Short update on why the entries stopped:

1. I got runner’s knee. I saw my doctor and he prescribed me to stop running and do more strengthening/conditioning. I had to take time off from running.

2. So I began exercising at the gym, swimming at the pool, using the precor (it’s easier on the body’s joints and strengthens muscles). I recently got rollerblades (new Schwinn’s for $4) and went to the park with my sister to test ‘em out.

3. Then I moved to Indy to work at the State Fair. We were not allowed to run outside alone, because it could be dangerous. I could not find a partner until two days before the fair began, and the day I was going to run with one of my co-workers, I sprained my ankle.  I jumped down from a firetruck and landed on my ankle wrong (inversion sprain, it rolled). I asked the doctor what the loud pop was I heard when I injured it, and he told me it was my ligaments. I tore and seperated my ligaments and muscle in my ankle/foot. The doctor’s wrapped my foot, put an aircast on it, and gave me crutches. Since it was a bad sprain, my doctor told me I’ll be in the state of acute pain until 4-5 weeks after. It’s only been 2 weeks, but I’m doing good. I am allowed 15 minutes of walking at a time, without crutches. My foot is turning all purple, especially around my toes. The doctor told me it takes up to a full year to totally recover, but I told him I am pretty active when I am not injured. He was glad to hear that. But reminded me I won’t be running for awhile.

4. I already pre-registered for the Rossville Summer’s End Festival 5K. I paid $15 and would’ve gotten a free T-shirt, too. I had the first two shifts off today, so everything was perfect. Except the whole injury deal. I wanted that goal to be met before I went back to IWU, but I guess this is just one of those obstacles I’ll have to overcome. I thought about going to the 5K still…and doing it on crutches! It would have made a good story Besides, I’m getting pretty good with these. For anyone who has never had crutches, they hurt your hands really bad! And the first few days after using them, you’ll be really sore! Also, my left leg has stronger muscles from all the hopping and using it so much more. I have a lot of compassion for people who are disabled, crippled, etc. I understand how hard it is to try to carry a cup, plate, put on a pair of pants, go up stairs, and open the door with one leg and hands glued to your crutches!

So, that’s the extent of what has happened.

I didn’t meet my goal of getting fit this summer, which stinks, but I am not giving up. I will keep working towards my goal until I accomplish it. Never give up!

So a quick update:

In August I was jumping down from a firetruck (to participate in the Indiana State Fair parade, I was supposed to carry the flag) and I landed on my ankle sideways on the way down. It popped loud and instantly hurt. It swelled up to the size of an orange and the pain was so bad that I had difficulty even breathing.

I had to wait a whole day before getting to the doctors, and finally I found out that it wasn’t broken, only severely sprained. The doctor told me I had torn some ligaments in my foot. So I was on crutches for three weeks, and it would have been even longer, but a friend of mine prayed for healing and God answered by performing a miracle! I ditched the crutches and have been walking since.

Obviously that set me back on my running, and I had to be extremely careful with my ankle afterwards. The first two months afterwards my ankle could not take any jumping or even light jogging.

The first week of the semester in September I hit the Precore Elliptical machine in my dorm’s workout room every night/early morning. That went well until I lost my mp3 player somehow. After that I had very little success in getting regular exercise until the end of the semester.

I’m on Christmas break now and working out fairly regularly. Jogging and slow running has been surprisingly comfortable. I still have not gotten new running shoes, and they are almost three years old with a lot of miles on ‘em. I am hoping to get a mp3 player soon, and that will help a ton.

That’s just a very brief update on what’s happened since my last entry.

A lot has been said and written regarding renewable energy as it relates to sustaining our environment. The use of power sources that are limitless, like the wind and sun, is what “going green” is all about.

Businesses talk about sustaining their brand influence, sustaining their culture and their success.   Like you, I want to know if the things I am building will last, – whether it’s a business, a marriage, a friendship or a family – can it be sustained over the long-term?

I wonder if how we live day-to-day is sustainable.

Some days I am so stressed by events that I go into deep “tactical mode” thinking that all my hyper-activity will yield some ideal result.  The problem is that my hyper-activity is not sustainable.  I run out of energy, I feel spent and exhausted, I’m a zombie at 6:30 at night.

My career is sales, so closing the sale is just about everything.  You work hard, you negotiate, you position your product, you listen to the customer, you send in your proposal and finally….finally you win the big deal.  You are so excited and full of accomplishment and then what?  If a sales person is honest they’ll admit that the happy feelings and exhilaration of the sale wear off in literally a few minutes, or hours or perhaps a day.  That’s it. Then it’s back into “action mode” as though you never made the big sale.  The joy, energy and exhilaration from the big sale is not a sustainable source of joy or energy…it fades.

On a personal basis many of us have crutches to help us get through life.  For some it’s being accepted by others, for others it’s hyper-activity (staying busy), for others it’s alcohol or drugs, joining groups or volunteering, keeping our homes as clean as our neighbor’s, for some it’s sex or spending money at the mall…all to get the high, to get joy, to find exhilaration.  But these things are not sustainable either.  You can only get so much of these things and then they tend to have a pretty big negative impact on life – they are not sustainable as an energy source or a life source.  They don’t really work in the long-run.

The only true sustainable source of life I can find is an unabashed confidence in the love and care of God.  Living out of that confidence and coming to deeply understand how much he really, really likes me, resting in his power and strength and care…that, that is a sustainable life-source. Good life, sustainable life flows from that energy source – from a holy, loving God.  I believe it’s heaven on earth.

What sustains you throughout the day?  What sustains your life?

Sustainable life – truly fulfilled life – can only come from one place.

John 10:10: The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy (your life); I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full. – Jesus (emphasis added)

I’m getting ready to go to the island this weekend and this is a short post tonight. My appointment with Dr. F was wonderful. He enjoyed the cookies I baked to thank him for fixing both hips (from the number of cookies that disappeared during my visit, I guess he liked them!). I have officially graduated to walking with crutches. Taking my first steps today I was so scared. Terrified actually. I was worried that I’d fall or I’d completely forgotten how to walk. It was an uncomfortable feeling, walking again, but it has passed and I am now itching to get rid of the crutches. I know, I know, baby steps…but it feels like it’s taken me an eternity just to get this far…

I am so incredibly happy right now. Nothing can disturb my high, not even the fact that I’ll be spending the weekend with my middle sister, mother, brother and future sister-in-law. I’m happy.

The absence of eyes that will see this post is of little deterence to the importance and necessity of it. Welcome one and all to the Filosofee page, the source for art, music, creativity, and all things that inspire. This first post will be dedicated to an artist who’s music has always served as great inspiration for myself and plenty others.

RJD2’s music is like a mash of hip hop beats and random but flowing other musical elements.
The man in this video was actually born with a degenerative condition, leading him to develop his own style of moving arund with crutches.

i bought these lovely things…..

andddddd theeeennnnn……

I FELL OVER.

When I saw the lady teetering on the steps, I held my breath. She stood at the top of a steep set of stairs that lead from street level down to the underground subway station.

She balanced on one leg, the other encased in a full-leg cast, while her arms struggled to hold her crutches, a purse … oh, and a knapsack on her back.

I approached her from the side so I wouldn’t startle her … it was like coming up behind someone standing on a window ledge … not a time to sneeze.

Once she saw me coming, I asked, “Hi, do you need a hand?”

I figured she wouldn’t want to hand a stranger her purse, but maybe I could take a crutch, or hold her arm. (And did I mention she was wearing safety-hazard Crocs on her feet?)

“No, I can manage,” she said. “But thank you for asking!”

I descended the stairs slowly, half-listening for the sound of a Croc-slide or a crutch tumble. Then when I got to the bottom, I waited in the ticket line (even though I didn’t need one) until I could see that she got to the bottom safe and sound.

She did. Phew….

P.S. Starting to get in the holiday mood, so here’s a beautiful version of Ave Maria performed live with a symphony orchestra (hidden camera credit: ZanessaEfgens). Enjoy!

Well, to the Clinic actually- but my cab driver’s English pronunciation left a little to be desired.

I’ve been laid up for the last couple of days with Achilles Tendonitis and…wait for it…gout. Yes I know. I have finally become a parody of myself. Too much good living in grand hotels is clearly to blame. (Well actually, a genetic predisposition accounts for quite a lot of it but I won’t dwell on that)

On the plus side hobbling around Kathmandu on crutches has given me a useful insight into the working practices of Kathmandu’s least liked group of people- the cab drivers.

To understand this I should first give you a quick run down on what normally happens when you try and travel by taxi in KTM.

One approaches the cab parked up by the side of the road. It is crucial at this stage to seem certain, and show no fear. Any insecurity evident at this stage will be used against you when the negotiation starts. You must then ask the cabbie, with as nonchalant an air as possible, whether he is free. It is very important to convey the feeling that you merely ask out of polite curiosity. You MUST NOT in any circumstances allow it to be known that you actually have somewhere to go.

Once he has replied in the affirmative you then tentatively mention a destination. He (and they always are he) will then lick his lips, look shocked, and (as if contemplating a journey to the centre of the earth) slowly nod. If your destination is a great distance away he might also whistle slightly. At this point one should get into the cab and say nothing. Hopefully he will then press his meter on, and proceed to drive. This never happens. He will then almost certainly turn and announce a ludicrously high price. We then move to phase two in which your nonchalance must be replaced with steely determination. One should look shocked and hurt. You should observe that it is “Dherai mahango cha”- very expensive. You should describe it as a tourist price. You must explain that you are not a tourist. He will be heartened by your ability to speak Nepali- all the more opportunity to come out with excuses. You will be told about the petrol shortage, the hunger in his family, the 3rd cousin’s great aunt’s goldfish in need of medical treatment, the likelihood of traffic jams, the dangerous alignment of the stars and any other inauspicious happening likely to dog the journey. You should be resolute. Eventually he will do what the law requires. He will turn on his meter.

Or so I thought.

I have discovered that the taxi drivers of Kathmandu are gifted economists. As my limp has increased so has the cost of taxis. When the crutches appeared the costs skyrocketed. The particular talent of the drivers has not just been price discriminate with such finesse, it has been to raise the price to level at which I still pay. They have, in economic terms (I think) eliminated my consumer surplus. Clearly the first award of the Nobel Prize in Economics to a group is imminent.

The meter is now a far distant dream. Ironically enough, as I was driven to the killing a killing was taken place. And I was still the victim.

I have been in a wheelchair and on crutches for six months now due to two knee surgeries I had within a four-month time frame.  Yesterday I turned in the wheelchair I rented for the most recent surgery. I am now able to get around   without the assistance of a wheelchair. I can walk around my house a little on my own, but for the most part I still need the crutches. I am seeing slight progress and for this I give my thanks to God who is making this possible. I know I still have a way to go. I am just starting physical therapy next week, but to not have to rely on the aid of a wheelchair and crutches just to walk a few steps is encouraging.  God never ceases to amaze me.

Dearest Olivia took me to Tesco’s to get the food shopping in last night and, upon setting eyes on the four-page list of ingredients I was supposed to buy, helped me reach the executive decision to give cookery a miss this week.

It’s the end of the pay period, I’m not exactly rolling in it and I’d rather buy electricity and phone credit than vine fruits and pudding basins. I apologise to my mum and dad for this because it means I probably won’t be turning up to either of their houses over Christmas bearing seasonal homebakery as I’d hoped.

Today my friend and now colleague Flavie accompanied me on a mini-reconnaissance through Primrose Hill to find a good taxi-hailing street where I could loiter, lumpen in my orthopedic footwear, and pretend to be glamorous despite it being pitifully clear that will be impossible for the next six weeks.

The outfit went down the pan because I couldn’t even bring myself to try on my pencil skirt with flats, let alone wear it to a new job, and then the accessorising fell by the wayside too.

Skirt suit

Law suit

We had to run away quickly because people started throwing coins at me. One of them implored me to please not spend the money on a good meal.

Conclusions:

• In the absence of recipe cookery I was able to buy a trolley-full of exciting fruit, veg, yoghurt and other healthy items I hardly ever get to eat. It’s the equivalent of how a normal person feels buying a load of cakes and pizzas.
• A few things ruining my chances of looking like a Hitchcock heroine this week: flat shoes, special boot, crutches, neon socks on crutches, too-low waistlines on clothes (cinching and flats have a difficult marriage), eighties tailoring, heavy fringe, lighting.

A report on the end of last week, shortish on words and longish on pictures.

First, a miraculously tasty and mechanically successful two-course dinner that also provided Liv and I with a Eurostar picnic on Friday: Yotam’s delicious and not that tricky Crespéou omelette mountain followed by Dan Lepard’s bananarama tropicana cake, which was alive-tasting (not in a cannibalistic way), like a lardy version of a piña colada only less saccharine. Mine was a little uncooked in the middle and overcooked – perhaps even burnt – on the top, which I think means I need to get more involved with foil.

Crespeou

Crasspeou

Tropicana banana cake

Botty-rama banana cake (I despair of this caption as much as anyone, yet can't stop finding the word 'botty' funny)

Next: finally a fashion photo that reveals my new, cutting-edge space boot:

A walk on the wild side

A limp on the mild side

As I traversed Antwerp in this get-up, Liv consistently got the hysterics about how small my other foot looked compared to the hopalong foot. It made me know how the dog feels when the humans laugh at its ear, which has turned itself inside out.

And finally: the results of a tired, late-night interiors styling session. Check out my cosy open fireplace in particular.

Glass extension

Arse extension

Black interior

Slack, inferior

Raising eyebrows

Erasing eyebrows

Now a few boring sentences I feel obliged to write for the sake of structural consistency. I wouldn’t bother to read them if I were you.

This week’s first impressions are affected by two significant factors.

1) I was in Antwerp having a wonderful time all weekend so I didn’t buy the paper – Adam is saving me a copy and I checked it out online on Monday instead.

2) I have very little cash this week so I suspect that shipping actual tons of dried fruit and brandy into my flat to bake stuffy Christmas foods that nobody much likes anyway will be low on my agenda, as will buying £250 bottles of men’s fragrance. I’d like to try to make at least one xmas treat as it’s nice to turn up bearing foodie gifts for one’s family and take some of the culinary strain off the hosts, but we’ll have to see how practical it turns out to be this week. I wonder how many Guardian readers pulled their fingers out on Sunday and actually baked xmas cakes.

I notice that the Measure sends mulled wine and minced pies up the list this week so perhaps I’ll be more likely to get in some shopmade delights and eat them instead. Liv is taking me and my busted foot shopping at Tesco’s in her little blue van tonight so I’ll ask her hallowed advice on the matter.

The fashion spread on Hitchcock heroines is one of my favourite looks and I’d usually be in my element, but I imagine the spaceboot will undermine most of the glamour of a pencil skirt.

Conclusions:

• I love Yotam, I do.
• Cakes are just as good as they were last time I tried them.
• Fashion is hard enough to achieve with an average paycheck and an average girth, but just you try adding a leg brace and crutches to the equation.
• While we’re here, it’s amazing how many people stare at you when you’re in this condition, and even more amazing how many burst into laughter directly afterwards. You get used to it pretty quick. I have of course swiped at a few select people with my crutches in response, which is something I learned in an assertiveness workshop.
• Interiors schminteriors. ‘Tis is the season of just trying to keep warm.

Monday will be my three-week anniversary of surgery, and I think it is time to find a cane. I am using one crutch most of the time inside the house and am about to start going on walks outside of the house with just one crutch.

I’m at school, early as usual, rocking out with my Contracts out.

Things I like:

1. Being in school at 3 AM and making friends with the night staff. The internet works like it’s supposed to, which is new and unexpected.
2. Putting amaretto in my coffee. It’s delicious and functional.
3. When justices, both past and contemporary, use delightfully antiquated language like “ballyhoo” and “skulduggery.”
4. Being able to have a pseudo-dance party (from the waist up for now until my knee recovers).
5. 5-hour energy shots. Did you know that if you mix 2 together, you get 10 hours worth of fake energy?
6. This song from Nora Jones’ new album.
7. Moving words from the tip of your tongue to the front of your brain. It took me the whole day, but I finally found the word to describe how I go up and down the stairs with my brace – I kept thinking “careful,” but what I meant was “deliberate.” Success!
8. Schoolboy crushes.
9. Looking at what searches make people stumble upon my site. My personal favorites are “caffeine while swimming,” “uncertainty is a bitch,” “pimp my crutches,” “girl in a cage” (they were probably disappointed to learn that it led to this, innocent post), and, of course, “caffeine and verbal abuse.”
10. Listing things instead of reading Contracts cases.
11. Being able to shower standing up again.
12. When judges put the holding and result of the case at the beginning of the opinion rather than the end. We get it, you’re urbane and witty and intelligent, but you’re not M. Night Motherfucking Shyamalan. I don’t want a twist ending. I want the mullet equivalent of a written opinion. Business in the front, party in the back.
13. Kristen Stewart
14. My absurdly large Starbucks thermos which, 7 hours later, has kept my coffee (and the amaretto mixed in) hot.
15. Liking 5 times as many things as I dislike.

Things I dislike:

1. Gossip. The only genitals I care about are my own. They’re fine, by the way.
2. Not having an excuse to shower while sitting down anymore.
3. People telling me that Kristen Stewart does not belong on the list of things that I like.

Today… I broke my foot. You may be wondering how (then again, you may not). Well this is the story…

I guess it started with me pantsing my cousin after school… I shouldn’t have done that. Karma’s a bitch, you know. So then, later on, there is a volleyball game (chamionships for the guys, woohoo! ). Anyway, it’s tied. We’ve won a set, the other team has won a set. During the little intermission between those, and the final set, a couple of us were playing with the volleyball, because one of the liners had one. Anyway, the ball goes flying somewhere, and I decide to chase it. Bad idea. Meanwhile, some un-awares person is backing up. I can tell if they keep going, and the ball keeps going, this person is going to trip. So I do the right thing (or so I thought) Irun realling fast, and try to kick the ball. Another Bad Idea. I slip on it, and fall. *crack* I start crawling on my hands and knees, and have to claw my way up someones shirt, jsut to get back in a standing position. Meanwhile, no one has noticed, save the few who saw me fall. I call my mom, hysterical, who comes to pick me up as fast as possible. An hour later we are in the ER, hour after that, we find out it’s broken. Now I am finally home, with a broken foot, a bruised ego, and two major tests tomorrow. Needless to say, today has not been a very good day. Good-bye. Will write again soon.

If you’re considering using a visual aid or requesting that someone else use a visual aid as part of his or her presentation, realize that any visual aid should be used to complement the speaker’s presentation, not cause the listener or viewer to divide his attention between the two. Visuals, particularly slides, are often used as crutches. They are also habit forming. They take the place of notes, and the presenter counts on them to keep him on track. They control him rather than the other way round.

My Consultancy–Asif J. Mir - Management Consultant–transforms organizations where people have the freedom to be creative, a place that brings out the best in everybody–an open, fair place where people have a sense that what they do matters. For details please visit www.asifjmir.com, Lectures, Line of Sight.

But you are a cripple, Blanche...

For the first time in three weeks, I have picked up my stick (lent to me by MacGuiver from the bar next door) and walked. Out there- outside. Yesterday I had my follow-up x.ray at a medical centre and in the afternoon, another visit to my GP to be signed back on for work, all things being well.

The x ray was a fairly efficient affair. We were sitting in a small bay with plastic seating, at right angles to a corridoor with many doors leading off it into various x-ray and consulting rooms. Along the corridoor hurtled medical staff in a self-important flurry, occasionally calling out names, then barking the order ´this way, please´. By the time I followed my nurse she had disappeared, and I stood peering into open doors, thinking ´yeah, but which way?….´ until she found me. Back in the waiting room I heard ‘Maria Milagros Martinez’ called out, and a woman of about 30 years old came forward. Mary Miracle Martinez. That means she was named in the eighties sometime. I understand older Spaniards having religious names – it was a decree of Franco´s that all babies christened after a certain date must have a religious name, hence the glut of Mary Josephs, Joseph Marys, Jesus, Mary of the snows, of the pains, Pains, Consolation, Immaculate, etc etc. But what were her parents thinking? Mary Miracle Martinez? Sounds like a specialist hooker or a girl who fires herself out of a cannon for a living. Nowhere near as bad, however, as my favourite ghastly name which is Circuncision, shortened to Circun. An old lady’s name originating in Andalucia, apparently, thankfully dying out these days.

Following the x ray I was told I could go home and it would be sent to my GP electronically. I asked for it to be sent that day so as not to waste a visit to my GP that afternoon and was assured it would be done that morning. Knowing in my gut that something in the process would screw up, I hobbled home. At the doctor’s later (by this time with a sore-ish foot due to all the walking) I was told the xray had been sent but in the wrong format and I’d have to go back again the next day. Deep breath….

Today I made a visit to work to sort our paperwork. I went by metro, perfecting my authentic Dr House limp with stick.

''Make your own cup of tea.''

Reactions to the stick are interesting. At the best of times it´s hard enough to get someone to give up their metro seat for you. I was offered a seat twice, once by an older gentleman and then by a young woman. Suddenly there were other walking wounded everywhere. In the carriage with me a young man with a wheelchair, another man at Sol metro station with a zimmer frame, a girl on crutches, in Plaza Lavapies another man resting on a bench with his crutches. As the metro carriage door opened and the wheelchair guy and I tried to leave, the usual press of bodies stopped us leaving before they piled into the carriage, and one bitter old cow tutted loudly at us as we tried to push pur way through and onto the platform. I reacted in true Spanish fashion, snapping at her,

´Well, let us get off first, then!’ Sometimes being half Spanish has its advantages- you are allowed to answer back, to have a damn good whinge when you need to, to push and shove, and you can permit yourself not to apologise when someone else shoulder barges you in the street.

After calling in to work I went to the office where the Ponce pays his rent and sorted that out for him. The doorman to the building rushed out of his little booth as I was leaving- a red-faced balding midget with a huge grin, and asked me how I´d done it, then why didn’t I have a man to do these things for me, then next time I should call him and he’d lift heavy things for me, finishing our short chat with the statement ´God, but you’re gorgeous, you are.’ Thanks very much, but no thanks….

It feels good to be out and about again. It´s as though I have been away in another country, or in a chrysalis, emerging blinking into the light. Over the past few weeks it has become winter. The walk back from the x ray yesterday morning was glorious. My appointment was at 8.10, and I saw the sun rise pink over the Puerta de Toledo. The streets are quieter, the terraces are almost all brought inside by now and there are even a handful of Christmas decorations up. Winter in Madrid is bitterly cold but exhilerating. It felt good to be back. Enough of this crippled house arrest. I think I might keep the stick though, as an affectation, and as a handy way to get a seat on the metro.

I was trying to hang a curtain.  Slipped, fell backwards, tried to catch myself and avoid the litter box and instead slipped further, twisted and then suddenly (and painfully) my knee collapsed.  So been on crutches last couple of days.  Doing better, and after seeing my orthopedic surgeon, it looks promising that I didn’t tear something (thank you , thank you!).  I was so afraid that thanks to a curtain, toilet and a litter box I was never going to dance again!  However, it will be a few days before I can drive.  (Wrong knee.)  Fun-Fun!