DOING A DOUBLE

There are mountains in Phoenix…well at least they are called mountains, but from this Montana Girls perspective, I think they are hills.  Mountain Wannabe’s maybe, but not really real Mountains.  Flagstaff, Arizona has real mountains and there are real mountains in other parts of Arizona as well. So, not to be outdone by any other part of the state on any topic, the good folks of the Phoenix Metro area have some hills that they proudly refer to as Mountains. If you went by names alone, you would think I was living smack dab in the middle of the Rockies.   My little place and space in Phoenix is nestled between Lookout Mountain and North Mountain and I can easily ride a bike to the base of Piestewa Peak (Majestic sounding, don't you think?) and Camelback Mountain.  And the mountains near my house can be conquered in about hour...unless you have to park your car.  Plan on adding an hour to find a parking spot if you have to drive and park at base camp. 

Mountaineering in Phoenix is light on the gear requirements, so that is a plus. Phoenix Mountains can be hiked in tennis shoes and a bottle of water, maybe two in the summer. A hat is also recommended but not required and maybe some sunscreen if you are a user of such chemicals. That's pretty much it.

When I think of Mountains, I think of Mountains…real Mountains…rugged Mountains. Mountains where considering a trip to the summit takes skill and planning and equipment and freeze dried food and sometimes permits…and also possibly a Sherpa.   A trip from base to summit of a real Mountain has inherent dangers, and might take days, and most certainly more than about an hour.

Still, Phoenix calls their mounds of dirt and cactus Mountains...Whatever floats your boat I suppose, but I’m not fooled.  I looked it up…because that’s what I do…I look things up. I looked up the difference between a mountain and a hill. Turns out, one person’s hill is another person’s mountain for the most part but the generally accepted differences are that mountains are bigger, and higher, and have two or more zones of climate and plant life at different altitudes. The “Mountains” of Phoenix have a single climate zone (hot) and one  basic variety of plant life (cactus and desert shrubs). No big variations of any kind are apparent during the ascent to the top. So to me they are hills. Phoenix has hills if you ask me. Hill that are hiked, not mountains that are climbed.  But again, whatever makes a person happy…It does sound so much more impressive to have climbed to the top of Lookout Mountain than to have hiked up Lookout Hill.

For my 40^th Birthday, my friend Gina and I decided we would climb Camelback Mountain, which is technically in Scottsdale I think…at least partially.  Of the mountains in the Phoenix Metro area, it is the most famous and the most challenging and it generally where the beautiful people go to show how very outdoorsy they are and model the latest tech gear and tennis shoes.  When climbing Camelback, one must occasionally actually use hands and feet at times, but not to fear, hand rails have been installed…Yes, a mountain with handrails…This is not your Montana Mountain, people!  It is a Scottsdale, AZ mountain.  Only the best, no expense spared. The beautiful people of Scottsdale wouldn’t want to chip a nail or get their hands dirty. So, anyway, since my birthday is in August, and the temperature in Phoenix is about 10 degrees above Hella Hot in August, an early start is required. We arrived at the Mountain at about 6:30 am and the lot was almost full.  Lots of people making a push for the summit that day. The trail was packed.  A veritable smorgasbord of humanity. A fiesta of fashion and funkiness. Tall, small, fit, not so fit, young and old. Plenty of beautiful and a bit of not so much. Occasionally one could hear a foreign language being spoken.  My friend Gina and I momentarily considered making up a language to speak, just for fun.  Just to watch people’s reactions and to draw attention.  We learned very quickly that it is important to draw attention to oneself and to be hip, slick, and cool when conquering The Mountain. We thought a language with lots of clicking sounds would be neat.  All tribal like.  But we decided against it...too strenuous on the tongue, and instead we passed the time watching and listening to others as we hiked.

We were super lucky because the gals right in front of us on the trail were seasoned Scottsdale Mountaineers.   They, in their skin tight Spankies, sports bras, high pony tails, and sporty tennis shoes that likely cost about the same as a small sports car. Bouncing up the trail they went all perky and glistening, Fiji water in hand. Talking nonstop. Loudly so those around couldn't miss a word of their riveting conversation about where the best place to go for a Brazilian was or some other tantalizing topic.  And on we marched.  Lemmings, playing follow the leader until our lead Lemmings happened upon some friends that were on their way down.  They stopped momentarily, causing the rest of us to stop as well…narrow trail… but it’s ok we were happy to wait…we were in the presence of  Hikerlebrities after all…The friends seemed surprised to see our pack leaders and said “Wow…late start for you two!” to which our perfectly perfect pals loudly and proudly proclaimed, “Oh no, we are doing a double today”...Nice...  Doing a Double.  Super slick and hip. The badge of greatness on the Mountain, apparently.  And so, my point is made…Which point, you ask?  People, try to keep up...It isn’t a Mountain if Hiker Barbie and her friend Summiting Skipper can “do a double” in the span of about an hour and a half! I don't care how perky and fit they are.  Rome wasn't built in a day and Mountains aren't climbed twice in the time it takes to watch a movie! It is a hill. Just saying.

I am not a fan of doubles.  I had a full week of doing a double and didn’t care for it one bit.  I had a different sort of double...I had a week of double vision.  And double vision is not fun and not good exercise, not slick, hip, or cool. Not something I ever care to repeat.  I literally saw one of everything while sitting at my computer working one minute and then got up and in that instant, saw two.  Of everything. Not just kind of sort of in a cross eyed manner…literally two completely separate and distinct images.  Each eye creating its own private picture in my brain. It was weird and crazy and so bizarre that it was more a feeling of shock than fear.  I call April 11th 2013, the day double vision grabbed me, Double Day.  Although I am definitely not a fan of double vision, Double Day itself changed my life.  For the better. When I realized that my vision had doubled, I drove myself, one eye closed, to an urgent care facility.  The doctor ordered blood tests and sent me to the lab.  I suspected I may have had a mold exposure the day before or possibly that lazy eye I have had since birth had finally decided to get off the couch and do a bit of its own work.  To her credit, the Doc I saw was on it. Blood tests were followed by an MRI which was followed by an Ophthalmology appointment which was followed by a Neuro appointment which was followed by another MRI and a Spinal Tap.  I am not a fan of spinal taps, by the way.  More on that another day… When the dust settled and the tests had been completed, Double Day eventually led to diagnosis day. And diagnosis day meant the Monster had a name. But, even before the Monster had a name, I knew that I had a Monster and I knew I had to fight, and so the day after Double Day, before my diagnosis, before any test results of any kind, I joined the ranks.  I joined the ranks and became a practicing Wahls Warrior.

Double Day was actually Double Week.  The double vision lasted about a week.  A week was more than enough to get my attention, and just long enough for it to cost me plenty of money on special prism lenses in my glasses.  And then, my vision slowly started to merge back into one beautiful picture. Phew!  While I was so grateful for the glasses, I am so thankful not to have to use them. That week was really probably the extent of my diagnosing relapse, but because I also became a hard core Wahls Warrior, with AIP restrictions, I went through some pretty bad withdrawal and detox.  I am certain I would have been a perfect candidate for an intensive inpatient 40 day treatment program. But at the time, I didn’t even know it. I didn’t realize what was happening to my body.  I blamed the way I felt all on the Monster. And so I needed help. And people came.  My sister came and my friend Jennifer came and my Nephew Jason came.  And they took turns taking care of me and helping with the kids for over a month while I got clean and sober…sober from preservatives and chemicals and gluten and dairy and the whole host of things I was no longer ever going to eat again…ever.

Having read some of what my Facebook friends have shared, I feel incredibly lucky and blessed that not a single person in my life has ever questioned or challenged my lifestyle change.  Not even once. I am surrounded by people who wholeheartedly embrace the changes I have made and am continuing to make and many have even made some changes of their own as a result. I couldn't be more grateful for that. The support I had right from the start was phenomenal. 

And so during my detox period, I was sick as a dog, but I didn’t know why, so I blamed it all on the Monster. The saying "Sick as a Dog" dates back to the 17th Century and refers to the fact that dogs have no filter when it comes to eating...they will eat almost anything.  They will eat poop.  They don't care or don't know any better and so what they eat can make them extremely sick. Hmmm, looking back, I had actually been eating like a dog for years and years...not knowing or not caring that what I was ingesting was making me sick...super sick. But, during the detox, I thought I felt bad due to the Monster, I never even considered quitting or cheating. The worse I felt, the more the resolve.  Screw You Monster. I win, you lose.

Today, a little over 2 years since Double Day, I celebrate. I celebrate Double Day.  Because Double Day changed my life. For the Better. It is because of Double Day that I am a Wahls Warrior and I no longer eat like a dog and I am no longer sick as a dog. I feel better today than I did for the 10 years prior to Double Day. 

I turn 50 this August.  And maybe I will hike Camelback Mountain again for my 50^th.  And maybe this time, I’ll do a double.

Happy Hiking!

JUST BREATHE

Yesterday, my friend and coworker Jesse (aka The Cupcake) instant messaged me and said “You haven’t blogged for almost a week now, doofus”.  Not a question.  No response solicited or required.  Just The Cupcake giving me a hard time.  Normally, I would have had some snarky comeback about all of the important matters I am currently attending to. Normally, I would have said something along the lines of “Oh, whatever! Don’t you know how super duper busy I am right now, dork?  Over and above my regular full time job, and my part time job, and all of my food requirements which is also a full time job, oh, and not to mention my regular being a Mom stuff (yet another full time job)…On top of all of that, I’m trying to finish moving and cleaning and selling my house, and I’ve got a son getting ready to finish junior high, and a daughter getting ready to graduate high school and go on to college, and a dog that no longer has a yard to poop in, and summer will be here before you know it!  And so there are banquets to attend, announcements to send, dresses to be hemmed…there are plans to be made and bills to be paid!   Don't you see that I am busy?  I’m Busy, Busy, Busy!  I am Busy Barbie!” But I didn’t.  I didn’t respond that way.  Because as soon as I played that sassy response back in my head, as soon as I heard myself think all of those thoughts and actually listened to myself, it hit me…and instead,  I responded, “ I know.”  And then I said, “Thanks”.

Whether it was his intention or not, my friend Jesse’s little message to me was a reminder...A tap on the shoulder. It was saying “Hey Wynette, just wondering…Are you taking care of you?  Or have you slipped into human doing mode rather than human being mode?”  I have a tendency toward that.  A tendency to get caught up in “do” land and I forget to “be”...And when that happens, I tend to forget to take care of me. 

Don’t get me wrong, I believe that being active and engaged in living is a positive thing.  I like it. I like having stuff to do.  I am at my best and my happiest when I am actively engaged. So, having a list and having things to do, tasks to accomplish, isn’t necessarily a bad thing for me.  But sometimes I get myself off track... When my list starts feeling too long, when it feels like something needs to give, my first cuts tend to be those things that should really be last to go...things that should hold permanent positions at the very top of the list. Things that shouldn't even be on the "to do" list in the first place. Not because they are unimportant things.  The opposite.  I  have things on my list that shouldn't be there because they are essential...they should be a given. No reminder should be required.

Breathing is a given so I don't bother to have it on my to do list. Having breathing on my to do list would mean that I need to remind myself to do it. That I need to remind myself to breathe. It would mean that I could potentially lower breathing's priority or to skip it entirely. And that would be dumb. Categorizing breathing as a to do item, one that can be conveniently ignored, seems silly. Breathing is essential. Yet, when start to feel overwhelmed, I tend to compromise a host other essential things.  I compromise sleep, and exercise, and quiet time, and other things that are good for me. Things that are essential to my health and well being. Things that shouldn't even be on my to do list in the first place. I much too easily put essential things aside in an attempt to conquer the list.  I am all too often quick to postpone or skip the things that benefit me most. The irony is that when I do first things first, when I do the essential things, when I remember to breathe, I am healthier, I am happier, I am more productive. I am more effective and more efficient, and the rest of the list becomes more manageable and easier to tackle.  When I remember to breathe, I am a better worker, a better friend, a better companion, a better Mom, a better Warrior, a better human being...  

 But, I am a also doofus, apparently.  And so even though I know these things about myself, sometimes I need a reminder from a friend.  Sometimes, I need a tap on the shoulder. And so, thanks friend,…thanks for the tap…

Tap, Tap, Tap!

HOOF BEATS & PEA PODS

I don’t like horses.  Oh, whatever, shoot me.  OK, let me rephrase.  I like horses, I think they are beautiful and amazing creatures.  But I don’t like to ride them, or feed them carrots, or pick up their poop.  Yes, I grew up in Montana, but contrary to popular belief, we didn’t actually ride horses to school.  We walked. We walked to school in -20 temperatures with a wind chill of -50. Uphill, into the wind. Both ways. Barefoot. Because Montana people are tough and rugged and wear chaps.  

 Some people fear what they have not tried.  That is not the case for me and horses.   I’ve tried.  More than once. I’ve tried to ride horses but the thing about horses is that they know who is in charge when they are being ridden and you can trust me when I tell you, they know it isn’t me.  I am not in charge when I am on a horse. And so, I choose not to ride. I freely admit that I am not Cattle Queen of Montana. I will leave that title to someone else. 

There is a saying that if you hear hoof beats, think horses, not zebras.  Maybe my mild case of Equinophobia (Yes, of course I looked it up and yes, there really is such a thing) is why I don’t always hear the hoof beats.  Why I sometimes block them out. The hoof beats.  The sound of the horses coming my way.  And you don’t think horses or zebras or hippos if you don’t even hear the hoofs.

Today is 2 days before my 2 year anniversary of Double Day. Double Day was the day when the hoof beats finally became so loud and so close that they could no longer be ignored.  Two years ago today, there were definitely hoof beats, I just couldn’t hear them or if I did, I pushed them out of my head.  Then came Double Day. (More on Double Day later.) On Double Day the hoof beats were loud and clear. Undeniable.  Once I did finally hear them, finally really heard the hoof beats, it quickly became obvious.  Hoof beats meant horses. And the years of random symptoms when all put together totally made sense.  I knew I had a monster, and I knew its name.  I didn’t need a Doctor to tell me (that would come later). I knew.  And knowing is power. And knowing made me ready to fight the monster.

One of my favorite commercials of all time is one that I only saw once. Years ago. Just once.  But once was enough. The commercial was announcing a sale at a local car dealership. The scene opens with an elderly farmer and his wife walking into the showroom. They are the ultimate in stereotypical. He with his straw hat, chewing on a piece of grass, she with her gingham dress and apron. They walk into the huge showroom which is quiet and seemly pretty empty. The salesman, a small round Asian man with a huge happy smile, welcomes them and takes them over to a table with a large jar on display. It is a glass jar and all of the contents are clearly visible. The salesman then excitedly proclaims "You guess how many pea pod in jah, you big winna.” The farmer tips his head a bit looks at his wife for a moment and then replies in a slow drawl. "But thare's only 1 pea pod in the jar" and the place erupts. Chaos. The air is filled with confetti and streamers and there are people running around, hands overhead shouting "Winna, Winna, Winna, Winna!!!!" Best. Commercial. Ever.  I only saw the commercial once.  Sometimes I actually wonder if I ever saw it at all.  Maybe I just made the whole thing up in my head. Mad Cow. But regardless of its origin, I’ve never forgotten it and I’ve actually trained my family to play along.   I will just randomly say “You guess how many pea pod in jah, you big winna” and my kids and my nieces and nephews play along.  Play the part of the farmer.  Drawl and all.  We are an easily amused bunch. 

Sometimes the correct answer is obvious. It is a no brainer. When we see it, we know.  It is the lone pea pod in the jar. And once the hoof beats had been heard and identified, once the monster had been named, I went in search of the answer. I went searching to find out how to defeat the monster. So, with the help of loved ones, I dove in full force to find the answer.  My sister was actually the one that found it.  She called me all excited and said she had found this TEDx talk that I needed to watch.  And I did.  I watched a TED talk given by Dr. Terry Wahls.  She talked about food.  She talked about food’s ability to harm or to heal. And I knew. I knew I had the correct answer. Not necessarily the easiest answer, but the obvious answer. For me, it was as clear as the lone pea pod in the jar.  “Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food.”   

Winna, Winna, Winna, Winna!

LIFE, SIMPLIFIED

In my early career, I was a teacher. I was not just a teacher, but also a coach.  The two jobs have lots of similarities, but one of the main differences is that a coach usually has the added responsibility of selecting the team.  The coach decides who will make the cut.  Which players will make the roster. If there is more space available than there are players, then the job is simple…keep them all. Everybody makes the team. But when there are more players than space, the job gets more difficult. Because players must be selected and cuts must be made…

As it relates to the business of Me, I am the CEO and CFO of my organization and I am also the Coach of all of my teams. I am Sarge Marge In Charge.  I know what you are thinking…I am a lot to take on, but I am Wynette. I am Wynette the Wahls Warrior Wonder Woman. See me multitask.

When I first became a Wahls Warrior, top on the list was to revamp my food team.  I cut some long time superstars. Diet Coke and Microwave Popcorn and all of their processed buddies got their walking papers. Grains were replaced. Dairy didn’t get renewed. Sugar, retired. They, along with the legumes and a few other former favorites had to go. They were hurting the organization. Destroying the team. They were replaced with a new organic lineup featuring Veggies, Fruits, Meats, and Healthy Fats along with a few assorted players like fermented foods, nuts and seeds, and such to round out the roster.  The first month or so was a bit rocky.  It took a while to get used to the new style of play. But slowly, salad by salad, the team started to gel. And now, it is an amazing team. A championship team.

Next, I reevaluated my products team. I traded in almost all of my existing players and replaced them. Shampoo, deodorant, toothpaste, cleaning products, you name it.  The team was pretty much rebuilt from the ground up. I’ve made some additional roster adjustments along the way, and some of the players have taken a while to get comfortable with their roles. I am still figuring out how and when to best utilize their skills, but as time goes on, we are improving our chemistry.

So, now is the next big rebuilding phase for my organization. A huge shift. My entire organization is making a move to a new location. The new place is less than 2 miles from the old, so geographically, not much different. But, we have moved from house to condo, bigger to smaller, 2 levels to 1, garage to covered parking, yard to patio. And there is less. A lot less… We have way less storage space and  less space to spread out. Less privacy, and less room for guests.  We also have less maintenance and repair, fewer toilets to clean, less vacuuming to do, less furniture to dust, fewer windows to wash, no weeds to pull, and far fewer bills to pay. Less stress. And because we have less, there will be more.  More money, more time, more freedom.

When going from bigger to smaller, from garage to no garage, there is inevitably less space. Fewer roster spots. It becomes much harder to make the team.  As the Head Coach of the team, it is my job to assess the players. To assess the items in our lives and determine their value.  Determine whether or not we will choose to continue to share our space with them. Whether or not they will make the team.  And when the players are numerous but the space is limited, when the roster will need to be cut in half, the decisions can be difficult. The cuts can be brutal. 

I have 2 assistant coaches but neither is of much use for the selection process.  My daughter doesn't want any cuts to be made at all, my son would do a hack job until nothing remained. I had 3 pizza cutters ( Yes, I had 3 pizza cutters. Don't judge). One a bit rusted and clearly ready to go, a second small but functional one and the third an over-sized one, also functional.  Here is how it would go.  My daughter would insist on keeping all 3.  The small one as a backup to the large one or vice-versa, just in case, and the rusty one for posterity. "Mom, we can't get rid of that one because I think it might be the one you used to cut the pizza at my 10th birthday party and I will never turn 10 again. Ever.”  My Son would get rid of all three.  His logic would be something along the lines of "We are having tacos for dinner tonight.  Why would we need a pizza cutter?"  And so, other than a bit of input, making the cuts is mainly my job alone. A solo operation.

And so our stuff has been cut in half.  More than half actually, because a lot of stuff lived in the garage.  In the just in case place.  You never know when you might need an extra set of pots and pans or 2 or 3 extra coffee makers, so it's good to have all of that extra stuff around. Just in case.  The first round of cuts was easy.  There were the definite keepers and the definite dead weight.  Vitamix, dehydrators, pressure cooker and my other kitchen gadget loves, all keepers.  Photo albums and old home movies.  Of course.  Anything broken, not functioning properly, stained or ripped, thanks for the memories but your playing days have ended.  Then the decisions became harder.  2 working pizza slicers.  Hmmm.  The tool itself is useful above and beyond the occasional slicing of the pizza, so keeping one is justified, but, only one...there is only room for one on the team.  Small one it is...takes up less space. Next item.  And so it continued, room by room, cupboard by cupboard, drawer by drawer.  And now it is done.  The team has been selected. The cuts have been made.  There was some early shuffling. A chair that was an early favorite, later replaced by one that turned out to be a better fit. More of a team player. An additional elimination of clothes when the closet capacity was reached. Additional cuts.  And now, our team is set and we know all of the players.  They have each been hand selected and each has a role. A purpose.  We have surrounded ourselves with only those things that we really need and value. Life, Simplified.

Most teams have a yearly selection process.  A reevaluation. A chance to remove those parts that are no longer benefiting the team. A chance to make changes and bring in new additions.  I like that.  April is a month of Anniversaries for me. Life changing Anniversaries. Some happy, some sad, but all life changing. Anniversaries that shape me…make me who I am today.  Because of that, I think I will take time during my April Anniversary month each year and do some spring cleaning.  I will take the month of April to do an annual assessment of the teams within my organization.  The Annual April Anniversary Assessment. Some years, the teams may remain the same, and that’s great. But I know for sure, that sometimes, there will be stuff. Stuff that is no longer needed or used.  Stuff that is working against the team rather than for it.  Stuff that has already been replaced, but is still hanging around and taking up space.  And there will be cuts to be made.  But often, every now and then, less is more.

Namaste!