Triathlete & Teacher

The Voice

2012-02-15T21:11:00.004-06:00

"It's OK, baby. Shhh.... It's OK. I got my girl." I nestle deeper into his arms, engulfed in shoulders, sniffing the warm sweetness of him. The sobs I didn't know I contained wrack against his chest, the wellspring of tears soaks the collar of his T-shirt. "It's OK baby. I'm so proud of my girl. It's OK. I gotchya now."

It's his voice I hear. The one he used after I finished Grandma's Marathon and was walked over to him by his mom and sister. I broke only when I saw him, sitting there on the bench. It's his voice I hear. The one he used after I collapsed into him, letting my tears pour, letting my body quiver. He held me dearly. He held me well.

When I'm climbing and need to get it together, it's his voice I hear. That rocksolid warmth and love. For the millionth time, thank you, E.

Red 10 - Two Takes!!!

2012-02-14T21:21:00.006-06:00

Yahoo!!! My footwork was infinitely better, my clipping smooth, my brain in my head. I feel great. :-) I will keep working it and hopefully redpoint it soon. I didn't pant nor did I fumble with the clips. This saved an incredible amount of energy. I'm falling more than a little in love with Eric Horst (henceforth, EH). If my climbing continues to improve like this, I may have to look the man up!

I also LOVED a new 11. I top-roped it and fell twice. It was so fun to figure out. It was chockful of thought-provoking, balance moves. Another EH thought came to me and helped me move through. Keep your center of gravity as directly as you can over your feet. Since this was a nearly straight up vertical route, I felt like I was sucking into the wall. It's fun to move that way; I feel like a cat, luxuriating, chest into the ground, lazily, deliberately stretching a paw for the next hold. They are experts at eking out the extra inches, their bones seeming to melt. A TT spin: Channel your cat.

A recapture of what works well:

1) Home "crag" practice clipping. I did not fumble with a single clip tonight.

2) Visualizing success on the red route and previewing it before hopping on. I do need more practice with route-reading as it does not come naturally.

3) Positive self talk. I found a soothing voice inside of my head that says, "You got it. You got it, baby." My breathing responds to this voice.

4) I took two intentional falls tonight. And I lived to tell about them! I will continue to chip away at this fear.

Speaking of fear, I get all het up when I work these overhung lead climbs. My hands bust out new sweat glands and drench me even as I'm flaking the rope. Shoot, if I start visualizing while I'm on the other side of the gym, I become slimy. It's funny how the body reacts to perceived risk. I respond by putting on more chalk and getting my climb on.

Good night! Goodnight.

P.S. My Clipping Sucked Too

2012-02-13T20:04:00.005-06:00

On Sunday, my clipping was atrocious, so I rigged up this crag on which to practice...

Materials required: webbing, quick draws, rope, and chin-up bar. Now I can do clipping sets back and forth to get the automaticity I want.

Told ya I had it bad.

Fears

2012-02-13T17:36:00.005-06:00

I am afraid of falling. Some of these falling fears are warranted, but some of them are just intimidation factors whose bluff I need to call. Per Eric J. Horst, I am taking a look at them.

1. Featherweight Friend:

My current, quite realistic fear is a featherweight-friend issue. One of my belayers is forty pounds lighter than me. She's a solid climber and competent belayer, but that weight difference matters on lead. I could fall and pull her up to the point that we collide in mid-air -- or worse -- I'd hit the ground if it were an early clip. She can anchor in, but then I worry about the damage that a big fall could do to her body as opposing forces crank on her. She is willing to take this risk, but it changes how I climb with her. I am less likely to go for a grab because that fear for her is in the back of my mind. I have other belayers, but she's been my solid partner for these three years of climbing. We learned to lead together, we've cut our climbing teeth together, and, quite frankly, sometimes she and I are the only ones who show up. If I want to improve, I need to find a way to manage the risk and/or my worry. Do I just not climb hard stuff with her or do I continue what I am currently doing: downclimb to a solid hold and have her take? Is there another alternative? Would it help to practice falls again? Hm. Don't have a great solution to this one.

2. I am scared of pain. I don't want to hurt myself when I fall, e.g. pull a muscle, tear a tendon, or rip open my hand. Strangely, I'm most afraid of hurting my hands. I envision myself SOL for climbing while they heal. This is not a good reason to avoid falling the way I do. (Bawk, bawk, bawk, bawk, balk at falling!) My hands are not likely to get hurt that badly. Be rational and fall, Chickie (as opposed to Chicken.)

3. I don't want to be embarrassed. I often don't push routes at the gym because I'm waaaay too aware of all the eyes watching and assessing how I climb. (There are a lot of eyes attached to quite nice bods there, but I digress, or do I? Who wants a hot, potential date to see her flailing at a route??)

That's an easy one. Get over yourself! And if he's that put out by how you climb, he wasn't worth dating anyways. Nyah!

4. Fear of the sensation of falling and clanking the wall and that stomach-catching-up jolt at the catch of the fall... It's just not natural and yet, when I was doing it a lot (read: when Featherweight and I were forcing each other to fall in our early days of leading), I found it exhilarating. I need to get back that feeling of excitement and... release. A good fall is fun.

There, I think I've called myself out on everything I fear. Now to just unfear them.

I Got it Bad

2012-02-12T19:00:00.008-06:00

I've got it bad for climbing. But I'm carrying 15 extra pounds that I haven't found a way around hauling up the route with me. So. That being said, I'm gonna focus on losing those fifteen. Why, oh why, did I inherit a sweet tooth and a tendency to indulge myself when stress rolls in? Plus I've developed a penchant for red wine. I've also developed a better-than-average tolerance. The pleasure is temporary. The pain lasts and lasts.

Case in point, I have been working an overhung (my weakness!) 5.10 in the gym. It is a route in the lead cave. I've just busted into that cool-kid zone and have been sashaying around in the big girl pants as I've done some of the climbs respectably. Not so with my red 5.10 today. First time I did it, I took four times, but I stayed in control of my breathing, my fears and my feet. Today I took five times and huffed & puffed like a veteran smoker. I lost my feet and batted at clips. Grr. I am not happy with myself.

But I also have the solution. I am gonna lose that extra weight. Period. I have a stressful week coming up, but I am going to make this happen, starting today. I have a meal and workout plan to prove it.

I will wage this war on many fronts, of course. I am reading Training for Climbing by Eric J. Horst and took the self-assessment. My strength is my Mental game. (Thank you, triathlon and stubborn genes.) The Physical domain and Tactics & Technique came in equally -- lower than Mental. I want it so bad! I want to climb those lead cave 10s by May, I want to lead 11s by the end of the summer and be able to onsight them by 2014. I haven't mentioned that grade that still seems magical to me, but you better believe 12s are on my mind.

This blog? Will be used to track my progress, share my frustrations, celebrate my successes. I am ready to begin!

This week's workout focus:

Tuesday - Sets of 3: EZ climb up & down, lead 9s or EZ 10s, Lead overhung 10 -- Repeat. The rubber match is the lead 10 of the trio. My goal is to keep my head and my feet, clip smoothly, and minimize takes. I had flashes today where it clicked, but it lasted only the length of two clips.

Friday - Boulder my brains out. Especially focus on overhung stuff. Work on grasping the holds well too, not overgripping, but rather placing my hands on them deliberately, surely, trusting them and myself. I will warm up with a traverse around the gym, then do all the recs, then try 2-3 intermediates. Cool down is the gym traverse.

In between my climbing affair, I will eat right, sleep right, and get in a healthy dose of cardio.

Amen!

Ink for my Dad

2012-01-28T11:47:00.006-06:00

I have given my mom lots of verbage. My dad I haven't as much. Yet he was the parent who was present when we were kids. He is warm, both in anger and in affection, and has provided a clear moral compass my whole life. Yet he has gotten less press on this blog - probably because he wasn't as hard to win as my mom. I only felt her affection and understanding in my adulthood. His unconditional love has been ever-present.

He is the Superman to her Wonder Woman. He is the patriarch to her matriarch. And he is aging the way I want to age.

He's still energetic and learning every day. He...

Okay, gig's up. I struggle to write this. He's so good he's boring to write about. He's so steady, so predictable, so rock solid that I can barely bring myself to blather on about his perfections! The man continues to indulge his curiosity. He wanted to be a deacon at church but found out he needed a Bachelor's degree to do so. Was he deterred on his quest to give more to the church and expanding his mind though? No. He's taking classes on liturgical matters just for kicks.

Last year, at SEVENTY years old, he went on his first ever trail restoration trip. Granted, his 39 year-old daughter toted his tent and most of his clothes, but the man got it done! We hiked 6.5 miles in high elevation and he sucked up all the oxygen his sleep-apneaed self could and slept in a tent for five days. He swung a Pulaski, dug water bars, and hauled rocks with the men 20+ years younger. The man sucks it up.

He has taken on the project of rehabilitating my aunt, his sister-in-law, who suffered from a stroke two years ago. He drives 30 miles each day to her nursing home to get her out of bed and walk her and talk to her. She has improved more than thought possible. He takes Eucharist to the shut-ins and nursing home residents three times a week. He has a group of 85+ year old men, affectionately dubbed his "Geezer Group," who he weekly rounds up for breakfasts and flea markets.

You see, the man's a bleeding saint!

And he's always been that way. So good. So steady. So solid and reliably Christian. A communicator and people person.

Yet I don't take him seriously. Perhaps because of another of his best traits. The man can laugh at himself. He begs laughter and invites teasing. Even when he is taking himself too seriously, I have to laugh at him because there is passion in that too. He stomps and rages and tells his persecutors (read: my mom and me) in no uncertain terms that we are the problem. It is his passionate delivery that becomes a parody of anger and makes me giggle. He is always real, always readable, transparent in love and war.

That's my dad. And here, at last, is his ink. And a smile.

Stealing the Eucharist

2012-01-27T05:14:00.010-06:00

Before I could take the Eucharist, I thought it must be like the moon in November. An icy disk that would melt in my mouth, illuminating me from the inside. That was long before I became an atheist. But I am so profane that I will steal the Eucharist for my purposes now. I want to distill that light and make it mine. What illuminates me from the inside? Some days I can give off light and others I hog it all to myself.

I have had a week of turning inward. Not by choice. It is never by choice. It is the switch that goes off and I find my well has run dry; I have nothing to offer. I can only look at my students and they feel alien to me. My friends I avoid. My Near One I shun. I know that if I talk to any of these really close people, I will be flat -- or worse -- cry.

So I retreat. Words have always been my refuge. Language and thinking and writing. The imagery they provide heals me. I am the helium balloon, snipped free and floating above it all. I don't wanna be down in the trenches with the rest of ya all! I want my head out of the humdrum, the helter skelter, the busy nonsense of chasing down success. I get sick of chasing. I wanna just be. Floating. Right on up to the moon where I open my mouth wide and suck in that icy wafer, letting it melt slowly on my tongue, sip-swallowing those cold trickles.

I need to step off in so many ways. I grip and grasp at my life and success relentlessly, driven. I climb too many days a week and exhaust myself every workout. My heart pounds from overtraining, threatening to leap right outta my chest and land there, red and throbbing, accusing, there on the mat. I grasp at the holds, gripping too tightly, squandering energy and pumping out my arms. I wanna be fluid with just the right amount of contact. I want the light touch that gets the job done deliberately and gracefully.

I wanna stop running so hot. I have been all red energy. I push, push, push my mind just like my muscles. I give 100% of me to my students, I listen to my colleagues and reflect their concerns, I go out with my friends and... it takes from me. I am an introvert. The debits of being outward grind down my inner savings. I have become a faker non pareil, putting out the cheer and the support for those I love. Then I crash. And I got nuttin'. No love for me, no love for anyone. Just a wrecked wracked psyche that craves illumination, that craves a Eucharist to restore it, to center it and bring it peace, to give it the right light touch where I can give graciously.

I still push for perfection. Until I can't push anymore.

At those times, it is not a choice to give or not to give, to climb or rest. My body and mind shut down. And then I remember what I have learned so many times before, in so many ways... we become stronger when we sleep. We become stronger climbers, triathletes, and runners when we give our bodies days off and allow for recovery! I become a stronger, more giving friend, teacher, and lover when I take the time to repair my mind, restore my heart. I read my climbing training guide and it tells me the same thing as my triathlon training books of old, as my heart tells me... my sleep is sanctioned, my recovery warranted.

So this is my new symbol, my new metaphor and mantra:

To that delicious moon I go, getting my Eucharist.

Hair & Skin & Bones & Teeth

2011-08-22T17:21:00.003-06:00

"What is the best reason to love someone, do you think?"

I pose the question and then let his words talk over me. I am off to my own races. I think of the construct of him that lives in my mind. This person, this Boyfriend, with whom I pass the time and have conversation and laugh and eat and drink. I think of the title, his role and the way we fit it -- and what that means and where we have to go. I shiver.

I think of my Friends. We girls get together on Thursdays. We belay each other, push each other, compliment each other and razz each other. Then we break bread and drink wine. We lift each other up and we let each other down. We show up and are present; we put other things first and cancel. We ebb and flow in the construct of Friend. As our lives get busy, we drift and then reconnect -- or just keep drifting.

His profile in my peripheral vision brings me back to my bed. I look at him. I see his crinkly hair, his tan forehead, weathered cheeks, the narrow bone of his nose, and his teeth flashing between the lips as they move. "You see them. You see them and know how they've been formed by the love they've been given. You see how they're going to give and receive love. You accept everything about them. You see them."

The construct fades and I am seeing him. I see hair and skin and bones and teeth. I feel a rush of humanity. I realize that I want to see this way always. I want to lose the construct and the attachment to it. I want to see hair and skin and bones and teeth.

Stop Signs

2011-08-02T18:38:00.008-06:00

All stop signs should have eight sides and be painted red. But, alas, some do not wear the correct attire. Don't be sucked in!

In romantic relationships...

He says "I love you" within the first few weeks and wants you to move in at four months. How can you trust this man's judgment? Answer: You can't! Do not be tempted by the oft-repeated claims of love and I've-never-felt-like-this-befores.

If he rips apart the woman he was married to for 20 years, and describes past girlfriends in overly-critical terms, he's gonna be bad for you. Once the infatuation and lure of sex wears off, he's gonna see that you too have flaws. Let the critiques begin. Blech.

When biking...

If the metal, paint, or wooden bridge you are crossing is wet, slow down! A metal plate on the bike trail just wrecked my three year no-accident record. And I failed to get out of my clips before I hit the pavement. There I was on the concrete looking around to see who was going to see me lying there with only my dignity lower than that bottom pavement-kissing hip. Fortunately, most people don't bike in the rain. Huh, wonder why. I wrenched myself free of the pedals with no witnesses to mark my grace.

Think I can extract myself from situation #1 with a trace of grace?

The Day I Learned to Live

2011-07-30T21:11:00.013-06:00

October 11, 2009

After an hour and 24 minutes of circling La Plata's summit, looking for my trail down, I decided to return my crampons to REI and learn to knit. The 45 MPH wind gusts and the snow stinging my eyes were convincing factors. The fact that I couldn't find the tracks I had just laid in the snow and that the cairns had disappeared behind snow drifts had to be faced. I wasn't cold but my weary muscles and fatigued - frightened - brain screamed at me to GET OFF THE MOUNTAIN and STAY OFF THE MOUNTAIN!

I bargained and pleaded. If I could just get off of this mountain in one piece, under my own power, I would....

I had no place being at 14,336 feet in the first place. My hiking partner had backed out the night before because she didn't like the sounds of the wind and snow in the forecast. (*Hint*) I never missed a beat. I was almost happy to be doing it by myself. I packed my brand new crampons, my snowshoes, and hitched my (also brand new) ice ax to my pack with jubilation. I skimmed over the forecast winds and snow and fastened onto two words, "Mostly Sunny." I needed no more encouragement. A day in the mountains was calling my name. I would steal a day.

The ascent - though windy - was a piece of cake in comparison to what was to come. I was taking a nonstandard route but was happy to find it well-marked with cairns and recent tracks in the snow. I wasn't overly concerned when my map and route description blew away. The ridgeline to the summit was obvious and once on the top, I'd just turn around and follow my own track down. I was low on energy, but what was this? A measly seven mile round trip. I would just take it slower, eat another Gu, and all would be well. The summit was close, it was only a 7 mile round trip, what could go wrong? I would summit today.

After 4 hours of hiking and 3,380 feet of elevation gain, I summited. I crowed at having "stolen a day" and snapped a few pictures. In that same self-congratulatory mode, I started the descent. About 15 minutes down I realized that the valley I was looking at didn't look familiar. I had followed tracks but then it dawned on me that I was doing the nonstandard route - the standard route would come right off of the summit too. I had no idea where they split and how they crossed each other.

I now willed my good map to be back in my hands. I had a crummy backup map that indicated that the gross direction I needed to head was southwest. But where was that? The clouds had moved in so I couldn't use the sun with any regularity plus it was 2:30. I had no idea if the sun was more in a southerly direction or was it already in the west?

I looked around and circled the summit. I'd go a little ways down one side and then come back up, go down the other way and come back up. I just wasn't sure. "You're going to be OK, you know?" I said out loud to myself. I knew I needed to keep my wits - and the summit, an indisputable landmark - about me at this point. After deliberating and circling the summit, I decided to follow the most defined cairns and trail. I didn't think it was heading southwest but reassured myself that the trail could just be switching back, and I would just get down the bloody mountain before nightfall and then work out what to do at the (potentially wrong) trailhead.

After following that trail for what seemed like forever, but was only about 30 minutes, I recognized landmarks that proved that I was on the right trail. I heaved a sigh of relief. Prematurely. Just below that point (at approximately 13000 feet) came the snowiest part of the trail and the snow had blown up against the cairns, not completely covering them but making them difficult to spot. I had to pick my way across this section to spot the cairns - and to avoid slipping/falling between the rocks. I had many thoughts of what a twisted ankle or broken bone would mean at this point. The weather worsened.

Wind and stinging sleet now made me want to hurry. But I forced myself to stop and search for the next cairn, sinking to my knees in spots, crossing that snow.

At the saddle on the ridge, I turned to descend into a valley of willows. It was slow-going into the valley and I even had my ice ax out to self arrest in case I slipped. I reached the willows and lost the trail AGAIN!

I was sick to my stomach with anxiety and super-fatigued, but talked myself through it, telling myself that the trail had to funnel out of the valley somehow and it wasn't a super wide valley - about 1/4 mile across. I bushwhacked to the left side of the valley and then worked my way back across it to the right. I struck the trail way on the right side and was able to stick to it for the remainder of the way down. I reached my car before night fell.
-------------

My first reaction to this event was anger and self-reproach. I made lists of resolutions about hiking more safely. I have kept those resolutions.

I rejoiced. I was glad to be alive, glad to be at school the next morning, glad to not have spent the night on the mountain.

I reflected. I am drawn to this "province of the extreme" (thanks, Jon Krakauer), but I need to indulge it safely. I am drawn to this province and just doing the mountains is What I'm Looking For. People refer to me as "driven" but that doesn't acknowledge the pleasure I have in hiking, summitting, being with friends on the mountain, being alone on the mountain, fighting the elements on the mountain, soaking up the sun's rays on the mountain. They do so much for me.

I learned. I don't want to die. This sentiment and its force astonished me. It is my anchor, my core. I have an iron will to live. In the two years after my divorce, that was not a given. I had voiced sentiments to the contrary. On La Plata that day, there was no contrariness. I was pure will power. I suppressed anything that would impede my getting off the mountain before nightfall. I focused. Today, I believe that I would have kept walking until I was out or dead. I felt an intractability of spirit that I can still conjure.

With the benefit of hindsight, I see that day as my personal turning point. It's the day I learned to live.

By the Way...

2011-07-30T20:20:00.001-06:00

I am not a triathlete anymore. Yeah, I know. Should change the blog name, but at least I'm still telling half-truths. Plus, I really don't know what I am in its place. Survivor? Will Keep Walking? Mountaineer?

I finished my 14ers just about a year ago and have had that post-Ironman phenom of... What next? Seriously. It consumed me for two years and they were an awesome two. I was focused and my learning curve was as steep as some of those mountainsides. But now what? Here are some ideas:

1) Climb all of Colorado's 13ers. There are 637 of them so it would keep me busy for a spell.
2) Become moderate with my exercise and life. Work out 40 minutes per day and call it good.
3) Train for and climb Aconcagua in Argentina. It has a couple of things to recommend it; it's 22K and it's located in prime wine country.
4) Stay home and focus on more domestic pursuits: play my guitar, be a good girlfriend, decorate my recently-purchased condo. Maybe I'll take up knitting too. Gak! (No offense, it's just not me. Yet. I keep trying it on every few years. Maybe it'll take one of these days.)
5) Focus on some measurable aspect of my profession, e.g. work towards National Board Certification, take more classes, get a Master's in English lit.
6) Get on my goal of paying back to the mountains a portion of what they've done for me. I have resolved to do one day of trailwork for each 14er climbed. Fifty-eight summits = 58 trailwork days. I have completed three so far.

Meh. It's just like after Ironman in 2006. I really want something, but nothing grabs me. After IM, it was two years before I knew my next endeavor. So I finished my 14ers in September of 2010. Is it reasonable to hope that I'll have my next big challenge figured out by 9/2012? And in the interim, just do a goulash of the above. Do 'em all a little bit and nothing well? Gak! Hand me the knitting needles already.

Mountaineering Tips

2011-07-30T09:51:00.015-06:00

1. When off-route, it is best to retrace your steps to the place where you last had trail. Even if you can see the peak and where you need to go, what lies between you and it is invariably more time- and energy-consuming (read: bushwhacking) than retracing your steps.
2. If you cliff out on a route, don't try to climb your way out of it. Retrace your steps and find a better route - or heck! - find the trail.
3. If it's too hard, there's an easier way.
4. There. I believe I've covered that one. You get to read it and learn. I had to do many reps before it sank into my thick skull.
5. Form your own conservation society. Conserve energy, time, calories, and water.
6. You will be hot, you will be hungry, your partner will be imperfect. You will be uncomfortable.
7. You will be sated, euphoric, in the rhythm of hiking, in sync with the world. You will feel great.
8. When hot, scoop snow and dab it behind each ear as if putting on perfume. Tuck the remaining snowball into the cleavage of your sports bra. This will cool you down.
9. Conserve energy. Place each foot. Hike and climb "quietly." Bonus: you look graceful.
10. When doing something painful & necessary, but not necessarily dangerous, e.g. crossing an icy stream, pick a line and do it quickly.
11. When doing something potentially dangerous, e.g. making a sketchy climbing move, pick a line and do it deliberately.
12. Monitor yourself for signs that fatigue is impeding your judgement. Don't do anything stupid.
13. Conserve calories. Keep some food in case you take longer on a route than planned, e.g. a 10-hour day turns into a 17-hour day. Some of these will be the best days of your life as you constantly struggle to avert catastrophe. Then you do and feel euphoric.
14. Conserve water. Also, take water treatment tabs with you. When you've emptied a Nalgene, refill and treat the water. This averts dehydration and makes you feel like you've "made" water, you powerful person.
15. Persevere.
16. Summit Fever is real. Remember: you never have to get a summit.
17. Never touch steep now without an ice ax. NEVER. Fifteen terrifying feet of rapid descent taught me this.
18. Ounces equal pounds, pounds equal pain. Pack efficiently.
19. Take rock shoes for class 3&4 routes. These "magic shoes" will give you an extra boost of confidence - and stickiness.
20. Be good to yourself. If you need a summit to get high, do it. If an alpine lake will suffice, go for it. Bring the peace, euphoria, and goodness back to real life. Let it leak out of you.

I have climbed all of Colorado's 14,000 foot peaks. It has done for me what I wanted it to do plus some. The journey made me persevere through discomfort, made me let it run its course and become something new. I achieved and stood on summits. And I learned that I want to live. On one peak, I uncovered a will to survive that surprised me and that is now my unshakeable, unquakeable core.

I recommend it.

The Guatemala Nod

2011-04-09T16:34:00.011-06:00

One afternoon Rosary praying
circled together in the chapel
She looked up from the depths of her Catholicism,
found this atheist daughter's eyes
and winked.

I took it as her endorsement
her blessing
to close my eyes
and recommence
my sinful daydreaming.

Rosary chanting faded to a buzz
as I left them there
and found myself stretched
for him
half-turned

His hands
long, tapered, and skillful
met me there
playing my unsaintly parts
I dreamed climbing mountains and
sweet summits.

I took it that way.

She is Everything

2011-04-09T14:51:00.014-06:00

She is everything.

We are just back from a humanitarian trip to Guatemala where the green greets you before your plane even lands. Coerced into going, she landed in a paradise of bougainvillea, mango orchards, and jacaranda trees. The fruits of that volcanic ash soil first nourished her soul. The week kept wrapping itself around her and she met it - at first with the tentative tread of a reserved person but then with the full power of her quiet personality. I saw her.

I saw her best at the hospital. We walked into a Franciscan-run institution where the outcasts of Guatemala land. Babies are left on the steps. Adults with any stripe of disability are granted sanctuary and clean care. Slack jaws and drool and deformed limbs sent me cowering inside myself. She, on the other hand, met it. With that warm, crinkly-eyed smile and her arthritic hands, she reached out to them and said in her English, "Hello." It was universal. They turned their faces up to her and smiled.

I saw the strong woman of my youth insisting on doing the dirtiest work, the thankless tasks, throughout the week. She wore her frilly green blouse, donned an apron, and was on the rusty school desks before anyone else could find sandpaper. She grabbed the stickiest pots, chiseled away at dried wood putty, and climbed to the back of the van.

I saw the empathetic woman I've come to know as an adult. Only she could sustain Aunt Penny's elbow with just the right touch. Not of pity, not of support, but of quiet presence. She cried in the market. This woman of reserve broke down when we bought sets of school clothes for our sponsored children. She then recovered and laughed along with the tickling and storytelling on the van-ride home. She showed up in Guatemala and was present. She has done so forever.

She is wonder woman. She is Unstinting Giving. She is my mom.

Good

2010-11-20T19:37:00.015-06:00

Fifty-eight summits
over the last two years
have given me time to think
time to heal
time to reinvent myself

and

I want to be good.
A good person.
No longer just surviving
my heart has healed
I am now striving.

I want empathy
I want to see
I want understanding
When off-route on the mountain
following a guy who bumbles
even more than us
I want to guide him to safety
in spite of the discomfort
in spite of the inconvenience
in spite of my hiking partner's impatient orders
I want to follow me
the inner voice that knows
I want to make the right choice
the one that I would tell my parents about
the one that would make them proud
to have raised a humane being
I want to be good

I want it everywhere in my life
Centered
Lucidity
and a dose of eloquence wouldn't hurt
I have taken long steps to summit 58 peaks
Now I am aiming for good.

Permanence

2010-11-18T22:26:00.008-06:00

I will always be...
driven.
I know it.
I will always gather the odd yards at the end of a set
the odd minutes at the end of a workout
the last 300 feet to a mountaineering 3000
I will always be that person.
I know it.

I will always be...
joyful.
Waking up and cuddling Sugs
with his ridiculous button nose
telling him what a great day it is
and how foolish he is to stay in bed
all day lazy bear

Always smiling to myself after leaving
Albertsons
The classroom
The climbing dinner
The people, my people
Always smiling
I will always be.
I know it.

And even if I'm not always
I will always be.
That's how it is.
I know it.

Anticipation

2010-06-29T18:24:00.005-06:00

Strangely enough I am looking forward to it. Particularly because of the gruesomeness of it. We will awaken at 1:30 AM and drive through the wee hours to reach the trailhead. Once there, we will be greeted by Cielo Vista Ranch representatives who will collect our $100 and guide us onto the ranch. Then we climb.

This will be #41 for me. And you might think they become "old hat" at this point. Au contraire! Each one is different, on each one I learn something. And most of all, on each one, my love of these mountains - that feeling of fit, belonging - is reborn.

My hair is braided. My pack is readied. I will sleep now for a few hours and then awaken to fresh night and a mountain of goodness ahead.

Thirty-Eight Years Young

2010-06-09T16:10:00.011-06:00

You would think I had never dressed myself
for manual labor before

Go get the knobby gloves from your mother

You can't wear your jeans
She throws sweat pants down the stairs
I only wear them for gardening
they can get ripped

I said to get the knobby gloves
He sits waiting on the tractor
waiting lest I...
have forgotten how to drive?
don't know how to signal
for the one left turn in our journey?

I think it is this

Stay behind me
He ahead of me
gesticulates madly
indicating left, Left, LEFT already
all of you hordes of people driving
rural dirt Wisconsin roads

I come home to Wisconsin
and
am
38 years young.
Ensconced.

Joshua Tree Speaks

2010-04-11T21:03:00.014-06:00

There are boulders everywhere
and Joshua trees
evenly spaced
as if planted
as far as the eye can see

It comes to me here
I ache to climb them all
to start in the north and
work my way south
climbing touching learning every formation on my way

I start
Circling this ampitheater formation
round its perimeter rock by rock
hold by hold
I step lightly
place each foot deliberately
caress the rock's face
coaxing up handholds
placing my fingers gently
firmly
and transfer my weight
inching ever upward
leaving no trace

It comes to me here
My soul is a desert
free-ranging and true
open and arid
honest and sparse
a spurner of
the extra
the superfluous
the nonessential

My soul
is a free climber
wanting
needing
to do it alone
soul-o
the best
purest way
under my own steam
steaminess
sizzling
passionate
longing
to be doing
to be moving
to be communing with rock
My soul is a desert.

School Bathrooms

2010-04-11T20:24:00.011-06:00

I munched carrots and celery in the Smoking Bathroom
avoided the cafeteria and its social morass
molasses
through which I could never wade
instead I hid
went where it was safe
to slide from
132 to 89.4
in four short months
determinedly
shrinking
myself

Between classes
I'd rush into "Staff - Women"
and unleash the real me
swirling
twirling
in my pretty purple skirt
shaking hips and giggling
Gleefully
composing poems to him
anticipating his laugh
his touch
tingling togetherness
We'd be reunited
soon
Anticipation
in the confines of "Staff - Women"

My shoulders fall apart in this bathroom
all of me caves to the middle
under which there is no support
The crushing collapse takes me by surprise
I was a teacher but twenty seconds ago
What ho with this puddle?
A reminder
A memory
A mourning
of loss I thought I was getting over already
Steely determination and paper grade TP
contrast with the gentle watery smile
peering at me from the mirror
an acknowledgement
a trying to understand
a trying to love myself
to give myself time
to be patient
but gather myself quickly
in this five minute passing period
Sandpaper TP dabs at the eyes
fingers fly to the hair,
brush it from hot cheeks
center in a smile
and leave my retreat
The professional restored.

Those walls don't speak
They peel me.

Prayer for a Lover

2009-12-04T17:53:00.005-06:00

The mountains are suffused with light.
I think of you.
My body is aching with sadness.
I think of you.

Some of my best days
Were the days with you
You've given me my worst
and I to you?

I miss you.

When I'm sick
When I'm low
I'm at my weakest
There are you.

I miss you.

Devolution

2009-09-08T21:46:00.010-06:00

Jaggedy bike paths
and velvety night rides
these are a few of
my dangerous things

It is certain that I devolve
that my ancestors were panthers
Caged all day in pretty clothes
and encouraging words
the feral blood prowling in silence
awaiting its chance

The spandex hits my crotch
and I roll
threading my way
through velvety darkness
egged on by coyotes
yipping in the open space
On all sides of me
voices threading through the grass
across the trail
with just me slicing between

Five miles through State Park,
I see no other humans
I fly too fast for a girl without a night light
but am unable to stop
unable to tether the panther
whose need for speed
teeth sucking wind
jaw gaping
bugs splintering the cornices
of my eyes
Makes me whole.

14er Bliss

2009-07-26T07:38:00.011-06:00

I love the hard, pumpy feeling you get when you are working at going uphill.
I love the way my head pounds until a single chocolate outrage Gu stitches those frayed temple edges back together.
I love the way you have to step slowly and place each foot deliberately so as not to plummet to injury - or just waste a ton of energy.
I love the way you gasp in that thin air that yet tastes fresher than the air anywhere else in the world.
I love the way I don't shower or change my clothes for days at a time. (I am green!)
I love the way you meet people on their journeys up the same mountain - and they've come from so many directions.
I love the way my body stays in motion, the way it craves the top as much as my oxygen-stretched mind.
I love the way the world is at the top.

I love everything about it.

Mt. Belford & Mt. Oxford
11 miles, 5900 feet, 9:04.37
July 25, 2009

The Minimalist

2009-05-29T11:05:00.008-06:00

You are tempted to take shortcuts, to cut weight and "things" from your pack, to leave it all behind... but the minimalist has learned a few lessons.

You will need a cap and gloves on top of most 14ers. Even when it's 80 degrees in Denver, the top of Torrey's will most likely be tempestuous. Winds blow up there. All the time. Sneak snowfalls and thick wet clouds engulf you. Even the rocks wear a chilly set of whiskers. A warm 14er is a rare find. Come down 500 feet from the summit and you'll most likely bake, but up top - the winds prevail.

Extra water and energy gels are a must. Sunscreen cannot be neglected.

I'm tempted today as I pack. To cut things & stuff loose. But even the minimalist needs warmth on a bare peak. Even the strongest need help, need supportive people on their journeys.

Into my pack goes the warmth.

Mt. Yale: 14,196 Feet

2009-05-25T19:45:00.004-06:00

I summited today! It was one of those days where I covered a lot of territory. My favorite shot of the day...

That Time of Year

2009-04-23T20:02:00.009-06:00

It's that time of year. That grateful time, the time of reaping all we've sown. The kids are awesome. I ask them to write a sentence using the word "genuinely," and Ellis writes, "I genuinely appreciate Ms. TT teaching me reading and writing."

I have fought so hard with these kids this year! I have despaired of EVER getting through to them, of ever having them see that this - this intervention - is in their very best self-interest. Every day, they are showing signs that they now see the light. They are taking charge, putting themselves in the driver's seat with their reading and writing. (And loving their teacher, which goes a long way to repair the ego they battered earlier this year.)

Today we curled up around the lava lamp for read aloud. I got two pages into it and we side-tracked for a discussion of adoption and foster care and all the issues that lead to parents making the decision to not raise their own children. It was deep and close and caring.

One other nugget for the days next year when I have the new, untrained ones... Parents and teachers of middle schoolers, I direct your attention to this...

I let slip yesterday that, because of a schedule snafu, one student had spent an hour one-on-one with me in my office. My news was met with a chorus of "How come she got to do that?"

Aren't these adolescents supposed to be wresting their independence from us? They are not. Not anymore than we want to be free of them. I'm already sad about the year ending.

Yeah, I'm a loser. But I'm a grateful loser.

Lucidity Comes in Liquid Form

2009-03-31T18:24:00.023-06:00

Everything I ever needed to know I learned on the swim.

I did fast 100s. My heart beat so hard, felt so large, that I was sure it was going to leap out of my rib cage and make a splashy entrance into the water below me.

My heart was full, sitting there doing her nails. In all honesty, she was a difficult grandma. She was a don't-touch-that grandma. But last week, I sat at a table with her, soaking her chemotherapy-hardened fingernails and toenails, clipping them, filing them and then rubbing in balm to fend off the itchy, thick skin. My mom was there. My sister-in-law, various nieces and nephews ran in and out. We talked. We laughed. She stayed there with us, with all of that chaotic kid and family noise. She stayed even though her head bobbed with tiredness. She was saying all of the things she'd never said. She said them eloquently with all that staying.

My plane landed in Denver on Sunday night and my phone rang. I thought my heart would burst, make a splashy entrance into the sunlit Colorado air that surrounded me. I wanted it to burst, to paint the sky with a rainbow, to tell Grandma that 89 years was just enough to thank a daughter, to woo a grand-daughter, to be heard.

Your arms reach and pull, all muscles seriously scrabbling for more purchase, more glide, more speed.

It clicked for me. How to climb the mountain was clear. I learned it from swimming. I needed to bend down, crawl like a monkey - on my hands and feet, my core tight, my arms scrabbling for purchase in the slippery scree. I needed to forgo oxygen and push through in bursts. I clued in the climbers nearest me - my nephew and my sister. In less than an hour, they would summit their first fourteener. I would stand there with two of my sisters, transported from our lives on a rural Wisconsin dairy farm when there was guaranteed Holstein shit under our fingernails for the first 18 years of our lives, up to that place that defies words... though my sister, in rushing bursts, tried... "It's all so amazing... It's nothing like I'd ever imagined it would be... every step of it... but how could I have imagined this...?"

I stretched, long and lean in the water. I was all glide and no effort. I flipped and repeated.

Do you ever get the feeling that what you are doing - in this precise moment - is exactly what you were meant to do, that you have been training all of your life for just this moment? That your neurons, your fibers, your very self is in harmony with this place? Do you ever wonder how you got there? Do you shake your head at the very odd confabulation of events that led to it?

I end this piece on a packing night. I will be on a plane again tomorrow. Going to a funeral, reuniting with my family - to grieve, to celebrate. I take with me Colorado sunshine. I take with me the sweet stillness of a good swim. I take with me peace - and the ability to be ever-surprised.

The Ample Spread

2009-03-10T19:23:00.006-06:00

I feel the ample spread
when I sit down in my chair
My hips and thighs
conquer
quashing any resistance
from the chair
the loveseat
even the couch can hold
no truck with them
This truckload o' me
brooks no opposition

And while I'm bitchin'...

My hair is streaked with silver
I've got cottage cheese
- and not just on my plate -

BUT

My ample spread
encompasses
not only the state of my
buttocks and thighs
but also my frame of mind
I'm comfortable where I am
wide-ranging and free

So keep your skinny hips
and your 6-pack abs
I'm comfortable with
my ample spread
my horn of plenty
my plethora
the bottomless pit o' me
(No pictures with this post though.)

DNS Mountain Style

2009-03-08T20:11:00.042-06:00

I Did Not Summit today, but Mount Yale was kind enough to reward me with one of the best failures of my life.

This hike comes out of the gate in your face, ascending brutally from the get-go. Up-up. So it goes onward and upward for about a mile, and then you leave the hard-packed snowmobile trail. You think the snow is crusty enough to support you - and about 70% of the time it is. So you slog along, breaking through every few steps until your frustration overcomes your laziness and you stop, unclip the snowshoes, and put them on your feet. Sweet relief!

Until even those can't hack it. I reached this avalanche chute - and man, those things are false advertisers! They look all white and glisteny and inviting, and then you start walking up them and even your snowshoes don't cut it.

I'd take a step and sink in up to my waist, falling forward on both hands. So I thought I'd be smart and walk up it on my hands and feet. Not so smart. My feet couldn't get a purchase. I'd step and scramble with my snowshoes, essentially running in place, churning out crystalline snow in my wake. Then I'd stop and side-step and gain two inches. It was HARD. It took me the most arduous 30 minutes of my life to get up the damn thing. I really thought I was getting somewhere, because I saw patches of rocks (oh, sweet rocks) leading up to the summit. Ha! That was the kicker...

There were more steep patches of snow in between the rocks. I persisted until I'd been out 4 hours. At about 1/2 (grisly) mile from the summit, I decided that Yale would just have to wait for me to grace its top. I had eaten my lunch, 2 Gus, Shot Bloks and jerky and finally caught on that no amount of fuel was going to get the spring back in my legs. I'd given Yale the the ol' college try and it had shown itself to be the BMOC. So I gave up and started down. And that was even hard. Did you hear me?? Glissading down was hard. Without warning, I'd drop through the crust and end up with a pile of snow in my craw. That quite impeded progress.

When I reached the tree line, things finally leveled out a bit and - the sun was out en force. It was 52 degrees and so bright. The mountains were in bas relief against the blue sky, the trees were in bas relief against the snow... it was purdy. I couldn't stay peeved. It felt so nice and warm. I slowed down and took a ton of pictures, frolicked, and just looked at stuff. All told, I was in there 6 hours.

Attempt concluded, I drove out to the main road in the teeny town of Buena Vista and - surprise, surprise - turned the wrong way on the highway. I realized it within a mile so turned around. I took it as a sign that I was supposed to stop somewhere and indulge the strange craving I'd been having. I ate a cheeseburger. I haven't eaten a burger in 15 years. I pulled off at this mom & pop place that had a lot of cars in the parking lot (that is my new #1 restaurant- choosing strategy) and ordered the quarter-pounder with cheese. It was charbroiled deliciousness.

That helped me get my head on right - and served as the icing on the cake for a perfect DNS.

The CLimBer

2009-02-28T23:35:00.026-06:00

I'm exhausted and my fingertips hurt, but I can't sleep and want to write. My blood is still up.

I went climbing outdoors for the first time today. I keep replaying it. The holds, the exhilaration, the way it felt to just boss my way up the climb. Then the utter exhaustion and my inability to grasp even the easiest hold. The way my body told me "no," the way my mind could just not persist, did not even want to - the way I hated the rock and wanted off in the worst way.

I never felt unsafe. My belayer is too good for that. But I did feel unsure. It feels like a massive departure from who I used to be. The climbing crowd is part of it. The rock itself is another. Then there's my learning curve - the absolute mental and physical challenge. I could barely follow the conversation on the way to the rock. The terms, the names of (apparently) famous climbs and climbers... My climbing partners threw their jargon around like snow in Wisconsin. I was in a blizzard and just tried to keep my vision clear. More than once, I was snowed-in.

And that was even before we got to the rocks.

Once there, I soon found myself on belay and climbing Shelf's limestone walls. Implicitly trusting my belay partners and going all out, attacking the rock. You look for the weakness in the rock - and it ferrets out every weakness in you. I used every part of my body and every piece of rock that I could think of to devise a hold. To pull myself up those rock faces. I bear the battle scars. Bruised knees, a chunk of skin out of a finger pad, and muscles that I don't want to face tomorrow.

I attempted five climbs. I couldn't make it to the top on my last two. A meager three full ascents drained every ounce of my energy. My third climb was my most fun - but the most technical of them all, the bruise-maker. It was called "Don't mess with my Moves" (each climb has a catchy little moniker) and was "in your face" the whole time, requiring the climber to be creative in finding each hold. I remember being splayed on the rock, spread-eagle style to reach holds, while other moves had my hands and feet hugging an outward bulge of rock. That's where I earned the bruises; determinedly hugging that rock with my thighs and knees, not wanting to give it an inch - wanting to ascend under my own power.

Once that climb was done, I attempted the fourth and fifth climbs but found that I was done. My body was tapped out. My mind was tapped out.

Right now I am a CLimBer; my skills are as jagged as Shelf's burlier faces. I am going to have to work to get good at this. According to my climbing partners, I have a natural aptitude, but even with that, I didn't do a single "clean" climb. I either fell off the wall or had to ask for a "take" - wherein my belayer locked down the rope and let me hang to rest and consider my next move. I am far, far from being able to lead. It is unsettling to be a newbie at this. I am, however, settled on one thing: I will be back. I am in the place where it makes sense to do this.

As exemplified by this final photo. We left as the sun was beginning to sink. But a glance back revealed nine different ropes at work on this one wall. Shelf's hundreds of routes find just as many climbers. This is quite a place.

Mt. Sherman is Mine, All Mine

2009-02-23T21:45:00.036-06:00

I did it! Bagged my fifth 14er on Saturday. I can now notch my belt with Mt. Sherman, 14,036 feet.

The trip was awesome - beginning with the drive to the trailhead. I topped two new passes and the view was stunning. From Denver, highway 285 leads you to the Mosquito Range which hosts Mt. Sherman. It also leads you to incomparable views. The passes opened onto wide valleys framed by the mountains. Little - like teeny, cardboard box - towns were nestled in there. I drove through and couldn't help but dream of purchasing real estate. You wanna be tucked away - that's the place.

After Fairplay (the most populated city in its county, boasting 610 souls), you turn off on a highway that quickly turns into a boulder-strewn gravel road. When that peters out into feet-deep snow (where the plows stop), you park and start hiking.

The hike itself was... incredible. It is a singular experience doing these 14ers. My other hikes are pretty views and tranquilizers; I find so much peace. These 14ers are all hard edges and adrenaline. You start above treeline so there are only the bare faces of the mountains and their individual shapes to study. Some have been uptilted, decorating their faces with horseshoe-shaped bands of minerals. Others are stout little pyramids greeting you. Others, like Sherman, while indistinct in shape, are no less impressive for their sheer mass and power over the landscape.

Though snow is the predominant color, rocks with their coats of lichen also dot the mountainsides. Occasionally, human structures break out of the landscape. Abandoned mine shafts remind you of Colorado's rocky mineral history. Looking down, you see fir trees, standing stark and dark against the white of the snow.

For most of the hike, I followed a well-blazed trail. But by approximately 13,500 feet, I had passed all the other climbers and was left to my own devices to find the trail. Naturally, I lost it (my map had flown into a ravine early in the hike) and I ended up making my own path. I could see the summit ridge so I knew which direction to go, but it was quite tricky picking a path. My choices were to pick my way up steep, slippery scree - or posthole up a nearly vertical wall of snow. And of course you don't realize how vertical things are until you start...

I chose the snowy path, kicking my boots into the snow for toeholds and grasping with my fingers for handholds. It all went pretty well until I reached the very last ledge. And it was a doozy of a ledge - with snow stacked up to my chest. And it was hard-packed. Kicking to test the snow and finding it unyielding, I considered Down. But Down looked more treacherous than Up.

Up it would be. I kicked several times before I could begin to consider putting my weight on the toeholds. I threw my mittens up on the ledge and dug handholds with my fingernails. With two good footholds, I heaved myself up and crawled on hands and knees once on the ledge itself. Tricky, tricky. Meanwhile, all the other yaks were gaping at me - and mostly going a different route. I got lotso props on that move on my way down. But mostly I just loved it for me. It's a bit ineffable, this feeling I have while climbing, but I'll give it a whirl...

I realized that day on Sherman that I am no longer just somewhat driven; I am summit driven. It feels like purity, like all of life's ambiguities are no more. There you find yourself at 13,500 feet, buffeted by winds and facing steep rock and frozen snow. I love being at 13,500 - much more than the 14,038. Thirteen-five is where the adventure is. The self-reliance, the test of strength and stamina. The choice between Down and Up, while daunting, is a clear one. And you write the ending all yourself. I revel in my body's strength and - dare I say? - developing skillz.

The top? Oh yes, I reached it. It took me 3 hours and 15 minutes. It was super windy so I spent very little time stopped anywhere - not even the summit. I snapped a few photos, signed the 14ers ledger, and began the descent.

When I reached the downhill of the less steep snowfields, I remembered an episode of Man Vs. Wild in which Bear Grylls saved mucho energy by glissading down an embankment. I promptly plopped myself in the snow and slid down, steering myself by slightly digging my heels into the snow or pushing down with the heels of my hands. It was a ball! That 3:15 it took me to get up turned into 1:59 for the way down.

Once finished, I was a zombie, tucking myself into my car, not even changing out of my wet socks and boots but rather doing all that needed to be done with automaticity. I listened to no music on the way home; rather I was accompanied by my own thoughts and the sensations of 14.

Mt. Sherman? Feels like mine.

The Rocks Were There...

2009-02-17T21:53:00.004-06:00

...so I climbed them.

Path finding mid-stream. Better now than never.

Goal met: I reached my chair and sat for a spell.

Eldorado Canyon Hike 2/16/09

Eye-Opener

2009-02-17T21:19:00.004-06:00

They come into my office one-by-one
these struggling readers
referred to me by teachers
who have related their
battle stories

unmotivated
LaZy
Trouble-maker
PUNK

They come into my office
one-by-one
and they perform
No, they transform
for those 20 minutes
they become students again
slicked-up and straight-backed
doing their darndest to answer my questions

Some can't sit still to save their lives
some can't answer my comprehension questions to save their lives
but they try
they have new hope
for that 20 minutes they see
a new teacher
a new opportunity
and to a one
one-by-one
their egos respond
the best in them shines
they have hope
they give it their all

That resiliency
that capacity for hope
is inspiring ...
yet sad

Because when my 20 minutes is up
they leave
Over my head in my office hangs
their hope
their inspiration
their assiduity
Over my head hang
the question marks

Can we?
How?
Will we?

The Mountain Top

2009-02-16T20:59:00.005-06:00

I am another person on the mountain top.
I'm the person who knows how to live.
Who knows how to give.
Who wants nothing for herself.
Who has everything she needs.
Who doesn't crave
or claw
or demand
But rather
listens
and hears
and is soothing
quiet
peace.

I see far on the mountain top.

Photo - Pike's Peak Ascent, 9/12/08
Sentiments - Eldorado Canyon Hike, 2/16/09

Did you see that streak?

2009-02-04T22:13:00.002-06:00

It was me on my bike! It was AMAZING here in Denver today.

It was the kind of day that makes happiness leak out of you & everyone else you meet on the bike path, resulting in a culture of grinning that seems almost cultish. It was 67 degrees with sun, sun, sun that flooded the bike paths and baked the concrete. It was the kind of day where you yell (OK, I yelled), "Go, shirtless guy!" to the biker in the oncoming lane. It was the kind of day where you started out a little fearful, because - well, you think about things differently when you've been hit by a car - but then find yourself fearless because you have a mightily beneficent tailwind and every time you look down to check the gauge it's whispering sweet nothings to you... 19, 20, 24, 26 MPH...

You find yourself fearless because the sun emboldens you. You find yourself fearless because the downhills feel so sweet and rounding the curves feels tight and fast. You find yourself fearless because your bike feels like an extension of you and you are lithe and strong and healed and - best of all - on the road again. Riding out the thoughts of the day, obsessing over the kids, the colleagues, the lesson plans, the problem solving until you've ridden them all out. And all that's left is you and the motion and the pure mounting joy...

Today: 21.4 miles, 19.4 MPH Av.

Dumb Dog

2009-01-30T21:56:00.008-06:00

Dumb dog, why are you following me?

Mostly just his big puppy eyes follow me around - to see if I'm catching him at his various misdeeds. But he's been kicked around and neglected like orphan Annie's dog. And people think he's dumb. But, those same sneaky eyes have finally started to meet mine when we're working in small group.

His mom is crazy, his dad long-absent. School is a grind for him, a place where he fails, where he doesn't get the unwritten rules - much less the written ones. He is craving safety, craving acceptance, craving a place where he can succeed. He would never say that, but we teachers, we can read it. And I can give him that. I am working hard, thinking hard, advocating and fighting hard to keep minds open about him, to keep people believing in him. So that WE can give him that. A guaranteed education that he can access.

And then, on my other battle front, I am teaching him that a teacher is not always Teacher. We are not flat placards of lesson plans and discipline. We understand, we listen, we see flashes of insight and pull, pull, pull, dredge the depths of brains. Begging for more, helping to shape thoughts, to find words, to think, to self-advocate, to understand.

And he is getting there. He is so close. He is opening up, he is attempting. He is becoming a student. He might even be beginning to believe that he can, he could, he just might... succeed.

He's Making a List

2009-01-30T21:34:00.006-06:00

He's making a list
he's checking it twice
He's using exclamation points
about ME!
He's can't waiting
and advanced packing
My baby's coming for a visit

He's coming home
to me
in this place of sunshine
this 300+ sunny-days state
my internal & heart-earned fate
After dwelling in his place of darkness
for so long
he is coming to my light

and I?

I am ready
I am a woman in full
I bike through the sunlight
and claim it as my own
I'm going to baste him in my warmth
He's going to bask in my glow

I'm walking on air
I'm jumping off bridges
This here cloud nine will always catch me

Sing it from the mountaintops
Spread it on your bread
TT is in love.

The Canvas

2009-01-29T20:26:00.006-06:00

I'm living my daydream. It came to me on today's hike. Okay, so it's only one of the bazillion daydreams that I've had of my life, but how many lives do you have anyways?

I used to daydream that I'd hike in gorgeous mountains every weekend. I used to dream that I'd become a climber. I used to imagine that I'd find my center and let the other stuff swirl on around me.

Check.

Check.

And check.

A year & a half ago, I remember sitting in my newly-rented apartment - right when I first moved out - drawing myself a web. In the center was me and then the tentacles reached out, pointing to the major portions of my life: my personal relationships, my athleticism, teaching. I thought that drawing the web might help me unify all of those people and things that had only me in common. It didn't. It has taken a year & a half of stumbling through some days, "acting as if" on many others -and just plugging away at my mantra of eat right, sleep right, and exercise - to bring me to this spot today.

The peaceful spot. The pond upon whose surface others' jagged edges may be reflected, but whose ripples are all her own. I have become the glue of that web. I've added some things and removed others, but mostly I've placed myself at the center of it, firmly planted, not seeing in black & white, yet knowing where my lines are drawn - and who will be allowed to cross them.

And (puh-raise the lord!) I'm having fun. I awoke from a dream laughing out loud this week. Two mornings I woke up before my alarm to play guitar - and a third to get out hiking today. There were times over this last year & a half that I woulda sworn I'd never have fun again.

So here I find myself. With this Colorado canvas. And I'm painting.

Go Smack Talk a Mountain

2008-12-31T13:58:00.004-06:00

Man, my mama musta screamed when she gave birth to me cuz I swear I was born with skis on my feet.

Today I cross-country skied for the first time in the mountains of Colorado. It kicked, it rocked, it glided and slided. We started on Greens - as in greenhorn, as in EZ, as in gently sloping lands. ZZZZ... We quickly realized that we were made of sterner stuff and progressed to Blues.

In the bag.

Here I stand poised to enter my first Black, the Disco Trail. And that's when I realized my mama's pain. Cuz shoot. I was born with these skis on my feet. I was John Travolta and Olivia Newton John rolled into one in my nice, tight, black pants. I discoed and dodged and twisted and turned and flew. I mighta even pressed my ski poles into service for that cute little pointing move.

And climb??

Mama-mia! What comes down must go up. But I didn't let that fog up my disco ball. I was the little engine that could and steamed up those hills.

All told, it took me three hours to break those mountains' backs. I left 'em consulting with Crayola, looking for more colors. I left 'em crying for their mamas - cuz they realized that they were born with just ski tracks at their feet.

Happiness is...

2008-12-13T10:31:00.022-06:00

1) The powder being DUMPED on Denver this morning. Skis, here I come! In this city of over half a million souls, I can snap on my skis outside my front door and be on a trail within 2 blocks. The snow makes me happy, but so does this city. Trails - and getting those half mill souls onto them - are a priority here.

2) Muscles that twitch and twitter with after-exercise elation when you pull on a shirt the next morning. Muscles that lift and twist and pull and pedal. I love the feel of mine when I'm working out. Strong, lithe, controlled, getting the job done. I love my body. I am so glad to have it back after the accident.

3) Light and lively arpeggios, fingers that fly up and down guitar strings while my body rocks and sways to the beat of my internal drum.

4) Creating, daydreaming, writing little ditties. I ride/ski/swim along, lost in my thoughts, amusing myself for hours on end. I like to amuse others. I spin outrageous yarns that tangle my nieces and nephews up in tickly giggles. I like to tease my brother - engage in a battle of wits that gets us both rocking.

5) Helping. My students. I am teaching them to read. To READ. I may be prejudiced here, but man, reading is the bomb. I am teaching them to laugh at books, to cry with books. We do it together. I fervently hope they will be lifelong readers and thinkers. I like to help my students' parents. A mom cried on my shoulder this week. She has been abandoned and needs to be needed, included. She needs a sense of belonging. I asked her to volunteer in my classroom starting next week. Opening my heart feels good.

6) Singing harmony with anyone, but especially with my niece. One snowy November day this year, she and I cracked that Rosetta Stone together for her. I picked and we played, played, played at it until midnight.

These are 6 things that make me happy. Thank you for the tag, Anne.

What makes you happy, you 6 Kreativ Bloggers?

(My apologies if you've done this already. The teacher in me says: Do it again! The humanist in me says: You can never have too much happiness. So there you go... do it again! :-))

I Wanna Eat

2008-11-24T17:40:00.014-06:00

I wanna eat
turkey and stuffing
and mashed potatoes
and gravy
I wanna mound it on my plate
and moosh it all together
creating a wavy swirl

Then I wanna take a tractor load
of it and stuff it
in my mouth
making chipmunk cheeks
that are such a concoction
that even my mother
won't recognize it as her own cooking
In the spare space
I'll add the crowning touch
a splash of red ~
the cranberry sauce

I wanna get down and dirty
with a leg
and lick my fingers
I wanna pull the skin off
and dangle it over my mouth
and then drop it in
and gulp it
gnashing my teeth and
smearing my lips with its oiliness

I want pumpkin pie
with dollops of whipped topping
that I will mash down
with my fork
spooning and spreading
meticulously covering
every
delicious
nutmeggy
inch of it

Then shovel-style,
I will fork it into my mouth
chewing with open
gulping, gasping,
swishing, swirling
noises

And I wanna do this at night
at 10 PM after everyone has gone to bed
down in my mom's kitchen
so I don't have to do any of it delicately

Biking makes me really hungry.

1:22.32, 23 miles, 16.4 Avg. MPH

Staring Problem

2008-11-23T07:03:00.007-06:00

He's staring at me. Out of these vivid blue eyes encircled by wire-rimmed glasses. His arms are covered in light blond hair and there's a faded bluish tattoo on one forearm. He is short and muscular. And he is staring at me. He only sort of looks away when I catch him at it.

Unnerved, I shift slightly and continue the Ironman anecdote I am telling my friend out loud, all the while maintaining an internal dialogue. What is his deal? Am I looking that fine tonight in my cords and plain gray T-shirt? Hot on the heals of that comes: Is he wearing a ring?

Does he think he knows me? Is he a cross country parent? Is he going to come over here or just continue to stare?

We move over to supervise the theater entrance closest to the bathrooms. Minutes later I look up and my eyes collide with the vivid blue ones. He is milling outside the women's bathroom. Is it coincidence? Is he legit? Is his female inside?

I lose track of him in the busy-ness of the play.

Until now. Three days later I wake up remembering another set of blue eyes, wire-rimmed glasses, and hairy blond arms. I looked into those eyes and told them that they really needed lumbar support on these stretchers. They, for their part, assessed my vitals and told me I was going to be OK, would probably be home by lunchtime. The hairy blond hands cut off my bike clothes. He told me his name and that of his son, a student at my middle school. I knew the name but not the kid. I've subsequently forgotten the name, but I think I've solved my staring problem.

He was the EMT in the ambulance.

76

2008-11-18T08:32:00.005-06:00

The number of minutes I anticipate it will take me to get home tonight.
76
The number of times I woke up last night.
38 times scared.
38 times excited. Anticipating.

I have a knot in my stomach.
It's called biking.
It's called commuting home.
I'll be on that road again.
Or not.
I have the bike map and might take a longer route home.
Or I might just get back on that horse and face my demons.
Ooh, that felt like gargling with ipecac.

Make me strong.
Make me brave.
Make me just do it
and revel in it
and come to that easy pass
with biking
where I don't even think about it
except to get the good shivers of anticipation.
Make me visualize today's Denver temps of 70s
and sun
riding toward those iridescent blue mountains
now topped with white...

76 minutes most-anticipated,
here I come.

Post script: It took me 80. And I wondered. Is this OK pain or the kind of after-a-serious-injury-needs-to-rest pain? But then... I neared home and the peace happened. The kind of peace that comes only from biking. Ahh...

Stats: 1:20.45, 21.47 miles, 15.9 Av

Stupid

2008-11-17T14:53:00.007-06:00

Stupid. They don't use words, but they say, "you're stupid." They snicker every time he answers a question. They roll their eyes, sigh, get impatient. He believes them. I almost begin to believe them. He is new to me. I wonder what he has done to earn this reputation, this reaction. I ache for him. Today he made a beautiful inference while we were reading in small group. They didn't hear it. I heard it. I told him I heard it.

Hear me: Stupid you are not, kid!

Birthday Gifts I Gave to Myself

2008-11-14T20:11:00.002-06:00

Wednesday: Doctor's appointment. I think - hope - this will be my last one associated with the accident. The neurosurgeon gave me clearance to bend, lift, and twist to my heart's content. She did caution me against running or other high impact activities until January though.

Thursday: FLIP TURNS!!! I made all four 50s on 50 seconds. I am a swimmer again!

Friday: A new bike helmet - red, because that's the color my new tri bike is going to be. The trip to the bike shop also included me doing research on my next build. These guys tell me they can get the job done. I want it exactly like my old build, my beloved Serra, but have to change the color. And the name... Ideas?

Saturday: A day spent with some of my favorite people in the world doing an event that is yet to be revealed to me. I love surprises!

Sunday: The crowning glory on the day of my birthday -- my first ride. I have my ol' road bike all ready to go, just finished pumping up the tires, in fact. On Sunday, when Denver is slated for 65 degrees and sun, you will find me on the bike path...

Skip the candles; I already have all I could wish for.

What You Don't Know About Me

2008-11-04T20:30:00.012-06:00

What you don't know about me
is that
I can
You see the ache
the twisted knee
the bruised hip
the unbendable back

But I know better

In the pool
I am invincible
I am nearly myself again
I am myself minus flip turns,
the drive
the determination
the litheness
the piss & vinegar
are mine

I swim hard
I inhale,
sucking air
and unavoidably
am rewarded with a healthy swish of
stale chlorinated water
My epiglottis does its job
closing off my my trachea
In these timed 50s
I can't expend milliseconds expelling water
or swallow it
I must let it swill
I have a job to do
I have to keep moving

I fight hard and make the
4 x 50 on 60 seconds

These 50s that took me
75 seconds 2 weeks ago when
I first wet myself in the pool again
I am happy
but
the bar is being raised
I anticipate and dread
but make
the 4 x 50 on 55 seconds
and fight, fight, fight
for the 4 x 50 on 50 seconds

I make #1 with 2 seconds rest
I have 1 second to spare on #2
for #3 I am a second late
but I shove off anyway
knowing that
I can
I will
next time
or the time after that
because

In the pool
I am transformed
In the pool
I know
I feel
I anticipate
the big things
I am yet capable of...

A Bump in the Road

2008-10-21T20:33:00.017-06:00

I am going to climb 14ers again. I am going to run, swim, and yes, I am going to bike. But today, my endeavors look more like this:
1) Walk 1/2 hour (more of a shuffle)
2) Have doctor's appointment. He tells me I can get rid of both the knee brace and the back brace - as pain dictates.
3) Walk another 1/2 hour on the trail trying to retrain my left leg to bend.
4) Read or visit until it's time to nap again.

Sleep overtakes me these days. I understand that word really well since the accident. I don't have a naptime or a bedtime - they have me.

I am surprisingly OK with it. It feels right - it feels like my body is healing. Given the situation, I know that the more I rest, the quicker I'll heal. I have two fractures and one ligament tear, sundry bruises, and road rash. I know I can take the time I need. School has been awesome, family & friends supportive, and Sweet Sister, the only one out here in Colorado - has been a super-Sherpa. I can count on her.

From the moment I took her hand in the ER and continued to squeeze it, and she let me. I just couldn't breathe normally. I was too scared. The impact of the car and the coulda-beens until I dragged myself to the safety of the median played over in my mind. And wreaked havoc with my breathing.

I hated it. I hated the fact that I'd been hit. I hated the pain. I loathed having to miss school. I didn't want to worry Sweet Sister and everyone else. I instructed the man who called to "tell her I'm OK!" but I have never been as happy, relieved, safe, as when I saw her walk into that ER and let me clench her hand.

My bike. My beautiful, custom-built, fits-like-a-dream tri-bike. Is done. I can't have it at my house yet. The bike clothes - the ones they cut from my body - are stashed in a room. I'm not sure what to do with them. I can't get rid of them just yet, but neither do I seek their raggedy, streaked company.

I want to ride again.

That first night at the hospital, still in my bike shirt and sports bra with a hospital gown over it, Sweet Sister washed my face. She washed away the tears of the day, the grime from the accident - and the happy sweat that was underneath that.

It had been a happy ride. I left my house at 5:30 AM, lit up like a Christmas tree - I thought - and was out in the morning air. I never know whether I love the morning ride or the evening ride more. I could write soliloquies to both. This was my first ride to school from my new house, though I'd ridden the route home the three preceding afternoons. I wound my way through the state park, guided by my headlamp - and my ears.

Sometimes these dark rides are like playing hide-and-seek with an opponent who can't resist occasionally whistling out to you, whose playfulness eeks out in the gurgling sound of a stream that tells you definitively that you did just miss your turn from the park road back onto the trail because you know you never crossed a stream during the daylight rides. There were so few other people in the park that morning - and we would never know each other were we to meet again - because we were just blurs of reflective gear, headlamps, and "mornins" to each other. I always love these morning riders, runners, and walkers. We are kindred souls.

Never 100% sure that I'd made it onto the right path until I exited the park, I was happy that morning on Canine Road. When I came to its grooved, under-construction pavement, I knew I was a mile from my next bike path, the last quarter of this 20 mile bike commute.

I was sweating and I was thinking and I was anticipating. I was looking forward to school where I'd be team teaching an 8th grade math class first thing. I'd written story problems to review for their test and I couldn't wait to see the students' reactions when they heard their names in my goofy little stories. I'd also written one about my age in relation to that of my niece whose birthday was the next day. Then after school, I was to head to Sweet Sister's house - stopping en route only to purchase her a bike pump from the bike shop - for dinner and a visit with some fellow Midwesterners. I would walk the dogs on the open space, eat her cooking, and talk and laugh a blue streak as we watched the vice presidential debate. I love living this close to my sister.

So when I lay there screaming on the median, I was screaming for a lot of things - pain, fear and shock, yes - but disappointment and loss too.

I'm not screaming anymore. I've accepted. My body has set the terms of this recovery and I will oblige. I am told that I am healing quickly - that I am fortunate to be young, healthy, and strong. I believe that. I feel that. And I trust my body. It has led me to Ironman, helped me crest four of these Colorado 14ers (52 to go!), and taken me on countless other treks. It always delivers me from a frenzied or worried or careworn state to one of peace and inner calm. I will accommodate this body. I will let it recover and then I will let it carry me ... onward, upward, and inward.

Ima Climba...

2008-10-12T09:12:00.004-06:00

Enroute to Pike's Peak (elev. 14,110 feet) on Sunday, September 14, 2008 at approximately 8:00 AM.

Let Me Come In

2008-09-19T15:24:00.011-06:00

It is the club to which
I most want to belong
More than I wanted to
be a 7th grade cheerleader
More than I wanted
braces in 8th
More even
than I wanted to
be an Ironman

It is epitomized by
people who qualify for Tri Nationals
Its members speed by me
on my bike commutes home
especially on the uphill - grr...

They eat nails for breakfast
and shit out steel tri bikes for lunch
Its archetype include those who unpuffingly
pass me on my way up Rabbit Ears Pass
They have the gall to say
"Welcome to paradise"
(Oh yes, I got my ass over that pass
but they got theirs over faster)

Their spandex is tighter
their hips are leaner
their machinery meaner

I wannabe
I wannabe
I wannabe
A Fitness Freak of Colorado

Affectionately (one of?) yours,
TT

The Beat In Between

2008-09-06T18:48:00.005-06:00

I pull up to the red light
unclip
rest my toe on the pavement
and it happens

The traffic stills
my breathing slackens
silence prevails
the morning stops
the eye amid a flurry hurry-cane

I'm no Joseph Campbell
and it's gone almost before I can register it
put my brain around it
but I have felt it
I'm no Joseph Campbell
but in that moment
that beat
I feel like
I have glimpsed
the divine

That moment of
absolute
utter
stillness
no more than a beat
but
I know it was there

I savor it.

7 - 2 = 4??

2008-08-23T19:20:00.004-06:00

I've forgotten how to subtract. Or something akin to it. I know this phenomenon. I've witnessed it in my students countless times when I introduce a complex new process, e.g. long division. Suddenly, kids who've been subtracting beautifully since the 2nd grade forget they ever even knew how. Their brain is spread too thin trying to grasp the whole divide, multiply, subtract, bring-it-down process of long division.

That is me in this new job. I've forgotten basic things. I am a space cadet, a walking hazard to the planet. I double book myself for meetings, I respond to parents in ways I've never responded before, I forget things. And I realize that it is happening and then second guess myself all the more. Eejah. It is horrible.

I know what it is - I am overwhelmed right now, my poor little neural energy tapped right out - but it doesn't help my feelings of utter inadequacy.

I benchmark this spot because I know that someday I will regain my old automaticity. I will get my groove back. I will be the teacher and reading specialist that I once was: organized, with-it, there for kids and parents and other teachers, a trusted resource. For now... 1+1 = 2, 2+2 =4.

I think.

My Hair Smells Good

2008-08-10T15:54:00.009-06:00

My hair smells good
I am just back from a hike
where all the spicy, sagey
plants of CO were on the bake

I have picked up their odor
integrated their roots
borrowed their sage-acity

I have met countless people these last two weeks
some kind
some curious
about me, about Wisconsin, about tris and running,
some self-absorbed
bridges that led only inward
Still others who have sniffed me out and tucked tail to run
They didn't like me
Others with stories bigger and longer and more interesting than mine

I have met countless people
I worked at their sides at our new school
I biked at their sides and
- on the hills -
at their backs (Gax!)
I hiked in their wake
talked and smiled and sifted and sorted
and absorbed this new place

I am here
pinching myself when the sight of the mountains
astonishes me yet again
gripping my handlebars a little tighter
when the Denver lights come into view
and
shaking my head to get a whiff of this
awesome
sagey
spicy
good-smelling hair.

I Am Bike Commuter

2008-08-07T19:45:00.004-06:00

It's not as if I didn't see the yellow light. I just knew better than to stop. I know this suburbia-land community well enough to know that at 5:30 AM, the roads are mine. All the mama-teachers, corporate daddies, and burbie-babies are still fast asleep or waking up to laidback cups of latté and ... other fru-fru stuff.

So it's not like I didn't see the light. I just knew better. I also knew that my ride to school is mostly uphill and I'd be damned if I was going to brake for a yellow (-ish, OK, more red by the second, shall we call it orange?) light when I have the only downhill of the ride. Also, it should be said that this was my first commute in the dark so far this year. The air was cool and moist and sweet and... sort of intoxicating. So I blew it. Blew right through that baby at 5:30 AM and fleetingly wondered out of my peripheral vision - out of my peripheral brain - if either of the two cars waiting at the cross streets were police vehicles.

One was. He pulled me over. On my bike. For running an orange light. And I told him the truth. "I'm high on the morning ride." I beamed at him. My face, my smile exuded all the happiness and joie de vivre you can squeeze out of a cool, moist, sweet, fast downhill in the morning. He understood, I think. He gave me a verbal warning. (My third traffic warning in 8 months; the other two were for speeding. In my car, silly! But I digress. Except I am sort of spotting a pattern here. Oops...) Funny thing is - I was almost happy to see him. Such beautiful rides and feelings should be shared with someone.

My little joyfest concluded, I continued on my merry way.

La-la-la-dee-lah. I'm goin' uphill, but's it's all good cuz life is good. The Denver lights are to my right, the mountains to my back. La-la-la-dee-lah.

Then.

Thumpity, thumpity, thump.

Wait. That sound is not a happy sound. I craned my neck down and back to view my rear tire. Flat. Dead as a doornail. Baaaad.

I pulled off onto the side of the road and quickly ascertained that I'd picked up a shard of some moron's glass bottle in my back tire. I carry an extra tube and tire for just such occasions. I whipped them out and changed my first tire of this commute year about halfway through my ride on the side of a getting-busier street with traffic zooming by me. There was no way I was getting that tire up to pressure with my telescoping pump, but I got it up to "rideable" and was back on my way in 15 minutes. Thinking: this would have to happen to me this first week of school when I'm trying to impress my 78 new colleagues and four new administrators. On the first day that I decide to retry the road route instead of the trail. On the first day that I got to wear my headlamp, reflective vest and flashy red tail light. Big, bad boo.

Unbelievably, I made it to school on time. Through orange lights, flashing reds & blues, and a tire change. Up, up with Type As! We leave early enough so that a typhoon wouldn't impinge on our punctuality.

After this morning's ride, I wear the badge. I am Bike Commuter. Hear me roar. See me soar.

Chasin' Trail: Colorado & Mexico

2008-07-27T15:51:00.001-06:00

Well, it took four hours and all the water I had, and my nether regions hurt, but I've found it. My bike commute route to school. Yesterday I did the first trial - a one-way trip that took me 1:10. I swore to my family that the way home from my new school was all downhill as speedy as it went. But I also went fast because I was nervous about the cars whizzing past me. So today I decided to try it round trip, looking for trail to circumvent the heavily-trafficked streets and highways of yesterday. I found about 2/3 trail on the way there and then on the way back looked even harder.

I can claim unmitigated success - providing I can piece the thing all together again. I was out there searching for four hours, but I predict that once I get it downpat, the commute will take me an hour and a half tops. And all but 10 minutes of that will be on trail.

I re-fell in love with Colorado today. Finding my way through this, figuring out how the paths connected - and the fact that there were bike paths to be found - was enchanting. And these are optimal bike paths - wide smooth concrete that threads its way along gulches (mostly dry this time of year), through neighborhood open spaces, and under the shade of the occasional willow tree. And they all hook up! Ahhh... a biker's dream.

Tomorrow takes me out into the wilderness for my first-ever solo backpacking trip. I have a long list of business I should be taking care of, but I see those mountains to the west and - just like that - they trump business for now. I'm only able to go for one night, but I'm thrilled to be trying this out. I have a couple of goals. My Albuquerque uncle boasted of a 29-pound pack while all the women in his hiking group had 40-pound packs. The gauntlet has been thrown. I would like to be able to send him an email evening the score. My other goal is to write. I'm back from a 2 week trip to Mexico that was HUGE. I haven't even begun to process it all. We set a breakneck pace of traveling and touring that took us:

through 15 Mexican and American states
across 5063 miles
to sea level at a Pacific coast beach
to 9000 feet at our highest mountain pass
to hell and back with each other; we laughed until our faces hurt and alternately, snapped at each other so that we left toothmarks
to Lake Pátzcuaro, one of the world's highest lakes
past countless mudbrown, unappetizing rivers
to pyramids built by ancients
to resort hotels built by moderns

As you can see, I'm going to need a pretty thick journal. Maybe Albuquerque uncle will win the challenge after all. This time.

To New Friends

2008-07-27T12:58:00.004-06:00

I have a newfound
new
tall
friend
named Cindy

I told her I'd be there the 20th
I arrived the 22nd
Called her at 9:30 PM
Proposed a run for 7 AM
the next morning
She batted not an eyelid

I gave her a bum steer on directions
She drove 45 minutes out of her way
She batted not an eyelid

We ran
We talked
We laughed

My newfound
new
tall
friend
is cool.

(My apologies for the blurry pic; we'll take a better one the next time I'm in Albuquerque!)

Paradise Valley Tri Race Report

2008-07-08T21:52:00.011-06:00

Hannah came out of the water even with me though I didn't know it until much later. I heard Mom yelling to Sam that he could be the first on the bike - get going. I didn't look at him yet either. Instead I was watching Strong Sister, willing her to hurry up and land her kayak so we could do the bike together. I wanted to be with someone, didn't know if I could do it alone.

You cruise along thinking it's all OK and then ten minutes before the race, your 26 year old nephew whom you love like a brother but haven't seen since Christmas asks you a simple question and you bust out in tears. Big juicy unstoppable ones. You apologize for the failure of the impermeable smile; you're just too comfortable with him to fake it. He, however, does not always expect strength and wraps you in an embrace, then walks you to the outhouse where he rips off a healthy dose of TP to mop up the tears and snot. You know you have to get it together, to swallow the lump in your throat so you can breathe around it, so you can gulp air - cuz the tri is starting.

Then you stand on the beach, having managed to breathe around the lump long enough to get you across the lake, all told 6 minutes, 49 seconds. You breathe around the lump but inside you still have the emptiness, the ache. You think to fill it with Strong Sister but she is taking too long and you're just standing there idle by your bike. So you hop on and push off through the gravel down the road, still not sure but going anyways, past Mom's house where the impulse to go inside, to curl up in the dark sanctuary of the basement is almost overpowering. But that would cause concern. So you do what you do best and just keep steppin' and think with each pedal stroke how much you appreciate the finite pain of tri.

Then you remember to look for Sam, the 16 year old who you should be reeling in, and you see him way ahead of you, turning onto the first paved part of the course and you half register that he is looking strong, has maintained the gap. However, he will surely tire when he hits the gravel again. Next thing you know you're wishing your mountain bike had aerobars so you lean forward on the handlebars and get sore forearms for your efforts. And now you don't see Sam at all but you're sure that he's just around the curve or over the hill cuz you're back on the gravel - and he must be tiring. You get to the last straight part of the course and spot him. He is two minutes ahead and you think, "Dang! Sixteen year old boys are fast on their bikes," and you start racing in earnest but it is too late. 47 minutes was not enough to catch him.

He has made it to the bike drop first and in case there is any doubt, your mom says, "Moriah and Kate are out ahead" and you catch yourself thinking "Ah heck, I can reel in a 14 year old and a 10 year old." You are half right.

Kate is in the bag within the first half mile, but Moriah, the real third leg of their relay team, is off in the distance. You don't see her until the last mile and you yell, "Go, Moriah! You're doing great, girlie!" She gives you a big goofy grin - and goes. And inside you turn up the heat because now she is in sight and you are hungry to win this thing free and clear. You pull up on her, you gain. Enough to round the curve right before the finish line and see her cross. Your run times out at 19:19, which is just about 20 seconds too late, but you hug those three teenagers anyways, those 2nd cousins who you now want for training partners.

You receive a bellyfull of smack talk all weekend about getting whooped by the kids - and you give back equal amounts. It is only three days later when you're out on the boat writing this race report on the inside flap of a National Geographic magazine that you wonder what's the line between distraction and actual enjoyment of the moment. And when are the big crocodile tears gonna crawl out of the sewer again. And then you realize that it doesn't matter, that it's all OK, that they'll come when there's a person you love around, someone who'll give you TP and a warm shoulder - and that life isn't for taking that seriously anyways. You wrap up this race report (total tri time 1:14), close up the National Geo, and dive into the lake.

Five Days Hiking

2008-07-03T16:49:00.022-06:00

A strange blue light
weaves a spell around me
makes a click
makes a crunch
in this ol' granola soul

A strange blue light
wreathes around the mountains
draws me further
pulls me inward
pulls me upward
pulls me out

Out into the wilderness
up the peaks
across the ridges
I don't stop walking
I can't stop looking
could go forever
above the treeline
across June snowfields
surprising herds of elk
past glacial cirques
feeding rushing streams

This strange blue light
that bathes
rock-clad mountains
captures
this granola soul

Colorado
Crunch
and
Click

SWC Y Tri Race Report - Sprint

2008-06-23T10:04:00.007-06:00

My only "official" tri of this season is done and done well. I pushed.

Warm-up
Having not ridden my race bike for the last two weeks, I rode to the race (about 3 miles) and re-acclimated to my pedals, clipping in and out of each pedal about a million times. Once those neurons were refired, I hit the beach, swimming an 8:32 warm-up. I ran through the swim-to-bike transition and mentally-rehearsed the changing of the clothes for T1.

Swim
Normally a bilateral breather, this habit disappears when I race. I breathe on my right side with every stroke. It just is. I felt smooth and fast. It seemed that all of my wheezing sessions with Coach were serving me well; I was wheezing with the best of them, but it felt like the right thing to be doing since I was racing. I wore my wetsuit and was glad - the water was "refreshing".
Swim time: 7:11

T1
Woot! I ran fast past my cheering section and into the corral. I had a really good position for my bike and made the smoothest transition out of my wetsuit I've ever made. I learned to put it over my timing chip (duh!) so it slips off more easily. No problemo.
T1 time: 1:13

Bike
Onto the bike and speedy flat land for 14.5 miles. I was chugging air but didn't want to slow down at all. My mantra became, "I'll breathe when I'm dead." (The humor of the statement was not lost on me and my self-satisfaction with my own cleverness buoyed my spirits even more.) I passed a lot of people and was passed by one guy. (#185 - grr! I still remember his number.) I tried to stick with him for about 3 seconds and realized it was hopeless. He was fast.
Bike time: 39:23

T2
This went OK. I fumbled when re-racking my bike a little bit and tangled my sunglass on my bike helmet when I removed it. I was quick getting into my running shoes but then in my nervousness and race-dizziness, I forgot where the exit to the run was. I had that panicky feeling and snapped my head in all directions looking for the exit while also trying to fasten my watch. Future plan: Run through T2 before the race! (Duh.)
T2 time: 0:38

Run
I really love myself sometimes. (You may gag.) I raced this whole 3.7 miles even though there was no other racer in sight. It struck me as weird even as I was doing it. What compels you to breathe hard and push even when no one else is around? In my head, I was Ariel the mermaid singing, "I wanna be where the people are!" but I just kept chugging along, pushing, pushing, pushing. I knew I'd be pissed at myself afterwards if I left anything on the course. Plus, it just felt good to race. I was in the mood. It didn't always feel good, but it certainly felt right.

AND - I'm happy, happy, happy with the 7:31 pace I held up. I've been running 3 times a week for 30-45 minutes. I have done no speed work - in fact, I would call what I've been doing "SLOW" work. So 7:31s feel like a gift. And miracle of miracles, my knees don't hurt. My piriformis is a little tweaky, but I have a tennis ball for that!
Run time: 27:48

Post race - I had pain between my shoulder blades, piriformis, and a growling stomach - I haven't stopped eating since I crossed the line! ;-) but otherwise I am A-OK. It's all that good kind of pain, that it-feels-like-achievement kind of pain. I'll take it!

Awards ceremony - My brother and his 3 kids (ages 2-5) had come to watch the race. When I received my age group medal, they had to jog up to get it with me. Then they took turns all afternoon wearing "the gold". Some things are just better with kids. :-) When I'm old and crippled up, I hope to go places and cheer for them. Won't be nothing wrong with my teacher lungs!

Overall: I was very happy with this race. As mentioned, I was first in my AG. Official results can be found here. I was bib #192.

Total time: 1:16.11
Gender place: 2/74
(The #1 Female beat me by 4 minutes instead of like 30 seconds, thank gawd! She's 23 years old - she has a career ahead of her!)
One last thing: my finisher's photo a la Robby B.
Cheers, everyone!

Where You'll Find Me

2008-06-20T07:59:00.007-06:00

Where troubles melt like lemondrops
Away above the chimney tops
That's where you'll find me...

But just in case I'm not there, try one of the following places:
June 21 = My only official tri of 2008 - South Wood County Y Tri
June 23 - July 2 = Moving my stuff to CO and doing some hiking. I'll miss WIBA. Have fun, everyone, and have a glass of Merlot for me.
July 2 - 11 = Wisconsin - 4th of July parties and last good-byes. My only other tri of the season will be my family's tri on July 5th. (Remember you're invited, JLT folks. Drop me an email if interested.)
July 11 - 27 = Mexico trip
July 27 for the duration = Back to CO to live!
August 1-2 = Wild West Relay - This will be a challenge; altitude, err - hillier - terrain, and on a team where the only person I know once pulled my hair so hard that I felt the need to pull it back into a pony tail and snip it off. Good times.

So that's where you'll find me. I'll check in here as frequently as I can, of course. Other notes of interest this AM...

Metrics
12 minutes is what it takes me to warm up on the swim. I meant it when I said this would be a building season. I am gathering the data as we speak! I will use this little metric tomorrow morning before my tri. How nice to apply my learnin' right away.

'Fessin' up
Does anyone else make aeroplane noises as you're speeding down a hill and rounding a curve on your bike?

Lesson Learned from my Paddle

2008-06-19T06:44:00.008-06:00

He was scared. White-knuckling the sides of the kayak, screaming every time it dipped to the side, imploring me to keep the boat straight, to stay away from the side, to avoid branches and rocks.

I assured him. "What's the worst that can happen? If the kayak tips, you'll swim for the paddle, I'll swim for the boat. We'll meet up on the side and hop back in."

We'll just swim to the side and hop back in...

Happy ending for Nephew: By the end of the trip he was imploring me to hit the "big waves" as we went through the rapids. He even got to the point of throwing his arms up in the air, squealing with delight, as we swooped through the troughs. Go baby!

Time Trial

2008-06-18T21:20:00.008-06:00

Sometimes I am scared shitless.
What am I thinking moving to a metropolitan area? I feel like I can't. Like I'll be swallowed whole, eaten alive. Lost. I'm scared about all the solitary decisions I'm making. I am deciding for myself. It's scary as all get out sometimes. I have never done this before. I never truly realized how much of a foundation my husband was.

Other times. I know it is possible. I trust myself. And I know that there are good people everywhere you go. There is lots of fresh air in CO. There are reading specialists, runners, triathletes, bikers... people like me. I have a job, I have my sister, I have a support network. I'll land on my feet...

Churning with these thoughts, I blow past the turn to meet up with my new-found (yep, just before the move) time trial group. I daydream way too much. Thankfully, a friend phones and pulls my head out of the clouds with solid directions. I arrive on time for the start.

Then I find myself out on the bike. Time trialing down a country road in the middle of nowhere-Wisconsin. Blazing away at the biker in front of me, burning my quads to stay on his wheel. Down that country road on a sunny night it comes to me that I should race. I should race and race and race. Because it boils me down to my essence. I can't help but race. I see him and I have to, have to - no questions asked - burn my lungs chasing him. It isn't a conscious choice. It just is. The drive takes over and I thrive. I come alive, more in tune with myself but paradoxically less self-obsessed than at any other time I draw breath.

And I'm drawing a lot. I heave. I pass him. He passes me. I pass him back. Finally he sling-shots ahead of me and I know that I will not catch him again. "Fucker," I say to myself (the potty mouth comes with the competition). To him, I say, "Nice ride."

On the ride home I think: this decision is easy. It is crying to be made. I know where I fit. I have looked around enough to know what I want and what I'm good at. Professionally, I am a middle school reading specialist. Period. It's where I fit. Athletically? I am a fighter, a warrior - a competitor. It's where I fit.

With my newfound insight, I wanna run out and register for every race and run, race hard. But. I have been working out, not training. There is a critical difference. Grr. Time will be a trial to impatient me.

I rein myself in and get reasonable. I plan. I have a rather large move to accomplish and lotso travel plans. This summer is booked. This will be a building season. I will continue to work out, and I will hone the vision. Gradually my workouts will give way to training as I decide what the big show will be.

I am ready for something big in '09. I am ready to focus, to look neither right nor left. Next year, I am going to do triathlon. After two rather lackadaisical seasons post-Ironman, I am ready to compete.

Tonight's total Time Trial including the ride to the rendezvous point and back lasted 1 hour, 45 minutes.

Its impact? Only time will tell.

Me-Me-Me Meme

2008-06-16T15:19:00.009-06:00

Here are the rules.

If you’re tagged, you will find your name at the end of this post. You should then copy the rules (or your version of them), and the set of questions onto your blog post, provide your own answers, and then tag 5 new people.

Just to be sure that everyone tagged knows they have been invited to play, go to their blogs and leave them a special comment letting them know, and refer them to your blog for details.

Once the chosen have answered the questions on their own blog, they should come back to yours to tell you.

Here are my responses.

1. How would you describe your running 10 years ago?
Diesel engines, concrete powder and tiled sidewalks. I was studying abroad in Spain and I'd run on the fringes of the city - in the new development. I still get a little heady when there's just the right concoction of construction smells in the air. I'm snapped back in time to those 30-45 minute Spain runs and my giddy feelings of excitement and curiosity and wonderment at the newness of it all. It was not about the running at all; rather running was my vehicle for exploration.

2. What is your best and worst run/race experience?
My best and worst come from the same race. Great River Relay, August 2007. Here's the scoop.

Worst - My first leg of this race was projected to be a 58 minute, 7.4 mile deal. But, I got lost and turned it into a 2:24, 15 mile ordeal. Now, don't get me wrong - I am long-habituated to getting lost and don't mind a little extra mileage, but I had a team waiting for me, a next runner to tag. I also had to run two more legs of this thing, totaling another 12.6 miles. To say the least, I was anxious. To say the most, click here.

My second leg - aside from being pitch black (9:30 PM) - was an uneventful 8.2 miles.

Best - My third leg was a 4.4 mile shortie that I was projected to do in 36 minutes. I'd slept for four hours and was fresh as a daisy, ready to run. Until I got started, that is. My knees positively creaked. As I tossed my headlamp to my support van, I shouted, "Stick a fork in these legs - they're done!"

And then I heard the tap, tap, tap of footsteps behind me. Enter Bill. AKA Eye Candy. AKA the reason I run. (See #3 of this meme.) As he passed me, we exchanged greetings. I told him he looked strong, he claimed he wasn't, and that's where it could have ended.

But I didn't want it to. His gait was beautiful. I couldn't take my eyes off of him and that gorgeous, rhythmic stride. In order to keep him in my sights, I had to stick with him. So I did.

For the first two miles, I hung off his backside, about 5 strides back. Then I managed to pull even with him. Our vans were leap-frogging each other, offering us water, energy bars - and the berries. My very funny teammates were giving me a hard time. "Um, Teach, your run has been changed to a 7.2 miler."

"Ha. Funny guys," I commented to Bill, having already shared with him the trauma of my first leg. He mumbled something in reply, but I had inched ahead of him and took it to be filler so didn't ask for a repeat. When he pulled even with me again, we chatted a bit more. He was new to distance running, had been a sprinter. I couldn't sprint to save my life, but could run forever and a day -- good thing with my navigational abilities. Ha, ha. Yada, yada.

I checked my watch and registered 34 minutes and saw what I thought was the exchange point. I began to pour it on and encouraged Bill to stay with me, we were almost there!!! He again said something that I failed to hear, but hell if I was slowing down to ask for a repetition - my blood was up.

It was to stay up for another 20 minutes.

My funny guys hadn't been joking. My 4.4 mile route HAD been changed to a 7.2 miler. But I couldn't stop now because Bill was right on my tail. I could hear that insidious, rhythmic tap, tap, tapping at my back door - and nice as the view from behind had been, I wanted him to stay behind me now, dammit!

I had no energy to calculate distance at this point. I couldn't risk looking at my watch. I needed to concentrate, to live in that forward motion focal point in my head, right between my temples. All I registered was the pain in my chest, the ache in my quads - and the stronger will to stay ahead of Bill. He would pull even and we'd grunt encouragement at each other, but we both knew by now that this was a pissing match. Our vans and those supporting other runners did too. I fuzzily registered their presence and knew they were watching the whole thing unfold.

Now, I don't know about you, but I am an incurable show-off. Give me an audience and I will move mountains. Or just run pretty damn fast.

We reached the 1 mile to go signal and it was showtime. I hit my lap split and conjured energy. My forked-up legs, my guts, and my sleep-deprived brain all pitched in. To push me, to propel me forward. And then I saw the beautiful orange cones and flags of the exchange point. I saw that it was at the bottom of an incline and I cracked. A smile split across my face - or at least I pulled my lips back from my gaping, gasping hole of a mouth. I am good on the downhill.

I leg go of my legs, let them free fall, flapping down the hill, carrying me home. I snapped the relay bracelet on my friend's waiting wrist and turned around to watch Bill snap his partner. For the first time, we looked each other full in the face and shook hands, exchanging wide, sweaty, exhausted smiles. We were both breathing like freight trains but managed to gasp our congrats to each other and introductions to our respective teams. (My team then grabbed me for this commemorative photo.)

My best race? August 25, 2007 when Eye Candy Saved the Day
7.2 miles, 54.24 with a 6.31 last mile
YAHOO & THANK YOU, BILL!!!

3. Why do you run?
I think I've adequately spoken to this one already, no? ;-)

4. What is the best or worst piece of advice you've been given about running?
Best: "Run like you mean it!"
To my cousin Dan at his first race last year. He followed it, smashing his predicted time into itsy-bitsy bits.
Worst: "I'm not sure our big-boned, voluptuous bodies are made for running marathons."
To my sister. Just to prove me wrong, she ran two marathons in her 40th year - and did quite well with them, to boot.

5. Tell us something surprising about yourself that not many people would know.
All my life, I have been Type A, wound-too-tight-for-livin', driven. Last weekend someone called me laid back. LAID BACK?? That one's a surprise even to me.

I'm tagging 5 of my Wisconsin buds. Consider it my good-bye gift!
XT4
Erin
Brazo
JWM
Rural Girl

2008-06-11T10:54:00.006-06:00

View from a Hike in Colorado

Views from a Kayak in Wisconsin

2008-06-08T11:34:00.015-06:00

I went for a paddle with some friends.

Wave at the mirror, trees.

Shadows out the back way.
I took a detour on an impromptu, flood-created oxbow. As I came out, there were shadows.

Labyrinthine

The things I learned from my paddle...

Dive nosefirst into life. Let your puppy do so too - even if it means he's diving nosefirst into the smelliest, deadest thing in a 50-mile radius.

Be Stevie Nicks and sing for the things money can't buy. I sing for the way my paddle gives a little "kick" and shoves the water back just like my hand as it flexes at the wrist during my catch on the swim.

I sing for a superintendent who has the courage to live by her convictions - and who embraces me as I leave to do the same.

I sing for family and friends, and for all the places to love. Like kayak trips on Wisconsin rivers.

Endurance Events: Not Just for Triathletes Anymore

2008-06-08T07:10:00.014-06:00

I slept for 12 hours yesterday. I was exhausted. Cindy hit the nail on the head with her comment; interviewing this last week was the Ironman of my professional world. It was a whirlwind. From Thursday, May 29th until Friday, June 6th my life consisted of phone calls, flights, and interviews. I had to be "on." And I was. Have you ever felt like you're a walking ball of electricity? I was crackling with ideas and teaching philosophy and kid stories. I was like a middle schooler on Mountain Dew. Buzz, buzz, buzz.

I still did workouts, but once I got the phone calls, I stopped chasing the odd minutes - or hours - that would bring me to my pre-ordained workout time. It simply was not possible. At one point, I'd driven 55 minutes to a trailhead, only to have my phone ring. "Since you're in town, would you be willing to interview at 1:00 today?" Instead of my planned 6-hour hike, I did a 45 minute run (starting elevation 7600 feet = huff and puff), and drove straight back home to get ready.

No one, of course, does this kind of electricity-hecticity alone; suffice it to say I have the best family, friends, and (*sniff*sniff*) set of colleagues a guy could want.

The job I've landed. Will rock. From the moment I saw the posting, I knew. It's me. It's part teaching, part teacher-leadership. I've been doing this kind of mix for the past five years in my current district. I'd been watching CO teaching postings since April (though I couldn't start applying until May because of the red tape in applying for my license - grrr) and I'd seen nothing like it. I was convinced that it did not exist in CO, so when I saw it, woof - my heart leapt. I immediately emailed my references and asked them to tweak my letters of recommendation for this job - THE job - as I referred to it. I wrote and re-wrote my cover letter, had my Sweet (smart, talented, beautiful) Sister help me revise it, and sent it off with fingers crossed.

I got the call May 29th, flew out May 31st, interviewed June 3 & 5, got the job June 6th. Smiles.

Mixed in were calls and an interview for another job - for which I can now cancel my 2nd interview, teaching, writing sub plans, working out, keeping family and friends posted, and ... woof, isn't that enough? I think I earned my Friday Night Freedom and Saturday Sleep.

But now. I have found the one. I will work with kids, I will research reading strategies and apply brain-based research in my classroom, I will team-teach with other professionals, I will analyze the needs of the teachers and the students, and I will be elbow-to-elbow, nose-to-nose with them becoming better teachers and readers.

I am happy about this position.

Friday Night Freedom

2008-06-06T17:54:00.004-06:00

I sigh and smile and shiver with anticipation of Friday night freedom. I feel good tonight. I am gainfully employed. I got the call today from CO-way that I am in like Flynn.

Just. Like. That. My very first cover letter was the one. Wow. My head is kind of spinning, yet I'm also calm, at peace. I've worked so hard, focused so much attention on this job search that it feels strangely empty to have it done. Yet satisfying.

And I wanted tonight for myself. I took it. Away from anyone else so I could just steep in my own self. Sometimes I get so busy and otherways-focused that I forget who I am. And I AM. That is enough for tonight.

You got a sliver of me because I feel the need to write. I can feel a pour coming on -- a volcanic eruption of Triteacher news and photos and blog commenting nonpareil!

... but it may have to wait until after Friday Night Freedom.
A good one to you.
-TT.

Alive and Well in...

2008-06-03T16:06:00.003-06:00

Colorado!

I flew out here for two interviews and have made a mini-vacation of it. It took the place of what was going to be my first triathlon on Sunday, but hey! - I will take it. I took a leap (quit my WI job) and now am seeing that there just might be a net in place to catch my fall after all.

I have been busy with work and play, but thought I'd do a quick post to let you all know that I am, indeed, alive and well. :-)

Oh, and I will post pictures and thoughts on this whole change process as soon as I can.

Best,
TT.

The Y Factor

2008-05-22T10:19:00.004-06:00

Alarm bells ring at 5 AM
Fingers fuzzily fumble for the snooze
But then relinquish the covers
Before the bell sings again

It is not bells to whom we reply
But rather it is…
The call of the Y

We shuffle through its doors
Mumble hellos through unbrushed teeth
Or maybe just nod
Clang our lockers
And done our battle gear
Uncombed hair
Is pulled back in pony tails
Tucked under swim caps
Plastered to our skulls

We commence
Sleepy brains count yards
And strokes
And strokes per x amount of yards
They count heartbeats and measure miles
And calculate minutes per mile
Slope-intercept form ready

We reach and we pull
We lengthen our stride
Extend our reach
We work and we sweat
All accompanied by
the heavy (morning) breath symphony

Sixty minutes and many heartbeats later
We reunite in the locker room
Gone are the trudging drones with messy hair
The Y has worked its magic
Our smiles are exuberant
Our bodies lithe
Our greetings and exchanges
Charged with the electricity of
Endorphins

We spring out through Y doors
In school clothes
In work suits
Our rouged cheeks and lips
Curled into satisfied smiles
That leak out
And meld with the sunshine

Cuz underneath it all
We carry the Y factor
We know the secret

Underneath it all
We are bone and tissue
well-toned muscle
chlorine-tinged skin
and steadily-beating heart.

Battle Hymn

2008-05-13T06:49:00.001-06:00

I fly but with my wings tucked
my head cradled between them
sucking in my gut (as if)
tightening abs and ass
to minimize the drag

Even my lips are compressed
until I see
and feel
39 MPH

EXHILARATION
tinged with not a little fear
pries open my lips
unclenches my throat
and allows
Gillian Welch's Indian War Whoop
to escape from my mouth

The cry ricochets off the asphalt
is carried on the winds
all the way down the hill
into the surrounding ditches and woods
threading its way into the very fabric of the day
proclaiming that

FAST
feels good.

Nourish

2008-05-01T10:11:00.004-06:00

I fought her in fourth grade. She struggled with Reading, Math, Science, Social Studies and me. She stole things, she lied, she alienated her peers.

She stockpiled food. The granola bar and apple I’d give her for breakfast would later be spied in parts – pieces stashed in her locker, her coat pocket, her backpack, her desk. She came to school hungry. She came dirty, tired, cranky, and with toothaches. She in no way could be termed “ready to learn.”

I fed her, yes. I ignored her smell, yes. I gave her pencils and books, stickers and hugs. But make no mistake - I pushed her, yes. Sometimes to tears. She’d leave my room to go to the counselor, to cry. I begged the speech teacher to continue to see her, if only to give her a reprieve from me. To give her another outlet, someone who could be softer, who didn’t feel compelled to teach her, who didn’t see so clearly and believe so dearly that education was her only ticket out.

I fought her in fourth grade.

Now she is in eighth grade, her locker across from my room. She unfailingly greets me when we pass in the hallways, she has joined my book club. She confides in me about her period and boys, her sister, her grandma, and – once in a while – her dad.

This girl I fought in fourth grade. I think she knows. I pushed her, yes. I ignored her smell, yes. I even fed her. But what I really wanted all this time was to nourish her.

I Did That Thang

2008-04-27T17:11:00.009-06:00

I did that thang
where you get on your bike
and you ride somewhere
anywhere
just cuz you're back
from where you've eaten Mom's cooking
all weekend
and then she packed
homemade cheesecake
for you
and 15 of your closest friends
and somehow it ended up on the front seat
and by the time you get home
you realize that you are fortunate that friendship is not based on your ability to deliver the cheesecake and know that 15 friends will be none the wiser
but you also know that you need to get on that bike
going somewhere
anywhere
cuz it's sunny out today not to mention 23 degrees warmer than yesterday
so you go do that thang
where you get on your bike
and you take the first road that catches your fancy and ride it
up, up, up this one goes
past frogs rrreee-rrreee-rrreee ing
paralleling a crane for half a mile
flying side-by-side
twin stretched necks
hers long and graceful
culminating in a beak
yours stretched and musclely
culminating in aerobar tips
The road T's and you choose into the wind
while she keeps flying straight
and you're on your own
just you and the thoughts of the weekend
the relay run
the family
the strong-willed women who lunched together and laughed at themselves until interrupted by the family men who crashed the party wearing robes
begging for kisses (the loudest was my dad)

And then you think of nothing
just wear that goofy grin
and soak it all in-in
a peaceful spot
a staying spot
a sunny spot without
and in

I did that thang
where I got on my bike
and went somewhere
anywhere
everywhere

A Study in Contrasts

2008-04-17T16:34:00.008-06:00

Did you ever notice that you can especially appreciate feeling good after a period of feeling downright crappy? I can finally smile today. I've made headway in so many arenas of my life this week (paper blizzard nearly managed on the job front, moving plan taking shape, spring weather finally starting).

This study in contrasts would be well-illustrated by a pair of rides I did this week. Check it out...

Tuesday night's ride home: 1:54, 13.7 MPH Average.
There was a KILLER headwind that hurt even as a crosswind. Think frontal attack for 20 miles interspersed with 5 miles of lateral attack. I know two languages and exhausted my swear words in both. At one point, I was pedaling downhill and topped out at 14 MPH.

Theeen...

Wednesday's ride to school: 1:20, 19.5 MPH Average.
That killer headwind stuck around to become a killer tailwind. Woot!

I smiled on Wednesday morning for oh, approximately 1 hour, 20 minutes.

The Teacher is Taut

2008-04-13T17:09:00.001-06:00

Methodical and patient. That is how I have to be right now.

I calmly focus first on getting that ineffable feel of "tautness" in the water. Like my body is corkscrewing tightly around the axis of my torso. It takes time. The first 200 warm-up is spent achieving that feeling – just the right amount of stretch, reach, and time spent on my side before I begin the slow rotation back to my other side. I put a dipstick in – I count my stroke for a length to see how I'm progressing. Eighteen is good enough, 17 is better, 16 means it's a really good day in the water.

Next I focus on the catch. I follow each arm through the full motion of scraping the rim of the big bowl in front of me. I keep my elbow high. Again, I know I've achieved success by the "feel" of it. My biceps and triceps let me know when I'm pulling all of the water I should be.

This time, the woman in the next lane will serve as my measuring tool. She is fast. I don't know her, but my eyes nearly bugged out of their goggles when she sped by me on my warm-up. She has been interesting to watch. She races to the end of the lane, touches - and while her head is out of the water, makes a giant breathing sound that I've only heard before in the spouts of whales. Then she dives back under for another kickin' 25. I have taken note and have been working up to this part of the workout. The part where I'll match myself with her.

My torso elongates, my arms pull, sweep, grab every drop of water they can. She beats me to the end, but my flip turn pulls me even with her. My flip turns make it possible for me to stay with her for 200 yards.

My flip turns. I taught myself them in a hotel pool when I was first starting triathlon. We were on a family vacation and I ditched everyone for the day to stay in the pool. Over and over I somersaulted, getting water up my nose, getting dizzy, going into the flip too early and having my feet completely miss the wall… until finally, at 4:00 that afternoon, I proudly ran to my family and dragged them poolside to watch me flip.

As I've swum this week, I have reflected on this little swimming empire I've built. It has taken nine years of practice. Of being methodical and patient. The tautness, the confidence in the water has been taught, worked for, hard-won. I didn't learn everything new in one day – or even one week.

I can't meet all of the challenges of my future at the precise moment when I'm strong enough and have enough energy for them. Instead I'm finding that I have to be steady. Patient. Methodical. I have to get water up my nose sometimes and wait interminably (it seems) for that ineffable feeling of tautness. I have to wait for all of my various forms to be returned, for my stinkin' paperwork to be processed, for the schools to call me for interviews. (I have already woken up in the wee hours tingling with the electricity of ideas for what to say in my interviews. I know - really sexy, but hey, that's where I'm at.) And then I'll have to wait for word on whether or not I have the teaching job. That's a lot of waiting.

Deep, whale-like exhalation.

And I remind myself: Rome wasn't built in a day. My swimming empire was not built in a day. My Colorado future will take time too.

Under the water I go again.

Get It While You Can

2008-04-11T20:37:00.024-06:00

I took these immortal words of Janis Joplin to heart today and hopped on my bike. This week Wisconsin has been defined by 38 degrees and definite rain. But for a few brief, elusive moments this afternoon, the rain stopped and the temp crept up over 40. The stars really were aligned as I was done with school (but, as you'll see, not done with kids) which meant .... bike time!

I hopped on Serra and headed south, knowing that the wind was out of the southwest. It is ALWAYS best to get the wind out of the way first. Today was no exception. I rode the side streets to get out of town and then had a country road all but to myself. Flooded fields and big wet trees surrounded me. I went out 10 miles and turned around to cruise home with that wind at my back. I felt gooood.

The raindrops caught me at the turn-around but fortunately they weren't the driving torrent that we'd been experiencing. Just enough drippies to get my jacket good and wet.

Enter the children. Apparently I'm good for a laugh. Coming back into town, I rode past a gaggle of tween boys who were congregating outside of the cinema. Two of them giggled and waved, yelling "Hi!"

Oh my, did they bust a gut when I gave them an effusive wave and yelled, "Well, helloooooo!" (I get like that on my bike. Smiling at everybody, yelling, loving the world.)

I guess they thought they were laughing at me with my biker outfit of spandex pants, blue jacket, helmet and geeky blue glasses, but guess what - I laughed right along with them.

And yelled "hi" to the next set of teenagers walking down the sidewalk - just for good measure. (FYI: They just stared at me. Quintessential teenagers, these.)

At home, I swapped out bikes to head to the grocery store. (Why the bike swap? Because I didn't have my bike lock and -- well, obviously, my MTB is expendable. Serra? Over my dripping wet, dead, spandex-clad body!) I scooted to the grocery store for some supper fixins and there was taken to kindergarten.

"Oh look! Does she ride her bike in the rain, Mommy?" was squealed loudly as I entered the store. Geez, it wasn't like it was pouring or anything. And, contrary to some of my students' beliefs, I do not melt in the rain. Little Girl with Big Mouth got a smile too.

The numbers for today: Biked 1:09, 20.6 miles, Av 17.8 MPH, Grades encountered = K-12

Plus plenty o' smiles and pride for getting it while I could.

Mile High Memories

2008-04-06T13:14:00.038-06:00

L: My first day ever skiing in the mountains. My smile here is all bravado; I am quaking in my boots. I'd just wiped out in a big, bad way - see the snow packed into the zipper of my ski pants. I picked myself up and made it to the bottom of that run though. FYI for the numbers folks: our last run took 16 minutes, 28 seconds. Now that's skiing.

Above R: My recovery meal and compensation for having to sit with frozen corn on my knee the whole next day.

Falcon rests in the open space that adjoins my sister's backyard. These open spaces were built for drainage, I am told, but for the fresh air fiends of Colorado - and their visiting siblings - they are an escape to the wild.

Laced with running trails and arroyos, dotted with prairie dog communities and a favorite haunt for coyotes, the open space drew me out of the house every day. Denver and the mountains serve as
a backdrop.

Chatfield Reservoir as seen from Plymouth Mountain. I hadn't taken my camera on the bike ride I'd inadvertently ended up doing around the reservoir three days prior to this so I was absolutely thrilled to get a view of it on my hike. In the foreground is aptly-named Dinosaur Ridge, another hike that is on my to-do list.

Anytime you can wear shorts in snow, you're in my kind of country. Two runners - they had to be Bubba-like crazies (read ultra-runners) looped by me twice on this hike. They were attired in singlets and running shorts. I felt over-dressed and under-trained.

Two of the best hiking companions
you ever will come across. They were rocking the car with snores by the time I finished using the restroom at the end of our hike.

A little Colorado color framed by a picnic shelter. I love all the neutral, earth tones used in the architecture in the state. The outdoors is embraced.

I think I'm gonna like it there...

Good Kid

2008-04-03T20:31:00.002-06:00

I've been a good kid since my confession on Tuesday night. I shut down the Pringles factory, limited myself to ONE glass of the sweet red stuff, and have had salads for supper. You guys really do it for me.

I've even been working out. I did a sunlit run with the Weimaraner in my life yesterday evening - 30.32 with 3 hills AND I did a bike/swim brick tonight.

Tonight's numbers:
Biked 25 miles, 1:18 (Or thereabouts; someone forgot to turn on her bike computer at the start!)
Swam 53.32

I biked to my pooltown tonight and jumped right into a master's swim class. I'd been expecting to swim alone, but Coach welcomed me to his new class - pointed to a lane and told me to "speed them up." It was awesome. I know how to swim. It made me reflect on how far I've come. Three years ago, I would have been intimidated by that situation. Tonight I did it without thinking twice. I jumped in, introduced myself, made fast friends, and shared the lead appropriately as we figured out our relative speeds. I'm so calm in the water. It feels natural. Even when I was choking on water on our fast set, I knew to trust myself, to finish out the count and clear my throat on the breath. It sounds impossible when you think about it; it's a do kind of thing, the kind of thing that comes automatically after years of practice. The kind of thing I appreciate at a time like this when I'm more aware and reflective.

On the move: I've been getting the job done on finding my CO job - or at least getting the license. I sent more faxes yesterday than I've sent in the rest of my life cumulatively. And I've started to say some of the sweetest good-byes ever. There have been tears, but they've been shared tears, mutual admiration tears - the kind of tears that mean we're going to keep in touch even though we're 1022 miles apart. I've been collecting letters of recommendation too, and if that doesn't make a guy's head swell, I don't know what will. I haven't told a ton of people - and those I have are sworn to secrecy - but I know. It's changed me. I am more appreciative and more aware of everything as I go through my day. My days here are numbered and I'm going to make each one of them count.

My life is good.

Killin' It

2008-04-01T20:45:00.007-06:00

Someone recently sent me an email hoping I was out there "killin' it". Hoo boy, do I wish! I shoulda posted about 5 days ago when I was EXCITED about this process I'm undertaking. Before I actually started the WORK associated with this process I'm undertaking.

Deep breath. And I'll cut all the subterfuge.

I'm moving.

To Colorado.

Like muchos miles away from po-dunk village, Wisconsin. And man, I am excited. But sheesh, the process of becoming a teacher in Colorado is kicking my ass. There is red tape like you wouldn't believe. They want fingerprints on a specially-coded CBI (yep, that's Colorado Bureau of Investigation) card, administrator-signed statements from every school district in which you've worked, a note from your mother and her 50 last contacts in the medical profession, your college transcripts AND a special form signed by the "Certification Officer" of said college... OK, maybe one of those was an exaggeration, but they seriously want a lot of stuff. No one ever said that being a teacher was easy!

And that's just how I apply for the teaching license. I haven't even begun the job applications yet. I got shut down on those on the second question: "When do you anticipate receiving your Colorado Teaching License?" So I thought I'd better apply for that first.

But. I AM excited. I've made this decision and feel good about it. Some day I'll even post pics of what I'm so excited about. That place is beautiful, folks. I think of Colorado and I think of mountains and sunshine. Mmmm...

I think of Colorado Teaching License and I think of M&Ms, Merlot, and triple-fatty food. I am doing some serious bribing of myself these days.

So. Killin' it? Not so much. Or maybe I'm just not "out there" killin' it - I'm in here, coating some arteries, killin' some serious brain cells, and cutting a lot of red tape with BLACK INK ONLY.

An auspicious beginning, no?

Dedication to F-R-E-E

2008-04-01T05:53:00.012-06:00

F ollow a train of thought from engine to caboose
R un in the rain
E nergy to dance, to sing, to play guitar (Na, na, na - hear J. Mellencamp)
E mpathy to reach out to others who might benefit from the hard-won wisdom of experience

I erect this monument to F-R-E-E. I am getting there. From The Moments to actual minutes now. Woot!

Heat Seeker

2008-03-30T07:24:00.012-06:00

If I weren't cold, I would do it.
If it weren't another slate gray sky, I'd be on it.
My bike sits in the garage, loaded and ready.
I sit on the couch, snuggled in and sipping coffee.

If the coffee weren't so warm and tasty,
If I didn't have to do laundry and to start a job search,
If I just could read the rest of my book
when I returned,
then I'd be right on that bike.

If the concert hadn't been so good last night,
If the fiddle hadn't pulled my heart out
through the tips of my nipples,
If I hadn't waltzed with the banjo and the guitar,
In concert
swaying
synchronized souls
Then I wouldn't have to savor it
and instead
I'd get out on my bike.

- Beat -

If I could erase the memory of THAT hill
the one that kicks my ass every year
then my heart wouldn't jump
I wouldn't hear my adrenaline say
You have demons to conquer, TT
even today on a cold,
slate gray,
post-concert day.

But -
I do remember
My heart does jump
I do have demons
I do want to engage them...

Cold?
Can't touch this fire -
See you on that hill.

*Edit: I fought the hill and... who won? Well, let's just call it a draw. :-)
Biked 1:48.07, 30.6 miles, Avg. 17 MPH

Rekindled

2008-03-26T16:37:00.005-06:00

Biked 25.5 miles in 1:26.01 in sun, wind, and 46°.
Avg. = 17.7 MPH

The love affair begins anew. Anticipate long, besotted essays devoted to my Serra, shown here in his photo shoot at Waterford.

Quite a hottie, no?

Woman in Wind

2008-03-25T18:37:00.007-06:00

It is a windy day
geese cartwheel
across a slate gray sky
like so many bed sheets flapping
slapping
in a line-drying frenzy

This almost-violent playfulness
strikes a answering chord in me
In this
my inaugural run of the 2008 season
my feet pound up the hill
Inspired
I am going too fast
A glance at my heart rate monitor
confirms the call
to bridle my enthusiasm
to rein in this wind
to take my time

I do.

I feel my feet upon this path
hear the dying crunch of this snow's
final days
control my slip across snowmobile-packed ice.

In the woods
I even stop and gaze
at the trees waving their branches
and touch my hand to the warmth
left
by the kiss of the wind
on each of my cheeks

The speed of the wind
the careening of the geese
are now in sharp contrast with me
The centered one
Centered in my shoes and in my knees
This run brings a resurgence of joy
of peace
of exhilaration
of springtime in Wisconsin.

In Reality, Frozen

2008-03-20T18:21:00.010-06:00

I sit the day after skiing with a bag of frozen corn on my knee. I am ticked at myself for falling, ticked at myself for having to challenge myself on my first day of skiing in the mountains. More than anything though, I am utterly disappointed that my actions are resulting in me sitting at home cozied up with frozen corn and One Hundred Years of Solitude. I should be in Boulder hiking with my cousin and then finding out all about the Boulder Cruiser rides he's been raving about in his emails to me. He has intrigued me with teasers such as:

How do you feel about drinking and riding?
Silly attired is encouraged.
Bring an overnight bag just in case you feel like letting loose a little.

But here I sit
feeling like sh-t
with frozen corn
on a swollen knee
writing crappy poet-ry,
Poor ME.

And then I realize that it will happen. That I will return to Colorado and visit my cousin in Boulder. I realize that I trust my judgment on my knee, that I made the right call today. That sane people just don't push an injury the day after it occurs. That my gut-reading of my body and reason need to prevail over my passion, whim, and curiosity sometimes.

And then I believe. I know to my toes that my knee will heal, that I'll make the right decisions to encourage its healing and that someday... I will ride again. Someday I will be out in this Colorado sun and wind, and it will carry me. I'll wear a costume to make Steve in a Speedo proud, to represent for us Midwesterners, to cruise the bike-friendly streets of Boulder. My spirit will fly...

The chill in my knee pulls my head out of the clouds, the ache in my butt from sitting all day says, "Hey girlie, you're here!" I pop another ibuprofen and...

*SIGH*

Cuz for today, it's corn for me folks.

The Day the Old Dog Got Wet

2008-03-18T20:37:00.011-06:00

It all happened the day that the old dog got wet, the day that we didn't ski, the day that two missions were thwarted. It all happened the day that I smiled at everyone.

Picture two sisters in a van, driving to a ski hill. Hear them talking. See them drive 30 miles past their exit before they notice that they missed their turn. See them go to the nearest mountain, hop on the shuttle and find that the chalet is out of rentals. See them drive all the way back home, postponing the ski trip until the next day - still talking, now laughing at themselves.

See them get home. One heads upstairs to work on web design. The other heads out the door to bike to the Y to swim. One accomplishes her mission. The other overshoots her turn and realizing it, is too intrigued by what might lie ahead on this network of Denver bike paths. She keeps riding, swimsuit under her bike clothes, backpack full of showering gear and bearing Y card strapped to her back. She ends up at Chatfield State Park and immediately sees the Chatfield Reservoir and the trail that seems to lead around its circumference. She immediately sees her new mission. She does not see the "Authorized Vehicles Only" signs. Until an hour later when she has completed the loop, has ridden along the top of the levee and then descended to weave her way around deserted campgrounds and through swampy woods to arrive back at her starting point - only then does she see the signs.

Threading her way back home along the bike paths, she finds that she is smiling. At everyone. She smiles at the grouchy lady pulling her mini-van into her garage, at the middle-aged guy walking his dog who seems to resent having to share the path with her, at the cute kid walking his old blind dog who doesn't seem to have a resentment or a worry in the world. She smiles at the world, and the sunshine feels like it's smiling with her.

She smiles at the sister who greets her when she walks in the door. The sister's brow unfurls and work tensions evaporate in a laugh as she listens to the younger sister complain of a hunger so strong that it seemed as though her stomach had folded over on itself and was eating itself. A slug of Acclerade and a bottle of water later, she hitches up two yellow labs and walks them out into the sunshine, into the open space that is the front range of the Rockies, that bows in the shadow of those monoliths, that seems like a little sister itself - stretching to reach the heights of its elder, carved with muddy arroyos, decorated with yucca and prickly cacti, dotted with the mounds of prairie dogs, and oh-so-sunlit today. The dogs and the sister weave their way through, sometimes on the paved path but more often on the dirt path, finding their way to the newly-gushing creek, where the old, arthritic dog can't contain her joy at the day and jumps in, swims to her heart's content and then comes out to chase the younger dog in tight wet circles. They growl and they spit up gravel, leaving muddy clods in their wake. The younger sister follows them home.

It all happened the day that the old dog got wet, the day that we didn't ski, the day that two missions got thwarted. It all happened today.

Grrr... to Brrr...?

2008-03-12T18:35:00.015-06:00

NOT SO QUICK! I did get out and bike yesterday. Let me tell you a little secret.

Middle schoolers are unreliable reporters of the weather.

All afternoon I heard dire reports and complaints of how they'd had to go outside for recess and their science class. A sampling for your pleasure:

It's sooooo windy and cold outside!
Why do we have to go out? We're just all going to get sicker!
Is the school trying to kill us? (Obviously this one possesses insight.)

The science teacher herself shook her head and told me to bundle up when I said I was riding.

So I listened and bundled up. And walked out into pure sunshine and 40 degrees. No, that is not the promised 43 degrees, but sheesh, we've had teens and 20s. I was sweating within a mile. I had to stop at a friend's house to ditch layers. But then -- I had my first ride. And it was BEAUTIFUL. My bike is awesome. There is nothing, no thing, like a bike that fits you like a glove. My bike fits.

How does it feel? Like the hills aren't as hard. Like immediate response when I push down on my pedals. Like my tires grip the road and go. Like butter.

Speaking of butter, I think of FOOD when I bike. Unlike any other workouts, I obsess about food. It had been so long that I didn't remember - until I smelled homemade chicken pot pie as I was riding last night. There was no pot pie in sight. Nor a chicken for that matter.

Rest assured, I did get to eat. I biked to a birthday party. My calories were replaced. View exhibit A.

Net sum:
Sunlight, Snow, Serra, & Me: 17.5 miles, 1:01. (That wind they complained about was a tailwind. Woot!) I am back in the saddle. View exhibit B.

April Fool in March

2008-03-11T13:46:00.004-06:00

Grr.

I waxed my bike on Sunday.
(She who has never waxed anything in her life.)
I lubed the chain.
I dug out my biker bottles
and juiced them up with Gatorade.
I stocked my airbox.
I loaded up all my gear: helmet, shoes, clothes
and have been carting it around for two days.
It was supposed to be 43 degrees today.
It's not.

Grr.

This Is Me

2008-03-09T07:41:00.005-06:00

I travel lightly. I skip across the waves. I sprint along the foam line of the Pacific. Cold water laps at my ankles, knees, thighs. My numb feet pound the sand, my exhilarated heart pounds at its rib cage, joy permeates my pores.

I travel lightly upon this Earth. I need so little. I need sunshine, I need wind, I need inspiration and humanity...

This is me. I am free. To write, to think, to feel. I give myself permission. To grow wings. To fly.

7 Things

2008-03-08T04:46:00.020-06:00

Rural Girl tagged me. Here are 7 things about me:

#1. My mom is an apple dumpling of a woman. She used to be 5'7" and now has shrunk to shorter than me - around 5'3". She is overweight. She dyes her hair sandy blond and has blue eyes. People say I look like her, that I have her smile. I love hearing that.

#2. My (nearly-ex) husband is gorgeous. He's 5'9" and weighs 210 pounds. His nickname in school was "Arnold." As in Schwarzenegger. He started lifting weights when he was in 2nd grade so that he could protect his mom from his dad. A co-worker of his once stopped me in a store to gush about how lucky I was that my husband was sooooo hot. I wonder what she'd say if I saw her in the grocery store now. Am I unlucky?

#3. My favorite students are fickle, needy, energetic, impressionable middle schoolers. A couple of weeks ago, I let slip that I'm going to Mexico this summer. Luciano, whom I've had as a student in one capacity or another since he came here from Mexico 4 years ago, lit up like a Christmas tree. "Where? We're going to be there this summer too! When are you going?" It took him about 3 seconds to realize that his peers' jaws had dropped. He quickly slumped back down in his seat and muttered something about how he was sure that it was too far a drive for me to come and visit him anyways.

Since then, I've been "slipping in" references to Mexico, propping travel books, history books, and Mexico maps on the white board ledge. He's biting. He lets slip that his family still owns their home there. That his grandma lives nearby. That I will definitely want to take a camera. (Um, Luciano, it was already packed.) That he and his friends play soccer from sunup until noon.

I know that some day, near the end of July in 2008, I will play a game of soccer in Guanajuato, Mexico.

I also know that I won't win.

#4. I love teaching and could write a book about my students. It would be matched in size by the one about my family. And my nearly-ex husband. I've been called driven and intense. Um. Yeah.

#5. I am a traveler, a seeker. I read like a fiend. I've backpacked all over the United States, Canada, Alaska, and western Europe. I studied abroad in Spain for 6 months. Yo hablo español.

#6. Last weekend I cried in a Kwik Trip bathroom. I cried because I realized that my biggest strength is also one of my deepest flaws. I later cried as I was skiing and yet again as I did dishes. I cried for me and for my gorgeous, nearly-ex husband, and for the demise of a love affair. I cried for my mom who took care of my uncle as he died. I cried for his family. For my dad for losing his brother. I cried because snow is white. That's how much I cried.

When I wasn't crying, I was teasing my dad and my brother - and getting teased right back. I was listening to my mom and sisters, perusing photos and telling stories to my nephews and nieces. I participated.

#7. This is me. I am all of these things, all of these people. I am 5'5" tall and weigh 140 pounds. I have brown hair and brown eyes. I am huge.

I think we all are.

____________________________

And now, I tag the following 6 bloggers:

JWM
Anne
Fe-Lady
Ace
RunBubbaRun
XT4

Have at it!

Phenomenal Woman

2008-03-02T19:12:00.009-06:00

I turn my skis and face directly into the wind. Deliberately. I know this spot. I am strong.

I come from a strong line. My mom blew the lid off of amazing again this week. I can’t find the words to describe her. I’ll use hers…

He didn’t want to give in to using the diapers and so every time he had to go to the bathroom, he’d kick and groan and move his legs to the edge of the bed. We had to put our hands on him and hold him and soothe him. “It’s all right, Darry. Go to the bathroom. We’ll clean you up. We’ll take care of you. We're here.”

She watched him through the nights, through the days, staying at his side while others rotated in and out. She sat with his 14 year old granddaughter and later marveled at how much she learned from her. She lead visitors up to see him, helped them to say good-bye, sang and talked. She administered rectal medications and cleaned up after his body rejected them or bled out cancerous clots. She sat, she absorbed, she gave. She was steady. She is a matriarch, a woman in full. A work of art, of wonder, of beauty.

She sat with him on the last night, watched his breathing grow more labored and his struggles to get out of bed become more futile, weaker. She awakened his wife and phoned his children. She cleaned his body one last time. When the last son arrived, she left the room. On two replaced knees, she traversed the steps down to the living room. She lay on the couch and caught an hour’s sleep as he died.

In the morning there would be laundry and food preparation. In the morning, she would fasten the clasp of her sister-in-law's wedding pearls so that she could wear them to the visitation.

I am wide-eyed as this story pours out of her mouth in a stream of talk. She is utterly exhausted, curled up in the recliner. She tears up at points, looks down at gnarled, arthritic hands, pauses, but goes on. She shares the intimate details of his failing health and his eventual death, and in so doing, she is sharing his life. And hers. I see and I hear the courage of one woman, her wisdom, her steadiness, the gravity she provided this week to a family – not even her blood relatives, but those of my father. They knew that they could orbit her. They consulted her, listened to her, trusted her judgment.

She was never even a nurse. She dropped out of nursing school to marry my dad. To move to a farm and raise hundreds of cows and eight kids.

When I turn my face into the wind and feel that familiar comfort, it is to say: I can't touch my mom, but I have watched her. She lives an example. I see how it is done, I have witnessed her fortitude, her capacity. I stand on the shoulders of giants and persist. And admire a whole damn lot.

*Author's note: I am well aware that my title is taken from Maya Angelou's poem. Our phenomenal women are quite different though.

Does Counting Work for You?

2008-02-27T11:12:00.008-06:00

I have had reason in the last 43 minutes to evaluate the efficacy of the "counting to 10" strategy.

It doesn't work.

I hear your *gasps,* but I feel confident in making this assertion and publishing these results. I think that you will agree that my research has been rigorous. I have performed in-depth studies in a variety of trying situations - with teenagers. Particularly teenage girls who tell their teachers that they "have sticks up their butts" and query as to why they need to do the assignment because they "know all this stuff already." Need I say more?

My conclusions? We adults should not feel locked into the professional educator stances of "count to 10" or "love them through it." Oh no. We need to avail ourselves of several strategies.

My strategy of the day? Bug out your eyes in obvious incredulity, sigh, shake your head sadly, and just walk away. It feels oh-so-satisfying.

Recommendations: Try it. You'll like it. Much better than counting to 10.

Brick Done Wisconsin Style

2008-02-25T16:43:00.008-06:00

There aren't many days in the year where you could do this brick, but yesterday was one of them. Oh, fortuitous yesterday!

Part I: Cross-Country Ski - 31 minutes.
I laid around until 1PM - a nice lazy start to a sunny Sunday. Once I got off my a$$ though, things happened... My skis snapped on, I hit the trails, criss-crossing the paths of the snowmobilers who were out in force. Amidst the blaring motors, I managed to preserve my life and limbs - and prevent my two dogs from getting their pelts labeled with snowmobile treads. No small feat, I assure you.

Transition: As I was driving home... well, let me paint the scene: the windows are open, dog tongues are flapping saliva all over the sides of the car, and my tunes are blaring. Who wouldn't get the notion that maybe... today... would be... a good day... to .... ride my bike?

Once the idea occured to me, it was a short trip to exchanging my ski boots for bike shoes, pumping up the tires, and hitting the road. Just. Like. That.

Part II: The Bike - 43 minutes, 10.3 miles
The side streets were tetchy. We have pockmarked layers of ice that were half-melted and slushy. But once I reached the main roads, it was smooth sailing to my country roads. Which were divine. I scoped out the first five miles of my commute route, wearing a high-beam smile because I was clipping along at 18-19 MPH.

And then I turned around. Into a fierce, cold HEADWIND. Eeks. Where'd that blame warmth go anyways? I switched to the low-beam smile, tucked my head, pulled my turtle fur neck scarf up over my nose and dug in. You can see the results in my overall average speed. Um, do I confess to this?? ----- 14.3 MPH. *Wince.*

But I will take it. This was my first ride since December.

Aside: My bike trainer remains in the back of the closet still in its original plastic. I purchased it last May. Hmm... think I'll EVER use it? I answer my own question: Not if there's snow on the ground, water in the pool, YakTrax on my running shoes... you get the picture.

The side effect of this brick? I have spring fever! I am positively itching to start my bike commute again. - With or without the ski beforehand.

Tears in Her Mascara

2008-02-25T11:05:00.002-06:00

An adolescent girl walks into my classroom.

She is positively devastated. Her eyes are red and puffy, her nose is running. She dabs carefully at her eyes with her Kleenex so as not to smudge her mascara.

I pull her aside and quietly ask her what's wrong.

She can barely speak, and when she finally does, the tears begin again. "First... at lunch... Alison spilled her chocolate milk on my mashed potatoes. But she paid for it and I got a new one so that's all right." *Sniff* Sniff*

"But then just now in the computer lab, I failed my reading test. And everyone was laughing at me."

TT: "What did they say?"

Tears: "They said I should just relax. That I could take it again in three days."

Oh, for the grown-up, makeup wearing, crying-over-spilt-milk, sweet ones...

Cría Cuervos

2008-02-09T22:59:00.000-06:00

Cría cuervos y te pecan los ojos.

You raise crows and they peck out your eyes. - (Uplifting) Spanish proverb

We sit around the kitchen table, warm and toasty, full and satisfied. And deadly serious. The cribbage board is between us, a double elimination tournament is in progress, and I want to win. To eliminate my opponent. I bury my two cards in the crib and lift up my eyes, studying her through narrowed slits.

My mom is still weighing her options. I catch her eye and say what's on my mind, "Mom, I love you, but I want to beat you. I'm competitive."

Her blue eyes twinkle right back at mine, "So am I."

Flashback to July 2007: Paradise Valley Tri

I'm out on the course, grinding up hills, fishtailing through loose gravel, an atheist praying hail marys on the way down. I'm sucking in a vertigo and nausea cocktail. My mouth is wide open, my brow furrowed in concentration, my breathing comes in wheezes. But I will not quit. No, it's not even that I won't quit; I will not give an inch. I will not slow down. I will push.

I know that the second place person is 10 minutes behind me. This is a family and friends triathlon. It would actually be nice of me to slow down and hang with my siblings, cousins, and family friends - some of whom haven't trained a lick, yet come and just gut out the tri. The "competition" is not chasing me.

In fact, I've been intending to let someone else win for two years now.

But I can't slow down. I need to get to that finish line and know that I have not let up for even a second. The world could be empty right now. My vision of what I need to do is crystalline. Fight, tough it out, find my limits. I need to define this triathlete-teacher. Not only by what I do, but how I do it.

I don't slow down. I don't let anyone else win - or even tie with me this year. (DO NOT tell her, but I let Strong Sister tie in 2006.)

Nope, I don't slow down. In fact I PR by three minutes. I have the graciousness to not crow. (Or maybe I just have the brains to figure out that my family will take a scythe to me if I do.)

Flash forward:

Our cribbage game has come to an end. My dad waltzes in to the room. "Well, who's the big winner?"

I open my beak and answer... "Caw! Caw!"

Inner Peace Lives at the Pool

2008-02-01T12:11:00.000-06:00

I rotate my shoulder
lay on my side
slip my hand into the water
smoother than a glove
snugger than mittens
sweeter than warmth

I am swimming fast
catching Coach's bubbles
right in the goggles
But
Amidst all this motion
I am calm
slow
relaxed
suspended

- Almost timeless -

With swimming you have to be
I cannot be reaching
clawing
grasping
Thrashfests are counterproductive
Swimming speed is counterintuitive

It is in letting go that you move faster.

It is this idea
this centeredness
that I want to remember
to take with me
to apply in all areas of my life.

No matter the furies and flurries
that may surround you,
Inner Peace lives.

When I Make Up the Practice Sentences

2008-01-28T12:01:00.000-06:00

Directions: Punctuate the following sentences correctly.

1) Ms. Triteacher, how do you manage to look so lovely every day the children asked.

2) How many years in a row did you win Ironman, inquired Sarah.

3) Was it just your 30th birthday that you celebrated, Ms. Triteacher, queried Brett.

4) Abbey asked, Where DID you get that outfit? It's fabulous!

Ostensibly, we're working on punctuating questions in dialogue. But OK, my ego's getting a few strokes too.

Until they all groan and burst my bubble.

What's with that?? :)

Mersault

2008-01-23T20:03:00.001-06:00

I swam this morning. Through an agonizing shoulder ache that had me stopping every 100 yards to stretch, that had me doing touch turns instead of flipping. I had to remove myself from Coach and Dolores's lane so I could baby it, but I kept on going. Believing. Hoping...

I meet Mersault in my classroom, stare across the table at him, watch him in perplexed wonder. He is the "hero" from Albert Camus' absurdist novel, The Stranger. He chooses nothing, cares for nothing, tells me "Nothin'" in answer to 90% of my queries. The other 10% are met with shrugs. All actions happen around him. He has no memory, has no past, takes no responsibility for what is done him. He lives school in the passive tense.

This kills me. I know this kid. I have known him since 4th grade. He struggled back then, but we had a relationship. Now - at least by his lights - we don't. He's headed down a bad road. I want to shake him and wake him, say "Take charge of your life, kid!" Instead I cajole, lecture, jolly him along, praise every little attempt - and grind my teeth because the attempts are too few and far between.

Like Mersault, his discomfort leads him to act out. Like Mersault, he shoots a man because he is too hot. The man he shoots is himself. In the foot. In the future.

I want to put him on trial like Mersault. To be judged by his peers, to have to listen. I want to force him to reflect. To see.

This I am wrestling with. I have no happy ending. No solutions to propose except the slow, painful one of consistently staying my course. Of offering him an education every day, of drawing my line in the sand of how much I'll let him disrupt the education of others.

I kept on swimming this morning. Through the pain. I did a lonely 2700 yards in a lane of my own. But I stayed the course. With 500 yards to go, it finally gave. My shoulder loosened up and I hopped back in with Coach and Dolores. I considered it a victory.

Could there be a happy ending yet for my Mersault?

How Cold Is It?

2008-01-20T20:07:00.001-06:00

...So cold that in an effort to layer up and keep warm, I donned make-up for the first time in 15 years. See my mascara, my painted eyebrows, and the crystalline beads in my hair...

Ski hours this weekend = 5:25
Woot!

The Moments

2008-01-19T22:34:00.000-06:00

I'm not ready to declare victory yet. But I have moments. Where I catch myself breathing freely, where the hollowness doesn't supersede all else, where I feel almost... free, light, hopeful, and excited. And not just in the tearing way that wants to prove them wrong, but in a healthy way that invests in me.

When I can string together enough of these moments, I will not only imagine the possibilities, but I will make a decision.

It will be like coming out of an illness. That euphoria that you feel just being free from pain. It will be like when I woke up one day and realized that I had kicked my eating disorder. That my first thought of the day wasn't about calories and food. It will be freedom from obsession.

I feel where I am tonight, and I believe: it will come.

Swisher Sweets

2008-01-18T22:29:00.002-06:00

I walk in the door and am greeted by thousands of calories. I eat indiscriminately, a starving athlete who had oatmeal for supper too many times this week. I conscientiously avoid asking my mom what her creations are called - much less how much butter, sugar, and motherly love went into making them.

My mom is the kinda cook who looks at something sideways and it adds calories - and flavor; her broccoli is like my cream puffs. Seriously. The woman can cook. And she is on a mission to fatten me up. I comply with alacrity.

And then I'm out the door.

Four inches of new snow are calling my name. Once again, I comply. With alacrity. The snow and the waxing moon contrive to play a reflective duet that makes 9 PM look like I'm skiing across my cereal bowl. The snow, sitting in its -4°F crisper, is fluffy and fast. The insides of my nostrils burn, my eyelashes wear jewels of crystalline ice, my breath comes out in vaporous puffs.

And my skis. Oh, my skis. They swish, they swoosh, they paint the path. I look behind me, survey my handiwork - a dark stain in the snow, two parallel indentions that stretch from the house to the barn to where I stand now, at the back of the field ready to enter the forest.

As my ski tips dip into the woods, I hear it. "Hooo... hooo." Softer - and eerier - than I'd remembered. The hoot owl is here. Her cries carry across this cold night, echo between stark-naked trees whose fingers point their icy tips to the moon.

Amidst all this I
Sweetly
Swishshshshshsh...

Fighting the Flatness

2008-01-14T11:11:00.001-06:00

Ever have those days where you just feel ... flat?

I feel flat today. I got up at 4AM to get to a 4000 yard swim. I did the workout. But I was sluggish, slow, and spaghetti-like by a third into it. I was even farther behind Coach and Dolores than usual.

Now I'm at school and I feel... flat. Grrr. I wanna feel excited, motivated, inspired, and able to inspire. My first class went well. I can fake it with middle schoolers. But then I had my high schoolers and I swear they can smell weakness a mile away. One girl in particular seems to read me like a book. She's bright. Too bright. Double grrr.

Maybe I'm overdoing the training. I haven't had a day off in... let me check quick... Oh! 10 days. That's it! I need a day off. I need to recover.

Click! I lifted weights on Friday, and I was wondering why my arms and shoulders still hurt this morning. I need time to recover. Eureka! What a load off. Tomorrow I WILL NOT work out.

Aside to self: You hear me? No work out tomorrow. And no obsessing about it either!

Aside to you: Hold me to it.

Maybe I'll eat a bunch of chocolate tonight too. And play my guitar. And relax. Maybe I'll just chill out instead of having to be Superwoman every stinkin' day.

Yeah. Chocolate, a mellow dog walk, guitar, a touch of merlot...

RECOVERY... here I come!

Jan. 15 Update: Woah. 9.5 hours of sleep later, I am a new woman. I guess I should have realized that being stranded on Saturday overnight in Madison with six 19 year-old girls (my niece and her friends) would take it out of me. And then the 4 AM wake-up call on Monday... I needed 9.5 hours of sleep. Look out today school kids, TT is refreshed!

Oh, and on the workout front: Now that I've had some good sleep, there is fresh snow on the ground. And my skis are freshly waxed...

A-s-p-h-a-l-t Spells Relief

2008-01-10T20:15:00.000-06:00

I am running down the middle of a country road in a blizzard. I can barely see because I've pulled my cap down to shield my eyes from the big wet flakes that seem hell-bent on piercing my cornea. I snap punches in the air - one is my daunting right, two is my left hook, three is a smashing undercut, four with my left... to ten. It feels like release. I yell to the world, to the snow, to no one in particular, "Yes! Fucking yes!" The dog jumps and scurries, tail-tucked, off to the side of the road, eying me warily.

I had a BAD day today. It culminated in detention duty tonight after school. A jail-like setting where I was the jailer. Children who I see daily in my classes and who "Ms. Triteacher" me in ever-so-polite tones turned into snarling beasts who only saw me as one of those "damn teachers who make up whatever rules they want." I guess it is pretty offensive to assign someone a seat apart from his juvenile delinquent buddies. I was steeped in that negative energy for one and one-half HOURS.

And it was bad even before I had to play hard-ass. One of my favorite teachers called me in the middle of class to tell me that one of my not-so-favorite teachers had just ragged her out about what an incompetent teacher she was.

What's up with all this negative energy? Is it the time of year when everyone goes a little, um, bitchy?

I came home determined to let off steam in one of four ways:
1) A bottle of Merlot swilled and savored at my leisure.
2) M&Ms or any other form of chocolate consumed in large quantities.
3) Rum cake - Why not get the sweet and the alcohol combined?
4) Go for a run.

Mercifully, the dog bounded to me the second I walked in the door. He hadn't been exercised yet today. My decision made, I double-timed into my running clothes.

And there I found myself on that country road. Running like Rocky Balboa. I could even hear the music swelling, surging, punctuating my footfalls. I tracked the molecules of stress as they leaked out of my temples, down my spine, through my aching piriformis, to the soles of my shoes and out into the asphalt. May those molecules rest in peace.

It was a beautiful thing. I even thought of a Suzy-Sunshine kind of idea. I'm going to make some lemon-yellow poppyseed muffins (I personally don't think that a little opium is overkill at this point) and ship them off to all the people with whom I had issues today with a single note of "The sun will shine again. Someday."

Or I could just invite them all to go running with me.

And warn them to look out for my fists.