Pirate Ship and booty = motivation

So went for a really long hard run tonight with a friend- her statement this afternoon- "yeah, I'll come with you but can we go hard tonight?" so I got home- had a salad and whole wheat butter chicken pizza from panago (oh my god so good) and drank a tonne of water in preparation. We watched a pirate cartoon with H and put him to bed and off I went. Took the dogs- Annie is terrible on the leash but has the recall of a boomerang! Nanook has no recall but runs beside me like a dream so it's a bit chaotic till they get into the rhythm... Anyway ran hard- then ran some more... 39 minutes with three walk breaks hard out. I feel good but might be stiff tomorrow... A good epsom salt soak should fix that Shawn says.

Also- quick story- H and I were at my friend Laura's horse boarding farm awhile ago and there was a pile of horse poo him and her daughter were playing on and he kept yelling "pilaship" which I thought meant pile of shit!!! I was getting mad at him and in wonder where he knew that from- when he started yelling ahoy ahoy and realizes he was saying PIRATE SHIP... Phew!!!!

Which brings me to the cumulation of these ramblings tonight- my motivations. I am motivated by three things-

1- honestly? Three of my favorite stores in the world are here now in Edmonton- lululemon, J.Crew and Anthropologie. And guess what? I'll be honest completely- I can't fit into a damn thing in any of them. J.Crew and Anthro? Forget it. Lulu? Overpriced sausage casing. I just want to walk in and try something on and be able to wear it. That's all.

2- my fathers passing of stomach cancer. Now not to say my dad was unhealthy or fat- he worked hard and had a secret spin cycle in the garage where he'd sweat to the oldies... But watching a loved one suffer is not only gut wrenchingly heartbreaking but also incredibly inspiring to know that absolutely nothing I do is harder than what my dad went through. And to say "oh my god it's so hard I can't do it" - I just think of how scared we were of the radiation and chemo and how brave and honest and unflappable my father's strength was. And how he'd put on his game face- For himself and all three of us huddled in the waiting room.

3. For my kiddo. Every single time I put something bad in my mouth I get this guilt that I'm robbing H of a happy, healthy momma who needs to be able to chase him, pick him up and tickle him till he screams- then do it all over again... I want to take him hiking, kayaking, biking, and show him the world. But most importantly I want him to be healthy and happy and he needs me. Every piece of junk food takes that away from him. And so I guess my biggest motivator is love...

I hope you got to the end of this one. I feel like it's my best one yet :)

Weigh a minute mister post man...

So I'm looking at buying a fancy pants weigh scale online (as I've discovered shopping for things in my granny panties is one of life's greatest pleasures) one of those ones that can measure your water mass, bone mass, fat... And apparently laziness as some of the reviewed cons listed were "you have to push a button to turn it on". Now folks don't get me wrong- I love all y'all- but if you are too lazy to PUSH A BUTTON to even weigh your chub- you've got bigger problems then any scale can help you with... Amiright??

That aside- worked out with Andrea tonight- she made me sweat!! But I held a plank for 20 seconds and even did ten push ups with Huxley laying on my back. Best compliment- "you've got great quads"!!!

In other non weight loss news- I laughed so hard today at work I snorted. Loud. I love being able to work alongside my friends. Don't think you can put a wage on that?

Aaannnnnd random kiddo picture as well.

Just a girl and her fat ass trying to make it in this crazy world...

So ran again tonight. My friend from work came with H and I. I ran the whole way up Connors Hill. Without stopping. I just wanted to say that. That is all.

Ps. Here is a photo of my current foods (inspired by and garden vegetables compliments of the lovely Laura):
Breakfast- Greek yogurt with "Skinny B" cereal and fresh blueberries for breakfast, and Mexican chicken (cilantro, tomato, onion, garlic and a small tomato blended) with tomatoes, spinach and roasted asparagus for supper!
Also: my friends have a beautiful baby girl- look at that face and try not to smile :)

This doesn't hurt. Cancer does.

So a lot has happened in the past couple of years I have neglected this site. It's like my Christmas cactus my mom keeps wondering about. It doesn't grow because I don't pay attention to it! But I saw a t-shirt in a running room propoganda I picked up the other day for inspiration and it prompted me to write. It said "This doesn't hurt. Cancer does". And I knew exactly what that menat. And I think I might just have to get one of those made for me.

I have had a lot of stuff go on in the past while. My father passing was a huge blow to myself personally, on the family level and my entire being. I have had a baby, broke my leg and almost ripped my foot off, recouped from that- can walk again, moved to Medicine Hat, moved back, struggled through a crippling post partum depression (none of that is in a chronological order). After many drowned sorrows in cupcakes, tears and Storage Wars I am feeling like I am back again. I attribute a lot of it to my steadfast partner Shawn, who has put up with my craziness and outbursts of uncontrolled grief for the past two years. He is my rock and although the boat hasn't always been steady- I have never doubted his love and his in me. And he has never left my side.

I can also give some credit to my beautiful personal trainer Andrea, who despite me asking for it, never has yelled at me once! I am FINALLY running again. Finally. And it feels good. I went while on my work camping trip in the mountains and as I came up over one hill pushing the stoller singing the ABCs for H I realized I hadn't felt that alive and happy in years. Literally. Years. I went last night with Shawn, Huckleberry and my two wonderful fur babies in the ravine by our house and for the first time didn't feel like I was going to die. I ran all the way up the hill and didn't stop once. And I don't think it's just my new Nikes. I am actually going to get the balls to sign up for the 10km on September 22 with my two friends and I think I'll actually survive. My cousins in Thunder Bay are running on on that day as well and so I feel a bit of a connection to them in that way and so plans are in the works to sign us all up one to run together. I've said it before and I'll say it again; Derkson women are beautiful.

Adventures in Baby - raising: Part 1 of whatever I have time for...

Okay so it's been ages since I've posted- I'm JUST starting to settle into a routine with Huckleberry and my obsessions with online shopping and cooking are making the man broke and fat... so I've been "encouraged" to find other outlets for my bootcamp inspired energy haha...

In case anyone was wondering about my labour results- I went 38 hours without drugs- with my doula (Corinne was the best thing we did!) and it was actually doable... It involved a lot of walking up and down the hallways doing squats, yelling obscenely, and naked groaning shower scenes (all shame is lost when people you met 5 seconds earlier are elbow deep in your blood and guts) but wasn't as bad as I expected. In fact I KNOW I could have handled it if it would have been a bit shorter. But at 38 hours I hadn't dilated a cm in over 3 hours so they said they wanted to see the fetal monitor... I agreed and was promptly forced to lay on my back on a bed. At which point the contractions became waaay worse (gravity is our friend ladies-just don't tell your hooters) and the fact that I hadn't slept for more than 12 minutes in the past two days took it's toll. Junkies have more decorum than I did in asking for the drugs. When the anesthesiologist came in the room it was like the second coming of Christ. He briefly tries to scare the shit out of you with words about "accidental reverse spinal taps" and "week long screaming migraine" side effects. Who cares buddy? I would have offered to chew off my own feet (if I wasn't so tired) to get that epidural. Sweet, sweet elixir epidural...

After another three hours I finally got to 10 cm and had to push... FOR AN HOUR AND A HALF- it was the hardest work I've ever had to do. I can't think of anything witty here. It was hard. I grunted, sweat and worked like a Mexican pack mule. Why does no one tell you how hard that is??? Hey "What to Expect When You're Expecting"? Go fuck yourself.

Anyway lots more details including an angry asian obgyn, poop, nurses who think it's appropriate to comment on my hair when I'm IN LABOUR, drug cocktails Hunter S. Thompson would be scared of, Shawn yelling "HOLY SHIT" , lots of green body fluid stuff (what? I'm not a doctor), tears, did I mention poop?, a ripped taint I didn't even NOTICE (that says something) and then BOOM .... the most awesome thing ever happened... my little monkey entered the world. I didn't split in half, I didn't disembowel myself, I didn't punch Shawn in the face, and I didn't bleed out. Instead I became "mommy"... the best moniker in any dialect.. even Dutch, and I hate the Dutch accent...

Can I just spray some PAM down there before the baby comes?

OOOkkkkaayyyy so.... after a long hiatus from this blogging thing, I have decided to come back. This time, with a different focus, for those of you totally out of the loop (not too many now) and for those of you who bother to read this (all-maybe 1 of you- Hi Shawn!) I am now pregnant. It was a weird thing to learn and even weirder thing to realize... and I am just starting to. There are so many things I'm learning/nobody told me (what IS that ooze that is ruining my underwear and why can't I breathe through my nose anymore and what do you mean I have my period for 4 weeks after???) and it's a slow but steady process- and unless you never want to eat again, I wouldn't ask me most of those answers... My brother once told me (him being a paramedic and all) that delivering babies was the grossest job he had, even counting the burn victims and the drunkards puking on him... and I fully agree. I am not one of those cute glowing pregnant woman with a bump, but instead a sweaty, constantly out of breath, behemoth that farts like a caveman/walrus, depending on whether my meal was bbq or seafood I suppose...

I am feeling the "magic" of the baby moving- which usually entails me jutting my legs out and yelling "ughhahhh" in my chair at work whenever baby decides to rummage around down there like an old man at the dump looking for the latest treasure/bike chain. Whenever I try to fall asleep it feels like baby is smacking me from the inside with said bike chain and I'm tempted/sometimes try to quash it by laying on my stomach and squeezing my snoogle pillow [a giant loch ness monster shaped pillow designed to minimize the agony or "discomfort" (I love marketing/hippies)] of trying to sleep at night and I groan until baby decides he has done enough internal damage to me that he can sleep now...

And forget sleeping really. It's out the window apparently for the next year. If I'm not sweating or choking on my own phlegm, or gagging, or have a giant headache for two weeks, I'm peeing. It's nature's way I suppose of getting my body ready for feeding every three hours... but you'd think Gaia would understand and want me to relax as much as possible- dirty bitch.

And the weight- my fingers are like sausages and I couldn't wear a wedding ring if I had one (forget about the odd comments the odd old cronies have said down here in Medicine Hat about that one)... My boobs are humongus and I didn't even know they could get that big! I'm like a porn star, they are huge and round and I haven't been that firm since I was 16... but they are sensitive as hell so nobody even gets to take advantage of it- especially me!

Sigh and the doctor app'ts... designed to make you feel like a giant cow. They poke and prod and sniff around down there and completely ignore my "um I have headaches and phlegm" comments completely with a wave of their hand in dismissal of it all being normal. I feel like shouting I AM NOT LIVESTOCK but am treated like one none the less. And this is where I turn "dirty hippy"... I have a few interviews with some doulas at the end of the month... the midwife thing is out the door- not from my fear of the pain or suffering, but the fact that they are all booked up until July... they are booked up before women even get pregnant apparently, so unless you have a planned pregnancy and hope you get pregnant in the right month, forget doing it with a midwife. So now I am going to try a Doula. I'd like a constant face around and all the stats including articles in Pub-Med say things like 50% less cesareans with doulas and 40% less epidurals with doulas... As of right now, I haven't had the same doctor once, I am scared to death of a c-section, even an epidural sounds scary to me- are you kidding- a NEEDLE IN MY SPINE!!!????- everyone keeps telling me that I need to just shut up and go to my doctor because I don't realize the pain I will be in when my vagina rips open and I'm a pussy yadda yadda... it seems as if absolutely everyone has an opinion on it- from my friends to my hairdresser, to my neighbours, to the woman in the store at the mall- JESUS- I appreciate the advice from most people- but I say "gulp- I'm going to try it dammit. I'm a woman, a strong woman- I went through a very painful 6 months of physio without any painkillers (I tried the T4's but they just made me sick after awhile and then I'd be too drugged up for walking anyway). I walked/jogged/waddled a half marathon with 4 blisters on the bottom on my foot that formed around 13km of a 21km trek and I winced through every step after- but it wasn't THAT bad, I had people tsk me for doing that for God's sake when all I've been trying to do is prevent myself from getting fat and diabetic really. Even the dr. gave me permission and said "honey don't worry- go run- it's not going to fall out"...

And to be straight up- all my experiences with my own health care practioners (except my family doctor-who unfortunately does not deliver babies) have been cold, callous, routine, non-personal experiences. In fact the appointments with my leg surgeon were callous, mean and almost derogatory and I haven't felt any better about the obgyns I've been meeting. And I'd like to have this be a better experience than that... I'd like to be able to scream and not told to shut up (my surgeon did that) and to be able to walk around... And my mom, her mom, her mom and the mom before that, as far as my ancestral line goes have had babies just fine without drugs... so I'm just saying I know I sound self righteous and I'm no hero or dirty hippy and I might be screaming for drugs but honestly...

I'd like to try.

Bricks

Ok.......

Where do I start? Where does one start from a life shattering event? Where and how do I pick the pieces back up again? I guess it's akin to having a tornado hit your house. One day you just start picking up one piece at a time and slowly mortaring it all together again... a slow, but steady progress, until you have your brick house back up again. It will never be the same... there will always be that crack in the foundation- damage. But it will be strong again, it will be able to withstand whatever life throws at it again, and you can make the little renovations to make sure it withstands the next tornado because now you know what it needs and where it's weak points are. It all depends on the time and care you take putting those bricks back. And that is how I will do it. Slowly and steady and strong.

Someone smarter then me once said "life is daily mediocrity with momentarily brief flashes of brillance". And I've discovered nothing more to be true. But I'm starting to love my days of working, coming home, going grocery shopping, cooking, biking, then sleeping... it's actually the most enjoyable, low stress lifestyle I've had in awhile and giving me lots of time to adapt and be strong.

I have the greatest, best friends in the entire world. I could not believe the support of people that I hadn't even spoke to really in years. It was like coming home again. Thank you to my beautiful friends from home who were there for me, you know who you are. I love you and appreciate you more then you could ever know. I can only hope I can be there for you as you were for me if you ever need it. 

I started by riding my bike to work everyday. Simple? Not so much for a girl who loves her late night Conan O'Brien and Stephen Colbert... but there is nothing nicer then an early morning bike ride to hear the birds and get the blood pumping. I almost am starting to feel self-righteous out there pedaling away while the huge doulies and diesels scream past me guzzling their gas and getting fatter... then I started biking after work. I biked the intimidating 20km out to echodale and it was beautiful. I loved it and it wasn't really that hard even. My ass was a little numb after - but I attribute that to it's size at the moment.

Now I'm back to running... some friends and I crazily signed ourselves up for a half marathon in Seattle in November... at my urging of course.  I am nuts.  It's hard work, but for the first time this week I could actually run up the coulee without stopping... quite a feat for me.  Also I was chosen as a torch bearer for the Olympics... so um I have to be able to run and not embarrass myself, which is usually the case.

And now I've signed myself up for boot camp.  It's an intense 5 day a week deal where I go with 10 or so other girls and run our asses off for an hour.  We have nutrition counselling and all that jazz too.  I have to write down everything I eat in a binder and keep track of myself... I guess if you have to be accountable for the oreo cookies you are more likely to eat one rather then an entire row.  

I've also signed myself up for the Ride to Conquer Cancer... it's 200km in two days.  The website says it's designed so that anyone with a moderate amount of training can do it.  I was angry.  Angry at cancer and angry at cancer centers, cancer doctors, cancer survivors, the whole thing... but I need to let go of that anger... let go of the need to hate people who talk about cures and hope... I need to believe that there is hope and that perhaps some families don't have to be torn apart too soon.  So I'm going to do it and hope that I make it and hope I raise the money... eek.

I'm the type of person that always needs a goal... It was school, then career, now what?... Now it's to be healthy and fit, truly enjoy and appreciate the people that love me and that I love back, the half marathon, the bike ride and attempt a triathlon. I didn't make it to the last one because I was in too much grief and my days of sitting on the bed massaging feet and talking about bbq sauce, his childhood, proper wines, photography, and whatever else I could possibly squeeze out of him (in the least time possible so as not to tire him out) before it was over...are over. So now I need to move. I need to move to keep myself strong and sane. To remind myself the sunrise is infite, regardless that we are not.