The only constant is change

If I had to come up with a theme for this story, it would be change.  This is the story of how I changed my life, and how it continues to change.  It’s such a funny idea.  Change is everywhere and is happening all the time.  It is all around us, occurring at a million different rates.  If there is one thing in life that is constant and reliable, it is change.  But when change happens, our emotions escalate.  We become ecstatic, overcome, heartbroken, amazed, devastated.  Change is never easy and it is never simple, but it is always there.

I am a different person today than I was yesterday, and I will be a different person tomorrow too.  Every moment I am changing and learning something new about myself and the world around me.  Someone once told me that all of the cells in our body regenerate themselves every 7 years.  I don’t know if this is true, but I like the idea.  Every 7 years, you are a completely different you.  But the change happens so slowly, so minutely, that you don’t notice it until all of sudden you’re different.  I didn’t wake up one day, snap my fingers, and become a runner.  It was a slow, long change that took place over time.  And one day I looked back on things and thought to myself, “When did I become a runner?”

Since I moved to Seattle, I have changed in many ways.  I’m happier, more outgoing, more comfortable in uncomfortable situations.  The person that left New York City in August of 2008 is not the same person I am today.  Much of that person is still inside me, but there are bits and pieces that have changed a great deal.  And it is those bits and pieces that have made all the difference. 

When Lucy and I packed up and left New York, I rented a U-Haul trailer and attached it to a trailer hitch I had installed on my car just for that purpose.  My mom, a woman who loves doing puzzles, came to help me pack up and puzzled all of my life into that tiny trailer.  We managed to fit a couch, a mattress, a desk, a table, and a ton of boxes in it.  I don’t think there was an inch of room to spare.  Then we drove my little Honda Civic across New York State back to my parents, crossing our fingers that the engine didn’t overheat in the August sun while struggling to pull like the Little Engine That Could.

Leaving NYC was harder than I thought it would be.  New York City is the city of dreams.  People who have never been there imagine that it is this place where miracles happen and the world is different.  This is somewhat true, but obviously an idealized version of the city.  However, I had become accustomed to being a New Yorker.  I liked watching movies or TV shows like Law and Order and being able to pick out exactly where certain shots were filmed.  I loved picking apart impossible settings—an actor coming out of a subway station in Chelsea and suddenly finding herself on the Upper East Side by 5^th Ave.  I got a kick out of it.  I felt special living in New York.

It was those little things that were hard to say goodbye to.  I loved the nuances and hidden pieces of beauty you could find throughout the city.  Subway doors look like this:  

Once, I was riding the L train out of Brooklyn into Manhattan and noticed that one of the lower black stickers that reads “Do not lean on door” had been very perfectly replaced by an identical sticker that read “Do not fall in love.”  Unless you were looking closely and actually reading the words that nobody bothers to read, you would never have noticed it.  In New York City, you have to look at the details to find the poetry in the world.

This year for my holiday trip back to the East Coast, I decided to fly into NYC and spend a few days reminiscing about the life I once led.  It was the first time I had stepped foot in the city since I said goodbye to it 3 ½ years ago.  I’m not sure what I expected from this visit.  But I wanted to go…I wanted to feel and see and touch the change I had experienced over the past few years.  Only by going back to the beginning, to the root of the story, do you really see all the changes that have manifested themselves on the journey.

I think I wanted it all to be different.  I wanted to go back to Brooklyn, to visit the places I’d spent my “entering real life” years and have it all be different.  As if by me leaving, this entire city would redirect its course.  But a lot was the same.  The dog park was still there, and even though it had new benches and new dogs, it was still the same.  I visited a few old apartment buildings.  I’m sure their insides were filled with new souls floating through life, but their shells had not changed.  My favorite neighborhood bagel store, with its unobtrusively subtle name still stood with its ever-changing, often politically-inspired murals.

New dogs enjoying the same old dog park.

The converted burlap factory where me and 2 roommates built the walls of the empty loft we rented.  Someone else in now enjoying the fruits of our labor.

My first NYC apartment, looking more dilapidated than ever.  The Thai restaurant underneath still going strong.

Best bagels ever--huge and gooey and overloaded with cream cheese.

            I think I also wanted it all to be the same.  I wanted to go back to the city, visit the old haunts, and feel that time had stopped moving after I left.  But a lot was very different.  The Williamsburg waterfront has been consumed by large condos and even a boardwalk.  A little city of convenience stores has built up around these condos, along a street that used to be filled with dilapidated, empty factories.  They’ve even started relining many streets throughout the city to include bike lanes.  This was unheard of a few years ago.

2 off these were in the process of being built when I moved, the rest weren't there.  The boardwalk didn't exist...to get to the water, you had to sneak through the fence of an old factory.

This road used to be deserted.  Even the sidewalk is new.

            The result of my walk down memory lane, through this living, breathing organism of a city was somewhat anticlimactic.  I expected to feel different, to be touched by some unnamable feeling.  But in the end, it all felt normal.  I fell right back into that weird borderline state of feeling at home in a city that one can never feel at home in.  On my last night there, as I was leaving dinner with my dad and brother, I commented that I felt as though I could be walking back to the subway, hopping on a train to go back to my apartment.  As if I didn’t live on a completely different coast now, in a completely different life.  As if nothing had changed.  It was deceiving and disconcerting that my body and mind could fall so easily back into old habits.  I guess you just can’t leave 6 years of life behind you so easily.

            Since leaving NYC with my mom at my side, Lucy cramped in the back seat, and my little Honda loaded down by the weight of my life, things have changed.  I am glad for the changes that have happened, but I am oddly comforted by the feeling that some things haven’t changed.  Somewhere inside me, there is a place where NYC will always live.  If I had known that 3 ½ years ago, I would have hated the idea.  But I like it now.  Even though life is constantly changing, somewhere in your soul is a place where all the old things reside.  All the old feelings, places, people, disappointments, hopes, and dreams are still there.  You just have to remember to go back and find them every now and then.

I heart running

            I love to run.  This doesn’t necessarily mean that I love the act of running.  Don’t get me wrong, sometimes I do.  But there are certainly days when I feel like crap.  Just 3 miles can be torturous, and the thought of even toughing it up one hill is too much to handle.  Running is a challenge. 

But there’s obviously something about running that makes it great.  There wouldn’t be so many people out there running if there wasn’t something about this thing that keeps us going.  I’ve mentioned before the battle of a race, the amazing feeling of fighting through the negative thoughts and finishing.  But I don’t run a race every day.  In fact, in the 3 years that I’ve been running, I’ve only completed 5 major (half or full marathon distance) races.  There are so many other reasons why I love to run. 

There are moments during a long run where time stops moving.  You hit that runner’s high and you feel like you could just keep going forever.  The miles float away under your feet and the world seems to come to a standstill because you are running, and that’s the only thing that is happening right now.  All you feel is the rhythm of your feet hitting the earth over and over.  Your body is so in tune with itself that the running seems effortless.  Breathing is rhythmic, your heart beats strongly in your chest…you may as well be sitting on your couch because things just seem that easy.

You may have heard the phrase “running is cheaper than therapy,” or perhaps you’ve seen it on a bumper sticker.  As cheesy as it sounds, it is completely true.  Running is how I release my stress and tension.  I often have difficulty turning my brain off after teaching.  Only running can truly flip the switch.  On days I come home and head straight for the couch, I can’t seem to relax.  My back is tense, my hands clench slightly, and I can’t take my mind off the events of day.  When I run, everything releases.  Physically and mentally.  The tension of the day disappears and stressful thoughts are extinguished—only to be rekindled with the blaring of my morning alarm.  But for those few evening hours after a run, I can focus on making a good meal, writing a blog, reading a book, watching some Hulu, or enjoying time with friends.

I love to run because of this:

Because just one second ago she was snoring, deep in puppy dreams.  She managed to open her eyes just that far after the surprising flash of the first picture, then 30 seconds later they had slowly closed and the snoring had recommenced.

I also love running because it is my time.  I have made the choice to run.  I can run wherever I want, however far I’d like to go, and for however long I chose to.  For my first year of running, it was a solo act.  Just me and Lucy tackling the streets and trails as best we could.  With my headphones in my ears, I am in my own bubble, my own world, and all I have to think about is me.  I often run with friends now, but this is still my time.  I choose to share my time with friends who choose to share their time with me.  I still enjoy my solo runs with Lucy, but I find I need them less than I used to and often prefer company during a run.  Regardless of who I am with (or without), running is the one part of my life where I am selfishly doing something just for me.  And I am totally OK with that.

I love to run because I love to eat.  I love food.  All kinds of food—I’m not very picky (minus a few certain meats).  Running allows me to eat.  A lot.  Which makes both me and my tummy very happy.  After a Saturday morning long run, I feel no pangs of guilt devouring a huge plate of Eggs Florentine piled high with hollandaise sauce next to a mound of oily hash browns doused in ketchup and hot sauce.  The night before a run, I have no qualms about shoveling a gigantic bowl of pasta down my throat then sopping up the leftover sauce with an extra piece of bread.  Food is good, and running lets me enjoy it guilt-free.

The list of reasons why I love to run is endless—I haven’t even mentioned the health benefits, or the impact running has had on my social life.  But there is one reason why I love running that far surpasses the others.  I’ve mentioned before that I love to feel comfortable.  I like my routine.  And I often get myself stuck in my routines.  When things aren’t always going well for me, I turn to my routines for comfort.  I begin to go through the motions of my day so that I can turn my brain off completely.  I can go into auto-pilot, no thought or decision-making required.

When get stuck in a comfortable rut like this, I don’t feel things.  For many reasons throughout my life, I’ve become very practiced at letting things roll off my shoulders.  This is often beneficial.  In social situations, I describe it as being “laid back” and “easy going.”  When I’m teaching, I call it “patience.”  But at other times, I’ve gotten so good at letting things not “bother” me that often I think I’ve let it go too far.  It doesn’t bother me, because it doesn’t affect me.  I don’t feel the emotion.  I’m numb.  But when I run…I feel.  I feel my feet hit the sidewalk.  I feel my lungs struggle for air.  I feel my muscles strain as I push up a hill.  I feel tired.  I feel exhilarated.  I feel.

The more often I run, the harder I push myself, the higher the hill, the more I feel.  And to feel is to live.  After all, when you boil things down, what more are we than our feelings and emotions?  These things shape the choices we make, the way we live our lives, the people we become.  Without feeling, what are we but a mass of flesh and bones?  So at the end of things, I love to run because I love to feel.  And I love to feel because I love to live. 

Need to distract yourself? Run!

            I’ve been feeling really uneasy lately and haven’t been able to figure out why.  My bills are paid, no one’s mad at me, I don’t have any projects outstanding that need completion or commitments being neglected.  This uneasy feeling has been bothering me for over a week, and today I think I finally figured it out.

            It’s the waiting.  I hate waiting.  For anything.  For everything.  I hate waiting in line.  I hate waiting for people who are late.  I hate waiting for races to start when you’re ready to run.  I especially hate waiting after I make big decisions, or for that matter even little ones.  I want to follow through immediately.   I don’t want to wait to make the change.  I recently decided to upgrade my near-windowless apartment to something sunnier and perhaps larger.  Now I’m in this uneasy waiting time.  With the holidays coming up, I can’t make a move right away and I also have to play this awkward time balance game of trying to find a place and giving my landlord one month’s notice at the opportune moment.  I’ve found a few apartments that seem to have great potential, but I’m waiting to get an appointment to see them.  I think my recent uneasiness stems from this waiting.  I want to find an apartment, make the move, and be relaxing in my new sunny apartment right now (well…the sunny part has to wait until the sun chooses to grace Seattle with its presence—until then I’ll settle for a view of the rain).

            When I was a lifeguard during high school and college, there was a part of the certification process that requires you to tread water for one minute.  Being a swimmer, this part of the test was never difficult for me.  I could easily tread water for way longer than that.  But I hated performing this requirement.  When you tread water, you expend energy to do the simple task of staying in the same spot.  You kick your legs and wave your arms for the mere purpose of not going anywhere.  When I put forth energy, I want to go somewhere, do something, be productive.  To me, waiting feels like treading water.  All this mental energy, uneasiness, annoyance, and even anger results in merely getting you to the same place you already are.  It’s incredibly frustrating.

            When I got back to NYC from my trip to Seattle with Sierra, I was stuck in a 4 month waiting period.  This was difficult to say the least.  I wanted to get started with my new life in my new city.  But I had to wait.  I still had 2 ½ months of school left with my first graders, and then I had to spend 6 weeks student teaching in a self-contained special ed summer school class to finish up my masters degree (yes, I had to student teach again after 2 years of teaching already).

I miss these ladies.

             I had to figure out a way to distract myself from this waiting.  So I spent a lot of time with my friends, who I would soon miss dearly.  Lucy and I spent a lot of time reading in the park, taking advantage of the good weather.  I also tried to take full advantage of the last few months I had in New York City and rekindle my love for it—I didn't want to leave with a bad taste in my mouth.

Lucy is very good at relaxing in the park.

                   I also ran.  A lot.  As soon as I got back from Seattle, I was back on the streets and back at the cemetery.  I started out slow, but it was easier for me to slide back into things than I had thought.  I had to re-convince Lucy that running did not mean beeping, which took a week or so.  After she was comfortable again, it was hard to hold myself back.  About 2-3 weeks after my trip, I did something that a few months previous I never would have thought imaginable.  I ran a mile.  I had been slowly increasing my running time and decreasing my walking time each day.  I was up to five minutes running and 30 seconds walking when one day I decided that I would stop walking.  And we know I don’t like waiting, so once I made the decision, I did it.

            I ran around the entire cemetery.  Without stopping.  It felt incredible.  And once I achieved that goal, once I felt that feeling of accomplishment, I didn’t want to stop.  The next day, I did it again.  And again.  The next week, I added a few blocks.  I went further than just the cemetery.  And the week after that, I went even further.  Week by week, I added more and more distance.  It got to the point that I had to strategically plan my runs so that I wouldn’t run too far into a not-so-good part of the city.  I’d do loops and weird zigzags to avoid the borders of sketchy neighborhoods.  And if I stumbled a little too far, at least I had Lucy there with me.

The determinedness that running brought to my life was something new for me.  I was a pretty good swimmer growing up.  From age 5 until the end of high school, swimming is what I did.  In elementary school, I was on multiple teams.  I’d practice before school, after school, in the summer.  It was a huge part of my life.  But I never felt determined about swimming.  I remember at swim meets, sometimes I’d swim a race and I’d win it, but I’d get out of the water and my coach and my mother would look at me baffled.  “You’re supposed to be tired when you finish a race,” they’d say.  “You’re supposed to be out of breath!”  I didn’t get it…I won the race.  Wasn’t that enough?  I had no idea what if felt like to really push myself.

During this 4 month waiting period, I pushed myself harder than I ever had before.  Every day I wanted to go farther.  I wanted to be able to come home and say “Today I ran more than I ever have before.”  I felt amazing.  I lost another 10 lbs in those 4 months, so by the time I made it to Seattle I had trimmed off a total of 20 lbs.  I felt healthy, productive, and attractive for the first time in a long time.

All this running helped my awful waiting time go faster.  I had something else to think about.  Every day I had a new goal to conquer, a new reason to feel good about myself.  The running seemed to be helping Lucy too.  She was tired when we got home, the same kind of tired she used to be after running herself ragged at the dog park.  By the time I was ready to pack up my car and wave goodbye to NYC for good, Lucy and I were running about 4 miles a day.  I had somehow managed to make my waiting productive.  I may have physically been in the same place those 4 months, but in my mind and in my body I was most certainly not treading water.  I was going somewhere.

If you don't have an HLM, I feel bad for you

            Good friends are hard to find.  It’s a phrase we’ve all heard before, but it rings true.  Everyone has friends.  Lots of people even have close friends.  But not everyone has that one truly good friend that has always been there for you and will always be there for you.  No questions asked.  You don’t have to predict the future or guess, you know this friend will be there.  A term has arisen of late to describe this kind of friend: HLM, or Hetero Life Mate.  I think this term perfectly describes this kind of friend.

            Having an HLM is a lot like what I’d imagine a strong marriage to be.  An HLM is someone who truly and deeply knows you.  They know your strengths and weakness and have been there with you for your triumphs and pitfalls.  Sometimes your friendship is amazingly strong and great, and sometimes things aren’t so good.  But no matter what, life goes on and this person remains an integral part of it.  And, most importantly I believe, an HLM has been there through all the changes.  In life, things change.  People change.  Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse…but what’s great about an HLM is that they’ve seen you change.  They’ve watched you change.  They’ve let you change.  They probably even helped you change.  And they’re still here on the other side of things.  And you’ve done the same for them.  And probably will again in the future.  An HLM is the rock that steadies you, the hand that pushes you forward, and the body block that stops you from going too far.

            I can’t imagine what my life would have become without my HLM.  Sierra and I met when we were 14.  Innocent young high schoolers with our whole lives ahead of us.  We endured high school together, through its roller coaster of ups and downs.  Although we went to different colleges, we both wound up in NYC.  After my first semester of college when I realized I hated my school, I spent my weekends (remember in college when “weekends” were Thursday night through Sunday?) at her college, sleeping in her dorm room.  Did you know that two 5’10” girls could comfortably share a twin bed, as long as you slept head to toe?

            When Sierra moved out to Seattle, it was kind of like a separation.  We weren’t divorced, but we lived far away from each other and didn’t talk as often as we should have.  And when we did talk, I was usually on a slightly inebriated long walk on deserted NYC streets from the subway station to my apartment at 4 am—because fortunately it was only 1 am in Seattle and my HLM never left me alone on those streets when I needed her.

            So when I went out to visit Seattle in April 2008, 4 months before my planned move, it was like a reunion for Sierra and I.  We’d had 2 years of separation and we needed each other around again.  By this point in time, my injured Achilles tendon was feeling much better and I was itching to try running again.  I’d been pretty good about my portion controlling and had already lost about 10 lbs since the unfortunate hiking picture I showed you a few posts back.  After getting over my injury, I was doing my best to enjoy my last few months in the city that I loved and hated all at once.  I had a month of what was termed “March Madness” with my friends Lauren and Ashley, which consisted of getting out of our apartments, showing ourselves off, and boosting our energies.  With my new slightly slimmer figure, I felt amazing.  I was learning to separate my difficult and trying work day from my home life so that I could actually enjoy a real social life.  And I knew I had so much to look forward to.

 Life was good, and that April when Sierra played host to me in Seattle, she made pretty damn sure that I knew life could be even better.  Just when you feel like you are on top of the world, only an HLM can make you believe you haven’t even come close to seeing the top yet.  Here follows a photo montage of the week that made the next 4 months seem as though they couldn’t go by fast enough.

To start off the week, Sierra took me on my first walk around Greenlake.  She knew all about my new active lifestyle and wanted to show me just how active Seattle could be.  I basically live at this lake now and have run around it more times than I could even hope to quantify:

After that, we visited Chateau Ste Michelle because wine is awesome.  We even hopped over to Red Hook brewery for a meal after.  Because micro-brewed beer is awesome too:

We made friends with a peacock.  Who wouldn’t want to make friends with a peacock?:

We got dirty in the mud at Discovery Park.  This ended up being somewhat ironic, because the apartment we had together for my first 2 years here was in Magnolia, the same neighborhood:

We took lots of pictures of ourselves that look a lot like this one with different backgrounds:

We conquered a few hundred stairs coming up from the beach at Discovery and then stood in awkward poses of pride at the top:

We hung out at a few bars with people that would soon become very very good friends of mine.

We went to a Mariner’s game, which resulted in a night that looks like this in my memories.

And there was a high school sleep-over type dance party.  Because who wouldn’t want to end an amazing trip with an amazing friend with an amazing dance party?

Through all of life's inevitable changes, it's nice to know that there is someone who has been there for the last 14 years and will continue to be there for many more to come.  Thanks HLM, you're a lifesaver. Seriously.

Life on hold

            Injuries suck.  Once you’ve become addicted to running, which can happen fairly quickly, getting an injury seems to put life on hold.  All you want to do is get back out and run again, but you know that doing exactly that will result in a longer hold on life.  Since I started running, I’ve had my fair share of injuries—some as a result of running, others not so much (Seahawks tailgating + sneaky curb = sprained ankle…apparently).  Like everything else with running, being injured is a mental battle.  It puts you in a funk, makes you want to hide away and pretend running never really existed until you can get back out there.  When I experienced my first running injury, the epic life-changing tailspin I was in suddenly halted.

Somewhere between 2-3 weeks after I first started running, my body fought back for the first time.  It was just a run or two after I discovered the culprit behind Lucy’s refusal to run as I was trying to convince her that the beeping wouldn’t ever happen again.  She had begun hesitatingly running after the first few cycles of run/walk when she didn’t hear the beeping.  Things were going well: I had a plan for building my stamina, I had solved the defiant dog problem, and I had bought some running gear to make me feel like a real runner.  I was determined, I was ready, I wanted to be a runner.

            I was about ¾ of the way through a loop around the cemetery when the Achilles tendon on my left foot suddenly tightened up.  I thought it was one of the typical “aches and pains” of running that will momentarily appear and then disappear just as quickly.  But as I continued running, it got tighter and tighter until I had to stop running.  By the time I got back to my apartment, I was hobbling, unable to bend my foot more than a 90 degree angle. 

            I’d like to say when I got home that I iced my foot, but to be honest I have no idea.  It wouldn’t surprise me if I didn’t.  I didn’t know the value of ice then.  So to no surprise, I woke up the next morning and it was just as tight, if not worse.  I limped to work and tried to make it up and down the 4 flights of stairs at my school all day, kids laughing at me as I used the stair railing as a crutch.  By the end of the day it sunk in that this wasn’t going away.  The teachers I worked with looked at me like I was crazy and told me this whole running business was ridiculous.

            My foot continued to be stuck in that awful tight position for a week.  If I bent it too much, I got this bone-chilling feeling that the tendon would just snap.  Once it started loosening, I was afraid to jump right back into running.  All my online research told me that even though injuries might feel better, that doesn’t mean that are better (yes…I researched online instead of seeing an actual doctor…do not judge me).  So I decided to take a full 6 weeks off.  I was going to be visiting Seattle in mid-April to scope out my soon-to-be new home and decided I would start running again when I got back. 

            And so, life was put on hold.  I can honestly say that I have very little recollection of the things I did in that 6 week period.  It was as if my brain shut off.  I was just waiting to be able to jumpstart my new life again.  Lucy and running had done so much to change everything about me already, and now I had to ignore them both.  My roommate walked Lucy with Jackson for me for the first few weeks, because I couldn’t even do that.  I started watching my food intake during this time in an effort to start losing a few pounds even if I couldn’t run.  But it seemed pointless.  I wanted to run and I couldn’t. 

So, because life is on hold at this point in the story, I’ll put the story on hold too.  Instead, here are a few interesting facts about Lucy to brighten your day:

1)  She eats her own eye boogers.  Once, when she was a puppy, as I picked away a little chunk of black gook from the corner of her eye, she reach out and licked it right off my thumb.  After the initial feeling of gross shivers down my spine, my immediate second reaction was, “well, that’s convenient.”  No wasting tissues to throw the boogers away every time I have to clean them.

2)  She likes to smell my breath first thing in the morning when I wake up.  She puts her head up on the bed, sticks her nose about an inch in front of my mouth, and gently sniffs.  It seems intriguing to her, as if she’s asking “What happened in there?”

3)  She has been beaten up by a cat named Bob more times than I can count on 2 hands and 2 feet.

4)  When she sleeps, she curls up into the tightest, smallest ball one can imagine for a dog that size.  People who have never seen her sleep before look at her dog bed and ask me where the cat is.  I promise she fits in the bed, despite what you may think.

5)  She has eaten poop on more than one occasion. 

6)  When we’re running or walking together, every now and then she’ll reach up and poke me in the butt with her nose.  When I look down at her, she is smiling up at me as if saying “Remember me?  I’m still here!”  I have to reach down and let her lick my hand before she’ll resume normal leash position (although she doesn’t get to do this if she’s eaten poop).

7)  When I say she smiles at me, I mean this literally.  I can remember 2 times in the past few months alone where people have randomly stopped me on the street during a walk to tell me that my dog is smiling.  That she looks so happy.  This makes me feel good.

8)  She’s a talker.  She has lots of different barks and whines for many varied situations.  She can do the most pathetic whine when asking to come up on the couch or sleep on the bed.  She’s also got a whimper that is a little more forceful when her bowl of food is sitting up on the counter and I’ve forgotten to put it down for her.  There’s also the pleading whine and stare at the toy that’s rolled just a little too far under the couch.  Then there’s the panicked “HELLO!!! I NEVER THOUGHT I’D SEE YOU AGAIN!!” welcome whine, where the whine even gets this sort of trilling quality to it. 

9)  She also has a moan.  This occurs when she’s just settled into a comfy position and is ready to fall into the deepest of sleeps.  She takes in a slow breath and breathes out the deepest, longest, most despairing sounding moan I’ve ever heard.  It’s as if she’s letting out every trouble from her tough doggy day so she can rest in peace.  Sometimes I wish I could do that.  One deep breath and you exhale all your troubles away.  Injury or no, life on hold or not, for this moment everything is OK.