Better Living Through Chemistry

I'm feeling like a bit of a fraud. The one remark that I hear over and over again from all of my wonderfully supportive friends and family is that my attitude is "great", "amazingly positive", etc. I suppose I am pretty positive, but I have to admit that my attitude is chemically enhanced. Yes, I have the wonderful Vicodin and Percocet which make me kind of loopy. But while I was in Kessler, I was also put on, what I like to call "happy pills". The brand name is Celexa and it is an anti-depressant.

While I was in Kessler, Joyce, the center's psychologist, came to talk to me in the gym one day. The woman had me pegged within 10 minutes. She said she could quite literally see the control I was exerting as the emotions roiled right beneath the surface. After talking further she said, "What would you say if I suggested putting you on an anti-depressant?' I said, "You wouldn't be the first." I was never the most emotionally stable person to begin with for a variety of reasons. I was in kind of a holding pattern type of depression before the accident, unable to figure out how to get to the next step in my life. I also tend to tamp down the emotions and keep a tight rein on them. I hate letting people see me cry.

Three weeks after the accident, I had never really let go of my feelings. I had cried a little in frustration while waiting for my hip surgery to be scheduled. I had cried a little in anger and frustration when I had to ring 3 times and wait 30 minutes for someone to bring me a bed pan, When the aide finally did bring it, she asked why I was crying and I said, "They're not tears. It's urine leaking out of my eyeballs because I have to pee so badly." One thing that made me not want to let go of my emotions while I was in the hospital was multiple admonishments from nurses and aides when I did cry a little. They would tell me that I had no reason to cry because I was alive and I would walk again and that was more than some people.

I think another reason why I hadn't really cried about the accident and the situation was that I was still sort of in denial about the severity of the accident and my injuries. When I was in the emergency room, I called my boss to tell him I didn't think I would make it into the office on Monday. When I got done with the surgeries I figured I'd be going back to work in a month. A bit unrealistic I know now.

That morning, three weeks to the day after the accident, I woke up and I could feel it coming. All I wanted to do was cry. Of course, since I don't want others to see me cry, I struggled to keep the lid on it as I ate breakfast and got dressed for the day. As soon I was set in my wheelchair, I wheeled myself out of the room, down the hall and out the door to the patio. I kept my back to the building and the torrent unleashed. I cried. Not a couple of tears, but huge body wracking sobs. The nurse came out and asked if I was okay and I told her that I just needed to be alone for a few and let it out and she left. As the tears kept coming, another woman came out and set a box of tissues down on the table next me and sat quietly on the bench. Eventually as the sobs petered out, she said, "Sometimes you just need to cry. It's okay." She had been visiting with her father and saw me out the window. We talked a little about my frustrations and my pain. My loss of independence and control over my life. Actually, I talked and she listened. She didn't offer platitudes or tell me I had nothing to cry about. She was just there. I never found out her name, but I will never forget her and her kindness.

I think the major component of my good attitude is a sort of acceptance. I've always been the type of person, who when confronted with an obstacle or challenge, just sets out to deal with because there is no choice in the matter. My brother and I would joke in the hospital that there was no such thing as dignity and modesty in a hospital. So I accepted it and just went with the flow, it made life easier. I joked when the ortho residents, two young guys I referred to as Tweedledee and Tweedledum, came in to change my surgical dressings. I mean, what else can you do when your naughty bits are exposed to the world while they are sticking gauze to your ass and then on your abdomen, taping it in such a way, that I think the hospital will charge me for a Brazilian bikini wax. Another time, while under the influence of lots of morphine, they rolled me to get to the ass bandages and I ended up with my face right in the crotch of a very cute resident. I looked up at him and said, "You're very cute, but I usually at least get dinner first." In another bed pan incident, I had rung for a bed pan and the aide who came in was a young man named Michael. He paused and said, "Would you like me to send in a female aide?" I told him no and that I was sure I didn't have any bits he hadn't seen before. (Although I'm also pretty sure he wasn't interested in my type of bits...) He turned out to be one of my favorite aides.

By my last days at University Hospital, I was so tired of being poked and prodded and taped and answering the same questions over and over and then being discussed like I wasn't even there. Since the hospital was a teaching hospital, every morning the roving band of students (who we referred to as "the pod" or "the horde") would come in and go over my case. One morning, they walked in and I said, "So Doc, have you figured out what's wrong with me yet?" One student laughed out loud, but the rest just looked confused.

Ultimately, I think my attitude about the whole situation comes from the idea that if I don't laugh about it, I'll cry. Things are what they are. I can't change what happened, all I can do is get through it. And the way to get through it is to focus on the good things and the funny parts. Of course a little chemical boost makes this a lot easier. Scott says that I've become a lot more even tempered since starting the Celexa. I suppose that's one more good thing.

Scarred for life

The worst part of this whole recuperation process is the inactivity. I was a reasonably active adult before this. Back when I originally started this blog I wore a pedometer all day over the course of a few normal days and discovered that on weekdays I walked an average of 2 1/2 miles just living my life. And on weekends during the spring/summer/fall, I would hike 4 -7 miles on the weekend when I could.

Before the accident, my brother Chris told me that he wanted to get back to hiking, it had been a couple years since we had been hiking together. I was excited, especially since my car died in early March and I had made the decision not to replace it right away. If Chris wanted to hike on a regular basis then I would have a larger range of options for hiking and I wouldn't have to rent a car to go. Of course the accident changed all that. Chris now no longer has a car for the summer either. And of course physically neither one of us are going to be walking the trails this year. I'll miss getting out to nature, the smells the sights and the sounds. Grrr... Arrgh

I'm doing some exercises, but I'm basically in a holding pattern until I can put weight on the hip which will happen in about 11 days. I use the crutches around the house and to take short walks to the deli on the corner or the park down the block and that takes a lot of energy. But I can't wait to be able to start working on the leg and get the muscles back. They are so wasted that you can really see the difference in my right leg and left leg. And then as an added joy, I've spent so much time lying on my back in the past 2 months, that I discovered a dime sized bald spot has developed on the back of my head. Like I didn't have enough to obsess over.

Most of my days are spent either lying in my bed or sitting in my office chair and it all gets kind of old. So a couple weeks ago I took advantage of my parents' offer to help me out in some way and asked them to rent me an electric scooter so I could venture further from home and run errands. Hoboken is 1.2 miles square so everything is pretty much within walking (or scooter) distance. Happily my parents obliged, so I hopped on the internet to find one. The first place I tried was a big national internet site called scootaround.com, but when they emailed me the quote I was floored. $415 + various other charges to rent one for a month! I did a bit more searching and found Wellcare Home Mobility in Hackensack, NJ, they rent the same scooters for only $125 per month! And bonus! The gentleman I spoke with was so nice and so personable. He asked the height and weight of the person needing the scooter. I said 5'7" and about 190 pounds and he said "Oh, so a smaller person." I told him I loved him...

The scooter has been great. I can get to the grocery store and the drugstore and the post office all by myself now. And today Scott and I cruised on down to the waterfront to eat our bagels for breakfast while watching the river traffic. Here's a picture Scott took of me.

It was a beautiful morning to be out and about.

I weighed myself this morning and I was down to 185.8. This is the lowest weight I've been since my sophmore year of college. I'm amazed that I keep losing especially given my reduced acivity level. The one thing I could never get a handle on in the past is getting both the eating and the exercising right at the same time. If I was exercising, I would eat more than I should. If I was eating right, I wasn't exercising like I should. So maybe this time I can get it right. We will certainly find out in a little under 2 weeks.

All right it's time for an overshare... The surgeries I had were pretty major so the scars are accordingly major. I'm stil sort of amazed by them so I've taken pictures of them.

This is my neck scar. It's still healing because I had to wear that damn neck collar 24/7. It would get no air and my neck was always hot and sweaty. Eventually, there was just a small hole there, which has now closed up. Scott commented that I would no longer be able to enter the Matrix... (sorry, geek humor)

Also notice all the tape gunk on my skin. It was weeks before I got all the gunk off my arms and my chest so I can't wait to stop having to put a dressing on my neck as well.

This is the scar that runs down my side and halfway across my lower abdomen. This is the first one I saw and the one that made me realize that my bikini wearing days are over, not that they really every got started. I haven't worn a bikini since I was about 7 years old and had nothing to fill it out with. Jeez, I never had a chance to really live I guess... Notice the the dots running down either side, those are from the staples they used to close up the incision. And there were a ton of them. I joked in the hospital that I looked like a shark bite victim.

This is the one that runs up the side of my thigh and then curves onto my lower back. There is also one more that runs straight up my butt cheek onto my lower back, but really, I've already scared you with pictures of my stomach and thigh, nobody needs to see my ass too. When I finally saw these, I realized that I had been filleted. But that's what you get when you break your acetabular and dislocate your sacro-iliac joint ( also know as, your hip socket and butt joint). I know these will fade eventually and I'm rubbing cocoa butter and vitamin E on them to help that along. But ultimately I'm not really all that bothered by them. To me, they don't represent a horrible injury. To me, they mean I'm alive. I survived a situation that could have very easily gone the other way and almost did.

Scott thinks that I should get a cool tatoo around them, like a chinese dragon twisting around the scar. Eh, maybe.

I think that's all for now. I hope nobody was eating when they saw those pictures!

Cheerios!

Twenty the hard way

It's been a while since I posted on this blog. I apologize. It seems old patterns are hard to break. I get gung ho on a project and I stick with it for a while. But then I miss a day or two or three. I swear I'm going to get back to it but as more days pass it gets harder and harder to return to it. So here I am 10 months later giving it another try.

A lot has happened in these past months. I gained back the 8 or so pounds I had lost last summer and continued my usual pattern of bouncing between 205 and 215. I watched my 16 year old niece battle anorexia and get down to around 90 pounds before having a break through and learning to get back to a healthy weight. I turned 40. And probably most significantly, at the end of April, I was in a car accident. A pretty serious car accident.

This was not my first car accident, but it's the first one in which I've been seriously injured. That day started a lot of firsts for me. The first time I've been in an ambulance. The first time I've stayed in a hospital. The first time I've broken a bone. The first time I've had major surgery. The first time I've ever had morphine. The first time I've ever had a view of my own mortality.

What happened was this...

My brother Chris picked Scott and I up early that Saturday morning in his Saturn Ion. Scott being 6'6" got the front seat, while I had to make do with the small backseat. It was a lovely morning as we headed out to Flemington, NJ. We were going to the Amish Market out there on Route 206 to get some of the world's best donuts and some pork from the pig roast they hold on the last Saturday of the month. But mostly we were going for the donuts.

We had gotten on I-78 heading west. I was sitting at an angle trying to get comfortable with the minimal amount of legroom that the Ion provides backseat passengers, especially when they are sitting behind 6'6" boyfriends. Chris and Scott were chatting away up front. I recall thinking that I should probably put on my seat belt, when it all happened very quickly. I didn't see it so I can only relay what I heard and what I was told later. We were traveling in the left lane going around 60 mph. What I was told was that the car in front of us, lost power and came to a dead stop in the lane, no lights, no warning, nothing. What I heard was my brother saying "Oh shit!" and then the unforgettable sound of one car impacting into another. Suddenly we were stopped, the airbags in the front seats were deployed and I was between the two front seats. We were all conscious and checking on each other. As I began to move myself back into the back seat, I realized something was wrong. I got the back door open and began to shift my body to get out, my left foot was hanging limply on the leg. At first I thought my ankle was broken, but as I continued to shift I realized it was the whole leg. The problem was my hip. And as the adrenalin wore off the pain started. The pain was like nothing I've ever felt before. Scott, who was relatively unhurt because he was wearing a seat belt and had an airbag, hovered helplessly and anxiously nearby. My brother was in the front seat with what we found out later was two broken legs and a broken knee. It seemed like an eternity until the EMTs arrived. And apparently it was. It took over 40 minutes for the State Police to arrive on the scene. They wouldn't call for an ambulance until they assessed the scene. So it was another 10 minutes until the EMTs arrived.

Chris said the worst moment of his life was listening to the paramedics move me out of the car, screaming in pain. From here on everything is a just blurbs of memory for me. Answering questions, begging for something for the pain, every bump in the road on the way to the hospital. One of the funny things was that whenever someone asked me what I weighed I would say "210.6". I knew precisely because I had just weighed myself that morning. At the emergency room I was still lucid enough to call another brother and sister and let them know what happened. At this point I was coming in and out of consciousness as the doctors and nurses did their work. I recall opening my eyes at one point and finding myself surrounded by all my siblings. Frankly the next 8 days of my life are pretty much lost to me. I had 2 subluxated vertebrae in my neck and a broken hip so I was heavily medicated and in traction. I had surgery on my neck the next day (Sunday) and that went well. My hip surgery however kept getting put off. Every day they would tell me that I would go in that day and every night they would say "Nevermind". Because I could not eat anything before surgery, I wasn't allowed to eat even if I wanted to (which I didn't, between the drugs and the pain, I had no appetite). I was finally taken in to the OR on Thursday. During the 14 hour surgery to repair my hip, I apparently developed bacterial pneumonia and after the surgery they were unable to extubate (remove the breathing tube) for three days. I found out later that during those three days my family was not certain that I would make it.

I spent another week in the hospital, finally able to eat something after over a week of nothing. I didn't have much of an appetite, which was okay since the hospital food was terrible, often crossing over to inedible. After that second week in the hospital I was moved to Kessler Rehabilitation Center to begin the work that would let me return home. One of the first things they did when I got there was weigh me. This was accomplished by rolling me into a sling and lifting me with this crane type thing. When the nurses aide announced "210 pounds" I couldn't believe it. Two weeks of eating nothing or next to nothing and all I lost was half a pound?!?! What's with that? It was pointed out to me that I was still very swollen and bloated from the surgeries.

That first week at Kessler, though the food was a lot better, my appetite was still very low. I would only eat about half of whatever they brought me. I was doing about 3 hours of physical therapy a day, but at least half of that would be me resting as most activities exhausted me. However, I was making progress. When they weighed me at the beginning of the next week, I was down to 202 pounds. By the second week I was getting stronger and doing more. I was eating a little more, but only at mealtimes and I never thought about searching out snacks. I progressed rapidly and before the end if the week I was swinging myself along on crutches (I've had a lot of experience with them due to my chronic knee problems). That was all the incentive the insurance company needed to kick me out of the rehab hospital and send me home. They weighed me once more before I left. I about fell over when I found out the new number: 199 pounds! I was under 200 pounds for the first time in about 15 years! I couldn't believe it. It finally happened! And all I had to do was get into a horrible car accident! Not the recommended weight loss method I have to say, but it was a nice silver lining to this difficult time.

While I was happy to be home after 4 weeks of hospitals, it wasn't as easy as I would have hoped. I felt bad that Scott had to do everything for me, including all the cooking. One of the first things he noticed was that I wasn't eating as much as I used to. I often didn't finish my meal. I've been home for about a month now and while my appetite has improved, I'm definitely not eating as much as I used to. We don't keep lots of sugary snacks in the house because both of us are watching our sugar more closely these days. I don't snack a lot because, being on crutches I can't carry it. That's not to say we haven't succumbed from time to time. Scott bribed me with a mini-cupcake if I could make it to the cupcake store on my crutches (I made it in record time!). A client send me a box of gourmet brownies. Of course, we ate them, but I limited myself to no more than one a day and I did skip a couple of days. And I made a blueberry buckle this weekend. We ate part of it and brought the rest to my brother when we went to visit.

I weighed myself this morning and I am happy to report I'm down to 187.1 pounds, that's down 23.5 pounds. According to the standard BMI charts, I am officially no longer obese, now I am merely overweight. If I lose 28 more pounds I will be a "normal" weight. Since I have finally broken that 200 barrier, I'm more confident that I can get there and possibly even to my goal weight of 145. This is the first time in a long time that it has seemed attainable.

In about 2 weeks I will be able to put weight on my left hip again and begin physical therapy to begin walking again. I'll be happy for the increased activity. Unfortunately, I will be unable to do any hiking this summer. That bums me out a bit.

The accident was definitely a life changing moment, but the silver linings I have discovered are many, the weight loss jump start is just one small one. After a lifetime of feeling unlovable, I learned that I am well and truly loved. I learned that I have the most amazing brothers and sisters who circle the wagons when crisis strikes. And I learned that I have an incredible support system of friends and family that I never really understood was always there. I've always been a very independent person and I have a hard time asking for anything. I can't thank all the people who have been there for me during this time enough. I think I'm going to come out of this a much lighter person, both physically and mentally.

Cheerios!

A Re-Hash That is Still Relevant

Regularly scheduled Blogs will return soon. I apologize for the interruption.

Meanwhile, since I can't escape it, here is an old blog entry I wrote elsewhere a couple of years ago:

I hate this day. It's a day filled with "tributes" and "memorials" and endless rehashing of that devastating day in 2001. I remember that day all too well, it's too hard to have to watch it all over again.

I was fortunate that I worked in midtown and didn't have to deal with the terror and panic of being right down there and I was fortunate that I lost no one close to me.

But I do remember. I remember coming out of a meeting to find that we all had messages from members of our families. I remember our receptionist telling us that a plane had hit the World Trade Center. I remember trying to call back my sister and brother and being unable to get a line out. I remember watching on a small TV in my boss's office as the second tower was hit. And watching the towers fall. I remember finally getting through to my brother (who worked for the phone company). I remember the fear when he asked if I had heard from Suzie (our youngest sister) who had left early that morning to head into the city on her route as a record label rep (which included stores in the mall in the WTC).

I remember being thankful for the internet so I could keep in touch via instant messaging and email, with my family when none of the phones or cell phones would work. I remember the intense relief when Suzie finally e-mailed me to let me know she hadn't been down there, but was now stuck out on Long Island when they closed all the bridges and tunnels. I remember being touched by all the emails from friends in different parts of the country, asking if I was okay.

I remember the uncertainty leaving the office around noon wondering if I would be able to get home again (to New Jersey). Then being overwhelmed when I walked out to 5th Avenue and looked south. The huge plume of smoke and dust made my knees buckle. I remember walking across Manhattan to the river and passing groups of people standing in the middle of deserted roads looking south, some crying, most just standing there in shock. I remember waiting in line almost 2 hours to get on a ferry back across the river, with people covered in dust and dirt and in shock. I remember how nice and polite everyone standing single file on that line was.

I remember finally making it home and re-watching everything on TV and being in tears. I remember getting up the next morning and taking my sister's dogs (I was dogsitting because her apartment was supposed to have an exterminator come in on Tuesday) for a walk down to the river front smelling the acrid smoke and dust that the wind was now carrying across to us. And I called my boss to tell him I would not come into the city that day.

I remember going back into the city on Thursday and being devastated all over again by all the makeshift memorials that had popped up in Bryant Park. All the missing posters were overwhelming. I remember what was once a 30 minute commute by bus becoming a 2 1/2 hour commute for weeks.

I remember not knowing what to say to a young woman who worked for a client, who had suffered a miscarriage in April, lost her husband on 9/11 and found out she was pregnant again two weeks after that day.

I remember it was over a year before I could bring myself to set foot in that area of Manhattan. I remember losing it in St. Paul's Chapel and having to leave.

Four years later, I remember accompanying a friend from out of town to Ground Zero and once again losing it in St. Paul's and having to leave.

And I remember being on the crosstown bus this morning during the moment of silence and seeing all the construction workers gathered silently holding American flags and having to put on my sunglasses so people wouldn't see me welling up.

I remember. I don't need the endless reminders.

Day 52: Sore Sides and Sweaty Hair

Ahhhhhh... I just got back from tonight's exercise: walking. I did my regular 3+ mile loop. It keeps me close to the river and there is a nice breeze you get off the water to help keep me cool on this extra warm night. It seems I've also missed my strolls around town. I haven't reached the point of getting a "runner's high" yet. But this exercising stuff is really starting to grow on me I think.

It's not pretty for sure. When I get done with a hike or yoga class or one of my Hoboken walks, I'm usually, quite literally dripping with sweat. My hair is soaked. My shirt is soaked. Even my underwear is damp. And in the case of a hike, my hat and shorts are pretty wet as well. My face is flushed, my mascara is running, (if it's a weeknight). And sometimes, some of my muscles and joints continue to pay the price the following day. I realized when I got back from work and walking, that even though it seemed okay slipping back into my yoga routine, my sides are paying the price today. Jody had us doing a lot of twisting poses and the poor muscles along my sides got quite the workout. Any time I turned, or walked quickly, or got up from a chair, the muscles in my sides made their presence known. What's the old saying, "No Pain, No Gain"? My right knee is still a bit stiff and sore from the lack of support I had been giving it, while favoring my left knee. I'm hoping that loosens up soon.

But on the other hand, when I finish whichever exercise I've chosen for the day, I have a general sense of satisfaction. My lungs feel more open. My muscles are warm and loose. And especially in the case of yoga, I feel calmer and more centered. And as sore as they are, I'm also getting my sides back. One of the benefits of all the hiking I did that one year was that my sides tightened up and became a smooth curve making my hourglass shape more of an hourglass and less of a partially squeezed tube of cookie dough. I noticed it this evening as I was walking up the hill at Stevens Tech and I put my hands on my waist as I normally do. The smooth curves are definitely returning.

Perhaps once I get fully back in the swing after my lost weekend, I'll reach the point of the runner's high and it will be less of a chore to drag my ass off the couch and into activity. DHPs and other exercise freaks (and I'm at the point, where freaks is still the right word) always talk about how they look forward to their exercise time. How their day isn't complete unless they've been able to do their regular exercise routine. Umm... okay... when does that kick in exactly? Because I'm looking forward to that moment. That moment in time when surfing the internet or curling up and watching "Scarecrow & Mrs. King" is less appealing than making myself sweaty and sore. I'm not sure I believe that day will ever come, particularly in the case of "Scarecrow & Mrs. King."

I'm running a little behind with the posting of the blogs I know. I'm hoping to catch up today. But thanks all for sticking with me!

Day 51: What If?

Today we'll start off with a couple of pictures. The first is the embarkation picture from my recent Victory Cruise. Or as I like to call it, proof that I got Scott to set foot on a cruise ship. I just wish I had thought to take a picture of him in the piano bar, because I'm not sure anyone would believe that.

The second picture is of me and My Brian, from his visit here last week. I do believe we are both sober in this picture, getting ready to go out to the Museum of Modern Art (MOMA). We did actually do more than drink while he was here. In addition to MOMA, we took a trip down to Red Bank, NJ to visit Jay & Silent Bob's Secret Stash. Brian is an avid comic book reader and a big Kevin Smith fan so he's always wanted to check it out. We also went to Sweet Caroline's Dueling Piano Bar his first night, which led to a lot of drinking. And we went to the Billy Joel "Penultimate Play at Shea" on Wednesday night. So we started and ended our time together with music. Which seems fitting. Perhaps a little more fitting than starting and ending our time together with tequila.

I went to yoga class tonight for the first time in a little over two weeks. I was prepared to have a hard time, to not be able to hold the poses or get into many of them. But, it wasn't as difficult as I thought. I'm not saying I was able to do it quickly or perfectly, but I was stretchier than I imagined. Perhaps it had to do with the fact that the air conditioning was off at the the studio (Hey man, I didn't sign on for Bikram yoga!) So my muscles were already nice and warm. Perhaps it was because my expectations were low so what I could do surprised me.

At the beginning of class, Jody told us about a seminar she attended over the weekend called "Matrix Energetics". It's all about energy and it's uses in healing, psychologically and physically. Pretty interesting stuff. Now I'm not some hippie-dippy kind of person, but I do believe in energy work and I've felt the energy that flows from us and between us and others. I think next time this guy does a seminar in the area I might try and go. The possibilities are fascinating. And of course it is the possibilities that seem to be out of reach because we've been taught all our lives that there are limits to everything. It's hard to change beliefs that have been instilled in you since childhood.

That was one of the things that Jody kept talking about. Even when we do accept beliefs outside of the norm, it's hard to follow them when everyone else is preaching the opposite. The two words that Jody said over and over again was "What if". What if something that you believed couldn't change suddenly did, how would that feel? And she made a point about feeling rather than thinking because feeling is so much stronger. She got me thinking while I was going through my poses. What if I could actually lose this weight? What if my knees didn't get stiff and sore? What if I finally figured out what I want to be when I grow up? A lot of what if's, but probably the three biggest things on my mind. Because I was in that mind set, I thought about the weight loss what if. And honestly the first feeling that popped up was fear. I've been overweight for so long, I feel like it is part of what defines me as me. So who am I going to be if I become a thin person? Will it change my personality? How will it change the way people look at me and respond to me and perceive me? I think I have to lose that fear of losing myself in order to let go of the weight. That's something to work on in my yoga class and my quiet moments I think. It sounds weird to be afraid of losing weight, but I think that really is an issue.

Enough with contemplating my navel...

When I got out of yoga class tonight I felt really good. It was nice to be back and moving and focused. It was also nice to realize that I actually have adopted some real changes in my eating habits. That has always been a big struggle. I've kicked the junk and sugar, now I just need to get my portions back under control. I've started bringing my lunch to work again. First off, it saves me a lot of money. But secondly, it also makes it easier to control the portions since I pack it when I'm not hungry.

Now, if I can just avoid tequila shots and 14 day lost weekends, I should be back on track soon.

Cheerios!

Days 49&50: Wrong Way Laura

When I got up Saturday morning, it took me a while to get the gumption up to go out and hike. It was going to be an incredibly hot day. I hadn't hiked in 2 weeks, I really sort of wanted to just sleep in. But, I had to get back on track.

I chose an relatively simple hike. It lists as a 4 mile moderate loop on High Mountain in Wayne, NJ. But once again, because of some trail re-routing it is a little longer now, almost 4 and 1/2 miles. Still not bad and there is only one serious up. Well, at least if you do the hike as written and don't take a wrong turn right off the bat...

I should have known it was going to be one of those days. Once I got myself together to head out, Scott asked if I would drop him at the post office since it was so hot out. We got in the car and I started to make a turn, the wrong way on a one way street. I've lived here for 17 years, how could I mess that up? I caught myself and corrected it, and laughed it off saying, "Well, that doesn't bode well for my hike today!" If only I knew then...

I knew generally where I was going and I had the hike directions, so I was halfway to Route 80 before I realized that the hike directions did not include how to get there from Route 80. I pulled over and pulled out a couple of maps, alas, they did not have details of the area, but I got a decent sense of which way to go and was relying on memory to get me the rest of the way there. I knew from 80 I had to get on Rt 23 North. But after that getting over to 504 was going to be luck of the draw. I passed the exit for Alps Road (go ahead and snicker Ed) even though it sounded familiar and headed up to Packanack Road because that also sounded familiar. I cruised through a lovely residential area and realized that while I wasn't on the right road, I was heading in the general direction. I eventually found Ratzer Road which also sounded familiar and turned onto it in the general direction I thought I needed to go. Soon I was at Alps Road again with a sign directing me to Rt. 504. Oops, well, I only went a little way out of my way.

Once I hit 504 I was on the hike directions. I cruised up College Road, but a lot had changed and they didn't have Parking Lot signs like they used to. I also noticed a new lot specifically for High Mountain Park. So I drove right past Parking Lot #6, realized my mistake and had to turn around. When I came back, I decided to park in the new lot, since it wasn't that far from Lot #6. Then I got out of the car to see where the trail started. I knew that the Red Trail actually started back up the road a bit, but I saw an unmarked trail directly ahead an thought may the re-routing had come over this way, or at worst the unmarked trail would meet up with the red trail. Yeah, not so much. I broke my cardinal rule of hiking "Never start down a hill until you are sure of the path, in order to avoid unnecessary ups." So I added an extra half mile and an unnecessary up to the hike and I was already sweating like George W. Bush on Jeopardy.

When I finally did get on the right trail I was fine. The paths on this trail are wide and well used by mountain bikers and atvs and college students from nearby William Paterson University looking for a place to hang out and party. It only has one serious up that takes you to the "summit of the highest mountain in view of the ocean on the east coast (south of Maine), with outstanding views." The views would have been very nice if we hadn't had so much rain and the trees weren't all lush and green. Still the summit was very pretty, sort of a meadow with wild blackberry and blueberry bushes, long grasses and lots of crickets.

I didn't encounter another soul on the trail for the longest time. Then my first contact was with a deer that crashed through some brush below me a little. This was the third deer in as many hikes for me, which is a little surprising. I usually don't see many and certainly not later in the day. Which suggests that the deer population has exploded again and they will have a deer hunt in the next few months. This one was a pretty doe and she stood an looked at me for a bit as if trying to figure out what kind of nut case I was for being out there in the heat and humidity. Well, at least I wasn't the one wearing a fur coat! I tried getting a picture but I didn't dare try and move any closer, deer are very skittish. So see if you can spot the deer in the photo below (I'll give you a hint, it ain't called a white tailed deer for nothing):
On the way down the mountain, I caught up with an older couple slowly making their way down the steep part of the trail. They were fairly prepared, appropriate footwear, backpacks with water and hiking poles (really helpful on steep rocky trails). But alas, no map or directions only an idea of where they were going, which they double checked with me. I headed off ahead of them but didn't let myself get too far ahead because there were a couple of less obvious turns. I hung back just long enough to make sure they made them. When we got on the final leg of the trail though, I left them behind and finished the hike.

Air conditioning in cars is a great invention.

By the time I made it back to my car, the trusty pedometer read:

4.87 miles
11446 steps
7151 aerobic steps (at least!)
509 calories burned (at least!)

I felt better about having gotten back on the trail. And even better when I finally got going in the right direction!

Well, I overcame my cowardice and got back on the scale on Sunday. My weight also went in the wrong direction, but the good news is that after my 14 day lost weekend, I only gained a little over a pound! Hooray! That's what happens when you don't eat junk I guess.

After I did the laundry, I had a really lazy Sunday. I didn't have to be entertaining or friendly or chatty, so I curled up in bed and watched old episodes of "Scarecrow and Mrs. King". Bruce Boxleitner is such a hottie! Life was so much simpler in the early 80's. We knew who the enemy was: Those silly Soviets and the communist cronies. And you could always count on Bruce Boxleitner to run out of bullets and then climb up on something and jump on the bad guys and knock them out.

Half the fun is seeing a lot of actors in their early careers: a pre-Seinfeld Michael Richards, a pre-SNL Kevin Nealon, pre-"Earth Girls are Easy" Julie Brown, very young and pre-"Married with Children" David Faustino" and not one, but two "24" presidents Dennis Haysbert and Gregory Itzin. And any number of "Sopranos" actors playing... what else... mob guys.

Well, back to work on Monday and back to yoga! I haven't been in over 2 weeks and I'm missing it!

Have a good week all!