A Humane Society

The other morning I was walking down the block to my car and I hear yelling. Scolding, really.  Who's yelling at 7:20 in the morning?  And at whom?  Glancing up the block I see a woman walking an unleashed dog.  I hear her telling the pup he's a "bad dog" and "nasty."  Two thoughts cross my mind: 1. the dog is behaving perfectly fine, even when not on a leash, and 2. what crawled up this woman's ass?

Her behavior really bothered me.  Seeing anyone abusing their power over another (person, child, animal, what-have-you) really gets to me.  Knowing that a pet only behaves as good as it's owner expects it to, if this dog is really "nasty" and "bad," it's most likely the woman's fault.  The dog certainly didn't seem psychopathic as it plodded along in front of her down the street, sniffing at the fast-food wrappers and other dog shit that litters the sidewalks.  Her crap attitude made me wonder how she treats her children?  Going a step further, what the hell happened to her that makes her feel so powerless she has to take it out on a dog?

I have faith in the goodness of people.  Sometimes it's a difficult, nigh impossible faith to maintain.  I don't like to see the underbelly of human nature, though I know full well it exists.  The only way I feel I can combat it is to believe and expect others to act in a humane manner.  I expect this of myself and expect the same from others.  Not always to act "good" or "appropriately," but to deny evil, hatred, greed, selfishness, the desire to inflict pain on others.  Ok, I still have some issues with selfishness and greed, (there are SO MANY pretty shoes and I want them all to be mine!), but I acknowledge that and work on it every day.

"Goodness," for lack of a better term, needs to be nurtured from without as well as within.  I can see how it would be hard to maintain my, what some would call naive faith in human kind if I surrounded myself with abusers, emotional manipulators, and haters.  I don't.  I feed my soul with the love and care of others who feel similarly to me, who hold themselves and others to higher standards of humanity.

I've stopped reading/watching/listening to the news.  I wish I didn't have to, but the constant reminder that people are out there who don't give a damn about anyone but themselves was leaving me with holes in my heart.  The "feel good" stories weren't counter-acting the crap anymore.  I felt like I was fighting to breath under a tidal wave- why did no one else in the world care?  Why do the people in power not do anything to help?

This woman, so unhappy with herself, surrounded most likely by other people unhappy with themselves and their lots in life, brought my naivite about human goodness into sharp focus.  It also reminded me of why I strive for empathy for those around me.  This woman is either a psychopath or has been so beaten down by her lot in life that she no longer cares for anything but herself.  If I fight for empathy, I know it's possible for anyone to do the same.  I feel bad for the woman, worse for the dog, and proud  that I've fought against the negative forces in my life that I could have so easily given in to.  I drove to work silently thankful for my loving friends and family who help me see the positive (and funny, and unique, and ironic) in every day.

Doctor, Doctor, Gimme the News

I've got a bad case of.... tendinitis. 

I ran for the first time in over a week on Sunday.  2.2 miles, mostly dirt.  My hip was bothering me a bit when we were done.  Ten minutes after it was bothering me a lot.  An hour later, I was limping.  The next day, pain still.


The worst part about being injured is the total lack of control I have over it.  Sure, I can keep from injuring it further, mostly, but really I can't do anything to help.  And I hate it.  I hate that it slows me down.  I hate that I walk like an old lady if I've been sitting on it too long.  I hate that I think about it when I'm playing hockey or want to go running or snow shoeing.  I hate that it makes me cry, not from the pain but from the frustration.  Mostly I hate that it's keeping me from spending time with My Runner doing what we love. 


So I did the only thing I have control over.  I called my doctor on Monday to follow up.  A week of rest, ibuprofen, and ice and/or heat had not improved anything.  My pain was mostly gone during that week, but it often felt stiff or sore.  And obviously running aggravated it again.  The answering service took my information (yeah, they were open, they just screen calls with a service - how bureaucratic of them...) and I started looking for Physical Therapy offices. 


My Dad had a great suggestion - call a local running club for suggestions.  My Runner, taking it a step further, suggested I contact the local running store, as the local running club operates through them.  His suggestion was spot-on; they had several referrals for me.  Ultimately I chose a place that was relatively close by, and one of the staff is acquainted with My Runner.  Hopefully I won't feel as anonymous as I do at my doctor's office.  I called to ask if I needed a referral or prescription from my doctor (I did), and asked them to fax over any new patient forms I'd need to fill out (they did).  The nurse from my doctor's office called in as I was finishing that conversation.


She confirmed what I had told the answering service (seriously?  why bother?), and I spoke to her about PT.  She said, "Sounds like tendinitis to me.  There's no cure for that."  ::pause::  Yeah, ok, well I'd like to keep it from recurring.  "Well, it's not like we can perform surgery on it.  It doesn't go away."  ::more pause::  Yes, I understand, but I lead an active life style and I would like to work with a Physical Therapist so I can learn to keep this in check and avoid the pain.  "Oh.  Well, I'll have to go talk with the doctor."


Really?  Jeeze... ok.  Already diagnosed it as tendinitis (coulda told you that a week and a half ago when you said ibuprofen and ice, but ok), and now we need to "talk" to the doctor to see if it's ok if I go to PT?  Fine. 


"The doctor wants to see you before she gives you a prescription for PT.  Would you like an appointment next week?"  No, I want your next available appointment.  "Ah.  Tomorrow, 9:15am?"  Yes.  See you then.


Tuesday morning I arrive at the office at 9:10am, wait the customary 15 minutes, am ushered into an exam room where the medical assistant takes my pulse (51 bpm, not bad) and blood pressure (82/174 - is that good?  I don't even know....), and asks AGAIN what's wrong.  As she's writing it into the computer I wonder how many other entries they have with the EXACT SAME information.  You know, what I've told the answering service twice, the nurse twice, and now the medical assistant?  She leaves, the doc comes in, and asks me THE SAME DAMNED QUESTIONS.  And guess what?  She types them into the computer.  ::sigh::  I feel like some sort of typing test - who can type my complaint the fastest with the least amount of missed keystrokes?


She has me take off my pants (hottt, yeahh) and pushes around my hip a bit asking where it hurts.  I know this is a formality, but seriously, I pointed to my hip flexor tendon, and said, "It hurts here."  Guess what?  That's the only place she found where it hurt.  Then she had me push my leg around in different directions, I suppose to see WHICH hip tendon hurt when I was using it.  Ready for the big surprise?  Yeah, there's not one.  Same result.  Good job doc.  I'm sure she just had me in to collect the fees from Anthem.  Awesome.  Way to be a part of the big machine.


She tells me she's gonna send me to PT (duh - would have walked out and taken my insurance card to another office right then and there if she hadn't), and that they would help build up the muscle in my legs and lower torso to take some of the strain off my tendon.  Sure, whatevs, hon.  Just get the script and let me put my pants back on. 


At checkout I tell the nurse what PT office I had chosen.  She assures me she'll fax them my info and they'll contact me.  I'm an impatient sort - I ended up calling them that afternoon and set up an appointment for tomorrow.  I faxed in my patient information forms, and hopefully, starting Thursday, I'll be on the road to recovery.

Body Con

One side effect of all this running and hockey playing and trapezing (next class is Saturday, wOOt!!) is that I've lost about 15 lbs and 2 or 3 sizes. Which, well, good, I guess. But I can't say it ever really mattered.

I'm of the body acceptance camp. You have your body, and there's a limited amount of things you can do to control how it looks. Western society holds up unrealistic images of beauty for women (and even some for men, but obviously it's more prevalent for women). I spent most of my life hating the way I looked - my nose, my feet, my hands, my "Buddah Belly" (thanks for that quaint nick-name, family). I never believed it when someone told me I looked nice or good or even cute. NEVER. That's a lot of stress on a girl! I went through the phases - deciding not to give a crap and eat whatever I wanted, which just made me fatter, then deciding to give a crap and work out like a mo fo and got skinnier, but none of it made me HAPPIER. Not until I decided to accept my shape, no matter what it was.

I also don't believe that fat people are inherently lazy. It's the most socially acceptable form of prejudice to dislike or mock people who are heavy. Hell, I've been guilty of it (though mostly I mock what people are WEARING, not their size - taste is ALWAYS mockable). Now that I'm getting more and more into sports and running, etc, the media that I'm looking at denounces fat. Well, fuck you. Some people enjoy life in different ways. Also, go to any race, even the VT50 - there were people there that I would NEVER expect to be runners based on their size. But they ran - muddy trails in back woods for more miles than most people walk in a month. Are they lazy? No.

So, yes, I work out. I run. I play sports. But it's not to be "skinny." Part of the freedom of body acceptance is accepting that your choices have consequences. I made a choice that I would make myself happy, no matter what that meant at a given time. Sometimes it makes me happy to play hockey for 2 hours, so I do. The consequence of that choice can mean sore muscles and bruising over 60% of my body as well as serious caloric burn. Sometimes it makes me happy to eat nachos and drink margaritas, (ok, most of the time it makes me happy to eat nachos and drink margaritas) and the consequence of this choice is a fully belly but also experiences with friends and loved ones that deepen my relationship with them.

So, if you see me and say, "Gosh, Leeapeea, you're so thin!" and I give you a weird look and a questionable, "Thanks," let's go ahead and move on to another topic, m'k? Maybe order a plate of nachos and a couple of margs... ;-)

My Mostly Crappy Weekend with Dad - a Diatribe

I recently went to visit my Dad in PA. We see each other 2, maybe 3 times a year. I was looking forward to this visit: we had planned it in the summer so I knew I could get time off, and he was hosting a race event for his running club. Friday morning I packed my bags and Fred, ran the car through the carwash (someone was stabbed in my neighborhood and used my car as a blood recepticle. The police said he was a bad guy anyways, apologized, helped me take the crime tape off my car, and let me through the blockades. Ah, Manch.)

From the start my Dad was distracted by race details. I know what it's like to organize a big event, so I was there and ready to help. Having never worked on a race like this (crewing is for one person, working on the race is for all of them) I was a little nervous, but the other volunteers were nice and helpful. Registrations got screwed up, then I screwed things up more during our work around, then the computer system they were using to track runners got screwed up, the people taking the tags didn't do it right, and on and on. It wasn't *that* bad, but for the 4th or 5th time of doing this event, it was more issues than it should have been. Dad was running around trying to fix everything. After the race he was pretty disappointed.

Still, we had lunch at Stoudt's with some of the other volunteers. We reviewed some of the things that went wrong to learn from it, and had a pretty good time after that. I was glad the race was done so I could just hang with my Dad. Oh, except LoLo's daughter and grandson were stopping by this evening. Oh, ok. I mean, *I'm* visiting you, so it's a little weird, but she was a pretty cool girl and her son was cute and well-behaved, so it didn't turn out too badly.

Before she came over my Dad dropped an emotional bomb: "I'm toying with the idea of not coming to Christmas this year. It's starting to feel like an obligation." What? The ONE time of year that we have standing plans, and it feels too much like an obligation? I'm sure my indignation read plainly on my face because he started backpedaling and "explaining" etc. "It's not an obligation to visit you, just the family Christmas stuff." Ok, I know my Dad, and I get that. But still... "I still want to see you this winter, when else do you have time?" Um, I don't. I have time at Christmas because that's when you're there so I block it off all year. It's not easy for me to take time off of work when it's not school vacation. "I'll look at my calendar and send you a few dates, you can let me know." Yeah. Sure. Wow was I feeling shitty.

I *like* tradition. In a big family with separated parents, tradition helps you enjoy the holiday and not feel stressed or emotionally blackmailed. It's like, we agreed upon this arrangement, now we can just enjoy it. This year both my parents decided to fuck with my tradition, and it's felt like an attack. (Mom's story is mostly resolved, but that's another entry). I was not totally involved for the rest of the evening, which I felt a little bad about, but my Dad ended up wasted and falling asleep on the couch, so in the end I was hanging out with LoLo and her daughter.

We had planned on going on a hike the next day. It was sunny and warm and a perfect fall day. I decided to put the Emotional Bomb away for now - we only had one day left - and just enjoy my time with Dad. We had a good morning, and a great hike. We went to this lookout and saw bald eagles and red-tailed hawks. We did a little exploring around historic areas by the river. All in all, the kind of day I like to have with my Dad.

On our way home we go to his other favorite bar. We're among the first ones there - it's just 4pm. I order a beer, he gets a gimlet. And another. We get food and the bartender from Stoudt's comes in after his shift. Dad knows both bartenders *really* well. I decide to indulge and get a martini. Dad wouldn't let me drive us home anyways - he's pretty touchy about that. I'm starting to have a shitty time. Dad's not really talking to me, gimlets are being poured for him without even needing to ask. I'm not really talking to him. We head home, I'm pretty drunk, he might be too for all I know. Sound like a pattern? Sound like the apple doesn't fall far? Yeah....

We're sitting around talking. He asks me about My Runner - we've talked about him several times, but this time Dad asks with that same look my mom gets: "I'm worried you started this relationship so soon after the Boy." I give him the same response I give my mom and everyone else: we worried about that too. Now, it's our own relationship. The Boy and I were done a long time before we broke up.

This is when Dad kinda sorta accuses me of cheating. "It's almost like you had him waiting in the wings." I blink. Seriously? I didn't even know My Runner when the Boy and I broke up. He backs down on that argument and we start talking about the Boy - relationship autopsy stuff. "Well, I always thought he was cheating on you." Again, with the blinking. What? "Well, his behavior, always going to his 'sister's' house, you know." No, this would be the first time I would consider that.... "Plus he accused you of cheating when you broke up. Transference." Hmm, let's think about where the transference might be coming from in this scenario.... Still, why didn't you say something? "Well, I didn't want to stick my nose in your business." YOU'RE MY FUCKING FATHER, THAT'S YOUR JOB!! Especially if you think I'm in a bad relationship! You thought the Boy had a drinking problem, you didn't mention that until things were almost over either. Don't you care that I spent 4 years with an a-hole and you never said anything? It might not have changed the outcome, but then again, it might have. And at least I would have known you cared enough to try.

This is about when I stop remembering things. I went to the car to charge my phone and called Face. Basically ranted this entire post to her. I'm sure she was loving and commiserating and very comforting. I don't really remember, but I know her and that's what she would have done. I called My Runner - luckily he didn't answer since I have NO idea what I would have said. I woke up at 2am on the couch, thoughts of all the crap Dad had said swirling around my brain. A shower, water, and some Advil and I was back asleep and SO ready to leave town in the morning.

Dad made raspberry pancakes for breakfast. I had already packed everything up and was ready to go. We went over directions. I apologized for passing out - I remember how I felt when he did it and to turn around and do it to him... well, who knows if he even cared. I loaded the car, herded Fred into his cage, and said goodbye to Dad. "Next time maybe you can stay for more than 2 days, huh?" I guess by now I should have expected the emotional blackmail. I just laughed - what else could I do? I was so not interested in thinking about a next time right now. I just wanted to go home.

My relationship with Dad hasn't always been good. I remember him sitting me down after attending a 4th of July parade in NJ when my parents were separating, trying to convince me that I should tell the judge I want to live with him. I was 8. After a short engagement, he eloped with his second wife while I was in high school. The original plans were for a small wedding, and Brother and I were one of 6 invitees. That made me feel so special - only to have it taken away with the news of their elopement... 3/4's of the way down a card. I didn't talk to him for years, if I could help it. Took me almost 4 years to tell him how bad it was. She turned out to be a douche and it was really hard to not say "I told you so" when they were getting divorced, but I didn't because that's not what people do when someone you love is hurting. It took a long time for us to build up to the relationship we had... Had. I don't know who this guy was that I visited, but if he's Dad now, I'm not happy with the place that he's in. He's my Dad, and I still love him, but I really don't like him right now.