Mid-Life Niche

I have really been struggling to find my new niche lately.  I'm closing in on 40 and I'm trying really hard to figure out where I'm supposed to go next.  Such an odd place I'm in!  There is no mid-life crisis or anything crazy going on.  In fact, I'm in a better place in my life right now than I can recall in at least the last ten years.  I have an amazing son, the best husband and family anyone could ask for, and a greater will to live according to God's plan than I've had since high school.  No, probably ever.  I'm simply struggling with what to "do" now.  My world today reminds me of something I heard recently about a jelly jar experiment: the more choices consumers were provided with on a jelly jar display, the less likely they were to make a purchase.

Prior to my son's entrance into the world I was always a dog trainer.  That is what I "did" and I couldn't imagine even the remote possibility of doing anything else.  I think I was pretty good at it, too.  Once my son Parker was born I put his needs first and dog training became something I did a day or two a week to get out of the house and maintain my sanity.  I still had a passion for working with the dogs, but I found that working with the owners too much made an already tired mommy an exhausted and frustrated mommy.

When we moved to North Carolina from Georgia for my husband's job I thought at first that I would take my time starting a new dog training business, working my way close to full time once my son entered kindergarten, just as supplemental income.  Within six months of our move I had found a wonderful preschool for Parker--and a renewed love for running.  After all, Parker was only in school for three hours three days a week to start. Enough time for a good run and shower, but not enough time for a dog training appointment.  That's what I told myself, anyway.  About this time I started enjoying some moderate starving artist level success selling prints of my dog portraits.  I began to think that if I could do THAT it would be awesome.  I could work when Parker was asleep at night, still be involved in the dog world, still keep the house, and have some semblance of an outside identity that would earn us a little extra cash.  Maybe I could continue to train dogs every now and then, too.

Fast-forward 2 1/2 years to the beginning of 2013.  (Yes, 2 1/2 years.  Let's just say I fell into a good mommy groove.)  My husband decided to open a CrossFit box with his then coaches and now business partners.  Wanting to support my husband in his decision and enable him to do what he loves and keep his job that pays our bills, I became "Queen Gopher" (self-appointed) and subsequently addicted to CrossFit.  I love our box, our members, and the fact that I have visible trapezius muscles and can do pull-ups for the first time in my fairly athletic life.

For the past few months I've been trying to part with dead weight so that I can be the best mother, wife, and person I can be.  I've been working hard at deciphering the messages God is sending me.  Right about now I'm wishing someone would send me a Rosetta stone.  I've been commissioned for six portraits and had four dog training inquiries (with ZERO advertising) in the past two months.  To top it off, today one of my coaches told me she thought *I* would make a good coach.  I think I would enjoy coaching, although *I'm* not sure I would be particularly good at it.  I used to enjoy training people to train their dogs.  Coaching CrossFit would be sort of like training people to train themselves.  You can't give someone the desire to be more physically fit.  Maybe some people can INSPIRE others, but while I know I'm not that person, a good coach can give someone that has the desire and inspiration the tools to realize their goals.

Parker starts kindergarten in a little more than a month.  I guess it's time to figure out what I want to be when I grow up...

How do I find my mid-life niche?!

Mid Atlantic CrossFit Regional Experience 2013

The Regional experience really starts months before the event.  Athletes have to enter the Open and be one of the top 48 in their region in order to be invited.  Teams must be constructed and athletes must prepare for the mental and physical challenges that await them in the Regional competition.  Workouts are announced and then the athletes must strategize and must work to improve their weaknesses.  I'm not one of those athletes, though.  I was just along for the ride.  My husband's business partner and our box's Head Coach Nathan Keil is the only reason I was able to go.  So if you're looking for in-depth accounts of the athletes' thought processes and training insights and horn tooting, you won't find it here.  Read on for an ordinary CrossFitter's take on an extraordinary experience.

Thursday, June 6th

The "Size Up"

"CrossFitters don't seem to talk a lot of smack, but they sure do size each other up!"  That is what I said to my husband once we got back in the car after stopping for lunch somewhere in Virginia.  We were traveling with our business partners Nathan and Kelsey from North Carolina to Maryland where Nathan would compete in the 2013 Mid Atlantic Region CrossFit Games.  Last stop before the big show in California for three of forty-eight athletes; the end of the national competition's annual road for the other forty-five.

We stopped for lunch at some random Chipotle in Virginia.  As the four of us sat eating our lunch outside, I watched a group of four park their car and walk inside.  I immediately knew they were CrossFitters and likely headed to the same destination we were.  Although I've only been CrossFitting for a short period of time, I've come to realize that there are certain things all CrossFitters have in common:  we walk a little taller and with a little more confidence than a lot of people, birds of our feather definitely flock together, and when we flock to eat--it's usually to Chipotle or someplace similar.

When the four of us went inside to dispose of our trash and visit the facilities one last time, that's when I realized that the other group had obviously come to the same realization about us that I had about them, and they were sizing us up.  I was very amused because they were checking us ALL out, and only in a competitive way.  My husband and I both come from running backgrounds, and we both have more arm and shoulder muscles now than we've ever had in our lives.  That still isn't saying much at all in my case.  It was honestly flattering. 

Sure enough, when we arrived at the facility later Thursday afternoon to get Nathan checked in, they were among the first people we recognized!  The "size up" continued as athletes milled around trying to work out some early nerves and gauge their competition.  We saw a few other athletes with recognizable names, got a quick feel for our home away from home for the weekend, and left to get some grub and get settled into the hotel before our very early wake-up call Friday morning.

Friday, June 7th

Grace Under Fire

CrossFitters are known for their community.  Friday gave me ample opportunity to see that community in action and to see one of the sport's athletes exhibit extreme grace under the pressure of what could have been a very icky predicament.  The very first thing that struck me was the huge variety of people there.  Every "look" imaginable was present, every age group, and every fitness level.  I must say, though, that I don't think I've ever seen more spandex being worn in one location EVER.  I was waiting for the "Flash WOD" to strike at any moment!  Whatever keeps you comfortable, I guess.  The bleachers certainly didn't keep you comfortable.

One of the most awesome things I saw was the man wearing a metal prosthetic leg taking so much time with a little boy not much younger than my own son.  I suppose the little boy was about 3-4 years old and I guess he appeared intrigued by the metal thing extruding from one hemline of the man's shorts.  The man got down on the boy's level, explained what the prosthetic was, what it did for him, and even let the little boy touch it and stare at it for as long as he wanted to.  The little boy's mother was obviously grateful for the experience.  CrossFit teaches us that there is an athlete in all of us, and just because you scale a workout doesn't mean you don't work hard.  If you do what you are capable of doing and work to make the you that you are right now stronger and faster, you are a worthy member of our community.

Another thing that caught my attention was the female judge with the bald head.  I don't know if she was undergoing chemotherapy, supporting someone else that was, or just rocking a look that she loved.  The point is it didn't matter.  No one accused her of not being able to do her job.  No one pointed and stared and made a big stink of it.  She didn't either.  She simply did her job.  We are a community that supports our members.

The biggest example of community and grace under fire that I witnessed was in regards to an incident surrounding one of our very own, Nathan.  The first workout was "Jackie", a 1,000m row followed by 50 thrusters and 30 pull-ups.  He did the workout in the fourth heat, and was the third in his heat to finish.  We had him touching the finishing pad at 5:22.  The judge said he didn't touch with both feet, so by the time he turned back around and definitively did that, some of us guessed it cost him around four seconds.  Nathan signed his form and went back to the Athlete Village to cool down.  Charles, Kelsey, and I went into the stands to wait for him and check the Leaderboard standings to see where Nathan's performance would rank him.  1ST?!?!?  We all saw that Nathan wasn't the first to finish in his heat, but congratulatory messages started coming in through Twitter and Facebook from box members and friends that were checking the CrossFit main site.  Kelsey had to inform everyone via the same channels that a mistake had been made and to please be patient.  Nathan went and talked to the Head Judge to try to get the error rectified.  He went HIMSELF.  The Head Judge told Nathan they would update the Leaderboard within an hour or so.  Nathan had to go talk to the judge AGAIN two hours later to prevent being seated incorrectly for the next event.  They eventually got everything worked out.  Although it was stressful for Nathan (and for us), he acted with integrity and honesty.  As far as I know, nobody else said a word to Nathan about it.  There were no cries of foul by other athletes, no media shi*t storm, there weren't even any public apologies made.  Someone made a mistake.  Someone fixed the mistake.  End of story.  Communities take care of their own, all the way around.

Saturday, June 8th

The Nitty Gritty

Have you ever worked out so hard for so long that by the time you cooled down you had a crusty, gritty layer of white salt left on your skin?  Emotionally, that was what Saturday was like.  There were alot more spectators on the scene on Saturday, and the air was thick with human electricity.  Nathan's family came up on Satuday to watch the grueling workouts.  I recall Nathan's little sister remarking about the number of babies in attendance.  Without pause, I said, "Think about it!  There is so much testosterone floating around in here...fertile women are just attracted to CrossFit men!"  We all had a chuckle about that, but I'm betting if someone did some research on it, my statement could be the beginnings of a thesis.  It's also an additional testament to the community and family atmosphere of CrossFit.  True fitness is a way of life, and it only makes sense that fit people include their entire families.  Everyone there was willing to embrace even the sometimes crying babies of their extended CrossFit family.  I'm a mom.  I would not be nearly as willing to take a youngster to an NFL game where they were likely to have beer spilled on them and hear language that surpasses the "profanity" label.  Now I know there was some colorful language being thrown about, but for the most part I would choose the CrossFit fans over the NFL fans any day of the week.

I have never done the 100's workout.  All I can really say about what I saw during that workout is that some dreams were dashed, and there were some athletes that, for good or bad, surprised even themselves.  For those athletes that are willing to take a step back and honestly evaluate their performances, the 100's workout exposed weaknesses without mercy.  Among the exposed weaknesses was mental fortitude.  Many athletes didn't finish that workout, and some athletes didn't have the mental fortitude to put that aside and finish the day strong in the last workout.  They were temporarily broken.  Obviously Coach Glassman believes that one's mental fitness is just as important as one's physical aptitude.  I, for one, like that.

The last workout of the day was a 21-15-9 rep scheme of deadlifts and box jumps.  Over the weekend I saw a T-shirt from a box that said something like: "We will bring out the competitor in you or expose the quitter in you."  I apologize if I should be quoting a specific individual here.  That sounds like something Coach Glassman would say.  Coach Glassman did say "Hiding from your weaknesses is a recipe for incapacity and error."  I would venture a guess that most of the individuals that made it to the Regional weekend were comfortable doing both deadlifts and box jumps.  Comfortable doing them within six hours of completing (or attempting to complete) the 100's workout?  That was obviously another matter altogether.  I found myself rooting for every athlete that took the mats.  Athletes were stumbling on their box jumps all over the place.  The deadlift weight shouldn't have been EASY for anyone, but the effects of between 50-100 dumbell snatches at heavy weight was written on the faces and performances of many of the athletes by Saturday evening.  By the time Nathan was done on Saturday, so was I.  I was emotionally spent and physically tired, and I hadn't lifted a single weight!

Sunday, June 9th

Keep Calm and CrossFit On

The venue seemed awfully dark and comparatively quiet when we arrived on Sunday morning.   The power was out!  The women were down on the floor doing double-unders and handstand push-ups to nothing but the dull roar of a slowly swelling crowd.  No DJ, no announcer, just their own grunts and groans, the voices of their judges, and the sounds of the group that had gathered to support them.  I guess this is where the "constantly varied" part of CrossFit plays into real life.  You never know what life is going to throw at you, so you should be prepared to Keep Calm and CrossFit On.  The power flickered on and off a few more times before the womens' heats had finished.  It was honestly amazing to watch an announcer with no audible voice guide a crowd in cheering on the athletes.  All it took was a few pointing gestures and some flapping of her arms for the crowd to begin screaming.  Those that weren't paying attention started to when the people next to them began bellowing for their favorites to move from handstand push-ups to shoulder-to-overhead to walking lunges to step onto their finishing pads.  

By the time the men took the floor the problem was fixed.  The crowd was large and the men needed all the cheering they could get.  Sunday afternoon saw a few men pulling away from the pack, with Ben Smith putting on an untouchable show.  The Games veteran had a little brother, Alec, that was also competing in his first Regional event.  Alec looked so very young compared to the other athletes; and at 20 years old his 25th place finish in his first Regional event (like Nathan's 20th place finish at his 1st Regional event--he's 24) is a testament to the future of the sport.  Nate Schrader, the 6th place finisher in our region, also had a brother--one year older--Jesse, who finished 36th in the Region.  Genetics simply can't be discounted.  Anyway...

The last workout of the weekend was a tough one, even by Froning standards.  Rope climbs, sprints, and squat cleans.  Way to save the "best" for last!  The only thing I will say about this is the disappointment I felt when I realized how FEW of the teams that were competing stuck around to see the final heats for the women and men.  Even though the top two men and women had very nearly been decided, the races were pretty close for the final athletes in both divisions that would make it to the Games.  I was personally shocked at how much the crowd in the bleachers thinned after the final heat of teams finished the last workout.  Teams are exciting, yes.  People have long drives home, yes.  Team competitors aren't half as likely to have sponsorships and do CrossFit for a living.  I get that.  But there were boxes that had both teams and individual competitors representing them during Regional weekend.  Some of the individual competitors were missing their team cheerleaders by the final heat workout on Sunday.  I would have been upset had that been me.  Then again, maybe that is where CrossFit prepares you for all the junk life throws at you.  Keep Calm and CrossFit On.

The drive from Maryland to North Carolina was neither somber nor gay.  It was definitely somewhere between.  The three of us that hadn't competed all weekend were so proud of the one that had, and yet we shared his exhaustion and sobriety while peering down the road to 2014's Open.  There is much work to be done.

In Conclusion

Here are some of the things I've taken away from my Regional experience:

1)  It isn't the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog.

2)  Honesty is indeed the best policy.

3)  We all want something.  An individual's ability to define the want and to map the course to achieving the want are more important than the desire itself.

4)  There is something to be said for believing in yourself.  There cannot be enough said about believing in something other than yourself.  1 Timothy 1:12

5)  Individuals, Teams, Boxes--it shouldn't really matter.  It's all OUR community.

6)  There are sports...then there is CrossFit.

Thinking inside the box.

Something very interesting happened to me today.  I realized that I am becoming a CrossFitter.  Now, most of my friends know that my husband and I co-own a CrossFit gym (also known as a "box") with another couple.  I'm the only one out of the four of us that doesn't have a coach's certificate.  I was the last one of the four of us to drink the Cool-Aid--misspelling intentional.  Members at our gym don't even know what to call me.  I've started calling myself Queen Gopher because that's the best description that I can think of.  I do a little of this and a little of that, going for this and going for that, popping my head up here and there to keep the place running smoothly and allow the coaches the freedom to do their jobs.  And we have, in my opinion, the best coaches around.  Today I was kinda proof of that, and although it was a delayed reaction, it really made me feel great.

Most of my friends also know that I am a runner.  I really don't even call myself that very often, even though running has been a major part of my life for, well, most of my life, but really the last three years.  So I must admit I got a little excited when a collegiate Track and Field and newbie Cross Country runner contacted me yesterday about doing some CrossFit while she's home for the summer.  She signed up for her first class this morning.  I was really looking forward to getting schooled (no pun intended) by a woman nearly 20 years my junior.

There were in fact two new women in class this morning: one my age, and the college athlete.  Because we have amazing coaches, the two new kids were broken in gently, given half the workout that the "veterans" were given.  In true CrossFit fashion, those of us doing the full workout flopped down flat on our backs when we were done.  I didn't feel too much like being particularly social, so I left the congenialities to the coaches, who weren't sweating bullets and heaving like a crank caller.  The co-ed signed up on the spot.  Within a few minutes after the end of the workout, everyone was gone.  I was alone, left to do my extra work and my thinking inside the box.

May 14th is typically a day I do a lot of thinking every year.  My mother was born on May 14th and she died in 1997.  I still miss her immensely.  I thought about her a lot today as I did my extra work at the box.  I did an EMOM set of bench presses.  I did my strict pull-ups.  I did my toes to ring sets.  Then I went on a cleaning rampage.  Those ergometers just looked filthy for some reason.  So did the wall balls.  After all those things were clean there wasn't a whole lot of time left to go home and shower  before I would have had to turn around and head to my son's preschool to pick him and my friend's daughter up.  Double under practice just seemed like the right thing to do.

Before I knew it the lunchtime crew started rolling in, so why not hang out and see them get started on the WOD?  The box was just where I wanted to be this morning.  I wanted to be with the people that I consider my CrossFit family when I couldn't be with my own family.  I was talking with Kelsey, our other female owner, and she was telling me that the two new women this morning were jaws agape watching me finish the WOD after Kelsey told them I'd only been CrossFitting for a few months.  My immediate reaction was to think "No way...they were not!".  I probably rolled my eyes at Kelsey.  But you know what?  That's EXACTLY how I look at Kelsey.  It's amazing to watch this beautiful little woman throw weight around and out run and out jump a lot of the men.  I admire her.  I admire all our coaches, for different reasons.  They all embody different strengths both in their individual physical prowess and their coaching styles.  They are a wonderful group of people.

I left the box to pick the kids up from preschool and I thought about what my coach said.  Instead of rolling my eyes I began to smile.  Granted, the two new women haven't seen Kelsey work yet, but it is certainly a testament to the work of Nathan, Kelsey, my husband, and our other two coaches Thomas and Jon that anyone would be impressed with what *I* can do.  It is also a testament to the very bedrock of CrossFit that I would want to spend today of all days thinking inside the box.  People from all walks of life, philosophies, and athletic statures have suddenly made their way into my life through CrossFit, and I am certainly the better person for it.  I hope I continue to have many years of thinking inside the box.

Stuck in the middle with you...

"It's a middle-of-the-road defect with a middle-of-the-road presentation." Those are the exact words our son's cardiologist used to describe his congenital heart defect before he was born. He hit the nail on the head with that one, for sure. Everything related to Parker's Tetralogy of Fallot has been smack dab in the middle of the CHD spectrum, and smack dab in the middle of the ToF spectrum. I've talked a lot about how I handled the diagnosis, how the surgery went and how Parker's recovery was. I haven't talked too much about how life with him is NOW. February 7-14th each year is Congenital Heart Defect Awareness Week, so I suppose now is as good a time as any to talk about being stuck in the middle.

I am grateful every single day that my son is as healthy as he is. He's intelligent, active, tractable (at least for his teachers at preschool), and has a great sense of humor. Sometimes I think to myself: "They told me CHD kids were tired all the time...what's up with THIS?". Yet, there are days when I can't help but wonder if he wouldn't be so tired if he had a pulmonary valve. There are days that I can't help but imagine how much more quickly he would recover from the common cold if his blood was fully oxygenated. There are so many children with CHDs that can't do half what Parker does everyday. There are just as many who do more.

Parker had his first open heart surgery when he was five months old. OHS at five MONTHS! That's crazy for anyone not familiar with the reality of heart defects. However, there are infants out there who have their first open heart surgery when they are five HOURS old. Some children born with heart defects never have to have surgery. Recovery for Parker after surgery had one major setback (chylothorax--common after OHS, took six weeks to recover from that, but he was able to recover at home after his initial ten days in the hospital). Recovery for other children after OHS requires things like ECMO and defibrillators. Recovery for some means home from the hospital after three days.

One down, one to go. That's how I look at Parker's heart surgery "schedule". God willing, he will have to have only one more surgery. God willing, the medical technology will be such by the time Parker needs a pulmonary valve and ventricular wall resection that they can do it through a catheter and no additional OHS will be required. It could be that he needs to have a valve put in next year, in which case it will be OHS, and it could be that he makes it until he's 12 (who knows at that time), and it could be that he doesn't need anything until he's 18 and I imagine by then they'll have the catheter procedure all worked out. Some babies have had four open heart surgeries by the time they're Parker's age. Some babies have one and they're done.

Even activity restriction for Parker is middle-of-the-road. Currently all his activity is self-limited. This means that as long as we let him rest when he gets tired, he can do anything he wants to do. We were told when I was pregnant "He'll never play professional sports...well, maybe baseball or golf.". I have already resigned myself to not allowing him to play soccer or football because I don't want him to fall in love with a sport he can't play later on. Yet, selfishly I have let him participate in a fun run with his daddy (cardiologist approved) and now he's taking karate, which he LOVES. I know he will be able to continue karate if he chooses to, just not with any competitive sparring or with a sensei that is too rigid.

Our son doesn't look sick (unless he IS sick, then he looks really sick) but he has a pretty big scar for such a little dude. Until recently this never posed a problem. Once, last summer, I took Parker to a  local water park with some friends. There were two older boys with our group. One of the boys, pointing to Parker's chest, asked Parker how he got his scar. Parker didn't know how to answer him. The older boy asked again, more slowly and louder, as if comprehending or hearing the words were the reason Parker was speechless. I thought my son might burst into tears at any moment. Eventually the boy gave up. We began coaching Parker that very day on how to answer what will likely become a lifelong barrage of questions from his peers. Another time last year my husband was left holding the bag. My husband and my son were waiting on me to get my hair cut and they were goofing around a bit in the lobby area. I guess my son's shirt was somehow forced high enough that another man seated near them saw my son's scar. The other man casually said, "That's a pretty big scar for such a little boy.". I understand that people are curious, but how much do you really divulge to a complete stranger that you will likely never encounter again? At the same time, I understand that some parents of children with CHDs that are Parker's age have to constantly answer questions such as: "Goodness, did s/he have grape juice with breakfast?" because their child's lips are blue from lack of blood oxygenation. Lots of parents never have to worry about either.

Then there's US. The family unit. The crazy dynamic that is our lives. My husband is a scheduler, and I tend to go with the flow. My husband has strong opinions and sees everything in black and white. I'm more easily swayed with a convincing argument, existing in a constant state of flux while sporting my rose colored glasses. Poor Parker doesn't stand a chance. Yet again, he's stuck in the middle. There are times, as awful as it sounds, that I think I might prefer an extreme. With extremes can often come clarity. Black. White. In between the extremes there's only...gray. If you ask anyone to define "dreary" you'll likely hear the word "gray" somewhere in the mix. Don't get me wrong, my life is anything but dreary. My husband is my best friend. My son is nothing short of awesome. Sometimes, though, I feel as though I exist within the gray area. Is my son sick or healthy? Should I allow him to try that or shouldn't I? Should I tell his teachers and every single school official and person of authority and P.E. teacher and doctor and dentist and friends' parents about his heart or am I being over cautious? Did he catch a cold at preschool or is that cough indicative of congestive heart failure? Is he panting for dramatic effect after one lap around the yard or should I call the cardiologist? Too. Much. Gray.

I've been a part of a parent matching group via Mended Little Hearts lately. They send me the names and basic information of heart parents that are looking to reach out for support from others in similar situations. There is no requirement to respond to any of them, and not all the parents that I reach out to respond back to me. It's like the Match.com for parents of cardiac kids. I don't reply to every single match request. Sometimes I feel as though I have no way to relate to what some of these parents go through. I do, however, respond to each and every single Tetralogy of Fallot parent that comes across. I just have to check myself to keep from starting in on song lyrics.

Tryin' to make some sense of it all,
But I can see it makes no sense at all.
Is it cool to go to sleep on the floor?
I don't think that I can take anymore.

Clowns to the left of me,
Jokers to the right.
Here I am, stuck in the middle with you.


--Steve Miller Band, Stuck in the Middle With You

In celebration of being a "heart mom", my husband bought me the necklace I'm wearing here from geauxsportsjewelry.com and while I don't wear it often, this week is definitely an exception...

Remember that you never know what someone else may be going through. The biggest scars are the ones you can't see, and sometimes people are stuck smack dab in the middle of something.

**Update 2/6/2017

Parker, aka "Captain Awesome" is still doing very well. He no longer takes karate and sports haven't really proven to be his thing. He does enjoy drumming and is becoming pretty skilled at it. He likes to ride his skateboard and bike when the weather is warm. He also dabbles in CrossFit from time-to-time when the mood strikes him; we honestly don't push him to do it much. He's in the third grade and has been a straight "A" student so far, even though he complains about school and doesn't want to go.

I feel like he will overcome whatever challenge life throws into the middle of his road. His small, imperfect heart has a very tight hold on the hearts of so many other people.

I am immeasurably grateful that he is our son and we get to be his parents.

These last few years I have debated with myself about posting CHD Awareness Week information on social media. We are, again, stuck in the middle as a family. We have been blessed with far more fantastic experiences than traumatic with our heart warrior. We are not yet staring down the barrel of the inevitable procedures in Parker's future. For now, we get to enjoy our wonderful life as a family. Ultimately that is precisely why I end up posting stuff. If I can provide even one other mother with some hope for a future that can be so uncertain, then telling our story has meaning. When you're stuck in the middle it can be hard to know which way to look, which way to move. Sometimes you have to learn to be comfortable in the gray, learning to breathe through the pressure coming from all sides. You won't always be stuck in the middle. When it is time to move, the answer to "Which way?" is simple: forward. Always forward.

**I** am an Alpha Dog.

Tonight I watched the series premier and second episode of National Geographic's "Alpha Dog". Before reading any further, be aware that this post is being written on the same day that I conducted my first Puppy Preschool class in MONTHS. I worked with a precious, doe-eyed Cavalier King Charles Spaniel that was the ripe old age of twelve weeks. I do love, and always have loved, working with puppies and their owners to ensure that the first home is the dog's home for life. But ultimately, in my mind, there is no training like K9 training. It is the gauntlet, the CrossFit, the Iron Man if you will, of dog training. The only other thing that comes close is Service Dog training, but the handlers of Service Dogs are way easier to work with than K9 handlers.

So why is it that a bunch of overweight, out-of-shape, greasy dudes have their own television show and I do not? Maybe the same reason that a high-heeled boot, mini-skirt wearing "dog behaviorist" with an English accent made it in TV land. Puh-leez. I am well aware that I am not the only dog trainer that feels this way.

I have devoted the last five years of my life to my son. All-in, one hundred percent. I have done only a minimal amount of dog training in the last five years, certainly not any K9 training. The last K9 I trained was delivered to her handler when I was eight months pregnant. That was fun (and very off-balance). I have video... Am I proud of every K9 I have trained and put on the street? Unfortunately, no. But I do feel as though I provided a much better foundation for my handlers to work from than I saw in the television show I just watched.  I at least made sure the officers knew when to keep their hands off the dog!

These guys were training dogs to be special forces operatives and police K9 teams.  I have never trained a dog for the military, but it seems to me that the logical progression would be pet--sport dog--working dog--military dog--special forces dog.  Some of the dogs they were working with for the special forces team were "special" all right!  I get the need to have a dog with high drive, but seriously people, obedience is the foundation for everything.  Those dogs had NONE, and they were six and half weeks into their training program, about to graduate!  A dog that is noisy and bouncing around and focused on everything except the task at hand is an extreme liability in ANY working situation.  The trainers said they were worried about a particular team's performance and that they had some work to do.  "Some" was an understatement by my summation.  But hey, the helicopter was cool.  I wish I had a helicopter to train with.

Then there was the police K9 handler wannabe that got nailed by his dog.  Badly bitten.  Why?  The handler went to "pet" his dog, presumably to calm him down because he was so keyed up by the gunfire and activity going on around him.  One of the dog trainers that I admire most in this world, George Cockrell, puts it simply:  What you pet, you get.  You do not pet a dog that is displaying inappropriate behavior.  To do so is to positively reinforce that behavior in the dog's mind...or get yourself bitten.  The trainers ended up pairing the dog with an experienced K9 handler by the end of the show.  No acknowledgement was given--at least on camera--that there might have been something else going on.  Like a lack of handler instruction.  Or a lack of dog training.

One of the trainers commented that "these dogs come from Europe" when explaining the reasoning behind the decoys wearing head scarves in their training scenarios (which is one of the few things I saw that made perfect sense).  Indeed a lot of dogs are imported from Europe to enter into various forms of service here in the United States.  How do people blindly go along believing that these large overseas kennel operations send the cream of the crop over here?  That makes zero sense.  The best dogs from Europe stay in Europe until they are no longer of high value for whatever reason.  Those dogs are then sometimes purchased by Americans, but do you think dog training facilities that specialize in quick turnaround are the ones that choose to afford them?  That would be a negative.  Breeders, people.  Breeders are the ones who choose to afford those dogs because they will get their money back plus some.  Why not develop relationships with these American breeders and use dogs that are from the United States?  We used to do that.  I may not be overjoyed with every dog I trained for work, but the dogs I am most impressed with, and the K9s that have historically performed the best on the street, are the dogs that we chose and purchased from American breeders as puppies and raised and trained for the work, then trained the handlers to handle them on the street.  Oh, wait, I get it.  That would require actual TRAINING of the dog and the handler.

Some departments used to be amazed that our handler training program was two weeks long.  How did we accomplish this when everyone else required K9 handlers to be off the streets and away from their families and their homes for six weeks or more?  Simple.  The dog was already trained.  We didn't pick up a pack of dogs from the airport the week before a class was going to start and hope that they fit the bill.  We didn't keep our fingers crossed that the group of people we were going to be working with were natural dog trainers.  We had already been training the dog for months.  Sometimes this did not work out advantageously for us.  There were a few dogs that we invested a lot of time and money in that didn't perform as we had hoped and went on to live life as well behaved pets.  There were just as many dogs that were brought to us by law enforcement for training that disappointed us.  We often simply had to make it work to the best of our abilities with those dogs.  People want to help their local law enforcement and they "donate" dogs for K9 work.  Local law enforcement is appreciative and tries to make a go of it.  Sometimes it works, most of the time it isn't ideal.

Bottom line:  I am feeling a newly reignited spark in my chest.  My baby boy is growing up, he'll start kindergarten in the fall.  Other really cool changes are afoot here in High Point.  More on those later.  Maybe, just maybe, I can do some good doing something I love.  Anybody have a helicopter?

Finding the "Food Freak" Balance, Part III

In the spring of 2010 Charles took over management of a district for Dick's Sporting Goods that included part of North Carolina, part of Virginia, and part of Tennessee.  That was one heck of a commute.  What it amounted to was that Charles was living in a hotel Monday-Friday and came home to Georgia (and Parker and me) on the weekends.  Interestingly enough, I lost weight and Charles gained.  I was stressed out all the time and Charles was not eating well--certainly not vegan.  By the time we moved to North Carolina as a family, I was about five pounds underweight and Charles was about forty pounds overweight.

Soon after moving to High Point, I realized that I was actually in a small pocket of Heaven on Earth.  I became fast friends with one of my neighbors who just happens to be a Registered Dietician.  She gave me all the good skinny about her CSA and where I could sign up, which I did post-haste.  I met a wonderful older couple right down the road that literally operates a produce stand in their front yard during the summer months.  Charles told me all about the gigantic Farmer's Market that is a stone's throw away from our house.  I became the worst type of food snob.  I have access to locally grown, organic produce year round (granted, some of it is grown in a greenhouse, but I'd rather that than trucked in from 2k miles away).  The local grocery store has a decent selection of organic produce to supplement what I can't purchase from local farmers.  The number one industry in North Carolina is...wait for it...agriculture!  I began reading and watching all sorts of stuff about food.  Food Inc., Forks over Knives, and plenty of other food documentaries became my viewing pleasure.  Any book by Michael Pollan or Joel Salatin was purchased and read with fervor.  I began running on a regular basis in the fall of 2010 when Parker started attending preschool three days a week.  I started reading books by running gurus like Dean Karnazes, Alberto Salazar, Kara Goucher, and Scott Jurek.  We still joke that Parker goes to school so "My Mommy" can go running.  It's really not a joke.  It's the truth.

I made a New Year's Resolution in 2011 to run a half-marathon.  I started upping my weekly mileage while maintaining the Zen factor in my runs.  Parker was starting to enjoy "school", even though I had to pry him off of me with a crowbar every time I dropped him off.  He didn't want to be left, but he never exactly wanted to be picked up at lunchtime, either.  We became somewhat involved in our church.  It's hard not to be involved in our church due to the, um, lack of girth in the congregation belt.  So why is it that my husband looked like THIS in the spring of 2011?

I guess Charles was much more shocked than I was when he saw this picture.  He told me to remove the picture from Facebook.  He started making better eating choices.  He saw a chiropractor at my urging for his back pain.  The chiropractor gave him instructions for a cleanse diet.  He saw a general practitioner HERE at my urging, instead of going to the doctor that had mollycoddled him into staying on blood pressure medication in Georgia.  The doctor here in NC told him point-blank he needed to lose 60 pounds.  I am so thankful to that man I cannot even put it into words.  No beating around the bush, no "this cholesterol medication will make it all better [and pad my wallet]".  Simply put:  You're fat.  Lose weight and you'll be healthier.  The timing of the chiropractor + general practitioner + unflattering photograph = a husband pushed over the edge.  My husband jumped on board the health wagon.  He started the cleanse.  I'm not sure how I feel about those as a rule, but my husband saw immediate results that caused him to stick with a healthier lifestyle.  I'm not sure he could have done it otherwise.  I started making his lunch for him to take with him on workdays and making his daily "cleanse" drink (apple cider vinegar, straight cranberry juice, straight lemon juice, and water if I remember correctly) to take with him.  I prepared the solid food he could take with him each day for about two weeks.  He started seeing results and started taking a more active role in managing his own health and meals after that.

By the time I ran my first half-marathon in October 2011, my husband had lost at least 30 pounds (I can't remember the exact number) and I had signed up for my second half-marathon with the stipulation that if I broke two hours I would sign up for a full marathon the next year.  We joined a gym.  My husband hired a personal trainer.  This is what my husband looked like Thanksgiving 2011, a year ago (shown with his dad and our son):

Big difference.  That day we ate a heritage turkey bred and raised by the farmer that grows our CSA box.  It was expensive, but worth every penny...it was so delicious and we felt great about the way it was raised--and we didn't die or immediately develop cancer when we ate it!  Two weeks and two days after that picture was taken I ran my second half-marathon in under two hours.  There was a full marathon in my future.  I started considering adding some meat back into my diet on a regular basis after reading Born to Run by Christopher McDougall.  It just made sense.  You can make the Biblical argument that man was created in the Garden of Eden and was vegetarian.  It very well may have STARTED that way, but you aren't even out of the book of Genesis before God tells Noah to eat meat (I imagine out of necessity; I don't guess many plants would have survived that type of flood).  In the book of Leviticus, God even goes so far as to tell Moses what types of meat are clean and what types are unclean.  The non-Biblical argument is:  if we're on top of the food chain, why in the world would we need to be able to run so far at decent rates of speed if not to catch our food?  Why is it that it takes distance runners so long to become "slow"?  All that aside, Charles continued to get into better and better shape.  Parker continued to grow and develop and impress his doctors.

Fast-forward to Spring of 2012.  We had, as a family, gone to "Open Farm Day" for the second time at the Goat Lady Dairy.  I do not like goat cheese.  I think it tastes like goats smell.  I do, however, love the Goat Lady Dairy's farm.  She operates a CSA, not by herself--but you catch my drift--and has free-range chickens and dairy goats available for children to chase and pet, respectively.  Children, and adults for that matter, can see where the free-range chickens lay their eggs and how the goats get milked and how that milk turns into cheese.  You don't have to like goat cheese to appreciate the process (and pet the goats).  She hosted this wonderful event in which other local artisans and farmers were present, peddling their wares and pitching their services and enjoying a wonderful day of community and comradeship.  We met a great local wood turner and bought a gorgeous handcrafted walnut bowl.  We met felters and farmers that raised sheep and alpacas and goats.  We also met a local farmer that raised grass-fed (from birth to butcher) cows and whey-fed hogs.  He and his wife worked for the Goat Lady making the cheese and they used the by-product whey to feed their organic hogs.  We bought some beef filets from him for the second time and made sure we got his business card because his steaks were so delicious.  Funny how I didn't think twice about eating a cow that I could identify by name if I chose to, but if I thought about eating a hamburger from McDonald's my stomach would literally turn.  Some things are just RIGHT, you know?

My personal caloric requirements coupled with my husband's manly "need" for red meat led us to go in on the purchase of a whole cow from the aforementioned farmer with another family we had grown close to.  It was expensive, but we still have plenty of meat left from our half of the cow in the freezer in our garage.  I admit, it was strange at first, but it wasn't off-putting.  I still don't like the idea of cow's milk, and I try to avoid too much cheese (trying to get back to avoiding all cheese).  But boy can I eat some burgers from Bradd's Family Farm!  They taste better...wait a minute, they TASTE...and I agree with the way the cows are raised.  Because they are grass-fed from birth to butcher and have all the room to move they need, the cows have the correct ratio of Omegas in their muscles.  Oh, and my dog gets in on the action, too.

This is one well fed German Shepherd.  He's my number one running partner.  Not too many dogs run thirty or forty miles a week on a regular basis.  I have always been concerned with providing what I thought was decent nutrition for my dogs, but with the availability of grass-fed cow, organically raised heritage turkeys and chickens and ducks and geese, and a great quality kibble that is free of ALL grains and was formulated and is distributed locally, I began to make some changes for him, too.  He now eats a mostly raw diet.  At seven years old he's in incredible condition.  He's the perfect weight, his teeth look phenomenal, his coat is in great shape, and he can run 16-20 miles with me (depending on the temperature) on my long run days without showing fatigue.

The most difficult thing about our dietary choices of late has been our son.  He has never been a really picky eater.  He ate a mostly vegan diet until we ended up with half a cow in our freezer, and even now it's really a plant BASED diet.  He's never had anything but french fries and Sprite from any of the big name fast food chains.  Moe's is a different story.  He can pack away some Moe's Power Wagons (no meat, only beans) and would do so everyday if allowed to.  He eats fish because he likes it.  He loves broccoli and carrots and raw green beans with hummus.  Unfortunately for us, he's growing up.  He has peer influences now.  He eats lunch with his PreK class right before he gets picked up, so he has what all his classmates eat for lunch on his brain when I pick him up from school.  He watches mindless drivel on television sometimes, too...complete with commercials showing the "prizes" you get for ordering a "meal" of pink slime and hydrogenated oil in a box.  I can't shelter him forever, I can only explain that while other people may eat that way, I would prefer it if he didn't because those aren't necessarily the most healthy choices for a little heart warrior.  I don't want to tell him he CAN'T eat certain things for fear of retribution by cholesterol consumption.  I also don't want him to feel singled out in a group.  He has certain things he prefers to eat, and now he's starting to voice his opinion about things he doesn't want to eat and starting to say "Ewww" about things he's never even tried.  I'm trying really hard to remain balanced and teach him why certain things make better choices than other things while giving him the freedom to make smart decisions on his own.  I always try to lead by example; I can only hope that I'm the type of person my kid looks up to enough to emulate.

So where are we now?  As a matter of fact, it's Thanksgiving Day.  Everyone else at my house (including the dog) is asleep, with a belly full of organically raised, heritage breed turkey and all the wonderful, organic plant based sides that we had with it.  This morning we all got up really early, not to put the turkey in the oven (heritage breed turkeys don't take nearly as long to cook as commercially farmed broad-breasted, hormone- and antibiotic-injected, never see the sun or know exercise turkeys), but to cheer on my husband at his first 5k race in over twenty years.  He's run two half-marathons this year, and a 200-mile relay race, and a 7-mile trail race.  Today was his first venture back into the realm of a more speedy race (due to the shorter distance--it takes me three miles to warm up, for crying out loud).  He placed sixth overall and first in his age division.  He has struggled to find his own personal "food freak" balance, and he has struggled to find a good food balance within our family.  I think his efforts have reaped some mighty fine rewards.  He looks amazing.

I made it through this holiday without getting too twitchy, but I was pretty much in charge of the menu. I've got turkey carcasses making some wonderful stock as I type and will likely have a delicious, homemade, organic turkey pot pie (fingers crossed I can find an organic ready-made pie crust since pastry and I don't typically get along) to eat over the weekend.  I'm going to continue to work on balancing my fear of all things GMO with the realization that an occasional commercially grown meal will not kill me or any member of my family.  But, I'm also going to continue to promote local, organic produce and local, heritage meat farming (and meat farming as part of a biodiverse farming model) to anyone that cares to listen.  I'm going to try to be balanced in how I deal with food issues with my son and not flip out when he tells me he wants the latest toy from the evil yellow M that's an "exclusive".

Today, mostly, I'm going to be thankful that I have the stock going, that I have the garage and freezer shelves lined with organic vegetables and jams made and canned by me, that I have an amazing family and wonderful friends with whom to share all the goodness, and I have a healthy husband and healthy son that I love more than anything else--including turkey...and yes, running too.

Finding the "Food Freak" Balance, Part II

Parker was born after 43 hours of pain med free labor that culminated in a C-section complete with spinal block.  I tried.  The important thing is that Parker handled all those contractions and all the drama and insanity like a champion.  I would like to think that my eating habits the last few months of pregnancy contributed to his ability to cope.  Charles and I were warned that heart babies tend to sleep a lot, tire easily, be smaller than average, and sometimes don't feed or thrive as well as heart-healthy babies.  As soon as Parker made his grand entrance, I was allowed to kiss his face and then he was whisked away to the NICU while I was closed up and wheeled to recovery.  Charles was able to go to the NICU to be with Parker while they determined if he would need surgery that day or not.

I was put into a private room and shortly thereafter Parker was brought in to me.  He was not "ductal dependent" and would be able to stay with me as long as he didn't exhibit any signs of a "Tet spell" before his first open-heart surgery, which, God willing, would not have to happen until somewhere around six months of age.  Parker's measurements had been tallied and he was in the 50-75th percentile for weight at 8 pounds 1 ounce, 25-50th percentile for length at 20.5 inches long, and 90th percentile for head circumference (hence the 43 hours of futile labor).  So far he had surpassed expectations.  The nurses in the NICU had given Parker a bottle of formula while he was in their care, presumably to calm him and keep him quiet--a Tetralogy of Fallot baby can go into cardiac arrest if allowed to cry--so he wasn't hungry when he first came into my arms.  Up until the point at which I first held him I was undecided about the whole breast feeding "thing".  I wasn't sure I would be able to do it.  As soon as I held him I knew I was going to give it everything I had.  I must say, it is SHOCKING how poor the choices in food are for a new mother at the hospital where Parker was born.  I almost couldn't eat anything from within the hospital because it wasn't healthy enough for my standards.  My milk didn't come in the entire time at the hospital and Parker started dropping weight.  They started talking about supplementation and I started squalling about wanting to go home.  Thankfully, all else went well (even though Charles and I both contracted the flu in the hospital--go figure), my milk came in when we got home, and Parker continued to amaze the pediatrician, the cardiologist, and his mom and dad every single day.

Having a baby that is not allowed to cry presents some pretty interesting challenges.  There is no option to let them "cry it out" for a few minutes and see if they can self-soothe.  Having a Tetralogy of Fallot baby means that you must mentally steel yourself for six months of sleep deprivation.  I firmly believe that my dietary choices made this a little easier, too.  Even though it was insanely difficult to motivate myself to cook everyday and to shop two or three times a week for fresh, organic produce, I knew in my heart that feeding my body these good meals was in turn providing my baby with the best chance possible of clearing the obstacles he would encounter in the months to come.  Some of it, I'm sure, was pure adrenaline, but I was able to fight fatigue with a daily dose of spinach and black beans.  Our grocery bills had grown larger, but we never ate out anymore so the jump was justifiable.  We, as a family, had a tremendous amount of stuff to deal with over the next year.  Parker had two surgeries, Charles changed jobs, and we moved.  It made me sweat just to type all that in the same sentence.

Parker had open-heart surgery when he was five months old.  The cardiologist, the cardio-thoracic surgeon, the pediatrician, and all the nurses at Children's Healthcare of Atlanta were amazed that my son, a cardiac kid, weighed 18 pounds when he went in for surgery.  I suppose this was unheard of for a cardiac kid.  Well, I remember watching Popeye cartoons as a kid and I remember how beneficial spinach was to Popeye's strength.  I also know that I noticed a difference in the color of my breast milk when I pumped after eating spinach and other greens versus the times I didn't.  When Parker went in for his surgery, I had not eaten any meat or dairy for nearly a year.  I tried to eat only whole, organic foods.  Now, I understand that I was using nursing to soothe him and keep him from crying, but I firmly believe that what I ate played a role in the health of my son leading up to his surgery.  I was not putting fast-food, GMO, processed garbage in my body to be further processed and passed on to my infant.  I think I may remember ONE time before Parker's surgery that he spit up.  ONE TIME.  In five months.  No reflux.  No spit-up.  No fussiness at feeding time.  I couldn't even make the kid burp.  The only feeding issue we had those first five months was that he wanted to nurse what seemed to be more frequently than other infants, and I couldn't refuse him because he couldn't be allowed to cry.  Everything that happened in CICU is a blog for another day and another subject.  Suffice it to say that Parker handled the anesthesia and the surgery itself like a champ.  There were other babies that didn't fare so well.

This is how Parker looked two days after surgery.  We learned at this point why it was so important that we have as much weight on him as possible before surgery:  Parker had chylothorax.  Chylothorax is not an uncommon condition for an individual to have immediately following open heart surgery.  According to Wikipedia, "Its cause is usually leakage from the thoracic duct or one of the main lymphatic vessels that drain to it. The most common causes are lymphoma and trauma caused by thoracic surgery. If the patient is on a normal diet, the effusion can be identified by its white and milky appearance, as it contains high levels of triglycerides. This chyle composition of triglycerides is mostly in the form of chylomicrons." and, "Since the mechanism behind chylothorax is not well understood, treatment options are limited. Drainage of the fluid out of the pleural space is essential to obviate damage to organs, especially the inhibition of lung function by the counter pressure of the chyle. Another treatment option is pneumoperitoneal shunting (creating a communication channel between pleural space and peritoneal cavity). By this surgical technique loss of essential triglycerides that escape the thoracic duct can be prevented. Omitting fat (in particular FFA) from the diet is essential."  Parker already had a chest tube in place, so the pleural effusion was not as big an issue as the fat.  We had to eliminate ALL fat from his diet for six weeks in order to allow his lymphatic vessels to heal.  Interestingly enough, when they tested the chyle from Parker's drainage tube, the doctors were amazed at how low--nearly nonexistent--the triglyceride count was.  After a day or so of Parker vomiting because he wasn't tolerating the fat-free, cow-based formula prescribed to him, the doctors actually allowed me to try nursing again because the triglyceride count of my breast milk was so low.  Unfortunately, there was still too much fat, so we entered a six week long cycle of feeding and vomiting.  While we were still in the hospital, the doctors decided to introduce baby food to Parker to give him some calories and vitamins that he wouldn't end up wearing a half hour AFTER eating.  Gerber baby food peas were on the menu for Parker's first food experience.  Parker's eyes got so wide and he was nearly giddy eating that green mess.  He developed a horrible diaper rash, I'm not sure if it was from the maybe-too-soon introduction of vegetables or the formula, but at least we were cleared to feed vegetable baby food.  I remember feeling so helpless those six weeks, not being able to do for my son the one thing I had done such a stellar job of until that point.  The one good thing that came of that experience: my breast milk was one of the first to be studied at the hospital to determine the plausibility of skimming breast milk.  While we didn't benefit from the research, babies that suffer from chylothorax after open heart surgery can now be fed breast milk instead of a cow based, adult-oriented, ridiculous excuse for nutrition.

Parker came off the formula and resumed his normal eating habits, with the addition of organic baby food vegetables and fruit, and soon after that steamed vegetables and fruits that still had their original shape and beans and grains.  I know of parents of cardiac kids that have such horror stories regarding feeding their babies.  They can't keep weight on them, pre- and post-surgery, they have picky eaters, and they have to use all sorts of supplementation to keep the weight on and the calories going in.  I know everybody is different, and every cardiac baby is different, but I know in my heart that Parker's success in nursing and weight gain and stamina and recovery and willingness to eat all sorts of food from the get-go was due in large part to the good dietary choices I made for him, starting from before he was born.  The next picture was taken not long after he came off of the horrible formula.

I also believe that Charles and I were more able to cope with all the stress brought into our lives because our immune systems were better supported by good nutrition.  Even after all the sleepless nights and all the stress, Charles and I only got sick while sleeping in the hospital.  We both got the flu when Parker was born, and I got sick when Parker was in the hospital with pneumonia after his first birthday.  Same type of thing, flu-like symptoms with lots of mucous everywhere.  I'm just allergic to hospitals.  After two hospital stays in the spring of 2009 due to pneumonia, Parker was doing great.  I began to relish taking him to the grocery store over the next few months as I didn't have to worry about who might breathe on him (can't have a cardiac baby getting sick--they already have low oxygen saturation levels in their blood and any type of infection would just make it lower) and I could just talk to him about all the different colors and textures of the food.  Charles changed jobs and we moved to the other side of the city, which put us much closer to Charles's parents.  I was back to work a few days a week, back to my pre-pregnancy weight and starting to run again here and there.  Life was pretty good.  Life was pretty healthy, or so I thought.

This last picture was taken in December of 2009.  It wouldn't be much longer before my life would be turned upside-down, and forever changed...again.