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

CrossFit: The day I got addicted

This post has been somewhat difficult for me to write and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the fact that if I revisit my first experience with this gym, it will remind me how much I miss it. Like with running, I feel an emptiness that can only suffice with Helen, Fran and the occasional Olympic lifts. So maybe concluding this at 5 am in the morning is what I needed. Finding my CrossFit gym or “box” as I later learned it would be called took several steps.                         I remember calling my brother, Todd, he had just left his military style boot camp and was giving me all the details. First let me say Todd and I are extremely close. When the time comes for someone to ask my hand in marriage, he must get permission from the three men in my life: Todd, Rope my trusty Vizsla, and of course my Dad. My father will be the easiest to convince.                         Todd and I bond over workouts. Both of us are extremely driven and also supportive of the other. When I visit, we plan meals in Houston around our workouts. “We need to workout before lunch at Lupe’s because with what I’m planning, we won’t want to do it on a stomach full of fajitas,” he would say. Since living in different cities, we try to talk most mornings over the phone. Conversations follow like this:                         “Todd, I did a tempo run at a 6:45 pace for 9 miles, not bad huh?” I would say proudly. He would usually reply with,  “Ash, that’s awesome! At boot camp, we had to do 500 push-ups and if we stopped, they soaked us with freezing water.”                         “So jealous! I wish I lived in Houston that sounds awesome!”                         My sis-in- law, Bailey, who is an incredible runner, does not understand these conversations and considers it a “Falk” thing.   When she ran her last marathon, she smiled the whole time and enjoyed the process. Well, as much as you can enjoy 26.2 miles. Todd and I don’t always smile on our runs; we are usually too beat down from attempting to out run some Kenyan.                         Hearing stories of Todd’s boot camp and seeing the results not only in his physical appearance, but more importantly his race speed drove me to find a boot camp of my own. Being the competitive family that we are, I NEEDED to also be faster. The boot camps I tried in Dallas were just a little too “soft.” I wanted military style workouts. I wanted my body pushed to the extreme. I wanted to pass-out. If I threw up, even better.                         One of my best friends from SMU, Melissa, who I affectionately call “Big Sis,” was the one that first mentioned the term “CrossFit” to me. She fell in love with the program and even became a trainer in Georgia.  I remember her saying, “You’ll love it ash, people just like you.”                         Not thoroughly convinced yet, I went back to my long run schedule.  It was on one of these runs, that I passed a CrossFit gym on the Katy Trail. If that’s not a sign, I don’t know what is. I also worked for the Katy Trail and we were in the middle of our busy season, the Katy 5K race, and I needed additional sponsors. So, in finding out what this “CrossFit” was all about, I set up a meeting with one of the owners, Koy.                         I walked into the gym and for someone that does not intimidate easily; I was intimidated. Pull-up bars, tires, ropes, and weights that I did not recognize from typical gym studios surrounded me. What was this place?                         Well, Koy informed me. He also frustrated me. I made the dumb mistake of saying that I was in good shape. Of course, I’m in shape, I run more than 70 miles a week. Koy smirked, and said why don’t you check the gym out. We have a free class on Saturday, but don’t be discourage because we scale to all levels.                         Discourage. Me. Please.                         He told me that he coached the Deep Elum location on Saturdays and to find him there.                         Although motivated to check it out, I did not want to go alone. So I told three of my girlfriends that they were going to come with me to this really fun workout. I may have bribed them with drinks the night before at Capitol Pub.                         The next morning, we walked in, hung over. Unfortunately, we met several guys at Capitol who bought us plenty of shots.  Poor decision.                         All of us were a little taken aback as we walked into the gym. People were walking upside down on their hands, others were on rings doing twirls in the air, some were jumping up and down in some sort of push-up, plank, jumping jack combination, which I would later learned is a burpee. Still to this day, I call it Bartleby. I’ll blame Harry Potter on that one                         Koy remembered my name and introduced me to the other two coaches there, one I recognized from Capitol Pub. Actually, as we were stretching, well rolling out (already painful to my overused muscles,) we saw the other guys from the night before. Dallas is a small world.                         As we were stretching out, I was amazed at how in shape everyone around us was and also nice. Not only did the coaches introduce themselves, but so did everyone else.                         I was repeatedly ask, “Is this your first time here?” “How did you hear about us?” “So glad you came.” “Please, don’t hesitate to ask me any questions.” I have always thought strangers are just friends I haven’t met yet. So this communication was heaven to me.

I asked my new gym friends what kind of workout the coaches planned.

“The WOD is on the white board,” one of the girls said.

“The WOD?” I asked confused.

“Yes, the workout of the day. See it’s 100 push-ups, 200 squats, 100 burpees, 200 abs ending with a 400 meter run,” she replied.

Then she turned to her friend and said nonchalantly, “I guess they are taking it easy on us after those squats on Friday.”

This must be some kind of sick joke. Taking it easy! What? Suddenly I feel the death stares of my girlfriends that I not only dragged to the pub, but to this as well.

Crap, they are going to kill me.

This workout was incredibly humbling. Koy was right, in shape, no I was not. Everyone moved quickly. Holy crap, how is that person already on squats? I have 70 push-ups left, I thought. Am I not doing the push-up right, why are they lifting up their hands? No one is giving up. Will this pain be over?

Also, whoever made up this burpbee should go to hell alongside the guy who invented heels. Horrible.

Despite the pain, even more noticeable was everyone’s determination to give it everything they had. If someone slowed down, someone else was in that person’s ear encouraging him to continue.

In this way, it reminded me of tennis. You gave it your all on court: Blood, sweat and tears. Nothing was left, which is why losing a match would put me in a state of depression for days, along with several broken rackets.  

Furthermore, everyone stayed focused, unfazed by muscle weakness. What was this place? Who are these people? They make Jason Bourne look like an adolescent little boy.

I kept looking around wondering if people were staring at the new girl, who was dying a slow burbee death. Seriously, I looked like a dead fish. As I later learned, no one cares how long it takes or what you look like, just that you are giving it your all.

Also, people who just met me were telling me how great I was doing, “Come on Ash, a few more, you got this.”  They don’t even know me and they’re rooting for me. Wow, these people are really nice.

After class, the coaches said don’t be surprised if you are a little sore. Please, a little sore. I’ve had concussions, played a tennis match with a broken wrist, multiple knee surgeries, literally had my Jeep crushed by a truck on the highway, and have not felt as much pain as my body did that evening and well into the week. I missed my Sunday morning run due to pain. Trust me. I have a high pain tolerance and missing a run only happens in extreme cases. This would count as extreme.

I remember going to a movie with my friend Jocelyn and I couldn’t even walk up the stairs. Muscles that I never knew existed felt on fire. It hurt to laugh. It hurt to sleep. It hurt to stay still. My body was swollen.

But, I loved it, every second of it. In my excitement, I called Todd and told him everything we did. My big sis, Melissa, said I told you so. She was right. I was addicted and I hadn’t even started yet.

So the next week, I signed up for the Elements Class, the beginning CrossFit course to go over the moves, and my addiction for Helens, Frans and kipping pull-ups set in.

Although, my non-CrossFit friends sometimes laugh at my newfound love or obsession. It’s something I’m so happy I found and frankly until I couldn’t do CrossFit, I didn’t realize how much I would miss it.

I guess it’s true; you don’t really appreciate something, until it’s gone. Well not gone for me completely, just on hiatus.

I miss the workouts. I miss the coaches. I miss my friends pushing me at the gym. But, I still have it. Those friends I met are still with me and have been so supportive during this time.

Before and even after surgery, I was overwhelmed with calls, texts and emails asking me how I was doing and more importantly when will I be back. Not coming back to CrossFit never crossed their mind; this of course was not an option.

I won’t disappoint them. I’ll be back and for once healthy. I struggled for so long at the gym because my stupid self told me to continue to ignore that familiar pain in my knee.

As I’m recovering, I’ll just improve on the moves I hate.

Overhead push-ups. I got those. I have been practicing. Unfortunately, I now have a dent in my wall, but oh well the money to fix it will be well spent when I can do one without the additional support. I’ll just bring my landlord to CrossFit; he’ll understand it then.

For those that don’t understand, you have to try it. We get called a cult. If being in a cult means getting in the best shape of my life surrounded by the people that pushed me to get there, I would sign up again. Also, what the hell are you waiting for?