Oh, Momma!

[Another short one.  This is primarily for the on-line friends from the few comment sections I frequent.  I already wrote a hard copy version of the "adjustment" just experienced due to it's possible importance, but because the mother of all coincidences has occurred in the process, I want to give this version here.  And seeing that  I don't believe in coincidences, I must admit it's got me wondering, or at least it had me wondering . . .  ]

The jog today contained a few stops to "adjust" and stretch.  Things felt, different.

The final half mile was pretty fast for me, and some strength discovered in my lower back seemed to be the cause, allowing me to be much more elongated.

uh oh . . .another "stand long" moment, but I digress . . .

I went straight to the back yard to continue the unwinding and adjusting until . . .

The muscle (or whatever the hell it was) that I had worked over my right hip the week before, now upon bending forward (while actually trying to relax my lower back), "creased," or rather, became the iron bars of hitting the spot, and I was able to send the crease up, behind my ribs, and all the way to my right shoulder!

There, it became blocked by the shoulder, but after much tinkering with arm positions, a HUGE release occurred.  My right side lost tension and seemed to move backwards slightly.  My left side suddenly had slack, which a familiar arm movement gathered up and seemed to bring the left side of my torso forward.

Now, slave to habit that I am, I still had my iPod on which I wear jogging, so the headphone cable was interfering with things.  Yet, I kept at it for a while.

Tired of battling the headphone cable, I came in and plugged the iPod into the stereo, opting to shuffle my Top Rated list, which is currently some 678 songs.

Free of the headphones, I did some more work on that new adjustment, to see if more of my body could be freed.

I soon lost myself in the adjustment process, very much like I had when it was the crazy painful version early on.  I became entirely focused upon the sensation, oblivious to everything around me.  Where before pain had forced the entirety of my attention, I was now able to do it on my own, and on a non-painful sensation.

Until, once again, I freed another large segment of myself.  It was a true "WOW!" experience. 

Afterwards, almost like coming up for air after swimming deep below the water, the world came back into my attention.

And there, on the stereo, a few minutes into the song, played Atom Heart Mother.

How cool was that?

*     *     *     *     *

For those that have visited here from destinations other than those in which I display the avatar I use in comment sections as The Wisdom Cow, here it is, the cover to Pink Floyd's album Atom Heart Mother, which is also the name of the first song.

*     *     *     *     *

Hopefully, I am getting close to working out my kinks, or whatever the hell they should be called.  I am exhausted.  Time for a nap.

The Lost Translation?

[Very short.  I just need to remember this, and since it may help the translation process, why not add it to the prose undeciphered?]

Posture, the word I keep tossing around, sometimes bothering to augment, though often not.

I have written structural posture believing it may help people understand, realize I mean something different from sitting up straight at the dinner table, but I fear this has not done the job.

I need a primer, something to aid the translation, and it may have just dawned on me.  What a person that knew me well before things started changing would be that my body type has changed.

I have moved muscle that was wrapped around my thighs and moved them up into my hips.  I have allowed internal organs shoved up under my rib cage and allowed them to drop into my core.  I moved muscle and tendons that trapped my shoulders forward and my arms rotated (anterior to the left) into a more "normal" position.

Upon learning my weight, I was often told, "You carry it well."  Could they have been more wrong?

I just did not look heavy because the muscle and fat was all in places it was not meant to be.  No wonder I could always win at a "Guess Your Weight" booth.

*     *     *     *     *

Perhaps, now, with this greater clarification of my postural changes, the way my muscles literally sit upon my bone, the previous entries will make a bit more sense.

Perhaps not.  It is late and I am exhausted.  So, this may not mean what I think it means in the morning. 

Not under the influence of anything at the moment, but I do well recall those profound thoughts, late at night, stoned or whatever, that were not so profound in the morning.  Of course, perhaps I merely forgot to add a primer like "body type" that would have given the previous night's insight a proper translation for the morning version of myself.  Maybe they were profound after all . . .

A New Sensation

[Usually, I write this italicized, bracketed portion after the entry, but this time I do so before.  I am going to write a prose version of what I realized and performed today, though a better version would include drawings to illustrate the "issues" one would have being me.  Much in this post may make much more sense after some serious post reading contemplation and then maybe a re-read.  Well, that is if I get down what I intend to.  The first section or two will set up today's revelation giving some needed background, both recent and personally historical.  Here it goes.]

Written of many times before, my transformation (or metamorphosis, as I prefer) all began after I changed my walk.  I was certain that being a "toe walker" was bad and tried to change it, hoping it could improve my situation, having no idea just how much it would end up changing me (obviously including the 1 1/2 inch in height increase).

This was at least a few years prior to ever hearing of "barefoot running" shoes (which I have now worn for the last three years).  My focus was on not using my toes, and as written of in a very early entry, using a predominance of vertical pressure rather than horizontal.  An object in motion stays in motion, after all.

*     *     *     *     *

Over the years, my focus points have changed with physical changes.  Most recently, I have been focused on my core.  I had been doing the most basic of physical rehabilitation exercises designed to give the core a base, a place to begin actual stomach crunches, for almost two years now, only having successful crunches in the last 3 or so months (though I am nearly certain they are still not "correct" from an internal perspective).

Last week, I started trying to keep my core "crunched" or clenched while jogging, the first time while doing the 1 1/3 mile from the local pool to my home (it's somewhere between a mile and a quarter and a mile and a half).  That attempt felt very successful, creating much movement (or "adjustments") in my hips and shoulders afterward.  So, I tried doing it in all subsequent jogs, and even during my swims (this proves difficult to maintain in the buoyant environment). 

Again, there was much improvement and subjective success, so much, in fact, that I tried to write multiple entries about it over the last week.  Unfortunately, I was unable to maintain concentration on prose, however, as adjustments, soreness, and pain won out.

*     *     *     *     *

Now, during those swims last week, on a few rare occasions, I had a feeling of correctness about the manner in which I would push off of the wall with my feet.  Again, these were rare.  I have been doing 2,000m of workout in the pool, and maybe 3 or 4 of the 80 push offs would provide the feeling.

I knew they were right, these feelings.  I also knew them, somehow.  They were familiar in some way, but I could not put my finger on them.  It was quite maddening.  I knew if I could picture the sensation, identify it in some way, I could be more successful in repeating it.

Then, today, I had the realization.  My calf-to-ankle-to-foot pad had become like a prosthetic running leg.

Once realized, I was able to have replicate the action and sensation in push offs at a rate near 80%.  I was correct.  It was easier to duplicate once I had the mental picture.  Important to note, I was most successful when my midsection, my core, was at least partially clenched.

I am sure you have seen them.  A man even ran with them in the recent Olympics held in London.  Here is a picture of one such device below.

As you may suspect, I tried to incorporate the sensation into my calf-to-foot pad on the jog home.

The result, for my last quarter mile or so, was that (I believe, at least, for now) I correctly "ran barefoot" for the first time ever.  I was almost entirely on my foot pad, my heels barely touching the ground. 

This is a true breakthrough.

*     *     *     *     *

What follows is important, but I do not know how to best articulate it.  First, I will back up, again.  Then, attempt to compare where I was to where I am (hopefully) going.  Then, return to where I was to give a sense of just how screwed up I was, and to a certain extent, remain.

*     *     *     *     *

I've written plenty about having been a toe walker, but little about why it never occurred to me that it was wrong.

Simply put, I thought I was special in some way.

I ran track with decent results in high school.  My best 400m was  53.4 seconds, not too shabby even if I did trail 6 guys by 4+ seconds at the MHAL track finals in my senior year (I wasn't last!).

More special in my mind was that I had "hops" in high school.  I was under 5'10" and could dunk a volley ball on an indoor basketball rim, a basketball on most outdoor courts (tending to have a little angle on the rims).  This was a point of pride because very few others in the school could do so.

People would ask how tall I was, and even go back to back with me to confirm my height afterwards on a few occasions.

And of note, all of this was done with an emphasis on pushing off with my toes.

*     *     *     *     *

So, what I realize now, I mean truly realize, is that the foot pad is the correct point of focus, the point of frictional contact, with the tension (or stress) needing to be like that of the prosthetic running leg.  Important to note, I do not believe it should feel this way, necessarily, to people with proper posture.  Rather, it feels this way to me because this action is entirely new to my muscles.  It is a new sensation to me, but it should just be normal to one that moves properly.

To oversimplify, the new sensation, the muscle utilization I now need to encourage, is like the backwards C of the prosthetic, pictured above, from my foot pad touching the ground through my ankle and into my calf at the top.  In fact, shortly before I achieved the (I believe more proper) foot pad running, I had moments where I intentionally focused my jog using just my thighs, as if I were running on the prosthetics.

*     *     *     *     *

Now, back to the way I would run and jump in high school.

Imagine the above pictured prosthetic, but instead of being connected at the knee, it was connected in the ankle.  My leg movements were all designed to get into the proper position to maximize the tiny but powerful spring of that was my foot.

Realize, then, that this spring, a backwards C (from foot pad to knee) in most people at rest, was a U (my toes to my ankle) for me at rest.  [I really wish I had a backwards C character, I realize this makes it tougher to envision.] 

Consider the implications of this U for a spring when at rest.  When running, everything must be rotated 90 degrees.  That is to say, the torque, what gave me "hops," was the result of being more tightly wound, almost literally.

The tension on my calf was significantly greater than that of a person with proper form.  This extra tension, this torque, would thereby also affect the muscles and angles of my upper legs, into and around my hips and even to my core.  It is as if, where proper posture has three joints using two springs (abdomen-thigh above, calf-foot pad below), I had squeezed in an extra spring that didn't fit.

*     *     *     *     *

And so, though poorly articulated above, you can now possibly imagine what my every step has been like these past several years, though in truth it is every moment, at rest or active.

I have logically deduced goals, like the limited horizontal friction while jogging or walking, and I have some sensations that feel right or correct.  These, I try with difficulty to maintain.  Every moment, muscle memory wants to preserve the status quo or revert to previous form.  Every moment I lose mindfulness, every time I relax, my body reverts to at least some extent, usually resulting in pain.

*     *     *     *     *

Yet, I am undeniably optimistic.  I know how to create new synaptic connections.  I know habit.

I have undoubtedly changed so much on this path to The Path.  For all I know, I may be 95% of the way there.  I do know I am getting close.

I may not be able to get there should a physical obstacle, some tangible kink, block my way, but I am overwhelmingly optimistic I will at least reach that kink if I do not reach my goal.

[Yes, I veered and wrapped up quick at the end.  I am exhausted.  This was too long for me to maintain focus throughout.  I tried breaking it into parts as best as I could.  I hope it makes some sense.  It is very close to what I hope to articulate overall.  Unfortunately, I know what I'm trying to say.  A reader more likely than not will not be taken to that perspective, which is my ultimate goal.]

Hitting The Spot!

[It's been a month, a long month.  The last post I was able to publish was back when I was swimming like mad and making great progress.  Then, we went to Tahoe, the drives and a river ride (with the dog) worked me over something fierce.  Then, the wife goes to Vegas (for work - yeah, right!), leaving me with the kid, which meant no swimming, early and late drives, and little rest.  Then, I got sick, an serious ear infection, possibly from the swelling in my neck and head from West Nile (though unconfirmed), which included confusion, chills, sweats, and dizziness.  Then, the lap swim time I had hoped to return to got infested with high school classes, limiting lanes (I had managed only 3 swims since going on vacation, but have hopefully started up regular swims again today).  Last, I got a Tetanus shot last Thursday.  It's safe to say I am in the small percentage of individuals with reasonably serious reactions.  I became extremely sore and achy for three days, only this morning did the bruise from the shot finally surface, about the size of a quarter this morning, near half dollar size now.  Yet, I swam through the pain today.  There was much, and I'm on Vicodin #2 of the evening as I try to type, but I want a record of what I just felt.]

*     *     *     *     *

I've written many, many times of what an "adjustment" feels like.  There are different sorts, different specific feelings and sensations that go with different locations, but some constants are with each, whether it occur in the shoulders, hips, neck, jaw, wrist, whatever.

It's that slip knot feeling, that point where a tension or pressure reaches an apex and then releases.

It's almost orgasmic.  Well, if you substitute pleasure with pain or strain.

It's similar to the last stretch of a hike, or bike ride, or run, just before you reach the top of a hill.  You are straining and focused, pushing it harder than you thought you could.  You know the summit is near, and you suddenly relax once there, a release.

Now, that end moment is the constant, the release, the freedom.

*     *     *     *     *

Early on, this was the metaphor I used to explain how an "adjustment" felt (see picture below).  Ever play it.  My uncle had one.  He lived in the most awesome home I've ever known well, on a cliff in Capitola.  I'd get there and play that game for hours.  I'd have to be pried away from it to go to the beach or play with my cousins.

Anyways, when the "adjustments" first started, the non-agonizing ones, this game is what I remembered during them.  The sensation of riding a muscle up my arm until it reached an apex point in my shoulder felt so similar to that metal ball rolling up the rods.

If you have played it, you may know what I mean. 

As the ball rolls upward, the friction between the ball and rods causes a higher pitch, a heightened frequency, as the amount of rod between the ball and your fingertips gets smaller and smaller, much like a whistle sliding up an octave.  You feel the frequency change.  You feel sound.

To me, the similarity was twofold.  First, as just described, the crescendo matched a heightening of concentration.  It matched the strain, the focus, and the drive to reach that apex, to achieve a release, much like that last stretch as one runs up a hill.

The second, however, was the physical sensation of being both the ball and the rods. 

I could feel part of me actually moving against the grain, just as that ball goes upward. 

More important is where my focus lied.  Though I could feel the "ball" move, it moved only as a result of a wave caused by other muscles.  Almost like a surfboard, I made waves that pushed the ball along.  It usually took two points of focus to create the wave, and like the two rods are what you actually move to raise that ball, I would focus on those two separate points.

*     *     *     *     *

There is no great twist to this entry, however . . .

I've been working lately on the muscles in my back.  All the core work has lead me to them, these unused or severely underdeveloped muscles.

When I use the muscles in my lower back as a starting point and try to ride them upward, creating a more literal wave, I reach significant kinks once I reach my lungs and shoulder blades. 

These kinks are worthy of their own post, as the sensation is very much known to me, but very difficult to articulate (much more than what I am likely failing to describe here).  Yet, I am finding my way through, or past, these them.  A future post, as yet unwritten . . .

*     *     *     *     *

About an hour, after a dip in the spa while waiting for the Vicodin to actually help, I rode the muscles up my back while drying off.  In dealing with those kinks, my arms lifted at the shoulder rotated slightly.  They became my points of focus, and both weent behind me, straight, and were able to come quite close together, as the "fold" or "twisted curtain cord" (to steal from old metaphors), or "ball" ran up my back to the apex point it seeked.

And in that moment I became Hit The Spot!

My arms straight behind me were the rods, almost literally, and I focused on them alone to run the "ball" up my back.

*     *     *     *     *

The memory of the metaphor, as well as memories of those ancient trips to Santa Cruz, flooded me as I my body relaxed, some bit of muscle reaching a point in my back it had not known in decades, likely since before I ever played that game. 

I had a moment of optimism which I have lacked all this month, even amidst all the progress.

I went out to the living room and had my wife pause The Voice so I could explain what happened.  She smiled, a genuine one, not the fake one I get when she is too busy to actually pay attention (It might also have been because I probably looked 10 years younger then I did before I went out to the spa, meaning my real age, not like the old cripple I resemble far too often - just a little bit of happy can bring me back).  Then, I came to try to type this while she finished her show.

Woohoo!  I did it.  I was beginning to worry I wouldn't get another post published this year.

Swimming With Shoulders - A Relative Breakthrough

[Short entry (or not so short, in retrospect), primarily as documentation in case I do not get it in my journal.  With breakthroughs come recovery and "adjustment" time, and punching keys is infinitely easier than trying to move a pen at the moment.]

I just finished the second day of two substantial swimming experiences.  Yesterday, I did 2,500m total in the pool, including 400m of backstroke (total mixed into the workout, not in one shot).  The results were significant, though there was a price.  Today, I did 3,200m, my first time ever doing 2 miles total in the pool.  Even back when I'd do a mile straight pulling or breaststroke, I never went for that 2nd mile total (proof I never swam on a swim team, eh?).  The price I'll pay for today is yet to be experienced.

*     *     *     *     *

Yesterday, I focused on four points, one in each shoulder and one in each hip.  This was a further attempt to get away from a focus on the hands and feet which I have hinted on before, that has been a "symptom" of myself in everything I have ever done, from walking to writing.  The first result was an ability to be much more upright while jogging home.  There was far less noticeable stress points in my body.

There was also substantial "adjustments" in my hips and shoulders (often linked) and much around my neck and upper spine.  The movement in my neck created noticeable changes in both my sinuses and jaw.

The price was a mistake I have made before.  I felt so good (relatively speaking) that I decided to BBQ some hot dogs for dinner (the family expected home late).  This was quite dumb.  Hot dogs are easily the one food I try to swallow portions of without sufficient chewing.  Even on normal days, I am unable to swallow them on occasion.

Yesterday, it was the worst experience I've had in years.  So much muscle movement around my throat added to the wrong meal choice, and I experienced a major esophageal blockage.  I was unable to swallow for over an hour and twenty minutes.  There was much coughing and much pain, not to mention two wasted hot dogs, having barely gotten through half of the first before experiencing a personal hell.

*     *     *     *     *

Back to the pool today, where I did 2 miles.  Woohoo!

I continued to focus on the four point approach initially.  At approximately 1,300m, I began to swim with my shoulders.  I could still feel they were not properly aligned, but that I could actually swim with them as the focus was a tremendous breakthrough, I believe, in trying to get back into balance.

Most noticeable was a dramatic change in my breaststroke, where the "squeeze" became something totally new.  Instead of squeezing my hands together before they launched forward, my inner arms were snapping against the sides of my chest.  It literally created a new propulsion from the movement, as if a momentary chicken imitation pushed water behind me with my elbows.

For a while, I had what I call a Conan moment.  This new pull was much more powerful than it had any right to be.  As if freed from much of the counter-weights that usually hold me back, my arms could really send me forward.  Though in truth, I suspect some of this had to do with the likelihood of being in a more streamline position as well, creating less drag during the stroke.

*     *     *     *     *

I was so ecstatic I kept on swimming and swimming, even though the new movements had me getting very sore.  Right now, as I write, I don't care about the price.  I swam 2 miles!  I swam with my shoulders! 

I'll just have to be smart and eat oat meal tonight instead of hot dogs.

A Most Unpleasant Realization

[This post, the realization I had today, is not exactly news to me.  What struck me was the extent of it.  Much like my initial, and rather foolish, belief that it would be a couple months of "adjusting" after the initial changes and I'd be raring to go (that was how many years ago?  7?  8?  Yikes!), I have grossly underestimated a subjective aspect of this entire project.  At least I am confident, still, that the paradigm of how I intend to eventually tell the tale, trying to bring people through it rather that just explain what I believe, is clearly the best approach in order for anyone to come close to grasping exactly what I am trying to express.  So, this one is more informative than artistic, function over form.]

I had a big change in the pool today.  At the 200m mark of a 300m pull (that's freestyle arms with a pull buoy between relaxed legs), I had an all new, to me, sensation.  My shoulder blades were free, as if no against or stuck to, my chest and/or rib cage.

The classic problem resurfaced.  I had no idea shoulders moved so independently of the rib cage. 

For most movements where the arm is raised above the body (or in freestyle, in front of the swimmer), the portion of my chest had to expand.  That is to say, I would either inflate my lungs or rotate by chest significantly as the arm went above the body (or forward in the pool). 

While I have often noted how my body has always felt segmented, it is clear that before today, I thought the shoulders and chest, at least in this movement, were part of a single segment.

The sensation I felt was a stretch of muscles from my lower back up to my shoulders, gliding along the top of the water as my shoulders did the work of pulling.  My chest and ribs merely floated underneath, slightly rotating with each stroke.  This is a marked difference from basically lunging a portion of my chest with each arm stroke.

No doubt I'll get all new forms of soreness tonight, as well.  Joy.

*     *     *     *     *

Now, it is nothing new to me that I had no idea of this, lets call it "segmentation," issue.  I knew it existed, just not where, and I new any new adjustment would lead to previously unknown sensations.

I realize, now, however, just how significant my subjective mis-articulation of any previous descriptions of sensations must be to a reader.  Before this point, how can any reader (or doctor for that matter), have any idea what I had described regarding my shoulder movements?  They would interpret the words in line with their own perception, from their own perspective, one in which the shoulders are not part and parcel of chest (not a single segment with the rib cage).

True communication is impossible, and my attempts to be in the same ballpark as the reader's interpretation was not even discussing the same sport.  Sigh.  So much work to do on so many fronts.

*     *     *     *     *

I find myself suppressing a bit of anger, too , as perhaps this is precisely the type of thing which the MRIs I pleaded for so many years ago could have shown.  Perhaps the "misalignment" or some type of knot or kink (making portions of muscles that should be separate from the rib cage actually be visibly "stuck" entwined with the muscles of the rib cage) could have been discovered.  Maybe I could have been helped (even believed, by Gods!) to get through this metamorphosis in less time and with less pain.

Imagine that.  Three to four years of less pain, once again becoming a functional member of society that much earlier, getting to actually live life instead of just endure pain and persevere.  Okay, now I am a bit angry. 

Of course, creating a new holistic branch of wellness, based upon objective, quantifiable criteria is the ultimate goal of this endeavor.  A noble quest, no?

That it may eventually keep people from having to pay Kaiser millions would just be a little gravy on top.

The Jinx Effect

[A moderately silly one, but I did put it together in my head while SLOWLY jogging home from the pool.  So I chalk another one up in the "brain beginning to show signs of functioning" column.  On the physical front, things have been progressing quite significantly over the past few weeks, especially in my right shoulder and hips.  So much movement, or "adjustments," that they can be left in postures never before attainable, which I presume to be much closer to "normal" than ever.  Muscle memory still pulls them back, but it is huge progress, nonetheless.]

I do not believe in coincidence.

This is not to say that I see a direct (or even indirect) relationships between any two variables with something in common.  I just think that if you extrapolate back far enough, a "coincidence" just is what it is, two things happening with some common nexus.

Take the jinx, for example.  Better yet, I'll use the "announcer's jinx."  A sportscast announcer points out that the basketball player taking a free throw has made his last 23 free throws, and on cue, the player misses the next one.  Or rather, a mlb baseball team has pitched 38 scoreless innings against a rival club, the announcers bring it up and show the club record which will occur with one more scoreless inning, and on cue, the rival team scores moments later.  In both instances, the fans blame the announcers.

I know I do.

Yet, when a player has made 23 consecutive free throws, he is due to miss.  When a baseball team has kept another team scoreless for 38 innings, runs are definitely on the horizon.  Humans are playing the games, after all, and straight statistics do not apply. 

It is not like rolling a six sided die where you always have a 5 out of 6 chance to not roll a certain number (or better yet, it's not this classic from Tom Stoppard - skip the 13 seconds of credits if you are impatient, and enjoy).  More variables than chance are in play.  Notably, the players tend to be aware of the streak, interfering with their normal routine mentally and thereby physically.

*     *     *     *     *

This takes me back to last night, talking to a fellow parent at our children's swim class, which takes place at the aquatics facility where I swim.  Because of some nexus, I told her about my first swimming experience at the pool . . .

I had been in dire need of swimming for physical therapy purposes for some time, nearly two years.  The drive to the Sacramento YMCA had become too much to handle long ago.  The new local high school had been under construction for nearly three years (the location of the aquatics facility), and I had patiently awaited the pool's public opening, though I grew excitedly anxious (or anxiously excited) as the opening approached.

I was there on day one, a cold and rainy mid-morning I wouldn't even consider going out in now.  I drove there, put on my swim suit in the new shiny locker room (what an upgrade from the YMCA!), and quickly slid into the pool to get out of the cold and rain.  Back in the water, I felt hope again.

Not three laps into warming up, some kid in the adjacent school pulled the fire alarm.  Coincidence or a predictable happenstance given several mid-term exams had been scheduled for the day?

I had to get out of the pool.  I grabbed my towel, and headed for the parking lot, where the towel, already soaked by me, became more wet and cold from the rain.  I started to freeze.  Fortunately, only two of us had been swimming right when the pool opened, and the lifeguard was able to run in and grab an extra parka for each of us. 

So I only half froze, having a miserable experience both mentally and physically for my first day at the new pool.

Granted, I did not go nearly into this amount of detail when I told the tale last night.  Yet, as I have no real friends other than my wife's friends (of which this was one), she listened politely as I blathered.

*     *     *     *     *

And so I come back to jinxes and coincidence after the fire alarm went off again this morning during my swim, a half day after I brought up the tale, which I had not spoken of in three years or more.

The San Francisco Giants are playing an afternoon game today (right now, actually, and losing - sigh).  I headed to the pool early to be sure and make it home to watch Hunter Pence in his second game as a Giant.  Things were going so well at the pool, too.  I started with an 800m Breaststroke (I usually go only 300m to 500m) and then 500m of kicking.  I was getting ready to not only do my first mile total in quite some time, I was thinking about 2000m total. 

Then, the alarm . . .

And on top of it, I was late home for the start of the game.

*     *     *     *     *

As I sat in the grass outside the aquatic center waiting for the fire truck to come and give the okay to return to the pool (unlike everyone else, I refused to go out into the parking lot barefoot and without glasses), I could not help but realize I caused the alarm.  A jinx.

Now, I don't believe in coincidence.  Yet, school was not in session, not even summer school.

Clearly, I just need more information to extrapolate back and see the rationality of it all.  Yet, knowing this hasn't stop me from wondering if someone running The Matrix is messing with me.