Rape

By now you've figured out that I don't tend to get too terribly political over here. I can remain silent no longer.

In a time where the FBI has (finally!) redefined rape to expand the scope from just the “carnal knowledge of a female forcibly and against her will” to a more broad definition designed to include men (in part: “the penetration, no matter how slight, of the vagina or anus with any body part or object, or oral penetration by a sex organ of another person, without the consent of the victim (from the DOJ))," various men in politics are seeking to redefine it in quite the opposite direction.

Let's start with Ron Paul and his Feb 3rd CNN interview when he stated that if it's an "honest rape" he'd allow the woman to take the morning after pill. Go to CNN for video of the bizarre mangling of logic that Paul goes through to arrive at what one blog commenter labeled "Schrodinger's abortion". On one hand, I could kiss that commenter for their observation. On the other, let's go back to the wording "honest rape." Is there such a thing as "dishonest rape"? It's not like people accidentally rape someone. Or lie about how they did rape someone when, in reality, they didn't. So, basically, what we have is (according to Paul's interview) a woman who, at 7 months in, decides she doesn't want to be pregnant any more and so waltz's into the doctor's office for the super trendy 28th week abortion. Uh... yeah.

Now on to this afternoon's comments from Rep. Todd Akin, the Republican nominee for Senate in Missouri. Today Akin announced to the world that "if it's a legitimate rape the female body has way to try to shut that whole thing [pregnancy] down". Wow. Just wow. I'd like to know when this little miracle of evolution came along. It must just be an American thing, since there are still women in war-savaged countries bearing the babies of their enemies. I'd comment on that happening in America, but, apparently I'm mistaken and those women haven't been "legitimately raped." Clearly they were all "illegitimately raped," which is how they got pregnant.

Allow me an open letter to the Conservatives in this country:
Just because you don't like abortion doesn't mean you can redefine rape to make it so that no one could possibly be legally raped thus allowing yourself to get out of that pesky moral loophole that we all love (life of the mother, incest, and rape). The thing about rape is: it's inconvenient. It only happens when we don't want it. Trust me, if we could just clap our hands and wish very hard to make rape never happen again I promise you that every woman alive would participate in a global clap-a-thon. And, let's say that you do manage to redefine out rape, how are you going to define out incest or what the "life of the mother" means?

Cyclocross

Cyclocross:
A sport often defined as "a drinking game with a bike race thrown in for legitimacy."
Sometimes defined as "mountain biking on a road bike through an obstacle course. With beer."
Or, "think mountain biking, now, add an obstacle course where you have to get off your bike and run with it, sometimes you have to carry it."

Since mountain biking holds no great thrill for me, it shouldn't surprise you to learn that I'm thinking about getting into cyclocross.

Let me back up: 2 years ago I was contemplating road racing. Then my friends started getting into it. The simple fact of the matter is: those who race are all better than I am. And at least one of those racers has the habit of being "helpful" and giving all sorts of advice on what you can do to be better. This is not something that I want. So I shelved that thought.

But cyclocross? Now, that's something that none of my friends have gotten into (yet). At physical therapy last week (while he was bandaging up my broken foot) I asked my therapist, "So... is it a bad time to mention that I'm thinking about getting into cyclocross?

He queried me about when the season starts, and we both agreed that I wouldn't be ready for the pre-season races that start this week. But, he said, "I might regret this, but I think if you treat this season like a training season and try to stay out of the fray, you could do it. Honestly, I think road racing would be better for you, but I know you'd rather to cross."

I chuckled, "why do you say that?"

"Well, you're much less likely to get injured doing road racing, and that seems to be a requirement for what sports you pick—how likely you are to get injured."

I countered, "maybe it's not the injury I'm chasing, but the adrenaline..."

These Boots are Made for Walkin'

The weekend following the sprained ankle, fractured foot, wrenched knee, (oh, and tweaked hip from walking weird to compensate for the entire right side of the lower half of my body) was a girls' trip to a nearby city for a bachelorette party.

It might surprise you to learn that a weekend of clubbing isn't exactly my idea of a good time.

Nevertheless, being the excellent sport that I am, I purchased two pairs of dress flats determined to make this hobbling thing work.

The first day was ok. I just took a ton of pain killers.

The second day was less ok. It was also a whole lot more walking. I ended up bailing on the clubbing part of the evening (in part because clubbing is insufferable, but also in no small part because my foot was killing me). I got back to the hotel, took a handful of painkillers and went to sleep.

Back in Seattle I was complaining to my pt about the pain in my foot. I mentioned that I had spent all weekend walking on it, but, hey, I had done so in flats. The expression on his face can best be described as the look one might have if they wanted to bang their head against a wall, but must retrain themselves. Actually, let's make that not a simile. That's exactly what he was thinking.

Later in our session he was gently chastising me for not listening to his advice. I insisted that I did listen. "Well, you may listen," he said, "whether or not you comply is a different story."

Forced to defend myself, I replied, "actually, I DO try to follow the rules!"

"Right." he countered, and motioning towards my ankle said, "I'm pretty sure I said no backpacking."

"I wasn't backpacking!" I defended. "We were hiking... And camping."

"Uh huh... Isn't that what backpacking is?" he asked, calling me out, "hiking and camping?"

"Sometimes, but in this case we car camped and went hiking. There was no pack. You said I couldn't, so I didn't!"

He teased me about following the letter of the law, but hurting myself doing things he shouldn't have to expressly call out. Then he grounded me. No stairs (in a 3-storey house that's impossible, but as little as possible), no hiking, if I walk more than 1/4 mile I have to wear sturdy hiking boots which extend over the ankle, and (the worst part of the punishment by far!) biking has been limited in distance/duration, and I can go no more than 15 mph and have to have a super high cadence. This is brutal, man!

Oh, and the sprain and fracture are worse. See, that's what I get for not listening to my doctor.

Impulse and Injury

For a friend's birthday we had decided to go car camping down by Mt. Rainier. Saturday morning two of us would go for a hike while her the other three would go climb mountains on their bikes.

Heeding the restrictions still in place (I tried to talk my physical therapist into relaxing them) we planned an 8 mile hike with roughly two thousand feet in elevation. Yes, dear reader, I realize that was toeing his line. Toeing.

Saturday morning we set out in three cars. 1 car with hikers and 2 cars for all three cyclists and bikes. We got to the park entrance and noticed the fee. Since I hadn't done any of the planning I didn't realize we were going into a National Park. The kind of park that has $15-20 entrance fees. The cyclists didn't want to pay to drive a mile into the park and park and ride so they opted to park before the entrance. The hikers, however, had to drive into the park.

I rolled up to the ranger booth, smiled sweetly at the adorable 12 year old ranger (to be fair, he was likely at least 22) and asked, "Can I get a National Park pass from you?"

80 bucks later I'm the proud owner of a National Parks pass. Better use this baby.

After finding the trail head we set off on our hike. Frankly, the Wonderland trail is amazing. Should you ever find yourself in Mt. Rainier NP do yourself a favor and check this one out. It was so lovely we pushed our turn around point from 4 miles to 4 1/3. Don't look at me like that. It's not like an extra 2/3rds of a mile was going to be the difference between injury and not.

On the descent my knee started bothering me, so we paused and I rested it. After 5 or 10 minutes we were bored of that and headed out. Oh, now might be a good time to pause and mention that early in the hike my friend had said, "I want to get a good workout in, so I'm going to push you today." She did. And, it felt great. Well, until my knee started aching.

Rested, we moved on. Chatting our way down the mountain. Suddenly, I was acutely aware of what I wasn't sure wasn't a broken right ankle. I cried out in pain and threw myself to the left of the trail, raising my right foot as I went.

She inquired after my ankle's health and I replied, "I'm not sure, I might have broken it. I'm going to sit here until I can decide if it is or not." We decided to move me (and, by that I mean, I hopped and hobbled to a different spot) so I could elevate my foot. Despite the desire to remove my shoe and look for a broken bone I knew removing my shoe would only cause problems and solve nothing.

If my ankle was broken we'd figure that out as soon as I tried to walk on it. If it wasn't, well, we'd likely know that soon enough as well. We sat for a while discussing options. We were both keenly aware that realistically we had two option: 1. I hike out (she suggested hopping and I quickly told here I wasn't hopping out a mile or more as that would only lead to a sure left foot break (we weren't sure how far we had really gone or how far we had left); or 2. I attempt to hike out, fail at that, and she would have to hike out for help. To be honest, I have never wanted to be emergency rescued by a ranger, no matter how cute I think they are, so I decided to opt for option 1.

Option 2 would happen only if the situation proved dire.

The situation did not prove dire. I hiked out just fine and was terribly thrilled to determine I likely just sprained it.

My physical therapist, on the other hand, wasn't thrilled that I sprained my ankle ("not insignificantly") or quite likely fractured one of my metatarsals. His words of comfort for the foot fracture were simply, "well, we could boot it, but it really wouldn't do anything, so just take it easy, ok?"

On the other hand, he was relieved when I said, that I'd put away the stilettos for the weekend and would make other shoe arrangements.