7 days to go folks! Just 7 days to go.
Week 9 of The Perfect 10 – Goals Review & Update
- NO potato chips – I had a tryst with Miss Vicky this week. Miss Vickie’s Balsamic Vinegar & Sweet Onion to be exact. They were very good and I totally enjoyed them.
- REVISED: one one-hour high intensity cardio session/week and one interval session – not done
- a minimum of four days/week of 45 minute mindfulness practice – two out of four sessions accomplished
- five crazy body weight challenges to be performed one per week in two cycles – as per last week, this has gone slid off the side of my flat world
- one ‘legs day’ per week – Again a bit of a stretch to call it a ‘legs day’ workout, but I did a quad hop tabata with class last night, and I do slightly feel my quads today, so as a stretch I’ll count this. I am hoping the video I’ve posted of the quad squat is the correct one. I viewed it about a year ago I think and am on dial up right now so can’t double check that. My apologies if the video has nothing to do with a quad squat – I hope it is entertaining nonetheless!
- additionally, as part of a 30 DAY 10,000 SWINGS CHALLENGE, I have completed 3558 kettlebell swings so far this week (probably will add some more later in the day).
The recent death of Steve’s dad, the impetus of the perfect 10 challenge, has touched all of us who visit his blog regularly. His loss and grief have spurred me to revel in some fond memories of my own Dad which I want to share with you this week. My dad died almost 7 years ago, the month before he was going to celebrate his 50th wedding anniversary with my mom.
He was 84 at the time of his death and accomplished a lot in his lifetime. In my estimation his greatest accomplishments were related to his large caring and generous heart though he was not without his generation’s share of sexism, which greatly affected how I was parented and how my upbringing was shaped.
My dad believed that women should look like women and for him that meant being neat, tidy and wearing a dress or skirt with enough of a heel to flatter a shapely leg. Truly. On family occassions I (all female family members) was required to fulfill this expectation and incurred his wrath when, as a young teen I began my own quiet revolution. I recall being told, with much instructive sympathy, that “I used to think you were a nice girl but quite frankly in those [bib overalls were all in fashion] you have no personality whatsoever”. When I landed my first executive position in my early 30’s he was quick to point out that I would not be taken seriously if I did not wear a dress. As Executive Director of a Transition House?!
He was a fabulous story teller and could hold us captive for an evening around the kitchen table, as he indulged in a glass of whiskey and occupied all the counters with food preparation, drawing out an event in his life many years previous. This oral history was well crafted, measured to engage and hold us in suspense as he delivered chapters between kitchen tasks and family chatter, much like a radio serial of old.
He also had a lovely quirky, somewhat twisted and oblique, sense of humour which quite endeared him to those in the fold of understanding. When he would occasionally send me a few extra dollars when I was in university I would have a bit of a red face as the bank teller flipped over the cheque to find his scrawl, for that’s what his handwriting was, on the back: “Have a heart and stop asking for money”. When he offered to be the financial sponsor of my partner’s US graduate education, the letter to the INS accompanying his financial status began: This is to introduce Udo Krautwurst, the father of my granddaughter and a potential son-in-law. And, still hanging on the kitchen wall today, an anniversary gift he gave my mom 20 odd years ago, which he had me make to his specifications. It is a lovely cross stitch which says: My Wife Is A Fruitcake.
There were many synchronicities in my father’s life, some of which bound me to him in ways which are ineffable. He was a strong, smart, supportive, simplecomplex, softhard, lovingharsh presence in my life. His seeming dualities were indeed not, though they did lead him to be imperfectly human and able to behave in seemingly unloving ways. He was whole and hearty.
I miss him, but rarely with sadness or misgiving. He and I never left an I love you unsaid or a hug unhugged. I care because he cared.