One shivering step at a time

One of the great things about getting back into the semester routine is that my exercise and eating habits level out a bit. I'm making my first concerted effort to lose weight in many, many years, and I've been looking forward to the day when I could start counting on that two-mile walk every morning: taking CG to school, swinging back by the house to pick up my stuff, then heading to the office. It's a lot easier to get to my 10,000-step goal when I start every weekday that way.

So I watch the weather like a hawk, because storms or dangerous conditions can derail that exercise I count on. And dangerous conditions might be present tomorrow morning, with overnight temperatures forecast to go as low as 11 degrees. I'm going to have to make up those 6500 steps somewhere else tomorrow.

When I say that I'm making a concerted effort to lose weight, this is what I mean. For many years -- including here on this blog -- I've been following the No-S Diet. It certainly kept me from getting out of control. But it's a rule of thumb, a way to give yourself structure so you don't overdo it. It's not -- at least in the way I handled it -- a goal-based system that holds you accountable for results.

It's not like I haven't known I'm overweight. The Wii Fit Balance Board made sure of that, along with every BMI chart that got handed to me at an employee wellness meeting. I won't even mention the way the mirror disapproved. But the thing that made the consequences of that real to me were the cholesterol numbers that came back from a blood screening. Researching how to lower them, the first thing on every list was "lose weight." Time to get serious, then.

For me, having a plan and a program is fun. I love systems and collect them obsessively. Systems for time management, workflow, organization -- they energize me. Finding the best system is fun. Implementing it turns on my reflective and assessing capacities, keeping me alert and aware of my own reactions. Living within a system is soothing. At its best, an elegant, well-designed system delights me on a daily basis.

So of course I made my New Year's resolution into a system -- an ecosystem, really, with quantified-self tools old and new feeding into the plan. I was already using a Fitbit to set step and climbing goals for each day, Runkeeper to track walks and jogs, and Gym Hero to record strength training (uh oh, looks like that last one might be about to hit the skids -- hasn't been updated in 18 months). Years of reading about various diet schemes made it clear to me that the only thing that mattered was calories -- more out than in, the weight comes off. MyFitnessPal integrated with the tools I was already using, calculated a daily calorie allowance for me, and provided a food diary so I could keep myself within it. Noel, really rolling the dice but coming up a big winner, got me an Aria scale for Christmas. I couldn't even wait to start until after the holidays, so enticing was this system.

In some ways, the system provides a kind of satisfaction that makes it hard for me to feel deprived. Gamification really works on me. A badge, a smiley-face, a cheer from an online friend, keeping my graphs in the green -- those stupid rewards matter, for whatever reason. I dreaded getting serious about losing weight for years, and hoped futilely that by exercising more or cutting out dessert, it would be enough. I was afraid of feeling constantly deprived, constantly aware of what I wasn't getting to have or do -- a depressing prospect. But my dread was misplaced. It's not like that at all. And the realization that all I really have to do is keep going like I have been these last three weeks, and slowly but surely my goal will come into sight, a goal that once seemed unattainable without drastic measures -- well, that produces a kind of euphoria that even my most-loved foods would be hard-pressed to match.

From zero to 20:21

On Monday morning, the day after my birthday, I woke in what we gently refer to as intestinal distress.  I took the usual medicine and considered going to work.  But I felt poorly, and even though I would usually expect to be able to function despite a wonky GI tract, I decided that I had better take a very rare sick day.  Good thing, too, because I spent almost the whole day unable to move from a horizontal position, feverish and chilled, without the strength to stand.  It took me another two days to regain my appetite, although I was over all the most troubling symptoms the next morning.

Today I ran in my university's "Trick or Trot" fun run for the second year in a row.  It's a short race, only 1.8 miles by official course reckoning (1.71 on my GPS).  But when I nervously attempted it as my first official race ever last year, I found it challenging.  I remember being alarmed by how winded I was by the first leg up the north side of campus, and how I thought I was going to have to stop and walk while making the loop around Alumni Circle in the campus center, and how I had to will myself to keep going in the last half mile through campus back to the start, and how difficult it was to smile and raise my hand for high-fives from the race volunteers in the home stretch.

Tonight, despite my paralyzing illness three days ago, and despite no training since a rigorous set of runs last week, the race was easy -- almost alarmingly so.  Chugging east along Bruce Street, preparing to make the turn south on Donaghey, ABBA's "S.O.S." exploded in my headphones and I felt like I was flying through the darkness under the full moon.  Running around Alumni Circle, I was conscious that I was more than halfway through the course but still feeling the long steady energy that usually begins for me after the first half mile.  Turning back west to pass through the campus toward the fitness center where we started, I didn't want to find myself suddenly running out of gas and monitored myself carefully, but by the time the finish line was in sight, with about a minute to go, I knew I had plenty left for a big kick.

I finished with a per-mile average under 12 minutes, which is a personal best for me for an outdoor run.  Most importantly, I never felt like I got near my limits.  That means it's time to step up my workouts and see how far I can take this jogging thing.  And maybe how fast.

Fixer upper

Last summer we finally did something about our ramshackle, deteriorating landscaping in the front yard, putting up a new retaining wall and installing some grass.  Given how much needed to be done, the operation, modest as it was, exhausted our available resources and made a big difference right away.

Now we're ready to think about phase 2, installing some beds and features and reshaping the existing borders.  Another big operation, but summer is the time for such things.

It's also the time to make sure everything we use regularly -- like cars and computers -- is in good working order.  Naturally, when you start looking, you find things that need to be fixed.  After I wrote a week ago about needing a new MacBook Air sometime soon, the notoriously unreliable screen hinge cracked on me this morning (with an audible "snap").  And Noel, who's been having trouble with his iBook's trackpad, suddenly discovered the cause today -- a bulging battery, something we've never seen before but that has been a problem in various models for several years.  Noel's computer is still covered by AppleCare, and mine should be covered by a recall of these hinge assemblies that Apple announced earlier this year, but we'll see if we end up being out any money.

Summer is also the time of long car trips -- the most miles we put on our cars every year, given that we don't have commutes to speak of.  Both cars need checkups to make sure they're fully road-worthy.  And finally, following Noel's good example, I need to get on with a new general practitioner and have a full physical.  I'm back with my gynecologist and I've been in good health, but with aging knocking on my door I need to be ready.

There are a lot of things in our lives and property that need work.  We can't do all of them.  But isn't it nice that the summer is here, with its open calendar and vacation days, so that we can do some of them, making steady progress toward our responsibilities and our future.

Older and, one hopes, wiser

I've been extremely nearsighted for most of my life.  It was fourth grade when I discovered my visual impairment; writing on the board was illegible from my spot in the back of the room.  When I got my first pair of glasses, the difference was remarkable.  I couldn't believe that other people saw this sharply all the time.  Gone was the fuzz and blur that I thought was normal.

In eighth grade I switched to daily wear contact lenses, along with many dire warnings from doctors and parents about proper care of the expensive little pieces of plastic.  And for the last thirty years or so, that's been my life.  Wake up blind, pop in the lenses, acquire vision.  At one doctor's appointment I'll never forget, the acuity in my left eye wasn't measured with the typical 20/100 type scale, but with fingers, as in "could distinguish three fingers held up in front of the light."

My prescription hasn't changed that much in all those years -- a few tweaks a few years ago, I seem to recall, but nothing major.  My doctor has been asking me about reading vision lately, and I've gotten the little card that's attached close to your head.  But my extreme nearsightedness apparently protected me from the onset of age-related farsightedness for awhile.

Those days are over.  I've known since this fall that I needed to go get my prescription adjusted.  For awhile I could pretend it was variations in the humidity; my sight seemed to come and go based on how well hydrated I was, how dried out my eyes would get.  It got worse as the day went on, deteriorating with exposure to glare and if I forgot to look away from the computer every once in awhile.  But now it's  problematic from the moment I get up.  Time to make that appointment and enter the world of bifocals or whatever is in the cards.

I hope the adjustment will produce the same dramatic results I remember from fourth grade.  It would be wonderful to open up my computer or a book or newspaper and see the print sharp and clean.  I know it's not going to get any bigger, but it would be nice if it didn't wiggle around on me and if F was easily distinguishable from P.

Under the weather

Our kids rarely get sick.  I'm not saying that to brag about our parenting or health habits, which are as slapdash as any you might find.  But years can go by between their doctor visits for anything other than a routine checkup.

Maybe because of this, we get more anxious when they do feel poorly.  Cady Gray threw up at school this afternoon about thirty minutes before dismissal, and she's currently in bed half asleep and unable to keep anything down, even water.  I think it's fair to say that Noel gets nervous at stomach upsets, certain that the trouble will spread throughout the family soon.  My anxiety is in trying to decide when a malady can be dealt with at home, and when a doctor needs to be consulted.

And my mind immediately goes to the remedies that I'm most familiar with -- those that were employed on me as a kid in similar circumstances.  Ritz crackers, Coke (virtually the only time we kids were allowed to drink Coke at home), and jello were the prescription for our bouts with stomach flu or indigestion.  As I was thinking about Cady Gray's prospects over the next day or so, I mentally scoured our pantry to make sure we were stocked with those essentials, and rehearsed how I would judge whether she were ready to give those foods a try.

I hope Cady Gray's illness is short, and that the rest of us stay healthy.  As long as this is an ordinary occurrence and not the start of something big, it's probably good practice for us as we try to keep our parenting toolkit sharp and up to date -- and our worry-meter in the green zone.

Touch

I got the first professional massage of my life today. It was a wonderful experience, and my massage therapist (recommended by my friend Carey) made me feel very comfortable and relaxed.

Naturally, a first massage comes with all kinds of questions about what it will be like to be in that position. Will there be any awkwardness from being touched and handled in ways that do not ordinarily come up, let us say, in the ordinary course of business relationships?

It surprised me that I was most unprepared for a touch that might be considered one of the simplest. When the therapist grasped my hand gently to move my arm around, it was unexpectedly intimate in a way that the rest of the hour was not.

Holding hands is such an ordinary intimacy that it's easy to forget just how real and connected it makes you feel to another person -- and them to you. I love to reach for my children's hands, and I always feel like a small miracle has occurred when they wordlessly and simply accept the invitation by lifting their hands to mine. I have a habit of stretching my right arm back between the front seats while driving and grasping each of the kids' hands in turn. And I'm sure we all remember how thrilling it was to hold hands with a boyfriend or girlfriend in that first blush of puppy love, and how comforting to reach for a spouse's hand while walking or sitting together.

It's not the strange touches that jolt us with their power, but the familiar ones. How interesting to learn that today while on the massage table, having my hand held by someone I'd only just met.

Less than one hundred percent

In the last couple of days, something has been a little off with Archer. His appetite has disappeared, and he seems tired and in a fog some of the time.

But he's perfectly normal at other times, speaking with animation about his favorite subjects. Today I went running with him, and although we walked about half the way of the two and a quarter miles, he ran more than a mile. He was unusually quiet and subdued, and I worried that he was feeling poorly. But when asked he insisted he felt fine. And at the end of the run, he ran a quarter mile, passing most of his classmates and raising my hopes that he wasn't in any distress.

Then we went out to dinner, and he barely touched his pizza and sprite, while his sister (usually less interested in food) devoured hers. Nope, he's not right.

It's hard to know what to do when your children don't have any of the symptoms that let us know for sure what care they need. I've seen the kids recover on their own from episodes like this -- worse than this. But what if I'm ignoring something serious? After all, it's not like the symptoms he does have are ambiguous. He's gone from being a bottomless pit for any and all food to not wanting his favorite meal. It's just that this problem isn't accompanied by anything else that would tell us what to do. He still enjoys his Wii, reads his evening homework with verve, and is excited about school.

Being a parent means not knowing what to do a disturbing amount of the time. I'm inclined not to worry about these things -- or at least to advice Noel not to worry. At the same time, I'm watching like a hawk for the signs that will tell me what to do next. I wish they came with clear labels attached.

On the shelf

As part of my university's employee wellness plan, I attend two classes per six weeks on health topics. Some of this year's classes have discussed depression, personal finance, time management, weight control, and so forth.

Today I went to the second class of this six week period, listed as "Mayo Clinic Personal Health." When I arrived, there was a table of large softback books; everyone picked one up while entering the classroom.

Turns out the class was simply an introduction to this book -- a basic reference book on health, containing self-tests, timetables for various vaccinations and checkups, information on common disorders, and so forth. It's a nice book, don't get me wrong. I will rarely turn down a free book. But it made me wonder about reference books like this in general. If I had a medical question, I would never think to scan my shelf and pull down a book. I would go to WebMD -- or maybe just to Google.

Is there still a place in this world for reference books? I love them, personally. I have been known to spend hours browsing through them. Some that are wonderfully specialized and have a distinct point of view are unlikely to be replaced by any website, or by the web as a whole. But basic home health? Is a book really the best way to convey that information anymore? This is an area where currency is highly prized; where searchability is key because only a page or two contains the relevant information at that moment; where you might want to have more details than the all-purpose summary at your fingertips. Yes, you might not want to wade through Google search results that will mix quick facts with in-depth or specialized presentation. But there are a number of popular and comprehensive websites that already exist to provide exactly the the same service as the Mayo Clinic book -- and arguably, to provide it with more of the features we're looking for when we need this information.

Other than working during a power outage, or accessibility for those who have no internet at home or work, I can't think of any reason to choose a book for this task. But maybe I'm missing something. What say you?

Under the weather

I've been vaguely sick ever since I got back from Washington, D.C. It's just a cold, and not even a bad one at that. But it just keeps moving around, from the top of my head at first, now to just inside my throat.

When I have a cold, I get really, really hungry. I feel like eating all the time, and the only thing that makes me feel halfway normal is if I'm full. Not surprisingly, I get tired easily, and want to curl up in bed for long hours. And nothing feels better than a hot shower.

Thankfully, I haven't been so uncomfortable that it's stopped me for a second doing what my work, either here or away. But that in itself has worn me down. I'm ready for some down time. Yet I spent the day on stage, teaching my part-time Methodist pastors. It was wonderful, but I'm exhausted. My energy is drained.

It would be nice to have a sick day -- a "bed day," we call them in this house. If my throat and head feel any worse, I might find a way to take one. It's been ages since I've canceled class because of illness; I just don't get sick that often. But is that a license to take a mental health day when I don't absolutely have to? Additionally, Noel has been on point for more than two weeks, taking care of kids and home while I've flown around North America. He deserves a vacation more than I do.

But you can't always control where your stress comes from. I've enjoyed myself tremendously over the last few weeks, but it's as if I've had no days off; every day has been work. Yes, you could look at what I've done and argue that it shouldn't have taken so much out of me, but the fact is, I'm run down. How much relaxation and recuperation can I build into the next few weeks -- the last of the semester, and the beginning of the holidays?

Overtime

Like everyone else who participating in the A.V. Club's Chicago promotional event for its new book, Noel came down with a vicious cold (or a relatively mild flu) twelve hours later. By the time he got home the next day, he was shaking and hot, had lost his appetite, and wasn't able to do anything but lie motionless on the couch under a blanket.

That had an interesting effect on the reunion in several ways:

1. No hugging. Even though Noel is feeling somewhat better today, the only physical contact I've had with him is feeling his forehead. The kids have had none.
2. Continuation of caretaking. I got up this morning to make the kids breakfast, just like I did for the rest of the week.
3. Takeout diet. I made the kids dinner one night while Noel was gone, and I felt pretty good about that. In normal circumstances his return would mean we're eating home-cooked meals. But because neither of us wanting his germy self preparing food -- and because I'm lame -- we ended up with drive-through food again tonight.

But things are looking up. Noel's fever is down, although his cough is still painful. He slept well last night, worked through the day, and had an appetite for the chicken I brought home. I had a productive day at work and stayed late because Noel was well enough to pick up the kids and supervise them during the afternoon. And tomorrow is Friday; if things continue to improve, we'll have a normal weekend.

Provided none of the rest of us get sick, of course. Here's hoping all that hand-washing, sanitizer, and lack of physical contact keeps us out of harm's way.

Owowowowow

I woke up this morning after an uncommonly refreshing sleep, turned on the Weather Channel, and vigorously circled my shoulders to work out the kinks.

Bad mistake.

I got an immediate twinge between my shoulder blades, and no amount of stretching or popping would relieve it. As the day went on, the twinge turned into a dull spreading pain; I could isolate it by tilting my head straight back, as though I were looking up at the sky.

My motivation to do any work, or move around much at all, dried up. After a normal productive morning, I spent most of the afternoon almost motionless in my office chair, reading online and doing some light grading. Brisk walks to the library to pick up a book, or to the parking lot to check the mileage on my car so I could renew the registration online -- little errand breaks that normally I would welcome -- I skipped.

When I got home, after a delicious dinner, I went to the front room and sat in an upholstered chair. Leaning my head back was painful at first -- a few seconds of ow, oh, eeyahh -- but once I got in that position, I had no desire to move at all. I believe I could have fallen asleep in that exact position.

The relief of motionlessness convinced me that I could skip my usual half-hour workout. I went straight to the showers. Now I'm sitting on the couch with a microwave heat bag spread across my upper back, helping Cady Gray with a list of rooms in the house and typing slowly.

I don't experience pain or discomfort often, and it always surprises me how pervasive it becomes while it lasts. I feel vaguely chilled, almost like I were coming down with the flu; the hot shower felt like heaven. I feel worn out, as if I could collapse into sleep at any second. The first effect comes from the radiating effect of the pain; the second from the lethargy of motionlessness. But they combine to make me feel not so great, even when the pain's not present.

It's such a minor thing, but it has such a cumulative affect on my mood and on what I can talk myself into doing. Check in with me tomorrow to see whether I've bounced back -- or possibly sunk deeper.

One day shall ye rest

It was a slightly tense day today as our plans were beset by illness. The chili supper we'd been looking forward to at a friend's house was canceled because said friend was feeling under the weather. And Archer was running a fever of 102 this morning, even though he claimed to feel reasonably well. We dosed him with Tylenol before his sister and I set off for our morning at Mom's school.

The Tylenol did its thing and Archer was nearly his old self again for the rest of the day. His running commentary on Mario Party 8, the U.S. Open, and facts about the human body's waste elimination system (learned from a book in his room during naptime) continued as usual with barely a break. If it weren't for the very occasional sniffles, sneezes, and coughs, and if it weren't for his preference for lying curled up on the couch rather than spinning autistically around the room, you'd never know he was sick.

At school, Archer's been collecting play-money coins for good behavior. (Bad behavior has been "taxed," he tells us, although he seems to have escaped taxation thus far.) Wednesday is the day the money is to be counted and a reward bestowed on the coin champion. Nothing motivates Archer like accumulating money, so he's been looking forward to the culmination of the coin program ever since it began. I hope his condition improves from here rather than worsening; I know it would be terribly disappointing to him if he were kept home from school on such a big day.

Well children

We took the kids in for their double-barrelled yearly check-ups today, complete with a bunch o' shots (three for Cady Gray, two for Archer), a hearing and vision check for Cady Gray, and of course, a lot of waiting around in a small exam room.

Like almost everyone, I'll bet, I have vivid memories of my pediatrician's office from childhood. The smell is what I remember best -- rubber and paper, like if the downtown library was next to a tire factory. I can remember some individual visits, even, like the one where my younger brother got tested for all the allergies in the world, all over his back. And the ones where the big trigger needle came out instead of the syringe. And the one when my dad brought me from the farm where I'd complained of cramps, and we were told that I was probably getting my first period.

It's strange to realize that my children will have vivid memories of the clinic they've been going to for years, this new building with no discernible smell (to me) and no salient features (to me). Someday they'll be able to recall the Greatest Story Ever Told lying on top of the book basket, or the red-upholstered stool on smooth-gliding wheels, or the portrait of a Pekingese by the nurse practitioner hanging on the wall.

What do you remember about your childhood checkups?