A couple of days ago, a good friend and I were discussing how annoying self love talk and positive thinking talk has been for us lately. We are so wonderfully in tune to the positive side of things, when we actually WANT to be in a funk it takes work to remain there. Let me repeat this: IT TAKES US WORK TO BE SAD FACE. Revolutionary thought, eh? When we're happy, I don't think the majority of us immediately begin listing everything that is amazing in our lives to perpetuate the happiness... Most of us simply allow it to be, thankful it's there. We probably say things like "what a pretty day" or "I love being stuck inside when it's too cold for life" Yet, when the pouty face rolls in, so does the laundry list of negative things and we say things like "too bad the sun sucks so much" and "it will never be warm again." If I so much as waver off the negative thinking task while having my pouty face on, my brain strides in on a fucking pink horse of glitter and babydontbesosadface rainbows to pull me out of the trenches. What a pain in the ass that can be.
Yesterday I came to the conclusion that my back would not be well enough to go back to Crossfit for a few weeks. This is a real injury, and one that will haunt me if I don't heal correctly. It could mean the difference between doing box jumps at 70 or reminiscing about doing box jumps at 70. I threatened to punch a puppy, or at least curse at a pretty flower. Instead I yelled at my dirty dishes for being so dirty all the time.
I'm still thoroughly annoyed at how reasonable I am, how I always choose the high road in the majority of difficult situations, and how I always manage to find the tiniest speck of positivity in seemingly bleak situations. For the first time, I'm giving credence that my inner cheerleader is stronger than the darkness and being beaten on by pom poms of "buck up bitch" is much more painful to take.
It's easier to be happy for once and oh dear God, that is SO ANNOYING to say.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Sacroiliac Joint, Nice to Meet You
On Friday the class took on Christine. Three rounds: 500m row, 21 box jumps, 12 deadlifts at body weight. I was nursing a tight right side, almost pulled right calf and decided to scale the box jumps to give my lower half a bit of rest. I continued on with the RX'd body weight deadlift at 145#s which was by no means unreasonable.
On the last round of deadlifts, seconds from me calling time, an eversoslight deviation caused a pull in my lower back that said YOUSTOPNOW. So I stopped. I triggerpointed. I was walking. I was moving. Two hours later I was frozen on my office floor, unable to move, sit up, get up, without white-hot, overwhelming pain.
I have an extraordinary pain tolerance. It takes something deep and heavy to bring me to me knees, for better or for worse. For getting tattoos, it's for the better, for managing injuries, it's for the worse. Anyway, my fear was that I finally slipped a disc, or herniated something back there, because the pain WASSOFUCKINGBAD. Long story, and long weekend on my back later, it wasn't a disc, but my sacroiliac joint in my pelvis which was tweaked beyond measure. My hips were a full inch off level, and all I could do was rest.
This is the homeboy who is creating such a disturbance.
My IAMCROSSFIT goals have been amended to reflect my current condition. I have no idea how long this will put me out, I have no idea what my mobility will be once I'm able to start lifting weight again, all I know is that I never want to feel this pain again. Ever. Again.
This won't be the first time I've gone back to remedial lifting school, and I'm weaving my way back to being thankful for it. Nothing bad can come out of revisiting form and technique, and the greatest blessing from injuries is that they are the best reset buttons.
And just so you readers know I'm not the superhuman of optimism, I'm still quite bitter about having to back off.
On the last round of deadlifts, seconds from me calling time, an eversoslight deviation caused a pull in my lower back that said YOUSTOPNOW. So I stopped. I triggerpointed. I was walking. I was moving. Two hours later I was frozen on my office floor, unable to move, sit up, get up, without white-hot, overwhelming pain.
I have an extraordinary pain tolerance. It takes something deep and heavy to bring me to me knees, for better or for worse. For getting tattoos, it's for the better, for managing injuries, it's for the worse. Anyway, my fear was that I finally slipped a disc, or herniated something back there, because the pain WASSOFUCKINGBAD. Long story, and long weekend on my back later, it wasn't a disc, but my sacroiliac joint in my pelvis which was tweaked beyond measure. My hips were a full inch off level, and all I could do was rest.
This is the homeboy who is creating such a disturbance.
My IAMCROSSFIT goals have been amended to reflect my current condition. I have no idea how long this will put me out, I have no idea what my mobility will be once I'm able to start lifting weight again, all I know is that I never want to feel this pain again. Ever. Again.
This won't be the first time I've gone back to remedial lifting school, and I'm weaving my way back to being thankful for it. Nothing bad can come out of revisiting form and technique, and the greatest blessing from injuries is that they are the best reset buttons.
And just so you readers know I'm not the superhuman of optimism, I'm still quite bitter about having to back off.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Friday, January 21, 2011
#105 and an Anniversary.
Over a year ago, waaaay back in October 2010, I pushed 100# over my head. This morning, after all this time being completely inconsistent with my training and recovering from a white-hot sinus/lung infection, I pushed 105#.
Three years ago to the day I could not do more than 3 push ups on my knees without stopping and it took me 30 minutes to make it through half (less than, actually) of the standard warm up.
Happy 3 Year Anniversary, Crossfit Central. Thanks for helping me reclaim my life and give my body a purpose.
Three years ago to the day I could not do more than 3 push ups on my knees without stopping and it took me 30 minutes to make it through half (less than, actually) of the standard warm up.
Happy 3 Year Anniversary, Crossfit Central. Thanks for helping me reclaim my life and give my body a purpose.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Dear Pastry Case, your insides don't play nice with my insides.
Three years ago I decided that I wanted to be fit. Little did I know that fit would transition into athlete. I had no aspirations of running less than a 9 minute mile; I didn't want to do pull ups; I didn't want lift 100#s over my head... I very simply wanted to feel better: better about myself, better in my body, and I knew the clock was ticking. Each second I delayed taking the leap, my bad behavior was gelling and would become more and more difficult to change.
There was no plan, no strategy. All I had was this nagging desire to be different. Frankly, that's all a person really needs.
I completed the I AM CROSSFIT challenge first benchmark this weekend and was very surprised with my results. After nine months of inconsistent training, and total eating failure (ie-peanut butter, nutella and jam sandwiches, wine, wine, wine, you name it, I ate it), I pulled off the elite level and it was like I had never left. I got as far as the very first time I did the workout in 2009.
But, this time I did it with 95# hang cleans and unassisted pull ups. I've never felt so good about a DNF.
My first thought the morning of the challenge was how incredible it was that here I am, about to embark on my fourth year in this new body, and not only am I taking on the elite level, but it's not unreasonable in the least.
I had three goals that day and attaining one would leave me feeling successful:
- Complete 2 full rounds
- Positive thinking the entire time
- Perfect form
On the runs, I spent the time remembering push ups on my knees, not being able to run more than 100m without stopping, using the 10# weights and being so.damn.exhausted. I remembered Catherine and I huffing and puffing, cleaning a 35# bar and being so sore after just a few squats. I had a reunion with my success. I didn't have a negative thought the entire time, my form was perfect, and I got 2 complete rounds done.
My training regimen is very aggressive: 5 workouts a week, plus 400m sprints and a 5k. I'm not on a whiff of Advocare, and I'm going to see how much can really be gained solely on diet and exercise. After a week of clean eating, I stood in front of the pastry case at Whole Foods and literally felt sick. I also replayed the final scene of Labyrinth, where Sarah tells the goblin king "you have no power over me" :
It's at the 2 minute mark.
Anyholyshiti'magonnagetsodamnrippedineightweeks... no almond butter, no cheats, no alcohol, clean as a whistle eating and hard core training. It's going to be off the hook yo.
PS- one thing that is absolutely IMPERATIVE to a successful fitness challenge, is a support team. YOU NEED PEOPLE AROUND YOU. I am lucky enough to have two groups: my IAM team and the Team Phoenix ladies, new member Matti, who are inspirational beyond measure. I get kind of squealie when I think about how fucking amazing our asses and brains will be by March. Bikini shopping will be so satisfying.
There was no plan, no strategy. All I had was this nagging desire to be different. Frankly, that's all a person really needs.
I completed the I AM CROSSFIT challenge first benchmark this weekend and was very surprised with my results. After nine months of inconsistent training, and total eating failure (ie-peanut butter, nutella and jam sandwiches, wine, wine, wine, you name it, I ate it), I pulled off the elite level and it was like I had never left. I got as far as the very first time I did the workout in 2009.
But, this time I did it with 95# hang cleans and unassisted pull ups. I've never felt so good about a DNF.
My first thought the morning of the challenge was how incredible it was that here I am, about to embark on my fourth year in this new body, and not only am I taking on the elite level, but it's not unreasonable in the least.
I had three goals that day and attaining one would leave me feeling successful:
- Complete 2 full rounds
- Positive thinking the entire time
- Perfect form
On the runs, I spent the time remembering push ups on my knees, not being able to run more than 100m without stopping, using the 10# weights and being so.damn.exhausted. I remembered Catherine and I huffing and puffing, cleaning a 35# bar and being so sore after just a few squats. I had a reunion with my success. I didn't have a negative thought the entire time, my form was perfect, and I got 2 complete rounds done.
My training regimen is very aggressive: 5 workouts a week, plus 400m sprints and a 5k. I'm not on a whiff of Advocare, and I'm going to see how much can really be gained solely on diet and exercise. After a week of clean eating, I stood in front of the pastry case at Whole Foods and literally felt sick. I also replayed the final scene of Labyrinth, where Sarah tells the goblin king "you have no power over me" :
It's at the 2 minute mark.
Anyholyshiti'magonnagetsodamnrippedineightweeks... no almond butter, no cheats, no alcohol, clean as a whistle eating and hard core training. It's going to be off the hook yo.
PS- one thing that is absolutely IMPERATIVE to a successful fitness challenge, is a support team. YOU NEED PEOPLE AROUND YOU. I am lucky enough to have two groups: my IAM team and the Team Phoenix ladies, new member Matti, who are inspirational beyond measure. I get kind of squealie when I think about how fucking amazing our asses and brains will be by March. Bikini shopping will be so satisfying.
Monday, January 3, 2011
2011 : Wide Expanses and Deep Breaths
I just returned from a four day camping trip to Big Bend in west Texas, and I find myself mostly speechless in describing what happened to my grip on the world, and my heart, after standing next to such massive stone formations, under a sky filled with stars, and beside a lovely man. As much as it pained me to admit it, I realized that I've been a stranger to myself for a long time. I'm sure this is completely normal given the changes that have occurred since 2007. Specifically, since the last time I smoked a cigarette on March 14th, 2007, at approximately 10pm. I stepped off a cliff that night, into a very unknown world and it's been a steady succession of metaphorical cliff jumping, into many different unknowns, over the last four years.
Given all this free falling I've been doing, I had forgotten what the ground felt like, until this weekend. A switch, a light, an eversoslight shift occurred in my brain somewhere outside Alpine, Texas, during which my gaze turned from "what's next" to "right now" and I felt the ground for the first time in years.
It feels like home.
Ok 2011, here's my intention:
I'm going to stare out into the wide expanse that is January through December, much like I stared out at the mountains and stars in Big Bend, take many, many deep breaths, and allow whatever is coming to come. When I look up at the stars, I'll remember that behind the light pollution it looks like this. I will remember that the most profound experiences, the ones that will enrich my old age, often come without guarantees. Their outcomes will vary wildly, going beyond adjectives like good and bad, they will require me to be confident in my vulnerability and unafraid of the next day. I will remember where I started, how long it has taken me to get here, and have the patience to allow this life to unfold without force or unnecessary friction.
If all hell breaks loose again, for the fourth year in a row, I'll deal the best I can and remind myself that the expectation is not for things to get easier, but that I become better.
“If you will call your troubles experiences, and remember that every experience develops some latent force within you, you will grow vigorous and happy, however adverse your circumstances may seem to be.” ~John Heywood
Happy New Year, friends.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Saturday, November 27, 2010
A Bulgarian Named Viktor.
This morning the Tribe did "Collin" which was 6 rounds of this:
400m sandbag carry (run.walk.wince)
12 push press 55/65#
12 box jump (tire)
12 sdhp 55/65#
6 rounds.
6.
I hit my wall on round 2.
2.
I hate it when that happens. Obviously my decision to house a tres leches parfait and half bottle of wine last night was ill advised. Whoopsie. I was in a weak place and after successfully installing a tiled backsplash (and using a wet saw, thank you very much) I was in full blown MAMMANEEDSAGODDAMNTREAT mode. Unfortunately, the treats I keep choosing give me zits and mood swings, so I need to manage this a little differently. The satiating effects of a tres leches parfait and many glasses of red wine will be hard to replicate, but maybe I can get close?
What's your favorite MAMMANEEDSAGODDAMNTREAT treat that doesn't destroy your sandcastle of healthy eating? I need suggestions...
In other news, have you heard of a Bulgarian sandbag? Didn't think so.
They look like this:
And now, thanks to Bonita, I have a 27# Bulgarian sandbag of my very own.
His name is Viktor and we are totally in love. Totally. He's going to help me train to climb that damn mountain. Oh, that damn mountain. I'll make it there.
While we are on the subject of Places I Long to See....
400m sandbag carry (run.walk.wince)
12 push press 55/65#
12 box jump (tire)
12 sdhp 55/65#
6 rounds.
6.
I hit my wall on round 2.
2.
I hate it when that happens. Obviously my decision to house a tres leches parfait and half bottle of wine last night was ill advised. Whoopsie. I was in a weak place and after successfully installing a tiled backsplash (and using a wet saw, thank you very much) I was in full blown MAMMANEEDSAGODDAMNTREAT mode. Unfortunately, the treats I keep choosing give me zits and mood swings, so I need to manage this a little differently. The satiating effects of a tres leches parfait and many glasses of red wine will be hard to replicate, but maybe I can get close?
What's your favorite MAMMANEEDSAGODDAMNTREAT treat that doesn't destroy your sandcastle of healthy eating? I need suggestions...
In other news, have you heard of a Bulgarian sandbag? Didn't think so.
They look like this:
And now, thanks to Bonita, I have a 27# Bulgarian sandbag of my very own.
His name is Viktor and we are totally in love. Totally. He's going to help me train to climb that damn mountain. Oh, that damn mountain. I'll make it there.
While we are on the subject of Places I Long to See....
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Friday, November 5, 2010
Because throwing something heavy up over your head and then throwing it back on the ground is satisfying.
For the entire month of June, post Le Cray-Cray, I was packing up all my belongings and living with my ex at the same time. Sometimes when I say things out loud, they sound INSANE, and I feel like I had one of those moments right now. Anyway. Because I was in a veritable shit storm of change, I gave away a ton of stuff. Tons. Some of it out of anger (most of that ended in shards on the floor, not on the shelf in Goodwill), some of it because if I'm ever a size 12 again and not pregnant, please someone help me, and mostly because I just didn't have the emotional capacity to pack more than what was absolutely necessary. Packing that house was a sad mixture of sobbing, yelling, laughing and tequila.
And now I have no workout pants.
What's a girl to do when it's 5:30am, 45 degrees, and she has no warm pants? Improvise with capris and knee socks of course.
The workout involved my absolutenewfuckingfavoritemoveEVAR, PLATE BURPEES. These puppies combined with my awesome ensemble of skin tight capris and knee socks made me feel like an over grown child. Crossfit WODs + feeling like a kid is the best combination for success.
These are plate burpees, fist pumping totally optional, and don't feel like you have to watch the entire 3:44; all they do is get up and get down:
And now I have no workout pants.
What's a girl to do when it's 5:30am, 45 degrees, and she has no warm pants? Improvise with capris and knee socks of course.
The workout involved my absolutenewfuckingfavoritemoveEVAR, PLATE BURPEES. These puppies combined with my awesome ensemble of skin tight capris and knee socks made me feel like an over grown child. Crossfit WODs + feeling like a kid is the best combination for success.
These are plate burpees, fist pumping totally optional, and don't feel like you have to watch the entire 3:44; all they do is get up and get down:
Monday, November 1, 2010
Dear Balance, I slightly hate you.
True confessions:
I ate several donuts last night and a piece of pizza. Preceded by 2 peanut butter cups, half of a cinema sized snickers, "southwestern" egg rolls, a mini twix, a beer, and the conscious decision to accept the consequences of my very deliberate face plant off the good eating pony. Guess how swollen my eyes are this morning? My eye bags have bags. My wild Sunday of being a total sugar slut comes after a two week paleo-zone clean up attempt. I call it an attempt because I didn't quite nail it. Since Le Cray-Cray came along, I haven't been my typical hard-nosed self in regards to training or eating well. I do miss my structure, but figuring out how the hell to mix it back in with my new life is proving to be a challenge.
It's reminding me that incorporating that structure isn't comparable to flipping a light switch, it's a daily chore. I hate that. A lot. I know the steps and I've done them many, many times before and so difficult about this time around? Well, due to Le Cray-Cray, I became a different person at break-neck speed. I'm still getting to know who this person is and quite frankly, she doesn't have the energy to be such a critical bitch to herself all the time. While this has a mountain of positive implications to my life as a whole, it's proving to be difficult when it comes time for me to say no to bad eating and skipping workouts. I needed that bitch to keep me in line.
The next 16 days are going to be sore. The two year anniversary of anything tragic is a very curious, limbo-esque stage. Not far enough ahead to warrant nonchalance of any kind and not so tender, but still enough to bring tears if thought about too deeply. The sadness right now is not complicated by grief or searing emotional pain, and I feel like I'm stuck in a transition point where happy and sad emotions greet and can exist simultaneously; it's gentle and not demanding. Being in this strange limbo sadness phase is making me realize that the balance I'm seeking between critical bitch and sugar slutstress can't be forced and is going to take more than 14 days to set straight. Just like I work every single day to gently move myself back to an emotional center and fix the holes life so eagerly punched into my core, so it should go on the eating/training front.
And right now, that epiphany is really annoying, because, being an adult sucks when you want to act like a child.
I ate several donuts last night and a piece of pizza. Preceded by 2 peanut butter cups, half of a cinema sized snickers, "southwestern" egg rolls, a mini twix, a beer, and the conscious decision to accept the consequences of my very deliberate face plant off the good eating pony. Guess how swollen my eyes are this morning? My eye bags have bags. My wild Sunday of being a total sugar slut comes after a two week paleo-zone clean up attempt. I call it an attempt because I didn't quite nail it. Since Le Cray-Cray came along, I haven't been my typical hard-nosed self in regards to training or eating well. I do miss my structure, but figuring out how the hell to mix it back in with my new life is proving to be a challenge.
It's reminding me that incorporating that structure isn't comparable to flipping a light switch, it's a daily chore. I hate that. A lot. I know the steps and I've done them many, many times before and so difficult about this time around? Well, due to Le Cray-Cray, I became a different person at break-neck speed. I'm still getting to know who this person is and quite frankly, she doesn't have the energy to be such a critical bitch to herself all the time. While this has a mountain of positive implications to my life as a whole, it's proving to be difficult when it comes time for me to say no to bad eating and skipping workouts. I needed that bitch to keep me in line.
The next 16 days are going to be sore. The two year anniversary of anything tragic is a very curious, limbo-esque stage. Not far enough ahead to warrant nonchalance of any kind and not so tender, but still enough to bring tears if thought about too deeply. The sadness right now is not complicated by grief or searing emotional pain, and I feel like I'm stuck in a transition point where happy and sad emotions greet and can exist simultaneously; it's gentle and not demanding. Being in this strange limbo sadness phase is making me realize that the balance I'm seeking between critical bitch and sugar slutstress can't be forced and is going to take more than 14 days to set straight. Just like I work every single day to gently move myself back to an emotional center and fix the holes life so eagerly punched into my core, so it should go on the eating/training front.
And right now, that epiphany is really annoying, because, being an adult sucks when you want to act like a child.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Fix
I feel like time is compounding on itself these days. That combined with a couple of good friends experiencing serious upheaval AND the upcoming two year anniversary of my step father's death....
It's a recipe for some serious existential thoughts while driving.
Lots of thinking about paths that are thrust upon us and mourning the death of a life trajectory that was being worked for, planned for..... expected to be. It's quite the mind fucker. It hurts. It takes the wind. It takes our purpose. It takes many things.
It leaves nothing in its wake. Nothing. Just a bunch of empty holes, a large emotional wound to heal, fear, and the horrible question of "What the hell am I supposed to do now?"
The obvious answer is HEAL, BITCH HEAL! But seriously, it's not that easy. And the motivation to crawl into the fetal position with a bottle of whiskey and a frowny face has the tenacity of a five year old on a sugar high. It's INTENSE.
But, you get back out there in the world regardless. One foot in front of the other. You become ok with being the awkward one that might burst into tears randomly, or say something that makes the crowd cringe. You release yourself from obligations that stress you out. You learn what you care about and what you really don't care about. You reconnect with parts of yourself that became clouded and hidden under daily obligations, meaningless tasks and disapproval from a significant other.
And, you grow the fuck up. Again.
If I had a dime for every moment I said "Dear Hindsight, I hate you" I'd be blinged out and halfway to Bali.
Anyway, I'm not sure who reads this blog, but if you are in the midst of a major life upheaval know that, yes, it will eventually be ok. But beyond the cliched statements and anecdotes on personal growth, what you find down there at your absolute bottom is probably the most precious part of who you are. You should pick it up and hold it tight while you climb back up to the top, because everyone who loves you is dying to see it. Also, fix yourself along the way. When you find an empty hole, fill it with something that will assist you.
As my dear friend Trashbomb so eloquently phrased it:
"Sometimes life sucks at life." And while life is sucking at life, you may as well take a commercial break to fix yer broken shit.
/existential pep talk
It's a recipe for some serious existential thoughts while driving.
Lots of thinking about paths that are thrust upon us and mourning the death of a life trajectory that was being worked for, planned for..... expected to be. It's quite the mind fucker. It hurts. It takes the wind. It takes our purpose. It takes many things.
It leaves nothing in its wake. Nothing. Just a bunch of empty holes, a large emotional wound to heal, fear, and the horrible question of "What the hell am I supposed to do now?"
The obvious answer is HEAL, BITCH HEAL! But seriously, it's not that easy. And the motivation to crawl into the fetal position with a bottle of whiskey and a frowny face has the tenacity of a five year old on a sugar high. It's INTENSE.
But, you get back out there in the world regardless. One foot in front of the other. You become ok with being the awkward one that might burst into tears randomly, or say something that makes the crowd cringe. You release yourself from obligations that stress you out. You learn what you care about and what you really don't care about. You reconnect with parts of yourself that became clouded and hidden under daily obligations, meaningless tasks and disapproval from a significant other.
And, you grow the fuck up. Again.
If I had a dime for every moment I said "Dear Hindsight, I hate you" I'd be blinged out and halfway to Bali.
Anyway, I'm not sure who reads this blog, but if you are in the midst of a major life upheaval know that, yes, it will eventually be ok. But beyond the cliched statements and anecdotes on personal growth, what you find down there at your absolute bottom is probably the most precious part of who you are. You should pick it up and hold it tight while you climb back up to the top, because everyone who loves you is dying to see it. Also, fix yourself along the way. When you find an empty hole, fill it with something that will assist you.
As my dear friend Trashbomb so eloquently phrased it:
"Sometimes life sucks at life." And while life is sucking at life, you may as well take a commercial break to fix yer broken shit.
/existential pep talk
Friday, October 22, 2010
Snatchlife!
Today is the soft launch of Snatchlife! Tshirt designs for Crossfitters and others who can appreciate my ridiculous sense of humor.
For now, the unicorn design is the only one available, BUT it's just the first of many to come.
Plant a little seed, water it and wait.
SNATCHLIFE!
***********SUPERAWESOME UPDATE!
More designs are uploaded AND I'm waiting on vector graphic approval which means MORE AMAZING THINGS ON THE WAY.... go see! go see!!!
For now, the unicorn design is the only one available, BUT it's just the first of many to come.
Plant a little seed, water it and wait.
SNATCHLIFE!
***********SUPERAWESOME UPDATE!
More designs are uploaded AND I'm waiting on vector graphic approval which means MORE AMAZING THINGS ON THE WAY.... go see! go see!!!
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
Wind Reclaimation
Remember being a kid and having the wind knocked out of you? I fell on my back a lot as a child, and found myself staring up at the clouds gasping for breath more often than not. I'll never forget the first time: it was at our house on Hilltop Street in Austin, I was four years old and ran towards a trapeze that was hanging from a tree limb in the front yard. My hands slipped and I fell, back flat to the ground, wind, gone. The passing seconds felt like hours, and I was completely terrified by my inability to breathe. But then, gradually, my wind returned, my tears dried up, and I reached up and grabbed the trapeze to play.
I didn't avoid the next opportunity to play on the trapeze, or monkey bars, or tree limb, or car fender, or banister because at some point or another, my footing slipped and I found myself on my back gasping for air. It happened often enough that I eventually stopped being afraid. I knew the routine: fall, gaspgaspgasp, gaspgasp, gasp, gasp, breathe. (If you have seen my shins, you'll know that my swan-like grace is still being honed. One day, people, one day....)
AnyI'llalwaysbeafuckingsevenyearoldwithbruises...
My wind is coming back and it's not discriminating, it's all encompassing and filling every dried up and gasping part of my life. I'm being reminded, yet again, that the healing cycle is autonomous if allowed. There is no need to fight, push, or force. Being present and aware is adequate enough. The path I had placed myself on years ago was not the right one, and if there is one thing I can say with complete certainty, it's that I'm thankful beyond words that my life fell apart and I lost my wind.
Soon, it will be November, which marks two years have passed since my stepdad died. We have plans on putting him to rest in the gulf, where he and my mom fished often over the years they were married. I'm thankful for a legion of things, but mostly for having a mother who is capable of staring straight into the heart of white-hot grief and refusing to give up her optimism. Thanks, Mom.
I didn't avoid the next opportunity to play on the trapeze, or monkey bars, or tree limb, or car fender, or banister because at some point or another, my footing slipped and I found myself on my back gasping for air. It happened often enough that I eventually stopped being afraid. I knew the routine: fall, gaspgaspgasp, gaspgasp, gasp, gasp, breathe. (If you have seen my shins, you'll know that my swan-like grace is still being honed. One day, people, one day....)
AnyI'llalwaysbeafuckingsevenyearoldwithbruises...
My wind is coming back and it's not discriminating, it's all encompassing and filling every dried up and gasping part of my life. I'm being reminded, yet again, that the healing cycle is autonomous if allowed. There is no need to fight, push, or force. Being present and aware is adequate enough. The path I had placed myself on years ago was not the right one, and if there is one thing I can say with complete certainty, it's that I'm thankful beyond words that my life fell apart and I lost my wind.
Soon, it will be November, which marks two years have passed since my stepdad died. We have plans on putting him to rest in the gulf, where he and my mom fished often over the years they were married. I'm thankful for a legion of things, but mostly for having a mother who is capable of staring straight into the heart of white-hot grief and refusing to give up her optimism. Thanks, Mom.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Pedagogy and the Pursuit of
If you've known me for at least six years, you'll remember how many times I've tried to go back to school for my graduate degree. My brother (younger) received his last year and while I was overflowing with so much pride and love for him, I was limemotherfuckinggreen with envy.
Education was the most important thing in my house growing up. Everything was structured around learning: punishments, eating, younameit. The lessons were everywhere, the underhanded, surprise epiphanies were often and I think I was the only kid I ever knew who had to write papers on growing up and being responsible as punishment for being a little asshole. I heard "let the punishment fit the crime" so much, I have a Pavlovian eye roll response.
A few weeks ago I was blessed with the opportunity to substitute teach an art class at The Griffin School, an arts-focused college prep school. Suffice to say I'm completely in love with it, the energy from the kids is so invigorating, and it's resonating so much with who I am that I'm starting a teaching certification hoping to land my ass back in school by the new year. Grad school is absolutely on this path, but I'm not solidifying that plan just yet.
Hey Beth, I think I found the right tone for that tuning fork....
And, one day....
Education was the most important thing in my house growing up. Everything was structured around learning: punishments, eating, younameit. The lessons were everywhere, the underhanded, surprise epiphanies were often and I think I was the only kid I ever knew who had to write papers on growing up and being responsible as punishment for being a little asshole. I heard "let the punishment fit the crime" so much, I have a Pavlovian eye roll response.
A few weeks ago I was blessed with the opportunity to substitute teach an art class at The Griffin School, an arts-focused college prep school. Suffice to say I'm completely in love with it, the energy from the kids is so invigorating, and it's resonating so much with who I am that I'm starting a teaching certification hoping to land my ass back in school by the new year. Grad school is absolutely on this path, but I'm not solidifying that plan just yet.
Hey Beth, I think I found the right tone for that tuning fork....
And, one day....
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