Get rid of the clutter, the stuff you don't need. The things (things, always things...) that overwhelm and stress. The things to which you cling. Just get rid of it.
I hear words like this often. Yet they seem to counter what we see every day. In a world of more, more, more, how do you realize less is more?
Today we had a yard sale. Over the past few weeks, we've been pilfering our household, slipping out items we don't need/wear/use any longer. Some of mine were clothes from long ago... not so long ago. But a whole other person ago.
I used to buy things I couldn't afford to impress people I didn't really like. I mean, I guess I liked them well enough. And I liked the clothes I bought. I like clothes that are aesthetically pleasing. But I didn't have my head on straight at the time, bought a ton of clothes outside my income bracket, and ended up realizing well after the fact it was one of the gravest choices I have ever made.
A few years later, I think I'm a different person. I don't really go shopping to kill time (isn't it weird, using money to buy something resembling happiness?), and while I like having nice clothes, it isn't paramount. In fact, when I think about things I like and things that are impressive about me, now, my outfits don't cross my mind *that* often. Clothes are fun. They're a great medium for self expression. But they're not the end-all-be-all. Ultimately, they cover your body; nice ones just make the process slightly more pleasurable.
So I decided it was time to get rid of lots of those clothes from that time in my life. It wasn't intentional. But as the customers of our yard sale kept coming up and making sure I had marked the prices right because they thought they were too cheap, I laughed to myself. They're just clothes. I don't value them highly anymore, otherwise I'd be keeping them. So why not sell them for a radically low price? They aren't doing me any good, and sometimes feel tainted with poor financial decisions. I'm not that girl anymore... on some level, they aren't my clothes.
I urge you... rethink needs and wants. I feel lighter today. A relief that those things are leaving me for good, mentally and physically.
18 October, 2013
10 October, 2013
Just Jack, Please.
For a couple months now, you guys have listened to me talking about The Ride To Jack and Back. Here's what happened...
I decided to do the short route with some friends who were also riding that day. After the trouble I've been having with my knee, it wasn't worth killing myself on Pulltight. (You know I'm not going to take it easy...) This proved to be an excellent choice. Around mile twenty, very string winds started bringing my average pace down, as my effort level skyrocketed. I caught a guy's wheel, and we traded pulls until the aid station at the Fire Codes Academy, where I ended up waiting about twenty or thirty minutes for Paul to arrive off the long route.
When we headed out, I made a comment to Paul about how I could tell I hadn't really been riding as much as I normally do. I was uncomfortable on the bike, and couldn't seem to exert any power. By the time we got to Shelbyville, I was pretty miserable. The ride from Shelbyville to Motlow was cram-packed with epic whining, ugly-I'm-about-to-cry faces and such. I'm not proud of those 15 miles. I finished though. Even if it was the worst 55 miles of my entire year of riding.
As we crossed the finish, I saw the little Hobbes-it by the road, and he came and snuggled me and told me he loved me... all was right with the world.
Now, the kicker. I had talked about not riding on Sunday, but had decided I should go ahead and at least try. When we arrived at the start line on Sunday morning, we were surprised to hear the ride back had been cancelled in light of impending inclement weather. So... butt saved from the shame of grabbing a SAG ride on the second day? I think so...
I decided to do the short route with some friends who were also riding that day. After the trouble I've been having with my knee, it wasn't worth killing myself on Pulltight. (You know I'm not going to take it easy...) This proved to be an excellent choice. Around mile twenty, very string winds started bringing my average pace down, as my effort level skyrocketed. I caught a guy's wheel, and we traded pulls until the aid station at the Fire Codes Academy, where I ended up waiting about twenty or thirty minutes for Paul to arrive off the long route.
When we headed out, I made a comment to Paul about how I could tell I hadn't really been riding as much as I normally do. I was uncomfortable on the bike, and couldn't seem to exert any power. By the time we got to Shelbyville, I was pretty miserable. The ride from Shelbyville to Motlow was cram-packed with epic whining, ugly-I'm-about-to-cry faces and such. I'm not proud of those 15 miles. I finished though. Even if it was the worst 55 miles of my entire year of riding.
As we crossed the finish, I saw the little Hobbes-it by the road, and he came and snuggled me and told me he loved me... all was right with the world.
Now, the kicker. I had talked about not riding on Sunday, but had decided I should go ahead and at least try. When we arrived at the start line on Sunday morning, we were surprised to hear the ride back had been cancelled in light of impending inclement weather. So... butt saved from the shame of grabbing a SAG ride on the second day? I think so...
02 October, 2013
Fun with Needles: Patience and looking on the sunny side.
I don't know if I've been completely candid with you guys lately. I've been avoiding blogging, seeing people I ride with... that sort of thing. You see, I've been gimpy. Really gimpy. Like, worried I might never ride my bike comfortably again gimpy.
It was a long string of events leading up to this moment, culminating in my large-for-his-age two year old pouncing on my already very weak and slightly injured right leg and expecting me (I'm strong and tall, but I am slim and small...) to carry him out of the gym on my leg. It all started a few weeks before my century, with a spastic VMO, then the pain picked up right after my century and a couple harder rides, and there you have it. A once again disabled list Jessie. Right as I was picking up and seeing real improvement. Cue plunge into deep depression and the assumption of the worst... because in some ways, I had already experienced some terrible news about something in my body that will never be normally functioning again with my ankle last year.
After a couple weeks of whining around, I noticed Fleet Feet Murfreesboro was having an injury screening, and went to see what the PTs had to say. She checked my lateral hip strength, which is apparently non-existent. Working on that... she said she didn't think I needed therapy, though...
A couple more weeks of pain, and increasing pain in my piriformis (It sounds kind of... of questionable intent, the word piriformis. It's a literal pain in my butt...) and I've had to draw the line. Last week, I had Paul call and make me an appointment. I don't like phone calls.
Fast forward to today. I'm talking to the nurse, telling her about it. I really like the practice I use, and my doctor in particular. The staff are great, and I'm thankful for access to this group. Anyway, I go to get my xrays shortly after she leaves. A few minutes later, my doctor comes in and tells me my xrays are clear, and that he'd wager a bet I've strained my hamstring. We talk about the events leading up to it. He follows his normal poke, prod, palpate routine (he's insanely good at knowing right where to jab me to figure out what's going on... have I told you guys this???), actually causes my knee to click like it has been, and puts the puzzle pieces together.
Did you know your hamstring attaches at the front of your leg? Yeah, I didn't either. Surprise... it does. Turns out, I strained it. He said it could take up to six weeks to really improve. We discussed how it was feeling and that I felt like it was actually improving, and that I had a ride this weekend that was really important. Since I had plans, he suggested we go ahead and do a cortisone injection to speed up the healing of what ails me. I also have a new-fangled strap to wear over the fat pad that was causing the clicking.
He left the room, and Paul reminded me I should talk to him about my ankle and the state of things with it. I think you all know I haven't run since May. I don't feel a great deal of love-lost about this, but wanted to be sure I was doing the right things.
I was surprised when he came in to take care of my injection instead of the nurse; I like the one-on-one attention I receive! I made the mistake of looking at the needle before I laid down for the injection, and it was huge. When I was a kiddo, I never had any trouble with needles. Adult Jessie can barely handle them, though. I was on the verge of cold sweating... while he was performing the injection, when the mild pain combined with the fact that I was getting a shot.
While we were preparing, though, we chatted about my ankle. I told him I hadn't run since May because it was too painful, and that I was alright with that. However, the prospect of not riding was untenable. He wasn't surprised, and told me that short of reconstructive surgery, I probably wasn't going to be running again. He cautioned against it, telling me that although I'm very fit (a major compliment... this guy sees tons of athletes every day!), the recovery time was around twelve months. I've been oscillating in indecision about going ahead and just having surgery. It would be nice to not have to worry about my foot. But his advice has once again steered me away from the surgical option. Someday, it may be necessary. Right now, though, it isn't.
So... finish injection, chat a moment more, and I'm cleared to ride, particularly with the strap, and to do some exercises, most of which I've been doing, and some new ones to add to my repertoire. He said to keep working hard on quad and hip strength.
That's the thing. I try as an athlete to look at injury as my body weeding through parts of my body, telling me what's in need of more strength. Sometimes it's hard to see it that way, when I'm in the trenches and hurting mentally and physically, but it's a chance to be better, really, to be stronger. I think that's the reason for which this situation came to pass: to teach me to be optimistic and to look on the bright side. I've had some dark moments the past few weeks, but nothing like I have in the past when I was hurt. I'll get better. Patience, young grasshopper... right? Rome and fast riders aren't built in a day.
And speaking of fast riders, to add to my novel of a post, I rode my dream bike today. Congress needs to get their act together so I can be sure we're able to afford it, but I have high hopes I'll be the owner of a new road bike very, very soon :) More as the situation develops! But today, I'm thankful for my answered prayers... I'll be sustained.
It was a long string of events leading up to this moment, culminating in my large-for-his-age two year old pouncing on my already very weak and slightly injured right leg and expecting me (I'm strong and tall, but I am slim and small...) to carry him out of the gym on my leg. It all started a few weeks before my century, with a spastic VMO, then the pain picked up right after my century and a couple harder rides, and there you have it. A once again disabled list Jessie. Right as I was picking up and seeing real improvement. Cue plunge into deep depression and the assumption of the worst... because in some ways, I had already experienced some terrible news about something in my body that will never be normally functioning again with my ankle last year.
After a couple weeks of whining around, I noticed Fleet Feet Murfreesboro was having an injury screening, and went to see what the PTs had to say. She checked my lateral hip strength, which is apparently non-existent. Working on that... she said she didn't think I needed therapy, though...
A couple more weeks of pain, and increasing pain in my piriformis (It sounds kind of... of questionable intent, the word piriformis. It's a literal pain in my butt...) and I've had to draw the line. Last week, I had Paul call and make me an appointment. I don't like phone calls.
Fast forward to today. I'm talking to the nurse, telling her about it. I really like the practice I use, and my doctor in particular. The staff are great, and I'm thankful for access to this group. Anyway, I go to get my xrays shortly after she leaves. A few minutes later, my doctor comes in and tells me my xrays are clear, and that he'd wager a bet I've strained my hamstring. We talk about the events leading up to it. He follows his normal poke, prod, palpate routine (he's insanely good at knowing right where to jab me to figure out what's going on... have I told you guys this???), actually causes my knee to click like it has been, and puts the puzzle pieces together.
Did you know your hamstring attaches at the front of your leg? Yeah, I didn't either. Surprise... it does. Turns out, I strained it. He said it could take up to six weeks to really improve. We discussed how it was feeling and that I felt like it was actually improving, and that I had a ride this weekend that was really important. Since I had plans, he suggested we go ahead and do a cortisone injection to speed up the healing of what ails me. I also have a new-fangled strap to wear over the fat pad that was causing the clicking.
He left the room, and Paul reminded me I should talk to him about my ankle and the state of things with it. I think you all know I haven't run since May. I don't feel a great deal of love-lost about this, but wanted to be sure I was doing the right things.
I was surprised when he came in to take care of my injection instead of the nurse; I like the one-on-one attention I receive! I made the mistake of looking at the needle before I laid down for the injection, and it was huge. When I was a kiddo, I never had any trouble with needles. Adult Jessie can barely handle them, though. I was on the verge of cold sweating... while he was performing the injection, when the mild pain combined with the fact that I was getting a shot.
While we were preparing, though, we chatted about my ankle. I told him I hadn't run since May because it was too painful, and that I was alright with that. However, the prospect of not riding was untenable. He wasn't surprised, and told me that short of reconstructive surgery, I probably wasn't going to be running again. He cautioned against it, telling me that although I'm very fit (a major compliment... this guy sees tons of athletes every day!), the recovery time was around twelve months. I've been oscillating in indecision about going ahead and just having surgery. It would be nice to not have to worry about my foot. But his advice has once again steered me away from the surgical option. Someday, it may be necessary. Right now, though, it isn't.
So... finish injection, chat a moment more, and I'm cleared to ride, particularly with the strap, and to do some exercises, most of which I've been doing, and some new ones to add to my repertoire. He said to keep working hard on quad and hip strength.
That's the thing. I try as an athlete to look at injury as my body weeding through parts of my body, telling me what's in need of more strength. Sometimes it's hard to see it that way, when I'm in the trenches and hurting mentally and physically, but it's a chance to be better, really, to be stronger. I think that's the reason for which this situation came to pass: to teach me to be optimistic and to look on the bright side. I've had some dark moments the past few weeks, but nothing like I have in the past when I was hurt. I'll get better. Patience, young grasshopper... right? Rome and fast riders aren't built in a day.
And speaking of fast riders, to add to my novel of a post, I rode my dream bike today. Congress needs to get their act together so I can be sure we're able to afford it, but I have high hopes I'll be the owner of a new road bike very, very soon :) More as the situation develops! But today, I'm thankful for my answered prayers... I'll be sustained.
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