Archives for the month of: December, 2010

Loneliness of the Short-Distance Runner

December 30, 2010 //
2

I exercised for the first time in two weeks, swimming my eight laps at the Hyatt Regency Hotel in Montreal. I zigzagged kickboards and babies in floaties.

Exercise is my anti-depressant. Swimming made me feel great.

Since my basal cell surgery two weeks ago I’ve had to lay low. I don’t like that. The winter doldroms set in. My overall mood is down if I don’t exercise (or write!)

It is better for everyone if I work out (and write) a few times each a week. So the other night I considered running a 5K on New Year’s Day in Ticonderoga.

I still had a bunch of stitches on my chest (where the basal cell was removed) and was not supposed to exert myself. I didn’t want to pop a stitch like an overstuffed teddy bear (which is how I felt after eating and drinking my way through Christmas). I hesitated. I had a lot of housework to do.

I had to pack up my family after 10 days in the country. That’s at least as much work as running a marathon. I had a cappuccino (also an anti-depressant) and had an idea. 

“Kids, we’re going to have our own race — to the old school house. You could win! It’s a race against me!”

At my 15-minute mile pace, almost anyone could beat me! But my kids are lazy. Yes, they are lazy, lazy, lazy. And it’s my fault. I’ve spoiled them. They’d rather goof off on Facebook than run.

The girls did walk/run for the first five minutes then they turned around and slogged back to their computer screens. It wasn’t even cold.

I had a weird experience as I ran. There was no wind. Yet I heard a flapping near me, like someone snapping clean sheets while making a bed. I looked around. Nothing. Not a breeze. It happened again. I kind of wished I wasn’t alone so I could ask someone, “Did you hear that? Wasn’t that weird?”

The front runner is the lonely (and possibly delusional) runner.

I came back, declaring victory, like Rocky on the steps of Philadelphia. When you’re the only runner, chances are good you’re the big winner! But I received neither a medal or champagne. Instead, I made myself some more coffee and folded the laundry.

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Categories Fitness, running

The Mother of All Churches — Full of Surprises

December 30, 2010 //
0

At the Baton Rouge restaurant in Montreal, our waiter Sebastian was rattling off nearby tourist attractions. He said, “The big cathedral past Chinatown is very nice. Celine Dion was married there.” I’m not usually going to churches based on a celebrity endorsement, but what the heck, I was on vaction.

We walked up the hill towards Old Montreal. The church was full of surprises – the first of which was the cost – $5 for adults and $4 for kids just to enter. $22 later, I was hoping that it was worth it.

It was worth it. The church was a riot of color and as pretty as rainbow sherbet. I was in love with the light of the ceiling and altar — a Robin’s Egg blue.

We joined the English-speaking tour group. We heard about Montreal’s origins -  to convert the heathens.

The next big surprise was the chapel. I imagined more of the same — a Neo Gothic church/wedding cake — frills, curliecues and gold stars. Not at all.

Walking into this chapel, the woman behind me gasped. It was full of light.

The massive bronze altar sculpture showed three archways representing childhood, middle age and old age (death). It was not all crucifex-y and literal like some churches. It was symbolic –The symbols

of the trinity were a sun, a dove and a kind, smiling man. It was all bright and yellow (almost as pretty as the Louise Nevelson church, one of my faves!)

The artist of the Sacré-Coeur chapel for Notre-Dame Basilica, Charles Daudelin (aka ’genius’) created this masterpiece after a fire in 1978 destroyed the Gothic chapel. So there’s an inspiring lesson:

Sometimes a devastating turn of events can lead to some great modern art.

I dug the nativity scene in the modern chapel because the women figured so prominently. This was the church of Mary and I do appreciate churches that celebrate women.

The tour ended and my daughters got in a fight. See, to light a candle and make a prayer, you had to pay a dollar. I only had one single. I gave the dollar to Charlotte and told her to “Share a prayer. Or light two candles. It doesn’t matter.” But Catherine felt if we lit two candles, “We’d be lying in a CHURCH!”

Charlotte eventually resolved the bickering by telling Catherine that she’d put two dollars in the collection box. Catherine was appeased and lit her candle. Then Charlotte told her twin she had been lying and she’d only put in one dollar. The fighting began again.

I told the girls that this is part of the history of Christianity. “I think the Holy Wars were fought over this. The Reformation was about not having to pay to pray.” I told them, ”God hears the prayers of the poor as equally as the prayers of the rich.” They didn’t care. They just wanted to light their damn candles.

This is how sibling rivalry goes. They ebb, they flow. They lie, they fight. They pray. They light a candle. They’re hungry and they want to leave this stupid place. I, meanwhile, enjoyed this church very much.

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Categories Christianity, Rules To Live By

Off the Grid

December 27, 2010 //
0

On Christmas Eve day and Christmas Day, I unplugged.

Time off the grid was not boring. I had good food, good times with family – card games and board games. We played Crazy Eights, Headbanz, Funglish, Backgammon, and Taboo. We went outside and cut down a tree. We decorated the tree. We went caroling. We ate, we drank, we laughed.

I did not check email, Facebook, Twitter at all. Oh, noble me. But I made one mistake — I checked my voicemail. I wondered if one of my brothers or parents had called. No, instead there was a phone message from Elizabeth, the funny nurse at the dermatologist’s office. She said the last biopsy was fine, but that I had Grover’s Disease. She said, “It’s just a minor skin irritation that seems to strike old Italian men and you and me.” (I told you she was funny.)

How would I know how “minor” this skin irritation was if I couldn’t Google it? I wondered what Wikipedia had to say.

It was one thing not to update my Facebook status (‘I am making bacon for breakfast’), but quite another not to be able to peruse medical journals and find a cure for this disease that — who knows, could potentially ravish me in an instant? Why call it a disease if it wasn’t serious? I had a very good reason to search the world wide web. But noble me, I did not. I shrugged. What could I do about it any way?

I made a joke at the dinner table, “I just learned that I have Grover’s Disease. It sounds like something you get at Sesame Street.” My sister in law said, “You’ll soon be turning blue and furry.” Funny. (I know a lot of funny women!)

Well, my two days off the grid passed. I got on line. The first thing I did was check Grover’s Disease at Wikipedia. Indeed, it’s an uninteresting and very minor skin irritation. Thank God I did not ruin my social media and internet sabbath to learn that. Sometimes it’s just better not to know.

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Categories Blogging, Writing

The Hunted and the Hunter Mind

December 20, 2010 //
1

From my desk at work, I watch the hawk of Riverside Church dive bomb a flock of pigeons. It is impossible not to watch, like a car wreck at the side of the road. It is thrilling.

I imagine the rush of excitement as the pigeons circle and escape. I imagine the hunger of the hawk. I stare and hope for something dramatic to happen. I have never seen the kill. But occasionally — oh, this is rich — I see a blizzard of white feathers rain outside of my window. Joseph Conrad summed it up well, “The horror, the horror.”

My window to Riverside Church is like my internet screen. I watch and wait for something delicious to happen. I am a passive watcher, a vicarious hawk or pigeon. I imagine my escape or my hunger.

But the internet is just a window into life. It is not life. I am not a primordial being — panting, fluttering, escaping. I am a creature of reason, contemplative and kind. I make eye contact with my fellow human beings.

Life happens, not in the spires of the Gothic church with wings and flapping, but down below where mortals dwell, where smiles are exchanged and pleasantries murmured.

Dan Licardo inspired this post with a Facebook post about the hawk of Riverside Church.

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Categories Blogging, Writing

Pass the Hatchet

December 18, 2010 //
3

I arrived around noon to a trendy and full waiting room. A few people my age and a couple of older women with bandages on their faces sat staring into space. In the trendiest of neighborhoods, West Broadway and Spring in SoHo, my dermatological surgeon, Dr. Dacko slices, snips and sews.

I went into an exam room. My chest area, around where you wear a long necklace, was numbed. We waited. Then the carcinoma was cut out while we chatted about the ubiquitous nature of cell phones (because I had to charge my phone in the surgeon’s office). Dr. Dacko is young, pretty, friendly. So is the RN Elizabeth.

Dr. Dacko said “Now, about the recovery, you’re not allowed to chop down any trees.”

“That’s funny,” I said, “Because that’s what my family does on Christmas. We chop down our own tree. This year, I’ll pass the hatchet.” (ha ha, we all laughed!)

Then Elizabeth told me as she bandaged the big gaping hole, “Okay, you can go out for lunch now. Come back in an hour and we’ll see if we have to cut more. If not, we’ll stitch you up.”

I felt confused. Here I was in the middle of surgery and I’m told to go out to lunch?!! True, the office is an awesome neighborhood. Okay. Well, I did have good idea — Christmas shop and manicure. I hopped up, but then, yes, felt a little whoozy. So I sat down again for a few minutes until the dizziness passed.

Then I was out on the sidewalk with the vendors, the hip Europeans, and the people who lunch. I got to the Paul Frank Store and the Sur La Table store and even visited a 2nd floor manicure salon east of Broadway for some frosty blue polish.

Back at Dr. Dacko’s office, I was told they got it all and they stitched me up (although they biopsied another area too.) The feeling of getting stitches in your chest was weird — like someone pulling on the lapels of your jacket, only I wasn’t wearing a jacket.

I have to report that I felt a bit sorry for myself last night. I didn’t feel that the kids and Chris coddled me enough at all. While it’s true in the middle of my surgery, I was shopping and pampering myself in SoHo, I still felt someone should’ve felt my forehead and said, “Poor baby. Don’t worry. You’re going to be okay.”

I considered posting a picture of my chest and the stitches on this blog, but it looks pretty yucky! It will heal.

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Categories Fitness

what matters most

December 17, 2010 //
0

When I was writing for the business school at Pace University, I interviewed a professor (whose name I don’t remember) about time, happiness and pay.

The professor said her research had shown, “The more money an executive made, the happier the person was with his or her job.” This surprised me.

I wasn’t making much at Pace, but I was happy. I worked for brilliant women. We worked hard, but had flexibility, creativity and purpose. After viewing this video (or animated chart), I feel affirmed. I am right. It is more than money that motivates people at work.

It is probably true that with higher pay comes more autonomy, mastery and pupose. These are key.

Thanks to NYCityMama for reminding me — that people need more than pay to be happy at work. Check out the funny video at the bottom of her post from RSA.org. http://t.co/dkJhjht

That being said, I do hope I get a raise this year. Last year we all did without.

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Categories Blogging, Writing

My basal cell

December 16, 2010 //
2

Since this blog, Running Aground, is not just about running, but about health, fitness, food, let me share my latest not-so-great health news. I have basal cell carcinoma.

Last week, I went for my yearly dermatological exam. I had noticed a nice brown age spot right on my eyelid where I smear a nice brown eye shadow. That, of course, is nothing. This — on my chest — appeared nothing to me. But the Physician Assistant froze off 3 little things and biopsied 2. One of which was this little pink dot on my chest.

Ms. Choe, the PA, said, as she sliced it off, “I think this is basal cell.” And lo and behold, it is. Doctors and physicians assistants, they are so dang smart. They know what they’re doing.

I do feel I brought this on myself. I love being outdoors. I often bypass the sunscreen. Too busy. After I practically have to tackle my kids to get them to wear it, I’m exhausted from the effort and I ignore myself. (Yes, that’s right. I’ve found a way to blame my children for my skin cancer.) But it’s kind of like a smoker and lung cancer. I can’t pretend I didn’t know this was possible. I have known, pretty much my whole life, I should be more careful.

I am fair with blonde hair, blue eyes. It’s common. My mom had this. I am a perfect candidate. I think 3 out of 10 white people get this. It’s totally manageable and curable. But Mom says it’s a trauma to the system, not invasive, but traumatic. She  says I should lay low for a few days after the surgery tomorrow. Sure, right, that’ll happen. (I have parties and theater to attend!)

But I am going to start wearing more (some) sunscreen, because now I realize that I’m not immortal after all. I’m frickin’ ageing and I’m not all that happy about it.

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Categories Fitness

On the way

December 10, 2010 //
0

image

I was heading to Hayden’s Swim Meet. I passed a line of people waiting patiently for sandwiches to be given out from a makeshift cardboard stand. There were about a dozen people warming their hands in their pockets. They could’ve been in a photo from the Depression, but, this is 2010, a cold December afternoon.

The church looked lit from within. I asked the (Latina?) woman who seemed to be in charge, “Can I go in?”

“Sure,” she said. She walked up the steps and opened the door for me. I am always grateful when someone opens the church door for me, especially this woman who seemed to have more important things to do — distribute sandwiches.

I sat in the church. I just sat. I looked up at the blue walls. I like blue walls. That’s all.

Then I heard clicking behind me. Ah, I thought, the proverbial church mouse. I looked around.

It was a woman at a computer keyboard behind a glass wall. The church office was sectioned-off in the back of the sanctuary.

As I walked out, she and I smiled at each other. I kind of wondered what was an office doing in a church. Maybe she wondered what I was doing, staring at the walls. Then I wondered if it would be impolite to take a picture of the people standing in the sandwich line. But I didn’t have to decide. The line had disappeared. All of the sandwiches must’ve been distributed.

I went to the Swim Meet.

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Categories Christianity, Rules To Live By

Does social media grow your soul?

December 2, 2010 //
2

Last week at the Park Avenue Armory, I heard William Powers talk about his book, “Hamlet’s Blackberry.”

Because of his talk, I’ve stopped checking my smart phone first thing in the morning. And I love communing with my phone. A year ago, I wrote a Dear John letter to my last phone — we were forced to separate because of the IT department’s recall http://mbcoudal.wordpress.com/2009/12/21/good-bye-old-phone/

Powers said, basically, with all our digital media we’re no longer going deep. All our connectedness is causing us to lose our solitude which is necessary for entering into a deep and meaningful life.

“As we entered the media age, the tools mattered as much as the content ..the practical benefits have become easier, but the spiritual benefits?..Does it grow your soul? as Kurt Vonnegut asked.”

Powers asked, “Does the digital media help us become the person we were meant to be? I don’t want to live in a world that’s as busy as the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade.”

As Powers was talking, I was taking notes on my smart phone. I was sitting in the front and worried he noticed me thumbing on my phone. I felt guilty, hoping he didn’t think I was texting or goofing off while he was talking. No, I use my phone to take notes.  I hope Powers would approve. He’s no Luddite. He seems to appreciate the gifts of technology. But he just kept asking whether social media’s overuse is interfering with our ability to create a good life. And it’s worth talking (or blogging) about.

He noted that when he and his wife and son were going to have family time, a syndrome, “the vanishing family trick,” developed. People peeled off to check their computers. Rather than gaining family time, because of their connected life, they were losing it. Their thoughts and time together skated the surface.

But the family emerged from their digital fog by creating an internet sabbbath. Over the weekends, the Powers family no longer permit themselves to use social media. They allow themselves to use their cell phones which are not smart phones. They can work on the computer, just not the internet. If they desperately need the internet, they can go to their local library. They have regained eye contact, the art of conversation, and the gap time necessary to grow their souls.

So the next night at dinner, I talked to my kids about the internet sabbath idea (and the problem of Xbox overuse!).

How can we cut down on our social media? How can we be together without screens?  The conversation is ongoing. We decided when we are away from the city, we can really be away from social media too. And on weekends, we too can try a morning or day of sabbath. It is worth a try.

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Categories Blogging, Writing
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