In remembrance of Emma

This past week we received one of those middle of the night phone calls that comes with bad news. Our cousin's daughter had passed away earlier that day unexpectedly from complications of peritonitis. My head couldn't quite comprehend the news, even as my heart immediately ached for her Mom and family. None of us expected that call, yet we weren't necessarily surprised by it either. Emma had spent  her short time on earth bound by a body that failed her, and I had contemplated that she might leave us too soon.

Emma was born the year after my youngest daughter was born. We were fortunate enough to be stationed on the same side of the country as her parents at the time, so we were able to visit her soon after she was born. She was this tiny little dark haired sweet infant girl with soulful eyes who captured my heart the first time I held her. There was nothing that pointed to immediate problems, but as the months passed, Emma didn't hit those developmental benchmarks that the doctors look for. She began to manifest more serious medical complications, and her Mom started chasing answers, therapies, specialists, and hope. Months turned into years, and it became evident that Emma was on a journey very much her own and would develop and progress in her own time and way.

Because of her special needs, Emma didn't travel often, so we only managed a few visits with her over the years. After I received the news, I started making phone calls. Thee first calls were to my daughters. I was expecting them to be upset, but I considered the possibility that they might not have enough long term memories with Emma to feel the loss as deeply as I knew her local cousins would. I couldn't have been more wrong; they both melted down at the news. As we talked throughout the day, they shared memories of Emma and her sister, Eleni, that I had never heard. We laughed, we cried, we contemplated why, and pondered all of the things you do when you lose someone so young and so suddenly. And as I went to sleep that night night still thinking about Emma's life, it hit me. This was Emma's gift. You didn't have to know her long to fall in love with her. She may not have had the ability of speech, but she had an incredible capacity for communication. She could reach into your heart without uttering a word.

As we say goodbye to her, I find myself conflicted. I feel pain from her loss, but if I am honest, I also feel a sense of hope. Emma spent her years struggling against a body that didn't work for her and living in a world where most people measured her by all the things she wasn't able to do. In my heart, I know she is in heaven free from the physical constraints, embraced and welcomed by all around her.  As my daughter Charlie so aptly said to me,  "Emma's not Resting in Peace, She's Running in Peace. " Run in Peace dear Emma. We love you.

My Brother, His Mission and Redemption Village

I come from a blended family. I have three brothers; one is a full brother, one is a half-brother, and one is a step-brother. To me there is no difference between them; they are just my brothers.  I am not the greatest sister when it comes to keeping in touch, but I am sure they would agree that they are not the best at keeping in touch either. I know we all mean to do better, but we let life get in the way, and if I am honest, sometimes we let “life stuff” hang between us. I have decided that I have to try to do better at putting away the “stuff” and focusing on the relationship. Today’s blog is dedicated to my Big Brother, the Missionary, and finally pushing some of that “stuff” out of the way. 

Many of you are probably already aware that my brother is a missionary in the Dominican Republic. You may have seen me like his page on Facebook or create events in support of his Mission work. What most of you do not know is that for years I was conflicted, even angry about the path he had chosen. For you to understand better, I have to start at the beginning. Rick had been working as a Food Service salesman, but had expressed a sense of unsettledness and a calling to the ministry. It wasn't much of a surprise when he started discussing his desire to work in the mission field, but his decision to move to the Philippines, did come as a bit of a shock. All the natural questions came to mind. “Is it safe to go there? Should you be taking a family there? How will you support yourself? How long will you stay? How will you transition back to the states when your mission is over?” These were just a few of the thoughts which raced through my head, but I was hesitant to voice them. I wanted to show support, not doubt. I told myself this was going to be a year to two year long effort, and when it was over, Rick would return and take a job working as a Pastor for a church somewhere. I was sure God had a plan, if he was putting all of the pieces into place. I could relax and let things unfold the way they were supposed to.

Rick left for the Philippines in the latter half of the 90s, and has remained in the mission field ever since only returning to the states for a few furloughs to raise support. Throughout the years, he and his family faced many setbacks and difficulties, but the two issues that seemed to continually plague him were medical and financial. After contracting an amoeba in the Philippines, Rick took very ill, and came home on a furlough for medical attention. I began questioning his mission. I started pressuring him to return to the states for good, but every time I would ask him not to go back, he would patiently explain to me that God was still calling him to be where he was. Despite the difficulties, he had to return to the Philippines. I am a Christian, but I didn’t understand. I felt like God was sending him enormous signs in big bold letters telling him to go home, and I was angry at him for ignoring them. When he returned to the Philippines I was heartbroken and bitter. I told him I couldn’t support his decision to be there any longer. I am sure that was a very bad day for him, and I still feel guilt and pain that I caused such heartache. 

Several years later, Rick returned from the Philippines, but only for a very short time before he moved his family to the Dominican Republic to follow his next calling. During this time our relationship was strained. Finally, two years ago, I decided I had to try and bridge the distance between us that I had created, so I booked a trip to visit him. Truth be told, I was incredibly nervous prior to getting there, because I still struggled with deep conflict about his life. I knew, however, if i was going to be a part of my brother's life again, I had to let go of that fear and just go. I am forever grateful that I did, because it opened my eyes in a way that could have never happened by just reading his updates. I was finally able to see first hand the difference he makes in peoples lives every single day.

My husband and I flew into Santiago on a Friday. We were about two hours from where Rick lived, so we rented a car and started on our journey to his home. That ride alone was eye opening. I felt like we were on Mister Toad’s Wild Ride. We fought our way through traffic on roads where traffic signs were ignored, a two lane road meant there would be four lanes of traffic and every car on the road was riddled with dings and dents from battling its way through the streets every day. Multi-passenger scooters weaved in and out of the chaos, and brave men and women waited for a pause in traffic to step out into the melee and sell their wares. We passed resorts flanked by slums, large homes surrounded by shacks, and villages teeming with people mere miles from abandoned neighborhoods. It was a ride marked by the disparity between the haves and have nots. 

While that ride was eye-opening, it was our visit to a place called Redemption Village that opened my mind and my heart again to my brother’s work. It was our second day in the country, and Rick was taking us on a tour of the places where he worked. As we drove towards the first village, he explained that one of his primary roles was something of an outreach coordinator. There were multiple mission groups in the local area all providing a variety of services, and he acted as a liaison who linked people in need with the right mission services to help them. Much of those efforts were targeted at providing basics; food, medicine and clean water. He also spent a large part of his time hosting mission groups who tackled large projects such as building schools, churches, and playgrounds. He was also involved in creating training programs that were designed to raise up church leaders in the small villages, and he provided counseling and friendship to whomever needed it. I listened as he spoke, trying to absorb all he was telling me, but I really had no reference point to frame the information until we drove into Redemption. 

We parked the car at the front of the village. As I stepped our and scanned my surroundings, the  first thought I had was that I had never seen this kind of poverty up close. I had driven through slums in DC. I had seen pictures in National Geographic or a documentary on TV, but I had never walked side by side with people who had so little. All around me were tiny one room shacks housing multiple families. Most had no electricity or modern plumbing. As we moved through the village, a group of children started to form around us. They reached for my hands or simply tried to touch me as I walked by. The further we walked, the more I began to feel like the Pied Piper of Hamlin as the group of children continued to grow around me. I was surrounded by beautiful little faces staring up at me; little brown urchins covered in dirt, wearing little to no clothing managing these huge smiles in what seemed to me should have been the saddest place in the world yet somehow these children were beaming with joy. 

Random thoughts kept jumping through my mind. “Where were the parents? Why were they letting these children wander off with strangers? How were children able to survive in these conditions?” I watched as my brother and sister-in-law moved through the village with ease stopping to check in with family after family to see how they were doing. Within the span of a half hour, my brother was presented with multiple requests for assistance. One person had a kidney infection, but had no money to see a doctor. By that afternoon, Rick had arranged for a free appointment and funds for medicine. Barb, my sister-in-law and truly my Brother’s rock, introduced me to a tiny little baby who was failing to thrive. The Grandmother who was raising her had been thinning the formula to save money. Barb had arranged for free formula to be provided to the family until the baby was able to reach to a healthy weight. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was actually meeting my future niece Mariflor who was abandoned by her family shortly after my visit.  The requests continued and so did the solutions. I was overwhelmed with the need, and awed at my Brother’s ability to see through the chaos to a solution each time. 

As we neared the end of our visit, Rick suggested that we purchase some drinks for the children. The money would help the local store which funded the village church, and I think he sensed I needed to feel as if i could do something to help. We reached into the packed cooler and started passing out drinks to the children. In a matter of minutes, the word seemed to have spread through the village, and the group of children swelled. We emptied the cooler and bought every drink in the store, but the children still kept coming. I was horrified that we didn’t have enough to go around. I was appalled that I couldn’t answer every child’s plea. As my brother swept me out of the store into our vehicle, I dissolved into tear’s with the realization that this was my brother’s life. Endless need, and never enough support to answer every request. I was brought to tears in less than an hour, yet my brother and his family faced this pressure day after day, month after month, year after year. I knew that only with God’s support and blessing could they possibly sustain the kind of commitment and strength they needed to face their tasks daily. I finally understood why Rick hadn’t been able to turn his back on this calling despite the hardships he had endured. 

My brother is facing a critical time in his mission work right now. He needs support. His wife's father has been struggling with some very serious health issues. After a short visit home it became clear that they needed to return for a longer furlough to allow time with her father. They returned to the Dominican to get things in order there, so they could feel free to return on furlough to the states for a longer period of time. Rick has a great network in place in Sosua with key individuals who will provide supervision over the mission work while he leads it from here. Rick is going to continue to go back and forth between both locations, but it will be challenging both financially, physically and emotionally, so I am asking for your support. Support can take many forms and whether it is a prayer to lift him up, a share to get his message out or dollars to fund his efforts, any support is appreciated. Rick and Barb are always lifting others up in prayer and support, it is my turn to lift him up by requesting your help. I have put a link under my suggested links to a web page which provides more information about his ministry and ways you can help if you feel called in any way. Thanks!

Remembering....

The day began like so many other days, a hectic race to get the kids off to school followed by a slightly less frenzied rush to get myself ready for work. I was excited, and a little nervous as I prepared for the day ahead. I had a trainer from the corporate office flying in to work with our staff on store presentation. As I moved about my room, a news report caught my attention. The Today Show was reporting that a plane that had just struck one of the towers in the World Trade Center. Katie Couric and Matt Lauer were speculating about what might have occurred. Was it an accident? Could it have been intentional? There was still a lot of confusion. As they panned to a live shot of the Towers, a second plane flew into view and straight into the Second tower. The disbelief, and shock that I felt in that moment was echoed by the news casters who had watched with me. I reached for the phone and called my husband at the Pentagon. He was surprisingly unaware of the events in New York, so I gave him a quick recap, hung up, and headed to work. I couldn't yet make sense of what I had just seen.

I was half way to my office when they started reporting that a plane had struck the Pentagon. My first thought was disbelief. The reporter must have gotten events confused. Still, in the pit of my stomach, I felt the first flutter of fear. I pressed my foot to the gas and drove a little faster. I needed to get to a phone. Six minutes later, I pulled into the parking lot of my store in full panic mode. I raced past my co-workers. My hand was shaking, and my heart was racing as I dialed my husband's number. His line was ringing, but no one was answering. I hung up and called back, this time I got a message that the circuits were busy. I started repeating the same two statements in my head. " The Pentagon is huge. Chuck is fine. The Pentagon is huge. Chuck is fine." After several unsuccessful attempts to get through again to the Pentagon, I switched tactics and called my Army "Sister" whose husband also worked in the Pentagon. She had not been able to get through to her husband either, but she had learned that the area where the plane had struck was in the area where our husbands worked. I hung up the phone, turned towards the TV in our office and watched the images flashing across the screen. That was the moment I finally realized that the world as we had known it had changed, and would never again be the same.

Twelve years later, I still vividly recall the overwhelming relief when my husband walked up the path to our home, and later, our children's faces as we picked them up from their schools. I had thought they would be sheltered in their schools from the new reports only to learn that they had quickly been apprised of events by other students with cell phones. We spent several more hours that day waiting to hear news about each member of our military family, and felt relief and gratitude each time we learned that someone else made it home safely mixed with sadness and grief as we learned of colleagues who weren't as fortunate.

My feelings and emotions are as conflicted today as they were twelve years ago. Relief, gratefulness, joy, guilt, anger and bewilderment mixed together. I am forever grateful that I have been able share the last twelve years with my husband. I can't help but feel joy in my heart for the gift that God gave me that day, yet I feel selfish and guilty for allowing myself to enjoy my good fortune when others are burdened by grief. I harbor tremendous anger towards the individuals that committed those acts of terrorism that day, and bewilderment as to how anyone could twist and distort a religious belief into a call to murder. I'd like to forgive, because I know that is what God would want me to do, but I am not sure that I am there yet. I will never forget.

A Reluctant Gym Rat

It’s been about 5 months since I posted anything about my ongoing adventures in trying to turn my non-athletic self into a gym rat. That is because shortly after my last post, I started experiencing worsening GI symptoms which triggered a series of medical procedures including gall bladder surgery.  It has been a tough five months of medical management for motility issues affecting my esophagus, stomach, gallbladder and intestines, but after much trial and error, I believe I am finally to a point where I am having more good days than bad days. 

Throughout that period, I lost 15 pounds and then gained back ten. I found myself turning to whatever foods my body would tolerate, and developed a pattern of gorging on comfort foods on the good days and fasting on the bad days. Italian wedding soup, Cream of Chicken soup with added chicken and smoothies became my go to foods. Exercise routines were non-existent as all of my energy was spent just getting through the day. Now that I have finally reached a point where I have better control over my body, I am trying to slowly move back into a routine where I am making healthier food choices again and am able to carve out time in my day for a little exercise.  I began with short walks around my office several weeks ago, moved on to longer walks in my neighborhood and finally yesterday, I hit the gym for the first time since this whole episode started. 

It have to admit that it felt great to begin again, even as I quickly realized that I was going to have to start from scratch. I managed a very slow twenty minutes on the step machine, only lasting that long, because I had made the wise decision to take my daughter along. I was simply too embarrassed after telling her to set her timer to thirty minutes to step off after only ten minutes like my body wanted me too.  Our weight routine went far better than the cardio, and I was pleasantly surprised to be able to manage Ab exercises post abdominal surgery. I even managed to complete multiple sets despite my daughter dissolving into giggling fits next to me when I added pelvic tilts.  When I started this blog over two years ago now, I knew that I needed a distraction from the distasteful part of getting fit...the exercising. I needed outside motivation to push me, and in reaching out to those around me for support I helped set myself up for success. With everyone's support, I accomplished something that I had never managed before in my life. I maintained a steady fitness routine for almost two years. But towards the end of the second year, I learned the hard way that a small break in that routine is enough to derail all of the hard work that had gone on before, and even prior to my medical malfunctions, I was struggling to stick to a consistent work-out schedule. I am hoping that this new start will be my last start, but I'm not going to make promises that my body might choose to break for me. For now, I am going to take it a day at a time, but I am also using a page from what worked previously. I'm trying to distract myself from the distasteful part of getting fit, so I’ve enlisted my daughter as a partner in crime. She signed up at my gym yesterday, and we’ve committed to work-out dates with each other.  I’m not sure how long I’ll have her or even how often her schedule will coincide with mine, but for however many sessions that may be, the time together is the perfect motivation for this reluctant gym rat. 

Blurred Lines: The Zimmerman Trial, Paula Dean and the Freedom to speak my Mind

It seems I have become a rebel rouser in my late 40s. I don't know if  the phenomenon of social media has emboldened me, or if the realization that it is more important to speak my own truth than worry about how other people react that has become more freeing. The day after the verdict, I spent most of my time completely distracted by a Facebook debate. I should have been enjoying my day with my family, but instead I found myself glued to my News Feed waiting for notifications of the next posting. Truth be told, I have been consumed for weeks by the social networking storm surrounding both the Zimmerman Trial and Paula Dean's fall from grace. I have engaged in multiple facebook debates, spent many an hour in discussions at social events (I think my friends have started tossing out statements for the fun of seeing what  ensues) and found myself yelling like a crazy woman at the TV. My husband and children have patiently listened each time a status, statement from some pundit or article inflamed my senses. I have found my soapbox, and I can't seem to step away from it.

The verdict this weekend did not surprise me. I did not believe that Zimmerman's actions could support a Murder 2 charge. I had followed the prosecution's less than stellar performance in arguing for a charge they couldn't make, and hoped that the jury could somehow get past reasonable doubt to get to a Manslaughter charge, and of course they could not. A young man had lost his life, and no one would be held accountable. A person had made an assumption about a this young man's character, not based on the observation of a criminal act, but based solely on his appearance. That bad assumption drove multiple other bad decisions which led to his death. I am not writing to revisit the trial and my feelings about the verdict, because I'm sure most of you already know exactly where I stand from my previous postings, but my heart is heavy, my mind is racing and I know somewhere in this needless death there has to lie a lesson.

We have come a very long way in our race relations over my lifetime, but clearly we have not come far enough when a trial can divide a country and the perception by too many is the scales of justice are still weighted by the color of your skin. We have integrated schools, promoted equality in the workplace and created more opportunities than ever before for advancement of minorities. We have broken the barriers in support of interacial marriages and families. Blended families are more and more common, and our youth of today are becoming increasingly more color blind, but as the lines have blurred it has fostered a false perception that the playing field has been leveled and racism can no longer harm an individual in the way it once did.

Since the verdict was released, there has been a continuing debate about the role that race played in the events surrounding the Zimmerman trial. I have had numerous discussions with people I respect, people I know to judge individuals based on character and not color, who believe that this case should never have been made about race, and have been appalled and angered at the media and politicians who have seemed to promote this. These same individuals seem evenly divided on whether they shared the belief that Zimmerman was guilty of manslaughter or instead believed Zimmerman was justified in using lethal force as a means of self defense.  I, on the other hand, believe that you can't separate the racial undercurrent that is attached to this case. I need only ask myself the questions, "If Trayvon had been white, would the DA have viewed Zimmerman's injuries as evidence supporting a claim of self-defense or would he have viewed them as evidence that Trayvon was fighting for his life? If Trayvon had been white, would he have supported the arrest for manslaughter as lead detective had originally  recommended? If Trayvon had been white would, Zimmerman have had a defense fund fueled by strangers and a high powered attorney willing to take his case on?," and finally, "Would Zimmerman have been as suspicious of a white boy in a Hoodie as he was of Trayvon in a hoodie? " This may surprise you, but the only question I feel ambivalent about is the last question. I am not convinced that Trayvon's race was the primary driver in that first bad assumption. I am not convinced that Zimmerman wouldn't have pursued any young man in that age group he deemed out of place because he fit some stereotypical profile whether that was a hispanic boy wearing colors or a white boy sporting piercings and tattoos.  Either way, whether race was the deciding factor  or his age group was the deciding factor, this case is a clear illustration of everything that is wrong about profiling.

Moving on to Paul Dean. There seems to be as much, if not more debate on her fall from grace. There is a camp of supporters who feel she has been unfairly targeted by both the media and her sponsors, and believe that she shouldn't be held responsible for something she said years before. There is a camp of supporters, who acknowledge that her actions are more egregious than
simply using an inappropriate word in her past, but they still empathize with her inability to shed her southern roots and the prejudices that she learned as a child when open displays of racism were the norm. They see their parents or their grandparents in her, and believe she should be held accountable on some level, but believe that the consequences of her actions have been too harsh. Finally, there is the camp that believes she is a racist through and through, and deserves everything she gets. I fall somewhere between the last two camps. I see Paula as the last vestiges of a generation of people that grew up when prejudice wasn't questioned. It was simply a thread in the fabric of every day life. She has learned to adjust to a changing world, and probably is far more progressive in her views than she was twenty years ago, but even so, she will never understand the nuances of why a Southern themed plantation party sporting Black servants might be perceived as offensive or how the use of the "N" word to describe a criminal says more about her than the person she was referring to. But I can't seem to label her a racist. Racist is one of the ugliest words in our vocabulary. To use the word racist, I have to believe that you are first and foremost driven by hatred, and I have so far only seen that she is driven by a bias so ingrained that she can't see the fallacies within it. As a business owner, she let her employees down by either ignoring an environment that promoted discrimination and harassment or participating it. She is currently being held to task for those actions, and it is understandable that a business would be uncomfortable with her as a spokesperson for their product.

Where ever you land on both of these cases, they clearly illustrate that there is still a real divide in how Americans view race and racism in this country. Within that divide is an undercurrent of suspicion that continues to separate us. This suspicion colors our perceptions of each other and our reactions to these kinds of events. If we are to be honest, we have to acknowledge that the seeds of racism lie within all of us. They are those unconscious thoughts that creep in when we stand out in a crowd or are in unfamiliar territory. It is what we do with those seeds, how we allow ourselves to be driven by them that ultimately separates the racists, the people who allow hate to feed those seeds, and everyone else who is just trying to navigate in a complex world filled with racial undercurrents. In our vigilance in stamping out discrimination, we have to be careful not to confuse differing opinions as prejudice, because if we truly want to find a way to level the playing fields, we have to learn to respect in each other what we are often most suspicious of.

Habits, Gimmicks and Choices

I once heard that for an action to truly become a habit, you have to do the same thing every day for thirty days. After thirty days of repetition, it becomes a habitual part of your daily routine, and you simply continue to do it without consciously thinking about it. While I never really believed that exercising would become habit to me after a simple thirty day period, I did believe that once I passed the year mark of exercising regularly, I would have accomplished the habitual part, and would not need gimmicks ( my blog) or encouragement to keep me motivated any longer. This last year has proven me very wrong. 

It has been quite some time since I last posted, and that silence has been a reflection of my commitment, or lack there of, to a healthier lifestyle. This time last year, if you had asked me, I would have told you that I was still very dedicated to my quest even as I was already demonstrating signs of a lessening commitment. Truth be told during the first six months of 2012, I still found myself a fairly regular visitor to the gym, but I certainly wasn't as strict with my schedule or as willing to push myself to the next level as I had been the previous year. As I neared my daughter’s wedding date in September, my exercise routine went from fairly regular to irregular. I stopped making fitness a priority as I focused all of my free time on wedding planning.  Ironically, it was after the wedding was over and free time was plentiful again, that I really lost my focus. At first, I told myself that I deserved and needed a break. I promised myself, that I would start back into a good routine at the beginning of October, which turned into November and finally December. 

I threw my back out just before Christmas and spent most of the holiday supine on the couch. In addition to my bad back, i was fighting a third sinus infection in a four month period. My body was telling me that I had let it down, and my head was echoing the same thing. I knew I needed to get back on track, but guilt, pain and illness, all seemed to be standing in my way.

I began physical therapy in early January, and while I haven't been released from PT yet, I did get approval to start back to a limited work-out routine in the gym in between sessions. Monday was my first day back in the gym and consisted of a very slow walk on the treadmill. It certainly wasn't at a pace I could be proud of, but it felt good just to be making the effort.   All I can say is, I am taking this journey one day at a time again, and I’m going to use whatever gimmicks it takes to help me stay on track. I've come to realize that it can't just be about getting healthy, it has to be about staying healthy. I will have to renew my commitment each and every day for the rest of my life, because living this lifestyle will never be habitual for me; it will always require effort.  I will always struggle with the voices in my head that whisper, " It's OK to skip, just this one time!" But this past year has shown me that it is far too easy for “Just this one time...”  to turn into, “Not today, not tomorrow, not the next day.”  Ultimately, it comes down to choices. Today I made good choices. Tomorrow I wake up and fight myself again. 

Invincible

So how ironic that the day after I post my first entry in months, I wake up with my stomach doing somersaults again! Clearly God knew me better than I know myself! I am pretty sure he nudged me into making that post, knowing that once I did, I would find it hard to blow off my next workout, simply because I felt bad. I am positive if I had not made that commitment, I would have skipped a trip to the gym, and opted for laying in bed. Instead I dragged myself there, hit the treadmill for 45 minutes and followed with some sit-ups. It wasn’t a full work-out, and my body was still not cooperating with me when I finished, but I felt as if I had won a hard fought race simply by sticking it out.  As it turned out, it was just the start I needed to prepare myself for a day that ended in sadness and surprise.  

Late in the afternoon on the 4^th, my youngest daughter learned that one of her friends and been killed in an accident. The young man and two friends decided to take an ATV out in the very early hours of the morning after a night of Pre-Fourth of July celebrations. They hit a pothole in the dark and the boy was thrown from the vehicle ultimately resulting in his death a few hours later. My daughter and her friends have spent most of the time sense struggling to make sense of the insensible. Twenty year olds aren’t supposed to die. Twenty year olds are supposed to be invincible, and because they believe they are, they do those things that most of their parents have learned not to do. By the time you are our age, you know that no one is invincible; at their age, however, you still believe you are untouchable until you see the name of your friend scrolling down a twitter feed preceded by three words, "Rest in Peace".

As I paced myself on the treadmill yesterday, I vacillated between sadness for the family, relief that my daughter had stayed home and not attended the party where the accident occurred, and a sense of guilt for being selfish enough to have thought of that in the face of such a horrific tragedy.  I couldn’t stop thinking about the other parent’s loss, and yet I couldn’t stop feeling relieved that it wasn’t my loss. I thought of the friends who were left behind: the ones who were with him that morning and now had to live with the “What ifs.” I thought of the friends who were not with him that morning and wondered if they might have changed the outcome if they had been there.  I pondered if this would make any of them pause in the future or would their pain send them down a more dangerous path. I worried, “Would we lose any others too soon?” and even as the thought crossed my mind, I already knew the answer was likely "Yes!" These tragedies happened daily across the country…. good kids, making a careless decision that cost them their life.  

The truth is that when you are twenty, it doesn’t take long for that sense of vulnerability to wear off and the seduction of invincibility to set back in. I could only pray and hope that the events of this week would make a strong enough impression on my own child  and those close to her to protect them from some future tragedy and another senseless loss. 

A Crack in the Foundation

It has been quite some time since I posted last. I wish I could tell you that I have been a work-out machine these last few months and I just haven't found the time to write, but the truth is I fell off the wagon and have been avoiding publishing my downfall. 

It all began shortly after my daughter got engaged and just after I passed the one year mark of starting my blog. My daughter and her fiance set a wedding date for September 1, 2012. While this initially seemed like a long time for planning purposes, when we actually began hunting for dresses, venues and DJs, it quickly became evident that in the bridal world, we were having a rush wedding! I started allowing my wedding planning to get in the way of my regular workout routine. Instead of working out four to five times a week, I dropped to three to four times a week. I told myself it was OK for a short period of time to miss a few days here and there. After all, I reasoned with myself, I had been working out regularly for a year. I was clearly past the point of losing my way…or so I thought, and that was the psychological crack in the foundation that led to my downfall. 

Three to four times a week dropped to two to three times a week, and then I woke one morning with a kink in my neck, and two to three times a week dropped to one to two times a week. Soon after my neck improved, I started having problems with my gastroparesis. From that point on, my work-out routine went completely to the wayside. I managed three short bike rides (a new activity I’ll write about in one of my future blogs) and a handful of even shorter walks over a six week period. 

Finally, about two weeks ago, things with my body started turning around again, and I have slowly been able to pick up the activity again. About a week ago, I started batting around the idea of posting to my blog again, but every time I sat down to write, I found a reason not to. The truth was I knew posting to the blogosphere was a commitment, and frankly, I was a little afraid to commit again. After a year of hard work, it had been so easy to slide back into a routine of complacency and excuses. I was afraid of admitting my failure and afraid of repeating that failure in the future. 

I pondered the idea for several more days, and then came the sudden realization. The only true failure would be to give into that fear and allow it to to stop me from trying again. If nothing else, I had proven one thing this past year. I am far more successful in my efforts with a team cheering me on. My mission is still the same…do the things I need to do on a daily basis to improve my overall health. Fix the issues I can control and position myself better for facing the health concerns I can’t control.  It’s time to get serious again….who is with me? 

Pushing Past My Comfort Zone...

Every year, my husband's office holds a Christmas Party. There is always good food, great company, gifts for all and  three special prizes for three lucky winners. One prize is usually a gift certificate to a local spa, one is usually a gift certificate to a nice restaurant in town and the third and most coveted prize is usually a gift certificate for a trip.  The previous two years the grand prize had been a gift certificate to a cruise line, so we were hopeful that this would be our year to win the big prize. When the time came for them to pull the prizes, we crossed our fingers in anticipation. First was a gift certificate to one of the nicer restaurants in town. We didn't win that. Second was a gift certificate to the Red Door Salon and Spa. I could definitely have gotten into that present, but that also went to someone else. It was finally time for the grand prize! They had decided to do something a little different this year. This year's gift certificate was a trip to the Snowshoe West Virginia Ski Resort....hmmm, I had never been skiing and Chuck had not skied since he injured his knee. Perhaps this wasn't the year we wanted to win after all, but even as the thought flickered through my mind, I could see the President of the company turning towards Chuck and low and behold, we had actually won the grand prize! Well, any hesitation quickly turned to excitement! We had never won a prize that big before, and skiing or no skiing, I was sure we would be able to find something to do to have fun even if it meant just going for a weekend and cuddling in front of a warm fire together.

Rob with Charlie back from Afghanistan

So this past week, my daughter's boyfriend returned home after a six month tour to Afghanistan (Thank you Rob for your service!!!!). They live in a small apartment in Silver Spring, so they asked us if they might borrow the house for the weekend to host a welcome home party for Rob and 40 of their friends. It seemed the opportune time to get away, so we grabbed our gift certificate, packed our bags and headed to West Virginia. Somewhere along the way, we decided that we'd get Chuck a knee brace, myself some ski clothes and we'd try skiing after all. It just didn't feel right to go to a Ski resort and not go skiing.

 We arrived early in the evening on Saturday, checked into our suite, made arrangements for a ski lesson for the next day and headed out to pick up our ski equipment. The resort was designed so that almost everything was in walking distance and driving was discouraged. As we lugged the ski equipment from the rental center to our hotel, I realized pretty quickly that the work-out clothes I had packed would probably stay in the suitcase. We  were going to get plenty of walking in this weekend, on top of whatever other physical challenges skiing presented.

Snow Bunny

We had arranged for an early morning lesson, so we would have full day ahead of us. It was  snowing and in the teens as we made our way to the meeting point, but I was decked out in snow gear from head to toe and found I was surprisingly comfortable. I definitely looked the part of a snow bunny even if I had no clue what I was doing. We had to traverse a small bunny slope to get to our meeting location. I managed to make it to the desired point without falling even though I found myself feeling slightly out of control most of the way there. The lesson went very well and the instructor gradually eased me into more difficult traverses. I fell twice, but by the end of the lesson I felt empowered and was sure I could handle the beginner slope just fine.

We decided to take a hot chocolate break before heading to the new run which in hindsight was my first mistake. By the time we returned to the slope, the runs had filled with more people who were flying around us. The snow had gotten just a bit icier, as well, so I was having a harder time slowing myself down. As we approached the edge of the first incline,  I hesitated. This run looked a lot steeper than the bunny slope, but Chuck assured m me that it was not much steeper, so I went ahead and pushed myself forward. I made it about ten feet, panicked and fell. I struggled to get myself righted, but  I would get myself righted only to slide a little bit more. Every time I slid further I panicked a little more. Finally we made the decision to take off our skis and walk back to the top of the slope. I decided I needed to stick to the bunny slopes a little bit longer. As we headed back up to the slope sans skis, a concerned ski patrolman stopped to check on us. My husband nicely explained I was new to this and a little afraid. He suggested we try a different area that was better for beginners. We;d have to take a shuttle to it, but he was sure it would be a better place for me to start. 

She's up!

We headed to lunch first to allow ourselves a chance to warm up, but also the opportunity for me to settle down. Over lunch I convinced myself that the next run would certainly go better, so I was excited again by the time we hopped on the shuttle for the next area. This are was definitely less populated than the previous area, so I felt a little more comfortable that I could navigate around the other skiers a little easier. No sooner than I stepped on the slopes, however,  than I started sliding again. I just couldn't seem to get my ski's to do what I wanted. Instead of heading straight to the green slope we decided to hit the bunny slope again, so I could build up my confidence again. Unfortunately, this time I found myself more and more frustrated instead of empowered. Clearly skiing wasn't for me. I was a klutz after all; what had I been thinking!

I tried to convince my husband to go skiing with out me. I told him I'd go get a hot chocolate and wait at the lodge while he hit some intermediate slopes, but he wasn't giving up. He believed in me even though I didn't believe in myself. He nudged me to try the beginner slope just once. He told me that if after making one run, I still wasn't having fun, we would go back to the lodge together. I begrudgingly acquiesced even though I was secretly convinced that I was going to be severely injured by the time I got to the bottom.  I started down the slope, made it about fifty yards before I got startled by another skier and then careened to the left and fell yet again. By this time I was simmering with anger that I had let Chuck talk me into continuing.There was no going back up this time, only going down. Tears of frustration rolled down my face, and I was frozen in place. I knew I had to get moving or sit there and freeze to death.

Chuck patiently waited for me to calm down and build up the courage to go further. He promised to stay right with me while we continued down and assured me that he had my back; he would not let anyone run me down from behind. I took a deep breath and pushed myself forward. As I headed down the slope I tried to remind myself of what my instructor had said to me the first time we went down a steeper embankment, "Embrace the speed, don't fight it." So instead of trying to break my descent this time, I just let go and went for it. Surprisingly the more I let go, the more I found myself gaining a sense of control. By the time we made it to the end of the beginner's slope,  I decided I was willing to try the run one more time. One more time turned into two more times, and then three, and then more. By the last run, I was able to complete the entire run without stopping and was having lots of fun.

A Great Weekend Together!

At the end of the day, I had plenty of bruises, a sore shoulder, a stiff back and swollen knees, but I also felt a sense of accomplishment. I had pushed myself beyond my comfort zone and kept going. I'm not sure that I could have even attempted to try and ski a year earlier, much less been able to work past my fears and keep going after so many frustrating starts, but the past eleven months had helped to build my confidence, and my husband had been there to give me the gentle nudging I needed to keep going. I am grateful he was there watching my back, believing both in me and for me and, as always, holding my hand along the way.  

My First Work-out of 2012 and New Year's Resolutions

Well, I am finally back on line! December was a great month. I was able to really enjoy the holidays with my family and friends, and for the first part of the month even managed to stay on track with my fitness goals. It wasn't until Christmas Day that I fell off the wagon, and when I say I fell off the wagon.... I mean I REALLY fell hard. My downfall began with the crud which landed me on steroids and antibiotics for a week. It  ended with a sugar binge and a 10 day hiatus from the gym!

I have to say I was surprised at how quickly I lost my will power when I felt bad. I guess because I was forced to stay sedentary for periods of time, when I did feel a little better, I easily fell back into a routine of "everything else needs to come first"! Combine that with a house full of amazing baked goods and a nagging cough, it was the perfect equation for apathy. So yesterday I decided I would kick start my efforts again by starting back to my pre-Christmas routine. As part of my effort to ensure I was reaching my goals during the month of December, I had taken to walking laps around the interior of my office multiple times through out the day. This achieved two things...it kept me warm and dry for my daily exercise breaks, but it also helped to boost my total miles each day, and if you read my last blog, I had se very specific goals for each week. One lap around the office equaled about .10 miles. Yesterday I managed 25 laps throughout the day and then followed that with my first trip to the gym of 2012!

To be honest, I thought the gym would be overrun by people spurred on by New Year's resolutions, so I was pleasantly surprised not to have to fight for a machine. I decided to start with a slower pace since I was still  recovering and it had been awhile since I had been in. This turned out to be a good decision in more ways than one. First I had forgotten my number one rule when I  hopped on the machine, use the restroom first. One quarter of a mile in and I realized that even the current pace was too fast without an empty bladder, so less than five minutes into my walk and I was pausing for a potty break. Ten minutes later I was buzzing along nicely again and my blackberry rang. I had also forgotten to place it on vibrate, so I quickly answered the phone to silence it, but managed instead to lose my grip on it! The phone dropped on to the moving belt below my feet and I found myself trying to quickly jump over the phone without landing on it as it flew backwards off the machine. I was so rattled, that when I reached for the pause button, I hit the emergency stop button instead and sent myself careening off the treadmill after it. Amazingly I didn't injure myself or my phone in the process.

It certainly wasn't an auspicious beginning for my first work out of the new year, but I jumped back on the treadmill anyways and put in another three miles. One thing I have learned this past year, it isn't about how pretty I look when I work-out, how hard I appear to be working out or how graceful I am when I work-out,  it's just about making it through the work-out and going back again!  So as I start my New Year I have come to the conclusion , it's not about the Resolutions,  it's about the resolve. I just need to make it through the work-out and go back again.

How to keep from hibernating during the "Carboholidays" ?

sThe holidays are upon us and with them come parties, family dinners, Christmas cookies, pies, cold weather, insane schedules, flues and multiple other distractions. After a week-long carbohydrate induced stupor, I have come to the conclusion that I need to do better navigating December than I did November or more precisely, Thanksgiving Day. I actually started out well, even hitting the gym before I began my cooking marathon, but I made my first mistake when I decided to partake in our traditional Cream Chipped Beef on Toast breakfast. I even held back and only indulged in one piece of toast, but apparently that was one piece too many and before we even got to Thanksgiving dinner, I had an esophageal spasm....one of the less pleasant leftovers from my last surgery.

I was determined to persevere, however, because I had not been able to enjoy the previous Thanksgiving. I had been three months post surgery, still had a PEG tube in and could only manage soft foods in small amounts. This year I was PEG tube free and feeling much better. My husband and I declared a "Carboholiday" for the weekend and granted ourselves permission to indulge in all of our favorites. So as I calmed my digestive system from breakfast, I proceeded to prepare Turkey, Ham, sausage stuffing, mashed potatoes, candied sweet potatoes, and home-made cranberry sauce. My friends brought our other favorites, green bean casserole, pineapple fluff ( if you've never had it, you need to try it!) and pies, pies, pies! I ate, ate, and ate. The end result was five hours of cooking for thirty minutes of bliss followed by five days of stomach distress, work-out apathy and an unrelenting urge to hibernate.

If I am truthful, I can't blame my apathy on the carbohydrates alone. I let family, weather, parties and Christmas shopping distract me as well. Everything else seemed more important than sticking to a routine. I finally caught hold of myself mid-week and pondered the problem for several days. Things certainly weren't going to slow down. Our calendar was already filling with get-togethers. We had family coming in and I knew that food temptations would be high. Finally it occurred to me that my best chance for navigating the weeks ahead was to set my path by establishing a few concrete goals and putting them to the blogosphere....after all, it has worked for me in the past. So this month I am reverting back to old school and setting goals for the month.

Goal 1: Clock 28 miles per week on my pedometer (I've replaced the one my puppy thought was a toy)
Goal 2: No bread. I'm still planning on allowing myself flexibility with my Carb choices this month ...after all it is the holidays, but since bread is the biggest culprit in setting my stomach off, it's out for December.

Against All Odds

Yesterday was a bit hectic. I was surprisingly busy at work as people were trying to wind up their last items before heading out for the holidays. I had my in-laws coming in and needed to complete a few last touches on the house ...is the house ever ready enough for family? And I was determined to fit in a work-out that day, because I knew it would be a challenge to keep up my routine with family in town. I left the office a little later than expected, quickly headed to the store to pick up some last minute items, then raced home to get dinner in the oven and hurredly folded my last load of laundry. I glanced at the clock and determined if I wanted to get a work-out in, I only had little over an hour left to do it. So instead of taking the time to put my clothes away, I threw them in a basket, jumped in the car and headed to the gym.

Bye Bye Ear Phones!

I wouldn't have time to fit weights into the routine, but I could get a nice long walk in. I jumped on the treadmill, pressed the quick start button and started moving out. I pulled off my sweatshirt as I walked, and then placed my headphones on my ears and plugged them into the monitor. I switched channels until I landed on Law and Order, and then allowed myself to finally start picking up the pace. I was ready to zone. It was a few minutes later when I started noticing a crackling in my right ear. My first thought was that I probably had a little fluid in my ear. I had been fighting a cold aggravated by allergies for over a week and was still a fluid factory, but each time my ear crackled, I was also getting hit with a small sharp pain. I moved my head around and tried to change positions. Slowly I realized the crackling sharp pain was coming at surprisingly regular bursts. I removed the ear piece form my right ear and held it against my thumb. About a second later I felt a sharp sting. I was being shocked by my ear piece!

My first instinct was to jump off the treadmill. I examined the headphones and saw no break in the wires. Maybe the problem was coming from the treadmill I had been on and not the headphones, so I jumped on another treadmill and started my routine all over again. This time, however, instead of putting the ear piece in my ear, I held it against my thumb again to see if the pulsing continued. Much to my chagrin, the eair piece shocked me again. Probably the smartest move at that point would have been to simply chuck the headphones into the trash and keep walking sans sound, but I really hate walking on a treadmill without something to distract me, so instead I checked the left ear piece against my thumb.  When I determined that there were no electrical shocks flowing from that ear piece, I stuck the left side in and kept going.

Things progressed pretty well for another ten minutes or so, and then I felt a sharp stitch in my side. I slowed my pace until the pain subsided, and then after a few minutes tried to increase it again. Just like the electrical pulse in my ear piece, the pain came back. Apparently my cold was still playing a little havoc, and my body was not cooperating with my desire for speed. I was determined to finish this work-out, however, so I slowed my pace again, but kept going. About forty-five minutes in, I started feeling pain down my shins. Unbelievable! I wasn't even going that fast: I couldn't be stressing my shins. I tried walking through the discomfort for a few more minutes, but had visions of shin splints dancing in my head, and decided the smarter option was to slow my pace one more time. By now I felt like I was moving at a snail's pace, but then I glanced at the speedometer and had an "Oh Wow" moment. Even after reducing my pace multiple times, I was still walking at the original pace I used when I began this adventure ten months ago. It was a visible reminder of just how far I had come.

It hadn't been a great work-out, but I felt great anyways. I had finished the work-out despite the many calamities, and I was still working out ten months later despite the many hurdles. Heading into Thanksgiving, I can only say to everyone out there who has sent me encouraging comments, shared their stories with me, pushed me when I needed pushing, and bolstered me when I needed a boost, I am so very grateful for the support you have shown me this past year. I am where I am today, because of you.... against all odds. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

A Year Ago

My husband and I had a particularly good work-out Saturday morning. He ran a 10K outside while I put in four miles on the treadmill. I am a fair-weathered walker, so when it starts to get cold, I quickly migrate inside; he relishes the cool air in his face and continues to run outside until the sidewalks are covered in snow. We met up to lift weights after our run/walks. In between sets, he ruminated about how things had changed for him in the past few months. He remarked that a year ago, he never would have made a trip to the gym on the weekend, and he was sure he would have only managed one or two work-outs in the midst of a week involving three days of travel. This week, however, he had run a total of 27 miles, walked an additional four miles with me and pumped iron as well. A year ago, he would have began his day with a Coke and a Sausage McMuffin and ended his day with meat, potatoes and pasta.  This Saturday he started the day with a yogurt parfait and ended his day with grilled pork chops and vegetables.

The irony is a year ago, I think we both still considered Chuck to be far more dedicated to his fitness routine than the average man his age. While that may well have been true, it was also true that he had gradually allowed his work schedule to start dictating his work-out schedule. He still continued to run and work out regularly when he was in town, but he was typically on travel more days in a week than he was in the office. He combated this problem by staying at hotels with gyms so he could workout in his spare time, but as his traveled more and more often, he became less diligent about carving out time to use them. He still tended to try and eat healthier during the work week, but often got so caught up in work, he skipped meals and then compensated by eating larger portions when he did eat. They were all small shifts in his routine that weighed him down both literally and figuratively.

As I thought back to my life a year ago, I recalled a more dismal picture. Even though I was still paying dues to the last gym I had contracted with on one of my previous false starts, I certainly wasn't capable of a Saturday morning work-put at the gym. I was knee-deep in complications from my surgery and still sporting a PEG tube. My free time was spent mostly on the couch trying to save my energy to make it to work each week. The possibility of walking four miles in an hour would have been laughable.

As I wound up my work-out that morning, I found myself pushing just a little bit harder. I was incredibly grateful for how far I had come in a year, but what my husband's story proved was that staying fit took constant tending and continuing commitment.  While quitting assured failure, it seemed complacency could be dangerous as well.

Halloween Binges

I still love Halloween. I love the crisp, cool air, and the changing leaves that dress up the day. I love the sounds of the children as they run door to door eager to fill their sacks with more and more goodies. I love seeing the princesses, goblins, ghosts and zombies all puffed up with pride for their costumes. Halloween heralds the coming holiday season and never ceases to evoke a sense of heightened excitement for the days ahead.

It is somewhat of a family tradition that we meet the evening with a pot of Chili steeping on the stove and bags of candy ready in the foyer. This year was no different. We had purchased two massive bags of candy at Target the night before and in an effort to keep with tradition, decided to attempt our first low-salt batch of Chili sans the noodles and rice that we previously favored with it. We purchased No Salt Added Kidney Beans and No Salt Added Canned Tomatoes for the base. We stuck with hamburger meat in lieu of ground turkey, since we knew we would probably need the added flavor. We also threw in some low salt black-eyed peas, beer, tomato sauce, onion, fresh garlic, balsamic vinegar, chili powder, oregano, cinnamon, nutmeg, low fat/low salt Parmesan cheese and Ms Dash's table blend. Truth be told, the ingredients continued to grow as we kept taste testing and realized that the low salt content was putting a serious crimp in our usually zesty Chili.

The good news was that two hours later mixed with a little shredded grated cheese and sour cream, we had a passable chili. Lesson learned, however, it may be a better idea to google an actual low salt recipe for chili the next time versus trying to wing it. Bad news was it didn't quite hit the same spot that our tradition Chili Mac seemed to fill. Even worse, for the first time, our Trick-or-Treater traffic was on slow boil. What did this mean? Huge candy bowl next to the front door that wasn't in danger of being emptied anytime soon by the revelers, but was a fair target for a skinny girl who hadn't managed to quell her cravings that evenings. I confess.....I went on a Halloween candy binge. I might not have felt so bad about it, but we had decided to skip our usual Monday evening work-out. We had spent the previous weekend in New Orleans for a wedding, and needless to say, between walking the French quarter and dancing the night away at the reception, we had decided we deserved a night off to rest our aching calves.

I tried to ease my guilt by reminding myself of a favorite saying of one of my fit friends, "Everything counts!" This is the idea that our physical fitness level is affected by every physical activity we do, not just the activities that target exercising. Walking to the basement to ask a question instead of calling from upstairs, parking at the back of the parking lot to add a few more steps to our daily routine, cleaning, toting laundry, waxing cars, etc.... I believe that as well, which is why I adopted short daily exercise breaks at the office. So as I walked back and forth to the candy bowl, I told myself "Everything counts!" I recognized this was a stretch, but I still only allowed myself one piece of candy a trip. I won't go in to how many trips I made.

Today I am post Halloween binge hangover. The candy bowl has been moved to my daughter's room and lunch consisted of chicken and vegetables. The gym is calling my name. It is a new day, and today I will do better than yesterday.

Making Changes....

About two months ago, my husband went in for his annual physical. Truth be told, the visit was really driven by the fact his refills on his cholesterol medicine ran out. Neither of us expected much more from the visit than a new refill for his medications, so were both taken by surprise to find out that his blood pressure was high, his sugar was borderline high and according to the doctor, he was overweight. He was told he needed to go on a low salt diet modeling a South Beach approach to eating. The doctor wanted him to lose 15 pounds. He was giving him 30 days to try and get his blood pressure down, and then he would start him on blood pressure medicine.

Jimmie

The news hit us particularly hard. His brother had passed away suddenly and without warning of a massive heart attack five years ago. At the time Chuck had a full work-up done including a heart scan and walked away with a good report card. Now five years later, and almost three years post retirement, he had a completely different report card, and not only did it frighten us, but we found ourselves asking, "How did this happen?"

Chuck's lifestyle hadn't seemed to change that much over the years. When he traded his uniform for a suit, he still belonged to two gyms and even had a workout room he took advantage of at his office. But when he started to truly look at his actions through a microscope, he had to acknowledge that when he travelled he tended to miss work-outs. He also tended to eat heavier meals as he often had working dinners out, and he tended to be more stressed.....a bit ironic, since his last job involved being shot at. Since Chuck travelled a lot these small changes combined with age's naturally slowing metabolism was all it took to tilt the see saw in the wrong direction.

We immediately went to the grocery store and started ferreting out low sodium products. When we really started looking at the ingredients for sodium content we were stunned to see just how much sodium was in all of the foods we regularly ate. One of our favorite Sunday treats, chili dogs, was now off the menu (at least on a regular basis). It was quite eye-opening  when we discovered that even the low sodium chili  contained over twice the recommended sodium content. This was going to be a challenge, but to make matters worse, as we looked into the South Beach recommendation, we had to come to terms with the fact that we defined carb addiction. Our pantry was filled with pastas, and I had always modeled our meals after the "one starch, one vegetable, one meat and one bread" approach. If Chuck was going to be successful, I knew I needed to change my habits as well, and that would be a challenge. I could probably live without pasta, but I wasn't sure I could live without potatoes.

So we set out on a different approach to eating about two months ago. We emptied the candy bowl, and filled it with fruit. When my daughter came home to roost and complained, we set a small candy bowl in her room just for her and her friends... out of temptations way. We geared our meals towards meats and vegetables, and we cut out almost all starches and most sweets...I still allow myself a few desserts a week ...you just can't give up everything. We discovered Atkins low carb bars for the afternoon snacks, and they taste surprisingly like candy bars, but I have to admit, they fill you up, not leave you wanting more.

Chuck After

Chuck Before

Chuck made the commitment to working out while on travel and trying to make healthier choices at restaurants as well, and his efforts have paid off. He has lost 25 lbs, lowered his blood pressure and is looking pretty fine. I'm finding that this new approach seems to agree more often than not with my tempermental stomach which has been an added benefit for me. What I've really discovered, however, is the key to success seems to be working together as a supportive team. Making changes hasn't been all that hard because we've been making them together.

Gold Stars and Report Cards....

It's been awhile since I posted last, and I've started receiving some friendly notes from my village asking how things are going. Thank you to my friends and family for caring enough to keep motivating me! That is exactly the encouragement I was looking for when I began this. I knew the road would get tough at times and I would need silent support pushing me along the way, and you have never let me down.

This past month has been particularly full, and I find myself looking back to the first calm months of the year longingly. Simple days filled with an exciting new journey. Little did I know that my little quest would turn out to be the lifeline I needed to handle the challenges ahead, but I have always believed that God has a plan for the way ahead, and I think he opened a door that he knew would help me through the difficult days ahead.

In the past month, both of my children have returned home, and that is my silver lining. I know they are only perched for a short while, but I savor the time. It will be hectic and crazy days ahead, but filled with love, laughter and support while one waits for her loved one to return and the other steps forward in a new direction.

Needless to say, it has been a challenge to remain true to my efforts, but if I had to grade myself, I'd give myself a "B" for my work-out grade. I've continued working out despite the craziness, but have only just been meeting a regular schedule and have not been pushing myself to reach the next challenge.  On the blog grade...clearly an "F". I haven't been writing! On the nutrition side, however, I'd give myself an "A". I've made some pretty significant changes in my eating habits this past month prompted by changes directed for my husband from his doctor. I think I have finally found a healthier menu that works for me...but that is a subject for another day!

As GPA's go, the tally might not seem too high to anyone else, but as report cards go, I have to say, this one feels great to me. The old me would have garnered "F"s all around last month; the new me recognizes that sometimes a "C" average rates a gold star and perhaps a celebratory massage! I still haven't quit!

My Motivation

I've been fighting the motivation monster for the last few weeks. I've managed to stay on track, but if I am honest with myself, I would have to say that I haven't been going out of my way to push myself beyond my comfort zone. I've struggled almost daily with fights between the work-out angel on one shoulder and the red-horned sloth on the other shoulder, and while the angel won most of the arguments, the sloth won on occasion as well. The worst part is, even though I hate to admit it, the onset of my lack of motivation was directly linked to my husband's departure on his most recent work trip.

I've spent most of my married life, saying "Goodbye" to my husband. Up until two years ago, he was an active duty military officer. Long separations were part of the territory. I learned early on that if I wanted to live a fulfilled, happy life, I could not spend my life simply "waiting" for my husband to come home. Instead, I developed my own strategy for survival. I allowed myself a "Poor, Pity Me Day"  complete with pajamas all day long, Twinkies, ice cream, sad movies, and take-out. If the separation was for longer than a month, I would allow myself a few "Poor, Pity Me Days", but then I would kick things into high gear filling my days with as much as possible. The busier the better to pass the time with. After 9/11, the separations became longer and longer. Ultimately after deployments to Iraq and Afghanistan, we decided that Chuck had served his country well and it was time to serve his family. So he retired from the military and took a job with a consulting firm.

In the new job, travel was still involved, but he always managed to make it home for the weekends, and since he wasn't being shot at by anyone, as things go, it was an improvement. Three weeks ago, however, he got a request to help on a proposal team, and for the first time since retiring, he was heading out on an extended trip. I didn't greet the news with a particularly supportive attitude, but once the initial dismay wore off, I thought to myself, "No problem, I've been doing this for years! What's one three week trip when I was already a veteran of year long absences!" 

So imagine my surprise when after a few days, I realized my "Poor Pity Me" strategy for coping that had served me well for 25 years wasn't working anymore. I had to push and prod myself to make my work-outs, push and prod myself to get out of the house when the work day was over, and push and prod myself to get stuff done around the house. I was confounded. Why couldn't I get out of my funk? Was this an empty nest thing?  Where was the woman who held down the home front while juggling kids, job, family support groups and the inevitable crises that arose when the spouses were away? I knew she was in there somewhere, but I was having a hard time finding her.

This past Monday I woke up and decided it was time to kick the attitude. After work I decided to hit a movie instead of staying home and as I sat in the theater waiting for it to start, it finally occurred to me that the problem wasn't that I had lost my ability to cope, I had simply lost my patience for it. When Chuck was on active duty, I lived with the expectation that he would leave for days, weeks, and months at a time, but when Chuck retired, I retired that expectation too, and with it the armor I had protected my heart with. It was an armor made up of a belief that while my husband served his country, I served it as well, only the service I provided was to keep the home front running so he could do his job without distractions.  I had packed that armor away with the uniforms and medals, and so in its absence, I found myself struggling to find meaning in a separation that didn't seem to have one. I could rise to the occasion for the greater good, but I was finding it difficult to rise to the occasion to support a paycheck; however, appreciative I was for it.

And just like that I found my motivation again. This wasn't about a paycheck, this was about a person. This was about supporting the person who always supported me. If this trip was important to Chuck, it was important to me too. The next day, I kicked @#$ on the Kettles, and even made it to another movie after work with friends. I was back on track just in time for my husband's return, and I had found a new armor for this second phase of our lives. Hopefully, I won't have to take it out much, but it was nice to know it was there if I needed it.

Something New

Last week I picked up a pedometer, so I could start trying to keep a more accurate tally of exactly how far I was walking on a regular basis each day. I tracked it for two whole days, and then forgot to attach it when I ran out the door Saturday morning to pick up my daughter from the ER. I spent the better part of the weekend hovering over my daughter after her first seizure in seven months. It's not that she needed me too; rather I needed to. I wanted to erase her pain and disappointment. She had passed the magic deadline and had a driver's license in her sights; I knew this was going to hit her hard. I could remind her that there was a time when we counted days between seizures instead of months, but while I knew she was thankful for how far she had come, like any other 24 year old, she still wanted the independence her own vehicle could provide her.  So I stayed near in case she needed me, and provided the little comfort she allowed me to give.

Monday morning, as I headed out the door to work, I went to find my pedometer to start keeping track again, only to discover that at some point during my prolonged absence on Saturday, my puppy had managed to find something new to play with. I added pedometer to the list of items I needed from the store and headed to work. After the sedentary weekend, I decided to fit in a few extra walks throughout the day. By the time I got home from work, Charlie was still not feeling her best, so instead of heading to the gym, I decided I would simply take Hines for a walk and then try out my new Kettle weight. I didn't expect to get a great work-out, but at least I would be able to work some of my muscle groups and that would make me feel less guilty about staying home.

I ripped open the package, and popped the DVD into the TV. I moved the furniture to give myself room to move, and then waited for the work-out to begin. It started nice and easy with some basic stretches. I was a little surprised, because I really had just expected an instructional video. Here is how to do exercise A, B, C, etc....instead, I realized it actually was a full work-out video routine incorporating the kettle. The first few moves seemed easy enough, but as we started into multiple repetitions, I found myself starting to breathe heavier very quickly. Ten minutes into the routine and I was huffing and puffing! I was frankly amazed, and was slightly relieved when the instructor pointed out that even seasoned athletes had difficulty in the beginning with these routines because they worked the body in a much different way than the other more traditional cardio routines people were used to.

I had to adjust my reps on certain exercises and fore go an exercise that pulled my back, but overall by the time I stopped, I had gotten in one very good work-out. My guilt was completely gone, and I was pleasantly surprised that I had found something new and challenging to turn to. The routine had worked all of my muscles and my heart as well.  The only down side that I could see was the slight fear that until I learned the routine by heart, my klutzy gene might strike, and in one of the many swinging motions involved, I would lose grip of the weight and fling it into the TV. (Mental Note: Always work-out in front of the TV my husband was lobbying for me to replace!)  This wouldn't be my every day routine, but it was definitely going to be a go-to routine on days that I had less time for my work-out or on days where the gym just was a trip too far.

The world seemed just a bit brighter, and once again I found myself calmed by a work out. It's taken me 46 years to get wise, but I'm finally figuring things out.