Soul Surfer

I love a good movie. Anything with Matt Damon or Harrison Ford will do.
Typically I prefer action over drama and need a good chick flick once
every six months.

Movies are a great way to escape your reality and watch someone else’s life go from normal to chaos then the happy ending will unfold in a few hours time. Usually films don’t touch my heart or relate to something I’m going through. Like I said, they are an escapism, not a motivational speaker. But last Sunday, I was moved by “Soul Surfer” – a film that retold the real life story of surfer Bethany Hamilton who lost her arm during a shark attack. 

She was only 13.

Most of the film was about the events that unfolded afterwards, particularly focusing on her attitude towards future surfing competitions and her desperate struggle/desire to understand how the attack was part of God’s plan for her life.   

It was her determination and the undercurrent theme of “keeping perspective” that really spoke to me.  Not only did she get back in the water (where I’m sure there are millions of sharks) but there was no question in her mind that she was going to surf again – one arm short or not.

She didn’t let anything stop her from doing what she love, she adapted.

Bethany learned to do push ups, chin ups, full sit-ups to a standing position, and learned to balance on a barrel/board thing. For a person with two arms, these can present a challenge, but she conquered it.

As a gym rat, I had the ultimate respect for her as I watched her adapt to a new lifestyle; and that’s when it hit me. I have ten fingers, ten toes, two arms and two legs, but I’ve been dealing with a bum knee for five months now, and it’s prevented me from running – something that I love. Despite the physical therapy and break from running, I'm now in a brace 24/7. Walking can be a challenge and my knee is starting to lock.

But I’ve had the wrong perspective.

Truth be told, I’ve been feeling sorry for myself when I go to the gym and see the other runners. I hear their breath match their pounding feet, see their pony tails (male and female) swish away  in the “wind” and see their arms gleam with proof of their effort.

And then there’s me – in a black brace – sometimes accompanied with a limp and using stretchy bands to walk sideways across the floor to strengthen my hips. It’s frustrating knowing that you used to put in 12-15 running miles a week and now you’re forced to go back to the basics and strengthen your joints.

Talk about going from hardcore athlete to pansy muscle worker.

I can’t set foot on a treadmill, I’m not allowed. I can’t even go for a jog outside or in the gym without my knee swelling, feeling squishy and numb afterwards. An odd way to describe it, but that’s how it feels. And the ache – oh the ache in the leg that runs all the way down the shin bone.

This pain happens when I don’t run, so I I can only imagine what would happen if I did. (My leg would probably jump off and find a new owner.) Regardless, this movie showed me that I was looking at my injury all wrong. I took a step back from my situation to gain a little
perspective.  This is what I discovered:

*Not being able to run showed me that there are other ways of maintaining a healthy lifestyle.
*I’ve had to be creative with my workouts since my main cardio go-to was taken out of the equation.
*I’ve learned the importance of listening to and taking care of my body.
*I can’t let something like this prevent me from achieving that heart pounding , sweat producing, lungs exploding and endorphin high that comes from the spectacular workouts that I enjoy.
*Not being able to work my legs, I’m getting amazing biceps.

*Most importantly, a life lesson: Things will always pop up to get you down, what’s important is how you deal with it. Are you going to let it cripple you? Or motivate you to become a stronger and better person?

For a while I was crippled – Now I’m determined to become stronger.

Oh Christmas Tree!

My Dad and I only had 14 years to spend together. Even though it wasn’t much time, he taught me some very practical life lessons that I’ll never forget:
*When on an unfamiliar highway, always stay in the right lane in case you need to get off quickly.
*The four pronged screwdriver is called a "Phillips head."
*Don’t let your gas get below ¼ of a tank.
*When putting lights on the Christmas tree, ALWAYS start top to bottom, and weave them in and out of the branches for the "ooh…ahhh" effect.

No Joke. He said "ooh and ahhh."

As it’s the Holiday Season, I’ve been thinking about him a lot. Usually happens this time of year because my best memories of him are associated with Christmas – especially when setting up the tree like I did last Saturday.

Funny isn’t it? How certain things can take you back. How selecting a simple Balsam Fir tree can make you feel like you’re eight years old again.

*Poof* You’re brought back to that Christmas in 1992, when Mom and Dad bought you that Butterfly Maker you’d been dreaming of. You sat under the glow of the tree all afternoon in your new red bean bag chair, making butterflies while Dad watched an old war movie and Mom dealt with the left-over turkey.

Anyone can hang an ornament, but my Dad made sure that I knew the "proper" way to string the lights and garland as they are the backbones of a good Christmas tree. He took pride in his Yuletide decorative work and passed that pride down to me.

Once I dragged/shoved the tree through the kitchen door and got it just right in the stand, I got started on the lights; top to bottom, just like my old man taught me. I was working with a new set so it took several attempts to get the "Ooh … Ahhh" effect.

If the lights are the backbone of the tree, then the ornaments give it character and make the tree yours. They tell stories of different times and places, or of family members and kin that you never knew but honor them on your tree regardless.

It’s a little bittersweet, but whenever someone passes in the Klerowski family, we remember them with an engraved ornament.

My first encounter with this tradition was Babcia’s - Polish for "grandma" - (pronounced BAHP-chah). After her death, she became an angel blowing a trumpet while resting in a star, "Mom" is engraved on her trumpet.

I remember watching my Dad hold it with such care and seeing all his memories flood back as he reverently placed Babcia’ star on top of the tree. I never knew the woman, but if someone was that important to my father then she was worthy of my respect.

I still put her on top of our tree.

After my Dad’s passing, one of my aunts gave out his ornament: a praying angel holding an engraved heart in his hands. "Donald" is the engravement.

I started the tree with them. It seemed only right and they have their places right at the top. Then I moved on to the rest of the family. We all have ornaments that represent us:

My "Baby’s First Christmas" bootie
Dancing married couple ornament for Mike and Kelly
Aubrey has several that she’s made, and an angel with "Joy" embroidered across her front.
Aiden and Mom are combined in a "Proud New Grandma" ornament
Baby Jesus is also bunched with the family as a carved manger scene and was a present from a friend who went to Israel years ago.

We still hang ornaments stemming back from my earliest memories. My favorite are the little Gingerbread girl and boy. They always had a specific scent . . . still do – and for me, that encapsulates Christmas.

The best part is, they’re from Avon and are about as old as I am!

These ornaments, hanging the lights a certain way, and spending time with my family are traditions that I desperately cling to and without them, my Christmas Spirit would be lost. Perhaps I’m stuck in my ways, maybe I hold onto to the past instead of barreling ahead to my future.

The way I see it, my past made me who I am today and is worth remembering. Everything from the scars on my legs from falling down too much to dancing to Polka music on Christmas Eve were part of the moldings that made Kelsey, Kelsey.

Apart from my birthday, Christmas is my favorite time of year – not for the presents, but for the remembering. It helps you realize what and who is important to you, also helps you to see who you are and where you come from.

I encourage you to take time, remember, reflect and relish those memories. They are well worth it.

Taking "Me Time"

It’s the Holidays! Red and Green are everywhere! Wrapping paper will soon litter my floor, presents are hidden throughout the house . . . and my weekly schedule has officially exploded.


I’m pretty busy throughout the year: working Monday – Friday, hitting the gym 3-4 days a week, Church on Sunday, Bible study at my house Sunday afternoon, mentoring on Mondays, (preparing lessons for these meetings throughout the week) housesitting whenever I’m needed, physical therapy about once a week and squeaking out blog posts whenever I can.


Now it’s December and I’m doing all these things PLUS scheduling Holiday parties, planning the menus, decorating the house and tree (on different days because that’s all the time I can manage), Christmas shopping and trying to keep up with my laundry.

It’s a tricky thing, that laundry. I swear the expression of "multiply like rabbits" can be applied to my socks!


Things at work have also kicked into high gear – meaning there’s more work to do with less people and that equals working overtime, covering for others and even going in on the weekends.

But that’s the job, and I’m exhausted.

I need a break, but my schedule won’t allow that until . . . December 22nd. Even then, I’ll be preparing for Christmas Eve and cleaning my house from top to bottom and creating a delicious Italian themed dinner, complete from the appetizers to desserts to the after dinner coffee (or cappuchino).

In the meantime, my nails need to be painted, eyebrows need some attention, my closet blew up and I haven’t even made dinner in 2 weeks.

I’ve taken quite a liking to toast, peanut butter and yogurt suppers with a not-so-healthy helping of to-do lists and waves of guilt for not getting everything done.

And did I mention all the stress who comes holding hands with anxiety for the Holidays?

So you can imagine my frustration on Monday morning when I was reading a Max Lucado devotional book, and he’s reminding me how important it is to take time for yourself.
"Making time to check out is rejuvenating and revitalizing for your person and your soul. How else can you give to others if you don’t take time for yourself?"


I said to the book, "That’s great Max . . . but have you SEEN my schedule???"

Then said to myself, "Oh my gosh, I’m a terrible youth leader and terrible mentor who is on the verge of burnout because I don’t have time to take time for myself! I’ll never be able to handle youth ministry again!"


I tend to think in extremes.


One question my book didn’t answer for me was this . . .
Did friend Max mean that it’s important to take time away from the daily grind for spiritual purposes to connect with God, or simply take time out from the hustle and bustle and chances are God will find you anyway?

Furthermore, is spending time at the gym or in front the the TV considered "me time" or should I be in absolute solitude, staring at the wall?
I don't have an answer – but I am looking for one!

So tell me, do you, my dear readers, take any time for yourselves? How do you classify "me time"?

'Tis the Season

The snow has fallen (a little too early for my taste), birthdays are over, the days are getting darker and there's a constant nip in the air. For most people, it's a sign that the season's about to change. For me, it's a reminder that my worst enemy has returned.

Winter

He follows me like a vulture scoping its next meal. I'm stalked everywhere I go, forever feeling his icy grip wrap its way into my bloodstream (or so it feels).

Oh how I love summer. All the sunshine, warm breezes, the great running potential in the neighborhood, and did I mention all the ice cream? Who could not love summer? Contrary-wise, who could love winter?

The seasonal change never used to bother me, never really gave it much thought until I became an adult and suddenly the winters got colder and the snow stayed longer.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the Holidays and I love certain aspects to winter: being cozy in my house while there's soup in the crock pot, wearing scarves and warm boots. I especially love that it's socially acceptable to trudge around in big bulky clothing because let's face it, hoodie sweatshirts are the most comfortable things ever!

But even they provide little comfort when it’s 90,000 degrees below zero.

As soon as the cold air scuttles around my ankles, I know he's back and I’m instantly angry.

Angry that summer is on vacation; that the sun is farther from the earth for the next 6 months; angry that I’ll be shoveling all the feet of snow due to come my way and angry that I’ll have my Seasonal Affectiveness Disorder to deal with.

S.A.D. is a seasonal mood disorder that affects normal, mentally-healthy people at the same time every year. My trigger happens to be Winter.

Last year, I learned that asking other people for help is not a bad thing. I just need to stretch out my hand and vocalize my needs. This year I did just that and before I knew it, Momma K. had me on a regime of St. John's Wort, (mood balancer), Vitamin D, (to help with my lack of sunshine), and a reminder to sit under my "sunshine" light (a special lamp designed to imitate sunlight).

FamilyDoctor.Org says, "Winter-onset SAD is more common in northern regions, where the winter season is typically longer and more harsh.”

I can only imagine what living in Alaska must be like . . . those are Winter's stomping grounds and his grip must be extra strong.

Ironically, changing the clocks back seemed to help. Usually I dread changing the time change, but this year it seems to be ok. Maybe it’s something about not waking up in the dark? I know this feeling won't last for long though.

I'll get through the Holidays just fine, but because of the sudden onset of Winter this year, I’m planning a visit with my doctor to see if there's any medications I can try.

I'm not a pill popper - I'd rather let my aches and pains work themselves out than take aspirin. But I don’t think I can make it through another New England Winter without some outside help.

I know I'm not alone here - so if you have some S.A.D. symptoms, please inform yourself about it. There's no shame and it's not just a "funk." Trust me, if you're in a funk for more than 1 week or even a month, there's a problem.

So you don't have any more excuses, I've posted a list of the symptoms and added a few of my own just to give you some perspective; it's your health and sanity, so please, be well.

*  Depression
*  Hopelessness
*  Anxiety
*  Loss of energy
*  Heavy, "leaden" feeling in the arms or legs (please don't confuse this with the natural exhaustion you feel after an awesome weight lifting session)
* Social withdrawal (you don't "have the energy" to go out with friends or on a date - don't kid yourself, it's emotional exhaustion from keeping yourself afloat.)
*   Oversleeping
*   Loss of interest in activities you once enjoyed (talking yourself out of the gym)
*   Appetite changes, especially a craving for foods high in carbohydrates
*   Weight gain (I actually experience weight loss so keep a lookout)
*   Difficulty concentrating (some people call it multitasking . . . but are you accomplishing anything from start to finish?)
*   Feels like the ceiling is closing in on you - even if you're outside.

How to be "Glitter"

I didn't grow up celebrating Halloween. Now that I'm an adult, I feel like I'm scrambling trying to come up with clever costume ideas when I didn't have a lifetime of practice.

Last year, I was invited to my first Halloween Party so the pressure was on to come up with an amazing costume. The panic set in – especially when I learned that there’s a competition for best and funniest costume.

I felt like I was in grade school and about to be last pick for the dodge ball team. How could I come up with the best or funniest costume when I didn’t have any costume skills at all?

What made matters worse was bumping into the hostess on a Friday night and being informed that the party was the next day . . . not the next week like I had mistakenly written down in my planner.



Halloween 2010

I had to come up with a costume lickity split. The next morning I opened my closet, looked for inspiration . . . and found it in a tea length dress. I grabbed a set of pearls, red pumps, a red apron, curled my hair and *poof* became a 1950's housewife, (something I've always wanted to be anyway).

This year I was better prepared! Not only did I have the correct party date, but I’ve been thinking about my costume for months.

Glitter

I confess that my co-worker has been dying to be glitter for Halloween and actually gave me the idea. But since she hadn't done it yet, I asked permission to use her dream and started planning. You'd be surprised at how hard this costume could actually be . . .

Do you be a glitter princess or just one speck of giltter? Dress up as a piece of white paper with a mess of glitter on it, or put the mess of glitter on you directly? One false move and you could go from classy to trashy.

I started with my top and went from there. I wore it last year when I was one of Charlie's Angels for a Halloween Bash in town. The shirt was still hanging in my closet and I’ve been looking for an excuse to wear it again. I had glittery sandals already, so I bought a pair of spandex and all sort of glittery things I could find. Glitter paint, glitter hair/body spray, glitter nail polish, glitter eyelashes, and a package of glitter for good measure.

My first attempt at my pants ended up looking like I had the night sky shooting out of my thighs. Not so good. My second attempt turned out much better, though I ended up spraying half of my room with glitter, not just my pants.

The day of the party arrived and I was so excited to show off my shiny self . . . and then it snowed.

I HATE SNOW!

But I wasn't going to let that damper my party spirit or take away all the joy from my costume. I was going to act like the US Postal Service and brave the winter weather.

I curled my hair, put on my costume and covered myself (and all of upstairs) with glitter. Then trudged out in the snow to my car, knowing the snow was wrecking my hair and I would have to drive all the way to Goshen in that sloppy mess.

What was supposed to take me 30 minutes took me an hour and 10. It was the most stressful drive of my life - especially knowing I couldn't turn around even if I wanted to because I would get stuck for sure.

I got to Kristen's and 10 minutes later, the power went out. She was depressed because all these people were coming and we would be hanging out in the dark. I was depressed because it's kind of hard to be glitter when nobody can see you sparkle.

Every now and then, someone would feel sorry for me and shine the flashlight my way. Truth be told, I still felt glitter-ful despite the darkness. Maybe the secret to a good Halloween costume is about how you feel on the inside, not who you're pretending to be on the outside.

Must have worked . . . I won best costume this year and I’m still picking pieces of glitter out of my hair.

The Joys of Blogging

When I started this blog about a few months ago, I foolishly thought it would be easy.

Sure I have a lot to say on just about anything- but when it comes down to it, after hearing yourself talk for a while, you can bore yourself. Then the nagging thoughts come to the surface: “If you think you’re boring, just imagine what others think!”

A writer should never use her imagination when it comes to others. It’s enough to send you into therapy.

Every Saturday night I start to panic if I haven't settled on a topic for the weekly posting. I like to keep things fresh and interesting, but also informative and open about my experiences and struggles. Sometimes I think I divulge too much personal information and that starts another round of panic:

"Oh my gosh! It's happened - I've turned into one of those single ladies who uses the Internet as her emotional crutch and as an underhanded approach of dumping her garbage on any poor soul who happens to stumble across this blog!!!

At least I haven't got a cat yet. That's a whole other level of single-hood that I will have to blog about another time.

Truth of the matter is, no one told me how much work this would be.

Not the writing - that's the easy part. Anyone can formulate thoughts, sentences and paragraphs -but keeping my edge and making sure things are funny and interesting, that's the stressful part.

Sure, I might think something is interesting and hilarious. But will you? Can I make something funny or will it come out all wrong?

Then there's the whole issue of typos. I seem to be running amok with them lately and they are not the sort of company I like to keep.

I'm proud of them in a way. It means my brain is working faster than my hands. Simply fascinating if you think about it. However, a typo for a writer is like a run in the executive woman's panty hose before she goes into a big meeting: a mortifying experience.

I’ve had co-workers tell me they couldn’t help but proof read my latest entry and found several errors, and the latest entry had my mother yelling to me, “You have some major typos in here Kelsey! Didn’t you proof read this?”

UGH! I don’t know what’s worse. Having a co-worker point out your mistakes or your own mother. . .

Then there’s the issue of style.

Is it best to keep postings in the first person or better to keep them at a safe, third person distance? Keep telling personal stories or dabble in fiction and fairy-tales?

Personally, I enjoy the Andy Rooney style myself and always wanted to be like him in my “reporting.” But am I stunting my writing growth by not exercising all of my muscular formats?

To all of my questions I have one answer.

I don’t know.

Clearly I need some assistance in the proof reading department and have hired an executive. Her winning statement during her interview was the question, “Didn’t you proof read this?”

I shall pay her in smiles and “thank yous.”

As for now, I think I’ll keep you, the reader, guessing. The crossword puzzle isn’t fun if you know all the answers – and maybe I will write a fairy-tale to spice things up now and again. But just know, before you start your own blog, that this isn’t as easy as it looks.

I Have What????

The diagnosis? Patellofemoral Pain Syndrome

The prognosis? Amputation from the neck down.

Ok - so I exaggerate. But it's true - I have been diagnosed with Patellofemoral Pain Syndrome, also known simply as "Runner's Knee."

In short, there’s pain behind the knee cap and is usually caused by over-use in sports such as running, biking and jumping – I do all of the above . . .

The knee cap is attached to your thigh with quadricep muscles and connected to your shinbone with patella tendons. The knee cap itself sits in a groove where your thigh bone ends and your shin begins.

A healthy knee cap is supposed to glide up and down over this groove, and the connecting muscles are supposed to stabilize it and move the cap back into place.

With over use, the quadriceps can become weak and cease to provide proper support, or there’s a breakdown in the meniscus (surrounding the knee cap) and that can cause your knee cap to glide in the wrong direction.

In my case, the knee cap is pulling to the right and pulling my ligaments and muscles with it, causing a lot of stiffness, swelling, and stress on my shin.

For me, this didn’t make sense because I lift weights regularly and love to run – so I should have strong quad muscles. But, this is my left knee and it has always been the “bum limb.”

I broke the Tibia and Fibula when I was 5. Apparently, these major bones in your shin aren't flexible when you're trying to do a cartwheel on your bed. My leg was literally sideways and had to be set. Talk about a rough way to end your first day of Kindergarten.

Then when I was 21, I broke it again in a swimming pool. It’s a long story, but let’s say the lesson is: when going down a pool slide, keep your legs straight out in front of you.

I suppose in the grand scheme of things, it’s a miracle I can even run and play sports as aggressively as I do. Part of me feels like I’m making up for lost time when I couldn’t’ move my leg. Another part of me is wondering if I’m punishing my bones for allowing themselves to brake in the first place.

That sound nuts, but hear me out. I like control. I like to be in control. Not of other people, but definitely of my own life. Why shouldn’t I be? It’s my life and having an injury isn’t a part of my plan. I am very much OUT of control here.

I have a cat-scan scheduled for the beginning of November to get a closer look at an un-identified object that’s taken up residence in my leg, and I’ll start physical therapy at the end of the month. In the mean time . . .

NO RUNNING (woe to me), no squats, no lunges, no jump training, no sprinting, no hills, no donkey kicks, no hammy-ball work. Nada. I’ve been reduced to working my upper body and the elliptical.

The sports doctor offered to give me a steroid shot to help with the pain. But I declined and took a prescription of Piroxicam instead (really strong Aleve).

“I’m not going to lie,” he said, “Physical Therapy will hurt; so I’ll leave the steroid shot option open for you.”

Bring it on - I don’t like pain. But a part of me feels that I’ve earned the right to love running, I caused the injury by not resting, the least I can do to make peace with my body is to go all natural as long as I can.

Running has the ability to show you what you’re made of. When you feel like you’re about to swallow your heart and your legs are going to pop off and find a new owner – you keep pushing until you meet your goal. You’ve earned that.

I want to see what I’m made of in physical therapy. Not how much I can push my physical body – I know what she’s made of. But I have a feeling this experience is going to be a test of my mental strength, something I haven’t experienced in a while . . . and I think it’s time to wake her up.