"Swimming is your friend. Swimming is your friend."
This was my mantra this morning in the pool. Swimming has always been my friend, but it is a love-hate relationship. Swimming was my friend when I was enormously pregnant and couldn't run beyond thirty weeks. Swimming was my friend when I was on bed rest at the end of that fat chapter in my life and I still needed a workout. Swimming is again my friend now that I can't run on injured feet. Swimming has been my safety net and my backup, so why do I resent the pool so much? Why does it feel like the enemy, my second choice, the Plan B? Because it is.
Murray on Monday. Mark on Tuesday. Dante on Wednesday. Dr. Ben Thursday and Friday. I had a different swimming buddy every day this week at the pool. At least I wasn't alone completely in the pool. On Monday, we also had a snake in the water with us. On Tuesday, it was a crab. Wednesday, there was a gecko in the water. Thursday was uneventful and this morning, a huge frog joined us. Why?
Tonight when I got my hair done, the hair dresser asked why my hair was so dry and stripped. "It's my Nemesis. It's killing my hair." I told her. And maybe my spirit a little bit, too.
Friday, September 26, 2008
Sunday, September 21, 2008
I Don't Want To Be A Swimmer
"I don't want to be a swimmer! I don't want to be a swimmer!"
This was my declaration in my most recent nightmare. Two nights ago, I dreamt I was floating out in the middle of the ocean in San Diego somewhere, yelling at the top of my lungs in horror, cursing my last option for workout. Sadly, when I woke up, it was true. As my feet hit the floor at 4 am for the long run, I was stopped abruptly in my tracks, frozen in agony. I am defeated and dismayed to admit I have to be a swimmer for the weeks (months?) to come. Plantar fasciitis has completely derailed my training and I am out for any upcoming marathon. To say that I am disappointed does not even touch what I am feeling right now. I think it would be more appropriate to say "identity crisis" if running is out of the equation.
I saw Dr. George in the office last week and after handling my sad and pathetic feet, he confirmed the diagnosis. I knew he would, but the pain has become so unbearable, I simply cannot ignore or run through it anymore. Walking has become no small feat, and standing around I am forced to shift weight off my heel. Even flip turning in the pool has become a challenge when the pain rips through my heel. After prescribing the dreaded boot and cataflam, George suggested I try to cut back on running. And though I had no intention of following this advice, I knew I had no other choice when the following day a 21 mile long run left me crippled.
I don't want to be a swimmer because I despise pretending to be someone I am not. I am merely a pool slut, picking up any random passerby who will talk to me out there. So desperate for company am I at 5:30 in the morning, I have befriended even all the old guys out there floating down the lanes, just so that I might avoid having to swim extra, unnecessary laps (I still log it as a workout). The pool is so lonely, staring at that black tiled line, endless lap after lap. Maybe that is why I worship them: swimmers have some kind of superior inner strength and independence. They need no one to talk to while turning over their arms and thrashing their legs. They care nothing about what others think of them in a small piece of Lycra as they smugly flaunt it all down the deck. They appeal to me even in their geeky goggles and hideous swim caps. Maybe I am jealous of that? Maybe I missed the boat getting in on that sport when I was young and capable?
This was my declaration in my most recent nightmare. Two nights ago, I dreamt I was floating out in the middle of the ocean in San Diego somewhere, yelling at the top of my lungs in horror, cursing my last option for workout. Sadly, when I woke up, it was true. As my feet hit the floor at 4 am for the long run, I was stopped abruptly in my tracks, frozen in agony. I am defeated and dismayed to admit I have to be a swimmer for the weeks (months?) to come. Plantar fasciitis has completely derailed my training and I am out for any upcoming marathon. To say that I am disappointed does not even touch what I am feeling right now. I think it would be more appropriate to say "identity crisis" if running is out of the equation.
I saw Dr. George in the office last week and after handling my sad and pathetic feet, he confirmed the diagnosis. I knew he would, but the pain has become so unbearable, I simply cannot ignore or run through it anymore. Walking has become no small feat, and standing around I am forced to shift weight off my heel. Even flip turning in the pool has become a challenge when the pain rips through my heel. After prescribing the dreaded boot and cataflam, George suggested I try to cut back on running. And though I had no intention of following this advice, I knew I had no other choice when the following day a 21 mile long run left me crippled.
I don't want to be a swimmer because I despise pretending to be someone I am not. I am merely a pool slut, picking up any random passerby who will talk to me out there. So desperate for company am I at 5:30 in the morning, I have befriended even all the old guys out there floating down the lanes, just so that I might avoid having to swim extra, unnecessary laps (I still log it as a workout). The pool is so lonely, staring at that black tiled line, endless lap after lap. Maybe that is why I worship them: swimmers have some kind of superior inner strength and independence. They need no one to talk to while turning over their arms and thrashing their legs. They care nothing about what others think of them in a small piece of Lycra as they smugly flaunt it all down the deck. They appeal to me even in their geeky goggles and hideous swim caps. Maybe I am jealous of that? Maybe I missed the boat getting in on that sport when I was young and capable?
I don't want to be a swimmer. I just want to admire them from a distance.
Friday, September 19, 2008
For The Birds
I have resisted so many times turning to this blog as an outlet because most often it feels like a garbled, nonsensical idiom on the screen in front of me. I think in so many ways this blog is like a diary posted online for any random person to read, which seems so utterly ridiculous. It is stupid. Knowing and recognizing this, I write for myself, first and foremost, and perhaps then for anyone else who has little to do at work and cares to peruse its contents. Hopefully it won't come across as self-absorbed and superciliously annoying to the random visitor.
At the core of what I am preoccupied with today is friendship. After running the coast with Abbe, Katie and Lori (and bumping into Barry and Gary) this morning, Abbe and I went over to swim. In the dark we bantered back and forth about life and its meaning, men and relationships, kids and chaos. I can't help but love her. She has so many fabulous and irresistible qualities that entertain me. For someone as ADHD and I am, she can captivate the conversation with silly stories and crazy antics, analogies and jokes. Her mannerisms are priceless and her wit unsurpassed. She is complicated and multi-faceted, but so simple and happy all the same.
As I sat in the Starbucks drive-through line after our workouts (and cursed the guy in front of me for clogging the system with his fluffy blended whatever drink), I couldn't help but notice the birds flying in formation above me. The sky was a ruddy gray with the sun not yet up and their silhouette was almost surreal. The thing that struck me, however, was these birds were always together. I don't know what kind they were and it really doesn't matter, but they were in some kind of formation....sometimes only three, but more often together as five. I am not even sure why these birds caught my attention, other than the fact that with ice blended lagger in front of me, I was trapped with nothing else to observe. I love that even these birds with their low maintenance lifestyles and minuscule brains needed companionship. Don't we all? I treasure my friends here who challenge and transform me everyday. I love my insanely active kids who keep me running and make my heart sing. I adore my super hot husband and am grateful he digs me, too. Relationships are hard and often convoluted, but when we find the right ones, they make all the difference. Life is good with coffee in hand. I'll drink to that.
At the core of what I am preoccupied with today is friendship. After running the coast with Abbe, Katie and Lori (and bumping into Barry and Gary) this morning, Abbe and I went over to swim. In the dark we bantered back and forth about life and its meaning, men and relationships, kids and chaos. I can't help but love her. She has so many fabulous and irresistible qualities that entertain me. For someone as ADHD and I am, she can captivate the conversation with silly stories and crazy antics, analogies and jokes. Her mannerisms are priceless and her wit unsurpassed. She is complicated and multi-faceted, but so simple and happy all the same.
As I sat in the Starbucks drive-through line after our workouts (and cursed the guy in front of me for clogging the system with his fluffy blended whatever drink), I couldn't help but notice the birds flying in formation above me. The sky was a ruddy gray with the sun not yet up and their silhouette was almost surreal. The thing that struck me, however, was these birds were always together. I don't know what kind they were and it really doesn't matter, but they were in some kind of formation....sometimes only three, but more often together as five. I am not even sure why these birds caught my attention, other than the fact that with ice blended lagger in front of me, I was trapped with nothing else to observe. I love that even these birds with their low maintenance lifestyles and minuscule brains needed companionship. Don't we all? I treasure my friends here who challenge and transform me everyday. I love my insanely active kids who keep me running and make my heart sing. I adore my super hot husband and am grateful he digs me, too. Relationships are hard and often convoluted, but when we find the right ones, they make all the difference. Life is good with coffee in hand. I'll drink to that.
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