Build A Bonfire

We had a fire in our home. While I can create a title that's kind of funny, not enough time has passed to actually feel like a joke. Right now, I'm not sure that it will ever be funny. Is it supposed to be, though? Similar to not knowing what caused this fire, I can not comprehend why this recent event makes me upset, even cry on some days. I suppose there are many reasons and I'm trying to reflect (which I'm HORRIBLE at) so I can get through this with my family with not much scarring.

Andrew and I were home when it started. Thankfully, our fire alarms were functional. When we moved in to our home, none of the alarms were functional. My husband is all about safety. I think because he has experienced tragedy in his life, he can grasp the concept of invincibility and loss better than those who have not. So, he doesn't play around with:. safety, seatbelts, fire alarms, helmets, making sure you know you are loved and cared for, and a terrific mindset of "we can get through this". It's a great balance (even though some might see it as overboard or see him as a worrier, he is neither). When the alarms sounded, we ran towards them. Eventually we opened a door and there it was, like an angry dragon. The fire swirled across the ceiling looking for a place to go. Fire is a beast; it is fearless, it jumps, it has no boundaries, it doesn't care about you - it only wants to survive. The fire quite literally, jumped into the room we were in and immediately caught the cabinets on fire. Andrew and I ducked as it came over our heads and we shut the door as best we could. I don't recall ever having felt such an intense amount of fear and despair. I remember screaming, "NO!" because what we saw was unbelievable and maybe I was wishing it away.

Andrew was sent to call 911 as I went for the fire extinguisher in the kitchen. I pulled the pin, checked that it was full, went back to the fire, aimed and squeezed. The result was a small puff of white. That was it. The gauge then read: EMPTY. I had no plan B. Plan A had failed, now what? I reconnected with Andrew (but not until after tripping and falling on the floor, hollering profanities about the extinguisher, and tossing the container aside). We reached for the front door, but for some reason we went back to the kitchen and started filling pots with water.

We decided to hang in there. There was no reasoning. We didn't talk about what we would do, we just "did". In hindsight, I can see that we must have subconsciously chosen fight as opposed to flight. I don't know why, I don't understand it. I have some regrets about this as I recall just how powerful fire is, how big it had gotten at that point, the heat, the smoke, my son. And when I remember this, this is the part where it gets difficult to gather my thoughts and feelings. I remember thinking that the situation could potentially be controlled and I also remember thinking that we would lose it all. Losing it all seemed like the greatest possibility.

At this point, the heat and fire were causing things in the cabinets and in the storage room (where the fire started) to explode. So we ducked and splashed. At some point, Andrew tossed not only water, but the glass bowl the water was in. "Mom! I broke your bowl, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he said. I love my son, he knows I love to use that bowl to make cookies for his brothers and him, but apology accepted a thousand times. He's a gentle kid, he has a great head on his shoulders - I am thankful he was with me, and at the same time, I would've liked to not have him in danger. My husband says that the most resilient people are also some of the happiest. When you experience life at it's worst, you find something in yourself that makes you stronger, thankful, and joyful. And, sometimes you learn something about yourself. So, maybe there's a silver lining...maybe.

Our small splashes weren't a challenge for this fire. It got to the point that we could not see, there was too much smoke and as we would find later, our hair and eyelashes were singed. When you are in smoke, your instinct is to brush it away from your eyes so you can see. This sort of smoke, doesn't swirl aside when you swat at it. The smoke is the air you have, which means there is no air to breathe. You can not see, you can not brush it away, you don't want to inhale it. The oxygen was gone and breathing and seeing became impossible. I thought of Andrew and his calm and how he was so brave and how I needed him more at that moment, but even more so in the years to come. We ended up leaving out a back door with the dogs. We exited and ran past the garden hose, then (ding!) ran back to the garden hose. It was by a stroke of luck that we passed it. Thank you, God. We turned it on, dragged it to the storage room double doors, opened the door and began to spray. When you open any doors, the oxygen you depend on for your sweet, dear life is also the oxygen that feeds the fire. The fire got bigger, but we sprayed and sprayed in that smoke. We could see the fire in the smoke glowing orange in the gray-brown haze. We managed to get the flames to disappear, but you could see that things were still burning and the heat was still incredible and this is when the firefighters arrive. From the discovery of the fire until this point, it was no more than 15 minutes and I am convinced that it was much less.

I can't say enough kind things about firefighters. They assessed us, the house, assessed us again, asked if our pets were out (they really would save your hamster, no life is too small for them). They will also spray the hell out of your house and apologize for having to destroy your drywall with an ax to make sure the fire is out. "Do whatever you have to do," was my response. They investigate the fire, they come back throughout the night to make sure your house is not lit up again, they make sure you have a place to stay, and they guide you through the process of recovering (call your insurance, air out the house, reassurance). I have not even mentioned that they walk into fire...fires much bigger than ours. I'm troubled by their amount of sacrifice and thankful for it.

So, here we are, together in a hotel. Our family has "rescued" us and the friends that are aware have pulled us through.  We did not lose much, we did not lose anything we can not live without. We lost appliances, structures, little things that really seem unimportant. When all is said and done, the costs will be close to 100K. No, it wasn't small and things don't feel "back to normal" at all. But, we are together and still there isn't "any wind in my sails". I suppose this is a process. It feels a little overwhelming but, week by week, it feels a little more manageable.

I can't compare this to the permanence of others' unfortunate situations. No one died, no one is ill, no one is truly suffering and there have been so many seemingly bad things happening on this planet recently, that this...this we can do.  Comparing one's grief to another's just doesn't seem right, though. I don't want to feel better because your suffering is greater. I don't want you to suffer at all. I am aware, also, that the processing of grief/discomfort/difficulties can vary greatly from person to person (I'm familiar with the stages of loss and grief, but still the time and passage through these stages is unique). Maybe the pain lies in having the simmering awareness that life can be too short, too difficult, and too fragile - come to a full boil. Maybe the pain is in that millisecond of fear when you open the door and see bad things (or receive bad news, or feel pain whether physical or emotional). I find myself squeezing my eyes shut and gritting my teeth when I think about opening the door and seeing fire. I don't want you to feel that, I don't want you to despair or your heart to plummet, but you will feel these one day (if you have not already...which would be rare). The discomfort is toe-to-toe with me. I don't need hard lessons to  be grateful, I feel like I make a point of feeling grateful every day. I have, over the past few years, become a more grateful person and it has changed by chemistry. I feel it deep in my heart and my gut.  But, truthfully, if this has done anything, it's made me just flat. Deflated. I don't do well without a sunny disposition, real or feigned.  Fake it until you make it. 

On a lighter note, after the fire, I have never received a more gentle or kind hug from my son. He held my face and we cried together for a bit. Then, he told me, "Mom, you lost you shit for a second, but you recovered." We laughed but, I did lose my shit. That damn extinguisher! I think I yelled out a heartfelt, "F*CK" after the extinguisher puffed a small, white cloud and nothing more. Whoops.

Some notes for you:
Get a bigger extinguisher. Those little kitchen extinguishers will put out a small blaze and that's about it. Anything larger, and you're going to be shit out of luck. Replace your extinguishers. If they are old, toss them.
Our alarms saved our house. Check your alarms, change the batteries. Put your alarms in non-living areas (garages, storage rooms).
 Knowing where our home phone was saved our home. We have a cell phone and we had just started keeping it in the same spot. It had been moved in the past.
Firefighters saved our home. Make sure the numbers on your house can be seen.
Have a fire plan.
Don't keep chemicals in the house: paints, aerosols. They explode.
Don't "run" appliances when you aren't home. This didn't cause our fire, but your house stands a shot if you are home to call 911. Trust me, your house will burn quickly.
Review your insurance policy. The contractors we have worked with really have excellent things to say about USAA. That's what we have and they have come through. There is always a deductible and you won't necessarily recoup the cost of your items lost, but they have been incredible.

12/11/2016: One month later, we have managed to move back into our home. The entire house was painted, all the textiles cleaned, every corner cleaned, and reconstruction is set to begin. One month isn't so bad (in hindsight). In fact, it's very fast and I'm convinced it was quicker than expected because we had some truly hard working people come through here and take care of things.

While enjoying the feeling of being home, my son discovered a bug in his bed. A bedbug. That's right. Day one home and his bed has bedbugs. It only occurred to us this evening how these bugs might have arrived. This summer, we went on a trip to a state park and my son noticed he had gotten some bites overnight. Here we are, 4 months later, with these tick-like insects living in his bed frame. How these may have survived the smoke in our house, I have no idea. In any case, the exterminator comes tomorrow.

Today, after a visit to Lowe's for cleaning supplies, a Christmas tree, and some new lighting, we came home to find our kitchen floor partially covered in water. Hopefully, this is a one time misfiring of our dishwasher, then again, I'm not sure I want to find out.

I suppose I have not mentioned that a few days before our fire, our minivan did not start. It had to get towed and needed a new starter. At 205,000 miles, I'm not surprised. A few days later, the engine light came back on and we had a new catalytic converter installed. And now, we ride around with the engine light on because at the next breakdown, we will have to pronounce her dead and dump her into the scrap heap.


Needless to say, we've had a run with some bad luck.

Backtracking...after tossing my son's mattress into the front yard and hollering out something unpleasant, I felt a little more worn out than usual. I started wondering aloud to the kids about what kind of energy I might have sent into the universe. Did I do something? Did I say something? I mean, truly, what is going on? Andrew, wise at 16 said, "I don't know Mom. I don't think it's anything we did. We've been so fortunate for so long, maybe it's just our turn. These things just happen." Damn it, Andrew. I want to be angry and ungrateful and have legitimate reasons to feel that way. I know, however, what Andrew said is true. Things happen. We'll take our hits and hopefully, come out stronger. I find myself less sad, but triggered by some things. Pictures that were burnt upset me today. Hearing a message from our pastor, the same message Andrew reminded me of, upset me. I don't live in gray, I live in black and white, and unfortunately for me, life is mostly gray.

Being ungrateful takes a lot of energy. It is exhausting and I'd like to be done with it. Tonight, I was shown a ridiculous kindness from friends (my friends and family have shown copious amounts of kindness, but this one was different). They had secretly collected a significant amount of money for us. I realized I had no idea what to do with this kindness, this generosity. I would much rather be on the giving end. It's difficult for me to receive. It pains me to confess that I need help, that I feel tired and flat. I found myself not telling many people about our mishap. When I dig deep, I can't decide if I'm too proud to admit that I need help or if I just really don't know how to receive gracefully. Maybe both. I find myself propped up by friendships. I feel like the wind is knocked out of me because I absolutely do not know how to feel what I am currently feeling. I am overwhelmed, but I recognize this sense of gratitude and love that even one day without, is too long. 

My Old Friends

I have yet to meet an elderly person who has stated that they want to be lonely and poor. My job requires that I complete home visits to assess senior citizens' (age 60 plus) health, living conditions and needs. Most of us envision retirement as a time in life filled with family, travel and doing those things you've always wanted to do. Maybe it's just my line of work, but there are a lot (A LOT) of people who aren't "living the dream." My husband says, "Remember, you're seeing worst case scenario." Maybe. But, I live in a town where poverty really isn't in the forefront. We're a resort town...people come here to vacation. We're fine. Buy some t-shirts. Retire here. Raise your cute family here. We're good at that.

We have a little work to do when it comes to aging and poverty.

Most of my people (my elderly clients) fall in that awful gray area. They don't qualify for Medicaid, they can't perform what is known as "activities of daily living" (bathing, dressing, toileting) on their own and their money is disappearing for various reasons.  They want to live independently in their home. A few, however, would really like to live in assisted living, but they certainly couldn't afford it.

Truly, I wonder how many did not consider conserving finances in their youth. I have no idea. As a nurse, my job is not to judge my patients (that's not my job as a human), so I have to put that aside. I wonder how many have alienated family members. It's not that I can only see their loneliness, I can feel it.  Sometimes it comes out as endless tears and other times it comes out as a fist banging on the table while shouting,"I hate being so alone!" For others, it is evident through the cookies and tea they've set out prior to my arrival. The table is set for a complete stranger. All I have to go on is what they tell me, what they show me. I can't dig into the past and decide whether or not they are worthy of love or finances. My goal is solely to help them, but truthfully, I end up loving them, too.

I lost one of my favorites in August. This person was a giant in their younger years. They were an athlete and caught they eye of others based on charm and good looks. Their blue eyes twinkled as if they were the only thing left over from a youth. In those eyes I saw an energy enslaved by a deteriorating body that just was not worthy of that spirit inside. I met them early in the year and as the months progressed, so did their maladies. Soon their happiness and joking, became buried under anger and frustration that is all related to the ability to observe one's own physicl aging. I had to dig and dig to find the person that I met. They were still there, I just had to work more to unleash the humor and lightheartedness. This person told me, "Ivonne, I think I'm going to stop taking my medications. I can't live like this anymore. I've had friends with illnesses like the ones I have and once they were diagnosed, they didn't last long." My friend was right about this. The illnesses were terminal, though you won't necessarily hear a physician say that. Docs will medicate you because, naturally, that is our instinct: to live. At some point, however, we know that we can't win this one. No one comes out alive. Yes, I encouraged them for a moment to take their medications as prescribed and then I caught myself. I was not going to say anymore about it. It's their choice. It truly is. How can I tell my friend to prolong their pain and suffering after having lived a long, fulfilling 80-some-years on this planet? I can't because I loved them too much. So, I gave one sentence of "nurse-speak", "You SHOULD blah blah blah" and that was enough bullshit for the both of us. Whenever I left, I felt it was the last time I would see them. We never left without mutual "thank yous" and I was the grateful recipient of  weak, but heartfelt hugs and a kisses on the cheek. I drive by their home often (not because I'm a stalker), but because my daily life takes me by. The home has it's blinds drawn and life has continued it's usual hum, but their home doesn't have a heart. It's more like a dark cave now - no charm, no personality - just an empty space.

In a geriatric assessment, two things are very important: Maslow's hierarchy of needs and identifying if a person can perform their activities of daily living or ADLs. In Maslow's hierarchy, which you probably studied in school, the foundation of a person's motivation and ability to fulfill other needs is based upon their ability to fulfill basic needs. Basic needs are food, water, breathing (physiological needs to ensure life). From their, you move on to shelter, resources, employment. And just above that is when things fall apart for my patients: love and belonging. Interacting, socialization, intimacy, family, friendship...they don't have these. Some have absolutely none of these.  Then again, going back to ADLs (which include: bathing, toileting, self care), some can't perform these either and these functions fall into Maslow's basic needs category, the foundation. These people, generally, have to employ someone to come into their home to assist them with self care. It's not cheap. This service will generally cost you anywhere from $15 to $25 per hour and most services require a minimum number of hours to be met.  Hopefully, these seniors find a caregiver who truly loves their job and cares about those they help. Wiping bottoms, bathing, changing linens...sounds like motherhood: it's not glamorous, but the reward can be enormous. Imagine doing all this for someone unrelated to you.  It's a sad and beautiful interaction all at once. These basic needs can be addressed and believe it or not, it might be the easiest part of this puzzle.

The more difficult need, to me, to fulfill is that of belonging, socialization, friendship. To feel that you are loved and important doesn't happen easily. All of us have felt this need unfulfilled in our lives. As a senior citizen, it's very easy to remain isolated with minimal interaction with another human since many feel they are a burden. I have met people who haven't been anywhere except to their physician's office in years. I've met someone who has not been outside in a year. I met someone too embarrassed to go out because they can not put on nice clothes, only clothes pants with elastic and maybe a t-shirt. Another recently told me that if she did not talk aloud to the picture of her deceased husband, she would lose her mind (this is an intelligent, educated woman who is absolutely aware of national and world events and who has an opinion). How fortunate I am to have met each and every one of them. Each has a unique story that I'm afraid will vanish. But the thing is, they want to share their life, their stories - with people like you and me. We are utter strangers and they WANT us and maybe even NEED us.

So, what do we do, my little town? How do we change this? We do what hundreds of other communities are doing: we include them in our daily life. We build places where young and old can coexist safely. We plan residential areas where it's easier for us to keep an eye on each other. We transform existing structures into affordable, safe housing and gathering places. Even easier, you develop programs that connect young and old. We create an daily routine of checking on our elderly neighbors. You open your mind and your heart and you fill them both with the friendship from a source you may consider unlikely.

*If you live near me, I would encourage to research Williamsburg Faith in Action (http://wfia.org/). It's the best thing going. Volunteers fulfill the needs of our local senior citizens. This is not rocket brain surgery. No one is inventing something new here - kindness, generosity, community - existed long before you and I did. Faith in Action "simply" does all the organization and planning that you and I try to avoid.

http://www.greatbigstory.com/stories/a-retirement-home-for-young-and-old/?xrs=CNNAPP#
https://www.facebook.com/aimediaAUS/videos/10153953588224220/
http://www.nytimes.com/2016/09/06/health/lonliness-aging-health-effects.html?_r=0
http://blog.csa.us/2016/05/green-houses-alternative-to-nursing.html

Truthfully, we are all headed in the same direction as the people I mentioned. My wish for you and for me is that we find ourselves in a different situation. Maybe we should get to work..

Misadventures in Camping

I've camped all of my life. I have been feeling particularly grateful to my parents for introducing us to camping when my sisters and I were young. My parents, I don't believe, camped a lot when they were younger. My dad was a Boy Scout, so maybe he had some camping adventures. Mom grew up on a farm, so I'm assuming she like the outdoors and has adventure in her spirit. In any case, they came to the U.S. from Puerto Rico and before too long, we had a camping trailer.

Our trailer was  Prowler brand trailer. I remember plastic throughout and retro/Brady Bunch upholstery. It was an innovative piece of engineering. The beds magically appeared from nowhere. The beds that were up high were actually folded down from the wall. Two slides from the hinges, and voila, you had beds above your head. I felt like I had won every time I got to sleep up there. Each of those beds had a tiny window next to it. I could crank open my window and peek out into the night or discover the weather in the morning. I was always happy up there.

We loved camping at Solomon's Island where there was always a flock of kids on bikes headed to the pool, putt putt, bowling or roller skating. We stayed up late at night crabbing. At the time, the crabs were enormous. We'd take the crabs back to the site, cook them and eat them well into the night beneath a starry sky.  My family and I also traveled to West Virginia where I learned to love rock hopping in rivers. What great memories my parents created!

Then again, I don't remember dealing with the gray water or actually setting up the camper. Not my problem. As I got older, the perils of camping became a little more evident.

Let's revisit camping in Shenandoah with my two sisters. I have older sisters and like good sisters do, we decided to bond up in the mountains of our incredible state, Virginia. I drove my minty green Toyota Tercel to a trail where I met my sisters. They had driven there in my sister's (Jo-Joy) Isuzu Trooper (the big, old boxy kind). We were incredibly prepared and even donned matching, beige safari hats. During our three hour hike, we stopped at rivers to chat and watch the water pass us by and we "helloed" fellow outdoors-people (who probably thought our matching hats were awesome). Things were peachy until the three hour hike became four. We were out of water, we were out of food and we were lost and we were starting to get punchy. Nevertheless, we flipped the map over and rerouted and continued. One hour later we felt we were making progress. Jo-Joy, however, was not necessarily loving the situation. She's the type that gets...how do you say?? Hangry. Hangriness was pulsing through her veins. Syama and I tried to appeal to her senses, but she was too far gone. She had legitimate reasons. In the fifth hour she seemed to hallucinate and babble about granola and water and that was exactly when a sign appeared:

 

She started to run. Never mind that the lot was still miles away - she ran and ran hollering about food and water and stupid hikes and female bonding. She ran. It was an hour or so before we saw her in the parking lot. Jo-Joy was disheveled. Her face was dirty, she was sweaty and barely "hanging on" and laid out on the gravel lot.  When she came to her senses she confessed that she had tried to break into the cars in the lot to find food and drink in order to survive. She resorted to these measures because my other sister, Syama, had the key to her Trooper. Thankfully we survived and chowed on nuts and berries like every good trailblazer and squirrels do.

 

Bellies satisfied, we hopped into our cars and headed to our tent camping site. We each had brought  gear to get us through what was sure to be a starry date-night with nature. My trusty waterproof tent was up, we made some food, and settled in for the night. All three of us cozy in my tent. Just like when we were kids...laughing, telling stories. This closeness with my sisters was all I could ever want.

 

Eventually, we slept peacefully side by side - until the rain came. My "waterproof" tent was, apparently, water resistant. Jo-Joy scrambled to her Trooper. Plenty of dry space in there. Syama and I held firm - no way were we going to bail out on our camping adventure. The torrential downpour continued in the tent. Syama caved - another one lost to the Trooper. I could see them staring at me through the foggy window. Waving. Laughing. I peered out from my sleeping bag like a turtle in a shell. "Troopers are for sissies,"  I told myself. It was a stare down. In the movies, the equivalent would have been a shoot out in the middle of town, hands near holsters and a squinty eyed, piercing stare that was enough to kill your enemy. No. I had to resist. Whatever... I didn't and I jumped in the Trooper after kicking my stupid tent. Ah, the Trooper - it smelled like a dirty swamp and the air was damp, but it wasn't raining inside. Now, because I am the youngest, I always give in to my sisters' demands. There is no way around this. Submit! Or, you will be beaten into submission. I had to sleep on the wheel hubs. My head was propped up and my feet were propped up while the rest of me sagged between the firm lumps. Perfect. That night, sleep was intermittent at best.

 

The next day was the closing ceremony of our adventure. How sad to see it end! We gathered our drenched belongings and prepared for our reintroduction to civilization. Because Jo-Joy wanted to look nice for her return, she pulled out the blowdryer for her hair. The white flag had been waved.

 

Years later, my husband and I were fortunate enough to live in the Pacific NW where we often hiked and camped. The United States has and impressive landscape not to be missed! On one particular adventure with friends, we backpacked in to our campsite. The hike itself was incredible, but our camping spot was surreal, a clear green lake surrounded by mountains and pines. I've never seen anything like it and would escape there if my mind needed calm - but I can't, because I can not shake the trauma of it all.

Green Lake in Oregon. It is now known as Brown Lake.

 

Tents were pitched and lovely evening had by all. Once again, we settled in to sleep under a starry sky - until the rain came. Really? Again? This time, however, our tent was indeed waterproof. Michael and I had a very small tent, cozy for two. I call it, "the coffin". It's best that you really enjoy your companion if you are sleeping in this tent.

 

On this misadventure, we had our loyal dog, Gus. She was a brown, furry Lab/Chow mix. A sweet dog, a well trained dog (we didn't have kids then, so all of our attention went to her - the exact opposite of our current two mutts). Gus started to bark and cry during this intense storm. Lightning lit up the sky and claps of thunder left our ears buzzing. Soon enough, we had no choice but to begrudgingly "welcome' Gus into the tent. Needless to say, the coziness factor was lost, but it's all relative. At least we were dry and our little family was together. We managed a few blinks of sleep (as is the norm with most of our camping experiences).

 

The next day, we woke to a majestic sunrise over the mountains with clouds burning off at their peaks. The clear lake reflected the scene making it doubly alluring. But, all good things must end. And that indeed was the end as Gus ran away. She had a fierce longing in her eyes - like she must go into the wild and discover something that was out there. She did indeed.

 

If you are backpacking, you know to bring a small shovel. The small shovel is used to create your toilet. There is a standard depth you are "required" to dig to create your toilet. This was a slight oversight to a camper, but not to Gus. She found the non-toilet and rolled and rolled and rolled until she was completely satisfied and dizzied with excitement. She was the drunk girl in the bar. She trotted back gleefully - matted fur and the air around her was unmistakable. Green Lake would never be the same as my nauseated husband washed her fur with cautious intensity.

 

Did I mention that we were ticketed by a Park Ranger for camping too closely to another camper?

 

 20 years is STILL not enough time for Michael to label "that camping trip to Green Lake" as "fun". My recommendation is to never mention it to him.



PRs and Bacon Wrapped Dates

First CrossFit competition. It was a partner competition and we took 3rd place. That's me waving. That's my partner walking away and going to the Regional competition...twice.  I like to pretend that I played a significant role in my partner's success.

It's interesting watching people enter the world of CrossFit. I feel there is a psychological and physical evolutionary process that occurs.

 

First, there's the PR jackpot. When you begin, you don't have a CrossFit resume and, therefore, everything is a PR. You could call it "getting established", but that wouldn't give you much credit for your work. Call everything a PR. First time bench pressing? PR. First time doing a pull-up? PR.

From there, you proceed into really trying to perform the movements (aka: listening to your coaches). Some things you comprehend, some things you don't. Chances are, double-unders won't "click" until you've experienced countless lashings. You will get beaten by the rope. I've seen the lashings on faces, calves, forearms and buttocks (we share a lot of information in "the box"). One day you'll be want to quit and VOILA!  It's a miracle - you have double-unders!  That miracle is beter known as "practice".  Then there are the lifts. Not only will you attempt to master the nuances of each lift, but you will try to remember which is which. Is that a clean? A snatch?  (By the way, "snatches" never stop turning into a joke and never stop producing laughter when the word is mentioned.) What's a jerk? You'll find yourself wanting to lift faster, stronger and heavier, but discover that your nosey coaches will reprimand you for sacrificing form.  If you lift heavy loads, but your form is a mess, you will inevitably end up at square one at some point in your training...maybe even years later. You need to be patient. This is the part where people will say CrossFit is dangerous: don't lift more than you know HOW to lift. Chances are, you can lift it, but can you do it without herniating a disc? In my case, the lifts I attempt are consistently imperfect. It may be a small issue and some days it's a bigger issue, but occasionally, when I hit it just right...the bar will float. I've enjoyed that millisecond of a floating bar that occurs annually. It's when the bar is moving upwards and the momentum and speed and timing and my body and mind are communicating at the right place at the right time. When it happens, you know. When it doesn't happen, you will also know.

Eventually, you'll decide to lose that band so you can attempt kipping pull-ups. By the way, is that a real pull-up or a fake pull-up? I vote fake. Anyway, months go by and all of a sudden your brain's kipping pull-up neurons decide to connect and before you know it, you've PR'd your Fran time. Fran: the collision of  lung capacity, physical perseverance and quieting the voice in your head that keeps screaming, "NO". You might be coughing up a lung. Whatever you do, do not Google "Fran lung". Whatever, it is worth it.

The months go by and you find that you have hit a barren land, full of plateaus.......

Stay on target. Stay on target.

And what about your hands? The changes you see in your hands are incredible. Were they soft and sweet? Do you caress your children with them? Not anymore. I rubbed my son's back the other day and he said, "OW!" I use my hands to scrub my pots and pans when I don't have a Brillo pad. Why just yesterday I used my hands to sand down some rough wood on an outdoor project. Generous chunks of skin peel off of your palms (check the gym floor, your epidermis is hanging out there) and when you get home, you'll forget you've been skinned, begin to wash your hands and you will cry. I've seen grown, brawny men cry. When you recover, your hands will be leathery and invincible. I wear my hands with pride. You've graduated, my friend, your hands will never be the same.

So, then you decide you might want to work on your eating habits because, hey, you're in plateau land and you need a distraction to make yourself feel better. Let's PR some food. There's a big revelation happening...nutrition and exercise like to travel hand-in-hand. When one suffers, so does the other.  You'll discover paleo and go gung-ho. You'll eat paleo pancakes with dates and bacon and sweet potato. And after that, you'll eat dates, bacon and sweet potato with paleo pancakes. Then maybe you'll have sweet potato, dates, paleo pancakes and bacon. Eventually, you will miss a big bowl of spaghetti and define yourself as "paleo-leaning with a side of ice cream" with the occasional dates, bacon.... Ask me and I will tell you about moderation and "the middle way". You can eat, exercise and be happy all at once without feeling deprived. I will never give up chocolate chip cookies. Never! There are only so many ways to cook a fucking sweet potato. Just stop it, a sweet potato cacao cookie is not worth my time.

Full circle - back to the box-centered-focus. Now you find yourself "icing the cake." You understand the movements in the gym and you are well aware of what you can do and what you can't  need to work on. A floating bar! Your pull-ups are the equivalent Jennifer Grey being held up by Patrick Swayze during "the lift" :  it's the time of your freaking life!  Hallelujah, you have arrived at the pearly gates of CrossFit. The bar has wings! Your sweat tastes like angel tears!

And two days later you'll feel like you got hit by a truck.  Never mind, you will eagerly go back to continue your evolution.

It's Only Noisy if You Let it Get Noisy.

Recently, I had someone make a negative comment about my physical appearance. I'm not sure why anyone feels the need to comment on another person's appearance, but that's human behavior and scientists will always hope to understand our strange, mushy, nervy and fatty brains. While this person continued to comment, I realized that I couldn't hear what they were saying. It was as if someone grabbed my head and held it under water. The only thing I was fully able sense was my shame. I recall that I looked at the ground, that I turned my back to them for a moment, that I wondered what the purpose of their statement was. I wondered what a good response would be so that I would not hurt them and not embarrass myself anymore than I already felt.

As I read more about Buddhism (I'm not a Buddhist or anything else in particular , but maybe I'm a lot of things), I find a lot of common sense strategies for keeping my chin up when others purposefully or not "deliver a good shot" to that chin.  While I vacillated between confusion and understanding -Why would they say this? What is the purpose? What is happening in this person's life that they feel the need to say something that could hurt someone else?- I realized silence was the best response (I picked that up from Buddhism). Silence was my strength because nothing that I thought of saying was kind, valuable, necessary or would improve upon the situation.

But, let me dive back into the initial statement. Maybe this person's statement stuck with me because over the past year or so, I realized that I was okay with who I am. My physical appearance, first of all, has become significantly less important. I'm okay with the wrinkles and the quirks that Father Time subtly delivers. This wasn't always the case. Years ago, I spent nearly $200 (don't tell my husband) on anti-aging products. I smelled great, but I certainly didn't look like a younger woman and I didn't feel any better, either. Now, I see "anti-aging" and I choose not to fight that battle. Aging...there's no escape. Well, actually, I could die, right? I'm not ready for that quite yet so, I accept I aging. Challenge accepted! I'll attempt to do it with dignity, vitality and with complete awareness that I have been graced with the opportunity to see the years come and go. (Which reminds me...when I lived in Baltimore, there was a giant sign in the city that proposed that only 3 things were guaranteed in life: death, taxes and Cal Ripken. Aging was not on that list.)

What IS of primary importance to me is the serenity I have gained over the past few years. What I know is that when I allowed myself to be okay with myself - to accept what I have been and what I am and remain hopeful about what I want to become - I gave myself the gift of inner peace. I found quiet. Beyond that, a large space in my heart opened. I have space for you and you and you and you... for all of you. I have more space to give to others when that space is not filled up with doubts, concerns, worries and insecurities about myself. Until recently, I had never experienced this freedom.

In hindsight, what I realize is that I was tested and I failed. My mind was undisciplined and I allowed someone to steal what I had worked so hard to achieve. I chose to allow someone to occupy my emotions and thoughts and hey, that place is supposed to be off limits to all but myself.  The only person I was angry at during this time, was me. Equanimity remains something to be mastered. These days, I don't want to be part of certain dynamics - to cling to the attachments to undesirable behaviors or negative expectations and beliefs. I don't get any joy from conquering anyone but myself.

And recently, for about two weeks - almost consistently day after day, I've heard from one friend after another say that enough is enough. Their comments have all hovered around the need to take better care of that private, inner space and the realization that their happiness has nothing to do with anyone else. Happiness come from a place much more local than a person would think. They've let go or are in the process of letting going of the noise that comes from places that don't need so much attention and dropping burdens that aren't theirs and burdens that don't need to be so heavy. With that, I've seen honest contentment and the propagation of kindness that naturally follows.

The most beautiful people I know happen to be the nicest people I know.