50 Shades of Physio...And "It's Kind of a Funny Story"

True to my goal, the night before I got my cast off, I cast off and blocked Barb's baby blanket.  I was so happy.  In the process of this 'finishing act' I discovered that blocking with only one real functional arm is a pain. And imperfect. And still, I am pleased.

After being instructed to go cast-free, I walked straight to the Physiotherapist's office.  They had a cancellation and ba-da-bing, ba-da-bang I began physio right then and there.  But, d*mn, nobody warned me that physio could be that painful.  Funny - my therapist is about 5'2" looks like an angelic cheerleader that is still in high school and yet, those skillful hands that turn me into Gumbi OUCH! It's consensual, though, hence, my nickname for the clinic: "50 Shades of Physio" - if it wasn't consensual, I'd have to call my P.T. Jian.  Seriously, Jocelyn is a top-notch professional -- I may even get her knitting one day (yes - if those hands can perform physiotherapy miracles then why not wearable miracles?)

Barb's Baby blanket and matching decorative pillow... yeah.... It's Kind of a Funny Story....

OpArt Blanket - see http://www.knitty.com/ISSUEfall08/PATTopart.html

King of the Jungle - pattern by Rebel Knitter c.2014

King of the Jungle (detail) - pattern by Rebel Knitter c.2014

I knew Barb was pregnant even before she announced it.  How? Because I just knew.  Not the first time either - this "knowing" thing. My children's teachers, work colleagues, acquaintances...I just know.

Two things happened really quickly after the blessed announcement. First: "It's a boy..." and then: "It's a Jungle theme for the nursery."  Awesome.  I went yarn shopping that same afternoon.

Months later, blanket and pillow complete, I was showing the photos of the presents to a mutual colleague last week, and she looks at me with an apologetic smile... "Oh, I guess no one told you...she switched it to a nautical theme."  No.  No one told me.

OMG. Don't you know? Never change a decorative theme AFTER you've disclosed your original idea to a knitter!  Seriously!? Bye bye Jungle...Hello Nautical... Seriously!?

I will not lie.  I thought of passing the pillow off as a literary/sailor's nod to 'Life of Pi'.  But, no...that ain't no tiger.  Finally, I said "F*** it.  It will look lovely in a bassinet at her mum's place."  Besides, the shower is this Tuesday.  What can I say but Mazel Tov!  And R-O-A-R.

... in other related news ... I haven't been able to lead the Friday Afternoon Knitting Club at the children's school this year, but not all is lost. Maverick Knitter (a.k.a. Son of Rebel Knitter) has been bringing his knitting to school each day and has revived the knitting club in a peer-led 'it's cool to knit' fashion.   I have it on good authority that before basketball practice, a few members of the team limber up their fingers with some garter stitch and also, on those -33 celcius (no one is going out to play in the ice covered field) days, a 'munch and knit' has revived a version of the knitting club in this year's Grade 5 classroom.  I say: That's even better than his mom coming in once a week and leading a workshop.  Kol Ha'Kavod to the next generation. Increased engagement, motivation and performance... yet another example that peer-led learning rocks!  The Knitting Club rides again! Giddyup Maverick Knitter and Carry On! Love Mom xoxoxo

Sweet Sixteen

It was difficult to decide where to begin this post.  Do I go back to the first thing I ever knit you? Because it wasn't this Rasta Hat, Zoe. The "Every little thing's gonna be alright" hat was a last-minute-knit before I went into labour.  You were born the winter that Toronto Mayor, Mel Lastman, called in the army to shovel our mounds and mounds of snow -- it suddenly dawned upon me, a couple of days before you were born, that you were going to need some extra special warmth on your lid. 

Even though the first thing I ever made you that touched your skin was indeed the Rasta Hat, the first thing I ever knit for you was your baby blanket. I learned how to master cables with that project.  It was right then and there in the yarn store, with my belly protruding, that I decided there would be none of that placid "pastel shmastel" baby yarn business for any child of mine.  Also, having firmly decided that I did not need to know in advance whether you were a girl or a boy, strong, gender neutral colours were decided upon.  Good choice, it turns out. There's nothing placid about you, my dear. 

Every kippah, sweater, dress, or top has been saturated with pigment, and even if there was a soft and delicate colour in there, you suggested I pair it with a bold contrast hue.  My girl: always sassy, strong and sure of her opinion!  Whether it was an "If I can't dance, I don't want to be in your revolution" dress, cool cotton tank, or good Lord, do you remember that peacock-blue hoodie that I knit out of eyelash yarn? (You chose both the colour and the yarn, never forget that, my dear...giggle...giggle)

And then, came your Bat Mitzvah. First, when you were twelve: BAT MITZVAH SOCKS.

http://knittishisms.blogspot.ca/2011/01/bat-mitzvah-socks.html

Then, when you were 13: your TALLIT http://knittishisms.blogspot.ca/2011/11/zoes-tallit.html

Then allllllllll those KIPPOT.... nuff said.... http://knittishisms.blogspot.ca/2012/02/knit-your-own-bat-mitzvah.html
 

Now you are sixteen. It is overwhelming to think that you're not a little girl anymore!  Thankfully, I finished these "Socks for the 'young woman' who rocks my world" just a few short weeks before my accident (phew!)  I needed you to know just how much I love you, and hand-knit socks from your mum, is a definite indication of just that.  As I wrote in Knittishisms:

"If someone makes you a hand-knit sock they really, really love you. Why?  Because a sock is knit with what essentially are toothpicks and dental floss, the knitter must screw up their eyes to keep track of those teeny tiny loops and learn to master a perfectly turned heel flap -- not to mention putting a knot in their neck to do it -- and in the end, voilà, a sock... You see, you know they really, really love you... because THEN they make you a SECOND SOCK TOO!"  Yes, my beloved sweet sixteen: I love you THAT much. Happy Birthday!

Six weeks and 8,976 stitches later

Today is the six week anniversary of my idiotic, crash and burn moment. I  got the cast off last

week, essentially because I am just so darn charming. Actually, I confess... I had walked into that fracture clinic determined to walk out minus the fibreglass cast. I didn't care if I had to, dare I say, flirt; whatever it would take . Yes, I have still got 'it' because 'bam' I was cut out of that thing within 10 minutes of speaking to the doctor. My only surprise was that I will have to wear a brace for another month. AUGH. It will be 9 weeks of immobility before I can even begin physiotherapy. (I injured myself worse than I thought, it appears.) Terribly annoying. I miss my two handedness. I miss being pain free. I miss sleeping more than a 2 hour stretch at a time. I miss seeing 5 distinctive knuckles on my left hand, and I miss holding a fork with one hand and using a knife to cut with the other. Sigh.

Before the technician sawed the cast open, I was lectured by the doctor as to what I could and could not do. And I shared the news that I had been knitting throughout my convalescence. "How?" the surgeon asked..."very, very slowly," I explained. But still, not too shabby: 8,976 stitches in 6 weeks might be less than I would normally knit, but it is better than nothing at all.  (Yes, I did the math to get to that number).  I explained my 'knitting as physiotherapy' methodology and he was speechless. "Well, if it turns out that there is significant improvement in your soft tissue recuperation time, I would definitely consider writing about it," he said.  "Oh, you don't have to..." I replied, "I've been blogging about it!"

These six weeks have taught me many things. Some of which are:

• Everyone should learn how to crack and empty an egg into a bowl with one hand... the day may come when this skill will be a useful necessity and not just a cool 'show off in the kitchen trick'.
• I really, truly am the only human in my household who not only knows how to change a toilet roll, but also empty a garbage can. One evening, about two weeks into this ordeal, after a muttering and blathering rant that surely the whole neighbourhood had heard, I decided the reason why I was clearly the only one who could perform these 'highly skilled' tasks in my home was because, that is what all that Latin 'fine print' at the bottom of my Master's Degree meant... it was all fancy shmancy Latin mumbo-jumbo that proved that I was more qualified at Toilet paper roll changing and rubbish bin emptying than the average human. Yup, definitely.
• Eventually, you can get almost everything done with one hand. Almost. You just have to be really, really patient. Really.
• If something scares you, it's okay to do it anyhow. The first day I went back to work, I was terrified to walk there because it was icy. I knew that I had to walk it despite the inclement weather or I wouldn't be able to do it for the rest of the winter. It now takes me ten or fifteen minutes longer to walk to work, but I am doing it.

There is still plenty more recuperation, and all the necessary patience required along with it, but I don't feel like I am ready to give up quite yet. In fact, if I manage to finish, cast off and block the project I have been knitting, I may actually attempt the intarsia 'companion piece' I had planned to make as well. One handed intarsia knitting...don't know if it is even possible. But, like an icy sidewalk, you don't know unless you try.

Knitting as rehab...or distraction...or both

I would love to tell you how I am feeling and doing.  But I will spare you... I am hoping to stay as far away as possible from the kvetchy knitter persona we all love to hate; the one who's mostly b*tch and low on stitch at the dreaded yarn-night we've all been to. Don't get me wrong. There is a huge part of me that would love to wail, holler, b*tch and moan. But the truth is, I am trying to do as much as possible: as per usual.  The fact that my family is not the doting type helps: sort of like physio and occupational therapy all rolled up into one. Right now if I ask for help I get nothing but whinging.  And if I don't ask for help I get a tongue lashing for not asking for help. I don't know about you, but avoiding the whinging 'factor' far outweighs the threat of finger wagging when push comes to shove. And once the pain factor subsides I am sure things will be better. True, things take what feels like 50x longer than normal, but I have patience: duh...I'm a knitter. After a short chat with myself and the realization that I desperately wished to avoid joining the ranks of the stretch pant brigade I taught myself how to zip a zipper and button a button with just one hand. Sure, we are talking mom jeans here; there will be no skinny jeans for a good long while. But I am thinking YEAH! I'M LIKE THE STEPHEN HAWKINGS OF THE FASHION WORLD! On New Year's Eve, I  figured out how to triple bag and tape my arm up all by myself and though washing and shampooing my tangled up mess of hair proved both difficult and nothing short of a massive pain in the ass...I did it. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs I'M A FRIKIN GENIUS... in fact, once I finally worked out how to get a bra both on and off with only one hand I KNEW I was a frikin genius.  My girlfriend's partner boasted that he knows how to take a bra off with just one hand. "Good for you," I told him "you're a girl! When you figure out how to put one on with just one hand, call me, because Mazel Tov, you'll be a woman." Okay, so maybe I am a bit b*tchy...But you would be too after what I went through less than 72 hours after my accident. Let me explain:

I had my first Fracture Clinic appointment on Monday morning. Bye-bye 500 kilo plaster cast. Hello fibreglass Coco Chanel inspired cast. They were all out of the groovy Sargent Pepper Psychedelic colour options they usually have in supply. Black or Baby Blue were my only choices. I went for the Black Tie rather than the Cowboy Denim look. Also, black minimizes the potential for 'teenage sentiments' being scribbled upon the surface for all to see. (see previous blog post for that doozie).  Now I wasn't expecting this (especially as the Doc had already set the bones a couple of days before) but in order to do this little procedure they had to put my hand into what is called a finger trap. And thanks to the miracles of the iPhone, everyone's a documentary filmmaker and photographer.  Yes, for reasons that totally escape me, the hubby decided to commemorate this event as a Kodak moment. Seriously. Were not the births of our two offspring enough?

Some he videotaped, other moments he snapped jpgs of... I will spare you the shots that show my entire left upper extremity looking like the Cascade 220 colour chart... lovely visual, yes. But dear lord, look at this... this Finger Trap. Can you blame for thinking that at any moment,

John Cleese and the entire Monty Python crew would jump out from behind the hospital curtain and proclaim NOBODY EXPECTS THE SPANISH INQUISITION. What is astonishing to me is that after all the money that I donate annually to this Hospital's Foundation, and all the advances in medicine over the years, THIS is the best they can do in the fracture clinic: mesh metal finger traps and a weight to stretch you out on the 'rack'. AAAUCH!  After they finish hooking up your fingers they weight down your elbow with what is, I believe, a 5-10 lb weight, I know!  Shut up!  But here's the worst part. Here's what made me cry. It's 8AM. Clearly the technician has had either too much or not enough caffeine. Instead of lowering the bed slowly the mattress drops with a thud. "Oops," says the dude... "pressed the wrong button". Yup. I noticed. Once again, the epic mental rant is sending me straight to Hell for sure. I actually saw stars. They were pretty pretty stars...no, they didn't give me meds. After the cast, What I did get, however was a cool souvenir.

Weird but trendy in medical circles, I'm sure. I posted a pic of this on fb and within seconds I got a Mazel Tov! response. We live in unusual times when a green piece of paper like this becomes part of the deciding factor on whether or not you get to enter the medical imaging location so you can be exposed to radiation. You know?

The unfortunate part of all of this is that it sent be back 2 days in the healing process. Back to the hurts like @#%^! of day one.  
Teenagers are hilarious. Before signing my cast, back on day one, my daughter stated one thing and asked another. Her statement: "Let's get one thing clear: I am not bathing you" (yeah - cuz I totally didn't do that for you for the first 8 years of your life) and her question: she asked about the pain. I told her it's really funny how they always ask you to rate the pain on a scale of 1 to 10. But most mothers I know reserve 10 as the childbirth rating.  Here's how brilliant this young lady is: "Well that's dumb... they should just have a separate scale for women... Rate your pain on a scale from splinter to birthing." YES! I AGREE!

So I may sound like I have things all worked out. But this morning I realized I didn't. Thank you to my Mum, who recognised that one day soon, I will be faced with the challenge of opening up a can of tuna. Given my current condition, she agreed that it will totally be my undoing. Visualise a broken down puddle of myself on the floor using toes, teeth and my one good hand. Not a pretty sight. I haven't owned an electric can opener EVER... it is the best gift! Thank you, Mummy! I love you. 

And now it begins. Rehab...Physio...etc. I consider this blog blathering not just cathartic, but good practise and physio, as well. My one handed typing skills far surpass those of a Barney Miller Cop typing up a report, so that's not too shabby!  And this evening I took up my knitting again. I could only knit half a row, but it's start. But, oy....
G-d forbid a stitch drops. I will be soooooooo screwed! I will have to call either Wooly Mammoth or Guerilla Knitter for a knitting intervention: dial 911-K1P2.
Knitting as rehab. I'm not sure if I say this in an OBAMA or BOB THE BUILDER way, but Yes, we can!

Diary of a Dumb*ss: Knitting Bones

I have uttered more swear words in the last 24 hours (both in my head, as well as vocally) than I have spewed in the last 24 years.  In fact, if G-d really is everywhere, then yesterday's foul-mouth, epic rant in my head while the Doc was setting the bones in my wrist is sending me straight to Hell, for sure.  From what I recall, the 'way too young to be doing this' intern was quite bemused by the curses that did escape my mouth -- the orthopedic surgeon... not so much.

From the moment I landed on the ice, I knew I was heading to the hospital. And what are the first three thoughts that go through my mind?

#1) Where is my son?
#2) I don't have time for this #@$% !
#3) Will I still be able to knit with a cast?

OMG, really? That was #3? Not 'Is there a medic here at the City Hall skating rink'? But rather, 'will I be able to finish the baby blanket for Barb in time'? Seriously?

A day after the misadventure I can see much more clearly. In fact, thanks to my physician's atypical easy-to-read handwriting I can see I was completely wackadoodle due to the adrenaline overload that was surging through my veins.  I must have been babbling out loud "thought #3" because that's what he had initially written down as my profession. Ha! After I explained that I prefer to maintain my amateur status so I can continue to compete in the Knitting Olympics every couple of years we were able to move past the 'profession' confusion. Nice chap that doctor, despite the complete lack of a sense of humour... shame.

So, here I now sit...arm propped up like I'm Queen Lizzy doing the Royal Wave...except definitely not so regal.

Things I have learned so far while being casted:

* Pharmacists don't always think...If they did, they wouldn't give the one-armed wonder pain meds in a bottle with a child-proof cap (this discovery led to the 4 a.m. swear words).
* Ten year olds and Teenagers have very different ways of expressing 'get well soon' messages on a cast. Both are sweet...but one almost made me pee my pants. Which brought me to my next realization:
* I need more Yoga pants. It's the winter. Nylons, tights and skinny jeans are no-can-do's until this bloody thing is off. But here's the problem...one of the reasons I went skating yesterday is because I loathe 'Boxing Week' shopping. I don't care if it is 50% off, I am not lining up for 2 hours in the hope that LuLuLemon has a deal on yoga pants in my size. But if I want to go to the bathroom when I need to go to the bathroom, I may just have to suck it up. 
* Also, I find it truly amazing that even with only one operational hand, I am still the only person in my household capable of changing the toilet paper roll! (this
discovery led to last night's 7 p.m. swear words).
* I can strip a king sized bed of all its sheets but doubt I can get them back on all by myself (stay tuned for this afternoon's 4 p.m. swear words)
* The desire to knit far outweighs the ability to knit... which leads to both boredom and frustration... which leads to one handed typing experiments and cathartic blog blathering.  Considering I supplemented my undergrad and graduate income with typing gigs, I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised that I would turn to a keyboard. Mind you, the predictive keyboard on the smartphone was a communications life saver yesterday. My 18 month old laptop suddenly seems antiquated.
* I wish I could turn back time ... but I can't frog this one back a few lines and correct my dumb*ss mistake. Knitting bones takes longer than knitting yarn.  I better start realizing that a cast-cozy should be my next project.

It's not that I haven't been knitting...I've been too busy to blog. Really.

Seriously.

Blog, shmog - I'm just trying to do what we all do: get the basics done so maybe I can divvy up my twenty four hour day as efficiently as possible:

Home life
Parental life
Work life
Volunteer life and
if I'm lucky: Knit life.

Right now, I am up to my ying-yangs in holiday knitting.  I get most of my projects done on the subway these days.  Yes, I can knit while standing up and being shokelled around in a giant tin can filled with Hogtown's unwashed masses.  I'm an exhausted and motivated person who has come to accept that sleep is overrated and for the weak. Compact circular needles are great for public transit knitting, but sharp double pointed bamboo sticks will almost always guarantee you a seat! I'm not mean - I'm proactive.

So here it is: la grande 'catch up'. Things I have knitted since last I posted and didn't have time to share.

Last Chanukah, one my favorite people gave me the fabulous book Literary Knits by Nikol Lohr.
I love it!

Sydney Carton Cowl

For my awesome brother, I knit the Tale of Two Cities neck-warmer (yes - with an embedded morse code message), Little Women Jo Mittens for my most fabulous sis-in-law and some Tess of the D'Ubervilles fingerless gloves for the BFF who bought me the book.  I admit it, I'm a geek knitter - but the people for whom I create geeky knits: they get it (and they get me).

Also:  A couple of 'mazel tov, you got hitched' decorative one-of-a-kinds, lots and lots of 'welcome to the world' baby gifts, a cat toy (don't ask), a half dozen or so pairs of socks (who doesn't love socks? Surely your Bubbie knit you some socks--that's why you love(d) her so much!) and, Good Lord, so very many infinity scarves - too many...I stopped after I was asked how many I had knit in 2014 and I answered 'to infinity and beyond'.  When the pun becomes your retort, it is time to choose a new go-to gift.

I will not reveal my fresh off the sticks prezzies, but not to worry - Chanukah is less than two weeks away. A little patience, please...I'm knitting as fast as I can - in between subway stops.

close-up of my cryptic, Madame Defarge Magnum Opus

Knitting for 'Jo'

Jo's mitts

Thomas Hardy inspired fashion

If Tess was a downtown-dwelling hipster, she would have worn these, for sure!

Cute...even if I am ridiculously allergic to the little beasties.

The classic Song of Songs phrase: all knitted up and blinged out with beads.

Socks for a very special person in my life

Clearly you can get a lot of mileage out of 2 skeins of sock yarn

Son of Rebel Knitter: Maverick Knitter

It was like an episode of the Vinyl Cafe: Morley teaches Sam to knit.  I remember listening to Stuart McLean tell the story on the radio, making everyone in the house shush so I could hear it from beginning to end.  Wishing that my son would one day express the intent to knit, just like Sam.  It was, if I remember correctly, about a week or two after I had re-taught my daughter how to knit, perhaps for the third time.  Then, it happened. 

A month before his sister's birthday, my 9 year old decided he was going to learn how to knit so he could make his big sister a birthday present.  YES!  Better yet: it took him exactly 30 seconds to learn the garter stitch, less than 2 minutes to perfect it.  JOY!  One day into the new hobby, he had completed the first of what would become 5 separate birthday projects. YAY! 

By day three, 2 bracelets were complete and a super long scarf was on the needles.  Son of Rebel turns to his mother and says "Mom, I'm no good. You can knit soooooo much faster than me." "Well, sweetie, first of all, you're an awesome knitter, second of all I've been knitting since I was five years old. I can practically knit in my sleep." "FIVE????? You mean I could have learnt when I was five???? Why did you wait so long to teach me!?!?!?!?"  "Um... you didn't ask to learn." "I had to ask?!?!?!?!"

I told him that over the years, some of my best students have been boys. N ot sure why.  Perhaps because, as a society, we tend not to see boys as knitters, and the boys that ask to learn how to knit really, really, really want to learn, so they excel. Maybe. Maybe not.  Not sure.  Could also be that my boy knitters turned knitting into an Olympic event. Yes, speed knitting demons (see my book about Hanan and his Kibbutz friends who were competitive speed knitters - warmest IDF recruits up on Masada that cold, windy night!).  Over the years, there have been days when my Friday Afternoon Knitting club turned into Sports club.

Then some awfully cool things happened.  The conversation after dinner began to change: 

"Mom, if I take a shower, brush my teeth and get into my pyjamas real quick, can we watch The Rick Mercer Report and knit together before bed time?"  YES! YES! YES!

"Mom, are there any famous guy knitters?"
You betcha!
http://www.lionbrand.com/wordpress4/wp-content/uploads/2009/04/knittingmen.jpg


YES.  Ryan Gosling according to Vanity Fair http://www.vanityfair.com/online/oscars/2013/01/ryan-gosling-hobby-knitting-interview and Russell Crowe http://www.knittingonthenet.com/wallpaper/rc.htm  Sure, this might an urban legend, but who am I to argue with potential knitting eye-candy?

Jacques Plantes, perhaps, was the greatest hit with the little guy.  Proof that knitting skills leads to a solution minded thinker.  This awesome Habs goalie proves my mantra Knitters are Engineers!  Just saying!

I told my son about one of the later life learners I know named, Geoff.  Geoff learned how to knit when he was a young boy.  Everyone, boys, girls, you name it.... everyone knit socks for the soldiers.

http://www.examiner.com/article/knitting-for-our-troops
http://www.warmuseum.ca/cwm/education/toolkit/kitcrown_e.shtml

Found all these photos for him (G-d bless the internet)

Geoff, by the way, is still an outstanding knitter.  Knit one of the bears I sent over for Mother Bear Project, see the November 2010 Knittishisms blog post. You rock, Geoff!

By week two, my boy wanted his own fibre name.  I didn't have to think hard... he came to my room that evening in his pj's and his cowboy hat, et voila: Maverick Knitter was born.

Astute child!  Started using his camping headlamp when the light was iffy. Clever, clever offspring... Definitely a Jacques Plantes move! Got to get me one of those!

Well in advance of big sister's birthday, Maverick Knitter had completed 3 bracelets, a ring and a scarf longer than I am tall (and I am pretty tall).  Very impressive.

"What do I knit next Mom?"   "Well, I'm going to knit Uncle Jeff a birthday present."  "Me too!"  "Then off to the yarn store we go!"

Yarn shopping with my boy was a completely different experience than yarn shopping with my girl at the same age.  Five years ago, Mademoiselle was all "let's buy pink, and orange, and blue, and camo, and... and... and..."  that had been a pricey visit to the store: but an important one, nonetheless because of Lesson #1 Knitting for Children: if you want them to wear what you knit, let them help choose the yarn (colours and all -- and there will be a lot of colours.... sigh.)   Alas, yarn shopping with Maverick was an experience I can only describe as yarn shopping with a caveman. Yarn = Ball.  Ball = Throw. Throw. Throw. Throw. STOP!!!!!!!!!   Where did my mild mannered knitter boy go?  All of a sudden it's a Fred Flintstone meets Joe DiMaggio episode.  Eeegads. Thank goodness he's cute. Also, the store was not that busy, and, I can run and fetch quick. grrrr.

Interesting thing about boys knitting in public..... Maverick very quickly tuned into the fact that if he brought his knitting along to 'occupy' himself (read: showcase himself), people, especially older women, would come over and chat him up.  He scored big in my hair salon one day.  The Rihanna-look-alike even made him blush!  The ladies at his Bubbie's chair-yoga-class thought he was just adorable.... Smart kid, that Maverick.  Loves to be fawned over.


What is next for Maverick Knitter?  Not sure.
He has recently become enamoured with his new drum kit. 
Has he traded one set of sticks for another?

I think not.

I am certain this is just cross-training.