Tri-ing to Get Over It

I've spent a lot of time over the last 5 or 6 years working on becoming a runner - when my back is cooperating, that is. This summer I finally got a new, lighter, more efficient bicycle and have been cruising around the city and occasionally commuting the 10 miles to my office. Its been so fun that I've started to let the idea of completing a triathalon into my head. Maybe even just a sprint-tri to start - which cuts the usual distances of a full tri down to more manageable distances for us everyday amateur athletes.

The "Full Tri" or "Ironman Tri" is a little bit ridiculous. It consists of a 2.4 mile swim, a 112 mile bike ride topped off by a quick MARATHON run. Yeah. 26.2. You know, that thing that some people make a life goal to just complete on its own.

So, right. I'm not doing an Ironman.

But a Standard distance Tri? That's considered to be a .93 mile swim, a 25 mile ride and a 6.2 mile run. 25 mile ride and a 6.2 mile run? Can do.

A Sprint Tri? This almost sounds FUN! Its a half mile swim, 12 miles on a bike and a 5k (3.1 mile) run.  I could do that right now!

Except, wait...whats the third part that makes it a Tri? Oh, right. A swim.

I definitely know how to swim. I grew up with a pool in my yard, spent all my summers growing up in a lake at camp, and from time to time as an adult have done a little boating and floating in the water. For some reason I find myself really uncomfortable with the idea of swimming. Almost afraid, actually. The fear made me really start thinking about this. What the heck am I afraid of?

Swimming would be awesome for my back. It would be a great way to build some cardio for those long runs. I have a super nice pool at my gym that is practically demanding I stop by and throw down some laps. And, vainly, I feel like swimming does mad-awesome stuff for one's figure.

But I don't want to. Or, I'm afraid to. The more I think about it, the more I wonder if its a control issue. The water is frightening because it is encompassing. It is in charge. Its a competitor and it takes away the control I have over my own body and breath. I would need to learn to breath when the water allows me, and control my sense of panic when my face is underwater. To be totally alone in the water.

When I look to what I've learned in yoga, I start to think of taking up swimming as an important challenge. In my yoga practice, the breath is the focus and each asana exists to challenge my control of the breath. Isn't swimming just one more challenge for the breath to confront? Isn't is a worthy opponent?

What seemingly simply activity makes you feel out of control?

iPad Cat Face Awesomeness

I've written a couple new posts, but i'm experimenting with some new platforms for the ipad, so thanks in advance for your patience. :)

for your pleasure.

a cat drawing.

Working, Writing and Waiting

In the time since my last post, I've mostly been in California on an extended work trip, but I've also been thinking a little more about what's to come in 2012. Before the end of January I'm shocked by how much I already have on my calendar for the next 12 months. Birthdays and birthday trips, vacations, weddings, races. Wowza. I've been a really successful procrastinator lately (including permitting myself to act as if the new year starts february one rather than Jan 1!) And, even if we pretend that's true in my tiny universe, I better get my act together - I only have a couple days.

Although I'm not so big on resolutions (or, rather, I'm not so big on making resolutions at the New Year - I am fond of constantly resolving to be better) Ive accidentally made a lot of promises to myself and I have to see what I can get done.

To begin, my body is falling apart. Since I began my new, excellent job in November, I have been practically out of commission in yoga and running. February I'm planning to partake in a 30 day yoga challenge (30 classes in 30 days) to get back in action and also to start conditioning myself for half marathon training (the half is in early September). Im a little scared because I'm been having some back pain for the last two weeks, but I'm planning to push through it.

As I'm working on getting my body back where it should be, I'm going to return to the art of exercising my brain as well. My dino blog got a strong start in September and then I abandonded it like yesterday's latte cup. Sooo, in February, im climbing back on the dinosaur and hope to do an official launch before March. I'm guessing no one will read it, but it will be lots of fun for me to write.

I'm also going to pair a little personal and professional development with a focus on picking up some of my old Spanish textbooks. I think its silly that I dont have a second language - even conversationally. So I'm picking that fun back up, too.

I'm not sure when im going to have time to do all this, in between all the other events on my calendar this year, but its worth a shot. I'll keep you all updated on my progress.

On New Year's Eve

Forgive the poor typing. I'm still getting used to the iPad, and although I've borrowed a wireless keyboard, I'm not tech savvy enough to know how to set it up at this time. Like everyone else in the blogosphere and in the real world, I'm thinking about the new year tonight. It honestly thrills me beyond words that I have this newfound capacity to blog when I feel like it, without descending the stairs to my apartment building, bearing whatever the weather might be, entering my neighborhood Starbucks and ordering something I don't want just so I can utilize their free wifi. I blog from home, tonight. Although it probably doesn't intrigue my readers much, I'll still give a quick shout out to the successes of 2011. Among others, I visited 6 different states, read all off the Harry potter books (and before midnight I will have seen all the movies), got promoted at work - into a career that I think is truly a good fit for me, spent lots of time with my niece and nephew (whose mere existence fills my heart with so much joy),practiced lots of yoga,ran my first 15 k in 4 years and PRd a 10k. I was a guest writer in the classroom of a truly awesome professor. I helped raise a beautiful black puppy into a handsome black dog. I kept loving and being loved by my serious sweetheart. I spent lots of time watching NOVA, drinking beers, or having text chats with my besties. I also found my footing in Chicago, began to start planning ahead again (after a brief period of trying and failing at being a day to day type gal). I started working on my Dino blog, which will officially launch in February. I became a field museum member. I also met, shook hands with, and received the signature of, one of my greatest literary heroes, Roger Ebert. Overall, I stayed largely the same - which for some reason is comforting. Maybe because I think the years of seeking drastic change, of remaking myself whenever I have the chance, or seeking to be a different me, are behind me. These are the years of becoming a better me. A happier me. A settled and full me. I expect 2012 to be full of change. Of growth. Of faster times, longer distances, focussed intentions, and stronger relationships. Here's to continuing to improve the parts we like, cast off the parts we can do without, and seek the parts we desire. Here's to 2012. Namaste, my friends. Ps: I forgot to factor in "cats perpetually desire to walk on iPad" when I started typing. Love from Shake and Eli. (I also cleaned up a lot of cat puke and broken glass in 2011!)

Bitten by the Apple

I can still very clearly remember the fist time I saw an iPod. It was the original, classic white machine - owned by a techy Apple-file classmate of mine. I think I knew two people who had them sophomore year of college, but for me it wasn't until much later. Even though I like technology, and was raised with a surprising amount aof access to it, I'm a bit of a grandma at heart. I did eventually get on iPod, and then a MacBook, and then a tiny pink shuffle for running. All in all, however, I still spent a great deal of time thinking and talking about how downloading music cuts out an important part of the user experience, about how the first draft of a story is always better in pen and ink, and how I don't want to read a book that I can't feel and smell and dog-ear and write penciled notes in. All those things are stills true. This grandma is still holding on, but I also share these words with a couple of grains of salt (this is a phrase I need to look up. I dont reall understand the meaning), because the blog post you are reading is my very first from my iPad. Regardless of my nostalgia for the past, I'm living my greatest blogger dream. I'm riding the train to work, tiny computer on my lap - the whole interwebz at my finger tips. It's almost hard to believe. I remind myself, in moments like these, where I leave behind a part of myself that would hae scoffed at this image, that the reason humans have gotten this far on this earth is because we put down the familar and moved into the unknown. Because we never decided who we are, and instead focussed on who we could become. If this little computer enables me to write more, there's not too much I can complain about. Post script: thanks mom. It's a wonderful gift.

The Unfinished Life

Strawberry Heart has no relation to this post. 

 

In the dark medicine cabinet of my charmingly outdated blue tiled bathroom, a ¼ tube of Colgate toothpaste lies in wait. Beside the Colgate, practically bragging about its superior performance and obviously preferred status, a new nearly full tube of a different formula boasts. The ¼ tube has been waiting to be cradled in my hand since the new tube arrived, but like the iPhone 2, its worth declined substantially when the replacement arrived. This sad relationship is replicated other places in my apartment - the miniscule remnants of a container of Smart Balance resting a shelf below a recently christened tub of Country Crock; the un-pumpable inch of Vaseline Intensive care lotion, deemed useless at the arrival of St. Ives creamy relief. 

My preemptive purchases of replacement household items almost always results in the abandonment of the last 15% of its predecessor.  I don’t want to finish the first item, and find myself without. I buy in advance.
Worst of all, this habit spills over into my relationship with books. As a public transportation commuter, with a busy extracurricular schedule, I'm often carrying yoga clothes and mat, breakfast, coffee, lunch, a book for writing, and a book for reading.

I try to eliminate unnecessary items from my luggage. Sometimes, when the bag is too full I forgo lunch and opt to buy.  Or I leave my two-inch hard cover writing book at home and carry a smaller moleskin. Sometimes, if I’m in the last 20-40 pages of a book, and I know I’m going to be on the train for and hour or more, I have to make a decision. I either bring a second book to replace the first when I finish it (and increase my load), or I leave the denouement on the coffee table and start fresh with a new book. I promise to return. I promise to finish those remaining pages and return the book to its subject matter- arranged crate having fulfilled its journey.

In full disclosure, I usually leave the book behind. And I usually don’t return. In at least half of the books I have read in the past year I left the last 20-40 pages unread. Those books eventually get returned to their spaces, like the butter that eventually goes in the trash when I determine it’s probably not safe to consume.
Those 20-40 pages will still be there if I ever decide to return, but the toothpaste and lotion won’t.

Which behavior is more wasteful?

127 Hours Part 2: The Closet

Every time I open my front room closet door, to retrieve cat food, a winter coat, a reusable shopping bag, a sombrero, or my Bacon and Egg themed Halloween costume, Shakespeare The Cat bounds from his meal, nap or hiding spot to try to sneak in the closet before he misses his chance.

 

There's nothing especially intriguing in there for him. I don't hoard a secret a pile of fish or yarn or frosted mini wheats (things I'm told cats like) in said closet, but regardless of what he would gain by accessing the space he races to the door like it was a shrinking portal to the future providing his last opportunity for survival in an early 90s sci-fi film.

 

Usually, I just scoop him up mid-cat-jog and toss him gently away. Some days, when hes too quick for me and gets in, I have to leave the closet door open and go about my day.

 

Sometimes, amid all the smoke and mirrors, with a sleight of hand or whisker, he darts into the closet without my knowledge. He is sadly unaware that this trickery can only be harmful to himself.

 

Such an illusion on Shakespeare's part resulted this week in his spending the night locked in the closet. I was dog sitting, and did not sleep at home - or I surely would have heard his scratchy voiced cries. When I returned to my apartment and called for the two felines to greet me at the door, I was slightly alarmed that there was no sign of Shake.

 

I cased the apartment, checked the bedroom closet, confirmed that there were no ropes made of bed sheets hanging from any of the windows and then, finally, heard his tiny cat cry coming from the closet.

 

He emerged from the closet a little startled. As I snugged his face and led him to his water dish, images of James Franco and a pocket knife filled my head. Maybe he thought about ways to escape, or contemplated what items in the closet were edible and what could be poisonous. Maybe he thought about me and his brother and hoped to chocolate that we would still eat salmon flavored treats without him. Maybe he closed his eyes and imagined his favorite toy - the rainbow fleece - floating dreamily against the rising sun in a field of cat nip.

 

I was thankful that he emerged from the closet with all four paws, but I hoped that the experience wouldn't scar him forever.

 

I'm starting to think that Shake lacks the brain capacity to hold on to this fearful experience for too long because this morning, as I opened the closet to retrieve a plastic bag, he sprung to his feet and darted for the door - determined to revisit the place where he so recently almost met his maker.

 

Brave little man.