What I learned from Cancer

Cancer. It’s a word no one likes to hear; especially when someone in your family has it. I’m the first to admit that I’m not a strong person when someone is sick. I loathe hospitals. I despise doctors. I hate needles, blood or anything involving medicine. I’m a very impatient person. I feel like when someone is sick, you are always waiting - waiting for the doctor, the test results, or the next surgery.

When someone is ailing, there isn’t much one can do about it. It was six months of hell for my family, but finally we are turning a corner. It all started on my friend’s birthday when I got that dreadful phone call. I fell apart. Literally, fell on the ground. When someone you love is sick, the fear takes over.  You immediately think the worst. This cancer took several family members lives, would it take another?

Health is funny. You never fully appreciate it, until it’s gone. Every time I run, row and even airdyne – I’m grateful. So many people wish they could work out, but are too sick to get out bed.

Fear can bring the worst out of a person too;  it does for me.  I got extremely angry. Why us? Why my family? Don’t we deserve a break? We’re good people…why?

I questioned God. I prayed. I always prayed before, but not like this. Usually my prayers were please let me win this tennis match. Or please let my Ponies score a touchdown. Not, please save someone’s life.

I even bargained. Did I do this? Was I not good enough? If you save her life, I’ll never go to the bar again. I won’t cuss. I’ll be perfect or at least close to it.

What’s even scarier is the unknown. What do you mean there are few options? There’s chemo, radiation, or surgery. I thought these doctors were idiots and I knew better.

When I first got the news, I kept it to myself. It wasn’t until the lack of sleep built up and I finally broke down to my group of girlfriends at dinner. I was scared. I wasn’t tough Ash and I needed help. Let me tell you something, being a true friend is difficult. I was not fun to be around this summer. I was tired. I was sad. I wasn’t myself, but my friends stuck by me through all of it.  Friendships are like relationships. Sometimes they’re not fun, but you stay with them because you are there for not only the good times but also the bad.

My close friends were amazing. Even people I didn’t expect to reach out to me did. Koy and Lindsey from the gym were especially wonderful. I will never forget the sweet email she wrote me. My best friend Jos was in China and managed to contact me. Friends stopped by at the hospital, my house and even work. Carly forced me to relax and go workout. Erica, who was balancing a demanding job, new house, and planning a wedding, always offered to take care of Rope.  Dev cooked me dinner, so I would have a decent meal. I received so many texts, calls, surprise visits, and of course food.  I wasn’t even the sick one, but I was hurting. When I’m sad, I shut down. It’s a bad trait. I closed myself off, but these friends broke through and helped me through this difficult time.

Although this summer was rough. It’s September and it’s looking like we can put this nightmare behind us. I worked out carefree for the first time in months. I didn’t look at my phone or worry something bad might happen.  

As always, I learned several valuable lessons. One is to always appreciate life, even when it throws you a nasty curve ball. Two, prayers are usually answered. Three, you can’t do anything without good friends by your side. I also learned if you haven’t worked out consecutively for a few months – 100 pull –ups will kick your butt.

One Month of Oly

When Spencer asked how I liked Olympic class and if I noticed a difference in strength, I was somewhat speechless. Not that I didn’t have plenty to say on the matter (I’m blessed or somewhat cursed with the gift of gab), but more like I was still trying to catch my breath from the hell he just put me through – a Tabatha circuit of the devil Airdyne machine mixed with kettle bell swings. After collapsing on the floor from this challenge, a discussion with the man that put me through this agony would only result with a few four-letter words being dropped.

Prior to joining CrossFit, my most recent stent with lifting in general was during my time at SMU. I was “talking” to one of the football players and in an attempt to woo him; I challenged him to bench presses. When one of the bars collapsed on top of me, causing not only my collar bone to bruise, but also my ego – I decided to give up the sport.

Luckily, knowing the WODs the night before helped me skip CrossFit workouts that were heavy on lifting. Pun intended. However after seeing my friends’ successes, which included new PRS; I wrestled with the idea of joining the Oly class.

When it came time to sign up, I always managed an excuse to not join the program. After knee surgery, the excuses came by a bit easier. Squats, snatches, cleans and jerks were all out of the question. What the hell was Spencer thinking, I thought.

Well, I won’t underestimate him again. A month later, I’m a little stronger and more importantly, I’m able to walk up and down stairs with little to no pain. I also learned a few things along the way.

Don’t run or do a better job hiding it.

Prior to joining Spencer’s class, I promised not to run. Well, I can’t say I have fully kept that vow. Habits are hard to break.  However, I’m usually so sore from class that running loss some of its appeal. One night the task of taking off my shoes required so much effort that I slept with them on. No joke.  

You want revenge on someone; ask them to do a GHD raise.

I would rather do the Hotter than Hell on an Airdyne than one GHD raise. After completing my first raise, I told Spencer that I must have been doing something terribly wrong. Pain shot up the back of my hamstrings and butt, followed by cramps beginning from my calves to my toes.  

“You don’t understand this really hurts.” I said looking at everyone in the class for reinsurance.

“I know.  It’s a weakness. How many do you have left?”

“Spencer, seriously, this hurts.”

“Just wait till we add weights,” he replied.

Complaining.

I probably complain more than anyone at the box. My phrase “I’m over it” doesn’t get me out of doing any of the exercises. Also, why would I want to get out of it? I’m a grown woman; no one is forcing me to go to CrossFit or to pick up that weight. I’m here because I said I want to be, so I might as well shut up and swing that kettle bell 100 more damn times. Also, put a smile on my face, not everyone is lucky enough to work out.

Drinking.

When I make a plan, especially involving fitness, I stick with it. So during my running days, even after “one too many” the night before, I never missed a run. My friends would wonder how I could function on these runs with no sleep. I just could. Running, especially long distance comes naturally for me.

The same cannot be said about weightlifting. I learned a tough lesson one Saturday morning. Let’s just say one cannot drink the night before and lift. If one does, last night’s Velvet Taco will make an appearance. Lovely.

Arnold Press, Push Press, and Press are all different.

Koy once said that my IQ must drop 500 points every time I walk in the gym.  I have to agree with this statement.

I can recite speeches from Revolutionary War heroes, list pointless shark knowledge, and quote every line from “When Harry Met Sally,” but for the life of me can’t remember the difference between these three moves!

Also, for a woman that claims to have an exceptional memory, I never remember what weight I last used. Not once.

Solution for this problem? The need for a notebook.

It’s hard to feel sorry for yourself and lift at the same time.

While most people know me as goofy and carefree, I’m actually a worrier. I fret about things out of my control. When my head starts spinning and I morph into a hopefully cuter version of Woody Allen from “Annie Hall,” my friends intervene. (If you haven’t seen it, go rent it. It’s another classic.)

My frustrated friends developed the phrase,“6 inches,” – meaning I’m only allowed to worry about things currently 6 inches from me. Although this idiom helped, sometimes my anxieties got the best of me and the only cure was a run. Unfortunately, knee surgery prevented this release.

Enter CrossFit, a feeling of compete bliss, to only think of one thing –the task at hand. The task usually entails lifting a heavy bar over my head. The only thought crossing my mind is don’t drop the bar! Who wants an obituary saying death by barbell?

So for one hour, I’m free. I’m not worried about money, my knee, or my family’s health – it’s just the gym, that damn bar and me.

Intimidation.

CrossFit is intimidating. I would rather sing Aerosmith’s Cryin in front of 200 people than do a snatch in front of the whole gym. Why? I’m a hell of a good singer and I have already done that.

But, in all seriousness it wasn’t until this past month when I stopped being intimidated. The Olympic lifters, who once made me nervous with their notebooks and constant throwing weight down, are actually pretty awesome and helpful. If I don’t know something, I ask. They’re not annoyed, unless I do it mid-snatch. Learned my lesson on that one pretty quick. No one is talkative with 200 pounds over their head. No one.

Trust.

When Spencer gives me the workout, he’ll say, “Trust me.” When Kasey orders me to put more weight on the bar, she‘ll say, “Trust me. You can lift more.”  When Tiffany spots me while I attempt to bench press, she’ll say, “Trust me. I won’t let the bar drop on you.”

You have to trust not only yourself, but your coach and your peers. They want to see you excel. They want you to push yourself because in theory we are only as good as our weakest link. They also don’t want to see you crush to death. It wouldn’t be great for member retention.

Believe.

You must trust yourself, or better yet, believe in yourself. So much of what we do is mental. I once read an article that said 90% of the game is mental with only 10% skill. 

Mel, one of the first CrossFit coaches to take me under her wing, fully believes to be great at the gym one must need a healthy mind.

“Ash, get out of your head, believe in yourself, stop being such an insecure girl,” she yelled.  It was tough love, but hey it worked. I constantly repeat this phrase in my head during Spencer’s class.

Take pride in your accomplishments.

This is the biggest one. It’s hard coming back from an injury. It’s hard to see where you started, how far you came, and then go back again. I’ve had to start over in tennis, running and now CrossFit.

It’s tough and some days are more discouraging than others. I dropped back to the despicable green band, knee push- ups and gained a stomach.

Well a month later, I’m back to RX push-ups, the green band hangs on the wall where it belongs, and I’m still working on the diet. J

Drunk on Ice Cream

Everyone knows I’m addicted to ice cream. It’s a daily habit. I used to wake up in college every morning and have a bowl for breakfast - perfect snack right before a long run.

When we were younger, my mom believed if you craved something, it was the body’s way of saying it needed a nutrient. I used this trick growing up, Mom all I want for dinner is ice cream – I guess my body desires milk. She later caught on.

So ice cream has always been a love of mine. I wanted to work for Ben and Jerry’s – seriously. I picked a tennis tournament just because it was in Vermont aka Ben and Jerry Town. Best tour I have ever been on – free ice cream samples.

I used to keep ice cream in the house, until a guy friend dropped off two quarts of ice cream. I was feeling sick, so he was attempting to be nice. The two quarts were gone in three days. That is 24 servings of ice cream people - disturbing even for me. After that I decided ice cream would not be allowed in the house. Actually, my roommate did after I complained that I became a “chub chub.”

This is where our story starts.

So one Sunday evening, I had a hankering for this creamy goodness. One problem, it was 10:40 and the only spot that served this treat was TBCY. They closed at 11 pm. I know when every ice cream store closes. Trust me, I bet someone on this.

I somehow persuaded Erica to jump in the car with me and off we went. I live on the Katy Trail and TCBY is a good 7 to 10 minutes away, so you may have been saying I drove a little faster than average.

Suddenly as I turn right on to Mockingbird, sirens flash behind me. Luckily, I slowed my speed at the stoplight since I was about to make a right turn. Those that drive with me might say I’m not the best driver, so when I turn I usually swerve into several lanes. Hmmm this may have been the issue.

I pull over extremely flustered.  Fifteen minutes till TCBY closes. I’m not the nicest person when I’m craving ice cream and can’t get it. The cop slowly gets out of the car and walks to the back of my SUV with his flashlight like he’s searching for something. Good luck sir. I could have a dead body in the back of my car and not know about it. I’m somewhat messy.

 Now he’s at my front window. In attempting to make this process easier, I already hand over my driver’s license and insurance.

“Mam, do you know why I stopped you?” He questions.

I know you haven’t been behind me that long. I mean if you were following me from my house, there were many things – the speeding or not a complete stop. Don’t worry I did not express these thoughts.

“No sir, I don’t. Please enlighten me,”   I say. Erica is sitting in the front seat straight ahead scared to look at me or the police man.

“Mam, you weren’t driving in the lanes and when you turned you swerved. Are you distracted?”

“Well yes I am. You see TBCY closes at 11 and I really want some ice cream.” I’ve been a firm believer that honesty is the best policy.

“TCBY?” He seems quite confused by this answer.

“The ice cream store. I know it’s not really my go to place either, but your options are limited at this time of night.”

“Mam, how much alcohol have you had tonight?”

“None,” I shout. Why would he think I’m drunk?

“Today? None?”  He asks, clearly not believing my answer.

“None.”  Now Friday night is a completely different story.

This was the truth.  I may have had the most innocent day. I went to church, took Rope on a walk, went to a movie, finished a book, and then ice cream.”

“Please step out of the car,” he demands.

So in situations where I’m nervous, I giggle. It’s horrible. Also, once I start laughing, I can’t stop.  I’m on the verge of breaking into a laughing fit on that fact that I’m about to get a DWI on my way to the ice cream store.

Suddenly the cop takes out another flashlight. “Mam, please follow the light with your eyes.”

Has anyone had to do this? It hurts especially if you have very light, sensitive eyes.  Furthermore, I felt like a dog being teased by a bone. Up, down, right, left and back again. Getting dizzy, I stopped looking at the light.

He removes it from my face, cocks his head and says, “You failed the test, are you sure you didn’t have anything to drink today?”

“How did I fail a drunk test?” I say laughing. (This is probably not helping my cause) “I’m seriously not drunk. I have not had one sip of alcohol today. Can we move this process along and you just give me a breathalyzer?”

“Have you smoked anything?”

“I smoked a chicken, does that count?” He didn’t appreciate my humor.

“Have you had any drugs?” He says.

“The only drug I’ve had is Advil. I take about 12 a day for my knee.” I say. Great that’s probably against the law.

I look back towards Erica, she looks petrified. Honestly, at this point I thought this guy was a fake cop. One: What drunk person would ask for a breathalyzer? Two: What cop would refuse one?

The policeman then tells me to follow him to the parking lot.  Now, I’m even more annoyed.  It’s 10:55; TCBY will surely be closed.

“I would like you to stand on one leg and hold your balance,” he states.

 I point at my knees. “This is so not happening,” I say under my breath.

“What did you say?” he asks.

“ Um, my knees can barely hold me up. I have horrible balance.  I can attempt this, but will probably wobble and you will definitely think I’m drunk.”

“Look, just give me a breathalyzer. I’m not plastered, wasted, or sloshed. Frankly, I wish I was. I haven’t had alcohol and wouldn’t a breathalyzer solve both of our problems?”

The cop looks at me and says, “Fine. I believe you. But, you failed several of the tests, so you need to think about that.”

Thanks sir – noted. I failed a DWI test, maybe I can take a class on that. “Thank you. Have a nice night.” I yell back as I jump in the car.

“Can you believe that happened?” I say to Erica.

“It would only happen to you.” She says looking somewhat pale.

“Wasn’t that funny,” I ask.

“No Ash, it wasn’t funny. It was scary. You could have been taken to jail. Can we go home?” she says clearly stressed.

“No- I’m getting my ice cream. They may still be open.”

Luckily, TCBY was still open. Instead of my usual small, I opted for the large. Hell, I deserved it. Oh and Erica drove home.

                                    

Guy advice from two dear friends

I have been dreading this post. It’s the post two of my girlfriends have reminded me to write, basically as punishment for my foolish and somewhat hilarious actions. If this isn’t putting it out there, I don’t know what is. Names have been omitted, obviously.

When I broke up with my boyfriend, I’ll be honest I was not ready for a relationship or to be dating so I’ll blame a majority of my actions on this. When in doubt, blame the ex.

In attempt to “get back out there” I had my share of snags. Here is the aftermath and advice from two dear friends, Erica and Lauren.

Sometimes I have problems figuring out when a guy wants to be friends or more.

I come home one night flustered. “So he obviously does not want to be my friend” I tell Erica and Lauren.

“Of course he doesn’t want to be your friend. He takes you to dinner, a bar, and then back at his house to watch a movie,” says Erica

“Well, that makes it sound like we were on a date. After dinner, I quoted A Few Good Men, you know the line “did you order the code red” and he said he loved that movie and asked if I wanted to watch it. I was over the bar, plus it’s one of my top ten favs, so of course I said yes.”

“Please tell me you aren’t this naïve. At 12:30 in the morning on a Thursday, a male isn't thinking gee I'd sacrifice a few hours of precious sleep to watch A Few Good Men for the 5th time,” Lauren declares. “The only thing keeping him up is thinking he's going to get some action. That is a fact.”

“I thought we were JUST friends with similar food and movie taste. He would be my new movie buddy. Y’all know how picky I am about whom I watch movies with.”

“Maybe that's what it's like in SMU pony world - where everything is fluffy and perfect. If you're good looking and go to a guy’s house to watch a movie, especially after being at a bar; he's going to want to take your clothes off. Period.” Erica states.

“So you’re saying if a guy does not find you good looking then you can be friends and watch a movie.”

“Ash, in your case if you don’t like him, do not go to his house to watch a movie!” Erica fires back.

“But, it’s a GREAT movie.”

Sometimes I don’t know what not to text a guy.

“So, I followed y’alls advice; I apologized and told him what y’all said. Good. Right?” I ask Lauren and Erica.

“Wait, Ash, what exactly did you say?” Erica questions.

“Well, I told him that I don’t always follow my girlfriends’ advice, but this time I was going too.”

“Oh god, you didn’t.” Lauren says.

“Oh yeah, that reminds me. I told him about God.”

“Wait…come again.” Erica says trying to control her laugher

“Well, I went to church this morning and the sermon was all about how we should be completely honest to those we care about, even if it makes us uncomfortable. So, I told him I was going to be honest with him about how his actions made me feel.”

“Oh. My. God,” they both say in unison.

“So not good….”

“No Ash, not good.” Lauren replies back.

Don’t tell a guy you just want to be friends when you don’t.

“Ugh I’m so mad. He talked about his date in front of me this morning!” I tell Lauren

“So,” Lauren replies.

“What do you mean so? That sucks. I liked him.”

“If you did, why did you tell him you just wanted to be friends?”

“Well, I didn’t want him to know I liked him,” I say.

“Why not? Didn’t he say he liked you?” (Lauren always makes things sound so simple.)

“He did? I don’t know. Things got complicated.”

“You make them complicated! Well maybe you should tell him you don’t want to be friends,” Lauren answers.

(I text said guy that I don’t want to be friends)

“Um I think he is confused now.”

“Why?”

“I texted him and told him I changed my mind and did not want to be friends and we should just go back to banter.”

“Ashleigh one, you forgot a part and two, you shouldn’t be texting this.”

“Which part did I forget?”

“The part about you liking him!” Lauren shouted.

Read your text messages.

It’s a bad thing, but we all get a little braver with a few drinks. After one too many cocktails at Prime Bar, I texted one guy who did not appreciate by sarcastic tone and frankly put me in my place.

“Um he sent me a horrible text.”

“He did,” Erica asks all concerned.

“Yeah, but then he sent me two more.”

“Okay….what did they say?”

“I didn’t read them. “

“Why not? You’re so weird,” she says shaking her head.

“I don’t want to deal with it right now. Over it.”

“So you are just going to pretend that didn’t happen.”

“Yes.” My phone beeps. “Crap he texted again.”

“Read it,” she yells.

“No.”

Two weeks later I read the text messages to both Lauren and Erica. They weren’t that bad, but obviously too late to do anything.

Don’t have push-up competitions with guys you may be interested in.

“What happened with Joe?” Erica asks. (Names have been changed to protect the innocent.)

“I don’t know. I’m kind of over it.” (I say I’m over things a lot)

“Why? He was so sweet and attentive, I like him for you.”

“Yeah. He was nice, but not really competitive.”

“Why?” She inquires. “He bikes.”

“He made fun of CrossFit.”

“So?” Erica lovingly makes fun of CrossFit too, so this isn’t a big deal to her.

“I bet I could lift more than him,” I say.

“Ashleigh. Seriously?

“I have a complex. I can’t date anyone I’m stronger or faster than.”

“Do you know you’re stronger than him?”

“Yes,” I state.

“How?”

“We had a push-up competition.”

“No you didn’t,” she says.

“Is that weird?”

“Yes,” she shouts.

“I know; my push-ups are horrible too!”

Don’t play games. You’ll regret it. Trust me.

“I just don’t know what guys want anymore.” I say.

“It’s pretty simple just be honest, open, sweet, fun. Basically, be yourself without all the games and insecurity. That seems to trip you up the most.” Lauren says.

“Do I play games?”

“Ah, yes you do.”

“That’s an unfair statement.”

“I think you act impulsively and defensively and then wish you could change things.”

“Completely disagree. Please give an example.”

“Last night.”

“Touché. I do regret that.”

It’s good to laugh at yourself. It’s even better to learn from your mistakes. And when you do learn from them, it’s even better to have friends that keep bringing them up to make sure you don't do it again. To quote Garden State, “If you can't laugh at yourself, life's gonna seem a whole lot longer than you like.”

Only let those who eat Paleo try your Paleo Cookies.

Most Sunday evenings a group of CrossFit kids meet for dinner. Honestly, this is my ideal evening. I do enjoy nights out at Capitol Pub, but I prefer dinner with friends filled with great conversation.   As Ralph Waldo Emerson said,  “the ornament of a house is the friends who frequent it.”

Although I enjoy eating these meals, I usually don’t provide an entree. I tried to make sweet potatoes one time, but  Kasey took my knife away in fear of me cutting myself in attempt to cook. Now I glady step aside and let the professionals do the cooking. I contribute with wine and stories from my weekends, which are usually pretty entertaining. Come out with me once and you’ll see.  
However, this Sunday was different. I was on a mission to cook, well to bake Paleo cookies.

First problem I ran into, finding the recipe online. Primal does not mean Paleo; I’ll later learn.

Confusion. My Paleo cookies needed butter. What? Butter? Also known as a dairy product, which is not hunted or gathered? So I texted my buddy Mark and asked him if I could swap butter for coconut butter, flour for almond flour and so on. He said I hope you are actually following a recipe and not just substituting ingredients.  I assured him I was.

Side note: I’m still in shock on all the swaps for dairy. Who knew coconut could be turned into milk and butter?

Moving on - I needed a bunch of ingredients. This included:

1/2 cup hazelnuts, chopped

1/2 cup pecans, chopped

1/2 cup almonds, chopped

1/2 tsp baking soda

1/2 cup butter

2 eggs

1 tsp vanilla

1/2 cup dried cranberries, chopped

1/2 cup dark chocolate chips

2 1/2 cups almond flour

2 cups unsweetened shredded coconut

I went to Central Market to buy all these Paleo ingredients .My kitchen lacked anything Erica hasn’t bought. I assure you, she isn’t buying Paleo staples. Well Central Market was holding a Mardi Gras festival, which means I got distracted by samples and forgot to shop for the cookies.

Plan B. Whole Foods. They usually don’t have as many samples, so I won’t be as easily distracted. I call Devonee to tell her my plan, but as I was talking I couldn’t find everything on my list. I located the dried cranberries, pecans, almonds, and chocolate. I swamped the hazelnuts for macadamias. I despise hazelnuts. It is for this reason that I hate Nutella. Hazelnuts taste like dirt and I don’t understand why they would ruin a chocolate spread with this unneeded addition.

An hour and a half later, I finally found all the ingredients, but one - almond flour.  Still on the phone with Dev, I was told to stop talking and focus.

Even off the phone, I could not find the almond flower. Defeated and now hungry from my shopping extravaganza, I noticed a sample guy giving away bison meatballs. He told me I look flustered as I gave him the rundown of my cookie ingredients. Sample Sam (that’s what I called him) decided to leave his post in search for almond flour. The store actually was out, or so they thought. Sample Sam found some in the back. Lucky me!

Two hours and fifty dollars later, I left the store and headed home to cook.  It seemed like a somewhat easy recipe.

·         First preheat the oven to 350. This took a while. I thought the oven was on, but no it was cleaning. I fixed it don’t worry.

·         Then beat butter (I used coconut butter) for 30 seconds in a bowl. Add in chopped cranberries and baking soda. Beat in eggs, vanilla, and almond flour. Stir in coconut, chocolate chips, and nuts. Mix until smooth. This did not mix until smooth, the ingredients weren’t clumpy together.

·         Place parchment paper on a baking sheet. Put spoonfuls of cookie mixture on tray. When I did this, all the nuts, chocolate and cranberries fell out of the dough. I stuck them back in with my fingers. Don’t worry, I washed my hands…um I think.

·         Bake for 15 minutes, flipping halfway through. Let cool (because they're pretty crumbly when still hot.)

After I took the first batch out of the oven, I was traumatized. The cookies looked disgusting and even tasted worse. You should want to eat a cookie right when it comes out of the oven, not want to destroy it.

I was so bummed. Dinner was in a few hours and I failed. I begged Erica to eat one and give me her honest opinion. As a good roommate, she put the morsel in her mouth. As she chomped down, a look of shock and confusion crossed her face.

“I can taste the coconut,” she said trying to chew and smile at the same time.

“Well, are they good?” I asked.

“Umm, I’m going to finish it.”

“Yes, but you should WANT to finish it,” I argued.  Erica kept going to another room.

“Are you throwing it away?!” I questioned

“No, I’ll finish it. It’s not horrible.”

“Well, if you came home and was craving a cookie and saw these, would you eat them?”

“No, I don’t think I would put that in my mouth again.”

I decided to bring the cookies to dinner anyway. I wanted to learn and also know what I did wrong. I warned the group first about my cookie mishap. Ryan didn’t care. He grabbed a cookie and surprisingly didn’t make that same expression Erica did. After chewing, he said not bad; I like the nuts.

Mark snatched one and said, “Yeah Ash, this is how Paleo cookies are supposed to taste.”

They are supposed to taste like chalk with hints of chocolate. Really? Alright, sure, I’ll take their word on it.

Honestly, I didn’t care. My Paleo group loved my cookies! I called Erica and gave her the good news.

Devonee was the only one who didn’t fall in love with my cookies. In her defense or my cookie’s defense, her first bite was not good. The cookie lacked chocolate chunks, cranberries and nuts – the only thing that made them edible.

I wanted her to try them again. Walking back inside and to my astonishment, the cookies were gone - all of them! Dev was a little agitated. Who can blame her? I would be upset too, if I missed out on the best Paleo cookie ever made.

I may have exaggerated a little, but this group wouldn’t eat just anything. Well, that’s a lie. They pretty much would.

The Green Band – I don’t want to be T-Rex at CF

The Green Band.

Green has never been a good color for me. When thinking of green, I think of money. Money I don’t have. (Non-profit is known for making money, obviously) It even reminds me of the color of my shirt after a little kid I taught tennis threw up on me. (Man, I miss that shirt.) It’s also the color of jealousy. Jealous? Yes, I was green with envy at everyone not using a green band to do pull-ups at the box. The band I now needed. The band I promised myself I wouldn’t use again. The green-eyed monster was back and she was not happy.

Y’all, I went to CrossFit on Wednesday for the first time since surgery. It was the happiest I have been in months, but also the most frustrating.  I couldn’t do much with my knee, but I did part of the workout. This part included fifty pull-ups.

Pull-ups frustrate me. It’s one of my favorite moves, even though I can’t seem to tackle it. One, I’m still learning kipping. But, in this process of learning kipping, I had moved up to the purple band. One away from no band at all.

Then after months off, the inevitable happens; I lose strength.  Before beginning our workout of fifty pull-ups, I grabbed the red band. I knew it had been awhile, so I needed the extra support. I practiced one. When I mean practice, I attempted to lift my body with absolutely no luck. Fifty pull-ups? Not going to happen. 

Defeated, I grabbed the blue band and waited for the time to start. I miss those timed workouts, the way your heart pounds so loud you swear people can hear it.  It’s the same adrenaline I used to get from running a race. The same butterflies in my gut before the start of a tennis match. My type-A personality needs that adrenaline. I crave competition.  Without it, I’m lost.  

The time starts and I manage ten pull-ups in a row. Then muscle weakness, then failure. Wait, this is not supposed to happen yet. I’m on the RED BAND. Forty more of these are left. I jump off the box and stretch my arms to try again. Five more, okay, actually it was really only one more. No one would count those last four.

A guy at CrossFit once told me I looked like T-Rex when doing  pull-ups. It wasn’t until this workout that I agreed with him. I did look like T-Rex. I knew if I straighten my arms and did a full chest to bar – I wouldn’t be able to go much longer or at all.

Frustrated, I jumped off the box.  Josh, one of the CrossFit coaches, comes over to me to make sure I’m not overdoing it. I’m known for overdoing things.

“I lost all my strength, what happened?” I told him.  Josh brushed my negativity aside and told me to get the green band.

The green band! The band I used the first day of CrossFit! Are you saying I lost it all? I started getting angry at myself. Maybe I should have done more strength in rehab, maybe I became lazy – my head was spinning.

Stop. I thought in my head. The new me doesn’t get defeated this easily. I’m only cheating myself with this attitude. Not doing the pull-up correctly was wrong. No one cares at CrossFit about your past or what you can’t do; it’s that you are trying your heart out and not giving up. If I didn’t do the workout correctly, I was giving up on myself.

Yes, it’s the green band. Yes, it’s disheartening to go back to where you started. But, I didn’t go back. The old Ash would push through doing T-Rex pull-ups –and not try to improve.  

So I swallowed my pride, it’s a big pill to get down, and grabbed the green band. I finished the workout. I even managed to look like a human just coming back from surgery and not a dinosaur.

A Tribute to my Roommate, Miss Leake.

How to start a dishwasher?

I really can’t get anything past this girl. I hear yelling downstairs, “Ashleigh, Ashleigh!”

Crap I think to myself, what did I do? Well, for starters I cleaned, did laundry and actually folded the clean laundry and put upstairs. I do the wash more, since I know how to now. Hmm what things did I turn on?  Oh no I rush downstairs and see soapy liquid seeping from the dishwasher.

“Ashleigh, what did you do,” she asks as she is wiping the floor with giant beach towels.

“Nothing. I just cleaned and started the dishwasher. It must be broken.”  (When I break things, they must have already been broken.)

“What did you put in it?”

“Dishwasher soap.” Now come on Erica that’s a stupid question even for me.  Oh wait, what did I put in it? I knew that stuff wasn’t right.

“Show me what you used.”

This girl is good. Crap, choose the right bottle. I wish this was “Who wants to be a Millionaire,” then I could phone a friend.

I look under the sink and at that exact moment I realize that I may have used the wrong soap for the dishwasher. They really should label these bottles more clearly. Do I confess right there? Um no… I lied. I feel guilty about it, but she knew I was lying. I’m a horrible liar.

“Um I used this soap right here – the dishwasher soap,” I said trying not to make eye contact.

I picked the one I didn’t use; obviously my first choice was wrong. I may be domestically challenged, but I know a dishwasher shouldn’t do that.

How to use a blender?

When making a smoothie, it should not blend for 24 hours. Yes. In attempt to make a healthy smoothie, that our CrossFit coach Drew recommended I may have learned a hard lesson.

For one, I blame Drew on this. He lists all the ingredients except the liquid. For those of us that may be domestically challenged. We need step by step instructions and all the ingredients. His instruction of –“ ice/water a lot…depends on desired thickness" caused some confusion.

I added the berries, spinach, banana, oatmeal, flax seeds and a bunch of other ingredients, pressed the button, and NOTHING. The blender won’t budge. Hmm I think to myself maybe the berries are too frozen, so I take all the ingredients out and put them in the microwave.

Zap for 45 seconds and try again. My concoction blends some, but not well. Maybe it’s a really difficult shake because of the spinach. I’ll just the blender go for a while on its own.  Thirty minutes later. No change. Try again. 10 minutes later. Little to no change.

Suddenly I hear Erica upstairs, “Ash what the hell are you making?”

“Just a smoothie.” I replied.

“Why is it taking so long?”

Hmm I wish I knew. I’m hungry. “I have no idea,” I said.

The kitchen sits directly under her room; I’ll mix this in the bathroom and shut the door so she won’t hear it. Fifteen minutes later, I’m on the bathroom floor holding the blender and still NO change. Gosh that Drew must be a good cook.

I decided to stop and try again in the morning. So I put the concoction in the fridge.

The next morning after CrossFit I remembered my recovery shake and thought it may just needed time to sit. Food sits or what do they call it, marinates, all the time.

 Now it’s 6:45 in the morning, I just returned from class. I plug it in. Please blend, I thought to myself.  Please.  I hear Erica coming downstairs. Erica is many things, but morning person she is not. I am very much a morning person!

“What the hell is that?” She says disgusted.

I’m not going to lie, my healthy shake looks disgusting. The spinach has wilted, the berries turned brown and chucks of oatmeal floated to the top.

“It’s my healthy shake.”

“Is this another CrossFit thing?”

“This is a healthy thing, but I can’t get it to mix how I want it to.”

“I know I could hear you blending for over an hour last night and this morning. You need more liquid. Ash, hold on, what liquid did you use?”

“The recipe doesn’t call for liquid just ice and….ohh that’s what desired thickness means.”

“How did you not know to put a liquid in the blender?”

I ignored her. This shake has taken me hours to prepare and nothing would hold me back from completion, not even that look she was giving me. Oh gosh, she even has her hand on her hip. Shit, she’s mad. It didn’t matter; I was on a mission. I added the water and just like the grace of god, it starts blending.

“It worked!”

Perfect. The best, longest and at the time ONLY shake I have ever made.  

The tools of the kitchen.

Erica, I’m going to be Paleo and cook I say proudly. I want to make desserts, since that’s my weak spot. See, I looked up this Paleo Pumpkin Bread Recipe.

Erica looks skeptically at the recipe. Ash, this looks complex, even for a normal person. (Normal person to Erica is one that knows their way around the kitchen and or house. I’m not defeated.

“Do we have a food processor?”

‘Yes, we have two.”

“Okay great. Where are they?”

“Ash, do even know what a food processor does?”

If a mixer, mixes and a blender, blends a processor, processes?

It processes things in the processor,” I say.

“If you don’t know what it looks like, you shouldn’t do this recipe. “

Still have yet to make this, but it’s on my to do list!

From Knee to You

This was so on point (and funny) that I had to share it..."From Knee to You" by J.R. Havlan (Runner's World - March 2012)

Dear J.R. -

This is your knee. No, the one on the right. Idiot. Weren't expecting to hear from me were you? You thought maybe you could just coast through life doing whatever you want with me without having to worry about my feelings. And I'm not talking about emotional feelings. I don't even know what those are. I'm a knee. I thought I made that clear. I'm talking about physical feelings like soreness, swelling, aching, throbbing, burning...starting to sound familiar? The kinds of feelings that you seem to think a couple of Advil and an ice pack can make go away forever. Wrong! Idiot.

Look I don't mind you using me. I love it when we go running together. I'm literally built for that. And to be fair, we've had some good time together. Like the 41:21 in the 10-K race in May. That was a good time. And the 41:05 we posted in April. That was even better. But in case you lost count, allow me to remind you that you've limped into the doctor's office 10 times this year, and there's a reason for that: You and I are in an abusive relationship.

There, I said it. Boy, that felt good--to finally get it out in the open like that! A real weight off my shoulders. Yes, I realize that I don't actually have shoulders. Don't be a smart-ass. That was a metaphor.

Let's get realistic: I'm not what I used to be. And that means you're not what you used to be. So quit trying so hard to be what you used to be!

It started with that arthroscopic surgery 20 years ago. What a blast that was! Did I forget to thank you for that? Because I really should have thanked you for that. (Yes, knees know what sarcasm is.) We had to sit on our ass for months after that, and then you basically bailed on the physical therapy--bad idea. Just because you saw a cheap little plastic model of me in the waiting room that day doesn't mean you know me. I'm very complex! And I deserve to be treated right. But you thought I could just return to work without the proper recovery. Wrong! Again! Idiot!

So 10 years go by and I literlly carry your sorry ass along until finally I can't take it anymore and I "fail." That's what the doctor said: "Your knee failed." I failed?! Like you had nothing to do with it?! I don't care how many degrees that guy had on his wall, he got that dianosis backward. All that cartilage you took out of me in the first operation; all that muscle you lost around me and never bothered getting back; the fact that one of my favorite and most supportive ligaments was now nothing more than a piece of some dead guy's butt muscle! Oh, but I failed!

So you had me "reconstructed" and put me right back to work, and 10 years later...Mr. Right Hip started to complain. To quote Gomer Pyle, "Surr-PRISE, Surr-PRISE!!"

"Why?" you asked the next doctor. Allow me. It's because you didn't take care of me! And I had to ask Mr. Right Hip for too much help, and after awhile he was like, "Hey, what the hell is going on here?" and decided to "fail" you, too. Something about a "torn labrum."

So, now what? Replace us? You really think you can just replace us? Well...okay, I guess maybe you can. But it wouldn't be the same! You would miss us. You'd see.

So I'll tell you what you do...idiot. (Okay, sorry about that last "idiot." Lots of hard feelings here.) First of all, quit being an idiot and start doing exactly what that parade of physical therapists has been telling you to do. And keep doing it until I and Mr. Right Hip say it's okay for you to start using us again like we're all still 23 years old. We are not 23 years old anymore--but we're also not done yet. So do your bridges and your clams and your wall-sits, because I really want to get back out there and show those 23-year-olds exactly what we're still capable of. Brats.

Sincerely,

Your Right Knee