Thirty days, half past…me

It’s been 30 days. 30 days since my last drink.

Immediately I could be viewed as a recovering alcoholic and my response would be, “No. No I’m not.” And you could think “Yeah right, isn’t that what alcoholics say?” Touché.

This mini-vacation started at the tail end of last year when I came down with an illness that left me pretty horizontal for a few days. New Year’s Eve came and I was new to solid foods and the harshest thing I drank that day was root beer. Something had changed my perspective in those days and I decided as a test to my health and my will I would challenge myself not to consume any alcoholic beverages for the next month and a half. Two reasons drove this challenge.

First, I’ve been struggling with weight loss. It cannot possibly be as difficult as it is for me. I suppose a lot of people might utter those same words. I have made a complete one-eighty in the way I eat for over a year and combined with running and weight training, I’m on the slow boat to freedom. In fact, we might have dropped anchor. I wanted a period of cleanliness where I could cut this out completely and see what kind of impact it has on managing my weight and overall health. I have been sleeping better and have felt some benefits physically.

Second, when I set out a goal before me I intend to keep it. I intend to see it through to the finish line. I’m nothing if not someone who will push, push, push until I reach the end, with my own measure of success.

Over the last month I’ve been in social situations where there has been alcohol served and consumed. When I divulge my current quest, I’m fairly certain I’ve caught a couple of people (well okay, nearly everyone) off-guard. This isn’t something I’ve abstained from in my adult life, nor had any reason to. “Are you still not drinking?”, “WHAT?” have been some questions I’ve continued to field. Yep. I am. I’m doing it for me and my well-being. Often times, no matter what the challenge may be, we need to push ourselves and challenge our abilities if we want to see what we’re made of or how far we can go to find optimal (whatever your definition is) health.

Two more weeks until I reach my goal and the day when I find out if clean living has proved any inkling of  success. After that? I don’t plan on binge drinking or returning to my old habits. I have a new appreciation for consumption and time will tell how that folds back into my life. I do know that as I age my viewpoints about some things have shifted and I look forward to doing more things (physically and mentally) that will challenge me to give everything I have. It’s in my own best interest to be at the top of my game no matter what life rolls my way.

 

Getting my stripes

I’ve been a fan of the game of basketball for, well, as long as I can remember. Growing up in Portland I’ve watched the Trailblazers have some amazing seasons, and some not-so-amazing seasons. They went through the ups and downs like most clubs and are finally coming around and have an amazing team. I started playing in the sixth grade and had (what I remember) a great time. We were an okay team, not as tough as some of the other inner-city teams we played (which were very intimidating) but we still eeked out a few wins. (My brother tells me there is video lurking out there of a few of my games from the eighth grade. I can only imagine what a jumbled circus that team effort looks like!)

High school was a different story. Freshman year we SUCKED. Sucked with all we had. We were slow, had few girls that could really play and were just a mess. As the years went by our teams never got any better. We were lucky to get a win or two out of the season, and I even recall a game that led to fisticuffs. Oh adolescent girls. Such anger!

I thought my basketball days were behind me after high school but the last few years I’ve been spending several days a week watching my niece play. This occupies a lot of my time for a few reasons. One, I LOVE the game. Two, I love watching K play. She’s fun to watch and her game is only getting better. These last couple of seasons I’ve been making comments here and there about becoming a referee and several friends and family have urged me to do so. As with anything that requires me to step outside of the box, I’ve been hesitant in making contact with the local organization, not because I don’t want to do it, but because I have some fear of breaking into new endeavors.

All those fears were cast aside today as I made the necessary contact to learn about the next steps to pursue this dream of mine. I received a return phone call from the man who runs the Portland Basketball Officials Association (PBOA) and he is putting me on his list to make contact with later this summer. I’m so glad I finally made a connection and am eager for the time to come to see if I have what it takes to get my very own whistle! In the meantime, I will be working on my hand signals and body movements to call out errors during game play.

my favorite is travelling

 

Run, run me to the river

Tick tock. 4 months until the inaugural Portland Rock n’ Roll half marathon. Last week they unveiled the course map and even though I live here, I’m super stoked about the route. 13.1 miles weaving in and out of the inner-east-side neighborhoods, two bridges, and a start/finish on the waterfront.

run Portlandia

 

1up

The moment I pushed the door open I knew something was amiss. 

My brother Mike and I have always had a great relationship, even since we were kids, despite our five year age difference. Well…it was great for me although I did spend the majority of ages 9-15 grounded to my room for treating my brother like my second-class servant. I watched over his well-being and in turn he just did what I told him to. As we’ve grown into adulthood he’s no longer on the payroll but we still have a good relationship, and once he actually had to save me from a public beating. We share a lot of inside jokes (mostly at the expense of our parents) and reminisce of the days of yesteryear. The last few years we’ve aimed to one up each other (my sister included too) on a gross-out level. My sister and I will discuss openly periods or breasts in front of my brother just to watch his face cringe with horror and disgust. Most often, we gals are winners although, from time to time, he does something to ick us out times ten.

Wednesday’s text message exchange with my Mike included congratulations on his promotion at work and a suggestion of celebration sometime very soon. Knowing I was headed out of town for a long weekend he offered to check on my house while I was away. I thought that was very nice of him to offer without me dropping any sort of hint. With trash and recycling services taken care of for the week, I suggested he come by one day to walk the perimeter and inside of the house, just to make sure everything was still in proper order.

Before I go out of town I almost always make sure the house is picked up and every thing is in. its. place. I don’t leave about dirty dishes, unfolded towels, scattered papers, nothing. Anytime I return home after an extended period of time and especially in the twilight hours I do a visual inventory of the most expensive items in the living room before I cross the threshold. TV? Check. Laptop? Check. That’s when I immediately noticed some things that didn’t belong, things I knew I didn’t leave out.

A bottle of lotion, a half roll of toilet paper (some crumpled up), and a white folded piece of paper. Mike. Realizing there hasn’t been some freaky intruder I secured my place inside and unfolded the white note.

A- Couldn’t find your Jergens.
                                      M-
Mike 10
Amy 0

un-expectations

I’ll hand it to him; impressive. Something I didn’t foresee. I don’t think he offered to check on my house just to pull one over on me, just simply an excellent opportunity to strike. Thankfully it was only staged and that activity didn’t actually take place. He even had the TV queued up to buy some porn when I turned it on.

This battle he has won, but the war has only begun.

 

Fly me to the moon

Excited for my impending trip to the great white North I made sure to be organized this go round and not forget a thing. After scouting the forecast I made sure to pack plenty of warm clothes and snow related gear for our snowshoeing adventure. Packing all the necessities I managed to squeeze everything into one suitcase. So proud of myself, I left the house all ready for a great weekend. This day was going to be great!

I had caught news tweets earlier in the morning about Alaska Airlines canceling flights in Seattle as they were covered in a sheet of ice. I breathed a sigh of relief as my flight to Vancouver was nonstop! Pleased with myself I had the foresight to make a correct move, I headed to the airport. Busy central. I should have anticipated that the Alaska counters would be madness with Seattle travelers needing to rebook flights. The lines were long. I was concerned I’d not have enough time to hit Starbucks after security. (Yes, that was my priority.)

I overheard the agent indicating there was an International check-in line. Hooray! 10 people ahead of me, how long could this take? 30 minutes too long. Lots of unprepared souls who seemed like they just rolled out of bed and decided to leave the country that very morning. Made it through my turn in record time and the agent seemed pleased. I had to set an example of how it should really be done.

Security!!! Longer line yet but it moved swiftly. I walked into the body scan machine, it did its spin about me and then I was ejected. Assuming I passed, but apparently looking neglected and in need of a pat down, a kind TSA lady gave me the once over and didn’t find any suspicious devices. She motioned over a TSA man and then my concern grew slightly….I wondered if the machine found something? I was soon in the hands of a tiny man who was ready to swab me, well my hands. Explosive free I was on my way to Starbucks!

Just a minute til boarding time, coffee in hand, I arrived at my gate. Then came the announcement that a plane was not there yet but en route and would arrive at 10am, our scheduled departure time. Ok. Plane arrived and we boarded, set to take off at 1045. I was one of the early boarders, took my seat, buckled in and filled out my customs form. I looked up and ahead and noticed water trickling down into the seats from the overhead compartment. I pointed it out to the FA and dismissed it. About 10 minutes after the leak notification the FA announced because of the leak the plane needed to be rerouted to the service hangar and we had to deboard the plane and wait for another. Another hour later we had a new plane and were off.

As the wheels went up I wondered if that leak was just a leak or part of something bigger. Could I have just saved the lives of many passengers or was it just a stupid leak? I really couldn’t bear the thought. I’m no huge fan of flying but I don’t hate it either. It’s often a necessary means of travel. More often than not the flight I’m on has awful turbulence and I nauseate easily. Today was no exception. Gag. Thankfully only an hour flight, I just kept my eyes closed and waited for the wheels to hit the Tarmac.

Safely at my final destination, I met the customs agent, found my luggage, and was out in the 20 degree (but sunny) city, ready to explore. Glad to be here, safe and sound and ready for a fun weekend!