After three blocks of walking this morning, it was obvious that my masochism doesn't reach the depth required to submit myself to running is this weather. Back home for me, and on to the treadmill while watching "The King's Speech". Air conditioning on full blast, overhead fan going.
Nevertheless, I've kept the faith with the training group: There are almost two pounds less of me. After the weight I lost two years ago, I may be within striking range of getting myself back into some decent clothes.
miércoles, 10 de agosto de 2011
martes, 9 de agosto de 2011
The Move from Hell
When it came time for us to try to move our furniture from our rented condo in Lakeway, TX, to Monterrey, I had rushed to Lubbock to be with my hospitalized mother, and my husband stayed put here because his sister had been hospitalized at the same time. In the meantime I had made four appointments for estimates for an international move, so a friend who also happens to work with my husband went to take charge. It's a good thing he is a triathlon competitor, too, because he needed every physical and mental resource to survive. If my husband or I had gone, some kind of crime might have been committed.
A local firm showed up and stated they would only place the furniture on the border; a woman who was driving in from Houston, representing a second firm, apparently was unable to read a map, estimate time and speed, or ask for directions because although she made it to the Austin airport, that was as far as she got before calling our friend to say that "it just couldn't be done". "It" in this case meant arriving in Lakeway because she had to be back in Houston that same evening. The skin crawls just to imagine where our furniture might wind up under the tender care of someone who couldn't get from Houston to Lakeway under her own steam.
Someone did show up, gave us an estimate (it was horribly expensive) to get our belongings to Monterrey, Nuevo León, México, and this was stated in writing. There is no mystery about what is happening in the United States these days in the area of customer service. Companies seem to think it is okay to send out representatives into the unsuspecting world when said employees are not sure exactly where they are themselves; our hero did understand we were moving to another country, and yes, his company has partners here in Mexico. He thought we could save import duties on our stuff if we just went to a Mexican consulate here in Monterrey to validate our time spent in the U.S.
As far as I know, although at this point I'm not sure of anything, Mexico does not have diplomatic missions to itself. I would have paid good money (although after the move estimate, I couldn't afford it) to have been present in order to suggest that our hero make sure he has all the necessary documents he needs from the United States embassy in Austin. It would have been even more exciting to see him attempt to get the embassy's address. Our hero surely lacked the almost divine inspiration of the Houston lady, and it is doubtful he would have leaped into his car and headed toward Austin, hoping to find the embassy by mental telepathy alone.
Today's excitement came about because my husband and our friend (it's Ironman Hernán) got into a knock-down-drag-out with our moving hero, who wanted to let us know that it was going to cost an additional king's ransom to move the furniture from the border to our home in Monterrey. It was like Saturday night in Belfast, although via telephone. Having signed the contract to move our furniture here for a stated amount, there was no turning back for our international mover, so aside from the import duties, his proverbial goose is done to a nice turn. He accepted the inevitable and signed another statement that obligates him to reimburse us after we have paid the Mexican movers.
None of these people is perverse or ill-willed, but they do seem to be almost mythically uninformed. The moving representative said that the trouble and expense involved in storing our stuff till now has been "unimaginable"--his word. It is of course unimaginable only to someone totally unaware of what his job involves or how to go about whatever it is he has to do. And this, folks, is an associate company of Mayflower movers!
The news two days ago said that the approval rating of the U.S. Congress was at an all-time low; when commentators would ask strategists and Congressmen from both parties why they couldn't hunker down and do something for the country, you couldn't hear the answers because they began shouting at each other--in other words, reinacting the behavior the news commentators were criticizing. Take the moving company representatives and multiply them by a factor of X, and you have Congress!
For those of you who still read, try "The Post-American World" by the brilliant Fareed Zakaria. You won't know whether to laugh and say "I told you so!", or cry, but out of the ashes comes inspiration: Why shouldn't the U.S. State Department open diplomatic missions to all major U.S. cities and consulates in the smaller towns? All those educated unemployed could join the diplomatic corps and serve without leaving the United States.
A local firm showed up and stated they would only place the furniture on the border; a woman who was driving in from Houston, representing a second firm, apparently was unable to read a map, estimate time and speed, or ask for directions because although she made it to the Austin airport, that was as far as she got before calling our friend to say that "it just couldn't be done". "It" in this case meant arriving in Lakeway because she had to be back in Houston that same evening. The skin crawls just to imagine where our furniture might wind up under the tender care of someone who couldn't get from Houston to Lakeway under her own steam.
Someone did show up, gave us an estimate (it was horribly expensive) to get our belongings to Monterrey, Nuevo León, México, and this was stated in writing. There is no mystery about what is happening in the United States these days in the area of customer service. Companies seem to think it is okay to send out representatives into the unsuspecting world when said employees are not sure exactly where they are themselves; our hero did understand we were moving to another country, and yes, his company has partners here in Mexico. He thought we could save import duties on our stuff if we just went to a Mexican consulate here in Monterrey to validate our time spent in the U.S.
As far as I know, although at this point I'm not sure of anything, Mexico does not have diplomatic missions to itself. I would have paid good money (although after the move estimate, I couldn't afford it) to have been present in order to suggest that our hero make sure he has all the necessary documents he needs from the United States embassy in Austin. It would have been even more exciting to see him attempt to get the embassy's address. Our hero surely lacked the almost divine inspiration of the Houston lady, and it is doubtful he would have leaped into his car and headed toward Austin, hoping to find the embassy by mental telepathy alone.
Today's excitement came about because my husband and our friend (it's Ironman Hernán) got into a knock-down-drag-out with our moving hero, who wanted to let us know that it was going to cost an additional king's ransom to move the furniture from the border to our home in Monterrey. It was like Saturday night in Belfast, although via telephone. Having signed the contract to move our furniture here for a stated amount, there was no turning back for our international mover, so aside from the import duties, his proverbial goose is done to a nice turn. He accepted the inevitable and signed another statement that obligates him to reimburse us after we have paid the Mexican movers.
None of these people is perverse or ill-willed, but they do seem to be almost mythically uninformed. The moving representative said that the trouble and expense involved in storing our stuff till now has been "unimaginable"--his word. It is of course unimaginable only to someone totally unaware of what his job involves or how to go about whatever it is he has to do. And this, folks, is an associate company of Mayflower movers!
The news two days ago said that the approval rating of the U.S. Congress was at an all-time low; when commentators would ask strategists and Congressmen from both parties why they couldn't hunker down and do something for the country, you couldn't hear the answers because they began shouting at each other--in other words, reinacting the behavior the news commentators were criticizing. Take the moving company representatives and multiply them by a factor of X, and you have Congress!
For those of you who still read, try "The Post-American World" by the brilliant Fareed Zakaria. You won't know whether to laugh and say "I told you so!", or cry, but out of the ashes comes inspiration: Why shouldn't the U.S. State Department open diplomatic missions to all major U.S. cities and consulates in the smaller towns? All those educated unemployed could join the diplomatic corps and serve without leaving the United States.
Dreams
Last night I dreamed I was in the presence of a number of gigantic cupcakes, and I ate two. It was terrible because I woke up feeling guilty at having fallen off the excess-food-wagon almost from the outset. But, man, were they ever good! Thank gosh it was only a dream. I think my superego needs readjusting...
lunes, 8 de agosto de 2011
Withdrawal symptoms
No, not from the blog, although that too. No sooner did I spout off about having my training routine set when the usual wrench was tossed into the works.
At the beginning of the year, my rheumatologist said one of the benefits of getting into shape and exercising consistently would be the elimination of one of my fibro medications. So, I decided to eliminate it. It was given to me in the lowest possible dose, hundreds of mgs fewer than most people have to take, so I was not worried about withdrawal symptoms. Getting rid of medication was one of my main goals for running, by the way.
This is day four without this particular medication, and it has been hard going. It is supposed to take care of pain, which is not my worst complaint anyway with fibromyalgia, and in that sense I don't miss it. Unfortunately, no one knows why it helps fibro, so no one knows for sure what else it does to you; in my book, that's enough of a reason to wean oneself away. So far I have been nauseated, woozy, with stomach upset and intestinal cramps--it's like a hangover without ever having had the fun of going on the drunk!
I am also having withdrawal symptoms from food. Last Thursday I announced to the whole training team that I have to lose from eight to ten kilos. The only way to do something like this is to say it out loud to supportive people; that way, shame alone can keep you on track. I don't change the way I cook, either, I just stop bingeing on crap like ice cream, cake, and other goodies. The only reason I'm not easier to jump over than to go around is because I'm a very good cook and make killer desserts, so I don't like the bought stuff, but laziness keeps me from baking very often. Once the sweet tooth is tamed or outfoxed, the rest is easier--decent serving sizes, for example. It hurts, but it aint impossible.
It may not have been the best idea in the world to withdraw from two addictions at once, but I figure the digestive upset from medication abstinence will help with the food withdrawal. You just can't get excited about a French chocolate tart made with rich Belgian chocolate if you are thrashing around the floor with stomach cramps.
By tomorrow or the next day, though, I'll be over the abstinence symptoms, and that will leave me alone to face my nemesis in the calorie department.
At the beginning of the year, my rheumatologist said one of the benefits of getting into shape and exercising consistently would be the elimination of one of my fibro medications. So, I decided to eliminate it. It was given to me in the lowest possible dose, hundreds of mgs fewer than most people have to take, so I was not worried about withdrawal symptoms. Getting rid of medication was one of my main goals for running, by the way.
This is day four without this particular medication, and it has been hard going. It is supposed to take care of pain, which is not my worst complaint anyway with fibromyalgia, and in that sense I don't miss it. Unfortunately, no one knows why it helps fibro, so no one knows for sure what else it does to you; in my book, that's enough of a reason to wean oneself away. So far I have been nauseated, woozy, with stomach upset and intestinal cramps--it's like a hangover without ever having had the fun of going on the drunk!
I am also having withdrawal symptoms from food. Last Thursday I announced to the whole training team that I have to lose from eight to ten kilos. The only way to do something like this is to say it out loud to supportive people; that way, shame alone can keep you on track. I don't change the way I cook, either, I just stop bingeing on crap like ice cream, cake, and other goodies. The only reason I'm not easier to jump over than to go around is because I'm a very good cook and make killer desserts, so I don't like the bought stuff, but laziness keeps me from baking very often. Once the sweet tooth is tamed or outfoxed, the rest is easier--decent serving sizes, for example. It hurts, but it aint impossible.
It may not have been the best idea in the world to withdraw from two addictions at once, but I figure the digestive upset from medication abstinence will help with the food withdrawal. You just can't get excited about a French chocolate tart made with rich Belgian chocolate if you are thrashing around the floor with stomach cramps.
By tomorrow or the next day, though, I'll be over the abstinence symptoms, and that will leave me alone to face my nemesis in the calorie department.
viernes, 29 de julio de 2011
Adios for now...
My training schedule has now been set for quite a while, and nothing much will happen until the fall; therefore I am signing off for now, folks, except in Spanish on topics unrelated to running. Once in a while I may check in again in English to report on Gitano. Meanwhile, virtual running pals, forge ahead! You are admirable and true models for us beginners, all my best vibes are headed your way.
May the Force be with you all.
May the Force be with you all.
martes, 26 de julio de 2011
Another day at the park
One of my patients took a good, long look at my eye and told me that purple is definitely my color for eye shadow. I haven't used makeup in years because everything I do involves sun block or insect repellent, so makeup is pointless. It would only run into my eyes and streak down my face, but maybe I'll get some for my very few evenings out.
When Freud wrote about psychosexual development and used the word "perversions" to describe certain phenomena, the word simply indicated a deviation from the statistical norm and had no negative implications as such. But the negative feelings people had about the phenomena themselves transferred itself to the word, and now a pervert is someone odious indeed.
The same thing has happened with the word "retarded", which simply means an arrest in one's intellectual development and a limitation of abilities. It's as if people could remove their own prejudices and negative feelings by loading the word with the negativity and then eliminating the word itself--thus we come to the increasingly absurd phrases such as "different abilities" when referring to an individual with a mental handicap. We all have different abilities. It isn't the word per se that is the insult, it is the feelings we try to deny by eliminating the word.
The reason I say all this is because two new types of exercisers showed up at the park today, and I'm going to use a word that everyone avoids like the plague: fat. You just don't say someone is fat, at least not out loud. There are atrocious reality shows that feature fat people competing to lose weight, dancing to lose weight, getting surgery to lose weight, etc. To use fat people as entertainment is infinitely worse than calling them fat, which is no more than a term to indicate the truth. They are referred to as "heavy"; "And how long have you been heavy?" some idiot will ask the victim of a reality show.
Four people, ranging from simply fat to obese, arrayed themselves across the running path so that no one could pass. They wouldn't move aside, either. You went off the path or pushed through them if you wanted to get by. I managed to squeeze around one of them on the edge of the path, almost twisting an ankle as one foot slipped off the path. The running culture doesn't include yelling insulting names at people, but the temptation was as fat as the individuals themselves.
I usually admire hugely anyone fat who is marching down the running path because I know that person is taking on a challenge. I've been fat myself and still feel my washboard fat jiggle while I run. But these four people were being passively aggressive and they made me want to give them a swift, sharp kick to their ample butts.
The other kind of runner I noticed today is the Scraper: it is a terrible thing to scrape expensive running shoes along the pavement. The sound itself gives one chills. It's like watching money burn. This older man ran by me, and as each foot came down, he scraped it across the cement with a noise you could hear from several yards away. Ouch! Not to mention the potential for tripping and falling.
But enough of this. I haven't had breakfast yet. Ciao, arrivederci, a domani.
When Freud wrote about psychosexual development and used the word "perversions" to describe certain phenomena, the word simply indicated a deviation from the statistical norm and had no negative implications as such. But the negative feelings people had about the phenomena themselves transferred itself to the word, and now a pervert is someone odious indeed.
The same thing has happened with the word "retarded", which simply means an arrest in one's intellectual development and a limitation of abilities. It's as if people could remove their own prejudices and negative feelings by loading the word with the negativity and then eliminating the word itself--thus we come to the increasingly absurd phrases such as "different abilities" when referring to an individual with a mental handicap. We all have different abilities. It isn't the word per se that is the insult, it is the feelings we try to deny by eliminating the word.
The reason I say all this is because two new types of exercisers showed up at the park today, and I'm going to use a word that everyone avoids like the plague: fat. You just don't say someone is fat, at least not out loud. There are atrocious reality shows that feature fat people competing to lose weight, dancing to lose weight, getting surgery to lose weight, etc. To use fat people as entertainment is infinitely worse than calling them fat, which is no more than a term to indicate the truth. They are referred to as "heavy"; "And how long have you been heavy?" some idiot will ask the victim of a reality show.
Four people, ranging from simply fat to obese, arrayed themselves across the running path so that no one could pass. They wouldn't move aside, either. You went off the path or pushed through them if you wanted to get by. I managed to squeeze around one of them on the edge of the path, almost twisting an ankle as one foot slipped off the path. The running culture doesn't include yelling insulting names at people, but the temptation was as fat as the individuals themselves.
I usually admire hugely anyone fat who is marching down the running path because I know that person is taking on a challenge. I've been fat myself and still feel my washboard fat jiggle while I run. But these four people were being passively aggressive and they made me want to give them a swift, sharp kick to their ample butts.
The other kind of runner I noticed today is the Scraper: it is a terrible thing to scrape expensive running shoes along the pavement. The sound itself gives one chills. It's like watching money burn. This older man ran by me, and as each foot came down, he scraped it across the cement with a noise you could hear from several yards away. Ouch! Not to mention the potential for tripping and falling.
But enough of this. I haven't had breakfast yet. Ciao, arrivederci, a domani.
lunes, 25 de julio de 2011
Retraction
Gonna hafta eat my words there, because there was just no way to get back on a treadmill; it has been back to the park no matter how god-awful the weather. Still on my holding-the-line training program. 5k even if it's crawling--sometimes it is. But I've ditched my glasses in case I crash again. I can't affort to crush my glasses or put my eye out with the damned things. My black eye is unbelievably fashionable: A delicate purple tending to red from eyebrow to eyelid, and the eyelid itself is a slate gray with purple undertones. It actually looks like a rock-star makeup job, and a darned good one.
And speaking of crashing, not another single bird has gone into the windows. In my freezer sits the quite puny little dove breast ready for cooking, all alone.
Meanwhile, if anyone out there has ever hungered after a peanut butter pie, there is one in this month's edition of Bon Appetit that will satisfy your deepest craving while blocking every artery and vein in your body. I made it yesterday for our family lunch--the kids and grandkids. The crust is a graham cracker one, the filling is a peanut butter custard (eight, count 'em, eight egg yolks), then a tower of homemade honeycomb candy, peanuts, and bittersweet chocolate on that. It just seemed like a bit much, so I modified it considerably except for that stupendous peanut butter custard, and there were rave reviews. Next time I plan to alter the recipe even more and come up with something that tastes as good a Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.
On a sadder note, if anyone is interested in reading something that makes the horror of the Norway massacre at least understandable, try "Hatred: The Pychological Descent into Violence", by Willard Gaylin, M.D. An excellent book. Another good read along that line is "The Lucifer Effect: How Good People Turn Evil" by Philip Zimbrado, the famous Stanford researcher who did the Stanford Prison Experiment with such unfortunate and fascinating results. This is the first book to detail that experiment and what came of it. And, to top off a list of disturbing but enlightening reading, try "Terror in the Mind of God" by Mark Juergensmeyer. When I first read this book, I was on a plane going from Seattle to Monterrey. It was September 10, 2001. The first botched attempt at blowing up the WTC was described in the book. At that time I was still an editorialist for our newspaper, and next day after the terrorist attacks, the editorial director frantically contacted everyone to ask for a pertinent article on the attacks. I guess I was the only one armed with real information on the causes. It was one of those coincidences one wishes had never happened.
Cary, that book we talked about is "The Arab Mind" by Raphael Patai. You'll enjoy it and it might clear up some misconceptions. It surely did for me.
And speaking of crashing, not another single bird has gone into the windows. In my freezer sits the quite puny little dove breast ready for cooking, all alone.
Meanwhile, if anyone out there has ever hungered after a peanut butter pie, there is one in this month's edition of Bon Appetit that will satisfy your deepest craving while blocking every artery and vein in your body. I made it yesterday for our family lunch--the kids and grandkids. The crust is a graham cracker one, the filling is a peanut butter custard (eight, count 'em, eight egg yolks), then a tower of homemade honeycomb candy, peanuts, and bittersweet chocolate on that. It just seemed like a bit much, so I modified it considerably except for that stupendous peanut butter custard, and there were rave reviews. Next time I plan to alter the recipe even more and come up with something that tastes as good a Reese's Peanut Butter Cups.
On a sadder note, if anyone is interested in reading something that makes the horror of the Norway massacre at least understandable, try "Hatred: The Pychological Descent into Violence", by Willard Gaylin, M.D. An excellent book. Another good read along that line is "The Lucifer Effect: How Good People Turn Evil" by Philip Zimbrado, the famous Stanford researcher who did the Stanford Prison Experiment with such unfortunate and fascinating results. This is the first book to detail that experiment and what came of it. And, to top off a list of disturbing but enlightening reading, try "Terror in the Mind of God" by Mark Juergensmeyer. When I first read this book, I was on a plane going from Seattle to Monterrey. It was September 10, 2001. The first botched attempt at blowing up the WTC was described in the book. At that time I was still an editorialist for our newspaper, and next day after the terrorist attacks, the editorial director frantically contacted everyone to ask for a pertinent article on the attacks. I guess I was the only one armed with real information on the causes. It was one of those coincidences one wishes had never happened.
Cary, that book we talked about is "The Arab Mind" by Raphael Patai. You'll enjoy it and it might clear up some misconceptions. It surely did for me.
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