Lost in the Woods Part 2

Link to Part 1

The jolt of seeing someone from the "outside world" helps me to finally climb out of my inner emotional hole.  I grab a Gu pack for some more calories and hope it helps.  Taps is quick, so I had a feeling he'd catch me soon, and he certainly does.  He again suggests we work together, and I'm more than happy for the company at this point- anything to keep me from being the crazy crying cussing monster I'd been for the last hour plus.

While I've seen Taps attentive, calm, and thoughtful, that's about as doleful as he gets.  He's a positive person with a good amount of energy.  Just working together improves my mood.  He shares his difficulties with the directions and the map, I share mine with the terrain.  We might actually do pretty well together.  Too bad I "poo-poo'd" the idea of working as a team at the start.  Between the two of us we find book 6 with little issues.

Found in a stone wall near the boundary of Fox Forrest

The relatively easy find lifts my spirits even more.  We're headed towards Book 7, the first of the set that Puma hid.  The tone of the directions change with the new author and we're struggling a bit.  We run into Puma on the way.  While it was great to see another face, it was kind of a bummer that we came upon her while she had the book in her hand.  It was great to cross another one off the list, though.  I might have been feeling better emotionally, but I was starting to get physically tired.

Up, Down, back, forth, that's pretty much what this adventure was like.

And now we're three.  We're in the same part of the woods we ran through on Puma's birthday run, and I recognize it.  I point out to Taps where he drove his truck onto the now unused Concord End Rd to pick me up the very last time I seriously hurt my ankle.  We laugh and laugh about how I always hurt myself.  hehe... awww...

The directions have a funny little passage on the way to Book 8:

"There is a crevice in-between two of the boulders that I would take a closer look at.  It would make a good hiding spot would it not? Oh well, continue your NE climb..."  

"What is that supposed to mean?" Taps wonders.  Puma's following us, trying not to lead us where we're supposed to go.  I have an idea.... and it's Trail Magic!!

Yum- frosty beers!

My stomach is churning from crying and poor eating, and Taps is playing last-minute anorexic to win his Biggest Looser contest at work (he did, btw, for $230 prize), so we split our beer.  We get back on the trail and I'm feeling confident (it could have been the booze talking).  Not far along the trail we find Book 8.

Another Jesus book.  If you didn't know us you'd think we were religious folks.  In reality we got all these from the dump.

We miss the turn from the trail to the unmarked "Ancient" trail and Puma corrects us.  I'm glad we didn't waste time, but it's hard to go with someone who knows where they're going.  Taps suggests we hang back as she goes ahead, and I'm happy for the break.  We study the next few sections of directions.  I know we've been on parts of this trail before, but everthing looks different in the winter.  We confirm the directions on the map, spending some time ensuring we wouldn't get lost.

We follow the trail with no issues to Book 9, eventually finding it well hidden in the bridge discarded at the side of the stream.

All three of these children could represent my emotional status at some point during this adventure.

Now we came to the "Choose your own adventure" portion of the show.  No, really, it's in the directions.  We could choose one of three ways to get to Book 10, hidden at the kiosk in a large, recently logged area of the forest. One way had you continue down the trail and meet up with Ridge Trail, following established routes.  Another had you backtracking to Concord End Rd.  The third and most direct course was to follow the stream back to established trail.  We only had one book left, and we were both eager to get it and finish.  We chose to follow the stream until it met with the run-able trails/roads.  Following the stream WAS direct, but it was challenging- again post-holing through snow covered tree fall and rocks.

It was great to run again once we got to Concord End Road.  I didn't care that my feet were wet- I could smell the finish and we were covering ground faster at the end of this run then we had all day.  We were able to run all the way to the kiosk in Oak Lot, passing Puma along the way who had taken a different route, where the final book was hidden beneath a rock.

I barely looked at the title- just tore it out and stuffed it in my pack.  I was ready to be done.

I look at Taps- there's no way we're bushwhacking through the woods.  We both want to run.   We again chose a runnable path back to Puma's- about a mile of path, old road, and country dirt road.  I was huffing and puffing by the end, but I wanted to be DONE.  I was euphoric and emotionally drained.  10 minutes after finding Book 10 we were running into Puma's driveway to the sound of cheerful cowbells.

My triumphant "I'm not lost in the fucking woods anymore" finish with Taps by my side

4 Leaf had finished almost an hour before us.  Puma was maybe 10 minutes behind us.  Moose and Gazelle about 45 minutes behind her.  The usual post-adventure post-mortem occurs- everyone enjoying the warm sun, sharing when they got lost, their struggles and triumphs.  I try not to relay how crazy I was, the ultimate lows of my adventure, but I couldn't muster a  lie either.  I held it together...

Until... stubbed my toe and foot.  I went inside I cried trying to get it all out.  4-Leaf had put a lot into organizing this adventure and I was trying not to let him know how traumatized I was by all of it.  And I was ashamed that I was being childish.  I cleaned up and went back outside to gather my stuff and clean up.  Then my loving runner had to go and ask if I was ok.  I couldn't keep the crazy girl from the middle of the woods out of my voice, so my general, "Yeah, I'm just great" came out sounding the opposite.  As a loving bf would, he followed me as I tried to run away, and urged it out of me.  I broke down , told him I hated it all and asked him to never ask me to do this again.  He chuckled a bit (I mean, I was ridiculous), hugged me, rubbed my back, and told me it was all ok.

Then he said we were going back out to pick all the books up the next weekend.

My actual scanned map and directions.  If you look closely you'll even find where I bit it out of frustration.

Lost in the Woods Part 1

Fox Scavenger Hunt (or Mini Barkley), April 3rd, 10am

Last year My Runner completed a loop at Barkley, a crazy (even by crazy ultra running standards) race in the wilds of Tennessee.  To say it made an impression would be a gross understatement.  He didn't come back changed, exactly, but... mentally and emotionally expanded.  And inspired.

This year, in honor of this experience, My Runner organized a Mini Barkley (and I mean VERY mini) in Fox Forest.  He and Puma gathered about 15 books from the swap shop in Hboro for us to choose from.  The three of us divvied up the "hiding" of the books and writing of our directions.  Even just hiding my books I knew this was going to be a difficult adventure for me.  While I'm somewhat familiar with Fox's trails, I mostly just follow.  The whole point of this scavenger hunt was to go OFF trail... bushwack, use a map and a compass to take bearings, follow directions that use landmarks and little else to get you where you're going.

Fox Forest trail & topographical map.  The red line is our route.

This blogger challenges female ultra runners to try their hand at conquering the ACTUAL Barkley.  The way Kim writes it, I want to raise my running skirt high and give a HELL YEA!  Except that I am NOT the one to stand up for this challenge.  4-Leaf and Puma know the woods like crazy.  Hell, they've been living in Hboro for 10 years.  I was a little intimidated by my task to hide 2 of the 10 books.  Then I was a lot intimidated.  After a scouting session and a hiding session, I had to be satisfied with what I had done and the directions I wrote.  The three of us wrote up our directions, we read them as little as possible to proof-read, and drew up a map, then we put it all aside so we wouldn't have an unfair advantage.

On a sunny and relatively mild April morning we gathered at Puma's house (the forest is LITERALLY across the street) to start our adventures.  Gazelle and Moose were playing as a team, and Taps had joined us too.  We drew numbers to determine the order we'd leave in, chose our "race" numbers (ie, the page numbers we'd pull from the books to confirm we'd found them- mine was 37 of course) and we were off: 4-Leaf first, then me, then Gazelle and Moose, Taps, and Puma sweeping.

Taps, Gazelle, me, Moose, Puma, 4-Leaf

Since I'd hidden the first two books I was determined to close some of the 5 minute gap between My Runner and I.  The woods had other ideas.  (BTW- this will be a theme- Leea vs. the Woods)  There was a decent amount of snow on the ground and post-holing was not just likely but inevitable.  I trotted where the trail had a packed center, then my leg would sink up to my knee and I'd slow down.  I was out of breath by the first book, about half a mile in and not far off the trail.  I was turning off trail early so those behind me wouldn't follow my tracks in the snow.

Books 1 (Mischeif) and 2 (Titled Love Comes Softly)

Two books in, and now into the unknown- it wasn't long before a setback turned into a meltdown.  The second direction for book 3 was to take Gould Pond trail.  I've followed this trail at least half a dozen times over the last year and a half.  I'd found the trail head and the tree with three blazes.  I couldn't find any other blazes or the rest of the trail.  I'd wandered up and down the hill for 10, maybe 15 minutes- a long time when we're talking back and forth on about 150 yards of hill.  I started crying and swearing- if I can't find an effing trail, how the heck am I supposed to get past the ACTUAL challenges of the course?

I was out of control.  I couldn't stop crying.  I was panicking.  I wasn't lost because I knew where I was, but I didn't know where I was going.  The only reason I didn't give up and go home was the shame I felt when imagining others seeing my tear-stained face and only having two books.  Somehow, finally, I stumbled upon the trail.  I honestly don't remember how I did it, but I looked up and saw one white blaze after another, and wondered how I had missed it.

In hindsight, RIGHT HERE is where I should have thought about eating.  For those that know me, my mood and my blood sugar are closely linked.  While I don't NEED to have low blood sugar to go over the edge, the edge and I meet much faster if I haven't eaten well.  Unfortunately it would be another 30 minutes at least before I made this connection on the trail.

The next section was following a bearing through what My Runner (affectionately, I think) calls The Gauntlet. His trail went straight through a grove of towering red pines filled with young growth pines and pucker brush all between 4' and 6' high.  It was like going through those rotating brushes at the car wash, except the brushes were hard and you are soft.  Needless to say, my mood did not improve, though my curses had now become varied and quite colorful.  I have my theatre training and vast knowledge of Shakespeare to thank.  (It's a syphilis joke!!!)

See those trees straight ahead?  Yeah, go through those.  Not around- through.

After making it through the gauntlet, finding the stone wall (and there's like, literally a thousand stone walls in this forest), loosing it, finding it again, I came upon book 3 hidden in the rocks in the middle of a stream.  Oh, the stream?  Yeah, now I'm wet too.  Now is when I think, you know what?  I'm back on track, I'm making good time, why do I still hate everything?  Oh, I should eat!  I, quite literally, inhale a 100 calorie pack of almonds and keep going.  Yes, yes, I know that wasn't really enough, but at the time that's all I had the patience for.  As I said, I was far gone.

Book 3, Cold as Ice.  Had to tape this one back together to scan it.... was a weee bit frustrated...

I made my way up the beside river, trying to find the path with the least amount of snow and therefore the least unseen hazards.  The snow was still deep enough to hide rocks, fallen trees, and stumps, so when your leg went through it might go up to your thigh and scrape along a granite boulder on the way.  Another stone wall and a bearing West I find book 4 in the nook of a tree with no issues.  The rational part of my brain has a stronger grip now, but I'm still swearing it up whenever I post hole or run into a direction that's less than direct.  My map is balled up in my hand in frustration, and as much as I tell myself that my attitude is counter-productive, I can't wholly climb out of my downward spiral.

Book 4, The Revelation of John Vol. 2.  See how much the food helped? No rage tearing.

I come to Geary's Cemetary and I'm back to a familiar part of the forest.  Ooh, more trail, yay!  There's still some snow on the trails, but it's generally a bit more packed and the going is easier.  I follow Ridge Trail south per the directions.  After about 300 yards I see the cursed river I'd been following upstream off-trail... checking the map I see this is NOT the right direction.  True, I followed Ridge Trail south, but I'd really needed to follow Ridge Trail SSE as it ran along with Concord End Road.

A few choice curse words later (I don't *really* think those things about your heritage, baby, I swear) and I was back on the trail.  A fine section of runnable trail helped perk me up a bit before what I knew was coming- a steep climb straight up a hill- no trail, just a bearing and a prayer.  My compass chose this moment to be the shit and not give an accurate reading- it was showing just about every way was north.  Looking at the map and directions, the book was pretty much at the summit of the hill.  Eff it, I just started climbing.  I'd either find it or curse and cry more.

The climb was a bit theraputic.  The cursing was, well, cursory at best.  I wasn't teetering on the edge of tears- more strolling along the banks of the possibility of crying.  I found book 5 easier than I would have thought at the top of a Triforce of boulders.

Book 5, Touch the Horizon.  Appropriate for the climb, I would say.

I took my next bearing, only now discovering that (herp derp) my compass *couldn't* give an accurate reading that close to the magnetic clip on my water pack.  ::sigh:: Well, at least now the curses were directed at mysel- GASP!

"Hellooo!"  I heard through the woods.  Good thing I'd cried all my moisture out or I would have pee'd my pants.  After an hour plus alone in the woods with only the trees and squirrels to hear my tantrum, Taps was waving at me through the trees.  "Is the book over here?"  He was about 100 yards north of where the book was.  I pointed him in the right direction then sped down the hill.  I wasn't sure I was ready for civilized company, never mind the unending positivity of Taps.

To Be Continued.....

Bear Brook Fat Ass, January 29th, 2011

About Christmas time Dad let me know that he and his girlfriend L were going to be vacationing in the White Mountains the last week in January, and could they stop by and stay over on their way home?  This invited the idea of planning a "Fat Ass" event: a run (generally) with no aid stations, a group of crazy folks, and beer at the end.  I had initially planned on a 29K- about 18 miles total- in Bear Brook State Park.  I've never run this distance, plus it's the middle of winter and training time is sparse... this was gonna be a challenge to complete, never mind plan.

With all the snow we've had there was no way we were running without at least some serious traction.  I ended up suggesting snow shoes or cross country skis to anyone partaking.  I downloaded a map of Bear Brook's trails, read the descriptions of each one, coded them for difficulty, and mapped out a route with two "peaks" and plenty of rolling terrain.  Since snowshoeing is more taxing than "mere" running, I downgraded the distance.  The large loop measured a bit more than 9 miles according to the map scale, with three bail-out points between 5 and 6 miles.

Planned route at Bear Brook State Park

Know me and you know that I take my "planner" responsibilities pretty seriously.  I was worried no one would show up.  Then I was worried a lot of people would show up and they'd hate it.  I worried that I forgot something crucial.  The morning of the event came and I knew at least 7 people were coming out to play in the woods and at least 5 were coming back to eat at my place after.  My head swam with logistics about feeding people, ensuring my house guests were comfortable, packing proper food and hydration.

My Runner and Sherpa had met at 6:15am that morning to start on the trails and gain some extra mileage in anticipation of the Peak Snow Shoe Race in March.  Their pre-surveillance of the trails, as well as Sherpa's familiarity with BBSP, turned out to be very helpful.

So, I forgot the map.  Obviously.  Though it turns out I didn't even have the correct one- I had the Summer Trail Map that didn't show which trails were groomed for snowmobiles and what trails we'd have to break.  Luckily Sherpa came prepared (at least the tens of thousands of tuition dollars paid for SOMETHING... saving my ass!) with 6 copies of the winter trail maps. 

Next surprise- Dad and L had one pair of snow shoes between them.  Snow shoes that were likely made by Inuits at least 10 years before I was born.  Seriously, these things shoulda been in a museum.  After learning how groomed the trails were, I suggested they both wear their x-country skis.  L was still gaining confidence in her skis, and Sherpa re-assured her that she could handle the terrain. 

The group heading out from the parking area

Ten people and a doggie set out from the parking lot (which was NOT the lot I had planned on starting from- the gates to THAT lot were closed despite what I had been told by park staff).  The weather was warm: about 25* at 10am.  Spirits were high, and we were all chatting and having a grand time.  I felt great, despite being tired and having forgotten the map.

The first turn came to go up Bear Hill and the trail was steep and ungroomed.  A decision was made that the cross-country skiers, Dad and L, the two "novice" snow shoers G and J, and the doggie would go off on their own.  The rest of us would "catch up" (yeah right).  We didn't see Dad and L again until the parking lot. 

Gazelle, Sherpa, me, Taps, Puma, and photog My Runner

My Runner, Sherpa, Puma, Gazelle, Taps, and myself broke trail up the slope.  The trail on the map appeared to be no more than a quarter mile, but the sign at the trail head stated 1.2 miles to the summit (the first in MANY signs that this day would be longer than expected).  We all worked hard breaking the trail taking turns in the lead until we reached the summit.  About a tenth of a mile from the top we saw the quarter mile summit trail that was the PLANNED route... whoops.  We used it as a return route and began down the groomed Podunk Road.  (Seriously.  Podunk.  I *wish* I could make this shit up.)

The snowmobilers were out in droves.  I knew Bear Brook was popular for snow mobiles, but we spent a quarter of the time hunkered by the side of the groomed road choking on fumes.  The positive- at least half of them were polite and shared the roads with us. 

It wasn't long- ok, it WAS long, but we weren't far into my planned hike when I leaned over to Taps who has a fancy-schmancy GPS watch and said, "How long we been out here?"
"About two hours."
"And... how far have we gone?"
"5.3 miles."
"Shit.  Sherpa, lemme see that map...."

Taps and me on the trails

We were about a third of the way into the "9 mile" loop, and still quite a distance from the bail out points.  I was feeling great, but Gazel had only snowshoed about 4 times this year, and Puma was nursing an injury and coming back from time off.  We weren't going super fast, but I realized there was no way this was gonna be short for anyone.  I confided in Sherpa, who looked at me knowingly.  "I didn't know how to tell you without stepping on your toes..."  Whelp, in for a penny in for a pound today.  Shit, in for a penny in for a kilo and a bonus pack.

Gazelle, Puma, and Sherpa

My Runner giving me a (deserved) long-suffering look

Ultimately we were on the trail for about 5 hours and 11.5 miles.  Dad and L arrived at the parking lot an hour and change before us, and gallantly picked up beer for everyone.  At the mention of beer, Gazelle, true to her name, sprang ahead, eager to take of her snow shoes and relax.

Gazelle waiting impatiently for us to catch up, Sherpa with his trademark Shit-Eating-Grin

I felt GREAT at the end of 11.5 miles.  Puma was hurting, but in good spirits once her shoes were off.  Taps was still bouncing off the walls- that guy has ENDLESS energy.  Sherpa seemed to have a great time, but headed home early (poor guy can't have beer now anyways...).  My Runner had angered his achillies after 18+ miles of snowshoeing in boots not really made for hiking or outdoor sports.

Dad, L, Taps, Puma, My Runner, and I retired back to my place for salty snacks and crock-pot fajitas.  The beer flowed, we chatted about hiking, races and runs past and future, and much more.  Fred got some cuddle love.  I started to fade around 6:30, kicked out the guests, had one last beer with Dad, then excused myself and slept, SOUNDLY, for 10 hours.

I made many "mistakes" with this first Fat Ass.  I'm still not sure what happened with the map scale, and I really should have scouted at least the parking area.  While I understand the decision to break up the group, I was bummed I didn't spend more time with Dad on the trails.  However I was very happy snow shoeing ELEVEN MILES!  And luckily my mistakes didn't result in any serious injuries or illnesses.  Best of all, I got to explore an amazing park that's about twenty minutes from my apartment.

It'll be a while before I plan a Fat Ass again, but when I do I hope to at least not make the same mistakes twice.

Without a Rudder

Ever feel directionless?  Like you're floating?  Not in the "happy cloud" way, but in the "I don't know where I'm going and I don't have the energy to care" way?  I've kinda got that feeling right now.  Hence why the post-silence.  I don't feel drained or depressed.  I do plenty of things just fine, but it's not easy to gather motivation.  Offer me a choice and I don't really care- sometimes I'll pick one just to move forward, but I don't have a strong inclination towards... well... anything.  It's been long enough that I need to DO something to snap out of it, but what?

Have you ever been in this mood?  Any suggestions?

Shape Up Or....

While I wasn't paying attention, my life kinda fell apart.

I haven't been running.  Here and there a few miles, but maybe once a week.

I haven't been saving.  Well, I have money going to a savings account, but I'm also spending and using credit, so it amounts to the same thing.

I haven't been eating well.  I've been eating WELL- but not healthily.

On my day off this week I did some deep cleaning in my apartment.  I purged old and ill-fitting clothes (including going through the sock and underwear drawer), organized both closets, scrubbed the bathrooms, scoured and vacuumed the floors.  It was a good day- cleaning, organizing, and getting rid of junk I don't need made me very up-beat and happy.  It's obvious to me now that I felt my life lacking in structure, but wasn't sure how to articulate it.

Just one day later I was feeling so unsettled that I had an emotional breakdown in traffic.  Sure, no one likes traffic.  Usually I'm able to hold a certain amount of zen about it.  Yesterday, no zen, only Zuul.  I was so frustrated that once I was finally OUT of traffic I started crying.  That's not the sign of a well-balanced emotional state.

Last night I ran with My Runner and a group of others.  I wanted to run hard.  I wanted to push my lazy body and make it pay for it's inactivity.  But this was also a social outing.  Internally I fought between staying with my friends and running for me.

This morning on the way to work My Runner kept asking me if/why I was upset.  Wha?  I didn't feel upset.  I was fine.  Just fine.  I got the "... okayyyy...." and rightly so.  Of course I wasn't fine, but I wasn't even admitting to myself I wasn't fine.  How could I admit it to anyone else?

I'm not fine.  There are very basic aspects of my life that have no organization.  Chaos reigns.  I'm on the verge of tears for the smallest things.  And no, I'm not PMS-ing.  It's time to organize, purge, and regroup.

Back to running at least three times a week.  Every other Wednesday is a group run at this point, plus at least once a month I'm either doing a 5K or a longer group run, but that's not enough.  I want to be strong enough to snowshoe this winter and not hurt myself.  We're planning a trip to Mt. Katahdin in ME which is a rigorous hike.  Running is the cheapest and easiest way for me to stay in shape to do the things I want to do.  Now that I have a headlamp, running in the evening is a bit safer.  Time to break out that mace for my solo runs and see if anyone's got a spare reflective vest kicking around.  (Anyone got a spare reflective vest kicking around?)

My spending moratorium is back.  Again.  Expenses shall be limited to groceries (not "food"- lunch out is not a qualified expense), gas, and bills.  I do, of course, have a few exceptions (like baby-soul eye-cream), but this is THE plan.  I will keep my goal firmly in front of me, and since it's concrete I will share: a new car.  By May I'd like my credit card paid off, and about $4000 in cash (savings combined with the sale of my car), so I can put money down on a new Honda Fit (or something similar).  Currently I pay between $200-$250 to my credit card, but since I keep using it a bit it's not going down as fast as I'd like it.  I can get a car payment under $300, so I'd simply be replacing my credit card payment with a car payment.  Considering how often my Cabrio has had issues, I think this is a solid investment.  This means putting off purchases I had planned on, like a new laptop, a hair cut, and some new dish towels, but eh.  I'll live.

I'll be eating right.  And by that I mean eating poor.  I have PLENTY of food in my house.  The only groceries I should need are fruits and vegetables- I have enough protein and grains to get me through at least mid-December.  I'll give making bread another try- it was never AWESOME but it was generally edible.  Leftovers are not just a staple, but THE staple.  Creatively using ingredients is something the best home cooks do, and I have enough of the basics down to spread my wings.  Hell, I might even find a new awesome dish (amongst the awful failures and mediocre offerings).

The final aspect- accountability.  If I make my choices public then I must be accountable for my actions.  Looking back to when I was training for a half-marathon, I posted my runs all the time.  I won't do that, but I will start publishing my miles (look to the sidebar).  I will post about my kitchen experiments.  Maybe make a game show out of it!  What would YOU do with a can of black beans, a bag of frozen mixed veggies, and rotini?  You have almost every condiment imaginable, especially spicy ones.  Go.  And when I get to reward my good spending habits with test drives, I'll let you know what I think.

VT 50, 2010: Run with Love

Sometimes I put too much pressure on myself. It's in my nature. I was training to run 13 miles in the mountains of VT. Not JUST run it, but run it in time for two other people, one of them my DAD, to run 37 miles within a cutoff time so our team wouldn't be disqualified. This was the first race where the finishing time mattered. And it was killing me. I was psyched to be on a team with dad, but half my training runs would involve me breaking down at some point when it was super hard (we're talking 2-4 mile runs here) and sobbing, knowing in my heart that I'd fail.

This same self-pressure followed me all the way to Vermont. Heading to Mt. Ascutney to pick up our race packets, the foliage was gorgeous, the sun was shining through the clouds, and I started crying. The mountains were so high... I'd have to run those... I was cracking under pressure- with all the beauty around me my face was leaking with worry. And I wasn't the only one.

The VT 50 run- it's about family. I crewed My Runner at the VT 50 last year with his Pops. VT 50 is the first ultra My Runner ever did- at the urging of his Pops. 2010 is his 11th year here. Puma had run the 50k twice and was trying for her very first 50 miler. My Runner and Sherpa shared miles here, and Sherpa was here today for what is possibly his final VT run before he and his lovely wife move West.

At Long Trail Brewery, post- first-freakout cry, pre- second.

Pops couldn't make it this year. Depending on the moment it was disappointing and devastating. I was really hoping Pops could meet my Dad and Sherpa and Puma and everyone- we could all share some time. Lil' Bro was supposed to come with Pops, running in a leg of the relay.

As My Runner, Puma, my Dad, his buddy Ed (Dad and Ed and I making up Team Patriot) gathered in the dimly lit tent in the pre-dawn hours on race day, I realized that no matter who was THERE, this race is about family. We run into Sandel and say our hi's, and GillyGirl, who was pulled at mile 47 last year and is back for her vengeance. People who have run with Pops come up to us, recognizing My Runner and tell stories of his Pops. My Dad and I stand around sharing nervous energy. We chat with others who have notable race shirts on. Trail runners- Ultra runners- it's one big, extended family. My mood lightens and it's time to line up at the start.

The Larch.  The.... Larch. 

Nah... it's a Maple.  Or maybe an Oak? Eh.  Lookit the pretty leaves!!

I line up with My Runner, Puma, Sherpa, and GillyGirl. We're all hopping about in the blue light before the sun breaks over the horizon. Nervous, excited, ready to go- runners always remind me of horses pawing the ground. You'd think, from TV or something, there'd be some sort of grand send off- a starter gun or a buzzer or something. Nope. Out here in VT it's just some guy shouting "Go!" "Go?" "Did he say go?" "Are we going?" "Yeah! Go!" and we're off.

Puma's running a full 50 miles. I was hoping to share a few of the first miles with her, but she's conserving and she's back a bit not long after the start. I share the first few miles with Sherpa, GillyGirl, and My Runner, chatting, sharing dirty jokes, and belching up breakfast (blueberry bagel with peanut butter anc chocolate Boost... not so good on the way up as the way down...). One thing trail and long-distance runners have above road-runners is the ability to really share the miles- chatting eases the burden of time and lightens the load. I mean, when you're out there for 12ish hours, you gotta talk to SOMEONE, right?

Sherpa runs on ahead. GillyGirl is a bit ahead, but I keep her red skirt in sight on the straight-aways. My Runner hangs back to urge me on. It's hard, but I'm going. The concern of the last few months is gone- too late to worry now. The fastest way out is to finish my 12.3 mile leg. I chat with some others around me. Met a guy from Virginia up in New England for the first time running. A woman who has been leap frogging with me has run this leg of the relay before with a team from work- she's probably 10 years older and 70 lbs heavier, but she's keeping up with me, if not passing me, a lot. I admire her and vow to train my ASS off... sooon... My Runner waits for me every now and then, giving great encouragement and advice.

In a moment of mouth-diarrhia the previous day, I noted that Vermont was a "bumpy" state. On race day, I got to know just HOW bumpy. The hills were HARD- even though I was fast-hiking up them rather than running. Still, looking at my watch I was making great time- getting into aid stations before the time that would mark a 12-minute mile (my super-goal; my realistic goal was 14-minute miles). I was about 3-2 miles from the end of my leg when I started cramping up in my torso on the downhills. I think I was tensing so I wouldn't fall and hurt my ankle again, but man it made breathing hard. I ended up walking a great flat running stretch just to let the cramps subside.

GillyGirl and me heading up one of VT's "bumps"

I got into Skunk Hollow (the 12.3 mile aid station) having done 11:40-ish minute miles. As I came in I saw my Dad, raised my arms up high, and shouted with joy. Seeing his big smile as he snapped a photo was awesome! His leg was next, so I grabbed his jacket and camera, we hugged and high-fived, and he was off. My Runner had grabbed some food and water and was ready to get back out for the rest of his 50 miles, so I gave him a quick kiss and sent him on his way.

Me and My Runner heading into Skunk Hollow.

Please don't sue me.  I'd pay for this photo if I wasn't touching my boob by accident.

Team Patriot had a great day. My Dad achieved his goal time for his leg of 19ish miles. He was thoroughly back in love with New England as he finished his leg. The spectacular views from the course and the almost peak foliage combined with a cool clear day would have made ANYONE fall in love with New England. Ed was our ace-in-the-hole, though, passing something like 5-7 relay team runners in his 18 mile leg. I'm a little sad I didn't get to see him finish, but My Runner had asked me to run him in the last 3 miles.

oooOOoooo.... purdy....

As I reunite with My Runner he's thinking he can hit a PR. I'm happy and proud of him. We head up the back of Mt. Ascutney to some truly beautiful trail, and My Runner, who's just run 47 miles, is KICKING MY ASS. I do my best to keep up and not slow him down. He seems happy for the company and wants the time to keep him going. We chat, I pant on the uphills and recover on the downs. We pass a LOT of people- he's shifting into gear.

I feel the downhill cramping but fight through it. As we emerge onto the ski slopes and start doing the backs and forths, My Runner asks, "Is that Sherpa ahead?" I grunt agreement (cramping) and he plans to sneak up and pass him- the finish is about half a mile away. Though I can't see his face, I know all too well the impish (ok, shit-eating) grin on his face... as Sherpa turns shocked to see My Runner there. Smelling blood he kicks it in and zooms down the slope. I know I can't follow at even a respectable speed so I duck out of the course and go straight down the hill, meeting up with My Runner, my Dad, and Ed in the tent near the finish.

My Runner smelling blood.  He's ready to kick some ASS!

 

I managed a smile for this one.

I've reunited with my team. There's a lot of family here, as Mr. and Mrs. Strong have come to watch people finish. Puma's here, having run strong 31 miles before missing a cutoff and being pulled. She seems a bit disappointed, but more so determined to do better next time. We head back to the cars and Dad breaks out some beer for us all to share while we catch up on our experiences and wait for GillyGirl to finish.

In the parking lot sharing some beers I could see how well I really did- and how much I stressed unnecessarily over this run. It drove me forward in my training but I directed energy to worry rather than to powering my body and readying my mind.

VT 50 was WAY outside my comfort zone. But my family had my back. They always had. And while I knew, I didn't really KNOW. Like doing a trust falls, I just had to relax and know that no matter what happened, win or loose, "fail" or not fail, they've got me. I'll never truly fail as long as I keep the love.

Coming of Age

Friday night My Runner and I drove up to Merrymeeting Lake in NH to visit with Face, Cap'n Mop, Smarty Pants, and a host of others. We sat around the campfire chatting, eating, and taking in the beautiful views of the lake. Being with my love and friends I've known for decades, I was very content.

Some unspoken consensus had the group head for bed before 10pm that night- they had been staying at the lake house the whole week and were likely tired from meat and booze- and My Runner and I tented out on the lawn. We kept the gorgeous fire going until after 1am, despite having to rise at the crack of dawn to head to an appointment. Chatting, listening to the loons, staring at the lights on the beautiful and huge houses surrounding the shores, we thoroughly enjoyed our relaxing evening.

It started out in the background, but in a moment of silence, my inner-radio turned up the volume. I couldn't believe what song was playing in my head... "Coming of Age." This song has never been played on the radio, and hopefully never will be, but it's the title track the 7th grade musical in which Smarty and I performed. An intellectually complex and emotionally charged- no, it was stupid and obvious exploration of puberty. Which, when you're actually going THROUGH puberty is really, really embarrassing to sing about.

With joy, I realized Smarty was mere yards away (as opposed to being in Ohio, so YAY) so I ran into the house, found Smarty's room where she was still reading. Peeking in, she looked up from her book

Smarty: Yes?

Me: Coming... of AGE! Coming... of AGE! Feeling happyy..... Feeling RAAAAAGE!

Smarty: (head in hands) Oh no... why?.

Me:(evil cackle, runs away)

This silly moment replayed in my head a few times over the weekend. I realized that this was the VERY FIRST play I was ever in, and I almost wasn't even in it. I had auditioned for a speaking role, but my voice was not up to par with the other nasal-singing 13-year-olds in Jr. High. At first, I wasn't even on the cast list. In my typical 7th-grade attitude, I thought "Eff this! It's stupid anyways," and wrote drama club off for good. I'd concentrate on singing (bad idea) and not having food caught in my braces.

Smarty, after a few rehearsals, somehow convinced me that I should just be in the ensemble because it would be fun. I didn't really want to miss two days of Animaniacs a week, but Smarty's a convincing person. So I joined the ensemble as a part of the "In" crowd. In "Coming of Age," the cool kids moved as a singular group, mocking those that were different from them and secretly worried that at any moment they'll get kicked out of the clique- unless they're too unoriginal to think for themselves. We were probably the only "cool" kids that wore black jeans and button-down denim shirts as our "cool kid uniform."

I'm sure I was thoroughly unconvincing as a cool kid. Even with training I'm not sure I could play a cool kid today- not really in my repertoire. Still, it was funny to look back at my very first play (and briefly at my stint as a priest in the wacky Cinderella-esque musical in 8th grade- who ran that silly drama club?). And despite those lack-luster beginnings, I went on to make theatre my major, learning not only about acting and directing, but all aspects of production. I moved on to working as an Education Director at a local theatre, directing shows and teaching classes. I worked closely with a small but well-respected professional theatre company, also directing and acting as well as assisting behind the scenes. Essentially, I came of age.

FIVE WHOLE DAYS?!?!***

*** Not really anymore.  Family emergency caused My Runner to change plans.  If I actually pre-planned these things, this would have been up in proper timeline order.

My Runner is through-hiking the Monadnock-Sunapee Greenway over the course of this week with Puma.  He's done this trail before with Mr. Strong, and they had such a wonderful time that Mr. Strong is taking his wife on the Long Trail this summer.  My Runner's taking a break from the cubicle farm and getting some time in the woods.

One one hand, I'm happy he's able to recharge.  Boy does he need it.  And the weather this week, though a little warm, will otherwise be perfect.  On the other hand, I'm green with envy.  I wish I could be out there now, soaking up nature and taking a break from being told what to do.

Ok, gonna dig a little deeper and reveal that I'm jealous too.  He's out there with Puma.  Not with me.  Not alone.  Not with Mr. Strong.  Jealousy isn't a pretty emotion, and I don't like that I feel it, but hiding it away doesn't help.  I'm not worried that anything "untoward" would happen.  There's no basis in reality for my feelings.  That doesn't mean I don't feel them.

Actually, it was worse in the days leading up to their setoff date.  Come Monday morning when they're both packed up and ready to go, I feel fine.  Sad that I have to go to work, worried that My Runner is still sick and hacking up lungs, but not jealous.  It still pings a bit here and there, but on the whole, I think that childish part of me had it's moment, and grown up me can prevail.

My Runner and Puma will always be friends.  I like Puma, she's a nice girl.  So, how do I deal with these occasional ugly feelings?  The plan?  Let them out.  I think if I say it out loud, the reality of the situation will take the legs out from underneath the pettiness, and in the harsh light of day these fears will have no control over me.

What do you think?  How do you deal with what you feel are your petty emotions?

Massanutten Mountain Trail Race- Crew Preview

We're somewhere in upstate NY heading down to Virginia  once again- this time with My Runner's pop Ultra Dad and his half brother Kiddo.  The MMT is a 100 mile race in the mountains of VA, which My Runner attempted for the first time last year. While Ultra Dad has completed MMT before, the course has been re-routed this year keeping it fresh even for veterans.
Initially the plan was to crew with Kiddo for the first 63 miles, then if needed jump in and pace. Since my ankle has been bum, Ib obviously haven't been running, never minding training to pace.
Not being able to pace has been the biggest disappointment of this injury. It was one of my goals this year, and had I stayed innjury-free I could have acheived it.
On the bright side, I'm very much on the mend.  Mrs. Strong lent me a bracer the I canuse walking or sporting, and wearing it has helped. And because I'm stubborn, I brought my running gear.
Crewing for the two guys should be interesting. The weather is supposed to be lovely tomorrow, which is great since the majority of the drive down has been in pouring rain on crappy roads with old wind sheild wipers. I'm actually looking forward to the crewing experience again. Sorta like my Mom once desceibed working in the ER: hours of nothing interrupted by a few minutes of crazy.
Kiddo seems like a good kid, though I'm thoroughly UN-versed in the interests of thirteen-year-old boys. So far I've learned he has a love/hate relationship with his iPhone, changes the parts on his mountain bike often, and his very favoritest thing is Dunkin' Donuts White Hot Chocolate. Go figure.

Investment

from toothpastefordinner.com

Lately (ok, for a while now), I haven't really had any investment in my job.  While the paycheck and the hours are good, I'm not putting a lot into it because I don't feel like I get rewarded for working hard.  So I spend my time hardly working, or doing the minimal, then get frustrated when deadlines appear out of nowhere and I have a million things to do on a Friday.

This weekend I was visiting my cousins at my aunt's house and one of them (who successfully operates a local outlet of a national insurance company) asked me about my job.  I don't like to talk about my job because I don't enjoy it and I don't want to sound like a complainer.  So I said something like, "Eh, it's a job."  She's not one to be put off, however, and pressed for further information.  The more I got into it, the more she pointed to what I could do to change what I didn't like.

What?  It's not MY fault that I don't get merit-based raises.  That I do the work of 2-3 people.  They'd NEVER hire another person to take responsibilities.  Despite my negative attitude, she carried on, suggesting methods I could use to prioritize my work and prove that other functions of my job are wasteful.  Her point, which I finally came around to (god I'm stubborn about advice) was that even if nothing changed, I would learn skills necessary for position advancement here or elsewhere, and if I did decide to leave after all that, I could explain in detail the work that I did to improve the operation.  I would leave with a legitimate reason.  If I left now, the best I could say is that it's too much work- not the makings of a great candidate for anything, really.

I hate to admit when I'm wrong, especially when it means that I was ALSO lazy and irresponsible... but I'm wrong.  I've been using childish excuses to hate my job.  Spending 9 hours a day shirking responsibility isn't really the best use of my time.  I may never LOVE my job, and that's ok, but that doesn't mean I can't spend the work day growing as a person.  It's better than spending 9 hours a day surfing the internet and complaining.  That's what half the people do here, and I detest them for it.  I don't want to be that.

So, if it's all about goals and expectations, what are those for me?  My long-term goal is to make a case for this position to advance to the level of "Director" instead of "Coordinator."  This would allow for a salary increase based on pay scale and the elevation in title would translate better when looking for other jobs.  It would also make a case for having another position, even if it's part time, in the department.  My short-term goal is to accomplish my work within deadlines.  This is more of an attitude adjustment- to actually DO work rather than put it off.

My expectations are to get out of this job what I put into it.  Minimal effort will equal minimal satisfaction.  I already know I'm not motivated on a day-to-day basis by a paycheck (though I am motivated to do a minimal amount to keep GETTING a paycheck).  I know when I have a good day and accomplish a lot I do feel a sense of satisfaction and ::gasp:: fulfillment.  I can't expect a merit-based raise, a bonus, or other financial reward.  With my current management, even a pat on the back is rare.

The key to all of this is motivation.  What's going to motivate me at the end (or the beginning, or the middle) of the day to do work that I don't really find enjoyable?  Being able to cross a task off a list?  eh.  I'm not a big "list maker;"  I'll make a list and then never look at it.  A vague sense of satisfaction?  That'll last maybe a day.  Knowing that, long term, I'm doing the right thing?  Ha!  Have you MET me??  So, this is what I'm missing.  What will KEEP me motivated?  By nature I'm lazy (even though I hate that about myself, I know it to be true).  My work ethic is sub-par, and I hate feeling like someone else is telling me I have to do things.  Because, you know, I'm 10.

Trying to keep my goals and expectations in mind will help.  But other than that, I'm not sure how to stay motivated.  I know I don't want to use food or purchases as reward (since being fat and poor also won't make me happy).  How do you stay motivated at work, or doing tasks you hate?  If you're a "worker," what is it about completing the task that makes you feel so good?

What a Maroon!

On a dinner date with my Mom, Mr. Fixit, and my aunt and uncle last night, my uncle showed me this little gem he pulled off a tape circa 1988.


That's little me with a pretty awesome Animal puppet hamming it up for the entertainment of my elders. Also, I still use "I gotta go to the bathroom" as a way to get out of conversations where I don't know what to say.

Naked Cartwheels

It’s been an incredibly busy couple of weeks. I work to post at least twice a week, sometimes more, and it’s been tough to find the time. I’ve had meetings every day at work, some with a prominent political figure in this city (who may be my representative but for whom I did not cast my vote). This past weekend Dad visited, hockey Monday and Tuesday, Wednesday night My Runner and I and Mom and Mr. Fixit went to a dinner party at Mop and Face’s place.

Tonight my calendar had “6pm, Whipple St.” I was scheduled to look at a half a duplex to rent. It was cute, had a lot of space, a yard, and was in a quiet neighborhood. Best of all it was within my price range. The owners are a friend of a friend, so it came with a recommendation.

I assume you noticed that all the verbs in the last paragraph are in past tense. I got an email from the owner today that he had rented it out last night. I knew I had gotten too excited about this place. I had even described it to someone as “the one; we’re meant for each other.” But it’s been on the market for a while, and the owners were (understandably) looking to rent it out sooner rather than later.

I’m bummed, but working through it. How? With naked cartwheels. Tonight, instead of having an appointment, instead of scheduling anything, instead of having to see another living person, I’m home. All alone. Well, Fred T. Ferret, is here, but no humans. My cousin/roommate is home for spring break, and I’m taking advantage of an empty apartment and a canceled appointment for some MUCH needed *me* time.

Ok, Leeapeea, but naked cartwheels? That was Face’s idea. I’m sure it was one of those offhand things, “Oh, your roommate’s gone? What are you going to do? Naked Cartwheels! Ha!” Except it’s turned into something more than that. Metaphorically, naked cartwheels represents ultimate freedom and joy. Not only do you have the space to perform a free-wheeling acrobatic attempt, but you also have the privacy to do it disrobed. THAT’S freedom, my friends.

A good life is a life of balance. I love my friends, my family, My Runner, but I also love me. I have to balance my time with everyone else with some me time. Tonight brought the scales back to true. If you’ve been feeling overstressed, overwhelmed, overtaxed, over burdened, take my advice: naked cartwheels.

Bits and Pieces

Lots of thoughts swirling around lately, and mostly unorganized.  A sampling of the bits and pieces grabbed from the tornado of my brain:

Dad's coming up this weekend.  We're meeting at a race on Sunday morning, then he's staying until Tuesday.  This'll be the first time I run with him, ever.  I'm really worried about being slow.  I know it's stupid  - he won't care, we're here to run it together, but still.  My Runner might be joining us.  I'm glad My Runner and Dad will get a chance to meet. They're very similar, which totally makes me a cliché, but what can ya do.  I love running with My Runner, and I know it will make me worry less about being slow, but there's a small part of me that wants to run just me and my dad.  I think that part's smaller than the part that wants both of them there.

I drove around ManchVegas for an hour on Wednesday checking out neighborhoods of apartments listed on craigslist.  It was ridiculously depressing how much some places were misrepresented.  Of course I only viewed the outside on these, but since I'm looking for a new neighborhood I thought that would be a good place to start.  As much as I want a place that's unique, part of a house, a few neighbors, a nice landlord, I think ultimately I won't be able to find a nice place in a nice neighborhood in my price range unless I go for apartment complex living.  Not really my first choice, but it's got the essentials that I'm looking for, and there are always openings.  The other drawback is that my current rental company operates at least half of the apartment complexes in MancheVegas.  They're probably not better or worse than other rental companies, but their tenant screening process leaves something to be desired.

Last weekend I ran the farthest I have yet - 6 miles.  I felt great, and ran an average 9:20min. mile in the Frozen Shamrock 3 mile race the next day.  This week I feel like crap.  My hip's been bothering me, my calves are cramping, and I've been having some, ah... lady issues.  I've taken some time off to rest, maybe too much time.  I've got a 4.6mi run planned with Pocket when she comes to visit on Saturday, then the race on Sun is 4 miles.  I'm still not feeling great, but it's time to get back in the saddle.  I've totally neglected my PT the last two weeks (slaps hand) and I know that's why my hip is bothering me.  The half-marathon is in 16 days; no time to rest on my weary laurels.

Speaking of the ShamRock (half)Marathon, this was today's facebook post:
Coach Jerry Frostick's tip of the week: Less is best, don't try and make up for missed mileage. Everyone has battled the worstwinter that I remember. That same determination will get you to the finish line. Feel proud of what you've done.Usethese last two weeks to heal aches and pains and visualize great things for... your big day!You all will Sham ROCK.
It's like Coach Jerry is reading my mind.  I'm not going to go crazy with miles, but I am working to get my drive, determination, and "sticktoitiveness" back on line.  (When did "sticktoitiveness" become an ok word to use?)


Pocket and I will be heading to my Alma Mater after our run on Saturday to see a show produced by the theatre department from which I graduated.  It hasn't been terribly long since I attended, and most of my profs are still working there.  I've always been proud of my education.  While the name and the department doesn't necessarily have a huge reputation, I felt the professors and program were all well-rounded and encouraged exploration of talents and strengths.  I really hope it's a good show.


Mom recently "guilted" me that I've been dating My Runner for over six months now and she barely knows him.  She's right, it's weird.  I have a very close relationship with my family, so the fact that I'm so happy and they don't know him IS totally strange.  So we're having dinner on Wednesday, hosted by Face and Mop.  I'm super psyched.  Getting the chance to meet some of his family over Easter.  Excited, but oddly not really nervous.  I mean, I hope they like me, and there is a certain amount of strain making small talk with a room full of strangers, but I'm just happy to get to see a little more of where My Runner comes from.


I know I'm "of that age," but EVERYONE is getting married this year.  Three friends, two family members.  Five weddings.  Don't get me wrong, I actually really like weddings.  Celebrating love, eating, dancing, drinking, wearing pretty clothes, all things I truly enjoy.  And, luckily, there's not a single union that I'm in any way opposed to.  The only down side is that my schedule for the spring/summer/fall is now pretty full, and already there are conflicts with weddings and planned trips.  Normally I'm a "first come first serve" kind of gal when it comes to plans, but people tend to only get married once (at least, to each other), and friends and family are sort of expected to prioritize a wedding over, say, a backpacking trip.  Knowing I will have equal but different fun at either event is not helping me make a decision.

A Humane Society

The other morning I was walking down the block to my car and I hear yelling. Scolding, really.  Who's yelling at 7:20 in the morning?  And at whom?  Glancing up the block I see a woman walking an unleashed dog.  I hear her telling the pup he's a "bad dog" and "nasty."  Two thoughts cross my mind: 1. the dog is behaving perfectly fine, even when not on a leash, and 2. what crawled up this woman's ass?

Her behavior really bothered me.  Seeing anyone abusing their power over another (person, child, animal, what-have-you) really gets to me.  Knowing that a pet only behaves as good as it's owner expects it to, if this dog is really "nasty" and "bad," it's most likely the woman's fault.  The dog certainly didn't seem psychopathic as it plodded along in front of her down the street, sniffing at the fast-food wrappers and other dog shit that litters the sidewalks.  Her crap attitude made me wonder how she treats her children?  Going a step further, what the hell happened to her that makes her feel so powerless she has to take it out on a dog?

I have faith in the goodness of people.  Sometimes it's a difficult, nigh impossible faith to maintain.  I don't like to see the underbelly of human nature, though I know full well it exists.  The only way I feel I can combat it is to believe and expect others to act in a humane manner.  I expect this of myself and expect the same from others.  Not always to act "good" or "appropriately," but to deny evil, hatred, greed, selfishness, the desire to inflict pain on others.  Ok, I still have some issues with selfishness and greed, (there are SO MANY pretty shoes and I want them all to be mine!), but I acknowledge that and work on it every day.

"Goodness," for lack of a better term, needs to be nurtured from without as well as within.  I can see how it would be hard to maintain my, what some would call naive faith in human kind if I surrounded myself with abusers, emotional manipulators, and haters.  I don't.  I feed my soul with the love and care of others who feel similarly to me, who hold themselves and others to higher standards of humanity.

I've stopped reading/watching/listening to the news.  I wish I didn't have to, but the constant reminder that people are out there who don't give a damn about anyone but themselves was leaving me with holes in my heart.  The "feel good" stories weren't counter-acting the crap anymore.  I felt like I was fighting to breath under a tidal wave- why did no one else in the world care?  Why do the people in power not do anything to help?

This woman, so unhappy with herself, surrounded most likely by other people unhappy with themselves and their lots in life, brought my naivite about human goodness into sharp focus.  It also reminded me of why I strive for empathy for those around me.  This woman is either a psychopath or has been so beaten down by her lot in life that she no longer cares for anything but herself.  If I fight for empathy, I know it's possible for anyone to do the same.  I feel bad for the woman, worse for the dog, and proud  that I've fought against the negative forces in my life that I could have so easily given in to.  I drove to work silently thankful for my loving friends and family who help me see the positive (and funny, and unique, and ironic) in every day.

Can and Can't

What I can't control:

• The weather and other natural forces
• The passage of time
• Gravity
• Other people's behavior and choices
• The sound of my upstairs neighbor's vacuum
• How other people drive
• My genetic makeup
• The eventual decay of food in my fridge
• The price of gas
• Mortality
• The air-speed velocity of an unladen swallow

What I can control:

• My own behavior, choices, and reactions to the list above.

Sure, one can mitigate against that which one can't control.  I own a big warm jacket because while I can't control the weather, I can make the choice to stay warm in my jacket.  I can't control how other people drive, but I can behave in a safe and alert manner on the road and wear my seatbelt.  I change my oil in my car to prevent the deterioration of the mechanical parts of my car engine.  I go to the doctor's and work out to slow the eventual breakdown of my body and organs.

Unfortunately, mitigation can often give the illusion of control.  Wash your hands, wipe down every surface with bleach, don't touch anyone, wear a mask, and you won't get sick.  But you can still get sick.  The illusion of control lulls us (ok, me) into a false sense of security: Do this and you can prevent that.  Exercise and good diet can keep a person healthy longer, but no one will live forever.  This false sense of security, placation, really, is in place to keep people from panicking on a daily basis.  Even with mitigation, people still panic.

I'm very comfortable thinking that I can control things.  The flip side of that is how completely uncomfortable I am not being in control.  If you've ever had me as a passenger in your car, notice that I don't pay attention to the road.  Or if I am paying attention to traffic, my legs are stiff, my right hand is gripping the handle, and I'm braced for impact.  I may also (likely will) make fearful gaspy noises when you or other drivers do things I don't expect.  This is not a testament to your driving (well, it may be, but I'd never tell you that), but an example of how much I hate not being in control.

In the final death throws months of my relationship with The Boy, when I was going to therapy to learn how to be in a relationship with someone with anxiety and depression, Therapist told me something that I've found valuable in every aspect of life.  I relayed to her a particularly bad fight we'd recently had, which included some more than harsh remarks verbal abuse from him.  She was shocked to hear what he had said, and when I told her that he was going through a particularly low time in his depression cycle (basicly "excusing" him), she said "He can't control his mood, but he CAN control his behavior."  Wow.  It seemed so obvious when she said it...

In that moment I knew The Boy and I were destined to be done. I realized that if he can control his behavior, by extension I could control mine, and that my behavior had lead me to stay in an unhealthy and unhappy relationship for years.  Only by changing my behavior could I change my situation. Her statement changed my entire paradigm.  I'm sure I've heard similar things said to me over the course of my life; either I wasn't ready to hear them or I didn't fully understand it as I did in that moment.  Not only could the boy control his behavior, that's all ANYONE can really control.  Mitigation against bad things happening is behavior.  Reacting to forces beyond our control is behavior.  Inaction is behavior.

So now when I feel the world is spinning out of my control and I feel like I'm floundering in a stormy sea, I remind myself: I can't control the world, only my own behavior towards it.

Hockey Squared

Coming off my week of rest, I'm about 3 weeks behind in my half-marathon training and starting the new hockey season on Monday.  Followed by Tuesday.

Yep, thanks to the ever zealous Cap'n Mop, I (along with his wife Face) are now playing hockey TWO nights in a row.  Initially I was trepidatious, to say the least.

ok.  Initially I was totally stressed.  I had just cleared most of my calendar and am still recovering from an injury owie.  Now all of a sudden I was committed to not 10 games of hockey but 20!  I started to hyperventilate as I filled out my calendar through March....

Taking deep breaths, counting slowly, I calmed down and thought about it.  I really enjoy playing, even when I'm not playing well.  I knew my playing suffered last season from lack of practice; here's a built in "practice" opportunity.  Even better, I'd be playing with different people both nights, which would help me learn to adapt.

While I still get the heebs looking at my calendar and its very few empty spaces, I feel much better about my commitment to playing hockey.  It's fun, I've wanted to improve, and when it stops being fun I will stop playing.



ps... don't worry, cap'n, it'll never stop being fun.  ;-)

Whoops! Uh.... Hi!

You ever get that call? It goes something like this:

You: Hello?

Them: Oh! ... um.... HI! Hey!!!! How are ya???

You: Good! Great to hear from you, it's been a while!

Them: Yeah, heh... actually I called you by accident... I meant to call You Smith... hah... weird how you have the same first name...

You: oh... ha... right. Well, catch you later.

I've been on both ends of this REALLY awkward situation. This morning my phone rang at 8:30am. Since I was at work (and actually doing work - yes, it does happen), I silenced my phone and let it go to voicemail. It was my Dad; weird for him to call since we had just talked on Sunday, but we had been in the process of making plans for a visit. Listening to my voicemail my dad starts out laughing, "Oh, good morning my Favorite Daughter (he likes to call me this since I'm his only daughter. That we know of.) I didn't really mean to call you, but... uh...Hope your day is going great!! Uh..... Bye!"

A one-sided awkward conversation. Who knew?

On the flip side, I used to do this to Seacoast ALL the time. Seacoast and Golden Girl share the same first name, hair color, and (un)lucky fate in having been my roommate at one time or another. I would make a call to (I thought) Golden Girl:

Me: Hey, can you pick up some milk on your way home?

Seacost: Uhh.... sure... not sure how I'm gonna get it from Portsmouth to Brooklyn, though.

Me: OH! Heyy...... uh, how ya doin? (etc.)

Luckily Seacoast had a great sense of humor about it (or she was really, REALLY kind). It was always nice to catch up with her, of course. It was kind of like both of us were getting that unexpected phone call from a distant friend. I always felt kinda guilty afterwards, though.

But Seacoast is a long time friend. What about when you make a call to someone you don't want to talk to? You know, those folks you keep in your phone so you know to ignore the call (not any of you, of course... all those other crazy bums). Like, you mean to call your Dentist, but you end up calling Dennis, the wicked annoying guy from your previous job who wouldn't stop hitting on you even though you were VERY clear that NOTHING would EVER happen. EVER. How does one handle that?

How would you handle that?