Month: March 2012

So, Who Are You?

Nothing about my bike trainer says "fun."

“It’s not who you are that holds you back. It’s who you think you’re not.” ~Anonymous

A couple weeks ago I was chatting with my friend, Edie, via the Hey Tell app. We were discussing exercise. She was telling me how much she hates it and how she wishes she enjoyed it like I do.

“Ummmm, Edie? I don’t know how to break this to you, but I hate to exercise.”

“What do you mean you hate it? You work out like all the time.”

“Well, it’s not all the time,” I admitted….(although it certainly feels like all the time). “But, when I do exercise, I can guarantee you I’m not enjoying it.”

“Really? Because you’re always doing those events. You climb the stairs at Red Rocks and do the 150-mile ride. You did that MS walk a couple years back. Last year you did the Warrior Dash.”

“Oh. I like doing events. I just don’t like training to do events. The training takes too long and the events are over far too quickly.”

“Huh. I always just assumed you like it.”

“I’m on my trainer right now and I can assure you that I am not finding this enjoyable at all. I do like the way I feel afterward, though, and that is usually what gets me through it. Well, that and television.”

“I guess that makes me feel better,” Edie said. “At least now I don’t feel like some folks enjoy it and it’s just me that doesn’t.”

“Edie, I’m sure some folks do enjoy it. I’m just not one of them.”

If Edie needed proof of my assertions, she’d need only ask Steve. Steve could tell her that any time we do a training ride together I complain. I whine as I’m getting dressed before we even get on our bikes. For the first ten minutes we’re riding I will make flippant remarks like, “Wow! This is such fun!” If we’re climbing stairs at Red Rocks, in between panting, I will be bitching about how much it sucks. On the second morning of the Colorado MS150 as we’re beginning the climb up Horsetooth Reservoir and we’re tackling the 9% grade on sore hineys from the previous day’s 75 miles, I’m swearing like a sailor who just hit her head on a steel beam below deck.

But, oh…the satisfaction I get when I fit into my clothes and there is no muffin top, the joy I get when I’m savoring every bite of ice cream after eating pizza for dinner without caloric panic, and the euphoria that exists when I roll under the 75-mile banner for the day….those moments more than trump the amount of hatred I have for exercise. Exercise is the means to an end. I truly dislike dripping sweat as I balance on one leg, twisted like a pretzel in Eagle pose in hot yoga. But, when I put on that dress that hits four inches above my forty-something year old knees and I notice that my legs look pretty darn good, it’s so worth it. It balances out.

So to all you folks who are just sitting around waiting for the “urge” to exercise to hit you this spring, may I politely and respectfully say…”GET OFF THE COUCH ALREADY!” There are a few crazy souls who wake up and can’t wait to get their butts handed to them in an hour-long boot camp. Most of us will never relish exercise quite they way they do. Stop waiting for the urge to exercise to hit you. Put one foot in front of the other and get out on the trail. Or squeeze into those bike shorts and hop into that bike. Dislike of exercise doesn’t make you unique. But, taking the initiative to override your distaste for exercise and pushing yourself to be better does. What are you telling yourself that you can’t do? Tell yourself to shut up, then go out do what you never thought you could.

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Vigilante Justine

Dental appointment confirmation overkill.

“The act of rebellion expresses a nostalgia for innocence and an appeal to the essence of being.” ~Albert Camus

I had a dental appointment today. Although I am very lucky as far as teeth go (only one cavity in nearly 44 years), I loathe going to the dentist. I do it because I never, ever want to soak my teeth in a glass at night. Two weeks ago, my very well-intentioned dentist sent me a reminder post card. The appointment has been in my iPhone since I made it six months ago, but the post card was a little heads up to start flossing every day. Good reminder. Two weeks is adequate time to get my teeth back in flossing condition.

Then, a week ago on both my home phone and my cell phone I received reminder messages, requesting that I call the dental office to confirm my appointment. I thought that was a bit excessive given the fact that 1) they’d just sent me a post card and 2) I’ve never missed an appointment or even arrived late for that matter. These pleasant reminders were becoming a bit intrusive. Feeling a bit rebellious, I decided not to return their calls. Ha! I’ll show you.

Then, four days ago, I got a reminder text on my iPhone asking me to confirm the appointment. Oh. Okay. Fine. I’ll do it. Get off my back already! So, I texted the required “C” response to them, happy to be finished with all the reminders. Or so I thought. Today, just one hour before the appointment, I got another appointment reminder. Seriously?

I was annoyed and I had to be at their office in one hour. My brain was spinning trying to think of possible revenge scenarios. Should I be late just to be as much of a pain in the butt as they were being? My responsible, just-and-fair self took over. No. It’s not fair to punish my hygienist just because the office is a bit OCD about reminders. I would feel bad if Candi was late to or missed her lunch hour because of my well-timed, silent hissy fit. (Yes. My hygienist is named Candi. How’s that for dental office irony?)

I drove to the appointment with my perfectly clean teeth courtesy of my Sonicare and one unit of threader floss. The entire way I was scheming. There had to be something I could do without actually having to confront anyone. (I’m conflict averse, you see.) I got to the office, parked, and went in to fill out my update sheet. That’s when it occurred to me. I should simply take my cell number off their information sheet. That way at least I’d be sure to get only one postcard and one phone call in six months. But, that was so adult. So mature. So boring. Instead, in my own little act of retaliation, I crossed out my cell phone number and made an amendment. I gave them a new cell phone number. I have no idea who it belongs to or if it’s even a working number. All I know is it’s not mine. Childish, yes. But, I feel so much better now. And, in six months when they start calling and texting me about my appointment, I will not be annoyed (although someone else might be a bit confused).

It’s funny how sometimes one little act of rebellion can make you feel powerful. Okay. Okay. So handing out a false number doesn’t actually make me a rebel. Heaven knows I’ve done it before. But, today I incorporated a bit of mischief into my otherwise calm, orderly, and vanilla suburban existence. Wonder where this could lead? If your trash can lid goes missing or you find the tree in your front yard covered with toilet paper, however, don’t look at me. I’m a responsible adult with impeccable decorum and a nearly flawless Cheshire cat grin.

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Don’t Make Me Bring Out the Bear

Okay. So he looks a little Romulan. He's still cute.

The other night at dinner, I nearly had to bring out Mama Bear. Those of you who are moms, have moms, or are married to women who are moms, know how serious this is. A woman only brings out Mama Bear when someone disparages or hurts her child. I very rarely bring out Mama Bear because she is sacred. Like the spot in the wall marked “In Case of Emergency,” you don’t break the glass and pull the alarm unless you’re absolutely in need of assistance. Mama Bear doesn’t go away easily once unleashed.

The other night I kept Mama Bear concealed not because I had nothing to say but because my son didn’t realize he was being teased. I did, but for the sake of not becoming snarky at the dinner table I let it slide. Why point out something to my son when he was so happily oblivious? Someone (who shall remain nameless) said, “Luke looks positively Romulan with that haircut.” Now, I’m not saying that my son’s hair does not resemble at times something out of Star Trek. For some reason, the poor kid’s sideburns do seem to grow toward a point when they get longer, but it’s not his fault. He’s got a thick, coarse mop of hair. It is unruly and does what it wants. Normally I would not care that a crack like this one had been made. Heaven knows I tease the kid a bunch myself, but that’s my job. Not someone else’s. To make matters worse, this is not the first time this particular person has made this same comment about my son’s hair. Mama Bear growled inside me, but I locked her back in her cage and ignored the remark. A birthday celebration is never the time or place to release the bear.

I don’t harbor any ill will towards the person who made the comment. Perhaps they thought they were making a clever and astute observation, a harmless and amusing remark. And it would have been nothing if it it had been made anywhere other than within earshot of the poor Romulan’s mother. I’m letting it slide because I know this person loves my son, crazy hair and all. Still…it would be best if I don’t hear this particular remark a third time because Mama Bear does strictly abide by the three-strikes rule. The first two strikes are gimmes. The third strike brings out the claws.

 

 

 

 

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Don’t Forget to Pack a Sweater

It's not Venice, but it's not home either.

“For my part, I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move.” ~Robert Louis Stevenson

I spent a couple hours today engrossed in one of my favorite pastimes…researching travel. I get nearly as much joy from researching trips as I do from actually taking them. I love to learn about other places. Like my son, I am obsessed with Google Earth. As much as I love Colorado (and I do love it), I need to escape it three to four times a year. I simply need a change of scenery. It doesn’t matter where I go, either. I don’t have to travel to an exotic locale for it to count. Nor do I have to travel somewhere I’ve never been before. I just need to “Get out of Dodge.”

Today I was captivated thinking about a trip we’ll be taking to Boston in October. The official reason for the trip is to attend our friend Jeff’s wedding. Steve and I have never been to New England before, though, so we have a lot to read up on before we go. I am the type of traveler who likes to learn about the area I am traveling to. I research things to do, places to visit, and historical facts. When I get there, I’m then prepared to go with where the spirit leads me as the mood strikes and the weather approves. I suppose I could buy our plane tickets and we could wing it completely, but I’m not that spontaneous when finances are involved. Although it wouldn’t be the world’s worst thing if we ended up staying in a fleabag motel because we didn’t have reservations anywhere, I’d prefer a reliable and well-reviewed B&B if I can get it.

If my life ever comes to a point when I am unable to travel, I will continue to use books and the Internet to go places in my mind. I will get on Google Earth or pick up a travel book and I will envision being somewhere else. I will travel to Bora Bora and stay in a hut over the water. I will drop myself onto streets in Paris or Vienna and explore. I will glide over the vast wilderness of Africa and put myself into a world without Starbucks, 24-hour grocery stores, and homes with two-car garages. I will still get out of Dodge because I have to. I live for the opportunity to escape. Sometimes the only way to get perspective is to step back far enough that the entire picture comes into view. I know that travel (even mental travel) isn’t always easy or pleasant; but, sometimes you have to put on an itchy lambswool sweater to remember how good cashmere feels.

 

 

 

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So Say We All

Apollo and Starbuck revisited

I am a Netflix junkie. It’s true. Even when they separated their business parts and started charging more, I stuck with them. Why did I stay when lots of others jumped ship? It’s simple. I don’t watch television. Or, rather, I rarely watch television. So, to fill the space where television would be, I watch movies. Lots of them. And, although I’m too impatient to wait a week for a new episode of a television show, I love to rent four seasons of a show at once and become addicted. It’s the epitome of instant gratification. Sad, but true.

Last night as I was flipping through Netflix on my laptop, in the Recently Added section, I noticed something interesting. They now had the new Battlestar Galactica for instant viewing. Are you kidding me? A couple years ago we discovered the show based on recommendations from some friends. We whipped through the entire series in record time, getting four hours of sleep a night sometimes so that we could watch the series finale in real time (ie., not on DVD for once). We were obsessed, not unlike the couple on Portlandia (another show we watched on Netflix). Pathetic.

“Hey, Steve? Guess what? Netflix now has the entire series of Battlestar for instant viewing.”

“Get out!” he replied.

“No. Look.” I showed him the laptop. The kids were downstairs watching The Adventures of TinTin, so we couldn’t get to the Apple TV down there to watch Netflix. “I guess we could watch it on my laptop up here,” I ventured. I looked at him sheepishly and tossed the bait. “OR we could get one of those new Apple TV units for our bedroom so we could watch the entire series over again up here.”

“I’ll get my shoes,” he squeaked. I’d just made his dreams come true. Only one thing excites Steve more than a trip to the Apple Store, but I can’t talk about that here.

Forty-five minutes later, he was back with an Apple TV unit and a quart of Founder’s Favorite ice cream from Cold Stone because I am the best wife ever. It took him five minutes to get it set up and we were ready to go. Despite still being exhausted from the yearly spring-forward debacle, we stayed up to watch the pilot episode, knowing perfectly well that we were about to begin another period of sleep deprivation. Even though we’d seen it all before, we were ready to do it again. It’s all good. It’s a really great show.

So say we all.

 

 

 

 

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All of Me…Sort Of

The dog-faced girl...one of my many personas

Today hubby and I went on our first “long” training ride of the 2012 bike season. Our friend and fellow Guido’s Goon teammate Bill (we ride together in the MS150) convinced us that riding 40+ miles on this unseasonably pleasant and uncharacteristically not windy day would be a good idea. Although I wasn’t thrilled with the suggested itinerary because 1) I didn’t really feel like riding at all, much less 40 miles, and 2) I hadn’t made it over 19 miles since I started riding on the bike trainer a month ago, I caved because even though I hated to admit it I knew I could handle it.

As we rode along, Bill was talking to me about my blog, which he actually reads. He mentioned that he’s learned a lot about me by reading what I write. I thought about this for a few seconds. Then I made the most ludicrous statement I’ve made in a while.

“Truth is that I consider myself to be a very private person.”

Now, Bill was riding in front of me at that point so I couldn’t see his facial expression after I said that, but I imagine he was fairly amused by my comment. Because…seriously? Who publishes a blog because they’re intensely private? I write about my life, my family, my struggles, my neuroses, and my fears, and I put it on the Internet. I must be certifiable to think I’m private or reserved at all.

For the rest of the ride, I tried to discern what part of me is private if I’m publishing my life on the Internet. If I look at it solely from that angle, I’m not private in any way. So, how is it possible that I still believe I am? Here’s how: I write for myself. Every entry I publish is simply an attempt to figure out what is going on in my busy mind, a way to find some measure of peace. I never write about things I consider to be truly personal and private. There are numerous things in my life I would never discuss on my blog. I write about the human condition or about topics that amuse me. Finally, I suppose I feel private because I forget that people might actually read what I write. I don’t publish to be read. I publish to put a period on my work, to finish what I start, to put it out there and move on.

I know it seems crazy to imagine that I maintain some level of privacy in my life when I toss it onto the Internet but, honestly, I don’t know if it’s possible to know me by reading the sum total of what I spew on a blog either. Perhaps that’s why I still feel protected, safe, and private. My blogs are all me, but they are not all of me.

 

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Hooting Isn’t Just for Owls

Letting my hair down

“The man who doesn’t relax and hoot a few hoots voluntarily, now and then, is in great danger of hooting hoots and standing on his head for the edification of the pathologist and trained nurse, a little later on.”          ~Elbert Hubbard

My mind has been in high gear lately. I’ve been living on a steady diet of assumptions, suppositions, and hypotheses as I try to figure out what direction I’m meant to be headed. This morning, I went to hot yoga class only to emerge an hour later and discover my brain had taken the opportunity not to let go of thought but to relax and refuel for more mental gymnastics. Ay carumba!

After picking up the boys from school, I decided there was only one thing left to do to alleviate my mental stress. I headed out into the backyard to enjoy the perfect 72-degree, not-quite-yet-spring-but-completely-spring-like day. I took off my shoes, climbed onto the boys’ trampoline, zipped up the enclosure, and started bouncing. I’ve found myself doing this a lot lately. Yes. Adults stare at me as they walk their dogs by on the gravel trail that passes behind our yard, but I don’t care. I imagine that somewhere deep down they’re not staring because they’re shocked. They’re staring because they’re impressed that I catch so much air.

When I jump, I’m not someone’s mom. I’m a kid again. I stop thinking, and with each bounce I am freed of the burdens of seriousness, responsibility, and decorum. It’s hard to have a care in the world when you’re diligently working to perfect your spread eagle jump. It takes concentration, but it’s 100% fun. As I jump, hooting and giggling with my hair flying everywhere, I probably appear to be quite nutters. As the Queen of Rationalization, though, I reason that on days like this one bouncing is likely the only thing keeping me out of the Nuthouse. And, even if they’re still coming for me with the straightjacket, to get it on me they’re going to have to catch me first. Good luck to them!

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I Was Wrong

Today marks my 100th consecutive day writing on this silly blog. About 101 days ago, I was not sure I could do it. I’m happy to report that I was wrong. I was the only thing standing in my way. I’m glad I stepped aside and let myself through. I’m not going to prattle on about this accomplishment because I truly hope that I’ll make it every day this year without missing a post, and I’m sure no one cares about these milestones aside from me.

However, in reflecting on how I got from Day One to Day One Hundred, I realize that the only thing that made this blog possible was the decision to do it. It took only the desire not to miss a day to ensure I didn’t miss a day. Admittedly, it was not easy…but it was possible.

I’ve always loved this quote but it seems especially appropriate today, so I thought I would share it:

“Whatever you do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius and power and magic in it.” ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

If there’s something you haven’t begun or attempted because you’re not sure you’ll have the time or the energy or the fortitude to be successful, go ahead and step boldly in that direction. Make yourself a priority. Believe in what you can accomplish. If you do, one day fairly soon you too will be fortunate enough to admit you were wrong to sell yourself short. I don’t know about you, but if I have to be wrong I think this is the best way to go about it.

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Finding the Beauty in Change

The tree stump that launched a blog entry.

I went out for a skate early this morning. (I occasionally inline skate to break from the monotony of my bike trainer in the spring.) It was a brisk 43 degrees, which is much colder than I usually tolerate for a skate, but I reasoned that I needed the fresh air to clear my muddled head after yesterday’s stinging revelations.

I was skating on a path I have traveled at least a hundred times. Too keep my mind off the numbness settling into my fingers, I made a conscious decision to focus on the landscape today to help me pass the time. I looked around instead of simply looking at the ground ahead of me…an admittedly risky move given my mediocre skating ability. Still, I saw squirrels and rabbits, as well as some mallards hanging out with a few northern shovelers on the ponds.

The path along the South Platte river is populated with multitudinous stands of cottonwood trees. As much as I despise them because of my allergies, I love the cottonwoods because their bark is scaly, thick, and interesting. On the prairie they are a welcome respite from an otherwise shadeless landscape. Unfortunately, being comprised of soft wood, they lose branches fairly easily with rough winds and heavy snows. In the spring, they require a lot of clean up. Today, I noticed that the park rangers had been busy trimming some trees and removing dead limbs. One freshly cut tree stump caught my eye as I skated by. It looked to me like a flower, its chunky bark creating the petals around its center. I made a mental note to go back and photograph it on the return trip.

My mind wandered off as I skated on, thinking about how long that tree had stood there and what it had seen as cyclists, runners, skaters, birders, and families out for strolls happened by over the years. I was sincerely melancholy thinking about the loss of that tree. Then, I thought again about how its stump now looked like a flower. There was beauty in its new state. It had changed, but there was something to appreciate in the change just the same.

Ralph Waldo Emerson once wrote, “For everything you have missed, you have gained something else, and for everything you gain, you lose something else.” In the ebb and flow of life, the only constant we have is change. Yet, my initial reaction when faced with an adjustment in my life is to cringe rather than soften. I wonder how often I have been so busy mourning the loss of something that I have failed to properly acknowledge the beauty in the new thing that is unfolding itself before me? Yes. That tree had to be cut. It will no longer provide shade with its leaves. Now, though, that tree is a sturdy leaning post. Change isn’t all bad. It’s all in how you look at it.

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Filling Out a Deposit Slip

The sky in my present world.

“You can clutch the past so tightly to your chest that it leaves your arms too full to embrace the present.”                    ~ Jane Glidewell

I have to admit that I feel like something of a fraud. I come here daily to blog, to write about living now and living zen, but for the past few months I’ve been doing nothing of the sort. I’ve been hanging onto some things that I really need to let go of…slights, memories, and long-dead hopes. I’ve been in a quagmire of disappointment and self-doubt. Today I read a quote that nudged me just enough to start my momentum. The quote read: “There are two types of people in your life…those that make deposits and those that make withdrawals. Cut out the latter.” (Thanks, Reshell.)

This afternoon I finally shifted my position enough to get a new perspective, to admit that I’ve been stuck in negatives when I should be nothing but positive. They (whoever “they” are) say that the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. So, I’m telling you all I have a problem. I’ve been an Eeyore. I’ve felt sad and hopeless and insignificant and silly. It’s been a horrible waste of my abundant energy. I know that once I let go of the negatives that are holding me back I will lighten like a balloon filling with helium and have nowhere to go but up. That’s a beautiful thought.

So, starting here, starting now, I am moving on. It might take me a while, but I will make it. Life is too short to give your time and energy to people or situations that don’t buoy your spirits and breathe life into your being. I’m going to jettison some things and get out of my own way.

Suddenly, my life feels like the photo above. There are still clouds, but the sun is coming out. I like how that sounds.

 

 

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