I'm not smiling

Warning:  This post contains a number of pictures of me.  I'm not in love with myself.  I am on a mission to spread the Gospel of Sunscreen.  This Truth can save you from face hell.  I am clawing my way up, but it has been no fun down here.

I'm not smiling, because I can't. Think: Mrs. Doubtfire.  She can't fully emote because her meringue (uhh, make-up) will come off. 

I wish my carac ointment tasted like pie.  I wish I could open my mouth that wide.  (TWSS)

I am in week 4 of a chemotherapy cream treatment to remove a number of AK's or precancerous cells from my face.  I have had 4 Mohs (2-forehead, 1-scalp, 1-collarbone) surgeries to remove full-on squamous cell carcinomas.  I am writing about this experience to vent a little, communicate perspective I have gained and to encourage regular use of sunscreen.

The experience.  There are many aspects to this.

• applying a cream that can burn layers off your face onto new fresh raw skin every morning.  (Cuss, anyone?) 
• watching as my face progress to gross
• deal with children in public call me "Creepy"

I realize this is temporary means to a healthy end and that people have it much worse and that essentially I will have undergone a chemical peel and will look a decade younger when I am done.  (Don't be jealous.) 

Kim Cattrall, Sex in the City - did you see that episode?

But, In general I have felt like a prisoner of my face for a month.

Here's the rub, pun intended:  I was/am not a sun-worshipper.  I like a healthy, sun-kissed look and had a couple of Cancun sunburns in college.  But I never could sit still long enough to 'work on my tan'.  My tan, however did work on me. 

This morning.

I have used sunscreen everyday now for a number of years.  You can be sure, it is my mantra from now on; most especially with my children.  THE DAMAGE IS REALLY DONE WHEN YOU ARE YOUNG.

Certainly, I haven't been able to stop working, teaching Yoga or running my children (the nanny is in Aruba)  so it's been interesting to say the least.  BTW, I look good in these photos.  It was alot worse, a creepy mess. 

Before a Bikram Class, yesterday.  The lipstick makes me feel better.

And so...  I go to the doctor on Tuesday to see if any yucky spots are left that need surgery.  My skin will heal.  My children and I have forgotten what I used to look like when they let me come to the bus stop.  They like me to stay at the front door for now.  It's very, very temporary and a relatively short span of time.  Not like real burn victims who undergo months and months of painful treatment.  Every time I get called creepy and want to cuss as I apply the medicine I send healing energy to the burn unit 25 miles away where a young boy, a hero who saved his best friend in fire recovers from his burns.

I will be back at the bus stop soon.  Smiling because I can.

The Perfect Night

For a few minutes this evening, I had the Perfect Night.  I had just returned from teaching a Yoga class at the Y and my house was empty. Perfection.   It is rare that I am in my home alone.  I crave solitude in the space where I live because most of the time the 3 children, 4 animals, 1 husband and my neurosis make a lot of noise and take up a lot of space.  Not tonight. 

Peace invoked.  Check.  (Om Shanti!)
Wine poured.  Check.  (Om Shanti, Shanti!)
Silly Lifetime Drama on boob tube.  Check.  (Om Shanti, Shanti, Shanti!)

Amidst my PMS, frustration over the state of laundry, and my martyrdom (I am the only one who cares about our surroundings, blah, blah, blah) - I found bliss.  Why? I wonder.   I know why.

I AM PREGNANT.  WITH HOPE.  Hope for long lasting peace and contentedness.  Hope for a deeper daily connection with The Divine.  I rubbed my belly and was lit up with the moment.  The only thing we have.  The only thing that's real.  I'm naming her Hope.  Mary must have had The Perfect Night too.  She was truly pregnant with our Hope.  She was not drinking Pinot Grigio, I suspect but having a baby in a barn may have led her to. 

I'm happy because I don't live or birth baby's in a barn.  Thank you!!

I did birth these nuggets and I am so pregnant with hope for them.

I don't even notice the dirty unmatched socks on the kitchen floor.  It was the Perfect Night.  In honor the the Perfect Night of over 2000 years ago, I think I'll do a camel.  (I'm sure there was one nearby.)

My dog loves me!

What are you pregnant with?

Baby Got Back! Mary #2 Review

Having a hissy fit?  Do the Yoga.
Feeling fat?  Do the Yoga
DePuffing?  Do the Yoga.
Even you bony-ass skinny people, Do the Yoga. 

She sang my song yesterday.  All. Day. Long.  The Mary Jarvis Event did not disappoint.  Though it was not much different than the workshop I attended in Annapolis, I still couldn't get enough.  Even after seconds.  I'm still hungry for the Yoga.  The heat. The community and the love.

Mary sprinkled the class and posture clinic with anecdotes and philosophy and bits from her life - one you felt you'd shared for much longer than 90 minutes.  Or wish you had.  She inspired me to be a kinder more compassionate person and convinced me that backbends would help.  I know it to be so.  There are clinical studies that prove the physiological benefits of backward bending.  I have started and stopped a regimen of backbending a number of times.  Starting 12/5 I am going to do 10 backbends a day for 10 days and document my experience. 

Yoga is for everybody.  It makes you nicer.  It definitely makes you healthier and it might save your marriage or your life.  It is accessible all the time.  Hopefully I'll feel as inspired tomorrow when I need to bend over backwards literally and just because.

Today was a perfect day.  I spent it with her:

Mass.  Lunch.  New Yoga Studio Tour. Running in to a dear friend whom I love (hi, Laura!).  Pottery studio for ornament painting.  Moving renting/watching.  Dinner.  Hanging out at home alone.  The rest of the family was otherwise occupied for the entire day. We took full advantage of our one on one.  I love this little muffin with and without the backbends.  If backbending makes it better, it's much, much more than I deserve!

Thank you for all my many blessings.

Mary-Mary, Damn Ugly and 9

Today I am going to my second once in a life-time opportunity to work with Mary Jarvis of Bikram Yoga fame.  Almost two years ago I attended a MJ (not the crooner whom we know I love) workshop in Annapolis, MD. 

One of my favorite quotes from that day was:

"It smells like a cat box in here (the 107 degree room) because we expect you to leave your shit in it."

I can't wait for today's pearls of wisdom which I will surely share.  Here's my new outfit for the occasion.:

I don't love it.  I am usually very choosy about my yoga threads but this was at Dick's, on sale and I was in a hurry.  I don't know why I care because we will be sandwiched in a room with inches between mats and dodging body parts as we move through poses.  It will be fun and rigorous and entertaining and life-change like Mary #1 in Maryland.  But it won't be pretty. 

Feeling pretty has evaded my 11-year-old daughter of late and it makes me sad.  Here's Wednesday night:

Kathleen:  Mom, why am I not pretty?

Me:  (sympathetic and so sorry she knows not what I see in her)  Honey, I can't talk you out of this feeling.  It's normal at your age to have your groove on one day and then feel ugly the next.  One day you'll feel more balanced but you always need to feel pretty inside and out.

Kathleen:  But I'm not.

Me:  (trying to convince her otherwise) Oh, honey.  Yes you are.  You have no idea.  It's normal to feel awkward sometimes at your age but don't let this feeling get out of hand.  Let's keep talking about it when it comes over you.  Just have faith in all your gifts inside and out.

Kathleen:  But I'm not pretty.

Me:  (Getting impatient)  Remember that time Bridget's Mom said you had this intense beauty that she couldn't describe?  She's not even related and said that out of the blue.

Kathleen:  Kinda.  But why am I ugly?

Me:  (Done.)  FOR GOD'S SAKE CHILD... LOOK IN THE MIRROR, THERE ARE SOME DAMN UGLY PEOPLE IN THE WORLD AND YOU AREN'T ONE OF THEM.

Now that's a pearl of wisdom.  What a good mother I am.

And now for 9.  I don't feel pretty either because 9 is the number of pounds I have gained since my last Mary Jarvis workshop.  Not a good thing for someone with a lifelong body image problem.  No matter what people say I feel damn ugly lugging that 9 around.  I know how my daughter feels...

My lesson:  Find your own sweet spot of gratitude and confidence, be patient and only listen to other people with it uplifts you.  Otherwise it belongs in the cat box located in the hot room where I am shortly headed.

Hey maybe I will leave my 9 in there. Look out 9! You. Are. Going. Down.

What's  your pearl of wisom?

Buck and Bonk: Race Report

The best part of my half marathon yesterday was my hair.  Doesn't it look good?

I'll take the mystery out:  I bonked, my Buck husband kicked ass.  First half in a sub 2.  Go ahead leave my lonely little blog and find something else more exciting to do.  For all the faithfuls here are the deets.

  I was excited at first.

I woke up had a banana and toast and a little coffee.  I followed a comparatively light training plan this time but didn't cheat at all.  Additionally, I had taught a fair amount of Yoga and other Cardio classes during training so I thought I was all that.  I was relaxed and felt strong.  Yesterday morning we couldn't find a parking spot, of course, and I needed the porta potty as soon as we got downtown.  With 6 miles to Empty (in the car) we pulled into a spot (that I was sure was illegal but I wasn't telling my panicking husband) with 12 minutes to start, a full bladder and 4 blocks to walk.  I forewent a potty stop, waved good bye to my newbie halfer husband and found my wave.  Cold (37 degrees, you see my outfit?) and full bladder I am ray-to-go. 

In the beginning I felt amazingly good despite my frozen skin and elimination needs.  It had to be the pigtails.  After leaving lots of people in my dust I saw a port- a-potty at mile 3 and took advantage.  I have never used the facilities during a race - even my 5 hour marathon.  Then I got back on track and it took about 2 miles for me to catch up to and pass the pack I started with.  I AM the badass I liken myself to be.  Around mile 9 I just bonked.  I have never had that all-at-once break down experience.  It was like a fast leak out of a tight raft in rough waters.  I began to panic and felt confused, honestly/really couldn't figure out why it happened.  This was my 5th half marathon so I know a little about how to fuel/etc.  Weird.  So I surrendered to my race and my day and the state of things.  I took a shot of beer at the 9 mile fueling station, also a first.  I didn't stop running but I was running on nearly empty - simply out of gas.  For 4 miles I clawed at the proverbial wall and never got over it.  I did fight however and crossed the finish line at a decent stride to see my long since finished husband who after a slice of pizza and a banana was on his second bagel.  Had I taken much longer, he'd have stayed for lunch.  Oh wait, that was lunch.

Mike is a powerfully built weekend warrior kind of athlete who played baseball in college and has remained in shape with recreational running.  He has several 10k's under his belt.  He - no surprise to me - finished his first half marathon in 1:57:23 at age 46.  He is tenacious and focused and it has always served him well in athletics.  He can block everything out and just keep his focus like no one I've ever seen.  He flies under the radar and doesn't even talk about his goals with fitness.  He just does it.  Sound familiar, Nike?  He should be your spokesperson.   Me - after 2:16 on the course I almost threw up walking to the car.  I couldn't feel my legs and had no mental acuity whatsoever.  And I was hungry.  Because I am selfless and thinking about my faithful blog readers (thanks, you 2) I had our waitress at the diner take our photo to mark the moment.

Doesn't my hair look good?

Somebody help me.  How do I not bonk next time?  I'm running a full int he Spring.

The eyes have it

Much to my dismay, my daughter asked me if she could try out for her middle school cheer leading squad.  I mean no offense to anyone who has or does cheer (I did).  Gloria Steinam I am not, but I have a little 'thang' inside about girls going ga-ga over the athletic accomplishment of guys.

In all her glory, here's Gloria:

"A woman without a man is like a fish without a bicycle."

- Gloria Steinem

My daughter campaigned her cause and wore me down.  She helped me see that my 43-year old view of the world doesn't match an 11-year old trying to find her way.  "It's just fun.", she says.  As long as it's moral, legal, and has some value to the development of her I should consider it.  In the end I let her do it.  She learned cheers and stunts and jumps and moves and today she tries out.  And I want her to make it.  I understand that cheerleaders are athletes and that the stereotype of pretty, popular, and petite and perhaps a bit sassy doesn't have to apply.  I just couldn't ignore my 'issue' with the proliferation of the notion that girls stand behind guys to let THEM shine.  The old SHE's the secretary, HE's the boss gender role play. 

My pal, Gloria also says:

"A movement is only composed of people moving. To feel its warmth and motion around us is the end as well as the means."

And so school spirit, enthusiasm and strategy on my daughter's part won out.  And I'm glad.  I told her to shine from the inside out today and the rest will take care of itself.  Sounds a big Yogic.  Yoga meets cheer leading.  Who knew?

She was exhausted from her tryouts, school responsibilities, dance class and just being 11.  Here's last night:

My diva daughters surrendering to sleep.  Bliss.

Tomorrow my husband and I run the Suntrust Richmond Half Marathon (his first).  Hanging back and letting him shine won't be hard - he's fast!  But I'd do it anyway not because I am weak or pretty or popular or petite (God knows!) It's just fun.  And it's just nice.  Go Kathleen!

I got in the car with a stranger

I just read Room by Emma Donoghue and should’ve known better.  Your mother, your teacher and your priest warned you:  Never get into the car with a stranger.   Whether they claim to have sick pet, or a trunk load of M &M’s.  There’s never a good enough reason.  I know that but I was beyond reason yesterday.  8.5 miles into a 9 mile run that turned out to be more than 12 – I WAS LOST AND NEEDED HELP – FROM A STRANGER.

I was at a softball tournament and needed to get a 9-mile run in for my half marathon training.  I wanted to do ten because that’s just me.  During a break between games I laced up.  I did not know the area at all but I had my Garmin and my GU and my GPA so I was all set.  I don’t run with my cell phone because I hate the drag across my belly.  I was cruising along through neighborhoods with trails and ended up  running around this lake:

Pretty nice.  I had the feeling:  “This is why I run.”  Total self-sufficiency.  Almost.  At this sailing club I was at 5 miles and decided to turn around and head back to the field.  (Remember the GPA?  5+5=10, brilliant)  Around mile 8.3 nothing looked familiar and I worried I’d get killed on a busy curvy road where drivers have NO RESPECT for runners.  I had little mental acuity left and began traipsing through a stranger’s yard.  I was birthed into a unrecognized cul de sac.  I started to panic but encountered a 70+ lady retrieving her mail.

This is not her but it’s close.  Difference:  My stranger didn’t have many upper, front teeth.

Me:  “Please excuse me, I don’t mean to startle you, (event though all I am wearing is a sports bra, shorts, and a Garmin) but I don’t live around here and I think I am lost.  Could you tell me how to get back out to Genito Road.”

Stranger:  “Oh Lord child, you are so out of your way I couldn’t begin to tell you.  Where are you trying to get to?”  (Dangling participle, not my GPA)

Me:  (without any acuity and a slight panic attack starting)  “Goodness, I don’t know how I got so turned around, my daughter’s tournament is at Warbro Sports Complex.”

Stranger:  Let me go get my car, I’ll drive you.

This is what oozed out of her three-car garage:

For the missing teeth, she spat as she spoke but offered me ice water and regaled me with stories about her artificial knees.  We found our way to a church parking lot where I knew I could find my way back to the field from.  (Dangling participle, no more GPA left.)

I made it.  12.4 miles – on my legs - later (over achiever).  A little zoned out, I really wanted a beer to calm me down.  This stranger was an angel.  A sweet nice old lady without free candy or ulterior motives.  Just kindness for me.  I’ll take it.  Then I got to see her:

My stranger (angel) in a car was the ticket.  Would you get into a car with a stranger?  This time, thank God I did.