Breakfast Interruptus

Just as I had planned last night, I got up as soon as I woke up (5-ish), and got ready for the 4.6 mile trip to Trudy's. This time, the pain in my toes eased up probably ten minutes in, so we are definitely making progress.  The walk was cool and uneventful, and I got to Trudy's about 6:45.  The place looked suspiciously dark.  I went up to the door, and learned they open at 2:00 pm!  Huh??? I distinctly remember eating breakfast there many times, and even checked the website last night, which contained their breakfast menu. I guess it's now one of those places that serves breakfast around the clock, but a 2:00 pm start time?  Are you kidding me?  I don't know what was more horrifying, not getting an immediate water fix, or postponing that first cup of coffee.

Luckily, Brian drove up just a couple of minutes later, and we went off to Kerbey Lane.  We noticed that Russell's next door was a lot less busy, and since we've been to KL many times, decided to try a new breakfast venue.  It was delicious.  Great coffee, exceptional migas, very attentive waitstaff. 
Brian drove me back to the office and I showered and dressed downstairs.  I loved starting the day that way, and I'm determined to repeat the experience. 

Like I said, the toe is improving, but me being me (clumsy), toe-stubbing incidents are going to happen again.  I googled "what is the cycling equivalent of walking five miles?" and the best answer I came up with was one mile of walking equals 7 miles of biking. (One lone voice offered, sagely, "There is no difference.  A mile is a mile," which cracked me up.) I'm fast-forwarding into the future, when I might really hurt a foot, knee, etc., and if I belong to a gym at that time, I can trade a 35-mile (stationary) bike ride for the walk.  IF I ABSOLUTELY HAVE TO. I still cherish the idea of working through the pain or illness, and not missing a day for an entire year.  Hey, I'm almost at the halfway point.

Toe Progress

A while back, I remember writing “There is a time and a place for a therapeutic walk.”  I think it was when my knee was hurting.  Embracing that philosophy helped me not stress about how fast I was going or how many calories I might be burning, or whether I might be aggravating the knee.  I just walked at a modified pace, and focused on continuity rather than performance. 

That’s what I did today. I left Banks at home – it was HOT, and he was a total wimp yesterday – and started right around 4:30.  I walked toward Stacy, but ignored the hills.  I was conscious of some pain in my toes, but didn’t try to contort any muscles to compensate.  I just walked at a moderate pace, stretching out my legs and not coming down too hard on my feet.

And about 40 minutes in, something amazing happened – there was no more pain!  It surprised me, and yet it didn’t.  I’ve always felt, instinctively, that movement is what makes sense in healing a body.  “Resting” an injury sounds like inertia to me, which in turn suggests atrophy.  I had a friend long ago, in California, who had chronic back problems, and whenever her back went out, she would diligently adhere to her doctor’s recommendation of “medication and bed rest.”  Ugh!  It seemed like stupid, lazy advice then, and it does now.  How many times have you woken up with a stiff neck or back, felt like you were going to die as you crawled out of bed, and then, after a hot shower and more activity, realized you could, in fact, work through it?  (My, my, Leslie, the medical community lost a tremendous resource when you went into social work).

I’m ready for another destination walk, and for a “first.”  I’m meeting Brian for breakfast tomorrow at Trudy's near the UT campus, just under five miles from my house.  Tonight I have to go into the office for a few minutes anyway, so I'm going to take my work clothes and a towel, leave them in my office, have Brian drive me to work after breakfast, and use the downstairs shower.  Brilliant!  I just hope I don't forget anything crucial, like my shoes.  Or a bra.  Or God forbid, my flat iron.

Gait, Interrupted

I had big plans today, coming off my triumphant five-mile treadmill run/walk at the hotel on Sunday.  I planned to walk Banks a mile (it’s 92 degrees), take him home, and run/walk the remaining four miles around the soccer field.  Off we went at 6:18, and the plan quickly fell apart.  Remember the smashed toes on my right foot?  Yes, they’re hurting, but I’ve done this a lot, and my memory was that once I put on thick socks and well-cushioned shoes, it’s barely noticeable. 

Not so much today.  The right “ring toe” is roughly one and half times the size of the one on my left foot.  Even with the socks and shoes, it hurt.  Wasn’t horrible, but definitely a dull ache.  When I would curl the toes it helped a bit, but then I would definitely favor my left foot.

I’m sitting on the couch now with my foot in a bowl of ice water.  Is it helping?  Who knows?  For all I know, I should have a heating pad on it.  I was determined to do my five tomorrow morning, but common sense tells me to rest it 24 hours instead of 12. 

Well, I did my best.  It was definitely slower than usual, so I doubt if I got in five, but with a possibly cracked toe, I'll give myself a break. 

Allison Getting Married

Allison, the only niece among seven nephews, got married yesterday.  She and Jason met when he sent out the name of his favorite author on Facebook, and found a match on Allison’s page.  They’re both brilliant, both writers, both poets.  And as in love as they obviously are, the phrase that comes to me every time I see them together is “a meeting of minds.”  At the wedding dinner, the centerpiece at each table was three or four of their favorite books.  In addition to their literary leanings, both are funny, kind, patient, faith-filled, capable of great silliness, and love Bob Dylan and good food.  My sister Betsy, an Episcopalian priest, performed the ceremony, and Dr. Raphael Wamuck, the pastor of Ebenezer Baptist Church, gave the prayer pre-dinner.   It’s been an incredible weekend.

So, Saturday I got up at 5:00 AM (didn’t have to leave for the airport til 9:00), and in the smartest move of the past five months, I decided to get my walk done before the trip.  I had vague ideas of organizing a group walk on Saturday, but we didn’t get to the hotel til about 3:00, people were still arriving every hour, it was just as hot and humid as Austin, and it would have been stressful and weird to take off in the midst of that and come back sweat-drenched.  It actually felt great to get on that plane knowing that at least that had been checked off my list.

First dance

Off to the reception, and on to Peru

Yesterday….listen, I may have to re-think this treadmill thing.  I used the gym on the third floor, and did five miles in one hour, 15 minutes!  That’s how much Banks has slowed me down, especially now that the weather is hotter.  I ran for several stretches at 4.3 mph, and learned that it is MUCH easier to run on a treadmill than out in the real world. When I slowed to walking, I put it at 3.9, which for some reason was significantly easier than 4.0.  Walking outside, I just don’t keep up that kind of pace.  I’m sure than in any gym out there, I’d have the benefit of air conditioning, but in this gym, which was connected to the pool and sauna,  I sweated as much as I would have outside, and had to have Sam keep fetching water for me.

Today?  I’d planned to do the treadmill again today, but I smashed my right foot against a table in my room last night and the three smaller toes are still sore and somewhat discolored.  At this point I don't have time to hit the gym before we leave for the aiport, so if I do my walk, it'll be outside in Austin.  Banks wil be so ready for this, but I may just let today be my day off, as Mondays always seem to be.

Loved seeing the nephews and uncles pow-wowing every c
chance they got -- those 12 years spent at Family Camp summer
reunions paid off

Breakfast with Sam at the Flying Biscuit -- a classic southern breakfast of biscuits and gravy, scrambled eggs and grits.  My brother-in-law, Larry, just poked his head in the door and asked if he could bring me some salted caramel ice cream.  It is all about food in Atlanta.  I BETTER hit the trail tonight......

I Love Playing Center Field on a Sunny Afternoon

Remember Kirk Gibson?  He played outfield for the Detroit Tigers back in the eighties. He went through a tough stretch for a while, when he got burned out on baseball's long, slow summer schedule. He went to a therpist, and I don't remember if he underwent hypnosis, but he learned this self-fulfilling mantra:  I love playing center field on a sunny afternoon.  It was his way of dealing with the 162 games he was facing, and trying to live in the moment.  He claimed it worked.  That was 25 or 30 years ago, and I remember thinking he was brave and honest for admitting what probably most players felt.

Somehow, "I love walking five miles on a 103 degree day" does not have the same ring to it.  I'm still going back and forth on this one.  Remember some time back when I told you about my plan to approach different gyms and see if I could score one-week trial memberships out of a bunch of them?  I'm still mulling that over.  I heard the other day that Gold's gym has memberships for $25 a month for government employees.  Heck, even I can afford that.  Maybe I should just join for the summer, if possible, and limit myself to three times a week on a treadmill, just til the heat breaks.  Wait, I mean just until September.  The heat breaks around Thanksgiving. 

I'm leaving for Atlanta tomorrow, and the Marriot that's housing most of the guests has a gym. I'm going to let one of my walks be five miles on the treadmill, and see what that feels like. 

Banks and I just got back from a lovely walk.  He stayed with me the whole time, because we stayed close to Stacy Park, and I brought him to the creek three times for long, cold drinks.  KMFA was featuring scores for movies about math -- Good Will Hunting, Moneyball, A Beautiful Mind -- and the music was weird and beautiful.  I got lost in it, and the hour and a half were up before I knew it.

It's going to be a great weekend.  I can't wait to share pictures, experiences, cool things I discover about Atlanta.  I hope all of you have a wonderful Memorial Day weekend.  Stay cool.

Two Steps Forward.....

Ohhh, I feel good.  On the way home from work, I realized I was CRAVING a Greek salad, and stopped by the Athenian Grill for a to-go.  It was huge, and I ate all of it.  The result, of course, was lethargy and a bloated stomach.  As much as I wanted to lay down and, if not sleep it off, ride it out, I pulled on my shoes and left.  And left Banks behind.  I knew I needed a long and hard walk.  For God’s sake, I had planned to eat like a bird the week before the wedding, and now I’ve got this to contend with.

So I did my long-stride walk, trying to swing my torso around in a vain attempt to whittle my waist.  I walked all the way to Home Depot, where on a previous walk, I’d discovered a very cold fountain in the corner.  I walked the parameter of the outside of the building – must have been a half mile at least -- went in for a drink, then walked around again, got another drink (a couple of the clerks were looking at me strangely this time), then back to St. Ed’s, where I spent the rest of the walk lapping the soccer field and walking the short flight of stairs in the bleachers every time I passed them. 

I came home hot and sweating, gulped two big glasses of water and took a hot shower.  Now I’m ready for bed.  I’m comparing how I feel now with how I used to feel  before when I would overeat.  Uncomfortable, depressed, hopeless.  How many calories are in a Greek salad?  How many calories do you burn up by walking an hour and a half?  I’m not sure, but right now I feel even.  Balanced.  I blew it, but I’ll come roaring back tomorrow.

Summertime

I expected tonight’s walk to be a treat.  Enough of the neighborhood, I was going to take Banks down to Town Lake and circle our beloved trail.  I had my headphones, with KMFA’s classical music blaring in my ears.  We started at about 6:20, so there was no rush to finish before dark.
 

But I was distracted  and uncomfortable.  I was really thirsty, and all I could think about was the next water stop.  A friend had shared a beans and rice dish she made for lunch, and I kept farting.

 As I said a couple of blogs ago, summer is my least favorite season.  I like structure and routine, and summer is by definition leisurely and wide-open.  I also suspect that a large part of it is my own history.  I got divorced when the boys were quite young, and summer represented for me a terrifying three-month stretch of camps I could not afford, day care centers the boys hated and, to be perfectly honest, occasions when Sam was in charge at a younger age than the experts recommend.  The start of school in late August  represented freedom for me. 

I’ll get through it, like I do ever y year.  But as September gets closer, I will feel myself coming alive again.  Football season is about to start.  Back-to-school  sales  are in full swing.  Work starts to pick up.  Heat and humidity still hang oppressively over the city, but there is the knowledge  that in, oh, another two, three months, we might get that first nip in the air.

So, summer unofficially starts Monday, Memorial Day.  Like I do every year, I’ll spend the weekend making up a list of books to read and tasks to accomplish.  And at the end of August, I’ll cross off the last one on my list:  walk 410 miles.

The Fun of Failure

A fun, not-too-hot destination walk tonight.  I met friends at Domincan Joe's for coffee around 6:30.  I googled the walking directions -- one route was 1.6 miles from my house, the other was 1.9.  Of course I walked that one.  On the way back I veered over to Stacy Park and made up the extra 1.2 . 

I’ve been feeling a little….I don’t know….timid.  Introverted.  Could be just the weather (summers don’t bring out the best in me and yes, I realize it’s not even summer yet).   Or some kind of hormonal or chemical fluctuation.  On the rare occasions when I feel like this, it brings up memories of my late teens and early twenties, when “timid” was an understatement.  What did (X,Y or Z) think of me?  Was I pretty enough?  Accomplished enough?  Thin enough?  I was afraid to put myself out there, to be conspicuous, in any way.  What if I got a part-time job in a restaurant, and a guy I had crush in came in WITH A GIRL??)  So self-conscious – self-absorbed, really – was I that I remember telling a friend once that the only way I would ever cut my long hair cut short would be just before I moved to another city, where nobody knew me.  I can still remember the impassive gaze she leveled at me, and I could hear her thinking “Are you kidding me?  Do you really think the world is that interested in you?”

A lot has thankfully changed since then, but when I’m not careful, I can feel myself veering back into that well-worn groove.  I’ve been re-reading a great book, The Happiness Project, which I read last year on my Puerto Rico trip, and which was actually largely responsible for this blog.  The author, Gretchen Rubin, decided to exercise a number of qualities and activities she knew from research and experience heighten a person’s happiness.  Believe it or not, one of them was keeping a blog.  And it brought back memories of the early days of this project, when I would write my piece, take a deep breath and hit “Publish,” knowing full well that some people would find my words silly or unimportant. Rather than inhibiting me, that thought exhilarated me.  I felt like I was shedding my old self-conscious skin and embracing a new, cheerful, devil-may-care me.

Reading her book again sparked something in me.  She has a great line, which I somehow missed the first time, that she speaks to herself when she's afraid to do something:  "I love the fun of failure."  She says that to herself until she starts believing it.  I don't really have to convince myself of it, I already half believe it.

So this is what I'm going to do:  email a guy Lynn used to date, who's a reporter for the Statesman, and ask him about a freelance piece I submitted to someone over there a few weeks ago, and never heard back from. They published an article I wrote this time last year, so it's not like it's completely without precedent.  I'm going to ask him to read it.  Maybe he'll tell me it's no good, or they didn't have a place for it, or any number of things.  That's okey.  I can take it. It's the hiding out that I hate. I love the fun of failure.  I love the fun of failure.  I love the fun of failure. 

I Love That Sangria Wine

Sundays are so crazy, and yesterday in particular, it’s a miracle I was able to get my walk in.  I didn’t get home from nursery duty and church until almost 1:15.  I got out the door, with Banks, and 1:40, with a departure time of 3:15 to catch a showing of “Bernie” at 3:40 at the Arbor with Lynn looming large.  And it was HOT.  I never walk at that hour if at all possible, and I don’t know what the temperature was, but the steam felt like it was rising off the sidewalks. After no more than seven or eight minutes, Banks started his “find a shady spot and roll in the grass” routine, and who could blame him?  Clearly he wasn’t even up for St. Ed’s today, so I took him on a big square around a few blocks, probably no more than ½ mile, dropped him off at the house and went to Stacy Park on my own.  I could only handle two hills, and then fled to the shade and flatness of the park’s interior, but not before achieving a bright red neck and chest to memorialize the first 30 minutes or so.  I got in the door at 3:10, had all of five minutes to jump in the shower and get dressed, then it was off to “Bernie.”

OMG.  Run, don’t walk, to see this movie.  I’ve been in the doldrums for the last week or so, and I laughed so much that I think they’re shaken off. It's a small film, a true story of a small town Texas mortician (Jack Black), loved throughout the community for his sunny disposition and service to others, who finally snaps when the wealthy, bitter widow who befriended drives him to the breaking point, and he shoots her in the back and places the body in the deep freeze.  So beloved was he, and so despised was she, that no one really missed her for nine months, and when the crime was uncovered, the town was outraged that Bernie would be prosecuted for what they thought was a perfectly understandable action.  Jack Black was wonderful, but Matthew McConaughey gets my vote for Best Supporting Actor as the straight-arrow district attorney.  A native Texan, he perfected the swaggering self-aggrandizement of the iconic Texas law enforcement figure.  The “citizens” who spoke directly to the camera in support of Bernie were all non-actors and native Texans, and I think mostly residents of Carthage, Texas, where the film takes place. They were HILARIOUS.  If you’re a Texan, you can’t help but feel an absurd pride in the eccentricities of our population.  You really can’t imagine this happening anywhere but here.

Then it was on to Robert and Julie’s house in Round Rock.  They were good friends from our UT days – Lynn was Julie’s roommate for a few years – and re-connecting with them a few years ago, and remaining in regular contact since then, has been one of the great pleasures of my life.  Here we all are eating fajitas and drinking sangria.  That’s Jack, their 10-year-old bulldog, at the head of the table.

Flat

My walks for the last week or so have been rather pallid and joyless.  It’s unavoidable at times – there will be lulls and high points, times when the walks are purposeful and creative and novel, and times when I simply fit them in.  The last five or six have fallen into the latter category.

This morning I dropped Jackson off at Zilker Park at 7:00 AM for the first day of his new job.  I drove the quarter mile or so to the big parking lot where Banks and I sometimes start at the two-mile walk.  The morning was overcast and cool.  In contrast to the last few walks, when I’ve checked my phone every 10 minutes or so, a mile passed  before I knew it. Then the second, then on to Barton Springs, where Banks really recharges his batteries.  I can’t say it was a joyful walk, but the energy from the dogs, the walkers, the runners and the rowers lifted me out of my torpor.  I also renewed my commitment to get back to a more varied and healthy diet.  Macaroni and cheese, a biscuit AND cornbread?  For a mid-afternoon meal?  Please.

I’ll be flying to Atlanta on Saturday for Allison’s wedding, and it couldn’t come at a more opportune time.  Instead of planning a very early, pre-flight walk, just to get it out of the way, I’m researching parks and interesting walks around the city for Saturday, Sunday and Monday.  I’d say a change would do me good.

 Town Lake on an early Saturday:  rowers, boot camp, and Leslie’s memorial, complete with thong, high heels and tiaras.

The Flying Nurse

My nephew Keene – the one whose wedding I went to in Puerto Rico last December – is the oldest of our family’s seven nephews and one niece, and somewhat of the alpha child of the family.  Five and a half years older than Sam, he was my first real experience with seeing a child grow up.  When he was very small, his parents lived in Greenwich Village, and how I loved going there for visits.  I’d encourage his mom and dad to go out for the night, and Keene and I would take to the streets, him in his stroller, visiting pet shops or stopping at a diner for a bite to eat.  We’ve always had a special connection.  He called me Yashee back then.

Keene’s in Chicago now with his gorgeous wife Kristin, and he’s almost done with his Master’s in nursing.  Last summer he responded to a Groupon ad for trapeze lessons, and loved it. Since the cost is a little steep for a grad student, he asked the owner about working for them, and was hired on to train as a catcher.  He describes it as “a combination of thrill-seeking, an attempt to maintain regular physical activity during school, and a way of spending some time in something totally unrelated to healthcare.”  He’s noticed a big improvement in core strength as well as arm and shoulder strength, and watching these videos, you’ll see why.  He’s the one in the yellow shirt, looking ridiculously calm for someone flying through the air while hanging from his knees.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LEfZpJuDo6Q

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qCklKRqRK9E

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=arQdcDqSQWo

Looking for a new fitness plan?  We’ve got Trapeze Austin here in town, and I’ll bet there’s something like it in yours. 

It wasn’t even that hot last night, but even on his 45-minute walk, Banks wimped out on me.  St. Ed’s has way too many inviting, broad, cool lawns and it’s just too tempting  for him to stop the walk and roll around in the grass, as much as anything because it always gets approving laughs from passers-by.  So I was kind of a hard-ass tonight; we did the Stacy Park hills – nothing but concrete – and I made him hang with me the whole 90 minutes.  Oh, did I need it tonight.  I won’t go into the unpleasant details but here are the high points:  An unscheduled stop at 3:00 at (God help me) a Cracker Barrel.  Child-sized portion of mac and cheese, because the server made me feel guilty for taking up a table while just drinking a Diet Coke.  Mac and cheese unexpectedly served with cornbread AND a biscuit.  A stop for gas, and a supersized Reese’s cup.  Return home. Unanticipated craving for peanut butter on rye toast.   Somebody stop me. 

Pain Free

Since I didn’t want a repeat of last night, I started my walk very shortly after dinner.  The downside, of course, is that it’s hotter then, so I took Banks for 45 (around St. Ed’s) and reserved the Steep Hills of Stacy for myself.  And I realized something startling tonight – my knees almost never hurt anymore!  When did this happen?  Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I took Aleve for them.  Well, now this is exciting:  I can’t remember the last time I took Aleve for a headache.  I used to do that rather frequently.  Maybe I was on to something a few weeks ago, before my two-week allergy attack kicked in.  Maybe I really AM getting healthier.  Maybe I am getting stronger.  Sometimes I have to remind myself that it’s not all about the aesthetics.

Crap, that Aleve-for-the-knees thing reminds me.  Remember when I bought my shoes from RunTex back in January?  As I recall, the salesman told me to buy another pair after three or four months.  That means I’m just about due.  I also remember him saying that once the shoes wear down, the knees start to hurt.  I’m going to be proactive and get a new pair before that happens.  My inherent cheapness recoils at the thought of shelling out another $110 when I’ve got shoes that appear to perfectly acceptable, but I have to remind myself that I’m a trained athlete now and need to start acting accordingly.  That was a joke.

Off the Hook

Check the time.   I’d have to go back and review the old blogs, but I’m pretty sure this is the latest I’ve finished a walk.  Oh, what a day.  I had a much-needed massage at 4:00, met a friend for dinner at 6:30, and then met up with some friends who'd just returned from Colombia.  Southbound 35 was slow-moving with lots of emergency vehicles (I think it was construction-related rather than accident -related) and by the time I got home, pulled the collar over Banks’ neck and walked out the door, it was 9:20 

Since it was so late, we stuck close to the well-lit commercial district up and down South Congress.  I’ve noticed that Banks doesn’t seem to see well when it’s dark, and Stacy Park, as well as St. Ed’s, gets very dark this late.

It’s been weeks and weeks since we took this route.  I’d almost forgotten the very specific workout that South Congress provides.  The sharp, steep hills off Stacy Park can leave you gasping for breath.  The mile-long slope from Riverside to Oltorf results in a sustained, controlled burn, both for your muscles and your lungs.  The massage therapist, upon hearing of my five-mile project, had lectured me on the importance of “mixing up” my footwear, so on this trek I opted for my sockless canvas shoes. My feet breathe when I wear them.

I made a momentous decision this morning.  Remember when I gloated about the size 10 jeans I tried on yesterday?  I couldn’t wait to weigh myself upstairs in the health clinic this morning, and guess what?  I’ve gained a pound.  Yes, I know all about “It’s not the number on the scale, it’s how your clothes fit,” and “Muscle weighs more than fat,” but I can still get obsessed by that number on the scale.  And that can result in some unhealthy tendencies, like gearing up for the 1^st of the month by eating very lightly for a couple of days before then, and then indulging after weigh-in.  No.  I’m going to let myself off the hook and avoid the scale for a while, monitoring myself by how I look, how I feel, and yes, how my clothes fit.  This is not Weight Watchers.  This is Five Mile Walk with a Piebald Pit.  

Two Broke Boys

This is what Mother’s Day looks like when you have sons, not daughters, and both are in college and between jobs.  You don’t have an elegant lunch at Green Pastures. You don’t get a card with lots of flowery sentiments.  You simply hang out together for four hours , watch the basketball playoffs and watch your dogs play-fight.  Jackson had a Taco Bell gift card, and when dinner time approached, he graciously offered to pick me up a burrito.  I accepted.  I loved every minute of it.  Every year I am more and more conscious of the fact that my job with these boys is essentially over, and that any time spent with them is a gift.

Later in the evening, I took my new favorite course, Stacy Park and the attendant hills.  Man, that really burns up your legs, but if it’s hot outside and I’m going to be sweating anyway, I prefer to really go for it and get drenched. 

I took off Monday, as usual, and took a personal day off work today.  Banks and I did Stacy Park again in the morning, which was lucky, because it’s been raining pretty steadily since then. I left for what was my real reason for taking off today – getting a dress for Allison’s wedding.  What I ended up with was okay, but here was the real adventure:  I tried on a pair of size 10 jeans, and they fit.  At least the legs fit perfectly, I have a little work to do above that.  I’m kind of still in shock.  For someone who’s been resigned to a matronly size 16 for most of the past decade, it’s unbelievable.  But I’m very aware of the relativity of it all.  Remember in The Devil Wears Prada, when Andi defensively told the Stanley Tucci character that she was a size six, and he sneered “Six?  That’s the new 14.” 

Betsy

I don’t pay much attention to Mother’s Day.  When the kids were little, and I was married to their father, there was always something wrapped up and waiting for me, but with two grown boys who don’t yet have wives to nudge them, occasions like this tend to pass with little or no fanfare.  But it’s not me that I’m thinking about today.

Let me introduce you to Sarah Elizabeth “Betsy” Johns.  She grew up in the Depression, but her father owned a gas station, and she came out of that era relatively unscathed.  It was other things that left scars.  A chemical imbalance, which today would have been easily fixed with medication, but was left unattended and resulted in a lifelong, low-grade depression.  She was beautiful, but, my siblings and I always suspected, somewhat under-noticed in her family of seven.  She never had a drop of alcohol in her life, and as three of the five children in that family became alcoholics, she obviously made the right choice. 

Something in her makeup or in her family of origin – really, a combination, I’m sure – left her with a deep sense of insecurity.  She was negative; you could go to a restaurant and have the meal of your life, but all she would remember was the waiter who forgot to bring coffee with her dessert.  She played favorites, and I was not one of her favorites.  She had a laser-like ability to hone in on people’s weaknesses and vanities, while overlooking their fine qualities. My father, a good man whose occasional lack of sensitivity and attentiveness very much mirrored the times, could not keep her propped up.

All four of us, but probably me in particular, have occasionally been dismissive of Mom , joking that we pretty much became who we are by observing my mother and deciding what we DIDN’T want to become.  And there’s some truth to that. But the older I get, the more I appreciate the gifts.  Silliness and laughter.  The knowledge that no one in the world will ever love me as much as she, in her own way, did.  A college education – she felt the lack of hers acutely, and wanted to ensure that all four of us carried that advantage through life.  Although unable to practice it herself, she believed in the “attitude is everything” approach to life, and constantly reminded us “The only way anyone is going to think you’re great is if YOU think you’re great.”  

I think about Mom whenever I watch “Mad Men.”  The stifling, homebound lives of the women, the absolute entitlement of the men.  The helplessness and lack of options in the face of philandering husbands and leering bosses.  I watch it for entertainment.  Mom lived it.

Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.  I’m sorry you didn’t get all you wanted out of life, and weren’t able to fully enjoy the wonderful things that you did have.  I now know how hard it is to be a good parent.  I know you would be happy to know that all four of your children really, really know how to enjoy life.  And I’m sorry I never gave you enough credit for that.  I love you.

Ten Again

The urge to walk ten miles again was building in me, and I knew I'd do it some time this weekend.  When Lynn asked me on Thursday to take her to the airport early Saturday morning, I knew I'd found the perfect plan:  Get her to the aiport by 7:45, return home, grab Banks for five miles at the trail, return him home and then do another five around the neighborhood.  So I skipped the Friday walk in favor of Saturday's two-fer.

But sleep for me, as I've reminded you countless times, is a delicate thing, and whenever I have a semi-important early morning commitment,  I usually don't sleep well the night before.  Last night was no exception. I kept waking up and checking the time, and finally, around 4:00 AM, I just got up.  And there was Banks, and there were my tennis shoes.....and I decided to just go for the whole thing.  It was wonderfully cool and breezy out, and the idea of getting ten miles -- three hours of walking -- out of the way BEFORE doing my airport run, was just too tempting. 

I took Banks toward Stacy Park, and we did the modified hill-climbing course -- I avoided the steepest hills (for Banks' sake), took the others, and lengthened them by walking all the way towards South Congress, or as far as we could possibly go on flatter terrain, just to stretch the miles.  We walked the wide and empty streets; no need to adhere to the cramped sidewalks at this hour. It was exactly 4:12 when we started; when I returned him home, it was 5:36.  I gulped some water, clipped on my radio and earphones, brought along my phone, just to keep a close eye on the time, and headed towards St. Ed's.  I know the place well enough to know where the mostly hidden inclines are, but this time I avoided them and stayed on even ground, finishing up with 9 or 10 laps around the soccer field.  At 7:05, I headed towards home, and came in the door at exactly 7:12. 

The best part was picking up Lynn, who noted my sweaty condition and asked if I'd done my five already.  "I've done TEN!" I chortled, triumphantly.  Lord, I can be insufferable about this thing.

I felt more stiff than sore, reminiscant of my first few attempts at five miles.  Mostly what I was, was starving.  I have recently perfected the Egg McMuffin in my own kitchen, and had that, and two huge mugs of coffee.  Jackson is housesitting for Lynn, and I've got the place to myself.  Classical music is blaring, and my patio is ablaze with color after four days of rain.  Life is good.  Very, very good.

Nightmare on South Congress

Do you ever have a dream so horrible that you almost weep with gratitude upon waking up and realizing you’re not trapped in that situation?  I have those every so often, and last night was a doozy.  I dreamed I was getting married (that wasn’t the horrible part), and that, as usual, I had waited waaaay too long to plan the wedding, arrange the flowers, the food, etc.  Worst of all, I hadn’t bought a dress yet, and here it was, 3:30 the day of the wedding, with an hour and a half to go.  (Of course this is related to Allison’s upcoming wedding, and Lynn’s dress search).  My mother, dead 16 years, was there, fussing in the background, but nothing was getting done.  I finally decided I’d better take care of the dress situation, and started driving towards Nordstrom’s.  Here’s the most interesting part of the dream:  on the way, I debated whether to go into the store, still maintaining a façade of control, both to the sales clerks and myself, and simply announce I had a short turnaround time, needed a certain type of dress, and could they steer me in the right direction; or, should I burst into the store screaming HELP ME!!!, explain the situation, knowing that everyone would drop what they were doing and rally around me?  Mercifully, I woke up before I had to make that decision.

It didn’t occur to me until just now that the hour and a half might be related to the time I spend on my walk every day.  I don’t THINK I feel any more stressed than usual, or that my daily walk is creating pressure, but who knows?  The human brain, to paraphrase Tobias Wolf, is a dark forest.

More rain.  I felt like I really needed to push myself tonight, so I left Banks at home and did a VERY hard five miles up and down the streets along Stacy Park.  Up and down, up and down, until the clock said 45 minutes, then backtracked the exact same path.  Five minutes before I got home, another shower hit, and I jogged the last half mile or so.  I’m already regretting that I didn’t wear the brace.  I’m going to feel this in my knees tomorrow.

1.6 + 3.4

I woke to the sound of rain this morning, and perverse as this may sound, one of my favorite things about rainy mornings is that my cat Wally, who insists on spending every night outside, and who seems to lack every other cat’s instinct for seeking makeshift shelter in a storm, comes in soaking wet and yowling, demanding to be towel-dried.  He loves being rubbed with a soft fluffy towel until there is no sign of dampness in his black fur, and then jumping onto his condo to eat breakfast.  It’s become kind of a ritual for us, and I think he likes it as much as I do.  I couldn’t have done my walk this morning anyway because I had other plans – my car was like 4,000 miles past its oil change, something I’ve always been very good about keeping up with, but for some reason lost track of this time around.  When I finally got around to checking the mileage that had been recorded by the mechanic last time, I freaked, and figured I’d better get the thing in there before my car exploded.

Yesterday, as I already reported, Banks and I did our walk in the morning, and when I came home from work lastn ight, I scarcely knew what to do with myself!  Should I watch TV?  I don’t even know what’s on Tuesdays.  Take Banks on just a short potty walk?  Jackson had already done that.  I finally settled on cleaning the house and doing laundry.

I had a downtown meeting at 3:00 today, and took that opportunity to walk the .8 mile there and back, leaving Banks and me with just 3.5 miles to complete, which we just did.  We're supposed to have rain on and off for most of the week, and we're both enjoying the cooler weather.

It's Always Something

Today it’s my toe, the big one on my right foot.  It hurts.  It’s not a blister, it’s something inside.  I don’t see how I could possibly have bruised or strained it on my totally flat walk around the outlet malls on Sunday, but who knows?  When I first started this back in January, I used to lie awake at night, fantasizing about something catastrophic, like a broken leg, which would put an end to it all, but it’s the little things that keep cropping up and taking jabs at me.

Once again, a short but intense rainstorm last night.  I awoke to the unbelievable feel of cool weather outside, and for the first time in I don’t know how long, I grabbed Banks and raced out the door, at 5:15, on a work day.  No way was I going to waste this opportunity.  The storm must have been stronger than I thought – we passed several pretty decent-sized branches that had been ripped off their trees, and Banks had plenty of water puddles to drink from along the way.

I met Brian at Curra’s for breakfast, and I wish I’d brought my camera to show you her sleek, sophisticated new haircut.  She looks fabulous.  And as always, I came away from breakfast better than I was going in – able to look at a stressful work situation with some humor and perspective, getting a laugh out of our mutual foibles, comparing parenting stories, and sharing a bit of harmless gossip.  Thank you, sistah.

Outlet Walking

We had a short but tremendous thunder and lightening storm last night -- I don't even know what time it was, but the thunder was crashing, and it felt like it was shaking the house.  It was so out-of-the-blue that when I woke up I half-wondered if I'd dreamed it, but the welcome cool and damp weather, not to mention the soaking wet Sunday paper, confirmed the storm.  Unfortunately, the cool weather was not to last.  When Lynn and I headed to the outlet malls at San Marcos after church, it was steaming.

Lynn had a brilliant idea for this weekend.  She is a slow -- maddeningly slow -- and methodical shopper, and even her most devoted friends have a hard time hanging with her.  She suggested that I come with her, take my walk while she spent a couple of hours at Saks and Neiman Marcus in search of her mother of the bride dress, and then join her at those stores and give my opinion on the finalists she chose. Perfect plan.  I started out on the sidewalks in front of the stores, but the temptation to window shop, not to mention the congestion from all the pedestrians, made that plan unworkable.  So I stayed on the outer perimeters at the back of the stores, and at the very far reaches of the parking lots -- boring but effective.  But man, was I dehydrated aftewards!  No matter how much water I drank, I had to return to the fountains every 20 minutes or so just to keep hydrated.

Lynn found two fabulous dresses, bought one, and is online-shopping to get the other one in her size. She didn't want to leave the place without a sure thing, but I loved the second one so much that I convinced her to get both of them home and compare them side-by-side.  Lynn has a naturally slim and youthful figure which I can only dream of, and has so many more options than I ever would when making this type of purchase. Well, eight more months of five mile walks, and maybe I'll give her a run for her money.  Watch your back, sistah.  :-)

Road Trip

I love business road trips.  I don’t have to be going anywhere exciting, and God knows I didn’t today.  I always get a small surge of excitement when the alarm wakes me up at 5:00, and I get up in the darkness, fill up the coffee travel mug, climb into my freshly gassed-up car, with my work papers and my driving directions on the passenger seat beside me, and a newly rented e-book in the CD player waiting for me.

Today I went to Christoval, a rural town just outside of San Angelo, a four-hour drive each way.  I love driving, and I love my work.  Never in the eight hours on the road did I wish I was meeting a friend for lunch, or going to a movie, or attending the Pecan Street Festival. 

But nine hours on the road takes a toll on the body.  I was exhausted when I got home, and didn’t dare give in to the temptation to fall into bed.  Instead, I took Banks for a long woods walk.   There are several trails you can take, and we kept going from one to the other, always keeping the brook within safe distance, because it was HOT, and even in the cooler woods, Banks needed frequent breaks.  It felt good to take more of a hike than a walk – the climbing and careful descending, and frequent need to hold your balance, uses a different set of muscles, and I’m feeling a little more sore than usual right now.

Nursery duty calls early in the morning, and then Lynn and I are spending the afternoon at the San Marcos outlet stores, searching for the perfect mother-of-the-bride dress for Lynn.  I’m going to catch 48 Hours Mystery, and then hit the sack.

The Long Haul

Tonight was a killer, no two ways about it.  Ninety-four degrees, and humid.  And this time, even though we waited for the sun to go down, and walked on the trail, there was no relief to be found there.  And it wasn’t just us; everyone was walking slower tonight.  Banks needed to stop frequently for water, and so did I.

What definitely did not help was that today was Cinco de Mayo (well, Cuatro de Mayo, but tomorrow’s Saturday), and no government office lets that one go by without a potluck.  So, a heavy lunch (enchilada casserole, anyone?), a bloated stomach, no will whatsoever to walk five miles….

The days when I eat crap are probably the hardest.  In the old days, I would do what everyone else does – figure I’ve blown it, why bother with the exercise part, I’ll just wait til tomorrow and start then.  Or Monday.  Or the first of the month, if it was anywhere in sight.

But I don’t have the luxury of doing that now, and on these walks, it’s hard to fight the feeling that you’re merely treading water, not really accomplishing anything.  But usually about 2.5 miles in, I remember that I’m in it for the long haul.  That I’ll have good days and bad days, productive days and meh days, but what I need to do is…..just keep showing up. Don’t have to be amazing, don’t have to break any records, just have to pull my tired butt off the couch and show up. And that’s what Banks and I did tonight. 

Stretch

Got a late start tonight, 8:30, and just finished a couple of minutes after 10:00.  Banks was limping tonight, so I took him for exactly 45 minutes around St. Ed’s, brought him back to the house, grabbed a bottle of water and continued on my way.  Sometimes I like to mix up my footwear, and for the last couple of days, I’ve worn my canvas shoes, without socks.  A painful blister is forming on my left foot pad, but for some reason, there are just times when I need to feel a little less encumbered than I do with sweat socks and tightly laced sneakers.

Why the late start?  I hesitate to admit that I took yet another post-work nap, but I did.  Before you start thinking of me as the Narcoleptic Blogger, let me explain.  For the past few weeks, I have been working towards my clinical license, which means a weekly session that I and another student have with a licensed clinician.  We staff cases we’re working on, make assessments and diagnoses, and provide feedback to each other.  I am one month in, with 23 months left to go.

The process is challenging and empowering and humbling.  Mostly humbling.  I went in today with a case I had all figured out; all I needed from my mentor and my peer was validation of my brilliant assessment.  What I got was pushback.  And rightly so.  My old, old habit of judging still sneaks up on me at times, and Bobbi and Tomeka called me out on it. 

It is not easy to present your work to others, place it under a microscope and dissect it.  But it also stretches your mind and enlarges your capacity to understand and to empathize.  And when it’s done right, it leaves you very, very tired.

Fireworks

Banks, I love you, but tonight I just gotta be alone.

Just before work ended, I had two fiery exchanges with two different people.  Before you jump to any conclusions about my emotional stability, bear in mind that “fiery” kind of defines the work that I do – helping (or trying to help) parents come to an agreement regarding custody of their kids.  Stakes are high. Attorneys are involved.   Fireworks, on occasion, go off.

Jackson had taken Banks for short walks today, so I knew he’d be all right skipping the five miles.  When I’ve got a lot on my mind, I find myself impatient with Banks’ shenanigans (marking every tree he passes, lunging at dogs who particularly interest him….what is that, anyway?  We can walk past 12 dogs to whom he pays minimal attention, and then he’ll spot what looks to me like a very ordinary dog, and he goes crazy.  Canine chemistry?).

So I left him at home and went to the trail for a fast-paced, arm-swinging, eyes-straight-ahead-get-outta-my-way kind of walk.  My goal for this five miles was simple:  at the end of it, I wanted not to be seething.  It worked. 

I’m back.  I’m tired.  No energy to pour into stupid things.  Who wants an easy job, anyway?  I’m going to bed.

Four Months In

Another month, another 3.5 pounds. My sister Betsy had cautioned me against my giddy prediction at the outset that walking five miles a day meant I could probably eat whatever I want.  She had trained for a walking marathon and discovered that her body quite readily adjusted to the mileage and she could NOT eat whatever she wanted.

And yet....I AM eating pretty much whatever I want, and I still lost 3 1/2 pounds!  I'm sitting here, typing this, and snickering to myself, and I'm not sure why.  I still feel a little giddy about all this.  I'm at the point where almost everyone is commenting on my weight loss. (And I still find myself asking people to punch my thighs) .  An elderly man I work with came up to me yesterday and asked me, with a sly grin "Have you started modeling?"  I think I'm in love.  For the first time in my adult life, I find myself looking for pants that will show off my skinnier legs -- instead of covering them up.

So tonight's walk (at the trail) was happy and free-floating, and passed in a hurry.  It's strange, but I have discovered that classical music, more than NPR, KGSR or my iphone, puts me in a sort of zone where I'm not paying much attention to the music or my surroundings, but all of a sudden, here we are at five miles.

At Steve's party on Sunday, his next-door neighbor, who has gorgeous skin, told me that she washes it every night with olive oil.  What?? I shrieked.  Just plain olive oil out of the bottle?  She rubs it well into her face, almost giving herself a facial massage, then takes a hot washrag, well wrung out, and wipes it off.  I've done it for three nights in a row, and I LOVE the way my face feels!  Just to make sure she wasn't a complete wacko, I googled "wash your face with olive oil" and came across several testimonials.  Try it! 

That's my beauty tip for the week.  Check you tomorrow.