Archive for the ‘Chronicle’ Category
Rehab
I can’t count the number of times that I have seen stories of individuals who have made unbelievable recovery from physical trauma through their tenacious and dogged determination to endure endless hours of rehabilitation. I have much more respect for all their accomplishments now that I discover I can’t seem to tolerate even one session of focused exercise to recover a torn hamstring muscle.
I don’t understand what it is about me, but even though the tasks are incredibly simple and I know it is bound to help speed my return to the activity I crave, I can’t seem to muster the mental tenacity to pull off the suggested regimen of exercise in more than occasional, light intensity attempts. I am my own worst enemy.
I am free to exercise within the full range of pain-free motion, but need to avoid ballistic movement of quick bursts or starts and stops. The good news is that cycling would be just the type of exercise that I am able to do right now. Unfortunately, I am not a great fan of early springtime riding. I deserve to get over that mental hurdle, I know.
The simple exercises are painful to me in a mental way. The level of strain on muscle is so minimal that I get bored very quick. It is hard to feel that the muscle is even working, so multiple repetitions are what is required to tire the muscle. BOOOOORRRIIIIIIIINNGG!
Actually, my whining here is really just revealing that I am bummed out over the realization that I discovered I probably am not far enough along in healing to get back to my regular sports activity this week, like I had previously hoped. When my boredom over the lame exercise got to be too much yesterday, I tried running around in the house a little bit. Since that felt entirely pain-free, I got cocky and hopped a couple of stairs to quickly discover why it is prescribed to avoid ballistic moves. Ouch. Back to the wimpy, repetitive movements of the leg. Whooppee! I get to pull myself along forward on a rolling chair. I get to bend my knee and stretch the elastic band taut with my foot and slowly allow it to return. Thrilling, I tell you!
I am far from proud of my accomplishments in this area. Those who have spent years doing the smallest of exercises for days on end to regain their mobility, for maybe just a small portion of their former lives, are stronger than I ever imagined. Even though they are always impressive stories to learn about, such accomplishments now leave me awestruck over the implications of what significant achievements they truly are.
Monday Motion
Monday gets panned for so many reasons, but we all know that it is simply because it follows the weekend. The sun rising on Monday mornings is no less spectacular than any other day of the week. Picture the luxurious state of freedom from a regular schedule of working Monday through Friday and see how similar every day really is. We have nothing keeping us from choosing to frame Monday mornings as offering the equally positive possibilities as any other day of our week.
Happy Monday to us all!
I’m stepping up my rehabilitation exercises on the hamstring starting today and am hoping for a return to activity by the end of the week. It’s a good day to get back in motion.
Sunday Limbo
Maybe it is partly the March weather of being inbetween Winter and Summer or partly my intermediate recovery from a hamstring injury, but I find myself lingering in a very indeterminate state. It being Sunday, a day when I am not expected to go to work, the lack of momentum for me is allowing me to wallow in a complete state of limbo. While there is never a shortage of things I should do and things I could do, I am uninspired to engage any of them. As a well-practiced procrastinator, I am disinclined to just start something on the spur of the moment. I have no problem letting my day lie fallow. Regardless the number of days I have found myself doing just that this late winter season, it continues to feel right for me, and that will be what my day is destined to be today.
There is always writing to busy myself with on days like this. Especially since I don’t have any jigsaw puzzles currently in process.
More By the Numbers
Thin Mints last night: 6
Hours worked yesterday: 12
Times played guitar in last month: 2
Hours since last played: 9
Hours till music party tonight: 11
Hours till must go into work place on this weekend day: 1.5
Odds I enjoy working weekends: long
Wheels removed from cycle: 2
Tires with hole in the sidewall: 1
Denomination of currency bolstering ruptured sidewall: $1
Amount of dishes in sink deserving attention: maximum
Time available to clear that before wife arrives home: none
Cats curled up against me under the bed covers: 1
Inches bedroom window open for fresh air lately: 2
Inches of snow left after week of 40+° days: > half as many
Level of interest in leaving warm bed and purring cat: 0
Distractions I can think of other than going to work today: infinite
Chances I will deviate from what I said I would do: slim
Posts percolating for my Brainstorms Community that I’d love to compose: 1 in particular
Times a day I am supposed to practice rehabilitative stretches for hamstring: 5
Average number of times I have been achieving that in the past week: 1
Expectations I will return to full speed activity sooner than hoped: none
People I can blame for that other than myself: 0
Effort it takes sometimes to keep a positive frame of mind: Herculean
Pondering
In so many ways, it makes sense that ‘out of sight’ leads to, ‘out of mind’. I can honestly report that I do not think about Girl Scout cookies without some reason that triggers it. Maybe a cute little commercial, a feel-good news story, even that weak laugh-getter reference in a second-rate sitcom. Of course, too, there is always that irresistible pair of eyes that show up at the door in a sales call, …and then, BOOM, there they are, on the counter. I didn’t know Cyndie had placed an order. Not just one kind, either. More flavor styles than I knew existed. On the counter. Girl Scout cookies. Boxes of them. Just set there, on the counter.
I don’t know how many of you know about the period in my life when I decided I would quit eating sweets. I had seen it done by two other people I respect, and was impressed and inspired by them. One person started it as a lenten exercise in sacrifice and then just kept on going. I had never practiced such an act of sacrifice like that before and was intrigued. I gave it a shot.
Overall, I was struck by how easy it ultimately was, once I got over the initial withdrawal, to fully enjoy myself without even a craving for the sweet treats and desserts that I had decided to forgo. It turned out that I didn’t need to repeatedly overcome an urge, I found that I simply lost my former passion for all things sweet. Well, sort of.
It wasn’t all miraculous instant healthy diet. I discovered that I happily traded the overt sweet enticements for breads. It’s a whole other kind of sweet.
For whatever reason, probably more psychological than physiological, I eventually decided to relax my behavior and join the crowd in dessert at social gatherings. Now I occasionally put some ice creamy, chocolaty, crispy, crunchy, gooey, smooth and rich treats in my mouth that remind me of flavors I had almost forgotten about for a while there. But, for the most part, my current self-control usually results in pretty humble portions.
Except for Girl Scout cookies. Boxes of them. Just laying there. On the counter.
Slow But Real
Something that I have always wanted to be able to do is move in slow motion, in real time. As a kid, when we tried to reenact outstanding achievements that we’d seen our athlete-heroes perform in slow motion replays on television, the best moves always reached a point where gravity would overcome our ultimate maneuver and wreck the timing with a fast fall.
It occurred to me, when watching Olympic figure skating the last couple of weeks, that we can’t even judge what the athletes are doing anymore without using slow motion video. They spin so fast that judges need to review a slowed replay to discern the actual positioning of the skater’s blades. I don’t think a play goes by, in sports I watch on television, that I don’t wish to view each previous move from the perspective of the slow motion replay. Even video games provide slow motion replay of what just occurred prior.
I say, let’s just take it to the obvious extreme that we seem to be inevitably headed toward anyway and devise a way to slow everything down (anti-gravity?) in real time. But it has to be EVERYTHING, or it won’t work properly. If you are in slow mode and something looks amiss, you can’t just speed your reaction to avert calamity. You must suffer seeing it all play out as you remain synchronized with the slow speed and unable to alternatively influence the outcome. Ya gotta take the good with the bad.
Why, in slow motion, real time, I could have made that move to get open and release that quick shot to win the men’s hockey gold medal game.
Marching out of Winter
Boy, oh boy, does March sunshine ever feel powerful compared to just a month ago! It is always fascinating, regardless how many times in our lives we experience it, to discover how comfortable 35°F feels this time of year, compared to the same temperature in October or November. I had the bedroom window open wide on Sunday and the fresh air was invigorating, but it didn’t feel cold at all. Time to get the bicycle prepared for a new season!
Now, given a choice between shoveling snow and mowing grass, I would pick shoveling, for sure. But with the hints of the end of snow season becoming more blatant every day, I am noticing an increasing urge to get on to the green season. That is uncharacteristic for me. I wonder if it has anything to do with the fact that the local Major League Baseball team, the Minnesota Twins, will be playing in a brand new outdoor ballpark this year? I hate to admit it, but for some reason, part of me is hoping there is a classic April snowstorm on opening day, just to give everyone an immediate reality check. I am all for getting baseball out of that dome, but doing so without planning some way to account for our potential for weather that is distinctly un-baseball is ill-fated. Regardless, I will be very pleased to watch them play in the true light of day or under the stars of a summer night sky, albeit by way of local television broadcasts.
Even though much of my yard, as well as the deck and the roof of the house, are still under a couple of feet of snow, I am already seeing it like this in my mind’s eye…
My Communities
I am feeling particularly grateful for all my communities lately.
Com • mu • ni • ty: (noun) 3. a feeling of fellowship with others, as a result of sharing common attitudes, interests, and goals.
First, and most recently featured here in my previous two posts, there is my online community, Brainstorms. Next, there is the group I am missing the most right now, because I normally get to see them three times a week, my LIFA (Lifetime Indoor Football Association) soccer community. Rehab on the strained hamstring is commencing into the 2nd phase, so I hope to rejoin you all before the snow is completely gone.
Then comes my cycling community, which primarily is made up of the folks who I have met through participating in the annual Jaunt with Jim biking and camping week in June. It consists of approximately 150 friends whom I spend an intimate week among, and then, for the most part, don’t see again until the following year. Each year, on the first night of the ride, when we re-meet all the familiar faces, it is as if we have hardly been apart. Luckily, after having done this ride many times, I now also have a subset of friends from that larger group which I remain in contact with throughout the year and with whom I enjoy sharing a wide variety activities, interaction and support.
There is one other athletic community in which I claim membership: Floorball. Once again, due to my hamstring injury, I have been unable to participate for a few weeks, but they are a unique group with whom I share a special bond of love for playing this customized version of floor hockey in the evenings on Wednesday nights in the winter.
Interlaced within a couple of those communities are members of my group of life-long friends that I grew up with in Eden Prairie, Minnesota. I often see that group as overlapping one last community I will mention, easily defined by one word: family.
Our communities enrich and support us in a multitude of ways and play an important role in nurturing our better health and well-being. Within a community there are opportunities to serve and to be served. Together, those two simple tasks provide connections that sure help me to exercise critical aspects of my deeper mental processes.
As a reader and viewer of my postings here, it is more than likely that you are a member of one of my communities, or possibly only slightly removed, and as such, I salute you for all that you provide me in so many valuable ways. Here’s to community.
Another Thing
It is what it is
Brainstorms hosts a private webconferencing community for knowledgeable, civil, adult, fun conversation about technology, the future, life online, culture, society, family, history, books, health, home, mind, phun, money, spirituality, media, and academiaville.
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Brainstorms is where I spend the majority of my online time. It is something that works well for those who are attracted to communicating in writing in a similar vein to when long distance communication was done by writing letters. You tell stories and describe things for someone to read and consume, and the audience isn’t just one person, but all members. And there is no waiting for what you have written to travel through the postal system. It’s like having 600 pen pals at your convenience! It has become one of my variety of communities. My online community. The one that reaches around the world.
How Hard?
How hard could it have been to accomplish what it was we set out to do the first time we landed one of those moments of inspiration that transcend the usual impulse to disavow any knowledge of the reason for following more of our intuition than logic reasonably allows? Not that I know anything about that. For all the solutions that appear to fit the formula for fixing the multitude of sins, it ends up being the least anticipated outcome that evades our lucky glance and smashes into view unannounced behind a shower of highly volatile serendipity that is casually disregarded in a quest to out-think surprises for some vain simulation of what we think reality is supposed to be. Slowly, but surely, the rest of what is destined to transpire, in spite of our noble attempts to engineer obedient allowance, falls precisely where it would obviously land anyway, whether or not we try to orchestrate it. Having the stamina to outwait the ultimate momentum of outcomes is like knowing the secret of which one of the many answers is the actual meaning of everything that is anything. How hard is it to mine the courage to become better than that which could easily be considered adequate by all standards? It hides within the smile that is shared, as much as with the eyes as with the whole of the rest of our being and shines much farther than we ever imagine might be possible. Or not. It’s hard to tell for sure from this angle.
