Yoga and Fire Fighting Tales from Rural Maine: I did it!!!

On the first Wednesday in May of 2013, I was voted in as the newest member of the all-volunteer Orland Fire Department. I was lonely, frightened, sick, sad and suffering from PTSD. I was so frightened all the time that I struggled to leave my house. 

The notion that I could ever ascend to the ranks of interior firefighter seemed about as likely as my landing on Mars. For the first two years, I had to serve side-by-side with the woman responsible for my trauma. But I never quit. And then she left. And in the year that followed, I blossomed. Removed from the stress of that trauma trigger, I completed my EVOC training (which means I can drive fire trucks) and then I went on to tackle the vigorous, intense interior fire fighter training at the Hancock County Fire Academy. That training has beaten the crap out of me. And I still have three training weekends to go before I graduate from the Academy, but last night (almost three years to the day that I began this journey) my Chief told me that Marcus and I have now completed the minimum requirements for our department. 

No matter what happens from here on out, I am an interior certified fire fighter with the Orland Fire Department!! So put that in your pipe and smoke it! (But then dispose of your smoking materials safely.) :-)

I totally DID it!!! Namaste. (And thank you for believing in me.)

Photo courtesy of the Ellsworth American.

Yoga and Fire Fighting Tales from Rural Maine: Believe

Three years ago today (May 13, 2016), I apparently donned my turnout gear for the first time, went for a ride in our tanker, felt what it's like to send water out of a hose...and apparently, I liked it. (A lot!) Here's what I posted on Facebook that day: :-)I suspect this was one of the first appearances of the "shit-eating grin" my chief has come to know me for.

Best. Training. EVER!!!! Sadly, no photos this time, but: first time in structure fire turnout gear, first time running pump truck (yay, physics--thank you Mr. Bradford!), first time riding in tanker truck, first time at pump house, and the crowning glory...first time at the end of a hose!! Screw bungie jumping. You want a thrill? Latch onto the end of a fire hose and lean into a friend. My arms feel like jelly, but I am happy as a clam--a clam that fights fires!

I keep thinking that becoming an interior firefighter came out of left field, but apparently I've been loving it since the very first second.

My first time on the nozzle.

I keep thinking that that girl--the three-years-ago-living-in-trauma girl--who joined the Orland Fire Department would never believe that I am actually standing here today, a bona fide interior fire fighter with Orland, about to complete Fire Academy and potentially about to become a state certified Fire Fighter I and II.

But...I also know that you don't get what you hope for, you get what you *believe.*

So, at some level, there *must* have been a part of me, even when I was broken and afraid (of everything!), that *believed* this was possible. Isn't that amazing? That underneath all of that life-or-death fear of the daily basics, underneath all of my physical illness, injury, and weakness; underneath all of the trauma; there was a part of me who believed she could rise up and accomplish something that at that moment seemed (to everyone, I'm sure) impossible. (I bet that's the same part of me that got into and through Smith College, when going to college was among the most deeply unlikely things for a girl born into my circumstances to do.)

I was also lucky enough to have a few friendly fire fighters around me, who believed it even better than me. Lt. Dave Sukeforth, chief among them. He was the first to suggest that I should go to the Academy this winter, and the fiercest advocate for getting me in. I have never understood why Dave (or anyone else) thought I could do the Academy...but if Dave hadn't insisted, I'm not sure I ever would have tried. When my own belief was thin on the ground, the belief of others filled in the gaps. If you have a dream my friends, finding and trusting as many pairs of believing eyes as you can manifest is essential. **It's the belief that makes wishes powerful.**

With four of my staunchest OFD supporters after we made a convertible. :-)

Marcus joined the OFD and sixty days later, he was at the Academy. It took me 2 1/2 years to get to that same starting point, but we did it together. And I think if he hadn't joined the department when he did, I might never have gone. Knowing he would be there made it possible to begin. The timing of his decision to join was a tremendous gift to me. (And when I felt like I might have to quit the Academy because I just couldn't take the abuse any more, he told me that if I had to quit, he would sign up and do the whole thing over again with me, because he knew I could get through.)

With Marcus and the original Company One.

But, I didn't quit. I did the opposite of quitting. When faced with a choice between quitting and standing up for myself, I made the radical (for me) choice to stand up for myself and ask for change. Fear + courage = progress.

And now...it's almost over. Tomorrow, the roller coaster reaches its peak and we start zooming down toward the end of fire academy. Two classroom days of haz mat. Followed by two days of OFD obligations (and studying). Then two more days to study as much as possible. Then Friday, another live interior burn, Saturday forestry work (lots of digging in the sun), and Sunday, our grand finale...our Open Day, when we'll run through the practical end test (where we try to remember every single thing we've learned to do)...and then my classmates and teachers will roast some meat for eating...and the next day, Monday, I'll teach at Acadia and then sit for my State FF I & II exam...

...three years and ten days after I (very enthusiastically) first donned my turnout gear. :-)

If you have a dream, listen not to the constant radio chatter of voices broadcasting reasons you can't; especially don't listen to the ones inside your own head. Listen instead to that one faithful voice inside you that says, "Yes. I believe you can."

Fire Fighting Tales from Rural Maine: Ommmmm

Just when I think I'm getting close to being prepared enough for my Maine Fire Service Institute Pro-Board accreditation exam (which is on Monday, following three tough training days and a day teaching the kids at Acadia hospital, oof!), I realize I don't know nearly enough about sprinkler systems. Sigh. Maybe If 501 meditates with me, I'll absorb all of his knowledge telepathically...?

With my Chief at a training burn.

Fire Fighter Tales from Rural Maine: Rugged

I met a woman this week who serves on the board of the Hancock County Fire Fighters Association. Her daughter went through the Hancock County Fire Academy a few years ago. We got to chatting about women going through the Academy and being fire fighters and I said that I think people often underestimate me because I have a soft voice and I teach gentle yoga. And she immediately said, "Oh, no! As soon as I saw you I could tell you were rugged."

Noted. :-) 

:-)

Fire Fighting Tales from Rural Maine: May 22nd

On this day, May 22, twenty-two years ago, I graduated from Smith College. Today, I will complete Hancock County Fire Academy by taking my Academy practical and written exams. I will need to remember everything I have learned these last six months...in one go. And then...I am done.

This is the third hard training day in a row. And the fifth of six training weekends in a row. And tomorrow, I will sit for my State pro-board exam. My body is bruised so badly it's alarming. My feet are swollen and sore. My right knee is swollen and achy. I am sunburned. My back hurts. I still have sand in my ears from when the helicopter took off and I stood too near, because I wanted to see what it was like. I am so very, very tired.

Last night, I didn't feel as though I could do one more day. I got home from training with feet so tender I couldn't walk without flinching.

It took me a few hours--and some arnica, and an epsom salt foot bath, and some anti-inflammatories and some ice--but I finally rose to go out to my car and organize my gear for today. I was so exhausted and in so much pain, I began to whimper. I stood in my driveway behind my car, surrounded by gear and I just kept thinking, "Three days in a row is too much. It's too much. I just can't...I can't possibly do what is necessary to be ready for tomorrow. I can't do another day. It's too much..." And I gave myself permission to cry.

I let out one little sob. But no tears came. And then I picked up my helmet and I smelled the smell of smoke. I smelled the rich odor of the previous night's interior burn evolutions. And my face broke into a smile. I hit the dry bottom of my deep well of exhaustion and instead of crying, I smiled. I smiled because I can. I picked up that helmet and I held it to my face and I breathed in that beautiful scent of fire; of teamwork and fortitude and smoke and gratitude and grit and accomplishment and pain. And I knew that whether or not I remember how to tie a becket bend at my end test--or any other particular skill--I will always remember this: I am a fire fighter. And that means that no matter how tired or sore or worn out or afraid that I am...I can. I can keep going. I can get it done, whatever it is. I can do it.

Yesterday, by the way, I asked to do the confined spaces maze again. My albatross, my nightmare, my horror, my thing. I wanted to try it again. Six months after the first tries, which broke me, I did it again. Twice. And I was fine. Six months later, that confined spaces maze is my friend.

I have more to say about this, but no time this morning to say it all. But I will say this:

College was never a "given" for me. My grandfather couldn't read a newspaper. I was the first in my family to get a four-year degree. And I received no help in figuring out how to get into, pay for, or get through one of the very best colleges in the country.

May 22, 1994 and May 22, 2016

I found out when I was 14 years old that I would be on my own when I was 18, and that if I wanted to go to college--and I did!--that it would be entirely up to me to figure out how to accomplish every aspect of that, from applying to schools to applying for financial aid to getting through all four years without financial, practical, or emotional support. I cried when I learned this. And then...I went to work.

The girl who did that is the woman who is doing this.

Whatever happens today...I did it! I completed the Academy. And regardless of how I perform on my tests today...I learned what I was truly meant to learn: I can. Sometimes you need to cry. But then...you go to work. My young self knew that deep inside, and she got me to where I am today. I'm so grateful for whatever makes that possible.

And I am grateful for today.

Wish me luck!

Fire Fighting Tales from Rural Maine: The Fire Swamp

I had a hard day today. It was the last day of Fire Academy, and in some ways, it was the worst one, which is really saying something. It was the fifth of the last six weekends in a row that we had training, and the third of an unprecedented three-day training weekend. To say I was running on empty is to say that the Titanic hit an ice cube.

What is the word to describe indescribable fatigue of body and mind? Also? My blisters have blisters. Oh, wait. Not any more. They all ripped off today. But my bruises definitely have bruises. And my exhausted self was taken by surprise by a confined spaces challenge first thing this morning, which did not go well for me, and I never really recovered. As a result, my day involved several rather severe crying jags, which always leaves me feeling raw, embarrassed, and pathetic. But several very kind and generous firefighters said and did some things that lifted my tired spirit enough that I was able to arrive at a moment just now where I realized that I can think of today--and perhaps Fire Academy, in general--as being like a journey through the Fire Swamp. As in, after falling into the Lightning Sand and almost dying, Princess Buttercup says to Westley, "We'll never succeed, we may as well die here!"

But Westley says to Princess Buttercup, "No, no! We have already succeeded. I mean, what are the Three Terrors of the Fire Swamp? One? The Flame Spurt. No problem. There's a popping sound preceding each, we can avoid that. Two, the Lightning Sand, and you were clever enough to discover that, so in the future, we can avoid that too..."

See, after this weekend, I know that a career in wildland fires is not for me. That's handy knowledge. (Hanging around with forestry guys/gals is like going to the zoo, by the way--they are a totally different breed from us structural guys/gals! It's fascinating to watch them, with their lean bodies and their beards and their green pants. Well, not a zoo, more like...a forest. A mythic forest full of animals who genuinely like to dig fire lines for ten hours at a stretch for days at a time in the middle of nowhere in intense heat, and often deadly conditions. Weirdly, they think it's odd that *we* want to go into burning buildings.)

Second, I think it's clear that I don't have a future in search and rescue...and rather than feel bad about that, I can be pleased that I was clever enough to discover it, so that I can avoid that in the future.

That really just leaves Rodents of Unusual Size. And I'm pretty sure they don't exist.

You can watch this film clip on YouTube here.

Tales from Rural Maine: Success

On May 22nd, 1994, my Smith College classmates and I stood in the hot sun in our black robes and we graduated. Then our lives diverged. We forged ahead. We gained, we lost, we suffered, we prevailed, we learned, we grew. We got older.

On May 22nd, 2016, (barring unforeseen disasters) I will complete my training as a (potentially) state-certified interior firefighter. Nothing in the whole wide world could have seemed more improbable to me on May 22nd, 1994. Nothing. I know for certain that the young "me" who stood in the sun that day twenty-two years ago, never, ever dreamed of moving back to her tiny home town in Maine and becoming a volunteer firefighter (or a yoga teacher, for that matter). If time travel were possible, I would put on my turnout gear, hop in my DeLorean and step out under the Emerson Arch in front of her just to see her face.

I have imagined doing this--traveling back to see her. And at first, I thought she (the young me) would *never* believe it. She would never in a million years be able to comprehend that she could or would ever do such a thing. I imagined that she would look at this 43-year-old fire fighting-yoga teaching me and just feel bewildered and frightened.

But then...I remembered. That girl? That young woman? As frightened and alone and overwhelmed as she was? As certain as she was that her path lay somewhere along the lines of motherhood and writing or something academic...despite all that, what I see in my mind's eye when I imagine traveling back in time to show her this fire-fighting-yoga-me...? I see her taking it in, processing it, and then...I see her smile! I see a look of shock and then a radiant smile that spreads across her face, dawning, as she realizes the awesomeness of the potential inside her. That girl I was, she didn't really know how big she was *inside*--and I love to imagine that if I could go back and show her, that she would *believe* it. And she would smile.

That girl--that young woman--I was, she is 43 years old now. And a PTSD sufferer. I have a genetic disorder that leaves me bruised, exhausted, and heavy. It makes my joints ache terribly. The doctors told me it was untreatable and incurable. And yet here I am. I'm teaching yoga. And I'm training to be a firefighter alongside young men who could bench press me if they wanted to. Half of them are young enough to be my children. And I go toe-to-toe. I hold my own. (I cry sometimes when I'm stuck in confined spaces, but I hold my own!)

(I think I may qualify for a spot on Marissa Walsh's next panel on "Not Quite What I Was Expecting.") smile emoticon

We're talking a lot--our alumnae community--these days about the definition of success. I think that mine comes down to this: Success is, more than anything, about creativity. If you have created solutions, opportunities, healing, growth, art, relationships, families, solitude, peace, progress, forgiveness, gratitude, laughter, or conversations--if you have *created* something, anything that matters to you (or to others), then I think you have succeeded. And you are succeeding if you are seeking and savoring joy. And perhaps, more than anything, you have succeeded if the "you" that is living now would make the "you" from May 22, 1994 smile as she realizes how very, very powerful, how very, very *big* you really and truly are.

Namaste, my fellow Smithies! (And remember to check your smoke detectors.) 

smile emoticon

Fire Fighting Tales from Rural Maine: Never alone

Last night, my Hancock County Fire Academy classmates and I sat for the state written exam. If we pass it, we'll be half-way to our Fire Fighter I and II certifications. The second half is a skills test in June. (This does not affect our status as graduates of the Academy; we are all graduating, regardless of the results of the state exams.)

The test is hard. And long. 200 questions in three hours. It can cover anything from our 1100-page textbook, like for instance how much steel expands at certain temperatures or which NFPA standard covers fire fighter training regulations or what you would find in an MC-305 tanker truck or what you should do with the doors on a car while you are displacing the dashboard so you can free an entrapped passenger. (I didn't know the answers to any of those, by the way except that the standard covering training regulations is NFPA 1001. I'm sure that will be incredibly useful in my career as a firefighter :-)).

There were 19 of us sitting for the exam and as each one finished, he or she left the room. When the first people handed in their tests and left, I still wasn't even half-way through the first exam. By the end, there was just me and one other fire fighter slogging through the last part of our Fire Fighter II and watching the clock.

It was nearly 9pm when I finished. I'd had a long day and a long week and a long six months. And it was a little bit of a lonely feeling to know that I was going to walk out of that exam that we'd been working toward for six months, and there would be no one waiting for me, to say "How did it go!" or "We did it! Let's get a drink!"

I hung around in the exam room, darkening the circles in my bubble answer sheet for a while, so that my classmate wouldn't be all alone in there as he worked on finishing. But eventually, after going over and over all those bubbles, I started to get very anxious. Like I wanted to take the whole test out and start over, but there were only fifteen minutes left! So I decided to call it...and leave. My classmate and I gave each other a big smile and a thumbs up and I decided I'd go down to the fire bay and wait in the quiet darkness for him to finish, so at least he wouldn't be alone when he came out.

I walked down over the stairs and I had this little pang of sadness, to be second to last and all alone...and then, I caught a glimpse of my lead instructor standing between the trucks, in front of the open fire bay doors. Of course, he would still be there, I realized. He wouldn't leave us alone. But I wished that everyone else was there, too. So we could celebrate and share and mark the moment. But I also understood why people wouldn't want to hang around after they'd finished. Some of them had finished almost two hours before me.

When I rounded the corner, I saw that I was wrong to imagine I was alone. Almost every single member of my 19-person class was standing there, smiling, waiting for me and Jeff to finish our exams. My face lit up when I caught sight of them. I was not alone. I was never alone. I only imagined that I was. If there is one true thing that Fire Academy has taught us, it is this: we never do anything alone.

Yoga and Fire Fighting Tales from Rural Maine: Freedom

For the last seven months, I have not gone anywhere without my Fire Fighter Skills textbook and workbook and my practice rope. And then more recently, I also brought along 200+ flash cards. I've studied in doctor's offices, my car, waiting rooms, guest rooms, other people's kitchens, at three separate fire departments...And almost every morning, I set my kitchen timer for an hour and studied before I did anything else in my day.

We took our pro-board exams on Monday night, so until I learn whether I passed them, I no longer need to carry these things around and bend my days around the need to learn more about fire suppression systems or hazardous materials or forestry or chemistry or ventilation or any other fire-service-related thing.

It feels incredible--but also really, really weird--to be walking and driving and being in the world without my red backpack full of fire fighter study materials. It's like getting a cast off. Or losing 20 pounds. I feel lighter...but it's also funny-feeling, disorienting. Like, I know things are alright, but at the same time, I keep feeling like something's missing.

I'm so excited to have that elusive creature called "free time" return to my life! At least temporarily...I still need to prep for the practical skills test, but first? I'm mowing my gosh-darned lawn!

My big friend, the Jones & Bartlett Fire Fighter Skills workbook, third edition.

Yoga and Fire Fighting Tales from Rural Maine: Curious

Yesterday was my first really free Saturday since I signed up for the Hancock County Fire Academy in *November.* There was no specific need to train or to study hanging over my head; no serious bruises or exhaustion to recover from. (The remaining Academy bruises are small and not really sore unless you press on them. They've slowly gone from purple and blue to green and brown and now they are fading away.) For the first time in seven months I had no nagging sense that I was way behind (hopelessly behind) at something important. I just had a *day*. A sunny, beautiful DAY all to myself! And gosh, it was grand.

I had coffee in the sun with friends.
I picked lilacs.
I read a whole issue of Organic Gardening magazine while lying in my hammock.
I decided that my largest ornamental garden will be entirely made of circles this year! And I went to work creating it.
I planted allllll of my potato starters (thanks to FF Rabs' rototilling work on Friday!) And I noticed that I have *a lot* more stamina and a greater tolerance for bending over and digging in the hot sun after Fire Academy. Heck, I could've planted that whole garden wearing full PPE and SCBA. :-)So, that's awesome!

I watched *two* movies!

I did my physical therapy and my daily practice.
I put on a sundress and ate a fruit juice popsicle in the sun.
I went for a walk.
I watched a lovely sunset over a field and not a single bug bothered me.
I folded laundry.
I talked on the phone to my friend Alice for *seven hours*!!! (There's just so much catching up to do!)
I drank a nice, cold boozy orange soda.
And I stayed up laaaaaate snuggling with Jasper on my new couch watching a terrible disaster movie (my favorite!) without any concern for what it would cost me the next day. It was heaven.

YUM. I *loved* my free Saturday.

But also? I kind of wanted to read more about aqueous film-forming foam (and the other fire fighting foams) because that's one area that I really still don't feel solid on. And also Class B fires. Some of the exam questions confused me and it's stuff I'd really like to know. I wanted to learn more; and not because I *have* to. I've completed my requirements for graduation; I've taken my exams, and there's even a decent chance I passed...and it wasn't just because studying became such a huge part of my daily routine. I wanted to study because I wanted to learn...

I often teach my students that curiosity is among our greatest gifts; I teach them that curiosity is the remedy to fear (and also shame and other low-vibration emotions). If you can get curious about your own life, you can break open, break free; if you get curious about flying, you can fly. But first, you have to get curious.

When the work clears out and the day is your own, where your mind and your heart and your body want to go tells you a lot about your self. Your choices are your priorities.

On my free day, I chose friends and fresh air and gardening and relaxation and comfort and conversation and coffee and happiness and exercise and a sunset and stories and lilacs and popsicles and snuggling. And I resisted the urge to pick up my textbook again...because it felt important to just *rest* for heaven's sakes! But I'm glad to know that even though this was an important time for resting--and a beautiful day to give myself a break--I am *curious* about the work of fire fighting (and other things). And this curiosity, for me, equals love.

(This photo by the way is what happened when I got curious in Costa Rica about whether my yoga friends and I could make "love" on the beach with our bodies. The answer is yes, we can. ):-)