The first thing that gave me flashbacks was the stench of cow excrement. Actually, NO, that wasn't the first place where I had flashbacks today, biking. When I rode the Ironman Wisconsin bike course today, the smell cow dung just brought back all these memories of 2007, riding this course over and over and over and over and over again. Today's ride was the first return to the Ironman Wisconsin course since training four years ago.
I also remembered those rides four years ago when I forgot my bottle for the bike. I was left with no regular form of liquids for the ride, so I purchased Gatorade like I had done some many times before.
When I arrived at Fireman's Park, I started suiting up for a solo 40 mile ride. Putting the costume on, it went in this special order that only echoed those days in 2007.
Here I am again, I thought. Here I am again. It's been years since I ridden this course. It's been years since I trained for this race and here I am again.
There were much less roadkill this year.
Somebody's marked the course really well.
The turns are the same, so when I lost my directions, I was nervous. But I relied on my memory.
The downhills are much steeper than I remembered. It was important for me to trust that pulling the brakes were only working against nature. Flying down the hill was important to staying safe, contrary to my instinct to brake on downhills.
Trust that you know the directions and that the downhills I'll be safe. Maybe then I get through this course faster and better than so many years ago. You can't help the cow stench. The other stuff can be controlled.
Two paintings in my bedroom. One I created and one that was given to me. Not certain how feng shui it is, but they are facing each other, almost opposing. One painting seems organized and formed from structure while the other comes from a storm of chaos that must have some direction that it was going. I can look at both of them and appreciate what both of them is saying. But my painting speaks to me more. There is some nostalgia in looking at it. The creation and the way it lays to canvas and becomes something that you made from scratch. Even if it's been called by one friend who is a painter as "not good", it still does what I need it to do. Hang there and amuse me.
******
Over the past ten months or so, money's been tight. Single dollar bills along with five's and ten's have been put into a coffee cup in order to help save $600 to sign up for 2011 Ironman Wisconsin. Even in times when I had to sell off things to pay for gas or food, the jar remained untouched. It's been tight but I knew there might be relief in sight. Being part of a divorce and the cost involved as well as the adjustment into the cost of living by yourself takes its toll.
I sold my triathlon bike in order to pay rent. The buyer asked me why I wanted to sell it and I told him that it was "just too much bike. I just need a road bike." It was a true statement but it's not why I was selling it.
Without a bike and a athletic base workout that was severely laking, I still had my coffee cup full of cash to sign up for this race in September of 2011. At least I had the registration fees.
I took the kids to early registration, thanks to my volunteerism with Ironman Wisconsin. We got into the Monona Terrace where registration took place on the floor below. The kids and I take the escalator down to find the room full of people who were registering.
Our whole trek to this place is being mult-tasked with Franny's stories about middle school. There are times when she can talk about people, places and things for as long as she has breath. Ian stumbles along, holding my hand. Sometimes needing to be carried. Something a 5 year old should be trying to quit. And during Ian's struggles up or down, Franny continues with her stories.
We make it to the front of the line after waiting and we approach the registration table. Franny quiets down and Ian stands by me while I answer a number of questions. They are simple and she asks for my money and I give her my debit card. Seems less dramatic now. Maybe I should have brought the mug and the cash for the full effect.
We left the building and the kids were quiet and so was I. We held hands. I wondered how I could get a bike and when to start training. I wondered how I could train with the schedule I have now that I'm a part time single parent. I wondered what challenges were ahead of me this time.
*****
Franny stood next to me at the computer while I showed her an article about her school. DEER FOUND INSIDE BADGER RIDGE MIDDLE SCHOOL. She was in awe of the idea that right after she left, this large mammal snuck into the school and found its way into the custodian's closet. Her eyes large with shock and amazement, wondered how this could happen and laughed about it.
The next day, I picked her up from her friend's house after school when she got the case of the chatties again. She spun this tale of the eight point buck that made its way into the school by smashing the windows. The large male deer felt stuck in the outside since it wandered into a courtyard. It looked for ways to get into the windows and couldn't get into the building. It thought that the windows would provide escape. When, in fact, getting into the building would only provide four walls--enclosed into brick walls.
As it cased the windows, it found a window to smash into and got into an empty classroom. When it walked into the hallway, it was scared frozen since the hallway floors were so slippery. It would slide and slip for a momentary attempt to walk. As one teacher grabs a broom, he slowly walks closer to the buck. The onlookers are told to stay calm and still while they are in their classrooms. He is in a static position with his broom while the deer is relatively still. The young and old onlookers stayed in the doorway, watching.
The teacher extends the broom and gains contact with the deer. The deer sees this but is frozen on the slippery floor. He starts pushing and gains enough torque to slide the animal on all fours across the floor into the custodian's closet. He quickly shuts the door and traps the animal.
Soon after, he called animal control. They came to the middle school and ushered the buck to an exit. On the exit, it ran like it was running away from something, never looking back.
"How were there kids still there?" I asked Franny since this occurred after school was out.
"There were clubs and activities going on," She told me frankly, "Why would it want to get into the building?"
"Maybe it knew that if it had to go where the people were, so it can be helped. Sometimes we know that the bigger challenges lead us to where we want to go."
There is an up and down of having a DVD player in your car along with large, beautiful screens that broadcast movies. We (I'm including me) love turning on movies and watching them. It becomes pretty easy. But while I drive, I can only listen to movies when they're broadcast over the speakers while Franny and Ian are free to view them in glorious full view, stereo speakers.
We hit a one week spell where Ratatouille played over and over again. There was a soliloquy that played after a critic visits the protagonists' restaurant and it surprised me in a very compelling, moving way.
As many people might tell you, I can cry at the end of virtually every movie. Frankly, I would cry at just about anything if it hit me the right way. When Brett Favre stepped onto the football field the Sunday after his father passed away, I cried. When Sarah McLaughlin sang "When Somebody Loves You" in Toy Story 2, I cried.
I listened to this monologue and thought how wonderful it was. I was on the verge of tears listening to it but I found that biting my tongue will help in that area.
"In many ways, the work of a critic is easy. We risk very little yet enjoy a position over those who offer up their work and their selves to our judgment. We thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read. But the bitter truth we critics must face, is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so. But there are times when a critic truly risks something, and that is in the discovery and defense of the new. The world is often unkind to new talent, new creations, the new needs friends. Last night, I experienced something new, an extraordinary meal from a singularly unexpected source. To say that both the meal and its maker have challenged my preconceptions about fine cooking is a gross understatement. They have rocked me to my core. In the past, I have made no secret of my disdain for Chef Gusteau's famous motto: Anyone can cook. But I realize, only now do I truly understand what he meant. Not everyone can become a great artist, but a great artist can come from anywhere. It is difficult to imagine more humble origins than those of the genius now cooking at Gusteau's, who is, in this critic's opinion, nothing less than the finest chef in France. I will be returning to Gusteau's soon, hungry for more."
The clock illuminated my bedroom. The windows were open and boasted silence since I cursed the birds who usually sit right outside my window. Silhouettes of pine trees were out there. The walls, glowing blue from the clock, framed that picture nicely. I rolled over and finally gave into reading the time. 2:54AM BLOCK LETTERS. It's such a cold way of telling me it's very early.
I tried a number of ways to go back to sleep. Music. Reading. Television. Milk. Reciting an internal story while my eyes are shut. The stories usually turn unfortunate. Knee jerk.
I'll just get up. There's a web site that needs to be finished building. A pot of coffee gets brewed while I walk around the kitchen. I look at things in the pantry. In the refrigerator. Pick up some extraneous materials on the floor of the oven so it doesn't set off the fire alarm again. Coffee's done.
Pour a big cup and walk to the computer and pour through the site. Inside two hours, I'm finished with it. It's 5AM. I send an email and tell the client. I'm pretty sure she's amazed by the fact that I completed it inside twelve hours.
Run. I can run! I'm full of coffee! But I haven't run in about three weeks. I vow to go around the Arb full out.
I'm two miles in. Good.
I'm three miles in. My mind is racing. I'm alone. I see some people and I give the 'hey' but ultimately, I am alone. Training for no race other than Ironman Wisconsin that's set for over 18 months from now. In that way, I feel like I'm not even training. I have nothing in front of me to feel inspired. It's an amazing day but there's nobody running the arboretum? When I'm swimming, I feel like the water is keeping me company. Even if it IS my enemy. It's still company. When I run, it's something holy but ultimately lonely. Is finding loneliness mean finding God? By the time I'm at the end of the arboretum, I duck into the trees and cry. I'm not a mess. I'm just tired. I couldn't get back to sleep. Harumph. Run home.
The shower is amazing. Hot. Soothing.
I head to work and I have list of eleven goals for the day. The best case scenario involves me finishing the list and leaving at 2:45PM. Out of complete surprise, I make the best case scenario happen. Task lists are priceless.
The 2:45 was part of the plan since I was promised a walk with a friend at 3PM from my house.
If you're not divorced or separated, then I want to help you understand this part of my story. It seems to be a common element of every divorce. There's a new life out there waiting. You gain things that are new and different. One of the things you will gain are friends. Some of these friends are friends who build stronger bonds. Some of these friends are those who were acquaintances who stepped up and want to help. The others are new friends. These people only know you as a person who is not really part of a marriage. And those new acquaintances can work both ways, really good and really uncomfortable.
I met somebody once who went running with me. I got the impression that she was mildly interested in me and as I revealed elements of what I was going through, she became increasingly disappointed (or at least that was my read on her face).
A few weeks ago, we went for a run and we learned about each other.
"You're 38? You don't look that old." She nicely tells me.
"Thanks."
Later as facts are revealed, she learns much more.
"So you're going through a divorce?" She asks after I talk about it.
"Yes."
After the run, she's up at my place.
"So you have two kids?"
"Yes."
To a 30 year old, single unmarried woman, I'm something that is riddled with issues. I have unresolved issues, strict schedules and in the process of financially starting over.
My 3:00 appointment was somebody who I met after I moved out. Like myself, she has two kids and is unattached (divorced, actually). She's strong and she's smart. She's confident and funny. She listens and she starts conversations. We met in a peculiar place. We've continued to meet and talk about anything and everything.
After we sit on my front porch, my promised walk becomes a simple sitting on the porch and talking. From the seven rocking chairs on my porch, we take two and put our feet up. My feet found a ledge and her feet had soles that gripped onto a load bearing pillar but they continually slipped time and again. I was certain that her shoes that slipped from the wall were the very same shoes she wore during her run that morning.
She says that her little five miles aren't much to me. I tried to tell her that effort is simply perception (in a roundabout way).
She left for her 5:00PM appointment. When she was gone, I thought it was a really good time to start drinking beer.
Two beers later, I sent a text to Christina. Every Tuesday, I would walk or drive over to Bruce & Christina's to watch Lost. When Lost decided to close its doors, Christina simply continued to meet up. I would drive or walk over and we did whatever. We had plans like, "We'll watch a new show every week" or "We'll watch a new movie every week". It simply turned into hanging out every Tuesday. What a great concept. Just hang out. Something to count on. In my situation, I don't have many constants. And I love schedules, constants, etc. It also helps when they have a great support system with family & neighborhood. In times when it feels like you're bathing in the flames of hell, support systems are like avenging angels who shrug their shoulders and don't know they're making a difference, when in fact, demons are being killed. Do I make sense?
As we sit on their stairs drinking beer, the burgers and chicken fingers in their styrofoam containers are being eaten. Neighbors, one by one, come over. It becomes an impromptu gathering. To me, this was like a miracle. And that's why I say that they are like avenging angels slaughtering demons.
I walked to their house full of sleep deprivation and frustration. Emotions kick up during emotional times. Now, those things were all gone.
There were arguments, laughter and conversation. "What!?" one person asks me, "You're really going to the midnight show?!"
"I was talked into it."
"You'll never do it."
Just then, I decided I was definitely doing it. Spite, to me, is the best reason to do things. It is a very simple version of rebellion.
"I'll be there."
The neighbors slowly made their way back to their homes along Commonwealth Avenue in Madison. I was there with Bruce & Christina's family. I told them I needed to walk back to meet my friends at 10:00PM.
I got home, got in my car and made my way to a midnight premier of "Eclipse".
"I brought you what you needed." I was meeting three friends from a non-profit board. In some way, they found each other as Twilight fans then told me that I needed to be there. I had even gotten a text earlier this day from this woman saying, "I can't believe that you haven't backed out yet." I was never somebody to back away and now I had spite on my side. She handed me a flask of Southern Comfort that she knew only by request, "What kind of booze do you need?"
By the time that we made it to the theater, it was a wonder what we should do until the midnight show. Somebody brought Twilight trivia cards. She quizzed me on back story material and I was happy to make up answers that were completely wrong since I was no fan of these films.
"Who is Elizabeth Masen?"
"She was Gloria Vanderbilt's Mother who eventually became the heiress to the Jessica Simpson Foundation. She was a vampire who drank human blood."
"No. It was Edward's mother."
"Right."
The movie starts. I watch. And I watch. And I watch. Spite is a powerful tool. OK, maybe not "super" powerful. I fall asleep.
I wake up and the primary characters Bella and Edward are in a field talking about when she can become a vampire.
"You fell asleep."
"Right."
I drive. I get home. I walk into the bedroom. The clock illuminated my bedroom. The windows were open and boasted silence since I cursed the birds who usually sit right outside my window. Silhouettes of pine trees were out there. The walls, glowing blue from the clock, framed that picture nicely. I get into bed and finally gave into reading the time. 2:54AM BLOCK LETTERS. It's such a cold way of telling me it's very late. I have to get some sleep.
Today was the first day of open water swim class. If there's something I'm prepared for, it's swimming in open water. This is the first summer when I could graduate from simply lingering around and doing my own thing to joining class and participating in the workouts.
In the past, it produced too much anxiety to take part in the class. It was like participating in a stress fest two to three times a week. Why would I want to put myself through something like being pushed into a full elevator and letting the bottom drop out. And you're expected to remain calm. Why would I want to do that?
I know that's the big question here. I have reasons that are quite simple--from wanting to conquer a fear, the need to take part in triathlons and ultimately the 2011 Ironman Wisconsin.
For the past four years, I have been working to get past my fear of the water. I never thought that it was something that I will have to carry into the water every time. It's only by learning to manage it do I find a way to conquer the fear. By welcoming the fear, I conquer it. It's a rather obtuse way of viewing it but it works for me.
I don't mean to skip over 'learning to manage it'. But I don't want somebody to read this and believe that my way to conquer this fear translates to their fear. Fear Management (Quick I better trademark that!) changes from person to person. Only by facing it time and time again, I have learned to recognize it. After that, I have to find ways to deal with it.
Dealing means repeating a song or counting strokes/breaths or refraining from sighting. When I refrain from sighting, I find that I get more into a rhythm.
One major source of anxiety comes from sighting the buoy. When I see it, I get flustered that I'm far away. Sometimes, I see it and freak because I'm way off course. Sometimes I don't see it.
This morning's class had two buoys at either end of Fireman's Park. As we were doing laps, I couldn't see the buoy on the east side of the quarry. The sun was so bright that it blasted just about everything out of view. The large orange buoy faded away in the sun's white reflection flooding that side of the water.
When it came time for me (over and over again) to swim in that direction, I had to employ Fear Management (trademark). I allowed myself to swim off course and not worry about running into people or pulling way off course. Everything was going to be ok. I only sighted when I felt I might be getting close to somebody.
When I got kicked in the head, I simply looked up and kept going. I sang a song. Every now and then, I would burp from taking in water.
Burping has always been interesting topic I was glad to share. I have this thing where I belch an aberration of a belch. Like what I imagine a baby Tyrannosaurus Rex would yelp, it has a certain wail to it that is high pitched and short. Burping was a topic immediately after one of these belches, "I can't burp." This shocked many people.
"How can you not burp?" was the typical question.
"I just have never really burped."
Surprisingly, I found myself burping out of the blue over the past three months. I'm not sure what happened.
During that time, I had been changing some of my lifestyle habits. I was sleeping on the couch much more regularly. I was eating food that was in very little portions, spread over many times in the day. Increasingly, our marriage was having problems. I began moving out during the week of Thanksgiving.
I found my burp coming to me, typically, while I drove back and forth from the house . I'm not sure if it was because it was I was sitting very upright or if it was the one time during the day when I wasn't eating, so my stomach was burping and catching up.
Whatever the reason, the burp was there permanently. And I understood with my gut (get it?), that there would be no way to go back. I was stuck with the burp.
Once the toothpaste was out, it couldn't be put back into the tube.
Exercise has taken a back seat to a mild depression. I haven't immersed myself in the swim in long time. Runs have become sporadic but tacking on long miles--possibly threatening my body into injury. I see that. I'm trying to stop the long miles and make smaller runs over a number of days but I decide over and over again to stay in bed.
Living in a new place (and owning a new type of belch), I see that I have to change up the way I do things. I'm not sure what exactly I have to do. I guess it started with moving and now it seems to be taking on a life of its own. Giving me things and taking away things. Changing the way people see me and how I interact with everyone. I have to adjust accordingly, remaining honest.
I'm not going out on a limb to say that today may be the coldest day of the year. Schools in Wisconsin are closed and business are telling everyone to stay at home. Wind Chill warnings flood into my email box from local weather stations. Television Weather people say that exposed skin in this climate could get frostbite if left out for ten minutes.
Even if there's enough weather talk to make Chicken Little run in circles, my swim class marches on--without closing or easing up. About two weeks ago, my lane was charged with the duty of swimming 20 laps while holding tennis balls. It seems like some kind of hazing but I guess it has some functional value. It became increasingly frustrated and tried to walk out. To my dismay, I was stopped by the trainer who claimed I was improving. I told him that I would be back for the next class but, instead, skipped it.
This past Monday, I returned to swim. To my surprise, I had improved. By this point, temperatures had started plummeting into our current sub-zero temps. Though it was getting worse outside, I was getting better. I delightfully walked to my car after the end of class and my hair was frozen.
Wednesday was successful as well. I got through the whole workout and only got stronger as the class continued.
Today has to be the coldest day of the year but I can't really tell.
Indulging in McDonald's is a weekly breakfast event for me. Typically, I'll buy a number two morning meal (Sausage McMuffin Meal) with a large coffee. About every month or so, I'll get the wrong order. I usually end up eating it.
This week, they gave me a breakfast burrito with my meal instead of a Sausage McMuffin. I would never choose this item to purchase but I was so hungry that I had to eat it. I found it surprisingly enjoyable! But, oh, it was so small. I need more food. As I threw my trash in the McDonald's bag, I realized that it was running a little heavy.
Joy! Another breakfast burrito! Life is good.
And DON'T think that this is disgusting or revolting. I got an email today from everybody's All American Ron Lehmann who invited me to "continue the streak." He took me to Chipotle where I ordered a burrito. He told me, "C'mon. Aaaaaand..."
"And three soft tacos." I paused, "this is so embarrassing." It was like I was putting on my costume for a circus show. But I can't stop myself. I was ready to eat all of that food.
Burrito Count for the last ten days:
4 Chicken Burritos
12 Soft Tacos
2 Breakfast Burritos
It's ok to be so gluttonous though. I have decided to run the North Face 50K race so I guess loading up on calories might be good for me. Maybe Ron can be my nutrition counselor.
