Just Breathe

 I love that the mental health space has really embraced the power of breath in regulating ourselves. There are a million breath exercises on YouTube and in self-help books, and I worry a little that, by studying breathing, we've made it feel a little complicated. 

Let's demystify breathwork. At its core, we are focusing on one of two things:

1. Focusing on the in-breath is energizing
2. Focusing on the out-breath is relaxing

So, if you notice that you're buzzy, anxious, fidgety, etc., then focus on the out-breath to bring it all down a notch. If you're feeling listless, tired, or sad, then focus on the in-breath to bring in new energy.

I'm not dissing your favorite breathing exercise. If you love alternate nostril breathing, box breathing, candle breathing, diaphragmatic breathing, or whatever your favorite app is leading you to do, that's awesome - do it! 

But if you're feeling overwhelmed or turned off by more complex breathing patterns, then take the pressure off, recognize whether you want to increase or discharge energy, and just draw your attention to the in-breath or the out-breath accordingly. 

...

Did you try it? What did you notice? 

7 Days Post-Surgery

 This is my whole world now, just me and my chonky toes and uncomfortable leg: 

I'm currently one week post-surgery. Last Thursday, the surgeons repurposed a particularly choice piece of my hamstring (I'm assuming it was an exemplary sample, which was not confirmed to me in any sort of medical setting) as a new ACL. I'm hoping all of the pieces are getting settled in nice and snug. Tomorrow (Friday) is my post-op, and I have wild fantasies of being able to walk, wear normal human clothes, and stand up in the shower. I think these are all part of the eventual plan, but I admit I probably won't experience them all as soon as I would hope.

Here are some random thoughts and learnings from my week on crutches:

• This is a terrible surgery. How have we not evolved medical practice beyond this? Why can't they just attach a magic rubber band where my poor, sad, missing ACL used to be, and I can be fine the next day? (Note that my husband pointed out that it's a big deal that they can do the operation arthroscopically, and I don't have a giant open incision on my knee. He's right, but I still think we can do better.)
• Although I am in basically constant discomfort, the pain has been blessedly manageable. Lots of ice, lots of Tylenol and ibuprofen (although I did have to cry Uncle on the ibuprofen dose yesterday, it had exceeded my tummy's ability to cope). I credit both my iron will and the nerve block.
• Seated workouts are really cool, really challenging, and feel so good. If a standing workout isn't in your capacity right now (I can only dream of a standing workout), check out https://www.nourishmovelove.com/chair-workouts
• I am shocked by how many pants I have that are wide-legged enough to fit over this giant brace. Feeling vindicated about my penchant for collecting pants, it's really paying off now.
• People who bring over unrequested soup are godsends. Truly, angels.
• 
  My fabulous little cooler that you load up with ice water and then circulates it through a velcro ice pack on your knee is really the hero of this whole operation. Also, Steve, who fills my little buddy up with ice water and cleans it up when I spill the ice water and lugs the ice water from place to place so I can plant in a new chair, is also a hero.
• Biding time is an interesting experience, and not one I am particularly good at.
• My body is working hard at healing, and it's normal to be tired. 
• It feels lovely to be asked if there's anything I need or if someone can get something for me. I can't even carry a cup of tea to a chair - it's a frustrating and vulnerable time. My people are really helpful if I stop and ask them for help. And asking for help is exhausting. It feels so nice to be asked if there's anything they can do for me.
• This would be an impossible experience without great caregivers. Every waking hour, there's something I can't do for myself, and I'm grateful to have folks around me willing to help.
• Being a counselor is a really great job if you have to spend all day sitting down with your feet up.
• A book of "Calming Adult Brain Games" is a fantastic gift. Flowers are wonderful, too.
• I am so grateful for all of the squats and single-leg deadlifts I've been doing over the past months. They are key to my survival right now.
• My friend gave me a "rule of thirds" that she uses for marathons, which has been true for my recovery so far, and a helpful mindset: the first third is really hard because you know you have a long road ahead of you; you find your stride in the middle third; and int the final third you're just counting down and you know you can make it. 

This has been tough. And it's been ok. I'm definitely looking forward to the next phase of healing, and I'm grateful for the inner and external resources that have gotten me through week one. Bring on week two!

Shifting Gears

I coach high school mountain biking, and one of the early lessons every student needs to learn (over and over again) is to shift gears in anticipation of, not in reaction to, the terrain ahead. The mechanics are pretty simple: if we're going up a hill and wait to shift until the gravity threatens to overtake us, we've already used up a bunch of energy and momentum before we decide to shift. A last-minute shift puts strain on ourselves and our equipment, leaving us slower and more tired at the end. Similarly, if we're going downhill and we choose not to shift, we're enjoying the descent but wasting momentum and control that we could be funneling into the ride. 

I am fairly good at applying a decent shifting strategy on the trail. And I am pretty bad at applying it to my life. In life, when I see a challenge up ahead, I tend to work harder rather than getting smart and using the tools and equipment around me to shift gears, make the climb a little easier, and get up the hill faster.

Shifting in life (and riding) is tricky because it requires both anticipation and realism. I have to pop up and look ahead at the terrain long enough to recognize that there's a challenge ahead. And I have to pause inside to recognize that perhaps rather than just gutting it out, I want to find ways to make the proverbial climb a little easier. I am always glad when I do this, but I often don't pause in time to respond to the challenge I'm about to meet. 

What does it look like to shift before we hit the hill? For me, it can mean temporarily decommitting to regular activities until the challenge is over (or at least until I know how I'm responding ot the challenge). It can be opting out of some meetings I regularly attend and asking a teammate or the organizer to send me notes, carving out a little more breathing room. At home, buying a few easy meals I can quickly prepare if the day runs away from me before I get to cook. Sometimes it looks like asking my kids to pack me snacks or veggies when they're packing their lunch, so I will have something healthy in my bag even if I didn't have time to put it there.

Can we gut it out and go up a hill in a tough gear? Yeah, often we can. But why? What are we proving and who are we proving it to? Might it be wiser and kinder to ourselves and everybody around us to shift gears before the hill?