*No More Skiing?

"What are you going to do when you retire?"  I heard that question time after time as the end of May approached.  And I knew how to answer it, too. We're going to hike, bike, and ski. I've enjoyed an active lifestyle since about 2000, when I tried weight lifting, walking and running to get in better shape. When I was in my late forties, I decided I needed to learn to ski.

Still smiling on New Year's Day
2012

Last Christmas, I gave my teenager a season pass to Eagle Point Ski Resort. I wanted us to take advantage of the weekends we had together by skiing and boarding. New Year's Day was a perfect day for skiing, clear skies and sunshine. 

It is also the day that I joined the ranks of the injured athlete. I'm no professional; I am a "nube," a novice, but I try to make up for any athletic prowess I lack with enthusiasm. That can get a girl in trouble, apparently. 

I finally agreed to take on the hill to which my ski instructor had challenged me the previous year. It was with great trepidation that I started my descent, and the next thing I knew, gravity took over, and I was a tangled mess of arms, legs, skis and ski poles, careening down the mountain like a tumbleweed.

My doctor told me that I had torn my MCL. (I'd only heard of ACLs; the MCL is the ligament of the inner knee.) His face lit up with a big smile.  

"You have something in common with Karl Malone of the Utah Jazz!  This is the same injury that ended his career."  

If that was supposed to be comforting, it certainly was not. Lucky for me, I don't rely on my knees to make my money. I was able to return to my fifth grade classroom immediately; I just had a little "hitch in my get-along," as they say.

It seems that my passion for skiing would have to wait until the MCL healed, until about June. June is a pretty crummy time to hit the slopes, and my hopes were dashed. We only skied that one day last season, and the klutz in me saw to it that we we began and ended our fun times together on New Year's. NOT WHAT I'D ENVISIONED.

Summer came; I retired; I started hiking. I hiked with my boys in Saint George, checking out the ancient petroglyphs; I hiked with friends along the Bonneville Shoreline; I hiked alone in Bullion Canyon; I hiked with Bridger to Calf Creek Falls. I met a woman while I was hiking, and we exchanged phone numbers.  I had enlisted another hiking partner! The summer was off to a joyous start.

I just like this x-ray. My doctor assures me we can prevent
further damage in my finger joints by getting started now.

And then I met with my rheumatologist yesterday. I wasn't there about pain, necessarily, but about weakness. I knew there might be a problem when I started thinking perhaps we should buy our milk in quart-sized quantities because lifting half gallons hurt my wrists. Offers to massage family members dwindled because it hurt my hands to knead muscles for longer than a few minutes. Whenever I brush my finger across my nose, there is a sharp pain in my index finger. Once during a massage for myself, my wrists cracked and popped, much to the horror of the masseuse.  

"Wrists shouldn't do that.  You need to see a doctor soon," he advised.

So there I was, waiting for my lab and x-ray results. It seems my rheumatologist had two things to discuss...previous injuries that were causing a problem, and a diagnosis to explain my weakness and pain. Dr. Mathews snapped the x-ray of my back onto the lighted view box. I knew it wouldn't be a pretty sight. Falling out of a tree on my tailbone, and a couple of BAD landings in gymnastics when I was young had taken their toll on my spine. Lower back pain is just something I've dealt with since I was a teenager.

Basically, he told me that the GOOD news was that the damage in my spine occurred in the vertebra just below the end of the spinal cord, so if a future injury occurs in that fragile spot, it won't paralyze me. Well, that WAS some good news!  (Holy cow, this wasn't going the way I'd hoped.) He went on to tell me how unstable my back is.  

"You could do the same movement a hundred times without a problem, and then one day, your back might slip, and you will require the assistance of an ambulance to get you to a hospital, and surgery to relieve the pain in your back."

There was a crooked woman...
That tail bone should NOT be
that far to the right.

No walking on un-level surfaces. No sudden falls. No twisting ever. No lifting anything more than 25 pounds. No taking chances. No hiking. No skiing. No fun.

Then he went on to tell me I have Sjogren's Syndrome. Long story short, my body is a desert. I lack sufficient moisture (dry mouth, dry nose, dry eyes, etc.) that also affects the lubrication of my joints, which leads to arthritic conditions. Lovely. When I Googled Sjogren's, I learned that I have something in common with Venus Williams, the famous tennis player. This condition is what sidelined HER this year.

If I am going to have things in common with famous athletes, I would prefer it to be their salaries, their muscled physiques, or their mansions, if anyone in the heavens is listening. Just sayin'...

This is all still sinking in to my muddled brain. I am bummed. My feelings are hurt. And yes, I guess I'm a little depressed about the diagnosis, but I've always been a Pollyanna when it comes to setbacks. 

My mom taught me to see problems as challenges.  I've always banked on "when there's a will, there's a way." Once I realize that my life isn't ending, it's just going to be different, I'll be fine.

Was everything Dr. Mathews told me gloom and doom?  No.  I did hear a couple of "green lights." I can still walk on level surfaces, although NON-weight-bearing exercises are preferred. Biking and swimming are great, he reminded me. Biking is an activity I enjoy. We'll have to check out more of the bike trails in Utah. I love water, but I don't like swimming long, monotonous laps with my head underwater.  I like to "soak."  If I'm not going to be hiking and skiing, I better figure out new ways to burn calories because I sure don't plan to give up eating.

Speaking of eating, Venus Williams has adopted a raw, vegan diet since her diagnosis of Sjogren's. I've been trying to incorporate more veggies into my eating, and less red meat this summer anyway. I'm going to go slowly. Research. Experiment. Maybe this will turn into one of those blessings in disguise. Miss Venus is looking pretty trim these days. Miss Denise could use a little more lean flesh herself! There's the first glimmer of the silver lining.  

"It's all good," as they say in the south.  There's a saying which is not attributed to anyone famous, or anyone at all, really, that I like.

"It's not over until it's over."  And my ride definitely isn't over.  It's really just beginning, isn't it?

P.S. I cannot find the source of the above quote located on Pinterest, but I found a wonderful blog entry by Laura Jayne Martin that explores this whole "Everything will be okay" thing. She came to the same conclusion about the source of this quote. It's been attributed to many, including Paolo Coelho and John Lennon. I loved her writing.  Warning:  her language may offend some, but if that doesn't scare you, try reading "Everything Will be OK" here:   http://thoughtcatalog.com/2013/everything-will-be-ok/

*The Novice Skier; That Would Be Me!

When I woke up yesterday, I was calm and joyful. I did yoga, I journaled, I took down the Christmas tree. I was thrilled that I was going to get another chance to go skiing. I'd survived the humiliation of my horrible display of klutziness from several days ago.  My cheeks still redden with the memory of Last Week's Fiasco at Wolf Mountain.

When we got to Brianhead near Panguitch, the sun was shining and the temps were in the thirties. Perfect weather! Once again, I requested the adult learner skis. They were IDENTICAL to last week's skis: neon green and about the right length for perhaps an elf to use. I noticed an advantage today: lift operators slow down the chair lift for "we of the neon green skis." Ha ha! It made me laugh, but I was kind of grateful; I have a fear of wiping out coming off the chair lift.

I took pictures of the shadows down below the ski lift. To survive the runs down the hill, I just tried to replicate the movements of the advanced skiers, at a slower speed. I know sometimes skiers probably thought I was trying to outrace them, but honestly, a few times I just lost control, and couldn't quite get those tips to snowplow, and I just enjoyed my "flight."

So this week, my children are happy, their mom is happy, and I'm not operating from that dark place in my head. I've even figured out a supplement/medication regimen that allows me seven hours of sleep. And that helps immensely.

*Too Big for My (Ski) Britches

December 31, 2010

It has been such an odd holiday. Odd in that it has seemed perfect on so many levels that I have been puzzled when I'm not absolutely shivering with delight each and every moment. But my mood gets the best of me at times, and for the life of me, I can't just be grateful for everything that's right; my mind sneaks into the dark crevices around the edges, and suggests there are so many little things that aren't quite right, so let's focus on THOSE for a bit. And I do. And I become emotional, and I cry for no outwardly apparent reason.

I have loved the snow, before and after Christmas. I have loved spending time with my children. I have loved not having to work and having time off work. I have loved baking, and, oh, yes, the consequent eating. But let's not go there just yet; the added four and a half pounds is just the tip of the iceberg of one of those dark places my mind visits, and that makes things so much worse. The presents I gave seemed to be a hit, and the ones I received were so much more than I expected. I found joy in small moments; snuggling with Marley in bed, reading a lovely book about Dean Koontz's golden retriever, and enjoying the early morning hours when the house was lit only by the Christmas tree's glow.

Yes, yes, the whole holiday was practically magical. And yet. The only thing I can come up with when pondering my puzzling emotional state is that Sierra broke up with her boyfriend. And I don't understand it. 

That kid was perfect for ME. Everything looked wonderful to ME. He would be the perfect son-in-law for ME. 

Oh, yeah, but it's about HER this time; not me. And I could not quite wrap my head around the fact that I am not in control of my children, nor their choices, nor their future destiny. Hmm. Usually I am the QUEEN OF MY LIFE, and all of my subjects seem to bow to my every whim, and when they don't, I shake my head in amazement, and try to keep my mouth from gaping.

I woke up on Christmas Eve EVE, feeling blue. I wanted to talk to Sierra about it but it never seemed the right time. So we texted while watching Shrek the Halls with Bridger. Totally unsatisfactory, but that's what we did. Every time I questioned her actions, I realized they were not mine to question. She truly is an adult. A wonderful, mature, caring adult who is in control of her life. I must come to terms with the obvious; she gets to choose for herself, as I chose for myself. I am doing the best I can with what I know, and everyone else in my kingdom is doing the best they can with what they know. It's unfortunate that I no longer will have contact with the ex-boyfriend because circumstances have changed. It is very, very sad that he had such an emotionally draining holiday, but life goes on, and those two will find their own happily ever afters. I must let this go.

I realized this when I was sitting at the bank teller's window, and felt tears rolling down my cheek. That was two days ago...now I must back up and wallow in several of the dark crevice spots to which I referred.

The day before the unexpected tears hit, I'd been skiing for my third time. That morning I was horrified to discover that one just cannot cram an additional 17 pounds into a pair of ski pants that fit perfectly the previous season. Yes, I've gained some weight over the last year. And gained four and a half pounds more since this holiday began. 

That is a very terrifying prospect because I live in fear of being the extra-extra large woman I once was in 2000. And I'm well on my way. So I just balled up the too small ski pants and pulled on some comfy work out pants with lots of stretch. They'd be warm enough, right? 

Well, as we neared Wolf Mountain Ski Resort, I kept my eye on the outside temperature reading in the pickup. 23...17...14...11...I thought I'd be okay if the temps could stay in double digits.

I don't own my own equipment, so I waited for an hour and forty minutes outside, and then inside, the ski rental shop, which smelled remarkably like a high school boys' locker room. I had to record my height, and my astronomically high weight on paper for the teeny, tiny girl at the counter so she could help me get the right size boots and skis. 

I decided to stick with the "adult learner" skis. They weigh about a quarter of a ton, and are fluorescent green in color. 

"What? No vest with blinking lights? No warning beeps at intermittent intervals to alert other skiers in the area?" I joked. 

The ski tech looked out from behind his curtain of long hair, and said, "Well, that bright green color is enough, don't ya think?" 

So there is a class system here on the slopes of Utah: the real skiers, and the novices wearing the neon skis that are only about three feet long. The skis looked more like snow shoes than skis. 

I was so obviously a beginner. I couldn't even figure out how to open the boots to get my foot in; there was a secret latch hidden from view that only experts seem to know about, but I digress even more. Sorry.

My first pass down the hill was extremely FAST. Somehow I could not quite get the snowplowing technique right, and practically flew down the mountain. I'm pretty sure my wild eyes were hidden from view with my dark sunglasses, but I think everyone there knew "Mr. Toad's Wild Ride" was simply an out-of-control adult learner trying to pass herself off as a skier. 

I did a lot of falling that day, and reattaching my boots to the bindings was so hard for me. After one bad tumble, I gathered up my unattached ski, and gallumphed and harumphed across the middle of the ski hill. I was near tears. My mind was jammed with so many jostling thoughts: my daughter's break up; my big, fat butt; my freezing cold legs crusted in ice and snow; my aching muscles screaming from each attempt to get back up after a fall. Everything was taking its toll on my psyche. It took everything I had to put that infernal ski back on, and try to keep in an upright position the rest of the way down the hill, and keep my tears from spilling, but I did it. 

We called it a day after that run, and I still had not cried about any of my troubles that were eating away at my peaceful serenity during this holiday.

So the next day, I found myself with tears streaming down my face at the bank window in the truck.  All of it hit me at once. I felt sad, and I didn't think I deserved that privilege. I should be HAPPY. My life was going great, sort of, except for feeling fat, and the loss of a potential son-in-law, and being a lousy skier.

During my massage that morning, it came to me; the Serenity Prayer.  

"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the strength to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference."  And that's all there is to it, really.  

The actions and choices of others are not within my control; it was time to accept those, and be done with them. I have the strength to lose this weight. I've been here before, and I can get through it once again. And again, if necessary. The wisdom part just comes so slowly to me, it seems. And so, my friends, this is the rather long story of my enlightenment over the holidays. Love me through this, please. I'm learning. Slowly, slowly learning, but learning nonetheless. 

I pray we'll all overcome our troubles this new year and become triumphant over our weaknesses. I want to love more deeply, and laugh even more than I already do. With the support of my friends, I know I'll live to tell about this with more of a smile in years to come.

Happy New Year to us all, dear ones.