My own Self needs Help

How I Broke My Butt; A Femoral Neck Stress Fracture Story

Posted by Kristina Cersey — 3 Comments

Disclaimer, I’m on painkillers.

I had just finished my first sprint triathlon. You know, the one that I’ve been talking about for months now. It had been hard work, training for the triathlon, but it was fun—in a masochistic sort of way—and kind of addictive. So when it was over I wanted to keep up my momentum. Keep training. Keep moving forward. I signed up to play fall singles tennis. I was making plans to run a Ragnar race with some friends in the spring, and I registered for a local 5K race. Of course, I was still swimming, cycling and running whenever I could too. I was riding my post-tri high.

One crisp Tuesday morning I woke up before the sun to squeeze in a morning run. My neighborhood isn’t very big. I’d been running a route that was about 2.8 miles, which wasn’t quite as far as I’d like, but it got me home in time to get the kids ready for school. The temperature was perfect and the sun was just beginning to crest over the horizon as I started at a brisk pace. I was pushing myself to get just a little faster because my 5K was only a few days away and I was determined to place in the top 3 for my age division. Medals were my new drug and I needed more.

I followed the twists and turns of my neighborhood’s streets, going up and down and around streets, paths, and cul-de-sacs. The earbuds in my ears played that month’s book club selection, the audiobook version of Catch Me If You Can—a little ironic, in hindsight. My neon Niked steps pounded the pavement as Frank Abagnale eluded the FBI yet again. I picked up speed going down a particularly steep hill, and I felt a twinge of pain in my left hip, but I didn’t think much of it. The pain wasn’t severe and I suspected it was just a pulled muscle. I continued my run and finished in 24:35, an average pace of 8:31/mi. Though not as good as I hoped, it was one of my faster times.

When I got home the pain in my hip still bothered me a little, but there was no time to worry about it. My day was cram-packed with chauffeuring kids, chores around the house and errands to run. That evening I was invited to play tennis with a group of friends. I was the worst tennis player of the group, but I wasn’t about to turn down an opportunity to improve my game, so I accepted the invitation and even offered to host at my neighborhood’s courts. Trying to ignore the pain, I played very poorly for a couple of hours before I decided to sit out.

The next morning the pain was still there and I was walking with a slight limp, but it wasn’t something I was worried about. I knew running was probably not the best idea, so I went swimming and cycling instead. 14 laps in the pool and 10.7 miles on the bike later and my hip didn’t feel any worse, but it didn’t feel any better either. I knew I should probably take it easy so that I would feel well enough to run my 5K, so the next day I only swam laps and the following day I didn’t train at all.

The night before the 5K The Hubster and I went out on a date. He became a little concerned when he noticed I was lifting my left leg with my hands to get out of the car. “It’s just a little muscle weakness. It’s fine as soon as I stand up.” I said.

“Do you think you should be running a 5K tomorrow if you can’t even raise your leg out of the car?” he asked.

“Of course! It’ll be fine. I already paid to run this race and I’m pretty sure I can win a medal. Don’t worry.”

“Okay, but if you run this race in the morning, you better be willing to accept the consequences. I don’t know what’s wrong with your leg, but I’d say there’s a good chance you won’t be able to walk for a few days afterwards.” The Hubster said while we waited for our pizza at Mellow Mushroom.

“Nonsense! I’ll be fine. Besides, winning a medal will be worth a few days of soreness.”

The following morning The Hubster the kiddos, and I all piled in the van and headed to the Baptist church a few miles down the street where the race was being hosted. My hip was still bothering me, but I could walk without much of a limp, so I figured running would be fine. Besides, it was only 3 short miles and I planned to get it over with quickly.

Thu
25 ^th

Triathlon Training (Physical Torture) Wins Out Over Writing (Enjoyable Productivity)

Posted by Kristina Cersey — Comments Off

Triathlon. A word I never gave a second thought before three months ago. In fact, it was one of those words I tried to push from my mind as fast as possible because just thinking of training for one made me want to dry heave almost as much as thinking about my accomplishments compared to those of people who compete in triathlons. Nope. Swimming, running and cycling were not my thing.

Fast forward to today. I am a triathlon training beast! And when I say beast, let’s maintain perspective. I can only push my recently sedentary body so far. But let’s not downplay it either because I’m putting forth some major effort here! Every durn day I’m out there doing something. Run a few miles here, bike a few miles there, almost drown everywhere. Variety is the spice of life!

So, what changed to make me okay with doing a sprint triathlon? Why am I putting forth more effort to train for this blasted thing than I’ve put towards almost anything else in the last 10 years? Seriously, for years I’ve been telling myself that I am an “aspiring writer.” No offense self, but I think you actually have to write some stuff to maintain that weak-sauce title. I’m pretty sure aspirations have an expiration date and mine spoiled a long time ago.

But I like to write. I mean I definitely like to write more than I like to run. So, why? Why is it that I can get out there every dumb day and run, ride or swim, but I can’t sit down at my computer and get the words I have bouncing around in my head down on paper? I’ve been thinking about this today. You see, today was a hard day. Today I felt helpless. The Hubster is sick and he’s overwhelmed by his unrelentingly stressful job. Today I wished I had made my aspirations a reality a long time ago so that The Hubster wouldn’t have to carry the burden of supporting us on his own. Days like today feel like a shove, or actually more like a sucker punch in the back, pushing me towards being greater. Better. More. Just get your crap together and make junk happen! But here I am writing this instead of working on one of my novels. Here I am airing grievances instead of being productive. And tomorrow I’ll run or cycle or swim or do all 3 and probably won’t write a word. Why? I’ll tell you why. I have reasons, I do! I will suffer through the misery of training for this triathlon because it makes my body look and feel better. I’ll suffer through it because there is about a 50% possibility that I will take at least 3^rd place on race day (that’s probably a generous guesstimation.) I’ll suffer through it because I have a support group of friends that are training right along with me and we can commiserate. But with writing, I don’t have writer friends to bounce ideas off of. Obviously, it won’t improve my physique. And writing is much more competitive than a triathlon, so my odds for success are greatly diminished by comparison. In a tri I only have to beat people of my gender that are in my age division. Hello! Why not level the playing field in publication too? Honestly, I can’t compete with the George R. R. Martin’s of the world!

But my biggest holdups are more personal. The main reasons I don’t just write the crap out of those books are simple. Fear and insecurity. That’s right. I’m a yella-bellied sissy. If I ever finish writing my books, the next step will be critiques and submissions and edits, meaning other people will have to read them. That terrifies me. Just thinking about it makes me feel exposed and vulnerable. What if I’m like one of those contestants on American Idol that thinks she can sing like Celine Dion, but in reality she sounds like a pinched balloon squealing as it deflates. I don’t want to be that person. But then again, I don’t want to live a life of regrets and unmet potential either. You know that old motivational bull squeeze, “You’ll never know unless you try”? There’s something to that, I think.

So, it’s time to be brave. It’s time to be like those courageous, yet still hideous singers that audition for AI. It’s time to treat my writing like a triathlon. My triathlon motto is “Tri Not to Die”, so I think my writing motto should be “Write before You Die” (which could be 2 weeks from now if I fail at the former.) But seriously, I don’t want all of these words in my head to be buried with me!

So, let’s do this! Let’s write a book! Or two or three! I can find a support group of writer friends. I can hone my craft to increase my odds of getting published. I can improve my looks in written word (because in reality writing leads to excess snacking and general immobility.) Yeah, I’m extending my aspiration expiration date! Game on!

Buuuuuuut, I think it can wait until after I win my triathlon. Welcome to my list of excuses, Procrastination. Let’s be friends.

Mon
27 ^th

Running a 5k Before Trying a Tri

Posted by Kristina Cersey — Comments Off

Keep smiling. You haven't lost yet. — Keep smiling. You haven’t lost yet.

If you’ve read my brief bio you know that I hate working out. That has not changed, but what I failed to mention about myself is that I love competition. Even if I’ve never tried something, I will talk smack about winning at it. Bake off, board games, sports of all kinds? Sure, I’ll play, and I’ll win (at least that’s what I’ll tell you, but I rarely ever actually win anything.) I’ve even been known to make up fake competitions and then tell people that I won. I once convinced a friend of mine that a church pot luck dinner was actually a chili cook-off. We both brought our chili, then, after the activity, I told her that I had been pronounced then winner. She believed me until, upon expressing her disappointment to others, she was informed that there had been no such contest. This sparked an ongoing feud involving a lot of back and forth pranks that we still like to laugh about.

So, a few weeks ago my chili cook-off nemesis invited me to train for a sprint triathlon that takes place in Gulf Shores in September. Of course my competitive nature prevented me from saying anything but “Heck Yeah!” Since then a ton of friends have been recruited to participate, which has added gallons of fuel to my competitive fire. So, I’ve been training for 3 weeks. But guess what. It sucks. I’ve been biking, running and/or swimming 5 to 6 days a week and I feel like I’m getting nowhere. My running pace isn’t improving, every time I swim I feel like I am going to drown, and clipping my feet into my bike feels like a death sentence. But I’m sticking with it.

In preparation for my triathlon, I ran a 5K race Saturday morning, only the 3rd one I’ve ever done. It was hosted by Chick-fil-a, which is a place I love, so I was excited about getting some generous giveaways. I dressed up in cow garb and a tutu to try and win the Costume Spirit Award, because, though I was hopeful that I could win my age division for speed, in all honesty speed isn’t my thing…yet.

So, I woke up before the sun on a Saturday and got ready to go. With my face painted, my tutu snug around my waist, my cow hat on and my family by my side, we drove up to the event. We immediately noticed that NO ONE else was dressed up for the race. This was my first rodeo, but I had been told that everyone went all out for these things, but the rest of the runners on Saturday must not have gotten the memo. That was fine by me, though. I have no problem dressing up and acting the fool if there is a prize involved. So, I registered myself at the Spirit Costume Contest tent. Then I smiled at every race employee I saw, hoping one of them was the judge.

Wed
18 ^th

Lessons from a Mom’s Nightmare

Posted by Kristina Cersey — 2 Comments

Have you ever felt powerless and crazed at the same time? Fearfully and maniacally powerless in a moment that might change your life forever? Dread and adrenaline pushing your legs to run, but you don’t know where to go. This sounds like the introduction to a horror story, but it’s not. At least not in a Freddy Krueger type of way. But if you’re a mom, you might understand how I felt when I thought I’d lost my daughter yesterday. Of course, in retrospect I feel foolish. I feel like I overreacted. But then again, I don’t care how foolish I looked. Being in your own nightmare would shake anyone up.

Here’s what went down. This year I decided to sign all three of my kids up for swim team. For those of you that don’t know, swim team is like tiny people’s military boot camp. It’s swim lessons on steroids. The kids have swim practice every weekday, the water is frigid cold, and they have 5 hour meets once a week. It’s insanity for kids and parents. For years I was adamantly opposed to signing my kids up, but I caved last year with the boys because, you know, all my friends were doing it. It turned out to be great for my boys’ swimming abilities, because you’d have to be legless to not improve after 5 days of training a week. Jackson’s morale faltered by the end of the season, but I’m sure he’ll bounce back after the cold water numbs him into submissiveness.

Anyway, this year I signed the boys up again, and added the 4 year old Vivlett to our crew of swimming Cerseys. She has practice every day like the boys, but only for 30 minutes instead of an hour and she doesn’t have to do the weekly swim meets. Yesterday, in true Vivlett fashion, she refused to get in the pool. I made her sit by my side and for 30 minutes I tried to convince her that she wanted to swim. I tried bribery, I tried motivational speeches, and then I gave up and grounded her from TV. She never got in the pool. I call this a MOMM (Manager of Mini-mes) fail.

Then it was the boys’ turn to swim. Even they were reluctant to get in the pool, but I guess they are more afraid of me than Viv is because they did it without much complaint. I wanted to encourage and support the boys, so I walked alongside the pool as they did their laps and cheered them on. Viv was playing with a friend a few feet away, and I would glance her way periodically to ensure that all was right in the world. And time after time, there she was, right where she should be.

Towards the end of practice the boys were growing more and more laggard and unwilling to continue, so I was busy trying to motivate them to get back in the water when I realized I couldn’t see The Vivlett anymore.

Wed
11 ^th

My House is a Bottomless Junk Pit

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Last week was a turd pie with a chocolate center. Partially rewarding, but mostly a big fat pain. I spent all of last week collecting junk around the house. Toys, clothes, furniture, home decor, and basically anything that wasn’t nailed to the floor. Why? Because we were having a weekend yard sale. It was organized by the community, so the date was set. There was no turning back. Which was a blessing and a curse. A blessing because it forced me to get crap done, and a curse because it forced me to get crap done.

Wed
27 ^th

What’s Your Brand of Brainwash?

Posted by Kristina Cersey — Comments Off

There’s a lot of talk going around. You know, political talk and whatnot. People are sharing their views on candidates, issues and beliefs. We are in that extra sensitive time of every quadrennium when you might get punched in the face for sharing what’s on your mind. Which is why I’m not going to share my political opinions here. The Hubster and I already argue enough about politics at home, so my cup is full on that front. No, instead I’m mostly going to talk about some generalities that have been stewing in my brain of late.

Growing up as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I remember being told on occasion by “friends” that I was brainwashed by Mormonism. Of course as a teenager, if anyone came within a stone’s throw a comet flying by Jupiter of insulting me then I would become as defensive as, well, a teenage girl. So if someone even insinuated that I was brainwashed by my religion, I would quickly snap at them like a rabid dog, and sometimes I’d even go the extra mile and do things in direct opposition to my beliefs just to prove my brain was still dirty and not at all washed. But as an adult, I now realize that I am brainwashed. And you know what? So are you.

Wed
30 ^th

This is Real Life

Posted by Kristina Cersey — Comments Off

I was searching through some mom blogs last night—you know, to get some ideas and see if I fit in the booming community of mommy bloggers—and I didn’t feel too good about my prospects. Maybe I was looking in the wrong places, but all I saw was a lot of picture perfect food, picture perfect DIY crafts, picture perfect kids, and picture perfect fashionistas. (Hold please while I take care of an interruption from my toddler requesting candy. I said no, she pitched a fit and now she “will never love me again.” Moving on.) As I was saying, there are tons of amazing blogs out there that show you pictures of life on their utopian planet. I’d love to visit sometime, but I don’t think I could afford it.

So, I thought it might be nice for you other earth dwellers like me to see a freshly new, but not so fresh looking post about real life. Disclaimer: If at any time during this post you feel like you…(Please hold while I adoringly admire the picture my daughter just scribbled before her head explodes due to lack of attention.)…cannot relate at all then I might suggest you buy a plane ticket to Utopia. On the other hand, if this post makes you feel better about your life, then my goal has been achieved.

Viv scribble — She’s a cute little scribbler. Too bad she scribbled on her ballet skirt after this picture was taken.

Okay, let’s start in the bedrooms, shall we?

Thu
17 ^th

4 Ways to Up Your Awesomeness Factor

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For as long as I can remember I’ve been pretty insecure. I don’t want this post to be a pity party because pity parties are stupid. But in order for me to make my point, you need to know that most days there are moments, or sometimes hours, when I have a hard time liking what I see in the mirror. I’ve had people roll their eyes when I say things like this and mutter something akin to, “You were a model, what’s not to like?” But we wear our self-perceptions more prominently than our own skin sometimes. So when I think I’m anything short of awesome on the inside, I’m not satisfied with what I see on the outside either. Maybe you can relate?

So, what can be done about our faulty self-perceptions that we might think aren’t faulty, but they really are faulty, like extra salty faulty? Well, I’m not an expert, but since you asked, here is my advice to you, and me. Ready? Here it comes…

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