Lisa Takes Flight

Another year in the books – Random Thoughts - 2011

2012-01-13T14:30:00.003-06:00

At the end of 2010 I threw out a random list of things that were on my mind – some from the year that had just passed, and other things that were just “on my mind” and were really not worthy of devoting an entire blog to. Since this will be my first blog post of 2012 it will be more reflective on the past year than anything else.

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With each passing year I become more and more comfortable in my own skin and happy to be who I am, at any particular moment. Due to pestering injuries in 2011, I had to take a hiatus from running, but never for one minute thought that just because I wasn’t running, didn’t mean that I wasn’t a runner anymore. Monet will always be an artist, Stephen King will always be an author and I will always be a runner.

In 2011 I learned to embrace substitutes. Because I wasn’t running I needed to do something to keep myself from going bat crazy. My body is used to exercising and sweating and I needed to find an alternative. Ergo, the bike trainer. It was the bane of my existence for the first few months I rode, but in time it became something that I (*gasp*) actually looked forward to during the week. It is in no way a replacement for running, but it does get my heart rate up, and I don’t have to bundle myself up in a zillion layers to go outside to work out. (Which, by the way, is one thing I don’t miss about winter running.) But there are days I both curse and commend Coach Troy for his demonic workouts.

I figured my children would one day be taller than me, but when I saw them starting to tower over me it still came as a shock.

With the new coffee maker my mother-in-law purchased for us I fear I may have become somewhat of a coffee snob. This coffee maker has a bean hopper that you fill every few days and grinds the beans moments before brewing the pot. The stainless steel carafe holds 12 cups and doesn’t require a burner to keep the coffee hot (or continue to “cook” it). It’s funny what you get used to. I don’t think I could give that baby up without a fight! (firstworldproblem)

I have a Twitter account, but I still really don’t get Twitter…

I am almost 2 years closer to 50. That thought doesn’t scare me like I thought it would. Maybe because I still don’t even feel like I’m 40.

I wish I had more time to read…books, blogs, and articles.

That said, I have been listening to audiobooks during my walk to and from work each day. I liken it to being a kid again with a parent reading you a story. Books I have enjoyed include “The Art of Racing in the Rain” by Garth Stein (this had me in tears during my walk home – I hope people didn’t think me depressed), “Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close” by Jonathan Safran Foer (the movie by the way is in theatres) “A Visit From the Goon Squad” by Jennifer Egan (a quirky story that had a plot similar to what we computer programmers call “Spaghetti Code”. Each chapter dealt with a character who was introduced, sometimes in a very minor way, in a previous chapter. It kind of goes back and forth between past and present.), “A Kind of Vanishing” by Lesley Thompson, “The Sign” by Raymond Khoury (this book got my husband and I through 13 hours of driving between Calgary and Winnipeg last summer and made the hours fly by.), and “Hour
Game” by David Baldacci. I’ve toyed with the idea of listening to books when I start running again. I’ll have to get back to you on that depending on how it goes.

I could ramble relentlessly so that’s all I have for now. Hopefully the next blog post will be more worthy. I have a bunch of ideas, just not any that have come to fruition.

How much pain can we take?

2011-11-09T13:55:00.001-06:00

When do we say we’ve had enough? Or dowe? We are strange creatures we humans.

I was thinking about this the other dayas well wishes poured in to a friend’s Facebook page. She’s a kick boxer who’sbeen actively training this year for her first fight. At the very least it wasto be her only first and only fight, but I wondered (myself having trainedintensively for 5 marathons and vowing just before each one it was to be mylast) if it would be***. For most people just the prospect of going into the ring to fight would illicit feelings of terror, but she was also excited and very much looking forward to the experience.

We have an amazing ability to block awaythe pain when an event is exciting or emotionally stimulating. Look at motherswho go through the pain of childbirth again and again. Before having my firstchild I was petrified. As much as I wanted that child, I was terrified of thepain I knew was coming. But shortly after the birth, while holding my newbornson I could barely remember the hurt. And against everything I would havepredicted I remember telling my husband at the time that I could do it again,and did.

During my first marathon, where I pushedthrough the pain of a ripped-off big toenail for the last six miles, I neverwould have dreamed I would consider even coming close to wanting to do another.Yet walking away from the finish line, with the heavy medal thumpingsatisfyingly against my chest I was already planning it.

I think the more enjoyable theexperience (or perhaps the final outcome) the more likely you are to block thememory of the pain. I’ve fallen on my mountain bike and ended up bruised,scraped and scarred more often than I’d like to admit. I’ve had to limp out ofa trail because I couldn’t ride due to a particularly bad fall, yet I love being on the bike, and the moment Isee those trails I long to get back on the bike and ride, even though fallingis a very real and painful conclusion. My husband broke his collarbone riding acouple months back and all he can talk about is getting back on the trails. Wemust mentally produce some kind of “hurt beta blockers” that only allow us torecall the fun we had.

Lately I’ve been sidelined by heel pain(known among runners as plantar fasciitis). I’m unable to run any decentdistance without hurting afterwards. I am trying to be good and give it time toheal properly by stretching, icing, and exercises and most importantly, notrunning. That last piece is the most difficult. I know if I run, it’s going tohurt, yet the satisfaction I get when running would overshadow any painexperienced…until afterwards. I am resisting, but there are times I’m sorelytempted.

And it doesn’t stop at physical pain.I’ve had my heart broken so many times, once to the point where I didn’t eatfor nearly a week because I hurt so much, and still I continued to open myselfup to the possibility of falling in love. Because as corny as it sounds, trueand honest love is worth it.

Maybe it simply comes down this, “It isalways by way of pain one arrives at pleasure.”~Marquis de Sade.

***btw...For what it’s worth my money’s on “no”…;0)

Sometimes I'm Afraid to Blog

2011-10-27T13:35:00.001-05:00

The title says it all.

I have a word document on my computerthat contains the start of numerous blogs entries and a few finished ones. Ijust haven’t published them. There are many reasons for this. I’ve had a fewnot-so-positive experiences with some entries that I had been initially quiteproud to post. By nature I am not a controversial person. I avoid confrontationlike the plague, probably to my detriment. I know I should stand up for what Ibelieve, but there are times when I just have to stand down and take the easyway out, even if it means not being able to share some of my opinions. I’velost a friendship because one person mistakenly thought I was writing aboutthem and took personal offense to the post in question. At the time I had noidea that the snarky comments and then ignored emails had anything to do withwhat I had written. By the time he finally said something (via email) about itit was too late to mend what was left because he had made it very clear that hehad made up his mind.

This saddened me, and made me begin tore-think everything I posted. It is exhausting when you have to examineeverything you write and then go back over it with a fine-tooth comb andquestion whether one of your readers could misconstrue what you wrote. Isometime go for weeks between postings because I am just too lazy to cleanse myentries. It defeats what I initially thought was one of the purposes ofblogging.

I have many friends who also blog and Iam guilty at times of reading more into what they have written. But I give themthe benefit of the doubt, and recognize that their opinions are just that,opinions.

I began to write fluffy, reflectiveposts that told a heartwarming stories, or reviews on places I’ve travelled to,or race reports. But a part of me resented having to compromise what I reallyenjoyed writing.

I debated starting up an anonymous blogso I could write unfettered. I may still do that.

So if I haven’t posted for a few weeksit’s not because I’m not writing. I am…I’m just sorry that you won’t be able tosee half of it.

What keeps me young…

2011-10-13T13:24:00.000-05:00

I’ve had people tell me that I don’t look my age, which in itself is quite flattering. Aside from the good genes I was fortunate enough to inherit (my mother looks amazing) I think the reason is because I refuse to age. At least on the inside. My inner age is closer to 23 than my real age (which is nowhere near 23).

The secret? I try to surround myself with youth. I have two teenage boys and I don’t hesitate to climb a tree with them or pull out a nerf gun for an all-out battle. Keeping up with them keeps off the years. I work in a college, and the majority of the students I see on a daily basis are under 25, most are under 20. Listening to them talk and hearing what they talk about keeps me in the loop when it comes to current trends in music and movies.

I participate in “fun” activities – some physical, some not, but most keep me smiling. There’s nothing like bar-hopping around the downtown wearing a red dress with 25 of my closest drinking club buddies, or hitting some scenic single track mountain bike trails with friends, or just running barefoot down the street and enjoying the looks I get (even now with the minimalist trend taking off like it has).

I embrace physical activity…I run, I bike, I swim, I walk, I ski, I stretch, I lift weights, I hula-hoop and I can tell when I need to do one of these to keep myself sane.

I love to play and challenge my brain daily…with board games, crossword puzzles, Wii and computer games.

I also like to learn constantly. The more I learn, the more I want to learn.

And most of all I love to laugh (at silly cards in the stationary store, at sit-coms on television, with my kids when they start speaking in crazy voices and with my husband who somehow has the uncanny ability to make me chuckle with two or three words) and I love to surround myself with people who make me laugh.

Even if I can’t stay young forever, I can certainly do the most to feel that way.

One of these days…

2011-09-28T11:18:00.003-05:00

…my body is going to scream “ENOUGH!”…but until that time I will keep pushing.

I often marvel at the resilience of the human body. If trained well it can take a lot of abuse being thrown at it. And even if it is not trained it can still take that abuse; it won’t refuse, but perhaps protest a little loudly.

On the past weekend I participated in The Swamp Donkey Adventure Race. This was the fourth year I’ve done this race. With each successive year the race organizers devise more and more challenging tasks to test our resolve and will to continue. For the fourth year in a row my team has finished upright and smiling (well…sort of grimacing really). It is amazing really. When we began this journey into adventure racing we had done a couple of city adventure races (mostly pavement/limestone trails) and found them challenging and fun at the same time. When the opportunity came up to try a full-fledged Adventure Race we eagerly signed up. What’s the worst that could happen? Famous last words…

The first year we barely knew what we were in for…riding heavy commuter bikes, relying on compass alone and disregarding a nearby trail that would have gained us extra time to complete the advanced course. By year three we felt like seasoned veterans with war stories to tell about getting lost and a team-mate slashing open his thigh but continuing the race despite the copious amount of blood running down his leg. Stitches should have been in order, but stubbornness and loyalty to his team kept him going.

So by the time we hit the start line this year we felt we could handle just about anything the race organizers could throw at us. We all had full suspension mountain bikes, a fiberglass canoe and more than a few hours paddling training. We had the experience and the training. We were ready. All things considered we did quite well. The race consisted of 11 km of bush-whacking (2:46), 8.5 km of canoeing(1:10) and 48.5(4:50) km of biking - much of it on single track trails and old logging roads. (+ transition times)

I am very conscious of fueling and hydrating during races. I have run 5 marathons and have always been able to put enough food/water into my body to keep it happy and not bonk. The adventure races are no exception. But you fuel differently in a race like this. You eat cookies and Pringles chips and pepperoni sticks. I figured I only took in about 1400 calories during the 9+ hours of racing – way less than I would have burned off. (Interestingly under no circumstances would I EVER be able to eat pepperoni sticks during a marathon but in this race there was no issue whatsoever.) My body took what I gave it and used it to the best of its ability. It adapts.

Because I am constantly doing some kind of physical activity, and aside from the paddling sessions, I didn’t actively train for this race. I cycle, I run, and I swim. I often take for granted my fitness level. And in doing so, I tend to take for granted my fellow teammates’ fitness as well. While none of us found ourselves unable to complete the race, it was difficult at times for us. My team is very empathetic. No one gets upset when delays happen. But we are stronger than we were last year, and the year before that.

Friends of mine were also racing but an 11th hour injury to one of their members resulted in a quick search for a stand-in. Unfortunately this stand-in had no time to train as he had no prior intentions of racing it. I worried about him because this race was once again tougher than previous years. Their team finished the short course (about 20km less than our race ended up with none of the technical biking required) about 30 minutes after we completed the regular. As predicted his body was not happy and although it got him through the race, it was apparent that he was going to be reminded of it for some time to come. The abuse we dole…:)

Three days later I still hurt in some places. My legs are weary and my bike commute is harder than it should be. But this will pass. The human body is resilient. When we put our mind to it, we can accomplish more than we ever thought possible.

BUT...I am still smiling.

More letters…

2011-09-16T10:44:00.000-05:00

Dear High Schooler,

Wow, it seems like yesterday you were just entering grade school and here you are, thinking that you are all grown up as you enter high school. Slow down a little and enjoy the ride.

High school can be a scary and intimidating place. Remember how you feel this day, and keep that memory fresh for when you are in grade 12 watching the grade niner’s starting high school. Think about what would have made your day better, having someone show you where the cafeteria is, or directs you to the library, and then do it.

If you thought you made a lot of new friends in grade school and junior high, and all those people will continue to be your friends, think again. Teenagers are fickle and switch loyalties for the silliest of reasons. If you are looking for true, life-long friends, wait until you go to University.

Once again, you won’t be included in one of the “cool groups”. You will wonder how these groups form, and lose many hours of sleep wondering why they didn’t choose you to be part of their inner circle. But you will have your own group of two or three friends and this is what you will remember most from your high school years. Unfortunately you will change towns after grade 11 and have to start again from scratch, in a brand new high school.

You will shy away from team sports, but join the cross-country running team. Oh yeah, and you will hate it. No one will tell you how to train, so you will head out and run three or four miles after school. You will hardly be able to walk the next day, and you will recall that feeling each time you think about cross-country running. Thankfully the season only lasts for a month or two until winter sets in.

You will join the cheerleading squad. You won’t be the head cheerleader and you won’t date the captain of the football team. He won’t even know who you are, or see your cheers because unfortunately a girl named Candace will also join the squad. She is not as coordinated as you but she is tall and slim with strawberry blond hair and large breasts. She will be placed in the front row and during pep rallies everyone’s eyes will be on “Candy”. No, it’s not fair, but you have learned by now that life is anything but fair. You persevere.

You will form a Drama Club and it is here that your true talents will show. Your club will perform George Garrett’s “Sir Slob and the Princess” for surrounding grade schools, and you will travel to a regional Drama Festival where your club wins a bronze medal for its production of L.E. Preston’s one-act comedy “Last Weekend at High Ridge”. Your shyness will disappear, but only when you are onstage.

You will have your first real job in high-school – taking inventory in the school library at the end of the school year. You remember this job not for the plethora of books you need to document or the tedium of re-stacking them all, but for the lunch hour break each day when the librarian lets you go to the back room and watch an episode of “The Prisoner” series on VHS tapes. (“I am not a number. I am a person.”)

You will take driver’s education in the classroom with an instructor who has a glass eye. This will be the first time you’ve ever seen someone like this and it will disconcert you. Your practical instruction will be a woman who clutches a shiny red purse to her chest, and hovers her foot over the brake in the passenger side of the Driver’s Ed car. During the highway portion of training she will order you to honk at the pedestrians who are walking along the side of the road. This will embarrass you because these pedestrians are young men and you will feel self-conscious. During the parallel parking component she will tell you to back up farther…farther…farther until you bump into the car behind you. “That’s far enough” she will say and order you drive off without getting out of the car.

You will pass your driver’s test the first time but hesitate to drive anywhere because the only vehicle your family owns is a Dodge Club cab half-ton with a three-on-the-tree manual transmission. Your father will take you out on the back roads to teach you how to drive it and years later you will be thankful you learned to drive a stick early on.

Because you move in the middle high school you will miss standing up with all the people you went through school with from primary grades and up. You travel to attend their graduation and your four best friends (not surprisingly, three from the drama club) will surprise you with a school year-book signed by everyone in the class. You will be touched by all the kind words written by people you barely knew or hung out with.

If you are wondering why I haven’t mentioned any of your classes, it is because you excel in all of them. You are a good student and you will maintain an 80 average throughout high school. There isn’t much to say here except keep up the good work.

High school is a time where you begin to come into your own. There will be many lessons learned, and some of them re-learned. And most of these you will have to discover for yourself.

I’m proud of who you will become. And I admire your tenacity. You are stronger than you think. Remember that always.

You

P.s. In 25 years you will attend your High School Reunion. I won’t spoil it by telling you what happens but suffice it to say that you will be pleasantly surprised.

Letters to Myself - Grade School

2011-07-20T15:22:00.002-05:00

Dear Grade-Schooler,

Welcome to the wonderful world of Primary School! You are going to do just fine – Trust me...I know this. In fact you are going to be a favourite of your teachers. Because you yearn to please you will do anything to earn their praise: clean the chalkboard brushes, offer to take copies of the colouring page to the office to be gestetnered. You will find that you love the smell of the ink when the pages are still wet. It will be a smell that reminds you of your childhood years from now.

You will make new friends, but you will remain steadfastly loyal to ones you already have. Be careful. You are going to be hurt by these same friends. Don’t reveal too much to them. Relationships can be cruel, and this cruelty starts young. Unfortunately this memory will follow you through to your adult years, but you will be stronger because of it, and learn how to treat people with respect.

You are going to have the cutest plastic lunch box with a thermos holder in the top half. This thermos is very prone to breakage and will not last long. Don’t worry; they sell milk in the gymnasium at lunch time for a nickel.

There will be a girl in your class who is rather destructive. She will break and kick down any castle or wall or building you decide to construct. You will not understand why or realize it at the time, but this will be your first of many exposures to special needs individuals. Try to be patient with her because many of your classmates won’t be.

There will be a boy in your class who will suddenly get up and wander around the room, bumping into desks and falling down. Don’t be alarmed. He has epilepsy and just needs to be sat down in quiet place until the episode passes. Please don’t make fun of anything he does during these episodes because he has no control over them and does not remember them.

Your mother will sew you beautiful matching skirts and vests that you will quickly grow out of. They will be donated to your church for their basement White Elephant sale. A classmate is going to proudly show up one day in one of these outfits, modeling it for all the girls. You will remain silent and smile at her enthusiasm, and understand that her mother cannot sew like yours can and that she does not have a lot of money for new clothes.

You will be caught throwing snowballs at recess and get sent to the principal’s office. He will make you and your friends sweat as you sit in the hard wooden chairs outside the room and then when he questions you, and you tell him the truth, he will try hard to hide a smile, and send you back to your classrooms with a mere warning.

You will develop a fear of math because your grade 5 teacher makes you recite the times table before letting you out for recess. Although you will still achieve higher than average marks in all of your math courses, this fear will stick with you no matter how much you practice your math skills.

You will be picked last at every team sport you play. You will be put in the outfield during baseball games because no one is able to hit that far. But regardless, you will come into your own many years from now in the form of distance running. All I ask is that you be patient.

Your love of writing and drawing begins here. A teacher who criticizes your drawing of a caveman shooting an arrow at a dinosaur will not discourage you. You won’t learn that the two didn’t exist at the same time until years later. You will continue to write stories and illustrate them – because you love to do so.

You will cultivate a long lasting bond with your grade 6 teacher, and still be in touch with him when you are 47. Although many of your classmates will say he’s mean and uncaring, you will see something in him that they don’t. You won’t try his patience like only 11 year olds can, and, although you know it may be unfair, you will secretly enjoy the special attention you get from him…new, un-chewed pencils, a book that you’ve been waiting to read, or an opportunity to stay in at recess and help him collate the hand-outs for the afternoon. Fortunately neither of you will realize that things will sadly change drastically over the years, and male teachers won’t be able to be alone with female students anymore for fear of many things. Enjoy this innocent friendship for as long as you can.

You will believe that your school will stand forever and you will visit it whenever you go ‘back home’. But it will outgrow its population and requirements and they will build a bigger one to replace it. New students will have their own school to build their history, but you will always have your memories.

Grade School will be an educational experience and you will learn a lot, both inside and outside the classroom, about yourself and others. You will learn to question things and how to obtain the answers. You will learn humility, respect and honesty. These traits will carry you far. Now go off and enjoy the next six years!

Always looking out for you,
Your future self

The Supercycle

2011-06-03T15:07:00.003-05:00

The other day I suddenly remembered an incident in my youth when my beloved blue Supercycle bicycle was stolen.

It was my very first two-wheeled bike and I was thrilled with it. It had a been a gift from my parents. The grips were a bright white rubbery plastic with finger grooves.
It was a single-speed and came equipped with coaster brakes, white fenders, a blue and white seat and had a pretty blue chain guard with the name Supercycle painted on it in white script.

I loved that bike. It was my equivalent to freedom, as every child discovers. I was a bit of a daredevil back, setting up obstacle courses to ride my bike through; small ramps and jumps and “water features”. I attempted a crazy stunt on a gravel hill that resulted in road rash on my elbows and picking gravel out of the scrape. But I always got back on. At the time, I was too young and we lived too far from town for me to ride my bike to school, but it was not too far to ride to the bus stop, which was about half a mile from my house. My friend David lived on the corner where the bus picked us up and said it was Ok to park my bike there while we were at school. This was a great arrangement because when we got home David would get his bike and the two of us would head off to find adventure before it was time to go home.

One day, I got off the bus and my bike wasn’t there. Gone. No one had seen anything. There was nothing I could do. I walked home, crying. I couldn’t understand why anyone would want to steal ‘MY’ bike.

My parents consoled me but there wasn’t much they could do. I can’t remember if we ever filed a police report.

I got another bike, and this one never left my yard except when I was on it. I returned to walking to the bus stop because I was too scared this one would be stolen as well. (I know what you are thinking…Why didn’t you lock the bike up? Lock it?!?!?! What’s a bike lock? I grew up in an age where you weren’t supposed to have to lock your bike, or wear a helmet, so I did neither.)

About a year later David and I were out on our bikes and had ridden about three miles down the road to a local campground where they had a tiny sundries store that stocked the best fireball jawbreakers on earth.
They were cinnamon flavored, could barely fit in your mouth and they took hours to eat, burning your taste buds off the entire time. We were on a mission for fireballs. We left the store, clutching our small paper bags filled with sugar-laden junk and went around the back to sit before heading back home.

And there it was. Sitting in long overgrown grass along the back wall of the camp store was my bike…missing both wheels. David and looked at each other and our jaws dropped. We looked around to see if anyone had seen us. Now we were paranoid. It was as if we had just witnessed a murder and the bad guy was going to track us down. We ran to our bikes and pedaled those single speeds as fast as we could to the nearest house where we knew someone. Knocking on the door I begged to use the phone, and called my Dad, explaining in heaving breaths that I had found my bike!

He humoured me and came to pick us up and we drove to the camp store where David and I remained in the truck, slinking down in the front seat, while my father went into the store to make inquiries. Minutes later he emerged, walked around the back of the store and came back with my skeleton of a bike frame. He put it in the truck and we headed home.

He told us that they had no idea whose bike it was, that it had been there, wheel-less, for some time. The crime was untraceable, and the bike was unrideable.

Later that summer Dad found a couple of wheels to put back on the bike, but with the fenders they were too small and the bike suddenly looked goofy. It was relegated to our cabin where my brother and I rode to the local camp store for chocolate bars and pop. It was a good camp bike, but sadly remained forever tainted in my eyes.

Wining

2011-05-13T15:27:00.005-05:00

Getting together with the girls for a glass of wine* is a wonderful thing. Unlike guys girls just don’t say, “Let’s hang out and drink beer.” Although I have many friends with whom I thoroughly enjoy quaffing back a beer or two, I do like the pretense of class (I say “pretense” because I don’t consider myself very refined or elegant) and holding a wine glass gives me that. Why does it seem to evoke visions of women in classy dresses smiling and laughing together?

And to be honest, it’s never just “a glass of wine”. If the bottle is open, it’s likely going to be empty by the time we are finished**. Now don’t get me wrong – it’s not as if we can’t sit and talk without alcohol.
We’ve done that many times over Gatorade after a race or coffee after a bike ride. But the act of purposely getting together for a glass of wine gives the gathering a sense of purpose.

More often than not for me, getting together for a glass of wine with a girlfriend(s) translates into, “I need to vent, let’s crack open a bottle of red spill our guts.” There’s nothing more comforting than sitting around with like-minded individuals, who know that you care about what they have to say, will listen to what’s on your mind and, more importantly, won’t judge you for any of it. I think that’s the crux. It’s a safe environment filled with trust friendship and the wine just adds another layer on top.

We don’t necessarily solve the world’s problems during these get-togethers, or even solve our own, although we do spread the wealth of good news, air our dirty laundry and contribute suggestions to get through the rough spots.

And as if we need more ammunition to drink wine, studies show that red wine is a wonder drug that leads to better sex, makes you smart, and keeps you thin. What more could a woman ask?

I cherish times like this. They are most often spontaneous, but in some instances may involve a bit of planning to accommodate all of our crazy schedules (training, kids, work, family). Regardless of how we do it, it’s worth it when you’re with friends.

(*substitute gin for wine if you wish, Bombay Sapphire to be specific)
(** if you have substituted gin for wine here please be advised that unless there are over 10 of us, or we have an 8oz bottle, it won’t be emptied – we aren’t crazy!)

Mountain Biking Grand Junction --> Lunch Loops/Tabeguache Trail

2011-05-11T15:14:00.000-05:00

This was our last day of riding and for those who aren’t mountain bikers and wonder when this drivel will end; this will be my last post on the Utah/Colorado Trip.

We had only the morning to ride and had arranged a late check out to allow ourselves a couple hours on the trails and still have time to get back to the hotel for a shower before hitting the road home.

This was our third attempt at riding the Lunch Loop Trails. Finally success! The last time we’d pulled into the parking lot we encountered riders with mud-encrusted bikes. They’d been unable to dodge the rain that started mid-way through their ride and had to get back to the trail head in pouring rain and on wet trails. They’d advised us that the trails were still really slippery and muddy and that we could do our bikes some real damage (not to mention the trails) if we ventured out. That was the day we gave up and headed to Moab.

This time we were in luck. It was overcast and breezy but with the promise of a sunbeam or two. Again, we consulted the trail map to see where we were going to ride. The book we had promised more trails than we had time for. And once more, one of the locals came over with advice. Mountain bikers are just so friendly and accommodating! Everyone we met was all too pleased to chat with us and share stories of the trails they’d ridden. The guy told us that almost everyone rides the Pet-e-Kes trail up to the ridge. It is a newer trail. Before it was built riders had to be content with riding the uneventful dirt road up to the top. The trail builders have done an amazing job in making the trail challenging enough for the ride up. Most of the ascent is a twisty switchback ride that goes around the outside of some steep hills. The trail is certainly wide enough to ride, but the corners were sharp and I had to dab multiple times and sometimes stop altogether.
I know if it was a flat trail I would have had no issue manipulating the corners but something about a seeing a drop off out of the corner of my eye psyches me out. I need to get over that. Once up at the top we had a bunch of choices. The trails are well marked – much like the 18 Road Trail system in Fruita, and it would be nearly impossible to get lost. Still, we had taken a picture of the trail map just in case we needed to consult it at a later time.

From Pet-e-Kes we took the High Noon trail up to a short piece called the Lemon Squeezer. There was a black diamond on the sign which indicated it wasn’t for novices. The boys wanted to give it a go, so I let them lead, and followed behind. From what I could determine one would require a Danny Macaskill bike and Danny Macaskill skills to ride this section flawlessly. Needless to say, I have neither so I walked most of this trail.
Once through the Lemon Squeezer, which Bob valiantly attempted to ride (and from our point of view, quite successfully all things considered) we joined up with Raven Ridge. This is a scenic trail that runs all along the ridge overlooking the parking lot and Grand Junction in the distance. There are some technical parts in the first half, but the rest is just a beautiful ride along the rim. From there you hook up to Curt’s Lane which was a slightly tense descent at the end of the ridge with hairpin switchbacks all the way down. The wind was howling the day we were there, thankfully blowing us into the hill and not off the side. I rode most of the switchbacks down except for one hairy one where I had to stop and physically pick up my bike and place it in the opposite direction. I am constantly amazed that people are able to ride this. Maybe with practice some day I could but right now I feel like more of a hobbyist than anything.
The last run down to the parking lot was bittersweet knowing we had to leave that afternoon.

As we loaded the bikes onto the car we found a lone Corona in the cooler. Sharing it the gnarly boys and I promised to come back soon and ride again.

Mountain Biking Fruita – Prime Cut, Kessel Run and Joe’s Ridge

2011-05-08T10:04:00.001-05:00

Another day, and yet another different riding experience.

We reluctantly left Moab as we really wanted to ride some of the Fruita/Grand Junction trails that had been rained out earlier in the week. We arrived in Fruita to a beautiful sunny day and a jammed 18 Road trail head parking lot. (We had arrived the day before the Fruita Fat Tire Festival. The parking lots reflected that. If only we’d planned better we’d have been able to partake in the festivities.)

What I found interesting is that in Moab the ratio of men to women was about 5:1. In Fruita men completely outnumbered the women – more like 25:1. I only saw two women in the parking lot, and only 1 on the trails when we were out. I’m sure there must be more women riders in Fruita.

We geared up and went over to the trail map to see how to proceed. The way many of the trails in this area are set up are out and back (or more aptly up and down.) Some of the local riders recommended that we take the Prime Cut trail up to the top as it’s a pretty singletrack that climbs gradually to the upper parking lot. Most people park in the lower lot and then ride up the trails. It is much nicer to end the day on a downhill than to have to slog up to the top to finish the ride.

Prime Cut was a nice warm-up, not too technical but had enough rocks and twists to keep me on my toes. The funny thing was I was laboring for breath with every twist and turn. I had to remember that I was 4500 ft above sea level (and still climbing), and my prairie-raised body is used to 800 ft. When we got to the top parking lot we stopped for a breath and a sip and a check at the map to see which trail we were going to take down. A bunch of riders came whipping into the parking lot and saw us consulting the trail map. They came over and asked if we wanted to ride with them. They were heading over to ride Zippety Do Dah. We’d read about it in one of the trail books and it was described as having an intense pucker factor (as much of it is along a ridge) with extremely steep downhills. One of the guys said that you ride many of the descents so far back on your bike that your seat is in your chest. We opted not.

We decided to have some fun and ride the Kessel Run down to the parking lot. It had been wildly endorsed by fellow riders from home who had ridden it last year. Like the famed Millenium Falcon that made the Kessel Run in 12 parsecs you can make this run in less than 15 minutes . It’s a fast flowing trail that slaloms up and back through a dry creek bed. It’s full of twists and turns as it sweeps back and forth all the way down the hill. The first time down I got into the rhythm about half way down. Sadly it was over before I knew it.

The second grind up we decided to see if the road was any easier. I found it wasn’t, as it was a direct climb to the upper parking lot with no opportunity to rest. At least with Prime Cut there were spots you could rest and swoop to the other side before starting to pedal again. The road was straight, dusty and boring. You live and you learn.

Our second run down was Joe’s Ridge. Fittingly named, it runs along a ridge for most of the bottom half of the trail. I was able to ride most of this except for one steep descent. Normally it wouldn’t have fazed me, but this descent was along a gravelly ridge with the sides dropping off at a startlingly steep inclines. I did begin to ride the hill, but my rear tire was sliding back and forth so much in the gravel that I was afraid it was going to go over the edge. It wasn’t a “Death on the Left” kind of drop, but I could envision myself taking a long ugly gravel slide all the way down if I fell, and I wasn’t up for that. After that the rest of Joe’s was totally within my skill level. At the bottom it connected with the lower half of Kessel Run so I got the chance to give that one another go. This time I was quicker, smoother and much more coordinated than I was the first time down. Unfortunately, this was the last run of the day.

I will put this on my wish-list for the next time we come back. There are so many other trails that I still want to ride I think we need more than a week there. And I want to do Kessel again – What a blast!

Lower Porcupine Singletrack (LPS) and Porcupine Rim

2011-05-06T11:48:00.003-05:00

Porcupine Rim, according to all the things I’ve read, is the second most popular ride in Moab. It definitely has some the most breathtaking panoramas I have ever seen. This trail is only part of what is known in the area as The Whole Enchilada; which encompasses several trails including Burro Pass, Hazard County, Upper Porcupine Singletrack (UPS), LPS, and Porcupine Rim.

We were in Moab in April, and everything above LPS was still deep in snow. We were shuttled up to the highest possible starting point, LPS, and even then there was a dusting of snow on the trails. The majority of the ride is downhill, but that certainly doesn’t mean it’s easy. Quite the contrary.

This kind of riding was more familiar to me, complete with lots of tight singletrack through small shrubs and trees, mud, rocks and roots. It took me a while to get my riding legs back after a day on smooth wide open rock. The trail was technical but not discouragingly so…yet. After some twists and turns and some awesome views of the Castle Valley from up top the mesa the trail emerges into a double jeep track. This section is like a rough rocky road. We began the flight down, and I call it a flight because the speed creeps up on you if you aren’t careful, and you can hit air during certain points of the ride.

This is where I scared myself multiple times. The lines that most riders pick are easy to spot by the tire tracks. On the rockiest and roughest drops the easiest lines are usually to the immediate left or right of the road. There were a couple times when I came flying around a corner and was unable to veer to the outside lines. My bike dropped once, twice, three times…and these weren’t small drops…Again the only way to explain it is to throw in a video. 27 seconds in demonstrates this style of riding. (note that I did NOT ride the “diving board” drop that is shown 4 times in this video)

Even though I didn’t have to pedal much my quads were burning from hovering over the seat and manoevering the downhill. There was a section of rock that appeared to be an easy slope. Near the bottom a bunch of riders had stopped for a bite to eat before tackling the next section of trail. It was here that I took a tumble. I had approached a bench-type drop that seemed straight forward. What I didn’t know as I went over the edge was that the next step curved inward instead of being a flat rock. I guess I didn’t have enough speed to keep rolling over it as my front tire stopped dead and I flew off the bike and onto my left shoulder and side right into the rock base. Ow!! My first fall on rocks. (It’s much harder than the sand and soil I’m used to falling on ;0))There were cheers as I rose, gave the thumbs up and got back on my bike to continue.

At about the 10 mile point the trail began to narrow back to more singletrack and started to wind around the canyon rim. I was told that there is no shame in walking your bike through some of these sections. And I did just that. Riders ahead would yell out “Death on the right!” when a particularly steep drop was coming up. This was my cue to dismount and live.

Although I didn’t ride many parts of the Porcupine Rim section I watched with envy as other riders manoevered the tricky trail seemingly without effort. I kept telling myself that they ride this stuff all the time.
Once we were past the scariest parts I was able to ride the rest of the trail back to the highway. I would love to ride this trail again. My favourite part was actually the middle section where we were flying down drops and steps. There was little time to think so instinct took over. It's amazing what instince can do! What a ride!

It’s as easy as riding a bicycle...right - not at Slick Rock

2011-05-05T11:17:00.002-05:00

Ok, so I know how to ride a bicycle....or at least I thought I did before I went to Moab. Then I realized that I didn’t really know very much, and I would have to re-learn what I thought I knew…and then I realized I would have to do this each time I rode a new trail.

Moab is a playground for mountain bikers. There are a plethora of trails, too numerous to name all of them, and each comes with its own rider requirements.

My first trail was Slickrock – a Mecca known around the world by mountain bikers. It wasn’t supposed to be the first. I was supposed to be gradually initiated into desert riding by an introductory ride in Grand Junction Colorado on the Horsethief Bench Trail. But insistent rain for two days, which renders most trails unrideable due to slippery rock or sticky mud, and an encouraging sliver of blue sky to the west, forced us to discard those plans and head to Moab, hoping to salvage at least part of a day’s ride. It was still pouring when we arrived. Inquiries at the local bike store emerged with the information that the only rideable trail when it is raining is Slick Rock. Because we didn’t want to wrestle tents in the rain we decided to give it a go, hoping for the skies to clear up before we set up camp.

The parking lot was full of riders, gearing up, tweaking bikes and lingering around, which gave the LBS full credibility. Slick Rock has a two mile practice loop which is recommended you ride before heading out on the 10.6 mile proper. This is so you can gauge whether or not you have the technical ability to ride the rest of the trail. (There are no bow-outs once you hit the trail and it’s nearly impossible to walk out of Slick Rock) We headed out in the pouring rain, following the white paint marks. The first 500 metres were great. I was grinding up the steep slopes and gliding down the other side.

It was disconcerting at first. My first instinct when I see wet rock is to put my bike away. Granite, which is what I normally ride on, is deadly slippery in the rain. Slickrock isn’t. The nature of the rough sandstone actually promotes rubber gripping. You can ride on a camber that defies belief and your tires will stick to the side of the hill. This took some pretty big leaps of faith for me as I rode across some slopes that were literally sheeting with water. But as promised, the rock held onto me, or more aptly, my bike.

Then we came to a steep downward slope that dipped and disappeared half way down then reappeared with what looked like a sharp curve to the right at the bottom. I braked, stared down the hill and for the first time in my riding history I froze with fear. My riding partners, Clayton and Bob, had flown down the hill and were waiting for me patiently, but nothing would move except my heart which was beating erratically and out of my chest. Nothing I could do could coax my body to get on that bike and ride that hill. Nothing. So I stood there, staring at the hill and getting more and more freaked out. I started to shake, but I’m not sure if it was with fear or from the cold as the rain was now pouring down. Clayton called up to me several times, telling me that he knew I could ride this, but all I could do was shake my head and refuse to move. So he came back up and told me that we could go back to the parking lot and wait for Bob to finish the loop.

Following Clayton and feeling dejected and miserable, but mostly angry with myself I cautiously began riding back to the trail head. There were another couple of steep slopes that I had ridden up on the way out. They gripped my tires and nothing would let go. I’m not sure what switch flipped in my brain but I stopped and decided that I would not, could not, be bested so soon. The practice loop hills are nowhere as steep or as long as the main loop. If I wanted to ride at all, I had to beat that hill. Turning around we made our way back to the dreaded drop. It was still as steep and the rain was still pouring down. Clayton led the way and stopped at the bottom. He coached me as I reversed my bike back as far as the rock would allow so I could mount the bike and clip in before I reached the hill. Then moving my body back over the rear tire as I’d been taught, and applying steady pressure on the rear brake I maneuvered very slowly down the feared hill. I released the brake at the bottom and coasted through the turn at started up the next hill.

To get a sense of how steep these hills are fast forward to the 57 second point of this video:

Two or three of these hills later I was riding with a confidence that had, up until that point, eluded me. After half an hour the sun began to break through and the rock immediately dried up. We met up with Bob who had ridden the loop once and then started back so he wouldn’t miss us if we decided to ride back out.

It was getting to be late in the afternoon so we reluctantly agreed that we needed to go and check into the campground, and get the tents set up before evening, and before it rained again, which unfortunately, it was threatening to do. So after about three miles of riding the practice loop I was ready for the real thing the next day.

We did the full loop the following day in beautiful sunshine and I am happy to report that I rode every single downhill but one (the last one was at the end of the ride, extremely steep, and I was getting tired – not a great combination). Watch the video in its entirety to appreciate the stark beauty and vastness of the area. It is very difficult to not look around while riding so we made many stops along the way to check out the vistas.

Of all the trail that week this one was by far my favourite. I can’t wait to go back. And I will go back!

Saying Farewell to a Faithful Friend

2011-04-01T09:17:00.004-05:00

I’m a hasher (drinker with a running problem) and we are notorious for our double entendres, our rude and crude songs, and our ability to run-drink-repeat. So it made me giggle a little when I picked up a new commuter bike last week and found out it was called a Bad Boy. Oh what I can do with that little number!

My last bike, the Yokota Ahwahnee, is about 20 years old and has never been the easiest bike to handle. For one, the frame has always been much too large for me. Bike shops size differently today than they did in 1989. After riding single track on a nimble and light mountain bike I would find the Ahwahnee unwieldy and clumsy, even on a flat city street. I never felt like I was in complete control. As well, it is HEAVY! I used to lug it up and down the stairs to my apartment and a couple of times nearly toppled backwards from the weight. But the bike has been very kind to me over the years. I never once experienced a flat tire or lost a chain. It was nearly indestructible. I took it on a number of adventure races and it never let me down, even when I had to hike it on my shoulders for a 1 km slog through a beaver-dam swamp.(I, on the other hand, may have let it down a couple of times due to its substantial bulk). I’ve recently done some internet searches on my old bike and they all came back with descriptions like “dependable” and “solid” and “great bike for the price”. It never complained by my lack of chain oiling or gear adjusting. Things just worked. When I bought it in 1989 it boasted what was then a state of the art chromoly frame. I guess that was to justify the price, which was for me then a fortune. I’d never spent that much on a bike before.

The Bad Boy was actually slightly less in today’s dollars which makes it such a great deal for me. The manufacturer’s website describes my new bike thusly: “The Cannondale Bad Boy comes in a number of models and specs but all are ideal for urban cyclists. The Bad Boy is fast and very maneuverable and also robust enough to take the knocks from drains and curbs.” Another website describes it as “Fast, black and bad.
A bike that can take aggressive handling at high speed yet is sturdy enough to last in city traffic.” I’ve already ridden it to work on potholed city streets and can attest to its maneuverability and ease of handling. Two rides in and I already feel safer on this bike. It’s as if my Bad Boy is protecting me.

So it’s time to bid my old companion adieu and reluctantly welcome into my life its replacement. I say reluctant because I’m going to miss the Ahwahnee in a strange way. It has a cool and unique paint job – pale green with purple accents – that I have yet to see on another bike. Unlike the flat black “ninja” Bad Boy, the Ahwahnee stands out no matter where it is parked.

This was a disadvantage for a friend of mine who purchased the exact same bike the exact same week I did. She had the worst luck with her Ahwahnee. She’d locked it outside her apartment building but being new to the city neglected to lock both (quick-release) tires to the bike rack as well. The next day she came outside and both wheels were missing. She went back to the store and had them both replaced. Then she decided that she was going to play it safe and keep the bike on her second story balcony. Unfortunately the thief must have REALLY wanted that bike because it disappeared off her balcony a week later. Another trip to the store and a new, but different, bike came home with her. This one lasted her for many years but I think it’s because she kept it indoors - purportedly under lock and key.

Mine however, stuck to me like glue. It hauled books and back-packs to and from work and school, it went on some beautiful bike rides through my city’s scenic parks and it pulled children in bike carriers. But the Ahwahnee won’t be going too far away when it leaves. It plans to spend its retirement years at the lake in Ontario and take a leisurely ride now and then during the summer months when I come and visit. So long for now old friend, but not good-bye; I have a Bad Boy to ride.

Renewal

2011-03-29T14:36:00.003-05:00

Spring gives me an odd sense of renewal. As the snow melts and the daylight hours extend into evening you can’t help but feel transformed. It always feels as if I get another chance to begin again. Not that I want to start over in anything. Life is pretty good right now and I want for very little. If spring could grant me one wish it wouldn’t be for myself. It would be for other people, who are not as happy or satisfied with any or part of their lives. I would wish for them contentment, the ability to let the cards fall as they may and to see the beauty in their day-to-day life. Clarity in a waterdrop. Vibrant colours in a prairie sunset.

Who am I?

2011-03-04T14:45:00.001-06:00

I’ve often wondered what kind of mom I come across as to my kids’ friends. My younger son came up to me after school one day and told me that he had shared some home-made fudge with a friend of his, who, when he found out that I had made it told my son, “Your mom is pretty cool.” (I’m relatively sure that ‘pretty cool’ doesn’t have some other junior high school meaning even though I do know that “yer mom” does).

That got me thinking about other “cool moms”. When I was just starting high school I used to think that some of my friends’ moms were pretty cool too. My friend Kim’s mom was uber-cool. All Kim’s friends used to call her “Mom”. She was understanding and often overlooked things that my mother would have freaked out had she known. Like the time Kim and I baked and ate the better part of a lemon cake before going to a beach party where we liberally chugged vodka and orange juice. I don’t need to say that the rest of that night was pretty ugly, but Kim’s mom just laughed at our stupidity and knew that this was a very hard lesson learned. (I haven’t had vodka and orange juice since without being painfully reminded of that night.)

Then there was Judy’s mom. She was another of those ladies whom everyone just called “Mom”. We were always welcome at Judy’s house and there was always a crowd there. Her mom never seemed to mind and usually ended up chatting with whoever was hanging out in the kitchen. She fed us and if Judy couldn’t borrow the car, which wasn’t very often, she would drive us where we needed to be. She trusted us to make the right decisions, and I think because she endowed with such trust, that we were loath to break it.

Years later my family moved a couple hours north to an even smaller town, and I started dating a guy who was 6 years younger than me. Jody wasn’t old enough to get into the bar so I used to buy us beer and we would sit at his house and watch movies on weekends. At first I was apprehensive when he decided to introduce me to his parents, especially considering our age difference. I fully expected to be met with very frosty and suspicious attitudes, particularly from his mom. I couldn’t have been more wrong. They welcomed me into their home with open arms, and hugs each time I came through the door. Jody’s Mom and I shared a love for cross-stitch and over the year that Jody and I dated, his mom and I exchanged gifts that we’d created for each other. When Jody left for University we agreed that we would part ways. I decided to live by the adage, “If you love something set it free…” His mom and I got together a few times after that but then I moved to another city. We lost touch. I often wonder what happened to Jody, and his amazing parents.

Knowing how I felt about these laudable ladies makes me wonder what kind of Mom I will be as my kids grow older, and hope that even if I have to be the heavy, I will also be hip.

Random Thoughts to Start 2011

2011-01-06T14:55:00.002-06:00

Most people who know me also know that I don’t make New Year’s resolutions. If I’m planning to make changes in my life, I’ll make them immediately. I don’t need a specific start date – “today” is always that date.

We got what was considered a “snow day” at work earlier this week. (In reality a water main broke outside the building and they sent everyone home). One of my co-workers who has been around for at least 10 years told me that this is the first time he could remember that they had to close for anything like that…let alone actual snow.

Sometimes I don’t think I do enough, other times I think I do too much. So I guess that makes it pretty much even then…?

My cell phone battery seems to have less and less charge on it these days. I thought the newer batteries weren’t supposed to do that.

While having beers with friends and family members the other night the talk got around to parenting and how no one is every truly prepared for the job. My boyfriend stopped the conversation and said, while pointing at me, “If you want to see an amazing mother look no further.” Of all the compliments he’s given me, that one will remain one of the most special.

It never ceases to amaze me how people can hold onto bitterness/grudges. In my opinion there’s no better waste of time or emotion, and in the end, the only people it really hurts are those bearing the grudge. I know from personal experience how liberating it can be to just let it go and move on with life.

I have been trying to write a blog about “My Ditch” – the lowest point in my life. And I honestly couldn’t think of a time in my life when I felt nothing but despair or hopelessness. So I scrapped it. I guess that means I am pretty lucky. There’s something to be said for a positive outlook on life.

I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the past year of blogging. I explored topics and things that I’d never thought about before. I’ve been inspired by others’ writings and I’ve met some pretty interesting and amazing people, sometimes only “cybernetically”. Here’s hoping 2011 holds much of the same.

Trying my patience

2010-12-21T10:48:00.001-06:00

I’m normally a pretty cheerful and patient person (being a mother I find I have to be). I look on the bright side of life most days, and try to find the positive in every situation (it’s not always easy, but I give it the good old College-try) You’d think with Christmas around the corner I’d have a more joyful topic to write, but time and time again it seems that my patience is tried…

Line-ups – My #1 Pet Peeve - if there are more than 10 people in line I will walk away and put my potential purchases back. I will definitely NOT suffer for coffee. No matter what kind of coffee it is. Life is too short to wait in line. The only caveat to this is when I am at the grocery store and have a full cart. I will grit my teeth as the line crawls to the checkout. This is when I catch up on the latest celebrity gossip. (Must make sure I put the magazine back before proceeding through the checkout.) Christmas shopping and crowded line-ups in stores drive me batty.

Driving in Traffic – I am very fortunate that I am able to walk to work most days. On those days that I am forced to bring my car I feel my blood pressure begin to rise when traffic starts to back-up. I don’t like the feeling of being trapped between a line of cars and a curb. I’m not claustrophobic or agoraphobic – I just don’t like not moving…If I could abandon my car and get out and walk, there are many days I dream I could do just that. To get me through traffic I lose myself in the radio. I channel surf until I find something that interests me and if it’s a great song then I will sing along, if it’s a talk show then I will absorb myself in the topic.

Impatient motorists/bus drivers – If you can’t get through the intersection on the green then don’t try to sneak through on the yellow and then end up blocking both traffic and pedestrians trying to cross the other way. (On more than one occasion I have had to snake my way between cars to cross a street all the while wondering if the motorist even sees me.) No one can be in that much of a rush, can they? I make eye contact ALL the time to make sure they know I am there. There are also times when I just have to wait for another light cycle and hope for the best. Case in point: yesterday I was walking home and had approached a crossing with the pedestrian walk signal still lit up. I was one lane across the street when the signal changed to the “hand”. A bus turning right on the red started into the intersection and came within a couple feet of me. I stopped walking to make sure the driver saw me. He made eye contact with me, and then to my surprise continued turning. If I had remained where I was standing he would have hit me. I had to back up to the sidewalk to avoid being killed. It was as if he didn’t care.

Oblivious Pedestrians - People who walk two-three-four abreast on the sidewalk (and even worse, those who walk in the center) unaware of people behind them who are walking faster and would like to get by and then grudgingly move when you ask politely if you can get by, as if you are invading their sidewalk. Ditto for dog walkers who walk their dogs a long leash that spans the sidewalk and you have to either go around the dog or hop the leash. All I can do is say, “On your left” and hope for the best. Sometimes people move and sometimes they don’t.

Loud chewers - Please close your mouth when you are chewing. There is really no polite way to tell someone they eat loud without hurting their feelings. (If anyone has suggestions for this I would love to hear them)

Telemarketers – nuff said! (I know they have a job to do and I don’t fault them for that but I don’t have to like it and I don’t have to listen to them)

Malls in December - As I get older I get more and more irritated with crowds in malls. So…I refuse to step into a shopping mall after December 1st. If I have any Christmas shopping to do I will do it early in the season, or online or in stand-alone specialty shops. (*sigh…I failed with this this year…I had to step inside last weekend, but I went early and left before noon – it was the best I could do).

I am very good at calming myself down and deep breathing to get myself through these patience testers. Avoidance works best, but is not always the most practical. A gin&tonic or a glass of wine at the end of the day is also a lovely remedy.

Traditions Reconditioned

2010-12-15T14:14:00.002-06:00

The author of a blog I follow recently asked readers to share their favourite Christmas tradition. This is a blog that I comment on quite regularly and I was looking forward to sharing my Christmas traditions. So I sat down and started to write, and realized that I really didn’t have one “Christmas Tradition”. As a child I fondly remember Christmas morning with my family when it was just my mother, father and brother for Christmas. As soon as we were old enough to figure out that we didn’t have to stay in bed until morning my brother and I would sneak out of our bedrooms and steal to the living room where the Christmas tree was. We would first check to see if Santa had come, and then seeing the plump stockings we would race to them and thrust our hands inside to retrieve the flashlight that was always included within. Santa was always faultlessly fair to both of us right down to the number of chocolate balls we received.

The stockings are the only constant for me. They are my favourite part of Christmas and I love searching out that perfect little thing to put in the stockings that are laid out each Christmas Eve.

There were some other traditions we begrudgingly followed. My father had been sent to Finland for work when I was in grade school. He came back with a couple of traditional Laplander hats worn by the children in Finland. As we went off to Christmas dinner at friends’ each year, my mother would pull out the hats and hand them to us so we could wear them into the house. My brother and I would complain incessantly about these hats

(they were actually quite cute) but we would put them on for the 15 or so steps to the front door and tear them off as soon as our hosts had seen us wearing them. I look back and wonder why on earth we put up such a fuss.

The early days were the most consistent but things began to change when we went away to school. After an intense school term all we seemed to want to do was to sleep, and instead of waking up early on Christmas morning, our parents would have to come and rouse us from sleep in order to get the day on its way. This continued until our early 30’s when we started settling down.

A devastating house fire when I was 25 resulted in the creation of a temporary new tradition for my family. Because we lost everything – including the Christmas decorations – we began to buy each other ornaments for the host Christmas tree each year. With just my family this meant 12 new ornaments each Christmas. When my brother and I both got married, the ornament count went up to 30 for a couple of Christmas seasons. We had to cease that as there was soon going to be no room for all the decorations either on the tree or in storage. The trees in our family are beautiful these days, adorned with eclectic mixes of fish and boats and trains and kitchen related decorations.

The married-pre-kids days were probably the most relaxed of all Christmas mornings that I remember. We would get up and brew a pot of coffee, pouring ourselves a cup with a healthy dose of Bailey’s Irish Cream, before making our way to the tree where we spent time laughing and leisurely opening gifts that had been carefully chosen for each recipient.

Once children entered our lives the Christmas morning routine went back to hectic activity. Children waking early to open gifts and a house full of discarded paper and boxes and new toys to try.

Since I’ve been divorced things have changed once more. For a few short Christmases we would buy ourselves a gift worth around $25 and wrap it in newspaper and place it under the tree for the annual exchange. Everyone would choose a gift they didn’t purchase, open it and try to figure out who had purchased the gift for themselves. (My brother was especially good at throwing people off his scent.) Then for some reason this short-lived hilarious activity was terminated and now we don’t even exchange gifts anymore. I have to admit that I miss the family get-togethers that just don’t seem to happen as much or as often anymore. I guess, as with everything, the only thing constant anymore seems to be change.

My Nose Knows

2010-11-26T15:37:00.001-06:00

I have a curious sense of smell. Many of my fondest and some of the not-so-fond memories have been triggered by smells. Most of them trace back to when I was young. This makes sense. Sarah Dowdey writes on How Stuff Works: “Because we encounter most new odors in our youth, smells often call up childhood memories.”

As a child I used to visit my grandparents in Sudbury for two weeks in the summer. It was always hot and dry there – or so it seemed – and my cousins and I would spend every day outdoors. My grandparents had many large white pine trees growing behind the house and when the ground was warm and the needles heated up they emitted a musky evergreen fragrance that has stuck with me for years. When I started running over 10 years ago I had a regular route that took me past a lone white pine beside the path. On hot summer days when I ran underneath this tree, the scent from the needles so strongly evoked those memories of my summers as a kid that the first time I smelled it I had to stop and take a few deep breaths because it was so comforting and healing. Even now, each time I pass this tree in the summer I am taken back to Sudbury summers.

The smell of blueberries, which we used to pick that summer as well, will also transport me back to those days.

My first kiss while wearing Orange Crush LipSmacker has lived on in my memory and I’m taken back to that exact time and place whenever I smell anything remotely like it.

On one occasion I bought some Cucumber Melon body wash during a visit to a friend in Florida. That same weekend I met an attractive man who I spent a few hours with during a group run. From that moment on, even though I never saw him again and had never even had physical contact with him, the smell of that body wash reminded me of him. I had to finish the bottle and never purchase it again as it felt wrong to think of him while showering especially when I had just started dating another guy.

When my family lost their house to a fire in 1989 I couldn’t be near a campfire for ages because the smell of burnt wood evoked those disturbing memories of watching my home go up in flames. But that one has faded – likely because it occurred later in life and also because I have been around many fires since then, and have replaced the bad memory with much better ones.

Dowdey goes on to write: “A smell can bring on a flood of memories, influence people's moods and even affect their work performance. Because the olfactory bulb is part of the brain's limbic system, an area so closely associated with memory and feeling it's sometimes called the ‘emotional brain,’ smell can call up memories and powerful responses almost instantaneously.”

Some of my favourite smells have included:
• the back of my since-deceased ex-cat (don’t ask – long story) Sid’s neck
• fresh-baked bread (again, back to my childhood when my mother baked bread on a regular basis)
• frying bacon (especially outdoors while camping)
• decaying leaves on fall forest trails
• fresh cut wood and poured cement at construction sites (yet another youth related memory - they remind me of when my parents built their very first home and my brother and I would play at the work site during the day)
• vanilla
• sun-warmed skin on a hot summer’s day (evokes those lazy hazy crazy days of summer)
• freshly ground coffee

Finally there has been much research; much of it inconclusive, that women are attracted to a man’s pheromones. Although there may not be concrete proof, I have an interesting footnote with which to end this one-sided discourse. I spent many years waking up next to a man whose scent I found less than appealing in the morning. It was never a body-odor issue, but something else that I couldn’t put my finger on. And even though I had very strong feelings for him, I just didn’t want to be close to him in the mornings. With my current partner I find myself wanting to snuggle into his neck in the mornings and breathe him in, which makes getting out of bed very difficult unless he is the first to rise. Again I can’t put my finger on what exactly it is other than that I am attracted and comforted by it. I guess that’s a good thing. As Jennifer Aniston is quoted as saying, “The best smell in the world is that man that you love.”

Caring Capacity

2010-11-17T13:46:00.001-06:00

We all carry baggage. For some of us it can be heavy emotional baggage, like wounded hearts and scarred souls, for others it’s more physical in nature, like those who can’t let go of body weight or possessions, and then there are the ones with what I call familial baggage; like children and aging parents. But if you are really lucky the only bag you carry is your gym bag or your lunch bag.

Emotional baggage can result from a bad breakup, stress in your life, or a traumatic event. For many people the presence of emotional baggage trumps everything, especially new relationships. Emotional baggage has followed me from time to time stymieing my urge to focus on a relationship. Many years ago when I was a couple months into dating a new guy my family lost their house to a fire. Oddly enough the house fire left me cold, and even though I had been dating this guy for a while, I couldn’t continue with the relationship. I simply lost all feeling I had for him. It was strange to suddenly feel absolutely nothing. Ironically, this house fire, while creating emotional baggage also helped me get rid of the physical baggage in my life.

Physical baggage comes in many forms; excess body weight, overstocked cupboards filled with food items near or past expiry dates, closets filled to the brim with ‘just in case’ clothing items that haven’t been worn for over a year, and even cluttered and paper covered desks because you are just too busy to file things in drawers or the round filing bin on the floor. I think shedding physical baggage is probably the easiest for me. I feel lighter when I am able to organize my living spaces and make them esthetically pleasing places in which to be.

Finally there’s familial baggage. I loathe calling my children “baggage, but they come with me no matter what I do or where I go, and when describing who I am my children are inevitably a part of that description. That said they are the best kind of accoutrements and I love surrounding myself with their presence. It wasn’t until I began dating again after my marriage ended that I noticed a big difference in my “post children” dating style. The freedom to go out spontaneously had been replaced by compromise. I quickly learned the type of person I wanted to date by his acceptance of my scheduling conflicts. There were some people who, once they found out I had children, were gone in a flash, sometimes even before our first date. What worked best was when I met someone who was both cognizant of my situation and who came with similar baggage of his own. I think that I was drawn to the same. I have dependent children and he has an aging parent, both of which require time and patience and an unending ability to empathize. There are many days we share our responsibilities (these are also the times when we must share our affections with others) and there are other days where we each shoulder the entire load ourselves. Our caring capacity does not diminish with this added responsibility. Conversely it continues to grow. It’s what makes us human.

Remembering

2010-11-10T11:50:00.002-06:00

My sons are in Air Cadets and will be attending a Remembrance Day Ceremony tomorrow. Their paternal grandfather didn’t fight in the war, but taught pilots to fly during that time. They have heard stories from their father passed down from his father. The war is more real to them than many of their friends because it has a face on it.

I am not old enough to remember a time when then world was at war. I am glad for that. But I am old enough to keep the memory alive for those who gave their lives for us.

Boys and Girls

2010-10-25T15:39:00.001-05:00

For as long as I can remember I have always gotten along with boys better than with girls. It started when I was young. There were never many girls in any of the neighbourhoods where I grew up. I always remember having boys as neighbours, and we would hang out building forts or playing hide&seek in the bush across the road from our duplex. When my younger brother got old enough he joined us. Since my parents had a cabin 30 minutes from town we spent many weekends there and most of the summer holidays. There were no other kids nearby, so my brother and I used to make up games and hang out.

I had a few girls as friends in public school but never anyone who I considered my very best friend. The one girl that I considered to be my closest friend had many other friends in our class so she never hung out with me exclusively. As we got older the girls in my class would have Barbie parties. I remember two or three girls bringing Barbie outfits over to another girl’s house, and they would dress up their dolls and swap outfits. I used to take my Barbie outside and make her ride around the back yard in GI Joe’s Jeep with his army guy friends. While the girls were plotting ways to make Ken like their dolls, my Barbie was going on jungle adventures.

Around men I never worry about competition because men and women traditionally compete on different levels. (And as I wrote in a previous blog entry, the person I most love competing with is myself.) I ran a small town half marathon a few years back and at about the half way point I began leap-frogging with another woman on the course. I would ease ahead of her and then she would come from behind and pass me. This kept me on pace for the second half of the race but as we got closer to the finish line she kept looking over her shoulder nervously. Then when the finish line approached, she took off like a bat out of hell. I didn’t give it another thought as I was racing my own race and assumed she was too. Later on in the washrooms I was changing before the awards ceremony and I overheard a woman’s voice saying, “I HAD to pass her! I was going to be fourth…There was NO way I was going to be fourth female!!” I emerged from the washroom stall to see her look up at me. She instantly turned red and shut up. I turned and left the washroom, secretly thrilled that I had placed fourth female overall and oddly confused about why she was more concerned with what didn’t happen than with her own placement.

I also don’t have to worry about a guy vying with me for another guy’s attention, or trying to outdo me by showing up in a fancier more stylish outfit. Throughout the years this still hasn’t changed. I am intimidated by stylish women. I don’t have a fashion sense worth beans and couldn’t pick out an original outfit without seeing something on a store model and trying to emulate it. Some women look as if they don’t even try. No matter what I do I always feel like a clumsy wallflower lacking grace around other women.

I’ve tried to determine the source of why I don’t feel nearly as comfortable around women as I do around men. Looking back into my past there was never a defining moment that changed things but I guess there were lots of little things – for example one winter when I was in grade four I’d had a fight with the girl who lived down the road from me and the next day at recess she rallied our friends around her and they followed me at recess “erasing my footprints so I wouldn’t exist” giggling and whispering behind my back the entire time. That symbolic gesture has remained with me over the years because it hurt me so deeply. I remember going home and crying.

It can be argued that boys can be just as hurtful as girls, and they often were, yet I forgave them quicker. Maybe I assumed that boys didn’t mean to be hurtful, but the girls knew exactly what they were doing. I had too many secrets revealed by girls I’d trusted. (To be fair, I do have some very strong relationships with women today, and there are some women in my life who I will always be close to and able to talk to about just about anything. But these relationships have been carefully nurtured and are a subject for another post.) Boys didn’t really care about my secrets. If they thought I was being silly they would tell me. They also told me when they thought I was being smart. The girls I knew seemed to have a secret language that I wasn’t privy to. I’ve never been big on the subtleties of the female psyche, or perhaps I am just extremely naïve, but I continue to remain wary. I think when it comes down to it most of the men I’ve known have always told it like it is. I never have to try to read between what they are saying to figure out what they are saying.

Competitive Spirit or Competitive Nature?

2010-10-06T10:17:00.001-05:00

We, as humans, are a competitive species. It stems back to early days of man when one literally had to fight for food, for shelter and ultimately for survival. As humans evolved, the need to fight for the basics requirements of life began to subside. We had homes, we had jobs, and we had clothes on our back. We didn’t need to get up in the morning and wonder if we would live to see another day.

But the need to compete remained. It is a rare person who can honestly say that they are completely fulfilled and lack nothing in their lives. We all want something, and more often than not, that something needs to be fought for – in the way of competing for a better job, bidding more money for a home in a desirable neighbourhood, or sometimes even finding the perfect mate. Competition exists in some form in nearly every facet of our lives.

My own biggest competitor is myself. As long as I am achieving as much or more than I am personally capable of, I am usually happy. This drive to better myself is what motivates me on a daily basis. I don’t need to use another person’s achievements as a benchmark as long as I have my own. But that’s not necessarily true of everyone. Anthony Garcia in his article Decoding Personality: Why We Compete, Reward & Buy says, “Our whole lives are motivated by an internal sense of worth, measured by ‘rewards’ — both internal and external. We’re each addicted to our own reward system. It stains every action we take.”

Some people compete ferociously and will stop at nothing to try to win. I’ve seen soccer coaches push their young players to tears for the sake of the win. The losing team feels inferior and the players begin to believe that winning is the only outcome worth playing for. I’ve seen this intense competitive nature in my youngest son. He is very good at Wii Sports and will challenge me every chance he gets. He practices and plays more often than I do, so understandably, he is better. But there are the odd times when we play that I beat him. When my points begin to creep up he’ll pause the game and ask if we can start over stating: “My hand slipped”, “I didn’t mean to do that” or some other pretext. I refuse. He always has an excuse for why I beat him and none of them are because I played better. Some people may think this is cruel, but I believe in teaching my children the honest (and simple) facts of life, that you can’t win all the time, and that if you only play to win, no one will want to play with you anymore. Already his brother is hesitant to play against him for this very reason, and even less so when he rubs it in. This is a stain that takes a long time to wash out.

I try to instill in him the sportsmanship that I was taught in school years ago, which seems to be slowly fading in today’s society. It always seems to be about the win. For me, because I am not overly competitive, it’s more about the game, and sharing the experience with others: it’s hard for me to weigh in on why some people need to be first and/or best. I am a runner and there is competition at every race I have ever run in. I have never won a race, and yet I am not at all discouraged or disappointed by this. Simply put, I don’t expect to win. On the rare occasions when I have unexpectedly placed in my age category I am pleasantly surprised. An unknown author sums it up perfectly: “The principle is competing against yourself. It's about self-improvement, about being better than you were the day before.” A little competitive spirit is good for the soul. Like I wrote earlier, it’s part of what makes us human.

Being Grateful

2010-09-28T12:27:00.000-05:00

Years ago Oprah introduced what she called a Gratitude Journal. I, along with many others, jumped on that bandwagon and began to religiously write down 4 or 5 things each day that I was thankful for. It was easy – I had two wonderful boys who were changing and growing daily. I found there were many things I could write about including how fortunate I was to have healthy and happy children. As these things tend to go I found myself slipping as it became harder and harder to not duplicate the same things day after day. I would pick up the journal and jot a few items down. Then I would forget about it for a few months and find it in my bedside table and pick it up again. The entries began to look like this: “I’m thankful for not feeling guilty about not writing for so long”. Not long after this my marriage ended and the book got packed away somewhere. I forgot about it.

(As an aside: Sometimes I feel the same way about this blog. I know I have a few followers, but don’t really know how often they check in, and if they even notice that it may be weeks between entries. So I am grateful to those of you who check in regularly and don’t lose hope in me.)

I found my old “gratitude journal” when I moved for the second time in 4 years. I flipped through it and found that not a lot had changed. I am not rich. I am not beautiful. I am not famous. I am not spectacularly good at any one thing. But I am still thankful for the health that I, and those close to me, enjoy. I’m thankful the writing muse deems me important enough to visit on occasion. I’m thankful for a great run on a cool morning. I’m thankful for having someone in my life to share things with. And though I don’t feel the need to write things down on a daily/weekly/monthly basis I still consider myself very fortunate in the general scheme of things.

Whenever I get upset at something that isn’t going quite as planned, for example finding myself hopelessly stuck in traffic, I try to halt briefly for a moment before I let it get to me. There are people in cities all over the world who have worse traffic woes than three cycles of a traffic light before getting through an intersection. I am fortunate that I don’t HAVE to use my car to commute on a daily basis. And perhaps that is why I get frustrated. I can usually walk faster than my car is going on some stretches. Those days I wish that I could just get out of my car, fold it up and put it in my pocket and then walk until the traffic volume spreads out and then just unfold the car and get back in and drive. In an ideal world…Instead, I plop in a CD or tune into a top-40 radio station (one of my guilty pleasures) and sing at the top of my voice. By the time a couple songs have played the traffic jam is usually behind me. Music gets me through (as you may have noticed in the last two posts) and I’m thankful for that in my life.

I think the trick is to stop and pause before you immediately assume something is going to be bad. There is a lot more to be grateful for than to be anxious about. I have wasted a lot of emotion in the past on dread that never materialized. A very wise person always tells me, “Everything happens for a reason.” Sometimes I have to search for that reason, but it is always there. And I am always grateful for it.

The one that ran away… (part II)

2010-09-14T15:20:00.002-05:00

You know I don't even know what I'm hoping to find
Running into the sun but I'm running behind
Running on Empty – Jackson Browne

As I continue to explore this theme, I’m a little stunned and a lot ashamed of my reasons for running.

I met David one Halloween at the bar. I didn’t dress up. Neither did he. I was wearing a red hoodie so we pretended we had come as Little Red Riding Hood and the Big Bad Wolf. He growled and I laughed. After a few dates I noticed that he had an aversion to wearing deodorant; he said that it attracted bugs in the bush – he was a forest firefighter. Then I found out that he was so homophobic that he wouldn’t use a pink towel or drink from a pink coffee mug. There were some things I just couldn’t ignore. We lived and worked in different towns so I thought it would be easy to let this fade away by not calling him. But a week later, after not hearing from me, and finding out from my parents where I was staying, he decided to come and visit. By sheer coincidence I had chosen that very day to drive to my parents place for a visit. As I rounded a tight corner on the highway I spotted David’s truck going in the opposite direction. Thinking maybe he hadn’t seen me I glanced in my rear view mirror to see brake lights go on. That was my cue to hit the gas. It took him over 10 miles to catch up to me. I pretended to be surprised to see him “behind” me. Soon after that I ran away for a month-long trip to Europe and when I returned there was little left to hang onto.

And then there’s the most superficial reason yet. I’d met Stan at the wedding of my University roommate. After chatting for most of the evening and learning that we both enjoyed biking, he asked me out on a biking date. We met up and headed off side by side down a quiet little street in the city. We heard a car behind us and Stan pulled up ahead of me so we were riding single file. I looked up to see a black matt of back hair curling out over the neck of his t-shirt. I suddenly developed a ‘stomach ache’ and with apologies to Stan headed home. The next time he called I told him that I’d gotten back together with an old boyfriend. (Coward that I was.)

Sometimes, it's harder to face myself than face the world
But there's nowhere to run girl
There's nowhere to run
No Place to Run – Gym Class Heroes

When I got married I thought I was finished with running. I’d found a place where I felt safe. Years went by and the urge to run never arose, until a few years after my children were born. But this time it was a different kind of running. I began to run for fitness. As I look back on it now, from a completely detached viewpoint, I can see that the physical running was only thinly disguised as running away. Each time I laced up my shoes and headed out the door I suddenly felt free of all encumbrances. But it was like I pushed the pause button - there were no phones ringing, no children to feed, no house to clean, no dinner to cook – I knew it would all be there when I returned, but for the time being, there was nothing but me, the feel of my shoes padding the gravel path and the sound of my breathing and heartbeat as I found my internal rhythm.

I’ve never been able to explain it succinctly except to say that life happens.

I want to live
I want to run through the jungle
The wind in my hair and the sand at my feet
Animal Song – Savage Garden

I know I wasn’t running away from responsibility. I loved being a mom to my children. I loved keeping a home. But there were obviously things that I didn’t love, and it was those things that were easier to run from, and hope they went away, than to deal with face to face. (For further dissection of this topic see Continual Evolvement.) I used to wonder if I was just being spineless and taking the easy way out, but I know that it would have been easier to stay than it was to run. People who know me know that I am very non-confrontational. In most cases I will choose the path of least resistance. So when they found out that I had run/walked away from a 12-year marriage many people were a little surprised, but said they could see it coming.

'Cause goodbye's on the tip of my tongue
Tell me there's a reason to stay
Cause I'm about to get up and run
Tip of My Tongue – Kelly Clarkson

As I further delve into my motives and dissect each of the situations I’ve outlined, there is a common theme, but one my readers wouldn’t have seen. In each of these situations - Nick, Kevin, George, David, Stan, my ex – I vaguely recall feeling slight trepidation during the initial bonding to these individuals. In all cases I also remember sloughing it off as “cold feet” and that I would get over it, or perhaps, used to it. Obviously I never did. That observation, quite frankly, frightened me. Was I destined to be a runner? Were all my future relationships doomed from the start? And then I thought about the ones from whom I didn’t run. I realized there was never that gut feeling that something wasn’t quite right. And in those situations, including the one I’m currently in, there is a feeling of just knowing it is right for me. If I’ve learned anything from this exercise it’s that my gut instinct is usually accurate. Although that’s small consolation for the people I ran from, some of whom had true and deep feelings for me, I’m somewhat bolstered by this insight.

“You are under the unfortunate delusion that simply because you run away from danger, you have no courage. You're confusing courage with wisdom.”
-Frank Morgan as the Wizard of Oz

The one that ran away… (part I)

2010-09-09T13:50:00.000-05:00

As seems to be the pattern these days a conversation with a friend got me thinking about this. She’d mentioned that she’d recently reconnected with an old boyfriend, and had always thought of him as “the one that got away”. And I wondered to myself, “Did I have someone in my past that ‘got away’?” I couldn’t think of any old boyfriends from my past with whom I wished I could have had a do-over. Quite the opposite - in fact more often than not I remember being “the one who ran away”.

You run away / You could turn and stay / But you run away / From me
You Run Away -The Barenaked Ladies

I started running away in Grade One… There was a boy, Nick, in my class upon whom everyone had the requisite ‘crush’. Every day at recess the teacher had us line up at the classroom door, boys on one side girls on the other, before we could file outside for our 15 minutes of energy release. If you, as a girl, were fortunate enough to find yourself first in line, and Nick was first for the boys, you were considered an item, at least for the duration of recess. Nick had the cutest smile and eyes that seemed to sparkle with mischief. All the girls wanted to be first in line when Nick was there. And then one day I got my chance. He made some cute comments about “going out” with me at recess and I blushed. The bell ran and out we went with my two friends, Eve and Donna. We started chasing Nick around the school yard – back then it showed you liked someone. We ended up at the front of the school behind some lilac bushes. Nick looked conspiratorially at all three of us and told us that he’d show us ‘his’ if we showed him ‘ours’. Eve and Donna immediately said OK and looked at me. I took off running before I could answer. Three minutes later the three of them emerged from behind the bushes smiling and laughing and when they saw me they turned and walked the other way. I was wounded. I made sure I was never first in line in Grade One again.

And I ran, I ran so far away.
I just ran, I ran all night and day.
I couldn’t get away.
I Ran – A Flock of Seagulls

I ran throughout junior high school. At the time I assumed it was just because I was so shy. Forward boys made me nervous, cute-looking forward boys petrified me. I remember thinking that the only reason a cute-looking boy was showing interest in me was because he wanted something – something that I wasn’t willing to give. “But all the other girls are doing it” they would say, and I would think that there was something wrong with me that I just wasn’t ready to do that with anyone, whatever “that” was.
Once, the junior high schools had a joint dance with all the schools invited. I met Kevin at one of these dances. We locked gazes across the darkened gymnasium and he courageously walked over to me, through the throngs of girls on my side of the gym and asked me to dance the last slow dance. I’d thought he was cute and said yes. As we swayed back and forth to an ABBA song I vividly recall smelling his cologne. He’d borrowed his dad’s Old Spice. My friends told me later that he was playing with my long hair as we danced, twirling it around his finger. After the dance we exchanged phone numbers and met every now and then after school to skate-board down St. Charles Ave. It was a very long street that didn’t usually have a lot of traffic on it. Kevin and I never held hands and we definitely never kissed. Being naïve as I was I didn’t know that it would bother him, so when he made the obvious overtures I did the obvious thing; I turned the opposite way on my skateboard and ran away. I guess it shouldn’t have come as any surprise when he sent a friend to tell me that he didn’t want to “go out” with me anymore.

And then one day you find ten years have got behind you
No one told you when to run, you missed the starting gun
Time - Pink Floyd

I was just out of University. I’d taken a job in the Forestry Office in town after graduation while I looked for a permanent job. I met George there one weekend when some friends and I attended a curling bonspiel that he was competing in. He asked me out shortly after that and we went on a few dates. He seemed nice and we grew close enough that he felt he was ready to confess a few things to me. He’d been in an accident years earlier and had injured his spine. Since that time he’d had “performance issues” and things weren’t that reliable anymore. He thought I should know. I said the only thing I could think of to say, “It didn’t matter.” But I lied. It did. Not long after that we were at a social. I’d had a couple too many drinks, something snapped and I ran. I left the social, in the middle of a very chilly March evening, without my coat or purse, and found myself running. I had nowhere to go. His house was locked, but the car out front wasn’t. So I hunkered down in the back seat not quite sure what I was going to do. He was understandably freaking out by my disappearance from the social (I heard this later of course) but eventually had to leave and come home where I sheepishly emerged from the car. He never asked why I had run away. I think he was afraid to because he didn’t want to know the answer. He forgave me instantly, and held me through the rest of the night, but it was the last night we spent together. I felt like a shallow fake and not worthy of him.

And so I lay here awake
As all the clouds fall away
Then fast asleep in your arms
Wake up wonder where we are
Try to freeze frame the day
Then the light starts to fade
I will scream at the sky
'til we drink the oceans dry
And so we run
And So We Run – David Usher

…to be continued

Continual Evolvement

2010-08-25T13:46:00.000-05:00

This is more of a stream of consciousness entry than a carefully researched topic. This is not like me at all. I’m usually more wont to meticulously write and re-write topics until they are as near perfect as I can be satisfied with. This time things just flooded out and for kicks I left things as they sat.

We are in a continual state of evolvement. I foolishly thought at age 30 that I had reached “maturation” and “ the end of personal evolution” and when I got married I was quite secure in the fact that I was done and that my new marriage with my husband would continue on along parallel pathways. Turns out our paths were never parallel at all and that they only crossed briefly for that time and began diverging. By the time 12 years had passed I barely recognized the person I was, or who he was for that matter. I had different interests, beliefs and passions in my life. He accused me of changing. I called it evolving.

Change is to alter or modify, to transform. Evolve is to grow, progress, move forward. Subtle differences, but differences nonetheless. Yes I had changed but in the process I had also evolved into someone I felt more comfortable living with. A kind of “new and improved” me. Or “me, only better”. Well, you get my point…

My taste in movies has evolved, so has my wine preference and the books I like to read and the activities in which I participate, to name only a few. Watching, drinking, reading and doing the same things all the time would frankly be boring. Even my circle of friends is different. University friends have gone their separate ways, and although I still keep in touch with many of them, we have very little in common these days aside from the memories of school and residence.

I do have my days where I like being in a rut. It’s comforting and I don’t have to think much, and the old stand-bys are always there. But that does get old quickly and eventually I yearn for some kind of change.

We are hard-wired to evolve. If everything stayed the same we would all still be wearing bell-bottomed jeans and tie-dyed t-shirts with the same hairstyle (well ok…some people still are) or worse, one celled organisms swimming around a murky pond. It would be very boring. I think the moment we stop evolving in life is the moment we stop living life.

Someone Likes Me...:)

2010-08-11T15:38:00.000-05:00

I was recently bestowed the title of “Versatile Blogger Award” by fellow blogger and very good friend, Kim. I was both honoured and humbled by such a designate.

Being the curious sort I am, I decided to research the origin of this award. After pages and pages of blog links with the same designate I’ve come to the conclusion that if there is an origin, it is lost somewhere in the multitude of cyberspace bloggers. My personal take is that this was invented by another blogger as a cool way of promoting other people’s blogs, many of whom wouldn’t get the exposure if not for this award. I know just from linking to Kim’s awards I have added new “Blogs I Follow” to my favourites. And when it comes down to it, there is nothing in the world more satisifying that a peer-bestowed award.

I started blogging as a method of releasing frustration and stress, and it morphed into a way of sharing thoughts and ideas with friends and strangers alike. There are no common themes to what I write, or why I write it. Thoughts come to me and suddenly an idea for a blog is blooming in my brain. Down it goes. One day I’m talking about clotheslines and the next I’m delving deeply into the personal. I never started writing because I hoped everyone would read and hang on my next word…in fact, I know I have very few readers. The few people who comment are usually the same people, and they have been tipped off (usually by me) that a new posting has gone up. If others are reading, then they certainly aren’t letting me know. I did try the stats link that Kim mentioned and it was interesting in that after the big two (Canada and the United States) my next largest “following” – I use the term loosely, comes from the Netherlands. I’ve also had a few hits from China , Germany and Denmark.( I’m assuming the last three were just accidental hits and when they realized what they got, closed the link immediately ;)

So, to accept the “Versatile Blogger Award” I have to do the following four things:

1. Thank the one who gave me this award.
Thank you Kim. In the short year we have known each other we have discovered a closeness that normally takes years to nurture and cultivate. If people want to know what Kim is like, they just have to read her blog. http://spo-r-tinglife.blogspot.com/ She is like that in real life. She doesn’t hide behind polished words and carefully rearranged paragraphs. She isn’t afraid to talk about anything and this makes many of her postings so real, and sometimes very raw, and more than once a blog entry of mine has been directly related to something she wrote that got me thinking.

2. Share seven things about myself.
These are random and in no particular order:

1. I am a mother, a lover, a friend and a dreamer.
2. I hate sitting idle and therefore carry a crossword book and a notebook with me almost everywhere I go.
3. At 46 I am happier, fitter, more fulfilled and loved than I have been at any other time in my life.
4. I have a secret crush on the Old Spice Man (but not secret anymore).
5. I hesitate over the “publish post” button each time I write about something new. I never know when someone is going to misconstrue what I write and attack me for it (it’s happened before).
6. I like to play like a boy, but smell like a girl.
7. Aside from the necessities in life I could not live without books…My Kingdom for a book!

3. Present this honour onto 15 ( I don’t have time to read that many – here’s seven, though not new in the sense of the word, I try to follow on a fairly regular basis as well as Kim’s which I’ve linked to above) newly discovered bloggers.

http://goseeruneatdrink.blogspot.com/ --> Pam blogs/blogged about travelling the world. If anyone is at all inclined to travel anywhere, chances are Pam’s been there and has written quirkily about it. She has a huge following and writes with a flair I can only dream of.

http://startinglines.blog.com/ --> Cathy’s tongue-in-cheek relentless pursuit of excellence in running. She is loyally dedicated to her sport and to the beverages that are consumed after a long run.

http://winnipegcyclechick.blogspot.com/ --> Andrea is a strong, brave, classy and enduring cyclist. I want to be like her when I grow up.

http://clickspring.blogspot.com/ --> Ian writes an eclectic mix - the simple and not-so-simple life in rural Manitoba, breeding all sorts of living creatures, fixing things that most people would have long given up on. His perspective on life is unique and I love the ‘randomness’ of his blog. You never know what you are going to get next!

http://kelodie.blogspot.com/ --> Kelodie is unwavering in her quest to become a better runner and triathlete. She is tough stuff and reading her training and race reports inspires me to no end.

http://dalesblogaboutnothing.blogspot.com/ --> Dale is a new father and aspiring ultra runner who has just completed his first 50 miler. He juggles family, training and work and still manages to retain a sense of humour.

http://downtownpeggy.wordpress.com/ --> ”Peggy” lives and works in downtown Winnipeg and writes about the latest happening, the places to shop, eat, listen and to be seen.

4. Drop by and let my fifteen new friends know I love them.

Getting back in the saddle

2010-08-10T13:26:00.001-05:00

I like to think I’m a pretty strong woman, mentally and physically. I’ve been through some tough times in my life and manage to emerge unscathed and only slightly scarred on the other side. But there have been times when some things absolutely terrify me.

Last year I bought a mountain bike and embraced it with a passion I didn’t know I had in me for a sport. I love the sound of fat tires thumping over needle covered trails. The whoop of satisfaction after conquering a particularly technical section of narrow tree lined single track or rocky terrain. In my first (and thus far my only) mountain bike race, and only the 5^th time I’d ever ridden, I came in second female. So I was beginning to feel fairly confident with my skills.

Then we went to ride in the mountains...

The first day of riding we encountered a downhill trail that sloped quite steeply to one side, had tall trees on the other, and lots of gravel and boulders on the way down. My boyfriend and riding partner headed enthusiastically down the slope with a smile on his face. As he disappeared around a corner I decided that it didn’t look that bad. I began my descent slowly using my brakes as I’d been taught – heavier on the back, lightly feathering the front. Then my front tire slid sideways when I went over a large boulder that had come loose - I panicked. Not thinking I gripped my handlebars bike tightly which also immediately and firmly applied both brakes and the next thing I knew I was lying on the gravel facing up the hill with my bike partly on me, saddle askew and many scrapes all over my left side. I lay there for a while, testing my limbs to make sure nothing was broken or bleeding profusely, and then gingerly rose, checked the bike to make sure everything was working and then proceeded to walk the bike the rest of the way down the hill to my waiting partner who was starting to worry about me.

Because we were quite a ways from the car, there was no option other than ride the bike back. He was able to refit the saddle for me and I tentatively got back on and rode. The rest of the trip though I found myself balking immediately whenever I was faced with a steep decline or anything that appeared to be remotely technical.

Each time I encountered one my physical self told me that I was fully capable as I’d ridden much of this stuff before, but at the last minute the mental held me at a full stop, remembering the terror of flying over the handlebars earlier in the week.

I was angry and frustrated at myself for the rest of the summer. I rode cautiously - and I didn’t crash once. Frankly, it was boring.

Because we had a wonderfully late fall, we were able to ride well into November. I felt like I was starting over again, but I slowly regained my confidence and was beginning to ride aggressively again by October. Crashing, although it hurt, didn’t worry me as much and I’d get up, dust myself off and laugh. Though I spent my fair share of time on the ground, I knew that it was because I had the courage to try. As Samuel Beckett once wrote: “Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.” I fail spectacularly some days, but I have a blast doing it.

That being said, I would rather crash 100 times on my mountain bike than once on my road bike…Oh wait...I already have ;0)

When to Quit…

2010-07-23T15:20:00.001-05:00

The act of quitting conjures up images of failure and defeat, but I’ve come to the realization that sometimes not quitting can be the more pusillanimous decision.

There are many opportunities in our lives to abandon things; music lessons that have grown old, sports activities, an unsatisfactory job that doesn’t challenge us. I have had all of these opportunities (and more) and have experienced quitting and not-quitting.

The Obligatory Children’s Music Lessons

I started taking piano lessons when I was in grade five even though my family didn’t own a piano. We arranged with my grade five teacher that I would stay in for both morning and afternoon recess each day and practice on the piano in the classroom. This earned me the distinction of “Teacher’s Pet Extraordinaire” even though I explained that I was practicing piano during that time (or supposed to be – I often gazed out the 2^nd storey window and watched the other kids playing outside because I quickly learned that practicing the piano was really not all that fun), not helping the teacher clean chalkboards or collate geography handouts. My family finally broke down and purchased an apartment piano when I moved to a new school for grade seven and there were no recesses or pianos to be readily found. I continued to struggle with balancing time for practice (Did I mention I really hated practicing?) with time for hanging out with friends in High School. When we moved to a small town and piano teachers were scarce my mother finally relented and let me quit. A part of me wishes I’d had the perseverance to hang in there, but I just didn’t have it in me.

Mandatory Phys-Ed

In high school you were required to take phys-ed in grades 9 and 10. After that it became an elective. Once it was optional I dropped it like a hot potato. I’d never been overly athletic as a teenager, was always picked last for sports teams (which is why I have never belonged to a sports team since) and I found that physical activity always hurt. (in hindsight it was probably because I was out of shape and every time we were required to do something for gym class, like cross-country running, I would tackle it gung-ho and then pay the price the next day.) So I quit gym.

Two jobs – Two very different stories

Job One

I had just graduated from University with a Bachelor of Arts (the most useful of all degrees /s) and had spent my summer working in the bush on a tree plant earning oodles of money to pay off my student loans. Once summer was over I began the search for a permanent job with which to showcase my talents. A small town newspaper offered me a job as reporter. Although I had no journalism experience aside from being a correspondent for a year or two with a slightly larger but more removed paper, I decided to take the job. After the first week I realized that reporting wasn’t in my blood. I lacked the straightforwardness and outgoing personality one needs to sniff out and attack the stories making the news, especially in such a thriving metropolis like Sioux Lookout Ontario. During my five seemingly endless tortuous months there a friend of mine called me numerous times telling me he was planning a trip to Europe the following spring and that he’d love for me to come along. I repeatedly refused, citing that I should give this job a fair shot, knowing in my heart that I already had, yet still unable to admit failure and quit my only source of income. Christmas came and my parents could see my joylessness. They urged me to quit, telling me that this opportunity to travel to Europe may never come again, and offered to lend me the money for the trip. After mulling this over for 100,000^th of a sec I finally agreed, and returned to work after my long weekend off to give my two weeks’ notice.

I have never once regretted this decision. Quitting that job was the best decision I could have made. I had an amazing five weeks in Europe and returned to find a 6-month contract job opening up in the Forestry department of the local paper mill which I applied for and got.

Job Two

After graduating from college years later (My ‘useful’ BA had outlived its usefulness) I landed a job with a national company, programming applications in their shipping and payables department. It was the best paying job I’d ever had, and my most despised. It was not despisable enough however to persuade me to leave the salary and benefits and I stuck with the job, eventually being pigeonholed into a support area that was mundane and boring and provided me with no challenges whatsoever. I started a job search with the hope that I could find something more to my liking along similar pay scales. Since nothing came up, as much as I longed to, I couldn’t just up and quit without a safety net, especially since I had recently separated from my husband and was supporting myself and my two children half time. Just when I began to settle into a boring groove, the company was taken over and 70% of the employees were to be let go at varying times over the next 12 months. My time was in six months. And the job I wanted to quit, but couldn’t, didn’t exist anymore and I had to move on. (As with Job One, this was the best thing that could have happened to me as I had four months of severance to burn through while I took my time looking for another job, while spending quality time volunteering at my children’s school and spending much of my free time hanging out with them. I landed my current job after those four months and have been very happy both with the job itself and the pay).

Quitting Friends

“Friendships are a tangled web from which escape can be very tricky.” DNTO’s Sook-Yin Lee said during a podcast I listened to recently. I had to whole-heartedly agree. It is much harder to break up with a friend than it is to break-up with a boyfriend. But I have found myself on both sides of the quit-zone. Some friendships simply outlive their usefulness. In this case both parties just eventually mutually drift apart. This is by far the easiest, and the one that is least likely to hurt anyone’s feelings.

Other “break-ups” are not so easy. How do you tell someone who has been your friend for years that you don’t want to be their friend anymore without sounding like you are in Grade Two? There is no diplomatic way of quitting a friendship without it sounding like a personal affront. When it gets difficult to put energy into a friendship, it’s time to give it up. When it’s one-sided it’s time to give it up. When your interests or values or outlooks on life change, it’s time to give it up. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve been angry when someone decides that I’m not important enough to remain in their close circle of friends, but I get over it. I am an adult, and when I sit back and honestly think about it, I can usually see why the friendship failed and understand the reasons for dissolving it. I have also been on the receiving end of the wrath, and I think it hurts even more when you cause that kind of hurt to another person. So I’ll say it again, “There is no easy way to quit a friendship.” All I can hope is that others sit back like I did and try to understand the motivation behind the decision. A good friend of mine quoted the poem A Reason, a Season or a Lifetime, in her blog back in April. It seemed to fit here since it deals with friendships gracefully ending or moving on. It is succinct and the points it makes would be well taken by anyone who wants to be a friend.

Quitting, for me, has never been an entirely negative experience. I’ve always been able to look on the bright side and find good in decisions I’ve made. I’ve stayed true to more things than I’ve quit. I’ve become an athlete, something that I would never have believed way back in high school. I’ve developed and nurtured many wonderful and fulfilling friendships over the years. So in a sense, I’m not a quitter, but I know when to quit.

Living up to Expectations

2010-07-20T13:32:00.003-05:00

I think everyone has felt at one point or another in their lifetimes that they had to live up to someone else’s expectations.

In the beginning it’s your parents. We feel the continual need to please and be praised when we are younger. It starts early when you are a child. The first time you smile or laugh or stand or begin to walk you get an exciting reaction from your parents. They smile, they laugh, they cheer and they encourage you and you decide that you like that. So you keep doing these things to elicit that response from them again. (This is what makes potty training easy for parents of eager-to-please children) Each time you get that desired reaction you know that you have done something worthy in their eyes and it makes you feel good. And each time you don’t, the look of disappointment you see hurts you and you are motivated to change, to redeem yourself – after all, they are your parents, the two most important people in your life.

Then you leave them and go to school, and your teachers begin to take the place of your parents and you start trying to please your teachers by doing well on tests, in sports, volunteering in the classroom. In Grade Six I was the ultimate teacher’s pet. I thought the world of my teacher (back then and still to this day), and when he showed approval for the things I did around the class it made me feel special. All for that smile, the validation that I was doing something right and something valuable in his eyes. (I admit I was a keener back then.)

As you get older, friends become your important circle. Peer pressure emerges and suddenly you are doing things that you may not feel comfortable doing, but you do them because you don’t want to lose the respect (or what you perceive to be respect) of your friends, again, trying to live up to expectations. On and on this goes throughout your life, and you start to wonder why you are living your life for other people instead of yourself. There was one time back in high school when I had two close girlfriends. All three of us were ‘dating’ boys and had all ended up at one of the friends houses when parents were out. The other two friends disappeared into bedrooms leaving me and my boyfriend alone in the living room. I could tell that he wanted me to go into the other empty bedroom with him. A part of me inside screamed “No!,” but I went along because I didn’t want my friends to think me a prude or a tease. We were the last to emerge from the bedroom later and although nothing happened - other than some innocent making out - my friends smiled knowingly at me. I suppose at the time I figured that being thought a tease was much worse than being thought easy.

There seems to be a double standard with friends that some people seem to expect more from some friends than others. In high school’s “the cool group” many things were completely forgiven depending on who it was. Not ever being in “the cool group” I remember being frowned upon for insignificant things, and I got to the point where I second-guessed everything I did. Even as adults those cool-groups persist, and I am still not one of them. (See ‘On the Periphery’).

As humans we crave acceptance. We want to be loved and appreciated. No one likes to disappoint. I’ve always been super-sensitive to what other people think of me. My aim had always been to please other people. To do things that I knew would be expected of me. It ended up being my curse, and I am trying to rid myself of it. I have realized that I cannot please everyone, and live up to everyone else’s expectations. Much of my married life was spent doing that, and I ended up harboring a lot of resentment. It is much more difficult when it comes from those who are closest to you. I think you try harder and harder to please them. I also think they begin to withhold certain things because they see they have the upper-hand. I have seen inklings of this in my children, and there were nights I spent talking to them for hours, reassuring them that they didn’t need to do something because they thought I wanted them to do it. But they should do it because they wanted to. I won’t have them fall into the same pattern.

In the process of shedding this curse, I have been able to open up my circle. I have discovered a new world out there. I am teaching my children not to fall into the same trap. And I have found someone who accepts me unconditionally, and puts no demands or expectations on me. It is refreshing and feels like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.

I will end off with a prayer, well actually a quote from a Gestalt prayer that sums up this post beautifully: " I am not in this world to live up to your expectations, and you are not in this world to live up to mine. You are you and I am I, and if by chance we find each other, then it is beautiful. If not, it can't be helped."

The Men in My Life

2010-06-30T12:19:00.000-05:00

As I make my journey through life I need to stop every now and then to think about and thank those people who helped shape my passage and bring me joy. I love each and every one of these men.

L – My Father. He has influenced many things I’ve done. He has guided me through tough times and given me a small portion of his vast wealth of knowledge. I learn from him every single day I spend with him. His calm and quiet demeanor is noteworthy and enviable. He sees things that many people miss. He is spiritual in ways most people will never experience. He has a peculiar ability to talk non-stop both in person and on the phone and make everyday events more exciting and humorous. He can talk to anyone anywhere and does. He is proud of his “little girl”, and I see that in his eyes.

S – My Brother. Very much like our father he is quiet and pensive. Yet he makes me laugh on a continual basis. He appears to be extremely unpredictable yet it is evident that things he does that may seem unpredictable to others have been in his thoughts for some time. I think he likes to surprise people. He is thoughtful and funny and amazingly generous. He is also modest about his abilities. He is an incredible athlete, a remarkable scholar and will be a brilliant and unforgettable teacher to his future students. Even though he is younger, I look up to him, and not just because he is taller than me.

T & S – My Sons. When I speak of two people who bring me joy these two come instantly to mind. I love them unconditionally. And as much as they may frustrate me at times, I cannot remain angry with them for long. They are part of me, and I see myself in both of them, in different manners. Through them I have learned to see and experience the world differently. I am amazed at S’s ability to pick up song lyrics after only a couple of listens, and I grin when he sings along to the radio, gazing sideways at me to see if I am watching. I try to sing along, and revel in his mock embarrassment. T has always been introspective and some of the thought-provoking questions he poses reassures me that he has an amazing future ahead of him. His sometimes annoying stubbornness to stand his ground will serve him well when defending himself. He is considerate and kind and never forgets to thank me with a hug and a kiss for doing things a mother just does. They will always own a large part of my heart. They are my little men.

C – My Soul-mate, Life partner & Best friend. After my divorce I didn’t think I would ever find someone who I’d be willing to open up my life to. I was guarded and cynical. When C initially came into my life what seems now like many years ago I was instantly attracted to his easy-going personality, unstoppable energy and uncanny ability to bring calm to a room. And unconsciously, that was what I began to look for in a companion. I never thought that we would come back full-circle and reconnect like we did. He doesn’t judge me, or expect me to live up to unreal expectations. He accepts and embraces the person I am. He loves me and tells me that every single day we are together. My heart smiles when I hear his voice on the phone or when he walks into the room. I am thankful for each and every day I have with him.

Communicating?…give me time

2010-06-16T10:34:00.000-05:00

The old adage goes that you can’t teach an old dog new tricks, so when it came to re-learn how to function in a new relationship this old dog found herself somewhat challenged. In my past I had spent so many of my years holding things back that it was just natural to not talk about things that bothered me, and to bury them for fear they would upset or disappoint others. It turned out that the most important person it ended up bothering was me, because I held everything inside, let it fester and boil until I was feeling upset for what would have been a pretty minor thing. Still, I kept it inside until it had boiled dry and I was emotionally ready to go on.

I know deep down, that this is not how you conduct a relationship, but it was my way of coping and existing so as not to rattle the cage. I don’t know how I got to the point where I was scared of communicating, but I remember always being apprehensive about sharing my feelings, especially, and this is the crux of it all, if they were in the least bit controversial.

The first time I distinctly remember being hesitant was the time I had taken a job with a small newspaper in a remote North Western Ontario town. The editor of the paper had been kind enough to find me accommodation in the town, with a local nurse, Mary, who frequently rented out furnished rooms in her house for people who needed immediate lodging. Mary was the town social butterfly. She knew everyone and was constantly introducing me to people in town. She had a party once and I think half the townsfolk turned up. There was a parole officer living in the basement room of the house and she had also invited a bunch of her co-workers. I met one of them, we chatted a bit and he asked me out for dinner. Seizing an opportunity to get to know him better, and actually go on a date with someone who seemed kind of nice, appeared to be a good way to ease myself into the community.

The day came and we went out for dinner (which, oddly I don’t remember at all) and then drinks back at the house. It was one of those rare evenings when there was no one else home so we grabbed some wine and curled up on opposite ends of the couch to talk. That’s when things started going south. He began to ask me intensely personal and probing questions that made me feel uneasy. As I look back and in his defense, I assume he just wanted to get to know me better, but I wasn’t ready for this type of investigative assault and the wall instantly went up. The conversation fizzled and the evening was basically over at that point. I never saw him again. I can’t remember if it was because I turned him down for subsequent dates, or if he decided that I was too much work and never called me again. Regardless, opening up was difficult.

I used to open up to my diaries all the time. They were the window to my soul, and when I lost them all in a house fire I felt like my emotional past had somehow been erased. I started one journal after the fire, and it never filled up. I couldn’t bring myself to throw the same kind of emotion into it as I’d done in the past. So instead of recording it all, I kept it all inside.

Relationships followed. Again I never felt comfortable enough to really open up to many of the guys I dated. Not surprisingly, those relationships were relatively short-lived. When you cannot share your passions and dreams and worries then what can you share? As wonderful as a warm bed and a bottle of wine are shared between two people, it isn’t enough.

I think when I look back, I was never encouraged, or perhaps never really had the opportunity to challenge others’ viewpoints. As mentioned earlier throughout my married life I took the easy path, always deferring to others. During one family dinner I stepped outside my box and had an interesting “discussion” debating rural vs. urban upbringing with my brother-in-law. The discourse left me nervous and shaking inside, probably due to the exhilaration of finally being able to express myself. I’ve always underestimated my worth, and my intelligence. I think the main reason I hesitated in speaking up was an ill-founded fear of looking stupid.

As with many things in my life, the self-esteem I gained once I started running helped me begin to open up the channels I’d previously locked-down. I saw and embraced a new world outside. When I realized I wasn’t going to be shut down for expressing my views it became easier to articulate them. But I’m no means communicator-extraordinaire. It has continued to be a slow road. And I am still uneasy voicing my opinion, or even accepting that my opinion really matters in the long run. I need time to mull things over inside and formulate a response and sometimes it may take a few minutes or hours or even days. But I am getting better. This ‘old dog’ is slowly learning how to open up.

Selfless to Settling to Selfish

2010-05-18T14:51:00.001-05:00

I knew that my life was about to change when there came an “Aha” moment and I realized that I didn’t want to settle anymore. At the time, I didn’t think I had a choice, and, because I thought that way, I didn’t. But let me backtrack…

Selflessà As a new wife, of course I focused on my husband, our home. As a mother, the shift was even more pronounced and somewhere along the way I just began to give it all away – keeping nothing for myself. Isn’t that what moms are supposed to do? Views shift as you mature, and you begin to focus on the external, doing for others because it just feels good. I always took the burnt steak or toast. If there wasn’t enough bacon for everyone, I just went without. The kids and my husband always came first. After a while it felt normal, and just what everyone expected of me so I didn’t notice it anymore. I began to settle.

Settling à Life seemed to be about everyone but me. I had actually convinced myself that this was just the way it was. I don’t remember when the shift back actually began but sometimes I had frighteningly brief glimpses of my future. I remember lying awake some nights and wondering how much more I could give? How would I muster the energy to do this for the rest of my life? I was draining my very life essence away – and I couldn’t say anything, Because of the nature of who I was at the time, I wouldn’t say anything. I must have recognized at one point that if I continued thusly I would start to resent the very people I professed to love, and I could not let that happen.

Selfish à Everyone is selfish as a child – egocentric – the world revolves around and exists only for you. As you mature you realize that there are others in the world, and that being selfish is not so nice. As an adult the brief moments when I considered taking something for myself, I remember feeling a horrible guilt, “I should not be doing this!” It went on like that for a long time. My inner make-up was solidly built and not an easy barrier to break down. I think the turning point came shortly after I ran my first marathon. I realized that I loved running, how it made me feel on the inside and the outside. It stripped away the stresses of everyday life, and calmed me to the point where I knew that, “AHA! I had found my panacea”. This was going to help me. And I knew that by doing this, I was being completely selfish, probably for the first time in my adult life. In time I learned that it is completely acceptable to be selfish now and then if it means that you are going to be a better person for those around you. Taking time for yourself doing things that contribute to your well-being will go far when it comes time for you to give back.

Unfortunately not everyone saw things the way I did. But that’s another story. For the most part, being sometimes selfish has been a positive in my life. My kids see it, and understand it, and have their own selfish moments too. I let them, because I don’t want them to settle like I did.

Me? A Clothes Horse...Not bloody likely!

2010-05-06T10:20:00.001-05:00

My significant other and I were having breakfast one morning not too long ago…I had showered and dressed for work and he looked at me and said, “You don’t buy clothes very often do you?”. At first I thought it was a reflection on my wardrobe choice, perhaps he thought it outdated or something, but he continued on with, “I was just thinking that I can’t remember you ever buying clothes other than running stuff.” (We’ve been together for over a year now). And I thought to myself for a moment and could not remember the last time I had gone into a store to purchase an article of casual clothing aside from the bathing suit I bought when we went to Jamaica in February.

This simple statement started gears turning inside my head. I thought about the times I’ve been to Winners or other larger clothing stores, discount or otherwise. I seem to glide blindly through the racks, fingering fabric, looking at random pieces but seeing rows upon rows of nothing. I usually get frustrated and impatient and end up leaving empty-handed. Then there are other times (fewer and much farther between) when I go into smaller stores, head straight to the clearance rack and find something in less than a minute.

At most stores the racks are usually organized by S-M-L etc. so I can head straight to my size. The difference being the larger stores have what seems like an unremitting selection. I get completely overwhelmed with so many choices and almost panic. I have come to the realization that if I have to choose from a store carrying 30+ shirts or one carrying 5 shirts, I will almost always find something I like in the store with only 5 shirts. When there are fewer choices to make the easier it is for me. (I have the same issues at ice-cream parlors where there are a multitude of flavors...I find it easier to choose between vanilla and chocolate than 45 different flavours.) I envy those women who can spend hours in these stores and emerge with fashionable wardrobes that they have put together from the endless racks.

It may be because I still have insecurities when it comes to choosing clothes that look good on me. I always find flaws. For some reason I seem to do better when I don’t actually try the clothes on first (perhaps internally it is easier for me to like the piece if I get it home and try it on because returning it becomes a huge chore -- keeping it seems less complicated). And I do best when someone else buys the clothes for me as a gift (again, the “not having a choice” comes into play). So I suppose my SO is a lucky man, living with a woman who is afraid to shop for clothes.

Anyone want to be my personal shopper?

The Rules

2010-03-26T13:34:00.003-05:00

I was thinking about rules the other day and how many people have rules they live by. I think most of us have rules that we don’t even consider as rules, just the way we live our lives. I thought of the many rule/doctrines/tenets that guide people through their lives, and realized that there were many of my own, that I didn’t know I had. This list is by no means exhaustive (I seriously could have gone on for pages) but I chose a few that stuck out in my mind as particularly relevant to my life, past, present and future. Here they are in no particular order:

20 rules I’ve broken (but am learning from)
1. DON’T SETTLE --> Life is too short. I want to spend the rest of my days happy and able to look back without regrets…so far so good.
2. SAY ONE THING AND DO THE OPPOSITE --> Not any more. I’ve been able to become accountable to myself, and if I say I’ll do something, I’m going to do it. This is especially important when it comes to my kids. They know that if I promise them we will do something, we will do it.
3. NEVER TELL A LIE --> still working on this one but I think little white lies every now and then are needed.
4. PAY OFF YOUR CREDIT CARD EVERY MONTH --> give me time…this one is tough!
5. SAVE FOR RETIREMENT – START EARLY --> I didn’t start early enough…but I started.
6. WHEN YOU START SOMETHING, FINISH IT --> I used to be notorious for starting something and not finishing it. I’m getting better but there are unfinished projects still waiting for me.
7. ONLY DO ONE THING AT A TIME, AND DO IT RIGHT --> I’m not the greatest multi-tasker. I can do many things, I just can’t do them all to the level of satisfaction that I would like. So I have learned to pare down what I do.
8. RELEASE BITTERNESS --> I’ve seen enough bitterness to know that it completely consumes you. Reason enough to leave it far behind.
9. NEVER TAKE ANYONE/ANYTHING FOR GRANTED --> Anyone who’s been dumped without warning, or has lost everything they own to a house fire can appreciate this.
10. WHEN CHOOSING SOMEONE WITH WHOM TO SPEND THE REST OF YOUR LIFE, DON’T MARRY SOMEONE YOU CAN LIVE WITH – MARRY SOMEONE YOU CANNOT LIVE WITHOUT --> This is a rule that I don’t think I could have avoided...hindsight is always 20/20.
11. ACCEPT YOURSELF FOR WHO YOU ARE --> The more I began to love me for me (faults and all), the easier this became.
12. FORGIVE YOURSELF --> I punished myself over and over with this…learning to forgive yourself is much harder than forgiving others.
13. YOU’LL NEVER UNDERSTAND EVERYTHING --> But I want to…
14. SAY NO TO SOMETHING I FEEL I SHOULD DO BUT REALLY DON’T WANT TO --> I used to have a very healthy and active guilt complex. It made me do many things that I didn’t want to do.
15. LISTEN TO YOUR BODY --> I still break this rule on occasion… especially when it comes to running. I love running so much that I will ignore nagging pains in favour of going out for a run. But when it comes to illness, or gut feelings, my body rarely lies to me.
16. UNDERSTAND THAT FRIENDS COME AND GO... --> and some come back again and again, while others disappear. This can be summed up in the recent blog of a friend of mine who wrote extensively on this…There are reasons for everything.
17. REMEMBER THE COMPLIMENTS YOUR RECEIVE, FORGET THE INSULTS --> Humans are wired to react to ‘threats’, and insults can fall into that category. I’m still oiling my feathers.
18. ALWAYS READ DIRECTIONS --> Too much time spent driving around endlessly or completely dismantling and then reassembling things has showed me how valuable a time saver this is.
19. FLOSS EVERY DAY --> My bad
20. BE THE FIRST TO SAY SORRY --> Or take the high road. I sometimes get beaten to it, but I recognize when I’m wrong.

20 rules I’ve learned to follow (although with some it’s taken time)
1. ACCENTUATE/FOCUS ON THE POSITIVE --> And surround yourself with others who do the same. It’s amazing what kind of constructive energy you can create together. I love smiling and I love it when others smile; their faces completely change – in a good way.
2. SPEND SOME TIME ALONE EVERY DAY --> I walk to work every day – depending on my route it can take me 30 minutes to just under an hour. I use this time to reflect and think about things, I listen to the radio or my iPod, or sometimes I just turn off, and take in my surroundings…there is something different to see every day – you just have to look for it.
3. DON’T SWEAT THE SMALL STUFF --> Uh…I have enough big stuff to sweat!
4. AFTER YOU USE IT, PUT IT BACK WHERE YOU FOUND IT…--> because it really bothers me when others don’t do the same.
5. CHOOSE THE PATH LESS TRAVELLED --> Because I love breaking trail and seeing what’s around the next corner. I’m not one who follows the crowd, and haven’t been for a very long time.
6. DRINK LOTS OF WATER --> I love water and my body loves me for this.
7. CHANGE WHAT YOU CAN, LET GO OF THE REST --> When I gained weight after two pregnancies I took the steps to lose it, and tone up the “mummy-tummy”, because I could. What I couldn’t do is change my foot size, which is the same size as my boyfriend’s. I have come to terms with that, and have embraced being able to wear his shoes!
8. GET USED TO STEPPING OUTSIDE YOUR COMFORT ZONE --> The easiest way to do this is take a deep breath, and jump! (also known as “doing one thing a day that scares you”)
9. STAY YOUNG --> Having two young children and a boyfriend who is young at heart makes this very easy. I never feel my age…
10. KEEP THE MORAL HIGH GROUND --> When you see how this affects people whom it’s consumed, you recognize its importance.
11. DON’T BE AFRAID TO DREAM --> No problem here – sometimes I think I dream too much.
12. DANCE… --> to my own music (inside my head) most of the time
13. GET TO KNOW YOUR PARENTS; YOU NEVER KNOW WHEN THEY’LL BE GONE FOR GOOD --> The older you get the wiser your parents get – nuff said.
14. ACCEPT WHAT IS DONE IS DONE…--> like when you click “send” on an email you weren’t completely sure you should send. (attached to this should be; "BE ACCOUNTABLE FOR YOUR ACTIONS")
15. HAVE A BELIEF SYSTEM --> I am a spiritual person. The good things in my life are proof that there is a higher power working for me (and all people). I can’t explain it, but it’s there.
16. EXERCISE BECAUSE IT FEELS GOOD, NOT BECAUSE YOU KNOW IT’S GOOD FOR YOU --> This may come as a surprise to those who know me and the amount of physical activity I do on a regular basis, but there was a time when I had to force myself to do anything physical. I think the turning point was finding things that were fun, and that I could do with others (so it really didn’t feel like exercise). Once it became a habit it was easier. Now I get cranky when I need exercise…and once I get it, I feel an overall sense of calm and satisfaction.
17. DON’T DWELL ON THE PAST --> Experience has taught me that since you can’t change the past there’s no point in dwelling on it…though I have wasted a lot of time ‘dwelling’.
In the words of Buddha: “Do not dwell in the past, do not dream of the future, concentrate the mind on the present moment.”
18. DON’T LIVE IN THE FUTURE --> See above
19. FORGIVE OTHERS -->I wrote a blog post on forgiveness and how it freed me to forgiveness in my life. I have learned that holding grudges leads to bitterness which Bertrand Russell calls “a sign of emotional failure”.
20. WHEN YOU SAY “I LOVE YOU”, MEAN IT --> I say it more as I get older…to my parents(who I never used to tell how I felt – wasn’t cool you know), to my children (sometimes to their chagrin and embarrassment – get used to it kids, it’s not going to stop), and to my best friend and partner for life (I love him truly madly deeply).

Finding Time

2010-03-22T10:18:00.000-05:00

I miss the simple times when everyone had time for a cup of coffee and a chat now and then. It seems like if I want to get together with people we have to check our day timers and find some mutual free time, usually a week or so down the road, and then schedule it in, hoping no emergency meetings are called that require cancelling our plans. There are no more last minute phone calls saying, let’s go for coffee this afternoon. Perhaps it’s a symptom of the busy lives we all seem to be leading these days. I will be the first to admit that I am as guilty as the next person and I don’t like it. When you add family into the mix you are suddenly weighed down with juggling everyone else’s schedules. Unfortunately, many things get lost in the shuffle.

I guess I am very lucky to have a supportive circle. I have tried and true friends, some who go back years, and others just months. There are people in my life who I can sit down with after extended periods of time apart and life continues on as if there was no break at all. With others (thankfully few and far between) though, it feels like you have to start all over again at rock bottom. But with most of my friends, it is worth it.

I enjoy catching up with people in person. Faces tell so much more than words on a piece of paper, or computer screen, or even voices on the phone. But even those are better than blank pages or silence. In the end, I’d rather sit down with you over a steaming cup of coffee (with cream :) or better yet, a cool frosty beer, and discuss the simple mundane things happening in our lives. Because I am a simple soul after all.

Day and Night – Black and White – Then and Now

2010-02-05T14:32:00.007-06:00

There was a time I took it for granted that there were just some things I would do on my own, and I thought I was okay with that.

It’s been intimated in other posts that I have always considered myself somewhat of a loner so when I started running I thought nothing of training by myself. As the running craze took off among my friends I started training and racing with others. I began to notice something interesting at the end of races – my fellow runners were being greeted by a partner/husband/wife/kids at the finish line. I thought this a nice gesture and the more I raced the more I realized that I didn’t have that, and I began to get jealous.

You see, running had become a big part of my life. I felt good after a run, I got sick less, I toned up and I looked for validation, support and encouragement in those around me. Because my significant other didn’t seem to understand the importance, and my kids were too young to, I had to look elsewhere. But somehow, no matter how many times your parents or family or close friends tell you how well you are doing, you still want to hear it from the one person who you considered your best friend and soul mate. But it just didn’t happen.

Time went on…running partners came and went but I just couldn’t stick with one because many times when running with others I often felt as if I was either pushing them too hard or holding them back even though we were probably on the same pace. I started to feel stressed when I ran with others and I knew that that wasn’t right. Why couldn’t I just let myself relax and just run? It stemmed back to wanting to fit in and never feeling like I completely did – to this day I battle that (but that’s another story;)).

None of this deterred or discouraged me from running. I just ran alone, or with my music. I compiled playlists that got me through some of my toughest runs. And races…I raced alone.

Then fate brought me back to a running partner from a few years back. We had run together for about 6 months before injuries caused each of us to adjust our schedules. When we reconnected we were both on the mend and unable (or unwilling) to rejoin a group again for fear of holding them back or pushing ourselves too much.

We started slowly – he gave me tips and pointers that helped me get stronger and run longer. We improved together. There was never any guilt when I ran with him and that felt so good. His patience guided me and eventually running together felt natural. I never had to think about pace, or holding him back because we were so well matched. We grew close, physically and emotionally. Then it came time for the first race of the season. He was at my side – encouraging me but more importantly believing in me like no one ever had.

At the finish line he was there – a smile and a hug and words that I had never heard from someone that close to me before. “I knew you could do it!” and “I’m so proud of you!” Something as small as that, that others in my circle had no doubt heard countless times, moved me nearly to tears.

I have to be honest and admit I am a fragile person at the core. I hurt very easily, although I may not show it and I tend to over analyze others’ actions sometimes to the point of driving myself to distraction. I’ll read into situations and gestures what was never meant to be read, and even though I shouldn’t, I do take many things personally. But this is one arena where I am finally beginning to feel comfortable. I have to work on the other, but like I said above, that’s for another blog.

What if…?

2009-08-31T15:01:00.001-05:00

As I walked the final block to my office building this morning the thought went through my mind, “What if I had walked on the other side of the street?” Could something as insignificant as choosing to walk on one side of the street versus the other have any impact on the big picture in life? Many movies have been made that show the completely different paths that a person’s life could have taken, had they made one decision over another. And if you believe that fate is in control of our destiny then it can be argued that no matter what path you take, what decision you make, the outcome will always be the same.

The question “What if…?” comes up often when people have been involved in accidents or occasions of bad luck; “What if I had left for work 5 minutes earlier?” or “What if I’d gone back to check if the stove was still on?”

I think one of my recurring “What ifs” goes back to my marriage. I was out running the other day and while I run, I think…a lot. I was reflecting on how happy I have been recently. I have someone in my life who supports me without question. When I first began running, around 10 years ago now, my husband at the time begrudgingly accepted it into our lives. But as time wore on, and my first half marathon came and went, and I decided that I wanted to attempt a full, the begrudging acceptance turned into minor resentment. I was told that the long training runs I did were taking away from ‘family time’, even though I scheduled these runs early on Saturday mornings long before the rest of the family were even thinking about waking up. I was made to feel like a selfish person, sacrificing my family for my fitness and my race goals, even though deep inside I knew this not to be the case. The person I was back then was guilted easily. I cut back on runs that I knew I needed so I would be there to make breakfast for the family. Deep down I knew that this was a ploy, but I could not bring myself to do otherwise.

Then I wondered…what if I left…?

I used to think it rude to leave in the middle of a movie, or stop part way through a book – as though you were personally insulting the author by not finishing, so I plodded through plotless books and movies that didn’t interest me beyond the first ten minutes.

But after a period of stagnation I realized that life was too short to be wasted watching movies that no longer interested me, or reading books where the plot sizzled out somewhere around page 237, or remaining a marriage that not only no longer fulfilled me, but saddened me. I was accused of giving up, of not trying hard enough, but when I weighed the cost of the fight, over the benefit of a clear conscience, there was no choice to be made – it was already done – I just didn’t know it.

So I left…Because I could do nothing else.
And maybe it just hit me one day
That I could just get up and walk out…

The funny thing is since I left I’ve sometimes wondered…what if I stayed?

Grinning from ear to ear…

2009-05-21T13:21:00.001-05:00

There’s never anything wrong with shaking it up a little, and I recently have done just that. I took my first steps, or perhaps I should say my first pedals, on a bona fide mountain bike. I really only have one thing to say about this, WooHoo!

Ok, I have ridden bikes for most of my life. I learned how to ride as a child when my grandfather sat me on a bicycle and pushed me down a hill. It was a sink or swim (aka ride or fall down) reaction, and before I knew it I was riding all around my grandparents’ farm that summer. My parents had bought me my first bike, a blue SuperCycle, earlier that year, but because I couldn’t ride it yet, stared longingly at it until I returned from my summer vacation. I upgraded quickly to an orange three speed bike, high tech for its day. Bikes came and went over the years but I stayed on the road and the sidewalk, never venturing much farther off the beaten path.

I purchased my first bike in Winnipeg when I moved there in 1989, a fully rigid Yokota Ahwanee hybrid, and still have the bike, 20 years later. It is heavy and cumbersome to lug up and down the stairs, but it has taken me through numerous adventure races, and many hundreds of miles. I have gotten my money and more back from the bike, and it still holds a very special place in my life, as I still ride it on a regular basis.

But when I found an enthusiastic cycling partner who introduced me to off-road biking, combined with a nice income tax refund, I knew it was time to take the next step. The Yokota, unfortunately, is not bike enough to tackle trails, so I began shopping for a something that could. That “something” came in the form of a Giant TranceX4. Knowing absolutely nothing about bikes made it a challenge, but advice flew at me from all angles, and before long I was immersed in bike-speak. I learned the difference between a soft-tail, hard-tail and dual suspension, could understand V-brakes versus disc versus hydraulic disc. And fortunately, I was able to get my wish list for the price I had planned to pay.

Being an avid runner I was not prepared for the intense burn that came with the short hill-climbing bursts, and I was definitely surprised to find that trees are more difficult to out-maneuver when you are approaching them at ‘faster-than-running’ speed. But I laugh when I fall down and I get up and continue on. It has been a wonderful break from running, and I have met some great people who are more than happy to share advice and insults. This group thinks “It’s funny until someone gets hurt, then it’s hilarious!” and “If you are not hurting after a day of biking, you must be road riding.” I love their attitudes and the positive vibes I get when around them. There is no competition, only camaraderie.

So I am currently preparing for a weekend of MTBing near Minaki Ontario. I am excited and pleased that I have found other interests that challenge me like running has. I’m off to leave a little DNA on trail!

Routinely breaking routine…

2009-04-17T14:57:00.000-05:00

Routines can be comforting, but if we begin to rely on them completely, it is very easy to become boring, stagnant and stuck. Some people get too attached and then find they are unable to break free and the once reassuring routine becomes an obsessive hindrance that cannot be discarded as easily as shrugging off a jacket. It literally becomes a part of who they are as a person, and how they start to classify themselves. We need to be able to characterize ourselves by who we are inside more than by what we do outside.

Some routines are useful and can serve a purpose. My mornings are carefully choreographed to allow me time to drop off my children and get to work. It’s been broken every now and then due to an alarm not going off, or a snooze button pressed one too many times. On those rushed days, when I am scrambling, and my schedule goes out the window, so does my well ordered morning. I have forgotten to brush my teeth some days (thank goodness for a spare in my desk drawer!) and have wondered why there is no coffee in the pot because in my haste I didn’t fill the reservoir when I turned it on. But these little blips serve to show me how useful some daily habits can be. Some you just cannot break without consequence, like being at work on time. However, I have learned that others are accommodating, if you are willing to bend a little.

That’s where some lose it - being unwilling to flex. People say they simply have no choice, when actually they do. But the choice is between doing something, period, or not doing it at all. And that is where we differ. I have been a single mom for the last three years. I have my kids half time, makes it challenging to fit in training runs. So an after-work scheduled eight mile tempo can quickly become abbreviated to four or five to allow myself time to pick them up. But five is infinitely better than zero, so I take what I can get. At least I am willing to acknowledge it. Then there are times when it is just not possible to get out and run at all, and I accept that. Those days are used for weights and core training at home. There are people who would give up long before they hit the first obstacle and I feel sorry for them.

Each January I look at people who make New Year’s resolutions that end up shattered before the month is out. Most people don’t realize that before a habit can be formed you must repeat the action at least 21 times. Many people don’t make it past four or five. Just knowing that little fact makes it easier to form a plan, if indeed that is your honest intention. Once you have established your routine, only then should you begin to modify it. The willingness to adapt comes with making priorities in your life. Once that is sorted out, it all becomes easy. I like being the willow in the wind – I’m good at bending, and I’m not broken yet.

Putting it all out there…

2009-04-06T13:49:00.000-05:00

I had always been afraid of speaking to a crowd – even if I knew everyone there. To present in front of my class, even as recently as six years ago nearly paralyzed me. All that changed when I joined a social running club. Our head was leaving and asked me to get involved; General consensus agreed, and I reluctantly stepped up into a position that utterly terrified me. I was expected to take control and speak in front of this group of people at each gathering, which differed in general makeup from week to week.

The first time I blatantly stuttered and left long empty pauses. Peoples’ expectant gazes as they waited for me to continue made my palms sweat. My heart skipped so many beats that I am sure I used up a couple months of my life in that short hour. I could barely meet anyone’s eyes, and I was positive they were all laughing at me inside. At the end of the first week I silently regretted the moment I agreed to take on this role. I was not cut out for such a visible position and I wondered how I could politely extract myself and just blend back into the group where I’d felt the most comfortable, because there no one noticed me, and there no one looked at me and I was used to that.

Ironically, it was my reluctance to say anything to anyone about how ill at ease I felt that kept me in that position, week after week. As I became more and more easy with the routine I found myself relaxing and my issues with speaking in front of a crowd began to fade, even if only with these people. If I had been given the choice or the means to change my mind, I’m sure I’d still be sweaty palmed and pale each time I opened my mouth with more than five people present.

Since that point, and on a daily basis, I try to initiate interactions with people, even if I feel shy or uncomfortable. I find the more I push myself, the easier things get. It doesn’t take a confident person to stand up in front of a group of people, but by doing so you will end up cultivating that confidence. To set yourself up for the possibility of failure, rejection or embarrassment requires a certain amount of courage. We all have it in some measure. In the end it doesn’t matter whether you succeed or not, what matters is you tried. Because it is just too easy to give up. You can hide and play it safe, and dig yourself deeper into your comfort zone or you can choose to take that leap, and experience the heart pounding rush that is often confused with fear: Exhilarating in its own right!

The Return

2009-03-17T11:20:00.001-05:00

After neglecting this site for too long I return to my insights, re-energized, rejuvenated and ready to jump back into the words I have left behind while life has taken me in a different direction.

Today I am feeling almost re-born. I think when we do things for ourselves, taking time not to be selfish, but for self, we emerge on the other side with fresh perspective, positive outlook and ideas that didn’t exist before. That is how I feel right now. I want to take on the world and throw my words to the wolves. I want them to devour them and ask for more. I want to expose myself…right down to the naked core of my being so it is apparent that I have given all I have to give. I want to be judged fairly and impartially. I want to dig deeper for meaning, and actually find it.

Many things have transpired since my last post. The details are not important, but the end-result is that I have actually listened to myself, and followed through with what I told myself I would do. I am in a stronger and somehow more spiritual place. It is calm here, and I am happy.

There are many things I want to do and to have, and I know with time, with belief and with action, they will be mine. But in order for that to happen, I have to be strong, and I have to be firm and most of all, I have to believe in myself. Right now, that’s not such a big task. Until later!

Turning 40…

2008-10-28T12:16:00.000-05:00

…can be traumatic if you are not mentally prepared for the experience.

I vividly remember the day I turned 40. Oddly I wasn’t at all worried or concerned about entering a new decade, and had actually pinned a small sign on my cubicle wall that said, “I’m not 40, I’m 18 with 22 years experience!” I was actually looking forward to “starting the next ten” fresh and with a new attitude. That was foreshadowing at its best, and also better told in another topic.

I want to dedicate this topic to fabulous 40, and all those women in my life who have gracefully glided into this new age of elegance, maturity and extreme confidence. An e-mail circulated some time ago about how women age. As they get older they become more self-assured while men seem to do the opposite and hit their mid-life crisis early. Women embrace it, while men evade it.

I think when I turned 40 I became a woman in my own eyes, as opposed to the girl I’d always seen myself as. Getting married, having children, pursuing a career still didn’t convince me that I was all grown up. But the click of time into a new decade suddenly made it possible for me to see that there was a self-possessed woman underneath that once scared little girl.

Someone very special to me recently made the transition to her 40th year. This person in particular has overtaken this decade with more grace than I could ever begin to muster. With the dawning of the day she has claimed this decade as her own. I’ve always admired her elegance and easy-going effortless way of doing things. She attacks each day with a gusto that most people would envy. Things seem to flow around her, even when stress threatens to close in. She has a magical way of putting things right. Her seemingly unhurried ways and precision of plans show an intense amount of internal strategy, yet she does not crack at the seams. She is successful and poised in her career which has yet to ascend to the heights she deserves. If I were to name a poster-child for turning 40, she would be framed on my wall. Anyone reading this who is dreading the big 4-0, and thinks that this is where it ends should take a page out of her book.

And speaking of books, Mary Kay and Arnold Patent both had it right…”You Can Have it All”. You just have to decide what it is you want, and not be afraid to go after it. 40 is a glorious time in your life. Don’t waste it.

Going Wireless

2008-09-12T10:42:00.000-05:00

It seems that everywhere you go these days people are connected to some sort of communications system, either by cell-phone, blackberry, computer, etc. There seem to be more and more places where you can ‘plug’ into networks of some sort either via cable or through wifi. It is almost a given that hotels and coffee houses offer a wireless network to their customers, and those who don’t, are seeing business drift away in favour of ones that do.

Why have we become so reliant on technology and conveniences?

As a child of the 70’s the only phones we had were attached to the walls with wires – we were unable to take the phone farther than the cord would reach, which enabled our parents to eavesdrop, not because they wanted to but because they had no choice…phones were usually in the kitchen because that was where most families congregated. Televisions were plugged in and reception depended on which way the rabbit ears were turned. It seemed complex at the time, but upon reflection quite primitive now. There were no computers that the average family could anticipate the need for or even afford. Portable music meant taking your tape player outside. Walkmans were still a few years away.

Today it isn’t unusual to own more than one mechanism linking you to the world, and even less remarkable to have all those devices on your person at the same time.

But say you are looking to get away from it all – unhooking yourself from the harness of the world wide web and free falling into a non-wired world. There are very few places nowadays where you can’t pick up some sort of signal or connection to the outside world, and even then, satellite phones take up where others leave off.

To become truly disconnected you must take the first step and physically “disable” yourself.
I often go running with nothing in hand save a bottle of water. Sure, I could strap on a Garmin and log each and every detail of every meter I cover, and there are some days where that comes in very handy. I could also clip my phone to my waistband to make sure that I am reachable no matter where I go or what I do – and again, there are times when that is undeniable; some would say even mandatory.

So I savour the times when I can leave it all behind…literally. Unencumbered and free from electronic devices I suddenly become purposely lost and untraceable to everyone in the world. The prospect may seem terrifying to some who need that connection to civilization on a 24-7 basis, but for me, escape into the wire-free world of bygone days is oddly refreshing. I try to disconnect on a regular basis, for it gives me perspective on why I am here, and what my ultimate objective in life is. It also keeps me from becoming dependent on items that tend to make life more complicated and demanding. There are very few things that are so important that require one to drop everything immediately. Sometimes a little time to reflect on why you need something so badly can help you realize that waiting an hour or a day won’t mean the end of the world, and could possibly encourage you to find the answers yourself. Self-reflection and conscious deliberation can do much further inspiration in all of us. Unplug, separate and disengage yourself once in a while. You may be surprised at how much you like it.

Little White or Big Fat…True Lies

2008-05-13T11:41:00.000-05:00

The question isn’t whether or not you have lied. Let’s face it; we have all lied in some capacity at some point in our lives. The severity of the lie is where the lines become fuzzy and the questions begin to trickle in…how big is too big? Will it hurt the intended? Why are we fixated on it?

I won’t lie, I have lied. Many times. And for various reasons; some of them include not wanting to hurt someone else’s feelings, not wanting to get into explaining my own feelings, and probably the most common lie, the lie of omission. I have also lied for purely selfish reasons. Saying I am busy when I have absolutely nothing planned.

Most people don’t even think twice about it, and there are others who do it so regularly that it just becomes part of their daily discourse. During the course of writing this blog I did some research about lying and discovered that although men and women lie roughly the same amount, the types of lies they tell are diametrically opposite. Women most often lie to save someone else’s emotions and make that person feel better. When men lie, it is most often done to make themselves look better. When it comes to children, their lies are told solely to protect their own skin, (“No, I didn’t eat the last cookie.”).

People tell lies on a daily basis, and the most common method used for delivering lies are the telephone and through text messages. People can’t see your eyes or read your expression so lying is easier. For me, that “rings” true. I tend to be truthful more often in a face-to-face situation. But when asked to be, I will be honest, even if I know it will hurt.

It almost appears that we, as humans, are quite the deceitful bunch. But consider this: if you were to be absolutely truthful, 100% of the time, how many feelings would you hurt? And to flip it around, would you want people to be completely honest with you about everything? Sometimes a little ego boost feels good, even if you know it isn’t fact. I think we also lie to ourselves on occasion because of that, even if we are entirely cognizant of the fact that we are only hurting ourselves. Humans have become very good at ignoring what is directly in front of them. It takes a mentally strong individual to be continually honest with him or herself.

I fall into the group that feels intense amounts of guilt upon telling a lie. I also live in fear of being found out, so it’s not something I am comfortable doing on a regular basis. Besides, after so many lies it would be very easy to get caught up in the proverbial web. It’s much easier to keep track of the truth. So I try to keep my untruths as close as I possibly can to actual fact….true lies so to speak.

Mergers and Layoffs and what’s in Between

2008-04-30T12:26:00.001-05:00

When a patient resides in palliative care, effort is usually taken to make the person’s last days as comfortable as possible. It is truly unfortunate that the same consideration is not taken in other, similar situations. A couple months ago, my company was in the final stages of restructuring and although neither I nor my co-workers were facing the end of our lives, we were, in a sense, facing the slow inevitable death of our jobs.

The company where we were employed had been acquired by a hostile takeover. What ensued was a mass exodus as many people scrambled to find other jobs. Once the dust had cleared, those of us remaining looked around and took stock. We were the ones who had decided to continue until the end. Knowing that we would be jobless in mere months was not an easy realization. To the new company we became the expendable ones.

We reluctantly settled in and tried to remain proud and positive. A new dress code was implemented with less than four months left. For most people it seemed ridiculous and unnecessary. Vacations were limited, coffee breaks were monitored and appointments were scrutinized. It felt like the entire department was slowly eroding. We became stressed, worried and had a difficult time concentrating. Instead of adhering to the new rules, many people began to push them to the limit. It was almost like watching an unintentional social experiment. One wonders why we even bothered to stay.

Many of us owed the new company no allegiance at all, but stayed because we felt loyal to each other. What remained of the old corporation, as it was slowly assimilated, were relationships with our co-workers, past and present. Had it not been for the many others surrounding us, who were in the same situation, it would have been much harder getting through the last month. If the new company had not been so focused on the bottom line or how they looked to the press, they would have seen that the rules they had set to increase productivity were actually having the opposite effect.

To cope, I turned it into a learning experience. I took two important things away from this. The first thing was how you cannot underestimate the importance of camaraderie among your co-workers. I had read articles that said caring co-workers were the number one reason for job satisfaction. I can personally attest to this. The second thing I took away was how not to treat a group of potentially loyal employees. There is no easier way of alienating your people than by suddenly changing, for the worse, the environment on which they depend and have become most comfortable. Employees should be treated as the assets and investments they are rather than expenses, regardless of how long they will be there, because the only thing worse than losing a happy employee is keeping an unhappy one.

Frozen Motivation

2008-01-30T14:31:00.000-06:00

It’s tough being a Winnipegger in the middle of a frigid January winter and training for a spring marathon. Options are few, opportunities are fewer.

A couple weeks ago, with the weather forecasting a windchill nearing -43 degrees Celsius I took up the offer of my brother and his wife’s treadmill. I figured I needed some kind of carrot to keep me going so I stopped at the video store on my way over to pick up two of the Jason Bourne movies. Starting the first one I mentally vowed to pause the movie each time I took a break and not allow myself to watch the movie unless I was actually running. Not being a great treadmill runner it took me about 30 minutes to find my “tread-legs”. Then off I went. I broke it up into 15 minute intervals between which I would stop and grab a big gulp of water, and wipe the sweat off my body, and step back on for another 15 minutes. This was the only way I could get myself through this tortuous and grueling ordeal. It was the slowest 2 hours of my life and it felt like the longest marathon I had ever run.

Flash forward to a week later, the only difference was that the windchill this time was a mere -30 degrees Celcius. I decided to take this one outdoors because the thought of another 2 hours running in the exact same spot was giving me chills and I hadn’t even stepped out of my door. Two and a half hours later I bounded up the stairs to my apartment, feeling buoyant and energetic, despite having run 15 miles on snowy packed trails.

For days afterwards I wondered why the opposing difference in experiences. One would think that running indoors, unencumbered by two pairs of pants, four top layers, a neck warmer, toque, and double mitts would be freeing. Instead I had found myself labouring and watching the treadmill countdown (more than I watched the movie) and timing when I could jump off and have a quick break. Oddly, during my outdoor run I ran 45 minutes straight before stopping to grab a drink of water at the park skating shelter before heading out for my next 5 miles. I felt neither as tired nor needed much of a break.

I think watching the scenery pass me by as I run outdoors is what gets me through these long runs. I can actually see my motivators up in the distance. “I will run to the railroad tracks”. “I will run through the park.” “I will run around the golf course.” For me these are more concrete than, “I will run for 15 minutes”. And that is why I am not a treadmill runner. I appreciated the opportunity to run indoors in insulated comfort. But I think I will choose the mild discomfort of the cold if it means the time will pass more quickly.

Besides winter will not last forever, and each of these cold runs means one less as April approaches. I have learned that I can be stubborn and a lot stronger than I give myself credit for most of the time. And I just think of the character I build each time I walk out the door for another long one. We Winnipeg runners are full of it…character that is…!

The Mind’s Age

2008-01-09T13:52:00.000-06:00

Listening to Shelagh Rogers interview Douglas Copeland on CBC radio one morning really got my creative writing spark heated up. I wanted to leave work that day and head off to a coffee ship to write for the rest of the day. Some day my words will make me money, but until that happens, they’ll just have to make me happy.

Today’s brainstorm deals with age and perception, something the two speakers touched on in their captivating discourse. We all have a specific concrete number that defines the years we have lived on this planet. We also have a more abstract number. More specifically, this alternative number defines who we think and feel we are inside. If you were to close your eyes and relax and think about how old you really feel, the chances are the number will be less than your actual age. We all have our ‘mental’ age and each person’s differs for their own reasons. The two radio personalities postulated that our mental age was one at which we felt the most happy with ourselves and our life at that time.

I’d never gone much past 30. For me, 30 was an ideal age – still young enough to be forgiven for my frivolities, yet sufficiently mature to be taken seriously on most levels. Recently though, my mental age is beginning to catch up with my physical one.

Before I turned 40 I dreaded the prospect of hitting middle age. It loomed in front of me and I had visions of suddenly becoming ‘old’. Until I decided to attack it back with the same ferocity with which I was allowing it to control me. Suddenly I had become empowered. By taking jurisdiction of it, complete with fighting stance and “bring it on” attitude, I turned this pivotal milestone into a memorable and enviable event. My ideal age of 30 transformed overnight to 40. If I willingly take into account that my mental age reflects the time I was the happiest, then my two ages have melded, and are continuing to meld as I keep aging, into one. Perhaps growing older is not so bad when you consider the benefit of maturity and expanded knowledge base combined with the freedom to answer only to yourself.

I still have days when I feel like I am back in high school, but am quite thankful that those days are long behind me. I think it all comes down to the quote by Mohammed Ali, “Age is whatever you think it is. You are as old as you think you are.” For me, as long as I am happy, I am happy with my age.

Reflecting…

2007-12-20T08:23:00.000-06:00

I’ve been busy thinking over the past few weeks…and sorely neglecting my writing as I immerse myself in Christmas decorating, baking, shopping, wrapping, card writing and the like. It seems that this time of year gets busier and busier every year. I had mentioned to a colleague that it seemed much quieter when I was a kid, only realizing as I said it that as an adult, much more responsibility lies in making the season enjoyable for my kids. So as they put up decorations in their room and watch Christmas specials on television, I am frantically zipping around my kitchen making sure I have my promised eggnog bread ready for the work potluck lunch, and that my cards have been mailed out so they reach their intended recipients on time. I’m checking my list and coming to recognize that I will have inevitably missed something/someone along the way.

But this Christmas will be different from all the others. This will be the first “Christmas Day” in 43 years that I will be spending alone. It comes with having to schedule children between two homes and taking turns with major holidays. (This year is his.) But there is a light in all this madness, and it isn’t the light from the Christmas tree (which I just now realized I have forgotten to water!). In all the madness and scrambling that usually happens Christmas morning, I will be able to leisurely rise and make the required pot of coffee, toast a bagel, put on some classic Christmas music and just relax in my fuzzy white bathrobe. It will be a morning free of hassle and disturbances, of rushing to acting lessons, or doing last minute grocery shopping. It will be a morning of quiet reflection. Of remembering Christmases past, and looking forward to those to come. In an odd sense I am thankful that I will have this time to myself.

That said, there are places I would rather be and special people I would rather be spending it with. Since it is not possible at this time, I will be making the best of it. Time with family will come the following weekend when we get together to celebrate on the 29th. Then someone who is very special arrives the following week. This time of year is about family and friends and being thankful for their presence in your life however they may have touched you. I am privileged to have been touched by many people over the past year. I have had the support and advice of family and friends, which has aided in getting me to this point. I have reconnected with faces not seen for years, and continued to bond with those who have always been here. . So in a sense, I will not be alone this Christmas, because Christmas to me is wherever you are, and who you are with, and when you decide to recognize it. In a sense, I have been recognizing it all year long. Thank you everyone. For just being.

Dirty Laundry

2007-11-20T16:31:00.000-06:00

There are municipalities in this country which have restrictive covenants against clotheslines on one's property. They were originally instituted in a time when energy conservation was not one of the prevailing issues faced by society and property esthetics were deemed as more important. Today, when we are confronted with rising electricity and oil costs, it just makes sense to cut back on energy use where we can.

Early in my (now dissolved) marriage I expressed my wish to erect a clothesline the backyard of the home we had recently purchased. This simple request was met with disdain and derision and I was literally shocked into silence. When I tried to argue my case it was like my words were hitting a brick wall. Although I was never given a concrete reason, I have since been lead to believe that the clothesline symbolized poverty and lower class levels. Who would have thought a simple and cost effective method of drying one's clothes could cause such a great debate? Curious, I posed a question to some friends, worded as unbiased as I could, "Do you/would you use a clothes line to dry your clothes? Why/why not?"

I won't call my results scientific by any means, but they were oddly telling. Of the roughly 25 people I polled, only 3 women answered my call compared with 7 men… All three women and 5 of the men would be overwhelmingly in favour of using a clothesline, if they weren't already. The reasons varied, but themes included wanting to conserve energy, liking the smell of line-hung clothing and the invoking of childhood memories.

A simple internet search reveals that this subject runs much deeper than most people would think. Photographers have captured the beauty of clotheslines in their shadow, shape and form and there are books dedicated to various knots used to secure the cords between two trees/poles/buildings. There are also "green" websites devoted to the act of hang drying clothes where the forums go on for pages with all opinions and reasons for (or against), the simple line. It's almost as if there is a secret clothesline society.

For myself there is a poignant romanticism associated with them. They extol life at its simplest denominator. The sound of sheets and towels fluttering, the silhouettes they cast upon the green grass below or the buildings between which they hang, and most prominent, the fresh smells they capture and bring inside to be experienced for days to come. There is just a homey satisfaction to the unpretentious act of hanging clothes out to dry.

Although the closest I can come today is a wooden drying rack in my apartment spare room, I can guarantee that the next home I buy will have a clothesline in the back yard. (I guess that brings the women total up to 4.)

Pure Passion

2007-11-05T15:11:00.000-06:00

Pure passion is a part of many of us. We have things in our lives that we are avid about. And some of us have more than just one. A high school friend I have just recently reconnected with sparked the idea for this post.

We had not seen each other for probably close to 25 years. At a high school reunion we spoke briefly and outlined, in a few short sentences, what we had done during that time. It is easy to discover someone’s passion when you have only a few short minutes to compress your life. People tend to pick out the best of the best when looking to quickly describe their life. More often than not, a person’s passions will be first and foremost. While this particular friend was telling me what he had been doing since we last parted a recurring theme emerged in his descriptions. His wife and children were the first thing he mentioned, then next, not surprisingly, wasn’t his job (I still don’t know what he does) but his chosen sport, windsurfing. I knew then, when I saw the spark in his eye, that this was something about which he felt quite strong. And he could see that I was receptive to hearing more, so he elaborated and enthusiastically answered my questions on the subject.

It is curious to listen to someone speak about something that holds so much importance to them. And even more intriguing to be able to relate to them and share in their enthusiasm, even if you don’t understand anything about it. Because if you have a passion of your own, you already know the feeling and can apply it to something that is familiar to you.

He in turn has commented to me about my personal aspirations, running, but more to the point, running the Boston Marathon in 2008. Because we both understand, there is very little that actually needs to be said. It’s like we just know. I find it interesting that there are some people whom I barely know who can understand my passion more than someone who spent over 12 years of their life with me. But it just tells me that in order to understand passion, you must own it. And to own it you must feel it. Only then can it make you become truly alive.

In all seriousness…no really…

2007-10-24T14:09:00.000-05:00

It has come to my attention that my posts of late are on the way-too-serious side…I’ve been reflecting so deeply to the point that I am starting to gasp for air and it takes too long for me to surface these days…I think I may need to lighten up and perhaps reflect on the lighter side of my life.

My sister-in-law and I trade positive affirmations on a daily basis…These “affirmations” are intended to put a cheerful swing on our activities of the last 24 hours as well as look optimistically ahead to what may be in store for us for that day. In the last year I must admit we have taken positive to a whole new level…

Do you remember when you were in school and you were about to write an exam and muttered under your breath, “I’m going to fail this test.” The teacher hears you and tells you to think positively, so then you mutter, “I am POSITIVE I’m going to fail this test.” That is the twist we have adopted with our routine updates. We are at the point where we now search for the most depressing part of our day to contort into a positively negative twist.

For example…she was having a rushed morning a couple of weeks ago so didn’t have a lot of time to style her hair the way she normally does. This is part of her affirmation list from that day:

I did my hair this morning…it isn’t drying naturally
People in the office aren’t asking…did you get a perm?
Yes, I got a perm

It makes me smile and starts the day off on a light note…
It has also come to the point where we will try to out-affirm each other with the most outlandish statements we can muster up, not an easy thing to do first thing in the morning with barely a cup of coffee in our bloodstream. I find it gets my creativity kick-started and often I end up jotting down a few lines which sometimes end up as part of a blog topic. Another example shows how I turned my immense discomfort from a 5 day scorching heat wave this summer into a positive experience which I blogged about back in July (see “Heat”)

I slept comfortably the entire night.
It was cool and lovely in my apartment when I got home last night.
It was cool and lovely in my apartment when I left for work this morning.
I am just reveling in this weather.
It is absolutely gorgeous!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I did not come to work strictly for the air-conditioning.

And then there are the running affirmations…this sport which we both do and love and hate at the same time has been the source of many laugh-out-loud mornings…this from my sister-in-law four weeks after blackening her toenail while running the Manitoba Marathon:

I didn’t pull off my toenail last night.
It hurt.
I have a new toenail under it.
It doesn’t hurt now.
I can wear open-toe shoes.

And mine after a particularly tough, but satisfying, hill workout:

Hills are my friend.
I didn’t nearly lose a lung after my 7th repeat.
My muscles weren’t screaming after I was done.
I wanted to run at least 5 more.

And thus begins each day…
I think we need to inject humour into our daily lives. What manner that humour comes to us is unique to each individual. I have had a year of seriousness that I have tried to punctuate with small clips of joy. This is one way for me to start my workday on a high note.

I hope none of you ever get this opportunity.
:)

Doing Something Right…

2007-10-19T09:15:00.000-05:00

There are times in this mother’s life when I realize that things I’ve done, the morals and values that reside within me and the way I conduct my life, have silently and stealthily transferred to my children and all I can do is smile and beam with pride.

I had taken my two boys shopping for Halloween costumes at Walmart and while we were browsing the extensive selection of costumes and other assorted items, my youngest, who had gone over one aisle to look for props, called to me, “Mom, look at this!” Thinking he had found a particularly gory knife, or scary mask I glanced up to see him holding a small black change purse. I figured he’d found something to hold his allowance. When he shook it, it jingled and he handed it to me telling me to open it. Considering where we were in the store, I became suspicious and thought that it was a gag purse and prepared myself for something to pop out. I slowly pried the clasp apart and tentatively gazed inside, surprised to find close to $10 worth of loonies and twoonies. I looked at my son and immediately he said that we had to take it to the front because someone must have lost it. I told him we could do it on our way out of the store…but when the time came to check out we had both forgotten about it – he had put it in his pants pocket and I was mentally calculating how much our purchase would come to. We got in the car and started the drive home. Several blocks away he exclaimed from the back seat in a somewhat panicked voice, “Mom! We have to go back to Walmart RIGHT NOW!” Again, preoccupied, I figured he had forgotten an integral part of his costume…I was ready to tell him we’d go back another day when he revealed he still had the purse in his pocket.

So I turned the car around and headed back to the store. Back in the parking lot, I dropped him at the doors and went to park the car, telling him I’d meet him inside. When I got there he was explaining the situation to a somewhat preoccupied woman at the customer service desk. Not once breaking a smile, or even thanking him, she took the purse from him and told him she would put it in the office. And that was that. I stood there with him momentarily, waiting for her to perhaps thank him for his honesty, or something. But she was already looking to the next person in line.

Missing these subtleties, my son grabbed my hand and we walked back to the car, him chattering away wondering if the little girl (for he had convinced himself it belonged to a girl) would come back looking for it. He seemed quite proud of his actions and I’d wished he’d been more rewarded for his kindness…not monetarily, but by some sort of acknowledgement. So I did the only thing I knew and gave him a hug and told him how proud I was of him.

Not once in this entire encounter did he even hint at wanting to keep the money. Not once was there any question of not returning this purse. And I wondered how many other 9 year olds, let alone how many adults, would have done the same thing…the purse was small and barely noticeable, and the contents were almost dismissible in the entire scheme of things. But this little boy was insistent he do the right thing. And by him doing the right thing, I was rewarded knowing that in the way I have conducted myself around my children has evidently worn off. So in a sense, I am also doing the right thing…it feels pretty good.

On the Periphery

2007-10-04T15:07:00.000-05:00

I have never truly felt like I belonged. For as long as I can remember, I have always been conscious of the fact that I tend to hover around the periphery of the social groups to which I belong. Be it work, or school, or extracurricular and to some extent even my own family (in larger gatherings), I have never felt completely secure.

To others who know me, this may sound absolutely and utterly unfounded, but to me, who is experiencing my own life in the first person, the gap exists, and it is very real. There have been rare moments where I do feel the intense unconditional acceptance, and I nearly buckle at the knees because the feeling is overwhelming.

But for now, I stand back, and begin to question why I feel this way:

The fact that it is present in all circles in my life tells me that it is not something that is unique to a specific group. This also reveals to me that this has everything to do with me, and nothing to do with other people, or group dynamics. I am obviously, unintentially, the catalyst.

I think who we are deep inside, and who we present to the outer world are very different people, and we tend to try to bury the characteristics we don’t want to display. But every now and then, the soil of our existence erodes, and our true selves sneak back up for air. It is this self that may be responsible for my feelings of marginality.

I can trace this feeling back to grade school. I was never one of the popular kids, yet also never on the loner end of the spectrum either. Always hovering somewhere between the two. I was never athletic, and never had any interest to be, so was usually chosen last for team sports in gym, a stigma that stings to this day. Knowing that you weren’t wanted by either side, but had to be settled upon eventually, can be a very demeaning feeling, especially to a 10 year old.

You never really lose, or shed the core of who you’ve always been. Formerly obese people, who have kept weight off for years, tell me that they still see the overweight person they once were. It never really goes away. In a sense, it is part of who we were, are and will be in the future, even if it is hidden. So it sticks to us, an adhesive attribute, not easily flung off with a flick of the wrist. And we must resign ourselves to accept this, for we cannot reject parts of who we are and retain others. The entire package is ours for life – not to be divided as suits our mood.

Ultimately, no matter how confident and self-assured I may appear outwardly, I am still deathly afraid of rejection or ridicule, at any level. And this may be why I am reluctant to place myself unsolicited into the middle of many social situations. My comfort level has never been there. So I spend my time lingering just outside, contributing when I feel it’s safe, and occasionally venturing into that zone of discomfort, pushing my internal envelope, even though it terrifies me. But the terror belongs to me, and I can harness it. I guess that’s the first step. And at least I have taken it.

A Defining Moment

2007-10-01T14:46:00.000-05:00

I have recently been told that I am a completely different person than I used to be. And though I know it pained the bearer of this news, and the method in which it was delivered was far from tactful and diplomatic, it gave me a small sense of satisfaction, because it reinforced my view of who I am, and who I have become.

I have been on a lifelong search for contentment in self. I believe this search is ongoing, and we constantly reinvent and renew who we are over the years.

Seven years ago, I found a new niche: in running. It has evolved from the occasional 2-mile, barely exerting myself, run every couple of days, to the extreme of logging up to 40 miles a week training for marathons.

I know there are people in my social circle who strive to understand this passion I have embraced, and regardless, accept me for who I am, no matter what I do. Others have not been as understanding, and have questioned, criticized and disregarded its importance in my life.

This latter group is smaller, and I feel sorry for the limited understanding they have. This is why I have become more accepting and receptive to others’ choices and interests. To stay open, to try to see through other people’s eyes is an ongoing test, and I just hope that those people who don’t understand me will someday find it in themselves to try. Running has become one of my definitions, but it is not, nor ever will be my only one. I think that is what some other people cannot or will not distinguish. For this they are truly missing out.

Perhaps one day, they will see and feel what I do: the challenge in every steep hill I pass, the endless tranquility of a leaf covered trail, the sounds of my breath and the feel of my heart beating in my chest, the triumph of crossing the finish line of my first, and subsequent, marathon, the achievement of breaking a personal record on a training run, the beauty in a sweat soaked body bent over with exertion, the pleasure in the pain of exhausted muscles, the smell of new running shoes just out of the box and ready to run, the need to do it over and over again, because in the end it just feels good.

I know I have not stopped evolving, and I sincerely hope I don’t ever stop. I think it is essential to who I am as a person, and who I continue to become. And although I won’t force my decision onto anyone else, neither will I apologize for these choices, or the way in which I have opted to live my life. The clarity and simplicity in which I approach things now is refreshing and I don’t ever want to lose that. It is for this very reason that I won’t.

Questioning that which cannot be questioned

2007-09-27T12:12:00.000-05:00

There are things we experience that we cannot explain, and that, even if we could, others could never understand. Emotions take hold of us, turn us inside out, and spit us into a fumbling mess that only makes sense to one person.

My mess is also my bliss. The melding of two separate individuals into a single entity, for a brief moment in time, is completely irrational and unexplainable, and as I type this, I wonder why I am even bothering to try.

Maybe because I have been moved beyond words. That my heart has stood absolutely still. That my world has faded into the background. These moments are so few and so far between that it hurts to have them spoiled by exterior forces. So I block that out, and focus only on the now, because my now is so rare. And my moments are continually counting down.

There are scientific and biological explanations for what one feels, but when you are in the middle of the fray, it is difficult to put any distance between yourself, and what you are feeling, even if it is explained in the form of hormones and genes. Emotions cannot be measured by any logical or systematic method, simply because they are not logical or systematic.

And I still attempt to explain the unexplainable.

So I will concede failure. And with it, revel in what I feel, not knowing how long it will last, how strong it will stay, or how infallible it will remain. But it is inside me right here, right now. That is what I know. At the moment, it is all I want to know. I cannot change the past, I cannot influence the future, but I can be in the present. And I am.

I have explained nothing, but at the same time, I have explained everything.

Doing what I do…but not the best…

2007-09-27T11:49:00.000-05:00

I am not a mind-reader…

I guess there are times when people just assume that I am. I am human. I make mistakes. I lose track of time. I become oblivious. More so when I am preoccupied. I think I’d be hard-pressed to find someone who doesn’t experience this once in a while. So I just have to hope that others file this information away, and understand that this is who I am…and who most people are or have been at one point or another. Sometimes I just need to be told what others are thinking and feeling. It is much easier that way than constantly guessing.

With so much going on in my life, my mind and, of late, my heart, I just cannot be everything to everyone. So I am not. And I don’t profess to be. I learned this a long time ago, and in the recent past it has been reiterated. So if people think I am selfish or uncaring, I cannot change that. The same way that I cannot change something that has already happened. So I must be content with mistakes I have made, learn from them and move on.

So I continue on this wonky path, knowing that somewhere along the way, and at many times, I will probably say or do the wrong thing, and not even know it. For this I apologize in advance. It’s all I can do.

Putting it all into Perspective

2007-09-10T12:45:00.000-05:00

Why is it that death has it own macabre way of slapping us in the face and telling us to smarten up? And why do we continue to only pay attention for a scant few days before reverting back to our mundane, presupposed lives? Are we so stupid, or perhaps so self-absorbed, that we assume we are above these teachings?

If every person who vowed to change after being touched by death actually followed through we would have completely different dynamic on this earth. As memories fade, so do those good intentions. It’s not that we are blatantly ignoring these “best laid plans”, but despite death, life gets in the way.

That said, I don’t think this is necessarily a bad thing; one thing that is repeated over and over when one is faced with a passing is that “Life goes on”. Most certainly death would win us over if we completely stopped living and let the darkness we feel consume us, but it also wins if we continually ignore its messages.

So what is its message? It differs for each person. For one it may mean mending fences with estranged relatives. For another it means signing up for wind surfing lessons after countless summers of intending just that. And for still another it may mean to travel more.

Unfortunately, as much as I would like to, I just can’t drop everything to travel the world before I die, because in my case, life does get in the way – bills must be paid, children must be educated and cared for, and shelter must be maintained. But I have realized that I can change in small ways, and remember to live my life to the fullest I possibly can each and every day. To close my eyes at night knowing that if did not wake up, people around me would know how I felt. I do admit I slip up from time to time. I am, after all, human. I have found, however, the more I make myself aware of this path, the easier it is to follow. Also, like any habit, it requires continual maintenance to form; following through with intentions is no different.

But at the end of the day, for me, it means to never forget, or take for granted, those who are close to me. To tell the people I care about, how I feel, often enough so that they know and remember, and to follow my heart and the dreams within. So I say this now, to those of you who hold that special place in my life, “Thank you for being in my life, for making me laugh and smile, for caring about my well being, for running each mile with me, and most of all, for loving me just because I am me.”

One Year Ago...

2007-08-23T13:47:00.000-05:00

It is said, and reiterated by many, that it takes at least one year for a person to adjust to major life changes, be it a death in the family, a job transformation, a move or a change in a relationship; break-up, separation or divorce. This is because you have to undergo a full year’s worth of birthdays, celebrations and holidays to experience all the milestones that mark the passing of time, and then establish new memories and traditions.

I hit the one year mark this week. It has been an insightful year. It has had its sad moments, but most of all, it has been a year of renewal, reinvention and rebirth. I look back on the past year’s events with an open mind, and wonder who that person was who started this journey way back then. I reflect on the last year…

This is what I learned:
I have adjusted. I have healed. I have moved on. I have let go of guilt. I have embraced change. New perspectives are always around the corner. I have found new friends. I have rekindled old friendships. My family is my rock. I have learned to smile and laugh more. I like smiling and laughing. I have released my regrets. Life is too short to dwell on the past for very long. I value time. It’s OK to be selfish every now and then. Beer and gin can be considered food groups. Taking time for me makes me a better friend and mother to those close to me. The writer in me never really went away. I missed her. I need to feel. I crave creative outlets. Many of them. I require physical outlets. Many of them. Cancer sucks. I have found the balance I was missing. My children are more important than a clean apartment. Jumping on a trampoline can be liberating. So can laying there watching the stars. I am full of surprises. Sometimes things are easy. Sometimes things are just worth waiting for. I am patient. Time spent worrying is time well wasted. I like myself (a lot). Others like me too. I can be happy again. I am.

I am happy…

Forward Looking

2007-08-17T14:20:00.000-05:00

Do you ever fear that your anticipation of an event will overshadow the event itself? I firmly believe that if we had nothing to look forward to our lives would be pretty bleak. That may explain why religion can play such an important role in some people’s lives. Knowing that life has not been lived for naught, that there is a higher destiny waiting, tends to propel some people through their lives.

I am not a religious person – spiritual yes, religious, no. I don’t look to the end of my life thinking that redemption waits. But I do look to the end of each day, and hope that I can close my eyes at night, content with how I’ve handled myself. I try to stay optimistic – to begin each day with deep breaths and picture it playing out. I treat each day as an entity in and of itself. Breaking down life into these tiny segments makes it easier to stay on the positive side of things. Even though I know I will eventually lose my job, I still arrive at work fresh and believe that if I approach it in this manner that good things will happen. I guess it doesn’t matter what it is you look forward to, as long as you are looking ahead.

But getting back to the initial question…Can over-anticipation leave to disappointment? We’ve all been let down by things not playing out as we’d hoped. There’s a song by the band Yes called “Aim Low – Shoot High”. I think to not be disappointed in your life this should be a consideration. But how low does one have to aim to ensure you will hit the mark? And that may be the crux of my question…Lower your expectations and your disappointment level should follow proportionately. It is so easy to lecture this, and I have been just as guilty of having my excitement over an upcoming event eclipse the experience itself.

That was also when I viewed life in a different manner than I do today. Today, I keep my options open. I tend to feel that no matter what happens down the road, it will have been for a reason. Each person I meet, each decision I make, each day I wake, holds new possibilities for this writer. I am open to whatever life deals me. Accepting the consequences of those choices is also part of the process. I would rather be looking ahead, and not be as concerned with disappointment, than regretting what has already gone. For me, looking forward is not an option, it is a conscious choice, no matter what the outcome.

Forgiveness

2007-07-26T13:51:00.000-05:00

Stop for a moment, and think about how powerful forgiveness is. Forgiving someone or allowing someone to forgive you can be the most liberating feeling you will ever experience. To hold onto resentment and allow it to consume you is the equivalent of a parasite slowly eating you from the inside. It becomes the entire focus of your existence and you can concentrate on nothing else.

Over 20 years ago I nearly let this get the better of me…

I had taken a summer job working for a forest products company. My co-workers were three other forestry students. The only background I had in forestry was that I was related to the manager, he was my father, although I was told that nepotism was not the only reason I got the job.

Since my experience was limited, I was often paired up with one of the two other more seasoned summer students. That was how I met Craig. Spending countless hours together in a truck traveling the company roads or out in the bush learning to cruise timber, we got to know a lot about each other. It was only a matter of time.

I remember our first kiss, vividly. The students were housed in tiny rental cabins about 10 minutes from town – being the only female I had one to myself. The three guys shared the other one which was two doors away. I had been fighting feelings I had for Craig for a while. He had never given me any indication that he felt the same way, so I was not about to make a fool of myself by blurting something out and then having to live with the consequences of my actions for the remainder of the summer. I obviously did not hide these feelings that well.

It was a windy evening. The cabins we were assigned were situated at the mouth of the English River and there were soaring views of Lac Seul from the doorsteps. I was feeling particularly out of sorts one evening, lamenting, as a young woman does, my solitude. I left my cabin and walked down to the shore to watch the sunset and the waves on the lake from the floating dock. I guess that’s why I didn’t hear anything or notice the dock move, until I felt an arm around my waist. Instinctively I knew it was him. We stood there, silently, as the waves rocked the pier. Slowly he turned me around and looked straight into my eyes. As I stared back I felt like I was looking into eternity. Our kiss was slow and gentle and if I close my eyes today, I can still feel his lips on mine. From that moment on the summer was ours.

Unfortunately, had I been able to think properly, I would never have been as hurt as I was. I should have realized this was a summer romance, that it would end in August when our contracts were up, but I blindly let my heart lead me. I should have known when I found the crumpled note in his truck that there was someone else in his life: “Hi there princess, I miss you…” He never called me “princess”.

I barreled on, with blinders, because it was what I chose to see. We went on a canoe trip, we shared photographs, we went fishing and spent many hours drinking on the dock where it all started. And at the end of the summer, when the windup BBQ was over and he took me home, I should have said, “That was a great summer! Thank you for the memories!” But I didn’t. I called and we talked. I missed him and he said he missed me too. He didn’t. He couldn’t, because the next time I called I was informed that he had moved out, and no, they didn’t have a forwarding address or phone number.

I was crushed into tiny pieces, and scattered. I was too lost in my own pain, and then the anger hit. I sat on that anger for over a year. I wrote letter after letter that I threw away. I let it stew and burn inside me. I held onto that fury like it was a lifeline. It became my raison d’etre. I evolved into an empty unfeeling shell.

And then one day I saw it in the card store. A simple card – a picture of an overgrown sidewalk with a child’s red wagon sitting on the cement, slightly askew, the handle leaning on the ground. It looked like it had been abandoned, the red wagon, my red heart. Alone, and overgrown. I bought it immediately and went home to write. All I needed was one simple sentence; “Last summer you hurt me deeply, but I forgive you, because by forgiving you, I set myself free.” I sent it in care of his parents’ address, never knowing whether or not he received it. It didn’t matter. The act of sending the card set my healing into motion. From that moment on I fully began to appreciate what forgiveness could really do. Maybe knowing its destructive force helped me to move on, and look at it in a different light. I do know that I have not allowed it to consume me in that manner again.

Life is too short. Forgive.

Uncertainty? Certainly…

2007-07-17T14:02:00.000-05:00

There are times in one’s life where you come head to head with uncertainty – with decisions that need to be made in some cases, and in other cases, decisions that are completely out of your hands. Decision making in it’s own right is stressful, and you often wonder if you have made the correct choice – sometimes not knowing until years down the road whether the result was the right one for you or not. Because humans can logically breakdown the consequences of decision making, we are more accountable for our actions than other living beings on this planet that make decisions by instinct.

I am at a cross roads in my life where there are many uncertainties to deal with, and no instant decisions that I can personally make to have this go away. I have to trust that whatever happens will be for a reason. I also have to trust that once I do everything in my power that I can possibly do, I have to let fate take over. That way, there will be no regrets on my part (for more on no regrets, see the topic “Missed Opportunities” from April). I have lived regret-free for the last 8 months, and the feeling is very liberating. Knowing that I have done what is in my power to do, comforts me in the decisions I have made in my life. I can move forward with a positive attitude, and spread that feeling to others in my life.

My work life currently abounds with a certain degree of questionableness. Since the company for which I work was acquired via hostile takeover, employees are not confident that their present situation will hold for much longer. Many have already taken the plunge and have moved on to more secure environments elsewhere. Those of us who have chosen to persevere realize that our future could be in jeopardy yet we continue to hold fast. This decision for me is personal. I have chosen to remain. And with that, accept what may or may not befall me in the days and weeks to come. I may not have control over the eventuality of these consequences, but I have consciously relinquished that in favour of continued stability for the time being. Too many things have been happening in my life as of late and to further add to the ever-growing pile would be emotionally encumbering.

Questions are also arising in my personal life, from many points, and, though the learning curve is steep, I am finding the climb exhilarating and exciting. I have discovered many things about myself, which is rewarding in and of itself. I have discovered that I have a huge capacity for patience. I like the anticipation of what may or may not occur in my future and the decisions that are out of my hands are sweetly awaited. Once you have made the “decision to accept indecision”, you can be at peace with yourself.

We cannot expect to cruise effortlessly through life on a smooth pathway. There will always be bumps to slow us down and forks compelling us to make a new selection at each point. Life is a network of choices, and with each one comes a new array of options. The main thing is that you are constantly moving forward, confronting each obstacle as it arises. I think in life uncertainty will always be there, and if you keep that in mind then you’ve already begun to grade your own path to a life well lived.

Timely reflections…

2007-07-13T13:06:00.000-05:00

While speaking, about many random topics, in an airport coffee shop with someone whom I’d only recently met, we stumbled across the matter of time. As we only had a scant ½ hour before my flight left, we were noting, wistfully, how nice it would be to “buy more time”. But upon further reflection, it was mutually decided that, as nice as that sounded, it would be likely the most abused purchase known to man. What makes time such a sought after commodity is the fact that is it completely non-renewable. “Use it or lose it”. That familiar saying cannot be more aptly applied.

As we continued our conversation the seconds ticked on, and we became all too aware that our very own time together was now limited. Conversation flowed, coffee was consumed and my impending departure hung over us like a heavy anvil on a thin string. Ignoring the weight didn’t make it go away entirely but it became lighter in our minds as we focused on other things, and touched and laughed and planned. You really only appreciate it after the fact. I look back on those brief 48 hours and think with wonderment how much I was able to learn, share, and become with this person I’d just met. Time can do many things to us if we let it, but I choose not to let it erase what was so preciously gained.

Finally the hourglass had given up its final grains of sand. I sipped the remainder of my coffee, threw my bag over my shoulder and we began to walk toward the gate, maintaining our discourse, still not letting it get the better of us. He had lightly joked earlier about recycling time not used in a virtual blue box, having it re-emerge at a later point disguised as another moment to spend together. So mentally I placed what little we had not used into that receptacle and stepped up to say my goodbye. We would become geographically challenged from this point forward.

As I walked away, I could not make myself look back – physically or mentally. The line was crossed, and, as tough as it was to accept that this time had depleted itself, it was equally easy to realize that this was time ‘invested’. Choosing what to invest it in was entirely a personal decision.

I knew by the vague twisting inside that I had endowed wisely, that my time was well spent and I had no regrets to leave with. Not even regret that we live so far apart. All things happen for reasons often unknown or unseen by us. The few cleansing tears I shed later were purposeful, proving to me that there was something there – a fine elastic thread stretched between two souls – and I was not planning to let go of it just yet.

Today and only today

2007-07-09T10:38:00.000-05:00

Treating yourself well should be a given. We have only one body in which to live our life, and it will last only as long as we allow it. Physical, spiritual and mental well-being should be essential to our daily existence.

Some people spend more time on their car than they do on their body. They spend countless hours washing, polishing, shining, vacuuming, gassing up, driving and admiring their vehicle, and then turn around and light up a cigarette and shovel some junk food into themselves. Then they wonder why they aren’t happy with their life. Priorities are twisted in today’s world.

I thought of this as I went for a run this morning. Since I am not officially training for anything until October, I decided to just run and take in the morning. After a week of soaring temperatures this morning was cool and breezy – almost as if it was meant for me. I am not a heat runner so summers are difficult for me to train efficiently. I took this temperature drop as a sign, so laced up the shoes and headed out on my usual 10 mile route. I quickly got into the zone and realized that I had not run since last Tuesday (that’s five days ago!). It felt great. The feel of my blood pumping was like burning the carbon out of my engine, clearing my veins and straightening out my head. There were just too many things going on in that brain and I needed to organize, tidy and let go of them.

After six miles I slowed down and walked through the park – admiring the power of the muddy Red River to my left, the beautiful English Gardens to my right and the towering elm trees shading me from above. I breathed in the clean air, deep breaths, and exhaled the stresses, the loneliness I was feeling, the tiredness I had woken up with, and replaced it all with gratitude. Not only was I caring for my physical being, but my mental one as well. At seven miles I began to run again, a renewed sense of self and purpose taking over. I thought of the dinner for one I had made for myself last night – treating myself well. For if you refuse to do it for yourself, you can never expect someone else to.

I write this with more of an uplifted spirit than I have had in days. I have been able to approach each day singly, focusing on just the day, and what I want it to bring to me, and also what I can give back. Today I will spend with a friend who is more like a sister; we will visit another friend who is going through chemotherapy, and try to bring a beam of light to his face. Today I will smile at everyone I see, even if they cut me off in traffic. Today I will focus on today, and only today. And tomorrow? Well, wait until I get there.

Heat

2007-07-08T18:17:00.001-05:00

Morning dawns hot, humid, my skin is sticky and I lay on top of the sheets to keep cool. Outside it is completely still; even the leaves can’t bear to move in this heat.

I pour a coffee and head to work. The dog walkers have already gone by – they are early today, or maybe I’m late. The walk to the bus is quiet, even the birds are silent – saving energy or hiding from the looming storm? The clouds are low – tree branches seem to reach into them and caress their soft bellies. The man on the radio talked about thunderstorms…feels about right. The air is gravid and stiff and I can almost feel it parting for me as I wade through. It closes behind me, filling the empty space I leave in my wake.

A breeze escapes from somewhere, twirls a few leaves on trees, playfully tosses a lock of my hair before dissipating into the heaviness, a short life, but productive in its passing. My bus sounds laboured – similar to the wheezing heard in -30 when engines refuse to work. It doesn’t like this heat but toils on regardless.

It is not yet 7:00 a.m. and already I feel tiny beads of sweat collecting at the small of my back. I look forward to the shiver as they combine and roll down my skin, cooling me every so slightly despite the warm temperature. The day is sensual in nature, and although the air-conditioned office will be welcome, a part of me is reluctant to pull itself from the sultry grasp of these few hours after dawn.

In heat we all move slowly, languidly, taking our time, like lovers exploring each other for the first time, tentative, yet passionate. Even at the end of the day, undressing unhurriedly pulling my shirt over my head, I delight in the feeling of the air beginning to move on my damp skin.
A cold beer hisses and the condensation makes it slippery to hold. I take a long pull and reflect.

Day one of the heat wave is nearly over. By the end of the week, tempers will be flying and people will be snapping at each other – they can’t stand to be out of control. So I savour this first day, because it is new, because the leaves haven’t yet begun to droop, and the sidewalks still get cool at night. I can still sleep with my windows open, soothed into slumber by the sounds of the night cooling off; distant traffic, the odd rustle of the leaves in the trees and the gentle hum of air-conditioners next door. Accepting what you can’t control is the trick to getting through each day.

Vagabonds and Writers

2007-07-06T16:10:00.000-05:00

My vagabond dreamer
drives through the night
I map his progress
golden push pins
in a map stapled to my wall
tracing his journey

Cell phone speak
Scattered sentences
I place them carefully back together
while I lay beneath my sheets
holding tightly to his words
because they’re all I have

The intangible him
is always here
traveling through my thoughts
a ghostly mist
of man and memory
Any form brings comfort

Another call
Another town
Another gold pin

If I squint in the darkness
they twinkle like stars
reflecting the streetlight outside
I drift to sleep
in my private celestial universe
dreaming of the vagabond
and me

Becoming

2007-07-04T23:26:00.000-05:00

Becoming who I already was took me 43 years. It wasn’t even that I was searching – I just happened upon her one day. It was as if she had been waiting patiently for me to reach this destination; she welcomed me without fanfare or celebration, just a gentle nod and brief acknowledgement – like arriving home on any given day to be greeted with “Oh hi, you’re home…how was your day?”

This familiarness nearly reduced me to tears because if affirmed in my mind that I belonged. I wouldn’t have to do any explaining, or worse, convincing, to guarantee my acceptance. The questions that were posed, however, were “Where had she been until now?” and “Why hadn’t she said/done something earlier?”, but most importantly “Why did it take so long to finally realize who I had been all along?”

So how did she find me? She was cleverly disguised as a mother, a writer, a runner, a computer programmer and wife. She lived inside my head, watching my life from within, and waiting for the perfect opportunity to emerge, to show her smiling face to the one who had almost forgotten how. It came unexpectedly, a sudden realization that this was not how she wanted to continue, and then becoming conscious of the difficult decisions that would follow and the guidance that would be required.

I can only surmise, and draw from my own thoughts and opinions, which has become my modus operandi in this series of self-revelations, that I wasn’t ready and would not have recognized her before now. I think that maybe we are only dealt what we can safely cope with, and even when we think we feel completely overwhelmed, somehow it is still manageable.

She has become a close friend to me. I like her. She laughs more than she ever used to, her thoughts are clearer, and she now understands and accepts who she really is, instead of burying it in the depths of the emotional closet. She is a beautiful person who I am very proud to know. And I can confidently state that she will be here for some time to come.

Beauty Beheld

2007-06-21T14:28:00.000-05:00

Sometimes when I write, the pen seems to take over and I just follow the flow of words…When I think too much about a topic, I hit a blank wall –It’s like the ideas are in my subconscious and I just need to let them tumble out, unhindered. I also write a lot of poetry to express myself, but I haven’t posted any to this blog. There is always a first time and that time is today. This poem seemed to write itself and I changed almost nothing from the first draft:

Beauty Beheld

You smile bravely
a boyish grin
instantly aged
by chemicals
and poison

You fearlessly
joke
about burnt skin
that hasn't even seen the sun
and cannot
be quenched
by soothing dips
in shady pools

Your strawberry hair
has not yet thinned
or disappeared
but you know it's only a matter of time
and you jest
about bald being beautiful

But it is you
who is beautiful
a genuine beauty
a kind beauty
a soulful beauty
and I want
to become part of you
and learn from your strength

I want to kiss you slowly
and make time stop
to show you
how strong you really are

I want
to turn you inside out
so the world
can see your beauty
like I do

Learning, Listening, Believing

2007-06-11T16:13:00.000-05:00

I think at some point in time we all stop to wonder why…it doesn’t matter what the question is, you can always ask why and never be satisfied with the answer. Why do planes stay up in the air? Why is the ocean blue? Why do people get cancer? I’m baffled at the apparent randomness of it, especially since it has hit someone I’m close to and care about. A feeling of helplessness envelops you and you realize how little you can actually do. Even though you can maintain a physical presence, comforting words and embraces, the disease remains there – an ever-present demon who threatens each and every moment, relentless, but most of all meaningless and purposeless…

Or is it?

We have become hardened – it takes so much more to shock us than our ancestors – we are bold, we are pushy and we are entitled, or so we think. (We are a completely different generation than our parents, and we should prepare for the same fast forward evolution with our own kids.) It is difficult to look for gratitude every day, to be thankful for another trip around the sun every year when we are surrounded by complacency. Gentle reminders don’t appear to work. We as humans tend to be smug in our lives, maybe we need to odd shake up to jolt us back to reality – to remind us of how precious this life we live really is.

My friend has cancer. I’ve known ‘of’ many people who have also had it, but have never had the opportunity to talk to them – it was something you didn’t mention, or something they didn’t mention. But my friend and I talked, openly, forward and honestly…and I listened.

He is scared, and I am scared for him. I have already learned a lot, I am learning more but there is still so much more for me to learn. When you dig deep enough past our moral crust, you get to the real heat – the passion and the intensity we all possess – you see people in different lights, and appreciate their darkness at the same time.

It seems that the simplest things are what make the biggest difference. Humour inserted where you never thought it could be funny, where the laughter is genuine, not forced or nervous. We are leaning positively, because to think anything else is inconceivable. As if by thinking it you allow it to happen – so we leave that stone unturned where it is.

And sometimes we just talk about other things – like what our future aspirations are, how we feel about the housing market, or our preferred musical tastes. I didn’t know his favourite band was Great Big Sea – the things you learn when you actually listen.

What else have I learned? His smile is contagious, his hair is soft, and he can’t spell worth beans, but it makes him quirky and loveable all the same. He will get through this, and we will be right beside him, because we listen and because we believe.

Belief in self...

2007-06-03T20:49:00.000-05:00

Life should constitute being satisfied with what you have, and acknowledging it as you have chosen to live it. Yet people are constantly desirous of what others have, the way others live, and how others look. Being sucked in by this jealousy compromises our ability to fully live our own lives. It drags us around. This ugly emotion serves no purpose other than self destruction. We crave material goods, like cars and houses, but also perceived happiness. Why do we want what others have, and why, once we get it, are we not assuaged? This is not new – it has been said before in many ways and deep inside, we all know it, but putting it into practice requires an open heart, a steady soul and, most importantly, a willingness to believe in yourself.

When we start to question ourselves our inner health begins to diminish. It is fundamental to our emotional, and ultimately physical, wellbeing that we find ways to be happy with what we have and who we are. If that is impossible, then it is essential to find the courage to be able to make it something with which we will be appeased. I think I keep returning to this idea because it is so vital to an individual’s happiness, and also because it is a lesson I have learned firsthand.

To begin, we must look inward, and not at what is going on around us. Unless we are happy with our core being, nothing around us will make us happy negative energy will radiates back out. I am a prime example, so I speak from experience, unlike many others who are quick to give advice out, yet live by opposing rules.

For years, I experienced intense lack of self esteem – I was insecure and had no positive body image, even though looking back at pictures of myself I wasn’t overweight by any means. I would try over and over to ‘lose a couple pounds’ but never completely applied myself, and constantly believed that I wouldn’t be able to do it. So I remained the same size, and I just felt even worse. Many changes in my life slowly built up my inner confidence, but I always had niggling doubts inside that would not leave. You can have people telling you you are pretty, that you look OK, but if you doubt yourself, then it will never become a reality. There is no one turning point that I can look back at, but more of a general evolution of self that slowly transformed me. And maybe that was what worked. No immediate change can take place; you must be prepared to hunker down and commit to this decision.

This lifestyle change lead to a more confident me, no longer shy and reserved or hiding behind a quiet personality. I stopped worrying about what others thought of me, because chances were they weren’t even thinking about me at all. I became someone who was happy with what she had, not pining for what others had or what I thought I should have. This inner contentment has lead to an outer happiness that is quite apparent in my demeanor. I have been told I am more outgoing now, that I laugh more, that I exude a quiet confidence that belies the person I used to think I was.

It was not the easiest thing I have ever done, nor was it the most challenging, but I can say without doubt that it was one of the most gratifying changes I have come through, even though it resulted in the dissolution of my relationship . It gave me the courage to strike out on my own again after 14 years…

Somewhere along the way, I have come up with my own mantra:

Belief is powerful, belief in self is empowering.

Guilty Pleasures

2007-06-02T13:02:00.000-05:00

We all have them; and most of us indulge them from time to time, whether it be Häagen Dazs Ice Cream, M&M’s, expensive designer coffee, a new outfit/shoes we didn’t need, or a trip to a tropical destination. I used to wonder what I was hiding from as I snuck that bowl of ice cream after the kids went to bed, what could possibly happen if someone found out? It really didn’t matter, because guilty pleasures are just that, guilt –and we ironically try to hide it from the only person we can’t, ourselves, then mentally justify our actions.

I often wonder why something that gives you instant gratification also makes you feel bad afterwards. In most cases, the guilt arrives only after the deed is done. I ate too much food; I spent too much money etc. Looking at the root of guilt is where to start. If you are deriving pleasure from spending money, perhaps the initial step should be to seek out a similar activity from which you can extract the same pleasure at a lower cost. I’ve also read that binge eating can be linked to insecurity issues, and is being used to fill some other void in one’s life. Finding something else to put in that gaping hole, aside from food, can often be the solution.
I’ve learned there are several ways to deal with this:
-Develop a stronger willpower so you don’t succumb to these urges thus assuaging the guilt
-Let go of the guilt altogether – indulge, enjoy because once you don’t feel bad for enjoying something, the joy you feel while partaking will multiply.

But I am no psychologist – I write what I see, I write what I feel, and I write what I know inside. And what I know is that many things that used to rip me apart inside have been banished to my inner annals. The guilt is gone.
I run and I eat as much as I like.
I budget and buy the things that mean the most.
I sing in the car, I laugh out loud, I smile and talk to strangers.
And I sleep in the nude and dream in the rain. I am content.

Bliss (part 1)

2007-05-04T14:21:00.000-05:00

True bliss is rare in life. It is a fortuneate individual who can claim they have experienced it in its basest form. To me bliss moments are those which are so captivating that they are branded into your memory bank so clearly that you can access them at any time. You can remember every detail of the moment with astounding clarity, and return to it over and over again in an instant.
These are occasions when I feel absolutely “complete” – and there is nowhere else I’d rather be at that particular moment in time…

This time the scene was set up thusly:
Setting: a cool, breezy August morning, slightly overcast with a greyish glow behind the clouds where the sun was hiding, a sand beach stretching roughly 2 miles in length, and me, the runner.

I woke early before anyone else was up, pulled on a pair of shorts and a running top, and, leaving my running shoes behind, quietly left the tent (which was pitched next to the beach). It had always been one of my fantasies to run barefoot on a beach, and I had been presented with just the opportunity that morning. I strapped on my MP3 player and set the volume low enough so I had the sounds of nature as my backdrop. I began to run…
At first I picked up the beat from a song I was listening to, but soon found my footfalls adjusting to the earth’s rhythm; the pounding waves coupled with my steady heartbeat. Stride after stride my world of stresses started slipping away. As I dropped them on the sand behind me and ran, the wind blew my hair, whipping it into my face.
Reaching one end of the beach I turned around to see the long ribbon of sand receding and curving around the bay, beckoning me. Starting back I could see the remains of my footprints, the impressions already beginning to be erased by the waves, veiling the fact that I was ever there, a secret shared by me and the earth. By the time I reached my original starting point, all evidence that I’d been there had disappeared. I’d gone through a unique experience, a ritual cleansing while the waves doused my sandy feet as I sprinted along.

What went through my mind was nothing short of complete and utter immersion of self into that moment:
I remember each step, how the hard packed sand felt as my foot landed, how it gave slightly in the drier parts, the almost too hard slap where the waves had pounded the surface down to a near-concrete hardness, and how I quickly learned where to place each foot for maximum effectiveness.

I remember the taste of the cool moist air as I inhaled each cleansing breath and how my slightly laboured exhalations were grabbed by the wind and tossed away with each passing gust. Even the slight residue from the Brugal Rum I had imbibed the night before mixed with the humid spray coming off the lake was pleasant as I concentrated on breathing in and breathing out.

I remember everything that went through my mind for those four all-too-short miles. I say “too short” because it was a feeling I’d wished could have gone on forever. Although I wonder if I had had more of a taste, would the memory would be as sweet? The way I see it, you have to leave still wanting more from the experience for if you completely satiate the hunger, if not the pangs may disappear.

I recall this particular morning clearly because it was a bliss moment. I can close my eyes and immediately return there, and I often do. There are other “bliss moments” which I will return to during the course of my writing, but be forewarned that many of them involve me and running, which in part explains why I am so devoted to this activity. If doing it can instill so many clear and beautiful memories, then it’s not something I’m wont to give up soon.

Escape

2007-05-01T22:18:00.000-05:00

Where does one go to escape? We have to face it; now that the days of our childhood are gone, days when we had long languorous hours to kill in the evenings and weekends, it’s like someone has snatched all those hours and replaced them with more things that absolutely need to get done. I haven’t yet deduced whether it’s a consequence of getting older, or just the evolution of our busy lives.

It is worthy to note that “escape” conveys that one has been held captive and perhaps we are interned by the lives we consciously choose to lead.

Regardless, we all need some ‘place’ to retreat to when the daily grind of life threatens to pull us down. Escape can come in many forms;

inside yourself – into your thoughts

inside sleep – into your dreams
inside your domicile – to a quiet corner
outside to commune with nature (I do this a lot when I am running).

It seems as if the older we get the more the world has sped up – we need to slow down and embrace simplicity. Escape can be as easy as stopping to watch children play, and remember how it’s done. (I run with a local Hash House Harriers group that has embraced the play aspect and it is a delightful relief to get ‘young’ for those few hours every week. We run, we jump, we hop streams, we play in puddles and we sing at the top of our lungs.) But it seems that as adults, we have to be able to give ourselves permission, and sometimes justification, to play.

Which begs the question, “Why?” Why do we need permission from ourselves?

It’s as if this is taboo – we will be looked at as irresponsible, - adults are not allowed to have fun anymore – we need to be able to laugh for the sake of laughter itself, not to laugh at someone else, which is all too often the case.

During the course of writing this, I let my mind lead my pen (most of these topics begin with a spiral notebook and a bunch of jottings before I take it near the computer). So it opened with what it wanted…this is where I ended up…

The name of my blog is indicative of my escapism fantasy - when I say “Lisa Takes Flight” I am flying in metaphorical ways, but nevertheless, I am up there somewhere, and I am enjoying the places my life is taking me. And even though in the past I’ve been accused of using my running to escape, as if I were running away from something, I have realized this comes from those who do not understand the mindset of this runner. I run to leave behing the phone calls, the e-mail messages, the dirty bathroom and the piles of sweaty running clothes laundry (although in the back of my brain I know by running I am contributing to this ever-growing pile). So many other fellow runners I speak to say that miles can go by and their mind drifts away, and when they are finished, they are refreshed. Essentially we go through life searching for something and many runners are so much more grounded because they actually have the time to find that vital component that keeps them that much more sane.

For my part, escape comes in purposely letting my mind go wherever it wants. If I cannot seek literal freedom from the dregs of everyday life, I will seek it in my thoughts and dreams. And yes, that is where my topics begin to take shape…

So…what’s next on the topic list? I’ll tell you after my run…

Letting Go...

2007-04-11T13:08:00.000-05:00

I used to be a pack rat – saving, hoarding, and accumulating ‘things’. It didn’t seem to matter what those things were, I just didn’t like to throw stuff away. My bedroom in my parents’ home was lined with shelves of stuffed animals, some I’d had since I was a child, rows of cassette tapes – many of which I never even listened to, and my closet was packed with clothes that were too small (I might fit them again one day) too big (what if I have a ‘fat’ day?), or out of date (they may come back in style). I could not bring myself to get rid of anything.

Then something earth-shattering happened…we had a house fire.

Before the fire spread too far, I managed to throw some precious items out the window, including irreplaceable photographs, but by the time the fire had burnt its course, the vast majority of my ‘stuff’ was gone. Walking through the debris the next day was sobering. “This is what is left of my life”, I thought. What my parents and I had been able to save barely came to the top of the back of a half ton truck.

That was the beginning.

From that point on I vowed not to let myself get caught up in material items. Stuff bought is stuff that can be replaced. The real losses to me were the piles and piles of notebooks, poetry I had written and journals I had kept for years. You begin to put into perspective the things that mean the most to you, and what was important in this case was that no one died and no one got hurt.

Suddenly things become irrelevant.

Every six months I perform a ritual expunging – I choose one room and put on my ruthless hat. If I cannot leave the room without a garbage bag full of unnecessary items, then I have failed in my mission. To date, I have never failed. I do make deals with myself though. If there are items that I can’t bring myself to throw or give away, the deal is this: if I have gone another 6 months and not used the item, or referred to it, or even thought of it, it is to be released during the next “abolishment”.

But what about letting go of other elements? We tend to hang on to things that have outlived their purpose, people included. Friends come and go in our lives, but we still try to hang on to years old friendships that are no longer beneficial to either party, and instead, tend to act as excess baggage, dragging along like a weight behind you. How do you ‘discard’ friends? I tend to think in terms of reciprocation. If I have made a conscious effort to contact a person, and I receive no response, then I just let the person fall slowly off the radar. Because at that point, I consider it a mutual decision and I cannot be solely blamed for dropping the ball.

Letting go of guilt, worries, inhibitions, and fear becomes a little more complicated; these emotions are rooted in our inner core and difficult to leave behind – they are such a part of us that they become entangled and knotted in the fabric of our being. For some of us, they define who we are as humans. To perform an emotional purging takes a bit more courage. You have to be prepared to open yourself to scrutiny, and then discount it.

For me it is a daily and conscious effort. Up until recently, guilt had taken up a large part of my regular existence. By eventually realizing that this self-induced culpability was only injuring my own psyche, I was able to slowly chip away at it until it filled my mental refuse bin. I am doing similar things with worry, and fear. Inhibition is a little easier to leave behind, and the new-found freedom has opened up new avenues in both my personal life and my writing. I am able to say what I mean, without veiling my words with what I want others to hear.

My lesson learned (and continually learning) is that letting go can be mentally and physically liberating; kind of a weight loss of emotional proportions.

Missed Opportunities

2007-03-28T22:58:00.000-05:00

I’ve often thought the worst thing imaginable would be to go to my grave with regrets. Being human we will always have some doubts in our life, “I wish I would have said”, or “if only I had done…”… Regrets are funny things – they can perpetually haunt us, taunt us, or make us want things that have been deemed unreachable.

We have only one go around at this thing called life. I had purposely put myself on the sidelines for too many years already. It was time to start doing the things I’d always wished I had done. To begin, I started telling my parents that I loved them. Looking back, I’m not exactly sure when that stopped. Likely in the early years of teenage angst, when I felt tortured and insecure, and awkward in my own body. I remember times when I would not walk with my parents into a store for fear of being labeled (what?) by my friends. Or times when I missed out on amazing possibilities because I feared failure, or embarrassment. That is guilt I live with. The years I rebelled, blatantly ignoring wise and sage advice because of course, I was right. The egocentrism inherent in the teenage brain is baffling to those gazing at it from the outside. It is akin to wearing blinders in a snowstorm – seeing nothing beside you and even less in front. I forged sightlessly ahead because I was too self-absorbed to even consider the cost. Yet at the time, I can’t help but wonder, would I have regretted not following my adolescent nature…?

I think with age comes not only maturity but the realization that life is not infinite. When you are young, it is easy to fall into the trap of believing that you are invincible. Days have no end and actions have no immediate consequences. But once that proverbial brick hits you in the head, you start to become conscious of your mortality and begin questioning each choice you make. Is it the right one for me, right now? Each time I make a decision, I stop, and take a deeper look at what I am resolving to do. If I pass up this opportunity, will there be another chance? It is said that for every door that closes, another one opens, but there is no guarantee that the same prize lies behind both.

I would like to be able to say that I did all I could to live my life without compunction. For the most part, I know I have tried hard, and moreso as I grow older; but there have been times when the choice has been taken from me. These are the most difficult to swallow because those helpless “what ifs” remain harbored inside. I tuck them away knowing I will be left wondering for the rest of my life, but perhaps now they have become someone else’s regrets.

On being a fake…

2007-03-16T21:19:00.000-05:00

I have been a computer programmer for 5 years, a runner for 8, and a mother for 10. When people ask me what I do or to describe myself, I tell them, but a small part of me feels guilty, because I am a fake. I have been fooling my employer all this time, I really don’t know what I am doing when I tie up my shoes, and for some reason beyond my comprehension at the time, I was errantly allowed to bring a newborn baby home from the hospital.

Of course none of this is true; the SQL I run returns accurate results and the programs I code don’t crash, I have run a Boston Qualifying marathon, and I have managed to raise two well-behaved, intelligent and polite children; so why do I feel this way?

Perhaps it stems from the disparity in how our mind ages compared to our body. We have no control over how quickly our body grows old – it is purely nature driven and, regardless of how good our genes are, we all eventually get old. We will fight this until the bitter end with miracle herbs and magic age-defying lotions but the truth remains that most of us will not see our 90th birthday.

Our minds, however, are a different story. How many times have you seen a middle aged man, after a failed attempt to complete some physical exploit, doubled over in pain whilst clutching an injured body part, mumbling, “I guess I’m not 25 anymore!”? Our psyches are easily swayed. Youth seems to have a powerful allure that we hungrily track down like bloodhounds. Many adults are just plain scared of growing up – the obligations that come with experience are daunting, and it is easy to shelter yourself underneath the pretext of immaturity. We have all exploited youthful ignorance as an excuse at one time or another.

So while I am 43 on the outside, my inner self clings to the insecure and vulnerable person I was at 19; the person who was just starting to test the unfathomable waters of maturity. No matter how much I have changed, it refuses to let go of her, and it chastises her for trying to be something that she is not. I have spent countless years confronting these inner demons, and arguing against my own perceived beliefs. Unfortunately, to win this battle also means to succumb to the truth that I am no longer 19 without responsibility, but fully accountable for my actions. So I harbour this secret, and find myself periodically casting doubt on my abilities.

In the end it is preferable for me to have this occasional dubiousness rather than appear too confident. Believing I am intermittently fraudulent keeps me from being too presumptuous, and compels me to constantly strive for personal betterment. Its acceptable to believe I’m fake now and then, and I’m okay with that...

To Feel…

2007-03-08T16:33:00.000-06:00

Recently I have gone through many changes in my life, and although there have been difficult choices to make; the ultimate payout has definitely been worth the pain. The biggest change seems to be the surge of emotions and feelings, a welcome change from the cold detachment I had been experiencing for so long.

“To Feel” separates us from all other creatures on this earth. Should it matter what we feel, as long as we are feeling something? To most people, it does matter. However, the very essence of being human dictates that we must have all emotions, and not just the pleasant ones. There must be a purpose to emotions, otherwise why would they be ingrained in us from birth? Perhaps the purpose of sadness is to put happiness in perspective, and vice versa. Without the opposing emotion, all feelings would be completely out of context. How can we fully acknowledge the power of forgiveness without the anger that precedes it? Or the clarity that comes after confusion? Even the euphoria of love necessitates the balancing pain of heartbreak for the owner to appreciate what he had. And to argue the unfairness of this condition, only solidifies our emotional indignation. We cannot avoid feeling, although we can suppress it. But as hard as we may try to bury it, it will always be a part of our human makeup, and until the day we die, we will feel, something.

I still marvel at what triggered this sudden deluge of my own emotions, and perhaps I will never fully understand. But I discovered an added benefit to hiding underneath a mask. The moment I became unveiled, the emotions that had remained dormant for so long, were sweeter than ever. Happiness, gratitude, contentment, and even anger, appeared to take on a life of their own, with seemingly their own colours and reactions. It felt like I was emerging from a complete and utter darkness to watch fireworks in a clear night sky – each blast inimitable, each explosion beautiful in its uniqueness. For me, anything is preferable than emotional disconnect, and I will take the good with the bad, because I am feeling…

What's Next She Asks Herself?

2007-03-06T19:43:00.000-06:00

Well, A1A Fort Lauderdale Marathon is over...and frankly, I am a little taken aback. My goal for 2007 was to run a Boston qualifying marathon and then hopefully go to Boston in 2008. I achieved that goal on February 18th of this year. So now what?!?!

Don't get me wrong, I am not disappointed. I am just now left with a blank slate for the coming year, with so many options staring at me that I'm not sure where to begin. There are some smaller races between now and June, when I plan to run the Manitoba Marathon, but after that I'm still not sure. The pressure is definitely off me now, and a part of me is leaping around like a kid on Christmas.

I plan to explore my race options, training, and maybe some travel in my future. You never know what will take flight over the next 12 months.