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.     

Oh Good Grief!

The 5 Stages of Grief

1.           Denial
2.           Anger
3.           Bargaining
4.           Depression
5.           Acceptance

I've had a fantastic time during my ski retreat in Breckenridge, CO at the BOEC.  For anyone interested in attending or donating you can check them out http://www.boec.org/   

Today, I finally learned to control the speed that came naturally to me.  The previous two days were so fun and I'm sure fun to watch as I went end over end, bailing out and losing my skis.  I didn't fall once today and I give all the thanks to my ski instructor Terrin! Actually, I consider this wonderful lady more of a friend now than merely an instructor.  

Terrin & Me

It was pretty o.k. to be in the company of other parkies this week although I don't think anyone referred to themselves as a parkie, preferring instead the term -PWP (person with parkinson's).  That's a little too politically correct for my taste and as you might be able to tell by now, I cannot take myself that seriously.  My daughter asked if I was worried that a bunch of spazzes on the slope at the same time might cause an avalanche!  Love that girl!

The other participants are for the most part a great group of people.  Most of them are staying physically active and the very fact that they are here indicates that they are trying to hold onto normalcy and and do all that they can to get out there and enjoy life.  It was a much more positive experience than the summit in Phoenix.  

I had two great runs today.  Didn't fall once!  I wanted to end on a high note and I also wanted to hang out with Terrin.  She wasn't her normal bubbly self and I could sense that she was out of sorts. From the start of the day, I relieved her of her duty to be a cheerleader.  I was feeling a little nauseous from having to take a second dose of carb/lev without eating enough to cushion that nasty side effect.  Perkiness wouldn't have been well received anyway. 

As it turns out, we had a great day seeing the sites, going out to lunch and really getting to know one another.  She's an amazing young woman who works with people with all sorts of disabilities as her vocation.  She's called to do this kind of work and she's really good at it.  Unfortunately, it doesn't exactly pay the bills and she works two other jobs besides. 

I realize that I'm the odd duck.  I suppose that any time you get a group like this together there's going to be formal sharing sessions.  YUCK!  If you read this, Terrin, I'm sorry.  I know you were doing your job and REALLY, YOU DO IT WELL!  You'll be running the place in no time.  The other participants gained from the experience.  I don't necessarily mind talking to people about "my condition" as my husband phrases it, but only if it's during the give and take of a natural discussion.  One of the activities was to write a note of encouragement to yourself, seal it in an envelope to be opened at a later date.  Oh please! I dated mine the 12th of Never.  Then, we were to write a negative thought and divest ourselves of it by burning it over the gas stove top.  Good grief!  

Speaking of grief, there's the well known five stages proposed by Elisabeth Kubler-Ross.  It's been pretty well debunked although we cling to the tidy idea that there's a procedure for grieving. There was a lot of talk about coming to terms with limitations and loss, being at peace with it and accepting it.  You may categorize me in either the denial or anger stages and I don't care, but I say, "hell no!"   I'm not going to ever be o.k. with not being able to ride a two wheel bike.  It would be devastating to give up the keys to my car.  I wouldn't ever accept not being able to continue working.  

People talk about grief as if it's a process to get through.  I don't want to.  I have my days where I can be in any one of the stages but I don't ever want to get to the end which is acceptance.  This isn't acceptable!  I'm going to keep ticking things off my bucket list and adding more to it when I get to the end of the original 28. Skiing has a big check mark next to it!  I leave for home tomorrow and I'm going to go to bed now  to contemplate what will be the next item on my list.  

Do you have a list??

The Duty to Waste Time in a Meaningful Way

The Duty to Waste Time in a Meaningful Way

I received a jury summons and dutifully responded and waited until yesterday to see if I would indeed be needed.  As it turns out, my group was not.  I considered going to work as usual but immediately dismissed the thought because my clients were already scheduled to be in the capable hands of my coworkers and I knew my P.I.C. (partner in crime) would be disappointed in me if I didn't take the opportunity to kick back today and relax.  It's not even that I think the place would come crashing down without me.  I might smile a little as I think about the little ways they would miss me because I'm pretty sure they're not entirely aware of the things I do.  I confess that I derive a sense of satisfaction from being the glue that keeps things together and the go-to girl.  But I can't say megalomaniac is among the list of my faults.   

As soon as I made the decision to not go in I started worrying and obsessing about what to do instead.  This is a golden opportunity that doesn't present itself often, in fact almost never.  Worrying about what I might do is a bit of an understatement.  I lost sleep last night.  I had nightmares.  Let's pause for a minute for a word from ....

"Maureen, you're a nut!"  

Thanks, Capt. O! All of this stuff makes perfect sense in my head until I say them out loud.  I'm so duty driven and work oriented that I'm at a loss when I'm not working on a project or towards a goal.  I wanted to be able to report that at the end of the day, my time was well spent.  I started the day by sleeping in.  I had a great breakfast, read the paper and had that second cup of coffee I'm always thinking about as I dash out the door every day.  I spent a lot of the day surfing around the internet pursuing different interests.  One quest was the search for a non work related book to take with me on my ski trip.  I wanted so much for it to be "meaningful and worth the time if it wasn't going to be work related" that I ended up closing down Barnes & Noble last night in search of the perfect tome.  I left empty handed..... Shut up, Capt. Obvious!  I know it!

Granted, it took me the better part of the day, but I finally felt the intense pressure I was putting on myself regarding leisure time.  

lei·sure  

/ˈlēZHər/

Noun Free time. Use of free time for enjoyment.

Synonyms spare time - leisure time - ease

I don't think I get enough of the stuff!  It was then that I grabbed a hunk of cookie dough and drew a bubble bath.  That my friend, is the meaning of leisure time!  My resolution is to carve out more of the stuff for myself so next time it won't be such a monumental happening that I wind up stressing about unwinding!  I'm going to go make a list of leisure activities so I'll be prepared......

I said, Shut up!, Captain Obvious and stop shaking your head at me!  

Dammit! I'm a trainer not a doctor!

I Love My Job!

I can honestly say that I would be at work the next morning after having hit the lottery.  No fooling around.  I help people.  Our BodyBasics ( http://bodybasics.biz/ ) logo has a tag line "Move Better, Feel Better, Live Better.  It sounds tidy but it's really huge when I think about it.  

One of my favorite clients came to me 4-6 months ago and gave me the scare of my career.  I thought I'd quite possibly broken her after our first session only I couldn't imagine how. We did some very minimal stuff.  I was just laying the groundwork to getting her moving.  She'd been suffering from daily headaches and had shoulders and a neck that would have stifled a jackhammer.  We were basically working on proper posture, honestly, nothing that I would have suspected that could have even made her the slightest bit sore.  However,when she returned she'd said she'd been in agony and I couldn't even brush by her skin without it hurting her.  I'm not really sure why she had such  a dramatic reaction and it's never happened again but by the end of  even that session she walked out feeling better.  

She has continued to grow stronger and less stiff.  The headaches are gone and she no longer needs to see a neuromuscular therapist once or twice a week.  She's put in the hard work but I helped get her there. She's doing things now that she never would have attempted and that's what brought her in today completely wracked with pain.  It was her shoulder again and she gotten that way by climbing on a ladder and hefting big plastic containers onto a high shelf.  Score!  I say that because she felt strong enough to even attempt such a job.  Even more impressive when you know that she's 4 foot 11.  She has a husband who is over 6 feet tall but she was sure she could do this herself.  Stuff happens and her ergonomics were all off but I'm still counting this as a win.  

The job satisfaction comes in where she comes to ME and says,"you're the best "fixer" I know you'll get me out of this."  I panicked.  I felt like yelling, "Dammit! M! I'm a trainer not a doctor!"  No pressure.  When I gathered my wits, I fell back on basic anatomy, ferreted out the problem, used a few tricks in my toolbox that I've acquired over the years and actually did fix her.  All  the while, an intern and the new hire were looking on adding to my by now, massive ego.  I'm going to bask in the ego trip a while and savor the feeling of actually helping somebody.  I know that it will be short lived and I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts.  

Self Awareness

Self awareness, not my strong suit.  

The day I got back from the "victory summit" in Phoenix I thought I must have eaten something that didn't agree with me.  I'll spare you the details.  Few people return the favor, seeing nothing wrong with sharing the most intimate details of their bowel habits.  I think that's gross and possibly puts them in a position of being even less self aware than I but I'm already on a tangent....

After about 5 days of eating nothing but crackers, toast and rice and I thought to myself, gee, I haven't felt this bad since my husband was depressed and out of a job, and we with two very small children and me with no marketable skills whatsoever, slowly watching our ship sink.  Also at the same time, my little sister was preparing for a shot-gun wedding -her second marriage and my parents were none too pleased.   I found myself on the business end of some sort of medical scanner convinced I was dying.  When nothing was found medically wrong it was suggested it was a case of IBS.  I was incredulous that my body could betray me and not buy into it when I told everyone I just knew that everything would work out.  Intellectually I thought and believed that to be true.  My body on the other hand wasn't having any of it.

It didn't occur to me just how deeply that conference bothered me.  I thought I put the issue to bed with my cathartic blog entry.  I'm not even sure I can put my finger on what exactly pushed me over the edge.  The great thing that I actually love about myself is once I realized I had been pushed that far the symptoms cleared.

I handle the negative pretty glibly and dismiss it quickly in the hope that it won't take root and wield any real power over me.  I keep myself pretty busy proving that I'm not that affected and I'm still the same tough, sarcastic and ornery girl I've always been.  I celebrate privately inside my head when people say I've got a pretty positive attitude and they forget anything is wrong with me.  It's when that facade is chipped away or not strong enough to keep everything out or when people simply see right through it that I almost short circuit.  One of my readers privately messaged me after she read this blog:

 Dearest Maureen,

Your blog is just like you: feisty, vulnerable, brave, funny, outrageous. But through all of your blogs I sense pain, the intense pain and bitterness of being dealt such a lousy hand at such a young age. I can only say the pain resonates through my body as you talk about it. It becomes real and formidable.

I wouldn't run from it, Maureen. Probably the funniest entry is your day in Phoenix with all these phony-cheery people yucking it up with joyful yoga. How absurd do people think Parkinson's sufferers are? Your outrage was appropriate and heartfelt, you were furious at being condescended to like that. I say, "You go, girl! Tell it like it is."

I loved the entry on Rob, and Amelia, and the motorcycle, and on your boss delivering you a lecture. But I don't think you should apologize for your feelings about having this disease. The one thing we are all counting on from you now is to forge a new life out of what you have left, to give us some insight into your feelings as the disease progresses, and to emerge triumphant in some way. Like Stephen Hawking or Michael J. Fox, you will prevail, not just endure. Because you are a strong and resilient person, and you are going to in some way leave your mark.

So keep writing, and give us all the pain you feel. We can handle it, and will love you all the more if that is possible. You are very special.

Love and admiration,

xxxx

I was so touched and so moved and so surprised that she had my number.  She understood and articulated for me better than I ever could for myself.  The coup de grace was in the last bit where she throws in some unconditional love and encouraged me to just be real.  I wept.  I re-read and and I rudely didn't reply.  I'm ashamed to say that she worried she had offended me.  My carefully crafted exterior wasn't enough.  She had penetrated it easily and I recoiled like a petulant child.  I'm not sure how to be or if I even  want to be real.  Sure, I'm honest but being real and sharing vulnerability?  Typing this and having my say, editing my thoughts and howling into cyberspace is a practice run I suppose.  I'm tightly wound and bound with many layers of duct tape.  If the corners are picked at and peeled back I'm afraid of what might come spilling out and afraid that the pieces wouldn't ever fit neatly back together.  I would have to abandon my modus operandi of "stuff it and move on".  Honestly, that's the way I've  lived my life.  It's allowed  me to sidestep grief and shuffle by most of life's entanglements.  There are cracks forming in my foundation and maybe it was only a matter of time that I could get by like that.  Maybe this is what my Dad is talking about when he describes hitting the wall?  

Work and life have been pretty busy lately.  I haven't had time to fully sort through and make complete sense of all this yet but it bubbles up to the surface even still.  I'm usually thankful for the distractions of being busy.  This time, I'm going to go out on a limb and actually try to resolve it rather than stuff it.

Boys Are Different

I was going to title this one "Boys are Weird" but I've been to church today where they've spent the last month dissecting relationships, marital relationships in particular.  So for me, top of mind is the thought that we're supposed to be different, that's what makes it work. 

I've been married to my wonderful husband for over 18 years.  He lets me be who I am and I even think he loves me for it.  He's a pretty quiet, creative and passive guy and the last place you'd find him is in the gym.  If anybody's reading this you can safely say opposites attract.  Attract is a great word too because he's about the only guy who was interested in me based on looks alone.  Usually, I fell into dating my guy friends.  He picked me up at the grocery store while I was working my way through college.  It was very "Officer and Gentlemen", him decked out in his navy uniform coming through my line most every night for six months before he asked me out.  And by "asked out" I mean that he threw his business card at me and asked over his shoulder for me to call him if I was interested while he made a hasty retreat.  Our first real date was to the Navy Ball and it seems cliche but I knew that night that we would be married.  Three weeks later, we were in fact engaged which caused quite a stir in our families.  He was 36, I was 19.  I shake my head as I type that. Couldn't have known then but fast forward to present day, and I'm the only one of my siblings still married.  Sure we've had our ups and downs with two great kids, a couple of moves, and several job changes and most recently some unpleasant health concerns.  Not even going to mention the "P" word this post.  

Anyway, I've mentioned in passing that I was writing this blog to him.  The other night, when he asked what I was doing I told him I was blogging.  The obvious follow up in my mind is, "Can I read it?".  Apparently not for him.  Makes me say hmmmm.  And in the next breath it makes me say, boys are weird.  

Davis Phinney is a Good Guy.  

The retired cyclist has found a way to make sense of the disease for himself and become a source of information and hope and possibly even an answer by funding research for those diagnosed with PD.  I  went to the Victory Summit in Phoenix today not really knowing what to expect.  Considering I didn't have any expectations, it's all the more depressing to be disappointed.  I was by far the youngest in attendance and that made me feel alone in a room filled to capacity.  I learned a few small things and I got a more thorough understanding of the forced exercise experiments.  Those experiments have lead to the push for intense exercise, I think.  The lectures, some good, some not so good, were interspersed with some crazy "exercise", dance, and worst of all "laughing yoga".  Laughing yoga consisted of the whole room full of people forcibly laughing without cause like demented hyenas.  I get that there's some science behind it but seriously, it was disturbing.  The enthusiastic crowd engaged in what could only be described as a Parkinson's Pep Rally.  They ate it up.  It was almost like they were glad to be part of an exclusive club.  I don't get it.  Parkinson's stinks.  I wanted to cry, punch somebody and leave.  I didn't cry right then and I thankfully didn't punch anyone.  I did in fact leave before the conclusion of the summit after realizing that the early onset break-out session wasn't going to have any of my peers in it since no one was a day under 60 years old.  Plus, it was billed as an uplifting and encouraging session.  I'd had about enough of that.  

A look at laughing yoga.  No, she didn't just hear the funniest  joke of her life.

I don't need:

• a cheerleader!  
• to be told to be my own informed advocate!    
• to be encouraged to exercise!
• to be reminded not to give up!

To quote what the kids are saying these days,"Duh! Obviously!"  I'm willing to admit I march to my own beat sometimes.  If  the other people in the room needed that, great!  I'm glad they got what they needed but not me.  In addition to what I didn't need, I didn't want to see what may or may not be next for me down the road reflected in the faces I saw.  What do I need and want?  What I can't have, of course.  I'm a planner.  I need a peek into the future so that I can see exactly what my future self will be dealing with and plan accordingly.  No one gets that.  I want to know if some of my weird little quirks like not noticing anything seen out of the eye on my affected side are Parkinson's related.  For me, an out and back walk contains two different sets of scenery: the view out of my left eye going up the street and the other side of the street when I'm on my way back.  Even if I find out it is or isn't a symptom who cares?  But I wonder.  I wonder if my kids are going to inherit this from me.  Would we even want to know?  Maybe. I need to know if there's anything else I should be doing.  The problem with unproven complimentary therapies is they're expensive and it's easy to fall prey to every snake oil salesman selling false hope.  

What Now?

I'm done with Parkinson's.  I know it's not as easy as that and I don't mean I've found a cure.  I mean that I'm done giving it more attention than it deserves.  I don't want to make it my life's work.  I've faced it.  I've conquered my abject fear of it but continually dwelling on it is making me crazy.  I don't want to devote my personal training career to it.  I love my job too much for that.  I don't want to be a parkie expert or celeb.  I don't need to attend any more support groups.  When I told my boss this the other day I immediately felt like I removed the millstone from around my neck.  I'm going to do what Dr. Bose said I should do when I asked, "what now?" immediately following the dreaded diagnosis.....Live Your Life!!  

What's Next?

The next task at hand is to call the outdoor adventure school for people with disabilities and tactfully ;-)( not my strong suit)- ask about the average functional level and age of the other participants in the upcoming ski trip.  I need to know exactly how much of the time is going to be devoted to talking about Parkinson's.  I couldn't hack a whole day of it and the last thing I want to do is be stranded in the middle of nowhere subjected to an all Parkinson's all the time show for 5 days!  

I'm willing to admit I might be wrong about all of this and I reserve the right to change my mind later.  Thoughts anyone?

Never Let Them See You Sweat

I  pride myself on never letting them see me sweat but now they can see me shake.  I've got a built in mechanism that tells me when I'm under stress- good or bad.   My boss corrected or better yet educated me about a fairly minor point today while I was with a client.  I say minor because I certainly wasn't going to hurt anyone but in the long run his strategy will prove more helpful to the client.  He was right, I was wrong but it bugged me.  I've asked him to please wait to tell me these types of things until later but it's really no big deal.  When he revisited the point later on to make sure I understood I listened intently looking for a way to save face and make some sort of intelligent contribution.  I wanted to turn it into a discussion rather than a lesson.  There wasn't any room for that.  I was getting told and I saw the same insistent look in his eye that he has when he's correcting one of my co-workers on a no-brainer.    He was standing and I was sitting in a chair with my legs crossed over.  I didn't like being in the hot seat and my shaking leg betrayed my annoyance.  I'm pretty sure he noticed the chink in my tough guy armor.    

Keep the Rubber-Side Down!

I look forward to writing every day and it's odd how doing so makes me feel better.  I remember as a kid that I threw out a diary I had started to keep because I knew my mother would find it and read it. Now, here I am writing down my thoughts for anyone to see and examine.  It was such a kick today to get a reply from a fellow blogger who also has Parkinson's.  We have a lot in common as far as our illness and our take on it.  It amuses me that our reaction to diagnosis was to get motorcycles.  When I found his site I also found comfort and inspiration.  I would be overjoyed if anyone were to find the same things here.

Me and my client, Linda on my Honda 750 Shadow 

A parkie driving a motorcycle doesn't sound like it would be a good thing but it's one of the best anti-depressants I've found. I'm a safe driver looking out for all of the road idiots everywhere.  I took the driving class at the local community college too.  I'm reliving some of the best times when I would get to ride on the back of my big brother's bike only this time it's better because I'm in control now.   So far so good!

Can't Keep a Good Girl Down or a Bad One Either

Told ya my pity party would be short lived.  I spent most of today still in a funk.  Every Wednesday I go to see my trainer, Danny.  Yes, even trainers have trainers.  Like anyone else, we can sometimes lack perspective and the watchful, unbiased eye of a professional can be most useful.

During my session things just seemed to click.  I felt coordinated and in control.  He was praising me along the way that felt oh so good. I'm overly wrapped up in the need for his approval.  I finish a lift and immediately search his face for any traces of disappointment or the validation that I crave.

Danny kept a close eye on me careful to monitor my shakes.   The shakes are an outward sign of stress that will betray me every time.  I've learned how to hold onto myself and stand on one foot to make them a little less noticeable.  He asked me how I was doing and I quickly said, "fine:".  I was fired up and I wanted to keep going.  By now he knows his job is as much to rein me in as spur me on.  He made me hold out my hands and I was revealed as the liar I am.  We proceeded with the workout at a reasonable pace so as not to offend my nervous system.  He handles me like I would handle my clients.  He gives me the same well reasoned advice I would give my own clients.  I need him for his expertise but more so I need him to gently remind me that the rules do apply to me.

Yesterday, I was mourning the slow insidious advancement of my decline.  Today, I'm more optimistic and recommitted to the fight.  I'm going down swinging.  Literally.

What's Shaking?

Jan. 16, 2013

So I feel pretty sorry for myself today and thank goodness this doesn't happen very often or at least when it does, it's pretty short lived.  My bestie at work, my partner in crime (P.I.C.),  a beautiful and smart, loud and obnoxious, extremely wise for her age because she's been to re-hab, 24 year old snot, sees to it by giving me no slack and making darn sure I laugh along with her as she laughs at me.   I love her to death and she helps keep me almost sane.  Here's a sample of  our handiwork.

Anyway, I wasn't laughing today.  I cannot and will not ever be able to snatch a 35 pound kettlebell 100 times over my head in 5 minutes.  Most people don't even know what that means and not many people can do it either.  There are worse things in the world to be sure and I feel so stupid sometimes that I let stuff like this get to me.  The snatch test is a minimum requirement for an advanced kettlebell certification.  For those of you who are still wondering what the heck it is, this is a kettlebell.

A snatch is an overhead movement that requires strength, stamina, and finesse.

Observe: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2o8gECEjU9U  

I actually sat in front of my poor boss today during a meeting and cried about this.  Mostly I cried because I think the rules shouldn't apply to me.  I've never won an Olympic medal or broke the tape in the Boston marathon but I've been able to accomplish most things I've set out to do.  I'm not bragging.  I get things done it's who I am.  I don't have any special innate abilities other than a strong will and the willingness to work hard.  The thing that makes me so bitter is that Parkinson's disease trumps all of that.  My body will not cooperate with me and it's only going to get worse.

Cheery thoughts huh?  I'm not always so whiny, I promise. Well, if you're still reading and you decide to come back to tomorrow I think I will have bucked up a bit by then and I can fill you in on some of the back story like:

• how I used to be 230 pounds 
• how I ran 2 marathons and why
• why the only good part of this is that everywhere I go I'm told I'm too young to have this disease and  to somebody pushing 40 I'll take what I can get
• how I love my job as a personal trainer so much that I'd still go to work the day after hitting the lottery
• why I got a motorcycle 
• how I can agree to anything ahead of time including a ski trip just for parkies - you know you'll want to hear about a bunch of spazzoids on a ski slope!  

This blog can't and won't be all about Parkinson's Disease.  I've got too much else to say to let this completely define me.