I know, I haven't written in a while, but not to worry - I didn't die on the ski slopes. In fact, the first block of the semester is now over, which means skiing class is too. I'm excited to have spare time on Tuesdays now - for napping, skiing on my own, or - I guess - homework... but the class was definitely worth it.
Since I last posted, our class experienced every type of snow I can imagine: icy ("fast"), fresh & powdery (oh, yeah!), and everything in between. I've also bruised most parts of my body and fallen in quite creative ways.
The first week we started on the beginner slope as I mentioned before, and then we got to work on the next level up: green circles. With the right instructor and fresh snowfall, I was loving that third week of class. I still fell a lot and had to work on solidifying certain skiing strategies (hee hee, alliteration) but I came to feel like I was really skiing!
By week five, the instructor decided it was time for us to move up in the world: blue squares. This freaked me out a bit, since some of the stretches were narrow with seemingly sheer drops on the side and I had some major falls that made me grateful I had rented a helmet. Come week six and the last class, I was worried about braving the higher slopes again, but the instructor convinced me to be more assertive in my turning and I gained a lot more control and confidence, even in the steep parts. The class may be over, but I still have a ski pass and I plan on using it as long as the lifts are running.
A friend of mine who's a more advanced skier told me that skiing is all about being brave. It's true - it takes guts to speed down a slick slope and not lean backward, especially when other people are whizzing past. When you think about it, a lot of things in life are all about being brave. Sometimes it's going out on a limb and taking a class that may be frustrating but potentially rewarding. Maybe it's sharing your belief/opinion even at the risk of upsetting some people, or taking a shot at being happy, even if it stretches you past your arbitrary comfort zone. Whatever it is, it's certainly worth being brave, even when you have to try it before you gain that necessary bit of confidence. I'm still working on the bravery part, but I like to think I'm off to a good start.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Wednesday, January 12, 2011
Downhill Battle
When people say, "It's all downhill from here," I look at it two ways: Either the rest is a lot easier or it's all going to get worse. The word, downhill sounds fairly negative to me, despite its implication of ease.
You may recall from my last post that I have a skiing class on the schedule for this term. Tuesday was the first trip to the resort, where I quite literally hit the slopes for the first time in almost two years.
I've skied once before - with my younger brother and dad during my last spring break of high school. When I recall that day I tend to emphasize the last hour or so on the slopes (actually, the beginners' slope), when I finally got the hang of it and enjoyed myself; this is what I had in mind getting on the bus this week. What I failed to remember was the five-hour chunk that started out my first skiing experience: it was quite possibly the most frustrating day of my life. My dad and brother had skied a few times before and pretty much knew what they were doing, but they were by no means ski instructors. Nevertheless, Dad gave me a condensed lesson on the basics of turning and stopping, which turned out to be incorrect as I discovered after wiping out countless times. Outraged by my lack of coordination and sore from the uncomfortable ski boots, I retired to the car for a rest. When I tried again by myself, I finally made it down the slope without difficulty and actually enjoyed skiing!
At our introductory meeting for the current ski class, the instructor had us pick our skill-level based on the basic maneuvers we could handle. Well, the last time I went, I was able to do some wide turns and wedge moves, so I marked that level. Upon arriving at the slopes, I was placed in the group just above non-experienced (where my Floridian roommate started), but when I stood among my group and realized how awkward the skis felt, dread crept through my nerves.
Maybe skiing isn't like riding a bike.
I told our group instructor, Sherm, that I thought I should maybe move down a level; I'd been only once and it was a long time ago. He talked to Bruce, the beginning instructor, who suggested I'd be bored in his group since they were going to be hiking around for a while before skiing. A few other people in my group said they were in the same boat so we all figured I'd be fine.
It started with the chair lifts. I still had very little control over my own movements with the planks on my feet, so I missed the first two chairs I was supposed to take and finally someone pushed me up to the line to get on. I don't remember how getting off went, but I fell down twice after the lift on my way to the group. Getting back up after a fall is a skill I perfected by the end of class, but it was still difficult in the beginning. I probably wasted five minutes of the class's time before the instructor told me he was sending me back down to the other group. He asked if I could make it down to the rope tow okay and I figured I had no other choice, so I said yes.
They left me up there.
It took an hour for me to get down the three or four slopes between me and my new group because I was practicing falling... every time it was meet to turn, I picked a new and exotic way to biff it. Occasionally I would sit for a few minutes, glad my pants were waterproof and mad that my goggles were fogged up. I fought back tears of embarrassment and frustration when members of my initial group were going up the lifts for the third time since leaving me and Sherm was calling to me from the lift, shocked that I still hadn't made it down. I had forgotten everything about controlling myself on skis and was exhausted from pushing myself back up countless times.
I finally slid over to the group where the instructors (Bruce and Jerry) and my roommate were relieved to see me (Sherm had told them I'd be there).
They referred to the trip down as my survival run and patiently retaught me the basics of skiing. It came quickly to me and apparently my posture on the skis was great - it helps being on a more subtle slope. It was a much safer and more enjoyable second half of class fixing the poorly laid foundation of my skiing skills with the help of Bruce and Jerry. The muscle aches that arrived Wednesday morning finally wore off around Friday and I regained range of motion in my limbs - at least until next Wednesday.
As cheesy as it sounds, I realized from this experience that it's better to be humble, underestimate one's abilities and need to move up a level than to overestimate, be embarrassed and move down.
So the downhill of this week was mostly negative, but now that I'm in the right group, I think it will just keep getting better.
You may recall from my last post that I have a skiing class on the schedule for this term. Tuesday was the first trip to the resort, where I quite literally hit the slopes for the first time in almost two years.
I've skied once before - with my younger brother and dad during my last spring break of high school. When I recall that day I tend to emphasize the last hour or so on the slopes (actually, the beginners' slope), when I finally got the hang of it and enjoyed myself; this is what I had in mind getting on the bus this week. What I failed to remember was the five-hour chunk that started out my first skiing experience: it was quite possibly the most frustrating day of my life. My dad and brother had skied a few times before and pretty much knew what they were doing, but they were by no means ski instructors. Nevertheless, Dad gave me a condensed lesson on the basics of turning and stopping, which turned out to be incorrect as I discovered after wiping out countless times. Outraged by my lack of coordination and sore from the uncomfortable ski boots, I retired to the car for a rest. When I tried again by myself, I finally made it down the slope without difficulty and actually enjoyed skiing!
At our introductory meeting for the current ski class, the instructor had us pick our skill-level based on the basic maneuvers we could handle. Well, the last time I went, I was able to do some wide turns and wedge moves, so I marked that level. Upon arriving at the slopes, I was placed in the group just above non-experienced (where my Floridian roommate started), but when I stood among my group and realized how awkward the skis felt, dread crept through my nerves.
Maybe skiing isn't like riding a bike.
I told our group instructor, Sherm, that I thought I should maybe move down a level; I'd been only once and it was a long time ago. He talked to Bruce, the beginning instructor, who suggested I'd be bored in his group since they were going to be hiking around for a while before skiing. A few other people in my group said they were in the same boat so we all figured I'd be fine.
It started with the chair lifts. I still had very little control over my own movements with the planks on my feet, so I missed the first two chairs I was supposed to take and finally someone pushed me up to the line to get on. I don't remember how getting off went, but I fell down twice after the lift on my way to the group. Getting back up after a fall is a skill I perfected by the end of class, but it was still difficult in the beginning. I probably wasted five minutes of the class's time before the instructor told me he was sending me back down to the other group. He asked if I could make it down to the rope tow okay and I figured I had no other choice, so I said yes.
They left me up there.
It took an hour for me to get down the three or four slopes between me and my new group because I was practicing falling... every time it was meet to turn, I picked a new and exotic way to biff it. Occasionally I would sit for a few minutes, glad my pants were waterproof and mad that my goggles were fogged up. I fought back tears of embarrassment and frustration when members of my initial group were going up the lifts for the third time since leaving me and Sherm was calling to me from the lift, shocked that I still hadn't made it down. I had forgotten everything about controlling myself on skis and was exhausted from pushing myself back up countless times.
I finally slid over to the group where the instructors (Bruce and Jerry) and my roommate were relieved to see me (Sherm had told them I'd be there).
They referred to the trip down as my survival run and patiently retaught me the basics of skiing. It came quickly to me and apparently my posture on the skis was great - it helps being on a more subtle slope. It was a much safer and more enjoyable second half of class fixing the poorly laid foundation of my skiing skills with the help of Bruce and Jerry. The muscle aches that arrived Wednesday morning finally wore off around Friday and I regained range of motion in my limbs - at least until next Wednesday.
As cheesy as it sounds, I realized from this experience that it's better to be humble, underestimate one's abilities and need to move up a level than to overestimate, be embarrassed and move down.
So the downhill of this week was mostly negative, but now that I'm in the right group, I think it will just keep getting better.
Friday, December 31, 2010
On the Last Twelve Months
It's that time of year again! It seems everyone is talking about reflections and resolutions. I admit it can get old pretty fast, which is ironic considering the holiday's moniker, but let's hope you aren't sick of such talk yet, because I'm adding this post to the list of cliché New Year's stuff.
Every New Year's Eve I have a bit of an end-of-the-year crisis, and today has been no different. It's as though 2010 is a pet, and I didn't know how much it's meant to me until it came time to euthanize . In addition to making me miss my actual pet that died in 2009, these feelings caused me to ask, "What do I have to show for this year?"
My immediate answer was a rather depressing, "Not much," but now I realize there actually were some notable events in 2010.
January:
Started my second semester of college (with mononucleosis).
February:
Had Valentine's Day with my first boyfriend and saw the end of the relationship.
March:
Kept up the schooling while friends at other colleges were on spring break. They laughed.
April:
Finished the semester before said friends. I laughed.
May:
Went in for some uneventful jury duty and attended a job fair.
June:
Had the ol' wisdom teeth extracted and started a survey call center job. I enjoyed the former.
(I lied. This was actually in May, but I don't remember anything from June... I blocked it from my memory due to survey-induced emotional scarring)
July:
Saw a lightning show that was way cooler than the scheduled fireworks. Started a blog.
August:
Quit the survey job, picked up some weed-pulling jobs, and drove the nine hours to college all by myself.
September:
Worked up the guts to audition for the campus sketch comedy group. (I'll get 'em next year)
Also sprained my ankle.
October:
Reached the alive-one-fifth-of-a-century mark and had a couple awkward encounters with the ex-bf. Also realized it was, in fact, an ankle sprain; got x-rays and started physical therapy.
November:
Bought a pair of used skis.
December:
Posted my first YouTube video (as fanfareone - don't mock; I know it's a cheesy video)
Drove home for Christmas - again, on my own.
Resolutions?
They don't seem to work very well, but this year I'm planning on:
Completing the whole workout program I started to do with my roommates but couldn't finish due to the ankle.
Taking a skiing class.
And definitely:
Starting the year out single - and with a sense of possibility.
So as much as I'll miss 2010, I think I can safely say I'm ready for 2011. The drive back to school, however, is a different story...
Every New Year's Eve I have a bit of an end-of-the-year crisis, and today has been no different. It's as though 2010 is a pet, and I didn't know how much it's meant to me until it came time to euthanize . In addition to making me miss my actual pet that died in 2009, these feelings caused me to ask, "What do I have to show for this year?"
My immediate answer was a rather depressing, "Not much," but now I realize there actually were some notable events in 2010.
January:
Started my second semester of college (with mononucleosis).
February:
Had Valentine's Day with my first boyfriend and saw the end of the relationship.
March:
Kept up the schooling while friends at other colleges were on spring break. They laughed.
April:
Finished the semester before said friends. I laughed.
May:
Went in for some uneventful jury duty and attended a job fair.
June:
Had the ol' wisdom teeth extracted and started a survey call center job. I enjoyed the former.
(I lied. This was actually in May, but I don't remember anything from June... I blocked it from my memory due to survey-induced emotional scarring)
July:
Saw a lightning show that was way cooler than the scheduled fireworks. Started a blog.
August:
Quit the survey job, picked up some weed-pulling jobs, and drove the nine hours to college all by myself.
September:
Worked up the guts to audition for the campus sketch comedy group. (I'll get 'em next year)
Also sprained my ankle.
October:
Reached the alive-one-fifth-of-a-century mark and had a couple awkward encounters with the ex-bf. Also realized it was, in fact, an ankle sprain; got x-rays and started physical therapy.
November:
Bought a pair of used skis.
December:
Posted my first YouTube video (as fanfareone - don't mock; I know it's a cheesy video)
Drove home for Christmas - again, on my own.
Resolutions?
They don't seem to work very well, but this year I'm planning on:
Completing the whole workout program I started to do with my roommates but couldn't finish due to the ankle.
Taking a skiing class.
And definitely:
Starting the year out single - and with a sense of possibility.
So as much as I'll miss 2010, I think I can safely say I'm ready for 2011. The drive back to school, however, is a different story...
Sunday, December 19, 2010
The Good Semi-ritan
Well, I'm home for Christmas, and seeing how long it's been since my last post made me a bit sick, so I figure I should write about the trip home a few weeks ago for Thanksgiving.
A certain car went up through a mountain pass, and fell among snow pack, which stripped it of its traction, and slowed it, and stuck, leaving it stranded.
And by chance, there came up a certain tow-truck driver that way: and when he saw the car, he stopped and suggested a way to apply the tire chains, but wouldn't help, save to tow the car up the hill for two-days' wage. So he passed by on the other side.
And likewise another tow-truck driver, when he was at the place, came and looked on the car, and tried to put the chains on, but couldn't, and passed by to tow another car.
But a certain policeman, as he drove up, came where the car was; and when he saw it, he had compassion on its passengers,
And parked behind the car with his lights on for safety, and when he couldn't apply the chains, he called for a tow-truck driver who could, and he went to them, and chained up the tires, and helped get the car moving.
And when they got back down the mountain, the road was cleared and they could take the chains off and drive the rest of the way home.
Which now of these three showed the true spirit of Thanksgiving?
Luckily, when I had to make the drive by myself this past week, the weather was great until I got to my own neighborhood.
Safe travels and Merry Christmas to you and your loved ones - and if anyone wants to learn how to put tire chains on, I'm here for two more weeks.
A certain car went up through a mountain pass, and fell among snow pack, which stripped it of its traction, and slowed it, and stuck, leaving it stranded.
And by chance, there came up a certain tow-truck driver that way: and when he saw the car, he stopped and suggested a way to apply the tire chains, but wouldn't help, save to tow the car up the hill for two-days' wage. So he passed by on the other side.
And likewise another tow-truck driver, when he was at the place, came and looked on the car, and tried to put the chains on, but couldn't, and passed by to tow another car.
But a certain policeman, as he drove up, came where the car was; and when he saw it, he had compassion on its passengers,
And parked behind the car with his lights on for safety, and when he couldn't apply the chains, he called for a tow-truck driver who could, and he went to them, and chained up the tires, and helped get the car moving.
And when they got back down the mountain, the road was cleared and they could take the chains off and drive the rest of the way home.
Which now of these three showed the true spirit of Thanksgiving?
Luckily, when I had to make the drive by myself this past week, the weather was great until I got to my own neighborhood.
Safe travels and Merry Christmas to you and your loved ones - and if anyone wants to learn how to put tire chains on, I'm here for two more weeks.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Facebook Event
On Facebook, I was invited to participate in an event of testifying today. I figure a blog post is more spacious than a FB status, so this is where it's happening...
God is a loving Father who blesses us according to our needs and our worthiness to be blessed. I certainly don't understand everything that happens to me or others, but I trust that it is for a reason and that injustices will eventually be made right. In recent years I have learned to trust in the Lord's timing and in the promptings He sends through the Holy Ghost, because as smart as I like to try to be, I know that I know almost nothing. Someday I hope to understand more.
I know that God still reveals knowledge today and that His only focus is to make our salvation possible. His son, Jesus Christ, suffered to atone for our sins if we will repent, died, and was resurrected so that we can overcome death. Life would have little meaning if this truth weren't so. Please take the time to notice tender mercies God has given you every day, and give thanks with all your soul.
God is a loving Father who blesses us according to our needs and our worthiness to be blessed. I certainly don't understand everything that happens to me or others, but I trust that it is for a reason and that injustices will eventually be made right. In recent years I have learned to trust in the Lord's timing and in the promptings He sends through the Holy Ghost, because as smart as I like to try to be, I know that I know almost nothing. Someday I hope to understand more.
I know that God still reveals knowledge today and that His only focus is to make our salvation possible. His son, Jesus Christ, suffered to atone for our sins if we will repent, died, and was resurrected so that we can overcome death. Life would have little meaning if this truth weren't so. Please take the time to notice tender mercies God has given you every day, and give thanks with all your soul.
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Climacophobia
This post will actually include several funny stories, all related to one event.
Five weeks ago, I hurt my ankle - Ha ha ha ha - oh wait, that's not a funny part. While descending the stairs in the campus bookstore, I overshot one step, thereby missing the bottom stair and doing a lovely ballet pointe, complete with a loud pop in my left ankle. As I was collapsing, I took time to consider how strange it was that instead of feeling pain where pain was due, I experienced the odd light-headedness that comes when my blood pressure has dropped; the vision becomes impaired and ears feel full of cotton... I'm pretty sure my skin felt tingly too - everywhere but my ankle, that is.
My roommate who was with me dashed to get a drink of water - for me, not herself - and I sat, hunched, right there in between flights of stairs hoping I wouldn't have to visit the ER (emergency room - not endoplasmic reticulum; sorry, I've been in lots of biology classes lately). When the haze wore off, we slowly made our way to the car where I remembered I kept an elastic bandage. The ankle did fine supporting weight, but did feel funny, so I wrapped it tightly and took some ibuprofen to handle any swelling until we'd get home.
People who saw my wrapped ankle asked what happened, so I'd tell them I missed the last step and something popped, etc. but my friends suggested I exaggerate the story, like saying I fell down a huge flight of stairs. I suggested I'd rather not lie and make people think I'm a huge klutz... plus I've seen movies where that exact story is the one the battered wife tells so her husband won't really throw her down the stairs. "I'm so clumsy," she says. Since my roommate was the only one with me when I hurt myself, I didn't want to suggest that she is physically abusive...
Over the next week, I kept the ankle wrapped, tried to elevate it whenever possible - I even set a chair by my bed so I could theoretically sleep with the foot raised- iced it once or twice daily and ended up having another roommate who's into massage therapy relieve a bit of the tension.
By then, it didn't hurt as much to walk around campus, so I figured it had healed fine. Great! No need for a doctor appointment.
When I thought about what I wanted to do now that I could walk without wincing again, the first thing that came to mind was start an extreme workout program with my roommates! So that's what I did: exercised at least an hour six days a week for four weeks until yesterday. While we're only 1/3 of the way through the program, my ankle has been sore and swelling every few days this week and I decided to be sure I didn't permanently damage anything in the accident.
I went to the doctor's office on Friday, and amazingly they took me back to the room right away, fifteen minutes before my appointment and when the assistant left, the doctor was in within two minutes. This was good because it gave me less time for reflecting on the first time I sat in that office, when they drew blood and left me there, alone and lightheaded (see similar description above) and then came back and told me I had mononucleosis. [SIDESTORY: some people call mono the "Mormon STD," because it's supposed to be the kissing disease and is more PG-rated than actual venereal diseases. When they told me I had mono, I felt like I had tested positive for HIV (this isn't to laugh at people who have), fearing the ostracized life I would lead and thinking myself some kind of monster.]
Anyway, the doctor poked around at my ankle and foot to decide what exactly needed to be x-rayed and then I got to go back to the little room and sit on a table that looks like something I've seen dead bodies on in TV shows. First, the lady handed me a little lead-filled loincloth to tie over my clothes, because I guess if the radiation goes crazy on me, my brain doesn't matter as much as my pelvic area... I'd never had x-rays taken except for dental purposes, so I guess it was about time to take six of my left foot area and try to catch up the radiation - I can't let my jaw win! I must also make note of the strange feeling that accompanies being positioned and left in a room by a nurse who dashes out and slams the door every little while. This time I felt like a radioactive monster... Also, it was funny that there is no real noise or visible indication that an x-ray is being taken, except that the lady has left the room.
I know the machine worked, though, because after a while of waiting back in my patient's suite, I got to see the images. Doc came in and sat down, holding each one up to the light - so he could see it and I had to lean over. I have some pretty bones, I must say. There were no fractures or anything fishy, so after checking my tendons for tears one last time, the doc called it a sprain, got me set up for some physical therapy and wrote a prescription for an anti-inflammatory - the same kind, in fact, that I was given last December for my mono-swollen spleen. I think my doctor may have some hidden, Naproxen agenda... Oh he also said "no strenuous activity." Of course, I nodded in agreement while inside I said, "Oops. Does 'extreme home fitness' count?"
So it's looking like I'll be taking a break from the workouts for a bit, which is unfortunate because I was enjoying increased fitness. I'm considering doing an altered form of the program for now, avoiding anything that could strain my ankle, but I'm not sure if it's better to do just part of it, or none at all. At least after this Thursday I'll have some sub-extreme ankle workouts to do...
Five weeks ago, I hurt my ankle - Ha ha ha ha - oh wait, that's not a funny part. While descending the stairs in the campus bookstore, I overshot one step, thereby missing the bottom stair and doing a lovely ballet pointe, complete with a loud pop in my left ankle. As I was collapsing, I took time to consider how strange it was that instead of feeling pain where pain was due, I experienced the odd light-headedness that comes when my blood pressure has dropped; the vision becomes impaired and ears feel full of cotton... I'm pretty sure my skin felt tingly too - everywhere but my ankle, that is.
My roommate who was with me dashed to get a drink of water - for me, not herself - and I sat, hunched, right there in between flights of stairs hoping I wouldn't have to visit the ER (emergency room - not endoplasmic reticulum; sorry, I've been in lots of biology classes lately). When the haze wore off, we slowly made our way to the car where I remembered I kept an elastic bandage. The ankle did fine supporting weight, but did feel funny, so I wrapped it tightly and took some ibuprofen to handle any swelling until we'd get home.
People who saw my wrapped ankle asked what happened, so I'd tell them I missed the last step and something popped, etc. but my friends suggested I exaggerate the story, like saying I fell down a huge flight of stairs. I suggested I'd rather not lie and make people think I'm a huge klutz... plus I've seen movies where that exact story is the one the battered wife tells so her husband won't really throw her down the stairs. "I'm so clumsy," she says. Since my roommate was the only one with me when I hurt myself, I didn't want to suggest that she is physically abusive...
Over the next week, I kept the ankle wrapped, tried to elevate it whenever possible - I even set a chair by my bed so I could theoretically sleep with the foot raised- iced it once or twice daily and ended up having another roommate who's into massage therapy relieve a bit of the tension.
By then, it didn't hurt as much to walk around campus, so I figured it had healed fine. Great! No need for a doctor appointment.
When I thought about what I wanted to do now that I could walk without wincing again, the first thing that came to mind was start an extreme workout program with my roommates! So that's what I did: exercised at least an hour six days a week for four weeks until yesterday. While we're only 1/3 of the way through the program, my ankle has been sore and swelling every few days this week and I decided to be sure I didn't permanently damage anything in the accident.
I went to the doctor's office on Friday, and amazingly they took me back to the room right away, fifteen minutes before my appointment and when the assistant left, the doctor was in within two minutes. This was good because it gave me less time for reflecting on the first time I sat in that office, when they drew blood and left me there, alone and lightheaded (see similar description above) and then came back and told me I had mononucleosis. [SIDESTORY: some people call mono the "Mormon STD," because it's supposed to be the kissing disease and is more PG-rated than actual venereal diseases. When they told me I had mono, I felt like I had tested positive for HIV (this isn't to laugh at people who have), fearing the ostracized life I would lead and thinking myself some kind of monster.]
Anyway, the doctor poked around at my ankle and foot to decide what exactly needed to be x-rayed and then I got to go back to the little room and sit on a table that looks like something I've seen dead bodies on in TV shows. First, the lady handed me a little lead-filled loincloth to tie over my clothes, because I guess if the radiation goes crazy on me, my brain doesn't matter as much as my pelvic area... I'd never had x-rays taken except for dental purposes, so I guess it was about time to take six of my left foot area and try to catch up the radiation - I can't let my jaw win! I must also make note of the strange feeling that accompanies being positioned and left in a room by a nurse who dashes out and slams the door every little while. This time I felt like a radioactive monster... Also, it was funny that there is no real noise or visible indication that an x-ray is being taken, except that the lady has left the room.
I know the machine worked, though, because after a while of waiting back in my patient's suite, I got to see the images. Doc came in and sat down, holding each one up to the light - so he could see it and I had to lean over. I have some pretty bones, I must say. There were no fractures or anything fishy, so after checking my tendons for tears one last time, the doc called it a sprain, got me set up for some physical therapy and wrote a prescription for an anti-inflammatory - the same kind, in fact, that I was given last December for my mono-swollen spleen. I think my doctor may have some hidden, Naproxen agenda... Oh he also said "no strenuous activity." Of course, I nodded in agreement while inside I said, "Oops. Does 'extreme home fitness' count?"
So it's looking like I'll be taking a break from the workouts for a bit, which is unfortunate because I was enjoying increased fitness. I'm considering doing an altered form of the program for now, avoiding anything that could strain my ankle, but I'm not sure if it's better to do just part of it, or none at all. At least after this Thursday I'll have some sub-extreme ankle workouts to do...
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
I'm Still Alive!
Sorry it's been a while since I last wrote, but I've been busy beyond all reason with assignments of many varieties (speaking of, I should probably be working right now, but this is for mental health). I've thought of a plethora of brief anecdotes and observations I could share, but I'll post those another time - hopefully soon.
For now, I want to talk about today. Not "what I did today," but on the significance of September 29th. It is one of those dates I will never forget, since it has been an eventful day in almost every year of the recent past.
Three years ago today, my youngest niece (until next year) was born, breaking the tie in the niece/nephew ratio for our family. She has been a joy in the lives of all who meet her, just as delightful as her cousins. In her little lifetime, she has shown me the pure, childlike love spoken of in the scriptures and has, on several occasions brought tears to my eyes. To feel her small, tender hands reach to hug me is an irreplaceable experience - one that even now cannot be recalled with dry eyes. Today I am reminded of how grateful I am that she is part of my "famoly."
Two years ago today, something else happened in our family. Having celebrated the aforementioned birthday over the weekend, we all met on this Monday - with out-of-state brothers on the phones - to learn that my parents would be divorcing just short of their 30th anniversary. Regardless of the surrounding circumstances, an announcement so out of the blue induces shock along with a myriad of emotions - mostly tearful. It is a hard thing to learn just before one's 18th birthday that the perceptions about one's home and family for all those years will no longer be accurate, and perhaps never were. It took many weeks and months - perhaps still years - to work through our grief; such change is not easy, no matter how necessary it is. Some forget more swiftly than others, but I am brought to recall the many tearful nights spent alone and with my siblings, and grieve for my own past self.
This year, 9/29 was a fairly usual Wednesday, but I have been brought to remember another painful piece of the past. Today is the day my former datee began his two years as a missionary - the first two weeks of which will be spent at my place of employment, the training center. As was hinted in a previous post, things did not end well between us, and while I am glad he has taken this step (I did care very much for him this time last year), I feel uncomfortable chancing an encounter by donning my mail room apron. It was made known to me that my associations with this person were the means of turning him toward a more constructive path of life, so for that much I am grateful. Today I felt a few shadows of sorrow, but the tears do not come anymore in this thing, for there were far, far too many in months past. I still await a feeling of closure, as though it is an envelope that will not seal, when I have other letters yet to write.
As months pass, the tears will dry - at least those of sorrow, I hope - and perhaps next September will bring more reasons to rejoice.
For now, I want to talk about today. Not "what I did today," but on the significance of September 29th. It is one of those dates I will never forget, since it has been an eventful day in almost every year of the recent past.
Three years ago today, my youngest niece (until next year) was born, breaking the tie in the niece/nephew ratio for our family. She has been a joy in the lives of all who meet her, just as delightful as her cousins. In her little lifetime, she has shown me the pure, childlike love spoken of in the scriptures and has, on several occasions brought tears to my eyes. To feel her small, tender hands reach to hug me is an irreplaceable experience - one that even now cannot be recalled with dry eyes. Today I am reminded of how grateful I am that she is part of my "famoly."
Two years ago today, something else happened in our family. Having celebrated the aforementioned birthday over the weekend, we all met on this Monday - with out-of-state brothers on the phones - to learn that my parents would be divorcing just short of their 30th anniversary. Regardless of the surrounding circumstances, an announcement so out of the blue induces shock along with a myriad of emotions - mostly tearful. It is a hard thing to learn just before one's 18th birthday that the perceptions about one's home and family for all those years will no longer be accurate, and perhaps never were. It took many weeks and months - perhaps still years - to work through our grief; such change is not easy, no matter how necessary it is. Some forget more swiftly than others, but I am brought to recall the many tearful nights spent alone and with my siblings, and grieve for my own past self.
This year, 9/29 was a fairly usual Wednesday, but I have been brought to remember another painful piece of the past. Today is the day my former datee began his two years as a missionary - the first two weeks of which will be spent at my place of employment, the training center. As was hinted in a previous post, things did not end well between us, and while I am glad he has taken this step (I did care very much for him this time last year), I feel uncomfortable chancing an encounter by donning my mail room apron. It was made known to me that my associations with this person were the means of turning him toward a more constructive path of life, so for that much I am grateful. Today I felt a few shadows of sorrow, but the tears do not come anymore in this thing, for there were far, far too many in months past. I still await a feeling of closure, as though it is an envelope that will not seal, when I have other letters yet to write.
As months pass, the tears will dry - at least those of sorrow, I hope - and perhaps next September will bring more reasons to rejoice.
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