The CLimBer

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

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...

...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

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

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?

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

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

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

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

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...

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?

• KK
• Curly Su
  
• Erin
  
• XT4
  
• TriSaraTops
  
• FeLady
  

(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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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

Let Me Come In

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

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??

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

View from a Hike in Colorado

View from a Hike in Colorado

Views from a Kayak in Wisconsin

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

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

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...

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.