Couch to 5k

I've never been good at running. I used to be obsessive about it and fit well into the 'average runner' category, but have never been anywhere near good. That's genuinely okay with me. Would being faster and stronger be nice? Of course! However-- the purpose I've always had for running is purely for health/stress relief/(forced)recreation-- never serious competition.

Along the way the 'obsessive' part of it caught up to me and got me a stress fracture in my foot. Running since then has NEVER been the same. Over the past year(s) I've given up on distances and picked up spinning to supplement and eventually replace running. Better some cardio than none-- and let's be real-- spinning is HARD and will kick your ass. But it's a different hard than running-- I could be the best spinner in the world and still struggle with running. As previously stated, I've never been good, but as I no longer can call myself a runner, I miss being able to claim the status and feel legitimate about it.

I moved almost a year ago and switched gyms-- to one that has a sub par spinning program, and even though I kept my old gym membership the good instructors fizzled out there. So for the past 3ish months I've been living a sedentary life and it is humiliating, frustrating, and paralyzing.

While I know in my head that each day I spend abstaining from exercise will only make my (hopefully) eventual return to it that much harder, I cannot make myself engage in regular, intentional exercise to save my life.

Not only do I feel what was once a little muscle getting softer and softer, I just don't feel good. I feel something is missing, I know what it is, and it is frustrating because I can't find the motivation to embrace what I once had made (literally) insanely routine.

Sure I've given it a half hearted try here and there only to be overcome with physical and emotional pain. I might make it through one workout, but am in no way able to muster up the strength, energy, or resilience to do it again the next day or even the day after.

I know that today I can't do what I did in college, and that to have the expectation that I can is impractical. Sure, maybe I could work up to it one day in the far, far future, but today-- it's not happening. Logically I know this is okay, but emotionally as I board the treadmill, I get frustrated and dare I say panicky when I can't run nearly as fast or nearly as far as I used to be able to. The panic builds and not only is my breathing labored from the exercise but the anxiety doubles it and I quit. I quit. I have never been a quitter, but when it comes to exercising, now I quit. Doesn't feel good.

My ability to stay motivated in exercising many moons ago had several layers:
1) Soccer: if I wanted playing time I had to be able to run at varying speeds for 90 minutes straight. I wanted to play, no brainer.
2) Stress relief: in college-- nursing school, captaining a varsity sport, and all the stress that came with that-- exercise was my release. Perhaps that's why I did it so much-- I had that much stress.
3) I'd be dishonest if I denied vanity: exercise helps you keep off unwanted lbs. While I never felt content in this area, I could at least say I was trying.

I long for the pressure of playing soccer to get me to pull myself together. The training sessions in and of themselves were excellent ways to almost 'sneak' in the exercise. Playing a game while running my ass off keeps me distracted from the discomfort of it. That and knowing that 17 of my teammates are all competing for a starting (and lasting) spot-- was awesome.
When I'm not at work I'm not very stressed. After work it's all I can do to haul myself home and shower before I fall asleep. I've intermittently engaged in pre-work exercise since I know I'll be too tired at the end of the day to gym afterward, and it works for short periods. Eventually I tire of waking up at 3:30am.
Again-- honestly-- the vanity issue will always be there. While I am squishier now than I ever wanted to be and probably am closer to chronic health issues than I was when I was exercising, I am at a lower weight (assumedly from less muscle) and I can still squeeze into my clothes (though they do fit more snugly). I fear the extreme change that will have to happen for me to be shocked into reality. Why doesn't fear of morbid obesity, heart disease, diabetes, etc. motivate me to get my act together?

Anyway--

This week I started a 'Couch to 5k' program that I found online. A friend and I are doing it 'together' and the plan is to sign up for a 5k when it's over. A few years ago, I would have signed up for a 5k the day of the race. Now the idea of running in public makes me want to vomit over and over. This whole post really violates unspoken rules I've always set-- to not speak of exercise habits or thoughts until they're solidified... if trying something new, make sure it works before you tell people you're doing it. This program has three workouts per week for 8 or 9 weeks. A few years ago I would have scoffed saying 'Only three workouts per week? PAH!' The other side of the gym isn't pretty and I am ashamed at how I scoffed at those who frequented the gym here and there instead of every day.

I've done two of my three workouts this week, and I won't lie, they're uncomfortable. The only reason I've been able to do them is because it only has me 'jogging' for one minute at a time (hangs head in shame). I hope this one sticks, I really do. I need to get back to some form of exercise in a regular and routine manner if I have any hope of being healthy and being physically able to do things I want to. I live in one of the most beautiful regions ever with so much hiking and outdoorsy potential, but if I can't hoist myself up the mountain I'll miss out. A ridiculously awesome backpacking trip (the Enchantments just outside of Leavenworth-- we went up Aasgard Pass) this summer was spoiled primarily by having the flu (seriously-- fever and everything), but I can't help but wonder even if I'd been healthy would I have enjoyed it as much as I could have? Probably not.

We'll see. Holidays pose extra challenge with all the delicious treats available-- I've always been a sucker for sugar.

When I was an obsessive runner I remember thinking 'I have no idea how I got to this point, so I better not lose it. I don't know how I'd get back.' Here we are, trying to figure it out.

Oh blogosphere-- keep me accountable. :/

Oh hey

This scar is all that remains of the ridiculous hand breaking shenanigan that I last blogged about. I got a cast pretty quickly and within a few days took it off because it was so uncomfortable. After (painfully) wiggling out of it, I had a moment of '....uhoh..' similar to a toddler when they get caught red handed doing something they know they shouldn't, so I (even more painfully) wiggled back into it. After a couple weeks in the cast, the hand MD was (not surprisingly) unimpressed with the healing progress that should've come with the assumed 'immobility' a cast should bring, so they decided to screw the bones into place. Healing was quick from there, and after some awkward hand-massaging PT, I was back in action. There were strange looking casts and splints, really awkward tan lines, and serious boredom as I spent THREE months not working. I decided to make the most of that time and started coaching with a competitive soccer club, went camping (heh), and got Lasik.

Anyway-- it's over a year later and I stumbled upon this blog and thought why not update?

Not exactly sure what to say to be truthful.

As I mentioned I'm coaching again. I'm in my second year with this club, and this year I am coaching the girls' B team (aka Tango) of our U9 Premier Development Academy. When people ask the age of the girls I coach, the most common reaction I get is in a disgusted tone: "Really, 8 and 9 year olds are playing competitively-- premier???" Yes, really. We do emphasize player development over winning-- very sincerely. I think all of my players have an older sibling playing on a premier team in the club, so they just ...get it. There are three teams in the U9 program, and a majority of the girls have an older sibling playing competitively. They're a very unique group as they have seen how to approach the game competitively and with intensity. Believe it or not, they're good for their age. If they could match in attention span what they can offer in talent-- I'd be in high heaven. They're very different from the regional (less competitive/good) U13 team I had last year, but it has honestly been a great learning opportunity and a great way to practice exercising patience.

There's a new (and exponentially better for me) Mr. Wonderful in town. It's only been a few months, so I remain cautiously optimistic, but so far very good. :)

I'd like to get back in the habit of updating slightly more regularly... Heaven knows that there is no shortage on 'are you kidding me?!' moments in my day to day life.

Apparently I run faster than I thought...

Disclaimer: this is all being typed with seven fingers, so I ask for some extra grace in regards to typos.

Where to start?

A friend of mine told me about a pick up game of soccer that happens every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday from 1 to 3pm. About thirty dudes and 3 women of all ages congregate at a park in Queen Anne and just play... it's kind of awesome and what adulthood is about when I daydream. It took some convincing for me to show up by myself though, as the friend and most of my soccer enthusiastic compadres are stuck in a M-F 9-5 situation. My social anxieties looked at that situation and said "Aw hellll no." But when a sunny day in Seattle comes around you don't let it pass by-- what better way to fully embrace it than by playing futbol.

So I went a couple of weeks ago, panic attack the whole way and even as I stepped on the field. It didn't take long for me to realize '...30 dudes... 3 girls... what a wonderful ratio!' and my attitude picked up quite a bit. I stayed the whole two hours and promised myself (and a couple of new friends ;)...) that I'd be back. It was fun.

So, back I went, this past Wednesday. We started playing, and I was playing decently for the first time in a long time. I had a good amount of energy and my legs didn't feel like cinder blocks. About 30 minutes in, I was running my fastest (keep in mind, speed isn't my strength) for something, and all of the sudden I ran smack into a GIANT. This guy is like 7 feet tall and big. My hands hit him first and the rest of me followed in a mortifying slow motion sequence. I heard a snap and felt my fingers jam-- owie!-- but no way was I going to make all these dudes aware that the girl got hurt. "Good thing you don't need your hands for soccer," I thought to myself. I convinced myself the snap was a knuckle popping, and continued to play. However, I couldn't deny the overwhelming pain I had in my left hand. A deep, dull, dark blue throbbing. I held my whole arm closer to my torso and kept playing. I forced myself to ignore it and at one point forgot my hand hurt-- I took it as a good sign! Then I let my hand relax and as I ran it jostled about. All too quickly I was slapped back into reality by the hand of that intense pain that was back with a vengeance.

'Keep playing, it's fine, you jammed your finger, life goes on, THIS is your workout, make it legit.' So I kept playing, having learned my lesson to not relax that hand.

Soccer is a contact sport as I so dramatically demonstrated by stampeding a giant. So, it didn't take long for some innocent partcipant to hit my hand with his. He probably barely touched it, but the pain it caused took my breath away. I could feel the tears coming and I knew I had to get out of there. I'd rather leave early than cry in front of these clowns. So I quickly left-- taking off my shoes one handed and gathering my things. I walked to my car, got in, and lost it.

MY HAND HURT SO BAD. MY RING FINGER WAS (IS) HANGING AT A REALLY WEIRD ANGLE. I CAN'T USE MY FINGERS. THAT'S BAD.

I wanted to just go home and figure out what to do; to practice the motto of my childhood: 'Ice and Advil for a few days, call the doctor if it doesn't get better.' I went to grip the steering wheel and was sent into a whole new fit of hysterics because there was no way my left hand would be at all able to participate in driving. If I drove an automatic, I'd say, eh no biggie, however, I am a stick shifter for life, and I just had no confidence in my ability to drive one handed home. I need two hands every now and then or at least to know that if a crash is about to happen I can count on my other hand to swerve and avoid it. I cried some more and started texting people.

I reasoned that I just needed to go to an Urgent Care and get a brace of some sort to help stabilize whatever was happening, then I could drive and figure out my game plan at home. I asked my friend who lives in that neighborhood (but was at work) if there was an Urgent Care I could walk to. Nope. Another friend called and helped me look up urgent cares covered by my insurance (details). On a hail-mary, I texted a friend saying "Is there any chance you're not at work right now?" and lo and behold she wasn't! She picked me up, I left my car and she dropped me off at Urgent Care where I waited for TWO HOURS. They were nice enough and had someone help me fill out the paper work since my wounded wing happens to be my dominant hand. Took forever, but the wait after paperwork was one second shy of eternity. Towards the end of it, another friend (who agreed to take me home after everything) showed up and waited with me. Finally it was my turn. The assistant did my vitals then independently of the physician made the decision to do xrays (which I'd be fired for at my job... but whatever).

I was really resistant to xrays. I didn't expect them to show anything as a lot of fractures take a solid two weeks to show up anyway and it'd be a waste of a couple hundred bucks. On top of that the assistant (who doubled as an xray tech...) wanted me to do all sorts of crazy contortions with my obviously disfigured hand. I looked at her like she was an alien, and she said "I'll help you," as she reached for my mangled mano and started to manipulate it into the position she wanted. I yelped and slapped her hand away. It was a tense moment. I gathered myself and said "That is VERY UNCOMFORTABLE, please don't touch my hand." I was pissed. Everything that had happened was just getting worse. Then she asked me to remove the ring on my left thumb, and I tried (I also had tried right after I hit Goliath, but swelling already started making it impossible), but it wouldn't come off. I explained this to her and showed her, but she was fixated saying "The radiologist will see it as an abnormality..." to which I replied, "hopefully the radiologist will see it's a ring and perhaps we could include a note to explain that if (s)he has questions." The focal point of pain was over the base of my ring finger for pete's sake! No one cares about my damned thumb.

One way or another I survived the xray. 20 minutes later the MD came in and did her basic assessment and was much gentler than the assistant. She left to look at the xray and maybe 4 minutes came back and said "yep, you broke a bone." My eyes bugged out-- "ARE YOU SERIOUS?!" I just went there for a splint. I didn't want xrays. I just needed something to stabilize my hand so I could drive home. At the very worst I thought maybe I dislocated something by the way my ring finger was dangling so askew to the rest of my fingers. "Can I see the xray?!?!" (as if the break would have disappeared by the time I saw it, or I'd show her how she misread the film... pah!...). We walked to the computer, she pulled it up and lo and behold-- a spiral fracture of the 4th metacarpal--clear as day. Speechless.

She shoo'd my friend and me back to the exam room where she gave me a real shitty ('scuse the language... you'd agree if you saw it) splint that does NOTHING, while apologetically saying "This is the best we have." Then she handed me the business card of a HAND SURGEON and instructed me to make an appointment as soon as possible. Speechless-er. Then a prescription for Dilaudid. Finally something good! Then it hit me-- I had to work the next day. I explained this to her and she wrote me a work note and said "that's all we can do for you here," and we left.

My friend was great and took me back to my car, I moved it to an overnight legal parking spot close by-- still didn't feel good about driving it and no one else in the world can drive stick. Then we went to get sushi because I realized I hadn't eaten since breakfast and it was getting close to 7pm. First we dropped my prescription off at a pharmacy where my friend filled out the paperwork and the pharm-tech eyed us suspiciouly. I felt like Monica and Rachel in the friends episode where Rachel uses Monica's insurance in the ER, but they met attractive doctors and I had no such luck-- so I quickly returned to reality. I felt somewhat better after eating. Finally got home and called work to say I would not be joining them in the morning, popped some pain pills and slept.

I woke often. A side effect of Dilaudid is itching and holy cow did I itch. It was the least restful night ever.

I spent most of Thursday on the phone... getting an appt with the hand surgeon, with my boss, with occupational health, then HR. Everyone has an opinion about my situation. The conclusion? Short term disability. Boo. The hand MD will dictate how long it will last, but bottom line is I can't deliver safe patient care with only one hand. That appointment is on Monday... I'm hoping to heaven that it isn't anything that will require pins or re-breaking, etc. :/

In the mean time I've been adjusting to one handed life. Not fun. I made my own ghetto splint with popsicle sticks and ace wrap that's way more effective than the one I was given. However I woke up the other day with a pressure sore from it... whoopsie, the design may be slightly flawed.

I'm trying to not be crabby but I'm failing. I just want to know what this looks like long term... I think if I can have a clearer picture of it then I can figure out how to make it tolerable. If they're going to make me not work for several weeks-- I think another vacation is in order. We will see though.

The giant wasn't even attractive. Rude.

Fruit Fly Shenanigans

When I was younger-- early elementary school ish-- I had a fruit fly incident. My neighbor and I were innocently jumping on her awesome giant trampoline (commonly referred to as the "tramp" which now has some serious comedic value...), squealing and trying to out-do each other with parent-approved acrobatic tricks.

For some reason that I can't recall, said neighbor girl went into her house for a brief minute and I joyfully embraced the opportunity to have the whole tramp (hehe) all to myself. I jumped and twirled and did back drops, seat drops, donkey kicks, everything I could imagine except for the forbidden flip. All of the sudden my bliss was rudely interrupted by a loud noise in one ear. I stopped dead between jumps and waited for something (what? beats me) to happen. Out of nowhere an insanely loud BUZZING rattled my brain. I grabbed the side of my head and shrieked. I dug my finger into my ear trying to get whatever was buzzing OUT.

I continued this psychotic behavior as I haphazardly ran home-- screaming and slapping my ear all the way, playing the part of the neighborhood basket case who'd finally flown off the deep end. I quickly got to my house and by the grace of God alone and mom-super-powers, my mom was able to figure out what happened amidst the shouts, tears, ear slapping, and overall terror I presented her with. She quickly sent me to my room. Seriously? I was in the midst of serious trauma and I'm getting punished? Yep. I later learned that this was so she could call the doctor's office to figure out a game plan. My sister was a bystander in the commotion and thought my mom had HIT me and that's why I was holding my ear and bawling. The mayhem of it all! All this time that damned fruit fly kept buzzing away intermittently. There was no rhythm, no predictability, nothing. Out of the blue all of the sudden BUZZ. It scared me spitless every time and instigated a whole new fit of tears and hysteria.

In the haze of memory, I don't recall the drive to the doctor's office or how my mom tolerated my behavior whilst driving. I remember finally being in the exam room and the doctor essentially squirt-gunning the little devil out of my poor ear canal. I remember them counting the legs and wings to make sure they got it all. So gross. Needless to say, I have a bit of a grudge towards the pesky little flies.

All this is a major contributing factor to my fury towards the fruit flies that are overtaking my apartment. They are SWARMING. I have a bad habit of leaving the cupboards open, and the other day I realized "ew, I should close them so these damn flies don't go in." Too late. The next morning I opened one only to see a bunch of them fly out of it. IT IS SO GROSS. I have many a dishes that need a washing, and I'm pretty sure that's why the damn flies are here anyway, but I can't wash them without creating a swarm of fruit fly fury! I have tried attacking them with a 409 squirt bottle, but can never get enough of them to have a window of safety to wash the damn dishes. I have tried the apple cider vinegar traps and while a few are accumulating (grosser), there are many more that aren't falling for my tricks.

I finally took the garbage out. That was a big step. It was the home base of the enemy. I refused to take the bag out of the can-- the can was pretty sad anyway. On my way home from church last night, I stopped at Target and just bought a new garbage can. This morning I dawned gloves, put my hood up and cinched it tight (ear protection), preparing for battle. I'd placed a trap on top of the garbage can, so I had to first move it first, which was tricky because a few of the little terrors were just sitting on top of the trap. I darted in for the maneuver and a swarm rose and I shrieked and retreated immediately. After a few minutes of staring them down, I crept back in. This time I needed to pull the garbage can away from the wall in order to secure another garbage bag over the top of it for transport to the dumpster. I finally gathered the courage for the task and I accidentally pushed the button to flip open the lid! They came POURING OUT OF THE LID IN MASSES. I swore at them and felt my stomach flip flop. Not a good time for puking, self. I was paralyzed in terror and watched as they just kept coming out of the grotesque can of rubbage. I then realized they would keep coming out of it until I closed the lid again so I darted into shut it. FAIL. IT FLIPPED BACK OPEN. OH MY GOSH THIS IS INSANITY. I went back in for a second attempt and was thankfully successful. I backed away quickly and just watched in horror as the amount of fruit flies seemed to have quadrupled and my progress hadn't budged forward a bit. I had a moment of clarity when I realized the ridiculousness of the situation. After a brief mental pep talk, I went in again- and THE SAME THING HAPPENED. FML. I just started shrieking without stopping, slammed the lid closed, covered it with the garbage bag as the winged heathens swarmed my hooded head and I swear they attacked me. I had visions of cartoons scenes coming true... when all the flies form an arrow and point to their target... With the bag secure I took two seconds to breathe, then quickly ushered the whole thing outside into the (outdoor) hallway. Next-- recylcing. It was right next to the garbage, so while there's no fruit-fly-food, they still took a liking to it. By this point I was in the zone and just went for it-- breaking down boxes and consolidating them to three containers. One by one they went into the hallway too. For whatever reason it felt way safer with the hazardous waste outside my apartment than inside. I still kept gloves on and hood up as I transferred it all to the dumpster.

Next step? Dishes. I still am not sure how to conquer that battle. I seriously want a beekeeper's suit. :/

Purchase Confirmed

As the weather has turned gray and rainy, I've wanted to go somewhere bright and sunny more and more. I'm in no life position right now to make major changes (like moving), so a getaway is the next best thing. During a rare lunch break at work yesterday, a friend and I were commiserating about the long winter ahead and were casually discussing a warm weather vacation. I had the brilliant idea to start browsing Groupon Getaways on my stinkin' smart phone to see what deals were available. I saw one for Costa Rica, somewhere I've always wanted to go, and my friend got excited about that one, too. I clicked on it and our conversation turned to something else, but I kept mindlessly browsing while we chatted-- totally not paying attention to what I clicked on. All of the sudden I as I glanced down at the touch-screen, I saw a window that said "Congratulations! Purchase Confirmed."

....

ummmm WHAT?!

"Guys, I just.... bought it!" I shrieked. I felt the blood drain from my face and my stomach do flip flops and my mind started racing: 'That is a LOT of money that just changed hands... I don't even know what this offers!... It's a getaway for two-- and I don't have a 'two'(sniffle).... I don't want to go to some unknown Costa Rica place by MYSELF! Will they refund it? No, it's a coupon!... SERIOUSLY, KRISTIN?!?!'

I'm a Groupon enthusiast, so it has my stupid credit card information saved, and in my mindless web surfing, I accidentally bought it. WHO DOES THAT?! Unfortunately, my lunch was taken at a late afternoon hour (as per usual), so Groupon was CLOSED and couldn't hear my sob story and refund my mistake.

As the afternoon turned to evening and we returned to patient care, we got to thinking... well.. I have always wanted to go there... It's a pretty great deal for the stay, we'd just need to find a flight... I have at least one friend that will come with me... So we started getting excited. Between vital signs, medications, charting, and all the other mayhem that goes down, we were frantically searching flights and our schedules to try and make something work. I was still kinda nauseous at the whole thing, but I must admit-- a tropical vacation with friends from work-- who have become really great friends!-- is totally something I could handle (and would really benefit from) right now. I'm young... not tied down... don't have to save money for my kids or anything... soooo... all in the spirit of adventure right? I think we're going to go! :)

It's at some hippie-mother earth-tranquility now-zen retreat place... that offers nutritional counseling (...great) and two 50 minute massages (kill me). I don't care about that jazz. The hotel part is cheaper than any other hotel we could find and we'll be in COSTA RICA! We don't have to have their ginger glazed tofu entree... we can do whatever we want. This excites me.

Planning is to continue... but my nausea has turned to excitement and it's all topped off by the fact it has to be used before November 30th! HA! Love spontaneity, even if it comes completely by mistake.

For you, mom. :)

One of the perks of living in Seattle is that trips home are far more practical and frequent than when I lived in Chicago. I love my family-- both immediate and extended. It wasn't until I was in college and had to start missing Thanksgiving and/or Christmas because of expensive plane tickets and/or work schedules that I realized how much I wanted to see them more. I've been in Seattle for almost two years, and while I haven't seen them all heaps more than I did, I feel closer. I got to go to my cousins beautiful wedding, I saw my cousin and her daughter when they made an unexpected trip to Seattle, my mom was able to drive up when I really needed her to, I just got to go home for my Grandma's birthday... It's been good. While I seriously doubt how much long term potential Seattle has for me, I've enjoyed the proximity to my family that it's offered.

It was at said Grandma's birthday extravaganza that my biggest fan (aka my mom) made a public request for me to post on this blog. Awkward? Um, yes. What can ya do.. she's a mom.

It's true, I went on a blogging hiatus in May I think. Truthfully, it's because it's been a pretty crappy summer.. and to be blunt, I refuse to be one of those emo-sob-story-feel-sorry-for-me-this-is-all-my-shit bloggers. Who wants to read someone else whining? Not me, that's for sure. To sum it up... I got dumped. There was conflict present and ex Mr. Wonderful went to New Zealand just as it reared its head, so we agreed to deal with it when he got back. But the day after he returned to Seattle, he decided he didn't want to try to work anything out and ended our relationship (after going to church that morning, kayaking that afternoon, and having sushi that evening). So-- a tense summer with everything hanging, then a huge life changing disappointment. Not blog worthy in my opinion.

It's been a horrific month. I can't put it any other way. I think it's a testament to the absolutely wonderful life I've been blessed with, that getting dumped has been so gut wrenchingly devastating to me. I've been blessed within it though, and it's those blessings that help me get out of bed, go to work, remember to breathe and essentially get through the day. I've always thought my social circle in Seattle was so small if existent at all. But, I've been pleasantly surprised at how many people have risen up and said "I'm here," amidst everything. It's been very helpful, and my social calendar is so full-- I love it. Nothing will ever undo the hurt that was done, but I am trying so hard to trust that God will make good of this and that in time I will be okay. Truthfully, I'm still broken.

...this is starting to sound like one of those bloggers...

Despite all that, I'm coaching a soccer team again. It's a great activity that I'm thankful for. This time around it's middle school girls. There are 24 of them and they're quite the bunch! We got one practice that lasted one hour before our first game (which is to be held on Monday). It will be quite the character building experience. Of the 24 I'd say about half of them have never played before. Girls will show up with their hair down. They forget their socks so they're wearing cleats and shin guards only. I'd be lying if I told you nobody showed up in clogs on the first day. Don't get me started on their "beehive" technique in playing the game. There are so many things I want to show them, teach them, help them do better-- but in an hour I can only do so much. OH YEA-- and for my 24 girls we get a whopping NINE soccer balls! Nutso.

Anyway, that's all I guess. Really nothing comical or uplifting for that matter, but a post is a post. Happy, mom? :) I'm sure many a funny story will come with this group of girls-- they're a fun group so far.

"Don't defibrilate me."

I'm pleased to report that there have been a few sunny days in Seattle. They are sparse and almost too much of a tease more than anything, but I am so thankful for the warmth when it decides to swing by.

Unfortunately we're church hunting again. The place we'd found in ...September-ish (I think) is essentially closed for 5 months. I'll spare the dramatic details, as they're quite confusing and they don't change the fact that the place we liked is no longer available. Church hunting is not my favorite activity, but I eagerly await whatever life lessons this journey holds.
This morning we went to a place that I can see myself liking. During the sermon the pastor was talking about having a calling, which naturally made me think 'what's my calling?' I immediately think to my job-- I love it and I guess if I had to answer someone in a hot second, I would claim that. But does that mean I should be doing it ... all the time? I've been trying to figure out what activity/hobby/whatever I should take on, and it seems I'll be staying in Seattle for at least another year. Grad school? Ugh-- let's not go there. Another job? What? Trying to find a coaching opportunity that will work with my work schedule is close to impossible. The pastor said something else, too-- that we should be doing things related to our calling.. our activities and choices should all be an investment in our hobby. That is logical, but if my calling is actually work-- I can't imagine having all my activities center around that.
I miss college-- when I was so busy with classes and soccer and giving silly campus tours that I didn't have time to think about a calling. I feel very stagnant right now and it's my own fault completely, but I feel like choosing something is a big deal-- commitment, pressure, etc. It's overwhelming.

Mr. Wonderful got a contract to teach at his dream job at his dream school for another year-- which is wonderful and I'm very proud of him. He beat out other faculty who have more experience and seniority. It's a big testament to how valuable and awesome of a teacher he is that he was offered a contract.
Our plan B if he didn't get one was to do travel nursing. I'd do the nurse part and he'd get temporary subbing jobs or odd jobs wherever we went. It was his idea even! I've wanted to do travel nursing since nursing school, but the timing has never been right. First it was 'They don't hire new-grads' so I decided to work for at least a year and then look into it. I did exactly that, but of course the economy had tanked-- hospitals couldn't afford travel nurses so jobs were really sparse and being given to way more experienced nurses. So I moved to a permanent job in Seattle. While I really love my job here and feel very privileged to work where I do, Matt and I both know that Seattle isn't where we want to live forever, and are both excited for the day we can move. I was really excited to finally pursue travel nursing, but again-- it's been put off. It's quite conflicting, I won't lie-- I'm so happy that his career is working out and that he got what he wanted. My joy for him is genuine. I can't deny my disappointment, though, that we'll be here
for another year, and that a 'dream' of mine is postponed... again. I understand why and for the most part, it makes sense. I think I got my hopes up a little too high.
I am trying my darndest to see the bright side-- I get to look a little harder for some good things about Seattle, embrace parts of it that I've ignored. I believe whole heartedly that God wants me here for a reason, so it's probably in my best interest to figure out why.

Complete topic shift: I love spinning and I've been getting reacquainted with the treadmill. I'll leave it at that, as my speed (or lack thereof) is shameful in comparison with where I once was, but the fact of the matter is that I've made very slight progress and I'm insanely grateful for it. I'd love to do another triathlon this summer. I've gotta get my fitness back first though.
A few weeks ago, as I was cleaning my bike off after spinning, the instructor gave a shameless plug for the other classes she teaches and for a free 50 minute fitness assessment. I forget her exact wording, but she said something about creating a plan to help you achieve your fitness goals and that caught my ear. I want to get back into lifting weights as I miss being toned, and the positive effects resistance training has on your metabolism are ones that I'd benefit from greatly. I've hesitated to visit the weight section of the gym because I've only got the same routine I've had since high school and college-- it's all soccer specific. Maybe I don't want soccer thighs anymore... Maybe this lady could set me up with a lifting routine that would be more appropriate to my fitness aspirations now. So I argued with my self for a good 3 minutes as I wiped down my bike eighteen times... and finally decided to inquire. I opened with "Here's the thing: there is no possible way I can afford personal training sessions... but I'm curious about this free assessment..." She suckered me in and at noon the next day I was walking into my 50 minute fitness assessment. First she asked me about what I ate and I cringed at the thought of my refrigerator full of condiments and my freezer full of Bocas. I told her it is pretty random, but I don't eat meat. So that conversation focused more on protein and its importance (durrrr) than anything which was fine because I hate talking about meal plans with people who don't even know me. So then we moved on and she said "let's do some measurements." All the blood in my head immediately drained and I felt clammy. My heart was racing and my stomach immediately started doing flip flops. I don't know why I reacted so strongly... I knew that measurements are standard in any assessment. So there, smack dab in the middle of the open floor plan of a mega gym, this lady took calipers to all my cushy areas... she used a tape measure in more places than I ever imagined, and she weighed me. All in the midst of bodybuilders, ballerinas, super gym freaks, and the like. It was mortifying. People stare. I stared back... kind of a hate-stare. Hehe. But seriously-- if you ever see someone being publicly humiliated in such a fashion, it is just a common courtesy to look away. Nobody likes a starer.
So after she was reminding me of my pudgy body composition and ridiculous ratio of fat:nonfat, we did a mini workout. Really-- the exercises in and of themselves were no big deal-- I wouldn't have considered them a workout. For some reason though after the last one (pull ups... lets talk about how successful that was... PAH), I got so dizzy. I refused to admit that I might faint after such nonsense activity so when the lady said "are you feeling okay, you look very pale..." I was more insulted at her ballsiness to comment on my poor pigmentation. I insisted I was totally fine and she left to make a photo copy of my measurements for me. Bless her. I woke up to far too many strangers standing over me and I heard someone say "Get the defibrillator!!!" I meekly said "don't defibrilate me." Oh it was a grand scene. This is how my life goes. I guess diligent hydration should be higher on my priority list. Whatever. After all that, the assessment was really useless, I didn't get a new lifting routine out of it and I was insanely embarassed. All in a day.
Regardless-- I am enjoying the gym and that is a statement. Praise God for that one.

Random

Long time, eh? I fairly genuinely enjoy spinning again! I have a favorite instructor at the gym here (will always hold a special place for Heidi at the Courthouse...)-- Julie. The first time she taught a class I went to, I saw her and was immediately terrified. She is very petite, short hair, and despite the fact that she isn't a young spunky 20-something fitness instructor, you can tell that she will kick your ass at any athletic event. She wore an Ironman bike jersey and had all fancy bike shoes and stuff. Shortly after we boarded our stationary bikes, I learned that her appearance was no facade... she was a legit endurance athlete. Definitely one of the HARDEST workouts, but I felt like I was able to get a lot out of it. It wasn't lame and it wasn't so insanely impossibly extreme that it was ineffective (don't get me wrong... the workout she led still made me want to throw up... several times). What I like best about her teaching style is that the workout is planned so that your cadence is always to the beat of whatever song is playing. She picks songs based on their beat. It's genius, and it is my preference... Everyone has their learning style in school... that's my learning style in spinning. I enthusiastically attend spinning whenever I don't work, and do my darndest to swim when I do work. Waking up at 330am is hard, though... even for the early bird. Especially three days in a row. Regardless of the mind numbingly slow nature of it, I call this all progress and am immensely grateful for it.

Anyway, I'm so excited for winter to be on its way out. Losing an hour of sleep was hard, but now it is still light out at 7pm and that is reason for celebration if you ask me. I've kept myself busy enough over the arctic months, but am hoping for a new activity to embrace. A part time job? Volunteering? Coaching again? Getting serious about triathlons again? Who knows. Working three days a week has its ups and downs. Sometimes if feels like I can't get away from that place no matter how hard I try, and I am exhausted to the deepest core of my being. Other times it feels like I don't really have a job and I'm sitting around all the time. I will never complain about a 3 day work week... I cannot picture myself in a Monday to Friday 9 to 5 situation. However, I'd love a more balanced feeling instead of jumping from one extreme to another.

In those work lulls, I've had some fun:

Snow shoeing with small group friends

Matt's little brother and sister came for a visit

We've gone hiking a couple of times... only once in the snow...

And most recently we learned how to paint!

I still need a dentist. I would be grateful for a good haircut. I think I'm low on contacts, too... meaning an Opthomolagist hunt is in my near future. Lame post, I know... but it's been over a month, so I figured I should say something. :)

Spinning

Last week, I decided I should go to spinning and miraculously, I did! It was interesting. Not the sure death I was expecting, but nowhere near the thrill of when I went to spinning whilst in shape (and at the best gym ever-- the Courthouse). At this mega gym, I'm paranoid about not getting a bike, so naturally I showed up 37 minutes early. There was no sign up or anything so I poked my head in the spinning room, and of course there were about 50 lonely bikes without a soul claiming one of them. So I dilly dallied... went to the bathroom... checked my phone... deleted old texts... and then finally decided just to go wait it out on the bike. So, for 30 minutes before the torture began, I pedaled ... leisurely. In my cardiovascular state, even a leisurely pedal renders great amounts of perspiration an fatigue. When people started trickling in 3 minutes before the class started I was on my way to winded and sweating buckets already.

The instructor came in and we started warming up (pah! I was already sweltering). She decided she wanted to learn everyone's names (there were about 12 people there-- glad I got there early... psh). She heard my name as KristinE and I wasn't going to waste more of my breath trying to correct her.

We spun. We climbed "hills" we sprinted, we stood up we "hovered" we jumped... it was so hard. I totally pansy'd on a lot of it, I won't lie. I put forth genuine effort and it was reflected in my heart rate that we checked 3 times over the course of an hour. Each time I was at 180 beats/min. I feel like that's physiologically unhealthy, but I've never been a heart rate enthusiast during exercise, something I'm slightly considering changing.

At one point as I was huffing and puffing along, the instructor got off her bike in the front of the room and walked over to me. I was focused on staying upright so I didn't notice until she was right in front of me. She covered her microphone and asked: "KristinE, ...are you okay?" I looked at her-- half bewildered, half cross eyed and could only manage to nod my head 'yes' too enthusiastically and showered her in my sweat. Whoopsie.

There was one 'activity' where for 15 seconds one person would sprint while everyone else in the class maintained a non-sprint cadence and cheered the sprinter on. I wanted to die. It's one thing to go through this experience in the public setting of a group fitness class, but it's another to have that public setting LOOK AT YOU while you're suffering. It was mortifying and I was sure that if I didn't die from cardiac fatigue, then I'd surely keel over from sheer embarrassment.

Finally the class ended and I essentially fell off my bike. It was awkward. I felt very accomplished for finishing it, but really disappointed, too. I used to LOVE spinning and it would be my second or third workout of the day. Now it's all I can do to not only motivate myself to go, but to BARELY stay on the bike the whole time. I know I have a lot of work to do... and it's daunting.

I elliptical/biked the next day, then swam before work the day after that. (The chlorine does something to my nose-- I think it's like an allergy... I sneeze ALL day, and by the end of the day my nose is COMPLETELY occluded. It's hard to swallow.. hard to talk... very uncomfortable.) Anyway-- took yesterday off mostly because I didn't want to get up at 3:30am again to go before work.

I span? spun? spinned? whatever today and yesterday. It's very true that the instructor plays such a huge role in the experience. I have come close to enjoying spinning again. We'll see how it develops. I work the next three days so I won't get to another class, but will swim and perhaps venture back into lifting again before work. We'll see. One day at a time.

"I can't believe it's January!"

I can't decide if a mid winter trip to paradise was a good idea or a terrible one.

In November, Southwest Airlines had a wonderful sale that landed Mr. Wonderful and me round trip tickets to LA for $120 in January. Hard to turn that down! So after a perfect little birthday celebration on Thursday night (complete with dinner ready for me after work, a new watch and his own rendition of "ice cream carrot cake".... ) we flew down to sunny So.Cal on Friday morning and had the best four day getaway ever. We didn't stay in LA at all. We rented a car and put 600 miles on it between Friday and Monday! He has family scattered in the great state of CA, and we visited all of them, and even had some extra time to explore what we think is the perfect city-- Santa Barbara!

Friday we flew into LA and immediately drove to Long Beach where we stayed the night with his grandfather.

Saturday morning we drove to Redlands (close to San Bernardino... I think) to visit his sister who is absolutely delightful.

That evening we drove to Oxnard (just south of Santa Barbara) and hotel'd it for the night. We ordered takeout (because we were kinda exhausted!) and Matt got something off the "exotic menu"-- kabobs with kangaroo, antelope, gator, and turtle!


Early Sunday, we drove up to Santa Barbara and explored the city and imagined how wonderful it would be to live there. We walked around downtown and enjoyed a local coffee shop, walked from downtown to the beach, then down the pier. Finally, we drove to Hendrie Beach, recommended by a fellow Seattle-ite that we met at the coffee shop! It was BEAUTIFUL.

The pier

LOVING THE BEACH

Sunday late afternoon drove along the Pacific Coast Highway down to Malibu (for a surf check-- of course!), then over to Santa Clarita to visit with another sister, and her husband and two kids (one is 7 weeks, the other is 14 months).

I don't think Baby Tim was loving me too much... he's got some great facial expressions!

Sunday evening drove back down to Long Beach. Monday, we spent quality time at the BEACH. Matt surfed and I sunned, it was perfect in every way.

Monday afternoon we had lunch with his Grandfather and went on a short walk, then it was back to LA to fly back to Seattle. Phew! It was such a fun trip. So beautiful, so refreshing. EXACTLY what I needed. The weather couldn't have been better, it was 75 perfect degrees all four days we were there! It got chilly at night, but during the day it was the the perfect shorts-n-t-shirts-drive-with-the windows-down-break-out-your-sunglasses-get-a-sunburn-and-love-it time of our lives. We kept saying "I can't believe it's January!"

I won't lie, I got pretty crabby on Monday when we left the beach. I knew we had to go back to Seattle, but truthfully, I didn't want to! I was finally warm! Regardless of whether or not I wanted to, we came back without major event (although Mr. Wonderful lost his phone in LAX, but found it right before our flight... grateful shoutout to whoever turned it in!).
So here I sit, in my apartment while it rains like crazy outside and the sky is a deep shade of grey. My goal this week is to find some divine beauty in the grey... it's Friday and I'm empty handed. God did handiwork in Seattle, too... right?
What can I say? I just like to be outside when it's warm. And I won't deny the benefits of the sun on my attitude. While the stereotypical culture of southern California (bleach blonde hair, super materialistic, etc etc) is a huge turn off for me, I can't help but long for the sunny weather and the real ocean at my fingertips. (If you tell me the Puget Sound is technically the ocean, I will tell you I don't care... no waves, no ocean.)
I mean seriously... once you see this and feel its warmth... mid-winter... it's hard to turn away from it!

Yup

Christmas Eve is my favorite holiday by far and this year only solidified it's spot on top of my 'favorite holiday' list. I love being able to drive down to see my family after work (well, the actual drive was a team effort). It's wonderful to not have to drop several hundred dollars and try to plan several months in advance. It was fun to introduce Mr.Wonderful to my extended family. He was a hit and fit right in. I knew he would be well received, everyone he encounters loves him.
We hit the road back to Seattle around 9pm on the 24th and got home around 1am. Mr. Wonderful--er "Santa"-- had one more gift for me and I opened it here. We were so excited about our new toys and stayed up until 3ish playing!
While I wouldn't trade playing with Christmas toys in the wee hours of the morning for the world, waking up Christmas day for work was no easy task! I worked 5 of the next 6 days, and needless to say I'm pooped. Work has been particularly exhausting lately and I worry that I'm starting to feel burnt out. Our patient acuity has been insanely high over the past couple of months and it just creates a very tense working environment. I am grateful for the next week, as I don't work again until Thursday! Then I'll work a couple of long stretches again, then will seek reprieve in LA! We found some super cheap tickets on Southwest awhile ago, and said "why not?" So January 14th (coincidentally, the 6-month mark...), we'll escape the dreary, cold, wet winter here and embrace a warm and hopefully sunny southern California, where I am sure that I was meant to live in the first place.

No crazy exciting things to report. I could go on and on about work, but it's frowned upon. I need to find an outlet for all that tension and stuff... it's driving me nutty! I am starting to dislike working long stretches of days in a row because I don't have time or energy to think about anything BESIDES work or do anything but recover from the day. It thwarts my cardiovascular comeback, it drains me of motivation to do anything fun. I love my job, I promise.. but too much of a good thing is never a good idea. I need to figure out a better way to schedule myself.
Hopefully I can figure that out in the next week and also reflect on the past YEAR and all its goodness and lessons learned.

Text Twist (sit, wit, wits, its, twit, twits...), etc.

So this whole dentist thing... I am quite conflicted! The entire staff is really very kind and personable and very welcoming. But I just cannot get over the shaky hand. I'm sorry! I really don't want to go back to this place, but I really should get my teeth cleaned! They keep CALLING ME about the damned appointment to bulk up my molars. Not only do I need the cleaning, but the original filling that Lipstick fixed still hurts. I would say it is getting worse, not in a dramatic fashion, but I feel it more and more often. It's probably just that the cavity underneath the filling she replaced is slowly growing. Sigh.

I feel comfortable telling them that I don't want to to the molar-bulk right now, but don't know how to say somethings wrong with that filling, but I want to get it fixed elsewhere.

I need to figure out how to get my records from this place (x-rays and such) because insurance will only cover so many x-rays so often. I don't want to be mean and say "You're nice, but your hand shakes so I'm taking my business elsewhere..." but that is what it ultimately boils down to. I've thought about how I can skirt around it... tell them that I'm moving far away or something... but I hate lying (especially to such nice people!) and it always ends up far too complicated. Boo!

In other news, Text Twist (warning, click on this link with caution, as it is a game that WILL take over your life), is my new favorite hobby. (Don't judge me.) My mind is constantly thinking of what words I can make out of the six letters in a different word, what six letters would make a up a good tricky word for the game, etc. I can't walk down the street without seeing a STOP sign and thinking 'stop? top..tops..pot..pots..opt..opts..spot.....etc' It's getting to be quite ridiculous. In conversation even I find it hard to focus on what the person is saying because the second they drop a six letter word, I feverishly start mentally rearranging the letters to get as many points as possible. I might have a small problem on my hands.

I'm slowly and anxiously getting back to the g-y-m. I'm hesitant to even acknowledge it for fear of jinxing the whisper of a comeback I'm approaching. On December 17th they're opening the new gym with the pool and classes, etc. I'm looking forward to that, and hope that some cross training will make getting back to running more practical and fun. There's a guy at my church (the pastor's father no less.. (...biological, not Heavenly...)) that is/was a running enthusiast. We met him early on when we started to get involved in this church and I always admired his wisdom and soft spoken nature. Last Sunday he asked how my recovery was coming and I didn't know what he was talking about-- then I realized, o yea I had surgery. Durr. I told him I feel pretty good but admitted that getting back to running is a really big challenge, and he offered some great advice. It was nice to hear from somebody who gets it... somebody who had been there... and who has come back! All encouragement is always appreciated, but there's something about hearing it from someone who truly understands where you're at that makes it that much sweeter. So, we'll see I suppose!

I can't wait to get home for the holidays and see my family. When I moved a year ago, I thought I'd see everyone so much more, but am shocked and disappointed (in myself) that the frequency of visits is still low. Maybe that should be a new years resolution. Either way, I can't wait to see everyone! I am also excited to introduce Mr. Wonderful. :) It's about time I bring someone to these family gatherings, shoot. I get to work Christmas Day (7am to 730pm, love me some day shift!), so we'll be driving back to Seattle late at night on the 24th. I'm praying for good weather... 'they' keep saying that towards the end of the month, the weather will get snowy again. Seattle with snow? Wtf. I don't really care, it will take a natural disaster to prevent me from going home. Wheather or not I get back in time for work... I'll try my darndest, but I will not miss family Christmas for it. Here's to the holiday spirit! (trip..trips..spit..pit..pits..its..sit..rip..rips..tip..tips....)

White Elephant-- I mean super fancy stuff.

Preface
The way the legend of the white elephant was explained to me went something like this: in some far away land, long long ago, a white elephant was a super rare animal that only the highest people of the highest class might ever dream of owning. It was a status symbol, and the best possible one to have. A white elephant also brought prosperity and good fortune, suggesting the owner was wise and just. Upon the rare occasion someone got a white elephant, they were initially thrilled. However they soon realized it wasn't as great as they'd imagined. Since this animal was so rare and so important, it required delicate and around the clock care and it was insanely high maintenance. They could not be sold, slaughtered, be put to work, or given away. Soon enough the white elephant became a horrible and costly burden, and the owner no longer wanted it. Nobody wanted it.

So with modern day white elephant gift exchanges, I was under the impression you're supposed to bring something that nobody really wants. Something random, funny, off kilter a little bit.

So my small group decided to do a white elephant gift exchange. I couldn't think of something good... I consulted with people, googled ideas, but ultimately resorted to stopping by the clearance rack at Safeway. I pondered going to Goodwill, but there isn't one super close by so, that ruled out that option. Safeway failed me, so minutes before it was time to go, I was scrounging around my apartment. I ultimately found a touch light (where you just push the light and it turns on-- I think it's kinda cool, I won't lie), some sterile gloves from my "Nurse Kit" I got in nursing school, alcohol swabs, a loofah and some other exfoliating glove. Random, but that's okay, right? It's a white elephant exchange! I found an empty box in the recycling-- Golden Graham Treats. I stuffed it full and wrapped it in record time.

Flash forward to the exchange. I was excited. I was hoping to get something relatively cool-- someone else's junk could be my treasure! There were 9 people present, I drew number 8. The first person opened a gift and it was fancy-- two big martini glasses with a pomegranate martini mix. Yowzer, someone missed the white elephant memo... The next gift someone opened was a gift box of different fancy teas. What?! Who are these people!?! The next thing was a brand new fancy pants Mr. Potato Head. Really?! People spent REAL money on this?!?! Next was an ice cream topping set complete with cute bowls and everything. Oh shit. Some poor soul who put some real $$$ into this is going to get my touch lamp, loofah and alcohol swabs. How embarrassing! I prayed that no one would choose my box and I could just choose it myself and save someone from getting cheated (and save myself from mortification). However, the second I said "amen," the next person grabbed my modestly wrapped box off the table. I have to leave. I have to get out of here. I cannot watch this happen. But I was paralyzed and unable to sprint to the door like I so badly wanted to. Mr. Wonderful sat next to me, gleefully chuckling at my horror. Box unwrapped, the recipient was like "Awesome! Golden Graham Treats!!" Phew! They didn't open the box! As the next person chose their gift, I subtly made my way over to the unfortunate soul that got my box. I explained its contents and to not worry, that I'd steal it from him so he could get something awesome. He erupted into fits of laughter, far better than the response I expected: getting kicked out of small group. My plan worked marvelously and the only person who didn't get something super fancy was me, which was well deserved as I was the only person who didn't drop an entire paycheck on this shenanigan.

I am pretty annoyed to tell the truth. Am I completely wrong about the white elephant gift exchange??? Who are these clowns... how did they not know that you're not supposed to get ridiculously awesome things?! At the end of it, everyone got a good laugh from my misunderstanding, but I still maintain that they're the ones who misunderstood.

Dental Dilemma

Within the past couple of weeks, I have had some insanely bizarre dental encounters. What sparked everything is something got stuck in my teeth one night so I decided to floss, which is an activity I very rarely participate in. While flossing something violent happened in my mouth and a tooth felt really funny. I learned the next day that if I chewed on that side, I would know what excruciating pain really feels like. For a solid five days I just chewed on the other side. I hate going to the dentist... if I could just be a unilateral chewer, that was a fine enough solution for me. However, I kept forgetting, and even brushing my teeth was uncomfortable, so I decided that since I have the insurance (even though I've learned that it's CRAP) I might as well use it and get this taken care of.

I looked up a dentist on 1800-dentist and made sure he was covered by my insurance. I was particularly drawn to this DDS because it had a blurb about how they're good with "high anxiety patients." I think I mentioned I hate the dentist, and I get VERY anxious when I'm there. This guy sounded like a good fit. I called and was surprised they could see me the very next day. I went to their website to print off the new patient paperwork, and microscopic part of me felt good about going.

I walked in at 8:18am and was quickly whisked to the back where they started x-raying (EACH INDIVIDUAL TOOTH!!! talk about extensive...). Then the lady said "I'll go get the dentist." I waited patiently and within a minute or two, in walked a younger middle aged Asian woman with poorly applied lipstick. This was shocking to me. On the website, the dentist I made an appointment with was pictured as an old balding white man. Who was this impostor? There were no other dentists listed at the practice. Baldy was IT. The website is even http://www.baldy'sname.com! Being non-confrontational, I rolled with it and just kept thinking 'You'd better be covered by my insurance!' She found the filling that I had shattered with my flossing escapade and fixed it. They even gave me the laughing gas so it wasn't too bad. Among the top 5 things I hate in life are those oral Novocaine shots. MAN they HURT! She finished and told me there was another cavity they found on the bottom that needed to be filled a different day. She started motioning for me to go to the front desk to get it scheduled, but I thought I was getting a teeth cleaning out of this deal too. Afterall, when I called to set up the appointment I didn't really mention the immense pain that I was in... I just asked for a new patient appointment and I assumed that a teeth cleaning would be part of that. However, I was wrong. Lipstick then informed that I would have to schedule the cleaning as a separate appointment and that the hygienist is very busy, so it might be awhile.

I think that's bizarre. In my short 24 (almost 25 thank you very much) years, every time I've gone to the dentist they clean first, fix second. They never just bypass the cleaning. I shrugged my shoulders, kind of eager to leave anyway, so I scheduled the cavity for early the next week and left.

Bizarre #2: I was still weirded out by the whole first visit. Strange dentists... no cleaning... just an off feeling. My mom suggested I just get this whole shenanigan taken care of, then the next time I need a dentist I look elsewhere. Good advice. I walked in and got situated in the same dentist chair only to be greeted by Baldy! I felt a small sense of relief. Phew, this is how it was supposed to be. He started getting situated and made some small talk. Seemed like a nice old man. He asked me to open my mouth and he put his thumb on my bottom teeth and I felt it. A very strong tremor. My dentist has a shaky hand. The man who would be drilling into my molar was unable to control his fine motor movements. Then I remembered that huge Novocaine needle. His hand was still in my mouth and my eyes BUGGED out as I frantically searched for a fire escape or something to get me OUT. It was a very small little room and there was no escape! My heart rate increased and I'm positive my blood pressure was through the roof. I was sweating. Tears formed in my eyes. I pleaded with God to send Lipstick back. There was nothing I could do. He swabbed the topical numbing stuff on a Q-tip and put it where the deadly needle would be. No assistant was in sight. Maybe someone with a steady hand would rescue me and do the injection. Within seconds that torture device was ready and he even SQUIRTED IT INTO THE AIR BEFORE COMING AT ME WITH IT! I hoped I was having a nightmare. I couldn't breathe. Tears were streaming down my face at this point (so much for handling the anxious patient, eh??? I didn't even get gas this time!! I needed a stiff drink...) He started moving towards my mouth in what felt like uber slow motion and the needle went closer and closer to my teeth. I heard it clink against my pearly whites as he shook. I felt faint. It went in my gums and it hurt like nothing I've ever felt before. It went deeper and deeper and as sharp white pains went from all different directions in my face. As he worked he mumbled "there are several nerves that connect to this tooth... so we'll have to go from three different angles..." That meant two more injections. He finally pulled the first needle out and I felt like I had run a marathon. I was panting, my hoodie concealed the sweat drenched t-shirt underneath it. I felt pale and kind of shaky myself at that point! The same thing happened TWO MORE TIMES.
I eventually surrendered to my fate and that I might have to sacrifice a molar. At least it was in the back and wouldn't be too obvious.

After what felt like eternity, he was finishing up. At this point, Baldy told me that my back teeth are moving and that there is space between my molars that will allow food to get stuck and cavities to form. He said he wants to "bulk those teeth up" to prevent it. I looked at him with the fear of God in my bloodshot eyes and feebly asked "when does that need to happen?" He told me he took care of one already (I am 90% sure I blacked out during that filling...) and that I needed to come back for the other side. I must have replied... a gurgle of some sort came from my throat. My whole face was numb. Not just one side, the entire thing. On the right side of my face it went all the way to my ear. I was certain I would never regain feeling in part or all of my face ever again and I entertained ideas of what to do with the $$$ from the law suit settlement.

I reluctantly scheduled a "buffering" appointment. I felt a teensy ray of hope when she said it would be with Lipstick, but still vowed to never return to that place again.

Bizarre #3: At 9:50pm that same night, Baldy called me. I didn't recognize the number, so I let it go to voicemail. His message sounded so creepy. His purpose was just to follow up to make sure that as the Novocaine wore off (twelve hours later...) that my bite felt okay blah blah blah. On the surface his intentions seem quite noble, but I just think it is SO WEIRD to call that late at night if it isn't... emergent.

Bizarre #4 (YES THERE IS MORE!): At work one day I noticed I had a voicemail so I listened to while eating lunch. Lo and behold it was the dentist's office. The receptionist (who is so nice, by the way) said that Baldy wanted to be the one to do the buffering so I needed to reschedule for a time that he would be in the office. Hell no. I didn't call back until the day before the scheduled appointment. I just called to confirm that I wasn't going to show up and that I would call later to reschedule. I have no intention of rescheduling.

While I want to swear off dentists, I know they're necessary. The original filling that Lipstick fixed still hurts. Not nearly as bad, but it's far from comfortable. Anyone know of a good dentist in Seattle???

Strike one, Seattle

It snowed. A lot. Now it's very cold.

On Sunday as church was ending, I heard squealing from people standing near me and looked at them, curious why they were creating such a commotion. I saw that they were pointing out the window at giant white flakes floating from the sky. NOOOOOOOOOOOO. I could have cried.
Fortunately, that nonsense stopped before anything stuck and I breathed a sigh of relief and refused to listen to anyone trying to warn me that it was coming back soon.

On Monday, Mr.Wonderful and I delivered a meal to a fellow small grouper who just had surgery. As we drove to Queen Anne, that pesky white stuff came down again. He giggled like a school boy with glee as I glowered in the passenger seat. We chatted with our friend for about ten minutes. I wanted to stay longer and play; she has FUN kids that I got to briefly babysit on the day of her surgery. However, there was no denying the fact that the weather was turning quite fiercely and it'd be wise to get home sooner than later.

I was shocked at how quickly it got 'bad.' It was the kind of snow that you see at the ski lodge... tiny white flakes, super strong wind... When you look at it under the street lamp you think "holy blizzard!" It stuck to the ground at an alarming rate. The roads started getting slick and traffic started going painfully slow. I was quite tense and so relieved I wasn't the one driving. We were almost back to my apartment. There is one sick hill before you can turn to my parking lot and we prayed as we inched up it. About halfway the wheels started slipping. We fishtailed and then just stopped. A horn honked behind us--- really, Toyota Camry??? Can't you see we're slipping?! Mr. Wonderful did an awesome job at being patient and safe and doing everything possible to get up that hill. We tried to go where there was snow (not just ice) to get some traction, but it was to no avail. We decided to park on a side street and walk the remaining way. Once on the side street, however, he wanted to try to get up the hill one more time on a parallel residential street. We couldn't make it a block. After three valiant efforts (and a lady watching us out her window...), we surrendered and parked six blocks away. We scurried to my apartment, cranked the heat.

It was a fun night... one of the benefits of living on the corner of a big intersections and having a lot of windows is you get to see some action when there is inclement weather... We bounced around from window to window... "we've got a slider!" or "here comes a BUS!" We saw some crazy people... some unfortunate car abandoning... but no one was seriously hurt or anything so I felt less guilty for watching others struggle with the elements from my warm perch.

We were stranded for a day... Tuesday morning we went searching for a sled, but everyone within walking distance was sold out. Darn! We walked all around the neighborhoods watching kids have the time of their lives as they flew down the steep hills... secretly hoping someone would offer us a ride! We walked by several sleds just SITTING in someone's yard or propped up against a fence. It took all of our strength to not borrow them... and we definitely contemplated ringing a few doorbells and asking. I wanted to find some cardboard and write "Will work for sled" on it. Worth a shot.

We finally got the guts to drive and we found a weird foam saucer for $16.99--- ripoff? Yes. But our options were SPARSE so we embraced it anyway. After greasing the bottom with vegetable shortening, we found a hill with no kids on it and went at it. It was so fun! Within no time at all there were 4 other kids there and a parent who was monitoring the intersection at the bottom! Perfect! One kid let us use his sled that was WAY better than our saucer... We had no 'tracks' on the bottom, so the saucer just kept going to the curb... it hurts when you hit the curb! The actual sled was awesome though and it went SO FAST.

It's still 20 degrees. I still refuse to drive. While I was 'stranded' for a day, I was with great company so it was far less traumatic than it could have been! Dare I say... fun! However, I still claim my dislike for snow and am quite irritated at Seattle-- I thought I escaped this nonsense when I left Chicago! They've been having weather in the 60s as the snow has fallen here. Go figure!

It's been an interesting couple of months. Several blog-worthy events.. hopefully they'll make it here sooner than later.

I get to spend T-Day tending to sick kids and embracing time and a half. I never care about working the holidays until I hear other people talking about how awesome it is to be with their families blah blah blah. Then I get a little melancholy. I suppose I will just look forward to Christmas Eve that much more!

Back in the Saddle Again

Praise the Lord, I finally went back to work. The beautiful chaos was insane, but I couldn't help but smile inside amidst it all. My legs and feet are throbbing after thirteen hours (love me some over time!) of running around like a crazy person, but it hurts so good. Wouldn't you know it I worked today, and am not scheduled again until the 12th! Another workless week ahead, but some fun activities are planned so hopefully boredom will not come back.

The past four weeks have been mind numbingly boring. It was ridiculous and I struggled with it a lot. But who can legitimately complain about being bored... especially when those you would complain to are so busy and overwhelmed. It was kind of a lonely place to be. Just makes me all the more excited to get back to normal life!

I think one of the best things about going back to work is that I'm exhausted, and I think I'll sleep through the night tonight without waking up eighteen times. Also, I hope that I'll fall asleep without taking Tylenol PM or Nyquil or tossing and turning for several hours. The whole insomnia bit does not suit me well.

Today was great, and to top it off, Mr. Wonderful surprised me by making me dinner when I got home. AND DESSERT. How'd I get so lucky? However, he proceeded to beat me (twice) at our favorite card game. Whatever, I'll take it. :)

They cut me.

So last Thursday morning my mom drove me to the Totem Pole entrance of the hospital. Approximately two hours later I was sliced open and they took out this:
SICK. 20cm, 4lbs, an ovary, one set of fallopian tubes, a lot of "holy toledo!"'s, and 20 staples later, it was over. I stayed in the hospital for one night and was discharged early afternoon the next day. I was so grateful to get my own room and to go home the next day. Honestly, I do NOT like being the patient.
My parents are insanely wonderful and my mom stayed until Sunday and was relieved by my dad who stayed until today (Wednesday). They are rock stars and I could not have recovered so smoothly without them.
The first couple of days were plagued mostly with nausea from the narcotics I got, so I quit those by Saturday night. I went to church Sunday morning, looking a little rough around the edges, but I felt so much better once I was moving and out of my apartment. I wow-ed (read: grossed out) people with my staples and had a grand ole time. I was ready to come home by the end of it. Mr. Wonderful stuck around for awhile after church and we watched (read: slept through) a movie with my dad then went on a short (three blocks, despite my begging to go farther) walk. It's been gravy since.
I have been surprised with how okay I feel. I expected it to hurt far more than it does. Sure, I can feel it... I still waddle a little bit when I walk. But on a scale of big deals, it scores very very low. Yesterday my dad and I walked around Greenlake; that's when I knew I was fine! It took us a while, but we made it around the whole lake.. and I was up for another lap, but decided to not push my luck.
This morning my dad took me to get the staples out. At that appointment I learned that the word of the day is BENIGN. Praise the Lord! I am so grateful that this cyst was actually just a cyst and nothing funky. I never had significant reason to believe it was the c-word, but even the 0.01% chance scares the dickens out of me and I am glad to put that worry to rest.

So now I have three weeks until I go back to work. I will go back to coaching on Monday, but am limited to standing. That sucks a lot because what I love about coaching is being active and playing.. but it will be good to have an activity regardless. The MD told me I get to judge when I run again, which is kind of dangerous. But this one is too messy to rush anything. It's not like my knee will hurt worse if I run.. it's my abdomen will spill open if I run. That's just messy.

While I wouldn't wish the whole shenanigan on anyone, I must say it's gone rather smoothly and the timing of it is quite ideal. I have great insurance, an employer that is working with me, and family who jumped when I said "help!" I feel really fortunate for how it's all gone down and I'm excited to get back to normal life!

Would you like some brownie with your garlic?

Yesterday, I bought box brownies to make for Mr. Wonderful and me to enjoy during our approaching adventure. I'm not much of a cook and while I enjoy baking, I still didn't have time or energy to make brownies (or anything for that matter) from scratch. So I found a box of mix for $1.25 and was so proud of myself for finding one on sale.

I went home and eventually remembered I had to still put them in the oven before they'd turn to real brownies. I dumped in the water and the egg(white)s with the powder, and then saw that it called for 1/4c. of oil. I don't have oil because as I already mentioned, I don't cook. Then I recalled I had bought (bought'n) extra virgin olive oil when I attempted cooking dinner for Mr. Wonderful on his first day in his new classroom (for the record that meal turned out pretty fantastic if I do say so myself). "Oil is oil, right?" I reasoned. So I dumped it in and started mixing. I wasn't totally mentally present, not paying 100% attention to the task at hand. However, I couldn't help but observe Man, it smells like garlic... (stir stir stir) ...maybe it's this spoon.. maybe it held on to something garlic-y... (stir stir stir)...it is REALLY strong though! And then it hit me. When I bought that damned olive oil, I mistakenly got the garlic flavored version. Ah crap.

Maybe it won't be noticeable enough to make a difference... I taste tested. So wrong! Oh my goodness it was AWFUL. I couldn't get that garlic chocolate taste out of my mouth to save my life. And to make matters worse, I had a huge bowl of the stuff just SITTING there! I had to walk away and regain my composure. I eventually made it back (clothes pin plugging my nose, I kid you not-- the whole kitchen reeked of garlic!) and scooped all that brownie batter into the garbage. Yuck. What a waste! Maybe once or twice a year do I encounter brownie batter and to waste it on garlic is just a shame.

You would think that I immediately took the garbage out to the dumpster, but you would be mistaken. It still sits in the can, and every time the lid flips open I am slapped in the face by the hand of garlic brownies once again. Another kitchen adventure for me. Aye carumba.

In other news: I'm getting cut! I have an insanely huge (20cm, ~8inches!) ovarian cyst (or that's what they're "assuming" anyway... ugh). So they're cutting me open and getting it out. Too big to be done laparoscopically which means I'm out of work for 4 weeks minimum, potentially 6! (but if I have anything to say about it, it will NOT be 6.) No driving for two weeks and I will probably never ever be able to run again which is high on the scale of unfortunate because while my running progress has been PAINFULLY SLOW, progress is progress and I am doing better now than I was a few months ago. While being sliced and diced is never an ideal activity, I have to admit how insanely fortunate I am. I have great medical insurance. I have an employer that won't fire me for needing 4 weeks off (they won't give me short term disability or FMLA... but they'll gladly let me use my vacation time or take an unpaid leave...) but the take home point is that I will have a JOB to go back to, for which I'm insanely grateful. I don't have kids or anybody that is dependent upon me for their daily care. I am not in school or anything that will take a hit from my insanely long recovery period. I will miss coaching and that does bum me out. But I think I'll be able to get to it quickly so long as I don't go chasing any stray balls or jump in a scrimmage.. hmm.
I'm also grateful for my family and the handful of friends I've got up here that are willing to jump and help out in whatever way they can. I'm seriously blessed. So while I'll admit being scared spitless for all this to go down, I totally recognize that I'm not doing it alone and there are some solid people who will walk beside me. Very very very grateful.
Shoutout to my parents who heard the news and dropped everything in their ridiculously busy lives to make plans to be here the day of and several days after I'm cut. They're kind of rockstar parents, but keep it quiet. I don't want them getting a big head. :)

DAYS!

Guess who got a straight days position?!? Ding ding!! I did! I am on my knees with gratefulness that it has FINALLY happened. I really thought it might never come! I'd be lying if I denied looking up jobs elsewhere with day positions immediately available. I never actually considered quitting, but definitely toyed with the idea during those painful 2am-5:30am stretches (let's be serious 5:30am on isn't exactly a parade either..).
Anyway, I have no idea when I'll actually start the 'straight days' part of it all, but to know it's coming is exactly the boost I needed to get me through nights. I have a bad feeling in my gut that straight days won't start until after the holidays. I go back to rotating days at the end of October, then back to nights mid December. I feel like I'll have to do that last rotation of nights before I can embrace daytime with a permanence I've longed for since I started working almost two and a half years ago. Hallelujah! (that's the hardest word in the world to remember how to spell).

A Series of Unfortunate Events

This week has been something else.

1) Sunday evening I went to plug in my phone so it could charge overnight. I was perplexed when it wouldn't charge. After trying several times in several different outlets, walking away and coming back to it five minutes later, and silently cursing at the darn thing, I finally surrendered and resolved to taking it to the Verizon store the next day. I walked there early Monday afternoon, as it was gorgeous weather and just over a mile away. The biggest question I wanted answered was 'is it my phone or the charger?' Go figure it was my phone. The charger port was broken. Of course my "best" option would be to upgrade and start a new 2 year contract. I said "No thank you," because my family who has so graciously kept me on the family plan is not feeling the upgrade and renewal vibe quite yet. That means I got to just buy a new (read: refurbished) phone. The cheapest option? A Motorola something for $90. Ouch. But I had no option. My current phone had two battery bars and no way of re-charging it. I signed my hard earned greenbacks away and looked forward to my new (to me) phone's arrival via FedEx the next day.

2) Tuesday morning my phone was DEAD. Not an ounce of life to it. I was kind of excited to not be always checking my phone and wondering if that soft buzz I heard was a text message or my mind playing tricks on me. I've been (assistant) coaching this high school team and I love it. This week the practices have been on the south side of the city, down by Boeing Field. The two JV coaches and I live fairly close to each other on the north side of the city so we carpooled. Tuesday, I drove to our carpool meet up point, parked, and left with the other coaches. We got back a good three to three and a half hours later and I walked to my car-- quickly as it was raining and it had been for the past three hours-- only to find that my car was not where I left it. WTF. I walked up and down the street a few times thinking "Open your eyes, Kristin, it HAS to be here!" Nay. No matter how much I wished it to reappear, my car was very much gone. Did I get towed?! Is it STOLEN?! NOW WHAT?!?! I felt the lump rising in my throat as panic set in. As if my missing automobile wasn't enough, I remembered my phone was dead. At times like these I call my dad because he knows what to do in most situations... or I call my mom who can somehow interpret my incomprehensible sobs in times of great turmoil and strife. I also considered calling Mr. Wonderful who lives in that neighborhood (but of course who was at work in Bellevue..) to see if he could piece together where in God's green earth my car might have wandered off to. No. None of those were possible. I was 3.5 miles from home so, I started walking. In hindsight, the walk was good because I had a lot of adrenaline and negative energy that needed to be released and the long walk helped. I got home maybe an hour later and was drenched, hungry, pissed off and defeated. I found Mr. Wonderful on Facebook chat and he told me I should call the police. I thought it sounded dramatic... that's for like car wrecks and robberies and stuff. He insisted-- I'd essentially been robbed of my car. There is a pay phone at the "BEER WINE" store across the street from my apartment. I somberly walked over with my laundry quarters and the small amount of dignity I had left and tried calling people. I tried calling my dad first but that damned payphone robbed me blind. What's worse is that I kept feeding it quarters thinking "This time it will work! It just needs warming up!" Seriously-- ALL of my laundry quarters-- gone. I called 9-1-1 and that was only successful because it's a free call. Lame. I told them all my information and the woman said, "Ma'am your car has been impounded." I was silent. (truthfully I was thinking 'what?! they took it to a junk yard?!' and then I remembered impounded=towed, not demolished.) I didn't know whether to be excited or pissed off. I was glad that it was (hopefully) intact somewhere, not being stripped down by hooligans then lit on fire. But I was so mad because someone towed my car for no reason. The 9-1-1 operator must have been reading my mind because she said "There is a note here that says 'driveway,' so that means it was parked too close to a driveway." "Really?! That's... crazy." I really try to not unleash my fury on the poor souls that answer phones because they're usually not directly involved with what ever caused my wrath. She told me the phone number of the towing place, I thanked her for her help (maybe half heartedly) and moped back to my apartment.
The whole morning I'd been wondering about my phone getting delivered that day. The nature of my apartment makes it impossible to get packages that require a signature (there's no front door buzzer... FedEx doesn't have keys to the front door.. it's ridiculous). I used Skype to call FedEx and ask "where is my package?" They said that it would be delivered by 3pm (at the time it was 2:30). I was pleasantly surprised that delivery hadn't been attempted yet and that it was a short wait period. I camped out at the front door and right at 3, the FedEx lady came. I could have hugged her. I needed to hug SOMEONE. I didn't though-- don't worry. I ran back to my apartment, eventually got the new phone (which btw is short and stout and ugly... not a big fan...) activated and started calling people.

a) Towing place: I learned it would cost me $170.22 to get my car back if I picked it up before midnight, and that they were open 24 hours a day and that they were kind of far away from where I live. Boo.
b) My dad: mostly to vent.

Well... I guess that's all the people I called. I talked to Mr. Wonderful online and he offered to take me to the towing place later. We had plans to have dinner with people in our small group at church and I was supposed to make a salad to take. After the day I had, I was so unmotivated to hoof it to the store in the rain to spend money I DON'T HAVE to make a salad. So I didn't. I laid down in my bed and I pouted. Not long after my pity party started, he showed up ready to go to dinner and I still was in sweat pants without any makeup or anything. He was so nice regardless of my ridiculous nature! I found a winner, folks. He talked me almost all the way out of my funk and we went to the store then dinner. Dinner was so great and exactly the distraction I needed. I had a great time and am so excited for my very slow growing social circle.

After dinner we drove to the towing place and I forked over the $170.22. While waiting I saw a sign on the wall about paying tickets. Man, that'd suck to get a ticket AND get towed! When the lady was giving my my paperwork she said (sympathetically, not mean) "And just to add insult to injury here is your ticket and information on contesting it." I could have thrown up. SERIOUSLY?! Speechless. I left, too exhausted to be actively mad anymore. I haven't looked at that paperwork since.. I probably should.

Anyway-- it was kind of a crappy day due to getting towed and being phone-less. However, I am really grateful for the people I've found here that are so quick to help and be supportive. It's actually quite exciting. The first six-ish months that I lived here were pretty lonely, and while I would hardly call myself a social butterfly, it's nice to have people that I know and who are enthusiastic to help when I need it.

It's only Thursday. I work Friday through Sunday and go back to nights on Tuesday. Pray for me, friends. As my attitude about my social life gets better and better, I've had a harder time being excited about work. Several factors play into that, but still. Night shift will not help anything at all.

And just so you know, parking within five feet of a driveway is apparently illegal in Seattle. For the record, I think that's the most BOGUS law ever-- five feet is almost a whole parking spot. Dislike. Major.