Author: hollyida

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My Facebook Fast

I am no stranger to self-deprivation.  I’ve been on a variety of diets over the years (Scarsdale diet, cabbage soup diet, etc.) that not only deprived me of a vast amount of calories but also pleasure.  I rarely eat before a run and sometimes wait close to two hours before I eat after a run.  A little voice in my head continually tells me that I can burn just a few more calories before I eat that granola bar.  It’s absolutely ridiculous, I know.  In the past few months, I’ve been much better about eating and not starving myself. Trying not to *always* count calories, but eat “normally”—whatever the hell that means.

I’m also the person who will yearn for that cute jacket in the store window, but refuse to buy it. Always justifying purchases for my son and sometimes my husband, but never myself.  “It costs too much,” I’ll say. And when it goes on sale?   “I don’t need it,” I’ll say to anyone listening. But what I’m really saying in my head? “I don’t deserve it.”

This year, though, I’ve made many attempts to treat myself better.  I actually bought clothes for my vacation next week. I keep telling that bitch in my head to pipe down.  Nothing was particularly expensive.  I did, in fact, need summer clothes, and I fucking deserve to feel good and look good.

Then why give up Facebook? Everyone knows I love it.  It’s given me a chance to reconnect with a few people that I thought I’d never “see” again, it allows me to watch the children of my friends grow up (and they can watch my little guy sprout up to be a big guy), and most importantly for me, Facebook has allowed debates and conversations to take place between myself and my friends that never would have happened otherwise.  It’s created this lovely little community of people that I care about, all at my fingertips.

So….*why* did I give up Facebook?  Was it just to punish myself for buying those clothes or eating that extra lemon square?   No, I don’t think so.

Was it because I haven’t been able to run much and hate seeing everyone else run races all the time and be amazing when I’m feeling dumpy?  Believe it or not…no.  I’m still on dailymile.com and I see my friends doing what they do there.  I’m happy for people when they do awesome things.  I’m actually one of those folks, who after buying a lottery ticket, get super excited for the person who wins.  It’s never me but I can just imagine what they’re feeling, and how can you not be ecstatic for them? (If you don’t get this, it’s really ok. My husband doesn’t either.)

I think I needed a break from Facebook because of a few things. We all know FB is a major time waster. Even if you don’t play games on it (which I don’t), you could still scroll through your newsfeed for an hour to see what your friends are up to, but what else could you have done with that hour?  Work?  Spend face to face time with your kid? Read?

Yes. All of those things.

To go along with that, FB is a *huge* distraction for me. I know I don’t have to sign in to it, but just wondering what good things my friend Theresa has done this week or what amazing creations my friends Russ and Hazel have made or even what hilarious thing Sarah’s son will say today, all make me want to sign in and check on people.  It was becoming an addiction, and I do not need something that feels good and I think ultimately *is* good, to become bad for me.

But you know what really started to get to me?  All of the sarcasm and the snarky comments, some of which were my own.   Facebook started to bring out the worst in me, and no one needs that, especially  me.  I have fought the winter blues without much success this year and I need every positive thought I can get.  It’s easy to be a naysayer with everyone else, but I don’t want to be like that.  Life is just too short to be negative and ultimately unhappy.

And that’s what Facebook was making me. Unhappy. Or perhaps some of the people on my list were making me that way.   So just get rid of them! you may say.  And some I did, but others I just can’t, for various reasons.   So block them! you might say.  Perhaps. But we know that life is never quite as simple as we want it to be. Social interactions are vitally important in our work, our friendships and in our familial relationships.  Diplomacy is horribly underrated in life.  It’s necessary on so many levels, and I didn’t want to “fuck things up” so to speak.  So, like Rachel and Ross, I was on a break.

I’m back now, with a clear head and a slightly smaller friends list.  I’m sure I’ll still check Facebook every day but I have to place myself on some restrictions. I’m looking forward to seeing photos of Sonya’s new baby and Trish’s vacation pictures, but I don’t need to spend gobs of time doing quizzes or even scrolling through my news feed.   I got a lot of work done last week without having that temptation of “visiting” with my friends. I felt productive and worthy. But like everything else I fall in love with, I need to give myself a little distance and not let my affection become an infatuation.

Looking forward to “seeing” all of you again and hearing about all of the spectacular things you’ve been doing with your lives….or hearing what you made for dinner. 😉

 

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Great Expectations

Whether it’s a vacation you’ve been counting down for, a day off with your kiddo, a long-distance run, or even that piece of coffee cake you’ve been salivating over, we all have high expectations and hopes about many events in our lives.  And so many of them lead to great disappointments.  But the kicker is that if we hadn’t expected anything at all, we wouldn’t be disappointed, would we?  It was Ben Franklin who said, “Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he shall never be disappointed.”   And most parents live and breathe “Expect the worst but hope for the best.”

And yet….I continue to have high hopes for nearly everything.  I took a day off recently to spend with my son.   We had a list of errands that we had to do, but had a bunch of fun things thrown in the day, too, like play at the Maine Discovery Museum and go out to lunch.   I had been looking forward to this day for several weeks.  Not only because I got a day off from work and had no plans to do any housework, but I just wanted a day with my kid with no time constraints. Yes, we still had to buy pants and go grocery shopping, but we could take our time at all the fun places.

I woke up that morning with a cold and was starting to feel pretty lousy, but I refused to let it get to me.  Fortunately, the first place we went to was the museum.  We had a great time. I was a little disconcerted that my son was pretending to rob the little café the kids play in (he actually took the play money from the register and ran away, cackling—then returned it a few minutes later), but otherwise the 2-hour long adventure was pretty great.   He then asked to go to McDonald’s. I had no desire to do that, but this was his day, too, so I agreed.  I hate McDonald’s for so many reasons, but selfishly, one of them is that I can only eat a salad or oatmeal from the place.   But Bri behaved well and had a good time playing with an older boy that was there, so I really couldn’t complain.  Yet while leaving, he asked for another cheeseburger.  After ordering and paying, we waited….and waited….and waited.  I was trying so hard not to fume, but I didn’t succeed.  I wasn’t that nice to the cashier and felt shitty about it.  I work with the public so I should fucking know better!  I still feel the need to apologize to the woman, and hope to track her down the next time we’re there.

Then we made the trip to the dreaded Wal-Mart to buy Briar a pair of pants.  That is all we wanted from that blasted place. One pair of pants.  And so we drove to the store and ended up  having to walk through 6-inch piles of slush and slop throughout the parking lot. Neither one of us wore our boots and our feet were soaked way before we made it to the door.  Briar whined and yelled and complained for what seemed to be an hour-long walk (it was more like 30 seconds) through the parking lot.  At first I made all those noises you’re supposed to as a parent–“I know, honey. I understand. My feet are getting wet, too. We just need to make it to the door and it will be fine.” Blah, blah, blah.  But my son just couldn’t stop ranting.  And then I lost it. I screamed at him, “JUST SHUT UP!”

Now….I hate that phrase. “Shut up.” It’s something I try not to say unless I’m laughing and playfully smacking you on the arm.  But to yell it? In anger and frustration? At my son? In the middle of a public place?

I could feel the shame and embarrassment wash over me.  I couldn’t even look up and just kept walking, pulling Briar along, and staring at the ground.  And very unlike me, I did not apologize right away.  Once we found him some pants and he tried them on, I apologized to him then. I was calm and knew it would be sincere.  “That’s ok, Mom,” he said, and reached for me and gave me a hug.

Sometimes I think I’m the luckiest mom in the world.

The rest of that afternoon went by in a blur. I do remember there was a lot more smiling and laughing, and no more yelling. We even ran a race with lots of breathless giggling.  Those are the parts I hope he remembers.  I doubt it, but I can hope.

As for everything else I have high hopes for, I do try to have realistic expectations, but the mind is such an odd thing, isn’t it?  We’re taking a vacation in a few weeks to see family and absorb some much needed warmth and sunshine.  I *hope* we have a fantastic time with perfect weather (like last time) and no complaints.  But is it realistic to think that when we’re staying with family (8 of us in one house) and have less than a week to pack in a year’s worth of visiting and good times? Absolutely not.  Instead, I hope to have a couple of warm, sunny days. I hope to relax, be calm, go for a couple of runs, take a few good photos, and hear my son laugh….a lot.

I don’t think that’s unreasonable, do you?  And as for that piece of coffee cake I was salivating over?  As it baked, it made my entire house smell divine.  Yet, it didn’t taste as good as I remember when I baked it the last time. It was actually a little disappointing.  So I ate one more piece to confirm my disappointment.  And that piece tasted better.  Instead of feeling let down, sometimes you can just keep trying until you get your expected result.

So maybe if the vacation doesn’t go well, I can go on another one?

briarwhoa

Click on little Briar to see Bruce Springsteen’s High Hopes music video. It’s a great song!

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The Harmony of My Inconsistencies

Since I’ve lost many pounds over the past few years and am thrilled by purchasing smaller pants, I work hard on maintaining my weight.  Unfortunately, I tend to gain a few here and there, but if I ever get more than 3 pounds over my current weight, then I diligently count calories and try to increase my daily exercise.  I don’t think it’s really too high of a price to pay to be healthy and slim-like.

papaya

Tastes heavenly….and laden with calories.

Having said all that, I am fully aware of how much I annoy my friends (particularly my co-workers) and my family with all of my incessant questions–“Well, if I just eat one of the gummy bears, how many calories is that?”  I irritate myself sometimes, too!  But most of the time, I think my actions are ok. A little obsessive, but not too bad?  And then last week, I had a doctor’s appointment.  To me, having a doctor’s appointment also means visiting my local bakery or natural food store that sells gluten-free whoopie pies.  (I know, I know. I’m talking about counting calories then eating whoopie pies.  I have contradictions of the body, folks. Not always a contradiction of my heart, but often my head.)  So I stopped by the natural foods store, picked out a few gluten-free goodies and a bag of dried, sugared papaya.  Do you know what I’m talking about? It’s just like the photo here, but the papaya chunks I had were cut into long spears.  It’s delicious and deadly. You can easily fool yourself into thinking you’re eating something healthy but essentially you’re eating a big bag of candy.   BUT, I knew that and really didn’t care. I was ready for a treat.

With goodies in hand, I started to head to work, but made a quick pit stop at Tim Horton’s for a medium coffee–a double, double. (That’s 2 sugars and 2 creams. And I mean cream. Not skim milk, not 2% milk, but CREAM.)

So I headed to work with my papaya, my small but delightful gluten-free whoopie pie and my favorite coffee.  I had no intention of consuming everything on my 40 minute drive, mind you, but I wanted just a little bit of everything.  After a sugary spear of “fruit”, half a pastry and a few sips of coffee, I had this feeling of euphoria wash over me. I felt like I was on vacation at a beach resort with the sun shining down on me and the ocean breeze gently touching my face.  I felt relaxed and….quiet.  Satisfied.  Content.

Then I arrived at work and did my thing.  You know, helped people?  (Which is also quite exhausting at times.)  But I still had a bit of that inner peace I had felt earlier…until I looked up the calories of all of that orange evil I consumed (nearly 800 calories worth).  I ended the day a bit annoyed with myself, but the next day I was ready to “buckle down.”  I counted those calories and worked my butt off on the elliptical machine.  And the day after that I counted calories again and walked and lifted weights.  But….why?  Yes, I want to keep myself in check and not gain any weight. That was and still is my reasoning.  But my weight was fine. In fact, for me, it was perfect.  So I had one morning of eating anything I wanted. Big deal! ONE morning. Not even an entire day.  And yet….it was pure bliss.

The more I thought about it, the more I realized that this leash I’ve kept myself on? It’s starting to feel like a noose.

So, Friday night I tried to “let my hair down.”  I hung out with some of my dearest friends, and only checked the calories once on what we were eating….ok, twice. But that was all!  I still ate and drank anything and everything I wanted.  On Saturday morning I went for a run. A really good one.  And the rest of the day I, again, ate anything I wanted.   I did look at some of the calorie counts, but didn’t really care.  It felt ok, though. I didn’t eat with abandon, but I didn’t worry either.

Sunday was a slightly different story.  I started my day with what I intended to be a 45-minute elliptical workout, but ended with a 24-minute one.  My machine broke for the 2nd time in about a year. The bolt that helps move one of the “feet” snapped.  I was immediately pissed. Hunted the entire house for the extra bolt to no avail.  Frustrated, I got on my treadmill and just walked for 36 minutes. I didn’t feel like running but I wanted to do something. And once I was finished, I went upstairs and started writing down what little I ate that morning and how many calories I had just burned.  I was still angry at my machine and by then, angry at my husband for not knowing where he placed the extra bolt and at myself for not asking him about the extra bolt a year ago. And when I get angry, I just want to eat.  And because I want to rein in any of that emotional eating I often do, I felt the need to write down every little calorie I put into my mouth.

Thankfully, this little bout of angry calorie counting, aka “craziness”, only lasted until mid-afternoon. By that time I had finally given up on finding the damn bolt and resigned myself to using the treadmill for the next week….and had made a batch of oatmeal raisin cookies to appease my need to bake and my need for comfort food.  I think it worked.

You know, I promised to try and love myself this year. To try and be happy with the woman I’ve become.  But I think in doing that, I have to experiment with what *does* make me happy.  Being a calorie-counting food Nazi? Doesn’t really fill me with joy. Eating gluten-free whoopie pies? Blissful. The thought of being fat again?  Terrifying.

I’m still looking for that balance between heaven and horror, but I’m willing to keep searching.  To keep trying new things and attempt to leave some old habits behind.  I can’t promise I’ll completely give up my calorie counting, but I’ll at least try to not do it every day.  This is a year of new beginnings, which includes lots of baby steps….and perhaps a bit less of that orange evil. 😉

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1200 Calories–An Important Read!

A few of my friends shared this blog post by Sophieologie: 1200 Calories.  I started to read it and felt a little defensive at first.  I’m one of those calorie-counting bitches and it’s always helped me lose weight—and I tend to obsess about it when I’m doing it.  But since I’m 6’2″, I get to eat 1600 calories to lose weight (and over 2,000 calories to maintain, which is awesome).

I had never actually heard this magic number of 1200 calories. Growing up it was always 1,000 and I could never do it. As a teenager, I would try over and over and continue to fail.  I was 5’11” at 14 years old. I’m amazed that I didn’t pass out over and over while trying those damn diets.

I digress!  The blog I’m sharing talks not only about the harms of eating too little but about how the media continues to tell women that they need to lose weight and says nothing about getting stronger.  Building muscle is a good things, folks.  Admittedly, I still try to do a lot of cardio throughout my week, but I’ve incorporated lifting weights for a while now. I don’t want to be a wimp anymore. I want to be strong.  Bring on the muscles, baby!

And read the blog when you can. It’s really good stuff.  And one of my favorite quotes from the post? “Seriously, the soda pop is the devils piss.”  Love it.

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Dress in Black Day

“Why are you wearing black on Valentine’s Day?”

I’ve been asked this question at least once each year since 1994.  So let me explain.

Twenty years ago, I was living in Rohnert Park, California, with three amazing women.  I had only known them for a few weeks, but they had already become my family.  Once they introduced me to many of their friends, my family grew. On this particular night, Valentine’s Day, we held a party at our apartment.   I was single and slightly cynical and I think just pissed off that I was alone.  So to protest the commercialism and the ridiculousness of the holiday, I wore black….

….and a tradition was born.

Although I’m married now and have a son I like to buy or make valentines for, I still find the holiday pretty silly.  I continue to wear black on February 14th, but it’s not necessarily in protest anymore.  I don’t think I really care about the holiday one way or another, but now I wear black in honor of the friends I made 20 years ago and everything they taught me.

I learned how to show affection from them.  Being from New England, this was a new concept for me.   I don’t think I ever hugged any of my friends back home unless someone died or moved away. We just didn’t do that.  Yet here was a group of people who didn’t think twice about hugging me or kissing my cheek or even just sitting close to me (or on my lap).

They showed me how to love, how to take risks, how to have fun.

This group of women and men took me in and made me a part of their lives. They opened up their world to me.  They wanted to show me where they lived and what they loved to do and introduce me to new ideas, new music, new literature, and new experiences.

They made me feel like I belonged.  I had never really felt that before.  I thought I had, but  it never felt like this.  I felt not only accepted but wanted.

My friends showed me what there was to love about life.  I don’t think I ever knew before I met them.  I continue to feel grateful for ever having the chance to learn from them and to love them.

Thank you, Becky, Jo, Lea, Gary, Moriah, Sean, Memo, Matt, Yvette, Ron, and Lou.  You made, and continue to make my life better.

cow

Since I don’t have a photo of everyone together, I’m showing you this instead. You can’t see it, but everyone I met and loved in California signed this sign.

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OMG. This is a forewarning. This post may be TMI.

I fell on the ice one day last week…and I fell hard. Or at least it felt like I did.  It was dark, I was walking to my mailbox, and I slipped on a large patch of ice.   I screamed as my left hip and buttock slammed into the ice.  I didn’t waste any time on the ground though, and continued on to my mailbox….where there was no mail. (Grrrr.)  As the evening wore on, my hip and back started to ache and I knew I’d hurt the next day and probably have a nasty bruise.

The next morning I didn’t feel too bad and worked my tail off on the elliptical machine.  I was feeling good and strong and happy I wasn’t sore….then I lay down on my mat to stretch.  It was fine at first,  until I had to turn over on my stomach. I rolled onto my left hip first…OUCH! Ok. Maybe I wasn’t quite as good as I thought.

After stretching, I got undressed and decided I needed to look at my hip and butt to see if I had any bruising.  Now….I have to tell you that I rarely look in the mirror while naked.  And by rarely I mean never.

Seriously. I am 40 year old woman who has lost nearly 90 pounds over a period of years, with 50 of those pounds in the last 5 years.  I may workout every freakin’ day, but only surgery can firm this body up now.

But I still wanted to see if I had a bruise.  So…I turned my backside to the mirror and looked over my shoulder, gasped and actually said out loud, “Oh my gawd, THAT’S what I look like?!”  I shuddered for a second, then took my scary and bruised self to the shower.

When I got to work, I was feeling particularly frumpy.  I climbed out of my car in all of my bulky winter clothing, walked across the street and climbed up the steps to the library.  There, on the lovely glass door, was my reflection.  It stopped me in my tracks.  I looked tall. My jacket fit nicely and showed I had a decent rack, an indented waist of some kind and good hips.  I was kind of cute, and not frumpy at all. I liked that image.  I had to remember this. “This is what you look like, Holly.  With clothes on anyway. This is good.”

With that reflection still in my head, I began my day.  Things were going pretty well…until one of my favorite patrons, jokingly, started to imply that I was fat.  Now, this is a guy who makes me laugh and who I help on a weekly basis.  He knows I’m a former big girl, but had no idea about my massive insecurities.   Because we have a great working relationship, I cut him off before he could complete his implication of my largeness.  I completed the task he needed done and before he left the building, I told him to never, ever even imply that I was fat *ever* again. “You don’t know what words like that do to my head,” I told him.  He laughed but agreed to be good, then left the building.

Now, I felt really quite proud of myself at this point.  Physically, I felt a little shaky, but I stood up for myself and let someone know that I’m a bit fragile when it comes to certain situations, so don’t mess with me or I may break.  This was good, I thought.  I’m getting better. (The same patron actually called me later that day to apologize and to tell me I had absolutely nothing to feel bad about and went on to tell me all of my great qualities. He’s a flirt. A good ol’ guy, but a flirt nonetheless.)  The next morning, after what I thought was a breakthrough, I again felt dumpy and frumpy and was stopped by my reflection once more.

This is something I must overcome.  I can’t live the rest of my life thinking one thing and seeing another.  Do I have to keep telling myself, “Woman. You’re hot. Live with it.”  Perhaps.

Do I need to keep looking at myself in the mirror?   Maybe. But at least for now, clothes must stay on.

Unless I drink a lot of wine first…and maybe a margarita or two…then…maybe.

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The Human Connection

What makes my job, my career, my work, so fulfilling….is not my paycheck.  I don’t gripe about my pay a lot, because I always knew that if I worked in a small, rural library, then my salary would reflect that.  But for whatever reason, I became pretty emotional and angry when I discussed it with a friend this week.  We didn’t even start out talking about salaries but about “useless college majors” and if there was such a thing. But then I went on about not wanting my son to live in my basement forever and really wouldn’t want him to follow in my footsteps of getting a liberal arts degree if it meant he’d always be broke.  Being penniless means being powerless and that’s one of the worst feelings in the world. My friend retorted with something to the effect of this: the arts and humanities we learn about and create and bring into our lives is what can create passion within us, and ultimately those are the things that make life worth living.

And as much as literature is one of the greatest passions in my life, either reading it or writing it or discussing it, I’ve realized that it isn’t the arts that have lit a fire within me or have made my life worth living…it’s people. Not just my friends or my family, but the people I am in contact with at the library every single day.

connecting

Sometimes I complain about working with the public. As many of you know, it is not an easy thing to do. Some people treat you like you’re nothing or take their life’s frustrations out on you because the photocopier wouldn’t work to their satisfaction.  BUT, a majority of the folks I encounter are really quite wonderful.  Case in point: One of my favorite 7-year-olds paid me a visit at the library on Wednesday, just to tell me he doesn’t have to have chemo treatments anymore.  He wasn’t excited about it or anything, just matter of fact. “Nope. No more chemo.”  This kiddo has been through a lot this past year, but he’s a brave little bugger and hopefully he’s now on the mend.

That same day I got a lovely email from one of my favorite “kids.” (I have a bunch of them from the library since I started there back in 2005, and now I just call them “my kids.”)  She’s not a kid anymore, but a college student at the University of Southern Maine.  She recently wrote a few poems for a class and asked me to read and critique them.  I am so in awe of this young woman. She’s always been exceptionally bright and articulate and the imagery in her work was just beautiful.  I was absolutely honored and really quite grateful that she took the time to let me read her work.  She made me feel needed and important, and I can’t wait to read her next batch of poems.

And then, of course, there are always the folks that break your heart, even if they don’t  mean to.  I saw on the news that one of “my kids” had been arrested for attempting to rob a pharmacy.  He has a few children of his own and obviously a drug problem now.   I was shocked and saddened by the report, and wondered about his siblings and his parents and how they were all faring through this.

Friday started out better with a meeting with some of my colleagues and reconnecting with some of my favorite librarians.   We laughed and talked and discussed and griped and all in all had a terrific time.  Then the school kids arrived at 3:15 and I became Miss Grumpy Pants.  Believe it or not, I actually like most of the kids that come into the library. Even the middle-schoolers.  But when there are 15 of them in a small room on a Friday afternoon?  They drive me nuts.  The volume of their talking kept escalating and I gave them a warning and ended up yelling and kicking out a handful of kids.  Some folks think I enjoy doing that, but I really don’t.  Seriously, who wants to be the bad guy? (Well…besides my Darth Vader-loving kid.)

As things finally quieted down and it was getting near closing time, one of my favorite patrons came in. He’s one of our usual Friday night movie guys and we always talk about running and eating and our kids and it’s always so much fun to talk with him.  But just as he started to leave, he tells me that he and his family are moving two hours away.   I was speechless.  And a little heartbroken.  His youngest daughter is about my son’s age and his other daughter just a few years older.  I’ve watched them grow since they were toddlers and watched the family go through many painful changes but somehow made it through.   They are all lovely, lovely people and am so sad to see them go.  But I guess they can’t stay just for their librarian, can they?  (Although it really would be great if they could.)

My work week has been a rollercoaster ride filled with anticipation, excitement, nausea, laughing, and both relief and disappointment when the ride was over.  And a majority of all those emotions were created from interactions with my patrons.  As much as I like to run all by myself and need the occasional day for alone time, I am ultimately energized by the people I meet each day and make connections with–even those folks that come into the library just to make a quick photocopy or to grab a book.  We may discuss the weather for a minute or two, but within that time we have those few moments of commiserating and correlating and connecting.

Sometimes this is all a person needs.

Sometimes YOU, my friends, are the reason one’s life is worth living.

Not the books we read, nor the art we admire or create…..but you.

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Positive Thinking

No matter what issue you may have, visiting a neurosurgeon is nerve-wracking.  Last Monday morning when I got up, I did my best to go about my normal routine. Things were wacky anyway because the weather was yucky and there was no school.  But I still exercised, ate breakfast, spent time with my kiddo and got ready for work, just like any other day.  My appointment with Dr. Waterman was in the mid-morning, so I headed to the hospital after leaving my home.  I listened to an audiobook on the way and just lost myself in someone else’s story for a while.

Once I got to  the doctor’s office, there was the usual check-in and the medical assistant taking vitals and such. There were two of them, though, one training the other.  Normally I don’t mind this, but on this day it bugged me.  Have you ever met someone and for whatever reason, they just don’t like you? It may be you remind them of someone they despise, or maybe you don’t smell right or something.  I don’t know, but I just got the impression that at least one of these women didn’t like me or I bothered them.   And then the lead assistant offhandedly said something about the doctor’s favorite part of the exam being when he got to poke his patients.

Ummmm…excuse me?  I was already doing everything in my power to not feel anxious and just breathe and not worry about what this doctor would say about my future.  Then you joke and laugh about a doctor poking me with a needle? How is this fucking funny?!?  When the doctor did come in, I started to initially feel a bit claustrophobic because now there were four of us in this small room, with all eyes on me.  Dr. Waterman was great, though, very relaxed and a little silly, and when he asked if I was worried about anything, I told him that right now I was more worried about this needle he was going to poke me with.  It was actually a small pin and he showed me how little it would hurt.  (It was more annoying than painful.)  He then poked both of my legs and feet various times to see where exactly the numbness and weakness was, to confirm what the MRI stated.  The really weird part? He poked my right shin—ouch. He poked my left shin—nothing. I didn’t even feel it.  THAT was weird.

I did a few other tests with him like pushing against his hands with my feet, walking on my toes and then my heels. (When I try to walk on my heels, the weakness in my left leg is still quite obvious.)  At this point, Dr. Waterman showed me a few pictures from the MRI, showing me the herniated disc between L3 and L4 of the vertebrae in my lower back.  He then asked if I could live with it.  Did I want to do anything about it?  Was physical therapy working?  I told him that right now, things were good. I was just starting to run again and I was still doing my physical therapy exercises, so I guessed it was ok.  “You guess?” he asked.  Well….I don’t know!  I was starting to get irritated with him. What are my choices then?

Dr. Waterman explained that the surgery was the simplest “procedure” he did.  If I wanted the herniated disc taken care of, I would come in one morning, the assistants would prep me, he would make about a 2-inch incision in my back, operate and I’d go home later that day.  I honestly can’t tell you what he would do if he operated (discectomy maybe?) because while he was talking I was already thinking, “Nope. I’m ok. I don’t want this.”  And yet after the explanation and already deciding that I was not going to go through with this….I still felt so unsure.  Was this the right thing to do? How long do I just deal with the pain and when am I supposed to ask for help?  I thought I already did that, yet here I am saying “No thanks.”  When the doctor realized my hesitation, he asked me the questions that I needed him to.  “Tell  me your concerns. So…you’re running now, right?”

“Yes,” I replied, “but I can’t run like I used to and I don’t know what exactly I *should* be doing.” My voice started to shake.  “I….I don’t bend over anymore because my physical therapist told me not to. Do you know how hard it is to get clothes out of the dryer without bending over? And I don’t do a bunch of stretches I used to because I was told not to.  I just don’t know what to do anymore!”

Dr. Waterman put his hand up. “Stop,” he said.  “Live your life.  Live your life the way YOU want to live it. If you can’t do that because of the pain, then I can fix that for you.”

Oh.

Wow.  That was….that was awesome.  Ok.

I stood up, a little moist-eyed but good, and shook his hand.  As he takes my hand he says, “And you know, I think with just some positive thinking, you’re going to be just fine.”

At that moment, I felt like this man had known me for a very long time, had known how negative thoughts have eaten away at me for most of my life. How they’ve ruined my self image, have made me doubt myself and my capabilities in nearly everything I’ve ever attempted to do.  It was extremely unnerving and  yet I felt like I was given an amazing gift.

“With some positive thinking, you’re going to be just fine.”

I’ve thought about this statement all week.  And it’s been a tough week.  Nothing extraordinary happened, but I just felt tired, worn out, wanted a vacation from my life.  But this morning….I woke up and the sun was shining.  We had been iced in the day before, but the roads looked ok today.  It was 35 degrees and I wanted to be outside.  So I donned my running clothes, put on my sunglasses and headed out for a 5K run.  The road was much icier than I thought, but I just took it slow then sprinted the few bare stretches of road that existed.  It just felt so damn good to be outside in the sunshine and moving my body.  (Yes, I did dance once or twice.)

And the rest of the day? It was filled with cleaning the house, laundry, going to a 1-year-old’s birthday party (sweet!), playing UNO with my family, and reading.  As I finished up the dinner dishes, I thought, “Man, I’d love to have a margarita right now.”  So….I did.  Just a week ago I would have thought, “Well, it’s Sunday and there are a bunch of calories in it so I’ll wait until next week or the weekend.”  But tonight? Tonight I decided that the perfect way to end the week and be ready for the next one, was to drink a margarita (or two) and blog about how positive thinking is going to make me just fine.

Cheers!DSCN1989

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The Three R’s of My New Year’s Eve

Reflection

2013 was not a bad year for me.  I ran my very own half-marathon, ran/walked my first “family” 5k, ran/walked a very fun Color Me Rad race with a lovely friend with absolutely no time goal in mind, and ran more miles in a  year than ever before–664 miles.  Admittedly, I am 76 miles short of my goal mileage for the year, but I’m really ok with that.  It’s still 24 more miles than last year, and that’s with over 2 1/2 months off.  Woo-hoo!  Ok, I’m pretty proud of that. I haven’t seen all of the numbers in print before, and now that I have, I’m quite happy with it.

Health-wise it hasn’t been the best year.  Two surgeries on my legs for varicose veins and ended the year with a herniated disc in my back. Not sure what will happen next. I do wonder if this blog will need to be renamed.  What else will you “see Holly” do?  Only time will tell, but I do have hope that my running will continue.

My weight fluctuated more than I wanted it to this year. I was up too far in September, but gambled my way to a weight I was happy with.  Then I lost too much weight this fall, which for me, is a weird thing to experience or even talk about.  Seeing “159” on my scale was a surreal yet scary thing to happen.  I was afraid to eat yet even more afraid I would become weaker and more frail than I already felt.  For now, though, things are better. I’m at a pretty comfortable 163 pounds and haven’t gotten a “you’re too skinny” comment in over a week, so my public must think I look ok. 😉

Professionally, I think it’s been a really good year.  I’ve been fortunate enough to be part of the Maine Library Leadership Institute, where I’ve met some amazing librarians here in Maine and throughout New England.  We’ve created this pretty spectacular support network and because of these folks, I feel more confident in my work and more competent in what I do.  I’m also participating in groups I want to be a part of, like being a judge for the Maine Readers’ Choice Award.  Do you know what I have to do for this committee?  READ!  Seriously.  This is the *best* committee I’ve ever been a part of.

Fortunately, my family has had a pretty good year, too.  My husband lost a few pounds and my son is on his way to becoming a giant.  My sister started hunting, partially inspired by our weekend together; my brother published several stories; my parents’ health is as good as it can get right now.   All in all, things are good and we are well aware of it.  We try to appreciate these good times and not worry about the future.

Resolutions

You know what? Typically I love this time of year.  There is so much promise…so much hope that good changes will happen.   I’m just not feeling it this year.  I’ve been good about only having goals that I think I can actually achieve–like my mileage goals.  But due to my back, there will be no mileage goal for 2014, unless I get the go-ahead from the neurosurgeon. And since I won’t see him for another week, then I’m passing on that goal for now.  I want to say that I’ll be good to myself next year and stop berating myself for gaining a pound or missing a workout but….I hate to fail.   For a day or two, I thought I’d throw out my scale for 2014.  But I just can’t do that.  Part of what keeps me sane is knowing that I’m not gaining weight. Of course it’s also a part of what makes me insane.  Go figure.

How about this? I often feel like a weakling. I can’t lift much of anything and I really find that annoying.  So, I resolve to be stronger in 2014. I hope strength will be represented not only with my body, but with my mind.  Perhaps I’ll learn to love myself like I’m loved by others.

I think I like that.  This is good.

Reading

Ok. Obviously this isn’t the “usual” thing to talk about or is related to New Year’s.  Maybe the “r” should be reinvention or rules or some such thing. But for me?  *Everything* can be associated with reading.  I recommend books to people for a living. I typically only give books as gifts.  Every person that is close to me is an avid reader (with my parents being the exceptions—weird, right?).  I love to talk about what I’m reading. I love to talk about and listen to *you* talk about what you’re reading.  Ideas and stories from books can change lives.  They can influence you, make you feel less alone. They can justify your beliefs, your worries and your loves.  Books rule my world in one way or another.

And yet…I never have a goal of how many books I want to read in a year.  So many of my friends do. I think it might be because reading is such a big part of my life that I don’t want (or need) to have a goal associated with it.  I may love running, but I still need a goal to get me out that door on a wet cold February (or March or November) morning.  But it’s a rare day that I don’t want to read.  In this sense, I feel like my life is so very rich and full and good.  Books and reading and conversations about what we read is what makes this woman happy.  Possibly even more than not having to suck in my gut when putting on my new size 10 pants. 🙂

And what have I read this year?  It seems like I’ve read anything I can get my hands on.  I’ve read only about 92 books but it included biographies, graphic novels, erotica, short stories, lots of literary fiction, teen fiction, mysteries, non-fiction, poetry and books about body image.  What isn’t counted are the hundreds of picture books and children’s graphic novels my son and I read together, as well as the large amount of magazine articles and blogs I’ve enjoyed reading all year.  (I’m a huge fan of goodreads.com, so if you’d like to see what I’ve read and want to read, you can become my “friend” there.)

Next year, maybe I’ll read 100 books, or actually count all of the books my son & I read, too.  We’ll see. I’m not making any promises.

I think 2014 should just be the year where we all just enjoy life.  Doesn’t that sound good?  If this year has taught me anything, it’s taught me that life is so very short.  Let’s all do what we can to make this next year be a good one, in whatever ways we choose.

May the new year be filled with peace, happiness, and love for us all!

(And possibly running and reading, too.)

🙂

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Coming Home

Do you know the song “Home” by Phillip Phillips?  A friend of mine once told me he heard it while running a race, then added it to his playlist.  I tried it for a bit, but it was just too slow for me.  No “oomph” in the song to get or keep me going, you know?  But this morning….this morning things were different.

I haven’t run in 61 days. (But who’s counting?)  I’ve tried to do a few running intervals within my treadmill walks and it’s been ok.  I immediately felt great after my mini-runs, like I was floating on air. I felt so light and free and fabulous.  Yet within an hour, my back always felt tight or just painful.  So I’ve continued my elliptical and walking workouts and just doing my best to stay in shape until my visit to the neurosurgeon to find out what my other choices will be.

When I woke up this morning, I immediately got into my workout gear….and just felt grumpy.  I walked out to the kitchen to discover my husband didn’t finish washing the dishes from the night before, like he said he would.  The coffee pot was dirty, as was nearly every coffee mug we own.  To say the least, I was pissed.  I slammed things around in the kitchen and washed the damn dishes.  I told my husband I was angry and why I was but just left it at that.  I didn’t want us to argue or be mad at each other all day, but I couldn’t let it go either.  Thankfully he understood why I was ticked and cleaned up the breakfast dishes without my asking.

As  I got my boy ready for basketball, I started to feel…jittery.  The thermometer said 25 degrees–the warmest it’s been in a while.  Maybe….maybe I could walk or even run outside?  Most of the ice was gone, wasn’t it?  I wasn’t sure, and honestly, I was nervous as hell.  I felt like I used to feel before a race, anxious and nervous and desperately wanting to just run and be ok at it.

Eventually I got the kid and husband off to basketball practice, put my running shoes on and just stood in my mudroom.  “I can do this,” I thought. I *want* to do this.  So…I put my headphones on, my hat, jacket and mittens, and stepped outside.

Oh man, it felt great out there.  When it’s been 10 degrees during the day, 25 degrees (and getting warmer!) felt incredible.  I gingerly walked down our driveway between the icy ruts and stepped onto the road. There was a layer of ice underneath the dirty snow, so I knew it would be slow going, no matter if I walked or ran.  But it looked doable.  So I turned on my ipod and looked through my playlists.  I didn’t want anything too fast.  Normally I’d go for the dance music, something to make me want to move.  But this was unlike any run I had ever done before.  There was no speed goal, not even a goal of finishing really.  I think….I think I just wanted to feel good.  To feel happy. To feel like myself again.  But I was scared. I wasn’t sure if my leg would work correctly or if my back would start to hurt.  So instead of worrying about any of that, I  picked out a song that makes me think of my friends and my family and ultimately makes me feel safe and loved.  I listened to Phillip Phillips sing, telling me to be calm and not to think about those things that scare me, because they’ll just drag me down.  And to “just know you’re not alone, cause I’m gonna make this place your home.”

As the first chorus played, I picked up my feet and started a slow trot.  It never got much faster than that, but I didn’t care.  I trotted along, being very conscious of how my body felt.  The first thing I noticed?  Body parts were jiggling that didn’t jiggle two months ago.  THAT was disturbing.  But I went on.  At the end of the first 1/4 mile, my lungs felt like they were on fire.  It was only 1/4 mile!!!  But I kept on, damn it.  I figured that if I could make it to the 1/2 mile mark, then I could run my  previously typical run of 3.1 miles.  (Don’t ask me where the logic is in that, because I have no idea.)  Just past the 1/2 mile, I walked up a hill, did a quick body check (back ok? check. legs feel strong? check. feet numb? check.) and continued on down the road.

No matter the temperature, wintertime in Maine really is wondrous.  I kept looking up and around at the snow-covered trees, just admiring the beauty.  After a bit, I had to concentrate on the road and where my feet landed. It was a bit slick in some areas and even at my slow pace, running downhill was a bit challenging.  When I finally looked up again, close to my deerwinterturn-around point, I saw a young deer on the side of the road watching me.  I smiled…and actually waved.  (I really have lost my mind.) He stared at me for a few more seconds, then scampered across the road and into the woods.  I audibly sighed.  I’ve missed this so much in the past two months….the beauty of the outdoors, the wildlife….the sweat trickling down my back, the burning lungs, the ache in my legs as I try to sprint that last 1/4 mile.

With the thoughts of all the runs I’ve missed, I slowly made my way back home with more lively music pumping through my ear buds…Pitbull, Nicki Minaj, Flo Rida, Linkin Park.  As I ran my last 1/4 mile, I didn’t think I’d actually be able to sprint.  I was pretty sure my body wasn’t up for that. But I dug my ipod out again and found “Home.”   As I tried to pick my feet up, I felt like everyone I have ever loved, dead or alive, near and far, were with me…running ahead of me, behind me and beside me.  I don’t know if I finished any faster than the rest of my run, but I finished with a smile, a little laugh and I think I felt a little like the Grinch at the end of the book. Holly’s “small heart grew three sizes that day!”   It was a little surreal, but deliciously so.

The rest of the day went by in a happy blur.  I seemed to have more patience, even when my son was starting to lose it while we were shopping.  I teased my husband in a fun and flirty way and all in all just enjoyed the day with my little family.  There was no arguing, no whining, not even a roll of my eyes.  I even played a mind-numbing game of Yu-Gi-Oh! cards with my son and didn’t complain. (Seriously, have you tried to play these card games?  I think I’ve accomplished something major here.)

I do know that I can’t run like I used to….at least not yet.  My back didn’t hurt after this run, but it didn’t feel quite right either.  I feel a little out of alignment.  I did some stretching and such, but I know I need to find out what I am truly “allowed” to do and not to do.  I’ve been told by my physical therapist that running did not cause my herniated disc nor will it make it worse, BUT, if I feel pain, I shouldn’t do it.  Period.  So…for now….I will enjoy the occasional run and hope that running will continue to be a part of my future.  And until that time, I will listen to Phillip Phillips crooning, remember today’s run and feel absolutely loved.

heartgrinch