smallbitesandlittlevictories

Nervous Camper

I had always thought that going away to camp would be the most amazing experience. I mean, if all of the movies I saw were true, it was the place where you got to make life long friends, make s’mores and kiss boys, and I loved all of those things!! I never went because I had FOMO before I even knew what FOMO was. There would be so many things that could happen in my neighborhood that I would miss! Running bases in the street, swimming at the pool, the chance that the ice cream man would stop right in front of my house!! But, in the summer of my 32nd year, FOMO be dammed, I finally signed up for camp: boot camp. And just like I would have been at 8 years old, I was excited for 5 minutes, and then totally terrified.

I entertained an endless stream of anxieties: “What was it going to be like? Were the other people going to be nice? Was the coach going to yell? Will we have to do gun drills?!” (Wrong boot camp, but a lot of things were running through my head, it was hard to focus!) The worry that trumped all worries was that I was going to make a fool of myself. I was scared that I was going to be slower than everyone else, and that I wouldn’t be able to do all of the excercises that the other ‘campers’ were doing. I know that every instructor says that they can do modifications, but the very idea of being singled out made me feel so awkward!

The night before Boot Camp, I laid out my first day of camp clothes, my yoga mat and my water and I had a conversation with the incredibly nervous little camper who was freaking out inside of me:

No matter what happens tomorrow – signing up for this Boot Camp is a victory. You’re trying something new and intimidating and outside of your comfort zone. That’s a huge win! If you like it, AWESOME! If you don’t like it, you’re a grown ass woman you can get up and go home!

Being a grown up is the BEST!

I got to McCarren Park earlier than the 6:45 start time (nerd), and I let the instructor know about my physical limitations, and if she thought that I might need any (*gulp*) modifications, if she could just tell me in advance that would be awesome. She was incredibly kind, and said that she’d come to me individually and let me know. Which caused me to exhale, deeply.

A little later the rest of the people came to our spot on the astro turf, and the camp started. And the most amazing thing happened – I was just like everyone else!! I wasn’t the fastest (no shock here) but I wasn’t the slowest! I was delightfully in the middle of the pack – like a totally normal person. It was incredible. The modifications that she had me do were so slight that I looked just like everyone else, and it was bad ass!

I walked the half mile back to my apartment exhausted, dripping with sweat and grinning from ear to ear. It felt wonderful to have done something that scared me, and to have put myself out there! My internal nervous camper was now a pretty happy camper, except she was dying for some s’mores.

Putting the Pretty into Power Walking

Running was my response to every single emotion that I had. If I was stressed out: run until all of those knots you’ve tied up in yourself have loosened. If I was sad: run until the tears mingle with the sweat running down your face and you can’t tell the difference between the two. If I was in a good mood: put on your favorite album and run your smiling face up and down every street in your neighborhood. Running made every bad feeling dissipate, and amplified every good feeling. It was a fast forward button I could push to immediately feel confident and strong. Even though I was sweaty and exhausted, I never felt more beautiful than I did when I was running. Felt is the operative word here, kids. Felt.

While I was running I used to see walkers and think to myself, “You guys! You’re so close! Just a little more leg work and you could be running! Running is THE BEST!” I could never understand why they wouldn’t push themselves harder, try a little more. I couldn’t help myself but assume they were lazy.

That opinion changed right quick when my doctor stood over the body that used to be able to run 5:18 miles and told me (with waaaaay too much confidence, might I add) that I would never walk again. Walking was no longer a lazy persons game.

I may not have had feeling in my legs, but the feelings in my heart were FULLY functional, so I immediately started sobbing. How could something that I used to do every single day suddenly become impossible? The more that I thought about it, the more that another one of my fully functional heart feelings started to show up – aggressive defiance.

His diagnosis became a challenge. ‘This dude may know science, but he doesn’t know me.’ I thought to myself. ‘I’m going to walk everywhere, like a goddamned hero.’ Because the bar was set so low, I found myself delighted by the tiniest wins – I moved my toes! I lifted up my own arms! Someone was able to sneak champagne into my hospital room! (that last win had nothing to do with my own body, but everything to do with my recovery!)

After 6 months of aggressive physical therapy and a lot of toasting to my small victories, I was delighted to find myself standing upright and slowly, carefully, putting one beautiful foot, in front of the other. I had never noticed how gorgeous my footsteps were, how many different muscles, tendons and bones all had to work in one fluid motion in order to propel myself forward. I was deeply in love with every single step.

As I continued to recover, I found myself not satisfied with just walking, I was desperate to run. I don’t like to tell myself no, but I knew that running was not in the cards for me. The screws that kept my back plate in place caused too much pain when there was a lot of impact – even walking was still incredibly painful. I looked for a workaround, and power walking seemed like my best bet.

Even after all of the arduous and amazing work that my little body had done to get me to a place where I could walk for exercise, and not just to get from point A to point B, I was still ashamed of being a walker. I would only workout very early in the morning, I would avoid the track, or places that I thought that runners would be. If I did see any runners, I was sure they were judging me the way that I used to judge others. I wanted to get a t-shirt that said “Running: I would if I could, but I can’t.”

Over the last few years my opinion of myself, and of walking, has changed a lot. I am still not really comfortable walking when others run, but I’m out there doing my best to go as fast, as far and as hard as my body will let me. Because of walking I’ve seen so many amazing sunrises, I’ve done more mileage than I have since high school, and I’ve gained the nickname “Smiley” from my old Italian neighbors who are the only other people out and about at 6 in the morning.

Getting up 5 days a week, strapping on my sneakers, and power walking (pumping my arms, like someones over enthusiastic aunt) through the the very hip streets of Williamsburg is my little victory. Its a reminder that life is fucking amazing, completely imperfect and that everyday I have to work to create the life I want to live.

When my feet start rolling into those lovely first steps, no matter how painful or how slow, I can’t stop myself from smiling, and feeling so, so beautiful

One of my lovely power walk sunrises

A Case of the Monday’s

I usually don’t have a problem with Monday’s – we get along pretty well actually! I try to respect the least loved day of the week for what it brings to the table: it’s the first day of a fresh work week, it’s a clean slate and I think that it is the perfect day to treat myself to a fancy coffee. I thought that Monday and I were on the level.

This past Monday, we were not on the level. I had too many bags with me on the subway and was in everyone’s way, the fancy coffee that I got for myself added to my awkwardness, on my way out of the subway I realized that I had probably left my work ID at home, and spent 15 minutes on a bench outside of Rockefeller Center taking everything of alllllll of my bags. By the end of my search I had most of my worldly possessions strewn out in front of me, but no ID.

I finally made it to my office, set myself up with my open laptop and a glass of water and within 30 minutes I had spilled the contents of said glass all over my keyboard. It immediately shut itself off, my computer was also totally over this Monday. Then, like a responsible, professional, woman – I began to cry. I rushed out of the office to the Apple store in Grand Central, and waited on the gorgeous staircase in the station for one of the Genius’ to be available to help me. I cried there too. I’m pretty sure that in some tourists photos of their trip to New York City there is a photo of me, red faced, cheeks slicked with tears, clutching my laptop to my chest. Nothing says “I HAD A GREAT TRIP!!” like being photo bombed by a public crier – you’re welcome tourist!

The computer was so fried that not even the Genius’ could help me. So I dusted myself off, wiped off my face and started to think about workarounds. I found another computer store that could try to save my computer, I called a friend in a nearby office to see if I could use one of her desktops and tried to get over this yucky hopeless feeling.

That night when I got home, I sat down on my couch and I forced myself to think about the things that had happened today that I was grateful for, here’s the list I came up with:

– When I was struggling with my bags a young woman offered me her seat, and said “I know how hard it is when you have so much stuff on the subway.”

– A friend was kind enough to let me use a desktop in their office, and I was able to do most of the work I needed to do that day.

– When I was sobbing in front of all of Manhattan I called my boyfriend, and he was so kind, understanding and patient with me during my histrionics.

– I met up with my friend Kim after work and had a glass of rose with her and got to commiserate, laugh and be reminded about how lucky I am to have a friend like her.

– I was buying a reusable water bottle at a store (a little pressie because I was feeling bad for myself), and there wasn’t a price tag on it. The cashier gave it to me for a dollar because she said I had a joyful smile.

– I had a Diet Coke, and it was fizzy and cold and amazing.

When I focused on the good things that had happened that day, I was able to change the narrative of the whole day. The day was far from ideal, but even when things go off the rails, there’s still so much to be grateful for.

Small Bites and Little Victories

Small bites and little victories is the way that I like to live my life. It makes me feel like everything is not only manageable, but reminds me that those small wins deserve to be celebrated! Your boss told you that you kicked ass in a meeting – go get yourself a glass of champagne, you star! You deserve it. (Seriously though, go pour yourself some – its good for you!!)

I adopted this mindset about seven years ago, when, after a wide right turn on a morning bike ride, I found myself on the business end of an 18 wheel truck. I woke up in the ICU after 10 hours of emergency surgery without feeling in my legs, my pelvis fractured in 5 places, all of my ribs broken, a punctured lung, and intense internal injuries. In a few seconds I went from being an incredibly athletic and active twenty five year old brooklynite, to a broken little human who the doctors told probably wouldn’t walk again.

All of us have been in a position where we feel like our vertical world has gone horizontal. That feeling that the rest of your life is going to be spent trying to readjust to this new angle, one degree at a time. That was when small bites and little victories became my mantra. The idea of tackling the big worries (Will I ever walk again? Will I be able to live independently? Do wheelchairs work on the beach?!) was too much. I had to set little goals and then celebrate the shit out of them!

After a lot of hard work, love and crazy pants support from almost every person in my lovely life, I have been able to build a life that looks very similar to the one that I lived before I was run over by an 18 wheel truck. I am no longer able to do a lot of the athletic activities that I loved in my old life, but I’ve built work arounds to create a life I want to live.

I wanted to start this blog because I know how hard it is to stay motivated, and to be proud of yourself when your successes don’t feel like other people’s successes. My hope is that this will be a small sliver of life where one can talk about those tiny miracles, surprising moments of awesomeness, and celebrating all of it!

Here’s to you!