Getting Pumped Check In

It's fifteen days into my 'Getting Pumped' challenge and I can't say things have gone as planned. Within hours of my last post I decided on a different core strengthening workout to follow: one I found in a Canadian Running magazine that was within inches of recycling. This workout had me doing a number of exercises standing on one foot (technically referred to as 'single leg stance'). My rationale for the switch was simple: running is, by definition, a repetitive single leg stance activity. I ditched the RW workout for the one-footed wonder without a second thought. The workout was challenging. I could feel all the 'right' muscles kicking and the same were pleasantly sore the next day. It was perfect, or so I thought.
The one thing I didn't take into account was my underlying asymmetry, a state which made itself known on my next long run. Two c-sections and 4 pregnancies take their toll on any woman's pelvic girdle, mine being no exception. I'd had similar issues in the past, but they were long past, so I'd mostly forgotten. Early in to my first long run of the New Year I felt a twinge in my left SI joint.  I could hear it whisper, "Remember me?" Eight miles turned that twinge into a steady throb. It was no longer whispering. I spent the rest of the day correcting my left SI joint rotation and figuratively kicking myself for not sticking with beginner exercises that kept me on two feet for at least a few weeks.
The next day I switched to this program, another from Runner's World. At quick glance you'll be sure to notice that both legs are firmly planted on terra firma, save the last one, which I've chosen to skip for two weeks. If today's 9 miler is any indication, it's doing the trick. Will it amount to my running faster some day? I hope so. I've signed up for a 15K race in March where I'll put it to the test. Wish me luck!

Getting Pumped

I'm injured.

Again.

This week its an abdominal strain from cross-country skiing. Last week --yes, last week-- it was a knee sprain while snowboarding in heavy powder. And then there was the peroneus longus tendonitis last spring, the back strain last winter, and the decades-long hallux valgus which has resulted in countless blisters and a painfully recurrent Morton's neuroma. My body has been telling me to get stronger for years and I've been mostly ignoring it. Only injuries seem to get my attention and then I am the world's best patient, icing, stretching, and strengthening myself back into painless bliss only to regress shortly thereafter in a false sense of invincibility. The pattern is a repeating one with ever-shortening intervals, so I'm on the hunt for a lasting solution. Yoga? Why not! Carefully directed calisthenics? Clearly. The trouble isn't knowing what to do, but actually doing it. Accountability is what is missing and I'm apparently willing to give myself plenty of slack. Hence this blog post. For the next few weeks I plan to share my Getting Pumped resolution journey.

So here's the link for this week's workout courtesy of Runner's World. I like it because it it is working on my core that is woefully weak at the moment. It's also easy on the knees as my sprain is making itself known. I may have to adapt it due to my stage of recovery, bending my knees on the plank and possibly skipping the advanced plank all together. Regardless, I need to get it in at least 4 days this week to make a difference.

So here I go.

Getting off the couch.

Yup.

*sigh*

Running Over The Hill

I was 40 years old when I asked myself the question, "If not now, when?" If I wasn't going to take my health seriously at age 40, how likely would it be that I would ever. It would not get any easier, that was for certain. So I started running, joined Weight Watchers, and registered for a local 4 mile race. Actually, I registered for the 4K at the same event only to discover that the shorter distance was intended for youth and the disabled. I qualified as neither. The organizers transferred my registration to the longer distance at no additional fee and that was that: older, slower, and weaker, I was going to run my way over the hill. Last one down is a rotten egg!

Back in the Saddle

Lady was the first horse I remember riding.  To be more accurate, Lady was a brown pony with a prickly personality and fierce disdain for tailgaters.  She once kicked the Colonel when he stood too close to her hindquarters. Lady belonged to a family friend and, despite being slow and stubborn, I never complained. Horseback riding was a rare treat and bringing up the rear was a small price to pay. Lady never showed me the least bit of trouble, nor I her, so ours was a peaceful, if not affectionate relationship.

In the years since Lady I've ridden a handful of times, each time with greater ease. I've also had more experience around animals in general, what with our two dogs and ten hamsters. I've even been dubbed the dog whisper by a few dog owners, eliciting behavior from their pups that they'd never seen before. Let's just say my animal self-confidence has grown considerably since the days of Lady. That's what makes what I'm about to share that much more shocking.

We were tandem biking in Idaho, Kirk and I on one contraption, the girls on another. The scrub covered hills of Sun Valley and the quirky ski town were begging to be explored. En route, we biked past a pasture where horses grazed on scrub under an overcast sky. A couple on foot had just finished feeding chunks of apple to a pair of tall brown stallions who had wandered over to the split log fence. The man and woman were now were trying to pose with one of the horses for pictures, but it wasn't going so well. The stallion clearly wanted more apples and kept nudging away their attempts to pet him in search of snacks. I held out a closed hand for him to sniff, but he quickly deduced that I was apple-less and turned away. When the man tried to pet his muzzle again, the horse tossed his head back and whinnied in protest. Instinctively I placed a hand on his side to calm him, murmuring, "You're alright." That's when the beast whipped his head around and bit me. Not on the hand, but on the...well it might be mistaken for an apple...or a peach.

It was by far the most intense pain of my life. My clothes weren't torn, but the crushing pressure and my struggle to get away left marks that are still fading. I pedalled away from the pasture with tears streaming down my face. I was in shock. Had that really happened? Horse whisperer, I was not.

That afternoon we were scheduled to go on a trail ride. I considered begging off. After all, I had one hell of an excuse. I knew, however, that if I let myself sit out once, I might never get near a horse again. So I loaded up on pain killers (and two jog bras) and headed out the door. You can imagine my relief when I learned it would be a 45 minute drive to get to the stables. These horses would not be Jaws or any of his pasture-mates. Even so, I mounted Fiona with trepidation.

"She's stubborn, a bit slow, and doesn't like tailgaters," the handler told me.

I smiled and took the reins. "Perfect."

I murmured to Fiona throughout the ride, patting her neck and holding on tight as she kicked at the horse behind her for riding too close. She was Lady reincarnate, just what I needed.

Hatching a Golden

I've often referred to my dogs as Golden Chickens. Despite being classified as large dogs, Golden Retrievers — or shall I say our Goldens —tend to behave in ways that call their canine qualifications into question. Honey, God rest her soul, once sausaged herself between two pickets of our black aluminum fence in a desperate attempt to evade thunder. At over 70 pounds, she was no fly-weight, and the pickets couldn't have been more than six inches apart.  Needless to say, it took a mighty hug and tug to pry her lose only to have her bolt seconds later.  To her credit, she was a tireless waterdog and retriever of floating sticks, but one clap of thunder reverted her to Golden Chicken-with-her-head-cut-off status. Maya, our current Golden, is fine with thunder and explosives. It's men, feet, thermometers, garden gnomes, and cars that send her into a mindless tizzy. The list could go on, but time is precious. So if Honey was a chicken, Maya might qualify as a chick with a fear of hatching.

Maya's first experience with water was the garden hose. She'd discovered a puddle created by a leaky outside faucet and had played to her heart's content until interrupted by the girls. The result looked like this.

Little did she know that the the faucet had, if not a dark side, a much colder one. I sometimes wonder if this first chilly rinse contributed to her aversion to water. Later that summer we took her to Oak Run and tried to coax her into the lake. At most she waded ankle deep. We tried again at our friends' heated pool. She hated it, recoiling between deck chairs to avoid the gigantic turquoise tub. It was hard for us to believe a purebred waterdog could hate the very thing that was in her nature to love. We couldn't keep our first Golden out of the water. Now we had one we couldn't get in.

It may come as no surprise to you that Seattle is particularly dog-friendly. Dogs can be found everywhere, from the grocery store to the mall. According to our banker, dogs are more welcome in the branch than children. We couldn't ask for a more perfect environment to break Maya out of her proverbial shell. Our first mission: swimming.

The off-leash park we frequent has a slow moving river along one edge where dogs are welcome to dive in and cool off. The water is shallow enough in parts that even short dogs (and Golden chickens) can wade without actually having to doggy paddle. It took one visit for Maya to overcome her fear of wet rocks, a few more to wade in unaccompanied. Big thanks go to Emma and Mouse who called her tirelessly from knee deep water as Maya whimpered and paced on the water's edge. After nearly three months of practice, Maya is almost there. She enters the water from shore without cajoling and can finally swim without her front paws clawing the air on each stroke. She still won't leap in from a swim platform or dock, but I have faith that will come. She's even retrieved a floating stick or two! Seattle: the land of small miracles.

The question now is which fear to conquer next? Human feet or garden gnomes? I think the gnomes have it.

Ready? Get set... Wait!

I am in a holding pattern of sorts, waiting for my Washington State teaching certificate. The process is complex, with many required documents, references, forms, exams, and cash outlays. I appreciate why many professionals refuse to stray further than their first professional leash will allow. The  tedious redundancy and expense of crossing state or international borders is ridiculous.
At the very least I will need to sit two two-part tests to teach elementary school. Should I wish to venture into middle school (yes, I'm that crazy), I must take up to an additional four.  The first two-part test determines if I can read, write, and do extremely basic math. (God help us if our universities produce graduates that don't have this! Note: one needs to graduate from college to earn the right to take this first test. It seems we can't be too careful. Even Illinois insists on this one. Yes, I passed it there. No, it doesn't matter.) The second two-part test ensures I know how to teach. I passed that one in Illinois, too. Guess what else doesn't matter?
So I've decided to stop applying for jobs only to hear nothing back, most likely because I don't have a certificate yet. It seems my mind is happy to fill the ensuing silence with relentless self-depricatory remarks. Entering an interview with such uncertainty does very little for my self-confidence. I've never had much of a poker face. In my heart I know I am a good teacher. I know I love to do it and my students can tell. So, I'm doing my best not to choke up when seeing the piles of back-to-school supplies. My teaching-self is on sabbatical in one of the most beautiful places on Earth.

Still, some parts of moving stink.

Feed me!

Mouse caught a fly and fed it to Samster. Freaky,

Gifts

It's no secret that teachers get gifts. I've given many over the past decade as my girls have progressed through school. When gift selection was heavily influenced by me we gave house plants, baked goods, or gift cards. The girls, on the other hand, have preferred to select oddities like LED-lit snowmen, #1 Teacher coffee mugs, and hot-pink, rose-scented candles. Eventually we have gravitated to a happy medium where teachers receive something that reflects the gratitude of both parent and student. This year it was Ghirardelli chocolates and Starbucks gift cards. I have to admit I gave with a bit of personal longing.

While not unexpected, it is somewhat bizarre to be on the receiving end of teacher gifts for the first time. The following is a quick summary of my loot by category:

• Biggest: a giant, stuffed, red M&M
• Smallest: a sticker of Dory from finding Nemo ("Just keep swimming!"-- the perfect first-year teacher motto)
• Most frequent: hand-drawn portraits of me and/or the gift giver (I consistently have an unusually large head and a big smile.)
• Second most frequent: candles, soap, & lotion
• Most quickly consumed: chocolate in all its forms
• Most unusual: a Venus Fly Trap 
• Most cozy: a micro-fleece throw
• Most practical: socks
• Most thoughtful: the Wordle

A Wordle is a word cloud. The one above was created using adjectives and role descriptors that my students chose from a list to describe me. My mentor then entered the words onto the Wordle website to create this treasure. Larger words were ones most selected; smaller words were outliers, though no less poignant. In my case 'happy' and 'brave' were clear leaders. 'Bossy' was among the smallest. Funny, I'd have made that last one bigger. Interesting how it turned out to be a bit fish-shaped, eh?

Of course, the best gift of all is getting to teach 5th grade all over again. For a while it sounded like I'd be changing schools and grades, but the chips have fallen in my favour. Perhaps next year I won't have to work evenings and weekends for months at a time. Perhaps not. Regardless, I will get to build on what I've learned while working with some of the best teachers and students I could ever hope for. Onward, ho!

Survival Tactics...or not.

I asked my departing students to write a note to their 4th grade replacements on how best to succeed in Mrs. Miller's 5th grade class. Many decided to express their incorrigible senses of humour instead. Here is a montage of their advice.

1. Always use red pen.
2. Never double space your writing.
3. If she writes a number in your planner, you get a piece of candy.
4. When she says, "Give me five," talk louder.
5. When she says, "If you can hear my voice clap three times," hit your neighbour three times--hard.
6. Use your 'Out of Control' voice when you speak.  Mrs. Miller can be a little deaf.

Haleakala

Haleakala as viewed from our oceanside resort. 

The crater at the top of the now dormant Haleakala Volcano on Maui is large and deep enough to hide Manhattan. We passed up the opportunity to watch the sunrise from its rim simply due to the 2:30am wakeup call. Instead we opted for a late morning excursion that had us coasting down her wide flanks on bicycles with blessedly strong brakes.

Haleakala Crater

Haleakala Crater II
The sandy hills are former lava vents.

A cold wind pummelled us at the top, sending the girls and I running for the glassed in viewing shelter. I'd hate to think what it felt like at 5am! Thankfully the tour company had leant us rain/wind gear. The bike ride down started three thousand feet lower so there was no risk of us being blown off course into oblivion. 

Hams on Haleakala

The surrounding terroir changed dramatically from top to bottom: sun, rain, sun and rain; arid stretches with only scrub grasses, cacti, and prickly shrubs; towering pines and eucalyptus groves giving way to fields of cattle and sugar cane; thick rain forest that had me humming 'The Lion Sleeps Tonight" and longing for a machete (to slash through the undergrowth, not slay lion!). A far more fit person might aspire to biking up that diva. That ship has sailed for this rider. We all had a great time and would highly recommend it. Kudos to the Captain for not ditching us in search of a thrill ride and to the kiddos for not a single wipe out. 

Volcano National Park

 Call me crazy, but I've always wanted to see an active volcano--from a safe distance, of course. In honour of turning 40, I made a wish for a trip to Hawaii. While I was denied flowing lava by Pele, the Hawaiian goddess of all things hot, the experience was nonetheless spectacular. In the photo above, Emma and Mouse huddle in the lava tube located in the back yard of our Volcano Village cottage. Below is the tsunami evacuation area just outside of the park. With as much volcanic activity in the area as there is, occasional tsunamis are as inevitable as the quakes that cause them. Let's just say we didn't linger.

Shortly after sunset one night we voyaged to the Kilauea crater to view the glow of lava percolating 200ft below the opening. Instructions for hiking in the area recommended sturdy boots, lots of water, wind and rain gear, and sunscreen. There were signs posted warning of areas with poor air quality due to expelled gases. There were also signs to watch out for a distant relative of the Canadian Goose, called a ne-ne, who seems to have survived the eruptions just fine, but is under serious threat of extinction due to humans.  We never did see one.

I was fascinated with the variety of forms of lava we found. Some of them looked like reptile skin. Others looked like a backyard barbecue that got out of hand. Even more remarkable was the life springing from the cracks and crevices. I feel like I've travelled to a place of birth... and rebirth.

Camp Miller 2012

Since moving to P-town, Camp Miller has become an annual tradition. It fills those weeks of summer that aren't taken up by day camp or trips out of town as a family. Days pass in a blink, filled with trips to the library, the local museum, destination bike rides, hikes, and crafts galore. Of course, I can't resist dabbling in academia. They read, write, and do math, too, every day save weekends. I've had them test multitude of websites that I hope to use with my students next year. My girls are such good sports! This year we have to squeeze in gymnastics and cross country practices, piano and flute lessons, and dog sitting. I can hardly believe June is over already. As kids return to school mid-August here, I feel like summer is passing by too quickly. 

Evelyn and Madelaine at the K'nex exhibit ( Lakeview Museum )

Maddy and Evelyn resting at Starbucks, our first destination bike ride.

Evelyn and her painted lizard tile (pre-firing)

Madelaine and her painted random tile (pre-firing)

My First Classroom

So this is it, my first classroom. Please overlook the chaos, as this is how it must be left for the cleaners who promise to have it back to me by August. To be honest, I'm beside myself with anticipation. It can be a tad overwhelming at times, but ever so worth it. When I think back to my first year as a physical therapist, I know I still had so much to learn. I was also a measly 21 years old with as much to master outside the workplace as within it. Despite the additional nineteen years of life experience, I know I won't be able to dodge every rookie mistake. Still, they are mine to make. I'm ever so grateful for the opportunity.
Look out 5th grade, here I come!

Venus Tracking

June 5, 2012 Venus crossed in front of the sun. The little fleck's path was from top right to bottom right and was just barely visible through solar viewing glasses. Still, it was pretty cool and won't be seen again in any of our lifetimes. Needless to say I've socked away the glasses for my future classroom. Finally, my packrat nature is being put to full use!

One Proud Mama

Evelyn graduated from elementary school today having earned the President's Education Award for Outstanding Academic Excellence. This requires that she have maintained an A- average in 4th and 5th grade and to have scored in the Exceeds range on the state standardized tests for Math, Language Arts and Science.
Madelaine earned her very first Presidential Physical Fitness Award. There are five tests that the kids have to complete. To get the Presidential award, you have to score above the 85 percentile in all five tests. Amazing! I only got it for the first time in 7th grade and I think it was because the wind was at my back.
Enough bragging.

Mission Control

Emma has developed a fascination with space this past year thanks to her school's trip to the Challenger Center and a 5th grade science unit on rockets. Check out her launch:

This rocket was recovered and she's finishing a second, larger one today.  Apparently the teacher does not keep any engines at school. After watching launch day, I can see why. The Captain is keen on planning a summer launch. Yikes! The thought of having even one engine in the house makes me a little nervous. 

Dear Mrs. Miller

"I hope your 5th grade classroom is nice to you because if there not I'm going down there and say show some respect and their lucky to have you."

"Thanks for teaching us about poetry and because of you my brother will be proud of me. "

"I will miss your beautiful smile every day."

"We liked the fraction party you threw us. We got to mix the juice and soda. We got to mix the snacks, too."

"You are the best student teacher ever except  for Mr. S."

"When we were having hard times you told us to write you a note."

"Thank you for helping us to get 25 compliments and have a free shirt (not uniform) day."

"I liked doing the lunch bunch."

"Thank you for teaching us our multiplication facts better. I'll remember math the most out of all you teached us."

"Maybe you can be my 5th grade teacher."

"I really liked Social Studies and Science Jeopardy."

"Thank you for teaching us how to use Wordsmyth and the Smartboard."

"Thank you to teach us. Have a good summer."

"I think by the time I go to fifth grade I will know a lot of stuff because of your hard work."

"My favourite thing to do is the bird beak thing."

"I liked the plants we grew." 

"I love how you say sorry. At first I didn't understand you."

"The thing I will remember about you is your laugh."

"I liked it when you timed us when we went to bathroom and challenged us to beat our best time."

"I like that when we don't turn something in you give us a pink slip."

"If we don't understand something you take the time to do a huddle. You don't just make us do it without help."

 "I liked the story about how they named Canada: C-A(eh)-N-A(eh)-D-A(eh)."

"I remember your favourite food is cake. I really love cake, too. We are similar."

 "Your favourite food is cake. I really don't like cake that much."

 Thank you so much x 24,
Mrs. Meyer's 4th grade class

Poetry in Action

They had just finished reading the poem Lester by Shel Silverstein in pairs. I had them answer the usual questions teachers must ask like, "Who granted Lester his first wish?" and "What did he do with it?" I had them delve into what the author thought Lester should have done with his wishes instead wishing for more. I even probed into how we might describe the rhyme scheme and meter. But then came my favourite question, "If a troll granted you one wish, what would you wish for?"
First came the answers I expected: Ferraris, iPods, cell phones, and getting to meet someone famous. But then one brave soul spoke out, "I wish my mom and dad would get back together." "Me, too," said another, and then another. Someone started to clap. I joined in. Hands shot into the air. "I wish I could see my grandma again." "I wish my brother would come back home and live with us." Students who had wished for trinkets asked to change their wishes. The pain behind these wishes was raw. Miraculously no one laughed at anyone else. For a split second they were a family.
How I'm going to leave them on Wednesday without crying is beyond me.

And I Quote...

"Who was the first man to set foot on the moon?" I ask.

The response of a truly divergent thinker: "Jesus?"

Walk in space; walk on water. How did I ever miss that connection?

How the Captain was fooled...

Idea by Mouse; design by Emma; polish by Mighty Mom; effect: PRICELESS!

Happy April Fools Day, big guy!