Monthly Archives: February 2011

Is there anything more motivating than measurable progress? Whether it’s a faster 5K or a new distance PR, progress proves that our hard work, previously an exercise in faith, is paying off.

This week, I’m motivated by progress. That’s both forward progress and sideways—I got to start adding sideways shuffles to my physical-therapy regimen last week! I also got to add weight to my single-leg press, and am now up to 60 pounds on my right leg—the one with the new ACL. I am using the super-tough gray resistance bands for all my exercises now. When I stand on one foot and throw a medicine ball at the trampoline, I stand on a wobbly thing to throw off my balance, and I throw a much heavier medicine ball—like, something you might use on purpose at the gym.

Also motivating me this week:

Signs of spring. Slowly rising temperatures and the flowers peeking out from beneath piles of brown leaves serve as proof that time is passing. I’m still in the winter of my injury now, but I’m about to enter the spring of my recovery.

The beautiful magnolia trees that line my street are weeks away from blooming.

A good day at Whitetail. I had planned to make Saturday my last day at Whitetail this season, as I’ve spent weeks yearning for this difficult ski season to end. But once I left on Sunday morning, I instantly wanted one more day. Part of the change of heart has to do with the fun I had that day, including a big patrol party Saturday night and the Heroes of the Hill ski race that morning. My classmates put together a team for the latter, and acted out our class motto, “drop your drawers” (long story), by skiing in boxers and long underwear. They wore cravats around their right knees in my honor (sweet Steve’s idea). I cheered and took pictures from the sidelines, and when they started racing, I dropped my drawers, too (stay tuned for photos).

A little help from my friends. I have spent a lot of time at Whitetail this season standing around feeling stupid—waiting for patients to populate a quiet clinic, waiting for my class to be done with morning training, waiting to find out if there’s some way I can participate in the afternoon. All that waiting and feeling stupid can create the feeling that I’ve done little but get in the way. Some kind comments from friends have reminded me of this Stephen King quote:

“Stopping a piece of work just because it’s hard, either emotionally or imaginatively, is a bad idea. Sometimes you have to go on when you don’t feel like it, and sometimes you’re doing good work when it feels like all you’re managing is to shovel s**t from a sitting position.”

What’s motivating you this week?

I recently wrote a story for an upcoming issue of Bethesda Magazine about a young boy who has beaten all the odds after being born three and a half months premature. He still has a bevy of developmental delays, and I asked his parents how they keep feelings of jealousy (of so-called “normal” kids) and frustration in check. Their answer is giving me a great deal of comfort now, as I plod through my post-ACL-tear rehabilitation:

Take pleasure and pride in small changes. It is continuous, seemingly small changes that lead to transformational outcomes.

With this “genius in the details” motto in mind, I’m actually pretty proud of my progress recently. I can leg-press 50 pounds with my injured leg, after starting with 20 pounds just three weeks ago. I can easily straighten my leg all the way, and am an inch away from being able to fully bend it. I am no longer terrified of curbs and crosswalks, and I am close to being able to walk without limping.

This thinking can apply to healthy choices in general, too. Rather than berate myself for what I didn’t do (a full swim workout on Wednesday, for example), I’m choosing to be proud of the small things I did do (finish half a swim workout despite being exhausted and sore; and doing my much-dreaded leg lifts once I got home).

What small steps are you celebrating this week?

I’m not totally over the crankiness and impatience described in my last post. I am still sick of limping, sick of leg lifts, sick of going to a snowy mountain and being unable to ski on it, and sick of my homemade ice packs exploding on me, creating weird pools of stank on the couch (why does our couch smell when you add water?). I’m sick of not pivoting, and I’m sick of seeing my brand-new skis sitting all sad and unused in my storage room.

But I’ve remembered that humor can stand in for optimism when optimism is hard to come by. It is in that spirit that I offer the following snowboarder jokes. Some were provided by a skier-friend who tried snowboarding recently (without slamming into a skier and tearing that skier’s ACL). Others, I dug up after finding her jokes so funny, my knee (ACL tear courtesy of a snowboarder) literally seemed to hurt less.

A car has five snowboarders in the backseat. What do you call the driver?
Officer

How does a snowboarder introduce himself?
“Ohhhh, sorry dude!”

What do you call a snowboarder with no girlfriend?
Homeless

How do you get a snowboarder off your porch?
Pay for the pizza.

How many snowboarders does it take to change a light bulb?
Three: one to hold it, one to video tape it and the other to say, “AWESOME, DUDE!”
OR 50: One to hold the bulb and 49 to smoke enough dope to make the room spin.

This guy walks into a bar and says “Hey, you guys wanna hear a snowboarder joke?” The bartender says, “I’m a snowboarder. The guy on your right is a snowboarder. Same with the guy on your left, and the guy behind you.” So the guy says, “OK. I’ll tell it a little more slowly then…

A  guy finds out he needs a brain transplant. The doctor proceeds to show him various brains. One brain, which belonged to a skier, cost $500. The other, which belonged to a boarder, cost $5,000. Perplexed, he asked about the price difference.
The doctor replied “Well, the boarder’s brain has never been used!”

And just to be fair, I found a few funny skier jokes, too.

How many ski patrollers does it take to screw in a lightbulb?
Just one: they simply hold it up and let the world revolve around them.

What is the difference between a God and a ski patroller?
God does not think she is a ski patroller.

How can you tell who the ski patroller is in a room full of people?
You don’t have to, they will tell you.

How do you become a millionaire as a ski instructor?
Start out a billionaire.

How many ski instructors does it take to change a light bulb?
Two. One to screw the bulb in, the other to stand there saying, “Nice turn, Nice turn.”

What’s the difference between a government bond and a ski bum?
A government bond will eventually mature and make money.

One nice thing about hanging around a bunch of ski patrollers while you’re nursing a recently-reconstructed ACL: There’s no shortage of experience with this exact injury. In fact, of the eight patrollers hanging out in patrol headquarters last weekend, seven had torn and rehabbed their own ACLs. Almost all of them spoke of an early burst of progress, then a frustrating plateau.

My plateau started last Wednesday, after a great physical therapy session and a terrific report at my second post-op doctor appointment. I was doing so well, my doctor told me I didn’t have to take my prescription anti-inflammatory anymore. Sweet!

The next day, I learned it wasn’t “sweet” so much as “swollen” and “sore.” Those anti-inflammatories were keeping both at bay, and suddenly, without them, I felt like I’d taken a giant step back. I was walking kinda funny. I was feeling weird little aches and pains. And as a result, I was very, very cranky.

Fast-forward to the weekend, when we traveled to Whitetail for our weekly ski-patrol training. Saturday actually turned out to be my classmates’ practical exam, after which they were awarded their red patrol jackets. I cheered loud and high-fived exuberantly, forced a smile in the group picture I begged not to be a part of, then demanded that Steve to get me to the bottom of the hill, quickly, so I could sink deep into a pool of self-pity.

I’ll skip the details, and say only that the crankiness and self-pity and forced smiles led to a huge emotional breakdown yesterday. In between pouting spells, I expressed my genuine excitement about and pride in Steve’s accomplishment (and tried to make up for my pouting) by making him pancakes shaped like the white medical cross on the back of his coat, and later a cookie cake with the same cross in white frosting (he proclaimed the latter more delicious than my “suck it up” cupcakes to celebrate the end of our medical training).

Today, I’m going to call my doctor to ask for one more refill of my anti-inflammatory prescription. I’m going to try my hardest at physical therapy, as usual. And I’m going to work on developing patience and acceptance, and try to remind myself that hitting a plateau means I’m that much closer to getting past it.

How do you deal with plateaus—in training, recovery or life?

As I eased my sweat-soaked, exhausted body off the StairMaster at physical therapy on Wednesday morning, I was aware of a roomful of eyes on me. I gulped a swig of water from my little purple Nalgene bottle and mopped the sweat off my forehead with the bottom of my technical T-shirt, which was also soaked.

“What are you, a marathon runner?” asked a fellow patient, a middle-aged guy in sweatpants and a cotton T-shirt laying on a stability ball, eying me with what looked like a mix of admiration and disgust.

I paused for a minute while I shook out my right leg, focusing all my energy on tightening my quad so I could walk across the room without limping. At this moment and so many others over the past couple weeks, I felt like a sad shadow of someone who could run a marathon, much less walk rather than shuffle across a room. But the idea that I had just kicked the crap out of a physical activity—*any* physical activity—buoyed me.

“Yeah,” I finally said. “Actually, I am.”

Since Day 1, physical therapy has yielded huge, measurable results, and I almost always leave the PTSAC office feeling better than when I came in. But Wednesday marked the first day that I felt completely comfortable on my knee. I got to add weight or resistance to just about every exercise in my lineup, which has, amazingly, become easier in the six sessions I’ve had there so far. I swapped red resistance bands for blue ones, and blue ones for gray ones, and I am now single-leg-pressing 40 pounds with my right leg—double where I started with 20 pounds.

It was perfect timing, too—I left that appointment and went straight to my second post-operative doctor appointment, at which Dr. Pereles told me I’m right on track to potentially run again within three or four weeks.

“But I’m not even fully walking normally now,” I told Dr. P. He shrugged.

“Yep. That’s normal,” he said cheerfully, without revising his opinion of when I might be able to run again. I’m not a marathon runner again just yet … but I am a runner well on her way to getting back in the game.

With that vote of confidence for me getting back on my running feet by mid-March, I’m letting myself add a few comeback races to the (very-tentative!) calendar:

Earth Day 5K (April 30) This was my first race back after last year’s wrist break, and it was rough. But it was a gateway to better health and faster times, I think this year’s comeback will be a bit easier, since I’ve been able to stay active except for the five days immediately after surgery (as opposed to six exercise-free weeks last year). Plus, the race is practically in my backyard, which kind of makes me the home team.

Crystal Run 5K Fridays (Fridays in April) These are marketed as “the area’s hottest happy hour road series,” and if I’m recalling my own experience from  last year’s races, the post-race party almost made me forget how depressing it was to work so hard to be so (relatively) slow.

What’s on your race calendar this spring?

Saturday marked my third post-ACL-tear, day at Whitetail. I have not skimped on details about why these days are heartbreaking, and this past weekend was no exception.

I usually recoup during a relaxed Sunday morning with Steve, but this Sunday, I brought him to the airport, then knocked off a day’s worth of work appointments and errands. By Sunday night, I knew I needed to treat myself.

I turned to a recent Runner’s World recipe for fettuccine alfredo from celebrity chef and triathlete Rocco DiSpirito. The recipe, lightened up with chicken broth and Greek yogurt, looked too good to be true.

The amazing thing: This is filling enough to feel like a real indulgence, even in the quantities in which I’d like to eat it (in stark contrast to other Runner’s World recipes … I’m talking to you, chocolate-date balls).

I’m usually not all about the cornstarch, but it works well here. Also, it’s a little too goopy for me to serve to guests. But even with loads of broccoli mixed in (see below—yum!), it tastes like the height of decadence during those home-alone-with-a-book nights. I’ve amended this a bit to suit a smaller batch, and a stronger taste for cheese and garlic.

Rocco’s Fettuccine Alfredo

Serves two hungry people

4 ounces whole-wheat fettuccine
1 tsp butter
3 garlic cloves, minced
1 teaspoons cornstarch
Pinch of ground nutmeg
3/4 cup low-fat, low-sodium chicken broth
3/4 cup grated Parmigiano-Reggiano cheese
1/4 cup Greek yogurt
Salt and freshly ground black pepper to taste

Cook fettuccine.

While pasta cooks, melt butter in a large nonstick saute pan over medium heat. Add garlic and cook two minutes.

Combine cornstarch and nutmeg in a small bowl; whisk in chicken broth until smooth. Pour into saute pan, raise the heat, and bring sauce to a simmer, whisking occasionally.

Whisk in 1/2 cup of the cheese until melted. Remove pan from heat.
Whisk in yogurt until smooth.

Toss fettuccine with alfredo sauce. Season with salt and pepper. Top pasta with remaining cheese and broccoli.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think I was carrying a dog’s chew toy around in my purse.

I do, in fact, travel with a blue rubber ring that looks more like a distraction for a slobbering, furry friend than a strength-training tool. But it’s actually the Black Diamond Forearm Trainer, which I dropped about $7 on at REI’s flagship store in Denver during a recent trip.This strange new toy is part of a yearlong quest to strengthen my forearms and hands after a bad wrist-break last year. Scratch that—it stems from a yearlong *desire* to strengthen my forearms and hands—”quest” implies that I’ve been taking action on this desire. After initially promising myself I would be a jar-opening, rock-climbing, pull-up machine by the end of last year, I quickly got bored with the quest after physical therapy was through, and I moved onto sexier strength-training pursuits.

Fast-forward to my ACL reconstruction surgery two weeks ago, after which I was laid up for a few days, and unable to work out for a little less than a week. I wanted to do *something,* and forearm strengthening seemed like just the thing.

I’m sure this is impossible, but I truly feel like my grip strength is a little better after just a couple weeks of squeezing this bad boy, which I now bring everywhere with me. It’s a great way to kill time while sitting in traffic or meetings, watching TV or talking on the phone.

As a post-surgery gift, a friend lent me his Dyna-Flex Gyroball, which offers the same hand- and forearm-strengthening workout as the forearm trainer, with a whole lot more bells and whistles—it literally lights up neon yellow when you’re doing it right. As much fun at the Gyroball is to play with while you’re taking prescription painkillers (Spinning! Neon lights! Whee!), I think I actually prefer the stark simplicity of the ring.

Do you do anything to strengthen your hands and forearms? If so, what?

I’ve been whining a lot lately, so I’d like to use this post to voice some gratitude.

Two weeks ago, on Jan. 28, I had surgery to repair an ACL tear. Just five days later, before the SteriStrips had even peeled off of my surgical wounds, my doctor cleared me for physical therapy, swimming, lifting, (stationary) cycling and a host of other activities. I’ve now been “back in the saddle” for a little more than two weeks, and I already feel more like myself again.

The quad on my injured leg has gone from only contracting when it’s hooked up to electrical stimulation to being able to support my body weight while I throw a medicine ball at a trampoline (I love physical therapy!). I’ve gone from barely being able to walk across my apartment to walking across the street (never mind that a little old man with a walker literally beat me to the other wise). And I’m back to being comfortable in the pool, where I’ve been spending most of my workout time, even though I’m not using walls to push off after my turns (try this if you’re looking for a crazy-good core workout). Watch out, 4.4-mile Great Chesapeake Bay Bridge Swim!

Here’s what my first week and a half back looked like:

Thursday, Feb. 3: Swim 3,000 meters

Friday, Feb. 4: Physical therapy

Saturday/Sunday: Off

Monday, Feb. 7: Physical therapy; swim 3,000 meters

Tuesday, Feb. 8: Lift 45 minutes; StairMaster/stationary bike 30 minutes

Wednesday, Feb. 9: Physical therapy, swim 3,000 meters

Thursday: Swim 3,000 meters

Friday: Physical therapy

Well, that just looks like a normal week of working out, doesn’t it? I’m still cranky that, rather than completing my ski-patrol training every Saturday, I spend the day getting pulled around in a sled by my classmates. But I’m also deeply grateful for what I *can* do, which makes the stuff I can’t do a little more palatable.

I have a new theme song.

I’d been listening to a playlist composed mostly of music from Warren Miller ski movies. Ever since my ACL tear and surgery to repair it, that playlist has taken on a depressing undertone, given that it reminds me of the ski-patrol training I have to wait until December to complete. It’s easy to be patient and graceful about this when I’m at home, focusing on my recovery, but feels devastating during my weekly trips to Whitetail, where I participate in the few bits of training I can, and watch my classmates master the skills I’d hoped to have learned by now, too.

I needed a new playlist to take my mind off the big bummer this ski season has turned into for me, and to remind me that I can fight my way back into the game. One of my favorite Cake songs fit the bill perfectly:

Reluctantly crouched at the starting line,
engines pumping and thumping in time.
the green light flashes, the flags go up.
churning and burning, they yearn for the cup.
they deftly maneuver and muscle for rank,
fuel burning fast on an empty tank.
reckless and wild, they pour through the turns.
their prowess is potent and secretly stern.
as they speed through the finish, the flags go down.
the fans get up and they get out of town.
the arena is empty except for one man,
still driving and striving as fast as he can.
the sun has gone down and the moon has come up,
and long ago somebody left with the cup.
but he’s driving and striving and hugging the turns.
and thinking of some[thing] for whom she still burns.

In case this isn’t clear, I’m the one man still in the arena in this scenario. While I won’t be on snow again until December, barring any summer ski trips to the southern hemisphere, every step I take in my recovery will put me closer to being ready for that. So my arena is physical therapy, where I do single-leg presses with a mere 20 pounds while I wait for my quad to “wake up” post-surgery. My arena is the pool, where I’ll train for the 4.4-mile Great Chesapeake Bay Bridge Swim, which will help me maintain my fitness for the winter. My arena is my mind, where I’m trying to keep my thinking positive (or at least non-catastrophic).

This new playlist is geared toward the injured underdog—or anyone else who’s felt like the last man in the arena.

Bandages – Hot Hot Heat (because if you’ve had surgery, you’ve probably got some of these)

Pills – Gary Jules (ditto)

Going the Distance — Cake

I Will Survive – Cake (because it’s funny to think about yourself as a spurned lover trying to get over the loss of running, swimming, skiing, or whatever it is you can’t do. and because this is a great cover.)

Fugeela – Fugees (We used to be No. 10/Now we’re permanent One)

Survivor – Destiny’s Child (self-explanatory)

Get Right Back – Army Navy (ditto)

So What – P!nk (So what? I’m still a rock star. I’ve got my rock moves.)

Feeling Good – Muse (when you’re hurt, feeling good is a big deal)

It’s a Wonderful World – The Ramones (gratitude helps)

Estoy Aqui – Shakira (so does living in the moment)

Three Little Birds – Bob Marley

Have a song to add to the list? Suggest it by posting a comment below!

I have discovered the No. 1 factor that motivates me to hit the pool and swim: Injury that prevents me from participating in my other favorite activities. I’m itching to get to the pool right now, but it’s mostly because, well, I can’t run or ski after ACL reconstruction surgery on Jan. 28.

It’s a similar cycle every time—I hurt myself and get doctor’s orders not to run or ski; I come crawling back to swimming, the “sport of last resort;” swimming treats me well, giving me a great total-body workout and a much-needed endorphin fix; it helps me get strong enough to do my other activities; and then I heartlessly ditch it for easier, sexier sports.

I’ve been feeling kinda bad about this, so I’ve decided to list a few of the things that *keep* me swimming once it’s part of my daily routine. When I think about swimming:

I think about the Bay Bridge, and what a powerful feeling it was to swim beside it during my first 1-mile Bay Bridge Challenge in 2008—the first open-water swim of my adult life (a feeling that will only be magnified by swimming the whole 4.4 miles across the bay during the the Great Chesapeake Bay Bridge Swim on June 12!).

I think about swimming in the Gulf of Mexico while visiting my parents in the Tampa area.

I think about how strong (if itchy!) I felt finishing the Daiquiri Deck Tropical Splash Open Water 5K in Siesta Key in October.

I think about sunbathing in Barcelona, seeing a buoy far offshore, and deciding to swim out to it. The water was so clear, I could see straight to the bottom, even at depths of 10 or more feet, which was both terrifying and thrilling.

I think about drinking a glass of sangria after swimming to the buoy and back, and about how I can’t remember being so relaxed.

I think about swimming along another beautiful Mediterranean beach a week later, close to where our friends Sarah and Phil live in Toulon, France. The first thing I noticed, besides the beauty of the beach itself, was the fact that I wasn’t the only idiot putting on a cap and goggles at the shoreline—there were half a dozen other people jumping in for a serious swim! Sarah and Phil told me some elderly residents start every day by swimming around the buoys a few times—without wetsuits in the winter.

It was the same crystal-clear Mediterranean water as Barcelona, and had the same incredible, Mediterranean buoyancy (with that much salt in the water, you actually have to *try* to sink)! Back onshore, Steve, my friends and I shared a delicious lunch composed of goodies from the outdoor market downtown—tiny, bright-red strawberries; figs the size of your fist; and several varieties of local olives.

Olives nicely echoed the saltiness of the Mediterranean.

Steve and I would linger at the beach long after our friends headed back home, finally straggling back as the sun was setting. Every night we were there, they greeted us with freshly chilled glasses of local rosé.

I’m a realist, and I know hoofing it to a D.C. public pool in the middle of the winter bears little resemblance to any of the experiences above. But jumping in at Wilson or Takoma is what lets me swim to my heart’s content when I spot a buoy far off a beautiful shoreline, or when I hear about a cool open-water swim. And if I try hard enough, once I’ve gotten into the groove of a good swim, I can almost convince myself I’m back in those wonderful, peaceful places (A little mental imagery goes a long way!).

Do you rely on mental imagery to get motivated? How so?