Back in the game

I haven't posted in a while. We've been through so much change. All good.

So after having an identity crisis, I've started lifting again. My shoulders are feeling good. I've also employed help to try to balance the shoulder girdle with some programming from a coach. On Black Friday I bought Crossover Symmetry. I am not fucking around this time. No more shoulder issues to sideline me.

Which is good because the next big competition is in Aukland, New Zealand. I have to qualify by the end of January.

The strangest part of all of this is my weight. I lost a good bit while I was off of lifting. I'm sure mostly muscle, but my clothes are loose and well frankly, I like that. So my biggest challenge in getting into lifting again is keeping the weight off, while getting stronger. I really hated the cutting part of competing. If I stay where I'm at, I won't need to cut anything - and that is how I'd like to keep it. The reality of life for me - I'm not immune to my thoughts and feelings about my weight. "Strong is the new skinny" is how I relate to the world regardless of what the scale says. I'm not looking for skinny. I just don't want to have to cut weight, so I'm great where I'm at. Just need to keep it that way.

Rollercoasting (a new verb)

I have been full of anxiety lately. My family and I have undergone significant changes in the last two months, with more to come. Mind you, all of these changes are good. They just take time to adapt - and my 3 year old is handling it all like a rock star.

First, we moved out of our house into my mom's house - the "gray" house. We are slowly working on making this also "our" house by integrating our stuff into hers. This is all an experiment. Hopefully the living situation works well and we can find a mutually beneficial harmony in living together.

Second, we put our "green" house on the market. Within 24 hours we had 3 offers on the table. All offers were over our asking price. We've signed the purchase and sale and are awaiting the appraisal on Wednesday. There are so many points at which this could break down that I feel like I'm on the edge of my seat, constantly. I'm praying, praying that this works out and visualizing us at closing on October 31.

Third, I accepted a new job. This is fantastic news, as the new office is 3 miles from home. I'll also be in a position to create something amazing - a new research infrastructure at a small primarily undergraduate institution. I, of course, had to let my current boss know about this and he didn't initially take it that well. I have a real problem with letting people down, and this was no different. Extricating myself from my current job has been one of the most emotionally challenging experiences. I have worked with this office for the last 6 years and have had changing relationships with all staff and boss over those years - from peer, to colleague, to friend, to boss, to employee, etc. Also, this change is more than just a job change. It is a lifestyle change. I will win back, at minimum, 15 hours of my life each week by not commuting to Cambridge each day. That means, more time with my kid, my wife, my friends/family and the gym!! With this change though, there will be a gap in insurance. Since I am the insurance provider for the family, this is causing me great stress. I know there is Cobra and all of that, but I'm still stressed about it. The new insurance at Merrimack isn't as good as Harvard, so there is that.

Fourth, Walker started pre-school. He's going to school 3 full days a week. This is great, but adds stress to me because, should he get sick in the next few months, with my new job and all, I won't be able to take time off. Which leads me to the last stressor - again, all good.

Fifth, Damema started working. It's only part time, but it means she isn't around whenever to care for Walker. I have been so stressed about him getting sick after this week. We strategically got him a flu shot on Friday so that if he should have any side effects we would be able to manage before my new job started. Sure enough, last night a fever erupted and this morning he is throwing up (standard fever response for him).

So now what? Well, I can't control any of this. I try running to calm my mind - and it works for a bit. Alcohol also helps a bit, except when awakened at 4 in the morning with a puke fest (from the toddler) with a 7 mile run scheduled. CrossFit helps as does talking/writing about it. I guess this is one of those rides of life - the loopty loop ones. Highs/lows - the anxiety build of climbing that hill just to go plunging down at full speed, to gain the momentum needed to rise up again. Rollercoasters are fun - right??

In any case. I've asked for all of this. I've wanted these particular changes - to some degree or another and I am anxiously grateful and calmly terrified.

Triggers all over the place

I'm in the middle of a lot of change and I am triggered all over the place. I think we try to avoid feeling sad or angry and do it many different ways. Some of us avoid by compromising ourselves; or we retreat and shut down; or we drink our misery away into numbness; or we lift all the weights hoping that one day gravity just evaporates. The hardest thing to do is to sit in the feeling. Let it take over. It is hard to do especially when you need to be the adult, the parent, or the bread winner - always needing to be strong and responsible.

I am in the middle of change and it is exciting, scary, sad and it triggers me because I am letting people down and breaking my word. I could just change my mind and make the anger I've provoked evaporate. At what cost though? We get into the hum of it all again and I wonder, "what the hell have I done?"

I have to think about my values and my soul and my family. I need to bolster these things and make them a priority. Me and my family - at the risk of letting others down.  This is an important lesson. One I need to learn. I am going to listen to the pain, cry the tears and take the steps forward - to what? Who knows? That's what makes life an adventure.

I'm going to do what I want to do - for me, my life and my family.

Sports, mullets and Olympics

Watching the Olympics has been really great. It is one of my favorite things to watch - especially weightlifting and rugby. Two sports I've participated in. When softball comes back, I'll gleefully watch that as well. (Though I'm not all that impressed with all the ribbons in all the women's hair.) Ok actually I'm not going to let this go... I was watching rugby in the Olympics and there are strong ladies - gay and straight alike. There are ladies with short and long hair, and muscles. These are the women that play rugby.

I was just curious about an old acquaintance who was a softball player. Actually, I thought she was pretty hot. (I even named a dog after her.) In any case, I was taken back to the first few weeks of college. I wanted to play softball for a division I team and thought I was good enough. Let me cut to the chase - I wasn't good enough. But that isn't what this is about. It's about women and how they are being asked to present themselves.

I plain old had a mullet when I went to college. For some reason, in 1992, I thought they were attractive. It was a symbol of who I was. A major "Fuck You" to the place I grew up. Short sides and a party in the back. My hair was a symbol. I had always been an athlete and it was where I found peace and security to be myself - mullet and all. So when I went to college and my first roommate opened the door, looked at me, sighed and turned her back on me... I got a dose of reality. This is the same attitude that the coach of the KU team at the time had about women. There was no place for mullets or short hair on the softball field. (I know this wasn't the only reason I was cut, so I acknowledge that, but that attitude was real.)

It was around this time that I started noticing women in sports and their appearances more globally. They had long hair with ribbons. They were soft. Perhaps they even wore lipstick during games. When softball went pro and was televised, this became even more the norm. Then when it went to the Olympics in 1996...it was like I was looking at women so very different from myself. Even though, I knew (you always know) some of these women sold themselves. They were probably asked to grow their hair long and put on make up in order to maintain the public's standards of femininity.

So again. I was watching the Olympics today in 2016 and was very happy to see the butch, rugged women on the pitch playing rugby. I was happy to see the long and short haired muscular women on the lifting platform. Then, I flipped to a college softball game and once again - "who are these women??" Long hair and ribbons. As a culture, we've come a long way, but not really.

There is so much hate out there and putting each other down. We are all human beings, with unique identities and desires of how to project ourselves in the world. We need to build each other up and celebrate. Butch women. Straight women. Strong women. Large and small women. Mothers, daughters. Athletes and artists. Wear your mullet. Be strong and be proud.

Adulting

Back when we moved to New England, we had this vision of ourselves. We would own a house, with a yard. We would have a child. We would get married - which at the time was only an option in Massachusetts. The wife would become a veterinary technician. We would live in our house for 7ish years and then move to the next, bigger and better one - using the market in much the same way our parents did. We would be part of the middle class and give our child(ren) a safe and comfortable upbringing.

I am happy to say that we have accomplished all of this, but not exactly as we had originally thought. We moved here exactly 10 years ago and moved in with my mom as a temporary fix, while our condo back in Chicago was on the market. Once it sold we would have money to put towards a new place in the New England area. I was working for a consulting group, so my work was flexible and we could take some time to figure out where we wanted to live. We explored Burlington, VT, Portsmouth, NH, Lowell, Worcester, Newburyport, and Salem, MA.

Back in Chicago, the market crashed. What we had listed our condo originally was no longer viable a week later. In fact it was a downright ridiculously highball listing. It took a year, but eventually we sold. We lost money on the deal. Let me just put it that way.

So, let's just say, we were a little limited. Our vision of a house turned into the cheapest condo we could find. We looked in Lowell, mostly. We even looked at apartments. My wife was depressed at this point. Very depressed. Living at my mother's house didn't help and in fact worsened the depression. She had no identity and no job. At that point, we rushed to find a place to live - "no money down" was still a thing then. 

This is how we ended up in Lawrence. We bought a house - a comfortable house that needed some interior work. We thought we were up for the task. My parents had done a ton of house renovations on their own when I was growing up. I could do it too. Except I couldn't and can't. Other than painting, I really am not that interested in fixing up houses. Partly because I have to read a book to learn how to do everything and partly because I HATE LIVING IN CHAOS!! I know and knew this last part about myself going into the new house.

But back to the vision for us. We bought this house and once again the market crashed. We were immediately underwater and have been for almost a decade. That said, we had a house with a yard. The wife became a vet tech. We got married and had a baby. Said baby is now the focus, and we need to figure out schooling - which is why we're making the next move.

I think I grew up thinking that living with family is a crutch and that if I live with family it means that I am not capable of being an adult. And here is where I still struggle... We have moved into what we call the "gray house" (vs. the "green house"). We're in North Andover now, where the school systems are much better than Lawrence, and we're co-habitating with my mother. I feel defensive. I feel like a failure. I know this doesn't have to be permanent. I feel like it should be reversed though... I have my life together to the point where my mother moves in with us...

Well that's where we are. Now we are doing what we can to get the "green house" ready to put on the market. Time to take the next step. 

Parenting vs. Weightlifting

I'm a parent with a toddler. I feel like I get no time with my spouse. I get no time to read. I get no time to watch movies. So, right now he's asleep and I'm here "watching" Star Wars...while blogging. Life is funny.

I'm an Olympic style weightlifter. Apparently that is part of my identity - which is why I'm having life troubles. If I can't lift and be part of my team, then "who am I"? It really has had me down for a few weeks - so much so that I emailed a sports therapist recommended to me by my orthopedist. She was going on vacation, so I have yet to set anything up with her.

In the meantime, I visited the male counterpart of my physical therapy team - a married couple. He seems to always say the things I need to hear. I told him I was having an identity crisis and his response was, "I don't understand why. There are so many things you could be doing." I made my point to him about being an athlete and blah, blah, blah and he asks me... "Aren't you a parent?"

OK - PARENT is the biggest job I've ever had. It is hard. I want to run. I want to hide. I want to be very present. I want to be his everything. I fret about his well being and whether he's going to puke tonight. I worry that he has a fever or doesn't pronunciation words well. I worry that the fact that he likes to squish bugs and gets angry at our dachshund makes him a psychopath. I have a lot of joy and fear with being a parent. It is all consuming. As part of it, I have taken on the identity of bread winner. I need to do what I need to do to bring in the cash. My wife has taken on the role of primary care taker.

In any case, the point is that when I compare "Olympic style weightlifter" to "Parent"... it's a no brainer to me. Of course I'm a parent over a weightlifter - and parenting doesn't tax my shoulders as much....

Ok that is funny. There is definitely more weight on my shoulders with parenting, but apparently it doesn't aggravate my torn labrum in the same way.     

Change and feeling overwhelmed

I'm feeling like it is time for a change. This is good, considering we are planning to put the house on the market in August. There is so much to do though....and I'm overwhelmed. (My cult days taught me that "overwhelmed" is just a story, though.) The toddler in the house. All the things that need to be fixed up and cleaned. The carpets, the dogs, the clutter, the stuff, the purging. It all feels like too much to do in the next two months, coupled with commuting and working and spending time with the toddler. Where do people get the energy to do all of this? So, I sense something needs to change, in order to get all of this done.

Last night I slept like crap. My right shoulder was aching. I couldn't get comfortable. I woke up today to extraordinary low back pain. (I think my body is trying to tell me something.) Ha!! I think it has been trying to tell me something, but I've liked to ignore it. Just like I cannot ignore the fact that there is much cleaning up to do in the house, there is much attention that needs to be paid to my body and what it is telling me. What to do about it?

One thing is to spend less time training. This may preserve some energy (and help my body heal) to apply to the house or running around with the toddler. Will I still get the mental health benefits though, from a reduced work out schedule? I may get benefits from getting the house in order. Another extreme idea is to send my wife to work so I can quit my job and focus on the kid and the house. I don't really think this is an option, so throwing this one out. The reality is that I know the answer. The work outs - they need to be healing and targeted. Pushing through isn't working and it is fucking with my tolerance for pain and ability to have energy for anything else. (As my wife says, "either you're mad at me, or you're in pain.") This time, it's pain, dear.

I've been inspired by my friend who runs the blog Power, Peace and the Porch Gym. She's recently been sidelined with an injury and seems to be handling it very well. It is time for me to figure out what to modify to get stuff done and gain sanity in my house and body again.

Day 1 of making different choices

I turned 42 last week and for some reason this birthday felt like more. It's not the number, really. You could turn 50 and I would say, "it's just a number." I believe that. The reality for me though is that I am that number. I still feel like I'm that little frickin' 20 year old. I'm not though. Definitely not.

I'm so much happier, more settled and deeply committed to my family. Instead of touring the country with the Indigo Girls, I'm happy geocaching with my son. Instead of smoking cigarettes, I'm content throwing big weights around. (Some people would argue that it is just as destructive.. though I beg to differ.) I still drink. I still swear. I am still goofy. My life is not about me anymore. I get up and go to work for my son and for my wife. Some weeks I really do work for the weekend. Some weeks are productive and satisfying.

I was thinking on my birthday that I would launch a new project called, "make different choices." It is easy to get caught in a rhythm or a cycle - some destructive and some for survival. The thing is that if I find myself obsessing over any of it - it is time to make a different choice. As such, I'm trying to get rid of the things that have bothered me over the years. One of my issues (as you know) has been social media. So, I unfriended the people I was upset about, and you know what? I feel better.

The other - I drink too frequently. Why does anyone have to drink on a Tuesday? Because it was a tough day. Well, it's time to make a different choice. Tuesdays are not for drinking.

I am excited to keep up this endeavor. If it bothers me - it's time to make a different choice. It could be a different outlook. It could be a different path or a different decision. The purpose is to stop getting caught up in the cycle of do and abuse myself about it. I'm done with it. Too old for that shit. Onward.

Push it or rest it?

When you think back through the years, do you ever say to yourself - "if I had it to do over again, I would..." Honestly, I would only do any of it over again, if I knew what I know now. Unfortunately it doesn't work that way and the years just keep passing by. With that, I've noticed many physical changes happening. It takes longer to recover from work outs. My eyes are starting to do weird things. I'm still getting acne in my 40s (though that chemical peel seems to be helping that). Weight is harder to drop and much easier to put on. All of those things said - my mind is quieter. I'm much more tolerant of people I love, and less so of those I don't. I'm more committed to my family and career.

One thing that has not changed is my stubborn ability to push through pain. When I'm committed to something, I'm committed. As you know, I'm struggling with some shoulder issues. I've been in PT since February and have continued to lift weights throughout. I won a gold at Nationals and posted a new PR competition total. I'm finally part of a team and have been acknowledged as such. Now I'm in. All in. Fully in. Except my shoulders are not. I say shoulderssssssssssss. Yes, both of them. That's what is troubling me. One, I can deal with.

Last week I visited my doctor. I fessed up about the Nationals competition and she asked me if I had any other comps. Well, yes - I do. May 28th in fact. Now, my left shoulder is feeling better. It really is. With that she said that she thought the PT could help get me through that comp, at which point I would then take a break. Then she started doing her stupid, orthopedic, doctor, shoulder twisting tests... and, she changed her mind. I'm not to compete and I'm also to stop doing anything overhead. Anything except what the PT has me doing.

So here I am. Knowing full well the kind of person I am and the fact that I'm committed to a team.

What would you do?

Masters Nationals -- Part II

Ok - so now it is time to lift the weights. My coach couldn't make it down, so my dear friend Suzanne Leathers (an Olympic alternate) had a coach who agreed to take me on. I don't know what I was feeling. It's all a blur. Snatching felt easy and CJ did not. I just know that the clean and jerks took every ounce of my emotional fortitude to get through. Physically, I was done. Done. End results were the following:

Snatch: 55, 58, 60
Clean and Jerk: 72, 75, 77

Let me just say that I made the 77...it was a new clean PR. I also jerked it - probably a bit of a press out. Needless to say - 80 I'm coming for you.

A 135 total was good enough to win the 75kg 40 year old group. I'm really proud of myself. I cut 9 pounds. Traveled under less than ideal conditions and frickin' won gold!!

So then I needed to coach my friend Amylynne. This girls is a boss. She impresses me to no end. A 48 kg lifter throwing just about my body weight over her gosh darn head. She's got an amazing jerk and her dedication to Olympic lifting is loyal and unwavering. She's lifted at the American Open on the A stage, and has every 48kg New England record possible.

Coaching is stressful! Thank the good lord that Suzanne Leathers was there to do most of it. I just loaded the bar and told Amylynne what weights to lift on the platform. By the C&J I was so wrecked and Amylynne was yawning before her lifts. After the travel day we had, for good reason.

End result was:
Snatch: 52, 55, 55
Clean and Jerk: 69, 70, 72

Her 124 total was good enough for a silver medal. I know she's not happy, but she did really well. (I cannot get the photo to cooperate and will update tomorrow.)

Masters Nationals in Savannah - Part I

To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.
Read more at: http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/suffering.html

 To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering. -- Friedrich Nietzsche

To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.
Read more at: http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/suffering.html

To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering.
Read more at: http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/keywords/suffering.html

 What a crazy, amazing weekend. Last blog post I was suffering through a weight cut for this...

Traveling:
This was by far the worst travel trip I've been on in a long time. On the way down, we were delayed at JFK for 8 hours. The plan was to arrive at 5:30 PM to have time to sweat if needed. Instead, due to mechanical issues we were stuck at the airport, where I sucked on Jolly Ranchers and spit into a cup to try to cut water. Never mind the mechanical issues, the weather was supposed to be terrible in Savannah. There were tornado watches and severe storm warnings. I love to fly in good weather and have near panic attacks in bad. I couldn't drink, so I'm lucky that I had an extra Ativan from my MRI.

We arrived at the airport at midnight and still had to grab the car before we could venture off to the hotel. We were upgraded to a Toyota Sienna minivan. The thing drove great. In any case, upon arrival at the hotel, now at 1 AM, we were told that our room had been sold. Because we were so late, they thought we were a no show. We weren't alone. There was a woman there in the same boat as us. She luckily got the very last room. (That woman ended up being one of the IWF officials who conducted the weigh ins.) Luckily there was one open room available at a sister hotel a mile down the road. We received the night at no charge.

Finally at 1:30 AM we were able to get into bed. I was scheduled to weigh in at 7 AM and had no idea how much I weighed. The original hotel was supposed to have a check scale, though no one knew where it was. Thankfully, I made plans to go to the Cohen Weightlifting Center at 6:15 AM, where there was a scale and a sauna.

I awoke at 5 AM, raced to the nearest Starbucks to get a black coffee before heading to the sauna. To my absolute happiness (and surprise) I weighed in with only .3kg to lose - that's about .6 pounds. I had on sweats, leggings, a tank top, t-shirt, long-sleeved t-shirt and a sweatshirt. 15 minutes in the sauna and I was at weight! SUCCESS!! As the owner of my gym said at this point, "part 1 done, now finish part 2!!!!!"

Lift the damn weights.

Cutting weight

I'm competing next weekend in Savannah, GA at the Masters National Weightlifting competition. I had to sign up by February 29, but given all of the shoulder stuff, I wasn't sure if I was actually going to compete. I had an MRI that showed I have a small SLAP tear, bursitis and tendinosis in my shoulder. That said, it is feeling better than it did when I competed February 14. Sooooooooo....

I'm now 7 days out with 7 pounds to lose. Yesterday it was 9 so I'm making progress. Needless to say, cutting weight SUCKS! It sucks so hard. Yesterday I had egg whites, 2 rice cakes, a smoothie and some ground chicken. Today I've had a smoothie and egg whites and I'm so friggin' hungry.

Sigh. I wish there was a magic button to push that would make the pounds disappear. It is odd though, last week at this time I had 6 pounds to go. 6 pounds with 2 weeks is easy. But then something happened over the weekend and 6 turned into 10. I still don't know what happened.

In any case, think of me when you're biting into your chocolate Easter egg, or jellybeans tomorrow.

The smart phone is the new cigarette

You know, I'm an athlete. But, there was a phase I went through and it involved smoking cigarettes. Honestly I look at people these days who smoke and I am surprised anyone still does it. All of my friends who once smoked have quit. Maybe it is a rite of passage or a phase of self abuse. Let me tell you about my relationship to the world when I smoked...

I was in a secret club, man. We would gather in the smoking car on the train or huddle in the cold around the outside ash tray. Or we would hide in a booth at a bar, back when smoking was still allowed. I even lived in a smoking house once. It was part of the morning ritual. Coffee, smoke, poop. I could adapt to any situation as a smoker. I could excuse myself from uncomfortable situations to smoke. I could meet someone by bumming a cigarette or sharing a light. I learned so much about people - it's like drinking. People wanted to tell their stories around a cigarette.

I did some of my best thinking smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee, doing pro/con analyses of where to live, who to date, and what to do for a living. I made life long friends over cigarettes. I could escape.

I was thinking about this the other day as it relates to smart phones.

It's the same feeling - you're uncomfortable, so you pull out your phone. The only problem is there is no relating to others. There was this guy walking in front of me. He lit a cigarette and pulled out his phone. I walked past him as fast as I could. I'm a reformed smoker - the worst kind. I haven't touched a cigarette in 14 years. Yuck.

In any case, the smart phone is an escape. It's the new cigarette. The new way to cope. Luckily it doesn't have the same health concerns - until they find that 1 out of 10 users develops brain cancer. Ugh. Can you imagine?

More shoulder drama

Let me tell you about my first doctor's visit in February for my shoulder. I couldn't get in with my regular doctor until March, so I thought I would go to BWH to have all of my records accessible in one place -- seeing that my rheumatologist is there.

Random intern/fellow or whatever he was --
-"Do you really have rheumatoid arthritis? Who diagnosed you? What were your symptoms?"
-No dude, I'm just on Enbrel because I feel like it. Also, I set up my appointment at BWH so you would have access to all of those records. Just look in the system and you'll see my doctor is right across the hall. Okay, so that started things off... Then...
- "Well you competed, so things must not be that bad."
-You don't know me.
-"You may want to think about some other activity other than weightlifting at some point, but you're not there yet."
-Great, when are you going to start looking at my shoulder?

Good thing, my x-rays looked good. What about all the soft tissue and maybe the labrum? What kind of people do they work with here? Clearly not athletes or people that move. The intern of course framed everything for the doctor, who came in to follow up on the fellow's assessment that was completely biased.

-"So, you have really mild RA."
-What the fuck does this have to do with my shoulder right at the moment?

She proceeded to move my shoulder in 2 planes, neither of which are required for lifting. Seems like I can bring my arm up straight in front of me with my palm down - GREAT. What about palm up or thumb down?

The diagnosis in the end, was biceps tendinitis, with no further diagnostic testing. I would have to lift lighter weights for 3 weeks and take NSAIDs, rather than Tylenol (EVEN THOUGH I NEVER SAID I WAS TAKING TYLENOL.) Oh and add the sleeper stretch to my PT program. Because the sleeper stretch is clearly the answer to all of my problems. Oh and come back in 6 weeks. NO THANK YOU.

I am convinced doctor's are a complete waste of time when it comes to shoulders.

Then I went to see my regular Ortho. I am having an arthrogram MRI next Friday. She says my shoulder is HOT - which I'm sure is a formal diagnosis. Stay tuned.

Almost 20 years later and there is still friendship

I may be on a bit of a downward spiral here, but life was easier before social media. People weren't nicer, life was just easier. I lost touch with someone I became friends at the age of 23. I went to see an Indigo Girls show at Red Rocks in Colorado and arrived early (to get front row seats). This little snotty 18 year old and her friend were there. We almost got in a fight over who was first in line. Ha! By the end of the night we were fast friends. In fact, these two came back to the house I was staying at, and we talked on the front porch, smoking cigarettes, for hours. So long, in fact, that the owners of the house were so pissed with me the next day. So pissed they wanted nothing to do with me any more. At least they told me that to my face, instead of not talking to me on Facebook any more.

In any case, these new friends flew out to Chicago to visit me. I thought I had a crush on one, but the reality was the other had a crush on me. We spent the next few years playing around with that crush. I was never available though. I had baggage or drag along girlfriends. People I didn't want to be with, but couldn't break up with. People who made me miserable. People I stayed with regardless.

Over time my friend figured out she was a he. I had introduced him to my college friends. Turns out 4 of them all figured out shes were hes. They had a club. I was a she. In fact I was the lowest on the totem pole -- a lesbian. The top of the hierarchy was Butch/Femme. Instead of shunning me on Facebook, they told me to my face. I knew where I was in their club. I wasn't.

Somehow I still maintained a friendship with my pal. He fell in and out of love with people. He was angry with me on and off, and I knew it. There was drama. He helped me make a move to Atlanta. A few years later in 2002, I moved out to Salt Lake City to massage for the ParaOlympics, which is where he lived. I had so much drama in my own life going on. I had another drag along girlfriend and had met my future wife at the same time. SLC represented some serious turmoil for me. In any case, my friend was "there" for me. He gave me a place to stay and I did his dishes.

There were a few other trips where we went to Florida and Chicago together. None were free from some sort of angst. Job angst. Relationship angst. Angsty angst. We grew up together. He was 18 and I was 23 when we met. He just turned 37. I'm now 42.

At some point we stopped being in touch. He got married. I wasn't invited to the wedding. I missed his college graduation though. I got married - but it was over dinner and not a production. My wife and I had a baby. He and his wife had a baby - born exactly 40 years after me on my very birthday. We text every now and then. He's not on Facebook. I missed his birthday last month, so Friday I sent him a belated birthday text.

All he did was ask me 3 questions: What are my big dreams these days? What music am I listening to? What was my favorite book in the last year?

Simple questions - but the most engaging conversation I've had recently. I know text isn't talking, but it is far more engaging than Facebook. He has no idea what my day looks like. I have no idea when he goes to Starbucks or what things he "likes" or who his "friends" are.

I'm tired of the isolation. I miss my friends. I'm tired of the cyber friendships, that mean nothing. NOTHING! Friends can be found in the flesh. They ask real and engaging questions. They visit. They text (or call). Friends tell you when they are mad at you. They don't just stop interacting with you on social media. Almost 20 years later and my friendship with that snotty 18 year old persists - all outside the realm of social media. 

Max out day

Yesterday was "max out" day at training. My programming was light in reps all week in order to prep me for this day. I have something to compare to. My PRs last year were 62 snatch and 75 CJ, so I had 60/75 in my head for this day. All week I was looking forward to coming in and testing out what my training had accomplished in 9 weeks. The day of, I got nervous. All the failure talk started up and boiled to the surface. I had to talk myself off the edge during the 45 minute drive to Maine. "I could just turn around and go home..."

No, I made it there. I ended up snatching 59. It looked ugly. So ugly Ivan won't even share a video with me. Then I failed 61 three times. The bar was out front, butt coming up first. Then the clean and jerk - I cleaned 73 no problem - just like the competition where I cleaned 75 no problem. Then there was the jerk. Failed 73 three times. "Anyone can clean the bar, only champions jerk it." So that is where I ended the day. Disappointed.

I spent the rest of the day hanging out with my family, indulging in ice cream and other things that you put in your mouth. It was MAX OUT day after all.

In the middle of the night, I woke up - replaying all of my lifts and all of the food I put in my mouth. I was beating myself up, in the dark, while my family snored away beside me. "The only one who can lift the bar is me. All the training in the world won't help if I'm not willing to put it all out there and lift that thing. I'm the one who decides what goes in my mouth. No one is shoving junk in my face. Just me...and I made bad decisions. Bad, bad, bad." -- over and over and over.

Then it stopped.

Finally, I fell back asleep. I focused on the sounds of breathing next to me. The synchronized snoring of my son and wife. The dark as a blanket, hugging me. This thing - life - is a journey. We can't go back in time. We can only move forward and pray for another day to fail lifts and shove too much food in our mouths.

Earn your keep

I was rehashing a conversation I had with my boss in the middle of the night. That is apparently the best time to think - at least my brain thinks so, much more often than I'd like.

In any case, I was working from home to help my mom out with some stuff. He (the boss) told me I was a good daughter. To which I responded, "I have to earn my keep". My question is - do all children feel that way? Do they all feel like they have to earn their parent's love or approval?

Let me start out by saying that my mother is great. She worked her way out of poverty, provided an amazing education for me and my brothers, and gave us everything we needed. She worked hard and she did it all herself. (She's now retired.)

I was just surprised by my quick response to that statement.

Game face

A friend and I both lift for the same team and next Sunday is going to be my first competition with them. (Well actually, I was signed up for one last year in May, but bailed last minute due to unforeseen events.) There is a wide variety of skill, age, and experience on this team, which makes it a great place to train and find camaraderie.

In any case, there is a masters woman on the team that lifts a lot of weight. A LOT. I'm not really friendly with her and she strikes me as rather stand-offish. I often wonder what it is that makes her so successful. After a text discussion with my friend, we came to the conclusion that it is all about attitude. What kind of attitude though?

Hysterically, my buddy and I decided to try on different attitudes over the next couple of weeks. I got the following as texts from her:  

Well needless to say, I'm not sure this is the attitude we need, to improve our lifting.

On my way to the gym yesterday I was thinking about traits in people that annoy me a little. That seems counter-productive I'm sure, however I think some of the most successful people have these traits. The conclusion I came to is that the successful people believe in themselves, endlessly. No wavering. No hesitation. No questioning. Well, if they have moments of weakness, I will never see them. Why would that be annoying though? It is important to believe in yourself. I think it is the lack of humiliation or self-depreciation. The attitude that "I am a superstar" and therefore, "you are not worthy". Cliquey, privileged, talented, able to leap tall buildings out of the womb, better than me...AH HA!! There I go, comparing myself. This is my journey and I just gave them my power and essentially told them "I am not worthy".

My journey. Mine. All mine.

So, I have a new attitude that I tried on yesterday --

I AM FUCKING AWESOME!!! 

You know what? It worked. So I'm going to keep using it - for lifting, parenting, adulting, life-ing, working, friending, familying, etc.

and...I think you're FUCKING AWESOME TOO!!

Retirement

You know, my hope is that anyone who "retires" has the joy of living life beyond what they are retiring from - say rather than fighting a disease or something. I received a note in the mail that my rheumatologist is retiring at the end of March.

I knew this day would come. I'm so glad it is this year instead of say 5 years ago.

I started seeing her in 2007 and I was in such a bad place with my rheumatoid arthritis. I was convinced I could heal myself and didn't need modern medicine. She was patient with me and started me on meds very slowly with low dose prednisone. I learned very quickly that I could feel better than I did, and that everything I had done to that point wasn't working.

I am a pill-phobe. I hate taking medicine and the next big drug for me to try was Methotrexate. If you know anything about it, it is a chemo drug and has nasty side effects. For some reason, I trusted my doctor and went ahead and tried it anyway. Long story short - it didn't work, but because I failed on it, I was able to get on Enbrel. ...WHICH CHANGED MY LIFE.

In any case, there was a time where I really idolized my doctor. I gave her some of my power and she took great care of it. She patiently guided me to health and essentially saved my life.

I wish her happiness, freedom and lots of love in her days of retirement along with a great big THANK YOU!!

Weight class

I have it in my mind that anything over 75kg is too much for me to publicly announce about myself. Yes, me weighing over 165 pounds is too much. I have limits. Where did I get this limit though? I find that I sit normally, when working out a lot, around 170-173ish. That is close to 75kg, right? It's only 8 pounds away, so dropping weight to fit in the 75kg class seems to make sense.

So here I am at 173, with two weeks to go to my weightlifting comp. I've dropped this weight before, in that amount of time, so I'm not concerned. My coach told me not to worry about making weight for this competition, though! Why? I'm sure because it adds stress to the whole thing - and this is only my second competition ever. Ok - being competitive as well, you can see from the New England Women's Weightlifting Master Records, that there is an advantage to me competing in the heavier class (age 40-44). For about 2 months, I had the 75kg record until a world class lifter, who has since aged, came in and crushed my total.

But this begs the question...what is the right weight class for me? I'm tall for an olympic lifter. The 75kg+ category is unrestricted, as it would have me competing against people who are well over 100kg. Currently I sit at 78.6 kg. I guess in the masters lifting world the Sinclair scale works to my advantage. That means the more I lift and the lighter I am, the better advantage I have.

All that aside - I still have a hang up competing in anything over 75kg, which is what I need to work through. Which is funny. I think the whole point of this competition is to lift as much weight as possible - right?  Which is what I should be focusing on, I think.

I'm still sitting on the edge of a decision - dropping weight or just lifting at the weight I am.    

Save your drama for your mama

Sigh....more drama and it also involves social media.

Last year I set out to try Olympic weightlifting and I partnered up with Risto Sports.They have a long resume of coaching and are best known for their wooden heel weightlifting shoes. I signed up for a year of programming and coaching. Being new to the sport, I believed I would get better, which I did. The programming was a lot of volume, but my technique wasn't really getting all that much better. Every time I went to train in Maine, the feedback would be that I just needed to improve my technique. The cues I received at the time, made no sense to me. I could not translate them into practice and of course my body suffered injuries. My shoulder hurt. I tweaked my neck. I lacked confidence in the lifts and I needed a break.

That's when I found 849 CrossFit and Weightlifting. I went there actually thinking that I could continue doing the Risto programming, but with some technique help. I was wrong. They wanted to do the programming AND I really needed to come lift at their gym. Which was great, for a time. I really learned about weightlifting there. I competed in my first competition with them. I learned technique. I learned the ins and outs of using Icy Hot and knee sleeves. More so, I gained confidence.

I also learned how much drama exists in the world of weightlifting. (Almost as much as CrossFit.) I'm not getting into details, but let me just say that Risto has impacted quite a few lifters in the area - good/bad/ugly/beautiful. I found myself in the middle of a swirling, twirling mess of "he said, she said". I agree with everything and everyone. All of it.

The reality is -- there are three sides to every story. I don't know who is right and who is wrong. It really doesn't matter. What matters to me is that I am lifting and doing it in a way that works for my schedule. Things change. Schedules change. Injuries happen. People come and go. I have to do what is best for me and my family.

But - let me be clear....just because you shared a moment with someone in life and you are friends on social media...it doesn't mean you're friends for life. I hate social media. I hate it when drama (that you didn't even start) results in being blocked, untagged, unfriended, ousted, and eliminated from conversation. It's so stupid and it kind of hurts. The social media aspect, in my mind, just exacerbates the drama.

I am a loyal person. I tend to welcome you into my world when we share something. In CrossFit it may be the suffering through a WOD, or in weightlifting it might be cheering you on as you PR the clean and jerk. Leaving the place we suffered together does not mean I don't still feel loyal to you. So when you reject me, or stop following me, or pretend I don't exist, it hurts. AND THIS IS WHY I HATE SOCIAL MEDIA!!!

The end.

Injuries and Anger

Honestly, the day after I sent in my $90 registration for the upcoming Atlantic States competition, my left shoulder said "fuck you". I've had shoulder problems before. A lot in fact. I grew up an athlete - softball and volleyball were my sports - so I was considered an "overhead sport athlete". Back in high school - I believe my sophomore year of high school, when diving for a volleyball, my left shoulder hyper extended and shot excruciating pain through my arm. The funny thing about that injury is that after that initial pain, there was none. Until....

Until I would wake up in the middle of the night with deep, intense aching. It would linger into the day. My volleyball coach told me to use that arm to try to get it stronger. So I would hit balls against the wall with my left arm. This pain lasted for nearly a decade.

While in massage school I took glucosamine chondroitin and miraculously the pain disappeared, forever. I was cured!! Of course, here's the thing. There is always a mind/body connection to pain. While in massage school, I was also working through all of the stress my body was holding on to. When I started, my shoulders were always raised toward my ears. A year later, they were relaxed and rolled back.

Fast forward...to my short lived days of rugby. I "may have" torn the labrum in my left shoulder, however the doctors never diagnosed that conclusively. I rehabbed that.... I also fell on my right arm and sprained the sternoclavicular joint after a late tackle. My A/C joint has never been the same. Then we moved to Massachusetts. I played softball. All was good until the end of the season when I could barely throw the ball with my right arm - same A/C joint issues. I quit playing softball and started doing bikram yoga.

Bikram healed me physically, but more so, emotionally. Imagine staring at yourself in a mirror for 90 minutes while moving your body through 26 postures in 105 degree temperatures. I found ways to move forward from the places I was stuck. I also felt like I could take on a more aggressive type of work out... and I found CrossFit.

For the first two years of CrossFit I suffered from impingement in the left shoulder. Then it was some weird pain in my A/C joint when I jerked. Now...now it's probably rotator cuff tendinitis or bursitis in my left shoulder. Doctor's don't help, unfortunately.  It's not like it's an obvious injury - a break where I need a cast, or crutches. It's an overuse injury and one that I could load up on NSAIDs and continue to work through. Of course that would make it worse down the line. 

I guess it is time to pay attention again. Time to look inside and figure out what is out of balance. At 41 my body tends to rebel a bit more than it used to and the reality is that I am pissed about it. I am angry. I was feeling good. Training was going great. There have been times when an injury might have let me off the hook a little - lessened the pressure I put on myself. Not this time though. I'm down right pissed and that is the reality. I'm pissed I didn't find weightlifting at a younger age. I'm pissed that my body has limits. I'm pissed that I let this happen AGAIN. I'm pissed I missed the warning signs. The pain makes me mad and it makes me withdraw from the world. I'm angry that lifting my son hurts. I'm mad that I can't sleep on my left side. I'm pissed that there is chaos in my house and clutter. I'm mad that I look for ways to escape. (More on that in another post...)

In the meantime though, being angry isn't doing me any good in healing my injury. Sigh. I want to click the "easy" button, or wake up after a long sleep to find there is no more injury...