Question: What’s a menopausal woman’s dream sport?

Answer: Bicycling!

Sometimes I want to crawl into the refrigerator.  Quite often I want to crawl out of my clothes.  If I could, I’d mount a fan permanently (or at least until this ordeal is over) about 6 inches from my face.  I am perpetually hot… and no longer er… hot. 

I wasn’t sure I’d like bicycling, but I knew that if I was to train at all for the upcoming Danskin triathlon, I’d have to get my butt on a bike and start pedaling.  After shopping with Peter for a bike two weekends ago and relenting to his instance that I really should get a fairly good bike, I’ve been riding three times and I’m actually quite surprised to say that…

…I love bicycling!  Why?  Because cool air blows right onto my face – and there’s nothing THIS menopausal woman likes more!

(Here’s a secret for you: if you’re sitting in a business meeting and a woman nonchalantly uses the papers in front of her to fan her face – and the world is not sweltering in a heat wave -- she is most decidedly menopausal!)

So today I rode the Sammamish River Trail again, but this time I headed northward from Woodinville …

…toward Bothell.

These geese and ducks just hung out along the trail…

…completely unfazed when people rode by!

You know those gorgeous houseboats in Sleepless in Seattle?  Well, these are nearby Bothell’s version.  (They’re trailers, not houseboats.)

The trail parallels the freeway for a bit…

…and goes right under a major interchange.  It’s amazing, the beauty and recreation you can find near Seattle freeways!  Remember my post about kayaking the Seattle Arboretum?

I rode to where the Sammamish River Trail meets the Burke-Gilman Trail in Bothell, then turned around and headed back to Woodinville… but wasn’t ready to stop riding yet, so I headed south towards Redmond.

Mt. Rainier was out again in all its glory!  I will never get over this mountain’s majesty and beauty! 

As I was taking pictures a woman rode by and then stopped, saying, “I really should do that too.”  We started chatting and she offered to take a picture of me with the Mountain behind me…

…which I told her I’d only accept because I have a blog and it might make a good part of the story.

 

We continued to chat came to realize that we have a few mutual friends!  She knows of The Gottman Institute and John’s research and we enjoyed chatting about that for a while.  After talking for about 20 minutes we decided that it’d be fun if she joined Elisabeth and me on our Green Lake walks -- and that she might want to do the Danskin too! 

Yes, Seattle is definitely the friendliest city I’ve ever lived in!

Sunday Morning Solitaire

Self-inflicted rules:

1. All letters must be used.
2. 15-minute time limit.
3. All words must have some personal relevance.

How to Make a Menopausal Woman Happy

Remember this?

I wrote that post in July of 2007, and that old discolored rickety fan is still my constant companion. On any given day it can be found on my bedside table, in the bathroom (where it blows cold air on me while I blow dry my hair with hot air... menopause is such a strange beast!), in my office, or in the kitchen. When a hot flash hits, I absolutely need my fan. It's either my fan or furiously stripping off all my clothes as fast as I can.

So -- it's my fan.

A few weeks ago I was at a meeting at Microsoft with three men -- a co-worker, my boss and a Microsoft director. It took place in a small office where we sat in a cramped row of office chairs, laptops on our knees, and absolutely no room to move. (Anyone who works at Microsoft will tell you that meeting rooms, comfortable and high-tech as they are, are impossible to find for an impromptu meeting.) On that particular day I'd dressed in a synthetic blouse and a polyester blazer.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid!

I could feel the hot flash come on, as it normally does, from deep inside me, like a blazing fire moving quickly from my core to the surface of my skin. That's the point at which I usually feel absolutely compelled to take off at least one layer -- that if I don't, I will burn up from the inside and disintegrate into blazing hot white embers. The drive to rid myself of everything on my skin at that point (or as much as socially appropriate, anyway) feels instinctive and it's as difficult to control as a sneeze or a labor contraction. Usually just removing one layer helps and I can endure the rest of the hot flash.

On this particular day, though, I was elbow-to-elbow with three men and we were deep in professional conversation. To have tried to remove my blazer would have been... well, embarrassing. So I endured the mother of all hot flashes right there in the tiny Microsoft office. I could swear that my body temperature alone heated the room by an extra five degrees. As the heat welled up inside me, my face became crimson red and beads of sweat dripped off my forehead and nose and right onto my lips, forcing me to taste the humiliation!

Oh, how I wanted my fan with me then!

It was shortly after that experience that I bought my little portable purse fan -- although we all know that I never would have pulled it out of my purse and used it! (Can you imagine? "Excuse me, gentlemen, but hooo-boy... this is a mother of a hot-flash and I gotta use this baby...!") Instead, I have no choice to endure these cruel "personal summers" in professional situations.

At home, though, my rickety fan has been my friend and constant companion for the past three years.

Until today.

Today I saw this at Target:

Did you see that price tag?
These damn hot flashes will never be enjoyable, but somehow this deal makes them tolerable.

I know -- I'm really bad like that. A great deal makes everything just a little bit sweeter!

Cool Purchase of the Week

I saw this "O2 Cool Caribeener Clip Fan Light" at Office Max's checkout counter when I bought my office chair yesterday and couldn't resist its gizmo-ness. I mean, if this isn't a GIZMO, I don't know what is! And for $2.99, I figured I'd give it a whirl. (Sorry.)

I love the dang thing! Forget the Menopause Predictor Kit! Really -- we know who we are. Give us tools to cope! This little baby even has a flashlight in case... in case... well hell, I don't know why it has a flashlight, but that just adds to its cool (sorry) gizmoness.

And the ultimate feature? It has a caribeener clip so I can attach it to my purse straps and publicize to the world my age and stage and affliction. Yeah, like I'd really want to do THAT. (Although when those mother-flashes attack, it would be kinda nice to have it at the ready...)

I'll be keeping this handy-dandy-fandy inside my purse, thankyouverymuch, but I have a feeling it'll be within an arm's reach for a while still. Dammit.

Hot Flashin' in a Pressure Cooker

I have a theory: I think stress and hot flashes are closely correlated. And while we're at it, I think Microsoft plays a role in there too.
To wit:

• My hot flashes were constant when I worked as a contractor at Microsoft in 2006.
• When I was unemployed, they practically went away.
• They're back now, full-force.
  

See? It's a causal relationship. (I ain't nuttin' if not scientific!)

Do We Really Need a Menopause Predictor Kit?!

As I was waiting for Tom to show up for Friday Date Night (a new weekly tradition... tonight we saw Leatherheads), I strolled around Bartells drug store, not looking for anything in particular.

Then this caught my eye:

Now, this is either hilariously funny or not funny whatsoever. Are you frikkin' kidding me? The pharmaceutical industry feels the need to produce (for profit, of course) a product that women can purchase to tell them whether or not they're in the midst of menopause?! Dude, I haven't had a period since Aleks and Kat were three years old and even I knew beyond a doubt when I was approaching the throes of menopause!

Really, let me save you about twenty bucks here. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news (and I won't even charge you for some sort of "kit"!), but there's really no two ways about it. If you have more than a few of these symptoms and you're in your mid-40s to early-50s, chances are you're there, my friend:

Memory lapses
Mood swings
Headaches

Weight gain
Dry skin
Loss of... well, that "blossoming" feeling


Anxiety and irritability


Insomnia

Oh yeah, and hot flashes.
But fear not -- because life is good, and you WILL find your way. We all do, you know.

An Open Letter to My Internal Clock and Biorhythm

Dear Biorhythm,

What the...?

We were like one, you and I. We were connected, cohesive, and cooperative. We functioned like a well-oiled machine for years on end, waking briskly at sunrise, whirring along efficiently all day, and then fading gently together at bedtime, re-charging for the next busy day.

But you have abandoned me, oh biorhythm, leaving me to navigate long, dark lonely nights alone and to fade away into oblivion when people around me are wide awake and lively.

At first I thought it was because you felt abandoned when I traveled half-way across the world, leaving you to recalibrate yourself in a strange land. But we worked that out beautifully, didn't we? Within a few days we were a smoothly functioning team again, ready to take on the world -- literally.

You and me... buds forever. Right?

Wrong, apparently.

Now, my friend, you're playing with me, teasing me, and -- quite frankly -- pissing me off. Do you think I like waking up suddenly at 1:30 AM (after drifting off far too early, at 8:47), in a dripping sweat, grasping onto a fading, disturbing dream, and then not being able to fall asleep (or cool down) again for hours? Is that fun for you? Because really, it's no fun at all for me.

Loading dishes and doing laundry at 4:30 in the morning isn't really my idea of accomplishment. Hell, if I had real cerebral (paid) stuff to do, maybe I could work with you on this new craze of yours and we could stomp around together in the wee hours, being productive. I'd be down with that. But until that happens could you please, please (please) allow me to function like a normal human being, sleeping and waking at reasonable hours?

Two can play this game, my friend, and I'm not nice when I'm grouchy and tired. Do you really want to go there, or do you think maybe we can reach an understanding... like right now, when it's light outside and my cup of coffee has induced rational and logical thought (at least temporarily).

It's your move, buddy. Tread lightly... but please, do something!

Warmly (sweating, in fact),

Carol

Pondering "Pretty"

In the past few days, both Jennifer and Anno have both discussed an issue that has been swirling around the back of my mind, even in the midst of the long list of logistics that are firmly planted there these days.

"Pretty."

It's a word that elicits a visceral reaction from any female (or male, for that matter) over the age of three and a half. These days, it's a word that makes me want to hide. It's a word that makes me feel apologetic, as if to say, "I used to be pretty; I apologize for..."

For what?

For getting old? For not clinging to "pretty" for dear life? For not gracefully bringing "pretty" into my fifties with me, like Michelle Pfeiffer and Christy Brinkley have been able to do? For being willing to bid farewell to "pretty" in favor of, perhaps, "creative" or "smart" or "loving"? (Which really aren't such shabby traits, are they?)

Let's just get one thing straight right here: I'm not willing. I liked "pretty"! It was protective and secure. It gave me confidence that I took completely for granted, a confidence that I now see in my (very pretty) daughters. When "pretty" smiles, the world smiles back. That's just the way it is. Right or wrong, "pretty" works. The world is just a slightly friendlier (and easier) place when you have the pretty thing going.

When I was my girls' age, I did exactly what they do now: I surveyed myself in the mirror and then judged myself, accepting some physical traits and rejecting others. I accept my tiny waist, I'd proclaim silently to myself, but I reject my thighs. Or, eyes OK today... bad hair day. I was my own worst enemy and there was NO way I could appreciate then what I so miss now -- simple, pure, unadulterated, unaltered pretty.

The thing is, "pretty" isn't real. It's a construct manufactured by society and media and giggly 5th grade grrrrls (and 6th grade boys) who are the self-proclaimed judges of "pretty enough?" and who get under our skin and never, ever leave. They're still there as I approach 51 -- and these days, instead of nodding in approval, they're insisting that I'm old and that I "let myself go," and oh-my-god-don't-even-try-be-sexy!

I want to fight them, really I do. But there's that double-wammy that us 50-year-olds are dealt: menopause wreaks havoc on pretty. And on sexy. Have I approached that dig-deep-to-find-inner-pretty-and-inner-sexy stage? And what the hell does that mean, anyway? Isn't it just another way of saying, Uh, lady... you ain't got the pretty thing goin' no more... better find sumpin' else"?

How cruel!

If you know my work as Executive Producer of FUEL, which addresses girls' self-esteem, body image and the media, you're probably shocked at my lack of self-esteem in the "pretty" department, probably disappointed that I haven't heeded my own message of learn to love the YOU who you are. But let's be honest -- we all aspire to be pretty, and we all mourn its eventual demise. Given the choice, I'd like to be creative, smart, loving AND pretty.

For me, the self-esteem (or rather, lack thereof) issue is loudest around things I DO have control of, but choose not to exercise that control... with exercise being the operative word. I know that I'd feel a lot better about myself if I'd move more than I do. I know that exercise is critical to my health as well as to my emotional well-being. And yet, for some reason that I'm sure is deeply psychologically poignant, I choose not to get enough exercise.

So if I were smart and logical and confident about this whole issue (is any woman smart about this issue?!), I'd let go of the "pretty" part of it and focus on the "healthy" part of it. I know that. If I would just get my butt out of this chair and move, the "pretty" feeling might even come back. And I wouldn't mind that one bit, because really, way deep inside (and right out here on the surface), I'm still a 5th grade girl, still wanting to get the attention of the popular 5th grade girls... and the ever-so-cool 6th grade boys.

Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho! It's Menopause, You Know!

How a Hot-Flash is Like a Labor Contraction

1.) You know it has something to do with feeling sexy at some point previously.

2.) You know it will eventually subside, but dang! When?!

3.) You sometimes have to stop what you're doing and just breathe... and wait.

4.) You can't describe exactly what it feels like to others.

5.) It starts at the core of your body and emanates outward. (Disclaimer: See # 4)

6.) Having the support of a loved one to get through it is very helpful. It feels lonely without support.

7.) You can feel your body saying to you, "Everything about your life is changing..."

8.) It can make you feel empowered!

9.) It can drain you of all sense of empowerment.

10.) It is uniquely ours as women.

My Faithful Personal Companion