tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-57022981777858792132024-03-19T01:48:31.375-07:00Girlfriend's Guide to HealthGirlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.comBlogger267125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-60359114353800955402015-03-31T10:18:00.000-07:002015-03-31T10:05:46.527-07:00I'm Back Bitches.....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0qZr3jioMuw/Ux8pQuIEhXI/AAAAAAAADAs/PAqLZsh1vH0/s1600/2013-11-02+12.12.19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-0qZr3jioMuw/Ux8pQuIEhXI/AAAAAAAADAs/PAqLZsh1vH0/s1600/2013-11-02+12.12.19.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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It’s been an interesting few months, my sisters. Full
disclosure? I’ve been blocked. No, my colon is working fine and although I do
notice that as I get older I am indeed fixated on my bowel function. </div>
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When I say blocked, I mean my writing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Make no mistake, I don’t consider
myself a “writer” by trade. Sure, when I was a kid, it was indeed my dream to
be a writer. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I pictured myself
holed up in some fabulous café with a moleskin and a fountain pen scribbling
for<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>good and glory as the words
fell on the page. In my head I was in a fabulous pantsuit and in my heart I was
living the dream. </div>
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Did it matter if I was good at it? Shit no. Writing was my
escape. As a kid I has Hillroy notebooks on my desk with antique fountain pens
bought second hand. My fingers were stained blue and black from the leaky pens
but I used them anyway. I wrote poetry and short stories, songs and love
letters. I poured my heart on pages and left it there to bleed and to heal and
to make me whole again. </div>
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Dramatic? Sure thing. I was a teenager in the 1980’s
enduring one Winnipeg winter after another. I was North End girl with Downtown
dreams and a closet full of Club Monaco sweatshirts and Levi’s 501’s. Drama and
dreams were all I had. </div>
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But dreams have their way of working out because indeed when
I shared my pantsuit/moleskin fantasy with my family, I was quickly informed by
my father that writing would make a fine hobby once I became a doctor. </div>
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“Don’t worry, Alphonse”, he informed me, “you can wear
whatever pantsuit you want once you get your medical degree.”</div>
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Yes, the writing would be my hobby all these years as I
pursued medicine as a career. Here it is decades later…. my father is long gone
(I miss him so), I am indeed a doctor who indeed writes for a hobby. As for the
pantsuits? I am really more a dress and heels kind of girl. </div>
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Make no mistake, I am at a point in my life where I really
do LOVE my job. This was not always the case. There indeed was a time when I
thought this life in medicine was thrust upon me without a choice and I was
doomed to<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“make it work”. I saw my
work as a job and my job as an obligation. I always liked the work and the
people but I just could not make a love connection. </div>
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And then as if by magic about 5 or so years ago, I fell in
love; truly, madly deeply. I can not recall the place or time, the rhyme or
reason…. But something clicked and me and medicine really did make it work.</div>
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And then it occurred to me. I started writing 5 years ago.
Could it be that my passion for my work sparked and grew when I reconnected
with the creative side I had left behind? I really can’t say for certain I just
know that when words flow to a white space in front of me, my happiness indeed
increases. Perhaps, excuse the drama, writing makes my world make sense. </div>
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So imagine my dismay when for the last few weeks, the words
have been stuck like nobody’s business. Yes, I had writers block and no
pantsuit in the world would mend this fence. </div>
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Writers block is an “umbrella term” first described in 1947
by psycholanalyst Edmond Bergler. It is a term used for the condition when
writers (professional or otherwise) can’t make it happen. Think of it like
Literary impotence and you are pretty much half way there.</div>
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Sure enough here are a variety of theories for why the block
happens. One such theory is that when the brain gets stressed the limbic system
(basal brain functions) take over from the cortex (the thinking system). How
can you pen the great American novel when your brain is purely in survival mode
trying to not be eaten by the world. We sacrifice creativity for survival in
these instances and as such get blocked. </div>
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Another thought is that depression, fear, or even audience
awareness paralyze the writer from thought and action. </div>
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I’m not sure what happened to me. All lives have stress and
I am a pretty happy person. Maybe I just got lazy for a few weeks and my
cerebral cortex needed a nap. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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You see for the last few weeks the words that once flowed
like water have indeed been sticky and slow. </div>
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Could it be my writing hobby had run its course? Was it now
time to take up quilting? I have no idea why I bring up quilting. I don’t know
how to quilt- it just seemed like a classic hobby. </div>
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But damn it, “I am a sometimes writer”, I told myself and
like anything in life worth having I will endure. </div>
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There I sat in front of a blank screen willing the words to
come. </div>
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I prayed to the goddess and sold my soul and promised to
call my mother more often…. </div>
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And within moments my fingers hit the keyboard and in a
flash I was back in that proverbial pantsuit with imaginary moleskin in hand. </div>
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Block be gone. </div>
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I’m back bitches.</div>
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Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-2447357905547375292014-12-02T02:00:00.000-08:002014-12-01T19:52:39.941-08:00Last Days of Disco<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_r_oH2UPodHs/TPSTIVBBDMI/AAAAAAAACDM/7eozDQYZRH4/s1600/photo.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_r_oH2UPodHs/TPSTIVBBDMI/AAAAAAAACDM/7eozDQYZRH4/s200/photo.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5545218812489567426" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 150px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 200px;" /></a><br />
November is officially over and I have never been more pleased for a month to end. I realize male solidarity is a lost art and that charity starts in the home but the month of “Movember” was 30 days too long. Let’s be frank… it was 30 days of the 1970’s gone way too far.<br />
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The “Movember Movement” challenges men to change their appearance and the face of men’s health by growing a moustache. The rules are simple, start Movember 1st clean-shaven and then grow a moustache for the entire month. The men of Movember commit to growing a moustache for 30 days to raise money for prostate cancer. <br />
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The idea for Movember was sparked in 2003 in Melbourne, Australia. Since then, the movement has continued to grow year after year, expanding to Canada, the US, UK, New Zealand, Ireland, Spain, South Africa, the Netherlands and Finland. <br />
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I like a moustache on a man as much as I like it on myself. There. I said it. It’s out there. <br />
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No I am not a tyrant. I am as much a fan of men getting together to fight prostate cancer as the next person. I hate prostate cancer. I hate all cancer. But do we really need to encourage good looking men of all shapes and sizes to sport some facial hair and adopt a 1970’s porn star persona all in the name of disease eradication? <br />
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What is with the stache? Seriously. Charity aside. I get the whole beard and mustache thing but a single stache? WTF? Sorry to insult my cyber brethren who may feel the need to warm their upper lips a’ la mother nature but dudes…. Come morning shave the damn caterpillar off. You look freaking ridiculous. <br />
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In fact just this very morning I was discussing the upper lip fuzzy movement with some of my male friends. We all agreed (or rather they dared not to disagree with me) that there are only two men alive who look better with a mustache than clean-shaven. The very short list includes: Tom Selleck and Burt Reynolds. <br />
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I would argue that the mustache has been more a part of our history’s negative figures than any other facial feature. Take any world dictator past or present and more likely than not- he (or even she) had a stache. <br />
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In fact Salvador Dali was said to have grown his own flamboyant upper lip hair just because most dictators of the day were sporting the same. <br />
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Sure there are positive role models in Groucho Marx and Charlie Chaplin. But are these enough to erase the damage done by Yosemite Sam, Joseph Stalin, Adolf Hitler and Fu Man Chu?? I think not. <br />
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In the spirit of fairness, the Movember movement really has been a remarkable one. It is a true exercise in what can happen when people join together for a cause. <br />
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The doctor in me warms with pride as I think of my male patients getting behind health promotion in order to educate one another and raise funds and awareness for prostate cancer and men’s health. <br />
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The Girlfriend in me chuckles at how women with run marathons for breast cancer and restructure an entire marketing campaign around a pink ribbon to raise funds and awareness…. Boys? Boys forget to shave. Boys forget to shave and the money comes flying in….<br />
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According to the Movember Movement 4 million men sport a stache worldwide. <br />
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<span style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px; line-height: 21px;"><span style="font-family: Times, Times New Roman, serif;">The Movember community has raised $574 million to date and funded over 800 programs in 21 countries.</span></span><br />
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Statistics show that men are more often diagnosed with cancer than women and have a higher rate of death from cancer. One in six Canadian men will be diagnosed with prostate cancer in their lifetime. Every day 70 Canadian men will be diagnosed with the disease.<br />
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So yes, there is good evidence that health promotion of men’s health is important and vital. I am a huge fan of grassroots fundraising initiatives that are geared towards raising health awareness and promotion. I’m all about raising awareness dear girlfriends, am I not? <br />
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That being said…. It’s been a long month of hairy faces. I, for one am grateful when December closes the door on MOVEMBER for yet another year. Boys, grab your shaving kits and get clipping. You had best be whisker free by dawn.</div>
Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-74538593595807585582014-11-06T10:20:00.001-08:002014-11-06T10:26:26.679-08:00A Fashionable Treatment<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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BONUS POST sweet sisters..... I am in Boston for a conference and find my brain more productive than usual.... look out world and read on.....</div>
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Fun fact sweet sisters- surgeons dress up. Allow me
explain…. Here I am at the Obesity Week Conference – a joint meeting of the
American Society of Metabolic and Bariatric Surgeons and the Obesity society. </div>
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Picture it…. On one side of the Boston Convention centre is
the Obesity Society, on the other side of the centre is the ASMBS. </div>
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The grand ballroom is in the middle. In fact you have to
walk across a large catwalk of sorts to get from the surgical meetings to the
medical meetings. It’s no big deal but it indeed allowed me to make some
interesting observations. I spent most of yesterday in medical meetings-
listening to talks about the pathophysiology of obesity, the medical
complications and implications for prevention and treatment…. In short it was
really good shit. As an obesity doc- I was in my element. Not every talk rocked
my world but there was enough there to justify getting out of bed and putting
on a suit. </div>
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On that note- I should say that I dress for conferences.
Hell, who am I kidding- I dress for everything. In my world fashion knows no
geography. Any excuse (really, do I need one?) to colour coordinate and I am
good to go. </div>
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As a kid I had a ritual every night picking out my outfit
for the following day. 40 years later and the ritual persists. I love me some
style and I don’t care where I am in order to express it. </div>
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If I must wear clothes (and trust me I’m not complaining)
then I view getting dressed as my daily opportunity for artistic expression. </div>
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It’s been 20 years since I entered my first medical classroom.
In that time- I’ve met thousands of physicians. Head up…. We are not, as rule
good dressers. Sure I’m generalizing and yes my view is skewed. Let me correct
that- General Internists are not good dressers. In fact I would argue that
Medical Specialists in total are not a fashionable group. This of course has
one exception… Cardiologists. Cardiologists have style. I have been to many a
cardiac conference and yes, there is a buffet of well cut suits, shined shoes
and enough pocket squares and fabulous ties to lower anyone’s blood pressure. As
for the female cardiologists- sisters have it going on. Great power suits and
kitten heels. I am never disappointed at the fashion at a Cardiology
conference. </div>
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But as for the other subspecialties? Well, it’s pretty sad.
Endocrinology, Nephrology, Obesity, Diabetes…. There is a great deal of casual
sweater sets, golf shirts and pleated khakis. It’s a veritable epidemic of
shitty fashion. </div>
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And make no mistake- I resigned myself over the past few
years that this indeed was the law of the land…. Until today.</div>
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Today I walked across that catwalk at the Boston convention
centre to the surgical side. And like Alice in Wonderland, Dorothy in Oz… there
I was among Bariatric Surgeons who…. Had pretty great style. Gone were the Golf
shirts and button downs that were one size too big. Here was a land of silk and
cashmere. Great tweet jackets with polished brogues and pocket squares. I even
spotted two Chanel Jackets and more than a dozen heels. </div>
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WE could leave the running shoes and socks and sandals on
the other side of the catwalk- here at the ASMBS there indeed was a fashion show
of sorts. </div>
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Sure, these surgeons had no clue how to dose insulin or
antihypertensives but they could remove half your stomach, re-route your
intestine, shower and colour coordinate. It was impressive. </div>
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I could not help but wonder if surgeons everywhere were
better dressers as a whole? My dear friend Carl is a surgeon and a snappy
dresser…. Dude has his suits made to measure. It, alone with his lovely manner
is one of the many reasons I adore him. </div>
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In fact as I write this my mind goes searching through my
surgical rolodex visually imagining the outfits of my friends who are
surgeons…. And yes, yes, yes…. They all come up stylish in my recollections. </div>
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Could it be that if you insist that a doctor where hospital
greens for most of his/her day he/she has no choice but to develop his/her
style for the “non-surgical greens time”. Is that what it is? You don’t know
what you got until it’s gone? </div>
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Could it really be that simple? A surgeon- forced to wear
scrubs for hours a day breaks free from the hospital chains at a conference and
worships at the alter of style in the name of previous opportunities lost? I
doubt it. Perhaps there is some science to it. At this moment, I lack the will
to investigate. I’ve been in scientific meetings since Sunday- my head is going
to explode if I do more research…. For just one week, my girlfriends let’s live
in the dark and no one will get hurt…..</div>
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If the thought is that style is born to feed the fashion
famine of certain lives than maybe the problem with my medical colleagues is
that they never had to be told how to dress- it was never taken away from them
and as such they did not have to push forward on their own….. </div>
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Who knows? Likely I am just really talking out of my ass.
But rest assured my ass will be wearing another fabulous suit tomorrow as I
walk, nay, strut across that catwalk in Boston to “the other side” for a fun
filled day of bariatric surgical talks with matching cufflinks, ties and (can
one hope?) an Hermes scarf or two.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
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Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-16095759103181216712014-11-04T16:01:00.001-08:002014-11-04T16:01:33.540-08:00On a serious note. <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I believe obesity is a disease. I have spent more than a
decade studying this disease in the literature and at the bedside.</div>
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In fact as I write this piece I am in Boston attending the
Obesity Week 2014- national conference of The Obesity Society</div>
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What I have learned in my 20 years in medicine is that
nothing is absolute.</div>
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The human body is a complex system that operates based on
shifting parameters and adaptations more than a set of golden rules.</div>
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The old explanation of obesity rested in the principle of physics
of “Calories in, Calories out.” Years of study have since shown that obesity is
less about the laws of physics and more about the laws of chemistry and
biology.</div>
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Matching energy stores with energy needs is an essential
part of life.</div>
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If there is indeed a flaw in this, when the system gets
broken for whatever reason, obesity is the result. This is not a linear
process.</div>
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Diseases are the result of genetic predisposition,
physiological mechanisms and environmental triggers and promoters.</div>
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Obesity is no exception to this. Some people are more
genetically predisposed, others more environmentally influenced.</div>
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Like all diseases- there is no single cause for all people.</div>
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The key to understanding this disease like many others is to
understand that obesity is not one disease.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I would argue that obesity is likely a spectrum of diseases.
Like any spectrum of disease there is a spectrum of causes and a spectrum of
treatment.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Think about cancer for a moment. To pool all cancers into
one group and see them as all caused by one entity is not only simplistic but
dangerous.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How would we function as a medical community if everyone
with cancer got the same treatment for all cancers regardless of cause and
organ affected?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What if I treated my patients with lung cancer, colon cancer
and breast cancer all with the exact same chemotherapy?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Certainly I’d get some responders, (especially if the
chemotherapy I chose was targeted to their specific cancer).</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But inevitably if I took this “blanket approach” to a
diverse disease I would only effectively treat a specific group of people.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As a medical community we need to strive to understand the
biology of obesity as a disease.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is not the just the complex environmental and
socio-cultural global epidemic that is obesity- but the complex biology of the
patient sitting in front of me who indeed has a disease that is multifactorial
and born in genetics, and body chemistry.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The push here is that just because we don’t have the answer
does not mean we should tell patients that treatment is not possible.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I agree that we need to advance the science further.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When we study one disease- indeed it may enlighten us as to
the nature of another. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I must believe that are on the cusp of a significant
discovery that will indeed dramatically change the epidemic of obesity at a
population level.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I’m not a population scientist. I am an individual
physician that treats one patient at a time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know what many of my colleagues say:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Obesity can not be cured- permanent weight loss is
impossible.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Indeed I attended a review course yesterday at this very
meeting where a colleague from the Mayo clinic (no less) insisted that if a
patient is not losing weight on calorie restriction:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“They are lying, don’t waste your time making them think
they are special”.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I stopped swearing (under my breath of course), I
realized that medicine is indeed a reflection of the society at large. The
world has yet to achieve true empathy for the Obese population and so medicine
merely reflects this. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I sit here in a lobby hotel in Boston an Obesity Doctor
and an Obesity survivor with this thought….</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In medicine, when we can not FIX the problem, we feel
powerless. When we are powerless we lash out. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Are not people more than just a FIX?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Is there not something in the process?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Can we not as a profession and a culture learn from this
current crisis of future and faith? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Patients are more than just numbers. When we focus purely on
pounds lost we lose the intricacies of prevention benefit.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We practice “what’s the point” medicine. Many of my
colleagues have fallen prey to this.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Patients gain the weight back — what’s the point? Patients
are not going to change their lifestyle — what’s the point? The disease is too
big — what’s the point?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The five-year survival of patients with Stage 4 heart
failure is about five per cent. Shall we close down cardiology units now?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The issue here is that we are currently in a public health
crisis and the current therapies are not meeting the needs of patients.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When you tell a patient that permanent weight loss is
impossible, based on population studies, you encourage them to stop trying.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The bigger message here is that our treatment needs to be
advanced and improved upon.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We need to improve patient education and remove internal bias
to enlighten people on the physiology of their disease.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Doctors and scientists need to advance our own understanding
and that of our patients into the complex process at work in their own bodies.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We need to rally our government for better treatments, better
food sources and better quality of care when it comes to this disease.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We as a population must change the way we look at the
biology and culture of obesity and work towards a solution.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I tell patients to keep trying to eat better and
exercise more, I am doing it because they indeed are more than a number on a
scale. Small weight changes prevent disease and my patients deserve this
benefit.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The current problem we face in obesity medicine today is not
that our therapies don’t work. Our therapies work for the right patient.
Instead we blanket the therapy for all obese patients. The landscape of this
disease is not so simple.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Like any complex disease we need to tailor our therapy for
the individual. I would argue that we have not done that. We’ve blanketed our
approach to lifestyle modification on a population level.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Moreover, we’ve asked patients to diet in a world where
dieting is nearly impossible.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We’ve insisted that they adhere to certain dietary
constraints in a world, which is conspiring against them at every turn.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In short we ask them to exercise the dietary equivalent of
swimming upstream at all times.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Obesity is the greatest public health crisis this country
has ever seen. Yes, the current dieting paradigm is not working for most people.
But instead of telling patients to walk away let’s encourage them to find the
right treatment.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let’s establish a better understanding for who responds best
to certain dietary changes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let’s study the five per cent responders and learn what it
is that makes them succeed. Let’s see if we can indeed push the conversation
forward. Let’s insist upon better treatments for all.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Studies do show that the greatest weight loss success was in
populations who had the greatest adherence.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Studies also show that patients with the most realistic
expectations stay with behavioural chance longest and have the most significant
and long-term success.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How do we make it easier for patients to adhere to lifestyle
change?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How do we give people realistic expectations that help them
improve their health?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As a doctor that sits in front of 20 obese men and women
every day I think we need to empower patients to fight the good fight.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think we need to accelerate our efforts into understanding
the science behind the heterogeneity of this disease. I think we need to insist
on a better level of care for our patients.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Permanent weight loss is brutal. It requires an
understanding on an individual level that you are indeed fighting physiology.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It requires and unrelenting and constant attention to
lifestyle change. And it doesn’t work for a majority of patients under the
current treatments available.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The field of obesity treatment is evolving daily to try and
meet the needs of a growing epidemic.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My colleagues and I are on the front lines of this. We
explain to our patients the complexity of their disease and the treatment
options available.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am honest with the data and the science that exists and I
am forthcoming with the patient sitting in front of me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not about to start practicing “what’s the point
medicine.” My patients deserve honesty yes, but hopelessness? Never.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com43tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-27793392457713167302014-10-07T21:00:00.000-07:002014-10-07T20:58:40.154-07:00Driving Miss Crazy...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_r_oH2UPodHs/S76D0hEFjgI/AAAAAAAAB5U/xyc3YZH4h4I/s1600/IMG_1490.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_r_oH2UPodHs/S76D0hEFjgI/AAAAAAAAB5U/xyc3YZH4h4I/s200/IMG_1490.JPG" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5457944736671567362" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 150px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 200px;" /></a><br />
I am a terrible driver. This may be because I no longer drive on a regular basis. This may be because I was never a fan of cars even before I returned mine for a bicycle. Or, this may be because I really like to do more than one thing at a time even when I am behind the wheel. <br />
<br />
I do believe my husband first fell in love with me when we were first dating and I would drive him to University in my 1992 Dodge Colt. I drove with my knees while putting on a full face of makeup using the rear view mirror as easily as a one of those fancy bathroom magnifying mirrors. I drank my morning coffee, smoked my morning cigarette (heaven forbid the driving should be the only way I would risk my life) and still got us to class on time. <br />
<br />
I have no doubt he was petrified and perhaps this has easily contributed to his new found love for walking everywhere. They say that often love spawns out of situations where one is fearful for one’s life…. In fact there is evidence that the brain secretes the same hormones during life threatening experiences as it does when one is in love. Neurohormones such as oxyytocin and Dopamine are at their peak during times of extreme stress and interestingly also at their peak during times of extreme pleasure…<br />
<br />
You’ve all heard the stories; the urban love legends, so to speak. The couple met on a plane during turbulence and a hurricane and bad weather made them fasten their seatbelts and commit their lives to one another all while securing their own oxygen masks before helping to assist another. <br />
<br />
This is perhaps why they always make contestants on shows like The Bachelor, bungee jump off a bridge or a cliff strapped to each other. <br />
<br />
And yes, this is partially why my husband fell in love with me. I drove him to University each morning of our courtship and proceeded to apply a full face of make up (complete with mascara and eyelash curling) while operating the steering wheel with my knees and hoping for the best. <br />
<br />
Oh admit it dear girlfriends… you’ve all done it. In fact according to an article published in the London Telegraph on October 2, 2009, 27% of women surveyed in the United Kingdom confessed to putting on makeup while driving. In fact 3% of all accidents in the UK are caused by this, one such resulting in death and a 2 year prison sentence for the offending driver/Max Factor wanna be. <br />
<br />
Remember this translates to more than 1 in 5 women. Now let’s do some “Girl Math”. Consider that when it comes to areas of blame, guilt, calories and alcohol, all women lie. We lie about our weight, whether we our angry and if something is indeed our fault (Honey- if you are reading this- please stop immediately). So the 27% of women who indeed ADMITTED to putting on makeup is more likely to be 97%. Furthermore, add another 20% for the women who do not consider lipstick to be “make-up” and you have a whopping total of 117% of women using their rear view mirror for “true applications” so to speak… <br />
<br />
And so I no longer drive. I do however take taxis from time to time and there in the back seat I create my very own SEPHORA counter on the way to my destination. The roads are inevitably a safer place and after 16 years… my husband safely (now an avid walker) still is madly in love with his wife.</div>
Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com187tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-7553943297227365352014-09-30T14:39:00.001-07:002014-09-30T14:39:19.810-07:00When the Rubber Hits the Road<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YkyvVFsMiO0/VCsi9-VPKaI/AAAAAAAADKs/n9sajgSe3AI/s1600/2014-09-20%2B20.18.18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YkyvVFsMiO0/VCsi9-VPKaI/AAAAAAAADKs/n9sajgSe3AI/s1600/2014-09-20%2B20.18.18.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Permit me my sisters and brothers to begin this Tuesday with a recap of
my recent exploits. Yes, normally this blog is an ode to the science behind
what we take for granted everyday. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But if I may, something magical happened to me 10 days ago
and I thought I might share it with cyberspace. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I participated in the INTREPID cycling stage ride through
the Okanagan, BC. This is a 3-day stage race through west coast wine country.
It spans 450km and over 6500 metres of climbing. In short it’s the hardest
thing I’ve ever done and yes, after 72 hours I indeed worried that I had lost
my mind. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But with all things lost comes something gained and sure
enough the experience of it all was so much more than the numbers. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For over three days in lovely September, in “Peach Country”,
Canada I became the athlete I always wanted to be. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve been thinking a lot these days, my sisters about what
it means to be an athlete. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think in many respects we characterize this idea in too
static a term. The media, pop culture, mainstream have all tried to define the
term “athlete” in a specific context. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
An athlete is someone who is seriously fit, who devotes
their life to sport and who is usually a part of a team of some kind. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Webster’s dictionary defines athlete as:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“a person who is trained or skilled in exercises, sports, or
games requiring physical strength, agility, or stamina”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I can’t help but wonder if this definition limits the real
meaning of what it means to be a true sportsman or sportswoman.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here’s the deal….</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When I was a kid I hated sports. Sure, I watched football on
television with my grandmother but on a personal note- I could not get into
playing it. I WAS the last kid picked for dodgeball in school. I was forced to
play little league at the age of 6 but was often stuck in centre field by the
coach more as a place to put me than a real position on the team. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hint- what 6 year old girl can hit a ball to centre field? I
pretty much sat in centre field (yes, sat, on the grass) and bit my nails. In
fact if I’m being really honest- I usually would intentionally pee my pants in
centre field in order to be able to go home, have a bath and end the madness of
it all. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My mother felt terrible for me and would often treat me to
an ice cream. It was manipulation at its best and really a 6-year old stroke of
genius. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fitness was something that I came to rather later in life.
It was a slow progression but now it really is a part of who I am. I AM a
runner…. Fast or slow. I AM a cyclist; more slow than fast- I am someone who
loves to train and who competes regularly- but only against myself. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And if I’m being really honest- I don’t even do that. When I
run a race or finish a triathlon I’m really only there for 2 things…. To finish
and to have fun. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sure the hours are grueling and the pain is there but there
a re moments amidst it all- these glimpses when I pause almost in suspended
animation and smile at the fact that this chubby kid – this little league drop
out is sharing the road with the best of the best… and I love it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now, I’m someone who is very active. I easily do a minimum 2
hours of exercise every day between training and commuting to work. But I never
really saw myself as an ATHLETE until last weekend. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You see, I’m rather slow on the field. Yes, I train but I
would argue that being fast does involve having some genetic gifts. I was
blessed with s decent brain and great hair. Good muscle tone? Not so much. My
genes lean more towards the cerebral than the visceral. Make no mistake anyone
can learn a skill- but in order to be a star I would argue that you might need
to be born with a decent machine in order to make the best practice prosper. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But, I digress. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Back to my Intrepid experience. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here’s the thing with about a bike… A bike really is about
that kid inside of all of us. Cycling, at any age is the one sport that
connects us to that primordial moment in all of us. A bike was your first set
of wheels. A bike was your ticket to freedom. Your bike was your pass beyond
your neighbourhood and into the big brave world. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Someone who loved you very much not only bought you your
first bike but also taught you how to ride it. You remember learning to ride
that bike- practicing every night after dinner until that moment when you could
take the training wheels off and it was official- you had arrived. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even if your bike was a “hand me down” from an older sibling
or second hand from the kid down the street- your bike became your first real
piece of property. You made sure you locked it up at night and you made it your
own. Maybe it was a banana seat with sparkles or streamers from the handle
bars- even a bell or a sticker on the back- you put your own flare on YOUR bike
with pride. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so I remembered all of this as I rode the hills and
valleys of the Okanagan last weekend. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The day began with me- decked out in a fabulous cycling kit
surrounded by 66 riders all Type A cycling beasts and all with less than 1%
body fat. I knew it was gonna be lonely. I would not be able to keep up to
these machines (the people- not the bikes) and so, I had downloaded a few books
on tape and a great playlist to keep me company on the long road ahead. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The first day was a ride up Silverstar mountain. I am not a
good climber but I do get it done. After 1600 metres and 22 km of an 8% grade
up to the top of the ski hill I had found new swear words I did not know
existed and I still had 120km to go. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Needless to say the day ate my soul. Most of the riders rode
in packs or “pelotons”- pace lines that allow the cyclists at the back to
benefit from drafting. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I ride alone. I have a single ear bud playing a book on tape
or music to keep me company. If there is a head wind- I get it. On the down
side- there is no drafting. On the upside there is no one to hear your
profanity and judge you harshly. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so it was for Day 1. After the climb and descent came a
fever of rolling madness through the wilderness. I developed “Athletic
Tourette’s” sometime after lunch when there was a further 500 metres of
climbing before I reached the finish line. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I saw eagles, hawks, a pack of mountain sheep and the depths
of my soul before I headed to the finish line where I was greeted by a black
bear 200 metres in front of me. Did I turn around a pedal the other way for
fear of being mauled by Mother Nature’s minion? Hell no. Bitch had had enough
fun for one day- I pedaled past that black ball of fury yelling at it the whole
way along. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Day one took me over 9 and a half hours to complete. And
there I was ready to do it all over again tomorrow and the next day. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
At the awards ceremony that night- Chad the race organizer
announced the winners for the day. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In the solo women’s category I was in third place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
WHAT?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, there were only three women in the solo women’s
category and even though I was last in the pack…. If I finished this race- I’d
be on the podium. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, this is ridiculous. But somehow this kept me going. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Onward through Day 2, 157 km of rolling hills through Wine
Country, BC. I should say it plain- I’m not a big wine drinker. Sure there are
lots of reasons- the fact that I don’t like the taste of wine- being the
biggest- long and short? My liver is not my best feature. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Having spent three days riding a bike through vineyards I
now have less of an affinity to wine…. You see grapes are grown on hills. If
you want to ride through a vineyard- you have to expect that you are going to
do some climbing. And so the divide between the grape and me grew even stronger
this weekend. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Day 3 saw the dawn of a new set of hills- a climb up Apex
mountain and a new fabulous outfit. I did not make the cut off to climb Apex
mountain. I’d like to say that I was disappointed but I’d be lying like a dog
in the street. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Did I need to climb another 12% grade for 10km to prove I
was a cyclist. Hell no. I was riding by myself out in the hills for the last
100km listening to a book on tape on the biography of cancer. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The book was 18 hours in and we still had not found a cure.
I had endured more physical and psychic pain in the last three days than I
thought possible. And yes, I was still smiling. So screw Apex- I’m still a
rider- I told myself. I will finish this race with pride and I will accept my
podium place. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so there it was…. amidst the hills and the hell
something magical happened. Somewhere over those three days with my body pushed
to exhaustion and my will ever more willing I learned that indeed I am an
athlete. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You see- I crossed the finish line 3 days later in 27 plus
hours- a full 13 hours after Jay- the guy who won the whole race. But, at the
post race banquet he and a group of the fastest men came up to me to express
their admiration. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Ali- you sure have heart” he said with a hug.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
True to form- I was third on the podium. Yes, this may be an
insult to third place finishers every where- but screw 'em. I’ve got the heart
of a bronze medalist and that is really all that matters. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And sure enough- I did win an award…. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I won the INTREPID award for rider who overcame the most
obstacles to finish the race with the best attitude. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let’s be clear- my whole life I was the kid with brains and
not with brawn. I’m certainly never the fastest rider or runner in a group but
when the rubber meets the road- I get the job done and I try as hard as I can
to do it with a smile on my face (and a swear under my breath). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I think my sisters that THAT is what it means to be an
athlete. An athlete is indeed not the best in the field but the best they can
be on the field.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had got it wrong all those years- an athlete is so much so
the most personal of definitions. And it is in those moments when we connect to
that athlete inside of us all that we learn how great we truly can be. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Because my cyclists- life’s not about racing to count your
victories- it’s about being victorious at the end of it all. </div>
</div>
Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-7706899133431420212014-09-09T08:14:00.001-07:002014-09-09T08:14:46.097-07:00Mary Tyler No-More<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bisdC2SL9ts/VA8ZQnmPIpI/AAAAAAAADJ0/W_PTTj1Jfeg/s1600/2014-05-30%2B21.54.37.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-bisdC2SL9ts/VA8ZQnmPIpI/AAAAAAAADJ0/W_PTTj1Jfeg/s1600/2014-05-30%2B21.54.37.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Today marks the one month anniversary since we cancelled our
cable. I should preface this by saying that I have never been one to “stand on
ceremony”. I am not usually one to “celebrate THE day”, “; opting instead to
“celebrate the days”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But this
month was a special one. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You see, sweet sisters- I was a television addict. Sure, I
usually watched TV from the comfort of a spin bike or a treadmill, no matter- I
still took in a<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>fair bit of media.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Hours were spent “binge watching” a series I had taped on my
PVR, I had been known to squeeze in a viewing or two before falling asleep to
the TV. I was non-discriminating in my television viewing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Judge not, my girlfriends, but I can recognize most
“Bachelor” contestants and can easily tell you who has won survivor for the
last decade. HBO, BBC, Netflix…. I show no favouritism….<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am an equal opportunity viewer. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Or rather…. I was. Now, I have no cable. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No, we did not forget to pay the bill and yes it was
voluntary (somewhat). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I remember meeting people who professed to having “NO CABLE”
and thinking they were truly flawed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My first encounter with a NO-CABLE individual was 3 years
ago at a party. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There we were at some cocktail something and I was searching
for small talk in a<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>big room. It
was a bit of television crowd and so the natural topic of conversation would
have been TV. I had just finished reading a book called “The Revolution was
Televised”, about the evolution of TV’s antihero. Incidentally, this is a great
book if I may and I thought a good conversation starter. There I was poised to talk
about THE WIRE to a colleague and friend and they opened with “I Don’t have
cable”. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And the conversation took a turn. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Really?” I said fascinated, “how do you cope?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Seriously, Ali?” was the answer.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There it was…. I was shamed. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Firstly I should say that this individual said “I don’t’
have Cable” like one would say “I don’t have Herpes”… it was an elitist
statement made more to separate herself from “the rest of us” as opposed to a
statement of fact. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have met many “non-Cablers” since and have found similar
attitude among them. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They insist
on inserting some form of “Cable-shaming” into the conversation. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I do believe such a<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>phenomenon is growing as I have been “Cable Shamed” at a number of
social events over the years. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
People without cable insist on setting themselves apart from
the heard as though their brains are too big for the world from reading poetry
and listening to CBC radio 1….</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I felt alienated by this “non-cable” tribe. They were a
clean crisp white blouse, freshly pressed and smelling of lavender. My cable-
watching self was a coffee stained T-shirt with a hole at the hem and through
which you could see my bra. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then one day, last month…. I joined the tribe. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Just like that. No elitist motive. Born out of the fact that
my beloved suggested we try it for a month…. We had been watching less
television anyway over the summer and thought, hey… why not. Save a few bucks
and a few brain cells. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Truth be told, he sold this concept to me by insisting that
I could easily buy two pairs of shoes with all the money we would save on
cable. I love my syndicated television…. But I love my Manolos more. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so it is a month later. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
What differences do I notice? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Observation #1:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I WATCH LESS TV</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I do watch less television but I still have access to it.
Netflix is an option as is i-Tunes but overall I have gone from daily watching
to maybe 3 hours a week. Needless to say, there have been more outdoor bike
rides. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Observation #2:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I AM MORE SELECTIVE </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not only do I watch less TV, but I notice I am much mreo
discerning in my taste. When you have to go hunting for a show- you make sure
it is worth your time. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Observation #3:</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
THERE IS SILENCE</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am not a quiet woman but I can have my moments. These have
come more often. And when I say, quiet I mean that I am quiet inside and out.
The house has less noise. There sued to be the blare of a television for
background at all times and now there is the sound of the street. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My head is quieter too…. For some reason I notice a greater
calm without the blare of a set in the background and with great surprise I
welcome it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A volume of studies has shown that television viewing
negatively impacts kids risk of obesity and diabetes. Most recently a study
published in the archives of Pediatric Medicine in 2008 showed that reducing a
child’s viewing time by 50% reduced their BMI (body mass index). This effect
had more to do with reducing their intake of calories than with increasing
their physical activity. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://archpedi.jamanetwork.com/article.aspx?articleid=379222">http://archpedi.jamanetwork.com/article.aspx?articleid=379222</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
According to this study and others TV not only makes you sit
(in my case not so much) but it also make you eat. It ignites in us a pattern
of behaviour- never mind the food cues that television displays both in shows
and in commercials….. TV primes our brains to be food minded. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Make no mistake, my girlfriends, I did not cancel my cable
to lose weight and be healthier… Although health is always a priority- truth be
told the cable cancelling was my beloved’s idea and I went along. But it is an
added benefit knowing that indeed I’ll likely watch less TV and in the long
run, perhaps gain more healthy living. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If nothing else, the next time I find myself at a party in
the middle of a television conversation, I can join the elite tribe and utter
the words everyone is so fond of hearing….</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m sorry, I don’t have cable”.</div>
</div>
Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-33254947267704099342014-09-02T21:21:00.001-07:002014-09-02T21:21:08.431-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Give me another day my sisters.... I'll get back to you tomorrow. </div>
Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-67552653562378818802014-08-26T07:34:00.001-07:002014-08-26T12:39:51.725-07:00Half Assed Iron Man<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cT2jevdu4Dk/U_ya8ej2eVI/AAAAAAAADIw/exonRq8SPH0/s1600/2014-08-21%2B17.20.56.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cT2jevdu4Dk/U_ya8ej2eVI/AAAAAAAADIw/exonRq8SPH0/s1600/2014-08-21%2B17.20.56.jpg" height="320" width="228" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Promises made and promises lost my sisters. On this day of
all Tuesdays, I’ve been thinking a lot about the paths we take in life and how
one moment indeed can define us as much as a thousand of them. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last week I was scheduled to race the Penticton Challenge.
Physically I was strong and (somewhat) ready. I had trained for months with my
fabulous coach (shout out K.B.) whose arms are indeed as perfect as her soul. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But as the race day drew near, I just “did not have it”.
Something in me could not get into the idea that this triathlon would be mine.
Sure, I could just go and do the race- but really? You can’t “phone in” a Half
Iron man distance triathlon. After swimming for 1.9km, you cycle 90km and then
run 21.1km. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This would be the second time I totally lost my mind in an
endeavour of this nature. Last year I did my first Half Iron Man triathlon and finished
in last place. Make no mistake- it was awesome. If you don’t believe me…. Read
this.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://www.girlfriendguidetohealth.com/2013/07/iron-woman.html">http://www.girlfriendguidetohealth.com/2013/07/iron-woman.html</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But this year something had shifted. I was ready for the
race’s physical challenge but mentally my mind was elsewhere. Perhaps it was
because this year’s race calendar had been full? Perhaps I had been working a
bit too hard?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps I just did
not have “it”…. You know, the Mojo, the charm, the spell that usually takes
over a few weeks before a race and BAM you are hooked and good to go. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am not sure what it was last week that made me change my
triathlon mind, but I did. And so I decided a week before my race to just NOT
do it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I should preface this by saying this behaviour is not in my
character. I am not a person who backs down easily from any challenge. In life
there are those of us who run into the burning building and those of us who run
out. I would count myself the former. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Be it work or play, sport or shoe sale- I am someone who
definitely shows up. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so it was a bit out of character for me to BACK DOWN on
this, the Penticton challenge. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mentally how would I cope with the idea that for the first
time in my relatively young racing life, I had walked away from a challenge? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
On a practical note, what would I do this weekend? Here I
was locked and loaded with endurance to spare and nowhere to put it? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The practical solution came easy. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Vancouver has many a race every weekend. Could I compensate
for my Half assed Iron man with a three-day event that would make up the
distance? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Certainly. Could I “mix and match” a series of races and
come up with the 70.3 miles of swim, bike run without ever leaving the
Vancouver lower mainland? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Done. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This past weekend Vancouver was hosting the Lululemon Sewheeze
half marathon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I bought an entry
bib (or shall I say and entry bracelet?) from some lovely girlfriend on
Facebook and spent 4 hours in line on Friday morning at the Seawheeze pop up
store in search of the perfect racing outfit. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do not judge my sisters… I was grieving the loss of my
triathlon and trying to shop my was through my decision. Retail therapy is
genius. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so on Saturday morning, I suited up with 10,000 other
sisters… believe me there were maybe 100 men in this race- Seawheeze is an
estrogen fest to run for glory. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The race was a glorious one and I must admit- indeed it
erased any doubt in my mind regarding my triathlon misgivings. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had a good run (not a great one) and my medal matches my
outfit. This cannot be wrong in any universe. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
ON Sunday, legs a bit weary, I strapped on my cycling shoes
and Bella (my bike) and I raced the demons away in Coquitlam at the Mountain Equipment
Co-Op Century ride. Nothing chases away the devil like a 100km ride through the
rolling hills of the Lower Mainland. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That is until 4 hours into the ride you find yourself
walking up said hills with your bike because the 20% grade is meant for someone
with greater stuff than I. By greater stuff I mean a motorbike or a drug doping
scandal. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For some reason, the race organizers thought that a few very
steep hills would add to the challenge. Make no mistake- I can bike a hill.
Just last week, I cycled up Cypress Mountain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am not adverse to hills- I don’t; speed up them but I can
do them (with a bit of Bitching and moaning to power me through). But a 17%
grade hill followed by a 20% grade hill in the middle of the race is really the
devils work. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There I was, in the middle of nowhere pushing my bike up a
hill in bike cleats- this was the equivalent of walking in heels… to Whistler. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No fingers pointed- I signed up for this course….</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I should say that as I write this, the memory of pushing my
bike up a hill with bike shoes on is quickly fading. . </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The scenery was epic. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My first half of the ride was glorious. My legs were stiff
but I was ready. But 30km in- I lost touch with a pack and wound up riding the
remaining race alone. “No, matter,” I told myself- “I ride alone all the time”.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The problem with riding alone on the country roads of
Coquitlam was that MEC in their infinite wisdom had failed to mark the course
clearly. Getting lost on a back road in British Columbia indeed tests the soul
as much as it tests the legs.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so I spent 20km wandering through Coquitlam looking for
race markers wondering whether a cab would drive out this far to get me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was indeed somewhere around the 70km mark that I faced my
own HEART OF DARKNESS. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You see, I backed out of the Half Iron Man because I did not
have the mental will for such a race. There I was with a half marathon run on
my legs and 70km of bike riding behind me lost in Coquitlam with no cell phone
coverage and somehow I found my way home. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I called my fabulous coach (who had likely finished the race
an hour or so before) and asked for directions. Graciously- she let me rant and
then talked me home. With new directions in tow- I made it safely across the
finish line 90 minutes later- 120km on my bike’s odometer. This was a century
PLUS ride and I had found my way. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I awoke Monday morning with a plan to swim 1.9km in order to
complete my own personal triathlon. There was no need. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For some reason I had banished the doubt. I had washed away
the urge to perform and had risen to my own occasion. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No evidence this week- but I learned a lot, my sisters about
what it really means to be an athlete. As someone who always is a little slower
than the pack- I often wonder if I am making the same mark as the others in the
race. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But this weekend with a half marathon race and a century
ride- I learned that in life- sometimes we do readjust our expectations and the
world indeed accommodates. Sometimes a moment on a country rode is more
significant than 8 hours of racing for glory. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Because in life as in any sport- it’s not how you start…. It’s
not even how you finish…. It’s WHO YOU ARE along the way that makes the rubber
hit the road. </div>
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Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-52375987868567405872014-08-19T04:21:00.000-07:002014-08-18T19:30:50.887-07:00Show and Tell...<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I have spent the last few months watching more than a few You-Tube videos. No, get your heads out of the gutter- not the dirty kind. Just the generic “stupid human tricks” that seem to be posted quite a bit on the site. <br />
<br />
In fact I would maintain that You Tube is our species version of “Grown-Up SHOW AND TELL”. <br />
<br />
Do you remember the real SHOW AND TELL? We all had one experience or another. Typically it was in kindergarten or Grade 1. We were five or six years old. We stood in front of classrooms all over this great nation with a rock from a camping trip or a caterpillar gripping to life (and leaf) in a jam jar. We proudly announced to the class the origin of the unusual sea pebble or the lifecycle of a butterfly as we knew it. <br />
<br />
But years gone by and we’ve passed the age when you can stand before a group of your peers and “show em what you’ve got”. This is where the internet comes in….<br />
<br />
Yes my dear girlfriends, well over a year of blogging later and I now fully realize that the internet is our species SHOW AND TELL. <br />
<br />
Want to share with friends about your latest meal? Why not Twitter that you “ate duck two ways at a great restaurant just last night”. Want friends and family to know what little Jessica looked like after eating her first bite of peas? Just video tape it and blast her little green face into cyber space for all to see and enjoy. <br />
<br />
Isn’t FACEBOOK, the very defintion of grown up SHOW AND TELL gone wild? I know more about the people I went to highschool with NOW than I did when we were in Highschool!<br />
<br />
Make no mistake, I am a huge fan of the whole SHOW AND TELL thing we’ve got going on as a culture. I think it is a true revelation. Hell this is entertainment at its finest. I loved SHOW AND TELL back as a six year old and I sure as hell love it even more now that we’ve moved beyond the flora and the fauna….<br />
<br />
But I can’t help but notice that the internet has become quite feline these days. What I mean by this is that there are a hell of a lot of cats out in cybersapce lately. Haven’t you noticed my dear girlfriends? We seem to be pushing the whole “CAT AGENDA” quite a bit. Whether it’s the Freaky cat videos on You Tube (where the little kitten is being filmed making a rather human gesture) or the cat versus larger animal videos (cat v. alligator, cat v. polar bear) that have gone viral. <br />
<br />
In fact I would argue that cat video emails have replaced Viagra emails as the new number one topic of cyber spam. <br />
<br />
So what is it with cat owners and their exhibitionist needs?<br />
<br />
According to a study presented this past year at the International Stroke Conference in New Orleans owning a cat could reduce your risk of a heart attack by nearly one third. <br />
<br />
The finding was the main result of a 10 year study of more than 4,000 Americans by researchers at the University of Minnesota's Stroke Institute in Minneapolis. <br />
<br />
The study was based on data extracted from people aged 30 to 75, from the second National Health and Nutrition Examination Study. Participants were recruited from 1976-1980 and followed over a 10 year period. Of the 4,435 Americans in the study, 2,435 of the participants were current or former cat owners, while the remaining 2,000 had never had a cat.<br />
<br />
Using the main outcome as death from all causes, including stroke and heart events, the researchers found that over a 10 year follow up period, cat owners showed a 30 per cent lower risk of death from heart attack compared to non cat owners.<br />
<br />
<br />
I’m not suggesting we all go out and buy a kitten… I am personally allergic and have always been more of a dog person. In fact, I have never been particularly fond of cats. <br />
<br />
Apart from the fact that every cat I meet prompts me to have an Asthma attack, I am not what you would call, a “CAT PERSON”. <br />
<br />
I find them too “stand offish”. After a long day at work, I want a pet that greet me at the door and is so excited to see me that, hell, it could easily pee on the floor given the chance. <br />
<br />
A cat does not do that. A cat is the kind of animal that can be left alone with enough food and water for days on end and still survive. While I admire that kind of independence, it is not something I am looking for in a household pet. <br />
<br />
But we can’t ignore the science once again. Cat people live longer than those who are feline free. The science of why there are so many cats on the internet? Simply put…because their owners have nine lives….</div>
Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com25tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-87289069514612274002014-08-18T20:00:00.000-07:002014-08-18T19:28:33.321-07:00The Naked Truth<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_r_oH2UPodHs/St5YCrg2VbI/AAAAAAAABjM/UumDwnvmyTU/s1600-h/shutterstock_32647852.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_r_oH2UPodHs/St5YCrg2VbI/AAAAAAAABjM/UumDwnvmyTU/s200/shutterstock_32647852.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394846206699918770" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 200px; margin: 0 10px 10px 0; width: 134px;" /></a><br />
Truth be told, I did not grow up in a naked house. Make no mistake there was a healthy regard for one's physical self... the standard self esteem was "dished out" over one's physical form. We walked around in pajamas or underwear just as much as the next family, but there was a standard uniform of undergarments used at any given time. Ever a fan of outfits, you can imagine that this "bare clothing minimum" suited (no pun intended) me fine. In fact I assumed the rest of the world followed similar <span style="font-style: italic;">"Behind Clothes Doors Policy"<span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span> That was until I met the "Naked Girl". <br />
<br />
My latest locker room experience is so common place that it is merely a prototype, if you will. It stands as an example of all previous and future encounters. It is not fiction. It happens to me all the time and I am not alone. <br />
<br />
There I was at the Aquatic Centre in Vancouver. I had just finished a fabulous 1500 metre swim and walked into the women's changing room to shower, change and do what any normal woman does after a swim... You know... lather, rinse, repeat. There are two change rooms for women at the Aquatic Centre. There is the "common" change room which is like any public pool changing room. Then there is the "Adults Only" change room which is for women who do not want to change in front of 4 year old boys staring in fascination at their girlie bits. I, ever a fan of elitism, always chose the latter. The "Adults Only" change room, as it happens was closed for cleaning. The "Adults Only" change room has separate private showers, each with a curtain. Such is not the case in the "common" change rooms. <br />
<br />
In my experience women fall into one of three categories of naked locker room behaviour. You have the "Naked Girl" who really is the subject of this article. On the other end of the spectrum you have the "Under the Towel Girl" who essentially uses her towel as a shield from the outside world unless she is changing in a bathroom stall with the door closed (no judgement here- just an observation). And then you have everything in between. As far as locker room nudity goes, I would classify myself as a <span style="font-style: italic;">middle of the road <span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span> naked person. I shower, change and leave. Should you find yourself in a locker room next to me, you may see parts of me naked, however, you WILL NOT be able to draw me nude from memory. <br />
<br />
I can not say the same for some of my locker room sisters. For there in the "common" shower room was what I could only describe as a cross between a shampoo advertisement and a burlesque show. I recently read that a women's fitness establishment in the US banned nudity in its locker rooms in order to provide women with body image issues with a nonthreatening atmosphere. I must admit, I thought (and still do think) this was ridiculous. I'm all for women having nonthreatening atmospheres but to ask our fellow sisters to change with the <span style="font-style: italic;">"over the bra, under the towel"</span> trick from the safety of a locker room is yet another example of how <span style="font-style: italic;">common sense</span> is the greatest example of literary irony in existence today. <br />
<br />
As for the scene in the public shower of the "common" locker room, there she was in all of her splendor, lathering up like a peep show professional, the latest and greatest "Naked Girl". I will spare you the details, but it is safe to say that I am not being a prude when I say that a woman does not need to scrub herself that thoroughly unless she has just been to a nuclear reactor spill. This was a chlorinated pool, not Chernobyl. Having spent a full five minutes in a perverted after school special in the showers, I ventured into the changing rooms only to discover three women standing (I kid you not) full frontal on the benches and putting on lotion. These were three separate women, not three friends. The weather called for naked and I was in the middle of a vagina hailstorm. <br />
<br />
I will end it there. As it stands, I blame the the "common" change rooms but in retrospect this was not my first encounter with the inevitable "Naked Girl" who parades around the locker room either chatting on her cell phone or doing her taxes in all her natural glory. We have all seen her. She comes in various shapes and sizes and inevitably her locker is always the one next to ours. "Naked Girl" always engages in conversation, always posing the challenge of where to look when you talk to her and <span style="font-style: italic;">ONLY<span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span> uses her towel to dry her feet. She makes the even most self assured woman feel a little shy.<br />
<br />
I have searched the medical literature to secure some scientific basis for my claim that this woman really should put some clothes on, but I have come up empty. There is little data on the lack of sanitation of the situation. <br />
<br />
I did come upon some interesting articles about STD transmission in male locker rooms but this was as a result of sexual activities in said locker rooms. Incidentally, gyms in New York are required by law to enforce the state sanitary code against sex on their premises, often post signs notifying exercisers that "inappropriate behavior" is not permitted. <br />
<br />
As for the <span style="font-style: italic;">Girls Gone Wild- locker room edition<span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></span> which we have all encountered, there is little to find, scientifically. However, I believe it was Charles Darwin who said "<span style="font-style: italic;">where science ends, faith begins</span>".<br />
<br />
And so, my cyber sisters, let us evolve as Darwin intended us to- save the sexy scrub show for the privacy of your own bathroom or the Red Light District in Amsterdam. Ever a fan of self expression- it really is something that one should do in the comfort of one's own home or peep show window. In the spirit of sisterhood and in the name of all locker rooms everywhere, ladies, I pray that we may strive to find a tiled public changing room where naked women everywhere can co-exist. Where we shall be judged not by the size of our waist to hip ratio but by the name on our gym bag; not by the quality of our breast augmentation, but by the quality of our $75 Bumble and Bumble conditioner. And let us say, Amen.</div>
Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-58010518467002652482014-08-12T20:02:00.001-07:002014-08-12T20:02:29.590-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 20px;">So sorry sweet sisters for the day of silence. Am on holidays this week and well, I just can't get my shit together. Promise to post later in the week.... stay tuned. </span></div>
Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-10709629414831896612014-08-05T21:31:00.002-07:002014-08-05T21:31:26.121-07:00<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
So sorry sweet sisters for the day of silence. Am on holidays this week and well, I just can't get my shit together. Promise to post later in the week.... stay tuned. </div>
Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com383tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-69410888161968311912014-07-29T07:40:00.001-07:002014-07-29T07:40:43.589-07:00Heaven on Wheels<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uGbF6OwuIUk/U9eyXzvVZqI/AAAAAAAADIE/vqeJPtizOxc/s1600/2013-03-27+08.49.24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-uGbF6OwuIUk/U9eyXzvVZqI/AAAAAAAADIE/vqeJPtizOxc/s1600/2013-03-27+08.49.24.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Heads up sweet sisters- I will state the obvious. I am
indeed in love with my bike. This has been a great love for some time but I
feel it needs to be restated here and now. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The burst of emotion comes from the fact that last week I
had a bike fit that changed my life (god bless you dear Matt) and now, riding
my bike feels like sitting on a couch. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I should say that for the previous month or so I was not so
happy with my dear Bella. Yes, every bike should have a name- and mine is
Bella…. If you fell this is nutty- please hold your tongue. Silence is golden
and shine on immediately. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But Bella and I worked out our issues as I spent almost 3
hours at a physiotherapist/bike fitter 10 days ago. Now Bella is perfection. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My love for Bella also stems from the fact that as I write
this- I am watching the final stages of the ultimate bike race…. The Tour de
France. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, my girlfriends, I have spent the last 21 days watching
men with 1% body fat ride through France and England for glory and greatness
and the pursuit of a yellow jersey. The Tour de France ended on Sunday and
there I was in my living room watching the “boys on the bikes” ride around
Paris on the last leg of the race. Sweat streamed down their faces as tears
flowed across mine. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, I was crying. I should say that watching certain
sporting events of an International scale makes me get a little “wellie”. I am
dry eyed during any commercial football, hockey or baseball match. Put me in
front of any Olympic event and I lose my emotional shit, so to speak. Yes, I am
fine at the world series but I am reduced to sobs at Olympic curling. It makes
no sense. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So there I was sobbing with joy as the boys from Astana
Cycling drank champagne on their bikes going 45km/h riding into Paris on the
last leg of the 3000 km stage race. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And it dawned on me that in those moments I identified with
these men on wheels. You see I too am a cyclist. No, I can not hit speeds of
50km/h while riding up the side of a mountain and yes I would pass any drug
test you gave me- but somehow- these boys on the bikes and I were one in those
moments as my television tuned to the Australian broadcast of the Tour and my
heart tuned to the spinning of the wheels. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I should say that I’ve been watching the Tour for about the
last 4 years now. At first I was in it for “The Bike Porn”. I saw the Tour de
France as a giant high speed shopping experience where I could check out the
latest bikes, outfits and accessories and see how everything looked. I really
did not know any of the key players, nor did I understand the rules of the
game, so to speak. I was a “commercial observer”; looking at bikes, their paint
jobs and seeing which cycling kit was indeed the most stylish. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But about 3 years ago, I learned about the history of this
grand bike race. I learned that there is a point system within the race and
that there are indeed “mini races” within the race itself. There are prizes for
best young rider, best climber and most aggressive rider. I learned that the
Tour has a rich history that goes beyond a set of fabulous gears and a good
paint job. I learned about the role of each member of a cycling team- the
sprinters, the climbers and the “work horses”.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then, I fell in love with the Tour. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so for the last 3 weeks I’ve spent most evenings watching
the previous day’s race (thank you PVR). I would come home from my own day on
my bicycle and turn on the Tour, make dinner, do paperwork, laundry, dishes….
All with the whir of the wheels and the Australian commentator’s voice in the
background.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It was quit meditative, relaxing if you will. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here I was a girl in Canada cheering for a bunch of
International men in Europe </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then it hit me- cycling really is a sport that ignites a
primordial connection in us all. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As anyone knows- cycling has seen its fair share of
controversy. The sport has been tainted with doping scandals that have
questioned the legitimacy of the riders’ abilities. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have mixed feelings about all of it. Yes, doping IS
cheating. But as a scientist- I know full well that even with the best drugs on
board riding through the French Alps at 50 km/h is no small feat. Make no
mistake- I’m not a fan of doping but I don’t think it cancels out all of the
hard work and training that goes in to making a world class rider. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I do believe despite the controversy in cycling that there
is a purity of the sport. A bike brings out the best in all of us. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The health benefits of cycling are pretty impressive. As
someone who commutes to work every day- the ride indeed takes less time than
the drive. A recent study out of Stanford University took almost 100 sedentary
insomniacs and asked them to ride a bicycle for 20-30 minutes every other day.
The result was that their time to fall asleep was reduced by half and their
time asleep increased by an hour. This could be because riding outside exposes
you to sunlight- which may prime your circadian rhythms further. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let’s not ignore the fact that exercise of any kind improves
memory, cardiovascular fitness and reduces the risk of heart disease, diabetes
and cancer. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
King’s College London compared over 2,400 identical twins
and found those who did the equivalent of just three 45-minute rides a week
were nine years ‘biologically younger’ even after discounting other influences,
such as body mass index (BMI) and smoking.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then there is that primordial connection that riding a
bike brings. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
A bike was our first real gift. As a kid all you wanted for
your birthday or for Christmas was a bike. The person who bought you your first
bike was one of the most important people in your lives. And once you had your
bike- it was your first real sense of freedom. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
You pain stakingly learned to ride a bike under the
watchful guidance of someone who loved you. Learning to ride a bike takes
patience an perseverance; two skills that would serve you well for the rest
of your life. </div>
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Your bike was your ticket to the world beyond your
neighbourhood. Your bike was your first real item that you owned. You locked
your bike up at night to protect YOUR property. Your bike belonged to you. My
sweaters were once my sisters- my baseball glove was once hers as well. </div>
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But my perfect pink Schwinn with the banana seat and handle
bar streamers was MINE. ALL MINE. Every bike I have owned since must measure up
to that frame of reference. </div>
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And when I learned to ride her without the training wheels
and without my father’s supervising eye- I knew I had arrived. </div>
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And so here I sit many years later with 3 (yes, I have a
cycling abuse problem) bicycles parked safely downstairs in our bike room. Back
from a ride and a visit to my youth, to my sense of freedom- to my happy place.
</div>
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I am watching the boys on the bikes make their last laps
through the cobblestone streets of Paris and a part of me knows that they too
feel the connection to the little boy with training wheels and that first sense
of freedom. </div>
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And as the tears stream down my face I am reminded that some
of the best things in the life- health and otherwise can happen on the seat of
a bike. </div>
</div>
Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-51101459197995064772014-07-22T10:50:00.002-07:002014-07-22T10:50:19.121-07:00Good Clothes Open All Doors<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Happy Tuesday dear sisters. As I write this blog I am sitting in my latest new outfit. Yes, my sisters- may I say that I have made a rather fabulous fashion purchase. <br />
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No this was not a perfect pair of strappy sandals and no I did not invest in a new summer fabulous of any kind. Instead I<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>found my self in my ultimate new power suit….. my new wetsuit. <br />
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Oh sweet sisters- have you been in a wetsuit? If not… allow me to talk you through this fashion experience. <br />
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A wetsuit is basically a suit made of neoprene coated in rubber. It’s basically a body condom lined in scuba material. On the good side? It is the ultimate set of spanx. A wetsuit sucks “everything in” in all the right places. My wetsuit makes me feel like a superhero. In my wetsuit- I AM Wonderwoman. In my wetsuit I am a size 6 supermodel and I piss awesome. <br />
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This is of coarse all possible ONCE I am IN my wetsuit. Getting into my wetsuit is indeed the down side of it all. <br />
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Have you ever tried on a wetsuit? In short… it’s a bitch to get on. You know that scene where you are putting on a pair of control top pantyhose that are easily a size too small? You struggle and you suck it in and you bounce around on one leg and before you know it- you manage to put all of your wiggly bits into the right place. <br />
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Let me paint the scene. There I am in my fabulous new bathing suit that I will wear to my triathlon as I hold my wetsuit in front of me. It is a black rubber full length suit with just the right amount<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>of blue accents on the arms and legs. My wetsuit is beautiful black and laying there it looks like it might be the promise of perfection for my race this weekend. <br />
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And then I try and put this rubber suit on. And that is where the beauty ends. <br />
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Putting on my wetsuit is indeed a work out in itself. I stick my feet intro the rubber holes that are the legs of this suit. I then spend the next 5 minutes wrestling with this rubber suit as it fight its way onto my thighs. I feel as though I am wrestling a very large animal wrapped in rubber bungee cords. And the large rubber animal is my lower torso. I am sweating now. I muster a grunt- more for effect than anything. After much effort I have managed to put this rubber suit over my hips and thighs. And now I pull the suit up over my chest and torso and slide my arms into it. <br />
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By this time my body temperature is easily three degrees higher. I am now sweating but I am zipped in. I turn to look at my reflection in the mirror and yes…. Despite the sweat over my face and the fact that I look like I’ve just ran a few kilometers- I am in this suit and I am ready for my magical moment. <br />
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This morning I engaged in this very ritual at the beach at Kitsilano. My goal was to swim 2km in Kits pool in my wetsuit and then to take a turn in the ocean. <br />
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My plan was to get my “ocean legs” wet- to play in the ocean until I was really and truly comfortable there. You see my girlfriends- I have a 2km ocean swim ahead of me on Sunday and I am…well… a bit unsettled by the idea of an ocean swim. <br />
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s the whole idea of putting your face in the water and seeing nothing but green. IN a pool you can see the bottom. In the ocean the view looks like pea soup. It can be a bit unsettling. If I am truly being honest- the first time I did it.... it scared the shit out of me.<br />
<br /><br />
<br />
It's like staring into space and having an existential crisis all at the same time. I think it's about feeling alone in the world.... that primordial sense of isolation that human beings find so alienating. Yes, I am being philosophical. To bring it down a notch? It feels like you are 6 years old and afraid of the dark. Instead "the dark" is the ocean and you are by yourself in it. You put your face in and can't see a thing. If you do see something it might be a shark..... okay, I'm being dramatic and a chicken shit. But hey, go with it.<br />
<br /><br />
<br />
And so I needed to rid myself of this irrational fear. My plan was to put a song in my head and may face in the water and not come up until the fear had washed away.<br />
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<br />
There I was on a beautiful day off frolicking in the Pacific in my new wetsuit. I put my underwater MP3 on and listened to Vampire Weekend as I pretended I was one part Wonderwoman- one part mermaid. Thirty minutes later- it worked. There I was jumping and swimming and diving up and under to some fabulous tunes on a fabulous day in a fabulous new wetsuit. And I was anything but afraid.<br />
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Swimming in a wetsuit is indeed an interesting experience. There you are encased in rubber and I must say that breathing is a bit more laboured than in a regular bathing suit. It feels a bit “compressed” if you will.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This, however, gets better with experience. Ten minutes into my wetsuit swim and I was much better at the breathing/rubber combination. <br />
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With all of these adjustments, one must ask a sister- why even put on the wetsuit? <br />
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Turns out- there is an advantage to swimming in a rubber suit when swimming in the ocean. <br />
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Firstly there is the warmth factor. </div>
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When a swimmer is submerged in water- the water flows into the suit settling between the rubber and the body. The swimmers own body temperature will warm the water and therefore warm the swimmer. As you swim- the body warms up and warms the water further. Again this warms the body further. And so a wetsuit is the perfect way to keep you warm when you are in the Pacific Ocean in the pursuit of a dream. <br />
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Then there is the concept that a wetsuit improves your buoyancy and therefore improves you speed. Think of it like a boat driving on the water. The more you are able to stay on the surface- the faster it will be. <br />
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According to a study published in the British Journal of Sports Medicine in 1991, wetsuits indeed improve performance in both short and long distance swims. The study looked at 16 elite athletes swimming both in and out of wetsuits at 400m and 1500m distances. </div>
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While wearing a wetsuits the swimmers were able to reduce their speeds by 14 seconds on average for the 400metres and 35 seconds for the 1500 metres. <br />
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The interesting thing was that the effect was most pronounced for the thinner swimmers. The theory was that heavier swimmers were already more buoyant and had an added advantage. </div>
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And so this Sunday, my girlfriends I will frolic in the Pacific and swim for glory in my fabulous rubber suit. I will be warm thanks to the mechanic of it all and I may even pee shamelessly in the suit if I want to. Who knows if my time will be better with the suit than without…. As with most things, my girlfriends- I’m in it for the fashion statement more than anything else. </div>
</div>
Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-89475417092014153062014-07-08T03:00:00.000-07:002014-07-08T03:00:04.577-07:00In Case of Emergency<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yrE_Sw1V9B8/U7toGo1HuXI/AAAAAAAADHM/_bzRpK3AMfw/s1600/2010-01-12+15.28.56.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yrE_Sw1V9B8/U7toGo1HuXI/AAAAAAAADHM/_bzRpK3AMfw/s1600/2010-01-12+15.28.56.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last week I took my dogs to the vet. Yes, I am ONE OF THOSE
people. I will not defend my love for my furry monsters; only to say that yes,
I know they are dogs and no I would not give them chemo if they were diagnosed
with cancer. I love my puppies. They are fuzzy and cute but I am well aware
that they are DOGS. </div>
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That being said, I somehow find it completely acceptable to
spend 45 dollars to have their nails clipped. In my defense, sweet sisters… my
older dog Lola has black nails. Have you ever cut a dog’s nails that are black?
This poses a problem because the anatomy of a dog’s nail is such that there is
what is called a “quick” that is essentially a tube of flesh that run inside
the nail that houses the blood vessels and nerves. If you cut the nail too short
you will cut the quick. </div>
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If your dog has white nails- the quick is easy to see. Black
nails? It’s totally a guessing game. In fact I would argue that of all the
advancements we’ve made in science and technology today- you’d think there
would be some way to cut a black dog’s nails without fear and the threat of a
massacre. Cutting a black dog’s nails is still pretty much a crapshoot. If
indeed you cut the quick of an adorable black long hair Chihuahua who only
wants to lick your face and you are indeed a monster. </div>
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And so, I leave this to my vet’s technician. I pay 45
dollars for a professional to take one for the team and my dog Lola, still
loves me shamelessly. As for the technician? Lola fucking hates her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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But I digress. There I was in the vet’s office when I saw
the most unusual advertisement. There are THUNDER JACKETS for dogs. In general
many animals are petrified of thunder. We’ve all heard the stories of dogs
hiding under meds and owners during thunderstorms. My dogs are completely
oblivious. I don’t know why but I do know that most dogs are petrified of
thunder. </div>
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According to a study published in the Journal of the
American Animal Hospital Association in 2001 a survey of 69 cases of
“Thunderstorm Phobia” shows that it is indeed most prevalent in herding dogs
(41 of the 69 cases). More than 25% exhibited features before one year of age.
Methods to control such phobia include giving the dogs a mild sedative or
wrapping them in a tight fitting jacket, blanket or shirt. </div>
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And thus the THUNDERJACKET was born. Apparently this jacket
makes the dog feel safe. And don’t we all just want to feel safe? </div>
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It turns out you can buy said jacket online (or at my vet’s
office) and sure enough the dog gets the fashion equivalent of an Ativan. </div>
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I left the office thinking about this concept as I made my
way home with freshly manicured pups in tow. </div>
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A piece of clothing that you put on and sure enough…. It
provides you with a sense of safety. </div>
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We all have said fashion items in some for or another, don’t
we? Sure there is the obvious:</div>
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Safety goggles</div>
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Sun Glasses</div>
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Bike Helmets</div>
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Rain boots</div>
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Winter Boots</div>
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Gloves</div>
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Hats</div>
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Mittens</div>
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There’s the obvious protective gear out here for any
occasion. </div>
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But what about the items we wear to protect the most
important parts of our beings? </div>
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Bill Cunningham the famous fashion photographer once said,</div>
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“FASHION IS THE ARMOUR YOU WEAR AGAINST THE WORLD”</div>
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Too true MR. Cunningham, too true. </div>
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I got home from my vets office and gave Lola and Ruby a
treat for their effort. (Yes, I reward my dogs with food- I am a terrible
parent. But rest assured I reward myself with shoes)</div>
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I went upstairs to my closet and looked around. There
hanging were numerous “Thunder jackets” of my own; pieces of clothing, outfits
I had bought over the years with no real occasion to wear them other than that
in a pinch- they made me feel safe. </div>
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Just last week I bought a ball gown on sale (80% off sweet
sisters- it practically bought me) that is perfection. It is a serious ball
gown- silk taffeta with muticoloured bats on it. I have absolutely nowhere to
wear this thing. But I brought it home, put it on and immediately started doing
my paperwork in it. </div>
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Three weeks ago after a grueling workday, I cycled home,
changed out of my bike gear and put on a cocktail dress to do laundry. </div>
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I watch the Oscars every year in full evening attire. I wash
a bad day away not with a glass of wine but by putting on a perfect pair of
strappy sandals. Right now I am wearing Charlotte Olympia’s Lobster shoes and
my pajamas. </div>
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These are my metaphorical THUNDER JACKETS…. My armour
against the world, my fashionable port in a world full of storms. </div>
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Isn’t that what a girl needs sometimes? Some sort of place
in her every day life where she feels safe? When we were kids it was a safety
blanket…. Now it’s Manolo Blahnik?</div>
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I suspect this sounds ridiculous to some but indeed these iconic
pieces in my closet soothe the soul. Each has a story and a purpose. Some are
art and just pretty to look at- others remind of the place and the time and the
feeling that I had when I wore them. </div>
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Perhaps I’m shallow, perhaps I’m superficial or maybe I’m a
fashion prophet. Maybe I am on to something? Maybe like those herding dogs a
percentage of us need a “Thunder jacket” of some kind to get us through the
day. </div>
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Judge as you will my sisters…. But before you do, might I
suggest you get yourself just one perfect ball gown- one perfect piece of
clothing with no rhyme or reason. Something pretty and impractical- frivolous
but fabulous. Maybe you already have? Buy it or get it out of storage and put
it on after a perfectly shitty day…. </div>
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And go do the laundry. </div>
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Fashion is indeed the armour we wear against the world my sisters….
And it’s often a war out there. So thunder jacket or not, you had best, dress
accordingly. </div>
</div>
Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-12905441076630655582014-07-02T07:23:00.001-07:002014-07-02T07:23:12.800-07:00A Canadian Virtue?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CKXqEOnWPH8/U7QVwo4_IhI/AAAAAAAADG4/AXw4UlD4Bww/s1600/2013-09-10+07.28.42.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CKXqEOnWPH8/U7QVwo4_IhI/AAAAAAAADG4/AXw4UlD4Bww/s1600/2013-09-10+07.28.42.jpg" height="240" width="320" /></a></div>
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As I write this- Today is Canada day. As your read this it
will not be Canada day. No sweet sisters- I could not get my shit together in
time to post on a Tuesday, despite the fact that it was a 4-day weekend. Yes, I
am training for a dreaded Half Iron Man and yes I am using this as an excuse to
shirk certain responsibilities. </div>
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The importance of a CANADA DAY post rests in the point that
Canadians indeed posses certain iconic traits that I must discuss here. </div>
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Patience. </div>
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Canadians are a patient people. We are a country that waits
our turn. Walk down a street in any major city in Canada during rush hour and
you will see people lining up at bus stops. There they are- a row of orderly
Canadians waiting their turn to board the bus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
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I am a very proud Canuck. I love my country fiercely. Like
any great relationship I am easy to point out its flaws as a nation and easy to
forgive some of them. As someone who loves here country I relish in the fact
that I bear a good deal of Canadian traits. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I apologize profusely. I am sorry for most of my existence.
I voice my apologies easily and often. Last week I bumped into our living room
furniture and found myself asking for forgiveness from an ottoman. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I am polite. Please and Thank you are a part of my everyday
vernacular. Canadians are known for their polite way of going about their day.
We are especially polite in a foreign country…. Our mothers would be furious
with any other behaviour. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Not only do I pride myself on spelling COLOUR,<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>BEHAVIOUR and HONOUR, I love the metric
system and easily can convert celicius to Fahrenheit without a calculator. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And although my religion is not Hockey, I am a fan of
socialized medicine. When the maple leaf hits the flag, this is my country
though and through. Saints or sinners, Good or bad, I’ll stand on guard – not
blindly but with an ever cautious questioning eye in the true spirit of a
country born of polite conflict. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, I am Canadian though and through. Born on the prairies,
I’ve lived east (if you consider Ontario really east) and west. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But, I am not a patient woman. This is not a new revelation
but I have noticed lately with 40 long passed that I’m willing to admit certain
things about myself with more pride than shame. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This dawns on me as I write this- the day after Canada day.
Just this morning I stood in line behind a woman who took 4 minutes to order
her coffee. Yes she was a tourist fresh off a cruise ship but who has the time
to wait 240 seconds for someone to decide between a “grande latte” and a
“regular cappuccino”. Isn’t the difference just FOAM? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I shared this helpful information with her only to realize
that my input was not speeding the process along but indeed impairing her
ability to make a decision. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Is the coffee good here?” she asked. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ever the Canadian my polite side kicked in. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“My favourite”, (notice the spelling?) I said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What should I get?” she asked eyes, like a baby deer,
pleading with me for some certainty? Her accent was British of some sort- and I
felt compelled given our Commonwealth and all to help her out…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Get a grande latte and be done with it. Tomorrow you can
try the cappuccino.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And there you have it. She ordered the latte and the day
moved on. I should tell you that I was pleased with my act of coffee
compassion. But I was not. When it comes to Java, I lack patience. I believe
that my coffee place should have one line up reserved especially for me. I am
this way with driving a car as well. This is perhaps why I do not own a car. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Until the city installs a new road just for me to drive on…
I’m holding out on the whole automobile purchase. Perhaps this is why I ride my
bike? Indeed I see the bike lane as my OWN? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Patience has never been my virtue. As a child I ate dessert
first, as an adult I open birthday gifts in July and I was born in February. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ironically in my work I am a very patient woman. But at
home…. There is no delaying the 8 year old in my brain who wants it all right
now. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
According to Susan Cain, author of QUIET, I am less patient
because I am an extrovert (shocker). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Patience can be taught. The art of slow contemplation of
tasks and ideas can be innate or a learned skill. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is a class at Harvard University, which teaches this
very principle. <span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">The answer lies in teaching methods that stress patience, critical
thinking, and a delayed response based on deep and meaningful
contemplation.</span><span style="font-family: Georgia; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">Jennifer Roberts a humanities professor at Harvard teaches her
students to contemplate and shift the pace and tempo of learning to wards work
that requires you to slow down in order to pick up the knowledge. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">In medicine and study I am patient. In life I am not. Could it be that
there is a concept called <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">situational
patience</i>? Could it be that in matters of the head I am slow and
contemplative but when it comes to daily tasks, the world best move the hell
out of the way so as to allow me to GET ‘ER DONE? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">Who knows? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">I am happy to resolve the issue by saying I have situational patience.
This does not make me less of a patriot. I still apologize the furniture and am
polite to a fault even when it means my coffee must wait. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Georgia; mso-bidi-font-size: 16.0pt;">But as for waiting in line at a bus stop? Screw it… I’d rather take my
bike. </span></div>
</div>
Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-15079280652804638242014-06-24T07:52:00.001-07:002014-06-24T07:52:41.262-07:00To the Class of 2014<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zFxjdYrHpmw/U6mQraDx2JI/AAAAAAAADGk/S1KxNyDBg50/s1600/2014-05-30+21.53.32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-zFxjdYrHpmw/U6mQraDx2JI/AAAAAAAADGk/S1KxNyDBg50/s1600/2014-05-30+21.53.32.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This year would have been my 25<sup>th</sup> high school
reunion. No sweet sisters- there was no repeat of a prom or a party in honour
of the two and half decades sine my spiral perm days. Instead I passed the time
and it simply passed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’ve thought a lot about what has happened since my own
graduation. This is in part spurred on by my nephew’s recent graduation from high
school. I’ve thought about what I have learned since those days of youth and
what I have become. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last week I walked by a group of graduates dressed to the
nines in front of the Vancouver Art gallery. There they were full of youth and
promise in prom dresses that spoke more of a Miss Universe era than a high
school grad. But no matter, for I have learned that when an 18-year-old girl
has a fashion vision for her you just smile and get out of the way. Nothing
will stop her from making her style dreams a reality. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so as I walked passed them I could not help but comment,
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Ladies, You look beautiful”. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They looked up from their smart phones and smiled. “Thanks”,
said a brunette in orange chiffon with a bodice made entirely of rhinestones.
Sister had it going on and she needed someone to let her know that although
orange chiffon and rhinestones might have been a bit too mature for an 18 year
old, she was still getting an “A” from me for effort. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My high school grad dress was indeed a recycled garment. I
had worn it the previous August for my sisters wedding. It was royal blue
taffeta with rouching for days. It had a puffy skirt and puffy sleeves with
rhinestones. It was a seamstress’s tribute to the 1980’s if ever there was. I
was madly in love with that dress as I was with the 3 pounds of rhinestones I
wore dangling from my ears. My hair, of course was a spiral perm. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I took my friends Ian to my prom. My boyfriend at the time
was living in Montreal and could not come in for the event. Ian was a lovely
substitute, save for the fact that he got bored half way through the dinner and
went to the hotel bar to drink. I did not care. I was with my girlfriends and
when you are 18 in 1989 in Winnipeg and in love with a boy in Montreal,
rhinestones are indeed a girl’s best friend. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I smile when I look back at my 18-year-old self. What would
I say to her if we met in some weird parallel universe of today? Do any of us
know what lessons we’d impart on the younger versions of ourselves? Please.
Here I go my sisters….. Waxing philosophical. This is what happens when perimenopause
hits…. You reminisce a dream sequence and get lost in the theoretical. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Well… if I must…..</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I blame it on the girls in the orange chiffon and the fact
that every time I open a paper or the interweb, I am faced with another
commencement address from everyone from Condelesa Rice to Louis CK letting the
future generation know who to be and how. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If I’m honest? I’m kinda worried for this next generation.
They are indeed raised by a generation pretty close to my own and hell… we were
pretty fucked up. So to fully face my fears and for the sake of some random
teenager on the street in Vancouver bold enough to mix orange chiffon with
crystals and bling, I thought I take a moment to write my own commencement
address to the class of 2014.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dear Class of 2014, do I say Yo? What is the greeting these
days? You see apparently I am old but when you don’t have children around you-
you tend to lose your sense of relative age and somehow you think you are
indeed still 22. That is until you find yourself looking in a People magazine
and you don’t recognize half the celebrities any longer…. But I digress… Ahem</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My dear class of 2014. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I know I should give you some serious life lessons…. The
kind I would have liked to have been given when I was your age… but here’s the
thing- When I was 18 I really did not want too much advice from someone older
than me. It was not until I hit 30 that I realized I could have benefitted from
some serious advanced warnings. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So my first piece of advice for you oh generation to come is
to listen up. It’s not that you don’t know everything and its not that you are
less intelligent than a generation before you it’s just that most of you have
not screwed up enough to learn anything of meaning. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And let’s be clear- it’s our mistakes that teach us
everything. So here’ my next piece of advice to you oh class of 2014- fell free
to screw up…. Just don’t do it to badly and never more than once at the same
thing. What I mean by this is that success tends to blind us. We pat ourselves
on the back- post our pleasures on Facebook and move on. We relish in our
victories so much so that we forget to have a lesson- we forget to debrief. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Make no mistake- failure is a bitch. Believe me- I’ve done
it a few times…. This week, let alone this lifetime- and it stings like a blister
in a new pair of sandals on a hot summer day. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But failure is where you find out who you really are. When
you have fallen down with the world above and the only decision that remains is
to get up and go home or to just get up…. You find out what you are made of-
you see the potential in your own self. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh Class of 2014- makes some mistakes. You likely are doing
this very thing right now- but instead of just making a mistake- forgive
yourself for the mistake, learn from it and move on. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Remember when “being wrong” threw into a tantrum of sorts?
Maybe you were eight years old or maybe it was last week- but remember how a
mistake would drop you into a shame spiral and self loathing? You’d call
yourself names or emotionally beat yourself up just because of the error at
hand? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No? Well, aren’t you special. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Most of us make mistakes and it takes us on an emotional down
spiral. We chastise ourselves, we bate, and we go over the mistake in our head
and let it weaken our sense of self. But what if we took the mistake as a
valuable lesson and mentally “debriefed”- wouldn’t we learn more? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
According to my medical hero, Dr. Atul Gawande, there are
indeed two kinds of mistakes.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mistakes of ignorance are where we lack the knowledge to
make the right decision and to do the right thing. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mistakes of ineptitude are where we indeed have the
knowledge but fail to apply it properly. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Indeed both kinds of mistakes have much to teach us. One
teaches us the information itself, the other a lesson in application. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do we curse the heavens each time we fail? No. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Make a mistake. Don’t do it often and don’t be careless, but
ask yourself was it because I did not know or was it because I failed to apply
what I know to a situation. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In my mind- that’s how you grow as a person.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There you have it my class of 2014. Go forth into the world
and make it a better place. But don’t be afraid to screw things up on your road
to redemption- you might wind up smarter than the sweet sisters before you. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-85909496789582856002014-06-17T07:27:00.001-07:002014-06-17T07:27:02.147-07:00When The Rubber Hits the Road<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U_oewwTS8AY/U6BQJHjDU2I/AAAAAAAADGM/7khHlG6p6b8/s1600/2014-05-23+16.07.46-2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-U_oewwTS8AY/U6BQJHjDU2I/AAAAAAAADGM/7khHlG6p6b8/s1600/2014-05-23+16.07.46-2.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, I am a runner. Fast or slow, long and steady…. I am a
runner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>May be I’m in it for the
shoes, maybe I’m in it for the health benefits… hell maybe I just run from
brunch. But indeed, I am a runner. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It has dawned on me in this year of running that indeed
there is a rhythm to the sport of lacing up ones shoes and pounding pavement or
trails or treadmill or a flat surface of any kind in the pursuit of…. The
pursuit. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So this past Saturday there I was with my last long run
before my taper in preparation for my next race. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, my sisters- in just 5 short days, I will run the
Scotiabank Half Marathon. This is not my first 21.1 km race. I’ve been running
for about 7 years now. My first half marathon was in 2007 and I’ve been running
them ever since. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I do love a good half. It’s just the right distance to allow
me to eat brunch without guilt while still allowing me to walk upright the
following morning. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so it dawned on me somewhere along my recent 20 or so km
run that indeed there are stages to a run. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Humans love to keep track don’t we? We love to record the
passage of time and the stages of life. We have stages of <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>growth, we have stages of life and yes,
even in death we have stages of grief. Indeed, one such girlfriend, Elizabeth
Kubler Ross even documented such stages of grief in her world renowned work ON
DEATH AND DYING. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As an aside- the book is a fabulous piece of work. I would
argue it has become an iconic reference in our grief nomenclature. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So I could not help but wonder if the lessons from Kubler
Ross could be applied to<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>other
stages in life…. Perhaps the stages of running? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let’s be clear my sisters- I am in no way poking fun at
grief in general or a personal grief in particular. I myself have had my fair
share enough to know that once in a<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>while a good laugh is mandatory. If you find the comparison between
stages of grief and the following offensive, please accept my heart felt
apologies in advance and feel free to boycott my blog for at least, shall we
say, the next calendar year?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But if you are a runner or indeed you dare to try it, might
I say in advance (and I’m not over-reaching) that I think you may identify with
my following little rant. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
THE FIVE STAGES OF RUN</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst">
STAGE 1: DENIAL</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Denial usually begins the night before the
run. Maybe you are eating a little too many carbohydrates, maybe not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But somewhere along the way you think
to yourself…. 20km? No big deal. If you are training for an even longer
distance you lull yourself into a false sense of security of some kind. There’s
no way running 38km is a bad idea? I’ll be able to handle it. This kind of
blind disconnect continues into the next morning and perhaps even well into the
first five or six kilometers of your run. I suspect its how a mother feels when
giving birth to her fourth child. As the kid is ripping through her body with
no apologies and no morphine she thinks…. There is no freakin way this is going
to hurt that much. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
STAGE 2: ANGER</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Anger in running typically manifests itself
in what I like to call ATHLETIC TOURETTE’S SYNDROME. This is where I swear
profusely somewhere around 12 kilometres into the run and usually while on an
incline. Anger is your brain’s way of bitch slapping your body for even
thinking that 3 hours or more of exercise was anything but a shitty idea. Anger
can also be directed at the skinny sister in front of you who is indeed the
size of your left thigh and is running (and chatting) without a care in the
world. She typically has a perfect ponytail that sways back and forth,
rhythmically mocking you while your hip begins to throb. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Rest assured anger can indeed be a useful
stage in running. It often propels you faster on your run and is a creative
outlet for all those explatives you wanted to say in your everyday life but
could not. When else in your life can the rubber meet the road while you scream
MOTHERFUNSHOUSE for all to hear? </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Fortunately, anger tends to pass as the run
progresses. It must. Runners are a pretty happy group. If anger does not pass
you will likely give up running all together and take up golf. Why golf you
ask? Golfing by its nature is a very angry sport. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
STAGE 3: BARGAINING:</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Ah, the runner loves to bargain. Half way
throught he run you make deals with the road and with yourself.</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
“I’ll run to the next bridge and then I’m
done”</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
“I’ll eat another energy gel and then I’ll
run for another 45 minutes”</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
“I’ll walk for 60 seconds until I can feel
my left foot and then I’ll start to run again”</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
As for me? I bargain with retail rewards.
If I finish this marathon I will buy myself a new pair of shoes. How
extravagant these shoes are directly correlates to the amount of suffering I am
currently feeling in this race or training run.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In short? I trade my pain for something pretty. I bargain
back and forth in my brain on how much I will run and nothing is for nothing.
Yes, it is juvenile. But both my body and my shoe closet have benefitted for
some time. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bargainers often bargain well before the run…. If I eat this
chocolate torte, I will run that 10km race…. Bargainers are everywhere and they
do indeed drive the sport. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
STAGE 4: DEPRESSION</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Most people would think running is a great
cure for one’s mood. In fact in many large scale randomized trials exercise has
been shown to be an excellent treatment for depression. Here’s the thing….
Somewhere after the first hour of a three hour run you realize that you are
only 1/3 of the way through. Heads up? That’s where the sadness begins. Some of
us cry, some of us look at our watches and wonder why is it our body can’t go
any faster. Some of us just settle in to the sadness and get ready for the next
stage. Which is of course….</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
STAGE 5:ACCEPTANCE</div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
Yes, my sisters…. Here it is. This is where
you sit back and resign yourself to the fact that you are indeed a lunatic. I
say sit back only figuratively of course begin stage 5 usually comes somewhere
near the end of your run and by this point you can no longer feel your hips.
Sitting down is not an option. Why? Not because of the will of a woman but
because you physically can no longer sit down. And so like any good girlfriend
with the will of a woman you just keep on running. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
There you have it my sweet sisters. We are
full into running season. The Sun Run is past, the Vancouver Marathon down. My
eye is towards London 2015 and my love for Boston swells as that city continues
to be Boston Strong. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
On this that note I leave you with the five
stages of running that all of us go through in the pursuit of our own physical
excellence as we strive to push the limits of human abilities. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
As for me? I continue to push my own
boundaries of fitness when the rubber meets the road. Should I fail to meet my
own limits? I will always have my shoe closet to remind of the real pursuits of
excellence. </div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
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Have a great week my sisters. Run safe and
run strong. </div>
</div>
Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-51583369358524298142014-06-10T07:53:00.001-07:002014-06-10T07:53:24.048-07:00Mind over Matter<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1yu92eAl-9o/U5cbzlMv64I/AAAAAAAADFk/k92aj7NSdnI/s1600/2014-05-30+21.52.43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1yu92eAl-9o/U5cbzlMv64I/AAAAAAAADFk/k92aj7NSdnI/s1600/2014-05-30+21.52.43.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Happy and healthy Tuesday sweet sisters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Ever wondered about Tuesday? Such an
uninspired day of the week. Monday is the GROAN day, Wednesday the HUMP day,
Thursday is almost Friday and Friday is indeed just that. The weekend is where
the magic happens…. But poor Tuesday; stuck between a GROAN and a HUMP. Perhaps
that’s why I chose it. Ever a fan of the underdog in life…. I picked Tuesday as
my GGTH glory day and made it happen. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But I digress. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This past week I spent 5 days in Boston. To be precise it was
Cambridge, Massachusetts but apparently Bostoners don’t really make the
distinction. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was there for a Harvard Review Course (oooh, Harvard) and
let me just say… if the course is anything like the University, It has its
reputation for a reason. This review course indeed blew my mind. The quality of
the instructors and the presentations were a lesson in themselves; never mind
that the material was fabulous. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, dear sisters- last week I went to Harvard and came back
smarter and refreshed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, I did
not buy a t-shirt and technically speaking the course was not even held on
campus (it was at a hotel in Cambridge). But man oh man…. My cortex was
schooled and I liked it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There I sat for 6 or so hours a day for 4 straight days
taking it all in. I was rejuvenated intellectually in a way I could not have
imagined. Was it the quality of the instruction? Was it the subject matter?
Perhaps to both but I could not help but wonder if my enthusiasm for learning
was borne purely out of my….. Well, my enthusiasm for learning. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Should that surprise me? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After all I was a pretty good student once upon a time. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In high school, I liked learning. I studied and got good
grades. In university and in medical school I enjoyed filling my brain with
information. I relished in finding out how things worked and what I thought
about them. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Even now I find myself trying to invest mentally in new
things….</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last year I set a goal to read the Sunday New York Times
every week. I make it a point to choose at least 2 articles per section (even
business, which quite frankly does nothing for me) and learn something new
about the world. ON the reading front I read at least one fiction and one
non-fiction book per month (well, I listen to them on tape while running or
riding- but you can’t penalize a girl for not being able to sit still). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I find the whole process of exposing yourself to information
more than just “reading for fun”. It’s opening up your brain and letting in the
light. Think about it for a moment, after university the only time we really
get formally exposed to new information is if we take a course or go back to
school. How do you ensure that your brain cells are keeping up with the times? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Let’s face it, dear sisters- we can’t rely on the internet
for all the information that’s fit to print. Sure the interweb is full of ideas
but often most of us use the Internet as a function in our lives to observe and
connect rather than to absorb and comprehend. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so this brings me to my weekend in Boston. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There I sat in one classroom after another taking it all in.
It began with a fresher on Neruoanatomy and ended with lectures on Exercise
physiology. Through it all I remembered how much I loved learning; how much I
missed using my brain in a purely selfish form- all for the betterment of me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Here’s the thing… I use my brain a lot in a day. I’m sure
most of us do…. But usually it’s to solve problems (mine and those of others)
and to navigate the world around me. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I think this kind of “goal oriented intellect” can have a
draining effect on one’s cerebral cortex. Sometimes shouldn’t you just stop and
fill up the intellectual tank? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is evidence in the literature that as we age our
intellect starts to decline. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
According to and article in the New York Times and research
in the field, as we age- our cognitive function declines. But indeed there are
ways to slow down or even delay the process. Margie E. Lachman, a psychologist
at Brandeis University who specializes in aging states, </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Education seems to be an elixir that can bring us a healthy
body and mind throughout adulthood and even a longer life,” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Lachman’s group has even conducted one of the largest
longitudinal studies on aging and the brain. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The Midlife in the United States, or Midus. Examines the
cognitive progression of Americans born in the baby boom and onward. More than
7,000 people 25 to 74 years old were drafted to participate so that
middle-agers could be compared with those younger and older. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As it turns out, one essential element of mental fitness has
already been identified. For those in midlife and beyond, a college degree
appears to slow the brain’s aging process by up to a decade. This applied to
people who went to university in their 20’s as well as those who did not and
then went back to school later in life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In other words- it did not matter WHEN you got a
post-secondary education but that you DID. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This makes sense. We know that learning forms new pathways
in the brain. WE know that certain formative learning does this even more so.
It’s like planting a garden…. If your memory and intellect are a vegetable
garden (there’s a pun in there somewhere) then formal education works to lay
out the plots and till the soil and build new soil beds and well…. I’m not a
gardener but you get the idea. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I could not help but wonder if the same could be applied to
continuing education courses later in life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My beloved mother is 74 years of age and takes a political
science course at the University of Manitoba. She is always more interesting to
talk with the day of her course…. (No disrespect Mama- you area fascinating
woman at all times…. But you really are a bit more intellectually “jazzed” on
the days that you’ve been schooled)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so I wondered if indeed my week in Boston had done the
same thing for me…. I had a pretty decent vegetable garden between my ears but
had the crops been overworked and underserviced over the past few years?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Did a week in Boston sitting in a classroom entranced and
enthused by some of the best educators in the world been just enough to shed a
little light and plant new seeds of fantastic? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Who knows…? Perhaps it was just a week away that did it and
a different change of scene. But I’m certain there was something more. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yes, dear sisters I had a week in a classroom in Cambridge
and I had the time of my life…. And no, I did not buy a single pair of shoes.
That my sweet girlfriends is the best scientific study of all.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> http://www.nytimes.com/2012/01/22/education/edlife/a-sharper-mind-middle-age-and-beyond.html?pagewanted=all&_r=0</o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-70410729575499974302014-06-06T12:39:00.003-07:002014-06-06T18:18:45.616-07:00On behalf of the 5%<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Excuse the rather serious nature of the following post, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do.....<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
http://globalnews.ca/news/1379758/please-stop-telling-obese-canadians-to-give-up/</div>
</div>
Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-24156576601057922532014-05-20T08:29:00.003-07:002014-05-20T08:29:42.286-07:00I Walk the Line<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DpdkRqdtBts/U3t0qj_v8-I/AAAAAAAADEU/L4kaw4VRaOA/s1600/2014-05-10+09.27.06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-DpdkRqdtBts/U3t0qj_v8-I/AAAAAAAADEU/L4kaw4VRaOA/s1600/2014-05-10+09.27.06.jpg" height="200" width="150" /></a></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
I should say that as a woman without children, I am
fascinated by the PARENTHOOD and what it indeed does to a brain. Make no
mistake, I love parents. I have a set of my own. Some of my best friends are
parents. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
But parents do some pretty weird shit in the name of their
offspring. What is it about raising a little person that turns a completely
rationale person into a bit of a lunatic? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Is it the sleep deprivation? The worry? The guilt? Over the
years I have watched perfectly rationale, normal sisters lose their shit to the
PARENTHOOD. There they are…. Lovely, strong-minded perfectly kick ass
girlfriends who given time will need therapy because they could not rent a
bouncy castle in time for their little cherub’s birthday. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In my observation the PARENTHOOD plays havoc on many things
in one’s life; but mostly- it’s screws with one’s sense of time. PARENTHOOD is
am emotional time warp. I hear it all the time from my breeding friends… </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Where did the time go?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“There’s just not enough hours in the day?”<br />
“What time is swimming? Hockey? Dance class?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t have time for coffee today, I have to plan a
princess party”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Time is indeed precious. As a woman without children, I
value it as much as the next sister. But I have noticed that when it comes to
my “friends with dependents” time is a nasty bitch. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There is never enough time and yet, the PARENTHOOD makes you
wait around a lot….</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There they are flocks of parents standing on line…. For
everything. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
People without kids don’t stand on line. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We don’t have a little person with expectations waiting to
be disappointed at home- we can come back for whatever we need or just plain go
without. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sure there are those twenty somethings who wait on line for
the next I-Phone or the next pair of expensive sneakers. But as a rule- if you
see a line up running right around the block somewhere- chances are (unless
it’s for concert tickets) it is NOT made up of thirty somethings without kids.
Most certainly, said line is indeed composed of geeks, hipsters and parents. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sure, geeks and hipsters are parents too- let’s not get
boggled in semantics- this is a fun blog- not a life-changer. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Allow me to elaborate….</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last weekend I spent some quality girlfriend time in NYC
with a fabulous woman (you know who you are). My girlfriend, we will call her
“Sara” has two cherubs at home both of whom are fans of the latest Disney movie
“Frozen”. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have not seen this movie. I am waiting to make it through
all other movies on Air Canada’s video on demand before resorting to the Disney
section. I am told, however that Frozen is about a girl with special powers who
freezes things- including (by accident of course) her sister’s brain. Yah,
Disney’s version of sibling rivalry rains true. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Anyway- never mind the gripping movie plot…. The point here
is that Disney makes dolls and merchandise to advertise their movies (shocking,
no?) and they sell them at Disney stores. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sara” and I decided that we would swing by the Disney store
in Times Square on our way to the “good shops” in order to purchase two “Olaf
dolls” for her daughters. Incidentally, Olaf is a snowman in this movie… the
mind reels. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So sure enough, dressed in our Saturday best, we hoofed it
twenty blocks in pursuit of said stuffed snowman. Two blocks from the store
“Sara” let out a small sigh. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What’s up?” I asked</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Look at the line… we’re not waiting in that.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sure enough snaked around the Disney store and half way down
the next block was a line of parents and children. There they stood with hope
and capitalism in their dead eyes…. Standing on line in the greatest city in
the world on a Saturday morning all for the promise of an Olaf doll. The world
was their oyster… the city was before them and they would spend easily 8 hours
drinking Starbucks and passing time just so Timmy could have a Disney toy that
one day would sit neglected in the garage somewhere.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No,” I said, very unconvincing, “we can wait”…. I’m a good
friend, you see?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Nope. Let’s go to Bergdorf’s”. She announced. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Now do you see why I love “Sara” so much? Bitch has priorities.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And then I had a thought. I walked up to the lady who was at
the front of the line…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hi. What’s you name?”<br />
“Jen”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hi Jen. Can I ask you a favour?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sure”.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Are you buying an Olaf doll today?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Great. Can I give you money and you go inside and buy me
two Olaf dolls while I wait out here?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sure”.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And like any good friend, I threw money at the problem. I
handed Jen $100 and moved to the side of the line. How much is an Olaf doll you
ask? I have no freaking clue. How much is my time? Priceless. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sure enough Jen came through and 10 minutes later she
emerged with change, a receipt and two fuzzy snowmen. Jen it turns out is from
the Midwest… she is honest as Mom and apple pie and a true sister. Indeed in
the spirit of it all, I insisted that Jen keep the change and buy herself
lunch. She had saved the day and indeed she should be compensated. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The whole experience got me thinking about the time we waste
in lines of every shape and size. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I should say that I hate standing on line. I’m the youngest
child… perhaps that’s a thing. I’m used to people waiting for me and not the
other way around? Sounds shitty? It is. But I’m honest. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In my experience, parents wait on line more than most. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Tales of parents sleeping overnight in line to get their kids
into preschool, hockey, and swimming are commonplace. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Make no mistake…. That line around the Disney store was
indeed a symbol for the great divide between the PARENTHOOD and the rest of the
world…. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The average American spends an hour of their day waiting in
lines. This totals 2-3 years of their lives. According to research we
overestimate the amount of time that we indeed wait on line by as much as 35%. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
According to an article in the NY times unoccupied waiting
is the worst. When indeed we have “something to do” while we wait, human being
are better. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
An example cited is the baggage wait at Houston Airport.
Years ago, airport architects moved the baggage carousel at Houston a full 10
minute walk away from the gates. People had to walk to get their bags, which
took some time to arrive, and sure enough complaint about baggage wait times
dropped…. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Why do you think there are mirrors around elevators? This
principle dates back to post WWII when high rises were indeed on the rise and
elevators were not the fastest… stick a mirror by an elevator and someone can
check their face while they wait. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Studies show that being distracted while waiting in line
makes the line so much more tolerable. Perhaps those on line at Disney were in a
better mood because of the “action” in Times Square. Perhaps Disney should hire
personal trainers dressed up as princesses to hold boot camp classes for those
waiting on line? There’s a thought. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Indeed there are norms around waiting in line. I’m sure I
broke a few of them handing my money to Jen. Yes, I was an asshole “cutting the
cue” but no one seemed to object. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do I feel badly that I jumped a cue and put my needs before
hundreds of others on that sunny Saturday in NYC in the name of a Disney
snowman? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Seriously my sisters… there was Bergdorf’s to be had. I am
sorry to all those in line who felt that I put my needs before theirs. If it is
any consolation- I worked my guilt out at tone hell of a shoe department 10
blocks uptown. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-12967471022107404422014-05-13T03:30:00.000-07:002014-05-12T21:45:03.478-07:00Sleeping with the Enemy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<!--StartFragment-->
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E8DTYWOjUKg/UFfmcAsqWII/AAAAAAAAClI/GHaxFGt-56A/s1600/IMG_1024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-E8DTYWOjUKg/UFfmcAsqWII/AAAAAAAAClI/GHaxFGt-56A/s320/IMG_1024.jpg" height="320" width="239" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Have my girlfriends noticed any disturbance in
their sleep patterns lately? Yes? No? Enough about you. Let's talk about me. My
sleep lately has been... well... how do you say it? It's been shit. This is not
for lack of trying my cybersisters for THIS girlfriend does love her bedtime.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">I love the whole ritual of it all. You know, the
whole getting ready for bed. When the day is done and I can finally go
upstairs, into my closet (my happiest place on earth) and change into my
pajamas. It's like taking off the armour that I wear against the world and just
exhaling for about an hour or so. I love the removing of the makeup and
the washing of the face. It's as if I am rinsing my day's damage down the sink
and all will be well in the morning.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">When I was a little girl, my mother used to tell me
that if I had had a bad day, I should go to bed early. I must admit it has been
perfect advice on many a day since. Needless to say over the years there have
been some days where I wanted to crawl into bed at about 2:30 in the afternoon
but for the most part, Mama's wise words usually insight an 8pm bedtime about
three or four times a year.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">We’ve all had the days when we struggle to keep our
eyes open at about 8:30 or so in the evening, no? There you are lying on a
couch watching some America’s Next Top Model (no judgement my girlfriends- we
all have our paths in life) and you can barely stay awake to bear witness to
Tyra’s lunatic rampage. It does take so much away from the show when you can no
keep your eyes open long enough to yell obscenities at the screen. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Why just yesterday I was lying on the couch after a
30km run trying desperately to enjoy the “Say yes to the Dress” marathon I had
pre-recorded on my PVR and before I knew it, it was two hours later and I was
waking up from a 3 hour “nap” with drool down my cheek and no mouthgard in
sight. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">And so I did what any self-respecting girlfriend would
do…. I went to bed. It was 7:45pm. On a Monday. There you have it my
girlfriends- this sister is anything but cool. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Fast forward 8 or so hours and there I was wide-awake
at 4 am on a Tuesday. Yes, too much fun. Thanks be to the fashion gods that there is internet shopping. Instead of spending hours staring at the ceiling, I
spent 2 hours planning my spring wardrobe. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">How has this happened that now I have developed the
sleep patterns of a senior citizen? I am unconscious by 9 pm and wide-awake at
the crack of dawn. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Could it be the marathon training that is messing
with my sleep patterns or could it just be my 40’s fucking with me? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="mso-layout-grid-align: none; mso-pagination: none; text-autospace: none;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Turns out its likely a bit of both. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">According to a study published in 1982 in the Neurobiology of Aging our
sleep is affected by our aging. The study took three groups of people of
different ages- one group was aged 20-23, one was 40-45 one was 60-65 and one
was 80-85. Each group had formal sleep studies and EEG performed on them. The
study showed that as we age our body temperature fluctuates less as we age
during our sleep. Furthermore as we age our REM sleep time decreases as does
our sleep wake cycle. This was found in both men and women. The authors
concluded that although menopause can account for some changes in sleep cycles-
the changes continue even after menopause. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">Thrilled. So much to look forward to my sisters. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">One bright shiny star, however…. Exercise. According to several large-scale
trials exercise does indeed improve sleep patterns in both men and women. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">My own scientific studies have shown that yes…. Running 50km a week is
making me sleepier than usual. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Times; font-size: 16.0pt; mso-bidi-font-family: Times;">And so, I may not know if it’s my age or my running that is messing with my
sleep schedule- only time will tell. My next race is in June 22. Of course by then I will be 6 weeks older. Only
time will tell…..</span></div>
<!--EndFragment--></div>
Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-6275270629455847192014-05-05T21:31:00.000-07:002014-05-05T21:31:59.343-07:00Chew on This<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hdgbSc1VQEQ/U2hlU8XbEsI/AAAAAAAADDs/7ONqoHwWD6U/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-hdgbSc1VQEQ/U2hlU8XbEsI/AAAAAAAADDs/7ONqoHwWD6U/s1600/photo.JPG" height="150" width="200" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Fun fact sweet sisters…. You cannot buy chewing gum at the
Honolulu airport. They do indeed sell Wasabi flavoured Macadamian nuts should
you be so inclined but juicy fruit is not on the menu. Feel free to peruse the
aisles of Mont Blanc fountain pens, Tom Ford sunglasses and all things Marc
Jacobs. A fresh orchid Leigh is yours for the taking as are two whole
pineapples packed and ready for transport ($36 gets you the two pineapples and
a pineapple cutter) but if you want gum you will go wanting. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There I was on line at HNL with my 1 litre of bottled water
and Sunday NY Times ready for take-off shall we say when I hit the till and
looked down for the requisite bubble gum to keep my mouth busy and my Eustachian
tubes open. Amidst the Mentos and the M&M’s there it wasn’t…. chewing gum. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“ Excuse me,” I asked the salesclerk, “where’s the chewing
gum?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She smiled and responded, “We don’t sell gum at the
airport.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Why not?” I inquired, immediately wondering if gum fell
into a liquid or gel category that I was not aware of. Could gum have crossed
over into a new dark side? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Because maintenance objected- it was too much work.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My lovely and informed salesclerk went on to tell me that
they stopped selling chewing gum at HNL about “10 years ago” after the maintenance
crew at the airport found that they were spending too much time and money
cleaning gum of the airport’s surfaces. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There I was in the middle of the airport imagining the great
chewing gum debacle of 2004.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Picture it- entire airport was riddled with multicoloured hardened gobs
of Hubba Bubba and Bazooka left in unforeseen locations all over the airport
each still stamped with bite marks of tourists gone by. It was an international
rainbow fest of dental dam proportions. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Think about it for a moment…. Maintenance found the scourge
of chewing gum such an issue at the Honolulu airport so as to ban together and
shut down its sales. How bad could it have gotten? How powerful is maintenance?
How much work IS gum? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Are tourists to Hawaii really such savages that they leave
their half chewed gum strewn about the airport; hidden under airport benches
and behind water fountains like little dental treasures? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
These questions swirled through my head along with one
more…. I wondered what I would do on a 6-hour flight across the Pacific with
nothing to prevent my eardrums from backing up mid flight?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I should say that I’m not a big “gum chewer” to begin with.
This is because I tend to swallow it. Yes… I swallow gum. As a child I was
warned on many a schoolyard that said gum would indeed stay in my system for 7
years. In fact as I grew older the amount of time said gum would take to pass
through my intestines tended to shift… last count I heard was something like 6
months. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Turns out my schoolmates were lying little assholes. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Leave it to science and my medical training to save the day
once more. Think about it logically for a moment? I’ve had a couple
colonoscopies in my life and I’ve seen over 50 of them. Never once did I spot
any gum. That is easily 52 occasions when at least one person must have had a
Chicklet in the last 5 years or so…. And so no, gum does not stay in the body
longer than any other food. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In fact according to your standard medical textbook gum is
partially digested (the sugars in it that is) and the rest of it passes through
the digestive system in much the same way any waste does. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Indeed chewing gum has been around for thousands of years.
Archeologists in Europe found teeth marks in birch bark tar that date back to
the Mesolithic Era of the Stone Age. Native Americans from as early as two
thousand years ago chewed balls of plant material called “quids”, according to
researchers who’ve studied the Western Basketmakers of the South-Western USA. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Whose idea was it to bring this ancient material to a modern
day flying machine? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
According the CDC a blocked ear during flight or “airplane
ear” is caused by blockages in the Eustachian tube in your inner ear. The
Eustachian tube links your middle ear with the back of your throat and the
environment outside. This is essentially a tube that allows a communication
between the inner air and the outside world- it allows for pressures to
equalize between the two. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When we fly, the Eustachian tube can become blocked when
pressure in the cabin shifts. This change in pressure places stress on your
inner ear, causing the pain you feel during airplane ear. The tube can become
blocked for a number of reasons, including inflammation due to allergies like
hay fever and additional mucus produced if you have a cold.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Chewing gum can help equalize the pressure, relieving
discomfort, although it’s not the gum itself that helps. The actions of chewing
and swallowing use muscles around the Eustachian tube, potentially opening its
internal exit at the back of your throat. Doing this allows air to move into or
out of the Eustachian tube, helping to equalize pressure and easing both the
stress on your inner ear and the associated discomfort. The equalizing of
pressure causes the “popping” sound you hear when your ears “open up”.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: 11.6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Interestingly, an antihistamine can also prevent Eustachian
tube blockage and prevent your ears from “blocking up”. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
And so you can either chew gum or take drugs to prevent
airplane ear? </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Indeed my sisters you can. In life as in fashion its all
about the options. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Do they sell Cold and Flu tabs and HNL airport? Yes, the
most certainly do. And so, like a true scientist and a visionary I bought Nyquil
at the Honolulu airport, took one and woke up in Vancouver with a blog in my
head and my ears wide open. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5702298177785879213.post-45379970404011791202014-04-29T04:27:00.003-07:002014-04-29T04:27:41.623-07:00Good Girl Gone Bad<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_r_oH2UPodHs/TKK7I9zc7rI/AAAAAAAACBU/U6PivcnQlo4/s1600/IMG_0223.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_r_oH2UPodHs/TKK7I9zc7rI/AAAAAAAACBU/U6PivcnQlo4/s200/IMG_0223.jpg" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5522181855813365426" style="cursor: pointer; float: left; height: 183px; margin: 0px 10px 10px 0px; width: 200px;" /></a><br />
Girlfriends... safe to say, I've had a bad day. Yes I know you can't help but sing it, but allow me to explain.<br />
<br />
This past weekend was spent with a 72-hour stint travelling for work. Between Alberta and Ontario I was back and forth- making my way through many an airport in 4 inch heels. Yes, I travel in heels.<br />
<br />
My refusal to wear appropriate footwear for the last ten years of practice is the cross my Manolos must bear.<br />
<br />
On Monday while buying a coffee a the local Starbuck’s I tried maneuvering my rental car into a parking stall that was far too small, taking out a minivan’s brake light in the process.<br />
<br />
Here. I take some of the responsibility but not all. Yes, I was sleep deprived and my spatial relations are questionable on a good day (my shoe closet be damned). And yes, I get behind the wheel of a car at best 4 days a month. Furthermore, I don’t own a car and am obligated to, when I do drive, use rental cars, which inevitably are huge beasts to begin with. This one was a Chrysler 300 or something…. I only name drop here so you can see that this was in fact a big car; they would never give that high a number to a little shit box, you see.<br />
<br />
Finally, the woman who had parked this minivan (yes, I hate minivans… you can sense my contempt and it is real) used more than her fare share of a parking spot. All things considered… contact was made. My Chrysler 300 smashed the brake light of her bullshit minivan and took out the plastic light.<br />
<br />
Make no mistake, after exchanging information, I still went inside and bought myself and Americano. Safe to say however, it was a BAD day. Between the lack of sleep, the stress of the job, the puke stained Choo and the brake light carnage, my week was starting with the kind of day that makes most of us want to crawl back into bed an embrace a fetal existence.<br />
<br />
But amidst my BAD day I am forced to ponder how many other sisters out there are sharing my pain. What make a day BAD? As a doctor I realize all too well that there is no monopoly on sorrow. I no longer can count the amount of death certificates I have signed in my decade of a career thus far. I have been the bearer of many a bad news and created my fair share of BAD days.<br />
<br />
I think of my patients at the hospital having GOOD days and BAD days. I think of their families at home stressed and worried or relieved and grateful having similar BAD and GOOD days respectively and my shoes and my sleep and even the brake light are irrelevant.<br />
<br />
In 1964, a Psychologist by the name of Helson coined the term of the adaptation level theory. He sited that people react more to changes than to stable conditions and are thus more sensitive to new things. Change, therefore, produces strong reactions, but the circumstances that result from the change gradually cease to elicit a reaction and eventually become taken for granted. By this theory we tend to adapt to either that which is good as long as it lasts long enough or that which is bad as long as bad is the norm. Applying this theory to human happiness, Brickman and Campbell (1971) postulated a "hedonic tread- mill" by which long-term happiness will remain roughly constant regardless of what happens because the impact of both good and bad events will wear off over time.<br />
<br />
How long the impact of everyday events lasts was studied by Sheldon, Ryan, and Reis (1996). Bad events had longer lasting effects. In their data, having a good day did not have any noticeable effect on a person's well-being the following day, whereas having a bad day did carry over and influence the next day. Specifically, after a bad day, participants were likely to have lower well-being on the next day.<br />
<br />
Although the results are technically correlational, something must cause them, whether it is the bad day itself causing the subsequent bad day or some other cause producing the consecutive pair of bad days. Either way, the bad has stronger power than good because only the bad reliably produced consecutive bad days.<br />
<br />
So there you have it. I am indeed not alone in a world where life changes on the turn of car wheel. Forgive me dear girlfriends if I wax philosophical this week. Perhaps the lack of sleep has made me a bit existential. Perhaps I really am this deep and it has taken a few dozen blogs to get it out of me. Perhaps I’m just a woman who had a BAD day and needed her girlfriends to lend and ear….<br />
<br />
And so armed with this data, I stood on the crest of Science trying to break the theory. Yesterday, I spent the day at THE ROOM in Toronto having coffee with a fabulous friend and treating myself to an equally fabulous spring suit.<br />
<br />
Tomorrow I will get up, put on a different pair of inappropriate footwear and walk off head held high into the future. Who knows what the days will hold….</div>
Girlfriend's Guide to Healthhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17308698402476359691noreply@blogger.com1