Middlebrow's Anti-Anxiety Campaign

For many years, (how many? unknown) Middlebrow has been trying to get me to just fucking relax about the whole writer/writing thing.
This campaign was revived this morning when, packing up a box of manuscripts that I had, somehow, misguidedly, agreed to judge, I told him, "I'm going to think of myself as someone who likes to writer, rather than as a writer."
I believe he sighed heavily before saying, "You have a book out for fuck's sake." (I may have invented his use of the F word). "In any case, you should just relax and write when you want to write. Don't stress out about it."
This also brings to mind a conversation about a friend who became an EMT. We agreed that he would be a good caretaker in the time of emergency because he seems so even keeled and calm. Like Middlebrow. Though we agreed that neither of us could be EMTs because we couldn't do the simplest tasks, like insert an IV.
It seems to me I know people who are stress cases (me) and people who are chill (MB, our friend the EMT). We also have another friend, a writer whose writing we admire, and we recently talked about her ability to write, have children, be productive, make dinner, basically rule the world (Yes, Nik, it's you). I'm not sure how she does it, but it seems to involve not stressing out about any one thing.
So I need some of this non-stress mojo. Or does one have to care more than I do? Yes, I want to finish this novel, but I also want to hang out, go to the pool, see movies, and surf the internets.
But then I think about the novel, I think about writing the novel, or another book or whatever and my heart starts to palpitate.
What's a girl who likes writing to do?

Sorry, and Shame and Anxiety

Holy Hell! I haven't blogged in months. Thanks, Nik & Hightouch, for bringing me to my senses.
Like others, I am caught up in the dread of the academic year. I have so much to do, that instead I look at Facebook for hours, not really "doing" anything, but more like, looking, staring off into space, thinking, remembering way back in May when I anticipated this moment when it came to me that the summer was, really and truly, almost over.
Sigh.
So I've been working on those fucking syllabi, and drinking wine, and trying to eat sensibly, and meanwhile driving around hell and back to get new plates for the new car (yes, we bought a new car) and then a new parking sticker and then to Costco for vegetables and meat (so much meat!) and then home to make salmon for dinner and to play Apples to Apples with son and then drink wine while I did five weeks of my syllabus only to discover that the semester which has not yet begun is not moving fast enough.
Sigh.
Is it Fall Break yet?

Done with Crazy Relay!

I ran the Wasatch Back this weekend. While it was fun, it was also exhausting, mentally and physically. The strange part is that the best run this year was my worst one last year. Last year, I ran my second leg (Leg 17) in the early evening (maybe around 5 pm?). It was hot and the volunteers made me take the reflective vest and head lamp, even though the sun hadn't even started to go down. I threw this vest back into the van around mile 1, then had about 3 miles to go.
This year, I started the leg around 9:15 pm. The sun had started to go down, but it wasn't dark. The moon was up. I was running through some beautiful farm country. I was immediately passed by a young, extremely tall guy. But I did not fret. My plan was run slowly and just make it through.
It was lovely and awesome. My first run was 7.4 miles up Avon Pass. It was pretty, but hot. I asked strangers to spray me down with their spray bottles (and they did!). It was difficult, but I finished.
The second run was cool. The sun was down and there was a good breeze. I loved it. I passed a few people, always shouting out some encouragement as I did so. My favorite response was "good hustle" from a guy who had a perfect coach voice. He must have said that before.
I also am, basically, afraid to run in the dark. I don't have great depth perception and my night vision lacks clarity. But overall it was fun. The head lamp is good, because the biggest problem (I found) is seeing uneven pavement.
Overall, I have to say that the race was a success. I was only a little bitchy, and only at the end, after we had waited 6 hours for the other team to finish. The finish line was a cluster-cuss.
Now that I am home and well rested, life is good. I'm hoping to see a movie with Middlebrow and Son today. Then my life will be complete.

Hello Summer!

Summer offically starts now, since Son is out of school, the sun is shining, the roses are blooming, and, oh, etc!
What do I love about summer?

• swimming outdoors
• Farmer's market
• Camping
• Drinking coffee while camping
• Smell of campfire
• Warm sleeping bags
• When someone else gets up and makes the coffee
• Hiking
• Trail running
• Lakes at the end of hikes
• Any food consumed at the end of a hike
• Chilled wine
• Our anniversary
• Sedona 
• Island Park
• Idaho
• Salad
• Fresh fruit and vegetables
• Homemade salsa
• Market dinners
• tomatoes & basil
• BLTs
• Cucumber salad
• Pimms
• Any kind of drink in the backyard
• Iced tea
• Red Butte Garden concerts
• Sitting on a blanket in the grass 
• cool mornings
• cool evenings
• evening walks with the family
• casual bike rides around the hood (especially when they end with gelato)
• music
• the pool
• Son reading in his bed
• lazy days

Okay, maybe that's enough for now. What did I forget? 

Competition/Competitiveness (does not)= Bitch

First of all, I just like to use the word "bitch" in a title.
Second, I was/have been a bitch in the past and I'm trying to change my ways.
Third, I'm trying to understand how to be competitive without being a bitch. It's not easy, but one thing I've learned is that when I have little triumphs (first one done with the workout!), I need to celebrate them as much as I wallow in my little defeats (workout kicked my ass!).
The other thing which I continually say here (you're sick of it, I know) is that I need to remember that there will always (always! always! always!) be someone who is better than me, no matter what I'm doing, whether it's lifting weights or running or cooking or writing.
So I just have to get over myself and get on with it.
That, my friends, is what I'm going to do.

My (3) Days of Single Motherhood

Well, Middlebrow went off to his fancy conference to eat and drink and be merry, leaving me to keep Son alive and make sure Gus the Dog doesn't eat more than his share of plastic ware.
So far, okay. According to Son, Dad lets him have unlimited soda and chocolate when I'm gone. My goal has been to allow him only one sugar snack per day. So far: I have failed. Yesterday, he had ice cream, then we had chocolate, and finally dessert at a party. Today our neighbor gave us doughnuts, then we had soda at the movie, and shared some M&Ms. Oye vey!
But so far my overwhelming feeling has been one of lessened expectations. I'm sure if I actually were a single mother, I'd just have to get used to the fact that my time was limited and adjust my schedule accordingly. But given that I'm only on my own for three days, I've used it as an excuse to just be okay doing nothing. "Nothing" in this scenario means nothing productive for myself or house related.
However, I have taken the dog to the park twice for a nice catch. Son & I went out for a relatively healthy dinner. Then I read.
It's nice to have a leisurely evening where I don't feel like I have to do anything, but maybe have a beer or read or something. And make sure Son takes a shower every few days and eats at least one or two vegetables along with his RDA of sugar.
Also, the second thing I've learned in my faux Single Motherhood is that I just have to do stuff. Truthfully, I let many chores fall to Middlebrow (as he does with me, see: cooking, laundry, etc.). But when he's gone, I say to myself, well, I guess I'm just going to have to do that. And then I do. Sometimes.
We'll see if I follow through and actually mow the lawn tomorrow. I think I can, I think I can...

My Shoulder Has A Message for Me

I got a massage yesterday from a kick ass Crossfit massage woman. She also does energy work (shh! Don't tell Middlebrow, the skeptic!). 
So when she worked her way over to my left shoulder she said, "Your shoulder has an attitude." Yeah, uh, tell me something I don't know! This is the shoulder that I injured in college (produce department injury) and which recently (January-March) prevented me from lifting heavy weight overhead, doing pull ups or push ups. 
Then she said, "Your shoulder has a message for you."
Here is what my shoulder wanted to say. Apparently these are the negative attitudes my shoulder has been holding on to:

• blaming circumstance for what I am
• feeling that life has been hard on me
• pessimistic beliefs about my life
• feeling martyred and bitter
• lacking insight into myself and my workings
• having no self-esteem
• liver and gall-bladder problems

I accept the challenge to:

• take responsibility for myself and my actions
• create a positive reality for myself
• know that I am growing with every experience
• be able to help others through my own learning
• empower myself through self-responsibility

  So obviously my shoulder and I need to communicate more. We have some things to work out this summer. 

If This is Summer, I Must be Happy

What is going on? Absolutely nothing!
My daily schedule includes cooking meat (three kinds today, oh wait, make that 4), eating, working out (two times), trying to submit writing (on-line) and only submitting two things before deciding that it's hard and time consuming, culling through books and dividing them into piles: give away, home office, school office and What book is this? Who brought this into the house?
Also: cleaning the tub (isn't that someone else's job?), worrying (definitely my job) and trying not to obsess (about selling the house, not writing, running).
I somewhat successfully freed my run by running without music or a watch. I had a sort of route which went to a friend's place of work (running store) and back in a kind of loop that I thought was probably about 3 miles. It was more and I know this because though I "freed" my run from accessories I can't not know what I ran even if I don't know how long it took me. So I mapped it. But it was mostly free from obsession, so that's good.
As I was trying to submit stuff on-line I thought: who will even read it, even if one of these places takes it? It was my stab at not caring, because I forget to submit stuff. I don't think I've submitted stuff since the fall.
But it's sunny! Welcome summer! Please stay for more than one day!

End of the Semester Musings

Apparently the last day of classes, or what I like to call "surf the internet while students turn in final projects" day, leaves me way too much time to think and watch videos of Crossfit exercises on-line.
Some of my musings:

• If I were going to get a tattoo, what would it be?
• How long will it take me to get my kipping pull-up back?
• Why are chocolate donuts so delicious?
• Why am I so hungry?
• Why do students seem so surprised by their not-passing grades?
• Will my hallmate ever stop whistling or will I have to stab him in the throat with a plastic fork?
• What should my Crossfit nickname be? (I'm thinking "Biyotch!")
• Why are vegetable serving sizes so small (1 serving of lettuce = 3 g of carbs? I think not!) and all other serving sizes so big (20 oz sodas?)?
• Will students ever learn the differences between it's/its and their/there/they're?
• How long does one have to stare at a "final project" before it is considered graded?

Feel free to post your own musings and potential answers to comments. 

April is National Poetry Month!

My compatriot, Hightouchmegastore, and I will be posting daily poems (for as long as we can keep it up!) over at our poem a day blog.
I'm working on a series of prose poems, Postcards from London. I've posted two of the ones I've written over there already. April is a good kick in the butt for me to finish these. I'm hoping they can become a chapbook at some point.
Please visit us over there during the month.

"Against [her] own best time"

Well, it is April now, and National Poetry Month, so why not a post that takes a line from a poem?
I've been thinking of this line from Sharon Olds' poem "Sex Without Love" but totally out of context.
Yes, you naysayers and skeptics, it DOES have to do with Crossfit, thanks for asking.
Because, as you know, Crossfit workouts are usually timed, so, ostensibly, one competes against her neighbors and compatriots. But...BUT what she, one, I am actually competing against is "my own best time" meaning, I'm just competing against myself.
Of course, in the poem, Olds thinks this is a bad thing, because she compares it to sex without love. I won't comment on that, but she disparages runners because they "know they are alone." I love running and one of the reasons I love/d it was because it was something I did alone. I didn't need a gym or a partner to do it.
But I love Crossfit for the opposite reason. I do need a community, a coach, a competitor to do it. However, I also need to be reminded (like, every day) that I am not in competition with everyone or even anyone. Other people can make good motivators, the clock can kick you into action, but ultimately it is you against your own best time. And, I might add, your own standards.
I made myself redo two push ups today because I wasn't happy with my form. So. It's not enough to do it fastest, to do it best. You have to do it right.
That's some zen shit.
Happy Poetry Month!

Sex Without Love

How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love? Beautiful as dancers,
gliding over each other like ice-skaters
over the ice, fingers hooked
inside each other's bodies, faces
red as steak, wine, wet as the
children at birth whose mothers are going to
give them away. How do they come to the
come to the come to the God come to the
still waters, and not love
the one who came there with them, light
rising slowly as steam off their joined
skin? These are the true religious,
the purists, the pros, the ones who will not
accept a false Messiah, love the
priest instead of the God. They do not
mistake the lover for their own pleasure,
they are like great runners: they know they are alone
with the road surface, the cold, the wind,
the fit of their shoes, their over-all cardio-
vascular health--just factors, like the partner
in the bed, and not the truth, which is the
single body alone in the universe
against its own best time.

That Time of Year...

Yes, friends, it's that time of year when your hosts, Dr. W & MB, once again contemplate the Happiness Index, the size of house to sanity ratio, the craziness of The Dog, the muddiness of the yard and all things locational.
Should we move?
Should we get a new(er) car?
Should we start stuffing money under the mattress, you know, just in case?
Should we reseed the yard or just pave it over?
Should we plant a garden?
Do we need a bigger house or should we take a trip to Ireland?
Do we need a newer car?
Should I get a new bicycle?
Should we add on?
Should we get a shipping container, put it in the backyard and turn it into My Office?
What, friends, Should we do?

In Which I am Not Myself

She thought that Mondays after Spring Break should be reserved for Intensive Coffee Drinking and Other Forms of Relaxing, such as Not Lecturing and Not Teaching. Even Going to the Doctor seemed preferable to Talking to A Room of Students Not in Attendance. Collecting Papers seemed a task invented in one of the lower Circles of Hell, possibly the Circle in which Administrators languished, no doubt Drinking Coffee and Inventing Other Tasks, such as Assessment and Teacher Evaluations. Grading Papers, she knew, was a task reserved for Some Other Day, certainly not Today.
No, Today was Monday. Today was the Day for Not Being Ones Self, wholly, but somehow Partially and in jeans, no less. Today was Monday, the day invented by those who, obviously, do not Toil but only Work, whatever that means. Today was the day the Students, by which she means those registered for the class not necessarily those who Show Up, thought was Optional, which they understood to mean Not Required, just like the Papers they Didn't Turn In, which, frankly, was like A Lot of Other Things this semester.
Oh yes, the Monday after Spring Break is a special kind of Monday. A Monday which needs Vodka Drinks and other things, like Chocolate and possibly Cookies and definitely Alcohol to be Gotten Through, by which she means endured until Passing Out which, in her opinion, is the only acceptable conclusion to the Monday After Spring Break.

The Confused People

She goes to a movie in the afternoon. Apparently, this is the time that the confused people also go to the movies. She did not know this.
The confused people cannot find seats quickly, they do not understand that the movie theater has two aisles. They do not understand the concept of whispering or holding all questions until the end.
The movie, as such, is not confusing. But the confused people, confused as they are, do not know when the movie starts, so they enter the movie ten minutes after it has begun. This adds to their confusion.
When the plot twists, as it does, it does so visually. This confuses the confused people.
After the movie, the confused people wander the cineplex, asking questions of those who appear less confused, or not confused at all.
You were in there, weren't you? The movie with the couple?
Yes, she says. I saw the movie.
What about the woman with the baby, the confused people ask.
You mean the woman with children? When she opens the door?
The confused people nod.
Wasn't she in a couple with that man? Why did she have a baby?
Yes, she says. She was a couple with that man. But she was also married. She was part of two couples.
The confused people display confusion on their faces. We are confused, their expressions say. We are the confused people.

On Writing and Exercise Addiction

So the problem with Facebook...okay, you're right, ONE of the problems with Facebook...is that everybody knows what you're doing. So say, if you, meaning me, if I am working out a lot every body knows it. Nothing wrong there, right? It keeps me connected to my Crossfit buddies, keeps me honest.

However. Right. However...

Then, when one goes out, meaning me...one gets asked, "How's your writing going?" And then if one says, well, you know...it's not great. I don't really have time to write..you know, the grading. Then. Then my friends, you know, the asker, the asker says, "Well, you have time to work out. You're always lifting weights and running." To which one says what? What, I ask, does one say?

Well. What I did say was, "Well, working out is social! It's fun! And writing...." I trailed off.

And then today, after working out (note: not writing) I felt great. I felt high. I felt amazing. And I thought, how often does writing make me feel great? I've felt great after writing maybe two times, maybe three times that I can remember. Most of the time writing makes me feel inadequate and sub par. Less than. Terrible. Affirmation that I am, in fact, not a very good writer. I would say 9 out of 10 writing sessions make me feel adequate or less than.

But Crossfit. Well. The opposite. I would say 9 out of 10 workouts make me feel great. I say after each workout, Wow! I lifted that! I did 35 deadlifts and 35 hang cleans and 35 front squats and 32 push jerks. That's amazing. I kick ass. And I feel good all day.

So today, I did find an hour. And I wrote in a coffee shop. I wrote about 1,500 words. Not bad. I went back over the stuff I had written and it wasn't bad. But did I feel adrenaline coursing through my veins? No. Did I feel like I had just accomplished great things? Sort of.

Writing my friends, is a lonely, lonely business. It's not social, and it has very few (if any) immediate rewards.

The key, I guess, to repeat myself, is balance. Can't I do both? Can't I Crossfit and write? And can't I keep updating my FB status with workout stats? Please?

Inspiration: A Reflection

This weekend at the Crossfit Utah/Nevada Sectionals, I witnessed super human feats of strength. I saw people do incredible things that I'm sure they didn't think they could do.
The people who impressed me the most were the women my age, the mothers, the petite women who don't look like they can lift 100 pounds over their heads, but they can.
As much as I could, I tried to tell those women how inspiring they are to me. It's strange, and I can't explain it, but watching them made me feel great. I felt great because they are so strong. Like I said, I'm not sure why, but there is something about Crossfit that just makes me feel great about other people's accomplishments.
My favorite moment was judging the last workout. It was a brutal 750 m row, 30 Double unders, 15 burpees, 4 rounds. For men, the cut off time was 25 minutes. I was judging a guy from Las Vegas and he had less than a minute to do his last set of burpees. But he did it, finishing the last five burpees in less than 15 seconds, with a time of 24:58. The crowd erupted, cheering and clapping.
That's what I love about Crossfit. It's not about winning. It's about effort. He gave it his all.
I also loved the forty-something woman who did her weighted pullups (10 # vest) one at a time, but each one was perfect.
Most inspiring to me, however, was my nutritionist, who had a baby in October. She was amazing, finishing 7th out of 43 women, many of whom are younger than her. Watching her finish the prowler event (deadlifts, push a weighted prowler, overhead squats) made me cry.
I'm super inspired by this weekend. Can't wait to get back to the gym.

This Week in Crossfit

Yeah, I deadlifted 225.

Now my butt hurts.

Today, there will be running (or at least "a" run) outside, as well as rowing, double unders, burpees, box jumps.

But, the lesson I learned this week was from watching other people. It's like grade school, when you get bored, and then you look over to see what someone else is doing. Hey, what answer does she have? But, unfortunately, Crossfit doesn't work that way. It doesn't matter what anyone else is doing.

Why is Person X so much faster than me? Maybe she's doing knee push ups, or maybe she's sacrificing form for time. But who cares.

Because it's only about what I'm doing.

Since I hurt my shoulder, I've had to slow down, concentrate on form. Think while doing. On Monday, I had to do 26 pushups by doing 26 sets of 1 push up. After each one, I thought about my shoulders, made sure they were in the correct position, then did the next one. I was painfully slow. But the pushups were not painful.

The lesson I learned, ergo, (and again, I might add), is Forget Everyone Else. It's not a race. It's about what I'm doing, compared to what I have done or can do.

As James, the trainer, would say, That's some Zen shit.

Movies = Good

I don't really have anything to say (not a good start to a blog post, perhaps), but I needed to get that Death post out of here. On to happier things!
Middlebrow and I, somehow, against all odds, have actually watched a few movies lately, all of them good. "District 9," "Crazy Heart," and "The Class."
We are stuck somewhere, stylistically, between last year and, say, January. But we are catching up. We will never be caught up, but always, somewhere, in the process. The present progressive. The -ing.
Even when movies are bad, they are diverting. But after watching "The Class" last night, Middlebrow made some sweeping generalization that I agreed with, something about seeing movies like "The Class" and being turned off by Hollywood movies. Which is why, I told him, I will never see "Avatar."
Now, I've heard all your reasons, and they have been noted. But, and this is most important, do I really have 3 hours to waste on this movie? The answer, my friends, is no. There are many, many other movies I need to see and books I need to read. So I will be skipping "Avatar."
Middlebrow, however, still plans on seeing it. For "research" purposes or whatever. But that is three hours I could fill otherwise. Like seeing that stupid Leap Year movie. I know, it will be stupid. But do I care? No, I do not.

Dear Death, I am Against You

Death,
We don't know each other, though I have seen you before, in the fate of friends. I know you are an inevitable part of life, that I should just accept you, the way I accept rain and oxygen. And sometimes, I can accept that you are like rain, soft, necessary, productive. Without death, where would the cycle of life be?
No, death, I am not talking about your kinder, inevitable side. I'm talking about when you show up where you know you don't belong, in the lives of children, the young, the healthy. Where life could go on perfectly well without you.
I don't say this for myself, as I have been blessed in my life. No, I speak for friends whose lives you have shattered by arriving suddenly, seemingly without warning, wreaking havoc on perfectly lovely people who have done you no wrong.
Death, isn't it time for a lovely vacation, say maybe in some place cold and sparsely populated, some place where you couldn't hit anyone with your deadly glares because no one lives there? Some place not here, not near the people I love and care for.
Just take a break, death. I know, inevitable, cycle of life, yadda yadda yadda. You'll be back. We all know that. We know. We won't forget about you. It'd just be nice if we didn't have to be reminded of you each day, every day.
Death, we need a few days off.

Balance, On Seeking

Today, for the first time in a long time, I went to yoga. Now, most of you probably know that I have been doing Crossfit since April, and since I picked that up, the time I spend swimming and doing yoga has dwindled and finally disappeared.
But a recurring shoulder injury has forced me to slow down, to reassess what I do and why, and yes, how. I've been thinking about range of motion and flexibility. I'm stronger than I have ever been in my life. And leaner. But I'm less flexible. And now my shoulder doesn't work the way it should.
So I sought solace in yoga. I first started doing yoga in college, actually. It was a PE credit and it was fun, but it didn't change my life. I don't remember much about it except thinking that the thin, hippy-ish teacher was hitting on a friend of mine from women's studies. Then I started going again in Bellingham and got pretty into it. I went to a school there that was in Fairhaven. Then I did yoga with a friend in my studio apartment.
I've done yoga off and on here, searching for the right teacher, the right class. A few years ago, I went fairly often to a yoga class that is close to my house. I started going less when I started running and swimming, but still went once a week or so. Usually less. Then I started going to another studio because I like the guy who owns it. Then I started Crossfit.
When I started Crossfit, all my time and money went to that.
So I went today looking for some help with my injury. And there was less stretching in the class than I needed, but, as usual with yoga (for me at least) I heard what I needed to hear, namely the idea of Disconnecting. I've already held forth on this in the comments over at Counterintuitive's blog, but let me just hold forth here.
The idea of Disconnecting is that we are all over committed. We have schedules and we try to fill them. The idea of disconnecting is trying to lessen that, trying to unplug, leaving holes in our schedules. Free time. Remember that?
The other thing the teacher did was read a poem by Wendell Berry. The line she focused on was something about the grace of the world. What I took from her was the idea that the world is amazing, and we are always trying to fill our lives with activities, some of which distract us from the amazing-ness of the world. Why not try to just be idle for a while? A few minutes? An hour? And just be in the grace of the world.
It reminded me that I constantly struggle with myself, tell myself that I'm not doing enough, not being enough, not lifting enough, not writing enough, not spending enough time with Son, not reading enough, not doing enough for my students, not running enough.
Enough!
Today I received the perfect reminder that it's okay to do nothing. It's okay to take time off from being amazing and just listen and look and breathe.
I think yoga may be the balance I need right now. Where Crossfit is intense, yoga is reflective. You can't rush through it. You have to be in it.
Good lesson.