Hockey, Sugar and Passenger Seat Drivers
The girls experienced their very first live ice hockey game this weekend. When my parents said they had tickets, I had two choices: either suffer alone all night with the girls since Mr. BBM was in Las Vegas for business, or take the girls and brave the crowds in the arena hoping my flexion would be good enough to allow me to sit comfortably. I chose the latter.
When I told the girls where we were going, Big I protested immediately. "No, I don’t want to go!" and Lil C quickly jumped on the negativity train with her sister. I started wondering how in the world I birthed these children, considering I’ve been a hockey fan pretty much since I took my first breath. My Dad just wouldn’t have it any other way. I have evidence to prove it:
You may also remember this little gem, which was taken when I met Rick Tocchet, my favorite hockey player while I was growing up. (Please don’t mention the gambling stuff around me. I still wear my Tocchet jersey proudly; and don’t even think about insulting my perm. Seriously, because I will totally cross check you, bum knee or not.)
Since going to a hockey game wasn’t exciting them, I enticed them with this scenario: either spend the night alone with a grumpy invalid Mommy or get to spend some time with Mom-Mom and Pop-Pop. They chose the game. Smart girls.
The drive to the arena went the way any drive with my Dad in the passenger seat goes:
"Why are you going this way? It will take twice as long!"
"You’re driving too close to the car in front of you. If I was that guy, I’d slam on my brakes."
"What are you listening to? Where did you get your taste in music, if you can call it taste?"
"No, park over THERE!"
"You should have let me drive."
I can usually tolerate my Dad’s non-stop driving insults by going to my special place and ignoring him, and by reminding myself that it was HE who taught me how to drive. I drive EXACTLY like he does. You know, all that "I’m rubber, you’re glue. Anything you say about me bounces back to you" stuff? After the 10th comment though, I felt it necessary to give him a verbal reminder that he was being a real pain in the butt, and that he had been my exclusive driving teacher. That quieted him a bit. I also turned up the music he doesn’t like. That always helps too.
After managing to avoid strangling each other on the drive there, we made our way into the arena. It was only when I reached the very last three stairs that a worker noticed me and told me I should have taken the elevator. Great. Thanks for telling me now buddy. I had no clue there even was an elevator.
We made our way to our seats and I grabbed the one on the end. There’s not an arena on the face of the Earth made with long legs and knee injuries in mind, so I was very thankful that the seats in front of me were empty. They made a nice and very much needed leg rest for me. The only problem with being on the end was that everyone else needed to get in and out past me. Thankfully I had very patient people (who were also good at leaping to or from the row in front to avoid me altogether) when they got tired of me having to straighten and lock my brace before standing up to get out of their way.
The game started and Big I asked about a gazillion questions about what was going on. Lil C looked like she was going to fall asleep. During the first intermission, my parents took the girls out to the concession areas and came back with soft pretzels, ice cream, soda, and a beer for me. (It’s easy to forgive your Dad for his passenger seat driving antics when he brings you a Yuengling.)
Lil C decided she only wanted the pretzel, so I ended up eating her ice cream. I don’t allow the girls to have any soda at all, but there was nothing else to drink besides my beer. Both of the girls were giggling and watching me in disbelief as I allowed them sips of the soda. It only took about 10 minutes for the effects of the soda to kick in. Big I was talking non-stop and Lil C started speaking in what can only be described as tongues.
As if this wasn’t bad enough, my Dad disappeared and brought them back Cotton Candy. I can’t tell you how thankful I was, knowing that we were all spending the night at my parents house and that I wouldn’t have to deal with two very spazzy children on my own. By the time the game was over, the girls had consumed their body weight in sugar. Because of this, I gave my Mom half of my beer. She looked like she needed it considering Lil C sat on her lap almost exclusively the whole night.
"What is this sticky stuff anyway? Yeah, I’m not liking it that much after all. Yeech." FYI, it ended up being spit out in my Mom’s hand.
During the game, a young guy came and sat down beside me with t-shirts. I thought it was odd that some employee was coming to try to sell me a t-shirt during the game. I quickly dropped my skepticism and defensive anti-buying shield, when he announced that we were the "rockin’ row" and were all getting free t-shirts! Not long after, the team mascot "Slapshot" came to visit the girls and that truly made their night.
Despite the sugar rush and mascot visit, by the time the game was nearing its end, Big I was proclaiming her unwavering boredom and dislike of hockey (Seriously, did I take the wrong baby home from the hospital???); and Lil C was shouting "Let’s Go ROYALS!" like an old sugar-hyped pro.
The drive home was pretty much the same as the ride there, except that my Dad’s head almost exploded in the parking lot as we waited for my Mom to strap Lil C in her car seat the right way since my dad had, in his haste, messed the whole thing entirely up. What is it with Pop-Pop’s and car seat confusion?
As each car exited the parking lot ahead of us, my dad upped his estimation on how ridiculously long it was going to take us to get home now. Apparently, for every car that leaves the parking lot prior to yourself, you can add another five infuriating minutes (in theory). My Dad huffed, moaned and groaned and I practiced some deep breathing exercises and explained to him why there was no way I was leaving the parking lot until EVERYONE was safely buckled.
So, add to the list of driving insults and critiques from above, a hasty explanation for how and why someone should drive like a bat out of hell out of the parking lot and you pretty much have my drive home. Next time, I’m putting my Dad in the trunk or on the roof rack.
Where Do You Come From?
My grandmother is 90 years old and full of stories. I’ve heard them many times, but I’m always willing to listen one more time. There is great knowledge to be learned from the elders in our families, even if that means I sometimes need to listen respectfully to tirades about dogs who lick themselves too much. Yes, being opinionated (sometimes about very odd things) runs in the family.
Likewise, there is great knowledge to be learned from those who have gone before us in our karate families. There are certain martial artists that you meet that have a special something about them. You feel that just by being around them, you’re gaining knowledge. They seem to have a calming effect on those around them. It is obvious that they possess great knowledge.
This weekend, I was able to sit down with the 9th degree black belt who runs our karate school (He also heads up the entire style of Okinawan Kenpo and Kobudo in the US). He’s an excellent teacher, good with children and adults alike. He’s patient, knowledgeable and possesses that certain something that you can’t quite put your finger on, but you just know is something important. In his book "My Journey with the Grandmaster" Kyoshi Hayes calls this quality "hinkaku" which means "the dignity of a senior."
I can’t tell you how happy I am that I asked him how he got his start in the martial arts. What followed that question was quite a story. It’s his story to tell, so I won’t go into details, but finding out details about my instructor and his instructors, what it was like in Okinawa, and how the martial arts traveled to the states was fascinating.
I know many people who take karate classes in all kinds of different styles. What I find most interesting is that if you ask people what style they study, and where it came from, most people have very little information. Maybe some feel that history lessons aren’t necessarily important to their study of the martial arts. Maybe some just never thought to ask. Personally, I see this knowledge as a piece of the puzzle. Without it, your training just isn’t quite complete.
Will I Ever Feel Ready?
Physical therapy brought flexion of 120 degrees yesterday. That’s a five degree improvement from just two days before. I also rode the bike, going entirely forward, for five minutes without any issues besides a small twinge of protest from the knee every once in a while. My PT added some new at home exercises to the regime; and next week, we’re adding the leg press. I’m getting somewhere. I’m really getting somewhere.
After PT, I took Big I to karate class. I stayed after her class to watch the advanced class again. Last night was so cool. They were working on self defense and there were bodies flying all over the place. When I went downstairs to check on Big I and the girls she was playing with, it sounded like a thunderstorm from bodies hitting the floor above. It was interesting to watch because I noticed so many things I might not have if I had been out on the floor. I paid special attention to distancing between people, and feel like I really learned something about off-balancing an attacker.
Looking at the techniques from a seated point of view was one thing. It wasn’t until later in the class, when people started hitting the ground with some good force, that I started getting a little nervous inside. How will I ever go back to doing those kinds of things again? How long will it be before I can comfortably let someone throw me around on the training floor? How long before I’ll be comfortable being uke again?
I guess I’m having a difficult time imagining myself at full strength. I feel like I’m always going to want to protect my knee and not do anything that might aggravate it. I’m going to need to really trust my partner and feel comfortable working with him/her in the future. Most importantly, I know I can’t rush back. I need to listen to my body and take it slow. When I do go back, I’m going to have to be very cautious and sit things out if I don’t feel I’m ready yet.
Tackling increased flexion and a bike each week is going to be a piece of cake compared to the mental readiness it’s going to take to get me comfortably back on the training floor.
Raising a Drama Queen (or two)
The other day, Lil C and I were having a leisurely morning watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse when she announced that her name is no longer "Lil C."
"My name. . . Drama," she said. She paused for emphasis and then added, "My name drama QUEEN." I laughed out loud. She’s obviously paying attention when Mr. BBM and I talk about her. She realized she was being cute and funny and took it one step further. "My name Princess Drama Queen," she said. Apparently, she’s been playing with Big I a lot too.
Lil C has always been very different from Big I. Big I was, for the most part, always pretty quiet, calm and sweet. She had her moments but they were few and far between. Lil C has been an entirely different story. With a big sister to aggravate her, plenty of toys that are off limits as per Big I, and a feisty attitude to begin with, calling herself "drama queen" is not all that far from the truth.
It got me to thinking about the rest of our family and how we operate. Is "drama" a learned behavior or was she just born dramatic? Here are a couple examples to help formulate an opinion:
- When a particular member of our family gets a splinter, there is screaming, sobbing, and frantic freaking out akin to what winning the lottery must be like, except of course, not a good freaking out, a bad one, a very very bad one. When trying to get the offending piece of wood out, a certain somebody will pull their hand away when you get within two feet of it and this will continue for at least a good 10 minutes.
- If a bee or wasp gets into the house, there is a total and complete "lock down" of the BBM household, as in "Everyone get to the safe room and NOW!" Complete with towels to plug up the narrow air holes under the doors, and a case of water in case the stand off is a long one, the BBM family goes into hiding Y2K style until the offending "beast" is "offed" with hairspray, bug killer or a nearby shoe.
- When a certain someone in this house gets in trouble, this person will sometimes send themselves to their room before being told to go there. This doesn’t mean this person remains there quietly. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. This certain someone has a mirror in their room. Upon entering the room, one will find this person flailing about in front of the mirror, complete with crocodile tears, while screaming "Why? Why? Why?" at their image in the mirror. Where are the "All My Children" casting people when you need them?
- A certain someone has recently decided that no meat will cross their tongue except for Chicken McNuggets. This person has also gotten very picky about all types of food with the exception of Pop-Tarts. This person will eat any type of Pop-Tart. I swear they could contain pork chops, and if wrapped in that nice little pastry with a little icing, this person would still be all over it. When it’s time for dinner, if this person doesn’t like the selection, it is not unusual for this person to wind up on the floor, moaning and whining her opposition to the offending entree. Many times the moaning/whining/flailing combo happens underneath the table where it is greatly entertaining for "Princess Drama Queen" in training.
Do you think you can properly identify the Drama Queen "Sensei" in the family?
If you guessed BBM as the main character behind all of these drama-filled scenarios, then you would be. . . . correct. Actually, just kidding. That was for added drama. We’re all pretty good at drama in this household, each and every one of us. Now if you’ll excuse me. . .
"Mr. BBM, get out from under the table now; and for the LOVE of GOD, get away from the mirror! We are NOT having Chicken McNuggets for dinner AGAIN!"
"You won’t get out from under the table?" (I know how to get you out from under there. . . )
"Oh no, what’s that noise? What’s that. . . BUZZING? I think there’s a wasp in the house! Take cover. TAKE COVER!!! Get to the safe room NOOOOWWWWWW!!!"
***The latest review is up at The BBM Review. Have a Mickey Mouse Clubhouse fan in the house? Don’t miss it.
High Five Inducing PROGRESS
Today was the most painful day yet at physical therapy. It was also the best day so far. I’m not afraid of a little pain. I just need a healthy dose of "gain" to go along with it. Today I got it all.
Before we get to the details, here is my knee, three weeks and one day post-op:
We started with ice and stims. My PT was much happier with the appearance of my knee today as compared to Friday. He contemplated using heat, but played it safe. My PT told me I can start using cocoa butter on three of the four incisions. He showed me how to rub the scar tissue away and it hurt. I told him I’m going to need to have a drink before I do that to myself each day. It was all I could do not to physically make him remove his fingers from my incisions as he showed me how to torture myself.
After that bit of "fun," I completed my quad sets and leg lifts with weights. I also used a strap to stretch out my very tight leg muscles. Because my PT was busy with a new patient, I got busy working on my flexion by myself. While getting my stim and ice treatment, I was reading "My Journey with the Grandmaster" by Kyoshi William Hayes. I was reading this chapter about the hidden techniques in Okinawan karate. Much of the chapter talked about individuals and how to each person the martial arts, even within the same style, is a little different. He compared serious students to those who just walk through kata, never seeing the true meaning or hidden techniques inside.
I don’t know if it was my "Karate: it comes from within" t-shirt I had on, the reading, or a combination of both; but for some reason, I began to think about the mental aspects of martial arts training. During my flexion exercises, I stopped thinking of it as a physical hurdle and started thinking of it as a mental one instead. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and seisan style, breathed the air out as I forced my knee to bend further and further. I took my time, willed my twitching muscles to relax, and continued to work at it for 20 minutes.
At one point, my PT walked by me and smiled. "We’re going to have a good day," he said, referring to my flexion. After several more minutes, he came back to take the measurement. He told me I needed 110 degrees to try the bike. Doing it entirely by myself, I was able to push it further than I ever have before.
115 degrees.
My PT was so elated that he got the biggest grin on his face and shouted out "HIGH FIVE" as he reached his hand up to meet mine. It was such a good moment.
He had me strap my brace back on and them adjusted the brace so that I can bend my knee however much I want when I’m not walking around on it. I locked it back into place and walked to the bike.
My PT warned me not to expect much. My first attempt at a complete rotation didn’t work. It hurt so badly it made me draw a quick breath. He told me that it was o.k. if I didn’t make it around at all, to just go back and forth, making sure I stayed comfortable.
Backwards went much easier and after a few tries, I was able to go completely around. He told me to continue going backwards and then if things loosened up, I could try going forward again. He left me alone for 3.5 minutes. I gradually worked through the pain going backwards, and built up the nerve to try going forward again. I had to point my foot to make it, but I did it. I continued to go around forward and picked up the pace just a bit. By the time the last minute rolled around, I was able to go completely around without having to point my foot to make it more comfortable.
After doing so well on the bike, my PT helped me get down and had me do some exercises with the tension bands. I was able to complete three sets of 10 and felt my quads got a decent work out. When all the hard work was done, he told me that people rarely make a complete rotation on their first try on the bike, let alone many like I did. I was beaming, and the best news was yet to come.
My PT told me I can unlock my brace to sleep from now on, and next week he’ll probably unlock my brace permanently so that I can start walking less like a peg-leg pirate and more like a normal person. He congratulated me on a good day filled with progress and I left.
When I got in the car, my new Feist CD was playing and "I Feel It All" came blaring out of the speakers. It’s an awesome song and the reason why I now own three of her CD’s. (If you can’t see the embedded video, click here for the song.)
Although I like her music very much, I have no clue what she’s talking about in most of her songs. It didn’t matter. "I Feel It All" was the most appropriate song for today, because that’s exactly what I did.
I feel it all, I feel it all
I feel it all, I feel it all
The wings are wide, the wings are wide
Wild card inside, wild card inside. . .I know more than I knew before
I know more than I knew before
I didn’t rest, I didn’t stop. . .I don’t know what I knew before
Now I know I wanna win the war. . .No one likes to take a test. . .
Fly away. . .
Fly away to what you want to make. . .
I felt the pain today and over the last couple weeks. I feel the disappointment of having to stop training and delay my Shodan (Black Belt) test indefinitely. I worked through all of it today, and I felt the satisfaction. The progress that I’ve been trying to wait for so patiently finally made an appearance. It’s not a Shodan test. It’s rotation on a bike, something that would have been easy to do a month ago; but I can honestly say that the accomplishment I felt today feels as monumental as I’m sure passing my Shodan test will feel someday.
I couldn’t stop the onslaught of tears that started pouring down my face. I feel every jolt of the pain that sometimes takes my breath away, but it makes the resulting accomplishment taste that much sweeter.
I do indeed "feel it all" and today, in spite of the pain, it all felt good.
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