Smash and Grab, Losing the Tools of the Trade

I have been a nurse practitioner for 18 years, and one thing I have learned is as providers we develop a nerdlike obsession with the tools of our trade.  For example, my first ten years in practice was in neurosurgery.  My beloved mentor taught me the only tools for appropriate neurological examination were the 128 cps weighted tuning fork, much longer than a standard tuning fork, and the long handled Queens Squarehead reflex hammer.  The irony of said hammer is that it is actually round.  It was explained to me it was named for the town in England where  it was invented.  Nonetheless, learning to use these specific tools proved to offer accurate neurological exams every time. 

After ten years of neurosurgery, I made my triumphant return to the emergency room, where I had to add to my tool collection, a stethoscope.  Not just any stethoscope.  I did my homework and bought what most medical professionals had, a Littman.  A Littman lightweight II.  Yes, there were others above and below this model, but this is what I wanted.  Longer tubing than the more expensive Cardiology 3, and, well, it came in purple.  The new tool of my trade. That Littman and I have practiced for eight years together.  Tried and true listening to wheezy lungs, bruits and heart murmurs.  An extension of me in my work life. Let us not forget, one more thing in my field, the ever important work bag.  In 18 years of practice, I had received a variety of free bags from vendors and institutions celebrating nurse practitioner week and things, mostly low end bags that needed replacing by the time I was offered another.  However, two years ago, I received the mother of all bags.  The high end back pack with a padded pocket for a laptop, and multiple pockets for my tools.  I suppose I get nerdy over this stuff the way someone who has an actual office would be about the art on the wall.  Yes, I had finally hit the sweet spot in work gear.  That is until it was gone.

Just a young gun with a quick fuse,

I was uptight, 

Wanna let loose

A week and a half ago, I would walk out of the hotel I was staying in for work, headphones on, Imagine Dragons playing, gearing up for another shift when I would see it.  Something was wrong.  My car didn't look right.  As I approached the driver's side, I saw an odd shaft of light on the seats, there was glass, lots of glass.... it took me a minute to get my mind to focus, my passenger window had a hole in it.  My work bag was gone.  The tricks of my trade were gone. I had mistakenly left my wallet in there, as I had a two hour commute plus a ten hour day the day before and was tired.  Yes, that was gone too explaining the "did you try to use your card at WalMart at 3:00 am?" message from Capitol One I had received. I would go back into the hotel in a panic.  The desk person immediately pulled out notebooks looking for protocols or something.  I heard myself saying,"you don't need a protocol.  Put it down and call the police!"  Admittedly, it came out harsher than I planned as did the conversations that followed by bystanders who would ask me what happened as I stood waiting on police. 

Thunder, feel the thunder,

Lightning and the thunder,

Who do you think you are?

Dreaming 'bout being a big star?

 I was flustered and angry, trying to cancel credit cards while I waited for police, getting my head around that these people  had several forms of ID for me now.  My whole identity was now at the mercy of these thieves.  Police would come and try to provide reassurance that these were likely kids who really only want money and not my expired passport they made off with, explaining this is all too common, as with the way the law is they get away with it.  We would finish the report and I would go on to drive to work in a car seat, despite my best effort was still loaded with shards of glass.  I would also have no purple Littman, only a disposable stethoscope from the clinic drawer that had awful acoustics and hurt my ears.  In between seeing patients, I would quickly hop on Amazon and order the first reasonably priced Littman I could find and see about something better later.  

Thunder, feel the thunder,

Lightning and the thunder

The day felt completely out of control.  I was not working in the greatest city that day either. My insurance could not find someone out there to secure the glass.  It was a busy patient day made more stressful by walking to the door every few mins to be sure no one else tried to get into my car.  Then it happened.  The phone call from the sargeant,"Amy.  I have your stuff."  By some stroke of luck, many of my belongings had been recovered in an abandoned stolen vehicle.

Have a seat in the foyer, take a number,

I was lightning before the thunder

Friday, I had to return to the same area for work.  I would find myself at the police department after my shift being fingerprinted in front of the holding cell.  They had recovered my stolen Capitol One card and needed to know which prints on it were mine.  I would then proceed to the crime lab to recover my belongings.  I was presented with contents of my work bag found in a baby seat of the stolen car, the bag was gone.  I was also given all the contents of my wallet including all of my identifying information.  Although, this should have been a relief, the gravity of strangers busting into my space and rooting through all of my things had me suddenly have a deep emotional understanding as to what it is to be the victim of a crime.  

A good night of rest and on to my shift on Saturday, I would find I had to use my fancy bag I use for my foundation.  It has our original embroidered logo, with our original tag line, and references our 2018 race team.  At first, I didn't want to use this bag.  It was a really nice bag I use for my business.  Then again, things have changed.  It is not 2018.  Our logo has changed and we have a whole new tagline.  We have big hairy goals and have grown by leaps and bounds since then with huge events on the horizon.  Maybe, it's time to consider this my "free bag" and order a new one for the business. 

I would pull out my new Littman.  It wasn't purple.  It was a different model, as I was in a panic when I ordered it.  Wait a minute though.  It was bronze and brown.  Super sharp.  I had to admit it had amazing acoustics, with soft tubing as it hung around my neck and suddenly I realized I really liked it.  Tonight, as I finally had the wherewithal to remove my stolen items from my car I would see the purple stethoscope.  It was in a bag with words like "larceny" and "evidence".  The left earpiece is cracked and has been, the tubing is stiff and drying out from being sanitized multiple times a day for eight years, and in areas there is a dingy that will never go away.  

                                     

I was dreaming of bigger things,

and want to leave my old life behind

Thunder, thunder

Thunder, thun', thunder

The glass guy ultimately told me the shatter proof window I had meant someone worked extra hard that day to bust into my world and shake things up.  However,  I am beginning to think that sometimes that is exactly what we need if we are going to stop clinging so tightly to things that do not work as well as they once did, and missing the possibility that something greater exists.  Oh yes, my new foundation bag is on the way symbolizing where we are headed, and I will have the old one with me at work at all times to remind me of where we began and yes, I am  not ashamed to admit that I am enjoying a raging thunderous nerd attack surrounding my sexy new stethoscope.   In all, I certainly cannot say that being the victim of a crime is a great thing, it feels vulnerable and even painful at times, but it has taught me with new eyes to see that the best is yet to come. 

Time

I am a planner.  I have to be.  I manage two businesses, work more than full time hours as a travel nurse practitioner, mange the schedules of the four kids living under my roof and run a household.  Planning is the name of the game.  Even my marathon training has to be placed in neatly among the other pieces of the puzzle that make up my day to day life.  Last week, I would find  myself at the Outer Banks on vacation when what was scheduled was a glorious 2 mile recovery walk. I have recently rediscovered a little old school pre-country, Hootie and spent some time assembling a whole new playlist just for the occasion.  Yes friends, this was going to be epic.

Time why you punish me

Like a wave bashing into the shore,

You wash away my dreams

I firmly believe that athletes come in two varieties.   There is the natural born talent that, with a little bit of training, progresses quickly to be lightening fast.  I have always dreamed of being said athlete, but I am not.  Truth be told, I'm clumsy.  I fall up stairs, walk into counter tops, and as referenced in a previous blog, even break my ankle on a Lego.  So, to be honest, I am not all that graceful and I suppose that is part of the reason my physical gains are slower.  I find I have to be the hardest worker in the room and I seem to make progress at a much slower pace, certainly making time no friend of mine when it comes to this.  Therefore, taking on distance running has been one of the most glorious and frustratingly difficult things I have done to date.   This is why I look forward to the recovery walk so much.  It is that day in my training when I, and other turtles like me, can raise our middle fingers high at the stopwatch and just shake it out.  This particular walk though, this was something I looked forward to long before my arrival there last week.  I planned to walk a mile on the road until it ended at that section of beach in Corolla people were allowed to drive on.  There is very little in the way of housing up there, and I could just enjoy it crowd free as the beach is my happy place.  In fact, screw the app, I planned on three miles.

Time is wasting, time is walking,

You ain't no friend of mine,

I don't know where I'm goin',

I think I'm out of my mind

Ironically the moment I hit the beach, Hootie came on and I would soon realize this was not what I had planned.  It was 7:30 at night, the tide was coming in, there was no sand pack.  I would soon find myself walking at the shore line on a sideways incline, at times my feet going ankle deep in wet sand.  The surf was coming so quickly that dodging it, even at the shoreline, was hard.  There was wind and it was hot.  I found myself checking my watch, 1.2 miles.  My shoes were wet.  They were loaded with sand.  The ground was unstable, my brain was screaming at me to stop, but I made a promise to my accountability partner, and I had a plan.  The negative noise that would exist in my head later would be much worse if I failed either.  

Walking, wasting

You ain't no friend of mine

And I don't know where I'm goin'

Trudging along on the slant of the shoreline my legs started to fatigue, the hip I broke three years ago reminded me it was full of titanium, and the going got harder and harder.  I was pissed off I was missing the relaxation time I had long anticipated, and my very uncoordinated and ugly walk on uneven sand got angrier.  I felt the fear of the real possibility of a face plant in wet sand before it was all over. I was annoyed with the person I promised this to,  I was aggravated with other life trials I had no control over, and before long I would realize my deep thinking brought me well past the half way point as I stopped paying attention to where I was.  Now this journey was even longer.  I would turn around and fight my way back to the road, drenched, covered in sand, and oh yeah.....completely satisfied.

Can you teach me 'bout tomorrow 

and all the pain and sorrow running free

'Cause tomorrow's just another day

And I don't believe in time

Tomorrow did come after that walk.  I was somehow much lighter and had a certain satisfaction in conquering the surf and far surpassing my own plan.  I even quit being angry with my accountability partner, and we have resumed our friendship, which is a good thing as we have a business to run.  However, this experience had me thinking about how many times do we look forward to an event, only to show up and find it is not a relaxing beautiful beach sunset, but extended time spent on a taxing trek through deep wet sand that will test every fiber of our being?  I think the trick is to stay true to those who support us, stay true to yourself by following the plan, and lean into the challenge with determination, because what lives at the end is the ability to see that facing the unexpected hard things only makes us better in the end.  Only in that space can we truly see the best is yet to come.

Time without courage,

And time without fear,

Is just wasted, 

Wasted time

Suddenly I See

There's something that happens when you make sweeping positive changes in your life.  Yes.  There is positive feedback.  The compliment that comes with fitting in a size four or completing a difficult race.  However, there is something very few successful people talk about out loud. Haters.  I was reading an article recently by Joe DeSena, founder of Spartan Race, that asked a simple question,"Do you have enough haters to succeed?"  He talks about haters being essentially the armchair quarterbacks, sitting back in the comfort of said armchair and watching things unfold, ready to attack whatever they see, yet they never actually enter the game.  This was an article I really needed.  As my organization is rapidly growing, so are the haters.  They tend to crop up everywhere, from social media outlets, to in person comments.  They all seem to subscribe to the "you are doing it wrong, you can do it better or stop doing it altogether" mentality.  I would love to tell you I am good at raising a triumphant fist, telling them off and forging ahead anyway.  The truth?  My 45 years of insecurity and people pleasing has stood in the way of that, leaving me to at times, question the lofty goals I have in front of me, and wondering if I had the wherewithal to continue to collect haters as we rise.  I was mulling all of this over today stuck in traffic.

Her face is a map of the world

Is a map of the world

You can see she's a beautiful girl

She's a beautiful girl

And everything around her is a silver pool of light

The people who surround her feel the benefit of it

KT Tunstill.  I think in that moment I felt anything but a silver pool of light, probably not a great thing for someone in the motivational business.  My nagging overthinking brain was busy working on methods to change people's minds and walk away hater free, knowing that was likely not possible.  However,  I could hold on to the Fourth of July.  I took a team of 31 racers to The Firecracker 4 in Saratoga.  We came in third for the most race registrations, earning a donation to Karl Koelle and my 1DOS Foundation.  One year in existence, and we came in just behind the YMCA.  A win for sure.

Suddenly I see

This is what I wanna be

Suddenly I see

Why the hell this means so much to me

There was the race itself.  Our recipient of this year's fitness scholarship, Deana, it was at her longest race to date, four miles.  She is down 45 pounds and killing it every single day.  I had the honor, after my own finish, to jump back in the race to cross the finish line with her.  Here she was 20 feet from the finish screaming,"I can't!"  I screamed back at her,"You fucking can and you will!  GO!"  She did and we cried happy tears as she knows completing this means she is much more capable than she ever dreamed and that there are bigger things for her on the horizon.  I would find myself sitting in traffic looking at the pictures.  Here is that moment in time I was cursing at her at a family friendly charity event, with the,"Oh my"look on another friend's face as the profanity came tumbling out.  I would love to tell you that had not happened before, sorry Firecracker people, I know her.  I know when it is time to push and what form of pushing fits her needs.  It is then I see it.  There on the far right.  Adriana.  Smiling, head up, Adriana.  

She's got the power to be

The power to give

The power to see

To the outsider, it's just another runner supporting our recipient.  To me, it is so much more.  I had this same finish with her a year ago when she was on her own journey.  When her,"I fucking can't" came out ten feet from the finish at The Heart Association 5k, yet another family friendly event, sorry AHA, to which I responded with the same answer I gave Deana.  Here she is now a year later, the power to see her own vision, the power to be strong and fit, and the power to give back to those behind her.  No, this was a smile of absolute identification with our recipient and pride in how far she has come.  Suddenly seeing this was the A-HA moment I needed to know exactly why the hell it means so much to me.  At the end of both of these races,  I would go on to explain to both of them, as lifelong obese people, we have spent years stopping ten feet from the finish as our brains screamed at us to fail.  I was not letting that happen for either of them.

Suddenly I see

Why the hell it means so much to me

These photos alone reminded me that there may always be outside haters criticizing what we do, but getting in the game,  shining our silver pool of light to benefit those around us, and not pulling back in the finish will mean so much more to all of us. I suppose in time, my insecurities with the haters will lessen, or I will learn to deal with them better, but looking at these photos reminds me that we are just getting started and the best is yet to come.

You Only Get What You Give

“ I broke my ankle.”

This is a phrase I hear multiple times a day as an emergency provider. In fact, it was a phrase I used myself following the tragic Duplo Block incident of 1997 where I tripped on a lego coming down the stairs with a full basket of laundry.  Much like me at that time, the person uttering said phrase usually has an ankle the size of a watermelon that is actively turning colors right in front of me, and has convinced themselves of the shattering of bone that clearly lives beneath this mess. However, about 90% of the time the X-ray reveals no break and I am left wrapping up said watermelon ankle as the patient asks me over and over if I am sure it is just a sprain. Am I sure this ugly looking leg is not broken?  I am sure.  In fact, the radiologist and I are both sure.  At times arguments ensue as people are incredulous that something that looks like this could truly be incrementally better in the two weeks I am promising them. Yes, it is quite a process at times with sprains.

Which brings me to the actual mangled ugly fracture I saw this week. Not a speck of bruising, a wee bit of swelling to where I was questioning the drama of her being in a wheelchair when she arrived. Yet, what lived underneath was a mangled mess that will only be walkable again with a huge amount of hardware and a painful surgery that will take a while to recover from. On one of my two hour commutes this week I was thinking about how paradoxical this clinical picture actually is.  Well, to be fair, I was trying my best to get my mind off a text I had sent that morning.

You see, I have an accountability partner. The person I promise trainings to when I simply don’t want to do them. That particular day, I was coming off a 72 mile commute three days prior leading into a three day stretch of 32 hours, only to commute 2  more hours to my next site and gear up for a 9 hour day the next day, followed by a two hour commute home. I was tired. I was hungry. I missed the kids, and most importantly, I didn’t want to train. This was going to be really ugly.  The,”I don’t wanna” screamed through my thoughts alternating with my disdain for the text I had sent, as well as some misdirected anger at the person I sent it to. After all, it was hard to let down someone else. It would be much easier if it were just me. When I arrived at the hotel, I would be reminded by said text recipient, of the big hairy goals that lie months from now on the back end of this training .  Profanity slipped out and echoed off the walls of my hotel room as I laced up my Hokas and hit the rickety hotel tread for a benchmark run at a 9:00 minute pace rounded out by the New Radicals,”You Get What you Give” through my wireless headphones. 

Don’t give up,

You’ve got a reason to live

Can’t forget

We only get what we give

Don't give up.  My partner would not allow that and I wouldn't let him down.  The run on an old hotel treadmill proved to be aggravating to my hip full of hardware and was not outstanding. It was ugly, uncoordinated and not what I was used to.  At the same time, it was faster than two weeks ago, a run I also considered ugly at the time.  Much like the watermelon ankle, I am wondering how many times we allow what appears to be ugly and hard to stop us from realizing that just about anything we take on may be that way at first, but we are not broken underneath, and with practice, will be a whole lot better in two weeks if we just stay the course?  How many times do we choose instead, to rest on something that looks perfect from the outside, choose to take on no ugly challenges and submit to a complacency in our journey that is ridiculously broken underneath and then suffer the fallout of truly only getting what we gave. In the end, I would send my partner my stats, suddenly seeing myself one step closer to the big goals in the distant horizon, grateful for the text I had been pissed about all day long and suddenly thankful to the partner who holds my feet to the fire to make me better.

You've got the music in you

Don't let go

You've got the music in you

One dance left

This world is gonna pull through

Don't give up    

So, friends, today, I think the trick is to find the music in you and embrace the ugliness that comes along with any hard challenge and then tell someone about it. Tell someone you would be mortified to let down, and get after it regardless of the amount of profanity it may take to get yourself out there.  Only then can will you truly see what you are capable of.  In those moments you will know with certainty, the best in yet to come.

You Can't Always Get What You Want

When my oldest son was 17, all he really needed in this life was a Jeep Wrangler.  He dropped hints relentlessly that Christmas until I finally did what any mom of 5 does.  I used my well developed sarcastic skill set and bought him an RC Wrangler and wrapped it up from "Santa".  I do believe this is the very occasion I started routinely quoting The Rolling Stones every time I had a child who "needed" something equally as unnecessary.

No, you can't always get what you want,

You can't always get what you want,

You can't always get what you want,

But if you try sometime you find,

You get what you need

Ironic this song would come on as I was reflecting on the events of the Chicago Spartan Super of last weekend.  It was my 11th Spartan Race.  My partner Karl and I knew how to do this.  We round up the newbies from our motivational group Team 1DOS for the weekend.  We do team bonding on Friday night, this time Cards Against Humanity, which is a whole other topic of hilarity...  We get up early, get to the venue, calm the nerves of the newbies, get everyone off and moving, over the walls, under the wire, over the fire, medal, shirt, beer and a fabulous dinner and after party.  Yes, we are seasoned at this.  Taking people to races and watch them conquer their biggest fears is as near and dear to us as it was when we raced our own first races.

Then it happened.  Right at the crest of the hill of mile 7.25 in an 8 mile race.  A woman in a red Spartan shirt just beyond the Z Wall suspending the race.  There was lightening in the area.  She assured us the clock was stopped and we simply needed to wait it out under the trees.  Well it damn well better be stopped.  We were at 3 hours flat and 15 mins from the finish.  We had never done this course in less than 4:45.  To be fair, she was just carrying out the directive by the Spartan officials.  Poor thing did not stand a chance trying to hold back 100 Spartans less than a mile from the finish.  People pushed past and went anyway, not realizing a suspended race did not mean an actual finish when you cross the line.  Others were angry.  Others repeatedly asking if we would get the medal or the shirt. 

But I went down to the demonstration,

To get your fair share of abuse,

Singing, "We're gonna vent our frustration

If we don't we're gonna blow a fifty-amp fuse"

Ultimately, we would stand around for about 45 minutes until another official would announce the race was simply over.  Dangerous storms were moving in and they had to call the race.  We were shown a back way to bag check and would walk past the finish line where the clock was still lit up, suspended for the day.   The tents past the line were locked up, as in the tents that held the precious swag.  Many of my fellow racers did demonstrate some fuse blowing ugliness.  The guy refusing to follow procedure at bag pick up and telling the volunteer to,"F#&k off!" was downright embarrassing.  There was another guy who approached the survey kiosk on the way out of the exit tent, angrily slamming the buttons for a negative review saying the same aloud but directing his commentary to all of Spartan Race.  From there, we would head to an open field where the dangerous storm would arrive soaking us to the bone, shivering as we waited for an empty school bus to finally take us to our car, which would also not be without peril, as it got stuck in the mud and two of my teammates had to push it out, one of whom had already taken his race socks off and was barefoot. 

I suppose it has taken me some time to put together my thoughts on this experience.  We had a plan.  We had a routine when it came to racing with our clients and it all stopped right there at the Z Wall.  I would have to find a different shirt to wear to the airport, the bragging finishing shirt that was our norm was gone.  I emptied out my race bag, which for the first time did not require a trip to my medal rack.   I had no PR bragging rights that we were sure we would have this time.  In the days that followed, Spartan did their level best to make it up to me.  A free Super was offered. Well, I did have a team going to Boston, I suppose I could do that. I have raced with all of these people before after all.  In fact, I believe I took almost each and every one of them to their first Spartan Races at one time or another.  It could be really fun to race together as a seasoned tribe.  This is an opportunity I would have missed had things gone according to plan. 

As I thought about missing the opportunity to post a PR, I originally let my disappointment cloud the fact that we were on track for by far the best race we had ever done finishing or not.  As I considered that, I began to realize that maybe, just maybe, all my time spent helping others in this process, and following the plan race after race, I had missed the fact that I had grown as an athlete and it's probably time for bigger, hyperventilating, scare the crap out of me personal challenges. Maybe what I really needed was to abandon my rigid corporate planning and find a better balance between being motivator and attacking my own goals

 No, you can't always get what you want,

You can't always get what you want,

You can't always get what you want,

But if you try sometime you find,

You get what you need

This all makes me wonder how many times in life we have a plan that gets absolutely destroyed just shy of our destination.  How many times we give up on our goals when circumstances change, rather than taking the opportunity to see the lesson and learn to change trajectory.  I can honestly say, I have a closet full of race shirts and a wall covered in medals, which truthfully, I "need" about as much as my son needed his cherished Wrangler, or the RC version for that matter.  What I needed was to be left shivering in the rain empty handed in order to realize sometimes "according to plan" is actually just complacency in disguise and it's time to go back to the start and try again, only this time a little stronger, a little wiser and to push myself a little more because clearly I am way more capable than I ever thought.  So, here's to a new Super with some badass people I am blessed to call friends, and to new goals I never dreamed possible because the best is yet to come.

 

Trading the Channel of Worry for High High Hopes

As I was driving place to place today, errand after errand, my head was spinning with the multiple lists of things that I need to complete before leaving for the Chicago Super in a couple days. There were work loose ends to tie up following a major scheduling snafu, that unless I was to clone myself tomorrow, had no easy answer, children who needed clean laundry and lunch makings for school, as well as quality time with me before I go out of town, business related daily tasks to complete and then, and I'm going to rat myself out here, try to fight against the ape shit freak out that comes before any event I host.  First, there are the multiple details regarding logistics, hotels, cars, planes.....  The arrival of 7 people from four states to a location, although my childhood home, is truly not home to any of us.  The classic ape shit freak out as I refer to it, occurs every time.  Will everyone make it?  Will everyone enjoy the experience?  Some of these people have never met face to face, will everyone get along and have a good time?  oh wait.  There's more.  I have a 5-8 mile race in a few days (Spartan never truly gives you the distance), that last year ended up being 9 miles in four inches of mud and in places standing water.  Well hell.  Looked at the weather.  It's raining in Illinois.  It's been raining for days.  My childhood friends have backyard pools courtesy of Mother Nature this week..... and so it goes, the merry go round of worry.  I suppose you could say that I am a professional worrier.  Mother of five, grandmother to one, full time job, two businesses, book writing and a crazy race schedule.  There is always something to worry about.

Had to have high, high hopes for a living,

Shooting for the stars when I couldn't make a killing

Didn't have a dime but I always had a vision,

Thank you Sirius Radio for the rah rah musings of Panic! at the Disco's "High Hopes." High hopes is certainly something my spiral of worry has been robbed of in the past few days.  I decided earlier today, to lean into the worry and allow my inner sanctum into my ape shit freak out.  I shared all of my concerns over the upcoming weekend and was met with exactly what I expected.  Laughter.  Yes, they laughed at me.  They reminded me at the end of the day we have done many of these events.  We will race.  We will laugh and we will all fulfill the visions we have set for ourselves when it comes to this weekend. There was the obligatory exchange of colorful gifs at my expense, also as expected.  Side note, everyone needs this caliber of friend.  In the end, their good natured ribbing set my worry aside for a few moments, and I did enjoy the break, however, the merry go round started spinning again.

Mama said,

Fulfill the prophecy,

Be something greater,

Go make a legacy

Mom.  As if on cue this comes on.  Honestly, it would be times like these in my life, I would have called her.  She would have said,"Aim, this is all piddly shit." She, of course would have been right. She was well aware of my propensity to overthink things and get lost in the details.   She would then ask me to spell out my vision of exactly what it was I was trying to do.  I would have told her helping my race team to discover the things that hold them back and see the greatness that lives inside all of us, none of which has anything to do with managing the logistics of a trip for some pre-race carb loading deep dish.  It makes me wonder how often, as the saying goes, we let a very small trickle of worry erode a  deep channel in which all other thoughts are drained, and our whole vision and high hopes are lost in a sea of piddly shit.  

Mama said,

Burn your biographies,

Rewrite your history,

Light up your wildest dreams

Suddenly, as if in some sort of movie propelled flashback, I saw our history, Mom's and mine.  Our decades of obesity as I attended Weight Watchers for the first time with her at the age of 13.  Years and years of hopeless dieting, and she died before truly seeing my success.  Maybe the real message is to find those high hopes to be something better than we started out being.  Not repeating our history of failures, instead acting on clear vision that lights our fire.

Stay up on that rise,

Stay up on that rise and never come down,

Mama said, don't give up it's a little complicated

With a renewed spirit, courtesy of Panic! at the Disco, I think I have decided Saturday, I will be up on that rise.  Fifteen feet up on an A frame to be exact, working toward once again conquering my horrible fear of heights.  At the same time, I will have four new Spartan Super racers who are giving me a front row seat to taking on their own fears and winning, which will likely make all the complicated details leading in irrelevant.  So, maybe it is time for me to put my traditional ape shit freak out to bed and instead shoot for the stars and have high high hopes that the best is yet to come.  

Bruises

I think 23 years of raising 5 children has brought me to the place where the ability to sit in silence is a challenge. Even at my desk at work, in the provider office, I have music on to tie up the chaotic corner of my brain that my children usually occupy when I am home.  Anyone who has read my blog for any length of time will attest to my eclectic musical taste, and I will even cop to seasons in my life where a certain style will speak to me for a period of time.  Yesterday, I slipped into my Train rut that I have been in over the last couple of weeks.  Somehow, through the grief of being motherless on Mother's Day, I needed the upbeat stylings of"Meet Virginia" or "Play That Song". 

Haven't seen you since high school
Good to see you're still beautiful
Gravity hasn't started to pull quite yet
Quite yet, I bet you're rich as hell

Ah yes,"Bruises" because classic Train never dies.  Ironic I would be hearing this two days post Spartan Race.  It gave me pause to pull up the sleeves on my long sleeve shirt to survey the damage.  I had bruises on my forearms and on my inner upper left arm.  A hoisting of my scrub pants would reveal bruises on the bottom of my left thigh, a small gash across my right shin and blisters on both heels that were really more gouges than superficial.  All in all, not too bad.  Well, I should back up a bit, not bad for a Spartan.  From non racers there is the obligatory,"you're crazy" or "why would you do that to yourself?"  With ten races under my belt I can honestly say the answer to that question is different each time I race.

These bruises make for better conversation
Loses the vibe that separates

I suppose it's safe to say each one of these bruises tell a story.  My forearms tell the tale of particularly dry and gravely terrain beneath the barbed wire.  Those I am proud of as I have finally perfected my rolling technique. I did not snag on the wire even once or tear the knees out of my kick ass Spartan base layer.  They even make me smile as I can hear the voices of my teammates as in those moments they outed with our long standing joke of,"great job roller", a phrase adapted from an incident involving a particularly odd participant in a previous race.  The bruise on my thigh is likely from hoisting it over the eight foot wall where I found I did not have to use the phrase,"I don't got this" when my immense fear of heights would usually have kicked in.  The gash on my shin was from a small branch with thorns that my right shoe got hooked under as I was running, reminding me that I largely did not let the rough terrain of the race scare me enough to walk as I had previously.   I actually ran way more in this race than I ever have before.  The blisters on my heels remind me that I should listen to a friend who is constantly telling me to wear long socks.  They make me chuckle too, as I know the months of,"I told you so" with some good natured ribbing is sure to be forthcoming.

One that's five and one that's three
Been two years since he left me

The fact is, despite the engaging catchy melody of "Bruises", it is really about two old friends catching up and seeing the distant perceptions of each other they held on to were not quite like reality.  They had each had their own struggles.  It makes me think about our propensity to follow along the social media personas of hundreds of our closest friends and feel we must be the only ones struggling and should cover our proverbial bruises with long sleeves. This is where I believe Train has it right.  

These bruises make for better conversation
Loses the vibe that separates
It's good to know you've got a friend
That you remember now and then
Everybody loses

Maybe the better answer is to go for it on the hard challenges and realize the bruises that may come are not fatal.  In fact, we just might find a better version of ourselves just as I did under the barbed wire.  As for my team?  I have heard from nearly all of them as we compare our various "Spartan Kisses" as they are called, and had good conversation about conquering hard things. By taking off the long sleeves and sharing the struggle we are finding we lose the vibe that separates, and discover a caliber of friendship that does not exist in the idealistic social media profile, as well as learning every now and then, everybody loses.  

I would love to fix it all for you

I would love to fix you too

Please don't fix a thing whatever you do

So, to non racers, the physical post race display may seem a bit crazy, and at times I have had people try to convince me to stop racing because of it.  However, my fellow racers help me to see, said display is a powerful reminder of how far I have come and what I am actually capable of, as well as the joy I get in helping others to do the same.  To me?  The bruises remind me that the best is yet to come