Gear Up!

Peru is only five weeks away! I'm excited, but I'm also getting very nervous. Am I worried about trekking across the Andes in my sea-level body over passes that rise higher than 14,000 feet? Well, yeah. A little. I have no idea how well I adjust to altitude, so all I can do is train hard and be as fit as possible, so if the altitude really hits me at least that's all I'll have to worry about.

But you know what really scares me? Doing it day in and day out after crack of dawn wake-up calls.

I love adventure travel. I live for it. But this morning, when I was waiting for my Coffeebot to brew my aptly named and freshly roasted Brazilian Sunrise, I started to wonder if I can really survive on that kind of schedule for 14 days straight. When I didn't smell that familiar coffee aroma and hear the hiss of the Coffeebot dripping, I realized that I hadn't filled up the water reservoir - and then I really started to wonder if I'm destined to be a safety hazard on a high mountain pass at 6:00am.

Early morning adventures are nothing new to me. Sunrise is a sacred time, especially when the God of the Tourist Dollar is involved. I've been roused from slumber for 5:00am game drives in the Zimbabwean bush and I've climbed Temple IV at Tikal in the dark, to watch the jungle wake up before my eyes. Personally, I prefer the African tradition of the "sundowner," perched high in a Land Rover, toasting the evening wildlife with a cold Bollinger's. Unfortunately for me, sunrise seems to hold far more options for cultural experience on the road. Why is this?

The first few days of any trip are the strangest. Depending on where in the world I plan to end up, they can be extremely difficult or they can be nirvana. Hawaii, for example, is awesome. Traveling west is ideal, because it takes a few days for my body to adjust to the new environmental time cues. While it's doing that, I'm in almost perfect sync. My 10:00am wake-up time is now 8:00am. Not exactly the crack of dawn, but early enough that I don't feel like I'm wasting my vacation. However, I live in Los Angeles so my westerly options are limited, to say the least.

Traveling east is another story. I adjust better to a complete flip - like South Africa's 11 hours - than I do to a small difference of only a few hours. Peru is three hours ahead of my current time zone. It's gonna be rough.

Like I said, I've done it before. My biggest concern is that I'm traveling solo this time. Not totally alone, because I'm joining an adventure travel tour group for the very first time. I've traveled alone before, but I usually meet up with friends at some point along the way and we do stuff on our own schedule. I only have to sleepwalk through the occasional pre-dawn climb or drive.

This time, we're on a strict schedule every single day and since I paid my single supplement (a rant for another time), I have a room/tent all to myself and nobody to shine a headlamp in my face or drag my butt out of my warm sleeping bag. This worries me.

The only time I've been totally alone, where nobody could just barge into my room and wake me up was on safari in Africa. Still, the guides there would show up at oh-dark-thirty, pound on my tent door, yell a little (or a lot), and not leave until I had a steaming hot cup of coffee in my hand. Okay, it was chicory rather than actual coffee but it was the best they could do. They served it in silver pots and china cups, which was nice. Chicory, however, does not have caffeine. Still, it was a warm, hot drink that got me moving a little. I'm fairly certain I won't be getting that kind of service on a trek in Peru.

In Guatemala, I just stayed up all night for the pre-dawn climb up Temple IV. I believe the wake-up call for that one was 3:30am, and it helped that there was a hard-partying group of locals who were still up drinking and singing at that hour. I was a wreck by the time we climbed down for breakfast, but I didn't miss the experience by sleeping right through it.

Speaking of Peru, it's time for me to get on the road for a conditioning hike. Training. Ugh. That's another early morning debacle...and a good topic for next time!

Deal-Breakers All Around

Last week's travel was hell.

So you can imagine how much I was looking forward to a week of working at home, sleeping on my normal schedule, feeling human again. Alas, it was not to be.

These have been my alarm clocks so far this week:

8:08am Saturday - Superman, with the usual routine. Doesn't he take weekends off???

7:30am Sunday - Some guy who runs a Belly Boot Camp or some such thing, calling to find out why Benjamin hasn't been to class for a few days. Benjamin, get your couch potato self to boot camp, if only to give drill sergeant dude your correct phone number. Please.

8:30am Monday - East coast client calls a "lunch" meeting. I drown myself in caffeine and make it through, thankful that we aren't using video conferencing. They may not think my SpongeBob jammies are appropriate work attire.

6:55am Tuesday - My phone rings, and I wonder who died as I bury my head under the covers and let it go to voice mail. Turns out everyone's alive, it was just a guy I met in the airport last week, calling to say hi. I met my last boyfriend on a plane, so kudos to this guy for starting a conversation and asking for my number. It was worth a shot.

However...

Reggie, if you're reading this, you seem like a really nice guy. Cute, too. But you live in the same time zone as I do. There is absolutely NO excuse for calling me that early in the morning. You are, obviously, a lark. Larky enough to be making social phone calls at the crack of dawn. This is an immediate deal-breaker. I will not be returning your call. Unless I do it at 3:00am.

I finally get back to sleep...but that's not the end of the story. There will be no blissful slumber for me. Ever again, I'm afraid.

8:10am Tuesday - Superman has acquired a drum set. No joke. A drum set that he wakes up and begins to play, first thing in the morning. Above my head. No adult stops him, or even enters the room as far as I can hear. This has become surreal. Like I'm stuck in a bad movie. I'm pining away for the toy that played "Twinkle, twinkle, little star" day in and day out. I miss that toy. I want it back. I would trade the drum set and Superman for the crying baby and annoying toy any day. At this point, I'd almost sell my soul just for some sleep.

Superman is singing right now, he is musically inclined but not in a good way. The drum set may, in fact, be an apartment deal-breaker. I've lived here for five years. I love it here. But I can no longer sleep in my own bedroom. It may be time to move on.

Either that, or declare war. It's a toss up. I'll keep you posted.

Superman, Meet Supernanny. Please.

I'm not sure what's messed me up so badly this week - the time zone debacle or the fact that my morning wake-up routine seems to be inevitably linked to the wake-up schedule of the kid upstairs.

My three days of travel killed me. I wasn't able to sleep more than three hours a night the whole time. This happens a lot though, since traveling is a part of my career and has pretty much been my life for the last six years now.

When I'm out of sync for a few days, I always expect an adjustment period. Here's how it usually goes:

I travel east.
I don't sleep.
I come home and sleep for about 12 hours that day.
I'm back to normal.
Well, my normal anyway.

This time? Here's how it's gone:

I travel east.
I don't sleep.
I come home and sleep for about five hours.
Superman wakes up and starts bouncing his basketball over my head.
I wake up.
Superman throws stuff and yells.
I stay awake.
Superman's mother yells back.
Superman's grandma starts singing, loudly, in French.
I'm still awake, cringing when I look at the clock.
About an hour passes, more of the same.
Superman and the whole crew "fly" down the rickety (loud) wooden stairs right outside my bedroom window, yelling to each other the whole time.
I'm still awake.
They stand in front of my bedroom window, expressing their amazement that he's faster than a speeding bullet, so all the neighbors know they have a Super Hero in their midst.
Finally, they fly away to save the day.
I fall back asleep within about 15 minutes, and sleep for another hour or two.
I wake up in a panic, still totally exhausted from the interrupted sleep and already starting my day much later than I'd hoped.

Repeat. Every. Single. Day.

My body has not had the chance to catch back up. Instead of waking up around 9 or 10am and being sharp enough to really do serious work by 1 or 2pm, I'm waking up around 11 or 12 and not being able to focus until at least 4pm. Which is when my colleagues are just finishing up their day - or have already gone home.

I'm hoping that the weekend will give me a chance to make up my sleep deficit and at least get back to a schedule that's only a few hours off the norm.

And will somebody upstairs please call Supernanny?? Please. You need help. Really.

Time Zone Hopping

"We're all tired in the morning."

Well...maybe. But hearing this from colleagues is always frustrating. If you've been awake for a few hours, had breakfast and hit the hotel gym before meeting me in the lobby at 8:30am to get to the office by 9:00, our worlds are not the same. My "tired" is clearly not your "tired."

Crappy Writing Alert and Apologies in Advance - this is written on less than three hours of sleep.

Last night, I actually thought things were going to go better than usual. I woke up at the crack of dawn in Pacific Time and took an earlier flight to Central Time than I usually do on these trips. I decided that I'd rather take the hit on the front end than try to stay focused during a really important all-day analysis session on the back end, with no sleep. I got to the hotel with plenty of time to try to fake myself out and pretend my body's not two hours behind its already delayed rhythm.

After checking in, I have dinner with colleagues, finish up some last minute work, and am surprised to find that it's already midnight. Since this is only 10:00pm my time, I'm not at all tired yet. The realization that I have to wake up in 7 hours hits me hard though, and I decide to try to get some sleep.

At first I panic when I realize that I've forgotten my melatonin, but then I decide to just do some meditation and tuck myself into the big, comfy hotel bed anyway. (Gotta love those hotel beds!!!) I do just that, and find myself hunkering down for the night just before 1:00am.

I close my eyes, stay grounded and centered, focus on my breathing and convince myself that I will, in fact, be sound asleep very soon. My mind starts to wander. I think about the oddest things. My ex-boyfriend. My two exes ago boyfriend. Then I think about why I didn't think about the boyfriend in between. I think about my job, and the book I'm reading and my career path. I think. And think. And think. And try to clear my mind and not think. And think about not thinking about not sleeping. What I don't do is sleep.

Whatever I do, I am NOT going to open my eyes and look at the clock. I'm going to lay here for as long as it takes to fall asleep. Period. Looking will just stress me out and make things worse. I don't sleep for what seems like forever.

I cave. One eye opens and catches the hotel alarm clock - it's 2:40am. I haven't slept a wink. Terror strikes as I realize that best case scenario, I'm getting less than five hours of sleep tonight. And experience tells me this won't be a "best case" kinda night.

Okay. Maybe if I read for a while, I'll fall asleep. I turn on the light and finish that book I was thinking about. It's 3:17am when I'm done. That's 1:17am my time, so I should be getting tired now - and I am. But the stress has taken over. I count down...less than four hours until Alarm Time.

The last time I check the clock, it's 4:03am, which is 2:03am my time and just about the time I've been crashing out lately. Sure enough, this is when I finally fall into a deep, restful sleep...and less than three hours later, the alarm bells ring.

Morning does not go well. I'm nauseated - which lasts all day. I can't find anything in my tiny suitcase, even though I know I've packed everything. I know, because I packed it the night before I had to head to the airport - doing it in advance is the only way to be sure I don't forget something crucial.

Stumbling down to the hotel lobby, I see my co-workers already waiting for me - perky and alert. I buy the biggest coffee I can at the lobby cafe while they wait patiently, and I am pleasantly surprised - and extremely grateful - when one of them actually asks how I slept and acknowledges how hard this must be for me, between the DSPS and the time zone change.

This is really nice. Just a few words of support and acknowledgment mean so much to me, so different than that line I used to get from them, "We're all tired in the morning." At the meeting, nobody asks me to present my data first, and I don't feel like I have to pretend to be at my best, when I'm so obviously not. It feels good to just accept my exhaustion and know that I'm doing my best, and know that they know that too.

Maybe there's hope for some understanding of circadian rhythm disorders after all. Right now, I'm optimistic.

Neighborly Exhaustion

So the 5:30am Guy moved out. After we talked about the morning noise issue, he was great. Sure, I still heard the occasional drawer opening in his kitchen or the spoon in the cereal bowl, but I was definitely spared the responsibility of being Keeper of the Morning Phone Call Secrets. He moved out early though, a few months before the end of his lease. I knew he was only staying short-term, but I do wonder if tiptoeing around in the mornings wore him down. Still, he was awesome and he really understood and tried and if he ever happens to read this, I want to thank him. For someone with DSPS, understanding neighbors are worth their weight in gold.

Which brings me to the new family upstairs…

A woman. What appears to be her mother. And the kicker? A four year old boy who has obviously never lived above someone else’s head before. Let’s call him Superman. The first time I heard him was through my living room ceiling. I was sitting on the couch having my morning coffee and checking my e-mail around 11:00am one morning and BOOM!!!! Holy shit. Another one follows – BOOM!!!! Are we having another earthquake?? Then an even louder one – BOOM!!!!!!!!!!!! What the hell???

Then I hear an adult male laughing, saying something about flying. Not long after that, I hear “flying” down the stairs just outside my apartment door in the foyer. It sounds like two people are jumping down the stairs – a big person and a little person. This, I assume, is Daddy. The missing Daddy, it turns out. But I digress. They emerge from the building and appear in full glory in front of my windows. It suddenly becomes clear to me. The mystery of flight is explained by the fact that the kid is wearing a Superman cape. Ah ha. Flying. Crash landing into my ceiling, apparently. Considerate of others, aren’t they?

Over the next several days, my hopes that Superman stays down to earth when he’s not playing with Daddy are shattered. Now, the family who moved out had kids too. I’m NOT – repeat, NOT – complaining about having a child living upstairs. That family had a three year old and a baby, and although I was looking forward to not having the toy that played “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” living above my reading nook any longer, they were wonderful. Kid noises are kid noises, and the Star Family rarely woke me up. When they did, I assumed it was a holiday, or the kids were sick, or any number of things that might happen to cause playing or crying or something loud in the morning. Those things are part of life, they happen once in a while and I learned to live with them just like I assume they learned to live with my occasional Girl Get-Togethers that ran until the early hours of the morning.

So my first reaction to Superman was that he was adjusting to a new place, and to whatever circumstances led to the change. The first few days, the poor kid woke up screaming like Stephen King’s It was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes. I felt bad for him, and I am truly glad that those morning terrors seem to have stopped. But adjustment doesn’t seem to be the problem.

You see, the adults are louder than Superman. He wakes up and yells for his mother or grandmother…and she yells back. (How do you think I know their relationships? It’s how I know mom and son’s names too. They haven’t introduced themselves. Grandma doesn’t seem to have a name. She’s been reduced to a social role now.) They stand outside, right in front of my bedroom window, and yell to the other people who remain in the apartment upstairs. They watch as Superman stomps his way up and down the stairs – both the ones in the foyer just outside my living room door and the wooden stairs in the back next to my bedroom. Those are the ones they use in the morning. They stash his bikes and toys under those stairs and let him play with them bright and early, riding up and down along the narrow two foot walkway that runs – you guessed it – right below my bedroom windows.

The pattern is the same. He doesn’t wake up too awfully early for someone without DSPS, but for me? It’s just enough to really mess me up for the day. Around 8:00am I hear the wake up call to mom. For the next hour, it’s a noise-fest. They usually leave just after 9:00, and sometimes I can fall back asleep. Sometimes I can’t, especially on work days. I’ve been hoping it was temporary, but it seems clear at this point that the adults aren’t even aware it’s a problem. He’s not going to learn to respect the neighbors if they aren’t teaching him how to do that. In fact, they’re modeling the exact opposite.

This morning - at exactly 8:08am - he was in front of my windows with grandma who was yelling at him to “Look! Look!” at something. It took a Herculean effort, but I’d had enough. They obviously weren’t planning to introduce themselves anytime soon so that I could politely explain the situation to them, like I did with 5:30am Guy. I raised the blinds, hoisted open the window and mumbled, “It’s early, people are still sleeping.” Grandma lowered her voice a bit and said, “Oh, right. Okay.” Then as she turned to take Superman back upstairs, I heard her mutter under her breath…

“What did you do, stay up until 2:00am?”

Oh, she did NOT just say that. Fightin’ words. If it hadn’t been 8:00 in the morning, they would be fighting words anyway. Honestly? At that time of day, you can say just about anything to me and the most I’ll do is tell you to shut up and get out of my face so I can go back to sleep.

What I wanted to tell her was that yes, I did stay up until 2:00am. 2:15, actually. I was reading and re-reading interviews I’d done with cancer patients, trying to make sense out of their pain, and trying to understand the emotional pain of planning their own deaths to make it easier for the people they love. I was trying to do that without falling apart emotionally myself, as I saw them crying in my head again and again. Yes. I was up until 2:00am. I wanted to ask her what she was doing at 2:00am? Just sleeping??? How unproductive!!

But I could only say that in my head. The effort to shut the window, roll back over and try to get a little bit more sleep was the most energy I could muster. For today, anyway.