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usafphantom2 · 1 year

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The SR-71 Was Close to Perfect

A member of the Blackbirds’ ground crew looks back on the airplane’s flight-test beginnings to the end of the Blackbirds

This first photograph was taken of the SR-71 #972 when it was in a hangar near Dullas airport, waiting for the new Smithsonian Air and Space Museum to be open. Photo Eric long. The other two photographs were taken at Palmdale California December 21, 1989.

After a 480-mile flight from Beale Air Force Base in California, the midnight-black airplane swooped down to about 300 feet above Burbank Tower, less than 30 seconds after its scheduled arrival time of 12 noon. It made an easy half-roll, then completed two more passes. The parking garage roof where I stood reverberated with cheers, but as the Blackbird came in for its final pass, a hundred feet off the runway, and then pulled up just beyond the tower, the crowd fell silent. was December 1989, and this flyby, a gift to Lockheed employees from Ben Rich, head of Advanced Development Projects (the Skunk Works), marked the beginning of the end of the SR-71. After much debate in Congress, the Blackbirds were about to be retired. The YF-12A, the earlier, single-seat version of the SR-71, first flew in August 1963 and the Blackbird in December 1964. It was still unsurpassed when it was retired in 1990, 24 years after it officially entered service.

As I watched the SR-71 that December day, I thought back to the airplane’s flight-test beginnings in the early 1960s. I thought of Ben Rich, Ray Passon, Keith Beswick, and so many others whose lives were forever touched by this aircraft. I too was part of the Blackbird team, setting up housing, transportation, and communications—special measures due to the secrecy necessary. And above all of us was designer Kelly Johnson, who had a gift for sharing his ability to innovate and his drive to succeed. The unity of commitment we felt under leadership from Larry Bohanan in engineering and Dorsey Kammerer in production reached new intensity whenever Kelly arrived in the field. Sometimes he would good-naturedly arm-wrestle with people working there. His team members were hand-picked and fiercely loyal to him. He once offered $50 to anybody who could find an easy job to do. He got no takers. When it came to their specialties, the people working on the Blackbird were the best in the company, perhaps in the country or even the world. The last word in reconnaissance airplanes, the SR-71 was capable of flying faster than Mach 3 and above 85,000 feet. In fact, the SR-71 flew so fast that even in the cold of those rarefied heights, the friction of the air heated its titanium skin to 550 degrees Fahrenheit.

On the day the Blackbird took to the air for the first time, many of the ground crews showed up. I had worked all night, but sleep in those days seemed like nothing but a waste of time so I stayed to watch. The weather was perfect for a December day: clear and cold, with snow on the surrounding mountains. Somewhere around 8 a.m. the desert silence was shattered by the sound of the twin Buick V-8 engines used for the starters. Later, when the Blackbirds operated at their base at Beale, they had permanent start facilities in their hangars, but in the early days two highly modified 425-cubic-inch Buick Wildcats, an estimated 500 horsepower each, were used to turn a massive starter shaft that was inverted into the first one, then the other of the SR-71’s J-58 engines. One sound I shall never forgot is that of those unmuffled Buicks holding steady at better than 6,000 rpm in excess of 15 seconds at a time, all hours of the day and night. Starting the engines was no easy job.

Kelly Johnson stood by in his familiar dark blue suit and tie, smiling as he had a final word for the pilots.

Veteran crew chief standing next to me could only murmur, “Her enemies will never be natural.”( that was true. It was jealous people that were her enemy.)

Written by Jim Norris

@Habubrats71 via X

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aelaer · 4 years

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The Blood in My Veins: Pt 4

Heyyyy I'm back. Now that one of my big fic projects is done/being rolled out I can concentrate on getting this finished (as well as other prompts). Here are the earlier parts if you can't remember what happened in this long-running prompt fic, since my last update was like, the summer.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Prompt (via @ironstrangeprompts that I can’t tag for whatever reason qq): Kidnapped to play doctor for a still unseen other prisoner; Stephen realizes there is only one person on the planet who would have palladium in their blood.

The Warnings: Okay guys, I want to cover all bases for this part and all parts henceforth. The bad guy I've written here really really sucks. He's a complete asshole. Part of his assholeness can include behaviors such as racism, sexism, homophobic remarks, religious bigotry, and overall just being a terrible human being. This terrible human being is not a typical representative of his nation/culture and is very thankfully fictional. There's plenty of Canon-Typical Violence around, too. All of the above are not be in this specific part but could be in future parts (I'm writing this as I go so I truly don't know, I just know he’s a dickwad). I didn't know this section was gonna happen until I finished Part 2, for instance, otherwise I'd have put a note at the beginning. I'd consider the fic a heavy teen fic, if you're looking for a rating, so it shouldn't get to graphical violence beyond what you'd see in high teen rated content. Also, there's going to be Medical Procedures in the future, though more clinical rather than graphic. Hopefully that covers everything, please ask me anything if you have a question.

I always put these longer writings on tumblr into "read more" cuts, but the mobile app does not always work correctly if you're looking at the original post from my tumblr, so I apologise for the length if you're on the app and viewing the original and said cut is not working. Still unbetaed, all errors are mine.

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Part Four: Seeing Red Again

Another three days passed with little change in Stephen’s schedule. He went for his sleep shift at 12:30 a.m. New York time, and was woken up by one of the others between 5:20 to 5:30 a.m. It wasn't enough time for even two full complete sleep cycles, but everyone there—perhaps with exception to Steffen Baar, who was a chemist—had gone through grueling schedules during medical school and residency. So they were, in some ways, used to it.

After waking up, he had fifteen minutes to shower, shave, and change into the clothing about his size, provided for by his captors. From there, he then got to work. His sleep shift ended about three hours before dinner came—about 8:30 a.m. New York time—and a small snack arrived at what he assumed was this place's midnight, but was 2 p.m. according to his watch. Breakfast came twelve hours after dinner, at 8:30 p.m. in New York, and he went to bed again half an hour after midnight. Apparently while he slept, another snack break came for those awake.

The one small blessing in all of this was that the people holding them realized the power of caffeine and provided black tea and coffee every time they brought them food. He didn't think there were any cameras in the showers or toilets, either, which was—hopefully true. There was nothing obvious and, truth be told, he didn't really want to look much further for evidence.

Throughout his waking day, Stephen largely helped prep samples for blood analysis. He tried to strategize with Summer about how to best utilize their resources, should a surgery be required, but they had little to go on. They had yet to receive better X-rays of their patient—of Tony Stark, which still baffled Stephen—so much of their planning was about logistics.

"Doctors in the United States are required to complete a surgical rotation in their third year of med school," Stephen said, "so Jada will know basic surgical procedures. Do you need to do the same in the UK?"

"Yes," Summer answered. "All doctors go through the two-year Foundation Programme which always includes training in general surgery. So Dr Mahajan will be able to assist us as well."

"They can serve as our nurses and techs," Stephen muttered. "But what about Dr Baar?"

Summer pursed her lips together. "No medical training—but I would rather have him on hand than not. If we said we can't use him…"

Stephen grimaced and nodded. "Point. He can certainly hold a retractor." He blew out a breath. "We'll need a heart-lung machine. Those aren't easy to come by."

"None of this machinery is," she pointed out, jutting her chin to the advanced machinery scattered around the room. "I don't think that will be an issue for us. Whoever these people are, they have resources."

He pursed his lips together. "We also need an anesthesiologist."

She paused at that and sighed. "Yes. Yes, we need one of those. Unfortunately, I think we're going to be working with someone on their team if the surgery happens."

Stephen made a face. "What makes you think that?"

"When they first showed me the X-rays, I told them I would need another surgeon for the spinal area—you—and an anesthesiologist. They only spoke about finding me a surgeon, so they must have their own medical team that includes one."

He sighed. "Of course they do. He better be competent."

Summer shrugged. "Not much we can do about it. And there's not much more we can plan on this hypothetical surgery until I have better X-rays."

And so that ended that discussion and, three days later, there were no changes on that end. No new X-rays had come in, so both he and the other surgeon were stuck helping prepare samples and input data. And Stephen hadn't been so bored in years.

One wouldn't think that being captive would be boring, especially if one was doing medical work during that time. But when said medical work was repetitive lab work he hadn't done since med school? And doing it for about fifteen hours a day for three days straight with no music, no reading, no nothing to help bring some distraction or variety to his work? It was absolutely mind-numbing. A small part of him wasn't entirely sure if he could survive like this for—how long did Jada said Stark had to live without a cure or intervention? Two months? He couldn't do this for two months. He was going out of his mind after three days.

It was about halfway through his shift on the fourth day that he regretted ever thinking that he was bored.

He was typing up results from various tests performed by Jada when the door to the room was suddenly slammed open. Startled, Stephen immediately turned towards the sound, only to see five men enter, all of them with guns pointed to the rest of the room. Beside him, Jada immediately threw her hands on top of her head, and he quickly followed suit.

"Come quietly! Do not fight!" said one of the men. Stephen couldn't even begin to guess his accent; maybe it was Eastern European? Russian? Former Soviet bloc in Asia? Somewhere in that rather wide region of the world, which wasn't particularly helpful information considering there were some twenty to thirty countries there.

Summer was the doctor currently asleep, though looking over his shoulder, Stephen saw that she had woken up to the sound and was pushing herself up. But he couldn't look at her or the other doctors long as he was grabbed by one of the men and forced to walk. The gun the man carried quickly negated any ideas of retaliation.

They were led down a hall; he could see Steffen, Meera, and Jada in front of him, all being led in the same rough manner he was going through. The walk itself wasn't very long, perhaps a minute, but to Stephen it felt like every second was dragging. Despite his best efforts, his heart was starting to race at this new development.

The man with Steffen finally stopped in front of a door and unlocked it, then shoved the chemist inside. Within seconds, Stephen was at the door and being pushed forward himself. He took a quick look around, as much as he could without moving much: a large room with concrete walls and no windows, just like where he and the other doctors were being kept. Cot in the corner. Table with a computer and covered in bits of wires and electronics that he couldn't begin to label. Two other men armed with enormous guns—some sort of automatic rifles—and then one man who was crossing his arms and staring at him and his fellow doctors with a look that immediately put Stephen on edge. This man, this man radiated the air of a person in charge.

And then there was him. The famous Tony Stark, or Iron Man as he was calling himself these days. He looked like a former shadow of himself, being several pounds thinner and bearing a sickly pallor that Stephen immediately noticed, even during these circumstances.

A look of surprise was upon Stark's hollow face, but even as Stephen focused more upon him, it was quickly replaced by the cool anger of a man biting his tongue.

All five doctors were maneuvered to face Stark in a line before being forced to their knees. Stephen bit his lip to hold back a grunt of pain from his knees hitting the concrete floor.

"You say you are 'calling my bluff' with your medical team," said the man. He pushed himself off the wall and passed out of Stephen's line of sight. "Here they are." He started at Stephen's right as he went through the doctors. "Steffen Baar, chemist." A step closer. "Jada Ferguson, hematologist." Another step, and he heard Doctor Mahajan inhale sharply. "Meera Mahajan, pathologist."

Another step, and the man was behind him. To Stephen's utter horror, he felt cold metal press against the back of his head. "Stephen Strange, neurosurgeon." The metal then left his head and he heard another step. "Summer Weston, cardiothoracic surgeon." Another step, and he could see the man in the corner of his eye again, this time on his left.

Tony Stark kept his lips pressed in a tight line as their captor went through the line. When he finished, the billionaire swallowed and looked at them all. "Good job keeping me alive this long, docs," he said.

"Not good enough, Stark," the man snapped. "Their solution is only a band aid. They give you but a few more weeks. They are called the best doctors in the world, and they cannot yet make a cure?"

Stephen forcefully held back his retort regarding the man's utter ignorance. It was an outright miracle they found any sort of solution as quickly as they did to delay the spread!

Stark, it seemed, agreed with him, and had no such reservations with holding back. "That's insane, Yusifov. It takes teams of doctors months, if not years to create what you're looking for."

He couldn't see it, but Stephen could almost feel the sneer from their captor, this Yusifov. "In that case, you don't need this many doctors, do you?" A couple steps and he was again behind Stephen, further to the right. "I'm no doctor, but as far as I can tell, these two both look at blood and try to fix the problem. Neither of them fixed it, not fully. So who do you want to keep, Stark? The black American or the Indian Brit? One less woman won't make a difference."

Stephen dared a glance to his right when he heard quick breathing. Doctor Mahajan was visibly shaking and starting to hyperventilate; to her right, Doctor Ferguson was quiet, but her lips trembled and tears pricked her eyes.

Stark stepped forward, and several guns rose at the action. He stopped but held his ground, raising his hands. "Don't do this."

"Why not?" the man retorted. "You refuse to work because you are dying. They have failed you and one will pay the price. Perhaps both; they are both from lesser races."

As Stephen processed the fact that he heard a comment like that in fucking 2010, Doctor Mahajan's breathing accelerated into full on hyperventilation. His medical mind noticed it immediately.

But another was quicker to the draw. "Breathe through your nose, Meera," Summer said lowly. "Try to inhale for one-one thousand, then exhale through pursed lips. You can—"

"Shut up!"

Doctor Weston was smacked on the back of her head hard enough to send her sprawling to the floor.

And Stephen snapped.

Now, if one were to ask Doctor Stephen Strange, he would by no means consider himself heroic or noble. His role as a doctor was one of service, but even within his relatively short time as a neurosurgeon, he had already gained a prestige that recognized his rising star and already people in the medical community were considering him in the top ranks of neurosurgeons. Soon, demand for his expertise would be large enough for him to have the option to turn away those who weren't worth his time, and he felt not a lick of guilt for that. His skills were valuable.

But to hear this brute of a man first throw slurs at two of the most brilliant women—no, the most brilliant doctors—in their fields followed by an outright assault on the other caused a protectiveness Stephen hadn't felt since his sister's death to completely overtake him. He saw red.

He leaped up at Yusifov in a fiery anger, no particular idea in mind except stop him from hurting anyone rushing through his head. At this point there was little thought, only adrenaline and a near primal fury running through his veins. It wasn't like him to be so hot-headed; he was a man who kept his cool under the most stressful of circumstances. But perhaps several days of poor sleep combined with the stress of the situation finally got to him. When he thought about it in the aftermath, even he would admit he had no idea what he was thinking.

It was a spur-of-the-moment decision he would come to regret.

In one moment he managed to knock the pistol out of Yusifov's hands and punched him in the face. He recognized screaming, shouting, fighting in the noises behind him, but he was focused on his own target.

Stephen hit him twice more before someone threw an arm around his neck and dragged him back and began to choke him. He clawed at the arm, which did nothing, but then he aimed his heel down right to the sensitive part of his attacker's instep. The man grunted in pain and the grip around his neck loosened.

A shot shattered through the enclosed space, causing Stephen to freeze in surprise—and that proved to be his downfall. He saw Yusifov raising his pistol just before he was whipped across the face with the weapon. The hit threw him off balance and he fell to the floor and lay there for a second, stunned. He felt wetness on the side of his head.

As Stephen attempted to push himself up, a kick to his back sent him back to the floor. An involuntary grunt of pain escaped him. He closed his eyes, pausing for breath, but was given little time to recover as he was grabbed by both arms and dragged up to his knees. From his new position, he could see the rest of the room once more, and Stephen's heart skipped a beat at what was before him.

There were several alarming sights: Tony Stark on his knees just like him, nose bloodied. One of the gunmen near Stark with a screwdriver sticking in his neck and very much dead. Summer in the corner of the room, holding a shaking Meera against her chest.

And Doctor Steffen Baar on the ground, bleeding out from his stomach as Jada desperately tried to stem the blood flow with her sweater. The red dripped through the fabric and onto the concrete.

Stephen felt ill. He instinctively reached forward towards Steffen, to try and help, but the grip on his arms tightened and kept him in place.

Stark was the one to speak first. "Let them help him. I won't fight further. I'll do what you ask."

Yusifov came back into Stephen's line of sight as he stepped in front of him, though his gaze was on Stark. He said to the engineer, "You killed one of my men. A life for a life—that is fair, wouldn't you say?"

"He did nothing," Stark hissed, pulling against the hands that held him down. Stephen could see the men pull him back and tighten their grip in response. "And he's needed. You wouldn't have brought him here otherwise."

"He didn't do anything," Yusifov agreed, then turned to Stephen. "This one did." He then sent a sharp kick into Stephen's stomach, causing him to double over in pain as far as the men holding him allowed. He almost missed the next statement. "And I should kill him for it. But the surgeon will be needed. The chemist, though? He failed to make a cure for your ailment with a month of time, and you don't have much longer to live, Stark. The chemist failed, and at this point, he's a waste of medical resources."

Then Yusifov nodded at one of his men, and he grabbed Jada by the arm and yanked her up to her feet.

"No—please, no, don't do this!" she shouted as she was dragged away from Steffen. Their captors ignored her and Yusifov walked up to the wounded man. He aimed his pistol at Steffen's head.

"Don't do this!" Stark shouted.

A shot rang through the room. A loud sob came from the corner before it was muffled. Stephen's ears rang, half deafened from the sound. His stomach churned; he felt like he was going to vomit. He hung his head and closed his eyes, trying to breathe slow breaths through his nose.

All he could smell was blood. He forcefully suppressed his gag reflex.

Stephen missed whatever conversation came next, too busy trying to calm his breathing, trying not to throw up, and not having the energy to make out the words beyond the ringing in his ears. But then the world was moving as he was pulled to his feet and shoved out of the room, leaving behind Tony Stark and the body of Doctor Steffen Baar.

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I was stuck on what I wanted to do with this part with a handful of ideas and consulted my beta for ideas. She suggested death which I wasn't even thinking of because I'm very bad at killing off characters. I blame her fully :P

Tag list (just let me know if you want to be added/removed with a comment - still not on AO3!): @sobeautifullyobsessed, @tashacumberbitch, @babywarg, @nishtha3012, @ragingstillness, @walkin-in-the-cosmos (I think the reason I can’t tag you is because you’ve flagged your tumblr for sensitive media, possibly), @lafourmii20, @asexualchemist, @iveneverbeenmorestressedinmylife, @oo0-will-of-the-wisp-0oo, @animefanfreak45, @rulerofthefandomsnow, @killaspyglass, @renlybaratheon-tyrell, @symmetria42, @kay-lock-key-lock

#tony stark #stephen strange #avengers fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #mcu #prompt fill #my writing #my fanfiction

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lionheartslowstart · 4 years

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Getting To Know Me

I had a rough start during quarantine. My mental health was dipping pretty low, I felt isolated and bored, and I was alone with my thoughts so the body dysmorphia was turned up pretty high. I’m not sure what happened, but somehow, I was able to do a complete 180. I’m taking the time to change my lifestyle and find ways to make myself happier, because, what the fuck else am I going to do during quarantine?

First things first, I’ve changed my sleep cycle. Huzzah! I went from falling asleep at 3-5 am and waking up at 1-3 pm, to falling asleep at 10-11:30 pm and waking up at 7-8:30 am. Crazy right? Somewhere in there I hit a couple bumps in the road, so now it’s been more like falling asleep around midnight and waking up between 9 and 10. Still way better than how it was before, but I’m trying to work back down to at least 8 in the morning. This was incredibly challenging for me, and a huge victory. My energy levels have increased, and my mood has generally been better.

I’ve started doing yoga. Yes, you read that correctly. I’ve been doing yoga for almost three weeks now. It’s the first thing I do when I wake up. My best friend turned me on to this amazing app, Daily Yoga. Highly recommend. I do yoga for two days in a row then rest the third day, which is what the app suggests. I’ve been taking courses, beginner courses specifically since I’m new to this whole yoga thing. The sessions started at about 10-15 minutes, and they’ve increased to 20-30 minutes or so. Not very long, but I figure I’m doing it almost every day, which I’m told is better than long, intense workouts less frequently. I’m hoping to increase to 45-60 minute long sessions. Though, once society resumes and I start school, I may no longer be able to do it every day. But that’s why I’m trying to increase now. If I can only do yoga a few times a week instead of every day, I want to be stronger so I can participate in longer routines, and so I can challenge myself with more difficult poses.

In addition to my almost daily yoga, I have a short work out regimen I do every day, including on days I don’t do yoga. I do 100 squats, 50 crunches, 50 lower abdominal crunches, and 60 oblique crunches. Every. Single. Day. Some days I don’t want to, but I force myself, and I’m always glad I do. I also try to go on walks, especially on non-yoga days. There’s a lovely trail right by my apartment, so I try to get in at least 30 minutes. Like I said, I’ve only been doing this stuff for about three weeks, so it’s not like I’ve lost weight or anything. But I do feel stronger, and I think I look a little stronger. Also, my butt is poppin’ thanks to all the squats. I don’t know if it’s because I’m feeling stronger, or because the exercise is helping with my mental health, maybe a bit of both, but my body dysmorphia has seen a drastic decrease. Don’t get me wrong, I absolutely still have bad days, but I would say that, overall, I’m obsessing about my body less, and shitting on my body less. There have even been several days where I see myself in the mirror and think, Damn, I look good.

Other than fitness, I have added a couple of other things to my day-to-day. I’ve been making sure to practice my Spanish on Duolingo every day for about ten minutes. Not only that, but I started taking French, too, which I also practice for ten minutes a day. Unlike Spanish, French is very difficult for me. I’ve studied Spanish since middle school, and while there was a large lapse in my speaking of it, it came back to me very quickly. I’ve always loved the language, and grasping it came easy to me. French, not so much. It’s way harder than Spanish. Just, generally. The grammar is less consistent, most of the differences in words are in how things are written out and NOT how they are actually spoken, so as a result, all of the words sound the fucking same, there are 80 fucking vowels to memorize, and, to top it all off, the pronunciation is super difficult already. I hate it. I love it. The challenge is the fun! My mom and I were supposed to go to France this summer (fat chance now, I know), which is why I chose French as my second language to learn. My mom speaks French, but I figure if I’m going to be spending time in a foreign country, I might as well at least try to understand what’s going on around me, as opposed to solely relying on my mother to get us around.

Another thing I’ve been working on is learning guitar. This is something I’d been doing before quarantine began, but being in quarantine has allowed me to practice a lot more. I’ve added guitar practice to my regimen, although there’s been a pause in that, as the handle for the case broke on the way to my mom’s house for a lesson, so the guitar will be remaining there until the new case arrives. But before that (and presumably after we get the new case), I’d been practicing every day. I would practice all the chords I know and play through the two songs I’ve been working on two or three times. At my most recent lesson with my mom, we downloaded a P!nk song online, and she taught me a new chord so I could play it. Now I know 10 chords: G, C, D, D7, Em, E, A, Am, A7sus, and Bb (aka, the hardest chord ever). Obviously, I still have a lot to learn, but I’m proud of the progress I’ve made. Guitar is hard, but I’m determined.

So, these 5 things (yoga, daily workout, Spanish, French, and guitar, in that order) are how I begin my day, every day. I usually finish anywhere from 10 to noon, depending on how early I wake up. This frees up the rest of my day for household chores, errands, cooking, calling my friends, video games, overall chillaxin’, and various creative endeavors like crafting or writing. But this has led to two different results, one positive and one negative.

The positive effect is that I have a schedule. My mornings are pretty set in stone, and I try to organize the rest of my day as best I can. I use a “To Do List” every day, and I include my leisurely activities on it as well so I can put everything in some kind of order. I try to accomplish any chores or errands I have in the middle of the day (with the exception of doing the dishes and cleaning the stove, which I do every night after dinner), and spend the rest of the day having fun and relaxing. I end every night by reading in bed for about thirty minutes, which has definitely helped with my sleep cycle. All of this has led me to the conclusion that I can be functional in a regular society.

The negative outcome is that I’m still bored. When I was living in Italy, I was constantly anxious because life is so slow-paced there. Other than my classes, I felt like I had nothing to do, which was a stark difference from life in the Big Apple. It just felt weird to have all this time on my hands, and as a result, I often felt unproductive. I also didn’t take as much advantage of the free time as I should have, but that largely had to do with the state of my mental health at the time, as well as just not being used to having buttloads of leisure time and therefore not knowing what to do with it. With everything going on, life right now feels really similar to how it did in Italy. Like I said, I finish my routine by the end of the morning, and then the rest of my day is just a big blank space that I try to fill with everything and anything else.

But even this has led to another positive realization! When I started this journey three weeks ago, I was afraid that when society reforms, my schedule will fall apart and I’ll become overwhelmed because I’ll suddenly have a lot of other things I need to do (namely school and medical appointments). I definitely still have anxiety about that, especially since school will be incredibly demanding, but that anxiety is beginning to lesson. Why? For the same reason I’m bored all the time! My morning routine only takes a couple hours. Even if I have to switch to the evening because of school, or split it up into half one day and half another, it will still be manageable. I know I will have space for the other demands in my life. As my mom has said to me, it’s a lot easier to go from having one schedule to having a different schedule, than to go from having no schedule at all to having a schedule. I’m sure there will be adjustments, maybe ones I haven’t thought of. But I’ll be able to figure it out, even if there are bumps in the road (which I’m sure there will be), because I’m building a skillset.

So, what does all of this have to do with the title of this entry, “Getting To Know Me?” I was on the phone with my therapist the other day, telling her about all the progress and positive changes I’ve made, and how I’ve been feeling as a result. She responded, “You’re getting to know yourself.” This took me by surprise, which I voiced to her. I told her that I’ve always prided myself on knowing exactly who I am, but I nevertheless thought she was right. That, yes, I do know Who I Am, but, as with everything else, I’m discovering even more. I keep peeling back layer after layer, I keep thinking I’ve reached the core, but then I tap a few times and realize, Oh fuck yeah! There’s even more!

I’ve learned that I like waking up early in the morning. My goal is to be able to wake up at 7 or 7:30 every day. (This doesn’t change the fact that I love nighttime, which will no doubt cause me issues down the line, but I’ll figure it out.) I love learning languages. I want to be able to speak Spanish and French fluently. Maybe I’ll even try learning Italian after! I want to be able to speak as many languages as I can cram into my brain. I’ve learned that I can take this fitness journey, and I’m enjoying it. It’s okay that I’m still a beginner, and that doesn’t mean I’m not capable of being an expert if I keep going. And I can live without sweets. I still treat myself every now and then (and when I do, portion control is still an issue I’m trying to work on), but for the most part I don’t crave chocolate or sugar the way I used to. I’m currently attempting to go two weeks without dairy. Now that has been HARD. The exceptions being anything that comes with my Blue Apron meals, because I’m not going to waste food, and putting a little bit of milk in my coffee, because I can’t not have a little bit of milk in my coffee. But in terms of breakfast, lunch, and snacking, zero dairy. I’ve substituted Pringles and Pop Tarts for fruits, applesauce, and (non-dairy) yogurt. I’m only on day three, but I’m confident I can make it to day fourteen. I’ve learned that I have more energy than I thought I did, which is huge. I’d been so used to feeling sluggish and exhausted, I had no idea I have the capacity to feel this energized! The best part is that I know it’s because I’m doing all of these things that MAKE me feel energized. And they make me feel energized because they make me happy. Even sitting here writing this, I’ve just thought of more things I want to work on while I have this time. And I’m going to! I have the time, all I need to do is remember to add it to my To Do List.

I know it’s a scary time right now. I don’t want to pretend it isn’t, or that a lot of lives haven’t been lost, or that we shouldn’t take it seriously. But taking it seriously involves staying at home as much as possible, and if we’re stuck at home anyway, shouldn’t we make the most of it?

#personal #reflection #self love #healing #fitness

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usafphantom2 · 1 year

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The SR-71 Was Close to Perfect

A member of the Blackbirds’ ground crew looks back on the airplane’s flight-test beginnings to the end of the Blackbirds

Kelly Johnson stood by in his familiar dark blue suit and tie, smiling as he had a final word for the pilots.

Veteran crew chief standing next to me could only murmur, “Her enemies will never be natural.”( that was true. It was jealous people that were her enemy.)

Written by Jim Norris

@Habubrats71 via Twitter

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