Maya Angelou Poem

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .....
enough money within her control to move out
and rent a place of her own even if she never wants
to or needs to...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .....
something perfect to wear if the employer or date of her dreams wants
to see her in an hour...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ....
a youth she's content to leave behind....

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .....
a past juicy enough that she's looking forward to
retelling it in her old age....

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE ......
a set of screwdrivers, a cordless drill, and a black
lace bra...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .....
one friend who always makes her laugh... and one who
lets her cry...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .....
a good piece of furniture not previously owned by anyone
else in her family...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .....
eight matching plates, wine glasses with stems, and a
recipe for a meal that will make her guests feel honored...

A WOMAN SHOULD HAVE .....
a feeling of control over her destiny...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
how to fall in love without losing herself...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
HOW TO QUIT A JOB,
BREAK UP WITH A LOVER,
AND CONFRONT A FRIEND WITHOUT RUINING THE FRIENDSHIP...


EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
when to try harder... and WHEN TO WALK AWAY...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
that she can't change the length of her calves,
the width of her hips, or the nature of her parents..

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
that her childhood may not have been perfect...but its over...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
what she would and wouldn't do for love or more...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
how to live alone... even if she doesn't like it...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
whom she can trust,
whom she can't,
and why she shouldn't
take it personally...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
where to go...
be it to her best friend's kitchen table...
or a charming inn in the woods...
when her soul needs soothing...

EVERY WOMAN SHOULD KNOW...
what she can and can't accomplish in a day...
a month...and a year...

AM RUNNER

I was in
68 degree heat
68 percent humidity
at 6:00 in the morning
I was at
141 bpm
for 31:58.
I was.

I saw
the exodus
of the town's gray hairs
Vegas-bound
on a Lamer's bus
From cashed-out parking lot
to coin-craving slots
all
in air-conditioned comfort.

I ran to the top of the world
on a gravel path fanned by grasses
Funneling me into nature's beauty
a lover in the morning
Alive and alert

I descended
and saw
Panchito Sanchez
on his porch
gave him a wave
he nodded back
Biding his time
until the work bell clang

I was in Saturday's race
finding my core
finding my strength
resolving
to go fast
to be true
every second
to wheeze
to hurt
to break through
to emerge
tougher
elated
smiling

I went for a run this morning
I was in the moment
And beyond
I never left city limits
Yet
I went everywhere this morning.

Meet Serra

Silent Saturdays
slide by in his saddle
The boy named Serra
who
just like Johnny Cash's Sue
will fight anyone who
dares oppose his name.
That's just what I want
- A fighter.

Blogosphere, meet Serra.
A custom-built Waterford bike
frame weight 3 lbs, 4 oz.
Total build 18.5 pounds.
Hand-built wheels 1401 grams
Acceleration 0 to 20 in seconds.
Middle name?
Speedy-quick.

Long Tall Texan

I stand on the gunwale,
packing my round
Wisconsin self
into last year's wetsuit.

Out of the radio
pops Lyle Lovett
crooning Long Tall Texan.

Huh.

Dripping sweat
and nervous to my toes,
I take the plunge.

I am rewarded
with 59 degree water
in my suit
up my nose.

My wetsuit remembers
and bobs me to the surface
I give the boat one last look
and turn my face into the water
ready to meet it on its terms.

They are chilly terms.
Chilly to my cheeks
Chilly to my hands.

Invigorating
Exhilarating
chilly terms.

I first train myself to use my breath
Happy exhalations
bubble and gurgle
warming my face

For my hands there is only
Swim Faster
But that's short and choppy
a Wisconsinite in the water

I need to be Texan.
I stretch and reach
adding inches to my frame
I catch it and I pull it
Cold water getting shoveled.

Now the warmth is there
generated from within
My face is shining
my spirit on fire

I close my eyes
swimming blind
to better hear the bubbles
to better feel the sun
to better stretch and reach.

It took me 40 minutes
but I emerged from that water
a Long Tall Texan.

A Room of One’s Own

The tomatoes
were growing too close
Blocking each other's light,
Choking each other's roots.
Their true leaves had budded
Fleshy and full
A sign of readiness,
A sign of need.

I heard them

And gave them
Rooms of their own.

Sometimes a woman
Needs a room of her own
To dig in new roots
To breathe her own oxygen
Uncolored by yours
To embrace the full sunlight
Undappled and alone.

When you see a woman
with true leaves
Give her a room of her own.

Heavy Equipment

OK, I have to admit to feeling more than a little funny writing a post about GEAR for a BIKE. But I promised Lisa and took the pictures, so here goes...

Everything you need in order to be a utilitarian biker goddess...

Quick Mtx Track trunk bag that slides into grooves on the QR Beam Rack Mtx. The rack supports 20 pounds and attaches to my seat stem with a quick-release adjustment thingy. (As opposed to the old bike racks with supports that reached down to attach to my rear hub.)

(Do I sound remotely intelligent here??)

Trunk bag with side pannier unzipped. Ooh, spacious...

The whole kit 'n' caboodle with the trunk bag open to show room for swimsuits, shoes, goggles, groceries... the possibilities are really endless, Ladies and Gents.

Hope this helps you out, Lisa! (And any others.) I'm off to clear my head with a good poem or two.

Thoughts on Speed

(This first number sung to the tune of "PFFT You Were Gone")

Speed, oh speed, where are you tonight?
Why did you leave me here all alone?

I've run the world over
Thought you were my true love
But you've met another... met another...met another (record skipping)
And PFFT
You were gone.

_________________________________________________

(Next: An Interrogation)

Speed, where have you gone to?
I dunno.

When will you be back?
Couldn't tell ya.

I want you... Immeasurably - to the tips of my toes.
Pfft, come off it!
I've left you with joy,
camaraderie,
and drive.
Now really,
shouldn't that be enough for you?

_________________________________________________

(Last: An Update)


Tomatoes 1

Triteacher 0

Pine Line Marathon Relay

"If it is to be, it is up to me."

This quote greeted me five minutes into my leg of the Pine Line Marathon this morning. There were several other quotes posted along the course, but this one stuck with me because of my reaction to it. I smiled and thought, "It already was." All else - e.g. meeting my goal time - would be icing on the cake.

What could put such a crazy thought in my head?

• Meeting Rural Girl before the race. She is the real deal - funny, enthusiastic, down-to-earth - just as I knew she would be.
• Messing around with our team costume (filmy scarves) last night and hearing my pink-scarf-clad father proclaim that, had he the audacity, he would always wear just such a cravat.
• Driving around to the checkpoints with my niece and catching up on her life as an 18 year-old. - Not to mention scheming all the devious ways in which we could catch up to the other relay teams.
• Taking pictures of my brother who sprinted the first 2 miles of his leg with the big-hearted spirit that personifies him.
• Disobeying Strong Sister's strict instructions to just get my niece to the exchange point. Her sole response to our cheering was a stern, "See you in a few minutes." (She had five miles to go yet! More bonding with my niece over that one.)
• Racing - at last. The trail and weather were divine, my endorphins were pelting my legs and splitting my face into the goofiest-ass grin you ever did see...

And these will have to be IT for now. No icing on my cake today. My time was much slower than I'd hoped for. I did the 10.1 miles in 1:21 - far from the smokin' 1:11 I'd hoped for. One minute per mile off, in fact. (Eeks!)

In retrospect, I see that it was an unrealistic goal given my current level of fitness and my running times so far this season. I'm just not as fast as I was when I ran 7:09s in 2003. (The times upon which I based this goal.) So for me, today was a checkpoint, a dipstick into the well of this growing season. And happy as I was to just be out there with such good people today, I learned something too...

If it is to be, it is up to me.

I, my friends, have some work to do.

I Feel Pretty

I feel pretty, oh so pretty...

"Ms. Triteacher, that's a pretty dress."
"You look nice today, Ms. T."
"We're not used to seeing you in purple."
(Actually it's lavender, but I'm not about to point that out.)

I'm all dudded up for the kids' concert tonight, and they noticed.
It feels oh-so-pretty to be me today. :)

Ladybug Soul

I swallowed her tonight
She went down whole
Now I'm ladybug
to the core of my soul

My helmet protected my hair
My glasses fought for my eyes
My hairs hid my nose in a weave
But my jaw gaped wide

I came on at seventeen
She had to be doing twenty
The tailwind gave her a boost
She found a new place to roost

Then at home
I spied my tulips
freshly-opened today
Instead of flowers
I saw a tomb
and knew there was only one way.

My two lips I did part
and relinquished her to her grave.
She now has a happy heart
in that sunlit yellow place.





As for me
I'll remember her.
For this clinging
bitter taste.

The Growing Season

I spent an afternoon and a morning with a fork in my hands, mired in compost and garden soil. Right now I have dirty fingernails and aching muscles. But in a few weeks time we'll have spinach and lettuce. In a few months we'll have broccoli and tomatoes. At this point, it's hard to believe.

Bet you can't see where this post is going.

I've spent afternoons and mornings on the bike and in the pool. My weeks have seen progressively longer runs. Right now I have sore muscles and magnitude 8 doubts. In a week's time, I'll have the results of my first running race. In a few months, my Tri Nationals fate will be written history.

In my garden and to the toes of my running socks, I have the excitement of a season getting underway. It is the growing season, and I - like the spinach and tomatoes - will grow.

The Sleeper

She slips in in the morning
a bright smiling face presented to the world.
The smiles and nods continue,
punctuation in all the right places
throughout class.

Finally she slips her test into my basket
and slides back to her seat.
I wonder if it will reveal
the 60% of last time.

She's sliding along.
The smile is vacant,
the nods for the trees.

Well, wake up, Little Sleeper,
Your teacher is calling your name.

The Bike

The bike is just different for me.
Utilitarian.
I ride it to get me to school,
to get me to the trailhead so I can run,
or to the pool so I can swim.

I need to expand my horizons
to go beyond the utilitarian
to go beyond accomplishing training.
I need to make the bike about biking.

How the hell am I gonna do that?

My trainer lays dusty in my closet -
still in its plastic.
I, the one with the vocabulary,
mentally block on words like cadence and wattage,
gears, parts vs. components, derailleurs
= Derailed.

But hey, I got bottle cages and seats downpat!
Er - or was that saddles?

How do you retrain a brain,
create a proclivity?
Woefully, willfully ignorant.
Is there hope for me yet?

Yes. I will find a way.

I Hurt, But I'm Getting Faster

Yes, my quads hurt. I've taken a page out of Lisa's book and am tackling this little nemesis of mine called...

THE BIKE.

It gets the least play in this blog because it is my least favorite. Oh sure, I enjoy it and all, but it ain't swimming - and it cannot touch running.

But, Lisa's honest appraisal and reporting of her biking - as well as her steadfast efforts to improve - have inspired me. So, bottoms up:

Here's where I've been - 14.9 MPH
Where I am - 16.5-17.5 MPH
Where I'm going - 19.5 MPH
(All done on my usual 19 mile route.)

AND

How I'll get there:
In spin class, we used to count our RPMs. We were always aiming for around 90. I have started doing this now on my roadbike. With an evil Triteacher Twist.

I count my revolutions (one leg) for 10 seconds out of every minute. If I don't make the requisite, magical 15 (Yep, 15 x 6 = 90 RPM), I have to count again in that same minute. (The Twist.) I try to maintain that 90 RPM for 5 minutes straight. Repeat 4 times per ride.

Though I can't say I've isolated this as THE variable, I attribute my increased speed to this drill. Hey, if it makes you hurt, it has to make you faster, right? ;)

_________________________________________________________________

Also on my mind... Virginia Tech. See these blogs for more thoughts:

Anne
Marty

Back Away from Your Screen

A-a-choo-kablooey!

Don't say I didn't warn you.

And I always thought they were exaggerating when they said:

watery eyes
itchy, runny nose
stuffed up head
sneezing.

Gods Behaving Beastly

Shiva and Shakti
took my legs for a run
this morning.

Ten miles on a crushed gravel path
in 60 degree sunshine -
you would think they'd be kind,
kick back and enjoy the weather.

But nooooo....
not those two.

They frolicked with each other
as they rampaged through my body,
vying for my misery.
I swear I heard them say,
"Screw 'What Would Jesus Do.'"

They tightened up my quads
and pinched my piriformis.
They stuck Gatorade bile
in the back of my throat
and pushed my legs to pulp
on a Long Distance Slow.

But I fought back
caving only to the secret thought
of a negative split.

As I sit here now
with an ice pack under each cheek,
my piriformis is not purring.
But I am.

My watch has told me the score:
Miles 1-5: 45.04
Miles 6-10: 43.38

I have earned my smile.
I went for a run today
and negative splitted.

Oh, and Shiva & Shakti?
They're busy rolling out my quads.

Call Me Shiva

- Hindu Destroyer and Creator

Yesterday
AM: Treadmill 45:00 - 9 x 400
PM: Bike 1:09 Average 16.6 mph
Swim 1:10 Chasing Coach again

Today
Recovery - I can feel those microscopic muscle tears sewing themselves back together, making me stronger and more whole.

How's the Shiva in you?

Hallway Duty

How do Kindergarteners Come back from Lunch?

Like you've opened up a bag of popcorn
and sprinkled it liberally throughout the hallway.
They hop and they skip,
they gallop and they sashay.
They twirl and they twitter.
One little boy announced, "I'm poppin' wheelies,"
as he wove back and forth across the hallway.

So - from a technical standpoint - I've still enforced "No running in the hallways," right?

The Beast

The Beast resides within me
It gets a notion
and like the cat at the door
howls for release.

I try to outswim it.
An hour & ten chasing Coach's toes
leave it untouched.

It wriggles through blogging,
Won't be sated by dishes, cooking,
or even vacuuming.

At 9:13, I admit defeat.
As I reach for the running shoes
it has the audacity to whimper
and curl its jowls into a canine grin
that leaks out onto my lips.

A puzzled look from husband
provokes maniacal laughter
that I only barely suppress
and manage to supplant
with "Just going for a run."
The beast divines well
and diverts my attention
with another ripping YOWL
before I can be reached
by the Voice of Reason.

Our feet hit the pavement
and we are in church.
The thunk of our feet
calls out "Hallelujah!"
The beating of our heart
whispers "amen."

The Beast is irrepressible
Dashing and mad
My brain tries to train it,
pulls back on its leash
Tomorrow is 9 x 400 day
Cool your jets!

I feed it 4 hungry miles,
the cool night air
our only companion,
but companion enough
to soothe and smooth
the beast into submission

Shhhh... It now lies sated
snoring at my feet.

But Beast be warned:
Should you try to snooze through 9 x 400,
I will not hesitate to prod you with a stick.

Drive Stuck in Park

I think my drive is stuck in park. Here's how it goes in Triteacher Land...

1) Getting back into the pool after my vacation hiatus was bliss. I promptly promised myself that next season I would sign up for the master's swim meets in my area. I even added an extra swim on Friday.

2) Did I mention that I wanted to try to qualify for Nationals? Oh yeah, I probably did. BUT I cannot decide on a distance. My heart says Half Ironman, but my brain says, "You've only done one and it was done as training for IM. You have no idea of how to pace yourself competitively at that distance! Nor do you have any idea if you can be competitive at that distance."

Sprint? - Smarter choice but heart says, "BLAH. Not long enough. Why even get into the water if I'm only getting out 8 minutes later?"

Oly? - You might just have something there. Long enough to warrant getting my feet wet and definitely a challenge. Most of my experience is at this distance so I have a clue about pacing. But (in the same breath) HIM would be better!

I think Ironman has wrecked me. I like going long.

3) I went for a trail run this weekend (inspired -thank you very much - by Bubba and Marty) and was convinced that I wanted to become an ultra/trail runner. I even ran extra and was late for Mom's Easter dinner. I fell hard for the Chequamegon National Forest - and running through calf-deep streams.

4) My siblings twisted my arm (yee-ouch!) and I am now signed up for two relay running events. One is taking the place of the half mary on April 28th. We're going to do the full marathon as a relay. I get the last 10.1 miles. Yahoo! Bringin' it home on a relay is fu-u-un. BUT that means changing my half mary 1:33 goal. I think I'll keep the per mile pace goal: that's 7:09. OK?

Do you see the evidence of Triteacher Drift?

Um, how many lifetimes are we allowed in which to chase our dreams?

That's not even mentioning that I love vacationing with my husband and puppy... and at those times, my training plan goes out the window. Did you notice the absence of any biking references in my posts this week? It's indicative of exactly that - NO biking.

I know that I cannot possibly meet all of these goals simultaneously. Excitement is nice, but I feel as though I stymie myself at every turn with yet another new adventure. My drive is stuck in park just because I can't consistently answer one question:

"What do I want to be today?"
Last season, I had a consistent, clear answer to this question. I woke up each day and knew that I wanted to be an Ironman. Drive.

This season is different. My answer to that question changes every day.

Can I have a whole season governed by whim?

• Yes. I have in the past. In fact, with the exception of last year, all of my triathlons have been whimsically chosen and completed. Training equally so.

• No. Not if I want to reach my competitive edge.

There's the rub. Any thoughts out there?

Red River Gorge, KY

This was our final hike - and it was the jewel in the crown.

Cave Entrance

Stony Limbs (I could relate!)

Sworls in Sandstone

Sweet, Fresh Water

Notes from Lexington: Kentuckians

Those Kentuckians shore know how to drawl. In the land where "Share the road with Horses" and "Horses have Right of Way" signs dominated, I spent the greater part of every conversation restraining myself from repeating their words, trying to corral those long, long vowels for myself.

Friendly to a one (does that famous Southern hospitality still exist?), they seemed to look for any excuse to converse with us. Among conversation-starters: our Wisconsin license plate, my hiking hat, the reusability of the deli containers - you get the picture. And once they got us started, they played the game I often play (and will only admit to here in the safety of blogosphere). I love to hear people with accents talk. I engage them in conversations of inconsequence and try to stretch out the experience to some level of (unattainable) saturation.

I'm a linguistic geek. But I'm not alone! Those Kentuckians and fellow tray-yul (trail) hikers are guilty too. Even the ones who've moved "up here" to live with their grandmother who's "fixin' to pass" wanted a piece of these Northerners. As we hiked through their hollers (hollows) and basked in their sun, I noticed our commonalities.

The three sixth grade boys hiking in front of us filled the bill of sixth grade boys everywhere. They giggled and exclaimed at the copulating stick figures drawn on a rock wall, "Somebody was rotten up here!" (Rotten??)

They jostled their fellows for the chance to lap at the water dripping down from those same rock formations and successfully ditched red-faced moms who huffed up the trail behind them. ("You go right on ahead, Hon'.") They scoffed at dads and younger siblings who'd opted to ride the lift instead of hike up the trail.

They gaped at spiders,

pretty views,

and natural sandstone bridges.

Yep, I reckon they'd make sixth grade boys anywhere proud.

Notes from Lexington: Fluid Motion

OK, I'm not quite done "conquering the world," but I'm afraid of losing my vacation zen, so here I go; world-conquering delayed, story starting...

Sunday, April 1, 2007 - Lexington, Kentucky

I sit in the car with Piper while Chris goes into the store. I observe a couple entering the store behind him. They are dressed alike - in beaded 70s apparel, two heads of straight and longish hair done to the same level of coif. Seamlessly, she pauses before the door and he opens it for her, then lock-steps in behind her. Inside the foyer, she clamps a cuff at a time and pulls on a denim jacket. Meanwhile, he acquires a cart and wordlessly pulls up alongside her. They slip from view, but I imagine them sweeping through the aisles together, deciding on purchases with the minimum of murmurings. Everything will be accomplished with the fluid motions of a couple long acclimated to each other, with the automaticity of compatibility.

If I had to describe this trip so far, I'd say that we'd accomplished it this way. Fluidly. It's as though you read each other's minds. If there is contention, you sense when to push the point - and when to just fall in line with the will of the other.

There is peace of mind, there is comfort, there is serenity. There are views that you wordlessly share. Later they drift into conversation and you realize that he was thinking the same thing as you when you rolled into Kentucky's blossoms and greenery.

You see him in front of you running through the University of Kentucky's arboretum and later, hiking in front of you on Sheltowee Trace National Recreation Trail. Piper turns and runs back to bridge the distance should anyone interrupt the invisible tether that joins you as a unit, a family.

So much is made of the drama of falling in love, the passion of couples. (Rightfully so.) However now, as the other half of an "old married couple," I see the joy of the still waters of coupledom. The deep and enduring mind-reading sharing of a life. The trust and togetherness that imbues every waking moment. Fluid motion is very nice.

Rejuvenated!

We're back and I feel great! I didn't even realize how rundown I was until comparing it to how energized I feel now. I feel like conquering the world. Or at least doing laundry, scrubbing the house, starting my garden, swimming tonight... Life is good.

We came back to find that Chris's family had cleaned my car, taken superlative care of our kitty, and genuinely missed us. They soaked up our stories and told us theirs. Funny how much you take for granted the good vibes of the people who are always there. They rock.

I have stories for you-all too - "Notes from Lexington" soon to come! Plus I need to catch up on commenting. I quickly skimmed through everyone's blogs - you've been busy! All in good time... gotta conquer the world here first. :)

Prisoner TT2349

He's out packing the bikes up now, but I don't have long. I came home from school to find the car in the driveway, loaded down already with the travel agent cum jailer's and Piper's bags.

"Umm... are we leaving early?"

"As soon as you can get ready."

So I've been scurrying around - up and down the stairs, trying to find the perfect balance of running, hiking, biking, swimming (wetsuit??), vacation clothing. I've also been trying to compose this - my last message to you all - but my eyes must have glossed over or my hands slowed, cuz each time I tried, I'd get a "Is that bag ready to go to the car yet?" So nothing profound, just a hurried scribble to say... have a great week!

Prisoner TT2349 reporting to vacation - 24 hours early.

Finding the Rhythm

I saved a toad's life tonight. And it all happened because I let the rhythm find me today.

Let me back up a little bit. It was that kind of Monday. Up later than I intended, I had to leave the house one cup shy of my usual dose of caffeine - and the day continued that way.

Then I got home with every intention of doing the 1 hour bike, 20 min. run on my training plan. But there was Chris. With Piper. All suited up and ready for a trek through a cornfield on a 70 degree day. I have a weakness for such things. Instead of donning my bike shoes, on went the hiking boots. Two hours later, we had rehashed Chris's weekend at work, decided yet again to postpone moving to another locale, and prevented Piper from rolling in a dead skunk. (He beat us to the punch last week - aargh.)

Then it was home to supper, followed by blogging. Mid-blog-reading, I suddenly felt the urge to bike. I estimated that I still had 45 minutes of light and was out the door within 5 minutes. And up to 17 MPH by .12 mile. That's when I got the first inkling that sometimes you win by letting go of the best laid plans and letting the rhythm find you.

The rhythm that found me was the mating song of spring - every bullfrog and his uncle was out there in the marshes calling for a girlfriend. Two foxes scuttled across the road in front of me, I braked for a herd of deer and - a little over an hour later - wound up safe and sound at home with 18 miles under my belt.

But I was not done banging the drum yet. I transitioned into my running shoes (1:09) and was back out the door for my 20 minute run. Somebody gave my legs speed or something because they completely forgot about the 10:15 miles they were doing yesterday and ran around 8s.

I was pumping it home when who should I see out in the middle of the road but Mr. Toad, trying to soak up the last heat of the pavement. A quick glance behind me revealed a speeding car driven by a pack of the town's cruising teenagers.* There was about a block between Mr. Toad and certain death. I had to make a decision fast - and decided to risk it all. I swooped out to the middle of the road, scooped up Mr. Toad (for which he promptly thanked me by peeing on my hand) and placed his cold little body in the grass.

How's that for rhythm?

(*OK, the car was being driven by the town granny who was a block away and creeping up at 10mph, but just go with this here.)

The Hunger

I am not speaking metaphorically here. I'm talking being on my bike and having visions of taking the Sawzall to our peanut butter jar and sawing the narrow top off so I can stick my face right into raw peanut butter and devour every last creamy chunky bit of it.

It's that time of year - the miles and hours are ramping up. Anyone else experiencing the hunger?

Lest I Forget

This has been a great year. These kids have given me joy in ways that I'll never be able to repay. I want to remember...

Explaining contractions - like didn't is did+not, and thinking it would somehow stick better if I told them about muscular contractions... I started down the path to contractions like a woman has in labor and quickly discarded it at their blanched expressions. Then I thought to pull up my sleeve and make a muscle.

"Hooo-eeee!" yelled Big Blue Eyes. We all laughed a little bit, and I continued on to explain how muscular contractions are caused by the shortening of muscle fibers just like we shorten a word - all the while flexing - but was upstaged by the eyelash-batting incredulity and one-man chorus of "Hooo-eee! Man!"

I'm afraid we abandoned contractions that day.

For two of my girls, it's a time of friendship that feels deeper and more secret than the mystery of conciousness. They meet at the couch in the morning to unload their backpacks and catch up on the hours of separation, link arms to walk through the halls - whispering and giggling all the way - accompany each other to the bathroom, together until they have to part ways - on separate buses to separate homes. They earnestly tell me that they never want to be apart.

It's a year of them discovering the links between them, their world, and entities that used to be separate. "I'm really getting into reading now." "I love these books."

It's a year of having to clear space on my cabinet for more autographed drawings of hearts and horses and triathlete teachers - and even one depicting the differences between the types of literary genre.

They break my heart. They are so good. Yet, sometimes I despair because they're what we in the business call a "low" class - overall low achievers who produce less-than-superb work. But man, their hearts are in it.

Right down to spelling. A little girl argued with her peer editor about the spelling of the word "activity" in her story (she wanted "activate"). I finally convinced her that while she can be creative and "own" her ideas, the spellings belong to the greater English-speaking collective.

But inside, I am exuberant that she cares so much. She is a lioness protecting her cubs, fiercely protective of her writing. She is a writer.

Fortune has smiled on me in the shape of a gaggle of 11 year-olds. The world is my oyster.

First Track

You live all week with your head in the sand, searching for a grain of truth - or just checking things off the list. Yet you've got a Mona Lisa smile because in your pocket is your training plan. And on that training plan you've got intervals. For Wednesday.

Wednesday dawns and you look at the list of what must be done before you can start living: School, Meeting, then Intervals. The weather says chance of thunderstorms so you pack two sets of clothes - one set for the track (that you fervently hope to use), and one set for the treadmill (that have been used plenty already).

You toil through the day, engaged in what's meaningful at the moment - but every once in a while lifting your head high enough out of that sand to get a shiver of excitement. Of anticipation. First night on the track.

Finally the students have tumbled out the bus doors. An x on the list. Then it's the interminable meeting where, among other matters of earth-shattering importance, you debate and finally decide on precisely how to spend $6. Crucial meeting - check.

At last you can change into your track clothes. Because it will be the track. Come what may. You have waited through winter's snow and a bout with an edgy heel. Even if you have to battle thunder and lightning, tonight's intervals will be waged on the track.

And so it is.

800 warm-up: You wish you had more pores on your body. To soak it all up. On the track in spring with puddles of water pooling around you, dense air clothing you, birds chirping and the wind whipping across the marsh - bringing spring to your nostrils. More pores needed.

And then it's go time...

1:33 for 400 #1 - There are no more thoughts of spring or birds or even life. This is it. What you've been waiting for. Your legs respond to the momentous occasion and charge like they've been doing it forever.
2:25 Recovery 400 -You smile cuz you know it is good and you have done well.

1:33 for 400 #2 - Your legs feel high and springy, juiced and ready.
2:23 Recovery 400 - You decide that next set your recovery will be shorter because you're ready for another interval at 200.

1:36 for 400 #3 - You remember that you wheeze and your chest hurts when you run fast. You learn things that you never knew before about running. The way your heel strikes when you run, the way your arms pump and reach, the way your quads recoil and spring, all these details reach your conscious mind with a clarity that shoves all else out of the world. There is only you. You. And Running.
1:16 Recovery 200 - It dawns on you: recovery jogs feel good.

1:36 for 400 #4 - You start out strong but then realize you have blown your wad by 50 meters. You start to rationalize and wonder how fast you really should be running these. Is it necessary to push this hard? Doesn't my training plan say to run these at a 5K pace? That certainly is much slower than this.
1:19 Recovery 200 - You get a little tiffed at yourself because you know exactly where those seconds went. You let your legs slow down a little bit while you were diverting your big brain with pacing thoughts.

1:37 for 400 #5 - Over halfway!! You're happy again just to be out here doing it. A bit of sun even peeks out of the clouds.
1:23 Recovery 200 - You start to cough but stop yourself when it feels like a part of you may come up and have to be spat out. After all, you have vowed to leave nothing on the track tonight. Lung included.

1:37 for 400 #6 - You decide that intervals are as tough as you remembered - only worse.
1:33 Recovery 200

1:39 for 400 #7 - Your legs feel fast. In the initial burst, you think, "Shiiit, I'm just getting warmed up!" Then you reach about 40 meters. PUSH is the name of the game for the remaining 360.
1:29 Recovery 200 - You hear the first peal of thunder and chuckle, "Yep, it's that kind of day." Seven down, one to go, one to go...

1:37 for 400 #8 - You know it's number 8, the finale. The last one that you want to last - yet can't wait for to be over. You give it all you've got.

6:04 for Cooldown 800
As soon as you can breathe again, you look around and down - revering the track, thanking it, thanking your legs, the sky, the clouds, the birds, your running shoes... This is what all the waiting was for. Your bliss is nonpareil.

And then you start to wonder... What could I do next time? You give the track a last reverent look and know from the bottom of your soul that this is not good-bye, but a definite...

See you later.

Stealing Faster's Secret

My master's swim coach has been telling me for months to spend more time on my side. He's been very gentle about it, patiently reminding me after a suitable interval of non-improvement has passed. But yes, reminding me. He clothes these reminders in different forms, hoping it will sink in. I fear I've sunk the poor man's analogies. He has told me to:

• Spend more time on my side
• Put my arm over the log
• Catch with my armpit too

Then I ran into Faster at the pool today. I observed him carefully, watching his catch, his pull, his recovery. The man is a marvel - a flippin' torpedo. He seemed to travel 3 yards off of each pull.

Then I noticed his barrel of a belly. Though not huge, it was sizable enough to mark his progress through the pool. It swung from side to side like a pendulum, regular as clockwork.

Eureka! That's when it hit me.

Faster was spending a lot of time on his side. That metronomic belly showed me. I have learned a lot from watching Coach. But he is lean - all muscle, skin and bone. He couldn't show me what Faster did. I can now visualize "on my side," and enact it.

Like Faster, I have a barrel. Except it's higher on my anatomy. Not to be indelicate, but I have "twin barrels". I have never thought of the girls as allies before, but could they be trained to carry their own weight?

Right then and there, I marshaled the troops, instructing them that as soon as I started swimming, they were to look right and then left. Look right and then left... I can't wait to show Coach!

Ha! I have snuck behind enemy lines and stolen the secret! I chuckle and smack my lips as I consume an extra serving of M&Ms. Now, instead of cursing my excess and binding it to my body, I am officially recruiting it in the pursuit of Faster!

Monsters II: Juxtaposition

My loneliness is measured in a night shift.
Hers will last an undetermined,
interminable amount of time.

I look at a calendar and can predict it.
Hers came out of the blue.

My light is on at 6AM to run.
Unexpectedly, hers is on too.
Was she dreaming of him -
and then woke up?

Oh NeighborLady,
I'm sorry for your loss.
Your monsters are
meaner than mine.

Monsters

Sometimes when he's not home
the old monsters come to roost
They perch on my shoulder
and whisper mean things
they make me slow
and indecisive.
Sometimes
when I'm
alone.

They feed me too many M&Ms
and hide my running shoes
and tie me to the couch.
These monsters
really got it
in for
me.

Then the telephone rings to deliver
his strong tones over the line
The monsters trip over
themselves to scurry
off to caverns dark.
Wusses
after
all.

The Smell of the Track

Confession: I made a rookie mistake. I over-wore my shoes and, as punishment, the gods of triathlon banned me from running.

At left: The Culprits - Any guesses as to which heel is hurting?

Last night I decided to see just how badly I could twist the knife. I walked Piper to the track. Just to check it out. Just to see if I was really missing out, or if the triathlon gods have spared my self-pitying, old-shoe-wearing, plantar-fascitis-bearing sorry sack of a self.

They have.

The track still has at least 100 yards of ice and snow; I wouldn't dare to run on this surface yet. YES!!! But there were enough clear parts that I got a whiff of rubbery track seasoned with spring. Ooh, am I ready!

I was able to run this morning. See the HEROES at right. My heel hurts, but it has plateaued to a bearable, non-limpable amount of pain. Doable. As long as I continue to RICE - or at least ICE.

My next intervals shall be on track. (Tee hee. Clever double entendre, no?) By next Wednesday, the snow/ice will be gone, my heel will be healed, and I. Will. Run.

'Til then - I will swim until I'm pruney, bike until my quads burst - and run in moderation. Penitent as I feel, I may even throw in an extra lift. Fair enough, tri gods?

Between Fast and Faster

Today I went swimming and ended up in a lane between 2 men. I recognized both of them. On my right was Fast and on my left was Faster.

Fast has been coming to this pool long before even me. My first attempts at lap swimming took place in his daunting presence. When I first started 3 years ago, I could barely keep up to him for 25 yards. By 200, he had lapped me.

I love it when I see Fast at the pool, because I've been marking myself against him these 3 years. I've gained on him little by little. Though we've never spoken to each other, I know his name, and I'm sure he knows mine. But when we're in the pool, both of us are all business - he even moreso than I. He has one speed. Fast. (Hence the name.)

Today I stuck with him for 200 yards. He's still setting the pace and calling most of the shots, but at the end of that 200, I touched the wall even with Fast.

In the other corner, we have Faster. He is friendlier than Fast, and we've exchanged pleasantries. But not names. He's new to the pool, but I hope he'll keep coming. Today I could barely keep up with him for 25 yards, and yep - he lapped me by 200.

But guess what, I've got three years in me yet. Do you think in 3 years that I could be Faster?

Lap Counter

So Mike Ricci says swim volume. Well, if you're going to swim volume, you need to count laps. Perhaps a lap counter?

Nope, no fancy gizmo for me. I'm a Luddite compared to the lot of you with your i-pods and Garmins and... other stuff. I have a heart rate monitor & watch. Period. So how do I ever manage to count my laps?

I tell organized stories. Mini life histories. For example, a 600 consists of every teacher I had grade 1-12. For the first 25 of each lap, I think of the teacher. I say his/her name at the flip turn and then think of my classmates/academics/important events of that grade level for the last part of that 50 yards. Next 50 = I've been promoted a grade. Yep, totally geeky. But I rarely leave the pool wondering if my time for the 600 can be trusted.

A 500 is my whole family - from Dad to Baby Bro. Man, do they have a lot to say! And I'm a captive audience to each of them for one whole 50...

• Dad tells me to take it easy. (Why am I doing triathlon again??) I interpret that to mean he wants me to have a very relaxed, rolling recovery.
• Mom tells me to be tough. I hear Mom a lot toward the ends of my workouts. She's also the second lap of timed 100s. I hear her saying, "GO!" (BTW, hubby is the first lap of the 100 - even he's not quite as tough as Mom.)
• Eldest Brother makes Popeye faces at me. Yep, he's reminiscing about our childhood, but he's also prompting me to breath as Popeye speaks - out of the corner of my mouth. To minimize how much of my mouth has to come out of the water to draw breath. Eldest Brother has an ulterior motive; he can only complete the swim portion of our annual family triathlon if he has a noodle - and he doesn't want to have to share that noodle with anyone.
• Second Son Brother cheers me on and tells me I rock. He's just proud I'm in the water. In this lap I remember why I'm a triathlete. For the plain old joy of moving smoothly.
  
• Strong Sister reminds me that we are runners - and I'd better be kicking like I mean it. Consistent, tight little kicks are what she demands.
• Sweet Sister reminds me to stretch, R-E-A-C-H and maximize all the height I have on her.
  
• I tell myself to put it all together. Be the Backhoe!
• Little Brother tells me to watch my back. Next year he's finding a "good" triathlete to challenge me at the family tri. I spit back at him to get off his ass and challenge me himself. (I really ought to time just this lap - my adrenaline is surging even as I type this!)
• Little Sis would really like to help me out with some swimming tips but have I heard what happened to her??? OMG, you are never going to believe it...!
• Baby Bro reminds me to position my head correctly and press my chest into the water. Use that natural "buoyancy" that runs in our family to advantage.

With all that yammering, it's a wonder I ever get out of the pool at all. :)

Still a Runner & An Apology

I can still run. I ran a sunny 7-miler with Piper on Sunday morning. It wasn't fast, but it was pretty. Oh, sigh of relief and quiver of elation.

Now I have to apologize to the snow for my nasty little riddle. You see, after my post, we went skiing by the light of the full moon. Ain't no way you could do that in August.

There was beauty in the forest - the dappled light just enough to follow the path. But the stunners were the clearings - open bowls of milky white perfection. We'd had so much snow that these were large tracts of untrammeled powder. We took turns baptizing them - being the first one to swish through the powder. In those places, we were alone in the world together. The first ones. In those places, like reptiles to the sun, we lifted our faces and basked in the moon's glow.

Oh snow, do you forgive me now?

A Riddle

In November
I am cute and fluffy,
novel and exciting.
I make you wax your skis
and wet your lips.

By March I am worn,
I am old and heavy.
I cling to your concrete
and bust your back.

I overstay my welcome and
delay any green,
with a brilliant-white grin.

Who am I?

Time for the Critical Eye

It's been a slacker week for me. I skipped all but my swim workouts and clawed my way through denial of food cravings. I succeeded - until last night. Then the levees broke. Big time. Here are the casualties:

• 1 canister lowfat (even in the 11th hour, I was still trying!) Pringles - except for the last 4 chips and some crumbs. By the time I got to those, even I had tired of their sour cream and oniony deliciousness.
• 2 slices bacon cheeseburger pizza - cut me some slack here; I was still full from the Pringles. Usually I'm good for at least 3 slices.
• 4 (FOUR, cuatro) ice cream sandwiches. Not too full to enjoy a little ice cream.
  

This morning the guilt got me out the door and running. I feel so cleansed now. My cravings have been purged from my system. (I did not literally purge; call me what you will, but I've never been bulimic.) Every once in a while, I need to do this. Binge on all of those uber-icky foods, and then I'm done with them. Back on the straight and narrow.

So, time for the critical eye:
Running - Not so good this week.

Swimming - Inverse proportion to the running; it rocked! I've noticed that when I pick up my running, my swimming suffers. Cut back a little bit, and boy, do I feel like I can cruise.

Biking - Mediocre. I'm mountain biking around town but haven't clocked any long rides. However, biking through snow, sleet, and rain (crazy weather week) has really helped my bike-ed-ness. I feel one with the bike.

Lifting - Skipped all week until today.

Weight - Even while all this craving-clawing was taking place, I managed to lose weight. I'm only 3 pounds up from my Ironman weight now. That's a loss of 5 pounds since January. I'm getting there!

Kegels - No, I am not pregnant! (Call me what you will, but I have never been pregnant.;)) However, I have experienced an increase in, um, urinary urgency and am taking pains to train those muscles as well. It's going quite nicely, thank you.

Why am I telling you this? I am curious. This first came to my attention during Ironman, and exertion seems to exacerbate the condition. Has anyone else experienced this? Is there a causal relationship, or is it due to one of the other bazillion variables (e.g. too much coffee)? Please drop me a comment - or an email if you'd rather not speak of IT in a public forum.

Mitigating factors (AKA Excuses):
I skied 3 hours last weekend, and shoveled snow for a total of the same over the course of this week. My shoulders ached. Plus, I did feel that little nagging sensation at my temples that's my first indicator of overtraining. I think the shoveling and skiing count for more than I'd initially granted them.

So where does that all leave me? With a mixed bag: worried about meeting my 1/2 marathon goal time, but with the sneaking suspicion that the skiing and shoveling have strengthened me in some heretofore unappreciated ways.

Finally, food: I am ready for a salmon-spaghetti-vegetable week. Hold me to it.

Critical Eye out!

Was it the Gas or the Ladies?

I am quite a feminine woman. But I am also a feminist. Equality for all. No prejudices based on sex. My husband has always agreed with this and we've prided ourselves on being stereotype-busters. But... is my husband the man he has always claimed to be? All of this snow has created a revealing situation.

History: Chris has never shoveled our driveway. I am the resident snow-shoveler. And if a neighbor is unable to shovel, I shovel for them too. Which I have been doing for NeighborLady these past few weeks.

BUT, this weekend Chris got home from work on Saturday morning and couldn't get in our driveway. So he stumbled into the garage, discovered where the shovels hang, and proceeded to shovel a path into our driveway. He gets no more than 3 shovelfuls flung when NeighborLady comes out and offers him the use of her just-purchased snowblower.

Now my husband has always bucked the stereotype that "the smell of gas gets (his) blood pumping," as my father once put it. Every male in the room had hastened to agree - except Chris. (That's my boy!)

So on Saturday morning, it was "with reluctance" that he assented to use NeighborLady's snowblower to do our driveway. And hers. And the neighborlady's across the street. And the neighborlady right next door. And the sidewalk for the couple across the street. And the family right next to them. By this time, I had awoken and peered out the window to watch all of this. I rubbed my eyes. Yep, it was Chris.

He cut quite a dashing figure, sort of like Arnold in The Terminator, all square-shouldered and relentless. The snow would blow up and blast him, obscuring him from view. Moments later, he would emerge from the haze - still square-shouldered, still moving the snow. I wasn't the only one who noticed.

Everywhere the guy went, women poured out of their houses to chitchat with him (at least it looked like chatting from my vantage point!), and daintily shovel some ancillary piece of property.

Now who should happen to call, but my dad. Naturally, I filled him in. He clearly enjoyed the scene as much as I did - with not a little gloating, "Oh yeah, nothin' like that smell of gas in the morning." Just then, the plot thickened. NeighborLady followed him into our driveway with her shovel. Dad suggested posting "No Trespassing" signs. On Chris.

Sunday morning was a repeat. With the addition of a plate of homemade "thank you" cookies. Hmm... so what am I to blame (thank?) for this transformation: Was it the smell of gas - or the scent of a woman? And which way do I want this question answered? I mean, if he's been a secret gearhead all this time, what does that do for women's - or men's - lib?

On the other hand, what if it's the ladies? Or maybe that's OK, as long as he's only blowing their snow. Huh, I can hear it already, "But Honey, I was just blowing her snow."

Oh, what a quandary! Do I buy him a snowblower of his own? Bake more cookies? Dab gasoline behind my ears?

Spring cannot come too soon! Out damn snow!

The Snow Came

Friday Night

Piper and bosom buddy Maggie romp at the forest. Notice the snow in front of Maggie.

Saturday Morning

This is the same forest on Saturday morning. We skied again at 10PM, for which I put skis on outside of our front door and skied down the streets to get to the trail. I love beating the plows out the door! The snow was drifted so high in spots that it created waves that rivaled those at Mavericks. Fourteen MPH winds kept a steady sheet of snow sworling off their front edges. Piper plunged right over the top of one and was nearly lost in the avalanche of snow. I, having spent time in California observing surfers, "caught" the wave from the side and managed to "surf" it to the bottom. Watch and learn, Piper.

Sunday Afternoon

Here we are at the forest yet again. I gotta say, my training partner rocks. The picture at right is Piper struggling through a drift near the end of our first loop. Yet he burst into the second loop without missing a beat. Now that's stamina!

Meanwhile, back at the ranch....

And no, we don't need to make any pronouncements on who possesses the most intelligence at our place.

The. Snow. Came. Yay!!!!!

Thin Skin

I want you to know that it was bullying did me in. Made me anorexic. Not you or Dad or the others, but the spitballs. The two BFF turning their backs on me and hating me for 3 months. For no reason. No, for the very good reason that we were middle school girls and that's what middle school girls do. Haze each other and make the outsider baste in her own hateful skin.

Too good of a vocabulary. Too.... everything. Not their friend. Someone to whom you say mean things, whom you get the 8th grade girls to taunt. Whom you call the hated names that her siblings called her and that she shared with you in confidence. When you used to be best friends.

But who allows that to happen to herself? Who goes to the nurse's office, the counselor's office but doesn't say, "My so-called friends are being bitches"? Who allows themselves to be bullied?

Me. I did. Because somehow I was a shameful enough person to deserve it. That's what I'm getting now. Why it still stings now. Because they were wrong and I didn't stand up for myself. Because it's my pattern. They were Hammers and I was an Anvil.

There are bad people in the world. Hammers who will never understand the secret life of Anvils. The Hammers can't even begin to conceive that someone outside of themselves may hold a shard of truth. That is the face of evil. The cocksure, I've-got-all-the-answers-face. We Anvils, on the other hand, grab for that piece of truth that has just barely eluded us. That everyone but us must have.

Huh. That's it.

I am out in this world with the Hammers. Where they can lift their snouts to the air and smell my vulnerability, my uncertainty, my need. And then circle in for the kill.

I have been "over-sensitive" from the time I was shoved from the womb. I need to toughen up, get a thicker skin. But dammit, I don't want to! Partly because I'm just plain old stubborn, partly because it is hard to not be me. Believe me, I've tried.

But also because there is at least one perk to being sensitive... I have lived many lives. I have felt and experienced and intuited that which was not happening to me. Because I'm never sure. Because I can't avoid looking at the Other and listening and thinking, "What would it be like? What is it like in that skin? Believing what they believe, knowing what they know?"

I'm not sure what this sensitivity gets me - certainly nothing tangible. But somehow I like it. I like seeing the Falstaffs and the Hamlets and the Katherines. I like knowing them - even if it is only from the obtuse angle of inference. I like wavering on the edge of my skin and letting that translucent self blur just enough to understand.

And that's something the Hammers will never get.

Nor take from me.

Beauty Seeker

I sip the sunlight that bathes us in light
Plunge myself into the warmth of his chest
Smile at the mud on the prancing paws
Throw the stick - agaaaaaain
Continue crunching the snow
and its crispety crust.

Run fast just because
it feels good to breathe.

Nod nightly to Orion, Cass, Big and Little Dip.
Tingle to my fingertips when Sarah Brightman hits the high notes.

I am skeptical of the commercial trappings of thrill-seeking.
But Beauty-seeking?

Drink up.

How to Make a Pussy Purr

Build him his own house, replete with heating pad, mousetoy-sized holes, and place it well, well beyond the reach of the puppy.






You see, it used to work to share, but that was like 72 pounds ago...


Wanna make your pussy purr? Contact the WoodMan at 101 Triteacher Alley.

High Mileage Week

Woof. It has been a week. I'm thinking back to last weekend and it seems like it was months ago. It has been a week of contrasts and extremes...

I have been breaking-dishes angry and tenderly loving - to the same person.
(No dishes were harmed in the production of this post.)

I have not eaten at all and then eaten sushi to excess.
I slept 4 hours one night and 12 on another.

We left our hamlet of 1500 for a city of 250,000
but still found a cornfield to trek through.

I have played nurse at home and at school,
pushing one 5th grader in a wheelchair, and butterfly-taping another's chin until stitches could be had.

I blistered my fingers lacing and tying 24 pairs of ice skates.
A nurse cleaned and bandaged them for me.

I didn't miss or slight a workout until I was sure everything was OK.
Then I let inclination dictate and netted a 2 hour walk instead of a 3 mile run.

I was drained
and then rejuvenated.

I have been, I have felt,
I have lived.
I have gotten my mileage out of life this week.

Thank You

You've heard my sadness,

- THANK YOU -

Now hear my joy;
I'm off for the weekend
to play with my boy.

Troubles of the Heart

Phone rings at 3:30 AM
The worst time for a call

Fears confirmed
Chest pains and fainting
To the ER I go

Pale and confused
In a bed he lay
EKG, blood draws
Family heart history?

Affirmative
Grandpa, Uncle.
Bad, just bad.

But no! I'm his wife
and I can assure you, Doc,
his heart is in the right place.

Test results?
Yes, for now it is.

Exhaaaale.
He's mine
for while longer
at least.

Grateful.
Valentine's Day 2007.

What Do You Want?

What do you want?

A tri bike. No. TWO tri bikes - a custom-built steel and a carbon fiber equally outfitted. In my garage for 2 weeks this summer. I'd ride the blazes out of them and then purchase the one that put more smiles on my face.

What do you want?

Ok, Ok. Freedom from desire. From the constant ache, craving, clawing, anticipation of the next thing. To be in the present and live here. In this time. In this place. Inner peace.


Humph. Better stick with the tri bike fantasy.

I Feel Good!

Like Scary Good.

I did my first interval workout in 2 years last night - on the treadmill (TM). And I taught myself how to program TM for an interval workout. That shows you, my friends, that I am investing in TM. That I think I will need to reach out to the beast and tame it. To this end, I am renaming her; hereforward, she is Truly Mine (TM).

She helped me run fast last night. Oh, the bliss of running fast again! I love it. I'm a junkie for those sweat-wringing, heart-pounding, heavy-breathing intervals.

She helped me dream - imagine - that I might just be able to meet my goal for my 1/2 marathon in April. She gave me evidence last night. I saw 6:53 for 5 quarter miles. Now 13.1 miles of 7:09 that does not make. But it opens the door to it. I soooo want to believe in her. And in me.

Then I had the audacity to run this morning. In the cold. (See Frosted Flake on right.) And I felt good again. Something's coming together here.

I feel good! Na-na-na-na-na-na-na!!!

You Need My Job

Fifth graders are the best kept secret in teaching. There's the legendary sweetness of 4th graders - resulting in landslides of applications to teach that grade. Sixth graders are known to be smart and impressionable. So where's the press for the 5th graders?




Exactly! No one extolls the virtues of the 5th grader. So let it be me who says: they rock! They are sweet, and now, about halfway through the year, they are getting IT. They're becoming more insightful about themselves and their world. And they talk about it. In fact, they ooh and ahhh about it.

One kid is "getting to be a better reader," as he and his huge smile point out the multisyllabic word that he has just decoded.

Another formerly-reluctant reader leaves her book on my desk with a sticky note instructing me to "read from p.146 to the end of the book," in which the main character is radically altered and realizes it.

Yet a third, my needy little tantrum-thrower, slugs a classmate in the morning, swallows another session on "What other choices can you make when you get angry?," and comes to me in the afternoon with her new library book, When I get Mad, "cuz I have problems with my anger."

Seriously, you need my job! :)

Tag #2: Ironman

Hee, hee, I'm really milking this tag. My apologies for the shame I bring upon your house, Bubba. Ready for #2, kids?

2. Describe a memory from your most recent triathlon.

With Ironman, I really can't describe "a memory." It's so much more than that. I like to think of it really, in 3 (very creative) phases: Before, During and After....

Before: Becoming Ironman
The Becoming (as xt4 so aptly put it) is HUGE. It involved more training and dedication than I was even sure I was capable of. It meant believing in myself and pushing myself - and setting limits. I had to decide what price I was willing to pay for the race. And it was a decision I had to keep on making.

What sacrifice is too big? Family time? Quality of instruction provided for my students? Possible long-term damage to my knees? Expense upon expense upon expense? And with each new roadblock, I made an informed decision and juggled and compromised - or just flat-out drew the line in the sand.

All those moments of crisis in the "Before" had to be dealt with. You can't look past that. It was really baptism by fire - over and over again. I was being shaped into iron, one choice at a time.

That sounds really rough, but it wasn't all tough decisions, of course. It was also the moments of stunning self-actualization and pure bliss:

• Riding down a hill at 45 mph, whooping at the top of my lungs.
• The afterglow in meeting the next benchmark in distance. Topping out at 6 hours of riding. Swimming for flippin' 2 hours straight!! Woof.
• The ability to eat whatever the hell I wanted without guilt.
  
• Pride in finding that what my body wanted was tuna and lettuce and garden tomatoes.

Yes, it was good, too.

During: Becoming Ironman
Then September 10th came. And I loved it. I have so many images that still give me shivers:

• All of the bikes neatly racked in the transition area, lit by those early morning strobes.
• Running up the helix through the tunnel formed by a wildly-cheering crowd.
• Handing my bike off to my brother and kissing my dad.
• At mile 23, telling a bemused, smiling husband that this was fun and there might be more of these in my future.

Madison is a beautiful place for a race.

After: Being Ironman
Ironman is the gift that keeps on giving.
I'm still inspired by it. And what's more - the people around me are inspired by it. The day I got back to school after IM was picture day. I wore my finisher's shirt and medal. I then sent this picture with my thank you cards.

Five months later, it is still on my parents' fridge. Strong Sister keeps it propped on her nightstand.

Ironman has meant so much to me and to those in my life. Immediately after Ironman, I was blue - mourning all of the things I'd lose now that Ironman was over. Five months out, I'm realizing that the Iron Me is the new default setting. All of those qualities I'd gained through Becoming, by Becoming, are still here. They are better felt than expressed, but have to do with confidence and self-reliance, belief that I can get the job done.

From here forward, everything is shaped through the lens of Becoming and Being Ironman. By default.

Tag: First Triathlon

Bubba said to do this meme, so I will. I mean, when a guy who runs a 50k in sub-zero temps says, "Jump," you say "How high?" However, I'm going to do this one my way as you'll see.

First, in case you're wondering, You, JWM, Spence, and Steve are it!

1. Describe a memory from your first triathlon ever.

2. Describe a memory from your most recent triathlon.

3. What's the most embarrassing thing that has ever happened to you in a tri?

4. What's the most thrilling thing that's happened to you in a tri?

5. What is something you discovered about yourself by doing triathlons?

6. What is The Big Goal that you're working towards?

Next, I'm going to take my good old time with each one of these. Indulge me; when there's a windchill of -28F, I need some good tri memories to keep me warm. On to the meme...

1. Describe a memory from your first triathlon ever.

Flashback to 1999. I'm standing on a beach with 30 buff females feeling very self-concious about my bra sticking out from under my swimsuit, thinking, "Ooh, what am I in for here?" I have always been a runner, but when my mother-in-law's hospital decided to host an olympic-distance triathlon, I thought, "Why not?"

I signed up 2 weeks before the race. My "training" consisted of hobby swim/bike/run. It had been a superb summer with a stay at a cabin on a lake in northern Wisconsin. My husband and his dad fished all day while I swam alongside the boat or hit the trails to run and bike. Nirvana.

At the tri, I'm way too scared to talk to any of my competitors but soak up the scene, already making plans for next year's improvements. Then the bang, and we were off.

The swim is unlike anything in my experience. I am, of course, overwhelmed by the slash and burn technique of the whole scene and swim way off course to avoid being scratched/crawled over/ thumped yet again. Yet I still almost drown because my adrenaline is high and there ain't no way I'm slowing down to breathe. I come out of the swim alive and stop at the porta-potties.

"Aren't you supposed to be racing?!" my husband scolds me. I give him a tremulous but excited smile and, with shaking hands, don my newly-purchased bike helmet. I'm off.

I must have actually exited the swim in front of some other racers because I get passed non-stop in the bike portion of the race. I have a eureka moment when one of my passers cheers, "Woah, you're tough to be doing this on a mountain bike!" I continue to pedal for all I'm worth - and vow to have a bike with skinny tires by next year.

Hydration plan? My husband is standing at the side of the road, holding out a bottle of water. It is the first time I realize how fast I am going relative to someone standing still. In other words, the bottle pass is tricky. My in-laws laugh, wave hand-made signs, and shout encouragement.

Before I know it, it's time to run. If you have not tri-ed before, you have no way of knowing how absolutely bumble-fucked you feel getting off of a bike after going full-tilt for 26 miles and then trying to run. I couldn't have walked a straight line, much less run one! I, the marathoner, am astonished at my traitorous legs, but finally marshal them and charge onto the course. I am sure that I am going to die numerous times. I'm hot, my legs are tired, my chest hurts, the scratch on my face adds sunburn to its litany of woes - but I just.keep.going. One foot in front of the other. I pass my cheering-section, but can barely lift my head to acknowledge them. They cheer louder, and leap-frog to different points along the course.

BLUUUUUUUUR.

Finish line. 2:53 and I've done it! Hugs, tears, weariness, - but strangely - eery, bubbling elation. I'm hooked. I've done that course every year since and PR'd on it at 2:32. Slightly better than 2:53.

Ooh! I'm warm now. Thanks for the tag, Bubba - just what I needed. :)

Up next, #2 of the tag. Ironman, here we come!