Barnabas would like to wish you all a Bear-y Merry Christmas…eh eh…get it. (It’s because he’s a bear.)
And White Kitty (that’s her real name!) would like to wish you a White Christmas…eh eh…get it. (It’s because her name has the word white in it.)
And Dark Kitty (that’s his real name!) wants to remind you not to let yourself go during the holiday season!
Merry Christmas everyone!
I got featured on the SheJumps website which I think is pretty awesome! See it here. I mention my blog there, so it seemed fitting that I’d mention SheJumps here. It’s an amazing non-profit organization that’s dedicated to “get the girls out.” The goal is to increase female participation in outdoor activities through creating a supportive community of like-minded girls. I’m thrilled to be a part of it, and know that it is doing a lot of good in encouraging girls to get involved in activities that can be intimidating for some (but are completely awesome).
I’ve had a number of non-funny/short posts in the recent past…which is ok because I do have normal human thoughts at times. But, I will get back to posting the funny stuff. Life has been crazy busy lately, so I haven’t wanted to rush through a story that could be funny and make it non-funny because it’s clearly rushed and the pictures are bad. I know my pictures look ridiculously stupid, but believe it or not, it takes a long time to make a picture out of construction paper!
In the meantime, here’s a piece of my bear paraphernalia for you all to enjoy (I have a lot more bear related items, than the average human).
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6/14/13 UPDATE: The link no longer works because SheJumps has revamped the site! I’m now involved as South East Regional Coordinator, which is unbelievably exciting – so happy to be bringing the SheJumps passion to my area!!!
I’ve been way too busy lately. So it’s a good thing Mr. Gobbles, the turkey, is here to wish you all a happy Thanksgiving!
I have three distinct memories from pre-school:
The first memory is pretty self-explanatory. We were shown a movie telling us to stay away from train tracks because trains are bigger than pre-schoolers. In a fight between a train and one or more pre-schoolers, the train will always win.
The second memory involves a field trip to a park. I was terrified of being lost as a child. In my mind if I wasn’t on top of my game, monitoring my surroundings and those who were allegedly watching me, then I would be left behind and lost for all time. I would be forced to become a wild nature girl, relying solely on my animal-like instincts to survive among the bears and other forest creatures.
I can remember when I was six my family was stopped at a rest stop on our move from Utah to Washington. When we were walking around I kept my brothers in sight at all times as to not misplace them and lose them to the forest.
So anyway, in pre-school my class was talking a trip to a park. Of course I wanted no part in this. So, my mom told me I didn’t have to go. When I delivered this message to the teacher, it did not sit as well with her as it did with me. She did not have a backup plan for students who did not want to be a part of her activities. The teacher sternly told me to sit in a chair until I was picked up. For some reason, there was a single chair in the front of the play area facing the door – maybe she had actually come up with a backup plan, and this was it.
I sat there until they left.
Then I started exploring. She had conveniently turned all the lights out so my adventure was lit only by the sunlight streaming in through the front windows. At first I stayed near the chair. That was my safe zone. People would know to look for me there. I played with toys on the shelves behind the chair, keeping the chair in view.
But as my courage grew, so did my radius from the safety zone. Soon I was wandering the hallways observing the other classes that weren’t forced to choose between a trip to the park that would lead to a lifetime of forest dwelling, and a day of solitude and shame with only a chair to call friend.
I watched the kids eating their snacks and they all stared at me wondering why there was a strange little girl salivating at the end of the hall. Their teacher didn’t offer me any tasty treats.
With hunger setting in, and the overwhelming fear of being captured and lost in a group of kids where nobody would know to look for me dominating my thoughts, I headed back to the chair. I sat staring at the door, not sure what I was waiting for but knew something would happen. Luckily my mom appeared and took me away from the dark, lonely, shame-filled adventure.
Much like my second memory, my third memory largely revolves around fear. I stayed at pre-school until nap time – that’s when my mom would come to pick me up. I knew where nap time area was and what nap time mats looked like. I also knew that I didn’t want any part of it. If I was there for nap time, it could only mean one thing – I had been lost and forgotten for all time. So, when the teacher led us to the nap area I began to panic. I’m pretty sure we were going to watch a movie, but it felt like a trick to me. I made sure my teacher was well aware of the fact that “I’m not supposed to be here” and that I had to leave.
Clearly pre-school was a terrifying part of my childhood.
Brent and I spent the first week of September visiting friends in California and surfing. Because I love making videos with my GoPro, I put together an edit of my adventures in San Diego!
Apparently there were sharks in the water in La Jolla, but I didn’t see them. I did see some fish and a sea lion that Brent pointed out though. Pretty crazy.
Eric and Brent started the bag house extravaganza. They bought their own box of those giant black trash bags and got to work.
The construction of a bag house involves cutting the bottoms of the trash bags open and duct taping them together to create a long tube (and if you want to be adventurous, some secondary tubes). The next step is key. You need a box fan to fasten the open end of the bag home to. This fan will fill the bags with air and keep the fort in operating condition.
I think the concept came into fruition when Eric and Brent wanted to build an air tunnel to test out a new airplane they had created.
It quickly evolved into a fort though. The first bag home was a scientific research facility, complete with bag shelves.
I wasn’t allowed in, except for a quick guided tour. I guess I deserved it after employing Brent to help me build a fort and then forcing him to stay outside to “shoot the wolves.” I think I had actually convinced him the fort was a vehicle, he was driving it (in his little kid rocking chair), and wolves were approaching.
Whenever the sheets began to rustle, I knew he was trying to enter and I’d yell out “the wolves are coming!”
He still holds this against me (in a non-hostile way).
After seeing what Eric and Brent had done, I wanted in on the bag house fun. We headed out to our local hardware store and loaded up on giant black trash bags and duct tape.
We then decided on the floor plan and began our work. We designed several wings in the bag mansion.
Brent and I regularly discussed making a giant bag dome/fort for water fight purposes.
I had in my mind a giant dome, with a pool in the middle and water dripping from the walls and ceiling. Corridors would be leading off in all directions. This plan would require at least 57 box fans and be a death trap. Water and electrical wires don’t mix.
For the time being, the bag home we had designed would have to do. Because bag homes have the potential for a disastrous collapse if something were to obstruct the stream of air from the box fan, we each carried our own pair of scissors to make an escape hole.
Brent took full advantage of this. Our neighbor was over and wanted to check out our amazing architectural talent, so we reluctantly obliged. This had disaster written all over it – this individual was not well versed in bag home protocol. I exited first and watched as our neighbor struggled in the entrance.
The entrance is tough to navigate because it is filled with a box fan attached to the bag on three sides. So, exiting requires maneuvering out of the one free side. Our neighbor spent too long struggling near the fan which caused the bags to begin to deflate.
Brent decided to act. He whipped out his scissors and cut a Brent-sized hole in the bag behind our neighbor.
He quickly exited and Eric followed. Our neighbor was most of the way free at this point, so she pulled the bag away from the fan and was out. Everything was ruined though. I was mad. The bag that Brent had cut came from the box of trash bags that I had bought, so naturally it was a harder blow to me.
This was the last bag house we made.
Disclaimer: Like most things I write about, you shouldn’t try to repeat this. If you build a bag house you will probably die.
I visited Brent a few weeks ago and we had big plans of heading out the Long Beach for a surf trip. I was extra excited because I had just got cleared to surf since I was a few months out from my compartment syndrome surgery. We woke up and took the hour+ long trip out the beach. I didn’t bring my new surf board out to NYC, so we had to walk a mile or so to the surf shop to pick up my rental board. I paid the fee and picked up my 45 pound rental board. Everything was going according to plan at this point. We just had to head towards the water and then surfing would commence! Unfortunately things didn’t go as planned.
When we approached the beach I saw a big sign that said “NO” and made a joke about no surfing. But we continued forward and started to make our way over the board walk. Just when Brent was nearing the sand, I heard a guy ask “Where are your tickets?” I looked at him confused and Brent came back up to see what was going on. The beach was charging an entry fee this fine afternoon (something Brent had never seen before in all his weekends spent surfing). It was weird, but we were fine paying the fee. But, oh wait, they had a no credit card policy! Why would we have cash on us…that would be destroyed in the ocean. There really was going to be no surfing!
We talked for about 15 minutes outside the guy’s booth on what our options were to get the needed cash. It seemed our only options were to sell some items off our back or rob strangers – clearly neither seemed like a good idea. So, we spent the next 3 hours walking up and down the beach trying to find any place that was unguarded by the guys in green shirts or that would accept credit cards.
To add insult to injury, we became trapped in some kind of boardwalk festival that made us feel more like we were at the Jersey shore than on a surf trip. Because my rental board weighed so much, Brent and I alternated carrying it. And because it was so wide, I could only carry it over my head (I couldn’t fit it under my arm). I’m pretty sure we jabbed more than a few people with our boards. At one point, we stopped in the middle of the tightly packed boardwalk in disbelief of the situation. We made the option to keep moving forward to try to find an escape path.
We did find one eventually, but it was miles up the beach and there were still no entry points that we could use. So, we made the several mile trip through the streets of Long Beach to the surf shop, dropped off the board, and went to Five Guys. I spent $60 on train fare and the surf board rental – all that so I could carry around an oversized, awkward object for hours like a pack mule.
For the low price of $60, I was able to make this enthralling (non)-surf video!
I also like to call this “Brent riding on a train.”
I created a page on Facebook! I’ve been holding off from introducing these stories to my everyday life, where people can judge with their eyes. But now I’ve enabled people (people that I know in the real world…ahhhh!) to track all the tales of bears and robots back to me.
You’re all invited to the party!
There might be some bears at the party. Like this bear. He’s from San Diego. There’s nothing polar about San Diego, Mr. Bear.
As kids, Eric, Brent, and I were very creative. We’d always be constructing new contraptions and exploring new places. One year, after watching a series of magic shows on TV, we decided we had to put on a magic show of our own. All three of us are pretty competitive and want to be the best at whatever it is we decide to do. So, we couldn’t put on any old magic show. We had to put on the best magic show that had ever been imagined by even the most visionary magicians. We researched existing tricks and put our own ‘flare’ on them to make them doable for us. In our minds our ‘magic’ was stealth and sneaky. But I’m sure in actuality we were stumbling around in a clunky and obviously not magic way.
I don’t remember exactly what the tricks were, but I do remember pieces of three of them. One involved a large cardboard box (possibly a refrigerator box), one involved our toy chest, and one involved blankets draped over a bunk bed with a secret walkway behind the bed. A lot of them involved me hiding in cramped spaces and trying to move without trashing around which is apparently quite difficult for me to do. Eric and I had partnered on a number of tricks so we could tackle the more complicated stuff. Brent decided to stay rogue and only perform tricks that allowed for one man sorcery.
Brent began to get ambitious as our magic planning progressed. Like a studious little magician’s apprentice he researched everything related to magic tricks that existed. Through this extensive research, he began to develop a large repertoire of tricks that he wanted to be able to perform. This did not sit well with Eric or me. We confronted him. This did not sit well with Brent.
Eric and I wanted to keep this a joint effort with a fair share of performances from all involved. We had an even distribution of appearances for the three of us in the game plan that we had on the table. Brent wanted to show the full spectrum of his new knowledge and talent. A large argument broke out where everyone threatened to give up everyone else’s magic trick secrets. Brent decided that he didn’t want any part in our show anymore. He was going to create his own show.
With the threat of another show to compete against – another show that would actually take away from our show (either we would have to repeat his tricks or live with a very short performance), Eric and I discussed our options. We weighed the costs and benefits of re-including Brent in our act. Of course there was a threat of a repeat incident in which he would abandon us to pursue his own show, so we had to head that off. Eric pulled out a piece of paper and began to scribe a contract that Brent would have to sign once he rejoined our amazing team.
We went through several iterations of the contract before we agreed on one what was suitable to present to Brent. Some of the conditions that we considered were:
The final contract was a little less harsh than some of the early drafts. It did, however, enforce equal performance time for all members of the magic trio. Brent agreed that it would be more fun to have a team to perform with and agreed to sign the contract. And with that the rehearsals commenced!
But unfortunately, my mom unknowingly saw us rehearsing through a window. I was sneaking around a secret passageway that regrettably went past an open window, when I saw my mom on the other side. This ruined everything! If that trick was exposed, what was the point in doing anything?
The magic show never happened.
Last year when I was first diagnosed with compartment syndrome, I was told that after surgery I could “still be a leg model.” I hadn’t set that as one of my goals in life, but I’ve since decided that it is now my top goal. I’ve gone ahead and created some samples for the leg modeling agencies to take a look at. You’ll notice there’s a bit of a nice pattern to my legs because I just had them wrapped up for icing. I think it adds a nice touch – pretty Avant-garde.
If the left leg isn’t the right look, then here’s the right one.
You’re welcome leg modeling agencies.
Marc left a nice comment for all of you searching for his music. I wanted to be sure you all were able to see it, even if you’re not reading through the comments.
He’s a nice guy – he didn’t have to say anything but he did, which is awesome. So visit his website: The Lazy Suns, buy the song you’ve been searching for: Troubled Sea, and then buy more of his music: Marc Clayton.
Thanks Marc – keep up the great work!
The rest you can ignore…I just need to make sure searches for this song land here, like for my previous post. I’m totally against trying to direct people to my blog posts (through including popular search keywords in hopes of tricking people into reading my stuff – that annoys me and I’m sure it annoys everyone else), but I think it’s for a worthy cause – you all want his music, he wants you all to buy his music, and I want to help everyone (while making sure you see Marc’s message)!
Searches:
Music info:
I can always tell when the episode of Deadliest Catch that features “Troubled Sea” has aired.
I seem to be the internet expert on this song! I don’t have the name of the song listed in my previous post though, so I’m going to make it easier for people to track it down. Deadliest Catch is amazingly awesome, so you too must be amazingly awesome by association!
You search for this:
I give you this present:
And as always, here’s a rope burn fact:
I feel bad I keep disappearing, but I have valid excuses…I swear! If you remember, a while back I complained about the uselessness of my legs. It turns out this was due to something called compartment syndrome. If you want to gross yourself out, look up pictures of compartment syndrome…better yet, I’ll provide some here:
Post surgery (May 4):
Foot bruising:
Stitches:
Bandages:
New small ace wrap:
Ice wraps:
After stitches came out (May 18):
If you can’t tell, I had surgery! In both legs!
For those of you who don’t know what compartment syndrome is (which is probably almost everyone – exertional/chronic/exercise induced compartment syndrome is pretty rare) I’ll give a brief overview. You have 4 compartments in your lower legs. Each compartment consists of muscle surrounded by a membrane called a fascia. In my body the muscles and fascia refuse to cooperate. When I run, or ski, or do anything that I would find to be at all fun, my legs feel like they’re going to explode with pressure, they have knives inserted into them, and they’re being squeezed by a vise.
Either the fascia isn’t playing nice and expanding to allow the muscles extra room when they’re expanding from physical activity, the muscles are being assholes and expanding too much, or both.
This causes the pressure to increase too much in the compartment which can be harmful for both the muscles and nerves. In my case I would get numbness in my legs and feet and have difficulty lifting my toes which would add a level of excitement to my runs – trying not to trip over my feet.
I’ve known about this issue for 9 months. I actually found out last August after returning from a surf trip in San Diego. I had scheduled the test before the trip, but wanted to hold off until I returned because of what it involved. The test is completed by shoving a meat thermometer sized needle in 2 areas of each lower leg. Knowing this, I decided to preserve the integrity of my legs for surfing…and to add a level of nervous anticipation to my vacation. Who doesn’t love ending a vacation with an invasive medical procedure?
When I went in for the test I hadn’t eaten yet that day, which was apparently a bad call. I got the anesthetic injections, which felt like fire being shoved into my legs, and then came the dizziness.
I’m always the person that who can’t take my eyes off the medical procedure being performed on me – leaning over the needle or meticulously watching each stitch being sewn in. So, it came as quite a surprise when the mere injection of some anesthetic and sight of a giant needle and pressure gauge resulted in tunnel vision. I informed my sports medicine doctor that I felt like I was on the verge of passing out and she asked me if I had eaten. When I told her no, she looked at me like a disappointed parent and asked her assistant to bring me a Power bar. I didn’t know I needed food in my belly! I rarely eat breakfast. I lied back on the table and ate my Power bar as she skewered my lower legs in 4 spots.
I twitched as I could feet twinges of pain with some of the stabs. All pressure readings were higher than they should be! Then it was time for my run. She covered the open wounds with band-aids and cleaned up the blood that had run down my legs and stained my socks. I ran around the block for about 15 – 20 minutes and returned, running in the place in the building (as instructed). Then came the second round of needle jabs. She inserted the needles into the open wounds and read the pressure levels again. This time the readings were even higher. I was diagnosed with compartment syndrome in all 4 compartments of both of my lower legs! The next week I hobbled around, feeling like someone had taken a bat to both of my legs.
From there I met with a surgeon who suggested that I attempt non-surgical methods to improve the condition before undergoing an operation. I had already gone through a a gait analysis and bought orthotic shoe inserts. My sports medicine doctor had attempted these fixes prior to the diagnosis of compartment syndrome. My surgeon decided I should try something called active release therapy prior to going the surgical route. I had to go to a chiropractor for a few months and have him wail on my legs. The bruising was an added bonus. I also tried a run/walk program to try to ease back into running (which I had also previously tried with my sports medicine doctor). Like all other attempts to remedy this issue, these techniques had no impact.
It seemed the only solution was surgery. So I met with the surgeon again and set up the surgery for January – a week after I’d be returning from my winter ski trip. Again, nervous anticipation is the key to any stress free vacation. But, for Christmas I got a new pair of skis! And because the snow conditions were less than perfect this last year I wasn’t going to be able to use them. My new skis were powder skis – Armada VJJs – and there wasn’t much powder, in fact there were rocks poking through the snow.
I decided that I was going to have to postpone the surgery so I could go on a spring ski trip (the recovery time for the surgery is 3 – 4 months, and spring skiing would be 3 months out at the latest). I was also a little uneasy about the implications of not being able to leave my apartment for a few weeks.
I cancelled the surgery while on my ski trip and decided I’d revisit this issue when it was no longer avoidable. I started to get some pain in my legs while walking over the next few months, which was a new development. Typically in the past the pain was present only during running or for a few hours – days after running.
A few months later, in April, I returned to Big Sky for my spring ski trip and it became clear that this was no longer avoidable. I wasn’t able to make more than 30 seconds at times without having to lay down on the slope because of the intense pain and pressure in my shins. I probably looked like I was dead to onlookers, but sitting was even out of the question. I needed my legs to be perfectly straight with absolutely no weight on them.
I knew during this trip, that I was going to have to have surgery before I could go skiing again.
The day after I returned from my ski trip, I called my surgeon and scheduled an appointment to see him his first available time a few weeks out. I asked all my questions and decided I was going to move forward with the fasciotomy (or as my brother calls it, a “compartment amputation”). We decided the best approach would be to address the 2 front compartments on each leg. These were the ones that were causing the most trouble, and he suggested that the rear compartments could be seeing some issues just because of the level of problems with the front ones. A fasciotomy on the rear 2 compartments leaves a much larger scar and requires a longer recovery time, so I agreed this sounded best.
The next hurdle was scheduling a surgery date. I apparently would need someone with me 24/7 for the first week post surgery. My parents were happy to come out and stay with me, but the problem was that their hotel was about to open and they would be occupied for the entire summer. Postponing my surgery until after they closed up for the year would mean I’d have to continue to deal with the issues in my legs for months, and I’d miss out on skiing in the 2012 – 2013 season. My parents told my that my mom could come stay with me for a week…2 weeks out. That was the only time that would work, after that their hands were tied. I called my surgeon and inquired about his availability at that time. I wasn’t holding out too much hope, but to my surprise he was able to fit me in on May 4th!
So, my brother took me in for surgery. The surgeon made a few incisions in each of my shins, found the nerve that gives sensations to my foot and moved that aside, and cut open the fascias for the front 2 compartments from knee to ankle.
My brother spent the night on an air mattress in my living room. The next day my mom flew in and spent the week cooking for me and keeping me company. When she left I was on my own, trapped in my apartment for another week or so with very little human interaction. Just as I was sure I was becoming some kind of Gollum-like recluse, I got the go-ahead to start driving. I’m able to crutch around and drive my car some…which is probably horrifying for anyone watching. I know they’re thinking: “She can’t walk, but she can drive?!” And the answer is yes, yes I can.
I’m still trying to keep swelling at bay. So I’m icing and elevating as much as I can – I’m pretty much a pro.
