Shake, Rattle and Roll



Famous DC Earthquake Devastation



Last night I woke at 1 AM to another aftershock. Still slightly disconcerting , but certainly not nearly as startling, unexpected or thought provoking as the first event. I have a brother on the west coast who teased my daughter for her "over-reaction".  Frankly, many west coasters who deal with tremors and shakes on a regular basis have weighed in on the stir that the event caused. There is even quite the comical picture circling the Internet circuit highlighting the "massive DC destruction!" As I circled the building yesterday on one of my daily exercise breaks, I thought back over the previous day's events, and decided  I wasn't ashamed of the way I reacted or even the way any of my fellow east coasters had reacted. The west coasters simply had it wrong.

The truth was when I first felt the ground move and my building started to shake, my first thought was that they had fired off a particularly large round of artillery at the nearby Quantico Marine  Base, but as the building shook more violently, my second thought was, a plane has gone down somewhere or something very large has exploded. You see, I like many of the people on the east coast still have a vivid memory of the day that everything changed. The day that started out like any other day, but ended in death and destruction. A day where we couldn't get phone calls in or out, where there was no communication, and it seemed as if the whole world were under attack and particularly our city. A day where I broke down sobbing when my husband finally walked through the door after walking, bicycling and hitchhiking his way home from the pentagon, a little disheveled, but safe, and a day where I began mourning for the ones who never did make it home.

For those of who had a personal connection to 911, we knew that the worst sometimes happened and, so as we slowly came to the conclusion that what we had just felt was an earthquake, we didn't immediately think, all is well, because we knew that bad things happened, and people didn't always make it home. We tried calling our loved ones, but in the absence of communication, we watched the news, and we waited. We waited to hear that the worst hadn't happened this time, and we waited before we breathed our sigh of relief. We tweeted to the world out fears and concerns, because it was our only way to shake the eerie Deja vu.

Now that it is over, we can joke amongst ourselves, and with the rest of the world, but somewhere deep within, we are all still thankful we dodged another bullet.

Painting my Weekend Wonderful....

It has taken me almost three weeks, but I have finally beaten back my bronchitis, and am feeling human again! It has been incredibly frustrating along the way. I find I am not as good a patient anymore as I used to be. A day or two of downtime is about all I have the patience for any longer, so being forced into longer periods of inactivity has resulted in a very cranky girl! You need only ask my husband who has had to put up with the brunt of my displeasure.

I spent most of last week using every ounce of energy to simply get through work each day. I'd have one good day to be followed by two bad days. I ignored my inner voice Friday and went out for dinner with with friends. It was a fun evening, but I paid for the late night the next day and had to divert from our original plan to explore mountain homes in Bryce. I knew that I needed to continue to lay low, but by Saturday afternoon, I was TIRED of riding the couch. I decided I had to do something or go crazy. I suddenly found myself volunteering to help my husband with his latest home improvement project....staining the deck. My husband looked a little stunned when I made the offer, not just because I generally leave the home improvement projects to him, but he knew I was feeling poorly, and that almost always involved a couch and a TV. He looked about ready to protest, but I pointed out that I could sit and paint as easily as I could sit and watch TV. If I felt bad, I would stop.

For those of you who don't know my history, I had an uncontrollable cough for a year and a half. While I know this is hard to envision, it actually caused a broken rib, resulted in a hospitalization for exhaustion and while the doctors struggled to determine the cause and cure, left me bedridden for months. Ultimately I was able to have surgery to correct the underlying problem and regain my life, but damage was done to my lungs and vocal chords during that period. I am much more prone to get bronchitis and it can be very challenging to treat both the bronchitis and resulting cough once it starts. For most people a cough is an annoyance, for me a cough is a harbinger of everything bad, and is something to be treated with much care and concern. 

Painting, however, proved to be the prescription I needed this past weekend. I worked for small periods both Saturday and Sunday staying outside long enough to feel like I made a difference, but not long enough to wear myself out. It provided a much needed distraction from my circumstances. Other than finding myself covered in paint spatter from tip to toe (apparently I am a little challenged with a roller) it caused no ill effects. I woke Monday morning with a slight ache in my thighs from squatting and a little stiff from leaning over to get the back of each day, but with definite improvement. It was the first time in weeks, I woke feeling like I could start working out again. I would be smart and start slow, but I was back in business and back on my journey. 

A Pity Party

I felt the first rumblings of a summer cold the Friday before last. I laid low through Monday, but on Tuesday I felt well enough to get back to the gym. I hit the treadmill for a full hour, but decided not to push things by hitting the weights. I awoke Wednesday morning feeling as good as I felt all week. I was on the mend! A few hours later, however, I began to feel a tightness in my chest, and a cough followed soon after. By Friday I was on antibiotics for Bronchitis and a Sinus Infection, and I spent my whole weekend riding the couch.

It was the first time in a long time where I felt zero urge to get up and move. I didn't even feel guilty on Saturday when the most productive thing I did all day was take a shower. I knew my body needed rest. Sunday showed small signs of improvement. I made myself get dressed and went on two small outings, one to the store, and one to the movies. I was sure by Monday, my antibiotics would have stemmed the tide and would wake up sans cough with a renewed sense of energy, but Monday morning came, and I woke feeling almost as bad as I did before I started my medicine. As I readied myself for work, the pity party began. Why did my colds turn into Bronchitis? Why wasn't my healthy kick paying off? Shouldn't I at least be rebounding quicker after all the hard work I had put in? And then my husband reminded me that before I started my healthy kick, I would get struck down with bronchitis at least once a quarter. It had been six months since I kicked off my journey and this was the first time that I had needed to go on antibiotics.

So today instead of continuing the pity party, I decided to count my blessings. I might not be feeling great today, but the first seven months of 2011 were spent feeling far better than the previous year. My bronchitis would get better, I would get back to my routine and I could look forward to longer and longer periods of good health thanks to a little hard work and a village of friends who have pushed me along the way.

A Time For Reflection

It was drizzling outside yesterday morning, so I decided to take a hula-a-hoop break instead of a walk. I've become fairly proficient with my hoop now and can keep it circling fairly mindlessly, so I often find that to be a good time for quiet reflection. My mood was much like the weather, overcast. I was feeling the pain of my friend's grief at the loss of her beloved dog, anticipating having to say goodbye again to another one of my BFFs and struggling to quell the anxiety I was feeling about my youngest daughter's return to Florida.
My usual go to remedy for stress relief has been a trip to the gym, but yesterday morning, while the workout was solid, it didn't tamp down the rage of emotions inside. Perhaps if I could just keep the hula hoop spinning I could  release the endorphins, calm the mind and allow the sunshine to peak back through. So I hooped and hooped some more, and then I set to writing.

The truth is there are certain feelings you have to work through, not just work-out through. Like most of us I suspect, I would rather push aside the uncomfortable feelings, for the comfortable ones, but I've started to realize it is sometimes important to allow myself the time to feel sad or mad, anxious or fearful. My friend needed to grieve for her beloved Milo. I needed to allow myself a few moments to mourn my BFF's' departure, and I needed time to process my concerns about my daughter and where they were stemming from. I couldn't run the problems away, but running could still provide the time to reflect and some momentary solace.