Recovery Rides

THE ONLY TIME I LOOK BACK IS TO SEE HOW FAR I HAVE COME ~ Hannah Corbin

Recovery Days

Slothful is how I feel at this moment. Motionless, curled up in this magnificent canopy surrounded by palm trees and blue skies. I have lost track of time; the sun is shining, and the weather is close to perfection. Humidity has not kicked in. I know this because my hair tells me so. Three hours vanish. The only body parts that have moved are my thumb and index finger- to turn the pages- captivated by the words. My Dark Vanessa– by Kate Elizabeth Russell is a twisted, compelling, harrowing read. A story of a young girl in love with her abuser/teacher, a pedophile. A distorted tale of mistreatment and abuse of power. A hot mess of a storyline, a train wreck, yet I can’t get enough, I can’t put it down.

I find myself relating to Vanessa, the main character. The way she justifies the damaging relationship with her abusive teacher. I am transported back to my high school. Mr. M was a cool, handsome, and much older cat (teacher). I was thrilled to get assigned his helper during my free hour. It was couched as a free credit. To assist with files, grading multiple-choice tests, organizing, etc. I don’t remember doing any of that. I do, however, remember spending most of the time running his personal errands. Mr. M would throw me his car keys, hand me the cash and a chore list. I picked up and dropped off his dry cleaning (medium starch on hanger), grabbed groceries, and knew his favorite meal from McDonald’s. I was his lackey. I didn’t care. I loved it; I adored feeling needed by this man I grew to idolize. 

I would have done anything for my friend Mr. M. He spoke to me as an equal, which made me feel cool. I have always had a gift for getting people to spill the beans; Mr. M did not escape me. We spent hours chatting in and out of his classroom. I had an edge on my peers, so I thought; I was the keeper of his secrets. I had an inside scoop on his life and took the role of his confidant very seriously. To be fair, MR. M never made sexual advances towards me; it turned out he had his eyes set on a younger classmate. I knew of the relationship. I knew all the dirty details. At the time, honestly, I didn’t think it was wrong. Mr. M felt like one of us. (a teenager). 

Wow, I hadn’t thought about MR. M in years. This book opened the gates, and all the memories came rushing back. In hindsight, obviously, Mr. M was utterly inappropriate. He was also never my friend. Today he would be jailed for his actions. But it was a different time; back then, ‘incidents’ evaporated. 

This is what happens on my recovery days. I allow my headspace to weave in and out my past and present. I unlock the door to the attic and dust off memory boxes. I give myself permission to play out scenes from my past and make sense of the complicated. 

This is the best type of therapy for me. I slow down and take it all in. I give memories the luxury of temporarily living in the present. The memories don’t last. They breathe life just long enough for me to take advantage; to clean house; to rearrange my internal shelves. I evaluate my circle, my influencers, trash expired people, memories, and purge negativity. I refile the keepers, hit the reset button, and move forward, refreshed.

Relax & Have FUN

Mostly I use recovery days to indulge. It feels good to play, to stay up late, and to sleep in. To dance with sand in my toes. I pamper myself and buy fancy dresses…when will I wear this? I don’t know, I don’t care, it just feels good to buy pretty things. I drink oversized margaritas, lick up every grain of salt that surrounds the rim and eat too many coconut cronuts- I think that’s what they called it at the farmers market, a combination croissant and donut infused with sugar and coconut…delightfully sinful. 

I still exercise during my recovery days, but the movement is different. I trade organized workouts on my peloton for long walks. I drop the heavyweights and replace them with meaningful conversations of the heart. I replace ab workouts with laugh-out-loud moments that may or may not cause me to leak a little pee…just sayin’ birthing two babies’ changes things. I use this time to consume all things in excess, and it is fantastic.

Recovery days have been part of my routine for years. I had a mental breakdown my second year in college and spiraled in a cyclone of sadness. Fortunately, I landed on a therapist chair. I didn’t have the words; I just had the feeling. I felt anxious, I felt overwhelmed, I felt sad, I felt empty, I felt alone, I felt depressed. Therapy offered me a road map to my insides. It helped me link my feeling with events, but more importantly, it gave me the tools to cope. There I was, nineteen, and understanding the significance of mental breaks, aka recovery days. Learning to put words to my emotions and knowing the value of a good therapist. Lucky, really, to have discovered this so early on my journey.

Look UP

Do you hike? I do. I was taking a hike in Lake Tahoe, determined to complete a loop as quickly as possible. I became fixated on getting to the point- to the lake. Halfway through, I realized I hadn’t looked up once. My gaze was engrossed on the ground. I was so careful not to get my foot caught, not to trip, that I never looked up. It dawned on me as I finally looked up; wow, I am missing the whole point; I failed to appreciate the moment, the spectacular views, the beauty that surrounded me.

Interesting how my hike mirrors life. The way we get caught up on kids, work, family, responsibilities. Most of us are walking around with our heads down, attempting to prevent the booby traps of life from setting off, running a self-induced imaginary race. Too busy to slow down and missing all the splendors. 

I am suggesting you stop, look up, be frivolous and enjoy the magic of this moment.

DROP YOUR SHOULDERS, DROP YOUR BAGS ~ Christine D’Ercole

Peloton instructors are competitors and attack their workouts with zest. But you know what they also do well. Recovery rides. They get it; they understand that recovery rides must be part of the plan to get faster and stronger. They know that these rides are necessary to yield the results we are seeking. Recovery rides speed up the strength process by sending more blood to our damaged muscles, delivering the tissue-mending nutrients, and flushing out waste. In simple terms, recovery rides give our overused muscles a chance to recover. Christine D’Ercole pops in my head, ‘drop your shoulder, drop your bags, hands-on your back.’ Declaring, this is your time, take it, release the nonsense, let it go, flush out the toxins, cleanse. 

Dead People’s Goals

When was the last time you took a recovery ride? When was the last time you had fun and laughed until your stomach hurt? When was the last time you checked in with yourself? Are you daydreaming, or do you have the goals of a dead person? Let me explain.

Life’s beauty is inseparable from its fragility

~ Susan David

I enjoy sharing my thoughts, not as an expert, quite the contrary, I am a student constantly growing & learning. I listen to Ted Talks. The embodiment of sharing, hundreds of people from all walks of life exchanging experiences. These speakers inspire me, and on occasion, I find myself adopting a catchphrase. This is precisely what happened when I listened to psychologist Susan David, author of (Emotional Agility) give a talk. In The Gift and Power of Emotional Courage , David speaks about dead people’s goals.

YASSS! I need to make sure I don’t have dead people’s goals; I need to make sure my kids don’t either. David tells of having many clients express to her that they don’t want to feel anymore, they are tired of all the emotions, they don’t want to try new things because they don’t want to feel disappointed. They spend their lives avoiding pain, challenges, disappointments. David summarizes, “Only dead people never get unwanted or inconvenienced by their feelings.” Only dead people get not to feel, to not get their hearts broken. Dang, how many people are living with dead people’s goals? Flying under the radar, afraid to feel real emotions? David continues, “Discomfort is the price of admission to a meaningful life…courage is not the absence of fear; courage is fear walking.” 

Fear is not our friend. Fear holds our dreams hostage. A friend once told me, ‘remove fear from the equation, and you can do all things.’ She is right. I choose to eliminate fear from the equation, do hard things, and say hard things. I choose to pay the price of admission, to be uncomfortable if it means feeling alive. I want to live an authentic life, even if it means uneasiness. 

How about you? Do you have dead people’s goals? Are you living with fear?

TAKE THE RECOVERY YOU NEED, NOT THE ONE YOU WANT ~ Denis Morton

I recently took a recovery ride with Denis (yeah, I am on a first-name basis with all the Pelo instructors; we are friends, ha!). He was using the analogy that when we get on our bikes, we are peddling away (putting distance) from what no longer serves us but that we are also peddling towards (getting closer) our dreams. To a better, stronger version of ourselves. 

This sums up my recovery days. I use them to look in my rearview mirror, leaving a cloud of dust behind, and focus on the road ahead, a road less traveled—a rough draft of my becoming. I use a pencil, of course; there will be a recovery day up ahead, a moment to pull over and edit. I am ok with this, recalibrating, resetting, using my eraser, and leaving things in the dust.  

Be fearless,