It's Official

Well, Boy Genius is officially a genius. Well, maybe not uber genius as in that Marilyn Savant chic or Einstein, but he's in the 98th percentile of kids his age and has been officially placed in "Gifted". He's on top of the world. I'm forever limited to shirts with some stretch so I don't bust a button. From pride. I'm endowed, but not that much. I digress.

So, in my little "pep talk" to him, I stressed that we'd all been given gifts and that one of his was his mind. I told him that he had a responsibility to use his mind to his greatest ability. This got me thinking on my own life, my own potential, my own need to reach.

So I did something definitive (first I went for a 30+ mile ride, which was awesome, but then I did the definitive thing). I registered for the LSAT in June. Yes, I am insane. I've been toying with the idea of law school since shortly after I started working at The Firm. I just haven't done any follow through. And lately the comment "you should go to law school" has been coming up. Repeatedly. So, I decided to follow my own advice and let Spirit lead me where it will. I might bomb the test - which would be definative - or I might not. All I can do is give it my best.

Dang, the things you learn from your kids.

Why?

Bolder, your friend and mine, recently posed the challenge that those of us in blogland begin to address the “why” of what we do, rather than just the “what”. I love a challenge.

When I first started this, waaay back in December of 2006, I said that “Why is subjective, everchanging and unimportant.. . What is key.” I’m not sure I completely agree with that anymore. For me, the “what” has always been evolution, growth (not the kind that comes with a box of Ding Dongs and a couch – been there, done that, bought the frickin’ t-shirt). And for me, that “what” is also the “why”. Truly, the minute I stop evolving, y’all might as well just put me into the ground. I don’t believe there’s such a thing as “arrival”, its always the journey. That would seem exhausting until you understand that the journey may be hardship, challenge, discomfort, and fear but it is also joy, exhilaration, accomplishment, and peace. All of those things shape us, refine us, bring us closer to becoming the person we are meant to be.

I’m not exactly sure why I chose triathlon (or why it chose me) for this particular stretch of my journey. I just know that this is my way – at least right now. I trust in Spirit enough to just go with it and see where it takes me. So far, its taken me some pretty amazing places.

I never considered myself athletic. I’m really not sure why – I was a very active kid, learned to ski when I was two, was the fastest kid in my third grade class, could jump farther than anyone in the fifth grade. I had a promising future in track and field as a middle schooler – but I just quit. I had convinced myself that I wasn’t good at sports. How strange, really. I’m sure there is a lot of soul and psyche searching to lead to the answer to that – not going to go there now. Instead, I go out there everyday, pulled by something greater than I am, and prove that I am athletic. Prove that I can do plenty of things I’d never dreamed I could. So it seems that part of my journey right now is busting down my own self inflicted limitations – debunking myths I made up about myself.

Its also about learning to be tough. I’ve been through some emotionally tough things in my life – sought those things out, really. – and proved to myself that I could handle just about anything life threw my way. Now its time for more enjoyable challenges – tough times that are fun times – like riding twenty two hilly miles on an actual road (with cars and everything), running until I think my lungs are coming out of my throat, and swimming until I’m sure I’ll sink to the bottom. Its all good times, even when I’m sweating and wanting to whine ( to nobody), and all of it makes me stronger.

That’s my “why” – at least the part that I can semi-articulate. What’s yours? Post a comment or put a link to your own blog with your own “why”. I’d love to hear what gets you out the door when part of you would rather sleep, what drives you to race and train and sweat and bleed and love this crazy-ass sport.

Far From Home

I had a dream the other night when I was somewhere between sleeping and waking. I could see a speck far in the distance and I wondered what that was, way over there. The answer came immediately, as it often does in dreams. That far away place was my Comfort Zone. A place I left quite a while ago with some reluctance and little real knowledge of where I was heading. Every time I get on my bike, trembling or not; every time I try something new - a Masters Class, a bootcamp yesterday (super big fun! and I'm incredibly sore), a race, a team meeting; every time I run just a little bit farther or a little bit faster, I leave that place a little bit farther behind. And you know what, its not that uncomfortable out here, far far away from my old Comfort Zone. Its actually pretty fun. Another thing - a lot of what resides way back there in the Comfort Zone is pretty uncomfortable. Like those mean old Bitches who convince me that I can't do the things I dream of doing. Sure they try to follow me out here, but they can't hang for long. They have to retreat back to their homes, away from my fire, away from Bravery. A different body hung out there too. It wasn't a bad body. Or even that out of shape - I ran and stayed active and that was fine. But this body is different. Every day its a little more changed, a little harder, a little stronger, a little more ready to get up out of the chair and stir it up. Funny thing happened today. I had to go to the courthouse to file some pleadings and I kept setting the metal detector off. I took off everything metal and it still kept going off. The dude had to wave his little wand around. Turned out it was my butt that was setting the thing off. I'm not kidding. He asked if I had something in my pocket. "Nope," I said "I guess its just my buns of steel;)" I can dream.

So, yeah. Its kind of nice out here. I'm sure eventually this will become my Comfort Zone. Then I'll have to pick up and move again. Because the real truth is, eventually, your Comfort Zone becomes your Prison.

Better Days

Today Rocked. Especially in the light of last week, it was a very good day.

First - I finally went to the Master's Swim group that meets in a very convenient place for me. Like right across the street. Why haven't I done this before you ask? Because in the immortal words of Alanis Morissette, "I'm brave, but I'm chicken sh*t." I was so worried that I'd get left in the dust. If that's possible in a pool. That I wouldn't be able to do the workout and I would disrupt the entire group.

I was right about one thing. I wasn't able to do the entire workout. But it wasn't a problem. There were plenty of lanes and I had 1/2 a lane to myself, nobody tapping my toes. The coach on deck was incredibly helpful and encouraging. Apparently, my hand entry is "great". Who knew? I need to work on keeping my front arm out a bit longer, especially when I breathe, but I was starting to get the rhythm of that before I left. The most beautiful thing was, I was able to get in 2400 yards - 1000 more than I could have fit if I was swimming at my old venue. Which is more expensive. And lonely. And no one gives you helpful pointers and tells you that your hand entry is "great". I have to swim there on Saturday, because "my" group doesn't meet on Saturdays, but I'm never going back there for a weekday swim. Not in the foreseeable future, anyway!

Work was tolerable - though I was a lazy butt today. The weather was still cool but much improved - sun and everything.

After work, I pulled Pyro out of my trunk (my wonderful husband put her in there while I was rushing around getting ready for work - my attorney forgot his keys - on the morning before a trial - so I had to go in early to get the file and bring it too him at the courthouse. Yes, I am amazing. And Hubby rocks for putting Pyro in the car. You Rock, Hubby!! But I digress.) I pulled Pyro out of the trunk, shaking miserably (me, not the bike), got on anyway (after cell-phone encouragement from Hubby - Again, Hubby is Rockin'), and rode about ten miles. Fifteen was the plan but I'm having fit issues that result first in painful hands after about 2 miles then in numb hands that don't work properly. For like days. Weird. But I digress. Once I got over the traffic (five minutes), I started having fun. I started hauling a$$ (when I wasn't stopping at a stop sign). 20mph was starting to feel normal - where before it felt terrifying and I immediately backed off. I didn't ride the brakes on every hill. I totally caught this dude on the hills and passed him - he kept going past me on the downhills or at intersections cause he was braver, but I'd get him on the uphill (well, I caught up with him and passed him twice). Very cool. I've discovered that I like saying "On your left." I was hoping I wasn't irritating him but the last time he passed, he had to go right because I was a bit to the left and a car was coming and he said "On your right" with a grin. We both gave each other good natured chuckles and he was off. I would have caught him. Totally. But I had reached my office again. I wish I could have gone longer, but it was good to get some quality time in and to see that speedometer around 20mph for most of the way back.

Big Fun.

Have a great week, all!

Funk

OK, so I've been lurking and reading, but I haven't been posting on my blog in awhile. Well, in a week.

In case you couldn't tell from my last post, I've been in sort of a funk. Totally hormone induced. I know those of you with ovaries are feelin' me. (That just sounds wrong.)

The new and improved cold as a witches t*t weather hasn't helped. Or the fact that I have to work tomorrow - on a Saturday?!?!.

But there it is. My funk.

Thanks to my intrepid readers for your support. You guys rock.

I'm going back in my cave to brood over my trainer workout tomorrow. And going to work. On a Saturday.

I'm sure next week will be better.

Newb

Sometimes, I hate being a newb. I hate not knowing what I'm doing. I hate looking like a dork on the bike and in the pool and like an old man on the run. I hate my pudge. I hate that all of it is still so hard - even when my mileage is nothing compared to many of my teammates. I hate it when I break some unbelievable barrier for me and the people who are closest to me don't really want to hear about it or don't think its a big deal. I hate that I have to say "I'm training for a triathlon" when it'd be so much easier to say "I'm a triathlete." But I can't say that yet. I don't feel like I've earned it. I hate that I work so hard and still don't feel like I've earned it.

Sometimes I love being a newb. I love it that almost every other week, I have a breakthrough workout because all of this is so new. I love that I feel like I'm seven years old on the bike and just discovering how to make this thing go - and discovering that it can go FAST and I can laugh with the wind in my hair and I won't fall down. I love that when I do fall down, I realize that its really not that bad. I love that I have matching skinned knees and when I wear a dress I look like a tomboy. I love that I keep discovering new muscles where there used to be just soft stuff. I love that I'm starting to feel like a swimmer in the pool. I love that I'm running faster than I ever thought I could "back in the day" when I first started running and I was the slowest runner I knew. I love that my skin smells like chlorine. I love it that I know I can only get better at this.

I love it that, while there are a few athletes I've met that treat me with a removed disdain because I'm a newb, there are people out there like you guys - who encourage me and cheer me on - and who accept my encouragement and cheers - and that, in general, triathletes are such good, fun and intelligent people. I look forward to earning my place among you.

Score for The Day

Phoenix - 1 Demons - 0




Kahuna's poignant post about the demons he has conquered only to have them rise again reminds me that all of us have our demons to battle, whether we are Ironmen with a following of thousands or little newbs in training with a handful of "peeps" - whom I am incredibly grateful for. Have I said that recently? How overwhelmed I am by your support? Its true, you guys give me courage in the face of fears that would otherwise defeat me. My demons are many and varied - as I suppose is true for us all. Sometimes they have the voice of my father, sometimes my boss, an ex-husband, an ex-boyfriend, a rude stranger on the street. When they are at their worst, they speak in my own voice. That's when they are toughest to resist. On the run they nag at how slow I am, how I'll get passed by everyone, how clumsy I'll look (and, uh, demon-thingys, I'm not that slow. And even if I was, who cares, you can't hang for more than a mile or two anyway. You don't have the guts to run. Wusses.), in the pool they nag about my form, how everyone can tell that I'm not a "swimmer", that, once again, I'm slow. However, its when I'm on the bike that they have their nastiest fun. "You're going to fall." "You're a spaz." "That's way too much bike for you." And most powerfully, "You are going to get hit by a car." They had me convinced of that one - and variations on its theme - that I wasn't good enough on the bike, that I'd veer into the path of a well wishing motorist, that I'd fall over right when a car was behind me. I know that it happens, that its a real possibility - but I could get hit by a car on a run, or on my way to work, or crossing the street. Mortality gets us all at some point. Allowing fear to stop us from doing what we dream of is letting the bitch-demons get the best of us.

Yesterday, I decided to take those bitches out for a ride. On the road. For 20 miles.

I took off a couple of days to spend with the kids on their Spring Break. (So, there you go Bold, I got a March break too!) I decided to take advantage of my time and the beautiful weather so I got up early, loaded up Pyro and headed a little south to the "country" and a route I had created based on some cyclists' reports. I drove it first to familiarize myself with the route, the terrain (insert demon-thingy nagging "you can't handle those hills. you're going to walk."), the traffic.
There wasn't any shoulder for most of the route but there were very few blind curves, a slow speed limit and almost no cars in sight. Those that were on the road were going slow. So, I decided I could handle it. Well, I kind of decided that. As I parked the car and prepared to ride, I was shaking like a leaf. The Bitches (as they will heretofore be known) were furiously working to keep me off of that road. They shifted to that "concerned" tone - "You don't need to push yourself so far so soon, you should think about safety . . . blah, blah, blah" But, logically, I knew there was no better route than this. That it was now or never. It was time to ride.

I got on Pyro with the thought that I might not make the whole route - and that that was OK, I was just going to start the ride and I could always turn around if I had to. Then, something surprising happened - first, I made the first difficult hill - it was hard, I was going slow and breathing hard, but I made it. Second, a few cars came up behind me, slowed and then easily passed me - plenty of room, absolutely no problem. Then, shockingly, I started to have a blast! I love winding country roads - and this one was beautiful, it climbed up a ridge and into a small town, then followed the ridge for a bit, dropped into the valley, followed the river, then climbed back up and dropped down once more. Flowering trees, new leaves and impossibly green grass kept me company throughout. Most of the motorists seemed to know exactly what to do about me. One exception was a young teenage kid who just couldn't bring himself to go around me. He didn't get up close on me, but, even when I signaled him that he could go, when I could see there was nothing coming up ahead, he just wouldn't go. Finally, I found a driveway and pulled over for him. As he passed I gave him this look like "Happy?" and then promptly fell over. Bad Karma. That was my only brush with death on the ride.

I did get lost, though it turned out to be serendipitous. I was having such a blast cruising along, watching the river, marveling at the beauty of the place, that I missed my turnoff. It took awhile before I realized what I had done and, of course, there were no gas stations or passers by to ask for directions. The last thing I wanted to do was call Hubby and tell him I was lost. Luckily, I found a guy building a house and asked him for directions. Fortunately, the very next road connected to my loop and it was a great road for cycling. There were some vicious hills, but I saw all of one car (the teenager with a passing disability) the entire time. I passed two groups of cyclists there, also, so that proves it was a good road for riding.


(um, p.s. that's not one of the vicious hills, just a nice pic of the road. Just to be sure we're clear)

There was only one other "motorist incident". It happened when I was almost back - a dump truck came up behind me and had to wait about 30 seconds while an oncoming car passed before he could get by me. As he went by, he said out of his open window, "You don't belong on this road, baby." Yes I do. And I'm not your baby.

Afterwards, we took the kids for a ride on Grant's Trail, the place I've been doing my training. I got out the mountain bike and enjoyed going slower. I was proud of the kids - they covered ten miles. It was a fun way to spend the afternoon.



Later, when the high from the ride wore off, when the fire that my courage had built started to die down, the demons tried to come back to play. "Geez, you were slow on that ride - and it was only 22 miles. You're tired now, how are you going to do that Oly distance in September" "You'll never finish the Oly." "You don't belong on that road, baby." Those Bitches are loud, but they're slow. So I went for a run.