day 58: snatch

getting it feels so so good.

Today: an entire workout devoted to finding our 1RM snatch. I didn’t find that (Rick told me to take care of ol’ bessy aka my right scap/trap/clavicle) but I did find my snatch. What a feeling; so tight at the bottom I’m quivering, I explode like an atom bomb out of the ground and take flight, I’m weightless, for a pure split second so fast that I only know it’s happened if I find myself at the bottom, locked out. This is faith. This is belief. In my snatch I glimpse a mystery and a miracle.

Miracles are a retelling in small letters of the very same story which is written across the whole world in letters too large for some of us to see. — C.S. Lewis

I am often tempted to ask Rick whether he believes I have the potential to be something special. I crave validation. But I stop myself. Not only out of embarrassment; however much I covet affirmation I do not want to be one who constantly asks for it. I stop myself because I know that in Olympic lifting no one’s perception of me and no one’s vision for me will get that bar over my head. I have to throw the weight up. I have to pull myself down.

I can ask Rick how to do these things, and without him I would not be able to do them. But asking him or any other coach or any other person whether I can do these things is a waste of breath. I am the only one who can decide that.

And so I return to the subject of confidence. I found it with my snatch today. Now I must find it with everything else.

day 57: sharpening the tools

BTIW:

1. I took time to read the Bible readings for today, yesterday, and Monday.

2. I didn’t use the heaviest weight ever for my push presses, and I strung together 20 double unders.

TINTWO:

1. Communication

from AIME 1988 Problem 06

It is possible to place positive integers into the vacant twenty-one squares of the 5 times 5 square shown below so that the numbers in each row and column form arithmetic sequences. Find the number that must occupy the vacant square marked by the asterisk (*).

Continue reading

day 56: iron jaw

Though I was terribly busy “finding myself” this past weekend, I took some time to throw off my wimpy excuses and enjoy myself.

On Friday night I arrived at my hospital shift an hour early with nothing to do. I found my butter london fairy cake nail polish in my bookbag and so sprinkled a little bit of pixie dust on my fingers, glittering my nails with wishes to pull me through the long hours facing me.

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The polish did the trick; I was A&O until 0530 Saturday morning, and safely drove home along slick pre-dawn roads. I showered the ER filth off of me then tucked myself under the covers. At 1000 I gave my all to crawl out of bed but the four hours of rest I’d slumbered away hadn’t wiped out the 25 hours of wakefulness that preceded it. So, I collapsed back onto the mattress, all the wearier with guilt for missing Oly. Rick had scheduled a fun one: 80% snatch and 80% clean and jerk, every minute on the minute, ten minutes each. I’d like to think I dreamed about (and crushed) it. I can’t remember though.

I was conscious again at 1400, at which point I drove A to his coach’s party. My pride mounted as the miles ticked. He’s a great coach, and an even better person.

After leaving the driving range, I headed to Whole Foods for the activity that relaxes me most: grocery shopping. I wandered the aisles for a good hour and a half. I could not even remember the time pass, but it must have slipped away somewhere between the kale and the cream. I knew I was still tired when I could not understand what the cashier was saying. He had to ask me to sign about three times, and only then did my mind make sense of the first time he asked. Oh the silly things a night’s sleep lost can do.

The boom and I made barbeque turkey (cheaper than chicken) then headed off again to get A.

I then watched the Shawshank Redemption. Commercials and all. I think I was too tired, and maybe too stubborn, to turn it off. In any case, I got back to bed at midnight.

The next day I woke up a bit earlier and we went to NorthSide.

Aby left for deep tissue work, errands, and cleaning, so the boom and I walked to the dog park (see yesterday.) Bathtime commenced upon our return. Then the requisite nap.

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Then, meeting and forms (yuck.) But to close the evening, we watched Rowdy Ronda Rousey. She broke the choke and barred the arrrrrrrm. (I tried so hard to make it rhyme. It rhymed in my mind.)

Yesterday, we ran around like chickens. NorthSide; USPS; Trident; printer; Social Security office; Whole Foods (forgot boom’s carrots); BeanGood (bad coffee): NorthSide; until we settled down at home. A and I were partners during the WOD: 3 five minute AMRAPs

1. 200 m Sandbag run/continuous flutter kicks

2. 150 m row/15 slam balls

3. 10 single-armed kb overhead squats/10 pullups (ring rows for me)

I worked so hard and it was grand to slap hands as we finished each round. My favorite was how A winked at me when Bruce Lee told us each to grab a super-friend. He sauntered over like I was (a) his and (b) the only person he’d ever want. I usually feel I’m wearing an invisible-to-A-cloak around the gym and am never at ease asking him to be my partner; I don’t want to hold him back physically or socially. His display of camaraderie and affection nudged my heart into a smile.

On our last car-ride home (it might have been the second-to-last, to NorthSide…I can’t quite remember) I admitted to being a donkey all day. A said I never did apologize. I retorted that he always told me to stop saying I was sorry. He clarified and explained that I never apologize for things that are actually my fault.

Also, trying to rationalize and begin to forgive myself for (and thus move on from) my donkey-ness, I stated I was “sorry but usually I was pretty nice, wasn’t I? Everybody has bad days…” The last part is true. But A was hesitant to agree with the first part.

Twice I asked for affirmation. Twice I was denied. It takes an iron jaw to eat jabs like these. But I know it’s for the best.

Love is something more stern and splendid than mere kindness. — C.S. Lewis

 


 

BTIW:

1. I responded to incoming emails quickly

2. I cheesed after CrossFit

3. I wrote substantial posts back-to-back

4. I focused on the good times.

5. I found a mathematical argument for always giving my best

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day 55: halfway

Right at the borderline.

Sometimes smiles dry up like a desert in the heavy heat of an August sun. It’s hard to crack a grin when I don’t quite feel right, when “myself” Is just a little bit pale in my thoughts; in these times I can’t see her well enough to act like her.  My kindnesses are always a beat behind and my mean streaks a measure ahead.

Even in retrospect I’m not sure what made today so halfway: halfway bad, halfway stressful, halfway awful, halfway awkward.  It had all ingredients any day of pleasure requires. Perhaps I sprinkled in a bit too much sass, used an extra tablespoon of delicacy, or forgot the inevitable leavening of laughter; I know for sure I tripled the salt.

Today A and I gathered the forms I (mostly) prepared last night and readied them for our official name change.  I’ve been going by KT for eight months and six days, but still hadn’t gotten my act together to submit the paperwork.  I hadn’t even changed my address. I’m thrilled to be KT, but will miss the S a little bit.  I guess I just like to hang on to things.

Sometimes when I’m not feeling myself, I like to get by myself.  Oddly it’s also one of the only times I like to speak via the phone.  It’s a bit easier to pretend to be whomever I want to be when I don’t have a great attachment to who I am, so I can slip into and out of personae with strangers as easily as my rings slip onto my fingers when I’m appropriately chilly.  And it’s a bit easier to figure out where I am so I can find myself again when the people I love are tethered to me with wireless lines of radio waves.   But on these not-myself days when someone’s right there looking at my face looking at theirs, I get angry and irrational.  Mostly this is because they can see something’s wrong and if they care, they comment.  But whatever they say just sticks to me and makes me wonder why I can’t be myself.  Until I figure it out, it agitates me; if I do figure it out, it often frustrates me.

So, my friend, meet me halfway at least; don’t get mad at me. I’m probably plenty mad at myself already. Be quiet with me, make me laugh with a funny face and do a crazy dance but most of all be patient with me.  This is a lot to ask of a friend who’s just trying to help. So some days, I just need to be alone.  Even if for just a walk’s length of time.

BTIW: I went to the gym and gave my best for the day.

 


 

Boomer’s alone a lot during the day.  We play with her but other than us and the Magster, she doesn’t have any constant friends.  I took her to the dog park yesterday for the very first time. Renzo bounded up to meet her and sniffed her all over.  Boomer, sweet boomer, cowered a bit: tail tucked and head down and ears flat like a bunny’s.  Renzo went off to play with a lab to leave boomer to her exploring, off-leash on a brilliant February morning.  She scoped out the perimeter and located some birds returned from their warmer winters.  She peed a couple drops every few steps and she nosed an old tennis ball she found by the fence.  When a commotion arose at the top of the big hill, she perked up A&O (alert and oriented for you non-scribes reading this.) She couldn’t resist the bedlam; she raced to the bevy of pups and then they all started sprinting, around and around, each feeding off the others’ excitement to be fast and alive and free.

after the run

after the run

day 54: forms

Her Name was Name

by Matt Hart
I had a girl, I named her soap.
I had a soap, I named her cat.
One day I played the accordion on paper,
and it sounded like a birth certificate
drifting into the sun, a disintegration station
in a vast bewildered wilderness—
which sounds like a slide whistle at first
but later like the back porch flytrap I named
jungle. I have never before mentioned
these names in the airway, and neither has the girl
I named name ever faltered—
though the question of remains
in the hallway remains: Does one’s imagination
also disintegrate, or does it flutter forever
like a boa constrictor, circling the world
or a warthog? The warthog I named babe;
the boa constrictor I called pasture.
The last time I found myself ensnared
in the pastoral, I imagined a rope
and escaped by climbing up it.
Then I named it laminate, but I called it
overwhelming. Me and overwhelming
covered in skulls. One superhero
to another to another. I boiled a lobster,
I named it travel. I had an agent,
and I named her mob.
Then I took out the garbage
and went running with my dog
ostensibly to prove my existence,
if not also my purchase. I made a purchase,
I named it purpose. There is nothing so bright
as a toddler on fire. We don’t need no water…
I named the water deathstar.

 

BTIW

1. I bathed the boom and took a shower early
2. I’ve been really, really administrative-heavy. Really. I’m terrible at this. But I did it anyway.
3. Nap ftw!

 

My husband is beautiful.

#heart #trueblue #truelove

#heart #trueblue #truelove

day 52: waa waa waa waa

Would somebody call the waaaaambulance?

Okay. I’ll be straight with you (aka me). Straight as the Strait of Gibralter.

I’ve been a whiner this week.

I have a great job, a tolerable job, and a new job that will lead to an even better job that is probably my vocation aka a step toward the life is good motto: do what you like, like what you do.

aside: I think it’s funny that a motto has a motto
aside from aside: “What’s a motto?” “Nothing. What’s a motto with you?”

Frankly, I have three jobs, none of which I hate.

Bratwurst-ly, I am a member of Trident CrossFit.

Let’s-take-it-up-to-Wagyu-steaks-ly, I have a family I love and who loves me back. And God loves me. Freaking God, the coolest and only Trinity ever, loves me, the coolest and only KT ever.

And what have I been doing? “Waaaaaa I’m tired.” “Waaaaaa I want to work out.” “Waaaaaa I don’t want to teux deux.” “Waaaaaa this coffee is so hard to grind.” “Waaaaa I don’t have the muscle-to-fat ratio of Christmas Abbott/Andrea Ager/Lindsey B. Smith.” “Waaaaaaa I’m tired.” “Waaaaaaaa I’m tired.” “Waaaaaaaa I’m tired.”

Gross.


Things I’ve done to become BTIW:

1. no interference between blogging time and bed time yay!

2. shared my freshly-ground-the-minute-before-with-a-pint-of-elbow-grease coffee with workmates

3. spent more time working AIME math problems (so fun) than re-reading paleo recipes

4. convinced myself I was pretty for about ten minutes (eternity)


KT out

day 51: 1234

So, today I have not one, not two, not three, but (you guessed it) FOUR “better than I was”s to record. (Heretofore “better than I was”s will be denoted BTIWs.)

1. Not once did I glance at my phone while in the car with A

2. I spent more time coding than time browsing at work

3. I did NOT eat as soon as I walked in the door (bad habit breaking)

4. I rested before Oly and subsequently rocked my lifts (tanks MRCS!!!) (see sequence of posts last week for the full story)

Now that you’ve heard the song, you also know there’s a 569and10…

5. I had the most aggressive play session ever with boom–she was barking and talking and howling like a tornado as I danced around her and covered her with our parachute duvet

6. I got over my irrational intolerance of Tommy Tai for a moment (this is HUGE; he is a hand rubber and a slurper)

9. Pretty good time management

10. I sang on the way home from Oly. I sang a Christmas song. Chestnuts. My heart is happy.

day 50: beginning daily

hello

hello

After posts like yesterday’s, in which I untangle a knot that I’ve worked at and worried at, I find myself empty of words or thoughts that can hold their own. While the revelation is fresh in my mind and next on the page, it is hard to move on.

Writer’s block. Ticking clock. Whether my fingers can’t find letters to weave or I simply run out of day, I must respond to these in order to meet my goal of blogging-also-known-as-creating-and-recording every day. Thus I must always have something useful at hand, inspiring and unlabored.

So, each day I will become better than I was and I will record here. Dawn points to all hope of the day, but dusk requires the telling of its fruit.

Tonight’s tale: I played with boom for a solid 10 minutes when I arrived home before I opened the computer or opened the fridge.

goodnight

goodbye

day 49: a frog in cream

I skipped the gym today.

Instead I ate a cup of pesto, boomer’s carrots, leftovers meant for A, a lara bar, pumpkin pancakes, and cashew butter when I really should have taken a nap.

My binge was premeditated in the shadows of my thoughts. I allowed its possibility to cloud my disposition with general unease. Unable to hide it yesterday at Trident, Soccer Dad asked why I looked so tired, so sad, so lifeless. I excused myself by offering the fact that I was beginning a new job and the nerves were getting to me. Today on the way home I could not help but cry. A asked why; I explained I was so very tired and besides which TSwift was on the radio.

Neither reason is false, but neither captures the complexity nor construes the enormity of my spirit’s vertigo.

I am happy. I am so so incredibly happy. This happiness is intense and alive for 12 hours of my day. For the other 12, it is patted down and submits to its enemy and opposite: indifference. It has been my mission for the past two and a half years to break free of the confines of boredom into the harsh sunlight of a brilliant life, the chafing wind of moving fast and relentlessly and freely, the lulls and swells of a love which dances with the sea.


maggie and milly and molly and may


maggie and millie and molly and may
went down to the beach (to play one day)


and maggie discovered a shell that sang
so sweetly she couldn’t remember her troubles, and


millie befriended a stranded star
whose rays five languid fingers were;


and molly was chased by a horrible thing
which raced sideways while blowing bubbles: and


may came home with a smooth round stone
as small as a world and as large as alone.


For whatever we lose (like a you or a me)
it’s always ourselves we find in the sea.


— e.e.cummings

It scares me to live this way, in dogged pursuit of the world’s wonders and of my potential. When I tried to lived this way once, I was lonely. I was sick. I was obsessive and I was perfect and I was so goddam afraid. Physics terrified me. Running consumed me. Friends–I did not know what one was. Even God spoke to me in riddles I misinterpreted. The kind of life I thought I had, the kind of life for which my longing saturates every moment at the Rock: it makes me shake in my very soul. I doubt my ability to meet its constitutional demands without losing this person I’ve become; I generally like her and I usually care for her and I don’t want to lose her. But in my doubt I revert to the very person I was; she whom I worked to exhaustion without relief, she whom I punished with hate and she whom I deemed was never good enough.

From who I was to who I become, I transform in a manner only love can catalyze:

.

Being deeply loved by someone gives you strength, while loving someone deeply gives you courage. — Lao Tzu

.

Courage does not negate fear. But as A told me yesterday, we’ve got nothing to lose. No, not even a me. (Not even to the sea.)

The trouble is, it sits in me. It makes me ill, lounging there in the pit of my stomach. It throws me off-balance and nags when I don’t give it my mind. It wants me to subside in my current comforts so it can mount its attack from the front of boredom and regret. If I refuse to tread the path of least resistance, it launches guerilla warfare with achingly intimate knowledge of my vulnerabilities. How do I get past my fear, my destructive and debilitating fear?

It requires trust. It requires faith. These I am unable to adequately invest directly in myself; when all I seek is confidence, all I find are suspicions of my psyche. So, God, take my fears, take my worries. Take my love, take my hope. Guide my dreams, my thoughts, my words, my deeds. Continue to grant me Your comforts and Your wisdom. Please never cease to bless me with my family, Your sweet manna. Thank you for these channels of Your peace.

And when I tremble, tremble, tremble…help me to remember You.

1 From James, servant of God and of the Lord Jesus Christ. Greetings to the twelve tribes of the Dispersion.

2 My brothers, consider it a great joy when trials of many kinds come upon you,

3 for you well know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance, and

4 perseverance must complete its work so that you will become fully developed, complete, not deficient in any way.

5 Any of you who lacks wisdom must ask God, who gives to all generously and without scolding; it will be given.

6 But the prayer must be made with faith, and no trace of doubt, because a person who has doubts is like the waves thrown up in the sea by the buffeting of the wind.

7 That sort of person, in two minds,

8 inconsistent in every activity, must not expect to receive anything from the Lord.

9 It is right that the brother in humble circumstances should glory in being lifted up,

10 and the rich in being brought low. For the rich will last no longer than the wild flower;

11 the scorching sun comes up, and the grass withers, its flower falls, its beauty is lost. It is the same with the rich: in the middle of a busy life, the rich will wither.

12 Blessed is anyone who perseveres when trials come. Such a person is of proven worth and will win the prize of life, the crown that the Lord has promised to those who love him.

13 Never, when you are being put to the test, say, ‘God is tempting me’; God cannot be tempted by evil, and he does not put anybody to the test .

14 Everyone is put to the test by being attracted and seduced by that person’s own wrong desire.

15 Then the desire conceives and gives birth to sin, and when sin reaches full growth, it gives birth to death.

16 Make no mistake about this, my dear brothers:

17 all that is good, all that is perfect, is given us from above; it comes down from the Father of all light; with him there is no such thing as alteration, no shadow caused by change.

18 By his own choice he gave birth to us by the message of the truth so that we should be a sort of first-fruits of all his creation.

19 Remember this, my dear brothers: everyone should be quick to listen but slow to speak and slow to human anger;

20 God’s saving justice is never served by human anger;

21 so do away with all impurities and remnants of evil. Humbly welcome the Word which has been planted in you and can save your souls.

22 But you must do what the Word tells you and not just listen to it and deceive yourselves.

23 Anyone who listens to the Word and takes no action is like someone who looks at his own features in a mirror and,

24 once he has seen what he looks like, goes off and immediately forgets it.

25 But anyone who looks steadily at the perfect law of freedom and keeps to it — not listening and forgetting, but putting it into practice — will be blessed in every undertaking.

26 Nobody who fails to keep a tight rein on the tongue can claim to be religious; this is mere self-deception; that person’s religion is worthless.

27 Pure, unspoilt religion, in the eyes of God our Father, is this: coming to the help of orphans and widows in their hardships, and keeping oneself uncontaminated by the world.