Overheard and Observed

In the vet's office: "I've found a kitten and I think it's hungry. I just had a baby..do you think I can feed it (the kitten) some breast milk?" The correct answer is: "No"!

In the limo, on the ride back from Chastain Amphitheatre (Avett Brothers), other concert goers discussing the concert poster: "What do you think it is? A deer? - Or maybe a dog, look it has a tail...Why would they put a dog on there and those two babies underneath it? To me it looks more like a deer? It has horns! No, these are just its ears! I don't get it!!!"
The poster had a depiction of the wolf with Romulus and Remus...

In the hospital - the coffee shop, donuts and all, situated right across the open lobby of the out-patient center, where the surgical patients have to wait to be called for their procedure. No food or drink after midnight...per pre-op instructions...are they joking?

On the card from the anesthesia department, advertising their professional services: "anesthesiologist" is misspelled. A bad omen? Or should we just hope that they are better at their jobs than they would be at a spelling bee? After all, their patients aren't exactly asking them for help with crossword puzzles...

In the new TV series "Undercovers" multiple blatant mistakes in the English-German translation of text, signs, script etc. (supposedly the action takes place in Germany). Strangely enough, one of their main actors is German and several other actors employed in this episode are German as well. I guess they weren't asked...


To be continued...

He's Got What it Takes

Today is the day of the "procedure". When I was doing the pre-op the nurse asked me about my faith. I was a little taken aback but then replied: "Catholic - but I hope it does not come to that!" - and she laughed.
Now, this procedure does not involve cutting, but they will "put me under", as in, I will not be in control of anything for the time being. (not that I am, I just love to think that I am) Now, this is not a dangerous thing, but as the disclaimer always states, there are certain risks and in medicine, nothing is guaranteed.

Lots of good wishes have been sent my way and I am grateful for the support.

However, this post is for the one person in my life who does not get acknowledged a lot for what he does, because he just does and is. It's so easy to take that for granted. My daughter, whom I love very much gets to hear: "I love you" more often, since she is so far away.

But truthfully, with the ones who are closest to us, we are often negligent in expressing what we feel. I know I am.

So this is to the guy who makes me smile and laugh every day. He is the one who has what it takes to go the distance with me, day after day.
Who else would have laughed like crazy after I took the cinnamon rolls away from him (since he was carrying them "the wrong way") just to then drop them so they landed upside down?
Still a favorite moment of mine.
Or the time when I did not want to pull the baking sheet out of the oven to turn the fish and chips? He advised to do it and I (being the experienced cook) told him off. Predictably, the sheet tipped over and sent food flying everywhere. He was wiping tears from his eyes as he fished the last fries out of the oven drawer.

The other day I managed to drop a whole box of cupcakes, expensive ones. Everyone who saw this just gasped. I, however, started to laugh which earned me some stares.
Too bad that he wasn't there to witness.

He is the one who laughs with me, not at me, when he discovers that in all the years I have lived here I never managed to figure out the proper words to a song which did not stop me from singing along at full voice in the (unjustified) belief that I knew the lyrics.
Or the time I was standing behind a car, wondering aloud what the letters on the license plate could possibly mean, just to have a guy walk by who immediately knew what they meant and laughingly told me so.

He laughed with me in my embarrassment.

He should have known what he was getting into early on when he, my daughter and I went to Wendy's drive-through to order some Frosties and I answered: "Chocolate" when I was asked: "What size?" To this day, my daughter won't let me forget this one.

There have been so many moments when he saved the moment and the day by making me see that life does not have to be serious all the time.
And bit by bit he is converting me to his way of thinking even though I still have some way to go.

There have been many moments when he could have chosen angry words over laughter. Or he could have made fun of me, as for example right now, when I was editing this post and lost it. But I know what he would have done instead, namely calmly found it for me. Then, he would have laughed.

It speaks for him that I resurrected this one myself.

I hope I make him as happy as he is making me.

Cringe

In the gyn's waiting room, with husband in tow. We are sitting there, waiting for me to be called in for an endometrial biopsy. Not really my idea of a fun weekend, but I have postponed it time and again and just want to have it off my to do list. So, here we are.
Across from us, another husband is also waiting, and as it is with most husbands in these kind of venues, he does look a bit uncomfortable and none too happy to be there. By age, we do think that he is not waiting for the wife to come out with a little ultrasound picture in hand. (even though these days, who knows?)

Well, the door opens and the wife appears. She sinks down into the chair, next to the husband and says: "Well, this was just AAAAWFUL!" He seems not to understand at first, and so she repeats how awful it was and keeps on going and it becomes apparent to us that she has just undergone the same procedure I am about to have.

What makes the whole thing strangely funny and scary at the same time, is, that whatever she says, the husband does not understand at first and so she has to keep on repeating every gory detail, over and over again.
I don't know whether to laugh or to cry and this dear husband of mine can't help from grinning.

When called in, my blood pressure registers at 142 over 90...a rarity since we are usually firmly in the 100 over 60 camp.

The procedure is quick, uncomfortable but ultimately not any worse than other things I've been through.

At least, compliments go to the doctor since the last thing the other wife shared was: " Well, it was aaaawful but this doctor, he's a cutie for sure!"

Apparently, that was the only thing the husband understood right away.

Dancing the Hokey Pokey

You put your left foot in, you put your left foot out...
These days it does feel a bit like dancing the hokey pokey. In the podiatrist's office my right foot, after careful inspection of x-rays and some pulling and prodding is ruled arthritic and proclaimed unsuitable for fast running. Actually, it's just the big toe that is screaming: "Woe is me" every time we deviate from snail's pace to something that resembles running. Compensating only gets you so far (which is not very far at all). I file this mentally under" Big Toe Woe" so it makes at least for an interesting headline and therefore blog worthy.
After much googling (unfortunately, this does not a doctor make) I at least find some hope in ongoing research at the University of Freiburg, Germany. Seems they might be able to eventually harvest some cells, grow new cartilage in vitro and then give same back to the arthritically handicapped. Sounds good enough for me to postpone an unappealing procedure called "Fusion of the Big Toe Joint". I am still running, albeit not very fast. Sometimes it just counts to be outside and we are in it for the long run, right? I am planning to do this until I cross the final finish line, so to speak! (and who knows his or her own expiration date? We have to think longevity here!)
However, least we forget, we do usually come with two feet. One bad foot makes you compensate, two bad feet makes you - STOP!
This time I don't even really need a podiatrist. The pain in the morning, when getting up, is familiar. A nail pushed through the heel sounds painful and unfortunately, it is.
We are at the beginning of July when, after an easy 45 minutes, I cannot bear weight after running. I am a little surprised, since I have been pampering this baby with all the knowledge I possess which after so many years of running and competing is quite a bit. It does come with the territory, literally and figuratively speaking.
The injury has a name, Plantar Fasciitis and those of us who have suffered a bad bout of it, sigh right now and murmur deep down inside: "Thank God it's not me." - which is TOTALLY understandable. 2003 it put an end to a really nice streak of training and running and kept me in the gym and off the trails for 6 months. After that, which much help and custom orthotics, it healed and since my professional and private life did not leave much time for competitive running my maintenance training kept any potential flare ups at bay.
Enter the year 2010 and I feel that I still have some unfinished business with running. Despite the evil right foot, my left is good enough and the injury long past remembering. However, 30 years of running have made me cautious enough that my build up in training is slow and calculated and therefore improvement comes in small steps, but come it does.
Fast forward to July when fate pushes the stop button. What seems like a temporary set back turns out to be a lot more, namely that nothing that will usually deal with this injury helps. Dragging myself to Dr. Podiatrist just confirms that this will need major intervention. Steroids and surgical intervention are not advised since I may not run again after, and conservative measures have been tried and failed.
So there is one thing left: Extracorporeal Shockwave Therapy. High frequency sound waves will be applied to the obstinate heel, under anesthesia, and then the heel should, well, heal.
(The treatment encourages formation of new blood vessels and this in return should make the inflammation go away - simply put)
I am putting my faith and my hope in this.
It has been perfect running weather for the past weeks and I am aching to go. Well, even to walk would be good right now, because in this new life I have been having trouble even doing that.
So I am looking forward to being shocked and I am begging my heal to cooperate and to make a speedy recovery. And I vow here: even though "Speedy" was my nickname in a former running life, I will be content with being able to run again, I will not complain even when every muscle fiber screams in agony when running again and I will not try anymore to chase down every guy who has the audacity of passing me.
Well, let's vow for achieving at least two out of three, right? ;) And it is my dirty little secret which two I have picked already....

Procrastination and Inertia make Good Bedfellows

I just remembered that I once started a blog, full of good intentions. My opportunity to share deep thoughts, insights and observations. Also, all repartees that are a minute late which is why writing a blog is an excellent idea for those of us who are not quick-witted. So, what happened? One explanation would be that I just have no deep thoughts, insights and observations that would be blog worthy. However, I blame it on the happy marriage of procrastination and inertia. Right now, for example, I am procrastinating with my workout to write this blog since I feel writing the blog is less of a pain then another 90 minutes on the bike. Before, in another universe when I was still a runner and proudly wearing a shirt that said: Stop running? When hell freezes over! the blog writing always took a backseat which is evident in the lack of postings. So, that accounts for the procrastination part. I have not run AT ALL since beginning of July -which begs the question why no blog entries have been forthcoming. The point could be made that since then I have had lots of time to catch up. However, this is where the other bedfellow comes in - inertia which is, as someone once explained the secret to a long marriage. Now, this couple had been married for 30 something years and when the wife was jokingly asked how she accomplished staying with her husband for all this time she dryly replied: "Inertia". One of my all time favorite remarks since I am certain that this sentiment is shared by many (yours truly not included).

However, I just discovered that there must be another bedfellow called guilt and it's finally driven me to get another blog entry done for my digital posterity. That, and the feeling of "use it or lose it" meaning that at my age the gray cells are withering away at an alarming speed and to be creative in some form will stave off the inevitable decline, or so I hope.

It seems to me I will have to choose new bedfellows to accompany me which is not an easy feat since I love the ones I'm with. "There's always tomorrow" is just such a lovely sentiment for us procrastinators and it seems harsh to replace my trusted friends. Also, whom to choose? Guilt is unlovable and does neither warm the heart nor the cold feet.

Clearly I'll need some transition after breaking it off with my trusted friends.

For now I think I will have to go with good intentions and resolve. I will let them fight it out with my old buddies and we shall see who will be victorious. The way I see it for me it will be a win/win situation. Inertia plus procrastination earn me an afternoon on the patio with my kindle, enjoying the autumn sun while good intentions and resolve help keep guilt at bay. There's always tomorrow!

And then came Noodle

So, it's been a while. Sometimes thoughts don't flow well or life keeps me busy, too busy for blogging. Many pseudo entries have been composed during runs but never made it to the keyboard and thus were not posted. However, when certain thoughts keep repeating maybe then it is time to actually sit down to write. As I type the house is quiet. Husband sleeps in and the OTHER is on her bed as well. The OTHER? That's what this entry will be about.
Last year, January 18, 2008. A positive sign, unexpectedly, shows that one plus one can make three ( or four, in our case) We are happy, more so since we had thought that this could not happen for us anymore. But early on there are signs of trouble. Then, a moment of joy and less concern as we can see a heartbeat that is just right. We hope. I pray, offer to sacrifice my running as long as things turn out well. For those who know me, this is a big sacrifice. But it pales in comparison. February 18, 2008. During one awful night hope slips away and all prayers cannot stop the inevitable. Running is an option again but for the first time offers no consolation. I argue with myself during my runs: No, this is not what I wanted. I would have joined the walking crowd if only...
If only...
Time passes. It does not heal all wounds, as they say, it just makes them scab over, hurt less. Reminders of what could have been are everywhere and frequent. We go through mourning, anger, sadness. Rationally, we know that it was a long shot anyhow, that it is nature's way, that it was not meant to be for reasons that are valid scientifically. Emotionally, we just hurt.

Fast forward, almost a year. We want another miracle and are in fact still hopeful, for a while. Age though, even when we do not feel it in other ways, does put a stop to certain biological processes and we have to resign ourselves to the fact that this applies to us as well.
One day, at lunch, we look out the window, across the lake and there is a black lab bathing, no owner in sight. Strange. Turns out, this one is enjoying its dangerous freedom, running around on the streets. Capturing it is not easy, but I succeed and Huntsville Animal Services takes over. Dog is friendly, seems well fed, but has no collar. We are sure an owner will claim its beloved pet but do give our name to the shelter. We post a photo in the neighborhood to increase the odds for a reunification. Two weeks later, a phone call. Nobody has claimed Dog 75, as she ( yes, it's a girl) is now known. We go to the shelter, even though we know, that this is not a good time for a dog. We look at her, she wags her tail ever so slightly and whines a little but does not get up. We are told that the shelter takes in 150 animals WEEKLY and that this one is old, as in 12 years old and we are its only chance. Todd of the shelter says to not feel bad, she's had a long life already. We try to look at some other animals but seeing row upon row of pleading eyes I cannot do it. We leave since we do not even know whether we are allowed to have a dog in our rented house. We know that 75 is now on borrowed time, it's Thursday, if we do not call by Monday there will be no more bathing in lakes. We discuss, conclude we will ask our landlady, let fate make the decision. She says yes. We look at each other and know, we are now committed. We cannot pass this sentence. We figure, two more years or so for 75, but at least she can pass on in a dignified manner and have some happy days. As we fill out the adoption papers, surprise. 75 is maybe 4 or 5 they say. Plus, she is sick, with heartworm, another death sentence if left untreated. By now, we have outfitted the house for her arrival. She comes with us. Her rotund form lends itself to her new name: Noodle.
January 15, 2009. We have a dog. She is sweet, from the very first moment on. Within a few days it is as if she has always been here. She learns how to "sit", how to "stay" and how to not rip my arm out of its socket when we take our walks. It is determined that she can be treated for the heartworm, even though it is dangerous. But she should have a full life. Newest estimates put her at 7 years of age.
And I finally feel that there is a moment of grace, after this awful year. We were ready to make room for another life and now it has come to pass. Not quite the way we imagined it but fate works in mysterious ways. I think I can let go now and accept what has happened. I am not religious but I want to think that a higher force worked things out for us, maybe took pity on us and our loss in turn became a gain.
Mornings begin with happy snuffling noises now.
January 18, 2009. A year has passed. Noodle is excited, walking through the Botanical Garden, enjoying Dog Days. Her picture is taken for an event magazine. She sits and poses. The date does not escape me. We are sad but I think, at peace. Life has come full circle.

Water As Needed

I compose all my posts while running. Running hurts enough these days that in order to complete the day's self imposed training unit I sometimes just have to stop thinking about running, running form, running technique. So my feet move by themselves as my brain thinks up new posts. I wish I could blog directly from my brain, my posts would be so much better (or not?). This morning various things come to mind. In my google-ings I stumbled across an article by a former coach of mine, Claudia Piepenburg, written for Running Times: Masters: Dry Pie.
It seems that a fetus is 90% water however when we die we have shriveled down to 60-70%. Apparently this hurts athletic performance and cannot just be rectified by hitting the Deer Park more often. We are destined to become prunes. May as well put the aforementioned in the shopping cart, along with other clever products such as Fiber One Yogurt or Metamucil (personally I recommend the Pink Lemonade Flavor) , since the dried out ones are dealing with more problems than just being down a percentage point on the water front. Which leaves me wondering how is it humanly possible then to retain water at the same time? Why does nobody address mysteries like these? And should one not, theoretically, run better then on water retention days? (hint: one does not!) Help does not come easily. A friend pointed out to me that the endless market of moisturizing products has gained one more: Curel Moisture Lotion for Menopause and Beyond. No, this is not a joke. Why, my friend wonders, would women want to buy this product, advertising at the local CVS, Rite Aid or Walgreen's by purchasing same product, that the well has, quite literally, run dry? Not that it would help me, I do not need it yet, REALLY! However, given the current state of affairs and with that, I refer to running performance, I wonder just how much water I have left until I have reached the 60% mark. And what then, will I just crumble like the leaves crunching under my shoes?
And why do I, despite this, have a frequent flier card for restroom visits? Best to enjoy the 10% that I might have left before I go. Conserve Water!