Uh-oh! Elbow x-ray

Have you ever whacked your elbow so hard that you almost cried? 

I did exactly that recently. For two weeks, the pain persisted, but I sucked it up. I kept telling myself, "It's nothing. The pain will go away." 

But one morning I awoke to find my fingers tingling and going numb. Even lifting an empty coffee cup was excruciating. So I went to the doctor to get an x-ray. 

Here's the ridiculous part: My injury was not the result of some extraordinary adventure. 

I didn't hurt my elbow while riding a four-wheeler across a scary bridge. (Although I've done that.)

I didn't get hurt while skating in "fresh meat" roller derby tryouts. (Although I've done that too.)

It wasn't the result of a falling while skiing, and then sliding on my back, headfirst, careening down the mountain. (Yes, I absolutely did that once.)

The cause of my injury is embarrassingly mundane: While I was showering, I accidentally whacked my elbow against the shower wall. Really, really hard. 

The good news from my x-rays: "No acute fracture."

Hooray. No broken bones. Relief!

The bad news from my x-rays: "Bone remodeling/enthesopathy at the lateral humeral epicondyle, correlate for evidence of lateral epicondylitis."

I had to Google to get the layman's definition: Tennis elbow.

It's a disorder involving the attachment of a tendon to the bone. It's caused by repetitve motion of the forearm muscles, which attach to the outside of the elbow. The muscles and tendons become sore from excessive strain. My titanium wrists seem weaker than usual, as do my hands and fingers.

Most likely the injury is even more boring. It's likely from typing on my computer hours on end. Writer's injury, then.

And somehow, whacking my elbow against the shower wall aggravated it. Klutz's injury also.

It still hurts a lot to lift even a cup of coffee, but it's a relief to know I didn't break any bones. 

Spring will soon be here. I'm already dreaming about paddling my kayak on lakes and rivers around the Northwest. To do that, I'll need two good arms.

Last stummer I paddled in Dugualla Bay on Whidbey Island. 
Can't wait to return this summer!

So I'm resting it, icing it, taking anti-inflammatories. I'm taking breaks from my keyboard.

And I'm being extra careful while showering. When I get out of the shower and see a glimpse of my tattoo, a dragon holding a dragon boat paddle, I remind myself: "You're a Mighty Woman. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo! You'll be okay."

My dragon tattoo--when it was new and a bit irritated.

I know I will. I've been through so much worse. I can do this. 

Paddle on!

Copyright-free photos from Pixabay.

Enough

I have enough. I am enough.

Not so long ago, this wasn't true. 

When I first returned home from living an adventurous life in eastern Oregon, I was destitute in every way possible: financially, emotionally, spiritually. 

I was spent. Broken.

I realized I couldn't face another winter of living in a fifth wheel RV and rarely being warm enough. 

But it was more than lack of warmth that compelled me to return home. Despite the companionship of the Mountain Man, I was lonely. It was unrealistic and unhealthy for both of us that he be my only friend. 

Back home in the city, I'd had a fulfilling life brimming with community and connection: newspaper reporter, Mighty Woman dragon boat paddler, book group, friends to meet for walking, kayaking, coffee, dancing or other adventures. Before I moved 300 miles to join the Mountain Man, he'd warned me that living in a tiny, rural ranching area would be hard.

I balked. How hard could it be? I've always found community wherever I go.

Not this time. I failed to find community or connection. I was an outsider. A city gal. It seemed I always would be an outsider.

We lived on a ranch seven miles from a burg of 400 people. Amenities consisted of a K-12 school, a postage-stamp-sized post office, a convenience store, a cafe, and a card-lock gas station. We did our grocery shopping and other business in La Grande, 30 minutes north or Baker, 30 minutes south.

I tried to make friends. I tried to find community. But nothing I tried worked, so I stopped trying. I took long walks alone. I swam in Wolf Creek Reservoir alone. I went snowshoeing alone.

My isolation from community grew into loneliness; loneliness grew into discontentment. Then unhappiness. And my unhappiness rubbed off on the Mountain Man. Living away from my community in a 323-square-foot RV turned out to be more difficult than I'd fathomed. Despite our love for each other, it wasn't working.

We'd been happier when we lived apart and met for grand adventures: backpacking to camp among a herd of mountain goats, hiking, spelunking, kayaking, swing dancing, archery, fly fishing, skiing, playing music and singing together.

The day I moved away from him, the Mountain Man and I clung to each other and cried. 

Two years earlier, just before I left the city to begin my new life with him, my sisters had thrown me a going-away party. So many friends and family packed into a restaurant to send me off on my grand adventure.

In stark contrast, when I moved back to the city, I did it quietly. No fanfare. I didn't want to draw attention to myself or my failure. In my eyes, I had failed at sustaining a relationship. I had failed at being tough and resilient living in challenging circumstances. I thought other people would see my failure, too, and they'd reject me. So I didn't give them a chance.

I didn't climb back onto the dragon boat with my former team, the Mighty Women. I didn't call my friend, Brenda, and ask her to go contra dancing as we had before. I didn't seek out old friends to karaoke at The Alibi or to take a belly dancing lesson with me. 

Instead, I quietly spent time with my family and a handful of close friends. But the rest of the world I kept at arm's length.

Who would want to spend time with me? I asked myself. I'm a failure.

My defeatist attitude thwarted my ability to find a job, which perpetuated my feelings of unworthiness. I applied for many jobs and had first interviews and second interviews, but no job offers came. 

Even after moving back home and changing my life again, I was floundering.

One morning I was out of coffee. I needed five dollars to buy a package of coffee to get me through the week, but my checking account was bare. 

First, I burst into tears. (I really needed coffee!)

Then I put on my big girl panties to find a solution. I dumped the contents of my wallet on the floor, stacked the coins and began counting. Not enough. How demoralizing to be so broke!

Then I remembered a jar of change I'd found during my move. I dumped the jar onto the floor and began counting the change. 

It was enough! A small success.

Eventually, I found some freelancing gigs: writing grants for a food pantry, writing stories for a magazine and the newspaper where I'd been a reporter. It wasn't enough income to live on. After taking inventory of what skills I could monetize, I started a decluttering business. Kind friends paid me to declutter their homes. That helped.

I lived frugally, squeezing every molecule of toothpaste from the tube before I tossed it. I signed up for Medicaid health insurance. I picked up free food from my local Buy Nothing group. 

My Subaru's tires kept losing air, so I stopped by Les Schwab to fill them. The attendant who helped me showed me that they were bare. No traction left. 

"You shouldn't drive on those tires. It's dangerous."

I called a few tire shops and was shocked by the price tag: $500! Where would I get $500?

So I didn't do anything about it. One morning after arriving at a friends' house for a decluttering job, one tire was completely flat and it had a gaping hole. Before I did any decluttering, my friend wrote me a check for $500 so I could buy tires. I paid her back by decluttering her house over several months. 

In gratitude and humiliation, (and more tears) I received her offer of help--and the help of many others. My dear friends, Kathleen and Michael rent me their lovely mother-in-law suite for a very, very reasonable rate. My  family gave me Arco gas cards or cash for Christmas and my birthday--and sometimes just because. 

About a year after returning home, I continued applying for jobs without success. Then an acquaintance offered me a part-time temporary job at the local community college. Over time, I was given more hours. 

Recently I celebrated my two-year anniversary working part time for the college. For the past six months, a steady stream of freelance writing projects have come my way--unsolicited. Opportunity after opportunity has dropped into my lap. 

What a difference this work has made in my life! I've paid off my credit card and have kept the balance at zero. I've raised my credit score to "excellent." My checking account has a cushion and I'm building up my savings account. I'm contributing a significant amount of my salary into a retirement account. 

I still squeeze every molecule of toothpaste from the tube, but here's how far I've come: I bought two extra tubes of toothpaste when they were on sale.

Like many people, I've faced challenges and hard times. I am certain I will face challenges again. But three years after returning home, I finally can say: I have enough. I am enough.

My successes and my attitude of gratitude have given me confidence again. At last I climbed back onto the dragon boat with my Mighty Women teammates. Gripping my paddle, I reached forward, plunged my paddle into the Willamette River, and pulled the heavy water behind me. Our boat lifted up and glided through the water. I smiled.

The Mighty Woman is back!

Finishing an amazing paddle before a midsummer sunset.
I'd just surprised a heron, who flew over me, squawking.
As the setting sun glinted off the floating homes,
I gasped at this magical moment on the river.
The Mighty Woman is back, baby! 

Surviving a tough week: Work layoffs and hanging up my dragon boat paddle

The Mighty Women paddle a dragon boat!
This week, I had to hang up my paddle. 

Have you ever had a week that knocks the wind out of you? Last week, the daily newspaper where I work announced it was laying off 10 percent of the staff. Although I was not laid off, that news sent me reeling.

Here's why: It opened wounds from five years ago when I was newly divorced and was laid off. I had to sell my house in the lowest housing market in decades. In weeks, I emptied a four-bedroom house and gave away much of my possessions.

Because I was unemployed, the only apartment I could afford had homeless people scavenging in the garbage bin right outside my door at all hours. I didn't feel safe. I had a hard time sleeping. My life had turned upside down. Overnight, my status changed from secure, middle-class soccer mom to unemployed woman living on the edge.

Five years later, I'm a different woman. I'm stronger--and not not just physically stronger. After having endured hard things, I've learned that I'm emotionally, mentally and spiritually stronger too. I am grateful for the hardships because they have molded me into the woman I am today.

But that doesn't mean I'm requesting an encore in hardship. When the news of layoffs came last week, they dredged up those past hardships and the panic--of feeling that I couldn't control what was happening in my life. I started thinking about what would happen if I were laid off too. I don't have a house to lose anymore. That's already happened.

I do have a wonderful place I call "home." For more than two years, I have been housemates with my retired minister and his wife. I pay below-market rent for their mother-in-law suite, which has the perks of a view of the woods, a hot tub, and fresh raspberries, blueberries and strawberries just steps outside my door. I've also forged a friendship with this long-married couple. It's been good for me to witness a healthy, long-time marriage. If I were laid off, I likely wouldn't lose my home. I wouldn't be homeless. That was a relief, yet I still worried about the "what ifs."

As much as I'd like to avoid further hardship, life has a way of flinging it our way. Last week, I also had to come to grips with this hard fact: It's time to hang up my dragon boat paddle. It's been nine months since I crushed both wrists in my four-wheeler accident. After surgery and months of physical therapy, this spring I returned to the Mighty Women's dragon boat and paddled with my team. I even paddled during the races in Tacoma. That homecoming was sweet.

But paddling a dragon boat takes a lot of strength, not to mention arm range of motion and wrist mobility. After every paddling practice, my left wrist was in pain. I have to listen to my body and give up the sport--and the team that changed my life. So I reluctantly told the news to Jeanie, my coach who has pushed me, molded me into a Mighty Woman.

In the meantime, I'm continuing to work on my physical therapy on my own. I am determined to get more range of motion, more mobility, more strength. I may not be able to paddle a dragon boat, but I'm confident that soon I'll be able to leisurely paddle a kayak on flat water. I can strap on my backpack and take a hike. I have already done a little swing dancing--another activity that requires lots of arm movement. And while wearing my buckskin skirt, I beat my drum around a campfire while surrounded by friends. My transformation from soccer mom to hippie chick is complete.

My transformation from middle-class soccer mom to hippie chick is complete!

Yesterday, after a week of panic, I reminded myself of this truth: The only thing in life I can control is my attitude. If further layoffs come, let them come. I can handle it. After all, I am the woman with the dragon tattoo. I am confident I will always be a Mighty Woman.

I'm the woman with the dragon tattoo!
I can handle anything.

Back on the dragon boat: The return of the Mighty Woman!

The Mighty Women on the Willamette River.
I'm in the back of the boat, port (left) side  and waving my paddle
with my bench partner, Joan Sanford, who encouraged me with every stroke.

This morning, I became a Mighty Woman again.

Seven months after crushing both my wrists in an ATV accident, I climbed back into a dragon boat with my team mates and paddled the Willamette River on a sunny Saturday morning. It felt glorious. Empowering. The river sparkled. I am quite sure I was glowing. And it felt as if I'd come full circle.

The last time I paddled a dragon boat was a Thursday night, Sept. 3. That night our paddling practice seemed magical. It happened to be the night of the Oregon Symphony's annual Waterfront Concert at Tom McCall Waterfront Park overlooking the Willamette River. So as Coach Jeanie Zinn led us through grueling race starts to prepare for races just a week away, we were serenaded by the symphony playing Mozart and Bach and had an audience of almost 20,000 spectators.

After our practice, I had lingered at the park so I could enjoy a free classical concert under the stars. Gripping my paddle, I ordered a slice of pizza from a vendor and struck up a conversation with a couple visiting from Australia. They asked many questions about dragon boating. I told them the sport had changed my life--and that I was a Mighty Woman. I saw the way they looked at me--as if I was a strong, adventurous woman. It was a night I'll always remember.

Less than 48 hours later, I was flying over an ATV's handlebars, somersaulting through the air and slamming to the ground. I recall gingerly sitting up and noticing the ATV had crashed just a foot from my body. And then I felt pain. That's also a day I'll never forget.

In the days, weeks and months that followed my accident, I did not feel strong, adventurous, or mighty. With both arms in casts and unable to do much of anything for myself, I felt people looking at me, sizing up my broken body, and feeling pity for me. But with grit and the help of many family members, friends, and medical professionals, I healed.

A few days ago, I went to my last physical therapy appointment. Carol, my therapist, had cheered me on for months. I had brought my paddle to my last session so that she could see the movement of my body when I held my paddle. She hugged me.

"I release you from therapy," she said. "But keep doing your exercises on your own. And please be careful in the dragon boat. Don't push yourself. If it hurts, stop."

When I told my newsroom colleagues I was going to try dragon boating again, many looked concerned. "Be careful," several people told me. "Don't push yourself."

I texted my coach and told her I planned to join the team on the boat Saturday morning, but I was concerned that I may not have the strength to hold onto my paddle to keep up with the team. She was excited I was coming back to the boat.

"Just do your best. Paddle ten strokes and rest ten strokes," she advised me.

I met my friend, Patty for dinner and told her the good news that I'd had my last therapy appointment. That first week after my accident when I needed so much help, Patty had been my caregiver. During the four months I couldn't drive, she drove me to countless doctor appointments and cheered me on.

When I told her I was going to try paddling the next morning, she again cheered me on: "Go, Mighty Woman!"

I smiled. And I hoped I'd have the range of motion and strength to paddle again. I really missed being a Mighty Woman.

Last night I was so excited that I placed my paddle and life jacket by my front door. This morning I awoke early. Too excited to stay in bed any longer, I ate breakfast and dressed quickly in my paddling clothes.

Before I left for practice, I texted the Mountain Man: "Excited but nervous about getting on dragon boat."

Knowing how competitive I am, he texted back: "You can do this. Just go as far as you think you should. Don't let competition or peer pressure make you go too far."

When I arrived at the waterfront, I was greeted with cheers, hugs, and smiles from my team mates. We did our warm-up exercises, then walked down to the dock, and climbed into the boat.

Coach Jeanie placed me on bench ten, the rear bench, with Joan, who also is recovering from an injury and surgery. Both Jeanie and Joan encouraged me to pay attention to what my body was telling me.

Would it hurt? Would I injure myself? Would I fail miserably and have to give up dragon boat paddling and the camaraderie of the Mighty Women? I hoped not. That thought has hounded me all these months as I've been doing physical therapy and recovering.

My first stroke was tentative--and wimpy. At first, I did paddle ten strokes, rest ten, and then paddle ten more. But toward the end of practice, as we raced from under the Marquam Bridge and back to the dock, I paddled with each stroke with every ounce of strength I had left. I did it!

The sun was shining as we pulled up to the dock. I was sitting on starboard side, so grabbed the dock while Shane, our tiller, secured our boat. The dock was busy with activity. Many paddlers from other teams were finding their way to their dragon boats.

A man holding the hand of a very tiny preschool girl walked slowly past us. I looked at them, smiled, and said: "You should come paddle with us sometime. We're the Mighty Women!"

The little girl smiled shyly at me. I grinned back.

The morning was golden. I am a Mighty Woman again. And I'm still smiling.

Starting the new year with an attitude of gratitude

Once my arms heal, I'll be back on the trail!

I love early January when we start a new year  brimming with possibilities. I'm starting 2016 with an attitude of gratitude, despite the hardships I've faced in the past five years:

• I got divorced at age 50
• I was laid off at work during the Recession when jobs were scarce and was unemployed for some months
• I had to sell my house in the worst real estate market in decades
• I quickly downsized from 2,400 to 600 square feet--and gave away most of my possessions
• I moved five times in two years because rentals are so expensive
• I lived for three months in a backyard shed with no heat, water or toilet (because I needed to save money for car repairs)
• I broke both wrists in an ATV accident, needed two surgeries, missed three months of work and incurred lots of medical bills

Some people might shake their heads and ask me: "Are you crazy? How can you be grateful after so many hard things?

My answer is: "How can I be anything but grateful? Isn't gratitude a better response than being depressed, angry, and wallowing in despair and misery?"

The biggest lesson I've learned through hardship is that the only thing I can control is my attitude. I can either brush myself off and be grateful, or I can become a sour, unhappy person. I choose gratitude and joy.

I have myriad reasons to be grateful. Among them:

• I reinvented myself at age 50. I joined a dragon boat team and found the joyful, adventurous woman inside of me. 
• At age 52 I started a new career as a newspaper reporter. I enjoy my work, and I've become a much better writer.
• I lost 40 pounds and have kept it off for four years. Once I get my last cast removed, I'll lose another 30 pounds.
• For more than two years, I've rented the 600 square-foot mother-in-law suite in the home of dear friends. At last, I am home. 
• After giving away so many possessions, I'm content with my lifestyle of simplicity and finding joy in simple pleasures.
• After living without heat, water, a kitchen--and especially a bathroom--I am grateful that on this snowy day, I don't have to walk outside 37 steps to the facilities.
• After my ATV accident, I am grateful for life itself. I am alive and planning great adventures in the coming year.

When hard things come your way--and they come to us all eventually--will you wallow in despair or will you adopt an attitude of gratitude? It's your choice.

5 reasons for gratitude after my accident

It's been three months since I crushed both wrists in an ATV accident. After two surgeries, multiple casts, dozens of x-rays and hours of physical therapy, I am on the mend. Here are five reasons I am grateful.

1. I am grateful my disability is temporary. I was not crushed by the ATV. I could be dead, paralyzed or have a brain injury. Soon I will be free of casts, splints and pain.

2. I am grateful for my job as a newspaper reporter at The Columbian. After 11 weeks on disability, I returned to work part time before Thanksgiving. Last week I returned full time. I am typing with a cast on my left hand, so it's a clumsy, slow process. It's challenging to write under deadline pressure, but I'm doing it. The people at work have been welcoming and supportive. I am riding to schools with our photographers because I still can't drive. The Mountain Man even crafted a leather strap that fits over my cast and holds my reporter's notebook when I.m out on assignment.

3. I am grateful for my medical insurance through my job. The most recent medical statement totaled services rendered so far as almost equal to my annual income. Thankfully, that's not what I have to pay.

4. I am grateful for people willing to help me. A long list of co-workers, friends and family have been driving me to my doctor appointments, to work, to get groceries and run other errands. I am grateful for friends who have picked me up and taken me to their home for dinner or out to eat. Three months without driving has meant way too much time home alone. It's a treat to be among people again.

5. I am grateful for the progress I am making each day. In the first few weeks, I needed help with eating, dressing, washing my hair, opening doors, putting on a seat belt, turning the water faucet on and off, cutting my food and so much more. I live alone, so it's been crucial for me to regain use of my arms/wrists/hands so I can take care of myself.

Three months later, I am still not driving, but I prepare my meals, do my laundry and take care of myself. This week I opened a zip-loc baggy with my right hand--instead of with my teeth! With my shorter, below-elbow cast, I can put my arm into the sleeve of my winter coat, Today I zipped a zipper on my vest. Perhaps I'll be able to wear dress slacks and jeans again soon instead of elastic-waist pants. Progress!

I appreciate everything now. May I never again take the little things in life for granted.

Although I don't get a ski season this year, I plan to be back on the dragon boat next spring paddling with the Mighty Women. Two broken wrists are a temporary setback. I can't wait for my next adventure.

Getting my arms back after my accident: Things I can't wait to do

Eight weeks ago, I somersaulted over the handlebars of an all-terrain vehicle and broke both my wrists. For the past two months, I've had casts and/or splints on both arms, which has kept me home from work and seriously cramped my adventurous spirit.

Here are some things I can't wait to do when I finally regain the full use of my arms and hands:

1. Paddling a dragon boat with the Mighty Women.

2. Playing my djembe drum again--especially around a campfire.

 

3. Hiking and backpacking adventures.

4. Alpine skiing! I took my first solo runs last winter, and hoped to improve this year. My orthopedic doctor gently suggested skiing might have to wait a year. But maybe x-country skiing or snow shoeing?

5. Paddling kayaks and canoes.

 

6. Regaining my arm strength to shoot my bow.

 

7. Riding a zip line with my daughter, Kate. We had a blast zipping last summer.

8. Spelunking! Looking forward to exploring more caves.

9. Dancing! I'm itching to get back to country swing, contra dancing with pal Brenda Cartino and take another belly dancing lesson with girlfriends.

   

10. Driving--and be independent! I miss taking solo trips to have adventures in the mountains, on rivers, to the beach. It is hard for a woman who is paddling her own canoe to be dependent on others for transportation.

11. Manipulating zippers and buttons so I can wear jeans, shirts with sleeves, coats, jackets and sweaters. And lace-up shoes rather than slip-ons. This week with cooler weather and rain, I bought a cape at Goodwill. Flamboyant? Yes. Practical? Absolutely. I can't get my cast in coat sleeves.

12. I can't believe the tomboy in me is putting this on my list, but here goes:Giving myself pedicures so I feel pretty and pampered. Wear earrings and necklaces. Wear a little make up again once in awhile. Make a pony tail in my hair.

!3. Working! Type with both hands. Write quickly--and drive to schools all over Clark County to write stories. I miss my newsroom peeps! I typed this post with one hand--and it took far too long.

Keeping a positive attitude even in hard times

My two broken wrists have slowed me down temporarily, but I have so many reasons to be grateful.

Over Labor Day weekend, I was having a blast riding four-wheelers with the Mountain Man until I flew over the handlebars, somersaulted through the air, and crashed to the ground. I crushed both of my wrists. Eventually, I required surgery in both wrists to install permanent titanium plates and screws to repair my shattered bones. Now I am the bionic woman.

Sometimes bad things happen. That's life. What I've learned in the past seven weeks since my accident is the importance in keeping a positive attitude. It's vital in my healing process and in keeping my spirits up.

Since the beginning of the year, I've written in my gratitude journal. Every morning, I write at least three reasons to be grateful. For five weeks after the accident, I couldn't hold a pen. I couldn't write at all. That was devastating. I am a writer, a newspaper reporter, a storyteller, and a long-time journaler. Writing my thoughts is how I make sense of the world. Not only could I not hold a pen, but I couldn't type either.

Although I still have a cast on my left hand, now I can type with my right hand. My one-handed typing combined with voice recognition software has allowed me to start typing again--albeit very slowly, Even sweeter, I can grip a pen in my right hand for short periods of time. I'm writing in my gratitude journal again. Yes!

Here are some of my reasons I am grateful:

1. I am alive, and with physical therapy, I am improving daily. I could have been paralyzed or killed.

2. It's true that I've hung up my dragon boat paddle until spring and likely will not be recovered enough to ski this winter, but I'll be back. I am not going to let my accident stop me from having future adventures.

3. Seven weeks ago, I could not turn a door knob. Now I can twist a doorknob without pain. I am no longer trapped and can stay at home without a caretaker.

4. After the accident, I couldn't lift a coffee cup or glass. I had to lean over the cup on the table and drink with a straw. This morning I made my own coffee and lifted a ceramic mug to my lips. No more straws!

5. For a few weeks after the accident, I could not hold silverware. I had the table manners of a Neanderthal. This week I cut steak with my knife. Last night with the Mountain Man I ate sushi with chopsticks! I was messy, but I wasn't thrown out of the restaurant for spilling a little rice.

6. During the first week after the accident, both arms had casts that reached clear up my hands and allowed only an inch of fingertips free. In the bathroom, I had to tear off toilet paper with my teeth. Now although I still have a cast on my left hand, my right hand is in a removable splint. Now I am fully operational in the bathroom. Enough said!

7. For six weeks, I couldn't wash my hair myself, but had to rely on friends, my daughter and my mom to wash it in the sink. Last week, I washed my hair all by myself!

8. For the first several weeks, I didn't have the stamina to stand in the shower. Instead, my caregiver wrapped both my arms in plastic bags and I took baths, but I needed help turning the water on and off and pulling the plug. Since last week, I've been taking a shower. And I can turn the water on and off all by myself.

9. For about a month, I couldn't open or close a car door or buckle my seat belt. Now I can do those things. However, it will still be some weeks before I am cleared to drive. I miss driving.

10. For about a month, I needed help getting dressed. Now I can dress myself, but I am living in elastic-waist exercise pants and free-flowing hippie skirts with leggings. I still can't manipulate zippers or buttons. I am looking forward to wearing jeans again.

11. Until recently, I needed lots of help preparing meals, opening food containers, and washing the dishes. Now I am doing my own simple cooking and can even wash dishes--while wearing my plastic bag over my cast.

12. I am grateful for the long list of family, friends and co-workers who have pitched in to help me through these weeks of healing.

Tomorrow I begin my eighth week of being on short-term disability from work. I am hopeful that my doctor will clear me to return to work soon.

Each day is a gift to be cherished and lived to the fullest. I know that now more than ever. What would you write in your gratitude journal?

Being fearless: My first solo ski run

This ski season, I conquered my fear of the chair lift,
made my first solo ski runs and started parallel skiing.

My heart beating wildly, I skied toward the chair lift for my first solo ride to the top of the mountain. I was determined to conquer my fear of falling to my death from the chair lift. For more than three decades, this irrational fear had kept me from skiing again.

"Can you do this?" my 55-year-old experienced brain asked my timid, 19-year-old self. That unsure  teenager was the one who had nearly fallen off the lift all those years ago.

I'd been standing to the side for several minutes, gathering my courage and watching skiers and boarders approach the lift, sit down and ride calmly to the top. Plenty of athletic young adults did it, but so did middle-aged folks and even grandmas and grandpas.

Yet, I was still gripped with fear from my first time skiing--in 1979--when I'd been dragged up the chair lift by my boyfriend, who didn't seem to care that I didn't know how to turn, control my speed or stop. I nearly fell off the chairlift, and then tumbled all the way down the mountain, hollering. My sister, Judy, who was working at the ski resort, recognized my screams of terror.

After that horrifying experience, the fear of falling off the lift was ingrained in my brain. It was the timid, teenage me who still held onto that fear.

I was brought back to the present when a group of elementary school kids zoomed down the hill in front of me, laughing, and got on the lift. None of them faltered, let alone plummeted to their death.

"Can you do this?" I asked myself again.

But this time, it was not the timid, 19-year-old me I asked. It was the adventurous 55-year-old me. Now I'm the dragon boat paddling, zip lining, kayaking, belly dancing, bow-shooting, backpacking woman with the dragon tattoo.

And thanks to the encouraging teaching of Kirby, my certified ski instructor boyfriend, I had been learning to ski. Although I had ridden the chair lift successfully just that morning, Kirby had ridden with me, coaching me and calming my fear with his soothing voice.

But now Kirby was teaching a skiing lesson and would be busy for the next hour. If I wanted to go skiing, I'd have to get back on that horse--er--chair lift--alone. It was time to conquer this irrational fear.

"Do you want to do this?" I asked myself.

My 19-year-old self was still tentative. But at that moment, I decided I would no longer let that timid girl or her fears control me.

"Yes! Be fearless!" my 55-year-old self said, with enthusiasm. "You're the girl with the dragon tattoo! Let's go!"

I skied forward, held my poles in my left hand and turned to grab the chair with my right hand. Then I sat down.

Miracle of miracles, I didn't fall.The timid teenage me might have closed my eyes for a nanosecond, but then I opened my eyes and looked at the beauty around me. As I approached the top, I could see the Wallowa Mountains blanketed in snow in the distance.

My heart began pounding again as I approached the top and prepared to exit the lift. I'd never exited the lift without Kirby. What if I fell when I stood up?

But then I remembered what Kirby had told me: "Stand up and ski to the right!"

I gulped--but did exactly as he'd instructed me. And I didn't fall!

My solo trip down the mountain was the opposite of my first ski experience all those decades ago. I was in control of my skis. I could slow down, turn and stop. I was having fun.

At one point, I stopped to admire the view. Then I looked down at my skis and realized I wasn't afraid anymore. I'm pretty sure I saw my 19-year-old self giving me a thumbs-up.

Smiling, I pushed off with my poles and glided down the mountain.

Storing stuff for a life I no longer lead

 



The lights went out. Complete darkness engulfed me.

I was straddling stacks of plastic bins while looking for my camping gear in my 10-by-10 storage unit. I didn't want to move for fear I'd upset the bins stacked high around me. So I waved my arms until the motion detector kicked the lights back on.

Blinking, I looked at the stacks of boxes surrounding me. My hand steadied myself on a cardboard box marked "platters" Back in my apartment, my four favorite Fiestaware platters in cobalt blue, yellow and red were on a shelf. Yet here was an entire box marked platters. How many platters did I need? I rarely used the four platters in my apartment.

Next to it I found a box marked "candles and vases." I knew I had one or two vases stored in my sideboard in my apartment. When was the last time I lit a candle or arranged flowers in a vase? How many candles and vases do I need?

Leaning against the wall was an enormous, clear Space Bag stuffed with surplus linens: kitchen towels, oven mitts, placemats, cloth napkins, tablecloths, extra sheets and towels. I haven't used any of those in four years since I hosted a holiday dinner at my big house.

I no longer have a big house. In my tiny apartment kitchen, I have exactly three oven mitts and one table cloth. I gave away my teak dining table to my friend, Henry, five moves ago. I eat at a tiny gate-leg table that began its life aboard a fishing boat. It bears the scars of cutting fish. It folds down to a one-by-three-foot footprint. And it doubles as a coffee table and workspace for my computer. In my old life, the fishing boat table had been relegated to a dusty corner. Now it's my only table.

In my old life, our dining table had been encircled by a matched set of six century-old prayer chairs from Saint Anne's Catholic Church in Ghent, Belgium. They were a bargain I found at Portland Antique many years ago, and they had fit our 90-year-old house. When I'm eating a meal in my 600 square-foot apartment, I sit on a folding wooden chair that can be moved out of the way when it's not needed. Those beautiful antique chairs were not practical and would not fit my new life.

Five moves in two years, and I still have too much stuff. I had a epiphany while surrounded by my stuff in my storage unit: Why was I paying to store stuff for a life I no longer had--and likely would never have again?

Even worse, by having to pay a monthly storage fee, this stuff still owns me. Our stuff should not own us or dictate how we live.

I'm no longer the soccer mom, wife and mother of school-age children cooking family dinners or hosting large holiday meals. I usually eat alone. When I have friends or family over, we eat at the fish table (if it's just two of us) or on the couch or outside in the forested yard.

No, I'm a different woman than the obese soccer mom I was four years ago. I'm a divorced, empty-nester. But don't feel sorry for me. I have a great life. Now I'm an adventurous woman paddling my own canoe. In the past few years, I've started dragon boating, returned to hiking and backpacking, conquered my fear of skiing, tried archery, belly dancing and swing dancing, kayaked many rivers and camped several nights in a teepee. I've found my voice again by playing an African djembe drum around a campfire. I'm dating an amazing Mountain Man who also is ready for fun. I have a dragon tattoo on my right shoulder blade. I'm the Girl with the Dragon Tattoo! I've changed.

Through all of this adventure, I've rediscovered myself. In the process, I've brought my young adult daughter along for the journey and have modeled a strong, confident woman as I've taken her hiking or to an archery range to learn to shoot a bow.

But standing in my storage unit surrounded by my surplus stuff, I resolved to continue my downsizing journey to simplicity. I will get rid of those platters, candles and vases. I don't need all those linens. I still have too much stuff.

Instead, I want to live fully, joyfully each day, unencumbered by too much stuff. Instead of my hands grasping material things I no longer need, my wish is that my hands and heart be open to the delicious possibilities ahead.

In August, I backpacked for the first time in 28 years. The Mountain Man and I backpacked in the Elkhorn Mountains and camped at an alpine lake surrounded by curious mountain goats.

The trials and tribulations of used car shopping

My first car: a 1961 American Rambler, which I drove when it was 16 years old.
It was the antithesis of the muscle cars--Mustangs, Chargers and Cougars
popular when I drove this car in high school in 1976-78.

I'm about to use three words guaranteed to make your head ache, your stomach churn and your palms sweat. Ready?

Used car shopping.

Ick! Is there any task less appealing?

Who looks forward to wading knee deep through the doo-doo of deceitful used car ads online? Who relishes the thought of dealing with commissioned sales people who descend hungrily upon you--teeth bared and grinning--like the great white shark in "Jaws?"

My daughter's 1993 Toyota Camry finally bit the dust. Thanks to a loan from her aunt, my daughter has a modest budget. However, we're not finding much in that price range.

But after doing research online and at the library, we girded our loins for battle and drove to a used car lot. The salesman was upon us before I turned off my car's engine. I brought a notebook and took copious notes. That made the salesman nervous.

On the entire lot, only one car fit our budget and other requirements: a shiny red Ford Focus. It had 86,000 miles, which was a little on the high side for my comfort level. My daughter was excited about the car, but I insisted we take it to my mechanic, Don Orange of Hosely Eco Auto. We dropped the car off at his shop for a thorough pre-purchase inspection while we walked to Uptown Village for lunch.

When we returned from lunch, Don greeted us with: "Don't buy this car. This is not a safe car. It hasn't been taken care of. You can do much better."

Then he gave us a three-page print out listing the car's issues and needed repairs.

My daughter and I were disappointed the car wasn't going to work out. We talked about being relieved to have not made a mistake in buying an unsafe car that needed multiple repairs and would have cost much more money in the long run.

My daughter summed it up like this: "They polished a turd."

We've been car shopping for a couple of weeks now, and after some other dead ends, are no closer to having found a car. However, we're much more skeptical of pretty, shiny cars and the sales people who push unsafe vehicles to unsuspecting buyers. Shame on them!

So this week it's more used car shopping for us. We're skeptical. We're cynical. We're running Carfax reports. We're checking the Kelley Blue Book values. We're kicking the tires. And we're relying on my mechanic to weed out the polished turds.

Meanwhile, we're looking for a reliable, safe sedan with a clean title, low miles and one or two owners--for under $5,000. Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?

A tiny babushka fishing from the dock

"Babushka" by Irina Gaiduk

Recently while climbing into our dragon boat one warm, summer night, I noticed a teeny-tiny, very old woman fishing from the dock just six feet from our boat.

Her slight frame was tucked into a wheelchair. She was so short that her thin legs dangled like a child's. She was dressed like a grandmother from the "Old Country," as my own grandma would have said. Graying hair peeked out from underneath a hefty headscarf tied under her chin. She wore a dark coat, dress and dark stockings, even though it was a warm evening.

In her time-worn hands, she grasped a fishing pole. Her head bent toward the water, she peered intently into the river where her she'd dropped her line. Waiting. Waiting patiently for a bite.

A man who was probably in his sixties--likely her son--stood next to her, minding his own fishing line.

Jeanie, our dragon boat coach, gave the command to "Shove off" and we began the rhythmic paddling to pull our boat through the Willamette River. An hour later, after paddling hard, we returned to the dock.

And the fishing babushka was still there, grasping her pole, peering into the water and hoping for a bite.

I climbed out of the boat and felt compelled to try to talk with this woman. Wish her luck in her fishing.

"Excuse me," I leaned down toward her.

But she shook her head and murmured some words. Russian maybe? Her son shook his head too. No English. They continued fishing in silence.

I wished I'd been able to speak to her. I wanted to tell her that I hoped I'd be fishing and having adventures when I'm 90. That she inspired me to keep paddling my own canoe.

I stood on the dock a moment to watch her, to remember her face. Then I turned and walked with the other Mighty Women toward home.

Three years a Mighty Woman!

In three years of paddling a dragon boat with the Mighty
Women, I've reinvented myself--and earned all this bling!
 

Our blades in the water, the Mighty Women waited for the horn starting our last race of the season.

Perched on the edge of bench four in the dragon boat, I closed my eyes and took deep breaths. In 30 seconds, I would be paddling so hard I would have to remind myself to breathe.

The horn blasted! We dug in.

I was completing my third year paddling a dragon boat with the Mighty Women. And I have the biceps--and the dragon boat bling--to show for it. It's been a wild ride!

In the past three years, I've reinvented myself. Dragon boating has changed my body, my attitude and my life.

My old life had fallen apart, piece by piece. Although life doesn't offer us a chance at a complete do over, my only viable option was to make a fresh start from where I stood: divorced, suddenly unemployed, broke and trying to find firm footing on shifting sand.

Three years later, I'm standing on firmer ground. Have there been tough times? You bet! That's life.

Am I better off now, three years after the bottom dropped out of my life? Absolutely! I'm happier, healthier, more confident and definitely stronger. We don't realize how strong we are until we have to paddle through challenging rapids with lots of debris blocking our path and threatening to overturn our boat.

But now safely on the other side of a series of rapids, I've learned how strong I am:

• I can learn to become a journalist 30 years after earning my journalism degree, even though I'm twice the age of many of my fellow reporters.
• I can live in 550 square feet for three months without a bathroom, heat or running water.
• If I have to, I can move three times in three months. But I wouldn't recommend it.
• If I am frugal, I can live on 29 percent less salary than I had before.
• If a day seems particularly challenging, I can look deeper to find joy in simple things: walking in the woods, marveling at a sunset or hearing a loved one's soothing voice.

I've learned my limits too. I am not willing to live without friendship, laughter, chocolate or adventures!

On a Post-It note attached to my laptop I've written this prescription for joy in my new life:

Believe in myself.
Listen to my inner voice.
Build the life I imagine.
Reach toward my dreams.

When I'm powering through the water in a dragon boat with my teammates, I'm doing all of those things.

During our final race, I concentrated on my rhythm, my stroke, my breathing, my rotation. It's a big no-no to look outside the boat, especially during a race. But my ears are more easily distracted. I heard boats closing in on either side of us as we neared the finish line.

We had to paddle harder, deeper, stronger than ever before.

My lungs burning, I breathed out an audible "whoosh." Then with my paddle, I reached for my dreams.

Missing the boat

Last night, I missed the boat. Has that ever happened to you?

After working late, I drove to downtown Portland to paddle a dragon boat with my team, the Mighty Women. I texted my coach that I was almost there. Then I ran all the way through downtown traffic, into Waterfront Park and down to the dock.

For the first time in the three years I've been dragon boating, the dock was empty. Not a dragon boat in sight.

Figures.

It seemed appropriate. I'd been missing the boat all day.

I missed the newsroom boat--fellow reporters doing the weekly walk to Mighty Bowl to grab a healthy lunch. That boat left without me because I was on the phone trying to reach a government official for a story I'm writing. Of course, he wasn't in. I left a voice mail.

I'd been missing the boat connecting to sources for stories all week. July is a tough month for an education reporter. All K-12 schools are closed in July. District offices seem to be running on skeleton crews while most of the staff vacations. So when I am looking for a piece of information, quite often the person who might be able to provide that information is out of the office.

So Thursday night as I stood at the end of the empty dock, scanning the Willamette River for dragon boats, it seemed appropriate that I'd missed the dragon boat too. Some days are like that.

I pulled out my phone and called my dragon boat coach, Jeanie.

"Do you see us? We're right under the Marquam Bridge," Jeanie said. "We'll be right there to pick you up!"

Ten minutes later, I was paddling in rhythm with my team, matching the cadence of paddles digging deep into the water at the front of our stroke as we pulled the dragon boat through the river.

As we whooshed along the Willamette, a breeze blew through my hair. I sighed. What a glorious night to be paddling on the river, and a perfect ending to an imperfect day.

Paddles up!

Don't let obstacles block your happiness

Oh no! Something's blocking your way! What do you do?

When we walked into Mississippi Pizza ready to dance to Kory Quinn's music, I immediately noticed guitar cases haphazardly piled on the tiny dance floor at the base of the stage.

"They should move those guitar cases," I told Kirby. "Someone might trip."

The jumble of guitar cases spilling onto the dance floor was a roadblock to our dance plans. And in a way, to my expectations and happiness for the evening. Should I dance and risk tripping? Or just listen to the music from the sidelines and watch the other dancers having fun?

How do you approach life's potential roadblocks?

Do you carefully map out each step and consider potential obstacles to your success before you move your big toe a centimeter? Or do you leap from the ledge, letting the wind take you in whatever direction it chooses, without a care to potential roadblocks that might stand in your way? Most of us fall somewhere in the middle of these two extremes.

Not long ago, before I moved a pinky, I wrote extensive numbered lists of "pros" and "cons of a decision I was contemplating. I carefully considered potential consequences. After I made my decision, I moved at a glacial pace.

But in the past few years, more often than not, I've stood on the ledge and leaped. I might lick my finger and test the wind's direction, but recent experience has taught me that even if you plan very carefully, life doesn't always go according to plan. Let me revise that last phrase: In my experience, life rarely goes according to plan.

What's caused my philosophy to change so drastically? Having the carpet pulled out from under me and falling hard on my rear multiple times has made me a freer spirit. I'm no longer afraid of falling. I've already done it. I plan less and live more by the seat of my pants. So far, in my new normal, that philosophy has served me well.

If we look closely, any situation is fraught with potential obstacles. If I didn't try something because I might fall down, I'd never have an adventure. There is always the possibility of falling down, especially for me. Last year I fell on porch steps, hitting my head, neck and back and suffered a concussion. Many years ago, while sitting on my sister Judy's slick vinyl couch, I did a nosedive onto the floor. I wasn't even moving and I fell off the couch!

I seem to be much more graceful in a dragon boat or kayak, but put me on land, and I may fall down, hard. Without warning.

So as I scoped out potential obstacles on the dance floor, that pile of guitar cases seemed like a doozy. But I didn't let the threat of tripping over guitar cases or any other obstacles prevent me from dancing. I really wanted to dance.

As Kory started singing one of our favorite songs, Kirby led me to the dance floor. I stopped worrying about that pile of guitar cases and enjoyed dancing. Things went well--for about 45 seconds. I'd completely forgotten about the guitar cases until I backed into them, lost my balance, and dipped backward toward the stage, with my head swooping very low.

Thankfully, although I was mid-fall, my hands were still in correct swing dance position, allowing Kirby to grab my hands and pull me back up--without missing a beat of the music.

Perhaps people watching us dance thought, "Wow! How cool is that? Look at that deep dipping move! That couple dances well together!"

More likely people saw the panicked look on my face and thought, "That klutzy woman tripped over the guitar cases and almost fell over backward onto the stage. Her dance partner sure saved her patootie."

I'm thankful I took a risk. Yes, I tripped over the guitar cases, but thanks to Kirby's quick actions, I didn't fall. We had a fun and even memorable time dancing.

Life is far too short to worry about potentially tripping over obstacles. Don't worry that you might fall. Get up and dance--with gusto! See you on the dance floor!

Dragon boat paddling: What to wear

With the season's first dragon boat races in the Pacific Northwest coming up in April, dragon boat teams are recruiting new paddlers now. One of the first questions newbies ask is: "What do I wear to paddle a dragon boat?"

First of all, I always wear my paddling dragon tattoo! It empowers me to move forward with confidence.

After paddling for two years in all kinds of weather--from 34 degrees to pounding rain to downright hot days--I have a good idea of what clothing works for me. Now that it's nearly spring and temperatures are well above freezing, it's time to shed our winter Gator Gloves and winter hats.

Every paddler has her own clothing preferences, body temperature and budget. You'll find what works for you through trial and error. You don't have to spend a fortune to outfit yourself for dragon boating, but if you insist on buying everything new and not on sale, you could.

I'm lucky to live in the Portland metro area with plenty of options for purchasing clothing. Almost every bit of my paddling clothing I've bought used, mostly at various Goodwill stores. The only things I insist on buying new is footwear and gloves. I wash all my thrift shop purchases before wearing them.

Here's what I wore this morning to paddle on a cloudy day with temperature around 50 degrees:

* Sports bra: quick dry and breathable. My favorite is a Nike Dri-fit with a comfy racing back. It covers my torso almost to my naval. It dries quickly, and that's crucial on race days when you'll wear your paddling clothes all day. On hot summer days, you'll want a regular sports bra.

* Paddling shirt: again,quick dry, moisture wicking and breathable. I prefer short sleeves because long sleeves get wet and make me uncomfortable. But some women prefer long sleeves.

* Paddling pants: quick dry and breathable. Regular yoga pants won't work because when you get them wet--and you WILL get your pants wet--they don't dry out, and then it feels as if you're wearing a wet diaper. I like the capris length. Our team wears black on the bottom, and so do many other teams. I do have a pair of full-length black pants to wear when it's a bit cold, but beginning in spring, I wear capris for practice and on race day. This race season I hope to buy these cool capris emblazoned with a dragon. They're available online via Double Fifth Dragon Boating.

* Paddling skort: On warm days, some women prefer paddling skorts, short skirts with built-in shorts underneath. I'm not ready to rock this look, but here's a picture of one from Double Fifth Dragon Boating. Some women also wear quick-dry shorts.

* Rain pants: Dragon boating is a water sport, and you will get wet. Sometimes you'll get a tiny bit wet; other days, you'll be soaked. You'll need rain gear for the top and bottom. My rain gear is from Goodwill. They don't match, but they keep me dry. This morning, when it was a little drizzly, I wore my capris paddling pants and on top of that, I wore my rain pants, which are Columbia Sportswear Omnitech pants with a drawstring waist (a must so you can cinch them tighter as you begin losing weight from the hard work of paddling a dragon boat!). Look for rain pants with zippered pockets. I paid only $9.95 for mine at Goodwill.

 

* Lightweight, quick drying, moisture-wicking, water repellant rain jacket: You'll be paddling in the rain and will need a good rain coat that falls below your waist and is comfortable to wear paddling. I found mine at Goodwill and paid $9.95. It has a hood with a drawstring I can cinch tight if I'm paddling in a deluge. The wrists have Velco around them so I can tighten and loosen it. The coat also has both interior and exterior zippered pockets. You don't want a fussy coat that's hard to remove because you might have to shed it quickly and fling it into the bottom of the boat, or sit on it during a water break. This morning, I was overheated and at our first water break, I pulled off my PFD, removed my raincoat, put my PFD back on, zipped it up, and gulped some water before our coach gave us the "paddles up" warning that our short break was over.

* Footwear: Most of the year I wear my Keen sandals when I paddle. They protect my toes, have sturdy tread, let water run through when I step into a boat with water at the bottom, and they let me feet breathe on hot days. During the cold, wet months of winter paddling, I usually wear my tall, rubber rain boots from Costco. I've seen them at Target too. However, some coaches don't want their paddlers wearing boots. If the boat fills with water and you have to swim, it would be difficult to swim wearing rubber boots that come almost up to your knees. When I first started paddling, I wore an old pair of rafting sandals, but they left my toes exposed. Some paddlers wear old sneakers. I tried that, but your feet always get wet, and wearing wet sneakers made my feet cold. But paddlers wear all kinds of footwear, and if you visit an outdoor store with a decent shoe department, you'll find many styles of river shoes.

* PFD (personal flotation device, or life jacket): Yes, you'll need one especially for paddling, and if it needs to be snug, hug your body, not ride up, but be comfy so you have full range of motion. You'll want one with zippered pockets. I bought mine used right off my coach's back! Teams usually have matching PFDs used only for race day, but paddlers need their own PFDs for practice. Portland DragonSports owns several one-size-fits-all PFDs down at the dock, but if you're a smaller person, you'll find it frustrating. And these often are damp. This photo is my dream PFD, an MTI Moxi. I don't own this, but hope to someday.

* Water bottle: You'll want a water bottle. During practice, we take our water bottles onto the boat, but on race day, we don't. Sometimes I reuse a plastic bottle from water I've purchased. I keep filling it up. You can spend more money and get better water bottles. Be warned that I've lost several water bottles that have bounced out of the boat.

* Dry sack to keep your valuables dry and safe. My first year of paddling, I didn't have a dry sack, and it was tough keeping my stuff dry on the boat, but my second year, I splurged and spent about $30 at REI for what's essentially a clear, plastic dry sack for my cell phone. It hangs around my neck by a sturdy cord. I put it underneath my PFD so it's not in the way. You can buy dry sacks of many sizes. When I kayak for the day, a larger dry sack can be tucked at my feet.

 

Paddling gloves: Some coaches frown upon their paddlers wearing gloves. I find it helps me have a firmer grip on my paddle. In the winter, I wear my heavy Glacier Gloves. The rest of the year, I wear lightweight half-finger Neoprene paddling gloves. I wash them often. After paddling, I hang my gloves immediately so they dry out.

* Waterproof wallet: Chum makes all manner of wallets for paddling. My everyday wallet has a removable inner wallet I pull out for paddling and stash in my PFD zippered pocket. It holds my driver's license, my debit card, my auto insurance card and health insurance card. It also opens in the center so I can tuck a little cash into it in case my team goes out for coffee or Second Breakfast after our Saturday morning paddle.

* Hat: I usually can't stand to wear a hat when I'm paddling because it gets in the way. However, when it's raining really hard, I wear my Australian outback Gore-Tex waterproof rain hat which has a chin strap so I can cinch it tighter and not lose it in the water.

 

Where to find paddling clothing: Goodwill and other thrift shops, but also REI and in Portland, the Next Adventure paddling store in Southeast. Tell them you're on a dragon boat team and you get a discount. A variety of websites offer online shopping for paddling gear. One of the best is DoubleFifth Dragon Boating.