One of the most poignant book series I’ve read is called The Emigrants. It’s tells the story of Karl Oskar and his lovely wife, Kristina, emigrating from Sweden and all it took to get here to America, settle, and those they left behind. I was so sad when I finished the books knowing that was the end of Karl Oskar and Kristina. One specific scene has been on my mind these last few weeks.
Kristina, now old and beaten down by such a hard life, looks at herself in the mirror and wonders who that old hag is looking back at her? Surely it can’t be the young and beautiful herself?? It is heartbreaking to hear her thoughts of herself and I think of that every time I see a picture of an older woman, such as the Hawaiian lady above. Did she look at that picture and wonder where her younger self went? I dunno.
What I do know is that I have a sort of dyslexic view from Kristina as I look in the mirror these days. See, I’m tired. My bones are tired. My right hand wakes up after a throwing day a bit swelled up and the tendons I tweaked in my middle finger last July makes it tender to just fist my hand for the first little while of each day. I gingerly get out of bed and immediately do my stretches so brushing my teeth doesn’t feel so godawful on my back.
I’m walking the fine line of tendonitis in my right elbow from throwing and I need an I.T. band release on my right leg to ease the pressure of my knee. Good lord I’m feeling my old bones. There have been days I look in the mirror fully expecting to see an 80 year old version of myself staring back at me. How is it that I don’t? Now, I don’t want any “Awww, you look good for an ol’ gal Jules” comments. I do ok. For the most part I eat better than a large percentage of other late 40’s chicks do with keeping in mind anything that brings on inflammation will immediately show in my face (a late night Peanut Buster Parfait this summer almost had my eyes swollen shut the next day. The dog food counter lady even asked if I was ok.) Lesson learned. I’m stubborn enough to keep moving and I aim for PR’s in the gym and on the field.
But the first 15 minutes of each day? Uff Da. That’s assuming I’ve been able to even sleep for a solid 6-7 hours. On nights where I’m up for 2-3 hours and then doze here and there for an hour before it’s time to get up, I’m a walking hag zombie for an hour.
My post season through December training needs major recovery, conditioning, as much throwing as I can do before the snow flies, and fun. And I don’t know how to do that without pushing myself right back into the ground. So I’m going to get help with that. I don’t know from where, but I’ll figure it out. Right now I’m a week out from my last Games so throwing is on the docket with light lifts in between. And then rest.
Staying out of the gym isn’t an option for me. I did it last year during Christmas week and felt like absolute hell for two weeks after. But the week in between Games and Lithuania will entail prowling and light lifting and that’s all. THAT’S ALL! (I have to yell that or I won’t do it.) Time to rejuvenate these old bones.
At 50, everyone has the face he deserves.
George Orwell
I believe in being gracious. In showing respect, kindness, recognizing that my little world is full of other people going through other things. I believe that people who are close to people I’m close to should be shown respect. I may not know you, I may not know you well, but someone I love cares for you and out of respect to them, I’ll show you respect. Simple.
However, what happens when people take the graciousness you offer, and begin treating you like a door mat?
It happens, there are people who suck at life. They are takers; whose world’s are so small they believe that their views are the sun and we are put here to revolve around them. What then?
There is a gym in town I refuse to train at specifically because of the handful of men who’s mommy’s told them one too many times that they are the very most special in the world and everyone else is common. (Or maybe not, I just don’t have experience with why men grow up to be bullyish, selfish assholes.) The owner of the gym is one of the most positive, experienced, and fun men I know here in Milwaukee but his patrons are not. When I first got to town, I believed that even when grown men would come and take plates off my rack that I just spent 10 minutes setting up for my squat sets, I should be gracious. After all, this isn’t my sandbox. I’ll play nice out of respect for Matt who has trained there for years. The problem was that people behaved completely differently when Matt was with me. Now, there are some very good folks from the gym that I miss seeing on a regular basis but knowing I could be dealing with idiots during my training sessions was just stressful enough for me to stay away.
Honestly, that was new for me. I’ve trained many places and once folks see you setting up a squat rack, they show THEIR graciousness and back off. But not here, so I switched gyms when I needed some accessory work that I couldn’t do in our home gym. It finally occurred to me that just because an environment or people are good to (or for) Matt, they may not be for me.
And that’s the crux of being plopped down in someone else’s established life. While I feel I need to be gracious and in some way accepting of various shit slung my way, I suddenly feel like a door mat to folks who are not of the belief that THEY in turn are gracious to me just because I’m here with Matt.
So I’ve learned some good lessons here in the last year. Two way street folks. I show respect to you for the person you are and the impact you’ve had in lives of those I care for. Once that respect isn’t reciprocated, then I change course. Yes, I will still show respect when life demands that we’re in the same room. Of course. But I’m no door mat and taking advantage of a friendship with Matt doesn’t change that. Remember, he’s a lot nicer than I am. A lot.
Luckily for me, there are some of the most amazing people I’ve had the pleasure to be around here in Milwaukee. And other gyms who are not only run by gracious hosts, but even make me feel like a friend when we bump into each other. I value that, and them. It means the world to me and I’m always looking forward to our next outing. (Even if it’s in spin class which is really, really hard!)
Be gracious. Smile at people. Don’t put silly shit that means nothing above being nice to people. Don’t treat people like door mats but more importantly, don’t allow others to treat you as such. Never ever.
I’ve been through it all, baby, I’m mother courage.
Elizabeth Taylor
People love their dogs. I thought of that this weekend as I watched this…
It also occurred to me that the majority of my FB peeps love their dogs…
Coincidence? I dunno. Are dog people drawn to other dog people or does it just happen that so many people love their dogs? Of course we love our dogs. Preacher was our first Kuvasz and when we brought him home over 11 years ago, he plopped down on the living room floor and told us he was home. He’s our security system and not much goes on in the world around his house that he doesn’t know about. He can pretend not to hear us call for him but then be a floor and two rooms away when he hears the cheese being opened. He’ll come running. Dazzle joined our family last year and has added some pep to our lives. She’s been the perfect companion for Preacher and has kept him feeling young as he’s entering his senior citizen years. They love coming into the gym with me to train, but not on Snatch and Clean days. Dropping the bar from overhead stresses out Dazzle.
It’s always nice when the Bigg dogs take time to stop and smell the flowers…
One of my most favorite dogs (Bosco) hails from Melbourne, FL and he owns two of my most favorite gym peeps from Harbor City CrossFit…
Dogs give us security, laughter, snuggles, silliness, a reason to vacuum, friendship, and love. I can’t imagine a life without them.
The average dog is a nicer person than the average person.
Andy Rooney
