Category Archives: Health & Food

Girl’s Get-Away

At My Job, I have been helping to organize an all-women’s weekend retreat. This has been a dream of my Friend Boss (Susie) for a long time. Susie has her own, very successful blog called Not Your Average Mom. This is a weekend for women only to come and ease away the stresses of everyday life.

Anyway, I’ll be there. Of course. Because I’m helping to organize it. And it’s going to be fun. I don’t like to miss anything that is going to be fun.

If you’d like to hear more about it, click on this link and you will be able to read a nice post Susie put together explaining the whole thing.

But if you don’t feel like doing that, let me explain what it entails:

Date: February 27-March 1, 2015 (I really like how that date makes it seem the weekend is like, 6 days but it’s really not so don’t get excited)

Place: The Interlaken Inn, Lakeville, Connecticut (note: if you would be traveling out of town, no worries. We will have complimentary transportation to and from the airport/train station. It’s a first come/first serve basis so if you do this, let me know asap)

What’s Included? Well, besides a 2 night stay at the inn, I’ve broken it down for you below:

Friday: Meet & Greet, Dinner, Drinks, a singing man with a guitar (the only man allowed btw)

Saturday: Breakfast followed by three break-out sessions; a yoga class, pole dancing instructions, karate/MMA lessons. There will be a snack break in there somewhere. After the sessions, lunch will be served followed by a 3 hour break to do with as you wish. Some suggestions: a nap, a movie, a walk, a massage, a leisurely shower, hang out at the bar, go check out the sites of the beautiful Litchfield Hills. In other words, do whatever you freaking want to do without husbands and children and housework crap bugging you.

After your break, meet us downstairs for dinner. Then this is where more fun comes in…there will be karaoke, a photo booth, dancing, music, drinking, games, fun, hanging out, the letting down of hair, partying, more drinking and fun, fun, fun.

Sunday: Sleep in a bit then have a relaxing brunch before heading back home to well, home.

So, doesn’t an entire weekend of no grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning, laundry, and all else crappy sound good? I mean, you won’t even have to make your bed! Damn.

And you can come hang out with me. I promise to sing some karaoke. I promise! I warn you that I sound like a dying cat on its last life, but I love to sing and I will sing even though I shouldn’t.

I wish this was a video so you could get a real treat. I am singing American Pie. That song will never be the same.

Seriously, you need to grab a girlfriend, or two or three and come on down or over or up.

How much does it cost? This is how much it costs…

  • Single: $425
  • Double: $325
  • Triple: $300
  • Quadruple: $225

It’s totally affordable. And the reason it’s totally affordable is because today we launched a Crowdfunding campaign. (click right there to the left)

And here’s the Google definition because I’m really bad at explaining things: the practice of funding a project or venture by raising many small amounts of money from a large number of people, typically via the Internet.

So, if you would just love to help to make this a success, please consider a donation. There are perks so you’ll get some goodies in return! Here’s that campaign again.

How do you reserve a room? Call The Interlaken directly at 1-800-222-2909 and tell the operator that you are calling to reserve your spot for the Not Your Average Weekend retreat.

If you have a friend who will be calling in or has called in her reservation, just make sure you tell the nice lady/man on the phone who you want to room with.

Right now, all you need is a $100 deposit to hold your spot! Or you can totally go to the crowd funding link above and see that you can actually get an even better deal on your weekend. But act fast because there aren’t very many being offered at this price.

Leave a comment if you have any questions or send me a nice email at momfeld@hotmail.com and I’ll be sure to answer any question you have!

I would love to see you, to meet you, to party with you! It’s a great way to rejuvenate and catch a break from the winter blahs. Send me a message when you book your room! See you there!

Here’s a sneak peak of what happens when you eat their dessert alone without children hanging on you. And my acting debut:

My Favorite (AKA Easiest) Recipe Revealed

It is absolutely the most common of knowledge that I dislike being in the kitchen. I hate cooking in it. I hate cleaning in it. I do like to stand in it though because my kitchen is kinda new and it looks really pretty. I also like to pour myself a glass of wine in it. Or make a margarita.

But cooking? Ugh, blah, gross, puke and plfffftttt (that’s the sound you make when you stick out your tongue and make a raspberry). My goal is to get in and get out asap. You know, like when those Army specialist guys or Navy Seals are on a mission to go get some terrorists or whatever? Just like that. Without the guns and stuff. And less blood. Well, maybe. If I am careful with the knife and remember to move my finger out of the way.

I have 10 thousand cookbooks. All collected through the years starting in 1992, the year I got married. Because I tried. I did. I tried to cook nice. After I had a cry-fest on my wedding night in the shower, because I totally freaked out that I had no idea what I was going to make this man of mine for the next forever, I snapped to.

I got out my cookbooks, tied on an apron and cooked like a madwoman for a solid week. I know exactly what DH thought. “Boy did I pick a winner. Good decision bucko, I’ll be fed for life and it will be good.”

Except it wasn’t. I hated it so much, I pretty much never did that fancy stuff again. I got by on tomato soup with those white milky specks (why does that happen?), spaghetti with sauce out of a jar and if DH was really lucky, frozen meatballs thrown in for good measure. There was chicken, chicken and more chicken that pretty much resembled shoe leather, and as a special treat…sloppy joes.

cookbooks

I haven’t opened this cabinet in so long, I was worried a family of mice would be living in there.

My philosophy is now this: Screw those cookbooks. Even though I still have them in the cupboard because you just never know even though I still, to this day, haven’t looked through 98% of them.

The meal has to have very little ingredients, require as little chopping as possible and be quick. If it tastes good, that’s a bonus. But it doesn’t have to taste good. Because then they won’t expect much so that could be a blessing in disguise.

So, get my point? The easier, the better. The faster, the even betterer and if I’m lucky, chinese food when everyone is sick of my cooking. Which is more than I care to admit. Actually, I don’t really care at all.

So, I will bestow to you my best meal ever. And my family loves it so much, I make it weekly with enough leftovers to carry over into the next night or longer. These people are lucky, I tell you.

I call this Sausage Pasta because I don’t know what else to call it and I’m really creative like that. I made this up by the way. Which is weird in and of itself because mostly I don’t know what I’m doing.

Sausage Pasta:

  • Olive oil. I dunno…a couple of tablespoons, maybe?
  • 1 box of Cellentani or Cavatappi or Ziti or whatever you like, al dente. Or overcooked like I do it because I always forget to take it off the heat before it reaches this stage.
  • 1 lb of any kind of sausage you like. I like the pre-cooked chicken or turkey sausage that is usually flavored by something or other. Cut this precooked sausage into slices. If you use fresh, just cook it like you would cook ground beef.
  • 1 can of cannelloni beans, undrained. The juice in this is what thickens the “sauce.”
  • 1 can of artichoke hearts in water for less fat. Cut them up so it looks like you are getting more and getting your money’s worth.
  • Capers. I use those cute little ones and I just pour them in until it meets my fancy.
  • 2-3 garlic cloves, sliced not minced. But do what you want. I won’t tell.
  • Salt, pepper and basil to taste.

While the pasta cooks, mix all of the above in no special order. Unless you use fresh (when I say “fresh” I mean the raw kind, not really sure how fresh it is) sausage, then cook that first. I’m not really sure why. If you really need to know, look it up.

Add to cooked, drained pasta and you have yourself a meal.

If you want to make it even healthier, add in some broccoli or whatever. But that’s an extra step and more work because then you have to wash it and cut it and cook it. So, just throw some on the side raw if a veggie is important to you.

There you have it. A meal that literally takes less than a half an hour to throw together. Don’t say I never gave you anything. You’re welcome.

With a Little Help From a Friend

The month was January 2013. The start of a new year. There were a few things that I was completely unhappy about with myself. 1) no job; 2) overweight; 3) no passion.

After much soul searching, I figured out my passion: writing and starting a blog. Check. I found a job. Check. Now to tackle the huge, ugly problem of being overweight.

In February, I stopped eating like a damn pig. I stopped putting every piece of food that crossed my path into my mouth. I lost about 10 pounds in 3 months. It was coming off, but slowly. I exercised very little. I didn’t have the motivation to do it, so I had stalled.

I hate to exercise. I knew I wouldn’t be able to do it alone. Because I am kind of lazy and have always, my entire life, needed a little pushing and prodding to get anything accomplished ever.

This chick in my town was offering an online fitness course. It didn’t require a gym membership which was good because quite honestly, I am not a huge fan of the gym. This could be done from the comforts of my own home. Or wherever I wanted. If I wanted to go visit Italy while I was partaking in this course, I could. It didn’t matter where I was.

So I joined. It was reasonable. And it was exactly what I needed to get myself over the hump. Because of her e-fitness course, I lost another 18 pounds. I met other women through the forum, there was plenty of support, and Susie (yes, THE Susie who is now my friend-boss – funny how things happen that way, isn’t it? Fate people. Fate.) is a kick-ass motivator and she was exactly what I needed.

I know this sounds like a shameless plug, and it is. A little. But also, I have always been a big supporter of her course. I have nothing but great things to say about it and wanted to share the love. Her course literally changed my life.

If you are in a rut, need a little push or just want to get into better shape, click here. It’s so much more than just exercising. She shares recipes, videos, tips, ways to stay motivated, the list goes on.

Her next e-course starts on August 25. What are you waiting for? It was the best money I ever spent and didn’t regret it for a moment. I truly believe with all my heart, that you will feel the same way. Or else I wouldn’t be here promoting it. I just wouldn’t.

Not Your Average Fitness Course starts here.

photo

Before

photo

After

 

Most Ridiculous Inconvenience Part 2

mri sign

I had another MRI the other day (click here if you missed my first one).  Because it’s been 6 months since my meniscus surgery and I am still suffering from knee pain.  The kind of pain that takes me twice the amount of time to climb a set of stairs.  Last time I checked I am a person, not a sloth.  Although I do have to admit to feeling like a sloth at times.  But that’s a whole other problem.  All I can say is I promise you I know what it feels like to be 96.  And it sucks so bad.

Anyway, this was my second MRI ever and I am a total expert by now.  Here is what I noticed this time around:

  • Why do they give you that questionnaire thingy when they don’t even look at it?  How did I know they didn’t look at it?  Because the guy re-asked me the questions.  Like I was lying the first time.  Yes, that’s what it was.  I was lying.  On second thought, I do have some shrapnel in my body.  My bad.
  • It is confirmed to me that I have adult ADD when I do something like this:  not listen to a thing the nice man is telling me when I have to get dressed for my procedure.  “Put on these pants and then….”  “Did I turn off the oven?  Wait.  What?”  Ok, so do I put the gown opening in the front or the back?  Did he even say I had to put it on?  Hello?  I’m having my knee x-rayed.  Not my boobs.  Pay attention, pay attention…ooh, a squirrel.

    Me with the gown opened in the back that I didn't need

    Me with the gown that I didn’t need.  Opening in the back.

  • Thank you for the pretty picture of the beach you put on the ceiling.  Too bad that by the time you roll me into the machine it is behind me.  And because you said I couldn’t move, I had to roll my eyeballs all the way up practically into my head so I could enjoy it.  Except I totally looked like I was either having a seizure or a bad drug experience.
  • How come when The Kid had her MRI on her foot, they let her choose the radio station?  Is it because I look like an old hag and they just assumed that I wanted easy listening?  Aren’t they breaking some kind of Equal Opportunity laws or something?
  • Apparently, Barry Manilow is the go-to guy for MRI’s.  Except instead of singing to Mandy, he actually sang to me.  I know this because he said, “this one’s for you.”  Thanks Barry.  You the man.  Well, the MRI man, anyway.
  • Why do the most itches happen when you can’t move?  I could go all day without noticing an itch.  But when instructed not to move for 25 minutes?  It’s like a spider had babies on my ankle and all her little spider babies made their way all the way up to my ear.  What is that?
  • I suddenly remembered a time when someone I knew had to have a test and they couldn’t swallow. “Okay Mo, don’t swallow.  You can do this.”  Oh, wait.  What am I doing?  I’m here for an MRI.  Right?  Squirrel.
  • Oh God, I’m gonna sneeze.  Ooh, remember a long time ago that trapeze family fell to their deaths while doing a circus act because one of the members sneezed?  That was terrible.  But that won’t happen to me.  Honestly, the only thing I’m worried about is the keys flying off the wall and stabbing me in the brain.  It could happen.

So my prognosis?  Something about the cartilage not healing all the way so I need to have some gel injections until it does heal.  Whatever.  Just as long as they don’t have to cut me open again.  I can’t take any more old lady knee.  Not that there is anything wrong with old lady knee.  But I’m not ol…oh, never mind.

 

Everything Gets Old. Everything.

Unknown-1

That’s a dried up peach. Get your head out of the gutter.

Attention all women.  Guess what we have to look forward to as we age?  Besides wrinkles.  And gray hairs.  And flabby skin.  And age spots.  And facial hair.  And toe hair.  And nose hair.  And memory loss.  And menopause.  And dryness.  And baldness.  Ooh, I got a little carried away there.  Sorry about that.  Apparently, there’s a new ailment in town.  Well, perhaps it’s not new per se.  I’m sure it’s been around since the beginning of time but no one felt comfortable about talking about it.  Until now.

It’s called Vaginal Atrophy.  Yup.  You got it.  The walls of your vagina can dry up from underuse.  You heard me right.  Underuse.  If you do not use your vagina, it can have the potential of drying up like the Sahara.  Or like old rubber left out in the sun too long.  And there are side effects that come along with this dryness.  Just think bread but not as nice.  Gross me out the door and gag me with a spoon. (There’s some ’80’s slang for you.  To prove I’m not old.  Oh wait, actually that proves that I AM old, doesn’t it?  Never mind.)

How do I know this?  Because my poor mother suffers from it.  She’s been suffering from the effects of it for months.  Months.  I had to listen to her complain about it for months.  Do you understand?  This is almost as bad as when I got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night when I was 13, only to find my dad skipping around the living room in his heart covered briefs.  Okay, maybe that was worse.  Okay, that probably was worse.  Okay, that was worse. She didn’t know what it was. No amount of Monistat was curing it.  No amount.  I’m pretty sure the woman bought enough of that crap to put a down payment on a vacation home.

Anyway, her good doctor said it was from underuse.  When she told me, I was overcome with all sorts of emotions.  My amusement turned to disgust.  Which turned to disbelief.  Which then turned to full on panic.  Because I do not want to have vaginal walls of cracked shoe leather.  Like, I don’t worry enough already about getting old.

So, in a nutshell, if you don’t use your vagina, you could possibly suffer from vaginal atrophy.  Can you imagine?  What?  Are we supposed to have sex until we are 80?  I mean, sex is great and all.  But I’m guessing after 60+ years, I may be wanting a break.  Does anyone hear what I’m saying?  I mean, how hot will I look in a maid’s outfit at that age?  After all, if I’m still doing it at 80, I’m going to have to get creative.  Sorry for the visual.  But the truth sometimes hurts.  How would you get in the mood?  I’m talking about you.  Not your husband/significant other/partner.  Because men can go for forever.  They are like the Energizer Bunny crossed with Tony Randall.

It does give sex a whole new meaning though.  “Hey honey,  get ready.  We have some vaginal wall drying-up prevention to do.”  Mmm.  Romantic.  I’ll grab the petroleum.

Reiki Away My Pain

ReikiCartoon

Reiki does not use a rake. Just so you know.

A dear friend of mine recently became a Reiki Master.  For anyone who doesn’t know what Reiki is, here is the official definition as taken from my google search:

“a healing technique based on the principle that the therapist can channel energy into the patient by means of touch, to activate the natural healing processes of the patient’s body and restore physical and emotional well-being.”  

I know.  It sounds like hocus-pocus medicine man witchery.  But in my opinion it is not.  Our bodies, the universe, everything, is made up of energy.  So really, it makes sense.  But I’m not here to discuss whether you believe in these practices or not.  I am here to tell you my experience in the only way I know how.  My way.

My dear friend wanted to perform Reiki on my bad knee.  Actually, I should say on my “healing” knee.  Because I’m seriously hoping it’s not bad any more.  It better not be after this bull poo I went through the last couple of weeks.  It’s ridiculous.  I would rather birth 10 more babies than do this again.  Okay, so maybe that’s not true.  Birthing babies kinda really sucks.  But I digress.

I’ve never had Reiki performed on me.  So, I went in a little worried that I wouldn’t do it right.  Even though I wasn’t going to be doing the “it.”  The first thing my friend, and I’ll call her “Dee”, said is that I need to think of what the intention of the session is, relax my mind, call for my guides, God and/or Jesus to assist (or something like that).  Well, anyone who knows me, knows that I am unable to relax my mind.  I’m not talking about relaxing my mind of all the stressful, crazy crap in life.  Because honestly, I really don’t worry about that.  Just ask DH.  I basically have a very difficult time focusing.  Period.  I think I am one of those undiagnosed ADD adult people.  In fact, I must be.  There are so many reasons why I think so.  But again, I digress.

The space was beautiful.  I really love that word “space.”  I don’t know why.  It’s just…cool.  The music was calming.  Warm.  So I laid down and allowed Dee to do her work.  I think I started out okay.  Here is pretty much the conversation I was having with myself, inside my head which is supposed to be kinda empty at this point:

“(inhale, exhale) okay, I am focusing on my knee, feel the light surrounding it, let me see…ok I’ll visualize the inside of what my knee looks like.  Loosen up, scar tissue.  Be free.  Mmm, what is that scent?  I think it may be lavender?  OMG, that is my fave!  oh, poop.  Focus.  Knee, knee, knee.  Ummm, please let my knee heal. I wonder if I’m doing this right?  I hope Dee can’t read my mind or that her guides snitch on me.  That would be so mean.  Those tattletalers.  Oh wait, I forgot to ask for God’s help.  Dear God, please come help Dee and me pull bad energy out of my body.  Wait.  Where should I visualize the bad energy going?  Through my head?  But then it will go by my heart.  Is that bad?  Maybe it should go through my eyeballs, ears and nose?  I mean, does it need to go out a hole?  Oh, my feet are closest though.  Lord I hope it doesn’t go through poor Dee.  Does she really need my bad energy?  Speaking of which…Lord, please help me heal.  And spirit guides, if you’re listening, you help too.  I really need to stop by the liquor store for some wine.  I wonder what book I should read next?  Ugh, I hope the dollar store has baskets because otherwise those mothers can be expensive.  I love the dollar store.  I really should start buying my cleaning supplies there.  Do you know how much money I could save?  I think I’ll blog about this.  I wish I could take notes.  Oh, darn.  I’m doing it again.  Knee, knee, knee.  Go out of me swelling and pain.  Vanish.  I didn’t poop today.  I hope I don’t fluff right here on this table.  I will just die.  Oh, but it’s only Dee, she’ll understand.  Fudge.  Oh, sorry.  That probably wasn’t the best choice of word at this moment.  I’m sorry God.  Hey God, please help.  Ok, let me visualize all that ugly swelling in my joint dissipating.  I wonder if Dee will give me bad feedback.  What if she feels that I have something wrong with me.  OMG.  Speaking of knees, I haven’t done my exercises today.  Boy is my therapist going to be mad at me.  I’m such a bad patient.  I think everybody is sick of my drama by now.  Freaking A-Balls…KNEE, KNEE, KNEE.  THINK ABOUT YOUR FRICKIN’ KNEE DANGIT!!!  We would look so weird if we didn’t have necks, wouldn’t we?”

And with that, it was over.  30 minutes gone in a blink of an eye and some serious brain chatter.  But all kidding aside, it was a wonderful experience.  I was completely relaxed (except my brain, but that’s my own fault).  I felt heat in my knee and felt a zing here and a zing there.  I literally got up off that table and felt more flexible.  Seriously.  It feel good.  Really good.  And guess what?  I practically ran down the stairs, using BOTH my legs when I got home.  That right there is a bonus because until today, it has basically taken me about 2.4 minutes to complete that task.  Also at work, I was able to bend my knee.  Like, really bend it.  Total bonus #2 since it’s felt like I’ve had 2 pounds of cotton shoved in my knee joint for the last 2 weeks.

All in all, I would say it was a success.  I think I’ll be going back.  But this time, I will try to leave all that chatter at home.  You do realize that if we didn’t have necks, it really wouldn’t be weird.  But it would be weird if we, the un-necked species, imagined having necks…or would it?

Knee Deep

knee surgery

Before, During and After

The day was perfect for surgery.  Rainy, windy, disgusting.  Perfect.  Perfect for me to lie around sleeping off my anesthesia.  Which, I have to say was awesome!  The anesthesia, I mean.  Honestly, I’m so glad I didn’t cave to peer pressure when I was a teen.   Because there would have been a problem.  A serious problem.

I woke up at 5:30.  Because I had to pee.  But I didn’t get up to pee because I was too lazy.  So I laid there thinking that in less than 3 hours a surgeon would be cutting little holes in my knee.  A knee that I’ve always liked.  A knee that on our second date, DH commented on how cute it was.  I was wearing shorts.  Get your head out of the gutter.  But I wasn’t nervous.  The morning of my hysterectomy I was like a child gripping the doorway.  Kicking and screaming.  Not wanting to go.  But this definitely was less invasive.  And if I survived one bout of anesthesia, I knew I would survive another.

The nurses were super, super nice.  A little too nice, actually.  I was hoping for a bit of a Nurse Ratchet so I had something to talk about.  But, no.  It didn’t happen that way.  I got to change in an area where the only thing separating me from all the other patients was a curtain.  “Everything off except your undies.  Gown, opening in back.  Robe, opening in front.”  I’m just glad I opted for the grannies with a touch of lace instead of my usual thongs.  The entire Operating Room probably didn’t need to see my ass cheeks.  Which, by the way, no amount of running makes those suckers go up to where they were once upon a time.

They asked me the same questions over and over again.  I signed my life away a million times over and told them they better try to save my life if I die.  Okay, I didn’t say that.  But I did say I would have a blood transfusion.  That’s the same thing, right?

They wheeled me into a room.  A room they take you to before you go to the Operating Room.  Again, only separated by a curtain from the other patients.  It was like a cattle call or something.  Then the party began.  The needle containing what I could only describe as liquid heaven was inserted into the back of my hand.  “Ooh, I like this, I wouldn’t mind having a little of this every day, I don’t seem to care about a thing” was the last comment I remember saying to the doctor.  Or was it a nurse?  I don’t know.  They were all starting to look the same to me.

What seemed like 30 seconds went by.  The first face I saw was my doctor’s.  Asking if I was okay.  But boy did I feel good.  I’m sure I said something silly or stupid because that’s what I do.  But I guess I’ll never know.  Which makes me kinda sad.  They should let you record these things.  Really.  I’m not kidding.  I wonder if someone would have taken notes if I asked them?  This shall be one of my biggest regrets.

So, here I am.  With my downloaded Cow Bell app, having DH wait on me.  He’s being a very good servant man.  I’m sure by the end of this weekend, I will be on his last nerve.  But until then, a little higher to the left honey, oh and would you be a prince and fetch me a bucket.  This Vicodin makes me feel like I’m going to vomit.  Because my nerve block wore off and I’m not feeling so great anymore.  Where’s that Liquid Heaven when I need it?

Most Ridiculous Inconvenience

MRII had an MRI the other day.  I’ve never had an MRI before, so I didn’t know what to expect.  But really?  Why does it take 30 freaking minutes to scan ONE knee?  My experience in 6 bullet points.  In case you were wondering.

  1. There is one thing they need to add to the “How to Prep for an MRI” list:  “Don’t bother waking up early to spend extra time in the shower shaving your legs because we will be providing lovely pajama bottoms for your convenience.”  And I totally would have loved my 3XXL pj bottoms if I were sitting around pigging out on pork rinds and Krispy Kremes watching back episodes of “The Big Bang Theory” on a Saturday afternoon.  Totally.
  2. Thank you so much for the headphones with the volume set on 1.  I assumed they were meant to drown out the sound of the MRI, not Barry Manilow.  My bad.  “Oh Mand…bangbangbang…you came and you…boomboomboom.”
  3. The nice technician lady told me that when it makes a “clicking” sound to be very, very still.  Because I am a rule follower, I did as I was told.  The only problem is I never quite heard a “clicking” sound.  What I did hear was a jackhammer and a machine gun.  There is nothing worse than lying in the same position for a half an hour scared shitless of what will happen to you if you so much as breathed too deeply.  It took 15 minutes to get feeling back in my right foot.
  4. I find it funny that when you can’t move, itches multiply.  It’s an odd phenomenon, isn’t it?
  5. It’s probably not a good idea to let your mind wander during one of these things.  My mind happened to wander into a story I heard a long time ago about an MRI gone bad.  All I could think about were the keys hanging by the door that unlocked my locker.  It was possible that they could have come flying off the wall and stab me in the brain, right?
  6. I kept wondering when it was going to be over because I really needed to move my foot.  Then 27 minutes into it, I noticed there was a timer above my head.  I just love how detail-oriented I am.

Whelp, the results are in.  Not only is my left meniscus torn in one place, but in two.  Apparently, it’s both a quick fix and a quick recovery.  In fact, they do it while you are awake.  Great.  I can’t stand the thought of having a bloody nose.  Imagining that they will be making two holes in my leg while I lie there awake will most likely freak me the freak out.  I’m hoping they give me something other than a knee numbing drug.  A brain numbing drug would be really nice.  Yes, I would like that very much.  Taking the chance I may say something inappropriate while under the influence is one I am willing to accept.  Oh hell, let’s face it.  I say something inappropriate even when not under the influence.  Bring it on.

And as far as running is concerned…I am going to run my ass off for the next 7 days.  Because after that, I can’t do much for a week.  Ok, two weeks.  Ok, after I ran into someone I know today at My Retail Job, it turns out I need to not run for 6 weeks.  Shit.  I’m now thinking I should have crammed a pair of those 3XXL pants into my bag.  I may be needing them.

I Have Been a Very Naughty Girl…er, Old Lady

Maxine and exercise

I have decided that I am being punished.  I am being punished because I started taking care of myself at this stage in my life.  And it’s not just me.  I know a few people in the same age bracket who are being punished for the same exact thing.  And it sucks.

I have never had a real injury in my life.  I’ve scraped a knee from falling, because I’m a klutz.  I’ve bumped my head by forgetting to duck while entering my car, because I’m forgetful.  I’ve burned myself on the oven rack because, well, I’m an idiot and didn’t use a potholder.  But I have never had an injury that is incurred by being an athlete.  Because I never did a sport in my life (except track team, age 14, one season).  Sure, I did aerobics in the 80’s, but who didn’t?  And besides, that doesn’t count.  It was more about who had the cutest thong with matching scrunchy socks.

I received a text the other day from a friend who is also a runner, among other things.  She’s been really working it to get into shape.  She’s about my age.  She was diagnosed with bursitis.  Bursitis!  Probably because she has been weight training.  The poor girl.  All she’s guilty of is trying to sculpt her body.  Because she wants to be healthy.  And look good.  Like me.  So when we go through menopause, we can be ahead of the game and avoid that ugly meno-gut.  That damn ugly meno-gut.

About 2 months into running, I started experiencing pain in my left knee.  It hurt a little.  But I still ran.  No biggy.  Then I injured it at work.  And still ran.  Then I stopped running for a day or two because it hurt.  Then I slipped on water in the kitchen and twisted that mo-fo knee.  Then I went for a run after a couple of days of rest. Then I tripped on something at My Retail Job.  Now the stupid thing just hurts.  All the time.

I went to the orthopedic guy the other day.  To get to the bottom of this situation.  I need an MRI because the x-rays can’t see a damn thing.  Thanks for the shot of radiation for no reason, doc.  Then he said some nonsense about it possibly being a torn meniscus or something along those lines.  I stopped listening when I heard “meniscus.”   Just so you know, they don’t repair themselves.  All the “resting” in the world will not help.

So, I started riding my bike.  My big, fat mountain bike.  On the road.  The one with cobwebs and a gear shift that gets stuck.  The one that literally hasn’t been used since 1997.  But it’s exercise.  Because I’ll be damned if I let a little ripped meniscus stop me from taking care of myself.  And gaining 25 pounds back.  No freaking way.  I would rather eat cow poo while swinging from a 46 foot high tree limb.  Ain’t happening.  And just so you know, I’m going running with my Bursitis friend this week.  Screw you meniscus.  Screw you Bursitis.  Try to stop us.

What a Difference 223 Days Make

forrest-gump

I was thinking about something today.  Running.  Not “running” from the law.  Or “running” away from a bad relationship.  “Running” as in “I ran around the block 5 times.”

I was not a runner.  I abhorred it.  Oh wait.  I was on Track Team when I was 14.  And I only did it because my gym teacher at the time thought I was fast and wanted me on his team.  Which was really weird, because I skipped gym a lot.  I hated any type of physical activity.  That and my legs looked like the legs of a newborn fawn.  I would rather have died than let the boys get a look at those babies in the hideous shorts we were forced to wear.  In fact, I even went and got myself Mono just so I could skip gym for half a year.  Well, not really.  I mean, I got mono.  But not on purpose.  I digress.  I only did track for a year.  Because that crap sucked.

I tried running again about 6 years ago.  At which time I realized that I just can’t run for long distances without getting this weird pain in my side and other weird pain everywhere.  So I stopped.  I never got the concept.  It hurt.  Bad.  I was pretty sure the people who ran just liked to torture themselves.  They would have monthly meetings to see what other torture they could inflict on themselves.  Just for fun.

In February, I decided to get healthy by eating right and exercising.  I started out by walking.  Then it turned into a little walk-y here, a little run-ny there.  But even after a few months, I was having a hard time running for more than a couple minutes at a time.

Then I did my first 5k in August.  And was able to complete it with a little help from a friend.  I did it without walking once.  I almost died.  Ok, so maybe died is a strong word. But I sure the hell thought I would collapse.  I remember thinking that someone may want to have an ambulance somewhere between here and there because I was going to need it.

Needless to say, I didn’t die.  I didn’t need that ambulance.  But it hurt.  Like hell.  I had pain everywhere.  My stomach, my legs, my back.  But something happened to me that day.  I realized that even with all the pain, that I actually enjoyed it.  I released enough endorphins to last me a week.

I completed my second 5k this past Sunday.  And I beat my time by 2 minutes.  And I didn’t feel like I was going to die.  In fact, I could have gone another mile or so.  Because I have become a runner.

So, the point of my story is this.  Because I cannot get to a point without making my story long.  I’m not saying you WANT to start running.  But I am saying you CAN run.  Or you can do whatever it is you think you can’t do.  Please, you must rely on my word here, if there is anyone in this world who would make THE BEST poster child for laziness, it would be me.  Ask anyone.  Really.  So go.  Fly.  Be free.   Go do what you think you cannot.  Because you can.  I am living proof.