UnBroken Things

My little family isn't broken. It can't be. We have all the parts needed. We have love, memories, togetherness and belief that we are a good thing.

I’m under no illusion that you want to read about my little family trip to MA & PA... but it's something I feel strongly about.

 

This week was hilarious, eventful, relaxing, exhausting, and memorable.

We started with a 10 hour drive from RVA to Marlborough MA with a notebook and a conversation about “what we used to do on long car rides."

So we did it. We played the License Plate Game – we drove through VA, MD, DE, PA, NJ, NY, CT & MA. On that drive we “collected” 37 license plates. Every 5^th state that was written down, the notebook passed to the next child. 

Curiously, there was no fighting between them over who’s turn it was or wasn’t to write.

We have smart phones, or dumb phones... so we had questions that needed answering... like, why is NJ called The Garden State? (< ~ they grow a lot of food in NJ) and why is MD called The Old Line State? (< ~ they held their lines in the Revolutionary War).

Other notes made were that Albany was settled by the Dutch in 1624.

The Statue of Liberty is 305 feet high. 

And there are 72 steps in front of the Art Museum in Philadelphia.

And we got that figured out via phone.

We renamed my navigation system voice to Navigation Nazi, instead of Navi Nancy. She was disastrous. She routed us through NYC, around random small roads through CT, and I was constantly turning her off and restarting her to get an accurate route. 

Arbitrarily she decided at some point to navigate us to Kilburn Circle Philadelphia PA, instead of Kilburn Circle, Henrico VA... which means we suddenly were told, “Do an immediate U-turn. Take 95 N”... pretty sure RVA, the capital of the Confederacy, is South of MD...

Another memory we laughed at. Another #bestdayever.

My little family slept on floors, in corners, piled on top of each other in beds, and loved every minute of it.

They Played Rock Star, and I’m proud to say my son G knows most of the words to Beastie Boys What’chu Want. They swam. They bowled candlepin. They watched Monster’s U. They ate blue icecream and salad greens. 

There was surprisingly very little fighting, despite our sleep deprivation, long hours and cramped quarters.

And one kid or another announced on every day of our trip that it was The #bestdayever.

I rode a borrowed MTB down Kelly Drive and through the city of Philadelphia. I sweated. I loved it. That city knows how to encourage active people. They have made it possible to get around via bike and foot.

And we did get around via our feet.

We walked 900 miles... ok, maybe not, around Philadelphia. 

We waited in lines, saw the liberty bell, took a horse drawn tour, and went to Independence Hall where the declaration of Independence was signed in August of 1776... er.... yeah, close enough to July 4^th...

 

We climbed the “Rocky Steps” and then drove for another 100,000 miles to get home. <~ or 500, whichever sounds better.

and despite being in the car for hours, B'nut declared it was another...

#bestdayever.

Every day I spend with them... playing, driving, walking, sleeping, sharing silly stories for the sake of sharing silly stories... is a best day ever.

My little broken family is not really broken. Because we don’t subscribe to the idea that it’s broken. 

We are unbroken.

And unbroken things are whole.

I can not out-train a bad diet

Repeat after me:

“I can not out-train a bad diet.”

How many times have we heard this? I’ve read it or heard it at least a half dozen times. Maybe more.

But seriously, who believes that’s true? No one. Plus, who believes that their diet is “bad”? 

As of yesterday I had lost 9 pounds in ~6 weeks. My clothes fit. My face is lighter too. I am told daily how my new haircut looks great on me. My energy is increased and hell, even my skin is on board with the new plan. I feel and look as good as I've felt or looked in a long time. 

But, somehow, that’s not the best part.

The best parts are the moments like the one I had recently at a post ride gathering. I was chatting with an athlete who said, “Yeah, I would love to go to Tina, but I don’t know.... Don’t you feel deprived?”

I swallowed the bite of hamburger in my mouth and washed it back with a swig of amber beer.

“Um,” I drawled as I glanced down at my nearly empty glass. “No?”

We both laughed when she realized how silly that must have sounded in the moment.  I don’t feel deprived. I feel strong. I still do fun things, I just do them less frequently. I follow the plan to The T every day that I can with the knowledge that there are times when I will not have access to the foods I prefer. Thus, it allows me to make substitutions in the name of convenience or fun, without feeling deprived.

And as I said, beer is on the list of “things that are OK twice a week”, and that’s working for me.

The Deep Blue

As usual, riding trumps running for another week. I'm relegated to PT exercises and strengthening the weakened area. I can't be sad though. One of the weak areas has been my brain, and today I had the most perfect ride. ~mojo~

50 miles. Perfect Weather. Exquisite Company. Beautiful Route. It all came together.

As I was sitting at coffee afterwards, sipping on the deep nutty roast that I enjoy for my post ride drink, I realized that pneumonia is a fading memory.

When I first crawled out of bed in April, my workouts were like pair of crisp new jeans. They were uncomfortable, but I still made them work. I had to, they were all I had. They didn't fit quite right, they weren't the correct length. They hadn't molded to my shape. The blue was too deep.

And each ride or swim I finish washes a little of the blue out of them.

The crispness fades, and they become softer and more comfortable. I slide into my ride like a girl shimmying into her favorite jeans. With a quick snap and a zip, I can enjoy the way they fit across my tightening muscles. The length is about right. The break-lines are where they belong.

I do not have to fight with my workout anymore. I can stretch out and enjoy it. I can say yes when I'm invited to go for a ride.

It is a glorious feeling.

~enjoy the ride~

If Runners are Weird, Cyclists are Crazy

Cyclists are all deluded.

All of them.

I’m being darned serious here.  One thing I find most entertaining about this is that they’re the first to tell you, “Runners are weird”.

Roadies casually schedule 3, 4, 5 hour routes for a Saturday morning like it’s nothing. They start at o'dark thirty. They are constantly talking about driving to the mountains to climb XYZ mountain on their bikes. They insist that there is a fierce camaraderie found in “suffering” together on hills.

A runner would never say that sort of thing....

The gear is weird too. Tough to argue with me on that point. After all, it takes a confident man to shimmy into a Lycra and spandex blend and walk around in shiny white shoes that tap on the blacktop. Clickity clickity clip.  Also, there are very few folks who look good in spandex. Even professional athletes aren’t all that sexy when squeezed into bike shorts.

There are exceptions to that rule. There are always exceptions. But I am The Rule, not The Exception.

Sprint Tri '13
Suffering

Oh yes, Cyclists are a different breed. They perch on saddles constructed of a 2 inch plastic triangle covered in a sliver of leather for hours of hot sweaty fun and think nothing of it. Really, on that note, sane people shouldn’t mess with cyclists. They clearly have a pain tolerance higher than the average bear. Or woman, for that matter.

Many Cyclists I have encountered enjoy dishing advice to people they perceive as “noobs”, even if the noob isn't really a noob... The best advice I ever got was last summer, regarding cadence.  “You are pedaling too hard. You need to spin more in a circle pattern, and pedal in a lighter gear. But not too light. So basically pedal hard enough, without pedaling too hard.”
Gosh. Thanks.

Also, they are very big into safety. As they should be. This sh*t is scary dangerous.

So, safety advice like, "wear a light" is responsible and everyone should listen.

Safety advice like, “Let’s all be safe out there today” is less brilliant.

Or, other safety advice that is critically important:  “Don’t forget to grease the crease”.  No, there will be no further details here. #tacos

Frankly I don’t know why anyone does this sport.

It seems nothing but trouble. "Mechanicals", "Chaffing", "Cars" are all part of the repertoire.

But let's not dwell too long on Cars. They are scary business. To me it seems that cars hate cyclists because they believe that roads are for cars and cars only. My inner therapist thinks they hate cyclists because bikes scare cars, or do they scar cars? Could be either one, really.

I notice in my area that the roads that have bike lanes are in terrible areas for cycling.

The roads that have fewer cars, and are thus logically more appropriate for cycling, have only about 3 inches of “extra” road on the other side of the white line so when one does encounter a car, it’s always a cozy experience. Often these roads are hemmed by 8 foot ditches on either side which makes sharing difficult for even the best intentioned driver or cyclist.

15K '13
Kicking A**

By far though, the strangest part of this sport is in the territorial boundaries between the active people who do it and the active people who do everything else. From where I'm perched on my 2 inch plastic triangle, Cyclists and Runners don't mix all that well.

Weird, right?

Runners hate cyclists because Cyclists hate runners because Runners hate cyclists because...

Of course, from what I’ve seen of them, Swimmers are bright enough to stay out of the mix.

Probably besides they know they’re superior to the cyclists and the runners.

~enjoy the ride~

An Open Letter of Apology

Dear Galactically Bada** Body,

I owe you an apology. In a big way.

I’m sorry for all the time I spent cussing you for not being what I wanted. I apologize for verbally abusing you. You never deserved it.

I apologize for not wearing sunscreen as a teenager.

And for not wearing sunscreen last week....

For Failure to Rescue

For Failure to Hydrate.

For Failure to properly Fuel.

I am really wicked sorry about my habit of “ignoring symptoms”. It’s unfair to you and I appreciate that if I listened when you whispered, I wouldn’t have to cover my ears when you shout.

I am sorry for all the times I didn’t see you for the beautiful thing that you are.

For setting you aside to do something else.

For “tomorrow I’ll....” and the tomorrows that never came.

Most of all, I am sorry for accusing you of failing me, when I am the one who has failed you. You are my responsibility, my companion, and my vessel.

Now that I better understand that, I will strive to be a good steward of the wealth of gifts that you have bestowed upon me.

Regards,

GBA GF