Into the Woods

As tends to be the case with me, I've spent the past few months failing to see the forest for the trees. As also tends to be the case with me, I took things one (or twenty?) steps too far. I dive into most endeavors with an attitude of reckless abandon, be it baking banana bread (I make a mean loaf...) or bike riding.

Sometimes that attitude works well. "Let's throw every modicum of free time at this one, singular pursuit!" I tell myself. What well-rounded person was ever particularly successful? Why would I take time to enjoy other things I like to do?

And then I read someplace that sometimes less is more? Preposterous.

I seemed to have missed the memo telling me to chill out. And so I didn't. I kept hammering away. But what I was building with my hammer was falling apart faster than I could nail it together. I've always been terrible at proper hammering. Ask anyone for whom I worked as a farm hand. Do not let this girl have the hammer. Seriously, though, I was beating myself up. Mentally. Physically.

"Between every two pine trees there is a door leading to a new way of life." - John Muir

After what felt like my millionth sleepless night this year -- not sleepless, however awake at an hour no person should see -- I decided to take some time off. To rest.

Rest is hate speech for me. I was working with a friend to help build workouts at the beginning of the year, and he reminded me of the advice I always ignore: If your legs or head don't feel right, don't do the workout. I started out training with dead legs, as the result of some suboptimal winter riding choices, which resulted in a surprisingly low score on my first test. I can just train that out of myself. Right? It's a perfect recipe: continue to train my clearly exhausted body, add in a large splash of parenting stress and sleeplessness. And try to lose weight while eating this soup.

These woods in which I've found myself in these past couple of months seems hard to navigate at times. My compass spins and whirs. I am as inept at orienteering as I am at hammering. Metaphorically and in real life.

But what I've found is that there's life outside of my bike. (What? I promise I'm right. Right? RIGHT?!? Ahhhh!) I can change the way I respond to stressors. (I guess I don't have to turn into the Momster and thrive only on wine and beer after 4:00PM...) What's more, my hyper-emotionalized reaction usually ends up negatively impacting any situation, whether it's a bike race, tough parenting situation, or any other tricky situation. It's the same lesson I've been learning since I started writing this blog: breathe in, breathe out, be here, be now, stop trying to escape. Everything will work out.

Will I ever be the girl I was a year ago, before I beat myself ill? I don't know yet. And maybe my current evolution is better. Perhaps this new branch on my tree will be the strongest, most fruitful so far. I only know that change is the precursor to growth.