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.
Saturday, March 26, 2016
Wednesday, March 23, 2016
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?
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?
Saturday, March 12, 2016
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.
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.
Sunday, March 6, 2016
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.
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.
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.
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