totahsam

I traveled home for lunch yesterday.  Which is my daily routine during the work week to check up on the folks and make sure nothing has burned down during the four hours  that I’m away from the house.  

No fires.

But,  I walked in to chaos and mayhem.  My nephew is holding something and complaining that it’s biting him.  This is not the same nephew that works for the local mortuary.  This is the Nobel Prize candidate.   He’s our resident rocket scientist.   Yes I’m being sarcastic.

Well he was holding a fiddle back ya’ll and it was biting him repeatedly.   I said slowly and clearly to let go of the spider and kill it.  He blinked a couple of times and finally dropped it.   He was replacing the ceiling tiles in the kitchen where the fire took place and it had a web between the roof and the hanging frame for the tiles.   It dropped on his arm and started biting him.  After two bites he grabbed it and that’s when it started biting his fingers.    Meanwhile,  I’m freaking out. 

I went to bed early because my legs were starting to swell again.  I fell asleep only to wake up about two hours later not able to breathe.  I get up on my hands and knees and try to cough.  Nothing.   I can’t get oxygen down my throat and into my lungs.   It must have been a good 45 seconds before my throat opened back up.   I had aspirated in my sleep.   My throat still hurts.  I didn’t sleep the rest of the night.  I was worried about dying in my sleep.  

I did manage to walk on the Farmington track again this morning.  Rugby team was there again.  I avoided all poles in the vicinity.   I was very happy.   They were very energetic. 

Apart from the random bumps in the road life sure is good. 

You’re not going to believe it but I assure these are true facts. 

I didn’t have to time to make it to the gym this morning because I had to take my nephew to work.  At the mortuary.   Early in the morning.   He was happy.   I have a strange family.  He slept in the mortuary last weekend because he was on call.   I made it quite clear that he damn well better smudge himself before he steps in our front door and wear garlic like a pearl necklace!  And whatever accoutrements are needed to stave off the occasional zombie or mummy curses.   I did, however, tell him rather cheerfully not to take any wooden legs as I dropped him off.  Once again he didn’t find that funny.   I guess he’s not a morning person.

As usual I digress.

Well, the Farmington High School football field is ony two blocks from my work and it’s flat and in the middle of town (no bugs or bigfoots or crazy birds) plus it had the added bonus of seating around the track.   This will come in handy when I have a coronary from all that fresh air and outdoorsy stuff. 

I pull up and notice a few other people with a similar idea and I wasn’t too concerned.  Most of them were a little robust so I felt right at home.   I start my warm-up, you know, opening the car door, getting up, walking to the track,  that warm-up.   I have a good thirty minutes before my shift so I take off.   I’m walking I nice brisk waddle.  Not too fast, not too slow.   I’m maybe a quarter down the track when numerous cars begin to pull up in the parking lot.  LOTS and LOTS of cars.   LOTS and LOTS of men start piling out of these cars.  

“What the hell????”

It can only happen to me.  They pour onto the field and start to… remove their shirts.

Oh my.

It’s the Rubgy Team.  They are practicing this morning.

I’m distracted. 

These are some fine healthy male specimens.  I was twitterpated.  I was mesmerized. 

Suddenly I hear a voice behind me,  “Hey buddy!  Look out!”

Instead of looking ahead to see what was going on, I turn to look at the guy warning me and…

I ran smack dab into a pole.  I mean I nailed that sucker.  It was pure dumb luck that I turned to look at him rather than straight ahead or I would probably have a concussion.  As it is I have a light pole tattooed to my upper torso.  Thank goodness I only bounced off the pole rather than going down.  I’d have had a hell of a time getting back up.

The rugby guys came over to check on me.  Just my luck.   A lot of them were firemen.   After much assurances that I didn’t need a ride to hospital I gathered my shredded dignity and went to work.

But I got treated by a group of shirtless men ya’ll!  What a great way to start a Monday!

My new hobby is gym bunny watching.  It’s kind of like bird watching but without the mosquitos and the whole being outside thing.  My definition of gym bunny is anyone who is in it for fashion rather than health.  Yes this applies to men as well.  They usually don’t work out much.  Just prance around in the latest of gym wear couture.  I find great entertainment in my latest past time.

Today I was watching Swish Hips.  Now it’s important to name the gym bunnies by a particular characteristic.  Swish Hips is pretty much self explanatory.   I’m the Dian Fossey or Jane Goodall of gym bunny watching.   Only my primates can accessorize.  

Anyway, back to Swish Hips. 

Quit distracting me people!  :P  

She opened the door and practically flung herself into the room.  Paused.   I’m guessing for maximum effect.  It worked for me.  I noticed her immediately.  She pranced over to the front counter.  Nervous little filly.  I liked her right away.  She’s my kind of queen.  

She spent most of her time hovering around the more fit of the male gym primate group.  It had quite the positive effect on their work out efforts.  Much flexing and grunting was to be had by all involved.  It was  like placing a carrot on a stick in front of a mule to get it going.   Some of the male specimens were showing a peculiar response to her perusal by the sucking in of guts and much breath holding.  Veeeery peculiar.  Sometimes I just don’t get straight guys. 

I could tell Swish Hips was having a wonderful time.  I know I was.  She walked by me and smiled.  Swish swish swish.  Very pleasant perfume.   20 minutes later she was gone.  

This is going to be fun.   Thank you stationary recumbant bicycle.  

And it’s called recumbant stationary bicycle.  Say that five times real fast.  It was easy.  I was relaxed.  It doesn’t have an attitude problem like a certain treadmill I know.    I have one issue though.  How can I say this delicately?

There’s no way for a girl to get on and off that thing with dignity.    I tried the straddle squat technique.  The side saddle “I’m a lady” technique.   Then there was the scooch technique.  I don’t recommend it.  I scarred some patrons for life.  I even tried a sneak attack which I think caused the employees to question my sanity.   I finally settled for the side saddle “I’m a lady” technique with a little leg swish for effect.  It’s very important to point the toe as you swing your leg over.  Very lady like.

Gravity is my enemy. 

Anyway,  I pedaled my little heart out for 20 minutes.  It was exhilarating.  Getting off was another issue.  My legs were wobbly.  Damn me and my years of inactivity.

I think I’m going to like this gym.  Everyone is so nice and for some reason they tend to keep their distance.  Go figure. 

Well, ya’ll knew something was going to happen and of course it did.   First morning of exercise.  I’m color coordinated and fierce.  FIERCE I tell ya!  Nothing will get in my way.   At least that was my thought process when I stepped onto the treadmill. 

That’s when everything changed.   First of all I felt like I stepped into a fighter jet cockpit.  There were more buttons and dials than I could count.  I stood there for a good 10 minutes trying to find out how to start the damn thing.   Finally a gym bunny walked over and gave me the basic rundown.  I was already extremely self-conscious so I wasn’t really paying much attention.   She said ON BUTTON and that’s all I needed.

Or so I thought.

She walked away with a spring in her step and I continued contemplating the shiny dials and knobs.  Preeeeetty.   Well, being the brain that I am I decided to just hit the on button to get it going so people would stop staring at me.  Apparently a champion triathlete with a sadomasochistic streak had used it before me.   I went down hard.  it shot me out off of the treadmill like a salad shooter on meth. 

One moment I was standing and the next I was pulling my shirt back down from around my ears wondering which way was up.   I’m having vertigo issues as it is with my ear problem so I had a hell of a time standing back up.   Once again the drunk hippo image came to my mind and I start giggling.   Gym bunny was beside herself with horror.  She couldn’t believe I went down that hard without serious damage to my extremities.   I have some carpet burns on my knees but that’s about it.  

There was a Navajo couple next to me when this happened and the wife asked me if I grew up on the Rez.  I spent most of my childhood and adult life there so I answered yes.

“I knew it!”  She crowed with delight.

“How did you know?” I asked a little dazed and confused.

“Because when you fell down you said Yęę’ ” (the two e’s are nasalized and the comma is a glottal stop at the end).  Navajo is a tough language.

“I did???” 

“Aoo’” she said solemnly.  Then she and her husband started laughing hard.   I joined in.  Well, it was funny ya’ll.

Yęę’ is the sound you make when you fall down if you’re Navajo.  Kind of like our oomph. There’s even a joke in navajo about people having a party at night and someone trips and falls out in the dark and says “oomph!” the Navajos all look at each other and say, “must be a missionary.” It loses something in the translation but it’s actually very funny.

Anyway, that’s how I launched my new exercise regimen. Why me Lord?

The 4th was a huge success.  Tons of family (and I mean that in every sense of the word).   We had kabobs and lots of potato salad.  I felt like I was in the army.   I peeled a10 lb.  sack all by my lonesome.   I had so much starch on my fingers I was ready to scream.   Blech! 

First of all the swelling is down.  WAY down.  I’m going to talk to my doctor today about discontinuing the methotrexate.  Keep your fingers crossed.   I’m tired of having my blood sucked out of me to check my liver functions every other day.  I have more holes than a screen door.   My legs actually have shape now.    Yay me!   No more laying in bed looking at the ceiling and counting my nose hairs.   Now I can concentrate on my weight loss instead of worrying about my legs falling off.  The scars are really really bad.  No more shorts for me.  Not that I wear them anyway.

I’ve been following Dr. Gott faithfully and I honestly have to say it’s not hard at all.  I had to make some adjustments but other than that I eat what I would normally minus sugar and flour.   I love bread so that was a little difficult but I adapted rather quickly.   I’m fired up and rarin’ to go! 

Grrrr.. I’m fierce!!  

P.S.  Oh, almost forgot.  We may have had a possible Bigfoot encounter over the weekend.   I wasn’t there so I couldn’t say whether it’s true or not.   We have a large Mulberry tree that has been here since before we bought the land.  That was over 33 years  ago and it attracts a lot of animals.  I’ve seen raccoons, skunks, squirrels, mice, wild turkey, pheasant, bobwhites, even a roadrunner or two.  So it has been a food source for wildlife in the area for a long time.   Well, our numerous far flung relatives spent a lot of time on our property camping out and causing general mayhem around the neighborhood.  We had a tractor trailer load of fireworks and too much time on our hands so the neighbors were pretty much hating us by Sunday night.   Saturday morning  I walked into the living room to find about 8 people camped out on the floor.  I was a little curious so I asked one of my cousins why there were inside.   We haven’t had any rain in several months and the temps were warm.   He said they heard something “big” by the mulberry tree and growling noises.   Now I’ve said before that we’re outdoorsy folks.  I used to be before my little encounter and pretty much know all the night sounds and growls from our local denizens of the forest.   None of them could identify it.  They’re all hunters with bow and gun.  I hate guns.  I believe in the right to bear arms but for myself?   I’d rather do without.   I used to teach hunter’s safety even but I. HATE. GUNS. 

That’s my weekend.

Recently I posted a comment in someone’s journal about motivation and decided to expand on the concept today.   Lately I have been reading and hearing a lot about motivation or the lack thereof.

“I just can’t seem to get motivated” or “If I could just get motivated!”   These are two of the most frequent complaints I come across and then follows a long list of reasons why motivation cannot be attained.   As if it were some magic spell the weight loss fairy (not me) bestows on a lucky few.   I hate to tell you this but….

There’ s no such thing as motivation.   There.  I said it. 

Not in the way most people think anyway.

I’m a musician.  A damn good one too.  But I didn’t start out that way.  I’ve had years and years of classical training in voice and piano.  I’m talking years of blood, sweat and tears.  Not once during those years did any of my coaches and teachers mention the word motivation.  It’s not in a musician’s vocabulary to tell you the truth.  It’s fool’s gold.  In other words, a false hope.

As a musician you learn to set up a routine of training and practice.  Practice time is sacrosanct.  Lucky for me I spent my childhood learning this lesson.  My dad is a phenomenal guitar player and had the priviledge of jamming with guitar virtuosos like Buck Owens and Chet Atkins.   Yes folks, he’s that good.  He played for dances throughout northern New Mexico and southern Colorado.  I used to fall asleep back stage to his music.  Mom would lay coats on the floor and we’d snuggle up and listen while he played.  When my mom’s depression was severe he would sit on the floor next to the couch playing and singing as mom laid on the couch.   He is extremely shy about singing and would only sing to her.   We would crack the bedroom door open and fall asleep to him serenading my mother.   He sounds a lot like Jim Reeves. 

Sorry about that trip down memory lane but, I have a point.  he didn’t start out an excellent guitar player.   It took years of practice and dedication.  Notice I’m not using the word motivation.   My dad used to say,  “You can go broke waiting on motivation.”   That is so true.  

This is related to weight loss in many ways.   Get a routine.  Set up a schedule.  Make sure that everyone who interacts with you in your life understands that it is very important to you.  Don’t allow anyone or anything to interfere with your schedule.  You’re a skinny person in training.   You don’t start out as a weight loss expert.  It takes time.  It takes a routine.  It takes effort.  Blood, sweat and tears folks.  It’s hard at first and you wonder if you’ll ever be any good at it.  But as you go along you realize it gets easier and things that you found hard before are much easier.  Slowly and surely your proficiency increases and your mistakes decrease.  But this can only happen with practice and dedication.  

For example,  a year ago I decided to learn the mandolin.  I have never picked up a stringed instrument before and I was a bit intimidated.   Not only was I learning the mandolin but I wanted to learn bluegrass style.  This style has it’s own techniques that you don’t see in most music genres.   So I had to tailor my training to include these techniques.  

The same goes with weight loss.  I have found what works for me (Dr. Gott) and have modified it to fit my lifestyle.  With the mandolin my fingers weren’t designed for stringed instruments and I have to do some substitutions to work around my physical deficiencies. 

Sound familiar?

So,  don’t depend on motivation to get you through life.  Find a plan and routine that works for you and treat it as the most important thing in your life  (aside from God and Family that is).  You’ll find that it works and the more you do it, the easier it gets.

The subject will be Mom’s anecdotes.

I got up yesterday morning and stumbled down the hall making my way to the kitchen for some caffeinated fortification.  As I passed the hall bathroom I noticed a scrape along the wall and a rather substantial hole.   I stood there for several minutes scratching my head trying to figure out how that could have happened.   I heard rustling noises coming from the computer room next to the kitchen so I went to investigate.    It was mom.

Me:  “Mom,  are you all right?”

Evil woman that gave birth to me:  “I’m fine, why do you ask?” 

I start looking around for canary feathers because she definitely looked like the cat that ate one. 

Me:  “Well, there’s a scrape along the wall that ends in a large hole.” 

Satan’s concubine:  “I lost control of the mobile chair this morning and scraped the wall.” 

Me:  “What about the hole?”

Mommy Dearest candidate:  “What hole?”

Me:  “Umm… the large hole where the scrape ends.  That hole.”

Mom:  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.  I didn’t make any hole.  Let me go look.”

She motors over to the hallway and studies the wall for several minutes. 

“I didn’t do it.  That hole was already there.  See, there’s no stucco on the carpet!”

Me:  “Mom,  I walk down that hallway everyday.  There was no hole before this morning.”

Evil evil woman:  “Sam,  I didn’t make that hole.   You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Me: (patiently)  “Mom….”

Mom:  “Sam! (she uses the mother voice)  It’s my damn house and I’ll make holes in the wall whenever I feel like it!”   And she motors off down the hallway muttering to herself about nosy damn people trying to tell her what’s what.  

God give me patience….. and an aluminum bat. 

Addendum:  Now before you start calling me an evil mother beating ogre,  she’s done this before.  So far she has ripped a dryer door off,  the swinging doors on the computer room, the dishwasher is dented and warped, she’s a rolling menace to society. 

But, I lerve her. 

The reason I haven’t been on here so much isn’t strictly due to the illness.   Well, in a way it is.   I have been dealing with a soul crushing depression since about the second week of the flare-up.   The Doc prescribed paxil and I have been taking it regularly even though I hate pills with a passion.   Long story.   Has to do with a bipolar mother and numerous suicide attempts.   I guess you can call it a phobia.  What’s one more?  

Anyway,  even though I hate pills I would never ever tell anyone to NOT use them if they’re helpful.  I see the use of paxil as a tool to help me through this rough patch in my life.   It’s not the answer by any means but it sure helps.   The only problem that I have with paxil is the tiring effect it has on me.   The methotrexate already wipes me out and this is another straw on the camel’s back.

On top of that I have to deal with mouth sores, ongoing green apple quickstep, nausea, and due to my decreased immune system I have a raging ear infection in my left ear.   Which requires this nasty greasy antibiotic that has to be applied topically.   Blech!

My left leg is horrendously swollen and no matter what I do I can’t get it to go down.   I’m going stir crazy staring at my bedroom walls hour after hour after hour ad nauseam.   I go to work the swelling goes up.  I go home, prop my legs up and the swelling goes down, rinse and repeat.   This rountine is driving me bonkers.

I’m miserable in other words.  

O.k.  the whimpering has now concluded.   We will now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

Has now become my all time favorite movie.  I love movies that empower women.  It’s the estrogen in me.   Amid the humor are wonderful messages of true family values.   It’s a little risqué in places but well worth the watch.  I highly recommend it plus it has some of my favorite actors and actresses in it. 

I think I’ve watched it about 12 times and well on my way to memorizing the dialogue.   Yes, I’m pathetic like that.  

In other news.  I’m still under 400 lbs.  I won’t get a true reading until this flare-up is done but I’m so happy I haven’t gained a lot of weight.  

I hope everyone has a great weekend.