TOL #3 Autocorrect Poetry

Thank you to Amanda at Running With Spoons for hosting her weekly link up. It's been a fun way to discover new blogs and hear what's on the mind of my peers. Thinking Out Loud is a weekly celebration of quirks and randomness. Here's some Thursday random straight my fingers: 

1. Crockpots. Do you use a crockpot? The lid broke to our old one, so I have been using my Dutch oven for the things I ordinarily would have made in the crock pot. This would be fine, except that I'm not a fan for using our oven during the summer when it's already a thousand degrees inside the house. After 4 months without a crock pot, I picked one up on my Costco run last weekend. 

Tuesday night I used our new crock pot and made chili. It was culinary heaven! I was going to share a photo of it here, but pictures of chili (and stews/soups in general) all photograph pretty much the same. Besides, I'm a huge fan of toppings when it comes to chili, so all you can really see is avocado and cilantro. 

2. Auto-correct game. A friend posted this on Facebook yesterday:

Have you tried this?? It sounded like a fun little distraction, and my first attempt read like a little cliffhanger to an obscure story. Here is mine:

I'm not a fan but my daughter and daughter have a lot more than a few days of being able

...being able to what?! 

It reads like an essay prompt, and I wanted to expand it on to discover what happened. Apparently, friends who owned Samsung phones noticed that somehow the software caught on to the game because their 20 auto-correct words were coming out as fully-formed positive affirmations. 

I tried it a second time and the mood of the poem was a bit snarkier:

I'm glad I didn't want you back to my house so you could get me to a new one you

...rapscallion? (Just spitballing. I doubt I've ever called anyone 'rapscallion' in my life.) 

3. Public Speaking. This doesn't happen very often, but occasionally I'm asked to speak about my recovery from drug addiction and alcoholism. Tomorrow night will be such an occasion. I'll be talking in a general way about what my life of addiction was like, the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back, and what my life in recovery is like today. 

It's an honor and a privilege to share my story, but I'll be honest: I'm nervous to speak so frankly in front of a room full of 200 people. Although I have been that I seem poised and relaxed when speaking from a podium, I liken it to a swimming duck; it may be floating quietly...but underneath the surface of the water, it's legs are paddling furiously. Wish me luck! 

Comment below with your auto-correct poetry, or any wisdom or helpful tips regarding public speaking.  

Perspective

In an effort to network and stay motivated, I've been following a bunch of new fitness and running accounts on Instagram.  Social media has a way of inspiring me, giving me new ideas and keeping things fresh. Don't be shy...you can follow me, too! Just be prepared for the occasional Hello Kitty or Star Wars post.

There was a recent post-run photo in my feed from another runner I follow. She wrote that she had maintained a 7.58 pace during her 8-mile run. In my best day, I could never sustain a pace like that. And I only seem to get slower as I get older. We had a small exchange on Intagram, and I mentioned as much. 

She was very gracious, and said that it was all relative: there were other runners faster than her, the important thing was just to get out there and run.
I try to keep things in perspective: after being riddled with annoying setbacks that have kept me sidelined for months at a time (foot problems, thyroid issues, and bulging discs), I am lucky that I can run at all. My Instagram friend has a point; fitness is all relative. For example, people are frequently blown away when they find out that I am a spinning instructor. 

"I could never take a class like that?! It's so hard!" 

There is an intimidation factor for people who have never taken a spinning class. However, I'm of the belief that if you can pedal a bike, then you can take a spin class. Any instructor worth their mettle should offer modifications, and all fitness levels should be welcome. Regardless, there is something in my head that tells me that the stuff I do isn't good enough or doesn't count. 

The fact that I have taught spinning for almost 9 years? It doesn't matter; anyone can ride a stationary bike. I can't get a sub 2-hour half marathon? I'm a slacker, and everyone knows I'm not a 'real' runner. It's enormously frustrating. I would never say such terrible things or undermine a friend's efforts in this way. It is like a bad version of the children's story: The Little Engine That Couldn't. 

Despite all the work I have done, I have to stay one step ahead of my head. Every day, all the time. I know that these things aren't true, but I still have those thoughts. I chalk it up to what the recovery community refers to as an 'obsession of the mind'. 

Some days I can tune it out better than others. 

Thirty

30 years ago, a high school teacher had the foresight to invite a panel of speakers to my family health class. These men shared their experience, strength and hope. 

It happened around the time it occurred to me that I probably wouldn't live to see my 18th birthday...and that I didn't really even care. The selfless actions of my health teacher and the three men had a hand in changing the outcome of my life.

Meditation votive candles with hand-decorated match boxes

I am enormously grateful and very blessed. All the goodness in my life is a direct result of the altruism of a few amazing people, and my only job is to pay that forward. 

It is my privilege to do so. 

Bummer

While I wouldn't describe myself as clinically depressed, most of this winter has seen Babydoll in general malaise. I've heard people attribute these kinds of feelings to the waning light of winter and all - and since this is the second winter I've struggled, I decided to look it up. It's referred to as Seasonal Affective Disorder. 

My apologies for the ugly link.  I'm sure it's Blogger 101 to know How To Make A Pretty Link - but, whatever: 

http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pubmedhealth/PMH0002499/

Yes, the acronym really is SAD. Irony much? Of course, there have been all kinds of upheaval and sadness for me this last week - which I won't go into detail about, anonymous site or not...but none of it has helped the SAD. 

Last night found me pretty overwhelmed and desperate. After dropping Boy and Girl Doll off for club basketball, I had two hours to kill. I searched for a 12-Step meeting on my phone and aside from a meeting across town at 6:00pm that I was already late for, there was nothing until 8 o'clock. I didn't feel like doing anything rash, but I will be honest: I did reflect momentarily on the sense of ease and comfort that the first drink would bring. If I could have done it with impunity, last night would have been the night for a glass of wine. 

In truth, I've never really had a glass of wine. I tasted it a few times before I got sober but never the romantic, paired-with-food adult version. However, I hold no illusions. I know that none of that matters for a girl like me. A person that drinks Japanese cooking wine or Creme de Menthe doesn't give a shit about things like 'oak and citrus notes' or '...finishes on the palette like butter'. One drink is too many and a thousand is never enough. So I decided to get a cup of coffee. 

I know what your thinking: Coffee?! And at night! Scandalous! 

Here's the other shoe: I don't drink caffeinated beverages, either. Yeah. The blood bank calls me regularly and begs for my blood. The Holy Grail of O+ flows through my drug, alcohol, caffeine and sugar-free veins. It just doesn't get any purer than up in here.

I drove to the nearest coffee house to indulge, and threw caution completely out the window by also ordering pumpkin bread. I know, right?! I was barely able to hold my tears back while paying for my snacks. I couldn't wait to get out to my car, so I could cry quietly alone and feel sorry for myself...while huffing down my pumpkin bread and coffee. 

I made my way out in the rain to my car, got in and sat silently for a few minutes before taking my first sip of crack coffee. Bitter, watery and scorched...it was the worst cup of coffee I've ever had.

WHAT THE FUCK, STARBUCKS? 

Partial story-line credit goes to The Mom of Big Dogs. You rule!

Day 4

For each day of November, I am going to post an excerpt of the novel I'm working on for the next 30 days through National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo). The goal is to reach 50,000 words in 30 days. And, go!

While I waited at the counter of the veterinarian’s office for our older dog’s medicine, I quietly cried. I had taken her in because she has been coughing. 

And while I worried that she might have pneumonia, I was completely unprepared for our vet to call me into the back office. 

Her expression was very serious and our dog is kind of sketchy - so I expected a lecture about how they couldn't x-ray her lungs because she wouldn't let them. And by the way… it’s going to cost an additional $400 to put her under general anesthesia to get the images of our dog’s lungs.

It wasn't any of those things. Our dog has tumors in her left lung; two large one’s for sure, plus a couple of questionable areas that are likely tumors as well. She has The Cancer.

Grief is a strange phenomenon. My daughter once said that if she is crying about something and is sad, it makes her think of all the things that make her sad, too. Maybe because she’s my daughter and I think she is brilliant – but out of the mouths of babes, right? I find this observation very poignant and very true. So I got to thinking about what makes me sad: the disappointments in my life, the struggles that I've had with addiction/alcoholism, the frustrations of being a parent and the major life upheavals. 

I heard a man remark about a 13-year old boy that he went through rehab for addiction with, who had one of the craziest lives he’d ever heard about. The 13-year old told him that “everyone has a story. The thing is not to fall in love with it.” I heard that line over 10 years ago and it has stayed with me. It’s one of those ideas that get me where I live: Everyone has hard times. This is where resilience and the ability to let the past go come in.

I've told the women I help with addiction and my own children that our experiences are like currency. They are what make us appreciate the goodness in our lives - and hopefully the hardships we endure can be a way to be of service to others. It runs along the lines of ‘better to comfort than be comforted’.