Cute then, now, not so much.

The Strong Only Survive

I know that's not the actual saying but I've come to understand my version of the wording to hold more truth.  Like a lot of people I grew up through adversity.  It defined me and shaped the person that I am today. I'm not into sharing my particular sob story as we all have them.  Suffice it to say I've weathered more than the woman who told me with a trembling chin about the horrors an older brother changing the t.v. channel on her.  

In kind words my reputation holds that I am a tough, irrepressible, self reliant woman.  That's what I needed to be in light of the challenges I faced earlier in my youth. I can look back over the span of my life so far and see that things aren't nearly that hard anymore. My life today is fairly easy in comparison and actually really wonderful.  I have a beautiful home that brings me peace, fantastic children that bring me joy, a fulfilling career, and friends that love and care for me.  

Why then have I not adapted?  Is it entirely necessary that my son and daughter see me as invincible?  Why do I continue to live as if I only have myself and no one else on whom I can depend?  Being independent and in need of no one gives me a sense of self satisfaction. I can live my life on my own terms and answer only to myself.  That's not to say I'm antisocial or a loner by any stretch.  I like people and I enjoy helping others.  It's only when I'm the one in need or someone offers to help me that I become anxious. 

Why!? I'm not entirely sure.  My theory at this point is that my personality has been on autopilot and stuck in overdrive.  I'm finding out albeit late in the game that I don't need to be alone anymore. I had a friend tell me as much.  

"Maureen, people love you and care for you and they want to help you.  You should take all the love and support they're offering without letting your pride get in the way!"

You can't get a much simpler message than that.  I'm letting it sink in and starting to take in the occasional favor here and there.  So far so good. I haven't completely folded.  I'm still an entirely competent person but I think I'm living a more fully interconnected life as intended.  I'm still strong and I'm thriving now, not merely surviving.      

One Hand Washes the Other

When one hand doesn't wash the other.....

one eventually realizes that there is a problem.  I can often times be rather unconscious. That last statement from Captain Obvious and the hand washing metaphor are so timely and they can be applied all the way across so many areas of my life right now.  

Task oriented doesn't begin to describe me.  I wash my hands to get them clean.  I don't contemplate the process.  Well, I didn't until about a month ago when I realized that without exception, my left hand washes the right.  They both get clean but it happens because of the deft and decisive action of the left with absolutely no contribution from the right. The right hand isn't thwarting the process in any way.  It is simply a passive part of the happenings. 

When I noticed this slip of dexterity I noted that I wash my hair one handed, apply most of my make-up, and brush my teeth all with my left hand.  I used to be right dominant.  I then noticed that the dog sitting to my right received less affectionate stroking than the dog to my left.  My hand refuses to cooperate fully and feels more rigid and unfeeling rather than a living extension of myself.  

I know well that the less a body does, the less it will be capable of doing. Even though I despise pointless wastes of time like piecing together a jigsaw puzzle I decided it would be a worthy endeavor as a means of working on some fine motor hand therapy.  So I started a 1000 piece scene of British Columbia.  Only 900 pieces in I realized that I became engrossed in completing the picture and had been relying on my left hand exclusively to fit the pieces together. When I would switch back to using my right I became frustrated at its fumbling and feeble attempts.  I of course laughed at my good intentions gone wrong but then I began to reflect.

I stopped laughing.  I stopped trying to fit the pieces together at all costs. I really wanted the sense of accomplishment that fitting the last piece in would bring. I wanted to see the happy scene come together as a reflection of the order I'd brought forth from a pile of random chaos. I wanted the approval of others and the recognition for my efforts. I didn't want to leave it unfinished but I suddenly lost the zeal for pretty pictures, approval and respect from others that would even have regard for such a thing. We're talking about a jigsaw puzzle aren't we!?  

No, we're not. I'm talking about my life and I don't think I want to pretend that living the rest of it with one hand that does not wash the other is nearly enough for me anymore.  

It Is About the Nail!

Click to View

No matter what side of the proverbial well appointed counselor's office I'm on, I want the solutions to be quickly identified.  So it was illuminating when I relayed the situation of the last post to a friend and it was used as a springboard to a teaching moment that furthered my growth.  My friend is wise enough to know the problem couldn't be fixed for me.  I wasn't blindly backed by simply saying "he's a jerk" because the boss had caused me pain.  I was listened to deeply I felt supported and safe enough to contemplate some thought provoking questions that allowed me to come to my own conclusions.  

"Find out for yourself why these situations annoy, anger or bore you. Reflect and identify the buttons that are pushed while working with others on their weight loss issues.  Make a determination as to whether you can work around your feelings to be effective in these situations."   

Weight loss is hard and no one can do it for another.  When a client comes to me it is hopefully so that I can help them in some way.  It never escapes my consciousness that people are paying a dollar a minute for my undivided attention.  Movement quality, strength, and balance are all areas in which I can have an impact almost immediately.  When someone identifies their weight as the issue, I am immediately and intimately aware of the pieces that go part and parcel with that.  Health concerns, the loss of oxygen while tying one's shoe, self loathing, public ridicule, embarrassment, self deprecating wit to cover the pain, a long trail of failed initiatives and the hopeless soul crushing feeling of helplessness.  

I want to rescue them from all of that as swiftly as possible.  I am a "fixer". I could swear I've been equipped with the wrong stereotypical gender qualities.  I've often felt more like one of the boys and mostly ill at ease among the girly-girls. I'm not capable of being stoic but I will talk about a problem only because I'm looking for a solution.  When a client comes to me for help on weight loss I feel responsible for the outcome but at the same time I realize it is a process where success or failure is largely not in my control.  If I were sitting across from the woman in the video I'd want to reach across and pull the nail from her forehead.  That's where I go wrong every time.  I sometimes lack the patience and wisdom to empower another to pull the nail from their own head.  

Telling someone what to do and having them do it and emerge successful is great when it happens.  It's a linear progression that I can see now is seldom successful.  In future I've got to remember the example set by my insightful advisor.  I was asked penetrating questions and allowed to construct my own truth that of course was acceptable to me.  I am thereby gifted the feeling of accomplishment, having figured it out myself.  I now have a clear direction to pursue because it was self selected and not dictated to me.  The next weight loss client will still have my empathy but they will also have a lot of questions to answer for themselves.   

Taming the Tempest That Brews Within 

One Page at a Time

I don't know why my boss gets under my skin the way he does but I'm almost glad for it even if I violently disagree and am left to nurse a bruised ego or a hurt set of feelings while I mutter under my breath.  He pushes me to substantiate the gelatinous mess of standard operating procedure and raw emotion that is me.

So here's the gist of the conversation as I heard it:

A new hire has a significant weight loss experience similar to myself except that he thrives on working with weight loss clients whereas I do not.  When I raised an eyebrow and wondered aloud how he tolerates weight loss clients the boss said he has a real passion for it and I do not because I'm lacking in empathy.  Ouch!
 
I originally got into this business to help others find their way to health as my trainer changed my life.  Rather quickly I became aware of the fact that not everyone is like me. What a wake up call! ;-)  I ran headlong into my problem of being overweight, crashed and burned, picked myself up and dusted myself off, put a helmet on and crashed into a brick wall again and again until I finally, with the help of a $500 "summer fun money" gift from my Dad, enlisted the help of a trained professional.  For 5 years, I had been running marathons and moving the weights around at the gym in an unsuccessful bid to rid myself of myself of my "pregnancy weight". My "baby" was 8 years old!  

It wasn't until I hit rock bottom that I sought professional advice. Rock bottom for me was calling the fit consultant at Lands End because according to my measurements 46-38-40 (man, that's embarrassing) I didn't fall neatly within a size category on the chart so the fit consultant was touted as the person to call in such instances to give garment-specific advice.  When I relayed my measurements the operator giggled nervously and said, "oh dear!" Oh dear indeed!  I don't blame her now but after that call I hung up the phone, cried myself to sleep and then hired a trainer.
 
My trainer sounded the alarm when my efforts were not in keeping with my results.  Turns out that I had an undiagnosed thyroid problem and had been living as a fat anorexic for years.  Eating less and doing more as my father so helpfully suggested all throughout my life, while generally good advice, does not hold if you're hypothyroid. "You've got such a great personality, if only you could lose that weight you'd have an unbeatable combination." was similarly unhelpful.  

As per usual, I was exceedingly slow to seek outside help but when I did I was after the missing piece of information not hand-holding nor moral support.  I had all of the inner strength, determination, and motivation to accomplish the task, I just needed the expertise to guide me to my destination.  I'm not saying that I didn't benefit from the teamwork and collaborative effort of my trainer.  I had an ally in the fight but he couldn't have done it for me. My boss is famous for saying, "meet people where they're at" besides being a grammatically poor statement, it seems that would be a completely ineffective way to proceed. If I'm looking for a way out, I want a guide to show me the way.  I don't want them to sit down right next to me. 

My brother, my sister and myself.
Ocean City, New Jersey 2002.
I'd already run a half marathon the year before.

I know exactly what it's like to lose weight.  It's a gruelingly cruel long haul process. When someone says they want help on the subject I know first hand how to do it and I believe that having been there myself, having walked many miles in size 22 jeans gives me a uniquely empathetic viewpoint that a natural born sanctimonious Adonis would lack. It's when that weight loss client isn't ready to make the lifestyle changes necessary and when I can't substitute my will for theirs that I lose momentum but not empathy. 

Who Are You?

Do you know who you are and if so, how do you know?

I'm not the first one to ponder the concept. The words "know thyself" (well those same words except written in Latin, but I didn't feel copying and pasting from google was necessary) are inscribed in the Temple of Apollo at Delphi built around 1100 BC.  For the record, I googled that last factoid too.  

Then there's the age-old question my father would ask,"Do a**holes know they're a**holes?" The short answer to this one is decidedly, no.  I know an insufferably overbearing person that thinks he or she is "up" and "bubbly".  

Last week, my boss's wife asked ME if it would be OK if she moved the plates of cornbread to a different table during our chili cook-off.  At first, I was perplexed as to why she would check with ME? and I started to launch into a diatribe asking just what kind of control freak she thought I was until I remembered I'm the worst kind of control freak!  I'm the worst kind because I like to think of myself as easy going until somebody has the audacity to do something that isn't in keeping with my standards.  

Do you act a certain way in front of a certain person that just might be a few beads off from the way you really truly are? No? Never? You're telling me you've never dated??? Have you ever had a mutual acquaintance that one friend finds delightful while the other finds that same person disagreeable? What is the truth of that third person's character?  

There are too many players involved to know oneself, I think.  As to our self perception, we might easily ascribe the best of intentions to our actions and be able to recall every mitigating circumstance to excuse our less than stellar behavior. When it comes to self evaluation, I think we wear blinders for our own protection. Ever been in traffic and ascribe the most contemptible loathsome state of being to the witless driver that cut you off?  That could have been the Dalai Lama! You never know! 

Outsiders are left to sort out our actions without the benefit of knowing our intent or just what particular devil made us do it. When someone holds up a mirror to aid in our self awareness, do we gaze intently into the reflection they present or do we consider the filters they use to see, taking note of their blind-spots and their demons?  This is precisely why my first foray into psychotherapy was an total failure. 

In college, during the semester I took philosophy class, I could count on a migraine headache every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon.  According to me, I'm too pragmatic for such esoteric flights of fancy.  It is only due to yet another meeting with my boss in which I, you guessed it, cried, that I'm even contemplating such thoughts.  DARN IT!  I'd say DAMN IT! but I don't curse in front of him and neither he in front of me.  I know I swear like a sailor and I'm pretty sure he lets the occasional vulgarity escape his lips but we don't do so in front of each other. For me, I clean up my act in front of him out of a deep and abiding respect.  Yes, he's a mere mortal, failed and flawed - especially when he doesn't agree with me ;-) - but I've also glimpsed an aura around him.  If you're Christian, it could most easily be described as the light and love of Jesus shining through.  

Anyway, I was crying....again!  Man!  It makes me so mad!  I don't have nearly enough estrogen to send a frigging birthday card on time or to pick up a Cosmo magazine even at the hair salon but should I become flustered, the waterworks start!  

On Monday, I was relieved of my duties as far as teaching group exercise class. He said he had observed a slowing down on my part and an inability to tolerate nor focus in the presence of loud music. Facilitating a group class is a learned skill that necessitates being a dynamic leader with laser focus on the individual while maintaining a nimble control of the group environs at the same time motivating music is blaring away.  

Could it be true?  Is this slippage in ability a result of my having Parkinson's as he believes?  Could I maybe just be a person who doesn't like loud music?  Is he seeing things that aren't even there or apparent only to him?  At what point to I accept someone else's appraisal of me as truth?  Until what time am I able to go on believing my own version of my truth?  

I cried because I realized that I stopped listening to the car radio about a year and a half ago.  At the time, I thought I was heeding the advice of others to slow down and decompress.  Since my most frequent commute is the 9 minutes it takes me to get to work I figured I could at least be quiet for that short of a period.  I recalled the many times I've asked my family to turn down the television or to lower their voices.  Is this Parkinson's or is that just me and every other middle aged parent?  I truly thought these preferences were normal and just in keeping with who I am.  But now, with my boss ascribing my behavior and motivations to this disease, how can I be sure where "I" end and "it" begins??

He accused (and there isn't another word choice other than accused, by the way he said it) me of being in denial about my having Parkinson's. True, I told almost no one for a full year after being diagnosed. However, I think I overcame my abject fear and episodic fits of panic quite nicely. My story is on our webpage http://bodybasics.biz/about/ , you're reading my blog, and I'll mention it occasionally in conversation being careful not to overdo it.  He said that I still haven't embraced Parkinson's as a part of myself.  Not that I should proceed as, "I have Parkinson's and my name is _______."  But my understanding is that he thinks I should embrace this disease as a part of myself and seek to be an inspiration to the other half dozen people in my area who have early onset. I think he views my near constant score-keeping appraisal of my abilities as a negative and my bucket list stunt pulling as a destructive or at least distracting force of denial.  

Embrace a DISEASE as a part of myself?? They cut cancer out, don't they?  So what if I'm trying new things before I can't?  I'm on definite notice that I won't always be able. The sin would be not to do as much as I can for as long as I can or as in the case this week until my boss tells me I can't.  That was quite a devastating blow. Being a capable personal trainer has become a part of my identity and it's starting to be chipped away.  I feel pretty low about it.  Am I allowed that?  Is it a real feeling or do I only feel that way because I'm a Parkie? I prefer to keep the whole Parkinson's thing at a shaking arm's length so I can cling to the feeling that I'm still in control.  I want to believe I'm still at the helm of my feelings, preferences and actions even if that sacred self-preserving belief resides in the garden state of denial. I just want to be like everyone else.  Why should I be forced to endure perfect self knowledge?  

Side Bar Notes:

1. A friend aptly pointed out after reading this blog that I'm wound tighter than a banjo string.  Hahaha!  So true!  That appraisal I will humbly accept and in keeping true to my stripes I want the record to reflect I wrote this whole post with earphones blaring music into my ears and yet I was able to focus on the task at hand.  Banjo string is kind, I think.  

2. My husband walked into the room and asked what I was working on.  I think he was checking on my recent vow not to work too much anymore. I nonchalantly replied,"my blog".  He actually said he didn't know I had a blog!!!  I reminded him that I told him twice before.  Don't think I can count him among my readers even still. He grunted and left the room having failed to ask the 64,000 dollar question yet again! Oh well.            

Resting Tremor

I've Got a Resting Tremor.

There, I said it.  Part of what made it a little difficult to diagnose me was the absence of a resting tremor.  That and being only 37 years old.  It used to be that I would only cog wheel or shake upon volitional movement.  With my doctor's guidance and a little on my own, (sorry Dr. G.!) my medication has been adjusted over the past few months.  My now near constant shakes aren't impacted by any combo that I've found so far.  I've tried meditation and deep breathing which is so not my style but desperate times... It's mostly my fingers that twitch but it can be my leg too.  I don't think it's too noticeable...yet.  

The one "touchy feely" conversation that I couldn't escape during the parkie ski trip was with a wonderfully intellectual man, B.  I enjoyed talking to him the whole week on a variety of subjects until he started getting real.  He shared some of his fears, basically stated aloud the ones that we all contemplate.  He got emotional.  I became uncomfortable.  Then it got worse and he started in with the probing personal questions.  His soft voice still echoes in my head.  "Is there ever a time when you forget you have Parkinson's?"  Nope. Never.  If I can't do something simple like brush my teeth....  If I'm doing something impressive like skiing in spite of it....  If I'm taking pills, seeing doctors, eating, writing, sitting watching t.v., reading, typing, running, biking, cooking, cleaning, or working I'm well aware.  I'm constantly struggling or gauging my performance and sometimes celebrating my wins.  But the thought, the awareness that something's wrong never leaves me.  It's been two months since the question was asked and there hasn't been a minute that's gone by before nor since that the disease has escaped my mind.  

Boot Camp

Beat Cancer Boot Camp  

March 16, 2013

You may have heard of the race events that exercise junkies and weekend warriors have concocted to keep it interesting.  One such is even called "warrior dash" another "tough mudder".  It combines the tired old 5 or 10K races with a series of obstacles that have to be negotiated on the way to the finish line. One of them includes an electrified fence and a ring of fire.  No thank you, I'll have my race without such a large helping of crazy, thanks.  

For the past three years, I've participated in the Beat Cancer Boot Camp 5K here in Tucson.  It benefits an exercise program among other offerings to people combating cancer.  The race includes things like push ups, sit ups, rope swings, wall climbs and at the end a mud pit. We've always done it as a staff and this was the first year that our clients joined us as well.  I almost didn't do it this year and I couldn't really articulate why.  For various reasons a lot of the staff wasn't going to attend and at first I thought that was a good enough reason to bail too.  It wasn't until I was talking to a client that the true reason came tumbling out of my mouth.  

FEAR 

I've been participating for three years.  I was diagnosed with Parkinson's two years ago.  Year one I competed in the race pretty well with a few difficulties due to "a persistently sore shoulder".  My arm had stopped swinging and my shoulder froze but I hadn't connected the dots then.  All I knew at that time was that it hurt like heck to do a push-up, something the marines screaming at us were very eager for us to do. Many of them!  

Year two I had just been diagnosed and I was full of spit and vinegar.  I trained hard, determined that this crappy disease was not going to get the better of  me and it didn't.  I did very well and had a lot of fun with barely a hiccup last year.  Pumping heavy ammo boxes over my head was difficult and the too many sit ups gave me a muscle spasm but those are minor inconveniences when you're talking to an exercise junkie.     

The honest answer that had been eluding my consciousness was I don't want to not be able to do anything that I could do last year. That's a biggie for a parkie.  I think we all take notice of the tasks that get tougher for us little by little as time passes.  Sometimes, however, the decline can be gradual and can go  virtually unnoticed. 

The Wall I Didn't Want
to Run Up Against

This race could be used a benchmark for my declining physicality.  I've already noticed several things that have become more difficult.  I don't run as much as I used to because my affected side takes a beating just by being a heartbeat out of sync with the rest of my body.  I don't participate in group exercise classes because my nervous system needs more rest than a 30 second interval or I'll become a floppy spectacle. Not being able to traverse a wall obstacle would be too literal a meeting of the figurative.   

For better or worse I'm still ornery and once I realized that fear was my sticking point I signed up on the last possible day to register for the race.  The nightmares ensued.  That wall was everywhere in my thoughts.  I could almost hear the marines yelling their "encouragement" at me as I struggled unsuccessfully to heft myself over the wall.

Race Day- It wasn't just a fun run. It was a referendum on my health and my grasp on normal.  The run to the first obstacle was incredibly difficult. My "chirpy hand"  was going in full force.  My thumb and fingers tremor together like a bird's beak.  It's my "canary in the coal mine" physical indication of stress and over-exertion. Had I not been running with my friend Amber, I could have easily stopped and slunk home right then.  That little voice inside my head kept shrieking, "This is supposed to be the easy part!  No way are you going to make it!"  I wordlessly kept pace with Amber like my life depended on it.  

The overhead press of ammunition boxes actually felt easier.  The kettlebell strength training I've been obsessed with paid off.  I skipped a few of the push ups (I don't think that shoulder will ever be completely right again.) and I evaded detection as I slipped by the station where we were to do step ups onto the tractor tire.  That kind of movement wipes me out and I wanted to save my energy for "the wall".  

The wall is located in the sandy portion of the course and is about 8 feet tall.  This was it.  I was tired and thirsty and had shoes full of sand.  My hand and leg were tremorring and felt weak.  A prayer and a running jump gave me a toe hold 2 or 3 feet above the sandy wash.  I reached for the top of the A-frame and hoisted myself up, swung my legs over and dropped onto the other side as if nothing was wrong with me. 

Victory!  Victory over fear! Victory over challenge! My experience was in keeping with the universal laws of training that bind everyone.  The run was hard this time because I haven't been running regularly.  The feats of strength were easy because I've been consistently lifting weights and swinging bells.  Hallelujah!  That day I basked in the feeling normalcy!  Granted it's my new normal but I was so relieved that my old life hadn't slipped that far away from me this year.