Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Lawsuit?

After writing my last post about my near death experience with the foam roll, I'm thinking, hey, where was my product warning? I mean, think of all the warnings on packages these days. One of my favorites is on Papa Murphy's pizza cooking directions. First they tell you to remove the plastic wrap before putting it in the oven. Really? All these years and I just thought that their cheese was kind of extra glossy. And there is some product that you cook in an oven on a pan and they warn you that after 30 minutes at over 400 degrees, CAREFUL!! The pan WILL be hot. Thanks. I think the Foam Roll company has been a bit nonchalant with their responsibilities here. Sure, the solid piece of cylindrical foam looks benign, but I think we all know that is just a facade. It is clearly dangerous. Something should be printed on each piece of equipment- something like: WARNING: Using the Foam Roll while wearing a hooded sweatshirt could result in asphixiation and certain death. Please dress appropriately and use under proper supervision at all times. Who am I kidding- I'm sure it is on there. But if it's not, I am calling my lawyer. I am owed. Big time.

Workouts gone wrong

Ok, so I think we all have workouts that go a little wrong....like that time I did the body pump class at the Y in a pair of dark work socks because I had forgotten gym shoes, or the runs that feel off from the first step out the front door. But then there are the workouts that come close to severe bodily harm.

For example:

Last night I dug the old Foam Roll (capitalized because it is indeed the trademarked name...) in order to try to work some knots out of my shoulders. I'm going to insert a picture of this particularly benign looking piece of equipment so you can see what I'm talking about.
The trick to undo shoulder knots is to lay down with the Foam Roll beneath your upper back. You then lift your hips off the ground and gently roll back and forth on the FR, usually experiencing some nice release in tense muscles. Only last night I was wearing a hooded sweatshirt. And when I rolled one way I rolled that damn hood right up under the FR, neatly cutting off my supply of oxygen to my brain. Now, you may be thinking, why didn't you just roll back? Well, I could have thought that thought too if I hadn't been working with an oxygen deprived brain. Luckily I had enough wits about me to reach up and unzip my sweatshirt, thus saving myself from certain disaster. I am lucky I was not wearing a pullover. Jon chuckled away when I related my experience and said, "Kind of reminds me of a treadmill story..."
Of course, he wasn't talking about a run-in he had with a treadmill. He was talking about me. I know that I have told this story often, but I don't believe it has been committed to paper for posterity. Ok. It's January, quite a few years back, and I am a new user of the Midway Y's cardio room. A few weeks earlier a friend had talked me through the directions for all of the machines, and so here I was going for a nice slow run on this dread mill. Now, I far prefer to get my exercise outside and love to cross country ski. But this day must not have been skiable, so inside I was. I had my new MP3 player strapped to my arm and was trying to forward through a few of the 13 songs that particular model held, but I was not getting to the song I needed to hear. After a few more moments of struggling I realized that the thing was strapped on upside down. So I took my eyes off the prize and started messing around with my armband, while continuing to run.... Somehow I tripped up and went flying off the back of the treadmill. Landing in a heap behind it. Because I am always cool and nonchalant, I took that moment there huddled on the ground in a heap to make the necessary adjustment to my MP3 thing. Like I had planned on that dismount all along. Then I took a sneaky look around. Now the little cardio room was PACKED because it was shortly after the new year and people had not yet given up on their resolutions. And I had been in the front row of machines. But no one behind me was even snickering. They were all staring forward, continuing with their workouts as if this happened everyday. So I got up, brushed myself off, and stepped back on. To the back end of the moving treadmill. I think I got two steps in before I was thrown off again. Landed in the same heap. Looked around slyly. No one was even looking the slightest bit amused. I could not believe it. This time I got up and mounted on the side, firmly grabbed both side rails, then air-ran above the treadmill for a few seconds before cautiously lowering down into contact. And this time I made it until the clock ticked down. Upon completion I looked down at the treadmill below my feet and saw a streak of blood was painted right down the middle of the tread, destined to circle away for years- a constant reminder to anyone who followed me to keep their eyes forward and concentrate on what they are doing.
I had two nice stripes of 'rug burn' from knee to ankle, one on each leg. Let me tell you that it was lucky I was home alone when I took a shower! I howled. Dang. I can't believe how many times I have told my kids that a skinned knee will only hurt for a second. I was crippled for at least a week. I have returned to the dreadmill since, still don't like it, but have managed to stay upright until my ride comes to a complete stop.
This is probably the place where I should mention the weight room and a friend and a medicine ball and me and a wall. A mirrored wall at that. But I won't. Suffice it to say that for that episode all the fellow lifters pretended not to notice, but because I was blocking their view of themselves in the mirror, I did see a few smirky grins at the corner of mouths. But no eye contact. I like this about the old Midway Y. The people there try their hardest to help you keep your self respect. It takes some effort on their part and I do keep testing them, but they seem up for the challenge.
As I think about these problems I have, I have to note that I seem to have inherited these tendancies directly from my parents. My dad has had a number of classy bike wipeouts, but Jean is the one who has had the more spectacular incidents. I will quickly relate two that I remember:
Once while biking with a bunch of pals she somehow got her pedals connected with someone else- they were able to separate but Jean careened right off of the bike path and into a bog. She sunk quite a ways. For the record, my dad, although he did indeed grow up as a Midway Y member, could not keep a straight face. He chuckled away. I think he chuckled for the rest of that bike ride.
The second incident involves a water park. And me as a angsty teen. We went down one of those longish innertube rides and when the family plunked into the wading pool at the bottom, one after the other, us kids were HORRIFIED to note that the ride had somehow completely ripped open the back of my mom's swim suit. I don't know if we told her, or if she felt the surprising breeze on her back side. And the thing was, her towel was back at the top of the slide. Mine was more wisely stashed at the bottom. But I did not lend it to her. I needed it to put it over my head to hide my shame! If memory serves me correctly we made that poor woman sashay awkwardly back to the top in order to reclaim her towel so that she could cover up. Mom, I'm sorry. I do hope Eli and Theo have a little more compassion, because it appears as if they will need it.

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Ode to a Fourth Grade Teacher

I am not a poet, but I wish I was. I would sit right down and write an ode to Eli's fourth grade teacher. That woman is a wonder. I get the pleasure of volunteering for an hour a week with a group of 6 fourth grade boys. And believe me it is a pleasure. I would have never guessed. My job is to facilitate a book club, but my role is really to observe and be amused. The boys each have a role to play and preparations to make and they do it and it is fabulous. The conversation amuses and delights me to no end. I love this new lingo they use when talking about books- making text to world connections or text to self connections or whatever. Today we were having a rather wide-ranging discussion about the book Shiloh. The discussion leader had asked the question, 'Does Judd treat his dogs fairly'. The boys dug into that word fairly and picked it apart. I loved watching one of them gnaw on something another had said and then his face would light up and he would spurt: "I made a text to world connection..." and then share that connection. They were making so many connections they got into using a sort of short hand: "I made a T-T-M". And while I would sit there trying to puzzle out what T-T-M stood for, they would barrel off down a path about talking how the book relates to slavery and Jim Crow laws. Wow. And the teacher sidles by and stands behind them and watches and she's glowing too. And the thing is, I don't think discussions like these are the exception- this is the rule in her classroom. She has given this crew the tools to dig into these issues and then she lets them roll. She has created space where the expectation is that they will think and they will think hard, and better yet, they will enjoy it. And these boys do. Fourth grade boys. Love it. Love her. I hate to think of Eli moving on next year after being with this teacher for two years. But my hope is that Theo will get to slide right in. Maybe by the time he is moving on I will have figured out all the shorthand they use- I'm still puzzling over T-T-M.

Monday, November 23, 2009

Black and White

The other day while I was driving somewhere I had Theo in the backseat. He was talking. A lot. Apparently he was fed up with the injustice in the world and needed some time to vent. He's seven. Here is his monologue:
Mom, have you ever thought about what would happen if all the humans on earth just started eating way too much meat? I mean think about! We could all die! Because if we ate too much meat we would eat all the animals and then there would not be enough protien and we would all die.
Have you thought about that?
No. Not really.
Well, I just see the world a little differently than everyone else. I just see differently.
Agreed.
I mean, I was at DuNord and I was laying on the dock looking in the water and I saw a fish, and I just saw it differently. I mean, like the fish is just like me, but a fish, and I don't want him to eat me, so why should I eat him? So I just eat a little bit of fish. Not too much.
Makes me wonder if he would mind if a fish ate just a little bit of him...
I guess I am thinking about all this because I was playing with the neighbors and one of them mentioned that they love McDonalds. Do you know what I call McDonalds? McMurder! That's what! And BurgerKing in MurderKing!! White Castle is.....is....Death Castle!
It was here that I was wondering how he was going to get out of this...we don't eat at these places often, but in the past he has declared quite a taste for the old White Castle slider....but then:
Well, I guess Death Castle maybe could just be White Castle because their burgers are so small! They don't use up as much meat! But McMurder for sure.
Clever loophole the child created for himself. But wait, now he has segwayed to a different topic:
And trees! I am just never going to cut down a tree again! I mean people could use other stuff to build houses and furniture and stuff. Like trees that have already fallen down....and driftwood!! There's lots of driftwood. Have you ever thought of that?
I giggle a little about the image of a driftwood house. It has some advantages- it would be lightweight? At this point we park. Next to a telephone pole....
Take this telephone pole for example!!! It doesn't have to be made from a cut down tree! It could just be a planted alive tree. Just stick your street light on it and put some wires attached to it!!
By this time he is all but beating his chest and ripping off his shirt, his ire is so riled. Luckily we had arrived at our destination- a friend's house. He walked to the door still mumbling about trees and the stupidity of humans, then was immediately whisked into a fast paced game of Uno and forgot his passionate tirade. For the moment.

This whole speech made me chuckle, but also got me a little nervous. I mean, we do express our opinions around Eli and Theo, but we try not to indoctrinate. We hope they draw their own conclusions. And Theo has, but the severity of them is a little too much. Of a mirror? Maybe we should tone down the political discussions around the dinner table. For the record, I have never called McDonalds McMurder. I do like Death Castle however, and may start using that one.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

Blue sky

It has been a hard fall. I admit that September was glorious with opportunities to bike everywhere in unseasonably warm weather. But October came in wet and dark. In a matter of weeks we had lost two lovely men- both named Lowell- to cancer. Saying goodbye to these two fabulously kind, generous men made the sky over us lower and darken. It seemed like every day was wet and dark and tinged with sadness. And then we got news about a nephew's brain tumor. He's nine. This surely did nothing to lighten our skies.

But here's the redemption, or the hint that it is on the horizon: The first Lowell, my uncle Hap, was celebrated at a memorial service that was simply amazing. I cried through the entire two hours, but left feeling inspired and uplifted. Hap had figured out how to live fully, and by sharing stories with us, his family had given us keys, secrets, to living our own lives large. It's up to us to follow through- but the inspiration provided by Hap and his loved ones is hard to forget, to ignore. And the second Lowell, Jay's dad. When Theo heard that he had died it looked like someone had punched him in the stomach. He became deflated. And Theo barely knew Lowell. But he had a bond with him, because that is what Lowell did. When he talked to you, his eyes sparkled and you felt like he was your own personal cheer leader- wishing you the best. To know him at all was to love him. Another life well lived, well loved. And the cousin- everyone is optimistic that the surgery will go well. His parents astound me with their ability to keep perspective. They have spoken what to me sounds like a mantra: Everything is treatable. It's treatable. And the waiting is almost done- the surgery later this week.

So November has come and with it some sun. And warmth. This past weekend we actually had some spare time. Jon got out for a lovely bike ride and I took the boys to the park. I was chatting with an old friend while the boys hit the swings. After 10 minutes they brushed by me and Theo said, "Mom, have you even seen what is right behind you?". I turned to find a small group of people manipulating a hot air balloon. It was unclear what they were trying to do with it. If they were trying to launch it, it was not going well. But no one seemed distressed. A little closer scrutiny showed that the ballooneer (balloonist?) in question was my neighbor, Jake. Eli and Theo spotted their friend Javi, Jake's son, frolicking around the edges of the rainbow colored fabric. We headed over to say hello and offer help. Turns out that Jake and his parents were simply airing out the ballon after it had been stuffed in its trailer during our damp October. We got involved grabbing a seam and pulling the fabric out, slowly turning the balloon over, bringing the damp bottom up to the top to expose it to the sun and the wind. Then they trained a powerful fan into the opening to get air flowing through the fabric. The balloon came to life, billowing and pulsing off the ground. The boys had found a football that earlier Javi had lost beneath the fabric and were busy playing 500. I took the moment to lie down on my back near the edge of the balloon. The sun warmed my cheeks as I watched the rainbow fabric flutter and billow and fly above me, framed against the perfect blue of a Minnesota fall sky.