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Posts tagged ‘health’

Healing up, slow and steady

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For reasons I likely can’t remember, I decided to only work on one project during my week of spring break. That meant that when I came back to school on Tuesday, I was buried in work. There were invoices to send. I worked four hours with colleagues writing a proposal for funding that would provide some excellent opportunities to our students. Plus, I was running around trying to figure out where a check went.

I got on campus at 7:30 a.m. I didn’t leave until a little after 5 p.m. Then I realized the rest of my week looked just as hectic (according to my antiquated day planner),  with appointments all week. Today that meant a 9:30 a.m. appointment to renew my driver’s license follow by some work at home, then a 1 p.m. appointment with the eye doctor to check out my contacts.

The DMV appointment went quick, if only because I had an appointment. I got in and out, even after they sent me the form with my name wrong (totally missing the hyphen, incredibly necessary for it to be there since my license is the one piece of identification I care about it being right on).

The eye appointment didn’t go as well. I lost one of my contacts last week after I rubbed my eye too hard. It disappeared somewhere in the produce department at Safeway. I wasn’t even going to try and find it. And I couldn’t see well enough out of that eye to bother looking. Know what’s fun? Driving home (less than a mile) with your left eye closed because your right eye is the only one you can see out of.

Tomorrow, I have a day full of work rewriting CSS and adding accessibility features to a website. On Friday, I go back to the sports medicine doctor to see how my arm is doing.

I’m a little iffy on how to really characterize it.

I’m still in pain. But it’s not that bad. The biggest thing is mobility. I’m still having some issues moving the left arm completely.

This is my right arm:

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This photo is the best I can do, but you’ll notice a couple things right off. My arm can extend straight. My wrist is aligned with the arm. I can fully extend, essentially 180 degrees.

This is my good arm. This is the arm I’ve been relying on for everything lately. I can’t lift myself up without it. At the Oakland Half Marathon my husband had to pull me up off the ground with this arm because I still couldn’t bare too much weight on my left arm. I’m calling this my “strong arm” lately.

Then there’s my T-Rex style left arm:

armupdate2

That’s not a huge dust bunny down there. That’s Cassie. She’s taken up Beau’s love of photo bombing my blog shots.

Notice a couple things here different? My wrist is slightly askew. I can’t align it properly with the rest of my arm without getting a bit of shooting pain up my inner wrist. My elbow is also more bent than on my right arm. It still feels vastly uncomfortable to bend it. It also feels uncomfortable to try to force it into a straight position.

I’ve been trying to get it more mobile than it was three weeks ago when I initially went in to see the doctor. He mentioned ordering physical therapy the last time I was in. I’m hoping to avoid that. I think it’s past the threshold set by the doctor initially. Then, I could barely bring it out in front of me. That’s part of the reason I went to see the doctor. I knew something was wrong.

The biggest problem is still the elbow-area, where the radial head is located. I still can’t put a lot of pressure on it. I’m also having some issues with lifting or moving things, even small items.

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I figured a visual would be better for an explanation of what type of pain I’m dealing with.

The red lines indicate the areas where I’m still getting shooting pain, which is essentially up my entire radius bone on both sides. The pain comes when I usually try to grab something or forget that my radial head is broken. The pain is just enough to shock me, but it doesn’t stick around. I’d like to think it’s just a reminder to me that I broke a bone and I need to slow down.

The blue rectangle shows my wrist area where I still have some general weakness. Essentially since I haven’t been using this arm all that much, everything I do with it feels foreign and just kind of wrong. I found my list of exercises from when I strained a thumb tendon shooting video that I’m using to increase the strength in that area. It still hurts, though. My grip isn’t very strong. If I’m carrying something, usually small, I hold it close to me because I’m unsure of myself.

The yellow circle is the worst and most uncomfortable of all of the pain, it indicates the area where the pain comes out once pressure is applied to the area, even slight pressure. It’s really hard not to put your arm down on a table or use it to support yourself when doing activities. Have I mentioned how hard it is to put on my running shoes with limited mobility? That elbow area is where I usually get the pain associated with that. Anytime I put pressure or increase pressure on that bone through activity, it hurts.

That’s the type of pain that actually sticks around for a bit. I’ve actually cancelled runs because the pain has become so bad I’ve taken to take an Ibuprofen, which is what I’m using for breakthrough pain.

What I’m not showing is my general mobility. My arm feels very stiff. I was warned around this. My doctor said normally when medical professionals treat these injuries, they put the arm in a sling for a couple weeks, then take it out so the patient can begin regular movement again. I’ve really struggled with that area.

Three weeks ago, I couldn’t lift my arm above my head. Even putting on a T-shirt was difficult. I couldn’t style my hair. I actually held off on dying my hair (I’m so gray without it, it’s ridiculous), for a couple weeks so my husband didn’t have to figure out how to help me. It’s not that bad now. In fact, I can lift my arm over my head, but it’s not a fluid motion.

So I’m getting better. It’s healing. But it’s happening fairly slow. I have an X-ray with my doctor’s visit on Friday. Then I’ll see just how my arm is doing.

Today’s the day when running cramps my style

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I’m not a fashionista by any stretch of the imagination. I live in comfortable jeans and T-shirts until I have to get dressed up to: 1) Do a presentation to ask for money/equipment/items related to my work. 2) Go to a wedding. 3) Go to a funeral. 4) Go on a fancy date to the ballet. In San Francisco. 5) Need more confidence than I have on any given day.

Needless to say, I don’t dress up much. Consider that good, if only because it means I don’t go to a lot of funerals.

And I haven’t been to a wedding in years. This year, I’m going to at least two.

So I don’t do “pretty” well. Laid-back? I do that well.

I’m not going to lie: When I work from home, I’m usually in my running clothes and a big sweater. Who am I going to dress up for? My dogs? If my code was sloppy my boss would care. If I haven’t done my hair? Not so much.

My husband once joked that it was good I got accepted into the journalism graduate school at Berkeley and not the program at Stanford because he didn’t see me fitting into the private university where everyone wore clothes more expensive than my car.

At J-School, I wore jeans and T-shirts almost every day. Except when I was working on my master’s project. If I was shooting video, I’d wear jeans. If not, I’d wear slacks and a nice shirt, even heels.

So today when I declared it “flip flop weather” and threw on my ridiculously durable Target sandals (I don’t wear flip flops anymore too much, I always seem to lose one on a street), I realized the dirty little secret that I’d been hiding since CIM was about to be exposed.

I have double back toenails. The one of my right foot isn’t nearly as bad as it once was. It can now pass for slightly normal.

The one on my left foot is another story. It won’t fall off. It’s not even loose. But it’s all colors of bloody-black rainbow in the world. And I bet if you got this far into this blog post, you’re probably glad I didn’t show it, though you can kind of see the nastiness poking out.

I had two options: 1) Find nude-colored nail polish and top it off. 2) Cover that sucker up.

I still wanted to wear sandals into Oakland/Emeryville/Richmond today. So I grabbed a Band-Aid (name-brand, yes, I’m fancy). And, really, who am I kidding? I’m not painting my nails. It’s only been since I stopped shooting video regularly that I can grow nails on my hands. I could care less about my feet.

So now I just look like an idiot who is wearing a Band-Aid over her toenail. At least I feel better about it.

I’m getting ready to head into the Bay Area today for packet pick-up for the Oakland Half Marathon. I’m even meeting my husband, who works in Richmond, for lunch in that neck of the woods. A trip to Ikea might happen. Or maybe UC Berkeley’s student store (I get a discount! Cal Alumni Life Member!). I’m not sure. I don’t drive in the area as much as I used to. I’m wearing contacts for the occasion, if only because I also declared it “sun glass wearing” weather. And I’m taking the sports car.

I’m totally pulling out all the stops today, to impress no one at all. Just because. Actually, it probably has something to do with confidence. And needing more of it. Maybe I should have pulled out the red patent heels instead.

The best kind of break

I’ve decided that I need to be more upset, at least for five seconds or so, about my arm being fractured.

So here’s my boo-hoo rant: Seriously? Do I need one more problem? Isn’t 2013 already screwed up enough? Isn’t my training cycle for the San Luis Obispo Marathon already damaged enough? Wasn’t it enough my gallbladder had to be removed eight days into the year? WHY? WHY IS THIS ALL HAPPENING? WHAT DOES IT MEAN?

End rant.

Now look at Beau.

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I don’t know about you, but I can’t be mad or annoyed when I see his little face. Actually, he’s not that little. He’s 70-pounds of dog that likes to plop down on top of me when he thinks I’ve slept in too long. He’s a good alarm clock that way. Lately he hangs with me in my home office when I’m coding websites.

When I get frustrated I sometimes say “ahhhhhhh!” really loud. He just kind of gives me this concerned look. Or this is his “I want your food” look. I’m not really sure. But if I offer him a Peep, he takes it. And he loves it.

That was his face when I got home from my trek to a nearby town for my appointment with an orthopedic specialist. Today, I got lucky, though, I got to see a sports medicine doctor.

Cue divine moment in medical center when the receptionist said: “You’ll need to go down to the sports medicine department, your doctor is based there.”

AHHHHHHHHH:::HEAVEN OPENING:::HARPS PLAYING:::BABY ANGELS CARRYING WELCOME SIGN FLYING BY

Why was that so exciting? Because I’d get to talk to someone who “gets it.” I had a feeling this would be fine.

An assistant pulls me into the inner sanctum of sports medicine and takes my blood pressure, which I’m happy to report is much lower than it was two days ago. I also weigh a pound less, good considering I started a very strict diet at the beginning of the week.

Same questions: Where does it hurt? How did you fall?

“I was running. I turned around to say something to my friend Jennie. I went down. Hard. I couldn’t hear out of my right ear for a couple minutes. Everything went black for a little while,” I said.

What I didn’t say, but wanted to: “Oh yeah, that was two weeks ago. I walked around like this for nearly two weeks before seeking medical treatment. I’m not that stupid usually. Even my students made fun of me for being that stupid. And my husband. My husband hasn’t let up on me for this bit of stupidity.”

In the room, she prepped a small table. My first thought was that they’d already decided I needed a cast. Panic took hold of me. I’m running a 10K tomorrow! I can’t have a cast! NOOOOOOOOO!

I waited nervously.

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Shaking my legs back and forth off the table like I did when I was younger at the doctor’s office.

There was a photo of the doctor in on his racing bike, wearing a number. He gets it, I kept thinking to myself. It will be OK.

When he came in, I recounted what happen and how stupid I was for not coming in sooner. He took measurements by degree of my left arm’s mobility. He compared them to my right arm.

Let’s just say this: If my right arm was operating at A-grade proficiency, my left arm would be getting a D. Maybe a D+ at best. Stupid failing arm.

Then he shocked me by saying something to the effect of “if you were to fracture a bone, this would be the best kind to have.” Apparently it’s also one that is easily missed. He showed me the X-ray. I didn’t see anything broken really. Just a faint black area on one film. Then a chip on another.

That stupid chip is what’s causing me so much pain?

Yes.

He would have recommended a sling for a week when it happened. Now? No sling. No wrapping. No compression. I was stunned. For real? I finally got a break? (God, I hate puns.)

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I have another appointment in three weeks where, as indicated above, I’ll get an X-ray on arrival and then proceed up to see the doctor. It’s still very much broken, but it’s one of those “it’s already healing” things too. That’s why it feels better and I can use it a lot more than I could a couple weeks ago.

When I threw the sling of agony in the backseat of my Jeep, I felt victorious. Then I tried to close my car door. And that hurt like hell.

Then I tried to open a store door while running errands. I probably shouldn’t do that either. There’s no sling or wrap, but the bone is still not 100 percent. It’s probably not even 50-percent fine.

I called my husband who said I was the “incredible healing woman” and then muttered something about being glad I was using our new health insurance so soon. The joke in our house is that I’m falling apart (as indicated by so many things lately), and he should trade me in for a new model. I told him we should have had one of those Tom Cruise/Katie Holmes agreements when we got married nearly five years ago. Something that said after five years he could exchange me if I started falling apart. I would have added on a clause saying the exchange would be tall, skinny and blonde. Because I care. I think I should have come with a warranty.

The best part about all of this? I didn’t have to prompt the doctor to ask if I could keep running. I had told him early in the appointment I was training for the SLO marathon.

He just told me I could.

“I was kind of doing that anyway,” I said.

He wasn’t even surprised. He didn’t turn away from writing my aftercare instructions.

See. He gets it.

‘Tell me where it hurts’

Remember when I was absolutely certain that I didn’t have a broken arm? It wasn’t swollen. It was starting to feel better. The advice nurse told me that it didn’t sound broken. To be fair, she also told me to follow up with a actual doctor’s appointment, but I didn’t bother for another week.

That appointment was today.

I had to twist my arm and basically show everyone “where it hurt” like I was a five years old and had a stomachache that wouldn’t go away. But in actuality, I kind of had to tell them a lot since it was so far after the fact.

I left the office thinking that it was exactly what everyone thought it was: a trauma-induced muscle strain.

At 6 p.m. my doctor told me and said it looked like there was a fracture.

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I’m officially broken.

There’s supposedly a hairline fracture in there somewhere in my radial bone. I’m being referred to an orthopedic doctor in Stockton at some point in the next few days. (See what happens when I can’t use one of my arms? I have crazy hair. Just absolutely a mess crazy hair. This isn’t even as bad as it was two weeks ago when all of this first happened. My husband had to do my hair. I’ll let you imagine just what that looked like. It was bad.)

So I need to apply ice, wrap it for compression and wear a sling. Then the orthopedic doctor can decide what, if anything, we can do to fix me.

For the record, I’m tired of needing to be fixed. I’m still tired of doctors. Today’s visit was with my third primary-care physician in eight months. I’m not feeling as anxious about this insurance change as I thought I would (we switched to Kaiser coverage with my husband at the beginning of February after four-plus years with a PPO), but I’m still annoyed.

I’m thinking I’m not as apprehensive because I’ve approached the last three months of my life with a “rip off the Band-Aid” quick rule. Make a break. Get away. Be done. Move on. And it’s working, outside of the fact I keep hurting myself and ending up in doctor’s offices where I have to explain everything that’s happened to me since October.

I feel like I’m in a group therapy session: “Hi, my name is Tara and I fell apart in October to the point that I was having nightmares about my coworkers at my full-time job killing me at my desk. I also cried and hyperventilated every time I thought of walking into that place of employment. In January they fired me via email, then let me resign, after I tried to go back to work but apparently became a problem. I’d devoted more than a decade to that company. And yet, when it all went down, I was just glad I didn’t have to walk through those doors again. I’m better now. My life is fuller now. I run a lot more now. My husband says I’m happier. The whole episode made my mom cry. I never wanted to make my mom cry. Questions?”

I think that’s the first time I put that out on my blog. Again, rip the Band-Aid quickly.

I know what you’re thinking: “OH MY GOD, SHE WENT CRAZY AND NOW SHE SAYS SHE’S FINE! CRAZY PEOPLE SAY THAT!”

In actuality, I’ve been off my anxiety medication since the moment I left that job. I haven’t had any issues with depression since then either. It’s taking a lot for me to write that, especially since there’s such a stigma around mental illness.

If I wasn’t better, I wouldn’t be making fun of it. If I wasn’t better, I wouldn’t be writing it.

Those who were supporting me feel as if it was limited to one particular place, over a period of time. If they knew then what they know now, a concerted effort would have been made to get me out of the situation I was in a lot sooner. I’m grateful for what I learned in the process of losing myself, then finding my way back, but it also made me very aware of the limited resources for dealing with these sorts of problems in my area.

Everybody tells you to “talk to someone.” No one tells you where to go next. It’s not like having a broken arm. You can’t splint it and send a patient on their way.

For months instead of telling someone where it hurt, I was telling someone (an incredibly good therapist) about all the stupid little things that scared me. For two weeks, I couldn’t even put gas in my car because I was so overwhelmed by the motions involved in it. I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted anymore. The nightmares were the worst. They manifested as terrors, feeling so real I was afraid to go to bed. When I went back to work the people who were in those nightmares were literally sitting right on top of me.

“This will make you a stronger person,” my running buddy and good friend Jennie once said to me. “Things like this happen for a reason.”

It has. It’s also made me very aware of the signs when someone is falling apart at the seams. I was falling apart. For months. There were people who saw me everyday, my family included, who could have helped. No one knew what to do. I needed an intervention. Instead, I had a breakdown.

I won’t even start on the fact that after four years and multiple emergency room visits it was only this year my medical providers caught my very sick, very angry gallbladder and removed it.

After all that, can you imagine how I feel about doctor’s offices?

But today went fine.

I got in. I had an X-ray. I went back to see the doctor. She prescribed me some extra-strength Ibuprofen. I filled out paperwork to transfer my oodles of medical records from as of late. Then I went home…only to get the call as I was getting dressed to run, all full of myself for NOT having a broken arm and being stupid enough to walk around with it for nearly two weeks.

That’s karma folks. It bites you right in the butt all the time.

I wanted to be upset, but I’m kind of just rolling with it.

Today, when the doctor’s assistant brought me back she told he she had to put me in the “vibrating room.” I looked at her suspiciously. But she was serious. The room sits above the engine room on the first floor. I would have shot video of everything vibrating, all the medical tools and what not, but I kept thinking the doctor would come in.

I did get this gem:

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I imagined how many people thought of being a superhero when they saw this drawer. I laughed, out loud, in the vibrating room while thinking about it.

I didn’t know my arm was broken when I left, but I still felt as if everything in the world was set right again after a good visit with the doctor. Even after getting the call and email from my new primary-care physician, I realized it could be a hell of a lot worse.

Right?

I’m rejoicing today because, unlike some things, a broken arm can so easily be fixed.

My dog ate my Garmin

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Apparently I left my Garmin too close to the edge of the kitchen counter last night. I came home to it on the floor with puppy teeth marks all over it. The band was ripped apart.

It looked a mess.

As much as I want to be upset about it, it’s my fault. I normally put this very prized possession in my home office. I was having problems taking it off last night (stupid arm) and just left it there. I guess I never went back downstairs last night. I didn’t even see it this morning when I was leaving for work.

So my puppy kind of mauled my Garmin.

The good news is that I had a leftover band set from when I sent a previous one in a couple years ago. I switched out the band. Then I tried to get rid of the nasty rough edges. My husband said it doesn’t look as bad as he thought it would. Plus, it seems to still work fine. The touch bezel isn’t malfunctioning or anything.

I’m assuming Cassie probably got mad at it more and more when it kept beeping.

My puppy has now attached my shoes and my Garmin. I guess that means she’s jealous of my running?

Side note: My arm is still pretty banged up. I’m having a hard time extending it completely. I was hoping it would feel much better last night and this morning, but it is giving me problems. I can’t lift anything. It’s even hard to open a bottle. I’m keeping compression around it and generally avoiding using it. So, I still have a bit of a T-Rex arm happening.

 

What I wish someone would have told me then

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Today I had a student come in and tell me she had to drop my class. It was heartbreaking. This wasn’t her first semester on the newspaper staff. I was sad to see her go, but understood her reasons. We talked about life and responsibility.

Today, I told her it was OK to fall apart. Today, I told her it didn’t matter what other people thought.

Today, I believed it.

“Fall apart. Just do it. It’s fine. Don’t feel bad about it, if you have to do it, just do it,” I said to her. “I learned more in the time I spent putting myself back together than I ever did holding it all together.”

Today, my words rang true.

Today, after that, I knew the decisions I’ve made didn’t break me. I knew the mantra “tough times don’t last, tough people do” was true. I knew that everything that happened was supposed to, from gallbladder surgeries to falling down on my run last week.

Because I’m happy. I’m surrounded by amazing people. I’m doing awesome work for someone I respect greatly. All because I finally walked away from something that was tearing me apart from the inside out.

Today, though, I wish someone would have told me it was OK to fall apart six months ago.

And so today, I came home and went for a run, bad little T-Rex style arm and all. And despite only getting four miles, today it felt amazing.

On expectation and reality

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I made a confession yesterday that I’m now feeling less anxious about saying out loud: I may not be ready to run the Rock ‘n’ Roll Pasadena Half Marathon this weekend.

I’ve been thinking it for weeks. I only started really feeling it and wanting to be open about it 14 hours ago.

I told myself I needed at least three 10-milers to be OK with this training cycle. I’ve done two. The first one was a horrible struggle. Less than halfway through I felt like keeling over and just dying. Or at least disappearing into the ground.

Over the weekend, I told myself I’d do another. Then I went wine tasting and was having an amazing day with friends when my now gallbladderless body decided to rebel against me majorly for the first time since my surgery.

I had a margarita with dinner out at a restaurant. I ate barbecue chicken, coleslaw, corn and a bunch of other things. Within twenty minutes of eating, I found myself in the bathroom and (sorry, this may be TMI) throwing up everything I’d eaten during the day. My body wasn’t having it. I felt horrible.

I put off Sunday’s run for as long as I could, until Sunday was over.

I worked from home on Monday, straight through lunch and into the afternoon. At about 2:30 p.m. I decided it was time to put out or get out, for lack of a better term.

I started running. I didn’t stop for 10 miles.

It wasn’t a horrible run. I hit my training thresholds. I just felt completely unprepared after.

Why? Because my training runs haven’t really been “training” runs lately. I haven’t used Gu. I haven’t paid attention to hydration. In fact, my biggest concern has been my abdominal comfort and not overdoing it too soon. I never expected to have emergency surgery to remove my gallbladder last month. Doctors didn’t even know what it was, after years of tests and a previous surgery, so there was no way I could have prepared for any of this in my training cycle.

I look back now and realize I was living with a ton of pain. When I woke up in the hospital after my surgery, I hurt like hell where they put holes in me. But I also remember feeling something I hadn’t for awhile: no underlying abdomen pain. I guess the human body can withstand certain thresholds of discomfort and even make them normal. My pain was normal for me.

My expectation after the surgery was that I’d be up and running in a matter of weeks. The reality has been a lot harder.

My husband asked if I could switch to the 10K. I kindly told him there was no 10K option, which would likely have been far for doable for me in my current state.

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Instead, I’ll be venturing down to Pasadena to try my luck against a four-hour window in which I have every reason to fail. My running buddy actually assured me that I couldn’t do worse than her since she hasn’t run over four miles in forever. I, somehow, do not feel better about this whole thing.

The problem with signing up for races too far in advance is that most people don’t know what happens between the moment you hit “register” and the  moment you are at the start line.

In a perfect world, you would be fully trained by the time the gun goes off. Many people are not. Those who are may or may not have skipped or skimped one or more of their runs. There are cramps, torn ligaments, strains and sprains that set training back. There are unexpected events, whether personal or physical.

“Life is full of setbacks,” one of my old Lululemon bags I now use for my lunch has written on it. “Success is determined by how you handle those setbacks.”

I can’t help but think that Pasadena will be a critical point for my personal and athletic setbacks. My last race was weeks before I went back to work in December. This is my first race since I put all of that crap behind me. My husband tells me to just put one foot in front of the other.

“I’ve never seen you quit a race,” he said.

He’s right. Even at mile 18 in the pouring-down-rain 2012 version of the California International Marathon, I kept going. Even when my feet where waterlogged and my soaked shoes were tearing up my feet (my black toenails are the result of all that fun now), I kept going. But that now seems like forever ago, even though it was only December.

It seems like another Tara. In many ways, it is. She had a gallbladder, for one. She also never missed a training run despite a bevy of personal issues keeping her from being around people, even talking to people in some cases.

I’ll admit, I’m a little scared to see what the trip to Pasadena, the run and the aftermath has in store for this new Tara.

This week

If I ever thought I’d have more time to myself after trading full-time employment for freelancing and a part-time job, I was crazy. This week has proved that I will likely not have any more free time, especially during my student’s production weeks.

My newspaper staff has nearly double this semester. I’m having to create spreadsheets and sign ups for lab and one-on-ones. It’s amazing and a little overwhelming. We held three stories this issue because we sold out on ads weeks before. Sold out. On ads. As in, we can’t take anymore because we have too much content.

That’s a great problem for a college newspaper. That’s a great problem for any newspaper.

So between freelancing and my students this week, I probably worked 50 hours. Meaning little time for running.

Here’s a look at what I’ve been doing:

SUNDAY

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Mega Super Bowl party day. With lots of food.

I’m not a fan of any specific football team. I appreciate a good game for a good game. So I was kind of bored the first half. But then, when it got interesting, I was invested. I love games that go down to the wire.

But really, I go to the party for the food.

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Oh hey pansit, where is your homeboy adobo? Oh, right next to you? Don’t mind if I do?

Wait… what’s that?

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Pulled pork! This photo doesn’t do it justice. My friend’s husband is a culinary genius with the pulled pork. But really, the potato salad up top was the amazing part. I didn’t know she made such a great potato salad. (I’m a bit of a potato salad aficionado, really.) I took home a ton of it too. And ate it for two days. I’m not even going to lie.

And I bet your Super Bowl party didn’t feature animals.

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Our friends live in the country. Sorry about the blur, Joleen the goat didn’t like the paparazzi.

WEDNESDAY

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We were still thinking of names for this little pup. Last night, we finally agreed on one: Cassiopeia.

We’re calling her Cassie for short. And her name fits our theme. We name our dogs after songs. Our oldest female is Sky Midnight Blue after Peter Gabriel’s Sky Blue. Our male is Hey Beau Diddley after the song Hey Bo Diddley.

Cassiopeia’s full name will be Winter Star Cassiopeia. If you love Third Eye Blind as much as I do, you know the line comes from the original version of Campfire, a song that made it to Ursa Major with a lot of tweaking. It was retitled Bonfire.

It’s appropriate, for many reasons.

These lines:

And there’s all these winter stars still flying

Cassiopeia

Everything’s changing now

And:

Into one thousand pieces

I had broke into over you

Nightshade will soon be gone

But I keep burning on and on and on

I’m a bigger fan of 3EB’s less popular tracks than the band’s big hits, including God of Wine. But this song seems appropriate as nearly everything in my life is changing now. And I really feel a connection to the “burning on and on and on” line right now. And lately? Into a thousand pieces I broke into over journalism. Very fitting.

I’m not sure what it says about me that my love for a band transcends all the years it’s been out of the mainstream. I’ve seen them three times in concert, most recently at a day-long music festival where I swear I was the only one singing every word to every song. The song I most wanted to hear that night? Campfire.

We toyed with Page, for Mumford and Son’s White Blank Page. I also offered up Storm for Mumford’s After the Storm.

I think my husband agreed on Cassiopeia because he didn’t want me to name any of our future children that. No kidding.

THURSDAY

I spent my morning clearing pages for my student’s first issue of the semester.

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It included a spread, the first ever since I’ve been adviser, on gun control. The stories were well reported. The editors did a fine job on this. It looks even better in person. I’m really proud of the work they did on this issue.

But Tuesday, it’s on to the next one. Always on to the next one.

FRIDAY

I had my worker’s compensation evaluation that I’d been dreading for months in the morning. I took my mom. I think if I hadn’t, I would have fallen into all those pieces all over again. She, at least, made me feel more comfortable as my heart sped up and I was forced to remember everything that led me to where I am right now.

The appointment lasted so long that my mom went with me to a dress fitting for my December bridesmaid duties.

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This was the first dress I tried on. They were all cute, but I think the bride now knows which one we’ll all be purchasing pretty soon here. On the list of things I didn’t know: Bridesmaid dresses take 10-12 weeks to get.

I knew wedding dresses took a long time, but wow.

Confession: I bought my wedding dresses at a bridal discount store in Roseville. To be fair, my sister bought it for me. I didn’t have a credit card that would charge the $500, so my mom put it on hers and my sister paid her back.

My whole wedding was planned on a similar modus operandi. It cost $15,000 at the end, but was paid for over three years of engagement. To be fair, I was only 24. All my savings were pumped into my wedding. I came out of it with a husband and no money left in a savings account that one had $8,000.

Would I do it differently now? Definitely. I’d go to Las Vegas. Just saying.

My husband, though, a couple months ago said our wedding day was one of the best of his life. That makes it all worth it, since he’s not a man of many sweet words.

This is the first time I’ve ever been a bridesmaid, so I’m learning a ton of stuff. (Jenn, if you are reading this, I promise not to mess this up.) Yesterday, the woman at the bridal store mentioned fabric swatches and making sure dye colors matched. I’m like: “Whoa, slow down.” And I know the decisions are even harder for the bride.

Planning a wedding is hard business. I’m extremely fortunate that my bride friend is a really down-to-earth woman with a great sense of humor and a love for life. She doesn’t even mind me sending her a ton of photos of me with awkward faces in dresses (Some of the colors were crazy!).

I treated my mom to lunch after at a sandwich place I love. So a not-so-great day actually turned out better. When I got home another friend came over and ate pizza and junk food with me.

TODAY

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After weeks of feeling as if my legs were going to fall off, I realized I should maybe switch out my shoes, especially with a half marathon next weekend.

I’ve had this pair of LunarEclipes in my closet for about four months. I bought them on deep sale for about $80, marked down from $140.

I ran five miles this morning in them.

And you know what? I needed new shoes.

I had little pain. My feet felt more supported. It was like running on cushions.

Anyone who tells you that you can run 400+ miles in a pair of shoes is an idiot. Seriously. I ran 600+ on my oldest pair of shoes. They sit next to the treadmill. Now I know they are only good for walking and housework. I should have known.

But I’m been trying to preserve my shoes for a bit longer and longer each time, if just to keep down the costs.

In January, Nike launched the LunarEclipse +3. It’s the same shoe, with new upper design. Now the +2’s are on sale for $79.16 at Road Runner Sports. I’m considering buying two pairs, which should get me through the year before I have to buy the more expensive +3s.

The best part of all of this is that I’m excited for my 10-mile run tomorrow morning. I haven’t said that in awhile. At five miles, I wanted to keep going, but I didn’t.

I’ve been avoiding the treadmill all week (I did run six outside this week), because of the pain my legs have been in.

So, if anything, take away this tidbit for the week: If you’re in pain, it’s likely your shoes. Change the shoes.

Making everyday recipes low fat

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I’m trying to really make better choices since my gallbladder removal, especially when it comes to consumption of many of my favorite foods. One that I love more than anything else? Cheese.

Cheese is always one of the things I told to consider cutting out completely.

The problem is that my husband can eat whatever he wants to. But I’m the one who cooks. So I have to make things for dinner that we both like.

As I was recuperating from surgery, I spent a lot of time on Pinterest. I don’t think I ever let my iPad go unless I was sleeping, which happened quite often as well. It was there I came across a recipe for a rolled chicken-bake like creation.

If you live near a Costco, you know the allure of a chicken bake. My husband loves them. I forgot to pin it, though, after I found it. So I tried to recreate it from memory, but with some low fat and fat free substitutes.

Ingredients

  • Two chicken breasts
  • 1 packet Hidden Valley Ranch dry mix
  • 1 cup low fat mozzarella cheese
  • 1 package fat free cream cheese
  • 1 cylinder pre-made pizza dough
  • Fat free cooking oil

Instructions

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1. Start by frying the chicken with a fat free cooking oil. Add 1/4 of the ranch mix for seasoning. Move the chicken off the stove, let cool down.

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2. Put the cream cheese and mozzarella into a bowl, mix in with 1/2 pack of the ranch dry mix. Set aside. Preheat oven at 400 degrees.

3. Open dough, spread out on a 13-by-9-inch pan in the shape of a rectangle.

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4. Mix the chicken into the cream cheese and mozzarella.

5. Spread the chicken mixture along the center of the dough.

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6. Roll the dough over the chicken mixture, making sure to pinch the ends so that the chicken mixture doesn’t come out.

7. Put roll in the oven for 20 minutes (this may change depending on the oven, my oven runs hot so it didn’t take 20 minutes).

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8. Let cool. Cut in slices and serve. The ends will likely be a little more bulked up, so you can either cut the loaf in half and split the two separate  pieces or cut in smaller slices, serving the two end pieces a little larger than the rest.

The verdict? My husband loved it. He’s planning on taking the rest of it to work tomorrow for lunch.

Plus, he didn’t really notice the difference in taste from regular to low fat.

I have a great recipe for homemade pizza crust that I have from a recipe book from one of our favorite wineries, I’m hoping to try it with as well. I think next time I won’t put so much of the dry ranch dressing into the cream cheese mixture (which is why I said only about 1/2 the packet), so that it doesn’t taste as “ranchy” as I thought it did.

I don’t know exact calories, but I know it doesn’t taste as dense as the Costco chicken bakes. In fact, it actually isn’t all that bad on my newly sensitive stomach.

The season for trimming down

January is the month when people take their resolutions far more seriously than they do any other month. I know. I’ve made and broken a lot of New Year’s resolutions in the first month of the year.

It’s also the year when big-box stores put all the workout equipment front and center. Plus, there are usually great deals to be had.

On Saturday, my husband and I visited our local Sears store. He needed to buy a nail gun so we could finish putting new baseboards in our bedroom, thereby finishing the epic master suite renovation of 2013. (We have nice vaulted ceilings which are great in general, but a pain to paint.) Our home is 20-years old and likely hasn’t been painted for the last 10, so the paint job was much needed.

My favorite part about Sears? The treadmills and workout stuff are right next to the tools.

That’s where I found a toning loop set for $11.37, tax included.

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It event comes with a workout DVD. I actually have a qualm with that. I’m spoiled maybe, but I’d rather not collect more DVDs in my house. I’m big on getting rid of clutter. I’m always throwing bags upon bags of stuff I consider garbage away. Can’t we get an Internet video link NordicTrack? Just saying. End rant.

I’ve been looking for a set of these to work my inner thighs and arms, places that often get neglected when I run.

So my husband bought a nail gun. I bought toning bands.

We completed two separate purchases, because I paid cash, and were talking the whole time my husband was in line before me.

“Do you know that man?” the associate asked me when I got up to the register.

“He’s my husband,” I said.

The associate gave me a funny look, then looked at my husband, then at me. Then he asked if I wanted to use Thomas’ reward card.

“Sure,” I said.

“Do you know his phone number,” the associate asked.

I wanted to say: “No, we’ve only been married for nearly five years and together 11, but I don’t know his phone number. In fact, I wouldn’t know what he looked like if he hadn’t have come to the house we jointly own for the first time last night just to introduce himself.”

I didn’t. But that’s the sort of thing that goes through my head when people ask me questions like that.

The biggest deal I saw with all the NordicTrack-related fitness gear was for a 3-in-1 roller set. I paid $45 for my Grid roller. I paid another $25 for my Stick roller. Then I paid $25 for my Tiger Tail, which is my favorite of the three. Altogether they cost me nearly $100.

Then I saw this:

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Shut up.

Sometimes I hate myself for over thinking things. Wow. I could have paid less than $30 for nearly all those things. They have this bad boy at Sears.com too. That set also includes an instructional DVD. (Or you can go to YouTube and search “foam roller” and find some iPad friendly tutorials.)

I actually checked out the rollers. They aren’t pool noodles. Add a little Duct Tape to those and you have yourself a not-so-fancy roller, but with not as much support as you’d probably get with a more expensive, not-homemade one.

Also on sale? Medicine balls. Weights. Jump ropes.

Lots of stuff to help you trim down.

I have to be honest: I only visit that area because in the likely decline of my treadmill, which will happen sooner rather than later, I’m hoping I know what to pick up immediately when I need to buy a new one. That said, I’m hoping my $800 NordicTrack has a few more years of life left in it, especially since I maintenance it myself now, lube and all.

True story: I used $500 I won in a graduate-school journalism competition toward my treadmill. Most people would have bought a video camera or something, especially me since I love shooting video. Nope. I bought a treadmill.