30 December, 2014

Bracing for impact, in the best way possible.

A new year approaches quickly! Ride out and tell your friends. Tell them to brace for spectacular moments, and the darkest of times, highs and lows, and the stark beauty that comes at extremes and in between, in the gray moments between the black and the white.

I'm hard put to give up this Christmas season. It has been the best Christmas ever, in spite of the sadness leading up to it. And yet, in that sadness, we all came together, loved each other, and spent time together in a place we normally don't. And we all went back to our homes to rush into the hustle and bustle of the holiday season. Paul captured my heart in the most amazing way possible... with my love for a bike, and with wonderment at his giving heart. Hobbes was his sweet Christmas self, and we spent time with all our loved ones, and it was beautiful.

But that's sort of the way this year has been. At the beginning of the year, and felt like I was falling apart physically. As the days turned into weeks, though, I grew into someone I never knew I'd become. I love that life is like that, how we humans are never done growing and changing, morphing into someone new, as time goes by. It's precious, and while I know I complain, regularly and often, I'm enjoying the process of becoming me.

I made resolutions last year that I upheld. One, to rebuild my body. I actively pursued all possible methods, from nutrition to strength training, and while my body, much like my general person, is always changing and morphing, it's safe to say I'm stronger than I've ever been before. Second, on a related note, I resolved to go an entire year without heels, minus a few noted caveats. On this account, I never strayed, even though I was tempted a few times. My feet feel better... my legs feel better... I can't say I'll never wear uncomfortable footwear again, but my year without heels changed my outlook on how to dress.

I've tried new things this year, from skating to mountain biking, and even just riding with the fast kids. I've had dark moments, where parenting felt too hard, or when I felt I would never have a career. There have been bean burritos and steaks, margarita cupcakes, and caramel pies. Moments of question, and times of faith.

As I look to 2015, I wonder what it will hold. As for plans, resolutions, and ideas, here's what I have:

1. Blog twice monthly.
        Be willing to blog about things that aren't family or bike related. Understand that sometimes it might be hard, and that my writing may not be of the best quality, work hard, post anyway. Sometimes I tell people I'd like to write for a living. I can't do that if I'm not writing and honing my craft.

2. Read one book monthly.
        On a related note, if I want to write more and better, I need to read more, particularly writers with style, wit, and storytelling capabilities.

3. Meditate once daily.
        I feel like much of the stress I experience results from thoughts that I allow to hold me captive and a lack of willingness to step up to challenges, and alternately know when to step away and say no. I want to be able to approach life with a clear mind.

4. Ride 5000 miles for the year.

So, there you go. My resolutions. Some of them will be easier than others. Brace yourself for the amazing impact of 2015, when it comes barreling through your door on Wednesday night. Start Thursday feeling good about you, where you are, where you're going, and what there is in store. Start it with love in your heart.

18 December, 2014

... might be a third life crisis... or maybe the stirring in my soul...

Or some shit like that. Thanks Mr. Mayer for the lyrics that I poorly abused.

I'm too old for Mayer's "quarter life crisis," and too young for a midlife crisis. And yet, I feel a creeping, anxious sensation, a little (obnoxious... high-decibel...) voice telling me my life isn't where it should be, isn't what it should resemble. I look at my friends, with so much going on with their things that involve the words professional and career, and what I do pales by comparison. I'm a community organizer whose performance is iffy at best. I blog to a tiny audience, and I'd be terrified to take it further. I'm a mom to the sweetest, cutest boy on the block, but that doesn't bring home any proverbial bacon. I ride bikes, but I'm not an amazing cyclist. I'm doing nothing show stopping... in spite of the fact that I really think I am an individual with intellect, wit, a personable person with lots of talent and a wide range of interests.

But I try to look up when that voice gets too loud, and remind myself to be patient, and that really, things are good. I remember that I have years and years ahead of me to try lots of different doors and find the right one, even though it isn't open right now. Sometimes I think there are people who wake up the morning they turn 18 and know what they want to do with their lives. I don't think I did. I had ideas, like I always do... but most of that revolved around my desire to travel and look at art, and to write about that. Before that, I wanted to be a geologist. After that, an artist, then a horse trainer, then an ag teacher. Finally, I settled on International Relations, mostly because I love to write and enjoy the interaction on the international stage. I also wanted to make a difference in the world... that bit... that lack of making a difference on a grand scale... that's the hardest to work through.

I try to look up and see the amazing things I do now that I would never have imagined back then. The things I've seen travelling with the family I never planned. The feelings I've felt, parenting or climbing a mountain on my bike. The freedom to compose whatever I want to, and share it with the world. All this freedom comes at a cost, and some days that cost feels expensive.

I don't have a professional life, one of established knowledge. Mostly, my life consists of dragging my hands along a long wall in the dark, in search of an elusive light switch. I have no clue what I'm doing usually.  Often, I feel like I'm doing a disservice to my expensive and expansive education.

Then I see the way I can parent and teach our boy because of my broad range of learning. He already communicates in very simple French. He learns about different types of rocks and the way they are formed. He knows how to ride a bike, and has a heart of empathy. I'm able to wake up most mornings and decide what our day will hold, with flexibility to achieve my own small goals along the way. I have the chance to work in my community to help others. I have lots of blank spaces to fill in, and lots of time to madlib and adlib. I didn't grow up at 18. Why am I in a rush?

Why do I have to complicate my life?

The swirl of feelings and emotions that are the basis of my thoughts can suck it. I'm where I am, where I'm supposed to be. I'm growing, blooming late. When most of my peers have seemingly ended their age of self discovery and moved on to self knowledge, I'm still changing, learning, gaining knowledge, experiencing metamorphoses. I'm alright with that. That voice... that little, shrill, irritating, doubtful jessie inside... she can go to hell.

03 December, 2014

It's Not NYE, But Let's Go Retro

... retrospective, that is. Because I like progress like a pregnant woman likes ice cream. My husband also likes ice cream. He is not pregnant...

A year ago, last Thursday, I was in a serious wreck... I became a serious wreck. I shambled into Thanksgiving dinner and probably made my poor Grandmother worry more about me than she already likely does.

I hit a dog, and was subsequently terrified of dogs for months.

I was already afraid. Something about being chased by forty pound dogs that look shockingly like the Monty Python fluffy bunny will give you the heebie jeebies if you don't have your emotions and mental state under wraps. Add to that hitting a dog while flying down the hill at 20 mph (a slow roll down a hill, really...), and you'll have a girl with a serious case of cynophobia.

I spent months riding around with dog spray in my pocket, until I realized a few things... it was a crutch, I needed to get my head on straight, and that it didn't always even work that great. Honestly, the scenario usually plays out like-a-so:

Riding along, approaching a house where I already know there's a dog. It's in the flats... I know I can outrun the dog, or deal with it properly, but there goes my heart rate on its little escalator to the stars, just the same. Grab dog spray from jersey pocket. See dog running at me. Freak out. Start spraying early. Ride... through... pepper spray. I can't tell you how many times I did that this summer... one day I went and climbed a mountain nearby with lips that felt like they must resemble Angelina Jolie's. The preemptive strikes hurt me more than the stupid dogs.

Ouch? Ouch.

I can only think of one time where the dog spray actually saved me from dismemberment. I deployed that shit right into a doberman's face as a climbed a hill. But that's an outlier... right?

So now that I'm riding "unarmed," so to say, am I on high alert all the time? No. I think I'm likely calmer and more collected. I try to keep my head on and react properly, instead of worrying about the dog that lies ahead, with its "sharp, pointy teeth." (Thanks again, to MP for that visual.) It's also one less item to jam into my jersey pockets, which are already on the small side. (I eat a lot on the bike... I gotta stash my food someplace...)

I always try to find the silver lining in the bad experiences... if there is one here, it's that the wreck eventually forced me to take control of my emotions and be calm in bad situations. It's a zen in the eye of the storm set of circumstances, where I have to calmly consider all possible actions and consequences in rapid time. I'm pretty sure there's a life lesson in there somewhere, if you dig really deeply, so maybe pull out your shovel.

25 November, 2014

Alright, Eleanor.

"Do one thing every day that scares you." - Eleanor Roosevelt



Me, just after a skating-induced nervous breakdown. Scary stuff, people!
 
Lately, I've been taking this advice to heart. Sometimes I worry you guys think of me as a crazed adrenaline junky, a girl who will try anything once. I don't want to disappoint you, but I'm not. In fact, I usually live somewhere between utter terror of injury and cautious joy at physical adventure through exertion.

I worry about falling over as I climb tough hills. I'm concerned I might fall down stairs, especially slippery ones. As I get older, I find myself becoming an obsessively cautious driver, cyclist, athlete, mom, human. They idea of broken bones or sprains are nearly unbearable... what would I do with myself?

On the other side of that fear is usually something exhilarating and fun. I realize that. It's why I push through fear on the bike, and in the rest of my life. That burst of joy is what keeps our wheels turning daily, as we seek happiness through action.

With the search for exhilarating happiness in mind, I've recently taken up a new past time: roller skating.

Skating was never high on my priority list as a child. My parents never took me skating, and the handful of times I went as an older child -- they didn't call us tweens then -- resulted in feelings I can only describe as pain and self-loathing. I was chubby and clumsy, and the act of putting wheels underneath my feet only highlighted that fact. I couldn't wrap my head around how people could possibly glide along the floor so gracefully.

Flash forward around twenty years. Late bloomer me is strong, healthy, and increasingly bilaterally coordinated (thanks, cycling!), and (here's the kicker) I have a small child who wants to learn to skate. The Husband used to be an aggressive inline skater, so he's an ace on eight wheels, which is good since one of us needs to help the Hobbes-it. We started going to the skating rink a few weeks ago. I just sat on the benches, skateless, the first time. The next time, my friend's words resounded in my head, her encouragement that I would regret not trying it again. I slipped my feet in, and began to shuffle around like a newborn foal. I didn't fall that night, but never left the carpeted area, either. The following time, I made it onto the floor after shedding a few tears in the gaming area at how scary it felt. I keep making improvements each time we go... I like that feeling. I'm also growing to enjoy the feeling of rolling around the floor more than I ever thought I would.

I still wouldn't say I like or enjoy skating. That's a stretch. What I do like is a sense of accomplishment and the boost of confidence that comes with it. There's also an added kick in the pants when you're the lone adult out on the floor barely moving around the edge, clinging to the walls: you can't take yourself too seriously.

And then I fell tonight, and I realized falling wasn't so bad anyway. That's what Eleanor meant when she said to try something that scares you, that in attempting that fearful thing, you'd find out it wasn't so bad as you had expected, and learn to live presently and wholly. That's something I can feel good about as I fall and get back up. I'll continue my physical expedition to the happy and joyful.

11 November, 2014

A Day of Honor

Veteran's Day: "A celebration to honor America's veterans for their patriotism, love of country, and willingness to serve and sacrifice for the common good." - Veteran's Administration

The more years I see in my life, the more gravity the commitment of the men and women in uniform holds for me. It seems almost shoddy to me that we honor their sacrifice only one day a year. So let's seize this single day, and shout out our pride, with love and affection for those who would lay down their lives for their friends. Today, let's remember our veterans. Today, let me tell you a story.

My grandfather was born into very southern Appalachia, in Paint Rock, AL. I love to hear his stories about his childhood. He worked hard, laboring in the fields as a young boy, but also tells me of the fun he had. I only hope we can provide our boy with half the opportunity to be alone, to be wild, to enjoy the world around him with reckless abandon. I worry he won't have friends who are given the same free rein. I want him to be free, like my grandfather.

He tells a story of a road over a small mountain that was near to his house. When he would venture out into the valley, away from home, he would always sprint through the tree cover, fleeing the large, wild cat that stalked through the area. (It was either a mountain lion or bobcat... I suppose I should inquire the next time I see him.) When he would get to the other side of the small mountain (the road still goes through this area), he would stop and catch his breath and continue on his way. He would do the same thing as he returned home. He got around on foot, sometimes by bicycle if he was lucky. I always find he relates well to my adventures... he gets it, because he knows that you love the land most when you fully experience it in true contact.

My grandfather is full of stories. It often crosses my mind that his was the last of the great generations of story tellers, folks who could whistle a tune and weave together their words to take you far away, and effortlessly convey deep, meaningful ideas and concepts. They are the great wordsmiths... I can only wish to be half the conveyor or myth and truth that my grandfather is. I've wondered before if, with more education, he could have been a great author. Sometimes I wish that was the case; I can scarcely do justice to his tales. I'd wager my love of words and language was handed down to me, by my grandfather and his siblings.

During the Korean War conflict, he spent time with the Corps of Engineers building flight lines for airplanes. A few years ago, I sat down with him to chat about his experiences for a class assignment. He told me about the frigid winters, his work, seeing planes crash, fires... unbelievable things, half way around the globe. During that time, he went places I dream of visiting. San Francisco, Japan... beautiful places, punctuated by his war experience in between. But he always wanted to come back home, to the south. And so he did.

When he returned home, he used the knowledge, experience, and expertise he had gained in the Army to build a successful business with a bulldozer. Even now, when I travel around the area, I look at hills and embankments, and I see and know his handiwork. The beautiful slopes, cleared of trees as cows wander aimlessly, chomping on the grass... those are the art of my grandfather's hands. He might also tell you the cows had shorter legs on one side so they could manage the tough terrain.

I haven't tested this hypothesis, but I regularly take the liberty of telling my own child the same thing.


27 October, 2014

Just because you can, doesn't mean you should...

Lately, I've been feeling kind of... crappy. Unmotivated in general, only up to the laziest of tasks. Bikes rides are wiping me out. I look tired. And no thirty-something girl wants to look tired. Or to feel too lazy to do important things like cook dinner or write.

When I feel like this, it always takes me a couple of weeks to think long and hard and realize that when I eat like shit, I perform like shit. There, I said it.

You would think that since we spent the summer getting Paul to Ironman glory, we would have been eating the cleanest diet around. If that is, in fact, what you are thinking, you are wrong. So wrong, it makes me laugh. We've been eating terribly for the past six months.

I was whining on my ride on Saturday about my legs cramping yet again and my heart rate going high yet again, all while riding with a guy I know who always has his nutrition dialed in to perfection. I felt a little silly complaining in front of him... because in the back of my mind, I knew the way I've been feeling had more to do with nutrition than any other factor.

I'll admit that I think I'm more affected by poor nutrition than the average bear. And when it affects me, it hits me hard. Crampy legs. Grumpy demeanor. General malaise. The desire to get off my bike and take a nap on the side of the road.

Sometimes I find myself in the mindset that because my metabolism will generally support the consumption of ridiculous amounts of processed foods and other crap, I should just go ahead and eat it. Unfortunately, I can't rely on my body to do crazy good things when I'm not feeding it crazy good things. Just because I can sit around eating handful after handful of cookies on any given night with very little repercussion in the area of pounds gained, it doesn't mean it's a good idea for my body. Dangit, this is my temple, and I only get one chance at this life... why am I wasting my time eating like that?

Tonight restarts proper eating at the Schwer household. No more late night runs to pick up a decadent treat. Dave Ramsey says something like, "If you eat lobster all the time, it isn't special anymore." I don't eat lobster (yuck. they're creepy, with their little antennae and claws...) but I think it's that way with everything.

Time to reset. Time to pull back the forces and return to basics. I want to be the best mom and cyclist I can be. I can't do that if I don't feel up to the task.

06 October, 2014

Ride to Jack and Back

This was my second year riding in the MidSouth MS Chapter's localized MS150, Ride to Jack and Back. Last year was a poor point of perspective... I was just coming off an (another...) overuse injury to my hamstring/knee, and was slightly under the weather that day, so I didn't ride well, in spite of riding only the short route.

My ride this year, though, was amazinggruelingfuninterestingfulloflearning. That's all one word.

Now that I'm sitting here on my sofa with a glass of wine, a full day later, I'm ruminating on the excitement of the weekend. It was perfect. The perfect culmination of a year of riding. I couldn't have asked for better conditions to have some of my fastest rides to date, with people who challenge me and teach me every time I ride with them.

On the first day, at one of the food stops, a woman walked up to me and a few of the folks with whom I was riding to talk to us. She clearly wasn't a rider, and I wondered what she was going to say. Her words struck me hard, as she told us she was grateful for our efforts at fundraising and riding, and how we were helping pay for her astronomically expensive medication which she could never afford on her own.

This passing conversation shed a new light on what we're doing at this ride every year. While I always felt the contribution my donors and I made were worthwhile, I had only ever met one other person who benefited from the work the MS Society does in communities just like mine and yours. There are plenty of other rides that benefit other amazing organizations (JDRF, etc.), and the issue is the same across the board. Even our small rider contributions, made possible through big personal contributions by our donors, make a difference in the life of someone else. Those are pedal strokes I can feel good about.

14 September, 2014

Make Peace With the Cold

It's coming. Brace yourselves.

Dry, cold air, burning in your lungs, as the trees surround you, lifeless in the still, frigid air.

There's a reason they had to write a song about winter being the "most wonderful time of year," and it's because it isn't.

But this year, I'm going to try something. I'm going to try to be at peace with the winter.

This will be a challenge. As a self-proclaimed Vitamin D junkie, I'm not always sure what to do with myself on the terribly short days of the dead of winter. I think I could deal with the cold weather, if not for the limited daytime hours. How am I supposed to get in an evening bike ride? Go to the park? Do anything fun outside? ... good thing you don't have to mow the yard in the winter.

I plan to throw myself into wintry things... sewing, crafting, baking, super cold bike rides. Maybe even mountain biking... (eep!) A little balance to my love of summer and all things fueled by heat and humidity. Breathe into it, lean into it, the cold, the discomfort.

I will do it. Some days, I will inevitably falter. But overall, I will work to be peaceful.

03 September, 2014

Big Steps, Baby Steps.

I haven't taken the time to write in a while. Sometimes I sit down, type a couple paragraphs, start chasing the proverbial rabbit, and discontinue my composition. I want to express myself well. Always. I'm aiming to blog at least once a week for the month of September. Maybe I can keep that up even after these weeks of writing are over. The written word is my drug of choice... especially since I've given up caffeine. Sometimes I think I should write simply to write, in a less public forum. In a notebook, full of my thoughts and short stories, to hone the craft of wordsmithing even more. Who knows... someday maybe I will.

But right now, my life is religiously devoted to a few intricately woven threads. Paul's race... much of our family's energy is engaged in propelling him toward a good, injury-free race day on September 28th. I can't wait to cheer him across the line. As always, momming is the utmost priority... it's my vocation, what I do. I'm also seeing this curious light at the end of the tunnel, one where Hobbes goes to school, one I waited for, for so long. But now that I see it, I'm left feeling a little lost, like I'm not sure what I'll do with myself when he goes off to regular school. I'm sure it'll flesh out, and I'll find a new avenue for myself. Maybe it'll be one where I continue to stay home, stoking the home fires, or perhaps any of another million options I think about daily. Time will tell. I'm in no rush to find out.

The one thread, the thing that holds me together, the lock that has kept me spending time with my IM training husband... the glue... the bike. I did something new-ish Monday, a step I've wanted to take for a while. I went for a ride with the faster folks, with the safety net of a no-drop ride. But without the husband-along-to-rescue-me safety net I rely on all too often.

It was an easy ride for them, I'm pretty sure. A little breathless for me in places, climbing hills that even a year ago would have elicited tears instead of the occasional f-bomb that escaped my mouth the other day. Hanging on in the flats where in the past I would have been dropped. It felt good... it feels good... to see my hard work, all those miles and hours... paying off, pedal stroke by pedal stroke. I hope there's more of this to come. Someday, maybe I'll hang on without the promise of a safety net. Right now I'm grateful for the people who believe in me, coach me, and encourage me to try new, harder rides.

So today, cheers to being a stronger rider and writer, chasing the unending, always moving goals of personal growth, sometimes with big steps, sometimes with baby steps.

22 July, 2014

#filter #nofilter

Yes, those are hashtags, my friends. Hashtags. Because I have a terrible sense of humor.

I've been thinking about what makes us unhappy. I struggle (everyone but my husband does, I'm pretty sure...) with unhappiness. What makes me feel high? What makes me feel low? How do I avoid the things that incite rage/sadness?

You can't. Impossible = avoiding calamity, whether in the form of a screaming three year old, a dog eating the trash again, an asshole driver, or any other thing that causes discontent. Those things... they come anyway. Sometimes as a trickle. Sometimes as an onslaught. Try to fight them, and you'll get mowed down. Give in too much, and you'll get swept away. Strike a gentle balance where you let it pass over and around you, and that might get you somewhere. Or nowhere, if that's your intent.

So you can't avoid it, but you shouldn't go out and seek unhappiness in your moments. This is what I think we are most guilty of as fellow people on this planet. Instead of taking in where we are in the moment, we fight against it...

What if we all took a moment to look up from what we are doing, and instead of grinding away at our lives, engaging in our lives. Give up the need to drive ahead to tomorrow and choose to, in the words of Garth from Wayne's World, "Live in the now, Wayne, live in the NOW." Instead of using the instagram filter on our lives, enjoy the filter-less version, good-bad-ugly, in the moment, breathing into the world and into your life. Opt to believe the best about those who love us, not the worst. Accept things as they are, knowing they won't always be that way, and that every moment of life and growth is a special moment to be cherished, culminating in the best you. Active in your life, but not forceful.

I challenge you. #nofilter.

06 July, 2014

"They're Just Friends You Haven't Met Yet..."

I went on a ridiculous bike ride the other day. Part of this trip was some Dirty Dozen Hill preview fun. "Fun." By fun, I really just mean standing at the bottom of the steepest hill I've ever seen, and crying like a fool for twenty minutes, because I wanted to climb so badly, but my logical mind kept telling me it was a bad idea. I felt like I could walk up and lean my bike on it. Climbing it would nearly defy the laws of physics. And though it seems like an impossible feat, every Saturday after Thanksgiving (and apparently other times throughout the year when the hill is actually open...), people do, in fact, climb it. The other two killer hills we climbed that day were challenging, but I made it up with no trouble.

At some point in the ride, I told Paul this was stupid, and I really didn't want to come do the race anymore. I was serious. As we talked, he said most of the hills were no worse than anything I'd see at home. I told him I felt like those were hills I knew, old friends whom I climbed regularly. I'm a fairly closed person, and I confess I don't always like meeting new people. Situations where I will are stressful. I feel the same way about hills.

Hard hills always feel to me as though I have to let down my guard and be really candid; I don't like that. I thrive on situations where I am in control, and don't like to give that up. Paul pointed out that hills I don't know are, "just friends I haven't met yet." And on some level, that's true. Ravine and Center Street left me hurting, but hungry for more. I'm sure that if I can convince myself to attempt it, Berry Hill Road will do the same.

But I'll be honest... that was the hardest 8-9 miles I've ever ridden. Complaints about challenging rides at home go out the window riding up here. I look at some of these roads and wonder how on earth they ever paved these streets. It's baffling. Berry Hill closes during the winter because it can't be plowed. Cobblestones are aplenty on other hills. Strange riding around these parts. If my cycling days had begun in this town, I'm not sure I'd be riding still. My standard for "hard" has changed. No longer will I say, "Well, I can make it up Alto, I can do x." Henceforth, my standard will state, "I rode up Ravine and didn't die. I can do this."

I need to work on unshrouding myself, being consistently real and taking risk. Meet new people and roads candidly, and allow myself to grow.

27 May, 2014

Sunny Side Up

Yesterday we went to watch the Pro Cycling Championships in Chattanooga. Amazing experience. If you dig cycling, and are close enough, go next year.

We were hanging out, had gone to the expo and gotten freebies of all sorts, and were grabbing water/lemonade for the grumpy butt, hot, tired Hobbes-it in the downtown viewing area bier garten. The boy and I were hanging out on the grass in the shade, passively watching on the jumbotron, when a guy who had obviously been racing walked up with his bike and sat down in the grass. I initially assumed he had raced in the crits earlier, but as he hung out, I realized he had decided to bow out of the race.

Me being... well... me... often if I've had a bad ride, I can get grumpy and kind of want to be left alone. And so leave him alone, I did. Another fellow sat down near me, too, obviously in the same situation. So, instead of talking to them, and offering them a slice of pizza or something, I just sat there.

One of the volunteers walked up soon, and asked the fellow behind me if he'd like something other than what was in his water bottles to eat, handed him some cash, and the guy was really grateful. So I felt kind of bad.

I ended up talking to both of them, and both had the same things to say when I talked to them about their rides that day, their performance, and how they felt about it. They weren't mopey. In fact, both told me something like, "It happens..." or "I thought it might happen..." when they told me about where they train and their expectations for the day.

Paul later made the point to me that they were of the lucky (not lucky... you make your own damn luck.) few who had even crossed the start line that day. Gratefulness for the accomplishments you already achieved...

But it made me think about how I approach rides that are tough on me. When I consider how I should act, I should conduct myself as a champion, and take what I'm given, and smile and nod. Game face on, outside and inside. Being mentally strong isn't about covering up a whining inside with a smiling outside... it's about shutting out the whiner deep inside, when it's mile 70 and I'm really starting to hurt. That happened Sunday. I think I actually pushed through well, breathing, maintaining mental clarity and physical form. That doesn't always happen for me... and I need to take notes from the pros I chatted with and just roll with the punches and know it isn't always going to be rainbows and cupcakes when I'm on two wheels, as a parent, or as a worker. Only by giving up on the poutiness am I going to give myself room to grow.

10 May, 2014

Satuhdee mornin' Pensive.

"I never really had a broken heart, you don't believe me, just look in my chest,
While some people like to run and hide... I've never really been undone..." - Dr. Dog, "Broken Heart"

Choose not to be undone :) Check your responses to what surrounds you. Make the choice to be happy. Do the things that bring you joy. Find joy right where you are.

I never planned on momming. But it happened to me... sometimes it's tough for me to find joy in the things I didn't choose for myself, the things that happen. Sometimes momming is tough, when I've said for the millionth time in a day that it isn't okay to pounce on the dog or pull his tail. This thing that happened... at first I thought it might break my heart. That tiny person who stopped my dreams in their tracks.

But those dreams were petty. They were built on things that didn't matter as much as I thought. I learned to go with the flow and see where life took me instead of chasing purpose. And fancy this: I'm a happier person.

Things are rolling in my life in a spectacular way. I learned to do less muddling when things are tough and enjoy those moments as much as I can... why not? They're my moments, my family's moments.

I love who motherhood has made me. I'm grateful for the chance to mom my precious, rambunctious, unpredictable, curious, sometimes mouthy and recalcitrant little boy. I only hope I can do the job I've been given to the best of my ability, to mom with ahimsa and understanding.

Happy Mother's Day, lovies!

21 April, 2014

At our age...

I was hanging out with my sweet grandmother yesterday at our family Easter gathering. We were talking about her recent sixtieth wedding anniversary, and she said that she felt like it had changed the way she looked at things. She told me about how they like to grab a burger when they're in town, she and my grandfather. The doctors in charge of my grandfather's pace maker closely monitor his data, and my grandmother told me that during one phone call, the nurse had asked if he ate salt. My grandmother had told her that yes, actually, they had decided that at their age they should be able to indulge from time to time. The nurse had laughingly agreed. I did too! The conversation continued, and she told me she had started being more willing to just tell people that no, they couldn't make it to events late at night, and that she didn't feel bad.

I laughed and told her I agreed. And I do. We're only here for a while, to work and to play. We should maximize our time, yes. We we should also maximize the life in our days. Sometimes that means taking on risk. Sometimes it means protecting your private time, especially if you're an introvert like me. Sometimes it means stepping outside your comfort zone and taking time away from yourself.

Living life well, I realize more and more, is about balance. Challenge the status quo, but not to the point it becomes far too heavy or stressful. Work through stress to challenge the status quo. Yin and yang. Light and dark. We all have a little of each. We can't overfeed one and neglect the other. Fuel them both. Feel good.

17 April, 2014

... a sad moment.

I just read Gabriel Garcia-Marquez has passed away. I stopped what I was doing, and came to sit down to type my feelings out, as though people care that I'm quite attached to an old man author I've never met.

But I am.

And so I'm sitting here with tears in my eyes.

To say I adore Gabo's style is light. I read his books during a complicated time in my life. I loved his work. Ardently. I would feverishly read until untold hours in the morning, drag myself through a day's work in retail, sneak blips of reading as often as I could between customers... devouring his books.

When I found out I was pregnant, Paul suggested we name the Hobbes-it after a character in one of my books... I told him Aureliano probably wasn't a great name.

I had, for some reason, held out hope I'd somehow meet Gabo someday. Now I don't even have that.

*sigh* So is life, I suppose.

13 April, 2014

Ladies and Gentlemen!

I'm pleased to make an exciting announcement, and I can't think of a better place than here...

Thursday afternoon, I was chosen to be the director of a new joint effort of Get Fit Tullahoma and the Highland Rim Bicycle Club. The program (as yet unofficially named) will repurpose bikes seized by the police department for a bike rebuilding program for local youngsters who need a bike for transportation and fitness.

The bike has been a game-changer for me, and if you know me, you know how passionate I am about helping other people gain access to that gift. Studies have repeatedly shown the benefits of cycling to school for youngsters, in the form of better grades, greater responsibility, and increased ability to solve complex problems.

But I firmly believe the bike is more than just a tool for better education and better health. It's an everpresent challenge, a symphony of work and reward. It's the basis of a community of people with whom I adore and love to spend time.

On the surface, it may look like we are simply helping kids rebuild a bike and a simple mentorship program. It's so much more. It's a tool for betterment in every area of their lives. I'm ecstatic to begin this new journey :)

09 April, 2014

Brace for Failure.

I always see these motivational pictures floating around on Facebook and Pinterest (they likely exist on Twitter and Tumblr too... I knoweth not.) that say something like, "What would you do if you knew you could not fail?"

ohhh... jazzzzzzy.

So a fairy plops down in front of you, taps you with her twinkling wand of perfection, and you can't fail. Well, what would you do? If  it were me, and I was somehow immune to entropy, you know what I'd do? I'd start some random company that I never have to touch again, and do nothing really important. I'd ride my bike, and I'd hang out beside my backyard swimming pool and drink little cocktails with umbrellas all day, and hang out with my husband and boy. The inability to fail wouldn't entice me to greatness. Frankly, the whole bit about not failing sounds like happy hyperbole.

Let's flip a table here, like a drunk girl in a restaurant. (You know who you are!)

What would you undertake if you knew you would fail at everything?

Freedom from failure, entropy, suffering... not inspiring. But what if you knew that no matter what you did, you'd fail? Because, generally speaking, that's the reality we face. Would you lay there and not try anything? Or (OR!!) would you try everything, accepting failure as the inevitable result and enjoying the journey to failure? Would you try crazy, unbelievable, beautiful things? The things you always wanted to do? Would you be willing to fail beautifully, to drop your guard, and fall hard?

I get it... failure and suffering hurt. I talked about that the last time...

The big concept I'm aiming at here is that maybe all failure isn't bad? If we stop punishing ourselves for failure, we open doors to huge opportunities to change our lives, others lives, the world around us.

29 March, 2014

The Happiness Complex


Over the past year or so, I've become fascinated by what is considered "positive psychology." I often say we only get one shot at this life, so it is imperative to make the most of it. I don't want to look back and find my years tainted endemically with sour, bitter unhappiness. I want happiness to be the prevailing factor.

Which, truly, is tough for me. Somewhere along the way, I fell into the habit of pinning happiness to the end of success, on scales large and small. I don't think I used to process life events this way; I remember someone telling me once I had the greatest propensity for joy of anyone he had ever known. I took pride in that. Perhaps I had just never had anything negative happen to me, though, at that point in my life. When things became challenging, when I felt those most important had lost faith in me, I gave up. Threw my hands in the air in exasperation. Felt like a failure because didn't meet my expectations, and allowed that to bring me down.

Then I became determined to never fail, because it hurt. And if (heaven forbid) I did? Self flagellate. Berate. You aren't good enough. You aren't good enough to be better. You aren't good enough to pursue the things you want. You, you, you. Place the onus on yourself, because you should be able to control your universe to benefit your own good intentions.

Commence the aim to always succeed. Make yourself more... miserable. Do things... amazing things. Be a parent. Be a wife. Be a mom/wife who swim bike runs her way back into health after having a baby only nine months before. But don't be happy with the process. Don't be happy with who you are along the way. You can always be better, and shouldn't be happy until you are better.

STOP THE MADNESS. Just... effing... stop it. NOW.

I'm hungry. We're all hungry. But what are we hungry for? Are we hungry for happiness? Hungry for success?

Change your approach. In everything.

Over the past year, I've been inundated with videos, books, movies, documentaries... everything media... telling me to make the choice to be happy. From Ann Voskamp to TED talk after TED talk, from the documentary Happy to every single blessed article about meditation, and even sports psychology tidbits... EVERYTHING I'VE READ SAYS TO LET THE OUTCOME GO.

Wait... what? Isn't that the most important thing, the outcome of my efforts? It used to make my brain nearly implode, rethinking how I approach the world and the things I want to do. "Let us not grow weary in doing good..." What is good? Isn't the process good? It shapes the outcome. Why not enjoy it?

We westerners... we let the weather influence how we feel about things. We allow our possessions to tell us who we are and how we feel about ourselves and alter our self-projection upon the world.

I (desperately) want to be a better, happier mother. I recently (recently? heck... this morning...) made the connection that an easy (easy? no... simple... yes.) way to be kinder, to be happier, is to be happy with the process of parenting. I can't perpetually be irritated because I correct the same things every single day. I can't let the process make me grumpy, hard hearted. Change the way my mind fields issues...

I'd always like to be faster on the bike. I'd like to be stronger. I'd like to be a better wife. I'd like to change the world. I'd like to be a better homechef. I'd like to make macarons without fear of the failure that would certainly ensue if I endeavor to make those shifty little cookies with the wonderful reward at the end. Maybe life is like baking macarons?

But what happens when I reach those goals, if I'm not happy with the journey to those goals. Success is a moving target, always escaping onto the horizon. Don't allow the chase to become a mere struggle. Success should be a celebration of happy tinkering, a moment's gratefulness for the moments that led to the culmination. Success is good, and worth striving for, but not at the sacrifice of happiness along the trail.

I had a breakthrough moment yesterday afternoon. I've recently been revisiting running, simply for the sake of running. I don't care how fast I am... I won't ever win any races on foot. But yesterday was a reminder of why I prefer the bike. Running is a cruel mistress. She breaks me, makes me want to puke, in a way the bike just doesn't. So I had a crappy run. I walked a lot at the end... but instead of pouting... instead of beating myself up... I practiced what I've been working so, so hard on. I chose to be happy. I chose to be gentle with myself. I chose to take the circumstances and make them positive. I walked along, enjoying the spring day. I picked flowers on the side of the road and brought them home. I put them in a pretty glass full of water, stretched, and said to myself:

"Self, running isn't your thing anymore. But that doesn't make it not worthwhile. It's fun. It's an adventure. It isn't always going to go well, but make the most of it anyway."

In that moment, I did something new... I chose not to berate myself. Because really, who cares if I had a crappy workout and had to walk? And what's mental self abuse going to accomplish anyway???

But isn't that like life in general? I'm going to have bad days as a parent, as a cyclist, in the gym, in my interactions with other people, as a wife, as a blogger, as a wannabe chef, as a yogi, as a dog owner. I'm going to fail. You're going to fail. But those failures... they don't have to be bad. They don't have to be the defining moments of our daysweeksmonthsyearsLIVES. I always tell Hobbes he can do things with a happy heart and mind or a grumpy one... I need to take my own advice.

17 March, 2014

Love.

"Love is our resistance..."
          - Resistance, Muse

The world of people have been weighing heavily on me. Each and everyone who chooses to act without love and care to the other inhabitants of this world, on any level. There's too much violence, too much hatred. It overwhelms me some days.

I'm always reminded that we only get one chance; every day, every week, every month, every year of our lives are the only ones we have. There are people whose chances at a healthy, happy life are slim. Some of them are trapped in the bondage of slavery at the hands of oppressors. Some face the tyranny of hunger, while others are the victims of any number of problems related to poverty.

We, here in our comfortable cars and homes... we are the lucky ones. Our developed country has more than it needs, overwhelmingly so. By all standards, we should be happy. We should be the people to choose to put others first.

But what I see every day, all too often, is people who actively opt to put themselves before others, choosing to endanger others on the roads and streets, in the towns and countryside. In the store, at the gas pump. On Facebook, the news. It never stops, this barrage. It's breaking me to watch this brokenness.

I posted about it on Facebook the other night, like I often do. But this time, I got responses that shook me, woke me from my sad slumber. I'm not here to angrily rage against the machine. I'm here to love. If I'm going to make a difference, it will be in the moments I choose to love instead of hate. Because it's far too easy to hate the blind fat catness I see on the faces of people who make the decision not to care about others. Simple to despise the people I pass in the grocery store, and on the street. The driver or dog owner who is negligent toward non-typical road users. When I choose hate instead of love, I am making the same decision I loathe so much in the character of the others.

Hate cultivates hate. Love cultivates love.

I can't let my fear drive me to hatred. It's too much weight for me to bear. It's numb and empty. It's imperative to be what I want others to be. Even when it hurts... but that presumes it will always hurt to make the choice to love the unlovable.

I have to approach this intelligently, to believe people can, indeed, change. Things can get better. There's the oft used, likely misplaced quote by Ghandi about being the change you wish to see in the world. I must be patient. I can't expect an overnight change. Things may never change, but that doesn't make my efforts worthless.

In contrast to the people I see doing the wrong thing, I must remind myself of the excellent things I see people do for one another, the kind things people do for me. The little boys who helped Hobbes up at the gym when they bumped him over playing basketball. The lady who let me go in front of her at the grocery store when I was dealing with a yelling three year old. The people who drive safely. The ones who are out there making a difference in the lives of those who've had no chance before.

Those people, those lovers, they must inform my worldview, how I operate, and what I assume about others. How I interact with those around me. How I conduct myself. Things can get better. They will.

Thanks to those who encouraged me the other night.

04 March, 2014

Lenten Time.

The last time I actually took the time to sit down and type, I was whining.

Shut the piehole, right? Things are never so bad as we think, typically, but sometimes things are worse than we'd like to admit. I was in a bad, bad place. I was suffering from severe malnutrition. My hair was falling out. I couldn't heal from small, inconsequential injuries, workouts, and serious injuries. My skin looked terrible. I was depressed. All this and more, because I wasn't providing my body enough nutritional value, particularly protein and vitamin B-12, among what I can only imagine as a corollary of missing vitamins and minerals.

Check in a few weeks later, and I'm so much better. I did stop the vegetarian diet. It works well for some people... I dig. I glanced at my food diary from the past year, and I saw a disturbing trend: I have never consumed enough protein. Likely not in my entire adult life. I've never been particularly carnivorous, and tended to favor lower calorie vegetables and fruits. And cookies... and cake...

So here I am now, head clearing from the fog that plagued me for months. I feel like there's one thing holding me back: excessive consumption of simple carbohydrates. I feel like an addict lately, with no self control. Plow through half a bag of Starburst jelly beans, gorge myself on GirlScout cookies and Lucky Charms the next night. THIS HAS TO STOP.

And stop here, it does. For Lent, I'm giving up sweets, limiting my alcohol and conventional bread intake... not because I necessarily want to lose weight. I need a clear head, heart, soul. It's imperative that I give up things that distract me from my goals, and this is a good place to start.

Here's to good health :)

09 January, 2014

Impossible. (Or, how I decided to rebuild the empire of my body.)

I think everyone knows my resolution: a year with no heels.

But here's what you don't know. Or maybe you have surmised it: I'm pretty sure my body is falling apart.

Not the whole kit and kaboodle. Just my legs. I was born with horrendously flat feet. It's hereditary. My dad's feet look as bad as mine, though I think his problems ramped up as he aged. It's been one problem after another for me for the past year and a half, mostly stemming from gait issues. Now, daily things hurt. Standing to fold the laundry is the worst of all things I can do. Sometimes chopping food for meals is uncomfortable. It's little things, here and there. They add up to make me feel a little hopeless some days.

I know lots of people with pes planus never have trouble. I think I started back too soon after producing a small person from my body. That, and over the past ten years, I've significantly ramped up my activity level. I wasn't doing things like this when I was a kid; my feet hurt, you know? So my body hasn't caught up, and is working up a stiff learning curve, and I refuse to let it catch up.

But there's something going on that I've never seen before. All the physical therapy and such for my right ankle is really beginning to show. When I stand in front of a mirror and act with a decided amount of proprioception, my foot doesn't fall in, and the symptomatic look of too many toes is completely gone. Now if the rest of my leg will catch up...

Anyway, I fell off some insane heels in soft soil and hurt my "good" foot. I think it's healing, but every time I get on the bicycle and put it under load, I have shooting pains. I think there's a doctor's visit in my near future. I'm not sure what's going on... I'm a little concerned I broke something.

Where am I headed with this?

I refuse to let my genetics determine what I can do. I can't accept the status quo. Falling apart too young, becoming a victim of the second law of thermodynamics... I can't do it. I won't go down without a fight. My plan? To spend the next year of my life rebuilding what I can of what I have been given. I don't believe I can't get better. The change I've seen in my right foot tells me there's hope. It's going to hurt. I'm going to miss out on miles on the bike probably. There's no better year to do this though; Paul will be training hard for Ironman Chattanooga. I won't have as much time for high mileage tromping. I'm not eliminating the possibility of a shot at the Dirty Dozen race in Pittsburgh, but I want to be ridiculously active and mobile for years to come. It is imperative that I fix what I can now. I'm giving myself a very protracted timeline. While I was born with this problem, my biomechanics didn't develop overnight. I can't expect immediate improvement.

I can get better. I will. I can't accept that failure is inevitable.