Vicki March

It happened. I finally did it! This morning, at about 6:35 a.m., I said to Molly G., my personal trainer, “Let’s start with the pullups today.”. I was ready, for the first time, to try an unassisted pullup at the gym. I had done a few unassisteds at home, but these start with my feet on the floor. At the gym, the bar is high enough that I stand on another bar and then can hang by my full (not insubstantial) weight. I wanted to do this first thing, while my rms were still fresh, because my ability is so tenuous at this point that the least arm fatigue can make a big difference. And Molly G. Usually starts me off with “dynamic warmups” on the TRX equipment that tires the arms. She does not realize this, I don’t think. Anyway, she agreed. So I climbed up on the bar, and grabbed the pullup bar — it was ar about eye level — and, letting my legs go, lowered myself to an arm angle of a a bit under 135 degrees. With every ounce of strength, I pulled myself all the way above the bar, to a full pullup position, then, — miracle of miracles — did it again! And later, after multiple more arm exercises, Sarah appeared and when she learned of my feat, insisted on witnessing it herself, and persuaded me, with Molly’s encouragement, to do it again. Which — now brace yourself! — I did! Not quite at such an obtuse angle, but still enough to impress Sarah.

And how was my success, which came about, folks, after no less than a year and a half of trying, trying, and trying again. When I first started training with Sarah, she asked me about my goals, and I said, “I want to be able to do one pullup.” How elusive this goal seemed, and just as I got started working on this goal, I had to go in for the lumpectomy and sentinel node biopsy, which precluded left upper extremity training for I think at least four weeks, at which time I had to basically start from scratch. Then there was the abdominal surgery last spring, after which I was enjoined from any type of exercise which might strain the core for another six weeks. Then I had to endure months of restrained exercise due to Drome, and you would be surprised at how even the thigh muscles are involved in performing a pullup, so once again, I had to be very modified for the entire summer last year. But now, I have been careful about my workouts, and have managed to avoid further injuries and setbacks, and therefore have been able to gradually progress, uninterrupted, for a long stretch now.

All this time, and all this persistence. Did I get frustrated? Of course! Did I think about giving up?

Not once.

This is the key and the inspiration. More proof that if you give up, you will certainly never achieve that dream of yours. But if you persist, the odds are it will happen.

Naturally, my little pullup victory is hardly the outcome of a life and death struggle.
While blogging just now, I was also watching a documentary film called Waste Land, which was about some very tenacious and upbeat people in Brazil, whose mode of subsistence was garbage picking, and so they were dirt poor with lives that many would consider to be a bottomlesspit of hopelessness and despair. But these people, although destitute, were far from despairing, and ended up working together to create works of art by integrating garbage into blown up photographs of themselves. They ended up selling the art at an auction for many thousands of dollars, which they used for community development and enrichment of their lives — another happy ending on a much more significant scale. But the principle is the same: tenacity, optimism, and relentless work towards a goal.

This principle applies to everything. I see so many people who struggle with their weight, attempting to drop pounds quickly with drastic, restrictive measures so punishing that giving up is inevitable, especially when results are slow. And even if the desired weight loss is achieved, if the goal was weight loss alone, and not lifestyle change for improvement of overall health and well-being, the tools for weight maintenance will not be in place and weight will be regained. There must always be a new goal, and the trick is to make the journey interesting. Meeting challenges is often uncomfortable, fraught with frustration, and certainly not always enjoyable. But along the journey, there should be pockets of excitement, triumph, yaffs, reflection, and moments of clarity, insight, and, if one is really lucky, perhaps even an epiphany or two. The ride is everything.

Actually, there are no, and I mean zero, spelling errors in a single one of my previous blogs. The reader should be made aware of my gift for spelling — and a prodigious gift it is, one which makes me feel “blessed,” as in, “Have a Blessed Day,” an expression with which the reader may be familiar, a somewhat abrasive, but, in the scheme of things, rather benign expression often heard on answering machines. Or, as in, “I’m blessed,” an expression used by devout individuals which assumes a blessing by God, and the fore, an expression I find a bit both hubristic and inane, not to mention far more abrasive than the expression to which I formerly referred. So when I say I am “blessed” with spelling, or any other gift, for that matter, it is intended as tongue in cheek, especially since the last time I was publicly honored with the distinction of “best speller” was, I believe, in the third grade, by my third grade teacher, after a spelling bee which I won by correctly spelling the most difficult word (and, I might add, a word missed by multiple classmates): “Every.”.

However, I am pointing out that as I combed through my last few posts, I was shocked to discover innumeraboo errors which appeared to be of a misspelling nature. Many made me wince, and others sent me into peals of yaffter. BUT none was an error in spelling. All were typos. Many typos were due to the autocorrect feature on this most excellent iPad, a feature which is a mixed blessing (there, that word again, it’s virtually inescapaboo). On the one hand, the feature saves me from the inadvertent typos to which I have always, I am loathe to admit, been prone, and on the other, it instantly and without my awareness, changes the intended words to words that make no sense within the context thus inserted. So I have so far chosen not to turn off the feature and instead challenge the reader to decipher the seemingly strange semantic structure in ostensible nonsense phrases in my posts.

Although a short and trivial post today, it is all I have time for at the moment.

The next post, I promise, will be one of the following: deep, inspiring, deeply inspiring, informational,ranting, or otherwise intriguing. I also guarantee lots of typos, but perfect spelling.

Mother’s Day, 2012, I did pretty much what I wanted. In fact thos was True the whole weekend. I literally took the days and ran with them. A vey athletic weekend: triathlon training Saturday and Komen today. Despite the major three hour workout of yesterday, this was the first weekend in a long time in which almost every second was spent doing something I wanted to do. Although you readers may well be convinced that I am a crazed lunatic, that workout was wanted for a very long time, and the fact that I did it — I am still basking in the blissful disbelief that comes with the achievement of something I was unsure I could do. As I get older and have new goals, which are ever more challenging, I develop increased faith in myself which an experience like no other. It’s like, I am at the point in life where I say, “I want to do this,” and it’s something I have necpver tried before, and of course there is a frisson of doubt, but I just know tht once I decide to do something, there is a very good chance I can make it happen. I am persistent. My belief in myself, or maybe just in my stubbornness ( I didn’t get most stubborn designation in my senior year in hs for nothing, it seems, but more about that in a second.) just forces me to push onward. I just keep trying. And over the years I have learned to be more assertive and it helps me get what I want. Sometimes, I fake it till I make it, and that really works, too. Because have you ever noticed that right or wrong, it is the person who speaks with the most conviction thtny most want to believe.

So anyway, I think it is mostly tht Russo-Hungarian stubborn trait, which I inherited from both sides of my fam, for probably all ancestors, and you should know that this particular trait is autosomal dominant, but if you get the gene from both parents, the trait is augmented. When I receoved what then seemed to me to be a dubious distinction among my high school peers, I didn’t have any idea that stubbornness (aka the more euphemistic “tenacity” or the gentler term, “persistence,”) would be such a blessing to me. I have learned to use this trait to my advantage. I have said before and I will say it again, stubbornness has probably gotten me everything in life tht I have wanted, and I don’t just mean I keep asking for something till I get it. Not that at all. Just repeatedly begging in the whining fashion of a manipulative and spoiled brat who
wants another toy is not what I am talking about. This stubbornness that I was born with means not taking no for an answer, all right, but the answer is from me. These thingsninhave wanted have not come easily and despite the good fortune of harking from the privileged upper middle class background and from parents with high standards and expectations from me, that wouldn’t have been enough. Bereft of this stubborn streak, I would never have been a theatre major in college, switched to pre-med after college, completed the, for me, very scary prerequisites, taken the MCATs, applied to med school, applied for and received a full NHSC scholarship, withstood the ego battering in med school and residency, forced cb to marry me, had three magnificent kids, and especially insisted on pishing for that third even after being wrung out to dry emotionally following those two devastating miscarriages, which, had the emotional consequences deterred me from another pregnancy, would have deprived me of the singular opportunity to meet and watch grow my lovely and inimitable daughter. The NHSC positions were few and far between and extremely cometitive, but i ended up with two choice choices: Riker’s Island Prison or an idyllic (I thought) group practice in a coal-mining community in Western PA. Not quite as idyllic as I had imagined — but it was my first choice, and it seemed like good idea at the time. As unbearable as those four years ended up being, I am pretty sure they were heaven compared to what four years of “night tour” at Riker’s would’ve been.

The point is, call it what you will, stubbornness is a virtue and a blessing and it gets you where you need to go. It is the driving force behind achievement, accepting any challenge. It is getting up no matter how many times you fall, pushing yourself through that icy draft that always seems to tear at your face no matter which direction you turn. Since ind is multidirectional. I have limits, of course. Sometimes I decide that a particular challenge turns out not to be worth the effort and I do end up giving up. There are ctqin things I get through because my passion is sufficiently string to dredge up the necessary stamina; I get through other things I ne Eric dreamed I could because the only other choice would have been to shrivel up and die, and I was most definitely not going to do that. Examples of those things, things that if you told me I would withstand without falling apart: my parents’ various illnesses and declines, my Mom’s catatonic depression, cb’s diabetes and career roller coaster, child-rearing catastrophic adventures which I will not detail herein, the cancer thing, the passing from this earth of my most beloved Dad, the debacles involving a panoply of dysfunctional familial interactions and individuals which would be enough to sucked the life out of practically anyone. Anyone human, that is.

Mother’ Day: a surprise visit from Max, a plethora of cards from all 3 kids, which I of course will save, a small box shared and painted like a cat, with two chocolates from Mollie, a continuation of this website compliments of Woody, it’s Creator, a 15 lb kettle ball and two packs of Vitamuffins, plus a homemade hunch waiting for us after Komen, and from cb, a takeout dinner from Aladdin’s. No cooking or mess! Very nice. And not only that but four or five hours to myself, thereof which were spent in the arms of Morpheus, and the remainder of which, when not basking in the warmth of quality family time, were spent crosswording, MKSAPing, blogging and reading. What more could one ask?

In this post, I would like to offer kudos to Karen for not only getting through the 5 k Race for Tne Cure today, knees intact, still breathing and, best of all, walking, but walking way more than 5k because with the walk to and from Magee parking lot, and the distance to the actual start point of the walk, the total mileage turned out to be 7.5, and Karen did it and liked it! I am very impressed by her. She doesn’t know it yet, but the secret will get out soon enough: Karen is an athlete!

At the moment, the only words I can think of to properly describe my status are “a Yittoo Yegged-Out.”. What does this mean? The baffooed reader may ask.

I will tell you. This description means that I have overused my yegs today. Not knowing that Max was going to be visiting this weekend, I planned my entire Saturday — if you don’t count sleeping in, which I did, and which I desperately needed as an oasis that would bridge two pretty brutally long-dayed, sleep-deprived weeks — around bona Fidel triathlon training. As luck would have it, Max’s agenda revolved mostly around “hanging out with Woody,” Mollie was recovering from a sleepover, and cb had lab and 32 Dean’s letters to compose.

So my goals of the day were realized, and when that happens, when the stars align to allow this, it is a rare thing, and one which tends to infuse one (or at least this author) with the endorphin-driven sensations of accomplishment and near-peace. In my case, the endorphins ran out of steam hours ago, so I am left with that relaxed (for me) feeling enervation brings, because every last myofibril in my body, which earlier begged for reprieve, which was not granted, has given up the ghost, figuratively, anyway. In others words? I can’t move.

Although out of order, because I was not going to be able to use the UrbanActive pool until after noon, whe the Saturday water Zumba Class would end, I completed the equivalent of an entire practice triathlon today, and, my fingers, at least, and perhaps my brain, are living to tell the tale! With each “yeg” of today’s athletic journey (do I now qualify as an “elite athlete?” That would be interesting, since although virly physically fit, I am unaccustomed to considering myself any kind of athlete. Having a history of being picked for gym class teams tends to undermine one’s one’s confidence although I suspect my lack of coordination and timing were the least of the reasons for this status) I gave myself permission to “just do a little — you don’t have to do the whole thing today.” The first part was the run. Last week, I ran an entire complete 5K without any walking intervals for I believe the first time in my life. I felt reasonably good about that. However, I had kind of wanted to do the full ten mile bike ride today, and couldn’t see how I would have time to do that plus the full run. I also wanted to find the way to the Waterfront trail for biking, because it’s supposed to be a great trail and I think it’s part of the Allegheny Passage that goes all the way from the Pittsburgh Airport to D.C. A vacation I would absolutely love would be to bike down to D.C. over a period of two weeks with cb and maybe Grace and Stu and stay at B & B’s, not too arduous, but great exercise and unbelievably fun. For me, that is. The problem with this picture is that cb would hate it and if he did it would do it just cuz he loves me simcha, but he doesn’t get that I couldn’t really enjoy myself if he didn’t, and going away for two weeks without him would be just awful. The worst. My idea of a vac always includes cb — it would hardly be a vac with me pining for him ev sec. So basically I would have to hypnotize him, and I have a feeling he is not terribly suggestible. Anyway, I did not undertake the task of locating that trail today. I will look at the map I have and plan ahead, maybe for next weekend. The sad truth is, I do not have a biking partner. No one in my fam likes to bike much. No one would like to make a day of it. And I can’t think of anyone else I would want to go with who is at my level. In June, I have a plan to bike with Julia, which might be fun. We’ll see. It’s not all that sad, because there is a lot to be said for getting to the peak of a hill and zooming downhill at 20 mph, feeling the cool wind and not worrying about anyone else. That feeling, for me, is incomparable. I mean, I am not saying that there are not a lot of things that I find equally, and possibly more pleasurable. Orgasms (preferably lots of ‘em), the taste of really good chocolate, and even that first morning sip of coffee, immediately come to mind as contenders for first place on the pleasure scale. However, zooming down Beechwood Boulevard after having made the long, sweaty climb, is pretty damn nice.

Running was first. Euipped with my iPhone today — not last week, remember? Cuz the drizzle and not wanting to get iPhone wet — I started out, remembering how I had got the breathing just so last week, and that, having the breathing down, was surprised at the comparative ease with which I had run 5K. As I ran, I couldn’t help wondering, wht if I push myself? What if I can actually run five miles? And if I can do that, could I someday have the chutzpah to train for a half marathon? A half marathon would only Be a bit over thirteen miles. If I could run 5 miles, I would definitely be able to trim to do thirteen. Hmm. That would really be something! I thought, I might not do five miles today. I do not want to overdo it and injure myself. Then I thought, keep an open mind. See how you feel. At first, the run was, while not as relatively effortless as last week, not bad. Got the breathing again. Had good music on, and the earbuds blocked out other noise, leaving me with the rhythm of my Yegs, my breathing and my music. I varied the course from last week to avoid boredom. Up S. Dallas, to Aylesboro, enjoying looking at the houses on all the streets. All the way down Aylesboro — no traffic lights on this street, just stop signs, from S. Dallas to Forbes. Aylesboro at very end has been closed for weeks due to some sort of construction project, which looks like more than the usual pothole filling, so I turned left on Murdoch and ran down Forbes all the way to Beeler. Beeler was entirely uphill, as was Wilkins for quite some time, and somewhere in there I reached 5K. The long hill proved to be too much, although I think it was a psychological obstacle. Once I got to 5K, I had had it. So I confess, partly up that hill, I did walk a little, a bit concerned that I might not be able to run any more. But after just a few minutes, I got a second wind, and continued the run until reaching Frick Park when the pedometer read 5 miles, and wow! Such tired yegs, though! I yimped home, a bit shaky, not quite sure if I could bike wt all, let alone to the pool, let alone the ten miles I had hoped to do. Whatever, I reassured myself. Perhaps with a few minutes’ break, and a drink of ice water, I would feel better enough. At home, I drank water, did some stretching and foam rolling, which felt great, and got my swimming stuff together. By the time I packed the saddlebags on my bike, I felt re-energized, definitely enough to ride to the gym. But guess what I did instead? If you guessed an eight mile bike ride, you would be correct. The entire length of Beechwood and back, and to the gym. The half mile swim did cause some arm and shoulder burn, but compared to the run, it was nothing. Then two more miles on the bike. And I s done! What is really amazing to me is that the swimming came up to par almost immediately, even after years of not swimming at all. I guess by the time I stopped, it had become such an integral part of me that it was, well, like riding a bike. The running part is the hardest, but I find that being focused on the goal of triathlon training puts me into a totally different and focused mindset than I have ever experienced. I have always exercised for the sake of being in shape and burning calories, and even losing weight, but, believe it or not — and even I am puzzled by this transformation — I am compelled for some reason to set and meet physical challenges these days, improving to a new personal best. Maybe ultimately even — gulp — competing against others! Never prior would I have so much as dreamed of kkdoing something like this. Way beyond my scope of existence. What has gotten into me? (Does this unfamiliar sense of friendly competitiveness mean I would play Scrabble with cb again? Not so fast. Board games are quite a different story!) I think wht seems to be happening to me over the last couple of years is this: although it may be kind of a midlife crisis, I think the whole cancer thing, as I prefer to refer to it, got me into the mode of, not really live as if this is your last day as much as this is your life,and you have only one chance to do and try and be everything there is. So either shit or get off the pot. In other words, instead of, when feeling an urge to do something, I lie down till it goes away, I ask myself, well, do you really want to do this? and if the answer is yes, I no longer spend time wondering or hedging or hesitating. I Just Do It. Which, as the loyal reader is well aware, happens to be one of my fave inspirational sayings, credited to the Nike ad. I have always been an avid follower of my gut and my heart, both of which have stood me in good stead, but the past two years, more than ever, and is the best, best, best.

But my yegs are soooooo tired!

Did I happen to mention I did an unassisted one hundred-seventy-degree pullup today?

It is 10:35, and this is the first moment I have had to blog today. I apologize in advance for any typos or bizarre words that don’t make sense due to the autocorrect feature, a mixed blessing to say the least.

Big news of the day– other than all the ridiculous exaggeratd news analysis of Obsma’s open support of lgtb marriage– Max is megabusing home for the weekend! He’s either unbelievably energetic, or insane, or both — two unbearably long bus rides,two quick nights in the Burgh, and then work on Monday.

Very little sleep over last week or so — burning the candle at both ends. And at the moment I am tired and quite cranky. I have been giving up one of my Thursdays every month — Thursdays used to be my off day, but of late, it is crammed with meetings and, that one Thursday a month, with weight loss patients. I needed to add this half day because my schedule was getting too full to have patients come back for follow up in a timely manner. So today was a clinic Thursday. The clinic runs from 8:30 a.m.to noon –meaning the last patient should not be scheduled later than 11:45. but today, my last patient was at noon, and I hadn’t yet dictated any charts — 6 dictations. Two for new patients. And I had a cut, color, and arch appt with Christin at 1:30. No time for lunch– I had packed lunch, and planned on eating it during my salon appt but was I ever starving when I left Magee, just 15 minutes before my appt!

Got there exactly on time, despite hitting every possible red light on the way. At the appt, I was able to catch up on a bit of e-mail, but only a bit, and complete a couple of MKSAP questions, and get 4 AAA batteries into a tiny speaker I bought so we could use my iPhone music during the Friday exercise class, and I checked it to make sure it worked. Throughout the appt, I was filled with anxiety about still having to dictate all the charts, and how would I have time to do that, make the cioppino for dinner, grocery shop, answer more e-mail, blog, get stuff ready for tomorrow? I told myself to calm down because I should be having fun with all this — I am the one who is choosing to do all this. No one is forcing me. I am bringing it on myself.

This week I missed two media opportunities — radio and TV — due to other commitments. These media things are always last minute. A woman I know would drop – still does, as far as I know — everything for the media, but as much as I am interested in doing more of that, I am not going to cancel other commitments to do it. In other words, if the media says jump, I am not ging to ask, how high? So I am doomed to never be famous. O, well, so it goes.

Being famous seems like it might be way too much work just to be seen, and my main interest lies elsewhere. The media likes sound bytes and cashing in on the lates drama, but it is a rare broadcast in which serious discussions take place, and now even NPR has been co-opted by the GOP and the tea party, at least when they are not in the midst of fundraising, which they are now, and which is soooooo totslly obnoxious.

Still, the actress in me remains ambivalent about the whole fame thing. And curious.

Apropos of nothing other than feeling overwhelmed, and of course, to update the reader, no progress on the administrative assistant front. I have a sinking feeling that this is going to be (yet another) uphill battle.

Forgot to say — began morning at 5 after going to bed after 11 last night, and met Jenny for dual elliptical workout, then a brutal training session with Molly. Actually, yesterday’s session was way worse, and today I am so sore and stiff, that I am walking, navigating staircases, and sitting and rising from chairs exactly like an ancient lady with really, really bad arthritis. Plus, my shoes began digging into the tops of my big toes by the time I got home with the groceries. I shudder to think what a sight I must have been, limping up my seemingly endless front steps laden with numerous leaden bags of food.

But I did get lots of compliments on my crazy outfit today, especially the stockings, and the necklace — it was the one Robin gave me. I really love it! It’s a multi-stranded number with big, harvest-gold beads, and earrings to match, but not too -matchy-matchy, because they are rectangular and the beads are rounded, so the combo is really nice. I will wear same outfit tomorrow, because I like it, I want more compliments, and no one who saw me in it today will see me tomorrow in the outfit.

And FYI, the stockings will, of course, be different. Because one should never empower sox or stockings more than once before washing, because, eeew, seriously, dude, it’s, like, totally gross.

Today’s stockings are patterned purple and grey, and always are admired multiple times — and by multiple people — whenever I wear them, but tragically, they are on their last legs.

So to speak.

Despite I t being late, and despite wanting to read and answer a few of the MKSAP questions, I feel like posting something. I have a few things on my mind and need to vent.

Not that today was a bad day; for a Monday, it wasn’t at all. It started out on a note, or a better metaphor would be wave, of frustration. I vowed to clean up my electronic medical record inbox, and close all the open charts, of which there are hundreds. However, as I began to go through them, I discovered that many of them were erroneous encounters: pts who cancelled, left without being seen (due to my running too far behind), or no-shows. Although they ended up in my inbox, I was not supposed to be responsible for those chart closures. Other open charts were patients I had seen at Magee before Magee went “live” on Epicare, at a time when I was not supposed to do anything in the her with the Magee charts. These have been on my inbox for yers, literally. And are innumerable. Other open charts are phone call encounters not closed because the MA or I did not document “reason for call.”. All these have to be closed but to do so would take hours. I wanted nothing more than to defenestrate but since I am on the first floor, I doubt it would be an effective method of escape from my cybertroubles. All I can say is: thank God for Karla, who volunteered to come to the rescue. She will get access to my inbox and take care of it. This took a load off my mind.
Now all I have to catch up on is several months’ worth of patient results. I have reviewed all the results, but unless urgent, I haven’t always reported results to the pts. However. I caught up quite a bit today, so that was another relief. Being in arrears weighs heavily, always in the back of my mind at the very least. Completely
catching up happens roughly once in a blue moon and lasts for less than a minute.

One thing I wonder about and really need to google is how come it’s Magee-Womens Hospital without an apostrophe? The only thing I can come up with is that “Womens” is someone’s last name. Because even the iPad’s autocorrect inserts the apparently erroneous (that word again) punctuation.

I will get back to you on that.

My new administrative assistant at The Lifestyle Program, a very sweet and appealing young woman who I happen to be fond of and who I am sharing with another doc, is encountering quite a few challenges in tasks such as scheduling patients for me and setting up meetings. I am, perhaps unrealistically so, hopeful that with a bit of guidance wnd perhqps a modicum of gentle prodding by her supervisor, who I finally contacted today, the poor girl will be better able to overcome the formidable obstacles which have thus far prevented her from assisting in the administrative fashion commensurate with what I am certain are her as yet untapped administrative talents. I trust I have made myself clear on this matter.

Another somewhat astonishing turn of events today involved an email which stated that because the person who is now teaching the Magee exercise class forgot to return to gt her PPD checked, and because she got lost on her way to orientation due to a flawed gps, that human resources is thinking about “rescinding their offer.”. What? Excuse moi? This is what I call chutzpah. In order to be paid on the Magee premises for a lousy one hour per week, and, by the way, she has not received a paycheck since December and has not complained once about this, she has to become a upmc casual employee, an esteemed position which Requires that she jump through the most preposterous hoops imaginable. Such as: physical exam, PPD, drug test, background check, fingerprinting, and act 35 clearance. Seriously, folks. For this, she must take time off from her demanding full time job, jeopardizing it,and for all this effort, I get a nasty gram threatening to rescind offer? How dare they? What cojones! I responded to the email with an email of my own, which hopefully will squelch any further bullying attempts and empty threats. I mean, inappropriate much?

And finalmente! Phone call (last minute) from channel 11 asking me to appear on a show at 8 pm tomorrow night to participate in a discussion about the projection that if we keep going at this rate, by the year 2030, 42% of adults will be obese. Actually, right now, 66ish% are obese, so that would be a decrease. So I am assuming they mean morbidly obese. Another googleworthy item. Must clarify to self. Anyhow, I have a standing commitment at tht time which will not be over till 8 or even a bit later, so I had to decline. The commitment is the mind/body session which I wouldn’t drewm of missing except if out of town on vacation. Even if in town on a staycation, I would attend. So they will have to go with someone else or change the time. Schedule is getting so busy things are starting to overlap.

Not sure if I mentioned the really good news: our own Catja has lost two whole pounds, down to 11 lb from a bit over 13, hitch has resulted in a vast improvement in her, um, hygiene.

Today marks our 28th wedding Annmooversary! Cb and I got together thirty-one years and three days ago, officially, and married 28 years and three hours ago, at on pm at the Wharton-Sinkler Conference Center in Chestnut Hill, PA, which is right outside of Phiily, where we both lived. There were 90 guests and it was a very elegant beautiful, warm occasion filled with love and joy, a truly magical day. After the ceremony, and a couple of quickly downed alcoholic beverages, I dragged cb around and kept introducing him: “have you met my husband?” I asked anyone who’d listen. Of course, no one had, I mean they had all met cb, but he hadn’t been my husband, so, technically, no one — not even I — had had the opportunity to meet my husband nor cb as my husband until that very moment. Peops were very patient with me– what choice did they have, after all? — and played along. The day was a bit chilly and overcast, which May 6 so often is, but the weather mattered not. The ceremony was outdoors and the drizzle held off till afterwards, when everyone was shepherded into the mansion to take their sit-down meal of chicken Marsala. Sit-down was the only way my Dad would have it. Cb and I danced to the tune cb had decided would be “our” song: “Someone to watch over me.”

About half an hour before the ceremony, suddenly and for the first time, I was the one with the cold feet. Up to that point, it had been cb who was the doubtful one. But I found myself freezing and began to shiver uncontrollably and with a shiver in my voice, said to cb, just before we were called to go down the aisle, him first, then me (alone, not on the arm of my Dad, because I was very clear that I wasn’t being “given away,”), something like, “I’m not so sure about this.”. To which cb laughed and reassuringly responded that he was most certainly very sure of it and that of course we were going to go through with it. This was a funny role reversal — it had been I who had insisted that we spend the prenuptial night together in order to ensure that I could keep my eye upon my bridegroom-to-be lest he get the urge to be a runaway, leaving me at the altar.

But going through with it was the best thing I have ever done. Life without my cb is unimaginable. Life with him has been a very fast dream. How is it possible that 28 years of connubial bliss have passed? And every day, I love cb more.

My folks had a marriage made in heaven, too, and I vowed to have one like it. The mystery, even after all these years, has not yet been solved: how do you know you have chosen the right one? How do you know if it will last? These are questions I can’t really answer. If you were to ask me, what has made my marriage to cb such a success, I could tell you some definite contributors. These include: always respecting the other peop; no name-calling; encouraging the other to follow dreams; communicating honestly; sharing domestic responsibilities; no below-the-belt fighting; you may not be dead, and feeling momentary attractions to others is sort of acceptable, bit imho, infidelity is a deal-breaker because even if a couple decides to stay together after an affair, the trust cannot possibly be the same, I don’t care what anyone says. Just keep you pants zipped — any pleasure you derive from going astray is just not worth it. Don’t do it. One of the most crucial aspects to achieving the pinnacle of connubial salubrity is the ongoing capacity to induce peal of yaffter in one another. Also, sharing some, but not all, interests; loving time together but not begrudging the other time spent in solitude, with friends, or engaged in hobbies, work or other separate interests; finding ways to spend romantic time together on a regular basis, even if for only a few minutes each day; enjoying both common and disparate interests; caring more about the other the about yourself; sharing similar values; sharing a chemistry — seeing cb makes my heart beat a little faster, and if we cross paths unexpectedly, as in during work hours, it brightens my day; and this chemistry must be physical, emotional, intellectual. You must fit together like tight gloves or like the right puzzle pieces. And being soul mates doesn’t hurt. Building your shared couples history with all its vicissitudes should bring you ever closer. Fighting and bickering are ok, especially if you can yaff about it later. Dealing with stresses and challenges will be inevitable — the support of a loving partner will get you through these. And if you reach an impasse? For God’s sake! Get thee some therapy!

Y

This is Catja longing for an outdoor adventure. Some days when the weather is rainy or cold and she begs to go it anyway and we allow her the privilege, she may venture through the door only to return back inside immediately and gaze piteously up at me as if to say, “How could you?” followed by a discontent, if not reproachful “mrrowr” which communicates, “Fix it!”. To which I reply, shrugging, “Not my fault. I can’t fix it Catja. I really can’t.”

But I don’t think she believes me.

Another weekend day that has gone by like the wind. The day is not over yet, but it is about 5 p.m. already and not much has gotten done, I’m afraid. I did manage to get in some triathlon training, practicing all three events again toEday, beginning with a 1.5 mile run to Squill, where I picked up my bike at Pro-Bikes. Unfortunately, the repair guy Colin told me that the piece that holds on the wheel was “on its last legs,” which was a big surprise. It had not been repaired. I explained that the bike had to not only be ready for me to use today, but had to be in really great shape for the triathlon, and that I had explained that to the intake guy last week and that no one had called me to tell me that this was a problem and that I had bee reassured that if anything special and unforeseen needed to be addressed, I would hear from one of the Pro-Bike folks, which I did not. So Colin suggested that I just get a whole new wheel because replacing that part is somewhat tricky. He was able to do this right then and there. Although this took an extra half hour which I didn’t really want to spare waiting, it was a better option than taking bike back home and either having the wheel fall off during triathlon or having to bring back for snother appt. So I waited, wishing, however, that this whole issue had been appropriately addressed during the entire week that they had the bike. Oh, we’ll, the best laid plans, as they say, or as rather, as Robert Burns wrote in 1785. While waiting for bike, I chatted with Alan, the bike store proprieter, because I wanted to know about those motorized bikes that are meant primarily to “boost” the biker up particularly challenging hills. Maybe if cb had such a bike, he would agree to ride with me sometimes. As it is, he pretty much hates biking except downhill. He most enjoys bike rides, he is fond of reminding me, that are “all downhill.”. Because as much as I love biking, I would like it a lot more if he would do it with me, maybe even a long ride, maybe to DC along the Allegheny Passage, stopping at bed & breakfasts. But at this point, the only way I could do that would be without cb, which would be a very sad endeavor indeed. If he would like a bike with a motor, he could use the motor only when he felt he needed it. Alan could get one. A low-end one, however, would be — gulp! — $1500.00. But if it would mean that cb would bike with me, it would be worth it. Last summer was a wasted summer in terms of biking due to “Drome,” aka the IT Band Syn-Drome I had the misfortune of incurring. This summer, so far so good, poohpoohpooh, knock on wood, etc. Which is why I am taking the training sort of slowly — not doing it every day and not being super-intense. My main goal is getting to the day of the event without another self-injury, and then just getting through it. Because I have, ever since first hearing about triathlons, wanted to participate.

Finally, tuned-up bike in tow, I rode back home, changed into my bathing suit, and biked to the gym, which all together, equalled about 4 miles-ish. Then I saw Sarah and announced to her that I was going to swim my half mile, which I proceeded to do. Preparations include covering my hair with conditioner to protect the blonde coloring and the hair itself from the destructive and toxic effects of chlorine. Also, donning swimming cap, and the snorkel set-up. Have I mentioned recently how awesome the scuba mask and snorkel are? For many reasons, they enable me to enjoy again the sport which I was so sadly forced to abandon wears ago. I love swimming. Mom forced me to take lessons beginning at the age of four because she thought swimming was an important sport to know, and that people should learn 3 sports and become good at them, and I think she thought mostly for social reasons. I was never into team sports, I think because I am so competitive by nature that the direct competition wa too stressful and also because when you play team sports, there is a lot of stop-start and the exercise isn’t sustained. I love solo activities that also can be done with others like the running swimming and biking in triathlons. I like the opportunity solo exercise affords me to “get into the zone.” With swimming, and the snorkel (which I cannot use during triathlons but which I use for practice, because it allows me to not have to turn my neck and protects the insides of my nose) getting the breathing down and the long arm strokes gliding me smoothly down the pool lane is very relaxing to the brain. I try to stop thinking sometimes while I swim. This is easier to do as I swim back and forth with my head always underwater, which I can do with the snorkel. Today, I tried to come up with a mantra, which ended up taking the form of the rhyme “one, two, buckle my shoe,” which was perfect because it helped me keep track of how many laps I had done. I paid closer attention to the sensation upon entering the water — the one part of swimming I hate — the frisson of chill — I hate that, all the while knowing intellectually that in a matter of seconds, that chill will disappear, and also, if there is no chill at all, the water will, in short order, grow unbearably warm. It happens that the pool water at UrbanActive is, for me, the absolutely perfect temperature. I never feel too hot, the chill upon leaving the water is not too bad, and the initial coldness lasts a total of three strokes. Later today, I tried on Julia’s wetsuit, which is very hot not only because of the rubbery material it is made of, but also due to the thermogenic effect the effort of putting on the suit has, and this is such an impressive effect that I actually am convinced that it will ameliorate the iciness of the Allegheny River, which, btw, most likely will not be a problem in terms of sanitation issues, at least according to Colin, the bike store repair guy, who assured me that he himself had swum in Allegheny River without consequence, and tht in his entire life (all of, perhaps 25 years), he knew of only “one person who claims he got sick swimming in the Allegheny River. I do indeed feel quite reassured by this. Thank you, Colin. Colin. It turns out, wants to do the Adventure triathlon this year which involves a kayak, which he got for free from a friend who, in the process of getting ready to move to San Fran was looking for someone to take the kayak off his hands, and found a ready, willing and able accomplice in Colin, who offered me the use of his kayak “anytime you want. Just call the bike store and ask for me. It isn’t really mine, after all. Except to share.”. I migh take him up on it. Although how wounding get it to the river???

Anyway, swim over, I biked home on my perfectly tuned-up machine.

Anyway, as usual, Mom was right about the three sports. Without red influence I am quite doubtful that I would even be considering the triathlon.

This represents Catja, who, in all fairness, probably has lost some weight. We are restricting her to one large or two small cans a day of cat food. For the most part. I mean, occasionally, we start a bit of a fresh can, or cb tosses her a bit of chicken (usually spicy) but, although not quite cat-kini ready, Catja has made some progress toward sleekness.

But the depiction just scratches the surface of Catja’s communication skills. She does make it quite, quite clear, through body language and a repertoire of gestures precisely what she wants/needs at any given moment. And her verbal skills are really remarkable. She chirps, whines, entreats, politely requests, demands. And her purrs, which are associated with the most remarkable, unabashed displays of pleasure, are long, drawn out and invariably endearing. It is not only being stroked in a particular way that brings out the purr in Catja; it is the anticipation of being stroked just right, or just the satisfaction of being in close proximity to her loved ones that gets that throat humming.

She should not be lounging in such enviably relaxed comfort on my bed now, but there she is, as content as any animal has ever been. cb just got over yet another bout with asthma and tapered steroids. We are trying to keep her out of the bedroom. The sheets will be changed, the cover has been changed, and the basement bunny-fur matted carpet will be deep-cleaned tomorrow. But sometimes, she just sneaks her way in. But she now has a little bed in the bathroom (not my dream sleeping spot, but she doesn’t seem to mind it), and she goes there without being prodded at around 9 or 10 at night.

She is a very, very good cat.

Let me take this opportunity to tease my adoraboo husby. Btw the reader may be gagging by now but by way of explanation there are certain words that are appealing (to me, anyway) and others that are unappealing. I hate the word hubby so made up (doubtful that I really made it up but never heard it before I said it) the word husby, which I think is a really cute word. Also hate the word wifey, which is used derogatorily in who’s afraid of Virginia Woolf? So the word wifeby came about. I don’t even like the word “wife;”. It fucking grates on my nerves. But wifeby? That’s ocque. Other words may impart no special appeal when standing on their own, but when arranged in a particular order or combination with others, become sigh-worthy. Of course there is no rhyme or reason to my word/word combo likes and dislikes. Ev is different in that regard.

But about my husby, cb. O, another aside: I am going to (as evidenced in yesterday’s second post, my first on this iPad) be exhibiting a lot of typos, at least at the beginning of my iPad launch, partly due to my fumblefingers, and partly due to the autocorrect feature on iDevices. Sometimes the corrections are quite apropos, and other times the cure is worse than the disease — when the autocorrect feature is incorrect, words are inadvertently inserted that make the entire meaning of a sentence totally obscure. So when (not if) you encounter sentences that make absolutely no sense, it is probably due to autocorrect.)

Anyway, this morning, he overslept, which is quite unusual for him, which made him late for his personal trainer, which got him started on the wrong foot. He got to bed too late, last night, as usual, after having to go back to lab after our dinner out. He had also gone to bed on the wrong foot, which usually portends poorly for the following morning, which, in this case, was this morning. I would not have been surprised had i discovered that he had suffered an uneasy and restive sleep, because he had come home from lab beleaguered with the burden of a minor setback for which he blamed himself. However, I blame myself because I think distraction had played a role in this setback, and the distractions were me & my birthday and the long history leading up to this birthday and cb’s need and desire to make me happy at any cost to himself.

So the purpose of this post is not really to tease my husby as much as it is to show the reader and the husby that it is not all one-sided. That despite my self-centeredness, it becomes clear every once in a while that I am actually very good for my husby and an excellent and comforting wifeby, even magnanimously so.

As cb left for work this morning, he left me all adoze, just not quite ready to let go of this pleasant comfort zone. All seemed well, as intermittently conscious, I began to formulate my plans for the day.

But then the front door opened, and it was cb, returned upon a wave of expletives. “Shit,” he kept repeating, his voice becoming louder and softer with repetition of this word, (unlike his wife, cb reserves swearing for especially distressing occasions, preferring to keep in circulation as much of his prodigious vocabulary as possible), indicating that for reasons known only to him at this point, he was charging back and forth across the dining room and living room. Something had gone terribly wrong, but what? “cb,” I called from my little nest. I waited. No answer. I tried again, with urgency, “cb! What’s wrong?”

With cb, who enjoys keeping his troubles under his hat, possibly in order to protect me, I can nonetheless always tell when he is ups, usually by his voice. For instance, last night when he came home from his late night discouraging stop in lab, I called a greeting out to him as he entered the house. He responded in kind, but in muted tones which betrayed his emotions. A definite uh-oh moment. Yup. With cb, I can always tell. He still thinks after all these years that he can fool me, but he never does.

Finally, he made his way to the bedroom, where, quite grimly, he began to look around in a rather frantic manner.

“What’s up?” I asked.

“My wallet’s been stolen,” he announced.

“Whaaat?”

He lifted up a spectacle case on the mantle above the head of the bed and dropped it back with disgust. “Someone stole my wallet from my car. I left it under my seat when I went to the gym.”

This made little, if any sense. “But was a window broken?”

He left the room and I followed. “I thought I locked the door, but maybe not. . .”

That just didn’t sound like the cb I knew. Of course, he had been running late, but still; the cb I knew would never have left his car door unlocked unless there was some kind of dire emergency. God forbid. “And you looked under the seat.”

“Of course.”

We have a running joke. Cb often misplaces things and I always perceive an unspoken accusation in my direction, as if I must have thrown out whatever he he was looking for. Early on in our relationship, we shared a few laughs about a cartoon with a man asking is wife where the butter was. From then on, when cb asks me if I’ve seen something of his, I respond either, “O, I must’ve throwted it,” or, “It’s under the butter.”

“Let me take a look. Another pair of eyes, you know.” Still in my pjs, the ones that display the words, “It’s all about me,” and barefooted, I went out into the chill air to the car and clambered in, sprawled over the passenger seat and took a peek under the driver’s seat, which was, of course as in my car, a mess. I pulled out a reusable bag covered in detritus. Although no wallet was visible, the floor of the car was black, the wallet was black, and the area beneath the seat was not exactly well-lit. I swept my hand back and forth across this area, and finally, off to one side, my fingers brushed against something suspiciously soft and leathery, something whose configuration felt reassuringly familiar. It was a bit stuck, but easily dislodged. I emerged from the car, triumphantly brandishing my quarry. “So sorry about your wallet,” I said as I watched cb’s face relax.

Incredulously,and agape, he asked, “Where was it?”

“Under the seat,” I said. “I mean, under the butter. I mean, I throwted it.”

He laughed. Not a hearty laugh, but most definitely a relieved one. “What would I do without you?” he asked rhetorically. “Thank God I have you!”

“I know,” I said, kissing him goodbye.

“Thank God I have you.” He really said it twice.

For the record, that very combination and arrangement of words exemplifies what I alluded to earlier in this post. Although each by itself may fall into perhaps when neutral (neither appealing nor unappealing) word purgatory, when spoken together, in that particular arrangement, and when spoken by cb, and when spoken to me, the self-same words take on wings.