Princess of the Beach

I woke up this morning with shredded abs.  What?!  I finally got my stubborn handles of love to disappear?  Nope.  My abs are literally shredded, along with every major muscle, tendon, and ligament in my body right now.  All because I decided to play six games of beach volleyball on Saturday after not having touched a volleyball since the late '90s. 

My friend was going to go play with a bunch of guys who have faithfully emptied their coolers at the same net for the past twenty years or something.  I told myself I'd just watch.  That lasted for a game.  Some of the guys were too hungover to play, so they needed a fourth.  Of course I had to brag that I played Jr. Olympics, with the caveat that it was many, many years ago.  So I tried to look somewhat athletic as I jogged onto the court.  I knew it would be very embarrassing--it's not like you can just make your body remember how to play like it used to.  I had to serve underhand.  It didn't even make it to the net.  Every guy served  to me, and I promptly shanked each ball.  I was nervous and my mouth was so dry I couldn't talk.  My friend stopped making eye contact with me. 

There was a guy on the other team who immediately set off my asshole radar.  He started messing with me right away.  I whiffed one of his serves and everyone was laughing at me.  Pissed, I finally started returning his serves, but he kept serving to me.  I started remembering why I no longer play sports like this.  He totally got in my head and I started beating myself up over how I was playing.  (I've spent the last eight years surfing and avoiding anything competitive because of a an ahole father couple of coaches who enjoyed sucking the fun out of sports for a majority of their players. Being a teenager is hard enough without watching your friends scratch their arms up or cry on a daily basis because of some overly-critical jerk.)  Anynotscarred, a lot of passing is just absorbing speed and taking the spin off the ball, so that the setter has an easier time controlling where they put the ball.  I start doing all sorts of weird things to try to absorb the force of a hard serve, like kicking up my back leg after I pass the ball, so I looked like a fancy, prancing pony with epilepsy.  I can't stop this, either.  After eleven years, this is what my muscle memory recalls??

Luckily, the game ended (we definitely lost on account of me) and asshole left.  The guys ran behind the bushes to pound cans of beer (beach drinking is now illegal in CA and it's taking some time for people to adjust), and I grabbed some balls to work on my overhand serve.  One of the older guys was a junior high coach and he was nice enough to sort of take me under his wing and give me a little pep talk.  Second game started and my serve was on--albeit briefly--but long enough to establish some credibility.  I further upped my value when I started hand setting.  (I'd always had really good hands in volleyball, but indoor is so regimented, and everyone is so specialized, that I was never allowed to set the ball.  Beach is so fun because you get to do everything,)  Had a partial block (there is no better feeling than totally stuffing a guy--it's so demoralizing for them), but only because the net was so low. 

Got some really nice sets and totally flailed and missed the ball.  Served under the net.  Dove waaay too much just so no one could say I lacked hustle. (Hence the shredded abs--I am not used leaping in the air and landing on my stomach.)  Finally started connecting and had some decent spikes, which felt good.  Not as good as going up against two blockers and just crushing it right infront of the ten foot line.  Still, it felt good to feel that again.  Sure, nothing in volleyball comes close to surfing, but as I sat in the water yesterday, trying not to freeze in the ten minutes between closeouts, I resented that a lot of surfing is sitting around.  And now I'll have to work my way up in a new CA lineup, which means less waves.  Granted, in FL it's ten days between sets, but at least when there are waves it's perpetual motion, as you're always dealing with the current, or a bunch of paddle jockeys, so you can't sit and contemplate the pluses and minuses of volleyball and surfing.  I am rambling.

Had a date last night with a pretty serious vball player.  He said that the court I played on was super hard, which was why it was surprisingly easy to get my sand legs and jump.  He said that the courts near me are never co-ed during the weekend.  He said he only got invited into games after he won a few big tournaments.  Hmmmm.  Another lineup to infiltrate.  We'll see how this turns out, but I think I'm going to start playing vball again.  At least the other guys got so sloshed they invited me back any time I wanted to play. 

On the way home my friend started acting like he knew me again.  Turns out he had been the pitcher on his high school team, but began to hate playing when his dad became the coach.  He started playing volleyball as an adult, probably because it's easier to start something new and not have really high expectations, than it is to give up sports altogether.  I think we're both struggling to find a healthy balance of competition and fun.  Too bad we have to come to terms with this as weekend warriors with adult egos.  Maybe I will turn all of this self-reflective crap into some I'm-a-recovering-high-school-athlete book. 

Sun's out.  Going for a surf.

This Explains So Much

I have an actual phobia!  Found the following on MedicineNet.com:   "Cryophobia: An abnormal and persistent fear of cold, including cold weather and cold objects. Sufferers from cryophobia experience anxiety even though they realize their fear is irrational. To avoid cold, they may live in a warm climate, dress more warmly than necessary, stay indoors on cold days, and avoid cold foods and ice cubes."  I thought I never made or bought ice cubes because I was lazy, but now I can blame it on my condition!   And the reason why I cannot bring myself to eat any cold meat isn't because it's disgusting, it's because of my debilitating affliction. 

I'm focusing on this serious, delicate, personal matter today because I am in San Diego and am currently freezing, even though I'm wearing sweats while sitting infront of a blasting space heater.  There are waves, but I'm a prisoner of my sickness, so I can't paddle out until the sun is capable of giving me melanoma.  I know there are others out there just like me.  People who pack for tropical vacations by making sure half of their wardrobe is suitable for a freak cold snap which could very well happen.  People who assume that maybe they dislike the cold because it reminds them of living in a cold, boring state; therefore, they associate cold with grossnosity in general, never suspecting that they are cryophobic.  People who have lived in FL for over a decade and still make sure they have towels in the car (blankets would be a dead giveaway that they are covering up their frigid albatross), just in case they break down in a snowstorm.

This picture is so symbolic of my disease.  (There is no known cure at this time.)  At first you laugh, and think it's kind of ridiculous.  And then a closer look reveals that this adorable thing is suffering!  Please keep me in your thoughts as I deal with this diagnosis which pretty much blind-sided me.  I feel better just knowing that I am not alone in my long fight to get my life and core body temp back.

(photo from jiveturkey wordpress)

More Wheezy-Tones News and a Letdown

Went for the world's most annoying run on Saturday because my ipod died after one song.  And it was 60 degress when I woke up so I decided to wear tights (also bad news because there is no longer a lululemon clearance rack) and a black t-shirt.  It was almost seventy when I got to the beach so I was hot.  And then I forgot to put my orthotics in so my back started hurting after only a mile.  A very long, silent mile. (I know, maybe I should move to Boca.)  But I will say that I think the Easy-Tones work better without orthotics, which makes sense now that I think about it.  Because if you have like half an inch of foam between you and the little air transfer thingies, they're probably not as effective.

I should also blog about the biggest letdown of 2009:  The Luli Fama ruched bikini bottoms.  I lusted after this bikini for almost two years before I finally bought one.  Their new patented ruching was supposed to make your hiney look amazing and Brazilian.   Reality:  HIDEOUS!  The material is super thin and it gives you '80s butt.  AND they only put a little band of elastic in the waist on the front, and NONE in the back, so I was walking around my house and the damn things fell down.  So I jacked them up my butt crack (I think maybe this is how they are supposed to be worn?!) and they fell down everywhere else but stayed nestled in my hiney.  If I really had hit rock bottom I would take a picture of this unique look and compare it to how they look on the model.  But I'll just put the model's pic up for now.  You're welcome.  And don't buy these bottoms.


pic from lulifama.com

Going Ounce: Patrón of the Arts

I guess the big news for my readers is that I have agreed to take part in something that will surely turn out to be an entertaining story.  I have agreed to be auctioned off at a charity event.  There is no way that this will not be hilarious.  I am hoping I'm not going to be sitting under a huge banner at the auction that says "Just Because She's Going to Die Alone Doesn't Mean That [People with Affliction] Have To." 

Aside from trying to get people to pay money to hang out with me, I will also be partaking in a photo shoot in a couple of weeks.  I googled the photog and his page comes up with lingerie models on it.  Awesome.  Then I realize it's a guy that my friend used to have a huge crush on.  I'm hoping there's alcohol served before we have our pictures taken.  I think I'm going to show up in my underwear.

And keeping with the alcohol theme, I'm reallllly going to have to do some tequila shots or something before I am sold to the only bidder.  (My friend who has agreed to bid on me so I don't look like a loser.)  And this is where it gets scary:  we have to yuk it up onstage for 3-5 minutes while the emcee talks about us.  I am not much of a yukker upper.  Scariness.  Patrón.  This is not a silent auction?!

So, be aware that I will be asking some of you for help with outfit choices and witty things to include in my bio.

Wetsuit Review for Amazons

If you're over 5'5", it's reeeeally hard to find a wetsuit that fits.  Trying on more than one is such an ordeal, and most surf shops only stock the cheapest women's suits, in two sizes.  First, I ordered a Roxy (I think it was a Syncro).   The sleeves came to my elbows (it wasn't short-sleeved) and were baggy, the butt was super baggy, the legs reached to my shins, and the chest was very constrictive.  They also had darts in the chest?  Which I guess means they are trying to emphasize your womanly shape while mashing your girls down with a tight layer of rubber.  FAIL.  I swear Roxy's fit model is a little person.  With Hulk Hogan arms.

Returned it and got an O'neill Dlux 3/2.  I chose O'neill  because their suits usually have longer legs, and it was on sale.  It was also all-black, which is better than having pink hearts all over.   (All-black suits say "I'm trying to look serious, not cute--don't drop in on me.")  It may have been a reject suit because they don't offer it in all-black in the catalog.  It's their middle-of-the-line option; neither super-warm ($$$), nor super-cheap.  Anyway, here's the scoop: 

1.  It has a leotard-like sheen.  Very jazzercizey!  I like leotards and shiny things, so this is a plus for me.  But it isn't metallic, baitfishy shiny. 

2.  The legs are very long.  They almost reach all the way to my ankles.

3.  Arms are still too short!  And after wearing it a few times, the sleeve openings have stretched and are loose.  And I have short arms.  I don't understand this?  My shoulders aren't man-broad, either. 

4.  Neck barrier does a nice job of preventing flushing without being too constrictive. 

5.  Roomy enough in boob area. 

6.  Suit is stretchy and probably suitable (sorry) for temps as low as 60.

Hopefully this helps someone save some time and money.  I think I got the suit from either killerdana.com or hanger94.com (which should maybe be spelled "hangar").

Teaching You Stuff

from yeah-oops.com

This is the strawberry frog.  Apparently, it's a poisonous dart frog, and I think there might be some photoshop trickery going on, but he's still so cute. 

I'm crazy for strawberries right now, and I'm being punished for making fun of how that one looked last week.  Because as a result of my mocking, there is a major shortage of strawberries across the state.  (No, it's not from the inclement weather.)  Every time I go to Publix, they are sold out. (FL strawberries aren't as good as CA strawberries, but they will do until I can get back to Trader Joe's.)  And since FL is full of old people with nothing to do but go to Publix, they sell out daily at every Publix in the tri-county area.  One produce guy told me that they get them in at 9 and sell out by 2.  Great, so I'll just miss work to get strawberries. 

Obviously, the goal for this weekend was to get strawberries.  After I went to check the waves, I stopped to grab some.  Of course an old lady was freaking out about them, and I had to shove her Hov-Around out of the way to grab them (j/k).  I told her how I can never get to the strawberries before they sell out.  Looking at me curiously, she remarks, "Oh, you must work."  I hate old people.

They were 3 cartons for $5!  And everyone was freaking because they know the price will be going up, like tomorrow.  So I bought a bunch and now i have to eat them all because they will go bad by tomorrow.  So that's what I'm doing today.  (My neck locked up yesterday from all the surfing, so I'm going to take it easy today.)

Better Today

I'm a total stressball b/c I'm trying to plan a vacation right now.  Trying to book anything during Easter week in any predominantly Catholic country is so pointless.  Might scrap vacay plans.

Went to see my trainer and he spent two hours going over my crap and putting me through a lil workout.  All for free!  Love him!  So nice.  He is a magical little unicorn and always knows how to tweak any exercise just a teensy bit so it stops hurting.  He told me to stop running.  NO!  He would not be a fan of my Easy-Tones, that's for sure.  He argues that if I keep running now, I won't be able to do anything when I'm 60. 
1) Who cares?  I'll play bingo and wear funny pants.
2) If I stop running now, I might not be able to even move when I'm 60.

But I spent so much time with the trainer that I missed an epic, unbelieveable, head-high perfection session with three of my surfing BFFs.  Had to opt for a quick forty minutes before it got dark.  Felt like California:  Freezing offshores, nice sunset, stupid fullsuit.  Had a little spot all to myself and a rogue wave (love that term) came in with about 5 dolphins surfing it.  They jumped completely out of the water and landed about 10 feet away from me.  So that made everything better!  And then I was looking for them and fell and lost my board.  I was hoping a dolphin would swing by and give me ride on his dorsal fin!  Didn't happen.

 

While swimming to my board, I started thinking about sharks.  For reasons unbeknownst to me, I watched a BBC special about a triathlete getting chomped in Australia as he was swimming out to his friends.  The program instructed you to avoid any strokes other than breast stroke, because it is the stroke that sends the least amount of fish-in-distress-come-devour-me signals to Whitey.  But breast stroking (yeah, okay) takes foreeeeever!  And I reason that the longer it takes to get to your board, the more likely you are to be targeted.  I compromised and went with a weird sidestroke type deal.  It scared the dolphins away.  Boo.

Bad Day

So I got my MRI results back for my neck.  I had a herniated disc from the second accident, so I wasn't expecting much.  But now every other disc in my my cervical spine is also bulging, which is new.  I've pretty much had it.  I'm prone to extremes, and I usually ignore doctor's orders of taking it easy, but I learned my lesson when I had to sit around for nine months after back surgery a few years ago.  I've been resting my shoulder/back/neck for the past 3.5  months, with the exception of two weeks of surfing back in December.  You know, because I'm a grown-up, and I can embrace moderation, and realize that rest is the best way to treat the bursitis in my shoulder and the numbness everywhere else. 

Yep.  Over it.  I think 3.5 months of rest has made everything worse.  My shoulder certainly hasn't gotten better. I'm just soooo sick of going to physical therapy.  Going to call my trainer who helped me get moving after back surgery.  He was in the Olympics and is totally void of any sort of macho/tough guy bullshit.  Before I met him, I had not idea that you could excel in sports without constantly beating yourself up over your performance.  This made me not like him, initially.  He wanted to talk about feelings, and crap like that.  We ended up working out a system where I didn't have to say anything, but he could tell by my expression that I was in pain.  Then he'd just switch the exercise to something.  No lost face on my part, except for the realization of how stupidly I act at times. 

I started getting impatient over the weekend and went surfing on Saturday and Sunday.  Hadn't been in two months and it showed.  I've been trying to convince myself that I'm happier without surfing.  Less stressed.  No rushing and planning my life around low tides.   For example:  Last swell hit during full moon high tide--meaning low tide was almost high tide, which means the sandbars wouldn't be shallow enough to pick up the swell.  Drove around for 1.5 hours on Saturday, looking for a better wave, only to have a cold front pass through, air temp drop into the 50s, and the wind increase chopped up all the waves that fell prey to the springtide.  I surfed like a total klutz and froze my ass off.  Same thing yesterday, but with less driving around.  But, try as I might, there isn't really anything else I've found that makes me feel as good as getting that one wave, that seemingly pops up out of nowhere, that was put there just for you to ride.  But then I also hate surfing because it's a "sport" that I will never be good at.   And tenacity and work ethic don't mean crap when you get old!  ; )

We've been having some shark issues a bit earlier than usual.  Definitely makes for a creepy session.  This is from last week.  One of my favorite spots.  From pauldimarco.com.

Song that no one else likes until I make them listen to it a million times

Amaaaaazing sample is from Creative Source's "I'd Find You Anywhere" (1973).

Video takes forever to load.  This is the clean version.  Unedited version may offend those with Victorian sensibilities.

Current Song on Repeat