Where I sit with Dad

Brought Dad his sandwich and hung out until Steven could get there. He's tired and out of it. Cancer is widespread - lung, brain, spine, liver, adrenal, kidneys-  but they say it's 'contained' for now. Meaning - when the drugs stop working, it will be fast. He will go in a matter of days or weeks. So we continue walking the tight rope between life and death, hope and reality.

Where I am a badass and sweat a lot

KBs outside, at the park down the street. First time for that - I get very self conscious working out in front of people, but I figure if I want to be an RKC and teach, I had better get over it. 

I brought the two 8kg and the 12kg. Since I'm doing yoga later, I left the 16kg at home. I started with a warm up of 40 single transfers with the 8kg. Then moved on to the 12kg, with one minute sets of single transfers, alternating with sets of 5 swings each before transferring. Let's see.... I think I did 2 30 second sets of double C&P, and then I started what I would like to call 'The Circle of Hell": There's a walking path that runs around the baseball field and the park itself. It's not huge, but I'd put it at maybe a half mile all the way around? Maybe a little more or less? I'm not good at estimating distance. Anyhoo, I did 5 swings R, snatched on the 5th, locked it out overhead, then walked 5 steps. Then stop, negative press, swing 5 again, snatch on the 5th, walk 10 steps, stop, negative press, swing to transfer, repeat on the other side. I would cycle through twice, then rest for 30 seconds, then go again. I did it until I reached my starting point. My total reps were 430. It was sunny. Not a lot of shade. It was fairly brutal, but in a good way. Raaaar! She Hulk maaaad!

I don't think I'm doing yoga until this evening - Dad has chemo today, and I'm supposed to bring him and Steven lunch. So, I'll shoot for the 5:30 class, which has my favorite instructor anyway. We'll see how I do. I'm curious.

Where I make real French bread, y'all

Oy, what a day.

Yoga at noon, then much time spent in the kitchen. Did you know that French bread takes, like, 4 hours to make? I didn't. Until I started making it. Nevertheless, it was done in time for dinner: squash soup (butternut, acorn) with chicken thighs. The bread was unbelievably good. As good as - if not better than- the Farm to Market stuff I get at the store. Very labor intensive, especially compared to the sandwich bread I can crank out. But I think I'll make it now and then. 

So now: exhausted. I walked yesterday, and made bread (again). Right now. it's a combo of cooking/baking, workouts/walks/yoga, housework, and working with Henry on reading. That's it. Tomorrow is a trip to see Dad's radiation Oncologist with Addie in tow, because most of the people I know in real life are tools that won't call me back when they know I need a favor. Suck it, shallow soccer moms!

Where it rains

It was in the 80's yesterday. Today it's in the high 50's. Welcome to the midwest.

I walked last night, as the temps were already dropping and it was nice. Felt almost like fall. Today I'd like to go to yoga, and have tomorrow as a swing day, but I'm not sure how the whole kid thing will play out - my Mom offered to take the kids, but you never know with her, she could renege at the last minute, as she is often prone to do.

Today was Addie's first day of preschool, and I had Dad for the 2 and a half hours she was gone. I feel bad complaining about it - I should relish all the time I can with him. But sometimes, I just want to be alone. That so rarely happens. I know that my 'free days' are not so well named - I will most likely have Dad every day, or face the pissyness of my mother. What can I do? The man is sick, bored, and has been abandoned by most of his friend who already have him dead and buried. 

I took him to Andre's, where he used to take me after ballet class when I was a little girl. I'd pick out a pastry and we'd sit in the tea room and chat. It was hard to look at him today, in that familiar setting, as he struggled to get in and out of his chair, and shuffled so slowly back to the car. We talked politics (of course) and how Copeland is arguably the best American composer (they were playing 'Appalachian Spring' in the background). We had pastries and drank tea. We looked outside at the rain. I looked at him hunched over in his chair, smooth head with white fuzz growing in, and I tried to remember him 29 years ago in this same spot, young and sharp and witty. 

We got Addie from school, and I made them both lunch. He's gone home now, and I have a few hours before it's time to get the boys. My house is seriously gross. I am not motivated to clean. I feel flat today, muted. I need to eat, but nothing sounds good. Alright, I'm off.....

Where I'm hurting.

Holy crap. I am in a serious amount of pain. Well, maybe half pain and half stiffness. My numbers may have been down, but I think I can see now that heavier = better. Or at least, more exertion. So here's my plan: I have been using the 12 kg for swings and the 8 kg for C&P and snatches. What I want to try to work up to is the 16 kg for swings and the 12 kg for the rest. I have no illusions that this is going to be really hard, but I feel like I have plateaued in terms of what I can do with the weights I'm working with. It seems silly to keep snatching the 8 kg, when I can't get certified with that weight. I tend to go down in the basement with little to no actual plan in terms of what my sets will look like, I'm going to try to have a routine for at least every other workout. 

Dad is slowly coming out of his chemo funk. He still moves so slowly and needs a cane now to walk. This is the man that used to take such huge strides when he walked that I had a hard time keeping up with him. This is the man that hiked the wilds of the Boundary Waters of Canada and the canyons of Paria. At 50, even 55, he was stronger and in better shape then most men half his age. It's heartbreaking to see him so frail.

Where I do a grillion loads of laundry, vacuum up hairballs the size of Rhode Island, and put off swinging

On a positive note? I have been slacking on the housekeeping, and I am damn near caught up on laundry, and everyone has clean sheets now. I hadn't cleaned up our room in... awhile. There were freakishly large dustbunnies under all the furniture. So it's all done, clean, beds are made (gasp!) but here it is, close to 4pm, and no swinging yet. I'm doing a monster walk tonight - more out of necessity than straight exercise (it's back to school night, and parking is such a bitch, mom offered to drop me off, then I walk home. It's a hella walk.)- and so I keep going back and forth on the rationalizing. But dammit, KBs and walking are tow totally different activities, who am I fooling? Okay, as soon as I'm done here, no more bullshit.

I've gone off the Zoloft. Pretty much cold turkey. A couple of reasons: 

1. Dad is doing better. Not great, but at least somewhat stable. For the moment.
2. I was starting to feel slightly dulled in the emotional sense. I have heard people on antidepressants talk about this feeling, and I frankly hated it. 
3. When they say under side effects 'decreased sexual desire' - they are not kidding around. For the last 3 months, I couldn't have been less in the mood if I was falling out of a plane. Bryan was getting rather... frustrated.
4. I was starting to feel like it wasn't doing a whole lot of good. Maybe I'll feel I need it down the road, but right now, I want to try to make it without the drugs

So there it is.

* Alrighty, that was yesterday... and I obviously never got around to finishing. Let's see: walk yes, but a fairly short one as I was feeling puny. KBs no, as before, feeling meh. Today? A long ass visit with Mom and Dad to the Oncologist, whom I love, but seeing as she's the #1 Lung Cancer Doc in town, she double and triple books, and we were there for a couple hours. Not a lot of new news, but he seems to be, in a bloodwork stance, tolerating chemo fairly well. He starts the next round tomorrow, which means the next week or so, he'll be down for the count. We took Addie and went to lunch with my brother (who is not as connected with the family, married to a total nutcase, and very self centered. I was not overjoyed to see him.) for Mom and Dad's anniversary. As the long day wore on, I felt crappier and crappier. I've had a cough for a few weeks, but kept chalking it up to allergies. It's gotten worse, and I'm getting that telltale bronchitis tightness in my chest. Son of a bitch. I have a wheezy cough and just feel run down. I went to Urgent Care at 5:30, and after hearing family history (lung cancer, lung cancer and oh, yeah, lung cancer! Three family members including Dad.) said 'let's do an X ray. Like, now!' 

I was glad they did, even though I knew it was too soon for the bronchitis to show up. I know from here on out that I'll be totally paranoid anytime I have an ongoing cough. I didn't realize how much I've been suppressing emotions until the kindly nurse came in and patted my hand and said 'your lungs look great, no spots, no shadows" and I promptly burst into tears. I cried all the way home. I cried for my fear of the future and the unknown. I cried because I'm lonely and frustrated. I cried because my Dad will die someday very soon. I cried because I'm terrified it will happen to me. There is an isolation that goes along with having a dying parent. You have to be strong for them, and so often, people around you don't know what to say or do. You find yourself, in return, building up walls and wearing armor, because you get so tired of being let down and disappointed. People see you as aloof or stand offish, and I want to say 'this is what I have to do to survive each day. I can't let my guard  down, even for a moment. Because if I do, you'll see how fragile I really am.'

The doctor started me on Zpac to head this crap off at the pass. Which is awesome, because I can't afford to be really sick. He also gave me steroids and cough syrup so I can sleep. I'm hoping to feel back to normal by the weekend, then I can refocus on training. It is the only thing that keeps me sane, and when I can't do it, I miss it terribly.

I had a breakthrough moment while walking the other night. I am a typically reserved person, I've talked about my inferiority issues and never feeling good enough. As a kid, the only time I felt good about myself was when I was in ballet class. I took for 10 years, and I was good. It was one of the few things I knew I was good at. When I was dancing, I felt strong and confident and beautiful. I felt superhuman. I haven't had anything that has made me feel that way in years. When I go on a crazy ass long walk, and I am doing free running and parkour- style leaps and jumps and running up a steep hill, I feel so damn strong and good. When I do 500 or 600 kettlebell swings (or 1000, like that one time!), I feel 100% confident in myself. I feel like I know who I am. That's why I love it. It's better than any therapy. And no matter how much the world around me is crumbling, that's something I can control. It's an aspect of my life that I know will only keep getting better, as long as I choose to continue training.

Alright, this entry has gone on way too long and been all over the place.  I'm off to take a shower and wait for the narcotic -based tussin (woot!) to kick in. And hopefully, tomorrow I'll feel better.

Where I watch the DNC and get choked up. Literally.

I grew up in a very political household, so naturally, I have the Convention on. My parents spent their honeymoon (40 years ago this Wednesday!) at the 1968 Democratic Convention in Chicago. Because there's nothing more romantic than riots going on below your hotel room!

I learned a valuable lesson tonight: do not eat Oreos while watching something that could potentially make you cry. The whole Ted Kennedy tribute got to me - especially when he said he promised to be in Congress in January (he is battling a brain tumor) and Dad and I both started crying... and I inhaled a cookie into my lungs. It was bad, death by cookie! I recovered and watched the rest and cried more. I have Michelle Obama on in the background, no walking or swinging tonight, just the DNC and a bowl of coffee ice cream. Then bed. I was up way too late last night, and a KB workout would be no good when I'm this tired. I have noticed that I'm stronger if I have an extra day between Kb workouts. Every other day seems to leave me a little weak. So, tomorrow. Wednesday and Thursday will be out anyway, with multiple trips to the Cancer Center with Dad. I fluctuate between feeling in control and alright and.... well, not. 

Alright, I'm off to watch more. 

YES WE CAN! 

Where I am tickled, fer reals

I have made many mentions of Mark and Tracy Reifkind. I have quoted them both, linked to specific blog entries, and sent blog links to anyone who has ever asked my 'what the heck is a kettlebell?' They both provide a wealth of information on kettlebells and nutrition (and I admit, go WAY over my head with some material. Am I a retard that the Max Vo2 stuff still mystifies me?) I've been reading them both since before I bought my first kb. So you can imagine the look on my face when I realized that Rif has me listed on his blogroll! You can just take a minute and picture me kicking the ground shyly with a cartoon bubble over my head that says 'Aw, shucks!'

It made my day, really.

Other than that, we are in the midst of home improvement projects. And by we, I mean Bryan. The kids are in bed, which at this point in the weekend, is really the safest place for them to be. They have pushed me way over the edge today. Tomorrow is the start of another week. Dad sees Dr. Kelly on Wednesday, chemo on Thursday, and the crappy cycle starts all over again. But.... as I try to focus on the little things: I can finally get my hair in two pigtails (see here to recall the hair trauma of '07), a friend of mine at the Roasterie had them custom make a blend of chocolate hazelnut for me, and I am getting ready to put on my monkey shoes and go on a long ass, much needed walk. It's hard to sometimes remember that there is still goodness in my life, but it's there, no matter how small it may be.

Where I force myself to blog

I have zero desire to write anymore, but I had a KB workout today, and I AM a little obsessive about keeping track of it. So here it is: 340 reps, I can't tell you the breakdown, because it was hours ago that I did it. Mostly 12kg and 16kg (swings), but did a fair number of C&P with the 8kg. So, there it is. Walked last night, too (4 miles?). So.....

Dad is not good. Chemo this past Thursday, and it has thrown him for a loop. He has lost 15 pounds in a week. He sleeps a lot. All in all, it sucks. 

Tyler starts 7th grade tomorrow. Feeling a little nostalgic.

Where I follow my own advice

So, people visiting? Not so good for making proper eating choices. That great 130 number I saw on the scale? Yeah, gone in a few days. All it takes is 4 days of not working out and eating crap and voila! I'm up 4 pounds. I'm pretty sure some of that is water - I ate an unbelievable amount of sodium, and I usually keep my sodium pretty low. But in any case, as Tracy has said, and I have repeated, a few pounds is just s few days away, if you really put your mind to it. So it's back to the grindstone, and 390 reps tonight with the 12kg. 

Things are up down around here - the visit with my cousin was utterly exhausting. She's a talker and very high maintenance. The last thing I needed were more people to take care of. It wasn't the most fun, and the day after they left (yesterday) I literally spent in bed. And I have family coming next week, family I love, but it's still work for me nonetheless. 

Dad's cancer appears to be on the move again, and he'll be starting chemo possibly next week. The kids go back to school in 2 weeks, and I feel generally totally overwhelmed. I can't think of a lot to say, so I'm going to repost my most recent blog from Dad's site, because it really expresses where my head is at these days.

Last night, I got a much needed night out with some of the Moms from Henry's school. I actually PLAYED cards, and for those of you who know me well, you know my love of cards runs about as deep as my love of NASCAR, football, and cuddling. Which is to say, not at all. However, I actually caught on and had a lot of fun. I felt totally socially inept, as I have been in seclusion for several months, but as the night wore on, i remembered how to talk to people and not sound like a complete moron. 

I stopped at the liquor store in the Village to pick up wine on the way to Krissie's house, and noticed, out on the sidewalk, about 20 or so ginkgo leaves scattered around. I looked to see if there was a tree nearby, but couldn't find one. Ginkgo trees have often been called living fossils, as they existed some 200 million years ago throughout what is now North America. They died out during the ice age, and were thought to be extinct when in 1691 they were discovered in Japan and southern China, and subsequently brought back to Europe. They are an especially hardy tree, planted around Japanese temples because it was believed they would protect against fire. 

On August 6, 1945, our country dropped a bomb, code named 'Little Boy,' on the city of Hiroshima. The city was decimated, and tens of thousands of people were literally incinerated. And yet, despite the scorched earth and devastation, four ginkgo trees survived. Though burnt and branches toppled, in the weeks and months after the blast, they all began to form buds. As a result, the Japanese call the tree 'The Bearer of Hope.' 

My father's cough is back, and worse than before. He is at the doctor right now, getting an X-ray, but they are pretty sure it's the cancer returning with a vengeance. He will probably have to start chemo sooner than we had thought, and may be unable to take his trip to St. Louis with the IRES group. My Dad is very sick, and most likely dying, but I can't give up hope. I can only think of the trees that they thought were dead, when all along, new life was sleeping inside. There is still life inside my Dad, there is still a fight to be had. I know not all battles fought can be won, but when any of us know it's our time to go, don't you want to die knowing you gave it the good fight? 

Where I nut up and soldier on

I saw a couple of Moms from Henry's school at the pool yesterday. One of them I hadn't seen since school ended. The other I've only seen a few times. These are people I have reached out to. I brought one a pie last week. But they pointedly ignored me and moved to the other side of the pool. I suppose those needier than me would have lap-dogged it over and kissed ass: "love me! Be my friend! Validate my existence!" But that sort of behavior really chaps my ass, and I refuse. If you can't even muster up a 'How's your Dad' because it makes you so uncomfortable to talk about someone who is dying and tragedy touching your perfect little world, than FUCK YOU BOTH.

I came home and took a shower and cried. Today, I am trying to shake off the shitty feeling of worthlessness that's clinging to me. I don't know why I let people get to me like this. I normally don't care quite this much. I think I just thought that what I'm going through would bring out the best in those I know. But the reality is, it brings out the worst. It shows everyone's true colors, glaring weaknesses and an astounding lack of moral compass. So onward I go, trying not to whine, trying not to care that I feel so alone. There are good people and friends in my life, I don't know why I have to let a few selfish tools weigh so heavily on me.

Dad was doing really well for a few days - he was back on high dose steroids, and he was like a different person. But he's been tapered off, and feels shitty again. It's heartbreaking to witness - because he knows he's not as sharp. He knows his energy level is down. It's been rough.

On the fitness front: I no longer care what I eat. Because for every bowl of ice cream I eat, there's a day where I eat nothing. I have a couple dresses that were tight on me last summer, that are falling off me now. I haven't done any swinging in what seems like forever. Or walking. I just don't eat and don't care and watch the scale slowly creep down. Whoopity do. Does it matter? No, my Dad is still dying.

Pity, party of moi

As much as I think I could do Anne Sexton better than Anne Sexton (or Sylvia Plath), no I have not taken a handful of pills and sat in my garage with the engine running. My van wouldn't even fit, the garage is too small. I kid, I kid. Dark, ominous, inappropriate kidding. 

Not that I am not in a horrible place, and think bad things. But they're just thoughts, and trust me, I have had my hand on the phone off and on today, thinking "is it time for that 3 day stay at the psych ward?" But I'm not there yet. I am however, taking a wee break from my Dad, who is being incredibly douchy and pissy. My kids have had a craptastic summer, and I have to get them out of the house and to the pool. To expect them to sit in a dark house while my father sleeps off and on and listen to his nonstop criticism of them.... it's just unacceptable. Henry said to me today "Apaa rolls his eyes at you a lot." Yeah, kid, I know. I know. 

It's incredibly hard to go through this. Even more so, alone. I cannot paint a smile on anymore. I cannot be perky for acquaintances who can't handle the truth. And if one more asshole says "he seems FINE!", I am going to cut a bitch. Fer reals, y'all. 

In other news, I let Henry get a mohawk. Well, more of a fauxhawk, but he wears it better than that Maddox Jolie-Pitt kid could any day of the week.

Double angry Henry, looking like the badass he is:

*and thank you all for the comments, I read them and appreciate anyone that take the time to read my crap and write to me. I heart you all.

Where I feel like a badass and still am pissy.

600 swings - I think the first 2 sets (one minute sets as usual, approx 40 reps in a swing set, 20 reps in a snacth set) were with the 8kg, one set of swings and one of snatches, then I switched up to the 12kg, where I alternated between single transfers, and swinging 5 or 10 times per arm before transferring. Do I make sense? Sometimes I feel like I don't make any sense when I try to describe my routines. I never plan before hand what I'm going to do, and then if I don't blog right away, I forget exactly what the breakdown was. Anyway, somewhere in there I got 14o swings with the 16kg. Singles. One full one minute set (OUCH) and then the last 100 swings were with the 16- broken down in 30 second sets. My grip was shot towards the end. In fact, it's hurting even to type. I wish the handle wasn't so wide on the 16kg. I have tiny ass hands. 

I am fucking exhausted. I can't even begin to verbalize it - there's just so much expected of me these days, it takes superhuman planning to carve out any time for myself whatsoever. I have had moments where I have honestly wondered if I'm going to wind up in a psych ward for a few days. It's been that bad. And it's nothing I can speak of to my family or even that many people close to me. I'm raved about as the good daughter, the good wife, I'm expected to play my dutiful role and not complain. Most days I just feel so very alone. In the beginning, when you have a sick family member, people rush in to help. They call all the time, bring food, offer to take meals. But as time goes on, the novelty wears off. No one calls - not even the person who IS sick. So my Dad sits alone most days, staring off into space. I take on the responsibility of entertaining him, keeping him busy. My mom is hanging by a thread, and I feel I have to help her. I know I have to help her. But it's just her and me. No one calls me anymore. (I'm not counting you, Hillary. You were like, the only one to call and say 'please let me help') I'm starting to feel a little bitter. There are women who I truly thought were my friends, and it's like I don't exist. 

A lot of times people don't know what to say. They don't want to hear anything depressing. I never know what to say when people do ask how things are. Do they want the truth? Do they want to know that my Dad has gone through a complete personality change? Do they want to know that he takes his anger and frustration out on me and my Mom? That he has suffered brain damage from the tumors and will never be the same? And finally, despite this good news, do they want the balls out truth - that this disease is not curable, and it will kill him eventually. 

No, no one wants to hear it. But that's what it is. It's a terrible, ugly disease that takes over everyone's life. We are all consumed. And we are all very much alone. I wish I blog this on the CaringBridge site, but God forbid. I have to blow sunshine out my ass there, when most days, I want to cry. 

Where we get good news for a change

Of the 2 tumors in Dad's brain, one is totally gone. The other one has shrunk considerably, and there is a little swelling and bleeding around it - which is normal, considering tumors create their own vascular systems. The tumor in his lung has also shrunk, and the tumor on his spine is totally gone. I am still in shock, we were prepared for the worst, and to get such great news is just.... well, I have no words.

My friend Scott came over last night with his massage table, and I got a lovely treat. It was a good cap to a generally crappy week. It was really nice to lay in my own family room and chat with my husband while I got a kick ass massage. I slept well, and feel ready to swing today - especially after Scott commented on my kick ass arms and shoulders. Time to pick up that 16kg again.

Where I hate everyone

The Cancer Center screwed up, his appointment wasn't yesterday, it's tomorrow. They were totally unapologetic assholes. It was a bad day, all around.

Bryan has shingles. Basically, it's dormant chicken pox that manifests for unknown reasons, though stress can be a factor. He's got these really awful puss-filled bumps all over his trunk, and is in a lot of pain. They caught it in time to give him anti-viral meds. If he'd waited a few more days, they wouldn't have been able to give him anything for it. He's on the same stuff they give people for herpes. I told him that's what he gets for sleeping with those dirty women down by the wharf! Whores!

Then today, Tyler had this awful headache that hit him like a ton of bricks - he was crying, and he is not a crier. I called the endo, because I'm pretty sure it's a side effect of the Humatrope, so we'll see him later today. Today is a day where I'm asking God, without a touch of irony, 'what the fuck are you doing? 'Cause dude? I am DONE.'

So that's it. I have no time to workout anymore. Or eat. Weight is falling off, but unfortunately, I'm sure I'm losing muscle mass, too. I'd rather still be 135 and have the muscle than be 130 and feel weak. But I just don't want to eat. Food doesn't taste good. I literally only eat when I start to feel hypoglycemic and crappy. I eat to keep from passing out. And I drink coffee. That's about it.

Workout Post

400 swings. Mostly 12kg, experimented with number of swings per arm before transferring. Did 5/5, then 10/10, at one point switched to the 8kg and did 40/40 (a 2 minute swing set - yowch!) Did just a small set with the 16kg.

I've been so tired lately, and not eating well. Hence, the lack of exercising. I got some ambien form my shrink, and made a conscious effort to actually eat yesterday ( I even had breakfast!) and felt decent enough to workout last night.

We get the results to Dad's scans tomorrow. I'm praying for good news, but I don't know what to think.

Where I dread tomorrow

Tomorrow is the day for Leo. 

I am becoming more at peace with it. I am beyond devastated, but this is the cycle of life. We know we're going to outlive our pets. I've let too many other pets go on too long, and then you're left rushing a cat into the ER with every organ system shutting down. Leo is not dying right this moment, but he's not well. I think we're a matter of a few months away from that point. I can't do that to him. He's downstairs right now, eating his third helping of tuna. All the kids have cuddled him today and told him they love him. I laid on the floor with him all afternoon (the only place he seems to be comfortable) and just cuddled him in the crook of my arm. When I actually take him, it will be awful. But I want it over with. The waiting is killing me. Henry asked me if Leo was going to heaven today, and I said no, tomorrow. He said "I wish it was yesterday". I understood the sentiment. 

We've had a lot of conversations, me and the kids, about death and dying and the afterlife. About faith and knowing God's plan, about people and animals being gone from this Earth, but still here. We are all eternal beings, none of us really die. It's been a good dialouge to have with them, given my Dad's illness. 

But it's still hard.

Think of me tomorrow, and send me strength.

I just did a big, long, exhaustingly emotional post over at Dad's caringbridge site, and I am too wiped and busy to write anything of substance here. I am busy getting the motherfucking cookies frosted - I have been procrastinating on this for days - and today is a swing day. Hopefully a higher volume than the last time. 

I think my antidepressants are leveling out. I don't feel quite as energetic as I did the first 2 weeks, which is kind of a bummer. I guess the point is to not make me manic, just even keel, but having never been manic before, I have to say, I kind of liked it. But oh well, on to being normal. 

School's almost out. Summer may or may not be here soon. We're still having temps in the 40's in the mornings, and Mother Nature can suck it. Hard.

I'm in a bit of a mood today, can you tell? Pollyannas can keep their sunshiny opinions to themselves.

(ETA: 500 reps, some swings, some double swings, some sets of snatches,  a few double snatches thrown in, and sets of double C&P, one minute on, one off, all sets)

Where I pause to blog, even though I have a million things to do

I really don't have time for this. I have a cake to bake a cookies to roll out, not to mention the usual house stuff and finding time to walk. But whatever, I'm drinking my protein shake and can't do much else until I'm done, so here I am. 

I have little to no appetite, workout like a fiend, and yet my weight is holding steady: 135. WTF? I'm wondering if maybe I'm not getting enough calories, so I'm trying to ingest at least 1 protein shake a day. Today I tossed in a banana, strawberries and blackberries. Fairly yummy. The vanilla powder leaves a little bit of an aftertaste, but what the hell. It gets some nutrition in me, where most days I am lucky if I eat one actual meal. Food just doesn't taste good to me. I actually opened a pint of Ben and Jerry's, took a bite, and then put it back because it didn't taste good to me. I'm sure Bryan is wondering if I've been taken over by aliens. I don't know what is up with me, but I'm getting a little pissy - what is the point of nopt eating if I don't lose crazy amounts of weight? It seems unfair.

I walked last night after my quickie KB workout, and let me tell you, I slept like a baby. Well, not one of my babies, because my kids have never been good sleepers. But you know, someone else's baby. I'm sore as hell from those 16kg swings, but it's all good. 

I'm not in the mood to talk about cancer, but I'll say this much: the side affects are kicking in, and they suck. Dad feels shitty. It's really hard to deal with right now. 

I'm off to bake a birthday cake....

Where I go AAAAUUUURRRRGHHHHHH

Oh. My. GAH.

My Dad's sister (who we have been estranged from for about 25 years until recently) was also diagnosed with lung cancer - did I mention that on this blog? I can't recall what I've written here, and what I've written at the Caringbridge site - anyway, she's essentially a stranger to me, and Dad's entire family has been a whole bag of neurotic craziness forfuckingever, but I have been trying to have some semblance of a relationship with her, just to be nice. Besides, she has in stage renal failure and leukemia, on top of now lung cancer. Okay, so I decide to be nice and thoughtful, and post about her on Dad's site, thinking it to be very generous and well-meaning. She fucking calls my Dad and yells at him and says she's 'private' and doesn't want anyone to know any of her personal info. THIS from the woman that called me so many times while dad was in the hospital that I nearly lost my voice. Oh, and she proceeded to try to 'one up' Dad on whose sicker... huh? Why would you want to win that contest? But it's apparently a big thing for her, her health issues have always been an attention getter for her. She also kept telling me that Dad 'seems fine' and poo-pooing any concerns I have had. You know what? As much as I try to be optimistic, the fact remains that my Dad has metastasized Stage IV cancer! For the love of god, fuck off!!

That's really all that's going on. Sore as hell from KBs yesterday. I think it was the snatches that killed me. I'll walk tonight when it gets dark. Henry has soccer practice. 

That's all I got....