Recovery

I take the most amazing spin classes at Equinox Fitness Club in Woodbury, New York with Kristen Gagne. Interval training -raising the heart rate through short bursts of effort followed by recovery - is part of the program. Kristen explains that the uncomfortable feeling will always feel uncomfortable. It is the threshold for tolerance of the discomfort that changes. Kristen also emphasizes the importance of recovery. With a room full of cardio junkies who are constantly on the go, Kristen demands that we stop pedaling our bikes at warp speed and take it easy for a few seconds before the next bout. The recovery phase, she explains, is work and the ability to recover quickly is the hallmark of an athlete.

Just like physical intervals, emotional pain and stress will always be painful and stressful. The ability to persevere in the face of emotional discomfort and stress, as well as the ability to recover, are crucial to overall well-being. Isn't is just like life to toss into our paths seemingly insurmountable obstacles, emergencies or crises? Some crises are like long, challenging intervals with no recovery in sight, as when a child is fighting cancer or living with a permanent disability. In those situations, a new threshold for tolerance of stress is developed purely as a matter of survival. Having lived through that type of long-term pain, I learned to create short a breaks in the interval simply to catch my emotional breath.

Functioning in the wake of a painful situation isn't easy. In many ways, it is easier to remain paralyzed by stress, frustration and pain. Entrapment by those emotions provides a convenient excuse to not move forward. They are the food of depression. But despair never helped anybody. Just as intervals don't last forever, neither does emotional stress. Someday, the opportunity for recovery will come - sooner in some instances and later in others. The form of recovery is different for different situations, but recovery is essential. Forever sustaining stress at the rough equivalent an anaerobic level is simply impossible.

Moving on is difficult. We hold on to our wounds, we replay arguments in our heads, we maintain grudges over matters long extinguished and are thus prevented from living in the moment. Once an interval is over, it is essential to leave that stress level behind. Recognizing the futility of holding on to stress and letting go is not simple. It requires surrender. It requires slowing the pedals down and letting that heart rate fall. Indeed recovery is the hardest work of all.

The Glass Castle - a review

I took some time off this afternoon to finish The Glass Castle by Jeannette Walls (Scribner, 2005). The Glass Castle recounts Walls' surprising childhood. Her parents were brilliant eccentrics. Providing basic necessities for their children - like food and adequate shelter - was not a priority. Instead, the four Walls children lived in hair raising conditions. Their survival was nothing short of miraculous.

Rex Walls, Jeanette's father, was an alchoholic. Her mother, Mary, suffered from an unspecified psychiatric disorder. Neither parent could hold down a job or manage money. Rarely did the Walls family live in one place for very long. Money would run out, Rex would get into arguments or scrapes with law enforcement. The Walls children regularly were imperiled by their parents' judgment. While living in Phoenix, Arizona, Rex and Mary insisted on leaving the front door, the back door and windows open at night. Vagrants would wander in and fall asleep in the house and, on one occasion, one tried to molest Jeannette. The family picked up stakes to move back to Welch, West Virginia Rex's childhood home. The Walls relatives in Welch fulfilled every stereotype of Appalachia imaginable. Grandma Erma tried to molest her grandson and, on another occasion, Uncle Stanley attempted to fondle Jeannette. LIving conditions frequently were perilous.

Both parents eschewed responsibility. Each decision they made, even those endangering their children, was excused. They never felt guilty about exposing their children to bitter cold, hunger, physical pain and humiliation. Walls' mother was certified to be a teacher. Her mental illness manifested in a refusal to go to work, complaining that her children were a burden. She showed no concern for the comfort of her children and didn't know or care that they frequently scrounged in garbage for food. Rex disappeared for days at a time, spend every dime to drink, even steal from his children to buy alchohol, yet would challenge the children to tell him whether he had ever let them down. Mary's response to any hint of criticism would be some retort - luxuries would make the children weak and soft, others had it worse and the like.

On the other hand, Mary's attitude showed how one can view a challenge as a hardship or as an adventure. Rex did show he cared by making valiant attempts to dry out. The children did become resourceful and independent and, with the exception of the youngest child, became fully functioning adults within mainstream society. To an extent, Mary was correct that her children were stronger as a consequence of their experiences. It is clear that the author remains angry at her parents for

Our home is warm and cozy, with plentiful food and abounding in comfort. I like it that way. But maybe a thing or two could be learned about parenting from Mary; perhaps we 'typically functioning' people are a bit too cautious. Certainly, this book made me realize that, as a typically functioning, very mainstream adult, I have failed my emerging writer of a daughter by not providing her with material for a book.

What if? Reflections on a Visit to a Homeless Shelter

In t "The Inferno" of Dante Aleghieri's "Divine Comedy", the poet Virgil guides the author through hell. At one point, Dante and Virgil are climbing a steep, narrow path and Dante is so consumed with the view that he looses his balance and almost falls into the pit of hell. Well, last night glanced the precipice pit when we volunteered at the Ansche Chesed men's homeless shelter.

We didn't do much, really. Two rooms occupy the floor where the men stay. During the day, these rooms serve as a nursery school. They are at opposite ends of a long hallway. By the time we arrived at 7 p.m., the residents had already taken out their beds and sheets from storage and set up the television. I took out two microwaves from a closet that the residents use to heat up dinners provided by the shelter, logged in the men's names into the shelter's record book and called the two referring agencies to let them know that everyone had arrived safe and sound. The men ate their dinner and watched television. One man fastidiously washed out his clothing in a utility sink. Others made telephone calls on their cell phones. Were they calling family, I wondered. The men stayed in their room; my daughter and I stayed in the other, waiting for the overnight volunteer to arrive. No big deal. I made up the bed for the overnight volunteer and set the alarm clock for 5:25 a.m.; by 6 a.m., the residents must dismantle their beds, collect their belongings and leave.

An arctic front had moved into New York City by the time my daughter and I left the shelter. We headed toward Pennsylvania Station to catch the train back to Long Island. I noticed people milling around who looked as if they had nowhere else to go and thought of those eight fortunate men fortunate enough to be warm for a few hours.

It's eight o'clock on a Sunday morning. I am warm in my bed and it is the last day of vacation, and I really don't want to get up. The guys from the shelter have been out for two hours already. The wind howls outside. I can hear it. Last night, when we left the shelter, I didn't think the experience had touched me. I was so very wrong.

Warm Wishes

"Tis the season, finally. The only traveling my family does over the winter break is to ice hockey tournaments. I admit to being disappointed. Our plans are less than exciting, consisting of attending a tournament, completion of high school applications and a dentist appointment. Everyone else is traveling to more interesting climes, or so it seems. So, yesterday, I noticed an e-mail from the homeless shelter at Ansche Chesed saying they needed volunteers. I signed myself up for January 2nd and will help out with my eldest daughter. All of the sudden, chic vacation plans seemed so much less important than being grateful for the warmth of my home and the blessings of my family.

Character Counts

An historical exhibit at the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland shows video clips of various leaders admonishing that this art form posed a threat to society. They were, of course, talking about sexuality, but has anyone noticed that the moral fiber of our society has been degrading since, let's say, Watergate? Who can be admired or respected anymore? Perhaps I am being romantic, but it seems that, once upon a time, there were shared expectations as to standards of behavior. Certainly, people behaved badly back in that mythically perfect once upon a time. Just because corruption, adultery, drug or alcohol were not discussed or publicized doesn't mean those problems didn't exist. Even mean girls pre-dated the 1970's; think of "The Children's Hour," written by Lillian Hellman in 1934 in which the lives of two teacher's lives are destroyed by a malicious rumor started by a student. And that play pre-dates facebook by light years. What if that hellion of a student had the capacity to go viral? Lack of a moral compass appears to be as severe a pandemic as the H1N1 virus.

A change is afoot. A few weeks ago, the headmaster of my daughter's school addressed his students and admonished them for their facebook comments. These students were told, in no uncertain terms, that they were being held to a high standard of honor and character. I was and am so pleased that my children have had the good fortune to be part of a unique community where character development remains paramount. We grownups need to examine our values. Certainly, we should not return to a time when women silently suffered domestic abuse and immoral behavior was merely swept under the rug. Rather, we need to lead by example and be our best selves - our kindest, most hard working, honest and generous selves. Our relationships with others need to be based on respect. We need to value everyone who contributes to our daily life and give thanks at the beginning and end of each day. However, our children need to see us recover from mistakes, acknowledge that we are less than perfect. An apology is an amazing teaching tool.

Lessons learned from Puffin, the cat

My children were toddlers at play when we heard kittens mewing. That was when we found Puffin, Muffin and their brother. Muffin and the third cat were adopted, but Puffin stuck around. When we tore down our old home and erected a new structure, Puffin lit out for the wild and didn't return for years. Her timing was remarkable; she showed up just when our puppy, KJ, arrived home. She would come and go, but about three years ago, Puffin decided to settle in for good. She would take turns sleeping with the girls and with me and Joe. She had her spot on the couch, and always shared my glass of water in the evening. Generally, if our family went away on vacation and left a pet sitter in charge, Puffin would run away and return only after she was certain we were home. Only Beth Goldin of Whimsical Pet in Huntington, New York [www.whimiscalpet.com], was able to develop a relationship with this kitty.

A few weeks ago, Puffin ran outside as we were leaving for our Columbus Day weekend adventure - see Ode to a Warhorse for the story of our MDX. Ordinarily, this would not have been cause for concern. Among cats, Puffy was of the indoor/outdoor variety and quite capable of fending for herself. However, when she finally showed up at our home on Wednesday, Puffin could barely stand up. In the past week and a half, Puffin was twice hospitalized. After her last stay, she came home and was eating voraciously. Within 12 hours, however, Puffin's hind quarters were paralyzed and fluid gathered in her abdomen.

Just two days ago, the vet and I discussed euthanizing Puffin. The cat was alert and didn't seem uncomfortable. I discussed the decision with my husband and children. No one - especially me - felt comfortable ending our cat's life. She was interacting and affectionate. I am not G-d, and didn't feel that I had the right to decide whether a creature lived or not. Today, however, nature ran its course; Puffin, died comfortably at home this afternoon.

Many say that cats only give you affection in exchange for food, but in these last days, Puffin truly seemed to appreciate the comfort of being held and stroked these past few days. Puffin taught our children about engaging in frank discussions about end-of-life decisions. She taught them that death is a natural part of life, and that permitting someone to die a natural death can be peaceful. Puffin's body was donated to our vet, who will use her body to gain clinical knowledge. There are many things I will miss about our cat, but I can rest easily, knowing that everything passed in a manner ordered by nature.

What's it worth to ya?

As you know, I have started a business offering my services as an editor and writer. I have always enjoyed writing, and get a particular thrill out of helping clients find their voice. But this is truly diffrent than going to work for an existing organization. Rather than walking into a pre-made structure, I define my structure. Most important, though, is that I assign a value to my work, as opposed to someone else telling me how much I will be paid.

It takes a courage to lay it on the line and tell someone, in the first place, that your knowledge and skill have worth. Of course, your first target audience is yourself. If you don't believe that your time and effort have value, how can you possibly ask someone else to pay you for your work? To me, assigning a dollar amount to my talent affirms that I value myself and my intellect. Not that I have conducted a study, but I suspect that women are particularly prone to devaluing themselves. Think of the old Loreal advertisement, where the woman using the product says "because I'm worth it." Interesting. In our society, a woman's worth is measured by what she spends, not by what she earns.

I have encountered other women starting businesses who diminish themselves by saying that their intent is not to make money. In reality, they are afraid to be assertive. When I hear a woman say that making money isn't her driving intent, it makes me want to get up on a pulpit like Jesse Jackson, and shout "No, no, no! Repeat after me, I AM somebody!" Assigning value to your talent and abilities is an important lessons in self-esteem (see my previous post). Recently, I told someone about my venture and a bid I had put on a job. She was astonished by the proposed price. I was equally confident that the price for my work was justified. I know that I can do something that is unique. I hope you believe in your talents, too.