Tuesday,
July 29, 2014
I was determined to do
something that resembled the kinds of workouts I’d been doing a summer ago when
preparing for Tour Ohio. In my current
state, that meant riding. I got home,
changed and was on the bike by 6 p.m. thinking I could handle something I the
two-hour neighborhood, but without a lot of climbing. Which around here is almost impossible.
I pedaled through the park
and down into Waite Hill. I’d selected a
course that, if I was in shape, would have taken a little over 90 minutes. I wasn’t pushing hard, though I was breathing
like I was. I climbed from the Chagrin
River up to Chapin Forest on Hobart Road, slowly but steadily over a 25-minute
period. The good news was that I’d
return the way I’d come in half the time.
I reached the park and my
turn around feeling pretty good and began the rapid descent back to the
river. I still had one more climb back
out of the valley and took it slowly, but with seven miles left to home, was
feeling pretty good.
The ride too about 20
minutes longer than usual, but I was encouraged about the way I was
feeling. Two rides in four days and
maybe I could get myself in decent shape for some fall climbing in the
Adirondacks, if just for a weekend. The
problem would be time; I wasn’t sure when Jason and I would get another rehab
job, but once we did there would be little time for anything else.
Bike
duration: One hour and 50 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 120 bpm.
Calories
Burned: 1540.
Monday,
July 28, 2014
It was a tough day. I had to let the Board president know that I’d
accepted a position with Fieldstone Farm and would be leaving the Y. There was so much still left to do there and
he would be left spearheading the things I had put in motion. For reasons I will not put in this blog, I
really needed to move on. He and other
members of the Y had been wonderful to work with and I would miss them
terribly. The Y had an important mission
it continues to serve in the Warren community and their leadership with further
that cause.
I drove to the North
Chagrin Reservation to meet Savannah and attempt the Survival Workout. I started with push-ups, managing 75, with no
apparent issue. Then I tried my core
workout.
“Oww…that hurts,” I said
after three reps.
“Well then don’t do them,”
Savannah suggested.
Thanks for that.
I tried some pull-ups,
which involves the core as well and again, felt a pain across my abdomen. I learned quickly that the stent and the
recovery process did not allow for core work.
I went through the rest of the workout doing upper body lifts without
pain, but avoided core and lower body.
We hiked up our karaoke hill and although I was breathing hard, it was a
far cry from the exhausted effort I’d made hiking on level trails a few days
earlier. By the time we returned to the
car, I’d managed ten different sets, broken a decent sweat, and discovered my
limitations – for the time being.
Survival
Workout: 30 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 100-150 bpm.
Calories
Burned: 300.
Sunday,
July 27, 2014
I texted Jason early and
asked when he’d like me to come by to help with the garage. In the meantime, I’d decided my own needed
some serious attention.
Since I’d begun J & J
Home Maintenance with Jason and spent so much time painting and remodeling our
first home, I’d been piling supplies and materials in the garage. Add to that Savannah’s accumulation of stuff
from her Columbus apartment and my complete lack of time or caring about the
ensuing mess and I found my garage was suffering from the perfect storm.
I spent the next two hours
cleaning, hauling stuff to the curb, stacking and restacking and organizing
until I reached the point where I could again easily park two vehicles inside
without bumping doors into stored junk.
It was very humid and I was sweating profusely. Knowing that I’d been in the hospital largely
as a result of dehydration, I filled and refilled my water cup and drank.
I went to Jason’s for
several hours to install a stud wall before returning home to make the family
dinner, which was chicken fettuccini.
Heavy, but delicious. My
father-in-law and I watched Clint Eastwood starring in ‘The Eiger Sanction’. Clint seemed to be in great shape for this
movie, based on killing and mountain climbing, and watching some of the footage
of climbers left me wondering again how anyone could want to hang on the side
of a mountain with a little piece of metal pounded into a rock the difference
between life and death. Clint did not successfully
reach the top, but he did get credit for killing half a dozen people.
Though not a day with
formal exercise, I burned a lot of calories, dropped quarts of sweat and felt
more like myself than I had in over a week.
Recovery was slow, but it was happening.
Saturday,
July 26, 2014
I started the morning sharing
a cup of coffee with Mimi and discussing kidney stones and the work I needed to
do to get caught up at her place. None of
it was going to happen that morning, though I did manage to download a bunch of
pictures from her camera to her computer for her, a task I feel she will never
master – but I enjoy doing.
I’d passed a number of
garage sale signs on Friday and knowing Jason was always looking for deals on
tools, called him and suggested we hit a few.
He stopped by to pick me up and over the next several hours, I climbed
in and out of his truck looking over other people’s junk. I needed to go to the bathroom every hour and
finally asked him to drop me back home.
I laid on the couch and
continued to nurse my sore back, but by six, I’d had enough of coddling myself
and slipped into my biking gear. My
plan, possibly a little weak, was to ride about an hour in a loop that would
take me no more than 30 minutes from the house at any given point. I had my cell phone for emergencies, so what
was the worst that could happen?
The skies were overcast and
it had been drizzling earlier. I wasn’t
going to let this stop me, though. I
headed towards the park and on to Waite Hill, descending the precipitous Eagle
Road at high speeds and heavy rain. I
reached the halfway point in a pounding downpour and soaked to the bone. And feeling marvelous. What would Lance have done? He’d be riding, of course.
I got back home thinking
that although it may not have been my best decision, that it had worked out
okay. I’ll do dumber things in the
future, of that I’m sure. For now, I can
say I’m riding again.
Bike
duration: 75 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 120 bpm.
Calories
Burned: 1050.
Friday,
July 25, 2014
My back pain continued throughout
the day and made everything difficult to do.
Still, I knew I needed to get moving if I was to accelerate the healing
process. I went out and trimmed the
grass before hopping on the riding mower to do the cutting. It was something, at least. When Savannah came home, I asked her to take
me to the park and walk me like the dog.
“I need to move some, but I
don’t want to get halfway and find out I’m unable to continue,” I said.
We went on a 1.7 mile trail
and I walked at about 50% of my normal walking pace. My back was sore, but loosened up as we
walked and by the time we reached the car, I was feeling looser but exhausted.
I picked up some groceries
and decided to make an Amish casserole for dinner. I called Jason and invited him over. Being up and moving was definitely helping. I’d gone out to do something in the yard and
when I returned, found Jack making a mountain of chicken and rice. I told him about my dinner plan.
“I’m going out on a date,
dad, so I don’t think I’ll be here for dinner,” he said.
“Hey…that’s great. What are you guys going to do,” I asked,
watching the food mounded on his plate spilling to the table when he stuck his
fork in for a bite.
“We’re going out to get
something to eat,” he said as he chewed and swallowed.
I scratched my head, looked
at my watch – it was 6 p.m. – and then at his plate again and pointed at it
with a questioning expression.
“We’re not going until 8,”
he said and continued to chew.
I ate the dinner with gusto
– the first meal I’d truly enjoyed in close to a week. Jason and I discussed the work we would be
doing on his garage the next day; we would be putting up walls to create a
workshop. He left and I plugged in a
movie and just tried to rest my back and continue the healing.
Hike
duration: 45 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 90 bpm.
Calories
Burned: 175.
Thursday,
July 24, 2014
I drove to work thinking
about all I had to do to prepare for the evening’s Board meeting. I knew I’d have a hundred messages in the ‘in
box’ as well as mail to sort through and documents to create. And I was feeling lousy.
I spent the first hour
blasting through as much as I could with the realization I wasn’t going to make
it too much longer. I notified the Board
president that he’d be running the meeting, created an agenda, copied financials
and minutes, and after two hours, headed for home.
I spent the remainder of
the day laying on the sofa and trying to manage the pain with the help of
Percocet. It took the edge off, but my
back was so stiff and painful – I guessed from being flat on it since Sunday
night – that again, I couldn’t find a comfortable position. I tried eating a little something, but still
had no appetite. I knew I’d be doing
more of the same tomorrow – work would be out of the question.
Wednesday,
July 23, 2014
It was check-out day, which
was good. I had rescheduled the
interview for 5:15 p.m. and was anxious to get home and begin mending. The Urologist had visited before 7 to explain
the operation.
“You’ve got a sent in the
urinary tract which is expanding it to allow the fluids to get past the stone,
which is still there. I think it will be
powderized by the work I did, but it was so inflamed in that area that I couldn’t
reach it with my tool to remove it. We
may get it when we go back up there in 2-3 weeks to remove the stent,” he
explained.
He said my urine,
collecting in a bag on the side of my bed and being fed by the catheter coming
from where they come from, was looking good and that I should be going home
today.
I reported this information
to the nurse when she returned to my room.
Just when I thought I’d known pain, she removed the catheter and alerted
me I wouldn’t be going anywhere until I peed on my own. I grabbed my bottle when she left and made an
effort and then discovered there was even greater pain than kidney stones and
catheter removals. I was loving life in
the hospital.
I made it to the interview
on time and when I described what I’d been doing over the past few days, they
were incredulous that I’d appeared at all.
I was meeting with the staff of Fieldstone Farm and they knew me
well. “This could have waited, John,”
the CEO told me.
“It was very important to
me and I’d already cancelled Monday’s appointment. I didn’t want you guys thinking I as some
kind of wimp,” I said and we took it from there.
I continued to dread peeing
throughout the evening and was too nauseous to eat. I’d had very little since Sunday evening, but
was without an appetite. Since I wasn’t
doing anything except laying around, I suppose that was a good thing. I did vow to drink more and was following
through on that. I finally headed off to
bed hoping tomorrow would bring a lessening of the pain.
Tuesday, July 21, 2014
I called work early and
told them what was happening. I remained
in a dilaudid haze throughout the day since my injections were all that kept me
from killing myself. I still had hopes
for passing the stone before surgery, which was scheduled for early afternoon,
and kept drinking and peeing constantly.
When the transport person came force me into hospital garb (I was wearing
my t-shirt and shorts under the gown they’d given me in the emergency room) and
wheel me to the operating room, I tried peeing one more time to pass the stone –
without success. Damn.
Once in the operating
waiting room, I was asked for the seventh time (I was literally keeping a
count) whether I was allergic to any medication, and many other questions
including if I had metal in my legs or not.
The nurse that was asking these questions was on the left side of my bed. The anesthesiologist on the right side was
waiting for her to finish so she could speak.
“Are you allergic to any
medications?” she began.
I was in pain because the
dilaudid had long since worn off. I was
irritated and it showed. I looked at her
and then back to the one who had just asked the same question.
“Are you serious?”
She was, she said and so I
told her I wasn’t. The first nurse
walked away, but when she returned, she began to question me again.
“Do you have any metal in
your legs?”
“Look – I’m really in a lot of pain. You
need to write my answers down somewhere so you don’t forget. You asked me five minutes ago if I had metal
in my legs. Don’t you think you’d have
seen me slip out of here to insert a rod of some kind into my leg in that time? No. I
DON’T HAVE ANY METAL IN MY LEGS!”
She wasn’t too happy with
me and she probably controlled my pain medication. It was a bad move, but I wasn’t thinking
clearly. At some point, the
anesthesiologist slipped me a mickey and the next thing I remember was being in
the recovery room with a new nurse.
“So…are you allergic to any
medications?”
Sunday-Monday,
July 20-21, 2014
The drive home was
uneventful. I took a Percocet in the
morning; the warning on the bottle said to ‘be careful’ when driving, so I
figured it wasn’t going to knock me out.
It didn’t.
We were celebrating Jack’s
birthday for dinner, but after eating a little, I found the pain was beginning
to escalate, so I took another Percocet and went to lay down. By 9 p.m., I was again in full blown kidney
stone attack and the Percocet had all the effect of a jelly bean. The real hurt was on the way.
I couldn’t sleep or find
any comfort through the night and began throwing up around 3 a.m. By 7 a.m., I knew I would be returning to the
emergency room and found myself there by 8:30 a.m. I took my paperwork from the hospital in
Potsdam as I thought the blood work could prove important and it did. It took two hours of intense pain for them to
finally give me some dilaudid, a powerful opiate that brought instant
relief. When I could once again speak
without clenching my teeth, I questioned what was happening.
“That shit was really
good. Why in the f&*k did you wait
so long to give it to me?
They had some bullshit
reasoning and it was some time before the Urologist finally joined me to give
me some understanding of what was happening.
“Your left kidney is
functioning quite poorly. We have the
results from Saturday and in two days, it’s declined by half. We need to move that stone by pumping you
full of fluids, or we’re going to have to put a stent in there to get around
it,” he said.
I had a job interview
scheduled for 4 p.m., or in about four hours and told him so. He wasn’t too interested.
“We need to admit you. You’re very sick and we have to continue to
pump in the fluids and see if the stone passes.”
“I can go to the interview and come right back here for the night. This is important and could affect the rest
of my life,” I said.
“Your kidney will
definitely affect the rest of your life,” he said, but was weakening and
finally agreed.
I was administered some
more dilaudid; the pain had me writhing again.
It had been less than two hours since my last shot and I started thinking
this dose would wear out just about the point that the interview was scheduled
to begin. Falling to the floor and
yelling ‘somebody shoot me’ would probably do little to impress the
interviewers. I decided to cancel and
stay in the hospital.
They moved me to a room and
on the ride in my bed to this new location, the dilaudid wore off and I had the
worst attack to date. I had to get out
of the bed and was rolling around on the floor of the room trying to find a comfortable
position knowing no such thing existed.
The nurse did not have my records yet (not sure why the computer from
the emergency room didn’t have instant access by the nurse on the fourth
floor), so I was forced to go through twenty minutes of hell waiting for my
next injection. Clearly, this stone was
stressing the hell out of my kidney and the hospital was the place for me.
I spent the evening in a
dilaudid haze, getting up to pee into my bottle every hour. No stone passed and as morning approached, I
knew surgery was on the way.
Saturday,
July 19, 2014
I didn’t sleep particularly
well and finally got up around 6 a.m. I
noticed my stomach was bothering me, but once I got up and walking around,
slowly began to realize I’d had the same kind of pain before.
“Donnie…we better start
packing up. I think I’ve got a kidney
stone attack coming on,” I said, dreading what I was saying.
By the time we had our gear
in the boat, I was about 80% of the way to a full blown attack. I’d had one very bad one about 17 years
earlier and that one had gotten me my first ride in an emergency vehicle and
left me thinking of the pain I’d gone through in passing it over the next
several days as the worst period of my life.
The plan was drive north to
Potsdam, the closest hospital, which was about 40 miles away. My Aunt and Uncle lived just outside the town
and I figured I’d dump my car there and have them take me. I got to within two miles of their house
before being forced to the side of the road where I was sure I would
vomit. The saliva drooled out, but the
cookies stayed in. Still, the pain was
getting unmanageable. I arrived minutes
later at my Uncle’s and he drove me to the emergency room where strong
medication was injected and CT scans confirmed my diagnosis.
“You’ve got one on the move
which is causing all the pain, three more in your right kidney and one in your
left. You’re also severely dehydrated and
you left kidney is not functioning at its normal level,” the doctor explained.
He prescribed pain
medication and something to help increase flow and sent me home. I managed to lay around my Uncle’s place and
with the Percocet, was reasonably comfortable.
I went the rest of the day drinking over 10 glasses of water and eating
quite normally, but no kidney stone passed.
I went to bed wondering if I would be able to make the drive home on
Percocet and before another bad attack.
Friday,
July 18, 2014
I’d left work and done the
drive to Keene Valley the night before, arriving in the public parking lot
around midnight. It was a beautifully,
clear Adirondack night so I happily threw my ground cloth down, spread out my
bed roll and sleeping bag and climbed in.
I star-watched for twenty minutes or so before nodding off
I went to the Noonmark
Diner for breakfast at 6:30 a.m. and was at the trailhead for Mt. Esther and
hiking by eight.
My stomach was bothering me
on the drive over and as I pulled into the trailhead parking lot, my eyes
searched the area for a privy. None was
to be found. Bears shit in the
woods. Desperate hikers in empty parking
lots and no sign of human life around squat by the side of their car quickly, planning
to dig a cat hole and bury the remains when time isn’t of the essence. So that’s what I did.
And about half way through
the ordeal…naturally…another car pulled in and with 30 spots to choose from,
selected the one next to me…naturally. I
scrambled to return to some form of full dress and stood just as a beautiful,
young female hiker was emerging from the passenger side of the car. She noticed me standing up from behind the
right front fender of my car and I was hoping she just figured I’d squatted to
tie my shoes or something. We said our
‘helloes’ and little else since they were French Canadian and didn’t seem too
conversant in English. This allowed me a
chance to sneak off into the woods, as I should have done in the first place,
to dig a cat hole and finish my business with some modicum of dignity.
The climb I was doing would
be my 34th of the 46 peaks in the Adirondacks above 4,000 feet. Mt. Esther is on the trail to Whiteface, the
famous Olympic ski mountain and the one I planned to climb last. This meant I’d be covering the same trail
again someday, which was okay but easily something I could have done on the
same day and managed a two-fer. It was a
steady and steep trail for the first hour and my pitiful conditioning was
taking a toll. I was sweating profusely
and breathing heavily, but I trudged on.
To my surprise, I overtook the young couple from Canada. I’d looked them over in the parking lot, and
they’d looked super fit. The woman
however, was sitting on the side of the trail and looking rather
exhausted. Maybe I wasn’t doing so badly
after all.
I reached the peak two and
a half hours after starting on trembling legs.
I ate a Clif bar, downed 32 ounces of Crystal Lite, took some pictures,
and visited with a family from Rochester before heading back. The trip back took almost as long; descending
is easier on the lungs but harder on the legs and caution is necessary to keep
from falling. Round trip, I’d covered
about ten miles. I dropped into the
creek just off the trailhead and tried to wash away the sweat and grime of five
hours of difficult hiking.
I called Donnie to let him
know I was on my way to our rendezvous point on Cranberry Lake, but didn’t make
it there until 4 p.m. I loaded my
camping gear into his fishing boat and we were off to explore the many islands
on the lake looking for an isolated camping spot. Many of the islands are so small that camping
isn’t possible since you need to be 150 feet from the water to pitch a tent.
We ended up on Joe Indian
Island with a perfect campsite. The bugs
were merciless though, so I pitched the tent for sleeping. We boated into Dead Creek Flow for Wanakana
and the Pine Cone Restaurant where we got burgers and fries before returning to
our campsite just as the sun was setting.
Hike
duration: 5 hours.
Training
Heart Rate: 100-160 bpm.
Calories
Burned: 3000.
Thursday,
July 17, 2014
With no grass to cut or
houses to paint, at least for one evening, I drove straight to the North
Chagrin Reservation for a Survival Workout.
I did manage to do an
abbreviated workout several days ago, but I climbed out of the car with the
intention of completely kicking my own ass.
I’d managed 80 push-ups, down from the 100 I’d managed before starting
the remodeling project several weeks ago, and figured I’d be happy to hit that
number again. With some struggling over the
final 2 and a head ready to explode from the blood rush, I managed 86. Quite pleased, I did my core work, pull-ups
and finished with a set of dips before heading down the trail to the next
station.
I realized when I reached
my next stop that I was already feeling the effect of the first set…and that’s
not normal. Someone had taken my biceps
curling rock; this has happened before and I’m thinking I need to hide it. I’m not sure what they’re doing with them
other than trying to mess with my mind, but I’m also thinking of installing
security cameras to bust them. Or not.
When I reached my third
station, my muscles were over-pumped and tired.
That’s a good thing, though. There
was a large construction dumpster in the horse trailer parking lot where I do a
series of exercises and a bobcat sitting next to it. Some major construction project was happening
in my park – and I hadn’t gotten the memo!
I climbed up the side of the dumpster and peered inside. It was loaded with the debris from a
destroyed foot bridge and the bridle trail was listed as ‘closed’, but this
applies only to visitors to the park…for me it is simply a suggestion which I
chose to ignore.
I found the bridge they’d
removed and wondered if it was being replaced.
I was forced down into the creek to get across and it was there that,
testing several rocks, found a suitable replacement for my biceps curling
rock. I didn’t want to leave it there,
so I hauled it with me for a quarter mile – a nice addition to the workout –
before dropping it behind a tree where no one would see it and consider
removing it.
I climbed the swing sets,
did a sprint and some high knees and by the time I returned to the car, I’d
done 21 different sets and was thoroughly exhausted. As I walked under the pull-up branch, I
pondered throwing in one more set. It was
a struggle to get my tired arms overhead, but once my hands were on the branch,
I figured I may as well just pull. I
managed 8 and called it a night.
I was proud of the
effort. I also decided, while walking,
that I’d head for the Adirondacks for the weekend. Donnie has some time off and it planning to
meet me in Cranberry Lake for some camping.
I could use the escape.
Survival
Workout: 60 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 100-150 bpm.
Calories
Burned:600.
Tuesday,
July 15, 2014
Finally! I arrived at the Stow house last night to
find Jason ready to load tension on the garage spring; our final task. We did this quickly – it wasn’t nearly as
difficult as I thought it would be – and moved on to loading our tools and the
trash into his truck. I took some final
pictures of the property as required by the contract and headed for home.
I hardly broke a sweat with
the work performed and felt rather guilty when I arrived home to leftover
chicken and dumplings. And sure…I had to
have some of the pie from Savannah’s 23rd birthday party, which we’d
celebrated Sunday. I just didn’t have
time to get in a workout, but that time is coming. I’m behind on yard and home maintenance, both
my own and the ladies for whom I do work, but I should be able to catch that up
over the next two weeks AND get in some bike, run and Survival Workouts.
Thursday,
July 10, 2014
I arrived at the Stow house
in the late afternoon knowing Jason would not be joining me and that I needed
to get things done quickly so I would have time to cut Joan’s grass and maybe
make it to the park before dark for a short run.
I measured and cut
baseboards for the bathrooms, spackled and painted two ceiling patches and did
some miscellaneous cleaning. Then it was
a fast drive to the Solon Cleveland Clinic where I picked up my drug test results
proving that I was clean and an acceptable Tour de France or Major League
Baseball participant. It was also necessary for me to receive my Merchant Mariner's Credentials, something I would need for any work I might take on the Great Lakes - more on that later.
I arrived at Joan’s
place to threatening rain and a very squishy lawn from the previous evening’s
downpour. I elected to do most of the lawn
with a push mower, increasing the time but burning more calories, as well. I finished at 8 p.m. and drove towards the
park where Savannah agreed to meet me with Dakota so they could observe me
doing the Survival Workout.
It had been four weeks
since my last push-up when I’d knocked out 100, which meant my expectations
were low. I didn’t disappoint
myself. By 70 I was slowing, but managed
to squeeze out another ten. Actually,
not too bad considering the layoff. I
was fatigued, though, and knew that I shouldn’t push it to exhaustion as I
would normally if I hoped to be able to paint the next day. Savannah arrived with Dakota and we started
down the muddy trail with Dakota making a point of walking through instead of
around each and every puddle.
“She’s going home in your
car,” Savannah said. She was driving her
new purchase, a 2011 Honda Accord and did not want this muddy mess on her
seats, towels or not.
“Not a problem if you’ll
stop at Heinen’s and do the grocery shopping,” I replied.
I went to ten stations and
did my lifts, all of which were 10-15% below normal. I’d lost some strength, which was no
surprise. I was also feeling the effects
of all the work I’d been doing over the past three weeks; fatigue in the legs
visited me earlier than usual.
At least I put in an
effort. The house should be done
Saturday and I’m hoping to return to a regularly scheduled workout
regimen. I’ve been driving over some
bodies of water each day that have gotten me wishing I had my kayak with me,
too. I miss the recreational workout/activity
more than anything. It defines me and I
can’t be who I am without it.
Survival
Workout: 30 minutes.
Training
Heart Rate: 100-150 bpm.
Calories
Burned: 300.
Wednesday,
July 9, 2014
I arrived at the Stow house
determined to get the forms for the cement steps we needed to pour ready for
Jason’s arrival. I grabbed a spade and
began digging out the area the forms would occupy then began measuring and
determining their exact location. We
were dealing with a sloping sidewalk that was leading to the front door and
creating a step up to the porch on the front of the house. The old step had cracked and broken away from
the porch because the land under was settling.
I wanted to re-pour the last pad leading to the step and correcting for
the unlevel ground by building up one side of the pad. I used a four-foot level and determined how
much I’d have to raise the pad to accomplish this.
We had a table-top saw in
the garage which we were using for the few cuts we needed to make. I took the measurements I needed, drew the
lines on the plywood I was cutting for the cement forms and we about cutting
the wood. The saw sat on an old credenza
in the garage and was unstable at best.
I was without my eye protection since Jack had borrowed it two day
earlier and left it God knows where. Two
simple cuts…no big deal.
I started the saw and began
feeding the wood through for the crosscut as Jason was backing in the
drive. I could hear him exiting the
truck and walking up to the garage, but was focused on the wood I was
cutting. I noticed that I was not staying
on the line I’d struck on the wood even though I was pushing it through with a
right-angle guide. Suddenly, the wood
bound on the blade, split and kicked into the air striking me hard in the
ribs. I turned off the saw quickly and
backed away as Jason ran up to see what had happened.
“Are you okay?” he asked,
reaching to pull something protruding from my forehead above my left
eyebrow. It was a splintered piece of
wood about an inch long and an inch from my eye.
I took a deep breath, which
hurt, and said, “it hurts like hell.” I
lifted my shirt and watched Jason’s eyes widen.
“You took a pretty good
shot,” he said, observing the red laceration, six inches long below my left pec
muscle.
“Good thing I’ve got a core
of steel,” I kidded fully aware of how lucky I’d been.
How stupid of me. Powering up a saw with no one around and
without safety goggles. I was very lucky
and hopefully learned a valuable lesson.
Time will tell.
We mixed and poured three
eighty-pound bags of cement into the forms I’d built over the next hour. I was having troubles mixing as the pulling
and pushing of the heavy cement bothered my bruised ribs. Once this was accomplished, I moved inside
and continued touch-up painting, sanding and door hanging. We finished up by loading wall debris into
the truck and hauling two 100-pound plus hunks of concrete into the woods
behind the house.
I drove home thinking of
stopping for a Survival Workout, but instead decided I should wait to see how
the injury played out. No sense in
making a bad situation worse. I’d eaten
two pieces of pizza Jason had brought to the house and so didn’t want anything
when I got home until Savannah mentioned sitting down to watch something with a
bowl of ice cream.
“Sounds like a good dinner
option,” I said and joined her.
Tomorrow should be more of
the same. I need to cut a lawn for Joan,
a new contract I’ve taken on, cut my own grass and do more work at the
house. We’re very close to being done
and I’ve a lot of catching up to do before I can again get regular with my
workouts. I hope I’m not too far gone
when that day comes.
Tuesday,
July 8, 2014
I drove to Stow to meet
Jason and tackle the remaining tasks we needed to complete to put his first
remodel job behind us. I received a call
from Jason before I arrived asking to stop and pick up some essential
equipment.
“Damn bees are
everywhere. Could you get some wasp
spray and some juice? I’m dying of
thirst,” he said.
I was pretty sure he wasn’t
dying, but figured I should accommodate him since he was dealing with the bees
and the concrete.
I arrived at the site and
immediately dove into completing our tasks.
I went around washing and replacing all the outlet plates I’d removed
before painting, rehung shelving in closets and rehung doors. I needed to do some sanding and touch-up
painting, as well. The house was stuffy
and hot and the sweat was flowing.
It’s not exercise as
defined in any fitness-related sense. It
is, however, activity that burns calories and keeps muscles toned. Climbing, balancing, moving, carrying are all
things that accomplish this end and likely the reason I’ve managed to go so
long without formal workouts and no weight gain. Still, I know I’m losing some strength and
endurance and am anxious to get back to the Survival Workout, biking and
running. In the meantime, I’ll just keep
working hard.
Monday,
July 7, 2014
It has been such a long
time since I last posted a blog and there is a reason – or excuse – for
that. It goes something like this.
I haven’t been working
out. Over the past three weeks, I have
done one 21-minute run and little else other than work. Work however, has been intense. I had picked up two new clients for whom I am
do miscellaneous jobs around their homes in addition to forming a new business
with my son, Jason. Our business – J &
J Home Maintenance – was formed primarily to do rehab work on bank-owned
properties being reconditioned for resale.
We went to look over a property we’d been given to consider and toured
the house with a work order outlining all that needed to be done.
“This place is an absolute
mess,” I said as we toured the 3,600 square feet of a house that had not been
lived in in over two years.
“Yeah – they’re not
normally this bad,” Jason said. He’d
done some work with a friend on a similar property and from that experience,
gotten the idea that we should do them together.
The entire interior of the
house had to be painted – ceiling, walls, trim, and anything that had a coat of
paint on it already. This would
necessitate the removal of extensive amounts of disgusting wallpaper, which is
never an easy feat. It also required the
removal and replacement of two bathroom cabinets, counters and sinks, three
toilets, eight light fixtures, two concrete steps, two garage doors, shower
heads and plumbing, and over 50 feet of paneling and drywall, warped and moldy,
from a finished basement. It was a major
undertaking for our first project and would have to be done in our free time
since we both worked full time positions already.
“I’m willing to give it a
go if you are, but there is no way we can do it in a week. We’ll tell him two weeks and see what
happens,” I said. He agreed.
The company heading the
renovation project, Market Ready, tried to get us to agree to one week, but I
simply said, “give it to someone else – there is no way we can do it that
quickly.” He called me back 20 minutes
later and said, “do it.”
I spent 90 hours there over
the next two weeks painting, cleaning, hauling and rehabbing. Because we couldn’t get answers quickly
enough on portions of the work that were unclear, we were unable to meet the
two-week deadline, which was last Thursday, and continued to work through the
holiday weekend. As I write this, we’ve
still got another 20-30 hours of work to do before completion, but the end is
in sight. The question will be, ‘should
we do another one?’ I’m not sure, at
this moment. For the most part, I have
spent three weeks working and sleeping, which has kept me in shape, but it’s no
life. I won’t make much money on an
hourly basis, but I’ve gotten a tremendous crash course in home remodeling and
spent quality time with Jason.
My feet are killing
me. They were very sore after the first
day of painting. I’d spent over 10 hours
on them and figured it was that…and the shoes. I switched out to my hiking shoes for the
second day, but it was no better. They
remained sore, but it lessened over the next week until I went for that
21-minute run. That evening, I could
hardly stand the pain. I’m wondering
what the next run will be like.
I’d like to say this is the
beginning of a consistent return to the blog, but I suspect I will remain
sporadic. I began the blog with two
thoughts in mind. First, inspiration to
readers…and to me…to exercise more.
Second, to work on my writing skills.
I’ve accomplished both, but there is no end to keeping fit or to
improving writing, so I have to keep going.
My life is stressful right now and writing, or the need to, can either
relieve or heighten that, depending on the day.
Today – it’s a relief.
