We've all seen at least one viral picture of a woman in public with her dress stuck in her underwear, completely unaware she is being photographed. The online sharing and snickers will continue for hours on social media until the cute seven-year-old is caught on video wiping his booger on a stranger's jacket while the stranger stares at a van Gogh in the Met (true story by the way). I have seen these pictures thinking, "If this ever happens to me, I will be mortified!"
Today, I was that woman. My dress wasn't actually stuck in my underwear; the right side was tucked under my backpack for the full seven minutes it took me to walk from the parking deck to my office. I only noticed six minutes into the commute when a young guy passed me in a hurry, and I felt a slight breeze on the back of my right leg. I reached back, felt skin and whispered, "Shiiiiiiitttttttt" to myself. I pulled my dress down and continued to walk like it didn't even happen.
I am sharing this story because I realized something about myself, something important. I did not care. I'm not just saying I didn't care; I honestly did not care. I did not die. I did not hyperventilate. I don't think I even blushed (anywhere). I only continued to walk to work like it didn't even happen. I did not care that at least fifteen strangers saw more of me than I would have liked (though I am glad I have been training for a half marathon) but it was just a thing. One more thing in a whole string of things that happen to us while we breathe.
Now having said all of that, I will say that Girl Code was broken because there were two women behind me the entire trek down the sidewalk and they said NOTHING to me or assisted in helping me out. I would never let a woman, or man, go through that! I will let that go this time because I am in a cool place with me right now.
I stopped by the grocery store tonight, the store I frequent at least twice each week. John (yup, that it his real name), the cashier in the self-checkout section was there. Without meaning to armchair diagnose, I'm going to assume John is somewhere on that beautifully colored autism spectrum. He has been working at my grocery store for at least 5 years. Only during the last 2 or 3 years has he "recognized" me as a frequent customer. Tonight he said something to me that made me cry when I was safely tucked away in my car in the parking lot. He asked me how I was doing and I told him I was doing great, ready to start the new year. I inquired about his biking (he bought a bike earlier this year and has done a great deal of riding), and he told me he has taken advantage of the warm weather. He always has some amazing facts to talk about, from the economy in Japan to migrating birds. Before I left, he said, "I enjoy talking to you. You are very approachable." I wished him a great 2016 and headed out with my purchase, and when I got outside, I started to run to the car, not because of the rain, but because I started to cry.
This is important to me because approximately 3 years ago, I decided to start smiling. I started smiling because I noticed no one else was smiling. I was simply disgusted with passing mean, unsmiling people. Everyone became ugly and unapproachable and my stomach was upset with so much ugliness. Seriously. I found the foul look on the face of the general public repugnant and disturbing, regardless of gender, race, single/married, with someone, alone, with kids, without, with friends/family, without. I vowed to no longer contribute to that shit. I began smiling at every stranger I passed. I felt better. It's no secret I battle chronic depression. It's also no secret that these battles have been reduced to minor "struggles" and they are few and far between now. I feel great, and 9 times out of 10, those I smile at, smile back, even if they have a frown at the time we make eye contact. My The world is a better place.
How do I know it's working? I feel better and I think I've made a difference just by learning to smile. Don't get me wrong, I trust my gut and I have boundaries, but I'm learning to be approachable by flashing a bit of acceptance before I even know a person.
A coworker, a woman I admire and respect, told me that in the past she has received negative performance reviews because coworkers found her "unapproachable and intimidating." I myself felt that way around her in the beginning, before I knew her. I know after 4 years that if I need anything she is there and she is an amazing mom, woman, coworker, human, etc. It took me nearly 4 years to realize this. I don't want to be that person. I want people to know right away that I can be approached.
At the beginning of this year, I was in the same grocery store. I saw a little girl (4 or 5, I'm guessing) walking around the produce section by herself. We made eye contact and she came running up to me. She asked me if I could help her find her mom. I parked my cart to the side and she took my hand. This little girl, she didn't know me and I didn't know her. I told her I would of course help her find her mom. I asked her where she last saw her, what her mom looked like, etc. We found Mom, who was just as frantic as the little girl. The mom thanked me, and I told her I was happy to help. I couldn't help but think, this little girl must have seen something in me that made her want to approach me. I was so glad she could see whatever it was that she saw. I would be sad if I thought someone in distress needed help but couldn't find an approachable human. Travesty.
"You make my heart a little happier when I see you coming in the store." This kind compliment was given to me two years ago by the owner of the dry cleaner near my home. I see her only a handful of times each year, but she knows my name and she always jumps to wait on me. I also cried in the safety of my car the day she first told me that.
I usually don't make resolutions, but if you do, I urge you to consider being more approachable in 2016, because it has improved my life greatly, and I'm willing to bet it will improve the lives of strangers who come into contact with you. Serendipity is powerful.
Life has been crazy, beautiful this year, and I realized just this morning how close we are to nearing the end of it. Contrary to what my title suggests, this year has seen little of what I would call drama, but has had its share of challenges, mixed with new experiences, and I am heading out of it with a a greater appreciation of self and life than I had when I came into 2015.
Death sucks. If you have time to prepare yourself for the death of a loved-one, then please take advantage of the opportunity. Poseidon and his mother lost a dear family friend early this year without much warning. She went to the hospital for a toe that wouldn't heal and died a few short weeks later, never having left the hospital. The sore toe led to a below-the-knee amputation, and after the amputation, blood work revealed terminal ovarian cancer, and she left us less than 2 weeks later.
We then had to say goodbye to our fur girl, Kat. One of the hardest things I've had to go through. Poseidon and I traveled to Austin, TX in May for a music festival, expecting to kick-off a super summer, and a week after our return, we had to let her go. Quickly. Without warning. Without time to prepare.
Last month, my sweet, kind Aunt Judy left suddenly, and far too young, stunning us all. We are still grieving the loss. She just turned 60 in March. She was my dad's baby sister. October 20 will be what would have been my dad's 70th birthday.
So, we've experienced huge losses in such a short time, but we are stronger for it and have also experienced beauty, and have managed to stay above water (salmon pun intended here, for sure).
My inspiration for this post came from a picture I took earlier this month in Iceland at Faxi waterfall on the Tungufljót river. This salmon ladder was near the falls. I was looking through some of my pictures from that trip and this one inspired me.
Many salmon species migrate during the autumn months, September through November, and most of us know about the epic journey salmon take upstream, only to die after spawning.
This is my cheesy ending, but something I've learned this year after experiencing a great deal of death in my circle, but a great deal of beauty in my travels: though the end is dramatic, the journey need not be because it is a true account of the circle of life.
I made a last minute decision to run a 10K on Saturday (ashamedly, I was waiting to see what Mother Nature was going throw down on us). I've been working on my pace for the last few weeks, thinking it might be possible to beat my time from last year for this same 10K. I could not have been more wrong.
Apparently, running a good race requires sleep, and I counted 0 sheep the night before. Not 1 tiny little lamb (I wasn't even near the pasture). Bedtime is my nemesis. My adult years have been plagued with erratic sleep patterns and poor habits. I've had a particularly annoying two weeks in the sleep department and not functioning at 100% (60% is generous). I proved to myself just how low-functioning I am on Saturday by running my worst race ever. Not only did I not beat my time from last year, I added 6 minutes to my total. An entire minute to each mile.
I started out much too fast and I knew it before I got to mile 3. I was toast. Day old toast. I considered throwing myself to the side of the road and wait for Poseidon to report me missing. I don't know how, but I pulled it together, opting not to look for the nearest ditch. I was dragging. My effort was pitiful, but I managed to run the entire 6.27 miles, though the last quarter of a mile was more like a determined-not-to-trip-over-my-own-feet jog. I've said it before, I'm not fast and my form is never pretty, but oh my, this run takes the cake!
I felt terrible for thinking I could just show up and do this thing, and I thought about literally kicking myself, but I didn't have the energy. So, now what?
1. Running a race does require sleep. OK. Got it.
2. I ran 6.27 miles without stopping, knowing my time would be terrible. How about instead of kicking myself, I give myself a little pat on the back? Done! Feeling better.
3. Shake it off! I was online this morning searching for my next race. Anxiety and that nagging fear of failing again is strong, but so am I. Gordon Pirie (British runner in the 1950s) said, "Any runner who denies having fears, nerves or some kind of disposition is a bad athlete, or a liar."
I've been cranky and downright mean lately (throw in harsh, for grins) and it's disturbing. I was overly frustrated with a friend, and I was monstrous to her, and she really needed my support. I don't have an explanation for it, and I don't want to start a conversation of substance with myself because it will only bring me down, so today, on this beautiful Friday, I'm simply pressing the reset button.
Waking up with a sore throat on Thursday was not a good sign for the weekend. I went to work, ignoring the throat, because I had a presentation to give Thursday afternoon. I fumbled through it, finished up some outstanding stuff, and drove home feeling as though I'd been hit by a truck (or at least a Fiat). By Thursday night, I was officially sick--I blame it on the nightmare karaoke couple sitting behind us at the Tori Amos concert the night before.
I took Friday off from work, staying in bed all day, and Saturday. Being 'inactive' for that long is not something I handle well. I succumb to restlessnes and I fidget. Oh, and I can be cranky. Very cranky. Yesterday morning, Poseidon took me to the doctor because I wasn't feeling much better. Fortunately, the flu was ruled out, just a common cold that has to run its course. The doctor told me to take Monday off and rest the entire day. On Sunday afternoon, Poseidon was on his way out to the gym while I was watching reruns of Will & Grace from my sick bed and I wanted to wrap my arms around his ankles and beg, "Take me with you!" I was good. I stayed in bed. I wanted to jump on a treadmill.
Today, I stayed home (actually doing what my doctor suggested), but I couldn't take lying on the sofa binge-watching Designing Women. I decided I must go for a walk for my own sanity. I laced up and realized it was
No Crocs :)
going to be hard for me to walk because I really wanted to run but I knew my doctor would frown on running. Running does not equal rest. I actually considered wearing my pink Mary Jane Crocs on my walk to keep me from running, but talked myself out of it. I promised I wouldn't run.
I walked to the lake, and started loop number 1. I passed several runners and grew anxious, and I wanted to wrap my arms around their ankles and beg, "Take me with you!" I didn't. I started loop number 2. I picked up the pace a little, and I grew even more anxious because I just knew I was going to take off running. But, I didn't! I walked (and I'm not just saying this because Poseidon will read it...I really did walk).
Back home, and not too tired, and satisfied with a 5 mile walk. Anxiety gone. Now, back to my sick bed and binging on Designing Women.
Partnerships dissolve everyday and for many reasons. My reason for initiating the Diet Coke/Amphitrite dissolution? It was simply time...oh, and:
1. Panicky trips made to the store on Saturday mornings when I realize I have no Diet Coke in the house, and I just know the clerks at Kroger are shaking their heads in shame at my addiction, are no longer fun.
2. Poseidon giving me that futile forlorn glance each time I open a can of "Devil Juice" (his pet name for Diet Coke), not to mention the eye-rolling, is no longer fun.
I've been mad at Diet Coke in the past, but never enough to kick it to the curb, completely (there was this one try, but it was half-hearted and I didn't really put in the effort). Honestly, I've been perfectly happy chugging down little cans of chemicals for years without questioning why, but I just decided to stop. Not cold turkey, hell no! I began weaning off Diet Coke two weeks ago. Last week I was down to 1 little baby Diet Coke per day.
Sunday, I had 3 baby Diet Cokes left in the fridge. I drank them all that day, and that was that. I didn't even waste time with a sentimental, "I'm going to miss you old friend" sob fest on can number 3.
Today is day 4, post-dissolution, and I'm not even missing my captor friend, D.C. so I fully trust I won't implode waiting for withdrawal symptoms to pass (I've had none), and I'll move on quickly with little to no scarring. An added benefit: I no longer have to endure emails from Poseidon, laced with links to fake articles about Diet Coke turning to formaldehyde in the body.
Again, partnerships dissolve for a variety of reasons. Sometimes things just don't work out. I lost interest. Keep it real, D.C.
I've never sprinted. Not once. Until Sunday. 400 meters (or .262 miles). On pavement. Downtown, in the heat. In my minimal running shoes (which was a stupid idea). Pacing myself against a kid (a 9 year old). Also in the race? A local Olympic hopeful (I won't mention his name).
The "gun" sounded to start the race, and I took off like a bat out of hell, the little kid of front of me. Twenty seconds into my mad dash and I asked myself, "What the hell are you doing? You don't sprint!" I slowed my pace to a neutral jog/run (I'm not 18...or 9 anymore).
The Olympic hopeful won the race of course, but there was beer at the finish line, and I was running for the joy of running.
This was my first, and most likely, my last sprint (I say that now, but I have a year to change my mind), but hey, it's one more 'book' I've added to my "ignoring fear and self-doubt offers up a happy life" shelf....custom designed and built by me.
The 9 year old? He beat me, but it's not like he totally kicked my ass. I came in 74th. He came in 61st. I'll take that.
"You can endure anything for 30 seconds!" so said Julia, personal trainer/fit camp instructor/all-around bad-ass. During the summer of 2008, in Nashville, my sister talked me into attending a fitness 'boot camp' that she had just completed and enjoyed. I signed up for the next session. 6:00 am, Monday through Thursday for 4 weeks.
Wednesday of each week was "leg day." Julia took pride in torturing us on leg days. As we held wall squats (this fit camp was outside, so our wall squats were actually fence squats), legs shaking, 2 seconds from buckling, and 5 seconds away from vomiting, Julia liked to yell, "You can do it! Come on! 30 more seconds. You can do anything for 30 seconds!" Turns out, Julia was right. You can endure anything for 30 seconds if you really want to.
Fast forward 6 years to this past Saturday. Julia's 30 second rule was my mantra during our bike trip. You see, there is one particularly steep, nasty hill that has been my Achilles heel on our bike rides. I just cannot make it to the top without getting off and walking my bike. That walk of shame ended Saturday.
As I started the climb, I focused my gaze downward, to the ground just in front of me. I didn't want to see the hill. I wanted to keep the steepness of it out of my mind. I just needed to feel the incline, and switch gears accordingly, and as I did so, I repeated to myself, "You can do anything for 30 seconds." I began counting, "1 and 2 and 3..." At 30, I was in 1st gear and struggling. "See, you can survive anything for 30 seconds!" But damn, I was still only 1/3 of the way up that hill. I started over, "1 and 2 and 3...you can survive anything for 30 seconds. You can do this" I made it to 30, and I didn't die! Wait, double damn. I still haven't reached the top. So, again, I counted to 30. I did it! A minute and a half, and I made it to the top of the hill without having to get off and walk my bike. I made it to the top without dying! I kicked my Achilles heel's ass.
There was no containing my ego after that. I was on fire. Fierce! Poseidon and I stopped off for lunch, then biked around NCSU campus for an hour or so. I took him to the tunnels on campus. My inflated ego decided I could recreate a photo of me from 1996, holding myself up in one of the tunnels. I tried. Poseidon snapped a picture. I wasn't able to get my 2nd arm up without a nagging feeling that a face plant was imminent (I did have my bike helmet on though), so I aborted the mission. My goal, before the end of the summer, is to work on my arm strength and nail that pose from 18 years ago. Not only nail it, but hold it for 30 seconds.
I bought a ridiculously overpriced girly running skort last summer as a "reward" for having survived neck surgery (survival apparently wasn't enough, I needed a pressie, damn it). The reward wasn't actually for surviving the surgery, it was for surviving the 3 months post-surgery with no exercise. I was allowed to walk, but no running or gym visits for 3 months. I did what I was told and followed every command given to me by my neurosurgeon. I didn't think I would ever run again.
Before my first run, I was consumed with irrational worry. Creepy thoughts like, "What if I go for a run, and I trip, and land on my head, and the screws in my neck get all wonky?" Seriously, looking at the x-ray of my neck, after the surgery, made me feel strange and anxious, like I now have to take care of this piece of plastic holding my C5 and C6 together. It could come undone, work its way loose. My head could fall off! Snap like a twig.
My hysteria wore off when I took my first run. It was a little baby trip. Half of a lap around the lake, just over a mile. The next trip was a full lap around the lake, 2.5 miles. I've said it before, I don't run fast, and I don't run far. My form isn't pretty, but it's consistent.
Six months after my surgery, I ran my first race, a 4-miler (4 on the Fourth, July 4th). In October, I ran my first 10K. On Thanksgiving morning, I ran an 8K. During the long-ass winter this year, I ran 3 days each week at the gym on the treadmill, a minimum of 4 miles, at a steady pace. Two weeks ago, I ran a 5K with a friend, my first race since November.
Yesterday, on a fantabulous spring Sunday morning, in that overpriced girly running skort (which is now a size too big), I ran the best run of my life. 5 miles, two laps around the lake. It wasn't my longest distance or my best time, but I was my most steady and confident, post-surgery, and it was perfect.
--Amphitrite
endorphins are the star player in knocking the wind out of anxiety and depression. - See more at: http://www.soulthumpingblog.com/soul_thumping_blog/anxiety-and-depression/page/2/#sthash.kk32O8J5.dpuf"
