Thoughts

I've been thinking about motherhood a lot lately. I have not yet been inducted into the club of ripening bellies and car seats, of bedtime stories and diaper changes. My womb has not yet quickened; there is no child with my hair. But, someday, hopefully soon, there will be.
Will I be a good mother? I lose my temper easily and am prone to stress and rapid frustration. Will I scream? Will I be cold, like my mother frequently was? Will I be overly doting and cater to my child's every whim as the antithesis of my childhood? More urgent in my mind, and more shameful, is my question of whether I can love a child at all. Am I capable of selflessness? Sure, I adore other people's babies, but will I resent my own? What if I find out I am having a girl when I am hoping for a boy? Will I secretly be devastated when I see the results on the ultrasound? Will I pretend to smile and be excited about having a daughter when I long for a son? How can I think this way?! Will I be overwhelmed by all that I have to do and resent my husband? Will I regret my decisions and long for the times when I was a free woman and could do whatever I pleased? I am a terrible person.

Reinvention

My sister ran into my ex fiance on campus of my alma mater last week. She texted me to ask if I thought he would still be in school. I said yes, I believed so, since I recently saw that he was listed as graduation in 2010 on a social networking site. She quickly responded that she had seen him and he acted as if he didnt really recognize her. I told her he was probably pretending.


Its amazing how time heals all wounds; now I am almost incredulous that I actually loved this man. He dragged me into his sad, depressing, dark world and I was so lost when I left it that I had forgotten about the light. It was like being bipolar: together we experienced the highest highs and the lowest lows. I needed medication. After we were free of each other, I experienced a reinvention that I recommend to everyone at least once in a lifetime. I, for once in my life, felt limitless.

I lost the 20 lbs I put on while trying to eat my feelings during our year and a half together and returned to my original svelte size. Armed with a new found sense of self--and the somehow seductive aura of grief and rage that I possessed--I set out to do some damage of my own. I dated and dumped 8 guys during a 4 month span (luckily, most of them still speak to me). I wore my first bikini in public and made it a point to count how many eyes I could catch. I had a man show up at my apartment at midnight in tears, begging me to come back to him while I was on the phone with my next target. I modeled. I flirted. I smiled. I even seduced his best friend. I had discovered that mystical power that the pretty girls in my classes seemed to possess that I just couldn't understand--beauty tied with confidence and sprinkled liberally with sensuality. I was hot.

A series of unfortunate events

I think my favorite part of talking with other people is finding out their stories; the little bits and pieces of experience that have lead them to this place and point in their lives. Every person is made like a quilt, with large and small pieces of time stiched together with multicolored threads.
So here is one of my squares for your enjoyment.



Downhill Date

Ive been sledding on many dates, having lived in Utah for most of my late teenage and early adult years. My first sledding date ended up being a two month fling with a guy in my classes. My next sledding date--a deliciously illegal midnight ride down the hills of the Deer Valley Ski Resort--ended up being my fiance a year later (and six months after that, my ex-fiance). The last sledding date was with C and as we were flying down the hill we caught air, flew off the sled and he landed on my ankle: spraining it and I had to keep it wrapped for three weeks. However, this particularly memorable sledding date was not because of the guy (my last boyfriend before my now husband) but because of a rare sense of wild abandonment I experienced.

I am terrified of many things, and sliding wildly down icy slopes is one of them. So is jumping off anything higher than a step stool. Therefore, sledding wasnt always an entirely comfortable experience (nor was that one time I went skiing--never again).
My then-boyfriend J, his best friend J.P,. J.P.'s date, and I went to a man-made sledding hill course outside of the town where we lived. Me, being the scaredy cat I am, was nervous with anxiety about yet another sledding fiasco. When we arrived I pleaded with my bf that we try the smaller hill first. After realizing that it was par with most turtle's average pace, I decided I was ready to try the bigger hills.

At the bottom of the course there was a barricade of bright orange plastic fencing with metal poles holding up the fence to prevent riders from dropping to their deaths into the lower parking lot--about a 20 foot drop. On the hills themselves, flashing lights indicate where riders must firmly drag their feet to significantly slow the inner tubes before reaching the bottom of the hill to avoid injury.

At the top of the largest hill, the four of us linked our tubes together and began to slide at an ever increasing speed down the hill. I was laughing with exhilaration by the time we reached the flashing lights and I going downhill headfirst, facing uphill at my boyfriend. He kept yelling for me to drag my feet but in my happy delirium I decided to ignore him. CRASH!!! We slammed into the plastic fencing. Inner tubes, boots, limbs, and a significant amount of powder flew into the air. I was laughing so hard I didnt realize I had slammed into one of the metal poles. J was frantically yelling at me asking if I was ok, if i was hurt. The tears in my eyes prevented me from seeing his face and I bent over in the snow, clutching my sides in waves of mirth. Finally he grabbed me and turned me over and saw that I was laughing, not crying, and he collapsed beside me in the snow, giggling. The attendant came rushing over and began waving an admonitory finger in our faces and told us that if we pulled that again, we would be ejected from the course.

Letting go and moving on is the hardest.
Little memories still sting and it takes so much
to let the tiny cuts heal.
But the struggling butterfly
that is us,
has finally broken free from the sticky cocoon,
that was us.
Ill not clip its wings.
So Ill paste the tiny bandages,
over the dozens of tiny stings.
And put my big girl face on.
Because that fragile, beautiful winged creature
is worth the bittersweet.

No, no, no

So this might be my most honest post yet.
[Deep breath]

I have 5 days of the pill left in the pack we agreed I would take until it was finished. After said pack was empty, we would discuss whether or not to start a new one. Today we talked about it and it hit me: I don't want to stop taking the pill again. I don't want to get pregnant right now. I want things to stay the way they are. I am terrified of being pregnant and having a child. And I feel terribly guilty.

My reasons are mostly selfish:
1. I am afraid of losing my body to pregnancy and mommy flab
2. I am afraid of not being attractive to my husband and any other men.
3. I am afraid of the hormones taking over and me being even more psychotic/jealous/controlling than I already am.
4. I am afraid of the sleeplessness, the exhaustion, the lost of my "self" and individuality.
5. I am afraid of being stuck. (I know, Im a terrible person).

What if something happens and I leave him or he leaves me and I have our baby? I cant just move on with my life and go to culinary school or travel around the world to ease my pain--I have an eternal link to him.
I love him and I expect to love him forever, but these last few weeks have demonstrated that love is fragile and marriage is precarious. Two people can be driven to their edges and the dark side of the one you thought you knew surprises you. Our relationship feels too precarious right now for the life-long commitment of bringing life into the world to feel feasible.

Will I ever be ready? Who knows. For now, no baby.

The great divide,
is smaller than any organic chasm.
This space,
the one in between us,
seems insurmountable.
The three strides across the floor,
seem like leagues under the sea.
With my toes on the precipice,
You suddenly step backwards,
and my heart sinks.
That's another day's journey
added to the trek.
Will we ever find the courage
to leap across and find vulnerability
and love, and peace?
Or will we trip into that chasm
to be lost
forever...

perfect fit by The Dresden Dolls

i could make a dress
a robe fit for a prince
i could clothe a continent
but i can't sew a stitch

i can paint my face
and stand very very still
its not very practical
but it still pays the bills

i can't change my name
but i could be your type
i can dance and win at games
like backgammon and life

i used to be the smart one
sharp as a tack
funny how that skipping years ahead
has held me back

i used to be the bright one
top in my class
funny what they give you when you
just learn how to ask

i can write a song
but i cant sing in key
i can play piano
but i never learned to read

i can't trap a mouse
but i can pet a cat
no i'm really serious!
i'm really very good at that

i can't fix a car
but i can fix a flat
i could fix alot of things
but i'd rather not get into that

i used to be the bright one
smart as a whip
funny how you slip so far when
teachers dont keep track of it

i used to be the tight one
the perfect fit
funny how those compliments can
make you feel so full of it



These are the lyrics from a song called the Perfect Fit by the Dresden Dolls. Its an accurate description of my feelings. Hopefully I wont get arrested for plagiarism.

I wish she would stay the fu$% out of my life.
Leave me alone, I dont care.
I am a grown up now; I am a big girl.
I don't need anyone.
Your husband is NOT my dad and never will be.
I don't have a dad and I dont need one.
Don't try to continue your dictatorship of my childhood: I am leading a revolution.
I dont need anyone.
Not even that almost-baby...
not even myself....

BFFFFFs

So I met some new people recently. One is a classmate of C's and then there are some girls from church. I don't think there is anyone in his class who is married.

His classmate, I'll call her Princess Jasmine, is a sweetheart. She's outgoing, and funny, a little crass, and reminds me of my roommate/sister-from-another-mother E. Princess Jasmine, however, is gorgeous. Not just run of the mill pretty, but exotically stunning. Maybe I'm a little insecure around her, especially since my husband is taken with her too. [Read: why can't he ever be friends with ugly girls?]. They have this teasing, easy, comfortable relationship that sometimes I feel a little out of place when I'm around them. Like I'm a stranger interfering. It's only been two weeks and they act like they've been friends their whole lives. She has a long-distance boyfriend, which is helpful

However, she has been more open and warm with me than the church crowd so far.
The church girls invited me to a boot camp on Saturday morning, but I felt like it wsa still hard to reach them. I HATE making new friends: it takes so long to get to that easygoing level. Maybe its because I don't have kids like they do, or that they have been friends for a little while, but I still felt like an observer to their conversations as I drove us to and from boot camp.

So here I am, after three weeks:
--Befriending Sonny's classmates and swallowing my pride/insecurities in regards to Princess Jasmine

--Trying to figure out how to get through to this group of women who don't need me to be their friend but who I need like a fish needs water.

I'm pathetic.

Reflection on My First Week as a Doctor's Wife

C started med school on Monday: it was his orientation week. The first day was mostly logistical (student I.D., insurance talks, OSHEA and HIPAA speeches, etc.). The second day was more inspirational for him as they were treated to talks on ethics and what it means to be an Emory-educated physician. The week progressed thus, with lectures and speeches and meetings. He came home and recounted his experiences to me and his excitement and confidence grew.

I guess I am more excited for him to begin this chapter than nervous. I guess I'm not the one doing the school work, so it doesn't affect me as much. In a way I am a little jealous that he is jumping into a new social scene and experiencing this part of his life without me. I can't talk to him about what we learned in class, or comment on our new found friends, or even commiserate with him on his workload. He said that he likes having me home to talk to when he comes home and having an escape from medical school--but maybe he will feel differently as it gets harder.
I have no friends in Atlanta, and my best friends are at least a 1,000 miles away. And now, my "bestest" friend is not only busy, but making new friends without me in medical school; intelligent, attractive, interesting friends with whom I have little or nothing in common with.

I know its not his fault, but the loneliness is already starting to sink in.
Please God, let all this sacrifice be worth it....

Everything but the glass slipper

I'm not going to lie: my life up to now has been pretty rough. From my abusive father eventually abandoning me, to being raised under the poverty line, to the various and sundry heartaches and disappointments I've suffered, I resigned myself to a difficult existence. But, like all fairy tales, one day it all changed. At the risk of being cliche' (which I often find that my life is) one day my Prince Charming rode up in his Harley, swept me off my high-heeled feet, and the rest is history.

So now, in the midst of our Happily Ever After, I am faced with some doubts. I’m still waiting for something terrible to happen or to wake up from this dream of an easy life that I’ve been having. What if the clock strikes twelve and it all goes back to crap? What if I find myself metaphorically stoking the fire in a soot-stained apron realizing that it was all my imagination?
Maybe A), God decides that once in a while we need a break from trials. Or B)maybe God prefers C and I am just blessed by association(like being popular by association, only with more perks). (In case you are wondering, the correct answer is B)

But, surely, I was born to struggle?

We have been blessed as newlyweds. My old roomate and good friend lamented of her marital financial situation while at my bridal shower, stating that her apartment was smaller than my living room and some nights they were lucky to get a good meal. Ironically, I had more money once I got married than before. C bailed me out of my college credit card follies, and we built up a savings account. My dismal income as a legal assistant at a law firm was augmented by a monthly contribution by his generous parents. Somehow the bills always got paid and we usually had a little left over for fun. For the first time in my life I have a new car.
Now, a year and a half later, we own our cars outright and have only one AMEX that we pay off monthly. We just bought a house and had enough money left over from our downpayment to remodel our house and add an addition.
This is in stark contrast to my childhood where I had to pay for my school field trips and was the only kid that got the brown bagged "Free Lunch" that the bus driver brought from the school cafeteria while the other kids brought Lunchables or -gasp!- bought food. The only new pair of jeans I remember getting were a $20 pair from JCPenny that I wore 4 out of 5 days of the week my freshman year in high school. (I didn't even know that most jeans cost more than 50$ until I got to college). Pretty much all my clothes were hand-me-downs. In seventh grade a malicious girl found out that my neighbors had given us a bag of clothing from their grandkids and spread it around school that I wore somebody's grandma's clothes. (Actually, it was the grandparents of a classmate of mine who were our neighbors, so inevitably some of the pieces must of been hers or her cousins'). We turned on the oven and left the door open in the winter for heat or had little space heaters in our rooms to keep us warm. One Christmas, my mom made our presents out of pieces of fabric she had and dollar store items. I remember sneaking peeks out of our front window to try to catch the women from the church delivering the donated presents from the members "anonymously" to our door on Christmas Eve. I remember wishing I were a chameleon and could blend into the rack of candy in the checkout aisle when my mom pulled out the brightly colored food stamps to pay for our groceries. I remember saving excess water to use to flush the toilet to save on the water bill. I remember worrying about the electricity bill when I was 8 and teaching my little sister to turn off all the lights when she left a room.

So now, in my cushy life, I cant help but feel its precariously balanced on the edge of a precipice. What if our luck runs out? What if I drag C down into my muddy pit of despair like Shrek in the swamp? Im just a big ball of optimisim!

Its been hard to write uncensored thoughts on this blog. I never know who will read it and what they will think. Maybe I shouldn't care what they think--but I do.
It doesn't help that my husband is still Facebook friends with practically every girl he ever took to lunch or looked at twice--so in a few clicks they can find out my dirty secrets (or ours). Similarly, any of my exes could type my name into Google one day when they are bored and stumble upon this little gem. Does the whole world need to know about my issues? (Or is that the purpose of blogging--a quasi-anonymity with the benefit of fulfilling that subconscious need for attention???) Anyway...I guess I should try it and see if the world comes crashing down or if no one will read it/care/comment/notice (which I think is the more plausible outcome, and more comforting).

So lately I've been reading a lot about pregnancy. Every time I go into an office I almost pray that I will have to wait 10-15 minutes to see someone so I can sneek a peak at FitPregnancy or Baby magazine. I actually steal these from waiting rooms and read them on my lunch break. (In my defense, I usually only take the ones that are at least a month or two old). I've already figured out what exercise routine I will use so I avoid the "I'm-pregnant-so-I-can-be-a-whale-if-I-want-to" pounds, picked out a kick-ass stroller with more safety features than a luxury car, and decided I will breastfeed if it kills me. Maybe borderline obsessive, you say? Nah. After all, this will be the biggest event in my life thus far. We have talked about when we are going off the pill and start turning all our practice plays into a Superbowl win. How does anyone truly prepare? It hit me that our planned time to pop a bun in the oven (I love pregnancy puns, dont you?) is coming up fast and I have no idea what to expect. But is it too soon to run out and buy books? Should I wait until I'm preggo and then find from What to Expect When You're Expecting that I'm not supposed to drink Red Bull?
Speaking of Red Bull, what if I get pregnant before the planned time and I don't know it? What if I eat the wrong thing or paint my house and harm the fetus? What if C reads this and thinks I'm nuts and refuses to procreate with me? (LOL, yeah...right...)
I guess healthy babies have been born to women who didn't even know they were pregnant and carried on as usual--surely my kid can have two arms, two legs, and a relatively normal-shaped head too?

Eight-legged Freaks

I keep having nightmares about spiders. I am not particularly afraid of spiders, but in my dreams I just can't seem to escape them. They are everywhere; hanging above my head, webs tangling my legs as I try to walk, under the covers, crawling down my back. What disturbs me the most is that these are almost nightly recurrences. When its not the arachnophobia-inducing nightmares, I dream about equally horrible circumstances: fighting off burly, bulletproof intruders; someone close to me dying; my husband leaving me. C said listening to strong bass in music makes you have nightmares, but I dont know if I am buying it. I think the spiders might have something to do with the few that are still lingering around the exterior of the house after surviving The Great Pressure Wash. But why would I dream about them in my bed and falling on me?
Any ideas?

Now maybe if I fall asleep with a can of Raid in my hand...

The lies we are told

I just watched Michael Moore's documentary "Sicko" for the second time. With a husband about to join the ranks of MD, I wanted to get another perspective on American healthcare.

Before I saw this, I was familiar with insurance issues and bureaucracy of medical care. I know firsthand the corrupt, avaricious politics employed by insurance companies to save their bottom line and screw the rest of us.

But I wanted to see the multi-faceted opinions on this subject before I made my decision.

I have talked to rich people, poor people, doctors, watched propaganda (for both sides), argued with my stepdad and husband, and relived my own experiences in trying to figure out exactly where I have been brainwashed and where the grains of truth have landed.

Here is what I've determined:

First, we are lied to from the moment we are born. Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny; your braces look great, glasses are flattering with your bone structure; he wanted to call but he had to take his mom to the hairdressers; etc. These lies are not only perpetuated by our parents, but also by our government. I was told that Rush Limbaugh is a genius, for example. My ultra-conservative stepdad fed me other inaccuracies during my adolescence and when I tried to contradict him, I was punished. A liberal classmate tried to convince our Public Speaking class that partial-birth abortion is not murder. My government told me that we are spending billions of dollars in Iraq for my benefit--I have yet to see the benefit. Meanwhile, my country is deep recession and my neighbors are losing their house. 

I am told that socialized medicine is evil, Communist, and corrupt--but insurance CEOs and pharmaceutical company CEOs are among the highest paid individuals in our country while middle- and lower-class people are dying from lack of adequate healthcare and medicine.

Michael Moore has poisoned your view, you say. You have been brainwashed and are easily swayed, you admonish. Hmmm... maybe. But maybe, just maybe, he isnt the evil, -gasp- liberal, socialist my stepfather/Rush Limbaugh says he is. Maybe Moore has a point. Anyone who is quick to point fingers usually hasnt lived in a country where national healthcare is available. I did.

My mom, step dad at the time, and I moved to Malmo, Sweden in 1991. My little sister Luisa was born in Lund, Sweden in June of 1992. I remember our live their surpsingly well, considering I was 6 years old. I went to a "dogis", a daycare, so I could play with other kids my age. It was in our apartment building a few floors down. We were poor, by American standards, since my stepdad was a student at the time (I dont remember if my mother worked since she didn't speak the language). But the things I do remember are important to my point.

My daycare was cleaner and more well-run than most here in the States. We had real food, plenty of play time, and a clean comfortable place to explore. Since my mother was a single parent, I have been in and seen many daycare centers in the States.

We had a fairly nice apartment, a car, and took the train or walked to most places because it was close by. Our apartment complex was clean and well cared for. When my mother delivered, she was only in the hospital for two days. She jokes that when I was born she left the hospital with so much stuff that she needed an extra suitcase but my sister was only given a onesie in Sweden. And the best part: she walked out without a bill. Delivering a baby in a hospital in the US these days runs about $10,000 and up when you factor in the doctor's fee and hospital fee. C-section? Complications? Even costlier. 

I know what you are thinking: "well you won't pay the bill with national healthcare but someone will." True. But I pay taxes that pay for your roads, your policemen, and your food stamps, so isn't it fair? Besides, isn't this the concept that Jesus taught in the New Testament to feed and clothe the hungry and naked? How many homeless and destitute people exist in this country? How many single parents struggling to make ends meet? How many families are losing their homes? How many of the aforementioned can afford to pay to see a doctor when illness strikes them or for medication to keep them healthy and alive? None. Does that mean they should be left to die because they can't afford to pay? For all our altruistic democracy, we are failing the very people our government was set up to help. Healthcare is a human right, not a luxury. 

I have two small examples that I wanted to mention.

The first is undocumented workers' or immigrants' children's access to healthcare. In Utah, there is a law that no child, regardless of their parents' citizenship status, is denied healthcare. Should a child be left to die because their parents don't have citizenship? What if that were your child? I didn't think so. So, children whose parents are undocumented are on state-run Medicaid and can be immunized, treated, and hospitalized without fear of repercussion to their parents. This is one positive step towards a shifting view of medical access from only the luxury of the rich, to becoming a right for all mankind, regardless of citizenship and income. (Some of these undocumented workers DO pay taxes and contribute, but that's another topic for another time).

The second is an first-hand experience in how much pharmaceutical companies profit off medications in the U.S.. On our trip to Puerto Rico in May, Janene (my mother in law) needed to get a prescription from the pharmacy because she wasn't feeling well. When we went she asked me to ask the pharmacist for the generic brand because the pill ran about $60 a piece here and they wouldn't take her insurance. I translated her request and the pharmacist said she didn't have the generic. We asked her how much it was anyway, since she needed it. $6 a pill. Six dollars versus sixty. Thats a $54 dollar profit the drug company gets for each pill prescribed in the U.S. No wonder their CEOs have private jets. 

Now imagine an elderly person on a fixed income. Many have an average of 3 or 4 medications they take a month, often its upwards of 6 or 7. How can Grandma afford to pay for her medications if  her insurance doesn't cover them (which they usually don't; or they cover a small amount--leaving the bulk for the patient to pay)? Drug companies are, quite literally, ripping off little old ladies for that 90% profit margin. 

So, to conclude my incoherent rant, I want to say simply this: the next time you hear the words "socialized medicine" and your mind flashes to the former Soviet Union and that evil word "communism", take a minute to think about what it would mean for this country and the regular citizens who would benefit from it. I know that as a future doctor's wife, maybe I am jeopardizing my chances of having that Range Rover I want, but I will sleep better at night knowing that some little old lady will live another day because of my selflessness. 

Put 'em up!!

Ever wanted to start a fight? Spontaneously burst into a Bruce Lee-esque kick-ass fight sequence? Maybe not. Maybe I am channeling my 10-year-old boy self, who knows. Nevertheless, I want to fight someone.
It started on the way home from Montana on Tuesday. I was visited by the irresistible urge to karate-chop passersby. Scary, I know. Maybe it was pent up energy from being stuck on a plane for 5 hours. Maybe it was five days in the company of an 11 year old who came up with random suggestions every three minutes, with gems such as "I want to base jump off that mountain", "I want to go frolic with the bears" (who under 95 says "frolic" anymore??!?!?!?) or "Lets kidnap a bison and stuff it in our luggage". At first it was funny. After about the 943rd time: not so much. Add a dash of exhaustion from three late nights and carrying 29 boxes of tile into our house, and I'm primed to whaaa-POW! someone straight in the kisser. Did I mention that my mother called me and cussed me out because I accidentally called her, and told her so, after which she accused me of being insenstive. (She was actually upset because I wasnt at my little sister's graduation, but heaven forbid she tell me that). WTF indeed.
Anyway, maybe I just need a nap, like any cranky little kid.


Oh, and I am looking into kickboxing classes for my aggression--no worries.

Barbie Girl

Recently Ive been annoyed with a busty fake blonde from my childhood. You know who she is: that wide-eyed, anatomically impossible, infinitely plastic Barbie. How I hate her. No, I'm not jealous of her triple F cup size or her 5cm waist. I hate what she represents. We played with her, dressed her, and fantasized about being grown up just like her. Its ironic, since the doll was based on a German sex toy. Ken isnt any better. Ever undressed a Ken doll? Yeah...that was my earliest lesson on distorted male anatomy. And how does this affect children? Why would I want my daughter to have a doll that gives her unrealistic expectations about her body? Why would I want my son to have unrealistic expectations about both mens' and women's bodies? Its interesting to note that with the advent of cosmetic surgery, women are opting for procedures that make their appearances disturbingly similar to my old Malibu Barbie. Ever notice how in the commercials Ken only goes for blonde "perfect" Barbie? Never her brunette friend, her Asian/black/hispanic counterparts or the wheelchair Barbie. What does that tell our little girls?
Well, Barbie never went to law school, never completed a triathlon, never stayed up all night with a sick infant, never survived breast cancer, never worked in a refugee camp in Africa, never got her heart broken, never struggled to feed her family, and never found true love.
So Ken can keep her, I'd rather be a real girl.

Braces

Ouch. Ow. Mucho dolor.


Beauty is pain.
Is this beauty worth the pain?
Is this pain worth the beauty?
My two front teeth, reshaped and reduced
now lie unobstrusively
along my row of pearly whites.
But where are my teeth?
All I see is metal.
All I feel is sharpness and bulk.
My voice is no longer my own--
I lisp, I mumble, I spit.
Gross!
I wonder where those pliers went....

Tri'ed and Tested

Wow.
I did it.
I actually did it!
I completed my very first triathlon with a pretty good time (1:45:39) and I finished 7th in my division. Me, 7th.

What an experience. It was wonderful to have my sweet husband before the race, down at the water, as soon as I got out, and pretty much every step of the way. Sidney also competed, so it was great to have someone to keep me motivated.

So we got to Brunswick late Thursday night. We slept on the bus and rented a car on Friday morning. Friday we drove around and got some last minute gear and picked up our packets. I was worried about Sidney because he decided to compete last minute (he was originally registered, but when Janene had surgery he stopped training to be her support) and didnt know a lot about the logistics of the race. (During the run part of the race he said "Oh, I thought this was supposed to be a mile, its three?" lol). Friday night we were both anxious and nervous but I managed to sleep. We woke up at 5 am and I showered and got ready. We loaded the car and drove to Jekyll Island. My parents met us there and we wheeled our bikes into the transition area. Luckily, we all drove through the course on Friday so we knew what the bike course looked like, where the transition area was, what the beach was like, etc. We set up our transitions and our bikes, got our bodies marked and I got my timing chip. (Sidney had to run back from the beach to get his timing chip because he forgot). I had a lot of nervous energy and adrenaline, so I went for a little jog. We took some pictures and then the announcer told everyone to head towards the beach. We waited and watched the Olympic distance triathletes get their swim start. This one guy took off and was so far ahead of the others that I was sure he would be taking a nap in his hotel room by the time I got on my bike.


After some brief instructions, the water was clear and it was our turn. We went to the water in two's, in numerical order. I was around the middle of the line. I was excited and ran into the water feeling a burst of nervous energy. Once it became too difficult to run, I dove in to swim.




All of a sudden everything went wrong. My heart started to race and I was hyperventilating. I got a mouthful of salt water and I couldnt complete a single stroke. My wetsuit felt like it was suffocating me. I stood up and ripped the cord of my zipper down and clawed at the velcro closure at my neck. Sidney saw me struggling and waded over to help me, but instead pulled my zipper back on because he thought it fell off. I panted "No! I need it off!!! I CANT BREATHE!" and another wave of panic crashed over me. He pulled the cord back down and I cluthed at the shoulders and yanked the wet rubber to my waistline. Sweet relief came with a breath of air. I started to doggie paddle around the fist buouy and tried to get into a stride. However, the bad start seemed to push all my training out of my brain and I just did my best to make it towards the yellow triangle buouy that meant the swim was over and to head to shore. Every time I tried to control my breathing and get my stroke pattern going, I would bump into someone, get smacked my someone, or get a wave in my face. Luckily, the water was up to ribs and I touched the bottom and walked. I felt sheepish until I looked around and noticed that about 50% of the sprint group was walking too, including Sidney. It wasnt against the rules, and it was easier, so we did it. In my defense, I couldnt catch my breath and could only doggie paddle, so in order to avoid drowning, I swam when I could and walked most of the way. Finally we reached the yellow buouy. We turned our faces towards the shore and I ran out of the water with whatever stamina I could muster, feeling a little defeated at having screwed up so early in the game. Luckily my wetsuit was halfway off already, so I ran through the showers on my way to the transition and my bike.




Now, I just want to take a moment to say that I am officially a firm believer in the miracle of PAM. I read in a book that non-stick cooking spray is a priceless addition to any triathletes transition bag--so I stuffed my big yellow can in my backpack. Wow, were they right! Someone even asked me to borrow some. I sprayed PAM on my legs before I put my wetsuit on, and when I was standing by my bike to take it off, it slipped off like magic. I put on my helmet, ripped open a Hammer Gel, shoved my sunglasses on my face, laced my shoes and I was off.
The bike ride was a definite improvement from the swim. I passed several people and mantained a decent cadence and speed. Sidney was behind me most of the way and passed me around mile 10. It was beautiful today and the scenery was perfect. Since we drove around the course the day before, I knew landmarks that would keep me motivated (e.g. the campground was at the top of the island, the welcome center was almost the end, etc). Plus there were volunteers stationed every mile or so who would call out encouragement and praise as you rode by. I had a blast and it really helped me boost my confidence. I noticed some of the Olympic distance bikers, as they were whizzing past, were very serious and focused. I was laughing and smiling and talking to myself. I guess I'll get to that point of concentration eventually--I was just having a good time. Before I knew it, we were at the last mile and I spotted Sonny and my parents with their cameras.



We walked our bikes back to the transition area, dropped our helmets, took a swig of water and took off towards the run course.




At first, I was running pretty steadily, since my legs were used to the repetetive motion, but all of a sudden I hit a wall. I could not get my calves to pick themselves off the ground. I slowed to a walk. The rest of the run consisted of Sidney and I alternating between running, jogging, and walking as best we could. The turn around point felt like it was miles away instead of a mile and a half and we joked with other runners as we passed about catching a cab back to the finish line.
One thing that really struck me positively was the amount of support people had for each other. Everyone called out encouragement to everyone else and occasionally we even saw people we knew. On our way back from the turn around point, almost to the finish, Sidney and I started calling out foods we would eat when we got done so that runners that passed us heard "Cheese FRIES!!!" "STEAK!" and "FUDGE SUNDAY" screamed at them. At long last we saw the finish line and heard people cheering. I was a little ahead of Sidney and was losing steam fast. I told myself that I had to cross the finish line at a run, no matter what. However, I started to slow down a little because my legs just wouldnt give any more. Suddenly, about 20 yards before the end, I saw a guy yell "Dont let him catch up to you! Are you gonna let him beat you??!" and pointed to Sidney, who was close behind. I got a momentary surge of adrenaline and sprinted the last few yards towards the end. I collasped against Sonny and he kissed me and wrapped an arm around my shoulders and said "I am so proud of you...". It was a beautiful moment.




I learned a lot from this experience about the importance of training and how fun races actually can be. It really puts the training in perspective and makes it more bearable to know that the harder I train, the more fun the race will be, especially with the swim.

I am so grateful that my parents were able to come see me compete and for the support of Sonny's family. However, I am at a loss for words for how much it meant to me to have my best friend waiting for me at the finish line. He is my anchor and my motivator and I couldnt have asked for a better companion. I am one lucky triathlete :)

Travels

So we just got back from Puerto Rico on Tuesday. It was a blast!! We went Scuba diving on Monday off of the coast of Fajardo, to Old San Juan on Sunday, and hung out at the resort the other days. We drank virgin pina coladas and mojitos and sunned ourselves by the pool. It was romantic and relaxing. However, the food on the resort wasnt great n
or was it inexpensive (luckily we had a meal plan and the company was paying for our trip). Sonny and I ate mofongo, tons of arroz con pollo and strangely enough, sushi. I was so happy to have asopao again and taste some flavors of my childhood. Ill post pictures once I can find the cord for the camera :).


Guess where I am right now? Ok, so I dont know exactly, but we are on our way to Brunswick to the RV park where we will be staying the weekend for my tri. Can you believe it has come up so fast???? AHHHGHGHGHHGGHH??!?!?!?! IM GOING TO DIE!!!! Its T minus 36 hours!!!

AND...last but most exciting....we closed on our house today. We officially own our first house. We paid 20k less than its worth and paid NOTHING (ok, $10.00) in closing costs besides our 3.5% down payment. We are both so happy about it! Now comes the fun part: choosing paint colors, decorating, buying furniture and appliances, etc. YAY!~

Nutritional Content

So I'm on my lunch break and I want something quick. I decided to go to BK to get a Whopper, since they are supposed to be better for you than MC'Ds and there wasnt a better alternative in this backwoods town I'm in today. I ordered a Whopper and a side salad. Out of curiosity I asked the lady if they had the nutritional content of their food. She said she thought so, so i drove to the second window to get my food. When the window opened I heard someone laughing "--nutritional information?" and looked over to see a 300+ lb employee handing the pamphlet to the window person with a smile on her doughy face. THEN, the person at the window handed me a bucket with a plastic lid and a straw filled with a carbonated beverage. "This is a medium?" I asked. "Yes" came the reply.
Sheesh. No wonder Americans die of obesity and heart disease more than any other country. Our "small" is yesterday's "medium" and our "large"s could serve well as bathtubs.

[Disclaimer: should any fellow amateur triathletes or even midly athletic friends read this, please dont judge me for eating fast food while in training--there honestly was nothing else!!!]

Exfoliating

[Training log: Ran 2 miles today with Sonny. Swam 650m yesterday. Biked 8 miles, ran 2 on Sunday. Monday ran 4.4. Tuesday did nothing]


Exfoliating
She greets me with a smile,
and asks me to sit.
She asks whats on my mind,
and asks me to speak.
She acts like she hears me,
and asks me to repeat.
She says she understands,
and asks me to grow.
She tells me to exfoliate,
and asks me to let go.
She says I need to rub off,
and asks me to debride.
She says let go of the past,
and asks me to cry.
She tells me to be strong,
and asks me to try.
I tell her I'm unsure,
I really dont know how.
She says to make a list,
and asks me to write down.
She says to compare,
she asks to contrast.

I sit, I write.....
and suddenly
there is smoothness
on a tiny patch of past.

For Jen

So Jennifer made a comment about how I dont update my blog often enough. She's right. But I never know what to write. I dont know if I can be as honest and open in cyberspace as she is with her pre-conception experiences. There are a lot of things about me that I dont feel comfortable telling the world. Like, for instance, not every day of my marriage is roses and fluffy bunnies. Some days I want to strangle my husband and feed his entrails to crocodiles. Some days my mother/my job/my dog/my extended family/etc makes me so mad I want to launch grenades. But how can I write this without later regretting it? (For instance, this week with Sonny has been great. We've had a blast and done a lot of activities together. But some weeks are terrible.) I know he reads my blog, I know other people read it (even if they dont comment). What if I hurt someone's feelings?
How do I expose myself thusly without being too exposed?
Therefore, I write the mundane clutter of my life in hopes that the juicy pieces will remain in my head while not threatening to drive me insane. But, maybe Im wrong...so here goes. A little honesty:


Things I HATE
1. Stupid girls (esp drunk ones)
2. Stupid girls who are my age who make me look bad because we share a birthyear
3. Skanks who hit on married men
4. Racism
5. Utah hypocrisy and close-mindedness
6. Utah Hairstyles
7. Pretty much all things Utah
8. Being controlled or told what to do
9. Eggplant (random, I know)
10. People who try to set my husband up with their daughters, knowing full well he is MARRIED
11. Beige walls.
12. Being told [constantly!!!] how lucky I am to be married to my husband (Duh, I know!!)
13. Being wrong (which I hardly ever am)
14. Old people who have fast cars and drive the speed limit
15. XBOX
16. Fake girls, like the ones I knew in high school. You know who you are, bitches.
17. The greasy-haired guys and nasty old men who leer at me.
18. Men who try to pick up on me even though I repeatedly raise my left hand in front of them.
19. Not being respected
20. The toilet seat being up.

Training Log

I ran 4.2 miles today. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT!?!?!?!?!? I worked up to a little over 3 miles the last two weeks. I am so proud of myself.  Ok so I had to walk some of it because there are giant hills in my neighborhood. I still dont feel ready for the tri, but at least I'm working on it. I'm going to spin class tommorrow and going to try to fit in a few laps in the pool afterwards. 

Our house plans are going well. The contract has been signed so we are just waiting on the mortgage to come through and us to be able to close. 

My stepdad posted a funny video on YouTube of him collecting Easter eggs that my mom hid for him. Amazing that she would do it for him and never for Luisa and I. I heard her in the background when I was talking to him on the phone bragging to my aunt "He was the first to give my kids candies. I never gave them candy." I can see her face make that look of disgust as she talks about sweets. I understand wanting your kids to be healthy, but eschewing all the normal American traditions-- Easter egg hunts ("what do eggs have to do with the Resurrection?"), Halloween trick-or-treating (Halloween in general. "Thats evil"), Santa Claus ("He doesnt exist.")-- has nothing to do with making your kids make better choices about food. 

I know its ridiculous, but I was so annoyed when I saw that video. She didnt understand why people do those things for holidays here therefore we werent allowed. I colored Easter Eggs once at a friends house. I went trick-or-treating ONCE when I was 8 years old and I had to beg. I knew Santa didnt exist because my presents were proportional to the amount of money my mom/parents had and so my haul was usually less than my friends, even though I was "good". (Sidebar: my mother justifies us not believing in Santa Claus because she wanted to avoid the whole good=more presents equation since we never had a lot of money and she didnt want me to think I was bad. I get that...still, it takes the mystery out of it all when you are a little kid and you dont leave cookies out or write a letter to Santa. You hand your wish list to your parents.)

My kids are going to have baskets and egg hunts with so much candy they wont have anywhere to put it. At Halloween I will demand a minimum 3 pound haul of which I will take 50% (like any good business owner :) ). Why have kids if not to dress them up in cute outfits and let your neighbors give them the best candy of which you can have your pick with minimal effort? 

Training Log

So today was a good day.
I ran 2.7 miles!! Woohoo! I am slowly clawing my way back onto the wagon. Puerto Rico is coming up and I want to buy a new bathing suit but I refuse to even look for one until Im back in training shape. Sonny is finishing up his financial aid stuff for loans for med school. We went to Emory Revisited last week and it was wonderful. I came down on Thursday and Sonny was there Wed through Friday. I learned a lot and it helped me see what he would be doing and where and how much I needed to be a strong support for him. I dont feel like a passive observer to his dream anymore; I am the engine in his shiny car. I realized last week that I need to work on making our home calm and stress free so he can study and relax. After the intensive days he is going to have, he is going to need it!! They have these amazing simulation mannequins and virtual reality laproscopy devices on the first floor by the cadaver lab that are amazing!! Im going to bribe him to take me down there a few times to watch him working on them--it will be so neat. All the students I met were super nice to me and Dr Lee, the Multicultural Student Services director made me feel like I was one of them. Im excited for us to start!!

On a side note, as I was leaving an office today, a guy around my age was sitting in the waiting room and said "You have a good day, beautiful" to me, as I passed by him. I was so surprised and embarrased that I just stammered a shy "thanks". I love Sonny, however its nice to still get noticed by guys (young guys, not leering old men which seems to happen to me a lot), even though Im an old married woman. :) I've still got it!!

RANDOMNESS

Blah. No comments. Nada.

Training log: nonexistent. The sundry miles ran, the various sit-ups, the ridiculous bike rides. Blah. Who cares? And now i have to do the tri alone because Janene had surgery on her hand and cant pull a cast through the water. Motivation level: zilch.

On the upside: number of weeks til Puerto Rico, 8ish.

I got in a fight with my half pound bird and lost. Juno keeps trying to eat him, I think Ill let her.

We are in the final throes of the home-buying process. Now comes the fun part with the furniture buying and the painting and the decorating. This will be move number 25 for me! It will be nice to have our own place and be close to Atlanta.


I really want to go to Italy and take cooking classes. I've been reading my new book On Cooking that they use at the C.I.A. (Culinary Institute of America, not the federal agency) and it inspires me to try out some new techniques. Italy would be amazing--French food is too fussy.

Crazy....

I. Am. Baby. Crazy.

Hungry. Starved. Ridiculous.
I see babies and small children in stores and I just want to snatch one and take it home ( in a non-pedophilic absolutely maternally obsessed way) and love it.
I dream of my fat, angelic faced, curly-haired babies. My sweet little boy with his father's eyes and nose and my hair. My lovely baby girl with her light chocolate locks, my lips, and her father's freckles. Think of the cutest baby you've ever seen and multiply it to the power of ten. Thats how cute my kids will be (well, to me anyway).

We have a plan. We have rules and a plan as to when/where/ and how. We have dates and plans and ideas. But we also have a baby bassinett, three boxes of boy clothes, and a floor mobile with cute multicolored toys to hang over our little darling's body to encourage them to reach. And I...I have hormones and unexplainable tears and an inexplicable obsession with Montessori schools and car seats.
I have dreams of pregnancy and a cute baby bump under by brown skin. I have dreams of holding my precious child in my arms and cooing him or her to sleep. I have dreams of my husband holding a chubby-cheeked angel over his shoulder and softly kissing his head.

We have names picked out.

What am I to do?

NEW BLOG!!!

Here is the link for my blog:
www.sharylsphyllosophy.blogspot.com

CHECK IT OUT!!

Training Log

Miles Ran: 2.5 (hell to the yes!!!) (yesterday)

I only went to spin class once this week and ran that two miles yesterday. I was so tired all week, dont know why. I have been getting home from work late and having a hard time getting out of bed. This week will go better.

We had a great time this weekend, just hanging out together. We looked at houses on Friday in North Decatur...still havent found the perfect one but there are a few with definite potential. We are going for a bike ride later today...I need to repent for my frequent Oreo sins this weekend :(.

Oh, and I am starting a new blog about recipes, food, and all things cooking. Ill post the link as soon as its set up. (Jen, this could help you a little on your quest...)
Just one disclaimer: if you use any of my recipes and get rich, I get a cut.

Training Log

Miles ran: 2.25....boo-yah!!!!


On Wednesday I ran 1.5 miles through my neighborhood which is pretty hilly.
On Thursday I swam 650 meters.
Yesterday: I stuffed my face.

Tonight: stuffing my face at Filet...yum.

Ps: I love Sonny. Happy Valentine's day baby, if you read this.

Training Log

Miles Ran: 2.5 (!!!!!!!!!)
Meters Swam: 300
Distance Biked: 0

As you can see, I ran two and a half miles today!! For most people thats not a big deal, but for me it felt like a huge achievement. I told myself I would run/walk for 30 minutes no matter what and see how far I went. I covered the screen on the treadmill with a towel and just hit it. So at least now I know I can do it. I know Ill be exhausted after biking 12 miles, but I know i can walk 3 miles without much effort.

On a side note, we are still waiting from a letter from Emory. Sonny went with his mom yesterday to the campus to talk to the chairman of the Anesthesiology department and the assistant to someone who is on the admissions committee. He said he wants me to open the letter when it comes, which I am excited about. We have been praying pretty hard for an acceptance from Emory. I hope the Lord thinks that it would be as good for us as we do... guess we'll see...

The Big Green Monster

I am jealous. I think I might have broken a commandment today. I had a terrible day, and then to cap it off I walk into the bike store where Sonny is picking out his graduation present to see his name on the most beautiful Cannondale I have ever seen. White, sleek, and shiny-- it makes my second-hand Giant look like a rusty tricycle.

And guess what else? He offered to give me his old helmet. AND he wants to take the seat off MY BIKE because its better than his. I love him but I want to strangle him. Seriously.

Training Log

Ran: 1.2 miles
Biked: 0
Swam: 10 laps (500 meters)
Highlight of my week: Bought my road bike!
I am officially registered for my very first triathlon!! Here is the link: http://www.gamultisports.com/turtlecrawl.html in case you want to check it out. We are swimming in the ocean, and running and biking a course that is parallel to the ocean. Despite this good news and giving me a renewed focus on my goal, today sucked.

We got up this morning at 4:50. I wasnt sleepy, but my body felt drained. Yesterday in spin class I had an asthma attack after our 15 minute hill and had to run out of the room and fight the nausea. I know Im not pregnant, but I cant explain all this fatigue. My inhaler was low, and I replaced it today--hopefully I will be back on track tommorrow. So, back to today. I got dressed and we went to the gym. I stretched, did a few arm weight exercises and got on the treadmill to try to run. I felt like crap. I was so discouraged. I was tired and angry at myself for being tired and not being able to do much of anything. After that miserable mile, I did some sit ups in the weight room and we went to the pool. I sat on the bench by the edge of the pool and was so overcome by discouragement I didnt want to move. In the locker room as I changed into my swimsuit I kept thinking to myself "I cant do this. Ill never be able to do this. What have I gotten myself in to?". This same defeatist mantra hung over my head as I sat by the edge of the pool and contemplated quitting. I tugged my goggles over my head and plopped into the lane Sonny was in. He noticed my expression and asked me what was wrong. Hot tears pricked my eyes as I shared with him my sentiments. He reassured me in his simple way, telling me that yes, I could do this and no I wasnt going to drown, nor would I collapse just before the finish line in a sweaty dehydrated dead heap. While his words were not profound or sugary, he helped me get through that moment. I dried my eyes as best I could with my wet chlorinated hands and exhaled into the first stroke. While I felt like a failure still, it helped that he supports me and motivated me to at least finish my workout.

I dont expect to win, I expect to come in just behind the octogenarians pushing their sporty walkers across the finish line. But at least I would finish. My biggest fear is that I will hit my ever-present "wall" and not be able to go on...that I will be a failure. I have never done anything this cool in my life (there are no pictures of the time my academic team came in second in our district in high school or the $500 scholarship I won from my team winning the county Envirothon--I am such a nerd). The only trophy I ever earned was from my youth bowling leage: I got the trophy because my teammates were amazing bowlers and I was terrible: their skill + my huge handicap= Champions.My parents were so excited when they heard that I was going through with this that they have planned to drive up for the weekend. What if I disapoint them? What if I fail like when I couldnt break the board during my belt test in Tae Kwon Do (and my tiny little sister, who is five years younger, could?) ?
See? Im pathetic...

I know this post is dark. I'm grateful for my husband and his unfailing support and even his harsher words that get my lazy ass to do things I dont want to do. Here's hoping I can do this...