Handy Polymath

“When Alexis Arguello gave Boom Boom a beating
Seven weeks later he was back in the ring
Some have the speed and the right combinations
If you can’t take the punches, it don’t mean a thing”
–Warren Zevon, “Boom Boom Mancini”

There’s a short list of traits I can point to that have served me extremely well. Some of them are native to my personality, like stubborn perseverance and a logical bent. Others are the result of conscious study, like not taking failure as a final answer. Fragile new skills like applying the power of aggregate futzing, are far from instinctual traits, and therefore they take a moment to kick in. Considering the work and aggravation involved in changing a habit, a trait, or an ingrained response, only a conscious appreciation of what’s at stake will keep a person on track.

It’s easier to scramble back onto the wagon when you know that your rest in the mud will soon be interrupted by the next wagon bearing down on you. Going fetal with your arms around your head is not an option. What do you do then? Roll onto your feet and try another tack.

So it’s been a while since the last update but I’ve been busy. Unlike your average apologetic blogger I won’t wax hysteric about how crazy it’s been and how I’ve had no time to write. I won’t ever waste your time with that, or with filler posts when I’m low on content.

I’m back to catch you up on the results since my last post.

Learning to Fight Hamster-style

I’ve gone from swimming 100 meters with clicking shoulders and feeling like I’m dying, to swimming a full kilometer without clicks and feeling spent but good afterward. My new driver’s license documents the vast improvement I’ve achieved in my shoulders in the last three years, which no longer slope up and forward to my chin, but spread out lateral and level and even with each other. I’ve started shedding some of the padding I’d acquired since breaking my foot last November. And for the first time since I sprouted this stupendous rack at age thirteen, my midback is no longer the bane of my posture.

Trudging up the Mountains to the Temple

I’ve applied as a post-bachelor to Wayne State, much earlier than I had planned in the Science Upgrade It turns out I may qualify for loan aid, and if I can eliminate the headache of transfer equivalencies then hell yeah. This doesn’t change the fall semester of math and chem at two other community colleges, paid for and starting in two weeks–but those are cheap, mainly online, and simply ramp me up to college level anyway. Partner is also considering school of some stripe, a mental retooling for the new economy we’re all expecting to come off backorder one day.

Right now we’re like Roadrunner, walking across air because we’re too focused to look down.

It Takes Years to Become Batman, yo

In other news, we got the beater car back. It now starts with a bottle opener (partner’s key) and the Leatherman large screwdriver tool (my key). Grandmother is having more lucid intervals, which totally rocks. Mom is dyspeptic and will likely have her gallbladder yanked soon, but our muddling through is infamous and so we keep on truckin’.

So there’s the update. Currently on the docket:

* finishing my review of beginning algebra, before intermediate algebra begins
* getting the second chapter chemistry under my belt before class begins
* revising the Science Upgrade plan: no longer a personal document, but a vital part of my financial aid application
* sharing birthday cake with the kiddo, who is three today

I hope to finish her present by this weekend, which is technically late. But after 43 weeks of pregnancy and 48 hours of labor, I think taking a few extra days to make something for her is simply par for the course.

My titles blow today, fair warning. Imagine the marvelous Sandwina above breaking them into letters and assembling them anew.

Exorcising Pain, Exercising Again=A Scapegrace Genii Nixing Iron Six

About eight months ago I busted one of my trotters, beginning a saga of healing I’m still trudging along. Heal the bone, the inflamed joint, get rid of the limp, go back to therapy to heal the whacked out body mechanics, finally get to the point of sleeping without pain.

Unfortunately the time limit for “not exercising but not getting bigger” is about six months, so since the start of May I’ve outgrown my pants. Not cool. I can’t afford new pants. Also, I don’t like having to negotiate around my belly to do things.

This morning I decided to face the fact that I’ve developed a barrel physique, and do something different.

Not just the difference of “changing those things that have made you bigger” but also the difference of “changing how you handle this fact”.

I’m Getting Better by Getting Meta=Abetting Getting Better Gym Time

This is not my first rodeo. I’ve wrestled before with the disconnect of a body not meant for the post-industrial economy. Like a bad shopping cart, I’ve had to lean hard into the steering a few times before.

Coming from peasant stock, I’m built to translate potatoes and sausage into plowing output. This is another reason I’m escaping the cube farm: I don’t wear sedentary well. I need a certain amount of movement and physical work to keep both body and mind running well, and recuperating from this injury has made me terribly lethargic even when my butt isn’t socketed into an office chair.

This time my transitional moment took different turn.

I did not berate or punish myself. That only hurts and exacerbates the problem.
I did not research the issue. I know what is healthy and how to become fit, and further reading would be a substitute for action.
I did not create a plan. I have no mental room for plans right now.
I did not exchange one extreme for the other. This change happened over time, and any course correction must also be paced for the long haul.

I measured myself, to state the baseline I’ll be working away from. I strapped on the sport bra of an Amazonian Queen. I jumped a little rope and did some inclined push-ups. I showered and took time for pampering. I’m eating well. I’ve got my clothes laid out for the next little bit of exercise.

In short, I made a place for movement in my life again, and rewarded myself accordingly.

Previously, I’d described the recent change in my cognitive style, going from the punctuated drama of Fits of Conan to the more sedate but powerful Aggregate Futzing. The latest application is to the career path.

Where I am (the cube farm) and where I want to be (physical therapy) is separated by a deep chasm of time and money. I have been unable to solve this problem for years now, no matter how hard I try to will myself across the gap.

So, um. What if I built a bridge? Seems kind of obvious, right?

In other words, take a year of night school and train in massage therapy. Begin with a skill that is related, offers flexible hours, decent pay and gives me the opportunity to start developing people and clinical skills before I even enter a PT program. There’s also the advantage of developing entrepreneurial smarts and a clientele now, and having the business grow with me.

And so this is the next experiment: stop trying to will myself across the gap and start building a bridge. Yes, this means walking away from the precipice to gather lumber. That’s not necessarily going backwards.