Just Coffee

I attended a coffee group recently for the first time and told one of my real long stories. I kept stopping to answer questions or laugh at reactions and then I'd say, 'where was I?' They'd remind me and when I couldn't remember names one of the guys would make one up' "Let's call this friend Tammy." Before we adjourned I indicated my desire to join the group. After a few snarky remarks I was awarded a membership and I breathed a sigh of relief that my extra long story did not dissuade them.

In my past, I have had coffee with coworkers, fellow teachers and sometimes groups of coaches meet up for an end of season adult beverage but this is my first coffee group. At least in terms of its objective which appears to be 'a place to socialize.'

A very nice couple from the Flex ad Balance class at The Summit invited my exercise partner and I to join them one morning. I guess we passed some sort of test because we had exercised with them twice a week for some time before the invite came. The group make up is interesting; a guy whose last name rhymes with bottle seems to be the leader and sometimes his quiet wife joins us. Also, the brother of a coach I am familiar with seems to be Bottle's wing man. And there is another exercise group member who is a kick in the pants. We laugh a lot.

They all seem to be long term Kalispellians except the people who extended the invite. They are from Maine and new to the area so we find ourselves explaining things the rest of us just know. Everyone is very nice and seem to intuitively know about my memory and physical issues. It may be because they read the article about me in the local paper. But, I prefer to think they are just nice people.

After watching my mother isolate herself as she aged, I realize being around other people is very important. Coffee with these new friends also helps with my depression issues as it gives me something to look forward to. Yes, they are all older than me because I am young to be retired. And you can bet I use that to my advantage whenever possible.

The Transition to the Summit

                                          
No, I don't mean the N. Korea Summit or the summit of peak. I'm talking about The Summit fitness facility. It opened when I was elementary school as "Second Wind." My best friend had a birthday party at their pool and I remember the ripping of gift wrap (it was pre gift bag) in the lobby-type area. Since then, the place has grown and it has been updated significantly. In 2009 when I returned to Kalispell I planned to work on my own physical well being, work in education, care for my mom, and perhaps coach, in that order.

I found my education job and it wasn't long before I started to coach; girls' middle school basketball, then cross country and finally track and field, hurdles, both boys' and girls. Oh, and I did the morning crosswalk duty at Hedges one year. My mom laughed when I said one of the reasons I came home was to help with her as she aged. She told me she was just fine, then.

As my love for coaching grew and my mother's decline began for real. I retired from my classroom job but continued coaching the running sports; cross country and track. More time went to my mom, then. We took great outings, shopped, saw doctors and physical therapists; first quite often, then less and less. Shirley passed recently so Mom-duty is done and the single season I coach is only six weeks so I have loads of time to fill.

Now, exercise is what I do even though I'm not training for a race. My personal fitness routine is for different reasons and I am in charge of how and when I do it. As an athlete I have always had a coach. Physical therapists worked with me to overcome injuries but now I am alone in my quest to stay fit.

Exercise, now, is to maintain my regained abilities. As a former pretty-good collegiate athlete you would think exercising would be second nature but I have never really liked it. What I did like was winning so that's why I trained.

Prior to joining a gym, I attended a Silver Sneakers exercise class in the basement of Sykes, a local diner that's been here for eons. Attendees were mostly older than me, no, they were all older than me. But when the instructor decided to take her life in a different direction and classes ended, I decided to join The Summit.

Since my head injury my go-to exercise has been water aerobics. I feel free, submerged in water, and can actually run although it is in slow motion and there is no finish line. Plus, if I fall I don't get hurt. The Summit has two pools so I joined.

The Summit has been a delight and has added to my life experiences positively. I go to the gym at least 3 days a week but have a specific class I can attend each day, me with my rollator (better known as a walker.) My high tech rollator is a badge of honor in the gym because others are automatically impressed that someone with, what appear to be, life long issues still "tries." No one wants to be the one to trip me up because how would that look? Not good. Patrons give me ample room!

Carol, my neighbor turned exercise partner, did Silver Sneakers with me and also joined The Summit so we remain partners. Companionship in these situations leads to more accountability for sure. They offer various classes for all levels of fitness and, as in my case, different capabilities period. We started with a Flex and Balance class because it was similar to Silver Sneakers and we knew we were capable of that.  Also, after caring for my mom, I see how important it is to remain social. The partner thing covers that issue as well as the people we have met.

Another class I do is called "Foam Roller."  My neighbor-exercise partner tapped out after trying it once (she doesn't like getting on the floor) so I enjoy that alone. The formal name for fumbling on the floor with a long piece of foam is self-myofascial release; a fancy way to say you are massaging your own self to release muscle tightness. I like it because the lights are dimmed and it is relaxing. And, because of my oddities, the majority of my upper body muscles are tied in double knots just like those I used to tie my toddlers' shoe laces.

To round out my exercise routine at the gym I do water aerobics a couple times a week. While still in the hospital my physical therapist put me in the pool and I loved it. In water I feel free and if I fall I can't hurt myself.

So that is Lexie, right now. Flailing about in chest deep water trying to move to a blasting beat, chair exercises to work on my declining balance with retired seniors that include my 4th grade teacher, a Catholic nun who taught my older brother and a kind couple who got me involved with my first coffee group!

East Grandstand at Hayward Field

The east grandstands at Hayward Field are going to be removed, as I understand, to make way for an ultra modern stadium surrounding the famous track. I ran on this track during my college years in the early 80s.

     


Competing as a Duck, I trained on that track daily for four years; both winning and placing. I took victory laps just inside the rail and even set some school records there. But my tie to those east stands is not very strong. One particular memory of those stands is crystal clear. I see my coach Mark behind the waist high wall, his long, skinny self leaning out, seemingly over the outside lane. I heard his cheers both at the start and mid race.

I was running the 800 meters as a rabbit during an evening Prefontaine classic. My best event was the 400 meter hurdles so maybe they thought I could lead them out fast for the first lap. I knew the rabbit usually drops out after they do there job but that was never discussed so I finished. Finishing last was not what I was use to but as the rabbit that's the way it went.

The other memory I have of those stands is of the men's team and Coach Dellinger. A couple of us "girls" were training for the first half of the 400 meter hurdles directly in front of those grandstands. Dellinger and some of his athletes approached us and without pause the famous coach shouted to get off his track so his men could work out. Although we were angry, we moved to the other side of the oval. I can still hear his words.

I saw the throwers coming and going from what I assumed were the rooms below those old, decrepit stands but the sprinter/jumper/hurdler part of the team did our non track work under the newer stands across the track. We had a long jump pit, medicine balls and hurdles under our stands but I never saw what was below the East stands.

Attending the 2012 Olympic Trials, I walked behind and kind of under the structure, and was shocked. It was clean, there were concessions and the grandstands themselves felt far more sturdy than they had when I ran as a Duck. I sat in those East stands alone, about five rows up and it was pretty cool. The spectators were so close to the competitors; you thought you might be able to reach out and touch the runners. I had little experience as a spectator, but I knew this track was special. The next day, I sat in the cordoned off area reserved for important people. My friends, Kip and Jody, somehow got Duck teammate Lisa, and I "in." Sitting there to watch the races was great but I preferred the home stretch and my last day there I found someone willing to let me sit near the start. There was a handicapped section above the 100 meter and short hurdles' start line and the woman observed my knee brace and hobble and determined I was indeed handicapped.

My next experience at Hayward was in 2014 when my husband Dan and I walked onto the track and into the infield just to look around. Soon after our arrival we were approached by a coach type person who told us it was a closed facility and we needed to leave. I was at loss for words but Dan simply said that we were on campus because I was to be inducted into their Hall of Fame that evening. I'm sure the coach had no idea who I was or had been but he backed away telling us to enjoy ourselves.

Yes, I understand wanting those old stands to remain as part of the up date, but I also understand the desire to modernize. I feel fortunate that, when it is all said and done, I'll be able to say I ran at Hayward, in the olden days. It is home of the best track fans in the country and I feel fortunate to have been on those receiving end of that encouragement.

Rolling, Rolling, Rolling

I was on Legends Football Field's today for the first time because that's where our last track and field meet of the season happened. I coach the hurdles and we run two events; the first race (100 meter hurdles) of the meet, then the second one (the 200 meter hurdles) is towards the end of a meet. So I have a lot of down time between them. I cheer on other athletes at the jumps and on the track but I get restless. During this time yesterday, I saw a group of girls doing cartwheels and round offs and being generally goofy so I decided to join them.

After hobbling to where they were I asked if they wanted to see what I could do. Now, they all know I'm disabled because of my rollator (walker on wheels) but I like to make them laugh. After shouts of encouragement I carefully lowered myself to the new surface which seemed very clean and semi soft. Then I tried to turn a somersault but fell sideways. Still they all cheered and clapped. But the sense of failure made me come up with something I could do. I have rolled with them down hills so I tried the same thing. It took some doing but I got good at rolling fairly fast. That brought more hoorays!

Then I said, "Let's lay head to feet in a line and then all roll sideways s together so we look like a snake!" We did that and then someone suggested a race. This time, we all rolled towards a finish line but I could not finish but that was OK because they all laughed hysterically.

About and hour later I encountered a coach from a neighboring city who told me she had seen our rolling riot and loved it. She said, "And that's why we coach middle school, right?" Continuing, she said that the kids will remember the silliness maybe even longer than the races they ran. My coaching self felt good that my silly actions drew positive comments. And I knew I'd be back next year.

Our Mom

A 2nd compression fracture in her back, it seems, was the turning point. At that point, some months back, our weekly outings ended. We shifted the responsibility of getting meds into her system to others. We moved her from independent living to level one of the assisted system. She had been eating less and less until it was only a few bites a day. Reminders from her two daughters did nothing. She was week as a newborn kitten and had dropped to 91 pounds and we began the process of getting her into hospice care.

I happened to see her entire leg as I helped her from bed and it was almost entirely black. Even though she was entering hospice we needed to address the discolored limb. A CAT scan gave us the reason. The prosthetic ball entered her thigh bone and the bone surrounding it was actually crumbling away. The joint was so unstable that she could bare no weight on it and she didn't know why. She asked me, over and over, why she couldn't walk and I explained the situation inside her hip and how another fall would be ugly. She hated that she had to call for help for the simplest things; going to the bathroom or to the deck to smoke.

She finally agreed to wear the call button they had given her upon admittance but because she had no patience and little sense of time passing she would not wait for assistance. While she still had the strength, she would hobble to her walker unassisted. Her decline continued and she decided
if she could not walk, she would simply crawl. I'm sure her thought process was, "Damn it, I'll just do it myself."

They moved a hospital bed into her bedroom and it was nowhere near as attractive as her queen sized bed. We told her it was safer and I understand why she hated that reasoning. People have used it on me since I had my head injury. Most of the time it is helpful but not always. Anyway, a morning towards the end I found mom asleep with her legs hanging off the bed, almost to the floor which shows you just how safe the bed was. I tried to reposition her but as tiny as she was, I wasn't able to do much.

I transferred from bedroom to living area to play solitaire on my phone, waiting for her to wake up. When I listened for the shuffling-of-bedclothes noise coming from her bedroom, I realized her no-more-than-a-minute weight would make no noise. When I walked back to her room, her eyes were open and I saw recognition register on her face. As she spoke, her lower dentures were floating, unattached in her mouth, however and I could not understand a word she said. It took some time but we finally extracted them. Finally, I understood her ask where the boys were.

• Lexie: What boys?
• Shirley: The little boys you brought with you.
• Lexie: No little boys, sorry Mom, just me.

I watched mom go from the vital, fun-loving, extra cool and up-to-date artist she once was, to what I saw then. I love my mother and wished she wasn't dying but, at that point, all anyone could do was to make sure she was not in pain.

Brother Royce, arrived from Alaska and joined sister Wallis and me in the 'make sure mom is cared for properly' presence. We decided she needed one of us with her 24 hours a day and Wallis took the first nights as she was the only one who fit on mom's extra short couch. When work at the Saloon called, Royce took over the night shifts.

After my brother arrived I realized she may have been talking about her own boys. It seemed like this stage lasted a very long time and I was very anxious but Royce was able to put things into perspective for me. He told me he planned on being here as long as the process took and that was a huge relief and what I needed to hear.

I had pictured him leaving at some point and Wallis and I being alone which I knew meant I would be spending days and Wallis would stay nights. Nobody could or would tell me how long she might last. And me, with the head injury, deals in black and whites so not knowing was hard.

She stayed in bed for three days and we thought, "This is it," but when she saw three of her 5 children at her bedside something told her to keep going. She rallied and spent two days in her chair, feet on ottoman lapsing in and out of consciousness and even ate breakfast. While awake she asked to be taken out to smoke. Why not, I thought, and called to have her transferred to the wheelchair. The 1st smoking adventure had me lighting and then holding the cig to her mouth. I even tapped ashes. The 2nd time, things looked better as she was able to hold it herself, smoke and take care of the burnt end.

One day she asked for a beer but settled on wine rather than the juice or water offered. I had told myself, when she moved to the Terrace, I would never open/pour her wine but over time I found myself not only opening it but pouring a glass and delivering it to her in her chair. Well, in her final days I saw myself pouring the diluted wine into her mouth. I delivered, what she called her vices. A couple of days before she passed, she said she wanted a beer. She only drank beer in a pinch, and wine was her first choice. I delivered the beer the next day and she drank it with a straw.

That last evening, in her chair and heavily medicated for pain, she sat with the three of us and talked about earlier times. She smiled and giggled and then said, "Let's talk about Rollins." Rollins is where we spent summers in our cabin on the lake. We laughed, sharing memories of long-ago times, until  she got too tired. She was positioned in bed just so, and she never moved again; sleeping peacefully for more than 30 hours.

Royce called Sunday Morning and when the phone rang I knew she was gone. She would have guffawed and said, "I guess my 'journey' is over." When people referred to death as a journey she always laughed. At one point she said, "Well, my journey is almost over but this last part sucks."

She had often said she was lucky to have lived such a grand life. She liked that word 'grand' and it makes me wonder if my kids will remember any specific term I use. She missed travel, she missed having her fashion sense recognized and she missed her car. She missed the Shirley she remembered and felt that person was gone. And she did not want life to be differently than it had been. It was if she had never considered getting old, relying on others, being tired and unable physically to do what she wanted.

We planned a reception to honor my mom at the Hockaday Museum of Art. Because it was not scheduled until the end of the following month I spent several weeks of limbo. Mom didn't like the phrase, "Celebration of Life," so I called it a reception. It went off without a hitch and she would have loved it; friends and family gathered over wine, hors d'oeuvres and art. I saw good friends and the parents of friends who were part of life growing up on 5th avenue and later in Somers. I saw many of the folks whose names always meant "Kalispell." It was closure, of a sort.

My grief surfaces at random times. When I look at the mountains, if sunshine lights them up, under clear blue skies or rolling clouds, I hear her say, "We live in such a beautiful valley, I don't think I've ever seen them this lovely!"

When track at the middle school started and I had more to do than just sit around feeling sad. Track meets with children, however, will always remind me of my mother. She came to the vast majority of my own meets across the state and then the country.  When I first started coaching at the high school in Lynden, Washington, my parents even came to watch me coach! A few years ago, Mom came to a Kalispell Middle School track meet. It is the same track I ran on a child competing as a a Timberette, waving to mom in the stands, She sat for hours on her walker in the infield and cheered for all the athletes and loved being there.

The ceremony honoring my mother is over and we are closing in our last meet of the season. I look forward to spending time in Flathead lake and maybe taking a trip or two and I know the memories will continue to invade my space but I'm OK with that. Overall, I am coping with her death fine and my sister Wally reminded me that for us it may be easier. We saw her entire journey and am happy she is no longer in pain.