Breath of fire

To be truthful, it's been my calming noise all of my life. I don't even realize I do it when I go to sleep. When I was a child, I napped with Mr. Maiden on the couch. It's the sound of him sleeping. The sound of him breathing.

Constrict the back of your throat, and breathe - ujjayi breath - the sound of yoga and the ocean, and the sound of my dad. The sound of COPD.

When I was 19 years old, I was an out of shape first year university student in Northern Michigan. (I'd been to Grade 13 in Parts North, but then transferred those credits over to the University. A phenomenally cheap strategy for getting through school.)

Anyhow. I got suckered into playing Broom Ball (for the uninitiated, it's hockey rules, played with small rubber brooms and a hard rubber ball on the arena ice.) as one of the only girls on the intramural team. Because we were short girls, I had to run for the whole period. I didn't get a break.

I stepped off the ice and experienced my first (and one of my worst) exercise induced asthma attack. When I recovered, I called Mr. Maiden, and asked him what asthma felt like. He sighed and said "Well, honey, how about you tell me what it feels like."

It never really surfaced again as badly until a nasty virus lasting weeks and weeks in Arizona had me prescribed with a puffer to take several times a day.

Off and on, I've had a puffer ever since. Well, mostly off, to be honest - I haven't had one in the house for about 10 years. I remember tossing the last one when it expired back in the apartment. I think it was the one bedroom, so at least before 2000.

The thing is - in the lunch time running group, I am always, always the last one in the line. Always. I watch people I really should be faster than (think old and infirm wearing pumas, for Christ sake) pass me on my runs around the bridges. And I have running partners with whom I train during lunch hours.

I can always tell, D says, when you're not behind me - I can't hear you breathing.

(Apparently, it's not normal for your friends to be able to hear you when you run?)

You know, S says, I really don't think it's a getting in better shape thing. I really don't think your lungs should be the only part of you keeping you from more speed.

I always assume that the reason I can't breathe is because I am in some way not in good enough shape, and if I just work harder, it will fix itself.

Why not get a puffer? they ask.

I am afraid of it.

I want to be stronger than this - to be able to manage to train and run at the same speed as others. Not to see others slowly gain away from me because I can not go faster, never go faster and still breathe.

I do not want this - it terrifies me. A small part of me thinks that it might be worth a try - to see if it really is better, faster, without the constant controlling of the gasp - three counts in, three counts out - don't panic, you're fine.

A part of me suspects that it might not make a difference. That I will always be the one at the back of the pack.

The other part just misses him so badly.

Ok, he says, looking vuaguely around his desk at post-it notes, I think that's about it...

Anything else you can think of? I ask

Don't think so?

Boss-Man's Boss pokes his head in. You acting? he asks me.

Yep, says Boss-man.

Well, I say, me and the pick-up guy.

Mostly Katie says Boss-man.

Exactly half, I correct him. For two of the four weeks.

Well, says Boss-Man's Boss, good luck. You've got big shoes to fill!

I know, I say, contemplating the pile on the floor, imagining shuffling around his office in them.

I've been here 18 months. My acting is by no means a new situation, so why the warning this week?

THIS should be fun......

During a recent visit from Mrs. Maiden

Oh, by the way, she says, if you find one of your new Mr. Clean Erasers with a teensy corner bitten off, it was me - not mice.

Ok, I say, but you know you're allowed to use the whole thing?

Well, I use it to clean my teeth. She explains, See? See how much whiter they are? It's what the tea does, and I just can't get it off with toothpaste alone.

But, I say, what about whiteners? I mean, have you considered that?

Well, she says, but those are chemicals! I mean, I don't want that, right?

But mom, I say, um, I think the thing about the whiteners is that they were designed to go in your mouth. Unlike, say, a Mr. Clean Eraser.

But do they taste bad? I mean, Mr. Clean has no taste! [you got that right, lady! Have you seeeeeeen that earring? I mean, so 90s!!]

Uh, I say, I guess I've never noticed. Sorta minty, I'd bet? I guess the downside is the sensitivity, but that goes away when you stop using it...

Hmm. She says, am I going to look like a grinning skull when I use them?

Well, no, I explain, see, because you are in charge of how long they are in your mouth, and it's a gradual thing, so if you start to feel like you're good, that you're white enough for right now, you stop. No one makes you keep doing it until your teeth are blue.... [she has seen the results of overzealous whiteners and is concerned.]

Hmm. She says, whiteners....

(I can see that Mr. Clean is going to continue his unconventional responsibilities unless I buy the gels and watch her use them.)