p><p>...</p><p> </p><p> </p><div style="text-align: right; font-size: small; clear: both;" id="blogsy_footer"><a href="http://blogsyapp.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" alt="Posted with Blogsy" style="vertical-align: middle; margin-right: 5px;" width="20" height="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>Herself, the GeekGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17990186920123895227noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-9808031311941564522014-12-06T15:53:00.001-07:002014-12-06T15:53:24.697-07:00Now what?<p><em style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Dear Diary,</em></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-0kX9QTK28yc/VIOGehwgD4I/AAAAAAAAF5A/Yv4WxIdgRls/s2048/Photo%25252020141206154146.jpg" target="_blank" style="clear: left; float: left; "><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-0kX9QTK28yc/VIOGehwgD4I/AAAAAAAAF5A/Yv4WxIdgRls/s344/Photo%25252020141206154146.jpg" id="blogsy-1417906202870.748" class="alignleft" alt="" width="344" height="258"></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Only lost two toenails this year!</td></tr></tbody></table><p><em style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">In my movement toward going back to school to get my PhD, I made the first cut of the applicants. I have an interview with the faculty about getting into the program.</em></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"><em>Anyway. </em>The year, in brief: 9 marathons, in 9 different states: Arkansas, Connecticut, Florida, Georgia, Louisianna, Kansas, Missouri, Rhode Island, Washington. Yes, Washington, finally, on the third try. The last two marathons of the year, Kansas and Washington, were both in freezing weather. Brr. I've managed to pull my marathon time back down to less than 5.5 hours, from 6:15 at the beginning of the season. I also completed 3 half marathons, 2 10ks, an Olympic triathlon, an ironman swim, and a smattering of 5ks. Oh, and six of those marathons were within the same eight week period that ended November 30.</span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">I'm not sure where to go with this blog. I'm going to be very busy soon with doctoral work and various projects I'm working on for work. </span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Moreover, I'm no longer an Athena. It's funny, because I really had embraced this identity. Be the Athena. I had staunchly avoided companies that didn't carry larger sized fitness clothing. I automatically ordered everything in an XL, L, if I wanted a snug fit. And I never wanted a snug fit. Ew. Whenever I looked in the mirror, everything seemed large and pendulous.</span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Lately, however, friends and loved ones had been telling me, without being asked, <em>you are not fat. You're not even really very big any more. </em>Of course, anyone with body issues will tell you that those statements go in one ear and out the other. <em>They're just being nice.</em></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: right;"><a href="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-g-GpM28IGLg/VIOGUbApckI/AAAAAAAAF44/tSwYavg3ZcY/s2048/Photo%25252020141206154146.jpg" target="_blank" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img src="https://lh6.googleusercontent.com/-g-GpM28IGLg/VIOGUbApckI/AAAAAAAAF44/tSwYavg3ZcY/s262/Photo%25252020141206154146.jpg" id="blogsy-1417906202835.1562" class="alignright" alt="" width="262" height="351"></a></div><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">After a therapist I know commented, <em>the only thing big about you is your height, </em>I decided to look up some stats. Her comment was not a big surprise, because I hear that often, but it's always a curiosity. Depending on who measures me I'm either 5'5.5" or 5'6". I thought that was average. </span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">So last weekend, the night before the Seattle Marathon, i googled <strong>average woman height US</strong> and clicked on a link to the US CDC website, and learned something pretty surprising:</span></p><ul><li><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Even when broken down by age group or ethnicity, I'm nearly 2 inches taller than the average woman.<br></span></li><li><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">On average, I'm about 10 lbs lighter.<br></span></li><li><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">My waist is about 5 inches smaller.<br></span></li></ul><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">More searching turned up the fact that the average dress size in the US is a 14. I wear a 10 now. In fact, I bought a lulumon pace setter running skirt, size 10, and DreadPirate warned me that they run a little small. It's fits. Last week, when himself and I were looking at rings, I found out that I wear a ring size 4.5 or 5, apparently also smaller than average. Several of the rings I looked at didn't come that small.</span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">You have to understand, that this was really pretty stunning news for me. I honestly still thought of myself as a large, full-figured gal. I worked vary hard to accept that about myself. I worked very hard to love every roll and curve (unsuccessfully, I might add) and accept that I'm just like everyone else. I'm not. I've managed to work my way toward the tail end of the bell curve. Every close female family member I'm aware of is (or was) morbidly obese, and here I am, on the other side of the curve.</span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Of course, I shared this with others, along with how amazed I was. I really, really did think that I was utterly huge! Everyone was pretty much like, <em>yawn, yeah, so? So you're not that big. So</em>? Sweet Baboo said, <em>Now do you believe me?</em></span></p><p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">And I did. And I do. So, who am I? If I'm not an Athena, then whose diary is this now?</span></p><p style="background-image: url(file:///private/var/mobile/Containers/Bundle/Application/2A683B5B-F05B-4CF4-99ED-26FDBD92C273/Blogsy.app/typing_icon.png);"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p style="background-image: url(file:///private/var/mobile/Containers/Bundle/Application/2A683B5B-F05B-4CF4-99ED-26FDBD92C273/Blogsy.app/typing_icon.png);"><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);"> </span></p><p> </p><div style="text-align: right; font-size: small; clear: both;" id="blogsy_footer"><a href="http://blogsyapp.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" alt="Posted with Blogsy" style="vertical-align: middle; margin-right: 5px;" width="20" height="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>Herself, the GeekGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17990186920123895227noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-11786280.post-30258912610391666002014-10-27T19:13:00.001-06:002014-10-27T19:46:53.261-06:00That's what she said.
<p><em> Dear Diary,</em></p>
<p><em>I have pictures. Lots of them, but since the big apple update Blogsy has been a struggle. So, I've put off posting anything since I can't upload pictures. Guess I'll do a lo-fi version</em>.</p>
<p>For the past couple of years I've been struggling with the persistent feeling that time was running out. I have clinical depression, and I've spent the past six months fighting it with more running and setting more goals for myself. For the past two months, in particular, I've really been enjoying NOT BEING DEPRESSED. Feeling like I have all the time in the world, so, what shall I do with my shiny new life?</p>
<p>Every morning when I run, I come up with things and think, <em style="line-height: 1.3em;">oo, I should write about that! </em>Then after I've finished it's gone....all gone. Except for one: Yesterday I reached the collision of my worlds when I was nearly at the end of my run and realized that the glasses I thought I'd forgotten were on my head. This is the only thing that I've been able to remember--just this, that I was doing my weekly 2-mike run for time, with my glasses on my head, wishing I could see.</p>
<p>My weight has held steady at about a 17-lb loss. Last week I ordered some pants of a certain size. The smart, logical part of my brain said, <em style="line-height: 1.3em;">you are swimming in those 12s.</em> But the fat woman inside of me--yes, it's true, there's a fat woman inside of me struggling to get out; it is she who tells the man behind the counter that we would like an 8 piece fried, thank you. It is she who passes by mirrors, afraid to look. It is she who said, <em style="line-height: 1.3em;">those 10s will never fit, you fat fuck. They won't even get up your hips. You wasted your money. And that <strong>medium</strong>? Forget it. You are, and always will be, an XL, or when you're really dehydrated, an L</em>.</p>
<p> That's what she said. </p>
<p>But she was wrong. They did fit. Along with other things that have happened I have decided to pretend that the year on my birth certificate is, after all, an error. I am not 49. Why, yesterday, I ran a 10k that was my second fastest time ever! I am not <em>really </em>49.</p>
<p><span style="line-height: 1.3em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">This is what 49 means to me: </span><b style="line-height: 1.3em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">Fat. Tired. Pantsuits. Breathlessness. Giving up. Wishing I'd gotten that degree. <span style="line-height: 1.3em; -webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);">That was the model that was set before me.</span><br></b></p>
<p>Last week, I was doing 20" box jumps, which were alternated with front squats while holding a 95-lb weight. That was three days after running a local half marathon.</p>
<p>The week before i did the box jumps, I walked in and took the Graduate Record Exam without preparing for it, and I didn't suck. That was three days after I did back-to-back marathons in Rhode Islands and Connecticut.</p>
<p>And the week before <em>that</em>, I asked three people I knew professionally if they would write letters of recommendation for me, ordered transcripts, and completed my online application for a PhD program.</p>
<p>I am not 49.</p>
<p><em>You are too old to do this. Too old to start something new. You'll be a member of AARP before you get your degree. </em>That's what she said.</p>
<p>As for the example I'm setting, well, my 30-year-old son told me, somewhat wearily, <i style="line-height: 1.3em;">you've set the bar pretty high, mom. Well, of course I told him, live your life, don't live mine. But inside, I was happy that he saw a different vision of 49 than I did. <br></i></p>
<p>I don't know if I'll get accepted into graduate school. After all, I didn't study for the GRE and I don't know if my scores are good enough. I don't know a lot of things. But I do know this: i am not 49.</p>
<p>...</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<div style="text-align: right; font-size: small; clear: both;" id="blogsy_footer"><a href="http://blogsyapp.com" target="_blank"><img src="http://blogsyapp.com/images/blogsy_footer_icon.png" alt="Posted with Blogsy" style="vertical-align: middle; margin-right: 5px;" width="20" height="20" />Posted with Blogsy</a></div>Herself, the GeekGirlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17990186920123895227noreply@blogger.com7