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The Story Behind the Photo

I posted a photo on Facebook that I’d found in a cache of photos in my desk drawer in my office. When you have worked for the same company for 37 years, you find things you probably shouldn’t have at work, but somehow those personal bits and pieces have found their way into your home away from home and lay as buried treasure waiting to be found on a spring cleaning spree. So there it was, this photo of my dad and me, posing sweetly for the Father Daughter dance at my Catholic all girls high school. I was in the 9th grade and painfully socially awkward with a confident sort of insecurity that I could put on a brave face and fake my way through just about anything. I desperately wanted to be normal, like I imagined every other girl at my school was.

My parents had divorced the summer between 6th and 7th grade, and when my mom officially moved out and my dad moved back into our tiny two bedroom, one bathroom house, I was in the school year of grade 7. So I was probably 11 or 12 given what month it was. When my mom left, she left four out of five of her young children, moving out in the middle of the day while we were at school, and taking everything to run a household. Towels, blankets, sheets and bedding, dishes and silverware. For some reason I’ve always thought to be nasty to my dad, she took it all. When we came home from school that day, the ladies of our parish had re-equipped our home with all the essentials, donated from other parish families, and we set about managing our day to day existence with our new motherless routine.

When this happened, my dad was all of 35 years old. He must have experienced the same awkwardness and anxiety, but also possessed the brave face and the insecure confidence to do the best he could. He, too, wanted a sense of normal.

We settled in to life with dad, in the same house, same school, same friends, and same Catholic community. Dad worked hard every day building roads for the county, worked overtime plowing snow in the winter, and coached our Catholic school’s football and baseball teams. It wasn’t always comfortable, but we made it work. When I started highschool, it was important to my dad that I go to Catholic High School, so he arranged a scholarship for me and a campus job cleaning classrooms after school. I had friends, but always seemed to be able to stay on the fringes of a friends group, getting close, but not too close. Looking back, I think I was afraid that the girls would discover I was not like them at all and they would reject me. But I kept my brave face.

I hadn’t intended to tell my dad about the Father Daughter dance. I didn’t think I had a dress that was pretty enough, and the social anxiety associated with mixing my family with school was overwhelming. But my dad caught wind of the event from one of the other fathers with a daughter at my school who lived in our parish. He asked me while the family was eating dinner, “So, what’s with this dance at your school? Are we going?” And so we were – going, and double father daughter dating with his friend who had spilled the beans.

As I’d learn to do many times since then, I gathered up my babysitting money and rode my bike to the tiny mall near our home. I bought what I thought was a suitable outfit and my dad and I had our night. We dined at a restaurant that was very popular in our neighborhood. I had steak, which was a treat beyond special, and we laughed and talked and proceeded to the dance. I don’t really remember if we had a great time or not. I just remember that my dad was there, that he cared, that he tried to bring normal to my highschool world, and that he did the best he could do. I adored my dad. He was far from perfect, but he gave me, and my siblings, everything he knew how to give. Every day, week after week, month after month, and year after year, he was there. Every day I think of him and appreciate him, and miss him terribly.

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Truth and Belief and How They Relate to Each Other

I’ve been reading tons of social media posts from friends, family, former classmates, and just people I know in general. They’re weighing in on the current Supreme Court Justice hearings. I have a lot of folks in my circle who are hash tagging #webelieveaccusers  My response to that is, “Oh really?” To hash tag #webelieveaccusers infers that we believe ALL accusers; the “ALL” has just been omitted from the statement. If you say you believe accusers, then by default you mean all. Here’s the thing, I believe some accusers, others I do not. Why? Because in the past, some accusers have lied. We do not live in an “all or nothing” world where the statements “All” and “None” and “Always” and “Never” can be tossed about with abandon, even though you see those words in lots of memes and online platitudes. Many people share the “all or nothing” platitudes and paint their world as being over here, or over there, but not in the middle, and not using the word “sometimes.” So if you’re being honest with yourself, you’d admit that you believe some accusers, and you believe some accused; but not really all, or not really none.

This realization begs the great question, “What makes me believe some and not others?” The answer probably lies in your world view, and what side, what team you identify with…and whom you love or hate the most. Many of the #webelieveaccusers are die-hard Trump haters. They hate the President, and their hatred colors their world view and opinion on how they sort out good, bad, truth, lies, and what means justify the ends. The #maga folks love the President and will support him, regardless of other factors. Do you see what the driving forces are here? Emotions. Love. Hate. Not analysis, not fact, not moderation, but out of control emotion. Here’s the other crazy – and I mean CRAZY – thing I see. People think that because they believe something, it ‘becomes’ true. That’s not true.

I can have the most sincerely held beliefs, and hold onto those beliefs for years. But the truth has nothing to do with me or my beliefs. That goes for you, too. I might sound callous when I say that in relation to the truth, I really don’t care what you believe. And just because a whole bunch of people believe the same as you, that doesn’t make that belief any closer to being true. Truth is not subject to a popular vote.

I’m frustrated by people in my life that seem to be basing their statements on their emotions, or a perception of shared experiences, hatred of the ‘other side’ or a conglomerate of feelings all bundled up into a basis for a belief. I’d ask everyone to make efforts to step away from emotions, from love, or from hatred, and study the facts objectively. Trust me, I know that’s hard to do.

In the end, though, with whatever conclusions we make, assumptions we embrace, or opinions we hold dear to ourselves, and mold into beliefs; the truth is completely independent of it all. The truth, out there, as its own entity, is completely separate from us. Whether we will “know” the truth or not, rest assured it exists and it doesn’t care what we believe about it.

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Open Water Swim and What It Taught Me About Ego

Over twelve years ago, I used to “try” to compete in triathlon. I was a weak swimmer, at best; but thought I could fake my way through the swim portion of a race to get to the good part; biking and running. Along with many other lies I told myself, that simply wasn’t true. I couldn’t fake my way through anything, and on the occasions I did “try” doing a race, I had huge, enormous melt downs in the swim which included anxiety, panic, wheezing, inability to swim with my face in the water, calling for the kayak to rescue me, did I mention panic? Why could I swim pretty well in the pool but fail so miserably in the lake? So I quit. And I didn’t feel bad about quitting, either. I told myself swimming just wasn’t my gig, and I let it go.

Fast forward to 2018. My son convinced me to register for the Arizona Ironman 70.3. I registered months in advance, and determined that I would be successful in the swim and engaged a swim coach. I started swimming three days a week. I’ve been working reasonably hard. I’ve been training for months, but I hadn’t done an open water swim – until last night.

The water temperature was 84 degrees, so there were no wetsuits allowed in the event, but I consoled myself with the fact that I wouldn’t have to brave cold water. And the water was really warm, with some strangely mysterious hot spots. The prevailing advice that I received was to “START OUT SLOW.” I thought I did. I thought I was good. I had what I thought was an acceptable amount of training and confidence. Until I fell apart. It was still very early in the swim when this happened. I started to wheeze and panic. I wanted to quit. I wanted to quit so much! But I got to the first buoy and hung on to it for a few minutes. Then I got to the second and did the same thing. The distance to the next buoy was longer, and I couldn’t exactly see the far-away buoy, but just knew it was down-lake somewhere. I had no practice sighting in the lake. I swam way off course. What should have been a 750 meter swim ended up being 1300 yards, according to my Apple Watch. (That’s actually kind of funny.)

While out there on the long side without a buoy in close range, the fear really set in. I called for a kayak – which didn’t come. I swam a bit more and called again, “I need help!!” Still no kayak came, but a voice called out, “do you need help?” I can’t remember the cuss words I used, but I was not kind in my response. In that moment, it was solely, and completely all about me. I didn’t care about how many other participants were in the event or the safety of anyone else. I wanted that kayak and I wanted it right in that moment and I was angry that I wasn’t getting the attention I thought I deserved. The kayak did come over and I hung on for a few minutes and calmed my crazy down from  fear factor code red. So cut to the chase – I finished. I settled down and had a decent swim for the last 600 yards or so, although I went zig-zaggy off course.

When I got home last night and played the movie back in my head, I acknowledged that I wasn’t a very nice person out there in that lake. I was selfish, rude, angry, intolerant, and completely consumed with myself. My ego told me that everyone was there to serve me. That’s when I made the connection between fear and ego. All consuming ego activated all consuming fear. I didn’t like myself very much in that realization. So this is what I’m thinking. In order to get rid of the fear, I need to get rid of the ego.

I must:

  1. Really DO start really slow
  2. Get over myself
  3. Enjoy the moment
  4. Love the lake
  5. Create a calming mantra or song
  6. Be kind to the people around me

Having said that, I’m doing another open water swim in two days, so I’ll have a chance to put the points above into practice. I’m not quitting this time.

Food

Quick and Easy Apple Snack

It’s late in the evening, a little chilly, and feels a whole lot like winter outside.  I find myself wanting something warm and sweet, and I’m not talking about a man! Haha. I came up with a quick and moderately healthy microwave treat using ingredients you might already have in your kitchen cabinet and refrigerator. You’ll need:

1 Medium Apple, cinnamon to taste, apple pie spice to taste, 1 teaspoon brown sugar, 1 teaspoon butter, 2 tablespoons triple zero vanilla yogurt.

Core the apple and cut into bite size pieces. You can peel or not peel, depending on how much work you want to do. I don’t peel. Maybe I’m too lazy, maybe I think there are lots of vitamins and fiber in the peel – you can judge as you see fit. Place the apple pieces in a microwave safe bowl and microwave for 1:30 -2:00, depending on the power of your microwave. Remove the apples from the microwave and sprinkle with cinnamon and apple pie spice. Add the butter and brown sugar and mix well. Place the apples back in the microwave for an additional 1:30-2:00. Remove the apples from the microwave and stir again. Top with two tablespoons of vanilla yogurt while the apples are still warm and enjoy!

Is this as healthy as eating an apple? No. Is it as bad as a big slice of dutch apple pie with ice cream? Heck no!! It’s the rational middle ground you can enjoy whilst not feeling like either a fasting monk or glutton. Balance. Yes.

Cycling

When Plans Change

On November 21st, I rode roughly 105 miles in El Tour de Tucson, a widely known cycling event in Tucson, Arizona. I had registered months in advance to get the lower entry fee, booked a hotel reservation, and even budgeted for new tires on my H3 before the long highway drive. I also did some pretty solid training with a mix of long rides, indoor trainer miles in front of the TV, and stationary bike time at the gym. I put running on the back burner and focused solely on getting ready for the big day – my first legitimate full century.

The day before the ride, my bestie aka training partner aka friend of over 20 years aka don’t know what I’d do without her, and I loaded up my H3 with our bikes and gear, made a stop at Starbucks for some road coffee, and headed out. Within 15 minutes, we were sitting on the side of the highway waiting for the DPS after being rear-ended by another vehicle. First, I’m thankful I drive a Hummer. Second, bad luck on anyone who hits a Hummer. Fast forward to we switch to bestie’s car and somehow manage to get our bikes and gear stuffed in and head down to the Old Pueblo. (That’s what they call Tucson.)

El Tour was packed with riders. Imagine 9,000 folks with bikes lining a street in downtown Tucson watching the sun come up while trying to stay warm and trying to gauge whether they have enough time for one last trip to the porta potty before the start. We were pretty far to the back, since we didn’t want to be caught in the frenzy of the hammer-heads at the start. Now I’ve heard horror stories about how bad the weather can be for El Tour at the end of November, and I don’t want to take all the credit, but I think it’s no coincidence that it was my first El Tour and the weather was spectacular. Not too hot, not too cold, sunny, blue skies, and the ‘w’ was manageable, as well. I had the race planned out in my head that bestie and I would ride, chat, keep each other company and spend 105 miles of seat time together. However, we became separated about 20 miles in and I found myself alone on the course. The prospect of 85 miles alone, with just me in my head, telling myself crazy stuff, threw me a bit. I wasn’t prepared for the turn of events, but I knew I needed to get myself right as quickly as possible or it was going to be a really rough day. So I started talking to myself (instead of listening to myself) and I made the decision I was going to have as much fun as one possibly could while being on a bike. I rode at a good pace, but not kill myself to beat the clock pace. I stopped at every rest stop and enjoyed food I would not otherwise eat, like thin mint girl scout cookies made into a sandwich with peanut butter in the middle. I had pancakes and sausage at the fire station rest stop. Hello! Firemen??? Absolutely! I complimented other rider’s jerseys and chatted with those who seemed like they wanted to chat. I had a really great day. When I checked my actual ride time, I was well under the cutoff for “Silver” level, but because of my ‘having fun’ attitude, I finished at “Bronze” level with all the rest stop merriment. And I was totally good with that. I finished. I did it.

Lesson learned? There were a couple of crazy setbacks to the weekend, but I survived. And by staying calm and not freaking out because things didn’t go as planned, it all turned out just fine.

Cycling

So I’m Doing an Event

In two days, I’ll be riding the 104 mile route in El Tour de Tucson. Months before a big event, when dreams are high, and ambition is huge, I sign up for epic events. As the event draws near, especially within a day or so of the event, I wrongly allow my mind to wander to thoughts of how difficult the event is going to be, and doubt my ability to complete it. I think I wrote a ‘lesson learned’ that the anxiety of the anticipation of doing something exceeds the anxiety when actually doing it. So, I continue to remind myself of that.

I think about the dumbest things, like will I get a good nights sleep in a hotel room, or am I going to feel sluggish when I wake up on Saturday morning. Will it rain, will it be cold, will parking be a pain? Dumb anxiety after dumb anxiety. This is what I know. I know it will hurt at some point to be on a bike for 104 miles. It will hurt when I’m finished. It won’t be the first thing I’ve done that I know will hurt. I accept that. I accept that, for another event, I’m going to make a strong effort at pushing myself to do something hard.

I wonder how top level athletes feel when it gets close to a big race. They have the added anxiety (motivation?) of actually trying to win. For me, finishing is my win. And I’ll take more rest stops and breaks and eat and look around to enjoy the scenery, the atmosphere of the ride, and the next post I write will be full of ‘so glad I did that’ language.

In the meantime, I’m looking forward to some time in The Old Pueblo. Viva El Tour!

Running

There’s Something Different About Running

The weather is finally beginning to cool down in the desert Southwest, which means I can run outdoors again. Yay!

Somehow, I unintentionally took the summer off from running any significant mileage at all. I had several excuses, disguised as good reasons, for why I hardly ran at all during the summer; the heat, not wanting to get up super early, the boredom of the treadmill, or other training that was more appealing at the time. A few weeks ago, when I began to run more than a half-dozen sprints during my leg day workout, I realized that I’d lost my running base. Running more than a mile at an easy pace sent my breathing to the edge of raggedy and my legs felt like I was slogging through jell-o. So I started running more and more often.

On a three and a half mile lunchtime run on Monday, I thought about people who are new to running, or might want to run and don’t know how to get started. Below is my sure-fire method to turn ‘even you’ into a runner.

First, get some real running shoes. Seriously, make the investment. Don’t run in the same shoes you use to mow the lawn or go grocery shopping, or that you’ve had since high school. Bad shoes will cause knee problems, and you’ll feel awful and your feet will hurt and you won’t want to run. So don’t run in bad shoes. Go to a local running store and work with a sales person to get you fitted with the right shoes. If the sales person seems runner-snobby and treats you like you’re not a real runner, thank them for their time and go find another shop that will bend over backwards to get you fitted in the best shoes for you. I don’t care if you run a five minute mile or a thirteen minute mile, if you ain’t walking, you’re a runner. Don’t forget that. Speed only matters to you. Never let anyone ‘speed shame’ you.

OK, you have shoes. Now you’ll need some kind of watch, phone, or timing device. You can even do this on the treadmill, if you don’t mind that contraption. The goal is 30 minutes of continuous movement, broken down in 3 ten minute blocks. Each ten minute block will consist of periods of running and walking. You will start by running one minute then walking nine minutes (see how it adds up to ten?) You’ll then repeat that two more times, for a total of thirty minutes. Run at a pace that feels good enough that you can sustain it for the entire minute (as slow as you need to go,) then walk briskly for the walking segment.

After a few sessions of every day or every other day, depending on how you feel, increase the running to two minutes and reduce the walking to eight minutes (still adds up to ten.) Repeat two more times. See where we’re going here? When you’re ready, move the running to three minutes and the walking down to seven minutes and repeat two more times. Keep doing this gradual increase of running and decrease of walking until you are running nine minutes and walking one minute. Once you’re at that level, you should be able to run thirty minutes without stopping. You now have a running base!

From that point, you can increase your time and mileage, and also start to play with your speed if you want to begin running faster. Start with this and I’ll talk about how to get faster in another post. Happy running!

Food

Packing a Lunch

This is more of a lunch prep food hack than a recipe. You’re generally going to have a more filling and nutritious lunch and food throughout the work day if you plan ahead and pack food from home. Planning begins with a base for your mid-day meal. I like something with a good mix of protein and carbohydrates, so I’ll start with this:

  • 1 fresh red, green or yellow bell pepper diced and sizzled in olive oil in a deep skillet over medium heat
  • Add 1 1/2 lbs ground turkey and brown
  • Season with chipotle, cumin, chilli powder, or cayenne pepper to taste. (You know how much heat you like. Leave out the cayenne or chilli powder if that’s too spicy for you)
  • Add one can each (drained and rinsed to lower the sodium) red kidney beans, black beans, pinto beans
  • Add a cooked pouch of boil-in-bag white or brown rice (you decide)
  • Add  1 1/2 to 2 cups of medium chunky salsa (you don’t want it to be too soupy)
  • Let simmer for 10 min, cool and portion in small plastic containers

Freeze the containers and have them in your lunch box arsenal. This stuff is seriously good and simple and filling. How many calories? How much are you going to eat? Try these easy additions to round out snacks for the remainder of the day:

  • Oikos Triple Zero Yogurt (one or two cartons depending on how much protein you need)
  • Sliced cucumbers, cherry tomatoes, celery, bell pepper strips…think fresh and snackable
  • Banana, apple, grapes, berries…don’t over-do the fruit, but it’s better than candy or cookies to satisfy a sweet craving

Don’t stress by trying to be too fancy or complicated when you’re jumping off the fast food lunch train. Pack your lunch bag and have it ready in the fridge the night before. Get fresh food that you like that’s not from a box or package. It’s a good start.

 

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Results!

It’s almost two weeks since I had Mohs Surgery for basal cell carcinoma. Not the big, scary deal you might think – in office procedure using local anesthesia – consuming a few hours of a Thursday morning. The surgery took two rounds of cutting, with a long wait in between each session to examine the tissue removed to make sure all the cancer cells were eradicated. My son provided good company and conversation while waiting. After the tech gave the ‘all clear’ sign, the doctor stitched up my forehead and sent me home with a compression bandage. I’m pretty sure I said, “Don’t taze me bro” to the doctor as he was zapping the incision with a cauterizing device. He laughed. I’m pretty sure I also commented, “Snitches get stitches.”

After the local anesthesia wore off, I had a whopper of a headache and was glad I took the $9 prescription for 6 tablets of Tylenol with Codeine. I took three that first day. Friday, the day after, was a sleep a bunch and rest day. By Saturday I was feeling good and down to a tape strip covering the stitched up incision. Note on stitches: Why do they use the blackest thread possible to stitch up a lady’s forehead? I’ve covered the incision with a bandaid for two weeks just to hide the stitch tracks on my face. Tomorrow, the stitches come out, and having taken heed of the advice of the nurse and kept this thing liberally covered with polysporin, it looks like the scarring will be minimal.

Lessons Learned?

  • Fear of facing a challenge is usually worse than the actual challenge
  • Be a beast when it’s time to be a beast, but rest when it’s time to rest
  • Have anything weird going on with your body checked by a doctor – seriously – don’t procrastinate with your health
  • Don’t let a skin cut or abrasion scab over if you don’t want a scar. Keep it soft with polysporin and keep it out of the sun
  • Bandaid brand bandaids really are better than generic store brand
  • Bangs are great cammoflauge
  • Snitches get stitches

 

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Grains of Sand

Sometimes, life is a challenge. Not the ‘one big challenge’ but several small challenges that simply wear us down. I’m asking myself, in the frequent conversations with me and myself, “How do I respond to these challenges?”

Scenario: For several months I had a small bump on my forehead – right in the middle, front and center – where a bike helmet would rub, or a cap or visor band would, too. I thought it was a zit, or an irritation, but it didn’t go away, and it started to get bigger. Frugal me didn’t want to spend $25 to see my primary care physician, but after about five months, I did. He referred me to a dermatologist who collected another $50 co-pay and $90 more for a biopsy.

After walking around for another week looking like I took a rock hit to the dome, I received the call. Basal cell carcinoma. OK. I live in the desert southwest. Anyone who lives here long enough is probably going to have a BCC spot. It’s really not a big deal. Really. But it’s still sort of weird. Still feels kind of scary. Still have to have surgery to get it all removed. On my face.

So each little thought is a grain of sand: how much is this going to cost, will they cure it, are there more spots, is my face going to be a mess, will it hurt, how much time off work will I miss, how much time will I have to take off from training, I just spent $145 to register for El Tour de Tucson, will I be able to train enough to ride well, will I get stitches, will I get headaches, what if it comes back again? Before I know it, my head is pounding and I feel the grains of sand filling up the space behind my eyes, the pressure seeking release, but no tears. Just that ‘my face must surely be showing this’ can’t cry, don’t know if I want to cry, maybe I should cry countenance. No current resolution. To be continued.