Not the Flirt I May Appear to Be

I happened upon a women's "Couch to 5K" running class out of a running store by Greenlake one Thursday night recently, I decided it was serendipitous, and I joined in right there. I figured I've laid some solid ground work on the "couch" part and could use a little push to get going. I don't make that many spontaneous decisions, but the instructor is wonderful, and the group of women is a great mix of ages and athletic ability. It seemed like just what I needed.

I was walking in the door for the second week of class when I heard a voice say my name. Low and behold, it's an old friend from college (who I very briefly dated and) who I haven't seen for at least ten years. So I stayed outside to catch up with him (has a girlfriend, btw). Little did I know that inside the store they were voraciously teasing me for ditching class to flirt with a boy. When I finally got inside, I realized what was going on, turned an appropriate shade of red, and tried to justify my actions to the crowd. I hadn't seen him in years! I didn't know he even lived here! When the subject came up again later on Facebook, I tried to explain that while I am not above ditching class to flirt with a cute boy, that wasn't what was happening!

I made sure to get there on time the next week to avoid any further abuse. And all was going well until our half-way break, when who walks up but the Banker and his dog?! So of course I had to say hello to them! It seemed like an appropriate time since we were stopped and waiting for others to catch up. But apparently I was so wrapped up in my conversation with him I didn't realize the instructor was trying to get us going again...

I was just being friendly, I swear. But I think this is how you get a reputation.

Bring It Back To The Breath

Take a little Chaos. Add two parts Greener Grass. And some Goldilocks. Welcome to my summer. Lovely. I'm looking into filing for a do-over.

My initial strategy to cope with change and loss in my life was Deny & Distract for as long as possible. Don't get enough sleep. Don't exercise enough, and eat too much. Then cry in public at inappropriate moments. (They still don't know what to do with me, but at this point I can barely work up the energy to care.)

My body has been nearly as much of a mess as my emotional state. At the ripe old age of 32, I don't seem to recover from late nights, overindulgence, injury, etc. quite like I used to. The handstand incident injury and my knee issues linger. Apparently, you are supposed to actually do your physical therapy for things to get better, or something. Also as strangely, eating more and exercising less doesn't so much help you fit into your favorite jeans. For me, momentum is everything when it comes to taking care of myself. When the emotional slump starts and exercise goes out the window, it feels insurmountable to get back on track. Even the threat of public humiliation didn't get me going. I did one mini-triathlon at the beginning of the summer, but I let it slide so much that I didn't even try to do the Danskin, therefore wasting a ton of work over the winter and spring.

When my Mom suggested trying yoga again and offered it as a birthday present, I was intrigued. And of course, slightly desperate.

My first class in years started a little rough, but I knew it was good. I was astounded by how sweet it tasted to take a purposeful deep breath. I think I kind of forgot about breathing for a while there. Though my brain won't hold still for more than two seconds - except to focus on counting Lululemon labels around the room and wonder if I would be better at yoga if I was wearing $60 tank top ('cause I know the point of yoga is soooo all about materialism). A moment of mixed success came when the teacher led us through a breathing exercise where you press one nostril closed at a time - which did stop the rest of my brain for a while as I became consumed with how frustrating the exercise was. Baby steps, I guess.

It's been about a month of yoga, and my muscles now beg for it if I skip a day. Which makes me slightly alarmed about how stiff and disconnected I must usually be. I am also attracted to yoga's potential for spiritual connection as well, since it didn't seem fair to sit in church and complain about them talking about Jesus too much. But I need sources of wisdom. And to feel some grace.

I'm hoping breathing can help.

Long Time No Blog

No need for public introspection in the last month? Unlikely. More like I stopped being able to steal high speed internet from my neighbor and have been banished to the realm of DIAL UP. And I've been using Facebook for my virtual social interaction (at least that's slightly more two-directional, right?!). But lucky for you, the impulse to pour my heart out on the internet has flared up again.

Since I've been gone...

Budget: pretty darn good still. Amazingly. How glad am I to already be on the right track when things like suddenly have to move and global economic crisis hit?! And I actually feel like I have more money now, by knowing how much I actually have. Though, I still often wish "how much I have" was more...

Food: lovin' cooking things from the Farmers Market. Slowly building my competence and confidence in the kitchen. Did you know you can turn on the oven to 400 degrees, spritz with a little olive oil and salt and pepper, and roast just about any vegetable to perfection? Just a matter of knowing when it's best to pull it out. Why didn't someone tell me that earlier?!

Health/Fitness: looking into it. Not loving the post-injury waistline. Not cute - even when we call it the "sympathy bump" for one of my best friends who is pregnant.Goin' easy on the knee; still frustratingly temperamental. Played some volleyball OK last week. Yay.

Love Life: sucks. Pulling myself together after some quality time only being attracted to people I can't or shouldn't have. Apparently, I refuse to pursue the one lead on a possibly mature adult I've gotten - yet, I reserve the right to complain.

Moving Shock: recovering and adjusting. Big News... I'm moving into my parents' house. My parents have pretty much moved out to the beach full time, so their cute little house sits empty. They've offered to move out of the main part of the house and just use a bedroom in the basement via the downstairs door for if/when they do want to stay in town. Will it be a safe refuge while I get my own "house" in order? Or opening an old can of worms?! We'll see. Maybe both. Luckily, I have until the end of November to actually move.

Current state of mind: hangin' in there. It's that time of year when everything/one starts getting crazy busy - all the while talking about needing S.A.D. lights for our Seattle depression. (I already have one, btw.) I've started living on Emergen-C to try to avoid the munchkin germs.

And the instinct to turn inward for the winter has begun.

Greatest Love, Biggest Fear

It's been a while, but I finally got back out there.














I was ready for it. Mountains. Trees. Waterfalls. Wildflowers. Little scurrying friends. (Luring them with our best marmot impressions.) Views so wide you can breath deeper than you knew possible.

Except for the good old-fashioned panic attack in the middle of the first night when I woke up and freaked out that I was in the dark woods without walls to protect me from boogie-men. Vulnerable and exposed in the big dark unknown. But that's why you have best friends who you can show all the dark corners of your soul to. Who have seemingly limitless patience right when you need it, even in the middle of the freakin' night. Who tell you funny stories until the tranquilizers kick in.

So continues my battle to not be held prisoner by fear of the dark. Determined not to let my love for being outside be taken away my fear of being outside.

Even after living through a nightmarish visit from my own private demons, morning always feels fresh again. Thank god. We set out on what was supposed to be a relatively good, but super easy day hike (trying to be easy on my knee), but we slightly misinterpreted the hike description and serendipitously ended up in THE most beautiful picnic spot I've ever seen. We ended up with a 360 degree view of Baker, Shuksan, and other peaks all around us. Magical.

Later we tried to figure out how the Yellow Aster Butte trail head could have dared to actually lead us to a place called Yellow Aster Butte instead of the other place called Twin Lakes that we thought we wanted to see. Yes, we are that stupid sometimes. And that lucky.

Big Girls Don't Cry (at least not in public)

It's official. STP left without me. There was no way my knee could even make it to Seward Park, much less Centralia, much less Portland. At least that made it an easy decision. But sad.

My big plan to reclaim the weekend was to hang out with my aunt, make gnocci (hopefully, a more accomplishable item on my list) and take a sewing class I had my eye on. Unfortunately, the class turned out to be last month (oops), but time with my aunt in the sun was perfect and I'm planning on having a go at the gnocci.

Since the signs were pointing towards my not being able to do the ride for quite a while, I was able to ease into the reality and the disappointment. But it came flooding back when I went to the "Send Off" party the other night. I felt really left out as we heard all of the last minute logistics. It didn't help that the program coordinator pointed out someone else who was injured and couldn't ride, but didn't mention me.

So one of my worst fears snuck up on me. Suddenly I'm crying in front of relative strangers. And to make matters worse, they didn't seem to know what to do with me. So I put my sunglasses on and slid out. It was an important cathartic release. But uncomfortable. Only slightly less embarrassing than several years ago when my favorite dog was dying and an instructor lightly criticized my "creative" knitting technique - when suddenly I'm bawling in the middle of knitting class. They didn't know what to do with me there either. I didn't even know what to do with myself that time, so it was a mess.

They're just tears. You've seen them before. And will undoubtedly see them again. Why does it make us so uncomfortable? Though, I can't really blame them; I'm often the same way.

Just give the girl a hug, people.

Winning is fun.

It's true. Winning might not be everything. But it sure is a whole lotta something. Something super fun.

My volleyball girls played SO well this weekend. We experienced moment after moment of sheer delight and joy. Even the girls who have never been the strongest were passing with precision and pounding the ball down on the other team. Are these the girls who couldn't set a ball to save their life a few months ago?! Amazing what a little instruction and happy motivation can do. I am proud because I think I am actually learning to be a technically good coach and would like to think I've had something to do with it. But I am also so proud of them. With a heart full of love. Like the proud volleyball mama.

I've certainly grown along with them. The "playing time" dilemma nearly got the best of me. But I think I found where I am comfortable. I had to fight a few people around me to make things fairer again, but that felt noble. And I swear everyone started playing better when things got more equal again. Who knew?!

The semi-final game this Wednesday may well be our final game (I've seen the team we're playing, and it might not be pretty), but I think we will remember this season very fondly (angry parents and all) regardless.

Love. Injure. Retreat. Recover. And Repeat.

I received another complaint about my coaching, but from a parent this time. Eek. And it touched on something I wasn't entirely happy with myself at that moment. Those complaints that ring in the vicinity of true are especially hard to take.

They were not happy with the amount of playing time their daughter is getting. (Apparently, she was devastated and ready to quit?!) I freely admit that balancing inclusivity vs. competitive edge in the heat of the game is by far the hardest part of coaching volleyball for me. As a group we've talked through their frustration with losing and chose to be more "strategic" with who we play when. I actually haven't been comfortable with how far we've swung toward the competitive side recently. But I really didn't think that if you counted up the minutes (which apparently they had) that she'd been on the bench far more than anyone else. That really wasn't my intention. But they didn't care. They were MAD.

I am sure we both see what we are looking for in the situation. This year I am noticing how hard it is to sift through my assumptions about players to see what they are actually accomplishing on the court. The appearance of how athletically they move and the actual result of their action doesn't always match up. And growth creeps up on us. I don't always see each person with fresh eyes each day, even though I desperately hope other people give me that chance to grow in their eyes. This girl had been working hard and doing better, and I was slow to respond.

But please tell people how you are feeling before it reaches crisis levels in your eyes!!!!

It is devastating for me to feel like I've injured someone. Especially when my intention is exactly the opposite. For a brief moment after hanging up the phone, I actually wanted to quit. To retreat completely. From this, one of my favorite things to do in the world. Because of one hard conversation.

Then I remembered that I really do trust my intentions. To understand and teach and love all of those girls the best I can. Not only that, but I am open to learning to do better, which is rare and remarkable. I also remembered it will feel better the next day. And even better the next.

Injure. Retreat. Recover.

And then I had a date where I thought that I had ruined everything. As my words came out, I felt like that girl who needed a boy's validation to be OK. And I didn't get the response I thought I wanted. Pain. And so I pulled back.

Injure. Retreat.

But I remembered that I am not that girl - I am an honest individual who is brave enough to risk revealing my messy insides. (Although, I admit it can get confusing for everyone involved. Often I'm not really sure what I am feeling... then I spend a lot of time wishing that I wasn't feeling what I am feeling... then I'm not sure how to express it... but eventually I get there.) I retreated and recovered. Then I was able to say what I actually meant. And it went back to being joyful and fun.

Recover. Repeat.

Too Nice

I received the first open complaint about my coaching... apparently I am "too nice". In the grand scheme of complaints, that's not so bad. But it still stung. Especially because it came from two girls I appreciate and respect. And they told someone else, not me. (And I'm already dancing on the edge of neurotic at the possibility going on a date with the Trader Joe's guy. More on that later...)

I'm just not so good at receiving criticism. My first instinct is to tear up and feel like I'm failing because I'm not perfect. I stayed there for a while. And might go back in a minute.

Then I point out all the reasons why they are wrong (to myself or sympathetic ears only, of course). I'm insulted that people don't see the complexity of what I try to accomplish. I'm not a pushover; I'm not trying to be their friend. I have good boundaries. I expect them to work hard and pay attention. I just know the value of facilitating an open group process, so I am not an authoritarian. And I'm not willing to sacrifice any of the girls' feelings about themselves in the pursuit of a win. The bottom line is that I'm there to have fun, so I'm going to create fun. I quess it's been so much fun for me that I forgot about my own learning and growth here - which rarely happen painlessly.

I'm not sure where to look for guidance. The other coaches around me seem to have no problem being relatively insensitive - the kids all want to win, don't they? Tell them what they are doing wrong (along with praise for what they are doing right, hopefully). And play the best players without feeling bad for the people left on the bench. Can I be authentic and sensitive and still win? I think it's possible I could be tougher. Not everyone is the sensitive and perfectionist little girl that I was.

It's a balance I haven't completely found yet, even if I thought I had. Great. If only growth didn't hurt in the process.

Reasons Not to Do Acrobatics in Your Office

...unless you are an actual acrobat, I suppose. But even then, you probably don't rehearse in an office...

I have a wonderful student who comes to eat lunch with me every other week. We spend some quality time together, and I try to exercise my half of a counseling degree (don't worry, she's only allowed to tell me half her problems). This particular young lady happens to be passionate about gymnastics, so our conversation often goes in that direction. Somehow, our joint enthusiasm about handstands led to a knowingly unwise decision to demonstrate my favorite handstand technique. Unfortunately it has been months since I practiced them on a regular basis. And yes, I fell in a pile on the hardwood floor of my office. So now I have a grumpy left shoulder and an angry hand that won't be able to set at volleyball practice. OW!

A little pain I can deal with, especially after seeing old family friends who just wrote a book about living with Cystic Fybrosis. Although it is amazing how humbling even a small injury is for me, and it always reminds me how much I take for granted.

The real problem is living with the repeated task of explaining my poor judgment. (People have asked about the involuntary groaning.) If only I didn't feel the need to maintain that pesky integrity, I would come up with a cause of injury far more appropriate in a professional environment. Or at least something more glamorous.

But I'm told that I provided a wonderful model of vulnerability and imperfection to my young friend. Well, you know - I try.

Note: Adjacent photo is my attempt to prove that I have indeed been capable of such acrobatics in the recent past. I swear.

I Heart Volleyball

Volleyball season is here again! Looking at the calendar, I was worried about what I got myself into by coaching again, but after the first practice I remembered why I do this. Pure unexplainable joy. Who would have thought that bouncing a ball off forearms could do so much for me. Although, I think it's the power of hitting that I love. But setting is unexplainably satisfying, as well.

My old team graduated last year, and I loved them so much that I wasn't sure how I was going to cope with the new crew of adolescent girls. Then, they seemed more interested in decorating themselves than with the volleyball part at first. But as it turns out, they love it too, and they are willing to listen. Luckily, they seem to be under the false impression that I know what I am doing as a coach.

It's not all roses, though. We had our first match this weekend, and the games were very close - but we lost. I've certainly lost before, but I couldn't shake this one off right away. I'm afraid it was my fault because I could have done a better job with the line-up. There's just too much going on during the games for me to see everything and adapt the plan a lot as we go... all the while trying to maximize the impact of the best players yet not appear to favor anyone since that's not in the spirit of the league (and parents are all watching closely). Fortunately, several people reassured me that I'm doing a good job, and it actually sank through my thick skull a little. It takes time to get to know the girls as players, and now I know more after seeing them in a game. Just like we tell the girls: if you aren't making any mistakes, you aren't doing anything challenging enough. Somebody keep reminding me about that, please.

I am lucky to only have a few regrets in life. But a big one is not trying out for volleyball my junior year of high school because I wasn't sure I would make it again. Fear! Perfectionism!! Sad. Luckily, volleyball found me again right when I really needed to remember I had a strong and athletic side.

P.S. Another big regret... calling my dad on his 64th birthday without having John, Paul, George, and Ringo sing "will you still need me, will you still feed me..." I may have failed as a daughter.

Addicted to Blogging

OK, yes. I started another blog... but just for my TNT training saga, I promise. I'm thinking of ease and sensitivity to potential donors who might want to support my ride but don't need to know all the other gory details of my life. I'm not sure how to manage both. I think I'll just double post the stuff that may be interesting beyond the cycling/training side of things.

Don't worry I think I'll tire out soon. Feel free to tell me when I've gone over the top. Or just find a nice gentleman to distract me for a while.

Ride Your Bike to Portland

My next "Life List" item is a go. Last summer was the summer of the triathlon, something I had always wanted to do but never thought I could. This summer it is STP! I blame Laura for setting the standard back when we were 14. Finally it's my turn. I signed up for Team in Training, so there's no backin' out now!

STP is one of those things that I keep thinking will happen for me someday. As if life is something that just happens to me. A few years ago I was waiting for another (much more acheivable) event to happen - seeing Dave Matthews at the Gorge - when in a rare moment of clarity, I asked a friend to go, bought tickets online, and voila - dream achieved. And when Dave spontaneously broke into Blackbird the next year, I had one of those rare moments when there was nowhere else in the world I wanted to be.

After that, I looked at these vague ideas of "things I've always wanted to do" little differently, and I started to pull some of them out of idea state into list form:

• See DMB at the Gorge (check)
• Swim across the bay at our cabin (note: Boy Scout Camp on the other side might have something to do with that childhood dream, but check)
• Sew a quilt (with a little help from Mom, but check)
• Knit a sweater (3yr old size, but check)
• Build a bookcase (a garage and one Spring Break later, check)
• Visit Santa Fe (check)
• Triathlon (check, check, and check - warning: some items may become habit forming)
• STP (workin' on it)
• Learn Spanish
• Make gnocci from scratch
• Paint a still life of an eggplant
• Learn to weld
• Fly fish in Montana, hike in Utah Nat'l Parks, surf in Costa Rica, drink wine in Italy... (and a good list of other destination specific adventures)
• Learn to play Blackbird on the guitar (I've always said I could die happy if I could do this, and I'm thinking I should work on it just in case...)

I have a few other dreams that are a little loftier and involved, but it turns out there are many things I want out of life that may actually be achievable. Experiences that I want to become part of who I am. To broaden my experience of myself and the world. And not to be so held back by fear. To get into life and be more of myself.

There is so much we do not have control over in life. But what if we could maximize that which we do have some control over? Who could we be? What could we achieve? (Although, you'd think I'd have gotten to the gnocci by now.)

Next summer? Perhaps Mt Rainier. Because it's just sittin' there waiting. And maybe because my dad always told me it was a giant scoop of ice cream...

Bump in the night. And on the slopes.

I went skiing for the first time this season! With a cozy new raspberry-pink ski coat and a freshly knit hat to match, of course. The snow was great. But unfortunately, my own internal conflict overshadowed the potential fun. Why so afraid? It's like climbing... and the rest of my life. I am standing right next to sheer joy, but this big barrier keeps us separate. Fear of the chair lift, fear of taking a turn that looks too steep, fear of looking stupid, fear of losing control.

And what keeps me in my house when there are relationships and connection right outside the door? Fear of judgement. Rejection. I'm not smart enough, funny enough, attractive enough, thin enough, interesting enough... Perfectionism much?! All these years of therapy and it still has complete control of me sometimes.

On the eternal quest to figure out how to be happy in life and make a living while I'm at it, yesterday I decided I should go to design school and work in the clothing/textile industry. (FYI: A few months ago I was going to spend a year at an orphanage in Central America, and two years ago I was going to refurbish vintage Airstream trailers...) Just the idea that I could possibly do something all day that made me happy and make a decent living made me feel fifty pounds lighter for about two seconds. But then the fear and doubt slowly creaped it's way in. How would you even get in? What if you weren't actually any good? What were you thinking?! Until it's just another crazy idea to joke about. And I stick to what I know I know.

I was recently reminded how intoxicating good chemistry with another person can be (even with an immature republican football coach, but that's another story). Deliciously all consuming - concerns about all other responsibility and consequences (and reason, obviously) melt away for a while. I think fear is equally intoxicating in the opposite direction - into the dark side. It sucks me in and everything else fades to the background. And when I go through times when the fear gets louder than the belief in joy and love, I start waking up startled. Hearing more bumps in the night. Doors and windows suddenly exist only as potentials for intrusion. The other night, I actually forgot I had cats and spent a good minute in terror. In my anxiety-drunken state, life means danger. Isn't it amazing the power your mind has to shape your reality? And in the winter around here, I am pulled towards the shadows.

But as I keep skiing, less and less energy is fed to the fear. I start to catch glimpses of the familiar rush. I remember this is something I enjoy. My body knows what to do. Conversation becomes more interesting than worrying about falling 30 feet. I remember about trust. And joy. Now the trick is to get that to rub off on the other areas of my life...

This is my life.

Speaking of surprises in life. There are a few things I never thought I could do:

1. Rock climbing.

When I started working with an outdoor education organization, I was just in it for the camping, hiking, and kayaking. those people who climb were cool and hard core. I could never... But I loved the people who loved it. So I tried it. And I won't lie, it was terrifying at first. It's all about trust, and I have some issues in that area. Trust in your belayer, trust in the equipment, trust in your body, trust that observers wouldn't ridicule, etc. But I loved the people who loved it, so I tried it. And despite the difficulties, there was a moment on the first day when I was frustrated and sure I was stuck, but I said "what the hell" and put all my weight on a foot I was sure wouldn't hold me. But it held and I pulled myself up over the face of the rock. It was that moment that I felt my old athletic and strong self that had retreated into deep corners of my rebellious post-adolescent self-destructive self. And the impossible happened, I leapt but didn't fall. So I climb, even if not very well. To be in touch with my strength and my possibility. Me vs. gravity.

2. Triathlons.

I've always had a feeling of awe when I hear "oh, s/he does triathlons." THOSE people are really remarkable. I swam competitively for years (but was never top tier) and I am an avid cyclist, but the one year I did cross country in high school I was THE slowest runner. And I'm not really that into public humiliation. What if I couldn't do it? It wasn't worth the risk to find out. But a friend did one. So I asked a lot of questions and the wheels started turning. Maybe I could be one of those people... The keys were starting VERY slowly and finding the right gear - shorts/pants that don't ride up and a uniboob-proof jog bra. Seriously. I wasn't all that big - size 12/14 when I started, but I had a really hard time finding gear that worked and didn't make me look ridiculous, and that helped me hold back for a long time. Do you hear that, clothing industry? (Thank god for Title Nine, but even they are skewed towards the flat and skinny.) The amazing thing about competing in these races (in addition to my new size 8/10 body) is the connection I feel to my body. I can listen to my muscles and know when to push and when to back off. A lot of the time it is frustrating and hard, but more often than not I am pleasantly surprised. And it always feel worth it in the end.

Big secret: most people could do it if they wanted to. Our bodies are capable and willing to be molded. But don't tell. Part of me likes it when people are impressed.