Compound Fracture #0W

No, I did not break another bone, I promise. After months of thinking, scheming, searching, and being disappointed because there are some witty fuckers out there - I figured out my derby name. It's "Compound Fracture."

"But, Erica, you broke those bones and that's not really funny, is it?" 

I say - embrace the suck. Yes, I broke two bones. No, it wasn't funny at the time (although the word "humerus" still makes me giggle in that "so bad it's REALLY bad" kind of way), but now, how can I not laugh? Who does that kind of thing? Two bones? Six weeks? It sounds like some kind of demented reality show.

I submitted my name this month, and my number, which also makes me laugh: 0W (zero W). Yes, I am a silly monkey. But think about it. If you know me (or read this blog...or stalk me on twitter...or... never mind), you know how funny this derby name is. If you don't know me - it could sound a touch scary. Although, the idea that anyone finds me frightening is also very amusing to me. 

Because most derby names are shortened, people have been calling me "Fracture" or just "Frac." I kind of love Frac because it is close to Frak and I'm a big Battlestar Gallactica fan. Well I love the new series. I couldn't watch the old one.

Shudder.

And if you try to tell me that the new Battlestar sucked, I will put my fingers in my ears and start singing "Yellow Submarine" and ignore your blathering because... You. Are. Wrong.

Anyway. This week, tomorrow actually, I'm headed back to the doc to have a look at my fibula. It is also the day that I am allowed back on skates. With all the PT work I've done, I think I'm getting stronger every day. The therapists are having me work on balance with a Bosu ball, which I love.

I'll admit that the hardest part about getting back into derby is not going to be the physical stuff - it will be the mental. I went to our off-skates workout on Sunday and left pretty defeated. As with writing, I should not compare myself to others. But I did. Instead of being proud of the fact that I could do most of the exercises, I focused on how slow I was, or how my arm was exhausted after doing the plank, or how my flexibility in both my arm and leg was limited. We were doing a walking plank exercise, and all I could do was hang my head and cry.

Thing is, I think if I had gotten out of my own way, I would have been able to do everything.

Fear is the mind killer - as they say in Dune. 

After wiping away the tears, and embarrassing myself in front of the skaters (although I'm not sure how many noticed), I decided to change my mind.

No, I will not be able to do it all like I used to, but I can work towards it. If I don't try, I'll never get there.

Compound Fracture doesn't quit.

In May, I plan on trying out for Fresh Meat again. While that seems like plenty of time, I know the caliber of skater they want. It is foolish to think that FM will take me without a fuckton of work. When I got on in October, I had been skating for 4-6 days a week for months......months. I'll be doing that again. The league is being very selective now and the bar has been raised. I'd love to skate with some of my closest derby friends again, but if that doesn't happen in May, then it will happen later. Right now, I must focus on getting back on skates, getting strong, and remembering why I love this damn sport so much.

Now, on the writing front. I'm reworking Chapter two, taking out a few characters that are problematic and annoying (as in, they are becoming loose ends before I've even finished the damn book). I'm killing them off, because killing is fun when you are writing. I'm writing a big scene, or rewriting it actually, that takes place in a train yard (if you live in Portland, or are from around here, you know what I'm talking about). I need to actually visit the location, get down there and get into the physicality of the place, because the opening scene of my book involves the area around Widmer and the river.... which in my mind were very close together - reality is an entirely different animal. I can't squish and rework details about this city if I have it as the setting. I wonder if I am allowed in the train yard at all.... things to research.

I'm trying to balance my need to research and my tendency to get stuck in the googlemachine. I shit you not - I was looking up western seagulls, and ended up losing about an hour just reading about the damn birds. It is maddening.

Scrivener is helping with the research part. Now I have somewhere to plant the links I find, and when I'm just screwing around, I can go back and apply the research in a focused manner, instead of being distracted by the shiny words.

So my goals for this week?

• Make it through off-skates without crying 
• Finish Chapter Two
• Get on the bike at least once
• Negotiate a schedule with work where I can start going to the speed skating classes (which are hell and gone from where I work).
• Buy the sports psychology book recommended by a friend and coach
• Get started on a new fantasy series. I own it, haven't read it in eons, but the hubs said the author is great with multiple characters. We will call this research too.

Now, back to your regularly scheduled Tuesday.

From Burning Out to On Fire

First - I'm sore and it's FUCKING AWESOME.

Why am I sore? I did a whopping (sarcasm) 20 squats 2 days ago, after the PT routine (who knew big rubber bands would be so difficult to stretch?). Why was I squatting? Because I haven't been able to since December. And that's just insane.

What else have I had a hard time with?

• walking down stairs
• lifting from the floor
• writing

"But Erica," you say. "What does writing have to do with bending over?"

I nod, all wise and stuff. "I will tell you grasshopper." 

CHICKEN

Why is it always a grasshopper? Seriously. Why isn't it a ladybug or a dung beetle? 

Anyway... 

I'm tired of being broken. If I hear "fracture" in reference to my body, I will punch someone in their face. Okay – I won’t punch anyone. I'm more of a kicker, or a hip-checker. It's been a rough couple of months. I'm burned out on being broken. When you are independent (albeit slightly lazy), being unable to do what you normally do is both frustrating and disheartening. And because pouting is a full-time job for me, I haven't had it in me to get that much writing done. 

I talk a lot about writing. But how much writing do I actually do? Less than I would like to admit.

The Physical Therapist (or "She Who Smiles Brightly When I Wince") gave me a long lecture for allowing my sadness to sully my progression. She reminded me that if I wanted to get back onto skates and come out of the whole ugly situation intact - I had to fight for it. Healing is as much of a mental game as it is a physical one. Flexibility in the mind will allow for flexibility in the body.

Then I thought about writing. I could talk a lot about doing my PT, but unless I actually attempt to stand on my toes (surprisingly difficult on the broken/healing leg), I will never get there. 

Unless I write a chapter, the book will never materialize.

Work = progress.

Pouting = fat lower lip and a lot of wasted time.

For the past few weeks now, I've been doing my PT (almost) daily. I can now stand on the broken/healing leg while closing my eyes for over a minute. You should try that as well (after finishing the blog, of course). Stand for a whole minute on one leg - with your eyes closed. It's challenging.

I have also sent pages to my Crit partner. It was an odd little short story with rough edges and a lot of emotion. The most important part is that I sent it (with apologies, of course). 

I've rewritten Chapter 1 in the WIP, bringing it back to 1st person. This will prove to be difficult to maintain since the damn novel is massive already (in my head) and I have other characters to follow. But for now, the thing that gets my ass in the chair and writing is my 1st person POV. I'm also using Scrivener to organize my research and chapters and character descriptions. At first the program was daunting - there's so much you can do. Once I used the walkthrough I have a handle on things. I also put Simplenote on my iPad so I can sync changes and edits as I make them. The system is pretty seamless. I heart it.

I feel energized. There is an end in sight. On the 22nd I will return to skates. Okay, I'll just be roller skating and not doing any derby for a bit, but that is the first step. I'm in love with my writing again, and find myself taking ridiculously long showers because I get caught up in plotting in my head.

Have we had the whole pantser vs. plotter discussion yet? This planning stuff is new and exciting and oddly efficient.

More importantly, I finally understand that I don't have to obey my own rules for the novel. I just have to write.

I have to move.

I have to remember what makes me happy. It is not pouting. It is not feeling sorry for myself. 

Flexibility and strength are not only important for physical prowess on the track, but they are equally necessary for a writer’s life. And that, grasshopper, is my lesson for the day. 

Motivation and Matching Shoes

The one good thing about being broken? Time to write (and play Skyrim, but we can talk about that later). But  after a month of scooting around on the "Wheels of Doom" and hobbling along like one of those landstriders from The Dark Crystal (which is still one of my favorite movies) I am now walking. I walk like a pimp, according to a 5 year old kid I saw at the grocery store last week.

(how does a 5 year old know how a pimp walks, I ask you?)

You know what I missed about being able to walk? 

• Getting up the stairs without the dogs chasing me. I appreciate the rewarding kisses when I reach the top of the stairs, but am grateful not to have my ass sniffed as I crawl up them.
• Driving (omg I can drive again!!!! Guess who is back to sleeping in?) I would like to state for the record that my road rage returned within seconds. 
• Getting to the bathroom before I feel like my bladder is going to explode (I think I was only partially potty-trained...sometimes I forget to go to the bathroom before the pee-pee dance starts. Stupid bladder).
• Cooking - David will tell you that I've not put this newfound kitchen freedom to much use, but my excuse is that I've got a fucking cold now...so I have made cookies, but not much else. 
• Freedom. 

But the one good thing about being broken was it made me focus on writing. I've been plotting (as a pantser, this is a big fucking deal) and trying to rework a short story I found on my iPad. There are little bits of story that float around in my digital devices that are just waiting for a bit of attention and time so they can grow up and into big, full stories. My attention span is shit, but those seeds are what keep me writing. Right now I'm low on story seeds. Remind me to write my ideas down more. 

So, bone prognosis. After getting frustrated with the care at one clinic, I moved my happy ass back to the hospital that helped with the broken arm. The broken fibula was worse than what was explained to me initially. It was, in fact, displaced. Not by much, but enough. I'm going to go ahead and blame the original clinic since they didn't have time to help me get anything on it, not a boot, not an aircast, for almost 4 days. Taking the Max with a broken leg wrapped in an Ace bandage = kind of dumb. But I had to get to work. They should have seen me earlier. 

I'm too trusting with this shit. 

So, after a month of sub-standard care, I'm seeing people who understand what I will expect from my bones, and my ankle. Good news? I'm on skates again in 4 weeks and no bone scan is necessary. Bad news, "It's going to hurt for a year."

Doc, pain I can handle. I can't handle not skating.

I start PT next week and am allowed to use my bike/trainer combo to get my lungs all sexy again.

Did I mention that I have the plague? I know what it feels like to cough up a hairball. 

Yum.

So, tonight I am going to hop on my trainer and rock out to one of my Sufferfest vids. The only caveat is that I have to keep the resistance light. The bone is still broken and I can't wear my aircast with my bike shoes (they fit like a glove). Exercise tonight. Tomorrow....I'll take over the world. 

As for the writing. Sometimes I think that it was a waste of a lot of fucking money for me to get my MFA. I'm writing at work, which is wonderful. But I want to continue working on my novel. Every time I sit down to do some kind of long writing with it, my brain shuts down. I can't even get crap words on the page. Yes, I am whining. The only solution is to keep my butt in the chair until something comes. My little story seeds are safe. They aren't so big as to require world building or a complex plot - not like the novel. Sometimes I wonder if I am cut out for the whole writing gig. And then I remember that there is nothing I love more than being surprised by something I've written. Writing is much like excercise for me - a pain that I love if I have motivation. If someone told me tomorrow I couldn't write, I'm sure I would bitch about it until kingdom come. I can write. If I let myself. 

I wish I would give myself permission to fail. I'm the best at giving advice I never take. 

I miss school for the deadlines hurled at me, much like I miss matching shoes. I miss cute matching shoes. I also miss the breezy confidence I had in my writing.

Wait. I think I'm lying.

Okay. I'm done now. 

I don't know where my head is at today, but what I do know is that I have these characters knocking on my eyeballs, clawing at the back of my throat, wanting to see, wanting to taste ...

wanting to be...

The smart thing to do? Take this time off skates and do what I was trained to do, what I love to do, really. But first... I have some procrastination to take care of.

(I realize that is a random end to this blog, but my coffee just ran out.... meh)

Your Resolution is Bullshit

And good morning to you too! The title is meant to shock. Just go with me on this.

In years past, I sidled up to the New Year’s Resolution bar, and placed my order just like everyone else. And every year I ordered the same shit:

• quit smoking
• drink less
• exercise
• eat better
• write more
• watch TV less

The year crept along. The bright, shiny resolutions of January 1 fade to regret as the months plod along. All those glorious promises to ourselves are broken. Why? Life is not about starting over at a single point. Life’s a moving target and our goals should shift as well.

So what did I succeed in doing last year?

• I lost 20 lbs with the help of Weight Watchers (I’m a huge fan of their iPhone app – such a great way of keeping me honest).
• I started roller derby.
• I graduated with an MFA in Writing Popular Fiction (to be fair, I knew I was graduating before the year turned, but it was still an accomplishment).
• I learned how to bake.
• I got a job.
• I pushed hard to transition into someting that coincided with my writing aspirations, moving from a project asstistant to a copywriter.
• I learned to be proud of myself.

Much of that list is nice, but the smoking thing deserves a cookie.

Or 10.

It was surprisingly easy, once I changed my mind.

When did I quit smoking? In March. The only significant dates in March are birthdays (husband, mother, sister), but I didn’t do it for them. Nor did I quit as a part of some bizarre list of things that I needed to get done before the year. I analyzed my life. I looked at what I wanted to do (not snoring is on that list… alas quitting smoking did not get rid of my snoring completely…the weight loss is helping) and what was really making me happy. Smoking did not make me happy. So, to put it simply - one day I threw everything out, the lighters, the hidden packs in my winter coats, the ashtray. And then I also stopped talking on the phone. Phone conversations are, and remain, a trigger for me. I speak to my loved ones a lot less, but I also sleep better. And I smell everything (not so good when you are on public transit sometimes, but its made me a better cook).

I may have turned into one of those annoying non-smokers too.

Anyway, one day I woke up and realized that things needed to change. I could turn 35 without being proud of myself, and I wouldn't have that. So I changed things – slowly. That is the key to change. Jumping feet first into the pool of radical transformation is romantic, but it rarely works. The loss of your former life is shocking and uncomfortable. Then we struggle to find ourselves in a clouded pool that was our former life. It is easier to suffer the differences if taken in small steps, moving step by step from the shallow end to the deep end, otherwise, we revert to what we know and we end the year drowning in our unresolved resolutions.

What a shite way to do things.

There are plenty of things I want to do this year. I want to write more diligently. I want to heal and get my ass back on skates (that is going to be my biggest challenge in the early part of the year). I want to reconnect with my spiritual side.  More than anything, I want to grow. And I will. The change is free to come and I look at it as an organic process. It’s not about tracking things for me, or establishing limits. It’s about letting things flow and keeping myself accountable.

Why the rant about this? I hate to see others fail because of some ridiculous notion that we can only change ourselves at New Year's (or some other milestone in the year, like our birthday). What is stopping you from doing things different today? Or tomorrow? Do you have to have that 4th beer? Do you really need to watch that extra hour of reality televison? Are you really too busy to call/email/text that family member that you haven't talked too in ages? Do you really need to wait to thank your friend for being there?

Does it take something like this silly calender to make you take stock of your life?

I have a hard time with holidays in general. I'm a bit of a grinch, but I like the idea that you can celebrate family/life/birthdays/love/etc. every day - not only on New Years or some calender day. Make changes every day. Be grateful every day. Try to do something new every day. Scare yourself daily. This is your one life... don't let a calender determine how you should live it.

Sometimes the best resolution is to have none at all.

The Air Down There

Not THERE, you perv! (gosh, you all are just too much. Go watch some Care Bears to clear your dirty mind...not the Smurfs though. That WHOLE village of men and one woman? That is porn-tastic).

The ankle break is stable. The orthopedist didn't see the bone fragment that was very apparent on the other X-ray. No plaster cast or surgery (insert happy dance here...since I can't actually dance right now). I have to stay off it for a total of six weeks but I am going to move from this robo-boot (which has a pump to stabalize the ankle)  that I'm wearing to an air cast.

The vain fucker in me is happy with the air cast though. I can wear shoes again. Not my Fleuvogs, but I can at least get my Docs on, even my tall boots.

Chicken...

Right before I broke my ankle (fibula), I found an old pair of gray Doc Martens that I bought at Ross eons ago. I needed a pair of good, thick shoes because David and I were headed to Colorado so he could meet my folks and so I could ski. I only owned cute Mary Janes or loafers, but what else do you need when you live in Florida? I needed boots for the snow. With enough pairs of socks, the Doc Martens fit fine. But, I haven't worn them since we moved from Orlando (I've been in Oregon for 4 years) so I tried them on.

They are way too big.

Seriously.

Then I tried on my other pair of Docs. Also too big. I have a terrible habit of generally buying my shoes too large, I don't know why. My Fleuvogs fit like a dream, but I'm convinved one of the reasons I love them so much is because they actually fit me and I had someone else helping me with the size. So, I'll use my ill-fitting Docs while I have the air-cast, since I'll need the room. Once the ankle is healed - I get to wear cute shoes again!

Now, back to the break. One thing I've learned with these two broken bones is that - Googling injuries is the WORST thing to do for your sanity. The internet has turned me into a worrywart. What if I get arthritis in my ankle? Why are my toes swelling? What if I hit my leg while in the boot? Has the break become unstable?

Am I going to have to get my foot amputated?

This is not what one would call a logical progression. Nope. However, I did read about the need for me to take more calcium (As a woman of a certain age, I should be taking it anyway) and Vitamin D. My ankle will take a long time to heal after the bone is stable, and swelling is normal.

And more importantly, a lot of people have had this kind of break. It won't kill me. But it is making me crazy.

When I was 23 I was diagnosed with Manic Depression. I've been off and on meds throughout my twenties and thirties, but my first headshrinker told me that the best therapy for any mental illness is excercise. Since I can't skate right now, I'm going a little mad. For most people, they want to get back to the skating because of the cameraderie or the sport itself. I love both of those - but roller derby made me sane - saner than I've been in a long time. It gave me purpose, drive, and a healthy dose of humility. I quieted the demons in my brain, and let me be me. The demons have returned.

They are fucking annoying.

Any cardio will quiet the darkness in my brain, but I'm relegated to running around in Skyrim rather than skating around the track. That's not to say I don't love the snot out of Skyrim, but I feel a little silly when my character (a level 31 Kjaiit theif, thank you very much) gets winded. I can't tell you the last time I was winded. Maybe I need to go faster on my Wheels of Doom (knee scooter). Then again, I think I'm done breaking bones for the year....

So let's hear it for pretty shoes!