Zombie Spinning

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It sounded like a good idea at the time.  Hubby had been doing it for months and suggested I join him at an early morning spin class at the gym.  With class starting before the sun came up, I thought I could get my exercise for the day with plenty of time to get ready for work.  Sounded like a plan to me.

Before I go further, let me state that I have never been a morning person.  I love the morning; it’s just that my body clock seems best suited for staying up late and consequently, sleeping late.  In the evening, when most people are slowing down, I’m getting my second wind.  If I’m not careful, I find myself gaining energy and forgetting about the late hour.   

The challenge, though, is making time for the gym in the evening.  Sometimes it’s hard to put things down, get home, eat dinner, walk the dog and get to the gym before it closes.  Yeah, I know – we should probably join a 24-hour gym.  But ours is convenient and you know that’s a big factor when it comes to working out.

So Hubby’s invitation to get up early was intriguing.  He’s also a late-night person, and I figured if he could get up early for the gym then so could I.  My alarm was set, I’d picked out my clothes for the morning, I was in bed at a decent hour – this should work, I thought. 

As soon as my head hit the pillow the alarm went off.  At least that’s the way it felt to me.  Peeking one eye out from the covers, I noticed it was still night time.  Dang phone alarm – must be broken.  I hit the obnoxious thing and it stopped buzzing.   Yet ten minutes later it went off again.  Looking more closely, I realized that it was time to get up for the gym.  Ugh – why did I agree to this? 

I fumbled around and got ready, splashing cold water on my face, rubbing my eyes, touching my toes – anything to try and wake up.  “Hubby, are you ready?” I asked.  Zzzzzzzzz – was all I heard in the dark bedroom.   “I’m not going this morning,” he said. “I stayed up too late last night.”  Are you kidding me?  Here I am, up, dressed and barely conscious, so we can have a bonding experience at the gym and you’ve decided to sleep-in?  

I decided to go anyway.  It seemed wrong to be at the gym to watch the sun rise, but there were a few cars in the lot.   Most of the spin bikes were already occupied with people peddling away as though being chased by a rabid dog – and the class hadn’t started yet.  In a daze, I found an open bike and sat down, pretending to be awake.  I wondered if they served coffee – now that would be a plus.

“Okay everyone – let’s spin!” the instructor shouted.  “Turn your dials up!  Now jump!  Let’s sprint!”  Sprint?  To where?  While spinning is a great work out, it’s also an exercise in frustration. You pedal for an hour and never get anywhere.   I was pedaling for all I was worth yet still in the gym. 

Sweating profusely yet happy that I was getting my workout done, I was convinced the class was half over. Glancing at my watch I realized we’d only been spinning for 10 minutes.   I closed my eyes and tried to listen to the music; I think I actually fell asleep while pedaling.  My legs were numb and my eyes were only half open. 

Who are these people at the gym in the wee hours of the morning?  And the instructor was way too happy for such an early hour.   She’s the same ultra-bendy person who tries to teach me yoga, and who I had just seen at the gym less than twelve hours earlier.  I’m convinced that she’s a very attractive zombie – zombies don’t ever sleep, do they?

This is why I don’t accept a job that requires me to be at work at an early hour.  I’m not productive early in the morning, even in an exercise class with music blaring.  It’s important to know one’s strengths and weaknesses, and I am fully aware that my body clock doesn’t wake up early.  No amount of caffeine will do; it’s best if I work at a company that allows me to arrive at a decent hour.

No zombie jobs for me; I’m looking for something with a 9:00 start time.  And no spinning involved.

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Vacation Brain

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Ahhh…vacation!  The time to get away from it all. To refresh and re-energize.  Yep, I’m one of “those” people, the kind who believes in taking a true vacation to get away from everything for a week or so.  No checking email, no calling the office. I tell the people I work with, “If the building burns, save yourself and tell me about it when I get back”.  No sense telling me when I’m not there to do anything about it.

Never have understood the concept of a “working vacation” either – isn’t that an oxymoron?  If I’m going to spend the money for a vacation I want to enjoy it – sans work.

Funny thing is that my family didn’t really take vacations.  A couple times we accompanied dad on a business trip to Florida; along the way we’d wait for him in the car or at a restaurant while he called on clients, eventually ending up at the beach for a couple days.  Every few years Sis and I would go to Grandma’s in Minnesota, but that was it.  No weekends at the lake, no ski vacations, no trips just for fun.  I learned about the beauty of a vacation after business school, when I had friends living in other cities.  Those friends would say, “Come visit sometime” – and whether they meant it or not, I took them up on the offer.  (Note to all of you: if you say “come visit”, know that at some point I will do just that)

It wasn’t always easy for me to take a vacation.  I was (and sometimes still am) plagued by worries: what if something “big” happens while I’m gone? What if someone needs me? What if, what if, what if?   Early on I had a great boss who heard me lamenting the “what ifs” and wisely told me, “there is NOTHING that will happen in your absence that we can’t fix when you get back”.   Logic told me she was right and I’ve tried to remember that ever since.

Last week was it – vacation time!  An entire week of fun at our favorite resort with no work in sight, and it was beyond great.  Vacation Brain kicked in for both Hubby and I as soon as we left for the airport, a definite signal that it was time to relax. We read, talked, swam, lounged and were generally lazy.  Work Brain was nowhere to be seen, as it should be during vacation.  

As with all good things, our trip came to an end far too soon and my Vacation Brain reluctantly started powering down while my Work Brain tried to wake from a nice nap.  At the airport, Work Brain said it would be a good idea to download my emails so I could at least scan them on the plane.  Sounded logical, so I tried to log-on.  Note I said “tried” – for the life of me I couldn’t remember my log-in info.  Vacation Brain clearly was still in command.  After some time, I finally remembered and logged in – a small victory for Work Brain. 

Hubby was having difficulty too.  Wanting to initiate a call with a co-worker, he started to send an email with his cell number – but Vacation Brain forbade him from remembering his own number. Work Brain, unfortunately, reminded him that I had his phone number in my phone. 

Once I was online, Work Brain commanded that I look at my in-box. Yikes – how could one person have that many emails in just a week?  My mind raced as Vacation Brain was desperate to keep me in resort mode.  Looking at the subject lines, I tried to recall what I was working on when I left town.  My mind was sputtering, with a vague memory of some projects but not enough for the emails to make complete sense.  And who ARE all these people, wanting answers from me?  Do I work with them?  I could feel the tension in my head as Work Brain fought to recover information from a week ago, while Vacation Brain attempted to keep all that information hidden.  Back and forth, the battle for control raged in my head as I read the emails, trying to make sense of it all.  Once the plane landed, Work Brain started a victory dance, knowing that as soon as we exited the jet way Vacation Brain was history. 

Sigh. Why is it always like this? Within seconds of returning from vacation, it’s as though we never left at all.  I enjoy my work but I really do cherish the little bit of vacation I take and I would love for the feeling to last longer than a nanosecond. 

Good news is the office didn’t burn.  At least I don’t think it did.

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Ponytail Alert

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Ever feel like you’re living in a Dilbert cartoon?  I have. The “pointy-haired boss” who is so clueless about his business and employees always makes me laugh.    Over the years there have been many instances where I was convinced that the cartoons were inspired by the company I was working for. 

And of course there’s Michael from the sitcom, The Office.  Unlike Dilbert’s pointy-haired boss, Michael is ‘arrogantly clueless’.  That’s almost worse – he thinks he knows everything but really just makes work harder for all involved.
 
Classic among the females is Meryl Streep’s character in The Devil Wears Prada.  Now this one actually gives me chills.  Reminds me of my first few years in the workforce, working in the high-pressured world of fashion.  I remember one boss in particular.  She was one of the smartest women I’ve ever worked for.  She was also a tad difficult.  A bit of a character, Boss had a habit of playing with her shoulder-length hair while she was working.  She always wore a rubber band on her wrist, and as she became stressed she would use the rubber band to tie her hair back into a ponytail.  The higher the ponytail, the more stressed she was.  And her personality changed with the ponytail, becoming more terse and harder to deal with.  So our department instituted the “ponytail alert”.  If anyone witnessed the ponytail – especially if it was high on her head – that person became like Paul Revere and alerted the rest of the department so we could avoid the wrath that came with the ponytail.
 
I was working with Boss on a project one time, and I had to run to my office for some information. When I came back, not only had she put her hair in a ponytail, but it was straight on top of her head!  I remember trying to remain calm, get my assignment and exit her office as quickly as possible.
 
Had another boss who was so clueless that he had me write my own review. I guess this is not unheard of, except during said review he asked me, in all seriousness, to complete the section with his comments – he was too clueless about my job to even write a comment on my review.  Good news for me though. I wrote rave comments and received a nice raise.
 
My rule as a boss is to help my team as much as possible. I want them to want my job, and if I provide the correct guidance they should become skilled enough to get promoted.  Paramount to being a good boss, in my opinion, is to provide as much open and honest communication as possible.  Confidentiality trumps openness on occasion, but most of the time it works.  Even when it means conveying bad news.  People can handle bad news; they just need to know what it is.  Nothing is worse than not knowing.
 
Over the years I’ve had great bosses, bad bosses and many in between.  Ponytail Boss was not the worst, although she remains a classic.  I’ve tried to come up with my version of “types of bosses” – see what you think. And whatever you do, try to avoid being one of “them”.

Types of Bosses:
 
Mr. Clueless – The guy who somehow got promoted, although it’s hard to figure out why.  Has no understanding of what it actually takes to get his job done, much less yours.  If he realizes his own shortcomings, working for this guy can be good as he’ll step out of the way and let you go.  Of course, he’ll also step out of the way and let you take the fall – after all, he’s clueless.

The Ostrich – This boss buries his head in sand and hopes that things just go away. Always a good approach, if you never want to take responsibility or get things done. Also a good approach if you want your team to be constantly frustrated.

The Constant Visionary – This is the guy who’s always thinking of new ideas yet never realizes that at some point, a decision needs to be made and action has to be taken. Business is suddenly standing still, trapped in a never-ending cycle of hope for action, due to the constant stream of visions that appear to this boss. He calls them “creative ideas”.  You call them “roadblocks”.  It’s a fine line.

The Smooth Talker – This boss appears to be highly respected by others in the company, and at first you agree.  His presentations are stellar and he exudes just the right amount of poise and confidence.  Others are envious that they are not under his guidance. Everyone leaves his meetings inspired, ready for action.  Once back at the desk, it doesn’t take long for people to realize that he sounded good but he didn’t really say anything. At least anything of substance.

The Withholder of Information – A very difficult boss, he has all the information because he attends meetings (without you) yet consistently fails to share that information when dumping projects on you.  Of course he’s probably fearful that he may lose “power” if he shares his knowledge.  Funny thing is that power is in the mind of the beholder.

The Clairvoyant Leader – Rather than providing direction, this boss uses nice phrases like “I’m open to your suggestions” and “let’s see what you come up with”, lulling you into a false sense of security that he is truly open to your ideas. When you provide your report, he unleashes all sorts of tirades on you because you could not read his mind and your work is “not at all what he wanted”.  This leaves you to review your job description to see if “mind reader” was a pre-requisite for the job. No a magic eight ball won’t work either. I’ve tried.

 

© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved

Wimbledon Warriors

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Sometimes you just have to get outside and see the sun.  Sunday was one of those days.  It was perfect. Sunny and warm with a crystal clear sky lacking the haze that comes when it’s too hot here in Texas – which is almost every day from June through August. These are rare days; days that should not be wasted inside in front of a computer.  According to a friend, there are only “14 perfect days” in a given year where we live and I’m sure this was one of them. Rats, only thirteen good days left this year.
I convinced Hubby that we both could use a break from all the things we “should” be doing: laundry, writing, consulting work, searching job boards.  Let’s spend an hour outside, I said.  We could have fun and get some exercise at the same time.   Tennis, anyone?
First step: search for tennis rackets. Found them exactly where one would expect sports equipment to live, in the craft room.  Did I mention we hadn’t played in a while?
Tennis balls became another issue.  We did find a can of tennis balls, however they had zero bounce.  Lucky for us we have a dog. After rifling through Kylie’s toy baskets and searching the backyard, we had three balls that at least resembled tennis balls.  Not sure that Pet Smart really makes a good tennis ball, but hey, it looked OK.  The pink rubber squeaky nubby ball was included as a back-up.
With rackets, an assortment of tennis-like balls and a jug of water, we were off to the tennis courts at the school.  We were thrilled to see that the courts were vacant and surprised others in the neighborhood were not taking advantage of one of the “fourteen perfect days”.
Hubby and I are pretty equally matched when it comes to sports, except he’s better at softball and I excel at shooting pool.  With both of us at fear-inducing heights of 5’2” and 5’5”, we are not powerhouses at hoops.  So tennis is a good game for us.
Once on the court we decided the goal was simply to keep the ball going for as long as possible, playing for household bragging rights.  Hubby went first, dropping the ball, reaching back and swinging the racket, making contact.  Too bad the ball didn’t understand the goal was to go over the net.  Ha! I could tell bragging rights would be mine. 
Telling him to stand back, I served and the volley was on!  I’m not really sure what happened next, except to say that my eyes saw the ball coming at me to the right, my mind said “move” – but my feet and legs were like lead weights stuck in place.  The ball whizzed past me as Hubby yelled, “Why didn’t you move?” Point: Hubby.
Game on, pal! My competitive edge kicked in. No way was Hubby going to win. It was my idea to go outside, my idea to play tennis.  We started again, and this time I made sure my legs went the same direction as my eyes.   Running towards the ball, I stretched to make the shot.  “Ouch!” I cried out, as my hamstring pulled tight and I began what can only be described as a failed attempt at a one-footed moon walk.   “What is it?” yelled Hubby. “Are you hurt?” 
No, I always do this dance when I’m in the middle of a game.  Duh.
Determined to enjoy this perfect day, I soldiered on.  We both did.  We hit the ball. We tried to run.  At one point we actually had fourteen consecutive “hits” before the ball took a nose-dive into the net.  After thirty minutes we took a water break.  Sweating, heart racing, unable to lift the large jug of water to even get a drink, I looked at Hubby and said “what happened to us?”  Of course we immediately blamed our rusty skills on the lay-offs, new work and the fact that we were not used to such nice weather. 
Back on the court, we continued to try and regain the skills we knew we once had.  We switched sides, each convinced that the other had an advantage solely based on the side of the court.  That’s when I discovered his side of the court held a treasure trove of sunbaked Cheerios, which I’m sure he had been hiding from me.  No wonder he had energy; he was on a Cheerio high. Never mind that they had probably been there for months. 
We never bested our fourteen consecutive hits, working at it for another half an hour before deciding that our poor performance was the direct result of using the dog’s toys as tennis balls.  We decided it was unfair of us, really, to take the dog’s toys and headed home.  
It was great to get out of the house and away from the grind of work and job-search.  Our muscles are still sore and we may never move with ease again, but at least we enjoyed one of the fourteen perfect days.  
© Tami Cannizzaro 2012 All Rights Reserved