04.29.08
Posted in Big Agnes, Sparkle, Top Five Tuesdays at 12:52 pm by jeci
I woke up today and realized it was Tuesday and that–hey!–I have a job and I AM ON DEADLINE in a very serious way. So, uh, I’m here to procrastinate! I kinda forgot about my writing job because there was a pause in the action, so I did a week of cushy temping instead (my hours were noon to five(!) and all I did was play Scrabulous while babysitting a phone that rarely rang) and somehow my brain preferred to believe the cushy reality was my permanent reality and, thus, deleted my inconvenient deadline from memory. Anyway, I remembered that it’s Tuesday and realized I haven’t done a Top Five Tuesday in a while. And, because I’ve been tinkering around with the Big Agnes blog lately, this week’s theme is bike trip related.
5. Carbs are your friend. Period. They’re even better when you wash them down with gravy. Oh, go on. Diet this, diet that, blah, blah, blah it’s all nonsense anyway. Eat what you want, girlfriend. Only Jessica Alba can look like Jessica Alba and, fortunately for the rest of us, wearing a bikini and waving our fannies at the paparazzi is not in our job description.
4. Although, if you don’t get enough fresh fruits and vegetables, you will start to feel a little funny. In the head. Your body needs fruits and vegetables. So does your brain. There was a day, at the height of the Vegetable Crisis, where I woke up, started weeping, and then was unable to stop crying (or explain why I was crying), so I spent several hours grimly pedaling while silent, persistent tears streamed down my face. It was bizarre. And pathetic. I was just…LOW. Low and vague and cloudy. And low. We hit a salad bar the next day and I was all “Whee! I’m fine now!” and went skipping down the street, all high on folic acid. Causality was typically pretty apparent during the trip. ME HUNGRY. ME SLEEPY. ME WANT STEAK. If you’re biking over 100 kilometres a day, your body/mind is pushed to its outer limits anyway, so crises evolving from nutritional deficiencies will became obvious very quickly. For us, within about a week or so of poor nutrition, we were howling at the moon.
However, I think this same process of mental/physical erosion happens even if you’re not engaged in extreme physical activity; it’s just more vague and slow when you’re physical expenditures are limited to shifting your weight from one ass cheek to the other or using your index finger to dial a mouse wheel. The erosion is there, but you’re less inclined to notice it consciously. If you feel a little down, a little low, and also happen to be one of those people who has to count the catsup on their fries as a serving of veggies, that right there might be a big part of your problem.
3. Your body likes to move. Your body was made to move. Before we left, we didn’t train all that much, considering we were embarking on a 7000 km bike trip. That started in the Rockies. Oh, sure, we worked out, we were active, etc. But, we also worked full time. So, we spent maybe an hour or so working out (almost but not really) every day (which actually isn’t all that different from what we do normally). On the bike trip, we typically got in about seven to eight hours of cycling every day, while carrying about 30–50 pounds of gear. And did I mention the Rockies? Because they were really big. And mountainous. I wasn’t sure if two moderately fit, not-all-that-young people could really pull it off without some physical repercussions. But, in fact, we were fine. We were more than fine; we were fantastic! Our bodies adapted so quickly and readily to the increased activity. In fact, our bodies gobbled it up and asked for more. No strains or pains. No back pain, no neck pain, no migraines. Sit at a desk for eight hours and you’ll feel it. You’ll be creaky and sore and your body will complain and get all tangled up and angry. Get up and move and your body will perk up, do a little dance, and then give you an impulsive hug before taking off in a gallop.
It was more than that, more than just feeling surprisingly great considering how hard we were working. The other thing that happens when your body is happy is that you’re happy. Happy body, happy brain. Apart from the vitamin deficiency episode, we both marveled at how…solidly great and clear-headed we felt. In fact, I was so clear-headed that I—okay, you better sit down for this. Are you ready? I was so clear-headed that I even started to understand math. Yes. I no longer believe it’s possible to be happy unless you get at least an hour a day of exercise. I don’t care who you are or what you say, I won’t believe you. You wanna feel better than you thought possible? Go outside. Move around. It doesn’t matter what you do—walk, bike, stroll, roll over 75 times—just give your body what it wants. It’ll thank you. As a bonus, you can eat gravy and still be a hottie.
2. When you’re going through some ups and downs, hills will look much worse from a distance than they actually are. It’s an optical illusion. Partway down one hill, the hill ahead of you will look steep and tall and daunting; get to its base, and it’s actually not so bad. In fact, you’ll zip over the base and be partway up before you know it. Typically, your dread will far outweigh the actual effort required of you to tackle a climb (procrastinating editors take note).
There is an exception to this rule: the mountain pass. If you can’t see the top of a hill (because it’s 50 km away!), your mind will play another trick on you and will make impossibly large uphill grinds look like they’re slanted downhill. I could never figure out this optical illusion, although certainly it could just be straight up denial (Ha! There’s no WAY I can’t see the top of this mountain. That would mean…no. NO.) So, sometimes just when you think you’re going to get to sit back and coast, you’re actually about to go through an extended period of hell. And when you’re going through hell? Too bad, suckah. There ain’t nothin’ you can do about it but keep on going. Amen.
As for coasting? I never once encountered the free downhill ride my mind sometimes expected. The only time life will let you coast is after you’ve earned it.
1. The world is full of good people. People you don’t know will slow their trucks down to a near stop to protect you from bears, they will pull over on a hot day to offer you cold water, they will lean out their windows to cheer you on when you’re struggling up a hill, they will give two strangers the keys to the town hall so that they have a place to stay, and no matter where you are, there is always somebody who will crack a beer for you and invite you to join them around the campfire. People love to laugh and tell stories and will welcome you into their lives if you let them. People are good. Life is good.
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04.25.08
Posted in Big Agnes, Meh, Sparkle, Top Five Tuesdays at 10:15 am by jeci
5. My back hurts. Really. Fracking. Hurts. It’s been an unmitigated disaster for two full months now. I’ve been unable to sleep properly, or to sit, stand, walk, or do any other kind of exercise or activity. I’ve been in pain, bored, frustrated, and restless and, generally, suffering from a vague, all encompassing misery that has drained me of my creativity, including my desire to write. (Also drained me of my sparkling bitter wit. Without it, I’ve got NOTHING.) The blog and all my other writing projects have duly suffered. However, last night something…happened and I think I’m getting better. Let’s not jinx it and move right along.
4. One of the activities I couldn’t do was housework. The state of our apartment also duly suffered. Kieran had to take over the bulk of the cleaning duties and I made a discovery.
For a zillion reasons I won’t go into, not the least of which is quite simply gender (yes, even in this day and age), I have been CEO in charge of cleaning. When Kieran and I moved in together, we embarked on what appears to be a lifetime of negotiating who’s responsible for what, etc., etc. We’ve all been there, no? Anyhoo, one of the things we never negotiated was vacuuming. I did the vacuuming. All of it. For years. I thought this was because I was Choosing My Battles, Not Making Cat Hair a Hill to Die On, and/or The Greatest Housekeeping Martyr of All Time [trumpet blare]. I am not exaggerating when I say this went on for years—about a year ago, for whatever reason, I had to ask Kieran to quickly vacuum the rug for me. Kieran was game, but could I please show him how the vacuum worked. We’d been living together since 2002.
Since then, Kieran has pitched in with the vacuuming every now and again but it was still My Domain. Until my back went out and vacuuming was absolutely out of the question. These last couple of months I’ve been reduced to watching Kieran vacuum while laying in a twisted heap on the couch, making frantic hand motions meant to indicate that I want him to get down on his hands and knees and use one of the attachments to go along the baseboards. I was practically having seizures from the anxiety that the carpets might not get clean enough. Which is to say, I quickly discovered that I have been doing all the vacuuming not because of some dynamic in our marriage, but because I am a complete and utter control freak about the vacuuming and am obsessed with doing it perfectly and, therefore, I never allowed it to occur to me to ask Kieran to do it. So. It is all my fault and, per usual, I am sole orchestrator of my own misery.
I am not a clean freak. I am not a control freak. I’m just not. How, then, did this happen?
It’s the cat hair. It’s getting to me.
3. We bought a new vacuum. A highly effective vacuum. Problem solved.
2. I don’t know why and I don’t know how, but Snoop Dogg has wormed his way into my affections.
1. I have made a decision to finish up the Big Agnes blog. I’ve always been a little sad that I didn’t get an opportunity to write about riding through the Maritimes, so I’m taking this opportunity now. The Big Agnes blog has a deep soft spot in my heart. Not only was it our tie to our friends and family back home, it provided a lifeline of support. The comments and e-mails we received from around the world, not only from friends and family, but from strangers we’d never met, were amazing. It kept us going. I want to give Big Agnes some closure, I guess. So that’s where I’ll be for the next week or so. See you there!
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04.15.08
Posted in Meh, Second Verse Same as the First at 2:40 pm by jeci
I’m one of those people who has a Bad Back. Over the last decade or so, my back has produced a constant level of low grade misery such that I have been worn down enough to accept Back Pain into my heart, consider myself married to it, and have come to regard it in the same way I regard breathing: something I don’t think about unless something REALLY goes wrong. It’s sick, really, this learned helplessness, although my back hasn’t given me much choice in the matter. Or at least I thought it didn’t give me much choice.
It didn’t occur to me that perhaps my approach to this whole problem has been a little off until I witnessed my new physiotherapist becoming completely overwhelmed by all the tension in my back. After prodding her fingers into my road map of knots and scar tissue, she began to panic: “Oh. Oh, MY. You really…you really have a lot of problems here. I don’t think I can even start on your shoulders today because that’s going to take an entire session in itself. And down here too? I just…I don’t even know where to BEGIN with you,” her voice gathered momentum with each new discovery until she finally backed away from me and regarded me warily. “What HAPPENED to you?” she said at last.
Good question. Let’s see, I totally screwed up my right shoulder with years of fairly hardcore pitching when I was a kid. Then there was the first big skiing accident, the big car accident, and the second big skiing accident. And let’s not forget all the interminable hours upon hours of sitting at a desk, stewing in stress and wretchedness. My back did NOT appreciate THAT one bit, I can tell you. And, oh, I also have a tendency to repress my emotions by way of ramming them into any available crevice in my back and locking them up there good and tight, so tight I can disrupt my vision. And, wait…is this not normal? Is it not normal to walk around in pain all day every day? You mean, there’s people who just, like, LIVE?
Sigh. Somehow, in my life, I was led to believe that a certain amount (i.e., a lot) of misery (at least emotionally) is normal. Hey kids! Does having mentally or emotionally unbalanced people in your life got you down? Don’t sweat it—we’ll construct a NEW normal. All you have to do is develop a specific set of dysfunctional coping skills and you too can co-exist with people and situations that make life unbearable! Just don’t ask WHY you should find a way to live alongside misery—it may lead to positive changes.
Goddess knows I’ve lived with, dated, and befriended the most miserable, screwed up fucks, and proceeded to put up with their personality disorders, their sociopathic tendencies, their just plain MEANNESS simply because it didn’t occur to me that I didn’t have to. Until, of course, it did occur to me that I might be less unhappy if I avoided people who were ACTIVELY TRYING TO MAKE ME UNHAPPY. I’m a bleedin’ GENIUS, I know. I have spent the last ten years unlearning my tendency to put up with other people’s crap just because I can (well, kind of) and instead learning to only invite in people who simply don’t come with crap. And, hey, what do you know? Exponential decrease in misery. Huh.
And yet.
SOMEHOW, after putting all this energy into learning this lesson in my emotional life, I didn’t transfer the same knowledge to my physical self. It once again didn’t occur to me that I don’t HAVE to put up with the misery my back causes me. Certainly I’ve gone for treatment before, but just like this time, I’ve done so only after my back has really flared up and I can’t function anymore. Once I can tie my shoes again or, I don’t know, simply SIT without excruciating pain, I figure I no longer have a problem on my hands and go back to tolerating the standard amount of physical discomfort. Sure, my right arm goes numb from time to time and there’s constant, shooting pains in my neck and shoulders (CONSTANT, as in, I actually have no idea what it would feel like if it didn’t hurt), but that’s NORMAL. Well, that’s MY normal. That I totally just made up for no discernible reason. Apparently, I just like to be unhappy.
Anyway, calling my back pain normal is the equivalent of saying, “Sure, we never get along and fight constantly and neither of us is remotely happy, but no one’s stabbed the other one in the face for a while, so we’re NORMAL.” I…hesitate to say this because I don’t want to undermine anyone’s experience but…I appear to some kind of self-inflicted battered woman’s syndrome. WITH MY BACK. Can you do it to yourself? I THINK SO. And, GOD, how many ways can I find to repeat this pattern ANYWAY? WILL IT EVER END?
So. This is all news to me, this learned helplessness back thing. It only occurred to me on the train on the way back from physio, after she did something that made me feel better and I was all gob-smacked by the absence of pain. I don’t know whether it’s possible to fully heal my back, but I have two predictions: one, now that I’ve deconstructed my self-constructed (and totally not) normal, I will be able to heal a lot more than I have in the past, and two, if I heal the mundane pain, turn off that persistent buzzing, there will be fewer (no?) intense flare-ups in the future. My back will probably finally get what it needs and won’t be driven to every now and again throw down and start shrieking “Are you even LISTENING to me? You’re not, are you? AGGHHH! YOU NEVER LISTEN TO ME! Well, you go right ahead on your merry little way you FOOL because I’ll MAKE YOU LISTEN! HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT, SUCKAH!?!”
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04.03.08
Posted in Meh, The New Apartment Saga at 3:45 pm by jeci
Oh, hey, did you know that window washers were coming to do our building today? Yeah, me neither. When did I find out, you ask? Why, when I was sitting on the toilet. Naked. With the bathroom door open.
Not that I’m some huge exhibitionist, but I was alone, so why bother? And we’re reaaaaaaaaalllly high up and the only people who can see in are, for the most part, hypothetical, as the building directly across from us is under construction. However, men dangling from large pulley systems, sitting on a swing outside my floor to ceiling windows? NOT hypothetical.
Surely I’m not the first person to be caught unawares by a window washer? And surely I’m also not the first person whose cat made no bones about how fascinated he was by the creature floating outside and, thus, proceeded to press his kitty cat face into the window, leaving intermittent nose smears everywhere, and every now and again breaking into a chorus of mewling set to the beat of his paws scraping against the glass. When the window washer descended further, Logan spent the rest of the afternoon pacing the window sill and contorting his head to get a better view while making that gargling, percussive chirping noise that cats make when they see birds. That kind of “Ah! Ah-ahh! Ack!” noise. Which I always thought translated to “Ack! Blue Jay. Must. Kill. Blue Jay. Ack! Blue Jay. Flying! Must Kill.” But apparently it can also mean “Ack! Floating man. Outside. Window. What. Does it all. MEAN?” [Paws at window in consternation].
Shamelessly staring at the window washer
[Ed note: Once again I am reduced to using the Photo Booth application in my MacBook and taking pictures of very poor quality because our camera is broken. Again. Only this time for good. Last time, Kieran was able to take it apart and put it back together and make it work again. This time...it's too far gone.]
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