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rilenerocks · 5 years ago

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I wonder if all people are born equipped for life’s passions. And if they are, is the capacity for them the same for everyone? Does everyone start out with a genetically determined amount or is there an infinite level that is sometimes achieved and sometimes not, depending on what happens to each of us? I’ve spent quite a bit of time thinking about this. Some people seem like they’re boiling over with passion and others act so subdued that it’s hard to know if they’ve every experienced a single moment of that powerful sensation.

I think passion has lots of different connotations, both positive and negative. Some passions are conscious and others lurk below our mind’s surface. They can be enriching and growth-inducing or deleterious and damaging to our health. Passion can be enthusiasm and avid devotion. It can be overwhelming in both rage and love. It can be intense sexual attraction. It can be vehemence and anger. Probably it’s combinations of a wide range of feelings and this can be very confusing. I know that I’ve felt all types of passions ever since I was a little kid.

When I was about five, I got a chameleon. I loved it so much I squeezed it to death. What a horror. I was way too young to understand the implications of the potential for destruction associated with a positive feeling. But I learned more and more about that as I grew up. My parents told me I was born loving everyone and everything and that people loved me back. My mom said she was afraid someone might steal me, most particularly my dad’s sister, someone she detested. My older brother told me he first remembered being truly happy when I came along. Sad for him but good for me. I did love so many things with a passion. I loved my parents. I loved warm milk. I loved animals. I loved fudgsicles and chocolate popsicles. I loved playing outside. I loved school and school supplies, especially crayons, erasers and glue. So I guess I started out with my fair share of passions.

As I got older, I extended all that passionate love to people. I loved my friends. I started to love boys. I loved sports and movies. I loved justice. So much passion. It wasn’t long before I started getting knocked around by reality. Reality was that just because I loved what I loved didn’t mean that I was going to reap big returns on my passionate investments. I loved school but after 9th grade, it mostly bored me to death and as I went off on my own to learn, my grades tanked. I had just enough natural talent to take me into college but nothing about that structure worked any better for me at that level.

Then I realized that the just world I dreamed of may as well have been in a galaxy far, far away. The disappointment from that discovery ignited my negative passions which are still going strong today. Always something to be furious about and to fight against. Fuel for my engine.

I loved participating in sports but that brought me negative attention. I wanted to be an attractive girl but my youthful participation brought me the nickname “moose” which had a profoundly negative effect on the joy I found as an athlete. In my junior year of high school I cut 60 PE classes and as a senior, had to make them all up, two for one, in order to graduate. On swimming days, I was soaking wet on and off for hours. But I still loved sports although I became more of an observer rather than a participant. I still have my swimming but at one point I dreamed of smashing home runs and spiking volleyballs for a long time. I made it back to volleyball as an adult, playing while pregnant. Maybe that vibe is why my daughter turned out to be an exceptional athlete in a time that was somewhat kinder to women than the days of my youth. Although not yet kind enough. But let me stay on track here.

I was a passionate friend and potentially a passionate girlfriend when I was a kid. I fell in love easily. And I stayed there. There’s another component to my particular brand of passion – loyalty. My husband and my kids always told me I was the most loyal person they ever knew. That’s probably a fair assessment. Once committed to someone, at least in my own mind, if not in actual practice with the person I’ve sekected, I stayed put. I’m hard to get rid of once I’ve made my choices. Despite the fire that burns in me so frequently, I’m not the type to flame out. My burn is slow and long-lasting. A lot of disappointment and pain have to happen before I walk away from someone. I guess it’s fair to say that I have personal standards of how people should treat one another, my rules, for sure. But I’ll bend and accommodate for a long time before I give up on a person. Over the years, I’ve developed what I call my permanent list. I have occupants on that list who said or did something egregious enough so that I know I’ll never forget it, at least as long as my brain is functioning. But for the most part, that list is of those individuals who are beyond my forgiveness. I know that’s not a very politically correct attitude in current culture. Forgiveness is a real thing advocated around me. Being unforgiving is supposed to be bad for you, toxic and unhealthy.

Your Greatest Strength

Social intelligenceBeing aware of the motives/feelings of others and oneself; knowing what to do to fit into different social situations; knowing what makes other people tick.VIRTUE CATEGORY: HUMANITY

Forgiveness Forgiving those who have done wrong; accepting others’ shortcomings; giving people a second chance; not being vengeful.VIRTUE CATEGORY: TEMPERANCE

I took a personality trait test from a Yale-sponsored class a few months ago. You answer all these questions and a list of your character traits ranked from best to worst is generated. My best trait was emotional intelligence, followed by loyalty and my worst was the inability to forgive. Sounded right. And it works for me. Michael was always trying to get me to let things go and be more forgiving. He said my hot rage and grudge holding was going to damage me physically. Well, look who’s still here and who isn’t? I’m living on the terms that suit me.

I guess I got the most bashed around emotionally by my first serious college boyfriend. I thought I was going to marry him. The truth is, I thought I was going to marry everyone I ever loved, going all the way back to when I was five years old. But this was the first genuinely reciprocated love I’d felt as a grownup and despite warning flags about not being ready and immaturity, I was convinced that if I fought hard enough, I could make this happen, even with evidence to the contrary popping up regularly and painfully. We were together on and off for three years. One morning after feeling that we’d had the best night of our life, I woke up to him telling me that we needed to break up and that things just couldn’t work. I was astonished, hurt and enraged. As he made his way out of my apartment, I followed him into the street, screaming at the top of my lungs that he would never find anyone who loved him the way I did and that he’d regret this decision for the rest of his life. My roommate and another friend dragged me back into the house as his metallic blue Chevy Hornet pulled away.

The fact is, he did figure that out later but by that time, I’d mostly recovered and was with Michael with whom I spent the rest of his life. Sadly, not the rest of our lives. Michael helped me rebuild myself and to believe that I could trust someone and reestablish my belief that a lifelong positive passion was possible. I’d already figured out that I could hang on to my negative passions about feminism, politics, economic justice, the health of the planet and the like. But I wasn’t sure about people. One of the places I put my positive passions was to sports, both teams and individuals. I could afford to invest myself in those without personal disappointments that had left me flattened and despairing. I picked my loyalties and stayed with them. I had favorite teams and players. I watched everything, football, basketball, hockey, swimming and became an Olympics junkie. As time went on I added tennis and soccer. I still remember the uniform numbers of those individuals who for whatever reason, won my heart. Jean Beliveau, #4 – Montreal Canadiens. Doug Mohns, #11 – Chicago Blackhawks. Doug Buffone, #55 – Chicago Bears. Fred Biletnikoff, #25 – Oakland Raiders. I could go on and on. A lot of my friends were surprised that I was so into sports, as many of them, particularly the contact ones dominated by males, seemed in direct conflict with my feminist politics. But I didn’t care what it seemed like. My personal passionate commitments had cost me a significant amount of emotional angst. I think I was born with a fairly deep reservoir for giving but I’d come to realize that when I put myself out there, I’d best be prepared to be doing it because I needed to for me and not because of what I expected in return. I’d had a lot of disappointment from family, friends and lovers. With sports, the worst that could happen was that your favorites could lose. The pain threshold for those things was tolerable for me, easier than all the personal disappointments. At least, it always had been for many years. When the silent switch happened, I really wasn’t aware of it at all. I’ve only just figured out that my lines had gotten blurred below the surface of my consciousness because of what life dealt out to me. I was too busy in the living of it to recognize that I’d set myself up for a whole new undoing.

So these sports. As a Chicagoan and a southsider, I loved the White Sox. I branched out and embraced the Cubs. I was a hockey fan and I sat with my dad as he agonized over DePaul’s basketball team. Except for golf, I’d watch almost anything. Eventually, tennis got my attention. I watched the women, Billie Jean King, Chris Evert, Martina Navratilova, Steffi Graf and of course, finally Venus and Serena. I admired their skills and grit. But I always loved the boys and most particularly, the ones who behaved well, rarely had tantrums or broke their rackets and in general, seemed to play against that spoiled brat type. No John McEnroes or Ilie Nastases for me.

I liked the cool Swede Bjorn Borg, who played like a smooth machine. After him, it was Pete Sampras, who was just a kid when he started and had a long 14 year career, complete with those beautiful serves and the tenacity to keep playing after vomiting on the court from sickness and dehydration. The civilized guys. I made an exception for Jimmy Connors sometimes because he had high entertainment value. There were a few Australians thrown into the mix and the Croat Goran Ivanisevic who had sporadic talent but took forever to win the big tourney. But in the middle of Pete’s reign, Roger Federer appeared on the scene. And that was all she wrote for me.

Federer broke into the big time as a teenager and was kind of a punk for awhile. But the tragic car wreck death of his Australian coach when he was 21 was a life changing event for him. Between that and his relationship with his older girlfriend who eventually became his wife, he pulled himself together and became who he is today, a brilliant champion, a genuinely loved public figure and a generous philanthropist. In short, my favorite tennis player.

Federer’s been playing for 21 years. I’ve watched him countless times and always enjoyed his grace, elegance and tenacity. For most of those years I watched him and the other players during the four major tournaments, the Australian Open, the French Open, Wimbledon and the US Open. There was a lot of other tennis happening off my radar, many tournaments and point systems for rankings. I didn’t really care about that stuff. I was happy with what I saw, read articles so I had some idea of the background for the majors, and was generally content.

When Michael got sick seven and a half years ago, that was where I was at. As we processed his disease and what we knew would be a limited future, I was trying to get a handle on interests that would distract me from the constant pressure of anticipating death. Michael liked tennis too and had played for years as a young man. Often we watched matches together. But as time went by and we rode the waves of anxiety, I started to seek out more and more information about tennis. We’d switched cable tv providers and the Tennis Channel was included in our package. I realized that there were all kinds of tournaments and that Roger participated in lots of them. He was famous for holding records in places that had never crossed my radar. And we had a DVR. I started taping everything. When I had nothing to do, I started watching more tennis. I liked other players but Roger was the one. As the months of Michael’s illness progressed, we both labored under the strain of wondering how much time we had left to enjoy our life. Sometimes I drove my reserved husband crazy, wanting to talk through everything all the time. He was in treatment, often tired and in need of rest. I had lots of time on my hands but I wanted to stay nearby, soaking in every minute of life with Michael. So I turned to the box where Roger waited in the DVR. He was such a joy to watch. Healthy, easy and an amazing contrast to my precious guy who was carrying such a huge load. Over time, I decided that who needed a DVR when you could set an alarm and watch a tournament live from Australia, China or the Middle East? We didn’t really have a normal routine or schedule any more so I could make my own hours. As years went by, Federer’s wins or losses began to affect me more and more. The worst time came in 2016 when he sustained a knee injury while bathing one of his kids. He decided to withdraw from the professional tour for months while he rehabbed thoroughly and tried to decide if he could return and play at the championship level again.

I was worried about it but at the time I was really focused on the stretch of good health Michael was enjoying so we took advantage of an excellent fall and traveled a lot. I had concerns about some signs of immune system letdown in Michael but as late as December, 2016, we were in our happy place at Starved Rock and life seemed even and predictable. Unfortunately that languorous period was short-lived. By the first week of January, Michael’s behavior was unusual. His appetite was diminished and he had some odd moments when he wasn’t making a lot of sense. We went in to see our oncologist who did some bloodwork and ordered a scan. Everything came back clean. So on we went. Things got stranger and stranger. I began to believe that there was an occult return of Michael’s cancer and began a nagging process that drove him nuts. He wanted to leave well enough alone and I didn’t. We began bickering. Right around the same time, Roger was getting ready to emerge from his medical exile and enter the Australian Open.

As days went by, Michael’s behaviors became odder and odder and I kept dragging him back to the doctors. Meanwhile, Roger was winning match after match. I was up in the night, watching him in real time and trying to avoid arguing with Michael who was annoyed with me. The doctors kept finding nothing. On January 29th, 2017, I had the pleasure of watching Roger win his first major since being injured.

On January 31st, I prevailed upon Michael to let me bring him to the ER to see if we could get him a brain MRI, the only test he hadn’t had. By that night we had the dreadful diagnosis of carcinomatous meningitis, a rare manifestation of certain solid tumors that’s becoming more common as people survive their original cancers for longer periods of time. We were devastated, Michael even more than me as he’d believed the continuing positive reports while I knew something was terribly wrong. We had a 32 day siege in the hospital and then I was able to bring him home in early March. The median survival time for this disease was 4 weeks from diagnosis. Michael hung on for almost seventeen.

Meanwhile, the French Open began close to the end of Michael’s life and I continued to watch through June 11th. I remember thinking how ironic it was that Roger’s playing bookended the last months of Michael’s life. When July came, along came Wimbledon. I watched all of it and Roger emerged victorious. That highlighted my summer of preparing for the celebration of Michael’s life which was planned for December. When that was over, I stared down 2018, trying to figure out what to do with myself. I started this blog on January 1st. I was in the midst of planning my 50th high school reunion and also wanted to do a little traveling.

I finally landed on the Western-Southern Open tennis tournament in Cincinnati, a chance to see Roger in the flesh for the first time. As he was getting older I figured I’d better get that bucket list item done. Additionally, the Laver Cup, Roger’s creation was happening in Chicago, at the same time as my reunion.

I bought tickets to that as well. Both events were wonderful and I was so glad I went. Roger won some and lost some and I felt satisfied. But as time passed I found watching him, especially when he lost, to become more and more stressful. I was aware of the negative feelings but not sure what to do about them. Each match got worse and worse. This was not supposed to be my relationship with sports. I was irritable, frustrated and hostile. I could barely stand being with myself. When my son was around he tried to be comforting but I was basically so obnoxious he’d wind up leaving me to my own devices. I started thinking really hard, going back over the seven and a half year history of Michael’s disease, death and this mourning period. A lot has happened to me during that time. I spent a lot of emotional capital during those years. I spent an extraordinary amount of love on my marriage, so much that I often wonder if I can love anyone or anything new ever again. Even a pet. And then just this past week in the midst of an ugly US Open for Roger, I recognized what I’m referring to as a silent switch. Somewhere back there, as I recognized that my time with Michael was running away, I put a lot of my heart into Roger, a sports guy who was supposed to be a distraction, not someone personal. As his fortunes ebb and he gets closer to retirement I realized that my outsized reactions are more like living through an intimate loss instead of just watching an athlete’s life come to its normal conclusion. I realized that I’d transferred some of my feelings about Michael’s absence to a weird anticipatory despair about Roger’s career coming to an end. How bizarre is that? Probably not very. Roger’s trajectory is another ending, a metaphor for what I’ve been coping with for a very long time. I didn’t recognize exactly when it happened but I know it did. And acknowledging the inappropriate outsized reactions I was having helped me see the need to face this metaphor for what is – a familiar road twisted into an inappropriate level of importance. It’s time to set it back in a more normal place. Ironically, during this week of internal probing and exploring, I’ve been outside in my garden a lot. I had no trouble identifying two adult butterflies, feeding, still strong but battered by predators, perhaps by wind. But still living out there in the world. I was aware that I identified with them. No silent switching in this case. Awareness is hard and often mysterious. I’m going to keep going after it. It’s better than living in the dark.

The Silent Switch I wonder if all people are born equipped for life’s passions. And if they are, is the capacity for them the same for everyone?

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uldren-sov · 8 years ago

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a second chance at ...

Just some musings.

Generally a “redeemed/LS” SW and a redeemed Arcann have quite a lot in common. So have some speculation in fic form!

The hologram blinked out of existence again as she sliced through it with the heavier training saber she currently wielded. It was 0430 and while her arms and legs were burning with use, the rest of her body leaden with exhaustion, Elora could not find the peace of mind to fall asleep.

Logistics swam behind her eyelids every time she closed them, the needs of now three separate faction’s call for aide rang in her ears at every quiet moment, and the constant warring with Valkorion - the perpetual vigilance she had to maintain against him - echoed in her thoughts, leaving her almost empty with the hole he left. She hated to admit it but the fear that he wasn’t really gone also lingered in the gaping wound he left in her psyche.

“And you, a lone Sith, betrayed by your master and left for dead,” his voice reverberated in her thoughts - a phantom of him reaching out to seize her by the throat nearly manifested in her vision. “I gave you a second life, anointed you my Wrath, forged into being worthy of the Eternal Throne. Without me, you are nothing.”

For a full year she’s been on this path of redemption and succeed through the Alliance, but lately with Vaylin, with Nathema, and even with Valkorion she’d been forced to face things she’s consistently overlooked. Her rage and her ties to the Dark Side which sought to consume her, her loss of Ziost and exploration of Nathema which reminded her the same void would be on her homeworld, and her place as Commander when Valkorion had planned on much of it. It had all sat heavily on her mind these past couple months.

She exhaled slowly in the empty room below Oggurobb’s lab, eyes closed, emptying her lungs with a low breath.

The thought passed.

“Again!”

The computer’s gentle, female-toned, voice reacted to her command. “Simulation Aurek-Ten booting. Previous iterations have seen a 10.5 second average increase in completion.”

Elora wished that the computers would be sophisticated enough to give her feedback, where exactly her attacks were lacking or where her form was off. She could only see the video playback and speculate on her own which was a recipe for making bad habits and mistakes permanent.

For now she attributed her poor performance to her exhaustion, but she’s had to fight in worse conditions and in more exhausted states. She had to be ready, just because Valkorion was dead didn’t mean others weren’t still out to get her. As she readied herself against the featureless humanoid hologram, which spun it’s “blade” and held it high at the ready, she almost believed her own excuse. It wasn’t paranoia and perfectionism when such things were necessary.

Four minutes and 16 seconds later, ten seconds above average, she spun and struck clear across and through the hologram’s neck.

“That’s supposed to be me,” a rumbling, low, voice intoned behind her. It was a statement rather than a question. In fact, the only question she had was how many of those four minutes had Arcann been watching? Or had he been watching her, silently, even longer and she’s been too sloppy to notice? Even in this pause the weight of her exhaustion seeped into her skin, into her bones. An explosion may go off and she felt as though she’d be dull enough to not notice.

“It’s a recreation from what we gathered from video feed and from what I could recall from our duels. While the Jedi and Zakuulan Knights may teach me much about the Force, suffice to say none can match me in combat,” she replied matter-of-factly. It was an easy thing to say to hide the sinking suspicion that her martial prowess might be one of the only reasons she was Commander in the first place. She turned to face him, shrugging off the thought, and not wanting to give the once-Emperor her back.

He was all straight posture with a hard, blue, and inscrutable gaze. She couldn’t help but feel as though he saw through her brusqueness, at least a little, with that look. Despite his serious demeanor Arcann nonetheless was more casually dressed than in the formal armor he normally wore. He gave a small bow of his head and she flicked her hand to beckon him closer. They hadn’t spoke one-on-one very often outside of official capacity, though she had meant to. She set the training sabers aside wiped her hands on her tied off training pants.

“I apologize, I hope I didn’t wake you in some way with my practice.”

“You didn’t,” he responded at once. “If you’re in need of a partner-”

“I’d rather not give the people here more images of us fighting; not yet, not even in this capacity.”

“I was not aware of the audience you have now.”

She smiled to herself and looked away, it wasn’t unkind but she was suitably chastised. He stopped before her. He was still rough in trying to engage the others, with so much bad blood between him and the Alliance she wasn’t surprised. But, she should have made a more conscious effort to have them appear as a united force, not only in battle but outside of official work as well.

“In private, then, I’d greatly appreciate the assistance Arcann,” she ventured with a far more tired a smile than she intended.

“I’m here to help the Alliance in whatever capacity I can, Commander. That means you as well,” he replied solemnly. The whole thing felt stilted, he was a comrade, an associate, and she didn’t have that same rapport she can drum up with most anyone else. Stars know she wasn’t the most genial of people, nor the most charismatic, but she felt like she still had leagues over him given sheltered life he must have lived.

She had to approach this like any other problem, it was just another obstacle to overcome. Besides, who else could relate to what they were going through? That was common grounds enough to establish something, no?

“I’ll keep it in mind. Though I imagine as former Emperor there are better places for you to help as well. For instance, I’m sure any help you give will be invaluable to rebuilding Zakuul; learning about it as well,” she offered.

“With all due respect, Commander, I await the day I can put my former title behind me. It’s not something I think you could understand,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. It gave her a moment’s pause to plan how to best attack this unfamiliarity between them.

She settled on a direct method.

“Please, just - Elora, and believe it or not, Arcann, I can understand that. Far too well,” she confessed. More than one way around an obstacle and she wasn’t one to shy away from a challenge. To his credit he looked perplexed but didn’t prod, merely waited if she chose to continue.

“My time as Wrath still haunts and follows me to this day. The first thing I had to try to prove, to still prove, to our allies and commanders from the Republic, was that I was no longer an enemy. To our allies from the Sith Empire I had to remind them I was no longer the executioner meant to kept them in line, no longer the thing that goes bump in the night,” she explained. The weariness in her tone bled from her physical exhaustion in part, but only in part. It had been a long fight to be accepted, one she still fought for.

“I remember what I read about you Sith and what my father told me of your role. An unchecked enforcer - beholden to no one in your Empire,” he said and she nodded.

“ I give you that I may not know exactly how it’s like to leave a galactic power I used to lead. But, I know exactly what it’s like to work with people whose family and friend’s blood is on your hands,” she said. She met his gaze with difficulty “We’re both dealing with that, at least. And now we do together.”

“Among other things,” he replied gravely. There was a beat, a moment. “I noticed, when you - stopped - my sister. Your rage, your emotions were raw; a darkness I thought was only attributed to my father, took over you.”

“Another thing I need to work on,” she replied. It was hard listening to it said, admitting her fallacies not only to herself but to someone else but, hearing it was a relief. It needed to be said. Somewhere the stilted nature had gone - maybe misery just loved company.

“Yet you stand redeemed in the eyes of your followers. A worthy goal to have accomplished and one that still eludes me.”

“When I reach it, you’ll be the first I’ll tell. Until then - we both have much to do to prove ourselves. To…” she paused, it wasn’t helping either of them if she damned them both with even well-meaning words.”... put more back into the galaxy than we’ve taken, I think.”

She couldn’t quite read the look he had but he let his arms fall to the side. Maybe for a moment neither of them were up on a pedestal not of their own making, stained by the legacy of their station. They could meet somewhere in the middle and not have to pretend they weren’t as invincible as they both appeared to be.

“It seems I have much still to learn even now – Elora,” he struggled with her name and she smiled.

“You and me both,” she managed around a yawn. “I look forward to our spar, Arcann.” She passed by him with a nod, a bit of weight lifted from her mind despite her confessions. She hoped maybe she lightened a bit of the weight on him as well. Either way, it was something else they could work on.

No longer did they have to do it alone.

#arcann #swtor oc #oc: elora #sith warrior #my writing

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stellahibernis · 4 years ago

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Writing life

I haven’t done regular writing updates in a long while, so here’s a bit more comprehensive one just because. Mostly about writing (it’s been an unusual half a year for me), and something about life in general and the half a year of relatively minor but continuous health challenges, which are a big reason why the writing has been what it has, albeit not all of it.

When it comes to writing, I’ve been much less productive than in previous years. Mostly due to lack of energy (due to the aforementioned health problems), but I’ve also had something of an inspiration problem. Good news for me is that the inspiration problem seems to be dealt with (although possibly less good for my regular readers, since it comes with branching to new fandoms even though I’m not dropping MCU), now I need to rebuild the writing habit that suffered during the spring. I’m on summer vacation now, and will hopefully get a good amount done.

(Rest behind a cut since I got characteristically wordy)

The first weeks of the year were pretty much business as usual, including that I finally wrote the Captain Marvel fic, A New Year, that I’d been mulling over for a while, but never got done until then.

At the beginning of the year my company moved to a new office, and after a while it became obvious there was something there that caused an allergic reaction in me. It wasn’t great, but we managed it best as we could (including working partly from home and at the office I sat at least part time in one of the smaller rooms, which worked better than the open space where our desks are). It was doable, but left me with considerably less energy than usual after the work days, which obviously affected my writing.

The first few months of this year my writing efforts were mostly spent on love’s not controlled by the weather, which was a funny process, because I like the story and was inspired to work on it, but it didn’t quite feel like that because of the general fatigue going on. The whole time there was this weird disconnect between what I thought of it and the general feeling about the process. I’m happy with the end result, and also that I managed to post it when it was still early spring (it being a winter romance, sure would have been ironic to post in June, for example :D).

Anyway, starting from March, I’ve obviously been living in the same limbo as everyone else. Since March 10th, I’ve been at the office exactly once, otherwise working remotely (for reference, I live in Finland where things never got completely out of hand). I’m one of the really lucky ones who can do so relatively easily and our company was very good about it. We had a policy that we can work remotely or come to office (and rules on how to be careful if you do), but since my getting there involves public transport and I have less than great lungs due to late diagnosed celiac disease that manifested mostly as respiratory problems (hence the difficulty in diagnosis, it’s gotten better since my diet was fixed), I’ve stayed at home as much as possible.

Turns out, I most likely had the virus in March (it was very, very mild so I never got tested or even saw a doctor for it). At the time it felt like a somewhat weird cold with fatigue and indigestion, but in retrospect it was probably Covid, the biggest giveaway being that once spring came and I got more active, I noticed my lung capacity is dismal these days. It’s in fact worse now than after the bronchitis I had in my early adulthood that lasted a whole winter, and I was nowhere near that sick this year. So that’s what I’m dealing with now, although I’m getting back to my regular energy levels, just need to take it easy when walking up the hill, for example.

Unsurprisingly the general fatigue affected my writing, and I went literally the whole of April without writing a single word. The bright side was that I managed to actually deal with it in a constructive way, and gave myself permission to not even try if I couldn’t which took away much of the mental load, and probably helped me get back to it in May.

The non-writing April was also a big reason why I decided not to take part in a big bang this year. I’ve had a good time (and been extremely happy with the results) over the last couple of years I’ve participated, but at the sign up time I had no idea what I should write or if I even could get back to writing any time soon, so I decided it was better not to force it.

In May I started to feel much more inspired again (also healthier, it’s amazing what a little additional energy does for your creative drive), and at first it manifested in the form of a bunch of new ideas. My idea list is even more terrifyingly long than usual at this point, although I know realistically not all of them will get written, not even all of those for which I have more than a vague idea. I think I have about 30k of one story written that won’t be finished. Some of the themes have and will be translated into other stories (including a current WIP which definitely will get finished), and the rest of it was good practice, so no regrets even though it’ll stay in the unfinished limbo.

Before the writing break I started a Stucky fic, and it was the one I came back to in May when I started writing again, albeit slowly, in fits and starts. Over the last handful of years I’ve developed a pretty good writing habit, but apparently a month long complete break during an otherwise challenging year does a lot of damage to it, and I’m still getting back to it. Slowly but surely, and I’ve adjusted some of my process starting early this year, because focusing for longer periods doesn’t work as well as it used to. Nowadays I write more in short bursts here and there rather than all at once, but the daily word counts are getting to the similar level, which I’m very happy with.

The aforementioned Stucky fic (which still has no title, the constant struggle to come up with those!) is about two thirds done, and it’s mentally in the category “would like to post it in July” even though it has had a couple of big breaks, first the non-writing break and then my very sudden detour to other fandoms. Steve and Bucky are currently hanging at the beach with some unresolved issues, so I should get back to it :D

Generally this year I’ve had several instances where I might have branched toward other fandoms than MCU, which is quite a big indicator that the focus of my interest is definitely on the move (the laser focus of over five years is pretty unusual, tbh). I still have a lot of ideas for it and will keep writing them, but I’ll also write other stuff.

First potential branching out, one that didn’t produce anything concrete and probably won’t in anywhere near future (for the pretty obvious “creator being a despicable human being” related reasons) was to finally write the post canon HP fic I’ve been toying with every now and then ever since Deathly Hallows was released. I considered starting it early this year, but never got there (although I have a rough idea what the story would be like, if I were to write it), and now I’m again soured even at the thought of it.

Second branch, again nothing concrete has materialized yet, mostly because it came to me during April, is a Kingdom Hearts fic set post game three. I used my low energy time in getting to know what happened in KH3 and I have mixed feelings but also there was a hook that would turn into a pretty interesting story. This is in my idea pile, in the very back burner currently, but a lot more likely to get written at some point (probably not in 2020, though).

Third branch, I’ve been meaning to write a fic in the Wicked + the Divine canon, and actually started one in winter, but then I got sick. It should be a short one, so I’ll get to finishing it one of these days (tentatively places it also in the “would like to post it in July” category, but it’s the last one in that pile).

Fourth branch, which actually produced a finished story, and not only that, it was the easiest, most joyful writing process of the year (so far! Hopefully more to come), was that I got reminded of Susan Cooper’s Dark Is Rising books, read all of them over a couple of weeks, and got hit by a major case of feels. Hence Light from the Lost happened.

And the fifth branch started from where I finally watched the Untamed, promptly fell deep in that hole and now the muse is terrifyingly bountiful and demands I write all the things (I have no less than eight fic ideas already!) The one currently at works is just condensed pain when it comes to rewatching scenes for research :D

Also I have a terrible tv show hangover from it, which is very inconvenient since I want to watch the last season of Dark but just can’t invest myself into it right now.

So that’s what’s been going on for me, the current plan in life is to enjoy the vacation, get less stressed, and hopefully healthier. Writing plan for immediate future is:

Finish, edit, and post the Untamed fic on top of that queue, and hope that the muse allows me to work on other stuff after that

Finish, edit, and post the Stucky WIP, preferably in July

Decide what to write for the traditional end of year fic (look at me planning ahead!)

This has been over 1700 words of writing about writing fic, so maybe I should get to that now. On the other hand, writing this definitely helps me in building the regular writing habit, so we’ll count it as a win.

#writing process #life stuff

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fishermariawo · 6 years ago

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What Causes Slow Post-Workout Recovery—and What Can You Do About It?

One of the biggest mistakes I see among people who exercise is they forget this core truth: we get fitter not from training, but from recovering from training. This doesn’t just occur in beginners either. Some of the most experienced, hardest-charging athletes I know fail to heed the importance of recovery. Hell, the reason my endurance training destroyed my life and inadvertently set the stage for creation of the Primal Blueprint was that I didn’t grasp the concept of recovery. I just piled on the miles, thinking the more the merrier.

It didn’t work.

What is recovery, anyway?

There’s short-term recovery. Your heart rate slows back down, your body temperature drops, your sweat dries, your muscles and lungs stop burning.

Long-term recovery is less conspicuous, more internal. You replace lost energy stores, repair damaged muscle, clear out waste products, and begin the process of adaptation to the training.

When both short- and long-term recovery happen together, you “feel ready” to go again.

Some portion of how quickly we recover from training is out of our direct control.

Genetics is one factor we can’t control. Researchers have found genetic variants of collagen-encoding genes that increase or decrease the rate at which we recover from exercise-induced muscle damage, muscle tissue genes that increase resistance to exercise-induced muscle soreness, immune genes that affect the speed of adaptation to training. But even many genetic variants purported to affect recovery act through decisions carriers make. A carrier of a genetic variant linked to muscle power experienced more muscle damage and required more recovery after a soccer match, but only because that carrier “performed more speed and power actions during the game.”

Age is another factor out of our direct control. Sure, living, eating, and training right can stave off many of the worst effects of aging. Sure, a sedentary 70-year-old will recover from a workout far more slowly (if he or she can be cajoled into training) than a 70-year-old master athlete. But time does tick on. Following training that fatigues but doesn’t damage the muscles, like easy cycling, light weight training, or a sub-aerobic threshold jog, older athletes recover muscle function and performance at similar rates to younger athletes. After intense exercises that damage the muscles, like sprints, heavy lifting, intervals, or longer race-pace runs, however, older athletes recover more slowly than younger athletes.

Other factors, while preventable and modifiable over the long haul, inexorably inhibit workout recovery once they’re in place:

If you’re sick, you won’t recover as quickly. Illness diverts some of the resources that would otherwise be used to recover from training.

If you have heart disease, you’ll recover more slowly. In one study, having heart disease was the greatest predictor of a slower rate of heart rate recovery after exercise.

If your hormones are out of whack, you’ll likely recover more slowly. Hormones are the messengers and managers that tell our cells what to do. That includes muscle repair, hypertrophy, fuel replenishment, inflammatory signaling, and every other cellular function related to recovery.

Now I’ve got bad news and good news. Everything else that slows down workout recovery is under your direct control.

Factors We Can Control Stress

Stress is stress. Traffic is a stressor. A job you hate is a stressor. Procrastinating until you absolutely must get working is a stressor. And yes, exercise is a stressor. Too much of the psychological, lifestyle, or mental stress we all face impairs our ability to recover from exercise-induced stress.

Recent research confirms that “mental stress” impairs workout recovery, and it doesn’t speak in generalities. Thirty-one undergrads were assessed for stress levels using a battery of psychological tests, then engaged in a heavy lower body strength workout. At an hour post-workout, students in the high stress group had regained 38 percent of their leg strength, while students in the low stress group had regained 60 percent of their strength.

I developed my anti-stress supplement Primal Calm (now, Adaptogenic Calm) back in the chronic cardio days as a way to improve my training recovery. That’s what gave the product so much momentum in the endurance community—it turns out that beating back stress of all kinds quickened recovery from a very specific type of training stress.

Some stress is unavoidable. But most of us create additional stress in our lives and fail to do enough to counter or manage it. Stop making unforced errors.

Poor Sleep

Sleep debt impairs exercise recovery primarily via two routes: by increasing cortisol, reducing testosterone production, and lowering muscle protein synthesis; and by disrupting slow wave sleep, the constructive stage of slumber in which growth hormone secretion peaks, tissues heal, and muscles rebuild. That’s probably why sleep deprivation has been linked to muscular atrophy and increased urinary excretion of nitrogen, and why the kind of cortisol excess caused by sleep deprivation reduces muscle strength.

Additionally, sleep loss can increase the risk of injuries by decreasing balance and postural control. If you trip and fall, or throw out your back due to poor technique, you won’t even have a workout to recover from.

Most people think bad sleep is unavoidable. It happens to the best of us from time to time, but a night of bad sleep here and there isn’t going to slow down recovery. The real recovery killer is chronically bad sleep, and that’s the kind most of us can avoid by sticking to a good sleep hygiene regimen.

Nutrient Deficiencies

Since every physiological function requires a micronutrient substrate—vitamin, mineral, hormone, neurotransmitter, etc.—and physiological functions increase with exercise and recovery, active people require more micronutrients in their diet. “More of everything” is a safe bet, but there are a few key nutrients that working out especially depletes:

Zinc: Exercise, especially weight training, works better with plenty of testosterone on hand to build muscle and develop strength. Zinc is a key substrate for the production of testosterone, and studies show that exercise probably increases the need for zinc. In fact, one study found that exhaustive exercise depleted testosterone (and thyroid) hormones in athletes, while supplementing with zinc restored it.

Magnesium and Other Electrolytes: Magnesium is required for a number of physiological processes related to workout recovery, including oxygen uptake by cells, energy production, and electrolyte balance. Unfortunately, as one of the main electrolytes, lots of magnesium is lost to sweat during exercise. The same could be said for other electrolytes like calcium, sodium, and potassium, but most people get plenty of those minerals from a basic Primal eating plan. Getting enough magnesium, however, is a bit tougher, making magnesium deficiency a real issue for people trying to recover from workouts.

Iron: Intense exercise depletes iron, which is instrumental in the formation of red blood cells and oxygen delivery to your tissues during training and the immune response after it. They even have a name for it—exercise-induced anemia.

Soreness

Post-workout delayed onset muscle soreness, or DOMS, is no joke. While many of you folks reading this probably enjoy DOMS and take it as feedback for a job well done, it’s a hurdle that many beginners never move past. They join a gym, d0 a workout, feel great, go to bed feeling awesome, sleep like a baby, then wake up and find they have the bipedal capacity of a three-month-old. They can barely walk. Lifting their arms to brush their teeth is agony. Walking downstairs is out of the question. Some will move past the DOMS and get back into the gym. Many will not.

Low Fuel Availability

Working out expends energy. That energy must be replenished before you’re fully recovered and prepared to do another workout. Unless you’re trying to increase efficiency by training in a state of low fuel availability, like the “train low-carb, race high-carb” method, you should recover what’s been lost. What you replenish is conditional on the type of exercise you did. If you went for a long hike or easy bike ride that burned primarily body fat, you don’t need to—and probably shouldn’t—”replenish what you lost.” If you’re coming off a 30-minute full body CrossFit session that left you gasping on the ground in a puddle of sweat, you probably have some glycogen stores to refill.

This is a common issue for folks trying to lose weight through diet and exercise. Inadequate calorie intake coupled with intense exercise sends a “starvation” signal to the body, causing a down-regulation of anabolic hormones. Instead of growing lean mass and burning body fat, starvation (whether real or simulated) promotes muscle atrophy and body fat retention. Either alone can be somewhat effective, but combining the two for too long will only impair recovery.

Alcohol

Drinking directly impairs muscle protein synthesis, the essential step in muscle recovery and adaptation to training. Moderate or “social” drinking is probably safe (just don’t use alcohol as a post-workout recovery drink), but even just a single day per week of binge drinking is linked to 4x the risk of sarcopenia, or muscle-wasting. It’s hard to recover from your workouts if your muscles are atrophying.

Oddly, drinking directly after a training session also increases testosterone levels. One theory is that testosterone levels rise after drinking because it becomes less bioavailable; your muscle cells’ resistance to testosterone goes up, so it just circulates and gives “false” readings.

Things You Can Try

The obvious thing to try is the opposite of all the modifiable and preventable recovery-inhibitors mentioned above. Get good sleep, don’t drink too much (especially post-workout), get a handle on your stress, eat enough food, eat enough protein, get your micronutrients. What else?

Watermelon

L-citrulline is an amino acid found in watermelon that shows a significantly ameliorative effect on post-workout muscle pain, or delayed onset muscle soreness (DOMS). You can also supplement directly with L-citrulline, which may work, but watermelon is so good right now with a little salt, lime juice, and cayenne pepper, and it’s actually lower in carbs than you probably think (about 10 grams per cup of watermelon). I recommend fresh watermelon over pasteurized juice, as heat treatment reduces the effect.

Beets

Beets (and beet juice) aren’t only good for exercise performance. They also reduce DOMS. Nitrates have been posited as the primary constituent responsible for the effect, but beet juice works better than pure sodium nitrate.

Tart Cherry Juice

Tart cherry juice is best used to recover during competition, when your primary concern is to get back out there and perform. Its extreme effectiveness at killing muscle pain, reducing local and systemic inflammation and exercise-induced muscle damage suggests it may hamper training adaptations, however. It does also improve sleep, which should translate into better adaptations.

Massage

Massage feels great, and the evidence shows that it’s great for recovery from exercise. It alleviates DOMS. It speeds up the recovery of muscle strength and enhances proprioception. It improves central nervous system parasympathetic/sympathetic balance, even if the masseuse is one of those weird back massage machines.

Compression Garments

These aren’t just for show. A recent meta-analysis of the available research concluded that compression garments enhance muscle recovery after strength training and improve next-day cycling performance.

Whey

Compared to other proteins, whey protein accelerates muscle adaptation to eccentric exercise.

Creatine

Although we get creatine from red meat and fish, supplementary creatine can boost our recovery from exercise via a couple mechanisms. First, it increases muscle content of phosphocreatine. That’s the stuff we use for quick bursts of maximal effort, so carrying a little extra can do wonders for our ability to perform. Second, it enhances muscle glycogen replenishment without increasing insulin.

Fish Oil (or Fatty Fish)

Adding fish oil to a recovery drink reduced post-workout muscle soreness without affecting performance. Fish oil may also enhance muscle recovery from and adaptation to strength training.

Cold Water

A cold water plunge after training enhances the recovery of muscle function. However—and this is a big “however”—post training cold water plunges also seem to impair long term muscular adaptations to resistance training. In other words, a cold plunge might help you get back in the game for the short term at the cost of long-term adaptations.

More Carbs

I always say “Eat the carbs you earn.” While that often means eating fewer carbs than before, it can also mean eating more if you’ve trained hard enough to warrant them. This even applies to keto folks; depleting glycogen through exercise creates a “glycogen debt” that you can repay without inhibiting ketosis or fat-adaptation too much. The carbs—which you don’t need much of—go into muscle glycogen stores for recovery and later use without disrupting ketosis.

Don’t take this final section as a blanket recommendation, however. Before taking ice baths, dropping $500 on massages every week, taking a long list of expensive supplements, and walking around in a full body compression suit, make sure you’re sleeping, eating enough food, and giving yourself enough time between workouts. Quite often, handling the basics will be enough.

What have you found to be the best way to recover from your training? What are the biggest roadblocks? Let me know down below, and thanks for reading!

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cynthiamwashington · 6 years ago