Month: April 2014

I Am Not My Brain (and Other Insights)

/ Tracy Abell / 8 Comments

Three weeks ago today I wrote about going on my first run in a long, long time.
Today I am writing about not being able to run. Again.

When I received the go-ahead from my PT dude to ease back into running, I ran a total of four times. The first two runs were completely pain-free. During the third and fourth runs, my left Achilles tendon was sore. Not excruciatingly sore, but it did hurt. I backed off, but I should’ve backed off sooner.

Shoulda-woulda-coulda.

I’m now on forced rest and cannot even take walks because that’s enough to fire up
the ol’ tendon. Joy in the land. Last week during my PT appointment I was so discouraged
by what felt like a never-ending cycle of injury jumping from one body part to another, that I smacked my kind PT dude in frustration.

Yesterday I had another appointment, and I started with an apology. I then explained that while my tendon was still giving me trouble, I had a better attitude.

What happened? YOU ARE NOT YOUR BRAIN happened.

You Are Not Your Brain cover image

YOU ARE NOT YOUR BRAIN is a book that’s helped me recognize the false messages my brain sends me, messages I’ve internalized over the years until they were hard-wired in my circuitry. The book is helping me rewire my brain so I’m not held hostage by that nasty voice. Basically, YOU ARE NOT YOUR BRAIN is a highly readable how-to on neuroplasticity. (Say it with me, people: neuroplasticity!)

Testimonial: Monday afternoon I lifted weights (an activity I’m easing back into) and as I stood in front of the full-length mirror that helps me maintain good form while lifting, I felt a wave of all sorts of yucky thoughts and feelings around the fact that I’m weak and now must lift much lighter weights and have put on some pounds and don’t look so hot in my workout togs. The thought of starting over to get back to my strong and fit self felt like too much; I felt ugly and weak and worthless and overwhelmed by the entire situation.

And then I reined myself in and talked to my brain. I followed the steps and began the process of rewiring my brain by lifting weights while maintaining eye contact in the mirror. I didn’t look anywhere but in my eyes, because that’s where my true self was evident. Not in my waist or thighs or arms. My eyes. I smiled into my blue peepers and lifted those weights, knowing that by taking action I was drowning out that voice and making it harder for it to reappear. It will come back, it always does, but each time I take positive action while that voice yammers at me, the voice loses power over me.

Tracy taped tendonIn the meanwhile, I’m rocking the RockTape and trying to focus on how far I’ve come. I won’t be running the Bolder Boulder next month and am still royally frustrated with my limitations, but I’m trying hard not to take those personally.

One step at a time.

 

 

Ruminating on Interspecies Love

/ Tracy Abell

Is it possible,
do you think?
For a squirrel
to fall in love with a cat?
Squirrel courting cats 013To pose and perform?
To entice rather than tease?Squirrel courting cats 014Is it possible,
do you think?
For one cat to writhe in response
while the other watches dispassionately?Loki and Marcel 020Is it possible,
do you think?
To guess who writhed
and who yawned?

 

Running Wild, Running Free

/ Tracy Abell / 7 Comments

The last time I went for a run was 81 days ago. Today, with the full blessing of my physical therapist, I ran again.

It’s been a hard bunch of months around here as I went from being someone who did yoga almost every morning plus ran a couple times per week plus lifted weights three times per week plus sneaking in a hooping session or two, to a woman who couldn’t do much of anything.

How did that happen? It was the strangest thing but apparently my old gluteal muscle aka left butt cheek issue didn’t like how I ignored it and let it get tighter and tighter, and so triggered other tight points in my body which culminated in my back getting so tight and painful that it hurt to move. I literally went from being able to put my palms flat on the floor to the next day not being able to reach much past my knees. It was bizarre.

Depression ensued. As did loss of muscle and weight gain. Many tears were shed as I wallowed in what I was afraid would be a permanent condition. I went on my first job interview in about twenty years (with the hope I’d be better by the time the job started) and was hired to work at the library, but ended up having to tell them I couldn’t take the position due to my physical limitations. I never, ever would’ve guessed I’d have to turn down a job for that reason, and it was humbling.

But my physical therapist and I persevered, and then I started getting massages from a genius therapist who focused on trigger points which then allowed me to do more of the stretching and strengthening exercises without pain. We saw light at the end of the tunnel.

Today I came out of that tunnel. I walked for ten minutes then ran (slowly) for fifteen minutes then walked another ten, ran another fifteen, and walked ten more minutes for a whopping total of 60 minutes of exercise! All I’ve done over the last several months was walk for about thirty minutes at a time, and when I walked home this afternoon I wept tears of gratitude and happiness and oh-my-goddess-I’ve-missed-running-so-very-much-tears.

I’d left a note for Zebu letting him know when I took off and when to expect me home, asking him to drive up the street to find me if I hadn’t returned by then. Just as I walked into the driveway, the garage door went up. There was my son, the one who’s been so sad on my behalf as I struggled to regain my mobility, getting ready to come haul his sad mama home. He smiled when he saw me there and his smile got bigger when I told him I felt great.

Here I am, fresh out of the shower, so very happy to be back:Tracy after run on April 9 2014 (for blog post)

 

Judging a Jury of My Peers

/ Tracy Abell / 5 Comments

This morning I reported for jury duty at the county courthouse. I had mixed feelings about being there (because selection would mean I’d have to reschedule an appointment set for tomorrow), but was mostly focused on doing my civic duty.

from "holder" at MorgueFile.com

image from MorgueFile.com

I was pulled from the larger pool into a group of 36 potential jurors for a criminal trial of a man charged with doing $1000 – $25,000 in property damages (this was the summary given by judge before jury selection; basically, a vandalism trial). Twenty-two names were drawn from a box (twelve in jury box and ten seated in front as alternates; I was not one of them) and those people were interviewed by the judge. After that, the prosecutor and defense attorney each had thirty minutes to ask those potential jurors questions that would help them determine who was and who was not a good fit for that jury.

Holy crap. I’m paraphrasing, but it went like this:

“Where there’s smoke, there’s fire. If someone is charged, it usually means they’re guilty.”

“In Italy, where I’m from, a person is presumed guilty until proved innocent.” (Paging Amanda Knox!)

“I’m a former police officer and I would always believe testimony from the police.”

“People don’t get stopped for no reason.” (I wanted to shout “Do you have any idea how many men get pulled over for Driving While Black?!”)

It was a fascinating peek into the minds of my fellow citizens in mostly-white Jefferson County, Colorado. When the prosecutor asked each person “Do you think you’d be a good juror?” I thought to myself, “Yes, I’d be a good juror.” And then I started thinking about why I would be a good juror, and I decided it was because of my strong sense of justice and fair play. But then he pressed one woman for why she thought she’d be a good juror and she said, “Because I’d want me on my jury,” and my brain went *ping*

That’s it, I thought. The proof that I’d be a good juror is that I know for a fact I’d want me on my jury. Somehow, that epiphany was such a relief!

Except. It turns out that I’m not so unique. A bunch of other potential jurors repeated that same sentiment. And then Zebu confessed to having that same *ping* this afternoon when I repeated that woman’s remark. Which leads me to believe that if we ALL feel that way, maybe it’s not a very compelling argument.

So now I’m broadening my field of inquiry: Would YOU feel better having yourself on your own jury? And, if so, why do you think that is?