Mon,Nov 30- 30min cycle
Tues, Dec 1-30minstrength, 30min cycle
Wed, Dec 2-30min swim
Thurs, Dec 3-20min run :)
Fri, Dec 4-Off
Sat, Dec 5- 20min run
Sun, Dec 6-30min lifting
Tuesday, December 8, 2009
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Mile 13 of My Cancer Marathon - "Halfway There"
So I went running…
But before I dive into the details of the maiden voyage of the cancer leg post-cancer, let me bore you with how I got there. After all, I can’t just jump into the climax of the story. If my memory serves me right from 11th grade English every plotline needs an “Exposition” followed by “Rising Tension” before you can hit the “Climax” and eventual “Resolution”. (Ok, I lied. I didn’t just remember that – I Google’d it two minutes ago: http://elizaw.files.wordpress.com/2009/01/plot_traditionallayout.jpg)
So back track three days to Thursday morning. My first stop of the day was the Radiology for a checkup x-ray. I did the whole x-ray rigmarole – check in, wait, get changed, wait, get x-rays, wait, change, wait, blah, blah, blah. After you’ve waited for the millionth time, one of the techs comes out and hands you an oversized envelope containing your x-ray films.
I’ve had enough x-rays at this point that I’m pretty good at discerning the difference between healthy and unhealthy bone. If I had to judge myself, I’d say I’d be at a 2nd year of medical school level. Not too shabby for being self-taught via the internet.
Anyways, I was dying to look inside the envelope and see what my leg looked underneath the skin, muscles and tissue. But somehow it felt like it would be cheating – like I wasn’t supposed to see the x-rays until the doctor did.
It totally reminded me of elementary school when my teachers would give me notes to deliver to the office. I often got selected for this prestigious duty because I was the perfect combination of a brown noser (willing to step up the challenge) and shy (less likely to leak secrets). In a teachers’ eyes that’s pretty much the equivalent to a lockbox. Hence I was given folded notes (such as “Billy Green is a total pain and driving me nuts. Please arrange a parent-teacher conference ASAP”) to transport from my teacher to the office.
What my teachers didn’t know that I am the worst person in the world about keeping secrets. Seriously, never tell me anything you don’t want the entire town of Chagrin Falls, my out of state cousins and the checker at Giant Eagle to know.
The entire walk to the office I would be torn between my urge to discover what secrets might lie in my teacher’s handwritten note and my duty to be a diligent student. I must confess that sometimes my curiosity got the best of me and I sneaked a peek at the notes. But never the whole thing. I usually just lifted up a corner and read what I could. That was how I satisfied my nosiness without compromising (too much) the secrecy of the mission.
So back to the Cleveland Clinic. My curiosity got the best of me. I had to look at those X-rays RIGHT NOW and discern if my leg had made any improvement. So like a total dork, I whipped out the films right in the middle of the 7 story lobby of the building, surrounded by hundreds of people, and raised them towards the skylights to render my self-taught medical opinion.
After careful observation, Dr. Fontana’s professional opinion was much improved bone composition but with some areas still in need of healing. So with that intrigue subdued, it was time to go see what the real doctor had to say.
The doctor came in and peppered me with his usual barrage of questions. Any pain? Any soreness? Are you taking any pain relievers? Are you limiting your activity in anyway? When was the last time you visited the oncologist? When is your next scheduled appointment? What is the square root of 144? How will we ever stabilize Afghanistan?
Then he had me to do the catwalk. I call it the catwalk because he makes me walk across the room, pivot and walk towards him so he can check my gait. Once I have traversed the catwalk back and forth a few times, I end my one-person cancer leg fashion show by striking and holding a pose while he checks out my overall alignment.
The whole exercise is silly in many ways. First, my wardrobe consists on my regular streets clothes on top and a pair of humongous hospital issue scrub type shorts on bottom. Hardly couture. Second, I obviously walked into the appointment on my own two legs so is there really a question about my ability to move? Third and finally, it’s really weird to having someone staring at your legs as you strut about. It’s practically one step removed from walking past a construction site while wearing a short skirt.
I’m sure it will come as surprise, but I’ve decided that a life as a runway model is just not in the cards for me. My experience with the orthopedic runway has soured me on the profession. Sigh. I guess I will just have to find another career.
After the third degree and the catwalk, the doc went over the x-rays. As I had already diagnosed, the leg is healing well but will still need some time to get back to normal.
He said that I can continue what I am doing as long as I don’t have pain.
As he rambled on and on about follow-up visits and treatment protocols, I was about ready to burst. The words “WHAT ABOUT RUNNING??!!!” were lodged in the back of my throat dying to explode out of my mouth.
Finally when there was a gap in conversation, I hesitantly asked “Can I start running again?” For me, the question was so heavy with emotion and deeper meaning that it felt like it sucked all the air out of the room as I said it. So it was completely unexpected, and I was taken back, when it was met with a breezy “I don’t see why not” from the doc. He didn’t even look up from his clipboard. And with that the elephant in the room evaporated.
The doctor’s only concern was that I took it “easy” at first. The runner’s definition of easy is a bit different than the rest of the population. We’re the kind of people who say insane things like “I’m going for an easy 20 miler” or “I decided to take it easy and only run 3 mile repeats instead of 5”. So I asked for further definition, worried that he would spew crazy talk like no more than 10 miles a week for the next decade.
Instead, he said don’t immediately start running at level you were at before you got sick. Give it two months or so. I about peed my pants and was laughing hysterically on the inside. Like after not running a step for 10 months I was just going to jump into 60 mile a week 3:15 marathon training. Even I’m not that crazy.
After I got my metaphorical running permission slip signed, I pretty much bolted from his office as quickly as possible.
And with that it was time to plan my first run back. Like a tween plans their dream wedding, I’ve been planning my maiden running voyage post-cancer with careful consideration, attention to detail and no realism of when it would actually happen.
First, it had to be memorable. I couldn’t just slough off a few miles on the treadmill while mindlessly watching the scrawl on CNN.
Second, it had to be poignant. If you’ve been reading this far you know I am a sucker for repetition and ridiculous metaphors.
Third, it had to be for me. While I am so grateful for everyone who has assisted me on this journey, this is something I had to do on my own.
So instead of prince charming slipping a 10 carat Princess cut stunner on my left hand, a doc saying “I don’t see any reason why you can’t run” put my carefully orchestrated plan into motion.
My last run was on February 14, 2009 at South Chargrin Reservation park. 2:00 hours. Just me and the tree lined trails. It was only fitting that the run that would capnote by cancer journey and restart my running would be again at South Chagrin. Instead of 2:00 hours I would do 20 minutes (once again, even I’m not that stupid to try to run double digit miles after a 10 month break). And I would run by myself, totally for me.
The tears started falling pretty much in sync with my first footfall. With each step, a flood of emotions rushed through me. It was like I was reliving every moment of the last 10 months - from initial diagnosis, to chemo, to radiation to remission. I hadn’t felt this much raw uncontrolled emotion since the day the doc called with those fateful words – “We think it is a tumor”.
The weather was cold and miserable, a typical Cleveland winter day. Pretty much exactly like the day of my last run, minus a foot of snow on the ground. During the course of my cancer journey I saw winter turn into spring and spring into summer and summer into fall. And here it was, winter again.
- - -
I’ve shared my innermost thoughts and feelings with you during this whole cancer process but I’ve kept one huge secret from you. Ok, here it is: sometimes I give inanimate objects personalities and develop personal relationships with them. Weird but true. You now know every last dirty little secret about me.
For instance, I had a certain pair of warm, fuzzy socks that I regularly turn to after a tiring day at work schlepping along in heels. We’re pretty much BFFs (best friends forever). They don’t judge that my feet are all gnarly and covered in calluses. Instead, they ask how my day was and envelop my lower extremities in warm, fuzzy love.
On the other hand, my laptop and I have a strictly professional relationship and an agreement to tolerate each other but nothing more. My laptop is kind of a wimp and prefers that I delicately place him in my work bag. However, I can’t tolerate wusses so I throw him in the bag with no regard to gentleness. He in return gets back at me by throwing a blue screen of death my way. This power struggle goes on, back and forth, until we both declare a truce. Although the white flag has flown, we still continue to pull passive aggressive moves on each other. I pound on the keys a little too hard just too annoy him and he strikes back by makingthespacekeystick. You get the idea.
My MP3 player and I have a much more loving relationship although we can have our differences. It’s more of a sibling relationship. We may annoy each other at times but deep down we respect all we have been through together. My MP3player has been my constant companion on many, many hours of runs, keeping me from being lonely and providing motivation along the way. It also has a wry sense of humor. Like playing “Baby One More Time” when I’m about to keel over during a repeat workout.
But today my MP3 player seemed to understand the enormity of the situation and seem to specifically pick certain songs from its “random” repertoire:
O.A.R. . Shattered. “How many times can I break before I shatter?”
The All-American Rejects. It Ends Tonght. “When darkness turns to light. It ends tonight”
Chumbawamba. Tubthumping. “I get knocked down but I get up again. You’re never gonna keep me down."
Garth Brooks. Standing Outside the Fire. “Life is not tried it is merely survived if you're standing outside the fire”
And as I was finishing up my run, it did the unthinkable. It played The Killers. Mr. Brightside. My absolute favorite song of all time.
“I’m coming out of my cage. And I’ve been doing just fine. Destiny is calling me"
Thanks MP3 player for having my back.…
I knew the run would be emotional and it was. What I wasn’t so sure of, however, was how it would feel physically. I’ve tried to stay active the entire time, especially the past few months, spending many a workout in the pool or on the elliptical. But running is a different beast and it hurts muscles you didn’t even know existed.
And of course, there was my irrational fear that my femur would snap in two and then a mangy dog would run up, steal it and run into the woods to never be seen again.
Thankfully the leg didn’t break and the wild dogs stayed at bay. It didn’t even hurt, so that was a relief. My muscles did stage a half-hearted revolt but I quickly but them in their place. I didn’t feel very fluid at first. My arms and legs just couldn’t get in rhythm with each other. By about 5 minutes in, though, they got their act together and I found my pace.
By pace, I don’t mean PR, tempo or even jogging pace. (BTW, runners never use the “j” word. But I had to use it for poetic emphasis here. Please forgive me.) This pace was a just stay in forward motion velocity, one hair above walking pace. But slowly the pace crept up, and towards the end even partially resembled running. I even logged negative splits, natch.
. . .
Yes, I love running and I missed it all these months. But not being able to run meant something much deeper. It meant I wasn’t completely me – the cancer had gotten me.Now that I can run, I can finally put this whole cancer business to rest. I can do everything I did before – I am back to being me. The cancer is finally gone.
. . .
It’s entirely fitting that this entry comes at mile 13 – the halfway point of the marathon. The first part of my story is about the cancer and hopefully the second part will be about much more. I’m not sure yet where the finish line is or even how I’m going to fill those miles between now and then. But I’m thinking and I’m hoping and I’m planning.
The first 13.1 was definitely not easy and something I would never had asked for in a million years. But I am grateful for how it pushed me to do more and be more than I ever thought possible.
I’m excited to see where the next 13.1 takes me.
But before I dive into the details of the maiden voyage of the cancer leg post-cancer, let me bore you with how I got there. After all, I can’t just jump into the climax of the story. If my memory serves me right from 11th grade English every plotline needs an “Exposition” followed by “Rising Tension” before you can hit the “Climax” and eventual “Resolution”. (Ok, I lied. I didn’t just remember that – I Google’d it two minutes ago: http://elizaw.files.wordpress.com/2009/01/plot_traditionallayout.jpg)
So back track three days to Thursday morning. My first stop of the day was the Radiology for a checkup x-ray. I did the whole x-ray rigmarole – check in, wait, get changed, wait, get x-rays, wait, change, wait, blah, blah, blah. After you’ve waited for the millionth time, one of the techs comes out and hands you an oversized envelope containing your x-ray films.
I’ve had enough x-rays at this point that I’m pretty good at discerning the difference between healthy and unhealthy bone. If I had to judge myself, I’d say I’d be at a 2nd year of medical school level. Not too shabby for being self-taught via the internet.
Anyways, I was dying to look inside the envelope and see what my leg looked underneath the skin, muscles and tissue. But somehow it felt like it would be cheating – like I wasn’t supposed to see the x-rays until the doctor did.
It totally reminded me of elementary school when my teachers would give me notes to deliver to the office. I often got selected for this prestigious duty because I was the perfect combination of a brown noser (willing to step up the challenge) and shy (less likely to leak secrets). In a teachers’ eyes that’s pretty much the equivalent to a lockbox. Hence I was given folded notes (such as “Billy Green is a total pain and driving me nuts. Please arrange a parent-teacher conference ASAP”) to transport from my teacher to the office.
What my teachers didn’t know that I am the worst person in the world about keeping secrets. Seriously, never tell me anything you don’t want the entire town of Chagrin Falls, my out of state cousins and the checker at Giant Eagle to know.
The entire walk to the office I would be torn between my urge to discover what secrets might lie in my teacher’s handwritten note and my duty to be a diligent student. I must confess that sometimes my curiosity got the best of me and I sneaked a peek at the notes. But never the whole thing. I usually just lifted up a corner and read what I could. That was how I satisfied my nosiness without compromising (too much) the secrecy of the mission.
So back to the Cleveland Clinic. My curiosity got the best of me. I had to look at those X-rays RIGHT NOW and discern if my leg had made any improvement. So like a total dork, I whipped out the films right in the middle of the 7 story lobby of the building, surrounded by hundreds of people, and raised them towards the skylights to render my self-taught medical opinion.
After careful observation, Dr. Fontana’s professional opinion was much improved bone composition but with some areas still in need of healing. So with that intrigue subdued, it was time to go see what the real doctor had to say.
The doctor came in and peppered me with his usual barrage of questions. Any pain? Any soreness? Are you taking any pain relievers? Are you limiting your activity in anyway? When was the last time you visited the oncologist? When is your next scheduled appointment? What is the square root of 144? How will we ever stabilize Afghanistan?
Then he had me to do the catwalk. I call it the catwalk because he makes me walk across the room, pivot and walk towards him so he can check my gait. Once I have traversed the catwalk back and forth a few times, I end my one-person cancer leg fashion show by striking and holding a pose while he checks out my overall alignment.
The whole exercise is silly in many ways. First, my wardrobe consists on my regular streets clothes on top and a pair of humongous hospital issue scrub type shorts on bottom. Hardly couture. Second, I obviously walked into the appointment on my own two legs so is there really a question about my ability to move? Third and finally, it’s really weird to having someone staring at your legs as you strut about. It’s practically one step removed from walking past a construction site while wearing a short skirt.
I’m sure it will come as surprise, but I’ve decided that a life as a runway model is just not in the cards for me. My experience with the orthopedic runway has soured me on the profession. Sigh. I guess I will just have to find another career.
After the third degree and the catwalk, the doc went over the x-rays. As I had already diagnosed, the leg is healing well but will still need some time to get back to normal.
He said that I can continue what I am doing as long as I don’t have pain.
As he rambled on and on about follow-up visits and treatment protocols, I was about ready to burst. The words “WHAT ABOUT RUNNING??!!!” were lodged in the back of my throat dying to explode out of my mouth.
Finally when there was a gap in conversation, I hesitantly asked “Can I start running again?” For me, the question was so heavy with emotion and deeper meaning that it felt like it sucked all the air out of the room as I said it. So it was completely unexpected, and I was taken back, when it was met with a breezy “I don’t see why not” from the doc. He didn’t even look up from his clipboard. And with that the elephant in the room evaporated.
The doctor’s only concern was that I took it “easy” at first. The runner’s definition of easy is a bit different than the rest of the population. We’re the kind of people who say insane things like “I’m going for an easy 20 miler” or “I decided to take it easy and only run 3 mile repeats instead of 5”. So I asked for further definition, worried that he would spew crazy talk like no more than 10 miles a week for the next decade.
Instead, he said don’t immediately start running at level you were at before you got sick. Give it two months or so. I about peed my pants and was laughing hysterically on the inside. Like after not running a step for 10 months I was just going to jump into 60 mile a week 3:15 marathon training. Even I’m not that crazy.
After I got my metaphorical running permission slip signed, I pretty much bolted from his office as quickly as possible.
And with that it was time to plan my first run back. Like a tween plans their dream wedding, I’ve been planning my maiden running voyage post-cancer with careful consideration, attention to detail and no realism of when it would actually happen.
First, it had to be memorable. I couldn’t just slough off a few miles on the treadmill while mindlessly watching the scrawl on CNN.
Second, it had to be poignant. If you’ve been reading this far you know I am a sucker for repetition and ridiculous metaphors.
Third, it had to be for me. While I am so grateful for everyone who has assisted me on this journey, this is something I had to do on my own.
So instead of prince charming slipping a 10 carat Princess cut stunner on my left hand, a doc saying “I don’t see any reason why you can’t run” put my carefully orchestrated plan into motion.
My last run was on February 14, 2009 at South Chargrin Reservation park. 2:00 hours. Just me and the tree lined trails. It was only fitting that the run that would capnote by cancer journey and restart my running would be again at South Chagrin. Instead of 2:00 hours I would do 20 minutes (once again, even I’m not that stupid to try to run double digit miles after a 10 month break). And I would run by myself, totally for me.
The tears started falling pretty much in sync with my first footfall. With each step, a flood of emotions rushed through me. It was like I was reliving every moment of the last 10 months - from initial diagnosis, to chemo, to radiation to remission. I hadn’t felt this much raw uncontrolled emotion since the day the doc called with those fateful words – “We think it is a tumor”.
The weather was cold and miserable, a typical Cleveland winter day. Pretty much exactly like the day of my last run, minus a foot of snow on the ground. During the course of my cancer journey I saw winter turn into spring and spring into summer and summer into fall. And here it was, winter again.
- - -
I’ve shared my innermost thoughts and feelings with you during this whole cancer process but I’ve kept one huge secret from you. Ok, here it is: sometimes I give inanimate objects personalities and develop personal relationships with them. Weird but true. You now know every last dirty little secret about me.
For instance, I had a certain pair of warm, fuzzy socks that I regularly turn to after a tiring day at work schlepping along in heels. We’re pretty much BFFs (best friends forever). They don’t judge that my feet are all gnarly and covered in calluses. Instead, they ask how my day was and envelop my lower extremities in warm, fuzzy love.
On the other hand, my laptop and I have a strictly professional relationship and an agreement to tolerate each other but nothing more. My laptop is kind of a wimp and prefers that I delicately place him in my work bag. However, I can’t tolerate wusses so I throw him in the bag with no regard to gentleness. He in return gets back at me by throwing a blue screen of death my way. This power struggle goes on, back and forth, until we both declare a truce. Although the white flag has flown, we still continue to pull passive aggressive moves on each other. I pound on the keys a little too hard just too annoy him and he strikes back by makingthespacekeystick. You get the idea.
My MP3 player and I have a much more loving relationship although we can have our differences. It’s more of a sibling relationship. We may annoy each other at times but deep down we respect all we have been through together. My MP3player has been my constant companion on many, many hours of runs, keeping me from being lonely and providing motivation along the way. It also has a wry sense of humor. Like playing “Baby One More Time” when I’m about to keel over during a repeat workout.
But today my MP3 player seemed to understand the enormity of the situation and seem to specifically pick certain songs from its “random” repertoire:
O.A.R. . Shattered. “How many times can I break before I shatter?”
The All-American Rejects. It Ends Tonght. “When darkness turns to light. It ends tonight”
Chumbawamba. Tubthumping. “I get knocked down but I get up again. You’re never gonna keep me down."
Garth Brooks. Standing Outside the Fire. “Life is not tried it is merely survived if you're standing outside the fire”
And as I was finishing up my run, it did the unthinkable. It played The Killers. Mr. Brightside. My absolute favorite song of all time.
“I’m coming out of my cage. And I’ve been doing just fine. Destiny is calling me"
Thanks MP3 player for having my back.…
I knew the run would be emotional and it was. What I wasn’t so sure of, however, was how it would feel physically. I’ve tried to stay active the entire time, especially the past few months, spending many a workout in the pool or on the elliptical. But running is a different beast and it hurts muscles you didn’t even know existed.
And of course, there was my irrational fear that my femur would snap in two and then a mangy dog would run up, steal it and run into the woods to never be seen again.
Thankfully the leg didn’t break and the wild dogs stayed at bay. It didn’t even hurt, so that was a relief. My muscles did stage a half-hearted revolt but I quickly but them in their place. I didn’t feel very fluid at first. My arms and legs just couldn’t get in rhythm with each other. By about 5 minutes in, though, they got their act together and I found my pace.
By pace, I don’t mean PR, tempo or even jogging pace. (BTW, runners never use the “j” word. But I had to use it for poetic emphasis here. Please forgive me.) This pace was a just stay in forward motion velocity, one hair above walking pace. But slowly the pace crept up, and towards the end even partially resembled running. I even logged negative splits, natch.
. . .
Yes, I love running and I missed it all these months. But not being able to run meant something much deeper. It meant I wasn’t completely me – the cancer had gotten me.Now that I can run, I can finally put this whole cancer business to rest. I can do everything I did before – I am back to being me. The cancer is finally gone.
. . .
It’s entirely fitting that this entry comes at mile 13 – the halfway point of the marathon. The first part of my story is about the cancer and hopefully the second part will be about much more. I’m not sure yet where the finish line is or even how I’m going to fill those miles between now and then. But I’m thinking and I’m hoping and I’m planning.
The first 13.1 was definitely not easy and something I would never had asked for in a million years. But I am grateful for how it pushed me to do more and be more than I ever thought possible.
I’m excited to see where the next 13.1 takes me.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Log: Week of November 23
Mon, Nov 23- 30min swim
Tues, Nov 24-Off
Wed,Nov 25-40min elliptical, 20min strength
Thurs, Nov 26-Turkey Trot, 2mile power walk (23:30)
Fri, Nov 27-Off
Sat, Nov 28-60min elliptical
Sun,Nov 29-Off
Not a great workout week, I need to get back on track. I haven't been sleeping well which has killed my energy levels and motivation.
Tues, Nov 24-Off
Wed,Nov 25-40min elliptical, 20min strength
Thurs, Nov 26-Turkey Trot, 2mile power walk (23:30)
Fri, Nov 27-Off
Sat, Nov 28-60min elliptical
Sun,Nov 29-Off
Not a great workout week, I need to get back on track. I haven't been sleeping well which has killed my energy levels and motivation.
Log: Week of November 16
Mon,Nov 16-
PM: 35min cycle workout, 20min strength
Tues, Nov 17-Off
Wed, Nov 18-47min swim workout
Thurs, Nov 19-Off
Fri, Nov 20-
AM: 60min elliptical
Sat, Nov 21-
AM: 36min power walk
Sun, Nov 22-
PM: 15min swim
PM: 35min cycle workout, 20min strength
Tues, Nov 17-Off
Wed, Nov 18-47min swim workout
Thurs, Nov 19-Off
Fri, Nov 20-
AM: 60min elliptical
Sat, Nov 21-
AM: 36min power walk
Sun, Nov 22-
PM: 15min swim
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Mile 12 of My Cancer Marathon: Working outside the Comfort Zone
It’s been awhile since I’ve written anything for Carmen’s Cancer Marathon Chronicles or whatever this should be called. Life has been hectic as of late which is to blame for part of the delay. Nothing bad, just busy with kids, work and life.
In all honesty, though, the primary reason for the lack of updates is a bad case of writer’s block. Mile 11 was pretty meaty – how do you top an entry that includes both keg stands and remission? – and I was having trouble coming up with a topic that would compare.
I tooled around with several potential topics but none of them seemed appropriate for where I am at mentally or in the context of my writing. And I wasn’t passionate about them.
To step back, I’ll be the first person to admit that I am not a writer. The last time I did any sort of regular writing was high school when I wrote a column for our small town’s newspaper (Total Circulation: About 5 - my parents, my grandma and about 3 other people). The column was entitled “Warrior Weekly” and it covered such earth shattering topics as the theme of the homecoming dance and whether the Junior or Senior girls would win the annual Powder Puff football game. Heavy hitting journalism obviously.
In college I probably wrote less than 5 papers total. One of the dirty little secrets about engineering is that the professors make up for the horrendously difficult and time consuming practice sets by never giving writing assignments. So I escaped higher education without ever pulling an all-nighter to write a term paper. Crazy but true.
I do so some writing in my current occupation (Project Manager for a company that designs and builds custom websites) but it’s mainly brief and boring. The only time I write something for work that is not totally snooze worthy is when I am sending a collections letter to a client. I can get a little saucy then :)
So while I enjoy writing these entries, and enjoy that you crazy people enjoy reading them, they are something that does not come naturally to me. Every time I sit down to write I am working way out of my comfort zone.
Working outside the comfort zone.
This is a saying that I’ve caught myself saying a lot recently. I was on a panel advising female college students about the workforce and I caught myself telling them that they needed to pursue opportunities that had them working outside the comfort zone. At work I was reassuring a developer that while a new technology is tough, working outside the comfort zone will yield a better product later. We took my meat loving in-law’s to a vegetarian restaurant and assured them that while falafel might be outside the comfort zone, it was indeed delicious.
As I sat down to write today, I was uncomfortable but I knew if I just started typing the words would come together and a topic would emerge. And there it was, slapping me in the face for weeks but I was too busy avoiding discomfort I couldn’t see it.
…
I’ve always loved shopping at farmer’s markets and roadside stands. It’s a bit of an adventure peering into the booths to see what’s for sale this week and I love that it allows you to connect to your food in a way that browsing the aisles at Giant Eagle just can’t.
However, farmer’s markets were also a source of anxiety for me. I feel overwhelmed by the choices and intimidated by the vegetables I didn’t even know the names of let alone tried. I would watch as others would confidently survey the produce, expertly examine it and then with assurance swoop them up and place them in their bag (eco-friendly of course).
Meanwhile my bag would be filled with “safe” fruits and vegetables – stuff like corn, cucumbers and strawberries – easy to cook and kind of boring.
How did they know about all these different fruits and vegetables? What would they cook with them? As I watched these ”experts” I would find myself becoming enviousness. I wanted to be the kind of person who brought home zucchini and made muffins or the kind of person of brought fresh herbs instead of using the dried kind in a bottle. But I was too afraid to try.
You see, I have a reputation in my family for being a lousy cook. A really lousy cook. When it comes time for family holidays, I’m the one who gets assigned to bring the wine – and nothing else.
Like most newlyweds, when I first got married I had illusions of making gourmet meals daily for my husband. Let’s just say after a few remarkably bad attempts, we ate a lot of pizza our first year of wedded bliss. Domino’s was vital to the success of our marriage.
However, once I had kids I got more health conscious. It just made sense for our health and that of our children (and I definitely didn’t mind the 10 pounds I dropped as a result). So I made a concentrated effort to include more whole grains, organics and fruits and veggies in our meals. It’s difficult to eat healthy without being able to cook but you can get by and we did.
Once I got diagnosed with cancer, I wanted to really step up the quality of foods our family ate. Unfortunately, I was at the point where I needed to learn to cook.
So I was grappling with the desire to cook but the intimidation to do so when I was on my weekly trip to our local farmer’s market late this summer. Once again, I found myself picking “safe” foods and envying those picking more “exotic” items such as squash.
But then I had a moment of reckoning. I can’t live my life scared of vegetables. I faced and beat cancer for goodness sakes. Why are a few squirrely vegetables making me so scared?
And that’s when I started my love affair with the butternut squash. On that late summer day, when I put that odd-shaped vegetable into my own eco-friendly bag, I made a big jump out of my comfort zone and into the world of cooking.
I went to the library and checked out a whole stack of “Cooking Light” magazines. I googled “Squash” and learned the difference between summer and winter varieties. I created a recipe binder. I made meal plans. And I cooked and cooked and cooked.
Notice I didn’t say I cooked well. I’ve had some wins (“Spice Rubbed Pork Tenderloin” dubbed “very good” by my picky husband) and some epic fails (“Chicken Spaghetti Casserole” declared “absolutely disgusting” by aforementioned husband who also doesn’t mince words).
But I tried and I continue to try. Cooking, like writing, still isn’t easy for me and I have to force myself to do it. But every time I do it successfully, I feel a deep sense of satisfaction.
In running, the only way you can get better is to push yourself by running harder and longer. But doing so kind of sucks. Your legs ache, it’s hard to catch your breath and it’s not generally pleasant.
To a non-runner, probably all running seems unpleasant. However, after you’ve done it for awhile you build up enough stamina and speed that there is such thing as an “easy” run. Easy runs are fun and relaxing - frankly just a jog in the park.
While vital for mental sanity, easy runs don’t make you better. So that’s where tortuous devices such as intervals, fartleks, tempo and progression runs come in. They are not fun. But afterwards there’s a sense of accomplishment that you can’t get from an easy run. You pushed your body out of the comfort zone and as a result you made yourself a better runner.
…
I’m planning on bringing “Butternut Squash/Apple/Cranberry Casserole” infused with spices and garnished with walnuts for Thanksgiving. I’m excited to be bringing something other than wine for once and looking forward to showing off my new found culinary skills.
Whether it’s learning to cook, running (or in my current situation, aquajogging) faster, sharing my innermost thoughts through writing or conquering cancer, it sure is delicious working outside the comfort zone.
In all honesty, though, the primary reason for the lack of updates is a bad case of writer’s block. Mile 11 was pretty meaty – how do you top an entry that includes both keg stands and remission? – and I was having trouble coming up with a topic that would compare.
I tooled around with several potential topics but none of them seemed appropriate for where I am at mentally or in the context of my writing. And I wasn’t passionate about them.
To step back, I’ll be the first person to admit that I am not a writer. The last time I did any sort of regular writing was high school when I wrote a column for our small town’s newspaper (Total Circulation: About 5 - my parents, my grandma and about 3 other people). The column was entitled “Warrior Weekly” and it covered such earth shattering topics as the theme of the homecoming dance and whether the Junior or Senior girls would win the annual Powder Puff football game. Heavy hitting journalism obviously.
In college I probably wrote less than 5 papers total. One of the dirty little secrets about engineering is that the professors make up for the horrendously difficult and time consuming practice sets by never giving writing assignments. So I escaped higher education without ever pulling an all-nighter to write a term paper. Crazy but true.
I do so some writing in my current occupation (Project Manager for a company that designs and builds custom websites) but it’s mainly brief and boring. The only time I write something for work that is not totally snooze worthy is when I am sending a collections letter to a client. I can get a little saucy then :)
So while I enjoy writing these entries, and enjoy that you crazy people enjoy reading them, they are something that does not come naturally to me. Every time I sit down to write I am working way out of my comfort zone.
Working outside the comfort zone.
This is a saying that I’ve caught myself saying a lot recently. I was on a panel advising female college students about the workforce and I caught myself telling them that they needed to pursue opportunities that had them working outside the comfort zone. At work I was reassuring a developer that while a new technology is tough, working outside the comfort zone will yield a better product later. We took my meat loving in-law’s to a vegetarian restaurant and assured them that while falafel might be outside the comfort zone, it was indeed delicious.
As I sat down to write today, I was uncomfortable but I knew if I just started typing the words would come together and a topic would emerge. And there it was, slapping me in the face for weeks but I was too busy avoiding discomfort I couldn’t see it.
…
I’ve always loved shopping at farmer’s markets and roadside stands. It’s a bit of an adventure peering into the booths to see what’s for sale this week and I love that it allows you to connect to your food in a way that browsing the aisles at Giant Eagle just can’t.
However, farmer’s markets were also a source of anxiety for me. I feel overwhelmed by the choices and intimidated by the vegetables I didn’t even know the names of let alone tried. I would watch as others would confidently survey the produce, expertly examine it and then with assurance swoop them up and place them in their bag (eco-friendly of course).
Meanwhile my bag would be filled with “safe” fruits and vegetables – stuff like corn, cucumbers and strawberries – easy to cook and kind of boring.
How did they know about all these different fruits and vegetables? What would they cook with them? As I watched these ”experts” I would find myself becoming enviousness. I wanted to be the kind of person who brought home zucchini and made muffins or the kind of person of brought fresh herbs instead of using the dried kind in a bottle. But I was too afraid to try.
You see, I have a reputation in my family for being a lousy cook. A really lousy cook. When it comes time for family holidays, I’m the one who gets assigned to bring the wine – and nothing else.
Like most newlyweds, when I first got married I had illusions of making gourmet meals daily for my husband. Let’s just say after a few remarkably bad attempts, we ate a lot of pizza our first year of wedded bliss. Domino’s was vital to the success of our marriage.
However, once I had kids I got more health conscious. It just made sense for our health and that of our children (and I definitely didn’t mind the 10 pounds I dropped as a result). So I made a concentrated effort to include more whole grains, organics and fruits and veggies in our meals. It’s difficult to eat healthy without being able to cook but you can get by and we did.
Once I got diagnosed with cancer, I wanted to really step up the quality of foods our family ate. Unfortunately, I was at the point where I needed to learn to cook.
So I was grappling with the desire to cook but the intimidation to do so when I was on my weekly trip to our local farmer’s market late this summer. Once again, I found myself picking “safe” foods and envying those picking more “exotic” items such as squash.
But then I had a moment of reckoning. I can’t live my life scared of vegetables. I faced and beat cancer for goodness sakes. Why are a few squirrely vegetables making me so scared?
And that’s when I started my love affair with the butternut squash. On that late summer day, when I put that odd-shaped vegetable into my own eco-friendly bag, I made a big jump out of my comfort zone and into the world of cooking.
I went to the library and checked out a whole stack of “Cooking Light” magazines. I googled “Squash” and learned the difference between summer and winter varieties. I created a recipe binder. I made meal plans. And I cooked and cooked and cooked.
Notice I didn’t say I cooked well. I’ve had some wins (“Spice Rubbed Pork Tenderloin” dubbed “very good” by my picky husband) and some epic fails (“Chicken Spaghetti Casserole” declared “absolutely disgusting” by aforementioned husband who also doesn’t mince words).
But I tried and I continue to try. Cooking, like writing, still isn’t easy for me and I have to force myself to do it. But every time I do it successfully, I feel a deep sense of satisfaction.
In running, the only way you can get better is to push yourself by running harder and longer. But doing so kind of sucks. Your legs ache, it’s hard to catch your breath and it’s not generally pleasant.
To a non-runner, probably all running seems unpleasant. However, after you’ve done it for awhile you build up enough stamina and speed that there is such thing as an “easy” run. Easy runs are fun and relaxing - frankly just a jog in the park.
While vital for mental sanity, easy runs don’t make you better. So that’s where tortuous devices such as intervals, fartleks, tempo and progression runs come in. They are not fun. But afterwards there’s a sense of accomplishment that you can’t get from an easy run. You pushed your body out of the comfort zone and as a result you made yourself a better runner.
…
I’m planning on bringing “Butternut Squash/Apple/Cranberry Casserole” infused with spices and garnished with walnuts for Thanksgiving. I’m excited to be bringing something other than wine for once and looking forward to showing off my new found culinary skills.
Whether it’s learning to cook, running (or in my current situation, aquajogging) faster, sharing my innermost thoughts through writing or conquering cancer, it sure is delicious working outside the comfort zone.
Log: Week of November 9
Mon, Nov 9-
AM: 49min swim workout
Tues, Nov 10-Off
Wed, Nov 11-
AM: 54min swim workout
Thurs, Nov 12-
AM: 25min swimming; 20min time trial (920y in 20:13, 20y pool, 174hr after); 5min easy
Fri, Nov 13-
AM: 30min cycle, 30min elliptical
Sat, Nov 14-
AM: 37min power walk; 1 hr hike
Sun, Nov 15-
AM: 15min time trial (15:59 for 750yards); Decided to re-do since the 20y pool the other day made it difficult to gauge my time)
AM: 49min swim workout
Tues, Nov 10-Off
Wed, Nov 11-
AM: 54min swim workout
Thurs, Nov 12-
AM: 25min swimming; 20min time trial (920y in 20:13, 20y pool, 174hr after); 5min easy
Fri, Nov 13-
AM: 30min cycle, 30min elliptical
Sat, Nov 14-
AM: 37min power walk; 1 hr hike
Sun, Nov 15-
AM: 15min time trial (15:59 for 750yards); Decided to re-do since the 20y pool the other day made it difficult to gauge my time)
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Log: Week of November 2
Mon, Nov 2-
PM: 30min easy cycle
Tues, Nov 3-
PM: 45min cycle workout; 15min strength
Wed, Nov 4-
AM: 54min swim workout - Longest ever!
Thurs, Nov 5-
AM: 45min swim workout
Fri, Nov 6-Off
Sat, Nov 7-
AM: 1 hr power walk/hike
Sun, Nov 8-
AM: 1 hr power walk
PM: 30min easy cycle
Tues, Nov 3-
PM: 45min cycle workout; 15min strength
Wed, Nov 4-
AM: 54min swim workout - Longest ever!
Thurs, Nov 5-
AM: 45min swim workout
Fri, Nov 6-Off
Sat, Nov 7-
AM: 1 hr power walk/hike
Sun, Nov 8-
AM: 1 hr power walk
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