Coming up, Random week stuff.

1) Hold onto your pants! This weekend, the Bottomless Sprint Triathlon. It was at this tri in 2005 that I said, "I'm definitely going to try this triathlon thing" back in 2005. I did it in 2006 and in 2007. This year I'd like to beat last year's time by at least a couple minutes. It's a mini-sprint: 400m/9 mi/2.4 mi., but it's super hot when you finish and the run is an out and back along blacktop that is not shaded. In July. In Southern New Mexico. All the time you're racing, there are loud cicadas singing (don't love that term, "singing"?) actually they're SCREAMING, adding to your perceptions that it's just, well, f***ing hot.
SSSsssssssssss (dramatic hot-sounding noise effect).
And yet, for some reason, I always remember this little sprint fondly and can't wait to do it again. Crazy.

2) Mini-baboo is home. So, once again, there is missing food, dirty dishes laying around, and lack of privacy. Mini spent 6 weeks in Dallas working in an un-airconditioned shop changing tires, moving furniture, and other sundry stuff. He used his earnings to purchase a Comprehensive Encyclopedia Set Nintendo Wii. Appears to be enjoying it.

3) Mini is a senior this year. Shouldn't there be a checklist or something? Like: take senior pictures, take ACT, order invitations, etc. I know and have accepted the possibility of this year being a giant money hole. I just need to be able to plan how fast the money drains down the hole.

4) Speaking of holes, once again I have to ask myself if there is possibly a bigger time hole than Facebook. I'm not saying I don't use it. I just saying I waste a lot of time there.

5) Someone I know referred to a random blog I found on the Internet (nobody you know) as a "brain toilet." That is still the funniest thing I've heard in a while.

6) Tonight is #6 of my summer classes. That means there's only 2 weeks left of summer school. I've been taking classes in PTSD and Substance Abuse. There isn't a whole of open-mindedness in these classes. It's all pretty lockstep, "this is how we treat this."
I just nod and practice my favorite phrase, "Well, you've given me a lot to think about."
What this phrase really means:
"I don't agree with what you say and I think you're an idiot for saying it but in the interest of diplomacy and because you are either grading me on this and/or a future colleague, I'll say something really passive aggressive that you, in your nacissistic way, will take for agreement."

7) Tomorrow, the state of New Mexico will probably finally approve my provisional counseling license. I'm pretty happy about that.

...

Maybe it's just me...

I think I look just a wee bit thinner when I put my Ironman Loo and Ironman CD'A pictures side-by-side.

IM Bike, 2007, and 2008:


Marathon walk/run, 2007 and then 2008:


I certainly look more energetic. A bit less pained, at my finish this year:


Maybe, some day, I can finish without one of those glow-in-the-dark necklaces on.

This weekend, I did a 30 mile bike and an 8 mile run. Both felt pretty good. I'm getting ready for Barb's race, a coupla sprints, and to pace Sweet Baboo for 30 miles of his first 100-miler.

And, as always, I have to ask myself......I wonder what else I can do?

...

Iron Schwag.

The stuff on the left is stuff that we got when we picked up our packet.





The stuff down below is the bike kit I bought at the expo. Now I HAVE to finish; this set is too gorgeous not to be worn and I can only wear it (in my mind) if I actually finish this thing.

Random, completely OCD stuff about me.

I collect Google pictures, did you know that? I love holidays and designated days, because I log in and see the special "Google" symbol. Then I right-click and save it. I don't know why. I don't want to, I have to. I've been doing it for several years now. As my hard drive was failing a couple months ago, after I'd saved my thesis files and most of my mp3s, I saved my Google pictures folder.

Here's some of my collection:

(And this is just of some of the ones from my work computer. My home computer has a much bigger selection.)

In other news, I got up at 4:30, hit the gym, swam 1000 meters, and was at work at 6:25 before most of the other teachers got there. I RULE.

In a surprisingly lucid moment, I packed my car last night with everything I would need today: 2 lunches (it's parent-teacher conference week, so I'll be at work for 12 hours), all my books for working on my thesis, my fully-stocked gym bag, including flat-iron and clothes for work--even underwear this time!--so that all I would have to do this morning is fall out of bed and into my swimsuit. Good thing, too, because I found myself walking around in circles bleary-eyed at 4:45 while my car was warming up: Where are my keys? Oh, they're in the car. Where is my lunch? Do I have the right lunch packed? Where is my PowerBar? Oh, it's in my hand. What did I pack? What do I need for work today? Okay, I think that's in the car, too. My pants are on backwards. WHERE ARE MY KEYS?Where are my shoes?

It felt good to be back at the gym, too, even though my swim is painfully slow. I didn't wear my watch, so I don't know just how slow (I wanted to feel good about it, so that was a deliberate decision on my part) but I know that in the same amount of time Sweet Baboo completed about 1400 meters. So there you go.

...

Ode to my Lee Riders

I purchased you in the early ninties.

There were times when I couldn't wear you; you waited patiently with my "medium-sized" clothes until I could wear you again. I took you out of the drawer in 2006, and after all these years, parts of your denim were as thin as paper towels.

And much like paper towels trying to cover my big butt for 16 years might, you came apart yestereday with a loud ripping sound when I sat down just a little too hard, and out came my left butt cheek.
In the shoe store. (Thanks for that.)

Yea, you were friendly. Comfortable. My students called you, "Mom Jeans" but We had an understanding, didn't we? You covered me where you should: comfortably around the waist, and never, ever threatened to show the top of my underwear or butt crack.

I don't even know if they make normal jeans like you any more. I suspect not.

RIP, dear friend. (No pun intended.)

Random thoughts less than 4 out from CDA.

Things I'd like to throw...and the people at whom I'd like to throw them. I was thinking about that tonight, at the worst spin class I've ever been to. The cycles were bad, the instructor was--bless her heart--well intentioned. But uninspiring.

So, things to throw. Well, a soft, slightly overrippe tomato....the three guys at the back of the spin class I was at tonight who were carrying on a very loud conversation during the entire class. Holy cow, I mean, if you are that relaxed then you aren't working hard enough. And you need to be tomato-ed.

This week marks the beginning of my training for Ironman Coeur D'Alene. And, I know that triathlon season is approaching, becuase I'm getting a hankerin' for gear. Gear. GEAR! GEAR!! Yes, I'm excited because GEAR! spring is here.

I'll be swimming...just as soon as i get new goggles. I'm thinking pink. I'm thinking mirrored. I was wondering, now that I have contact lenses, can wear them during a long course triathlon? I mean, is it doable? I mentioned it to the contact lens lady who was training me to wear my contacts, and she sucked air through her teeth and said NO. However, I'm highly suspicious of advice from even professionals who aren't into running or multisport. It SEEMS like it should be okay. I've worn them for an ultra-marathon. But I haven't worn them with goggles yet. I suppose I'll train with them, and see how they work.

I bought new road shoes. I'll try them out tomorrow; they are Brookes Adenalyn road shoes. SIZE 9, because for some reason, my feet keep getting bigger. It's like they're pizza dough and when I run they just get slapped larger, larger, and larger...

I got my dirty-girl gaiters today. I'm going to wear them at the Grasslands marathon March 22nd. They are the "Fetish" pattern on the Dirty girl page. I'll review them after the grasslands trail run.

Okay, my thoughts are completely disorganized. First, work on the training plan, directed by Sweet Baboo. Then get some gear. I'm not sure if I'll do another ironman after CDA. It's like, 2 hours a day, 3-4 days a week for training, and then 4+ hours a day on the weekends.

Thursday, I go to see the lady parts doctor. About, em, the lady parts. And yes, she is a runner. I pretty much won't see anyone who isn't. They just don't GET it, you know?

...

The thin I always wanted to be.

I always think deeply about thing on my long runs - I figure things out that have been bothering me. It's weird. It's like I have all this solitude and it affords me the quiet time that I need to mull over ideas that daily distractions would otherwise render impossible. It's especially true when I run along the bosque trail - out in nature, suddenly things seem clearer.

When I started this whole thing 3 years ago it was with one idea in mind: I wanted to be thin. More specifically, I wanted to be willowy. I wanted to be thin and gangly and long limbed and look super fit. The way athletes are "supposed" to look.

So I had this testing done recently and it says that I'm very, very fit, but only in a good week can I squeeze into a size 10. Most of the time, I'm a twelve. Not willowy. Not thin. But very fit.

There are only two times as an adult when I was "thin": The first was when I was 18. My high school sweetheart had committed suicide and I was an emotional wreck. At such times of despair and grief I lose my appetite, and I stopped eating. I was scheduled to have some surgery done, but at the pre-surgery meeting the doctor told my mother if I lost just one more pound before the surgery, he wasn't doing it. I weighed 118 pounds, about 50 pounds less than I weigh now.
Not healthy. Not fit. Not happy. But thin.

The other time was when I was around 35. I'd lost a lot of weight by limiting my eating and hiking a few miles each day. Then I stopped exercising, but also severely restricted my eating. I weighed 130 pounds, 35 pounds less than I weigh now. A picture of myself at that weight does not show a healthy woman. I was pretty happy about fitting into a size 8, though. But I was weak. I couldn't run; I could barely hike. I had no muscle tone.
I was happy. I was thin. But not fit.

It's almost like happiness takes up some palpable room in my body alongside the muscle, and the only way I can be that thin is to sacrifice fitness or happiness.

So, I was running along the bosque today and I suddenly heard a voice inside my head - I mean, I'm not psychotic or anything - but this thought popped into my head: Can I accept the hard work it takes to be healthy and fit, even if it means I will never look exactly the way I want to look?

Can I be satisfied to know that I'm fit and healthy, even if I look "ordinary" on the outside, I don't embody my idea of what an athlete should look like?

Can that be enough?

You know, whenever I run 15 or 20 or 25 miles I look into the mirror afterwards and always suprised to see a soft, 40-year old body. I'm stocky, with a little round belly that floats in the bathtub and full thighs that touch well along their length. No obvious musculature.
At those times I wonder, when will I start looking like an athlete?

Today I was thinking about that that again: I wished I looked like an athlete.

As I thought that I tripped over a root and looked down at the ground, catching myself, and that's when I caught sight of my shadow.

Oh. I get it now.

That's me down there.

And I'm an athlete.

So, I guess, I'm what an athlete looks like, at least this athlete.

And yes, that's enough.

...

Rambling thoughts on a long, slow run.

Pirate did a 5K with her mom yesterday, her mother’s first one.
Pirate mom had apparently had, to put it mildly, a good time. I’ll let Pirate tell you about it. If she hasn’t, she should. Soon.

One of the things she told me about over the phone was her mother asking, after it was over, I feel so happy. Is this why you do this? How long does it last?

It's 7:30 in the morning and I'm thinking about this while running--okay, jogging--in the foothills of the Sandia Mountains just east of Albuquerque.

I looked at my Garmin. I felt pretty breathless, so just out of curiosity I paged through the screens. 6217 feet of elevation. Well, that would explain things. I hiked along, pondering the meaning of happiness.

My runs slow down the swirling thoughts in my head. Peace. Which, for me, is happiness. Most of the time, my thoughts are a tornado and I'm in the vortex with random thoughts swirling around me—thoughts, feelings, emotions, images of the past, ideas—they spin around me and sometimes I can grasp a few at a time but the another one blows in and I’m distracted.
Slap any label you want on it: Busy mom, Adult AD/HD, that crack on the head with a ball bat when I was 11.
It is what it is.

I stop to photograph a snow-covered cholla. After that I stop several times wondering if the pictures will mean the same in still life as they do right here, now.

Running slows down the cyclone of thoughts, images, flashes from the past, worries…they slow down so that I can reach out and select them, turning them over, considering them--and let them go again. Study them. Put them back. It slows things down. I hold onto ideas. Crystallize them into plans. Think things through.

I have never felt the "runner's high" but thoughts that flow languidly, instead of their usual frenetic pinging...this is the gift.

I thought about Pirate’s mother again. How long does the happiness last? and crossed my fingers for her. Maybe she’d found a whole new dimension to her life. Just one more person to find the happiness. I envy Pirate that experience. I wish I could have done that with my mom. I don’t know if it would have changed things; her particular heart disease probably started before I came along at age 28.
But maybe if I’d somehow been able to influence her, she might have tried harder to stay alive. Maybe she wouldn’t have turned down that clinical trial I was going to get her into.

Or maybe she would have. You can’t second guess yourself all the time, I guess. I release the sad thoughts about my mother. The wistfulness and longing spin away.

The path in the foothills is on an alluvial plane, naturally hard-packed dirt covered with crushed gravel. It’s a satisfying noise under my feet. From time to time I slow down as I become breathless. Sometimes I pull the balaclava over my mouth. Other times I pull it down. Sometimes I jog. Sometimes I walk “Briskly.” Many times, I stop and look around.

I look at my Garmin again. 6479 ft. A new plan forms. I will jog until it reads 6500 and then turn back.

People pass me, running, or on mountain bikes.

I bend down to tie my shoe and for some reason, decide to take a picture of a puff of snow on a tuft of grass, even though I know that what it is about the snow that made me take a picture of it probably won’t show in a photograph. I can see the individual snow flakes. I want to save it before it gets added to the mind/memory cyclone.


I step lightly to avoid a pile of dog mess in the trail, and another thought emerges from the whirl. Why would people deliberately leave that there? Dogs aren't horses, you know when they're "going." Of the 14 people with dogs I’ve seen, three of them are using a leash (as required by the park).

A thought occurs to me. People think they’re the exception, all the time. Their dogs are special. They are good drivers, other people are terrible. Their jokes are funny. The truth is, most people are neither terrible nor terribly special. They’re someone in the middle. The people who leave those messes probably think they aren’t doing anything bad. They aren’t gleefully laughing about it somewhere.
I forgive them.
I let my annoyance float away.

6482 ft.

I capture another thought. My daughter. She’s nineteen years old, 5’5”, and 230 pounds, sedentary, hates to exercise. She already has high blood sugar. I’ve already buried both my parents. Will I bury my daughter?
I consider this. I can be an example, gently suggest and give advice when asked, but I can’t live her life. That’s what it’s about, after all. They stressed me out and I couldn’t wait for them them to grow up. Then they do, and the worrying begins.

I turn the idea and the worry over in my mind, then let it go. It floats away

6505.

Damn. I missed it. I wanted to turn back at EXACTLY 6500.

Well, okay. I’ll just maybe go up to 6600. Then maybe I’ll stop.

Or, maybe I won’t.

...