Having been single now for over a year, I’m starting to let my mind wander on who my next relationship will be with. I do very well on my own and enjoy being single. I certainly enjoy not being with someone who makes me feel unhappy and unworthy of love and affection, particularly because I don’t have those feelings when I’m single. Being single does not make me feel unloved or unlovable. It does not make me feel unworthy of someone’s time and attention. My last relationship ended because I felt those things. Thankfully I’m older and slightly more wiser than the days I wrote in my diary about trying to change myself to make someone love me. Those days are long gone, and if I could grab that girl by the shoulders and shake her and tell her to wake the hell up, I would. It has taken me too long to figure out that I do not need to change myself in order for someone to love me, and I don’t need to be paired to feel love and happiness. I create my own happiness.
But of course, relationships can be nice. So I’ve taken to wearing jeans instead of sweatpants for a quick trip to the store. I’m using every facial cream I can get my hands on (those wrinkles are popping up like crazy!). I don’t wear makeup anymore and probably never will again, so that saves me some time. I wear deodorant. I brush my teeth in case I find myself in a conversation with a handsome man in the frozen foods section. I wouldn’t want to blow my chances. I try to keep my eyebrows under control. I smile at people on the train (ok...only occasionally). I shave sometimes. But that might be because I spend a lot of time in gym/running shorts.
I’m not actively looking to be in a relationship, probably because there’s a large part of me that understands that relationships take a lot of work and can be frustrating and heartbreaking, while I don’t feel the same way about single-hood. But you never know. So I look around. I look at the faces of the men around me (and sometimes smile and nod) just in case “the one” is someone I meet at the airport, or the coffee shop, or the grocery store. I look at what’s in their carts, how they stand, what’s on their left hand (because let’s not go there), how they are dressed.
There are a lot of men out there, but one thing I’ve noticed far too much of: most of them look (and are) too young. How is it that I’ve reached an age where adult men can actually be too young for me? No, I am not going to date a man (I use that word loosely) who is in his 20’s. That is absurd. Maybe one day (when I’m much older) I will. Not these days. And I was looking around the airport while simultaneously looking for breakfast and a much needed cup of coffee and it hit me: they are all so damn young! Ok, not that old guy over there hunched over his newspaper, but pretty much everyone else.
Now, I’m not old. Let’s just get that straight. But wow, why does everyone look 20? There’s a lot of “nope” out there, I’ll tell ya. There’s a lot of creep out there too. And the scary thing is, sometimes they don’t look like creep. Until it’s too late, and they know where you live and you wonder if you’re going to have to move.
Then there’s the actual dating part, when you’re getting to know someone. It’s seriously painful. I know some people think it’s fun. Since I don’t like people in general, I don’t think it’s fun. Getting my wisdom teeth pulled was more fun. You actually have to have a conversation with someone who’s nearly a stranger and see if you like the same things. You have to try to eek out whether or not there’s a potential restraining order in your future (take that how you will). And everyone has those weird things that you wonder if they’re deal breakers. How do you find those things out before things go too far? How do you find out whether or not someone has a tail before you’re standing there naked with someone you think you might love, and… what the hell is that?
My apologies to anyone with a tail. We’re all different, we all like different things. It’s just not my thing. No offense.
And I would like to be able to ask in a date interview, “So how good are you at putting effort into your relationships? Can you list for me the reasons why your last three relationships ended? And do you maybe think I’m a great idea right now but in six months after I’ve already fallen in love with you, will you decide that I am not worth the effort it takes for you to pick up the phone and call me? To have an actual conversation. Because I do require communication.”
I might still be a little bitter. Good thing I’m single and not attending any dates.
See, effectively dating takes a lot of time and effort. You really have to get to know someone before you decide they’re the one. And if it takes several months to decide if a relationship is even worth the effort, and in theory you only date one person at a time (again, everyone is different, but I’ve got my own personal preferences), it could take years (years!) to nail down the right relationship.
This is why being in a relationship is not (and has not been for awhile) a goal for me. If it happens, it happens. If not, whatever. I’ve got better things to do.
Thursday, December 22, 2016
Sunday, October 30, 2016
Trick or Treat
One of the new professors sent out an email to the staff suggesting we all dress up for Halloween. The head of the department replied that it was a perfect idea, after all she's already got a vial of blood on her desk. Of course she does. I'm guessing it's alcoholic. She's British.
A couple other professors replied that they thought it was a good idea. Mostly the email chain has been quite dead. I don't own a costume. And since I'm in class all day and don't teach until night, I'd probably be the only student in a costume throughout the day. I think you need to get paid more for that.
Then I realized that instead of dressing up like a teacher (aka adult) like I normally do on Mondays, I could dress as an overworked grad student. I would show up in sweats, my hair all a mess, a big mug of coffee in my hands, and maybe a blankie or slippers. My students would be shocked. And I would be comfortable for once.
They apparently are not fooled by my "adult" facade, since they were pretty shocked that I have been out of undergrad school at least long enough to spend 9 years working as a wildland firefighter. Boy did that elicit some shocked giggles (from the guys in the front left corner) and a comment of "I thought you were fresh out of college." Yes, I'm older than I look. Sometimes that works in my favor. Sometimes not.
Then I thought I should at least bring them chocolate or candy. But I'd have to go to the store, and it'll be a miracle if I get my laundry done tonight. I'm currently "working" on tomorrow night's lecture. Yeah I know. This blog looks a lot like a meteorology lecture on air masses and frontal systems. I texted Jen that maybe I should just bring carrots instead.She said (in words I won't repeat) that that would be a good response to their 41% average on the last quiz they took. But if they snagged an 80% they could have chocolate. Or, with my class, maybe just a 70% would be deserving of chocolate.
That reminded me of an awesome (and utterly terrible) thing I saw on Pinterest this morning. I sent it to Jen.
When I hand back their midterm, they will either get a caramel covered apple or a caramel covered onion. Bwahahaha!
Jen responded "That's an old one Carrie. C'mon."
"Oh. I guess I'm behind the times as far as malicious acts go." I said.
"Way behind the times. It's ok though, you're not an asshole like the rest of us. You're a rare breed Carrie."
"Lol! I'm working on it." I replied.
Not really. I made it so that there was no reason anyone should've gotten anything below an A on that midterm. Seriously. I posted the answers to all the quizzes and told them that the midterm would be questions from the quizzes and the homework. There would be no new questions. And they could use a page of notes. Front and back. While the average was in the mid 80's (way better than 41%), a few people still failed. Their cheat-sheet (if they even made one) was completely half-assed. I wash my hands of them.
On another note...Psycho Donuts should have some pretty awesome Halloween donuts tomorrow. And I haven't been to Psycho Donuts in months! For real. I have sent a Facebook message to my regular donut date in hopes that she has some time in her day tomorrow that matches up with mine. It's been too long and we could both use some donut therapy.
Like:
Or even one of their regulars:
If you live near San Jose, check them out. If not, sorry. That sucks.
A couple other professors replied that they thought it was a good idea. Mostly the email chain has been quite dead. I don't own a costume. And since I'm in class all day and don't teach until night, I'd probably be the only student in a costume throughout the day. I think you need to get paid more for that.
Then I realized that instead of dressing up like a teacher (aka adult) like I normally do on Mondays, I could dress as an overworked grad student. I would show up in sweats, my hair all a mess, a big mug of coffee in my hands, and maybe a blankie or slippers. My students would be shocked. And I would be comfortable for once.
They apparently are not fooled by my "adult" facade, since they were pretty shocked that I have been out of undergrad school at least long enough to spend 9 years working as a wildland firefighter. Boy did that elicit some shocked giggles (from the guys in the front left corner) and a comment of "I thought you were fresh out of college." Yes, I'm older than I look. Sometimes that works in my favor. Sometimes not.
Then I thought I should at least bring them chocolate or candy. But I'd have to go to the store, and it'll be a miracle if I get my laundry done tonight. I'm currently "working" on tomorrow night's lecture. Yeah I know. This blog looks a lot like a meteorology lecture on air masses and frontal systems. I texted Jen that maybe I should just bring carrots instead.She said (in words I won't repeat) that that would be a good response to their 41% average on the last quiz they took. But if they snagged an 80% they could have chocolate. Or, with my class, maybe just a 70% would be deserving of chocolate.
That reminded me of an awesome (and utterly terrible) thing I saw on Pinterest this morning. I sent it to Jen.
When I hand back their midterm, they will either get a caramel covered apple or a caramel covered onion. Bwahahaha!
Jen responded "That's an old one Carrie. C'mon."
"Oh. I guess I'm behind the times as far as malicious acts go." I said.
"Way behind the times. It's ok though, you're not an asshole like the rest of us. You're a rare breed Carrie."
"Lol! I'm working on it." I replied.
Not really. I made it so that there was no reason anyone should've gotten anything below an A on that midterm. Seriously. I posted the answers to all the quizzes and told them that the midterm would be questions from the quizzes and the homework. There would be no new questions. And they could use a page of notes. Front and back. While the average was in the mid 80's (way better than 41%), a few people still failed. Their cheat-sheet (if they even made one) was completely half-assed. I wash my hands of them.
On another note...Psycho Donuts should have some pretty awesome Halloween donuts tomorrow. And I haven't been to Psycho Donuts in months! For real. I have sent a Facebook message to my regular donut date in hopes that she has some time in her day tomorrow that matches up with mine. It's been too long and we could both use some donut therapy.
Like:
Or even one of their regulars:
If you live near San Jose, check them out. If not, sorry. That sucks.
Friday, October 28, 2016
Friday Night
Last night I slept around 10 hours, which is fairly unusual for me. I might be sleep deprived. I spent the morning Googling carbon monoxide poisoning symptoms, diabetes, and fatigue. I think I'm just tired.
I forced myself to run since I've already skipped two workouts this week, and had to run in the rain. It was far more exhausting than it should've been. I came home and napped a little. Ate a couple times, and took a hot bath. Maybe napped some more.
Now that it's evening and I've already had a glass of wine, I thought, maybe I should do something fun tonight. I thought about my options. I could call up one of my significantly younger friends from school and not last more than an hour or so before having to call it a night. I could call up my other friend, who has a kid and a family, who are all great. But let's face it- when you're single and childless, it's not always fun to hang out with married people with kids.
I opened up my book "Midlatitude Synoptic Meteorology" and my eyes skimmed the page. This was definitely not happening. I should clean my bathroom finally. Nooooo.
Pizza sounds nice. Even though I just ate dinner. Too bad I already finished off the chips and salsa I had in the house.
I ate a few chocolate truffles and poured another glass of wine. I texted Jen. I told her another reason I couldn't go out was because I'd have to get out of my sweats, which is not going to happen.
Soo...I've got some coloring books....origami? A puzzle? All those things feel like too much effort. I'm hoping by tomorrow this malaise has let up enough for me to be productive.
I forced myself to run since I've already skipped two workouts this week, and had to run in the rain. It was far more exhausting than it should've been. I came home and napped a little. Ate a couple times, and took a hot bath. Maybe napped some more.
Now that it's evening and I've already had a glass of wine, I thought, maybe I should do something fun tonight. I thought about my options. I could call up one of my significantly younger friends from school and not last more than an hour or so before having to call it a night. I could call up my other friend, who has a kid and a family, who are all great. But let's face it- when you're single and childless, it's not always fun to hang out with married people with kids.
I opened up my book "Midlatitude Synoptic Meteorology" and my eyes skimmed the page. This was definitely not happening. I should clean my bathroom finally. Nooooo.
Pizza sounds nice. Even though I just ate dinner. Too bad I already finished off the chips and salsa I had in the house.
I ate a few chocolate truffles and poured another glass of wine. I texted Jen. I told her another reason I couldn't go out was because I'd have to get out of my sweats, which is not going to happen.
Soo...I've got some coloring books....origami? A puzzle? All those things feel like too much effort. I'm hoping by tomorrow this malaise has let up enough for me to be productive.
Saturday, October 1, 2016
Monsters in all of us
Whenever a tragedy makes the news about someone "senselessly" killing another, people tend to ask what kind of monster would do such a thing?
Years ago, I read an amazing book "The Gift of Fear" by Gavin de Becker, and somewhere in there he talks about how humans are all capable of such horrific things. All of us. We call these people monsters, because we don't want to see the things in them that might look a lot like ourselves.
I spent the day going over old court documents from my childhood, and as hurt as I was to revisit some of the things I remembered, and some of the things I had forgotten, I was shocked to read a letter I had written to my dad in which I revealed to him my own monster. Maybe I wasn't the worst teen out there, but I was nonetheless troubled.
I read about, and then remembered, the darkness I once lived in. I wonder how close I was to that monster that people would've wondered about. I wonder what kept me from becoming the demon I told my dad about. And I wonder what he thought of his little girl's words. We all have a measure of darkness in us.
A couple years after I wrote those words, I asked my swim coach if people could change...like really change. Change down to their core. I specifically wondered if I was destined to become a product of my upbringing. After thinking about it for a moment, he replied "Sure. Yeah. If a person changed their core values, the things they found important...yes, they can change into a totally different person".
I wanted to change. I wanted to be someone my dad was proud of. Someone my coach was proud of. Someone I could be proud of.
And it took years. Many, many years. We talk about how fast time flies, but I think that's when we just skim the memories. When I stop and think, and take inventory, and let the memories play, I realize it's been a damn long road. But I'm starting to get it. I'm starting to live. I'm starting to bloom out of the mud, like the lotus flower.
And we all house that monster, that ability to become something less than what we're proud of. We've all got a right to our scars. But what better way to show our strength than to rise out of all our darkness and become something else. Something we're not afraid to show to the world.
Years ago, I read an amazing book "The Gift of Fear" by Gavin de Becker, and somewhere in there he talks about how humans are all capable of such horrific things. All of us. We call these people monsters, because we don't want to see the things in them that might look a lot like ourselves.
I spent the day going over old court documents from my childhood, and as hurt as I was to revisit some of the things I remembered, and some of the things I had forgotten, I was shocked to read a letter I had written to my dad in which I revealed to him my own monster. Maybe I wasn't the worst teen out there, but I was nonetheless troubled.
I read about, and then remembered, the darkness I once lived in. I wonder how close I was to that monster that people would've wondered about. I wonder what kept me from becoming the demon I told my dad about. And I wonder what he thought of his little girl's words. We all have a measure of darkness in us.
A couple years after I wrote those words, I asked my swim coach if people could change...like really change. Change down to their core. I specifically wondered if I was destined to become a product of my upbringing. After thinking about it for a moment, he replied "Sure. Yeah. If a person changed their core values, the things they found important...yes, they can change into a totally different person".
I wanted to change. I wanted to be someone my dad was proud of. Someone my coach was proud of. Someone I could be proud of.
And it took years. Many, many years. We talk about how fast time flies, but I think that's when we just skim the memories. When I stop and think, and take inventory, and let the memories play, I realize it's been a damn long road. But I'm starting to get it. I'm starting to live. I'm starting to bloom out of the mud, like the lotus flower.
And we all house that monster, that ability to become something less than what we're proud of. We've all got a right to our scars. But what better way to show our strength than to rise out of all our darkness and become something else. Something we're not afraid to show to the world.
Friday, September 30, 2016
Something of My Own
Wednesday morning I woke up in tears. Mainly because it was Wednesday, which isn't exactly as bad as Monday, but almost. The evil class is on Mondays and Wednesdays.
Last week we all got our homework handed back to us to redo because it wasn't perfectly precise. I will have you know that I tend to be a bit of a perfectionist. At least that's what I thought... until I met this instructor. No, I'm just a normal girl with high standards. This woman (I think she's younger than me) got her PhD at Princeton and expects us to meet the standards they had for their PhD's. We're masters students. And we're state schooled. Not just state schooled... CSU state schooled. We're not even UC.
On Monday, when we handed in our re-done homework, she said "So... how is the proposal writing going?"
Crickets.
No one has started analyzing the data for the proposal yet because we've all got 2 assignments to turn in to her this coming Monday and we're all (including me) behind on the reading. And there's a midterm coming up.
"Does anyone want to share their topic idea with me and see if it's a good idea?"
Crickets. Because no one has had time to look at the data.
Wednesday I wanted to be able to present something at my thesis meeting with my advisor, since I had absolutely nothing to show at last week's meeting. So I quickly threw some plots together at 6 am while it was still dark outside and thought about all the other changes I needed to make to my thesis computer code to fix some mistakes. And finish the homework for the evil class.... and figure out the technical issue with my remote job... and grade papers... and catch up on the reading... and eat, or something.
Cue anxiety attack. And lots of self loathing.
I had taken Monday and Tuesday off of working out after a good hard push at Sunday's triathlon. Wednesday I was going to run.
When it got light out, I laced up my shoes and headed out the door. Same as always, I mulled over my workload during the first mile. I wondered how I was going to make it. How do I make time for things I don't have time for? What can give? What can I get rid of?
People (mostly other grad students) are always shocked at the workout schedule I maintain with everything else I'm doing. It's been suggested to me that I drop, or at least ease up on, my training in order to make more room for my other responsibilities. One semester I did let that drop. And I quit sleeping, which led to me eating like crap, which led to me getting sick. I'm not allowed to let my workouts slide anymore.
While I was running, it occurred to me that my training was the only thing in my life where I did not have to meet anyone's expectations but my own. I decide my goals, I decide my expectations, I decide my training plan, and I decide my measures of success. My training is for me and me only. How on earth can I drop the only thing I have in my life that is mine and mine alone? In everything else I do, my success is measured by someone else's expectations.
This is why I push myself in my training, why I'm hard on myself... but also exactly why I celebrate my accomplishments. I work hard and it shows. I am a faster, stronger, smarter athlete than I was last year, and the year before, and the year before that. I am improving every year and it feels damn good.
I think everyone should have something like that. Something in our lives that is meant for only us. That no one else can come and make big black marks on (or bright red). A sport, art, a hobby, something.
By the time I made it home from my run, I was relaxed and happy. I presented my hurried plots at my thesis meeting and my advisor was excited with my results.
I went into the shadow lands of my evil class and refused to let my anxiety boil up. Until she said "So...homework four....". Mother of god....
After ensuring us that we once again let her down, we carried on with lecture. I tried to breathe rays of sunshine into my agitation. I thought about Kona.
The professor said we were going to go around the room and each answer some tricky questions. My heart rate shot up and my soul burrowed down in the black tar pit of its new home. Sitting next to me, Jodie whispered "I hate this fucking class". I looked over at one of the new grad students seated in the front of the room. His face said what we were all thinking: Fuck my life.
At that moment I realized it didn't matter. We were all afraid, we were all stressed. There was not a single person in the room (besides the instructor) who did not want to crawl into a hole and die at that moment. We were all suddenly psychically bonded in our misery and fear. No one was going to show anyone else up. We were all going to suffer.
And Thursday morning felt like a Friday. So much so that I almost didn't go to class. Because Thursdays mean that I have survived both Monday and Wednesday and am released from my hell until next Monday.
...Next Monday when I will have to turn in 2 assignments for the evil class, have another lecture prepared, have caught up with my reading, have rewritten my notes, have fixed my thesis code, have started my new assignment for my remote job, and have hopefully reviewed the data for my evil class enough to have come up with a proposal topic. Somewhere in there, I will have hopefully eaten more than once.
And I will have run. Twice.
Because I will sacrifice myself to the gods of mercy first and feed the scraps to the demons.
Last week we all got our homework handed back to us to redo because it wasn't perfectly precise. I will have you know that I tend to be a bit of a perfectionist. At least that's what I thought... until I met this instructor. No, I'm just a normal girl with high standards. This woman (I think she's younger than me) got her PhD at Princeton and expects us to meet the standards they had for their PhD's. We're masters students. And we're state schooled. Not just state schooled... CSU state schooled. We're not even UC.
On Monday, when we handed in our re-done homework, she said "So... how is the proposal writing going?"
Crickets.
No one has started analyzing the data for the proposal yet because we've all got 2 assignments to turn in to her this coming Monday and we're all (including me) behind on the reading. And there's a midterm coming up.
"Does anyone want to share their topic idea with me and see if it's a good idea?"
Crickets. Because no one has had time to look at the data.
Wednesday I wanted to be able to present something at my thesis meeting with my advisor, since I had absolutely nothing to show at last week's meeting. So I quickly threw some plots together at 6 am while it was still dark outside and thought about all the other changes I needed to make to my thesis computer code to fix some mistakes. And finish the homework for the evil class.... and figure out the technical issue with my remote job... and grade papers... and catch up on the reading... and eat, or something.
Cue anxiety attack. And lots of self loathing.
I had taken Monday and Tuesday off of working out after a good hard push at Sunday's triathlon. Wednesday I was going to run.
When it got light out, I laced up my shoes and headed out the door. Same as always, I mulled over my workload during the first mile. I wondered how I was going to make it. How do I make time for things I don't have time for? What can give? What can I get rid of?
People (mostly other grad students) are always shocked at the workout schedule I maintain with everything else I'm doing. It's been suggested to me that I drop, or at least ease up on, my training in order to make more room for my other responsibilities. One semester I did let that drop. And I quit sleeping, which led to me eating like crap, which led to me getting sick. I'm not allowed to let my workouts slide anymore.
While I was running, it occurred to me that my training was the only thing in my life where I did not have to meet anyone's expectations but my own. I decide my goals, I decide my expectations, I decide my training plan, and I decide my measures of success. My training is for me and me only. How on earth can I drop the only thing I have in my life that is mine and mine alone? In everything else I do, my success is measured by someone else's expectations.
This is why I push myself in my training, why I'm hard on myself... but also exactly why I celebrate my accomplishments. I work hard and it shows. I am a faster, stronger, smarter athlete than I was last year, and the year before, and the year before that. I am improving every year and it feels damn good.
I think everyone should have something like that. Something in our lives that is meant for only us. That no one else can come and make big black marks on (or bright red). A sport, art, a hobby, something.
By the time I made it home from my run, I was relaxed and happy. I presented my hurried plots at my thesis meeting and my advisor was excited with my results.
I went into the shadow lands of my evil class and refused to let my anxiety boil up. Until she said "So...homework four....". Mother of god....
After ensuring us that we once again let her down, we carried on with lecture. I tried to breathe rays of sunshine into my agitation. I thought about Kona.
The professor said we were going to go around the room and each answer some tricky questions. My heart rate shot up and my soul burrowed down in the black tar pit of its new home. Sitting next to me, Jodie whispered "I hate this fucking class". I looked over at one of the new grad students seated in the front of the room. His face said what we were all thinking: Fuck my life.
At that moment I realized it didn't matter. We were all afraid, we were all stressed. There was not a single person in the room (besides the instructor) who did not want to crawl into a hole and die at that moment. We were all suddenly psychically bonded in our misery and fear. No one was going to show anyone else up. We were all going to suffer.
And Thursday morning felt like a Friday. So much so that I almost didn't go to class. Because Thursdays mean that I have survived both Monday and Wednesday and am released from my hell until next Monday.
...Next Monday when I will have to turn in 2 assignments for the evil class, have another lecture prepared, have caught up with my reading, have rewritten my notes, have fixed my thesis code, have started my new assignment for my remote job, and have hopefully reviewed the data for my evil class enough to have come up with a proposal topic. Somewhere in there, I will have hopefully eaten more than once.
And I will have run. Twice.
Because I will sacrifice myself to the gods of mercy first and feed the scraps to the demons.
Monday, September 26, 2016
The Olympic Triathlon
After having such a great time at my first triathlon (a sprint distance), I decided to sign up for another, longer triathlon- the Olympic distance. The Olympic distance consists of a 1.5 km (.93 mi) swim, 40 km (24.8 mi) bike, and a 10 km (6.2 mi) run. Taken separately, each leg is still quite doable. Even all together, the time it would likely take me to do the event was still under the time it takes me to run a marathon, so I knew this event was not going to push my personal limits of endurance. So I signed up.
I got some fairly good training in this past summer, but since school started back up again, time and energy has been scarce and some of my training has gone by the wayside. I planned on incorporating things I learned from my first triathlon into my preparation for this one. For one, I was actually going to warm up for the swim. Jumping into a freezing cold ocean to do a race without a warm-up is just dumb. Second, I was going to push harder on the bike. I kinda dogged it last time. The bike is my weakest leg. It's also the one I least enjoy training for. And third, I was going to learn the flying mount and dismount for the bike. I'll let you Google that if you're curious (also Google triathlon flying bike mount fails if you're not squeamish). Basically though, you get on and off the bike while it is in motion so you can continue running in or out of transition.
Triathlons are not as simple as throwing together three sports. I've done all three sports separately to some degree, although I've never raced in cycling. There's added complexity in transitioning (quickly) from one discipline to the next. But there's also the complexity of managing fatigue during one leg while also managing fatigue for the entire event. For example, it is wrong to assume that you can just go all out on the swim because you're using mostly your arms and the fatigue will not spill over into the bike and subsequently, the run.
I find this difficult. Especially because the swim is my strongest component compared to a lot of other triathletes who were not swimmers growing up and only learned how to swim to keep from drowning during a triathlon. So I want to dominate the swim. In any event, you really have to play to your strengths. So I go hard in the swim. And hey, guess what? I'm tired before I even get on the bike.
So about a week ago, I finally found the motivation to go practice my bike mounts and dismounts. I was terrified. I was pretty sure I could die doing this, or at least lose half my face. Or break a toe. Like the big toe, and you don't want to break your big toe. I decided to conquer the dismount first as it's less dangerous than the mount. I rode my bike out to a park that had a long road in between parking lots. I got to a cruising speed and attempted to take off my shoes while riding....and within minutes figured out that my road shoes, with their complicated top buckling system, were not going to be removed with one hand. It occurred to me then that I had never removed my road shoes with one hand. It's a two hand deal. This was not going to work.
I canceled my plans to do work and homework and instead went to 4 different stores looking for triathlon shoes. My triathlon was a week away. I did not find what I was looking for, so I ordered a pair online and was thankful for free 2 day shipping from CompetitiveCyclist.com.
On Saturday morning, with a sick feeling in my stomach, I set out to practice dismounts. I figured if I got comfortable with the dismount, I would work on modifying the mount. I didn't feel comfortable adding a "flying mount" the day before my race. I texted Jen that if I died, she could have my bike if it wasn't damaged beyond repair.
I found a quiet street close by and practiced getting my feet out of my shoes while moving. Easy enough. I rode towards the end of the street, pedaling with my bare feet on top of my shoes, slowed to a crawl, and attempted to swing my right leg back over the saddle to bring it to my left side.
Man that saddle was high. I canceled and came to a stop. Tried again.
I approached the end of the road, slowed, and swung my right leg over, slipped it between my left leg and the bike, and cautiously hopped off. Success! I practiced it a few more times at a low speed, then picked up the speed a bit. After I got comfortable with it, I clipped my shoes to the pedals, secured them upright with rubber bands, and practiced doing a mount. Not a flying mount... but one slightly more efficient than having to run in bike shoes only to come to a complete stop and attempt to clip in and go. For this one, I only had to stop enough to get my bare foot on top of my pre-positioned shoe. Easy enough.
When I made it home, I did one more dismount for good measure and carried my bike up the stairs to my apartment. As I leaned it up against the wall, I noticed a shoe was missing. What the heck? It couldn't have gone far because I was just pedaling on top of them as I approached my apartment. Thankfully, it was right at the bottom of the stairs.
I texted Jen that I was alive and unharmed and told her that my shoe incident was just like Cinderella, and maybe if I lost my shoe in the triathlon, some handsome prince would pick it up for me and we would get to meet when I came back for it later. She told me she had her fingers crossed for that one.
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The next day was the triathlon. I got there just as transition was opening and chose my spot. I don't really have a very scientific way of figuring out where to set up my stuff. At least not yet. But I looked at the bike out/bike in chute, and the run out chute, and picked a spot in between.
For triathlons, you get a space about as wide as your handlebars and as long as your bike or half your bike depending on how the rack is set up. These racks were on the ground, which meant if I stored my stuff by the back of my bike, I wouldn't be able to get to it very easily while other bikes were there.
This time I was going to warm up in the water before the race. I started to ask around about where the starting line was. We were far enough away that it wasn't quite obvious, and in Santa Cruz, the beach is not directly west. Actually, in Santa Cruz, I believe the beach is in 3 different directions.
The first volunteer I asked didn't know and suggested I ask at registration. Registration was being done by 12 year old girls who didn't know either. I came back to the volunteers who were making sure only athletes came into transition.
"Oh the start? Yeah, it's on the beach."
Really buddy? "Yeah, I know that. Is it down this road, or that way?"
"Oh, uh, yeah I don't know."
I found a race referee who was reprimanding a guy for putting his stuff in the wrong place.
"Oh, uh... I think it's down this road."
I put on my wetsuit, grabbed my cap and goggles, and walked down to the beach. I found the wharf where we were to start and headed toward the lifeguard tower. About 25 minutes before the start, I got in to warm up. The cold hurt my head much like drinking a slurpee too fast. I swam back and forth until I got warm, listened to the announcer getting people pumped up for the race, and watched as others slowly joined me in the water.
Minutes before the race, the referee gave final instructions, the national anthem played, and we lined up in the corrals. I was in the second wave. The first wave were the men under 40, wearing red and green caps. The second was the women under 40, wearing light blue. The waves were sent 5 minutes apart.
We watched the men run off into the water as a few waves rolled in. The waves were breaking on a shallow shelf. I heard some of the girls mutter about the waves, which were actually pretty small but still inconvenient.
I didn't want to do this anymore.
It is exactly at this point at nearly every race that I do, that I decide how dumb it was to sign up for this thing. Who does this crap? This was going to hurt. This was going to be miserable. Why do I do this to myself? This was a dumb idea.
I told myself the feeling would go away as soon as I hit the water.
I lined up at the start of my wave. Girls were already pushing a little. Triathlon swim starts can be brutal. Picture a mass of people running into the water, diving in, and swimming. It's a full contact sport. Anything goes. People have broken teeth. Actually, a couple people have died from it.
Off we went. Just as we hit the water, a wave came up. I dove down under it. As it subsided, I was suddenly in about 4 inches of water, which was not efficient for swimming. I stood back up and ran with the rest of the girls, slightly embarrassed. When the other girls dove in to swim, so did I.
A girl behind me was basically swimming on top of me. Every few seconds I would feel her on top of me up to about my waist. C'mon, obviously there's a swimmer here, find your own place. Girls continued to push and shove until we were out far enough to start to spread out. I focused on not swallowing water, and slowed my pace a little. We started to come up on a couple red caps, catching up to the guys. I was finally able to sight the bright orange buoy I was supposed to be swimming for, and lined up with it.
As we neared the buoy, there were less blue caps and more green and red. I had pulled ahead of the majority of the girls. I heard sea lions barking under the wharf.
Omg, what is that smell? Is that food? Why am I smelling food out here? It must have been coming from the half mile long wharf were were swimming around. God, this is torture. I could totally eat whatever that is.
We rounded the first buoy, but I couldn't see the second. I assumed the crowd could, and followed. Red and green caps everywhere. I sighted the next buoy and turned my focus toward breathing and maintaining a smooth stroke. My shoulders already ached.
Hot dogs. That's what that is. I'm smelling hot dogs. Why would there be hot dogs cooking this early in the morning? I would totally eat a hot dog right now, that smells delicious.
We rounded the second buoy. Well, straight to the beach from here I guess. The announcer said to sight the "Dream Inn" or something. I don't even know what that looks like.
I saw a group veer around a kelp bed. I veered around it too. No telling what sort of creatures lurked in there. I'm terrible at sighting. It's really hard to focus on things far away when you're eye level with moving water.
Oh god...what is that smell? That is awful! What is that, sewage? Oh my god.
I tried not to heave.
I realized there wasn't anyone around me. I put my head up and saw the crowd to my left, to the left of the buoy I was on the right of. I veered back towards the crowd. Well that is going to add some distance.
More red and green caps up ahead. I fell back in with the crowd and sighted the bright blue exit chute on the beach. Head towards that.
Ok, last chance to pee. Pee now. I tried to relax to pee. Nothing happened. Maybe I don't have to go. ...who cares, go anyway. Make it happen. My right calf started to cramp up. Already? Maybe you're dehydrated. Just get to the beach dammit. Deal with it later.
Blue caps. Ah, there they are. Couple fast girls here. Up ahead I saw a lifeguard pacing back and forth in the water. I could stand up there. I hit the sand and jogged toward the exit chute, trying not to fall over. I put my goggles up on my forehead. I struggled to undo the velcro at the back of my neck. Just before I hit the chute, it came free. I reached back and found my zipper and pulled. I entered the chute and was greeted by cheers from the spectators. Not many girls around. I pulled my wetsuit down around my waist as I ran.
Ahead of me, a guy stopped to put on a pair of shoes he had stashed near the street. It can't be that long of a run to transition.
We ran up the sidewalk, across a street, and under a train trestle. Barefoot on concrete for about a quarter mile. The guy with the running shoes passed me. Up ahead was a guy running in flip flops. I was surrounded by guys. That meant I was doing well. I pulled off my cap and goggles and ran with them in my hand. We made it to the transition.
I tossed my cap and goggles and bent over to pull my wetsuit off. That was when I got dizzy. I almost fell over. I stumbled and finally got it off. I pulled on my sunglasses, clipped my helmet under my chin and took off with my bike, running barefoot up the road until I reached the mount line at the top of the hill. I place my left foot on top of the shoe and swung my right leg over. Off I went. Success!
I managed to get my feet mostly into the shoes and settled into a pretty good pace. I had decided against wearing my (huge) GPS watch and figured I would just use my stopwatch and the mile markers to gauge my progress. There weren't many markers.
We made it out of the city and into the neighboring hills. Guys full of muscle passed me with ease on aero bikes with aero wheels that sound like cars approaching. Then a fast looking girl passed by. She looked pro. Then more guys passed. Then a couple more girls. I was disheartened. Carrie, you know this is your weakest leg, just do what you can. You're racing yourself, not them. I must've been passed by over a hundred people. I slugged up the hills. My arms and shoulders ached. My quads burned. Snot ran down my face. I felt like it took hours to get to the turn around.
As we made it closer to transition, there were a number of sharp turns. Volunteers shouted warnings and advised us to slow down. The guys around me were not slowing. I couldn't slow or I could cause a crash. Well don't mess up this turn then. I made it through the turns. The closer we got to transition, the higher the tension became in the air. Oh god. When do I take off my shoes? How far are we? What if I don't get them off in time? I'm totally going to crash.
This is the problem with being a newbie who is also in good shape. You're up with the fast people who usually know exactly what they are doing and are quite experienced, but you don't and could easily get in the way. It's these times I wish to be back with the other beginners. With my people.
When I got to a familiar place nearing transition, I slipped my left foot out of my shoe and placed it on top to take a few more pedal strokes. A girl behind me shouted that she was coming up on my left and not to worry- she's not in my division. So that I wouldn't try to block her? I let her pass and slipped my right foot out. The dismount line was approaching. Volunteers were shouting to slow down. I slowed and eyed the dismount line. The girl that passed me went full speed into the line, braked hard and bailed off the side of her bike.
I swung my right leg over to the left side of the bike, somehow lost the location of my brakes and bailed off the bike as I watched the wide-eyed horror of the volunteers. I must have set my leg back behind me instead of in front of me because I spun sideways as I came over. My front wheel turned sharply to the right and I almost crashed. I saw my shoe land behind the bike.
"Whoa!" exclaimed one of the volunteers. I heard a couple more comments as I collected my shoe and took off running barefoot again to the transition. I racked my bike, removed my helmet, and slipped my running shoes on. I grabbed my race number belt, clipped it, and took off running.
Oh. My. God. My lower calves were so tight they hardly moved. My legs were like lead. We came out from under the train trestle and hit a sharp hill. For crying out loud. I slogged up it, passing an older gentleman as we went (by the way, we have our race numbers and age marked on our calves...presumably so you know who to go after and who to left pass).
The road flattened a little but my calves didn't let up. I tried to use more of my hips and less of my lower legs. My left quad started to seize. Oh no. You're going to have to walk. I refused to walk. I passed a couple more people. I saw a guy on the side of the path, grabbing at his hamstring and limping. I was not the only one seizing up. I was dehydrated and incredibly fatigued. I had pushed too hard on the bike.
Nothing lasts forever. Just a little while ago, you thought the bike would never end, and here you are now. What's 6 miles? You'll just go three and turn around.
The faster racers where already on their way back. They looked nothing short of death. How are they still running so fast? Where the hell is the turn around. Please don't cramp. Please don't cramp. Slow down so you don't cramp.
I slowed down to what felt like a shuffle. My back ached and no longer wanted to hold me upright anymore. I should've grabbed water at that last aid station.
The whimpering in me started to get louder. I started to replay quotes in my head. "I have learned that you can keep going long after you think you can't." And something about when you ask yourself if you can give more, the answer is usually yes. Uh yeah, except that if you give too much right now, you're not going to finish.
Up ahead, a police officer behind some cones was motioning for a turn. The turn around was soon. And there it was. Water and gatorade were right after the turn. I passed a couple volunteers I wasn't ready for.
"Water!" I called out and reached for a cup.
"This is gatorade."
"Oh well, whatever."
I don't normally walk at the aid stations, but I made an exception. I drank the gatorade while I walked, then briefly stopped to stretch my calves on the curb. Three more miles to go. I started up again.
The tightness in my calves eased up a little. My other quad started to seize up and I had developed a blister on my right foot. I was not used to running without socks.
I passed a few more people on the way back. I knew the finish line was coming up soon and picked up my pace a little. A woman held a sign that said "SMILE". I could not. I did not smile for the photographers. Not once during the whole race. I did not give them the thumbs up or peace sign like usual. I suffered, and I'm sure the photos will tell the story.
And there. There was the finish. The big white inflatable finish line, fenced in like a cattle chute. I opened up my stride and crossed under it. I walked. Good god it felt awesome to stop. I bent forward a little so a volunteer could put a medal (wooden) around my neck.
As I walked forward, I felt someone grab my ankle and say something about my timing chip. I halted mid-stride and let her remove the strap on my ankle, then continued on. The water and gatorade tables had been completely ransacked by exhausted athletes.
"Water, where's the water?" I called out. I passed a couple gatorade tables. An athlete had commandeered a jug and was pouring out of it. "Is that water?" I asked. "Yeah, this is water" he responded. "Are there any cups?" I looked around and found a lone cup, probably used. "Yeah, there are cups over here." "Is this clean?" I asked as I picked up the cup and poured water into it. "Oh well" I said as I saw a volunteer produce a stack of unused cups.
I walked down to transition. It was hot. I listened to the volunteers talk about how they were yelling at a guy to slow down before the dismount line and he just wasn't listening. I showed my marked hands to the volunteers to get back into transition. I stood over the mess of my area and was overwhelmed how I would eventually have to clean all of this up.
One bike shoe was still clipped in to my bike pedal. The other lay on the ground beside it. My wetsuit was wedged under the front tire of my bike, my helmet off to the side. Someone's water bottle sat next to my stuff. I pulled my flip flops out of my bag and took my shoes off. I took three ibuprofens to stave off the inevitable lower abdominal cramps, grabbed my bottle of hydration drink, and set off to pee.
I loitered around the snack tables, drank cold chocolate milk, ate half a banana, and grabbed some snack bars. After sitting in the grass for awhile, I went back to transition, packed up my stuff and headed for home.
I managed a shower, rinsed my wetsuit and ate steak and rice. I opened up my laptop to work on my thesis code (because there are no days off in grad school). The light of the screen burned my eyes. Nope, nope, nope. I turned off the computer and took an hour nap. The rest of the night was nope as well. I ate again, managed half a glass of wine, and went to bed.
It was a long restless night. My entire body hurts. Somehow I've got to put together a lecture today before my class tonight. Maybe do some homework. Work on my thesis since I had nothing to show during last week's lab meeting. My whole body, mind and soul is just saying "nope" today. I can't wait until Friday.
I got some fairly good training in this past summer, but since school started back up again, time and energy has been scarce and some of my training has gone by the wayside. I planned on incorporating things I learned from my first triathlon into my preparation for this one. For one, I was actually going to warm up for the swim. Jumping into a freezing cold ocean to do a race without a warm-up is just dumb. Second, I was going to push harder on the bike. I kinda dogged it last time. The bike is my weakest leg. It's also the one I least enjoy training for. And third, I was going to learn the flying mount and dismount for the bike. I'll let you Google that if you're curious (also Google triathlon flying bike mount fails if you're not squeamish). Basically though, you get on and off the bike while it is in motion so you can continue running in or out of transition.
Triathlons are not as simple as throwing together three sports. I've done all three sports separately to some degree, although I've never raced in cycling. There's added complexity in transitioning (quickly) from one discipline to the next. But there's also the complexity of managing fatigue during one leg while also managing fatigue for the entire event. For example, it is wrong to assume that you can just go all out on the swim because you're using mostly your arms and the fatigue will not spill over into the bike and subsequently, the run.
I find this difficult. Especially because the swim is my strongest component compared to a lot of other triathletes who were not swimmers growing up and only learned how to swim to keep from drowning during a triathlon. So I want to dominate the swim. In any event, you really have to play to your strengths. So I go hard in the swim. And hey, guess what? I'm tired before I even get on the bike.
So about a week ago, I finally found the motivation to go practice my bike mounts and dismounts. I was terrified. I was pretty sure I could die doing this, or at least lose half my face. Or break a toe. Like the big toe, and you don't want to break your big toe. I decided to conquer the dismount first as it's less dangerous than the mount. I rode my bike out to a park that had a long road in between parking lots. I got to a cruising speed and attempted to take off my shoes while riding....and within minutes figured out that my road shoes, with their complicated top buckling system, were not going to be removed with one hand. It occurred to me then that I had never removed my road shoes with one hand. It's a two hand deal. This was not going to work.
I canceled my plans to do work and homework and instead went to 4 different stores looking for triathlon shoes. My triathlon was a week away. I did not find what I was looking for, so I ordered a pair online and was thankful for free 2 day shipping from CompetitiveCyclist.com.
On Saturday morning, with a sick feeling in my stomach, I set out to practice dismounts. I figured if I got comfortable with the dismount, I would work on modifying the mount. I didn't feel comfortable adding a "flying mount" the day before my race. I texted Jen that if I died, she could have my bike if it wasn't damaged beyond repair.
I found a quiet street close by and practiced getting my feet out of my shoes while moving. Easy enough. I rode towards the end of the street, pedaling with my bare feet on top of my shoes, slowed to a crawl, and attempted to swing my right leg back over the saddle to bring it to my left side.
Man that saddle was high. I canceled and came to a stop. Tried again.
I approached the end of the road, slowed, and swung my right leg over, slipped it between my left leg and the bike, and cautiously hopped off. Success! I practiced it a few more times at a low speed, then picked up the speed a bit. After I got comfortable with it, I clipped my shoes to the pedals, secured them upright with rubber bands, and practiced doing a mount. Not a flying mount... but one slightly more efficient than having to run in bike shoes only to come to a complete stop and attempt to clip in and go. For this one, I only had to stop enough to get my bare foot on top of my pre-positioned shoe. Easy enough.
When I made it home, I did one more dismount for good measure and carried my bike up the stairs to my apartment. As I leaned it up against the wall, I noticed a shoe was missing. What the heck? It couldn't have gone far because I was just pedaling on top of them as I approached my apartment. Thankfully, it was right at the bottom of the stairs.
I texted Jen that I was alive and unharmed and told her that my shoe incident was just like Cinderella, and maybe if I lost my shoe in the triathlon, some handsome prince would pick it up for me and we would get to meet when I came back for it later. She told me she had her fingers crossed for that one.
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The next day was the triathlon. I got there just as transition was opening and chose my spot. I don't really have a very scientific way of figuring out where to set up my stuff. At least not yet. But I looked at the bike out/bike in chute, and the run out chute, and picked a spot in between.
For triathlons, you get a space about as wide as your handlebars and as long as your bike or half your bike depending on how the rack is set up. These racks were on the ground, which meant if I stored my stuff by the back of my bike, I wouldn't be able to get to it very easily while other bikes were there.
This time I was going to warm up in the water before the race. I started to ask around about where the starting line was. We were far enough away that it wasn't quite obvious, and in Santa Cruz, the beach is not directly west. Actually, in Santa Cruz, I believe the beach is in 3 different directions.
The first volunteer I asked didn't know and suggested I ask at registration. Registration was being done by 12 year old girls who didn't know either. I came back to the volunteers who were making sure only athletes came into transition.
"Oh the start? Yeah, it's on the beach."
Really buddy? "Yeah, I know that. Is it down this road, or that way?"
"Oh, uh, yeah I don't know."
I found a race referee who was reprimanding a guy for putting his stuff in the wrong place.
"Oh, uh... I think it's down this road."
I put on my wetsuit, grabbed my cap and goggles, and walked down to the beach. I found the wharf where we were to start and headed toward the lifeguard tower. About 25 minutes before the start, I got in to warm up. The cold hurt my head much like drinking a slurpee too fast. I swam back and forth until I got warm, listened to the announcer getting people pumped up for the race, and watched as others slowly joined me in the water.
Minutes before the race, the referee gave final instructions, the national anthem played, and we lined up in the corrals. I was in the second wave. The first wave were the men under 40, wearing red and green caps. The second was the women under 40, wearing light blue. The waves were sent 5 minutes apart.
We watched the men run off into the water as a few waves rolled in. The waves were breaking on a shallow shelf. I heard some of the girls mutter about the waves, which were actually pretty small but still inconvenient.
I didn't want to do this anymore.
It is exactly at this point at nearly every race that I do, that I decide how dumb it was to sign up for this thing. Who does this crap? This was going to hurt. This was going to be miserable. Why do I do this to myself? This was a dumb idea.
I told myself the feeling would go away as soon as I hit the water.
I lined up at the start of my wave. Girls were already pushing a little. Triathlon swim starts can be brutal. Picture a mass of people running into the water, diving in, and swimming. It's a full contact sport. Anything goes. People have broken teeth. Actually, a couple people have died from it.
Off we went. Just as we hit the water, a wave came up. I dove down under it. As it subsided, I was suddenly in about 4 inches of water, which was not efficient for swimming. I stood back up and ran with the rest of the girls, slightly embarrassed. When the other girls dove in to swim, so did I.
A girl behind me was basically swimming on top of me. Every few seconds I would feel her on top of me up to about my waist. C'mon, obviously there's a swimmer here, find your own place. Girls continued to push and shove until we were out far enough to start to spread out. I focused on not swallowing water, and slowed my pace a little. We started to come up on a couple red caps, catching up to the guys. I was finally able to sight the bright orange buoy I was supposed to be swimming for, and lined up with it.
As we neared the buoy, there were less blue caps and more green and red. I had pulled ahead of the majority of the girls. I heard sea lions barking under the wharf.
Omg, what is that smell? Is that food? Why am I smelling food out here? It must have been coming from the half mile long wharf were were swimming around. God, this is torture. I could totally eat whatever that is.
We rounded the first buoy, but I couldn't see the second. I assumed the crowd could, and followed. Red and green caps everywhere. I sighted the next buoy and turned my focus toward breathing and maintaining a smooth stroke. My shoulders already ached.
Hot dogs. That's what that is. I'm smelling hot dogs. Why would there be hot dogs cooking this early in the morning? I would totally eat a hot dog right now, that smells delicious.
We rounded the second buoy. Well, straight to the beach from here I guess. The announcer said to sight the "Dream Inn" or something. I don't even know what that looks like.
I saw a group veer around a kelp bed. I veered around it too. No telling what sort of creatures lurked in there. I'm terrible at sighting. It's really hard to focus on things far away when you're eye level with moving water.
Oh god...what is that smell? That is awful! What is that, sewage? Oh my god.
I tried not to heave.
I realized there wasn't anyone around me. I put my head up and saw the crowd to my left, to the left of the buoy I was on the right of. I veered back towards the crowd. Well that is going to add some distance.
More red and green caps up ahead. I fell back in with the crowd and sighted the bright blue exit chute on the beach. Head towards that.
Ok, last chance to pee. Pee now. I tried to relax to pee. Nothing happened. Maybe I don't have to go. ...who cares, go anyway. Make it happen. My right calf started to cramp up. Already? Maybe you're dehydrated. Just get to the beach dammit. Deal with it later.
Blue caps. Ah, there they are. Couple fast girls here. Up ahead I saw a lifeguard pacing back and forth in the water. I could stand up there. I hit the sand and jogged toward the exit chute, trying not to fall over. I put my goggles up on my forehead. I struggled to undo the velcro at the back of my neck. Just before I hit the chute, it came free. I reached back and found my zipper and pulled. I entered the chute and was greeted by cheers from the spectators. Not many girls around. I pulled my wetsuit down around my waist as I ran.
Ahead of me, a guy stopped to put on a pair of shoes he had stashed near the street. It can't be that long of a run to transition.
We ran up the sidewalk, across a street, and under a train trestle. Barefoot on concrete for about a quarter mile. The guy with the running shoes passed me. Up ahead was a guy running in flip flops. I was surrounded by guys. That meant I was doing well. I pulled off my cap and goggles and ran with them in my hand. We made it to the transition.
I tossed my cap and goggles and bent over to pull my wetsuit off. That was when I got dizzy. I almost fell over. I stumbled and finally got it off. I pulled on my sunglasses, clipped my helmet under my chin and took off with my bike, running barefoot up the road until I reached the mount line at the top of the hill. I place my left foot on top of the shoe and swung my right leg over. Off I went. Success!
I managed to get my feet mostly into the shoes and settled into a pretty good pace. I had decided against wearing my (huge) GPS watch and figured I would just use my stopwatch and the mile markers to gauge my progress. There weren't many markers.
We made it out of the city and into the neighboring hills. Guys full of muscle passed me with ease on aero bikes with aero wheels that sound like cars approaching. Then a fast looking girl passed by. She looked pro. Then more guys passed. Then a couple more girls. I was disheartened. Carrie, you know this is your weakest leg, just do what you can. You're racing yourself, not them. I must've been passed by over a hundred people. I slugged up the hills. My arms and shoulders ached. My quads burned. Snot ran down my face. I felt like it took hours to get to the turn around.
As we made it closer to transition, there were a number of sharp turns. Volunteers shouted warnings and advised us to slow down. The guys around me were not slowing. I couldn't slow or I could cause a crash. Well don't mess up this turn then. I made it through the turns. The closer we got to transition, the higher the tension became in the air. Oh god. When do I take off my shoes? How far are we? What if I don't get them off in time? I'm totally going to crash.
This is the problem with being a newbie who is also in good shape. You're up with the fast people who usually know exactly what they are doing and are quite experienced, but you don't and could easily get in the way. It's these times I wish to be back with the other beginners. With my people.
When I got to a familiar place nearing transition, I slipped my left foot out of my shoe and placed it on top to take a few more pedal strokes. A girl behind me shouted that she was coming up on my left and not to worry- she's not in my division. So that I wouldn't try to block her? I let her pass and slipped my right foot out. The dismount line was approaching. Volunteers were shouting to slow down. I slowed and eyed the dismount line. The girl that passed me went full speed into the line, braked hard and bailed off the side of her bike.
I swung my right leg over to the left side of the bike, somehow lost the location of my brakes and bailed off the bike as I watched the wide-eyed horror of the volunteers. I must have set my leg back behind me instead of in front of me because I spun sideways as I came over. My front wheel turned sharply to the right and I almost crashed. I saw my shoe land behind the bike.
"Whoa!" exclaimed one of the volunteers. I heard a couple more comments as I collected my shoe and took off running barefoot again to the transition. I racked my bike, removed my helmet, and slipped my running shoes on. I grabbed my race number belt, clipped it, and took off running.
Oh. My. God. My lower calves were so tight they hardly moved. My legs were like lead. We came out from under the train trestle and hit a sharp hill. For crying out loud. I slogged up it, passing an older gentleman as we went (by the way, we have our race numbers and age marked on our calves...presumably so you know who to go after and who to left pass).
The road flattened a little but my calves didn't let up. I tried to use more of my hips and less of my lower legs. My left quad started to seize. Oh no. You're going to have to walk. I refused to walk. I passed a couple more people. I saw a guy on the side of the path, grabbing at his hamstring and limping. I was not the only one seizing up. I was dehydrated and incredibly fatigued. I had pushed too hard on the bike.
Nothing lasts forever. Just a little while ago, you thought the bike would never end, and here you are now. What's 6 miles? You'll just go three and turn around.
The faster racers where already on their way back. They looked nothing short of death. How are they still running so fast? Where the hell is the turn around. Please don't cramp. Please don't cramp. Slow down so you don't cramp.
I slowed down to what felt like a shuffle. My back ached and no longer wanted to hold me upright anymore. I should've grabbed water at that last aid station.
The whimpering in me started to get louder. I started to replay quotes in my head. "I have learned that you can keep going long after you think you can't." And something about when you ask yourself if you can give more, the answer is usually yes. Uh yeah, except that if you give too much right now, you're not going to finish.
Up ahead, a police officer behind some cones was motioning for a turn. The turn around was soon. And there it was. Water and gatorade were right after the turn. I passed a couple volunteers I wasn't ready for.
"Water!" I called out and reached for a cup.
"This is gatorade."
"Oh well, whatever."
I don't normally walk at the aid stations, but I made an exception. I drank the gatorade while I walked, then briefly stopped to stretch my calves on the curb. Three more miles to go. I started up again.
The tightness in my calves eased up a little. My other quad started to seize up and I had developed a blister on my right foot. I was not used to running without socks.
I passed a few more people on the way back. I knew the finish line was coming up soon and picked up my pace a little. A woman held a sign that said "SMILE". I could not. I did not smile for the photographers. Not once during the whole race. I did not give them the thumbs up or peace sign like usual. I suffered, and I'm sure the photos will tell the story.
And there. There was the finish. The big white inflatable finish line, fenced in like a cattle chute. I opened up my stride and crossed under it. I walked. Good god it felt awesome to stop. I bent forward a little so a volunteer could put a medal (wooden) around my neck.
As I walked forward, I felt someone grab my ankle and say something about my timing chip. I halted mid-stride and let her remove the strap on my ankle, then continued on. The water and gatorade tables had been completely ransacked by exhausted athletes.
"Water, where's the water?" I called out. I passed a couple gatorade tables. An athlete had commandeered a jug and was pouring out of it. "Is that water?" I asked. "Yeah, this is water" he responded. "Are there any cups?" I looked around and found a lone cup, probably used. "Yeah, there are cups over here." "Is this clean?" I asked as I picked up the cup and poured water into it. "Oh well" I said as I saw a volunteer produce a stack of unused cups.
I walked down to transition. It was hot. I listened to the volunteers talk about how they were yelling at a guy to slow down before the dismount line and he just wasn't listening. I showed my marked hands to the volunteers to get back into transition. I stood over the mess of my area and was overwhelmed how I would eventually have to clean all of this up.
I loitered around the snack tables, drank cold chocolate milk, ate half a banana, and grabbed some snack bars. After sitting in the grass for awhile, I went back to transition, packed up my stuff and headed for home.
I managed a shower, rinsed my wetsuit and ate steak and rice. I opened up my laptop to work on my thesis code (because there are no days off in grad school). The light of the screen burned my eyes. Nope, nope, nope. I turned off the computer and took an hour nap. The rest of the night was nope as well. I ate again, managed half a glass of wine, and went to bed.
It was a long restless night. My entire body hurts. Somehow I've got to put together a lecture today before my class tonight. Maybe do some homework. Work on my thesis since I had nothing to show during last week's lab meeting. My whole body, mind and soul is just saying "nope" today. I can't wait until Friday.
Tuesday, September 13, 2016
Gorillas and Drowning
I've really done it to myself this time.
I tend to take on a lot, and for the past several semesters, I have completely overwhelmed myself. But I made it through each and every one of them with very little permanent damage to my psyche as well as my soul.
Not this semester. This semester is going to leave a mark. As if I had not been taking on enough in previous semesters, I am now taking on two part time jobs on top of an already crazy load. I am teaching an undergraduate class and I am working remotely as a meteorologist intern.
This morning as I was warming up on the stationary bike at the gym, my mind was wandering to all my stressors- everything I am not caught up on, homework to grade, why the average grade on my class's first quiz was 52%, how I had no clean laundry and no pre-made food at home. A couple of my friends suggest breaks at times like this. This makes no sense to me. I am falling behind day by day. What is taking a break going to accomplish? Yesterday I worked 12 hours straight: studying, attending class, teaching class. For 12 hours. I made some headway but I did not catch up. And now I have homework to grade.
As I pedaled away, I tried to come up with a motivational quote to keep me from bursting into tears and crawling into a fetal position on the gym floor. The first thing that came to mind was this:
"Success is a little like wrestling a gorilla. You don't quit when you're tired. You quit when the gorilla gets tired." (Robert Strauss)
I mulled it over for a few seconds. Not bad. I thought about hanging it up in the lab so the other guys could gain some inspiration from it.
But it didn't quite fit. I don't feel like I'm experiencing a violent death (as I presumably would not win a wrestling contest with a gorilla). It's more like a slow death, with equal parts desperation and resignation. More like drowning. I searched my memory bank to see what sort of inspirational quotes I could come up with about drowning.
The first thing (only thing) that came to my mind was something from my swimming days (because swim practice is a lot like drowning). It must've been a Speedo or Nike ad.
"They say you can drown in just an inch of water. If you fell the right way. Face down, unconscious."......
I couldn't remember how the rest went. I'm sure it ends well, otherwise it wouldn't have been an inspirational ad for sporting equipment. I chuckled to myself. The quote kept repeating in my head throughout my workout. People must've thought I was crazy.
A Google search for that quote returned some disturbing results. None of which were what I was looking for.
So I think it goes something like this (for those of you wishing for a happy ending):
"They say you can drown in just an inch of water, if you fell the right way. Face down, unconscious. One minute seems to last forever. But then you reach for the wall."
Talking about a swimming race- how it seems to take forever (and you feel like you might actually drown), but then it's over. And hopefully you didn't drown in the process.
Well. Anyway. I need to get back to work.
I tend to take on a lot, and for the past several semesters, I have completely overwhelmed myself. But I made it through each and every one of them with very little permanent damage to my psyche as well as my soul.
Not this semester. This semester is going to leave a mark. As if I had not been taking on enough in previous semesters, I am now taking on two part time jobs on top of an already crazy load. I am teaching an undergraduate class and I am working remotely as a meteorologist intern.
This morning as I was warming up on the stationary bike at the gym, my mind was wandering to all my stressors- everything I am not caught up on, homework to grade, why the average grade on my class's first quiz was 52%, how I had no clean laundry and no pre-made food at home. A couple of my friends suggest breaks at times like this. This makes no sense to me. I am falling behind day by day. What is taking a break going to accomplish? Yesterday I worked 12 hours straight: studying, attending class, teaching class. For 12 hours. I made some headway but I did not catch up. And now I have homework to grade.
As I pedaled away, I tried to come up with a motivational quote to keep me from bursting into tears and crawling into a fetal position on the gym floor. The first thing that came to mind was this:
"Success is a little like wrestling a gorilla. You don't quit when you're tired. You quit when the gorilla gets tired." (Robert Strauss)
I mulled it over for a few seconds. Not bad. I thought about hanging it up in the lab so the other guys could gain some inspiration from it.
But it didn't quite fit. I don't feel like I'm experiencing a violent death (as I presumably would not win a wrestling contest with a gorilla). It's more like a slow death, with equal parts desperation and resignation. More like drowning. I searched my memory bank to see what sort of inspirational quotes I could come up with about drowning.
The first thing (only thing) that came to my mind was something from my swimming days (because swim practice is a lot like drowning). It must've been a Speedo or Nike ad.
"They say you can drown in just an inch of water. If you fell the right way. Face down, unconscious."......
I couldn't remember how the rest went. I'm sure it ends well, otherwise it wouldn't have been an inspirational ad for sporting equipment. I chuckled to myself. The quote kept repeating in my head throughout my workout. People must've thought I was crazy.
A Google search for that quote returned some disturbing results. None of which were what I was looking for.
So I think it goes something like this (for those of you wishing for a happy ending):
"They say you can drown in just an inch of water, if you fell the right way. Face down, unconscious. One minute seems to last forever. But then you reach for the wall."
Talking about a swimming race- how it seems to take forever (and you feel like you might actually drown), but then it's over. And hopefully you didn't drown in the process.
Well. Anyway. I need to get back to work.
Tuesday, August 30, 2016
At it again
By the time I get back to my desk, coffee in hand, Sharky McSharkface is shaking his hips and shoulders to whatever song he hears when the sun's radiation hits his stand. He makes me smile even though I've been going full speed since 5 am and have just discovered my underwear is inside out.
I'm tired.
This is to be expected. As hopefully a last year grad student, I'm working part time remotely for San Diego, teaching an undergraduate class, taking two classes, (supposedly) working on my thesis, and training for one triathlon, one half marathon, and one full marathon.
This morning was my first day back at the gym in a couple weeks and I didn't have any energy to spare. I did my best. I faded hard at the end. As I rotated between squats and pull-ups, I visualized the swim portion of my upcoming triathlon. I kept going.
As I was leaving, I ran into one of the trainers and realized now would be a good time to learn his name since we've been saying hello to each other every morning for a couple years now. While we were talking, he told me how one of the guys at the gym told him that he's inspired by me even though he doesn't know me. "You're inspiring people, just so you know. You work your butt off and people see it."
I left feeling slightly recharged.
I ate, showered, bought bar tape on my way to school from the local bike shop, signed my contract, got my teaching ID and my teaching parking permit (yay employee parking!), bought a coffee, and made my way back to my office on the 8th floor.
I pulled out my to-do list and only got to check off one item. I felt slighted. In the process of getting settled, I pulled out my second to-do list in hopes of merging them. Four items got to be checked off!! I thought about merging the lists and decided I should get on Facebook instead.
Thesis (Theo for short) sits on top of my books on my desk, serving as my muse and confidant for the remainder of my master's degree.
Wednesday, August 24, 2016
Small
Something that really stood out to me on my trip with Emily, my best friend's ten year old daughter, was how when we went out to eat, she was nearly ignored. The waitress would address me directly and would hardly look at her. Maybe parents are used to this and it's nothing new or surprising. When I'm not eating alone, I'm used to my companion being addressed equally. Most of the time Emily ordered for herself, and the waitress would address her then. She's old enough to decide what she wants to eat, especially on vacation. And who am I to tell her what she's going to eat? I'm not her mom.
Boarding our flight from Honolulu to San Diego, there was a big crowd of people pushing to get closer to the front of the line. I walked behind Emily and watched as people on the left and right of her squeezed past her and her roller bag. At one point, she stopped and turned to face me.
"Am I that small?"
My first thought was yes. I told her people do it to me too and they're just being rude. I am also considered small. People actually call me "tiny" as if it isn't the slightest of insults. I no longer take it personally. I can usually do more pull-ups than those people.
On the plane, Emily sat on my right, and a young man sat on my left. As usual, the man hogged the arm rest. He didn't just set his arm on it, but his elbow pointed out into my space. As is habit, I tried to take up less room, and apologized when I accidentally bumped his arm. I let it go, as Emily had lifted the arm rest between us and was curled up with her head on my lap.
Women are taught to be small, quiet, invisible. Don't be loud, don't take up space, don't burden anyone. I don't want Emily to be small, or timid, or afraid to speak her mind. She's going to be a small woman in a hard world and she needs to be aggressive. But there's a fine line. I wouldn't want her to turn into a rude, obnoxious snot either.
I find that I have to pick my battles when it comes to being aggressive or letting things go. Some times you have to stand your ground, but kindness and patience can go a long way. Especially when others are pushing each other, jockeying for position in a line to get on a plane with assigned seats. They're not going to leave without you.
Boarding our flight from Honolulu to San Diego, there was a big crowd of people pushing to get closer to the front of the line. I walked behind Emily and watched as people on the left and right of her squeezed past her and her roller bag. At one point, she stopped and turned to face me.
"Am I that small?"
My first thought was yes. I told her people do it to me too and they're just being rude. I am also considered small. People actually call me "tiny" as if it isn't the slightest of insults. I no longer take it personally. I can usually do more pull-ups than those people.
On the plane, Emily sat on my right, and a young man sat on my left. As usual, the man hogged the arm rest. He didn't just set his arm on it, but his elbow pointed out into my space. As is habit, I tried to take up less room, and apologized when I accidentally bumped his arm. I let it go, as Emily had lifted the arm rest between us and was curled up with her head on my lap.
Women are taught to be small, quiet, invisible. Don't be loud, don't take up space, don't burden anyone. I don't want Emily to be small, or timid, or afraid to speak her mind. She's going to be a small woman in a hard world and she needs to be aggressive. But there's a fine line. I wouldn't want her to turn into a rude, obnoxious snot either.
I find that I have to pick my battles when it comes to being aggressive or letting things go. Some times you have to stand your ground, but kindness and patience can go a long way. Especially when others are pushing each other, jockeying for position in a line to get on a plane with assigned seats. They're not going to leave without you.
Monday, August 22, 2016
Youth
In Kona, Emily and I browsed beachy jewelery made of silver, hemp, shells, and other different things. We both wore hemp anklets with plumeria flowers, and my mind drifted back to my early 20's when I had fully embraced surfing (though was never any good) and was tan from lifeguarding year round. I wore hemp and shell necklaces and anklets, and had gorgeous youthful skin.
We got toe rings at an outdoor stall and I showed Emily how to use them. We both now have silver toe rings with a plumeria flower on our toes, and hemp anklets. Driving to volcano, she place a tan foot on the dash with her toe ring sparkling in the sun, sunglasses on, and not a care in the world.
How I miss that carefree youthfulness.
There were no radio stations for a long stretch between Kona and Volcano. I offered to sing to Emily, like I did when she was a baby. She asked what I used to sing to her. I offered up a couple Jewel songs which she didn't recognize, a Natalie Merchant song which she didn't recognize. I tried Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, which she got.
I asked her if she knew any Madonna.
"Madonna? What's that?"
Oh boy.
Over dinner, I tried to explain to her how I now found myself on the other side of this youth thing. When I was her age, my parents were about my age. I remember thinking how old they seemed in their 30's. Adults who had it all figured out and did adult things. Now I'm that age and I realize how young our 30's are and how we aren't even close to having things figured out. Emily looked around distractedly.
Snorkeling above the reef, watching the fish swim about, I remembered snorkeling in Mexico with my dad. As Emily clung to my arm when we first started, I wondered if my dad had felt the same way I was feeling: excited to be showing a child a new and amazing world, worried about her safety, worried she wouldn't love it.
She's been a more amazing travel partner than I thought she would be. She's far more patient and resilient than I expected. She's endured the discomfort of me getting us lost on a barren lava flow field, itchy mosquito bites (I am a terrible aunt), and long travel legs.
Camping in Sequoia as a child, I had a cold and was feeling miserable. My dad and my brothers still wanted to go hike around and see things. When we got back to camp, my dad said to me "Thank you for doing all that, even though you didn't feel well".
I totally get it.
I also totally get that I will never be this young age again and so I have to hold on to all the youth I have left in me and not allow myself to age prematurely. The young are curious and beautiful, happy and free. Smiling...and of course sunscreen, keeps us young. Exploring keeps us young. Charging out into the world seeking adventure, keeps us young.
I'm going to embrace this youth thing. Hopefully until the day I die.
We got toe rings at an outdoor stall and I showed Emily how to use them. We both now have silver toe rings with a plumeria flower on our toes, and hemp anklets. Driving to volcano, she place a tan foot on the dash with her toe ring sparkling in the sun, sunglasses on, and not a care in the world.
How I miss that carefree youthfulness.
There were no radio stations for a long stretch between Kona and Volcano. I offered to sing to Emily, like I did when she was a baby. She asked what I used to sing to her. I offered up a couple Jewel songs which she didn't recognize, a Natalie Merchant song which she didn't recognize. I tried Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, which she got.
I asked her if she knew any Madonna.
"Madonna? What's that?"
Oh boy.
Over dinner, I tried to explain to her how I now found myself on the other side of this youth thing. When I was her age, my parents were about my age. I remember thinking how old they seemed in their 30's. Adults who had it all figured out and did adult things. Now I'm that age and I realize how young our 30's are and how we aren't even close to having things figured out. Emily looked around distractedly.
Snorkeling above the reef, watching the fish swim about, I remembered snorkeling in Mexico with my dad. As Emily clung to my arm when we first started, I wondered if my dad had felt the same way I was feeling: excited to be showing a child a new and amazing world, worried about her safety, worried she wouldn't love it.
She's been a more amazing travel partner than I thought she would be. She's far more patient and resilient than I expected. She's endured the discomfort of me getting us lost on a barren lava flow field, itchy mosquito bites (I am a terrible aunt), and long travel legs.
Camping in Sequoia as a child, I had a cold and was feeling miserable. My dad and my brothers still wanted to go hike around and see things. When we got back to camp, my dad said to me "Thank you for doing all that, even though you didn't feel well".
I totally get it.
I also totally get that I will never be this young age again and so I have to hold on to all the youth I have left in me and not allow myself to age prematurely. The young are curious and beautiful, happy and free. Smiling...and of course sunscreen, keeps us young. Exploring keeps us young. Charging out into the world seeking adventure, keeps us young.
I'm going to embrace this youth thing. Hopefully until the day I die.
Thursday, August 18, 2016
Into the Great Wide Open
I'm a big believer in doing brave things. Last weekend after swimming in the cove, I was thinking about how much I loved swimming and how swimming in the ocean allows a sense of freedom that swimming back and forth like a ping-pong ball in a pool does not allow. But what about all that fear I feel as I stare out over the ocean before getting in? And the surge of panic as my eyes spot a shadow in the murk below me? As I let my body wash the last ten feet to shore until I'm sitting on the sand, I feel an intense love for swimming in the ocean. Without the bravery to face (mostly) unfounded fears, I would never get to experience the thrill of swimming in the open water.
I've never wanted my own children, so I'm more than happy to accept my best friend's children as my own (you can always give them back). I was a steady part of Emily's life until she was about 3 or 4, then followed my job further away. I missed a lot, I feel. She's incredibly smart, beautiful, and talented in my arenas like art and gymnastics. Sometimes she's a little timid and anxious. But there's a stubbornness in her (just ask her mom) that I have a feeling will grow into a major strength. I feel like if she had the courage to brave new and scary experiences, she could have whatever she wanted in life. She's now ten years old, and I've started her on the path to traveling.
I'm not new to traveling. I've been traveling on my own for years. I am however, new to traveling with a child. For our first trip, we chose Hawaii. I've been thinking about this trip as it approached with a mix of excitement and nervousness.
Emily was nervous for the trip, the flight, probably security, probably many other things (like having to deal with me for 5 days). I put on a brave face to show that travel really was not as big a deal as we sometimes think. But as we approached the TSA agent at security, my hands were shaking to the point of not being able to hold the tickets steady. I felt like I was stealing someone's child and was going to get caught. I would be arrested for sure. Even worse, I felt like the shaking in my hands would be a dead give-away that I had kidnapped this child. I was armed with her birth certificate and a letter from her mother (plus Emily would hopefully vouch for me), but it didn't do much to ease my fears.
I handed the agent my driver's license and ticket, then handed over Emily's ticket. The agent asked her name and she gave it to him. He waved us through. We were instructed to go through the metal detector instead of the body scan. Neither of us set off any alarms, neither of us had suspicious bags (I had decided against the pencil sharpener for the colored pencils). We located our gate and then headed to Starbucks.
On the plane, Emily sat by the window, and I sat next to her in a two seat row. It was nice to not have anyone that either of us would have to make get up a ton of times to pee. Loading passengers took awhile, and she wanted to know when we were going to leave. I explained the process. She buckled her seat belt right away and fished through the seat-back pocket in front of her. She pulled out the barf bag.
"Oh, that's a barf bag" she said as she tucked it back in. I wondered how she knew. Did it say barf-bag on it?
She tried to get the in-flight entertainment working on the screen in front of her. I told her she would probably have to wait until we were in the air. We looked through the magazine provided.
As we pushed back from the gate, Emily asked if we were flying yet (she's been on a plane before but was quite a bit younger). We looked through the emergency procedures card and I explained the oxygen masks and exit doors to her in a manner that wouldn't alarm her. Taxiing along the runway, she asked again if we were flying. She wanted to know how long it was going to take to reach the ocean (by plane). Immediately on take-off, she said "oh, there's the ocean!". We watched San Diego peel away beneath us.
We watched the flight tracker on the screens and she said "We're not even moving!". Our pilot announced the flight was going to take almost an hour less than we had planned. That was good news. We planned our trip, colored, and Emily watched a movie. She tried to get comfortable enough in the seat to sleep, but that never happened.
She came back from the restroom and told me how the toilet flush had scared her. I had forgotten to warn her about that. She asked why there was a time difference, and I did my best to explain that. She asked if it would get dark earlier in Hawaii. I didn't know the exact answer to that, but I figured the latitude wasn't all that different from San Diego.
The temperature, altitude, time to Hawaii, etc, all flashed in front of us on the screen.
"It says it's 59 degrees outside", she said. I looked at the screen.
"Negative 59...Celsius. Negative 74 Fahrenheit." I explained how water freezes to ice at 32 degrees...and we were at negative 74. I told her if she chucked her water bottle out the window, it would probably freeze instantly. She opened the window and put her hand on it.
As we went down in altitude on our approach to Honolulu, my ears popped worse than hers (I had a stuffy nose). I pointed out how her water bottle was collapsing in on itself. I told her that's what was happening to our ears, and explained air pressure, and then pressure under the sea.
We spotted land in the distance. A big volcano on Hawaii perhaps. We decided the pilot should just re-direct and drop us off first.
"Look how red the dirt is! Why is it red?" I tried my best to explain mineral content in dirt.
We landed...and there was a plane parked at our gate. To try to keep the passengers calm and patient, they played island music with birds chirping... far too loud. Emily's assessment of it reminded me of the discussions her mom and I have when we're being cynical.
Emily asked if they spoke English in Hawaii. And if they had their own flag.I reminded her it was just another state in the US. "Oh yeah."
We made our way to the Inter-Island terminal and perused the souvenir shops. Emily and I went back and forth trying to pronounce the names of the different destinations on the monitors. I added extra emphasis on the "ui" at the end (like "oooh -eee!") with my best islander intonation. She giggled.
Boarding took a long time and she was getting impatient. We were both ready to get to our hotel.
We passed over several islands on our way from Oahu to Hawaii. Each one looked different. Emily found the map in the magazine and tried to figure out which one was which.
She marveled at how green everything was as we approached Hilo, and remarked that even by the beach in San Diego it's just brown. I told her how much more rain Hawaii gets than San Diego, and how it's just dry in general in San Diego. I explained that in the tropics, there's a lot more rain, so it's a lot more green.
"And in Ireland" she said. I paused. Ireland was not tropical.
"They get a lot of rain in Ireland too. I've been to Ireland, I recommend it. They speak English there too, but sometimes it's hard to understand".
"Because of their accents?"
"Yep".
"Like Australia."
We got off the plane and walked to the car rental. She asked if we could just roll the windows down and not use the AC (she doesn't like AC). I decided I could brave the heat and humidity for the opportunity to let the Hawaiian breeze blow through our hair.
By the time we got to the car, she was ready for the air conditioning. We found the hotel and I was excited to hear all of her questions and comments about the things around us that were so different. Her curiosity must have been overwhelming, but she's also at the age where she can do some impressive reasoning.
At a more expensive restaurant than we initially planned, she looked around and asked if I thought if these people were locals or tourists. I said they were probably mostly tourists but that some probably lived here.
"Do you think the Hawaiians like the tourists?"
That is a really profound question that I don't think most people ask themselves when they travel. I started thinking about Belize, where the locals are treated like second class citizens, and tourists are catered to.
"I don't like tourists" she continued. "They're always rushing around all over the place...getting in the way..."
Growing up in San Diego, you get a lot of tourists. I explained the concept of "necessary evil" and how tourists enhance the economy.
We walked back to the hotel in the dark, and wondered what creatures were making the sounds we were hearing. Emily thought maybe they were birds. I was thinking more like beetles or frogs. I told her about the cicadas I heard in Chicago. We saw a ton of cats. One cat ran into the road just as a car was approaching.
"Oh no!" I shrieked.
Emily stopped walking and covered her face "I don't want to watch this!" she cried out,
The car braked and the cat made it to safety.
We stopped and stood under a banyan tree and listened to the sound. "Maybe the ladies at the front desk will know what that is" Emily said.
We learned they were coqui frogs, possibly from Puerto Rico. I said I think I saw that on Dora the Explorer.
"Why are you watching that?" she asked.
"When you were little!" I said.
"I don't remember that. I don't remember watching Dora. " (She totally did.)
"Hey, what is the name of that one with the tree house and the sloth?"
"Zoboomafoo! With the lemur? I still watch that."
I woke up this morning just before 3 am, Hawaii time. 6 am San Diego time. I tried to go back to sleep but got up and made coffee instead. Emily, who is not a morning person, woke up at 4 and asked what time it was. I told her it was 4 am Hawaii time and 7 am San Diego time. She said she's used to it being light out at this time. The time thing is hard, that's for sure. Breakfast doesn't even open until 7 am. She's trying to sleep more.
Today we'll be heading out on our first adventures here. I get the feeling that Emily is going to turn out to be quite the traveler. Despite her anxiety, she has embraced all the strange and new things, and I told her how having courage to do scary things opens up your world to so many possibilities.
I've never wanted my own children, so I'm more than happy to accept my best friend's children as my own (you can always give them back). I was a steady part of Emily's life until she was about 3 or 4, then followed my job further away. I missed a lot, I feel. She's incredibly smart, beautiful, and talented in my arenas like art and gymnastics. Sometimes she's a little timid and anxious. But there's a stubbornness in her (just ask her mom) that I have a feeling will grow into a major strength. I feel like if she had the courage to brave new and scary experiences, she could have whatever she wanted in life. She's now ten years old, and I've started her on the path to traveling.
I'm not new to traveling. I've been traveling on my own for years. I am however, new to traveling with a child. For our first trip, we chose Hawaii. I've been thinking about this trip as it approached with a mix of excitement and nervousness.
Emily was nervous for the trip, the flight, probably security, probably many other things (like having to deal with me for 5 days). I put on a brave face to show that travel really was not as big a deal as we sometimes think. But as we approached the TSA agent at security, my hands were shaking to the point of not being able to hold the tickets steady. I felt like I was stealing someone's child and was going to get caught. I would be arrested for sure. Even worse, I felt like the shaking in my hands would be a dead give-away that I had kidnapped this child. I was armed with her birth certificate and a letter from her mother (plus Emily would hopefully vouch for me), but it didn't do much to ease my fears.
I handed the agent my driver's license and ticket, then handed over Emily's ticket. The agent asked her name and she gave it to him. He waved us through. We were instructed to go through the metal detector instead of the body scan. Neither of us set off any alarms, neither of us had suspicious bags (I had decided against the pencil sharpener for the colored pencils). We located our gate and then headed to Starbucks.
On the plane, Emily sat by the window, and I sat next to her in a two seat row. It was nice to not have anyone that either of us would have to make get up a ton of times to pee. Loading passengers took awhile, and she wanted to know when we were going to leave. I explained the process. She buckled her seat belt right away and fished through the seat-back pocket in front of her. She pulled out the barf bag.
"Oh, that's a barf bag" she said as she tucked it back in. I wondered how she knew. Did it say barf-bag on it?
She tried to get the in-flight entertainment working on the screen in front of her. I told her she would probably have to wait until we were in the air. We looked through the magazine provided.
As we pushed back from the gate, Emily asked if we were flying yet (she's been on a plane before but was quite a bit younger). We looked through the emergency procedures card and I explained the oxygen masks and exit doors to her in a manner that wouldn't alarm her. Taxiing along the runway, she asked again if we were flying. She wanted to know how long it was going to take to reach the ocean (by plane). Immediately on take-off, she said "oh, there's the ocean!". We watched San Diego peel away beneath us.
We watched the flight tracker on the screens and she said "We're not even moving!". Our pilot announced the flight was going to take almost an hour less than we had planned. That was good news. We planned our trip, colored, and Emily watched a movie. She tried to get comfortable enough in the seat to sleep, but that never happened.
She came back from the restroom and told me how the toilet flush had scared her. I had forgotten to warn her about that. She asked why there was a time difference, and I did my best to explain that. She asked if it would get dark earlier in Hawaii. I didn't know the exact answer to that, but I figured the latitude wasn't all that different from San Diego.
The temperature, altitude, time to Hawaii, etc, all flashed in front of us on the screen.
"It says it's 59 degrees outside", she said. I looked at the screen.
"Negative 59...Celsius. Negative 74 Fahrenheit." I explained how water freezes to ice at 32 degrees...and we were at negative 74. I told her if she chucked her water bottle out the window, it would probably freeze instantly. She opened the window and put her hand on it.
As we went down in altitude on our approach to Honolulu, my ears popped worse than hers (I had a stuffy nose). I pointed out how her water bottle was collapsing in on itself. I told her that's what was happening to our ears, and explained air pressure, and then pressure under the sea.
We spotted land in the distance. A big volcano on Hawaii perhaps. We decided the pilot should just re-direct and drop us off first.
"Look how red the dirt is! Why is it red?" I tried my best to explain mineral content in dirt.
We landed...and there was a plane parked at our gate. To try to keep the passengers calm and patient, they played island music with birds chirping... far too loud. Emily's assessment of it reminded me of the discussions her mom and I have when we're being cynical.
Emily asked if they spoke English in Hawaii. And if they had their own flag.I reminded her it was just another state in the US. "Oh yeah."
We made our way to the Inter-Island terminal and perused the souvenir shops. Emily and I went back and forth trying to pronounce the names of the different destinations on the monitors. I added extra emphasis on the "ui" at the end (like "oooh -eee!") with my best islander intonation. She giggled.
Boarding took a long time and she was getting impatient. We were both ready to get to our hotel.
We passed over several islands on our way from Oahu to Hawaii. Each one looked different. Emily found the map in the magazine and tried to figure out which one was which.
"And in Ireland" she said. I paused. Ireland was not tropical.
"They get a lot of rain in Ireland too. I've been to Ireland, I recommend it. They speak English there too, but sometimes it's hard to understand".
"Because of their accents?"
"Yep".
"Like Australia."
We got off the plane and walked to the car rental. She asked if we could just roll the windows down and not use the AC (she doesn't like AC). I decided I could brave the heat and humidity for the opportunity to let the Hawaiian breeze blow through our hair.
By the time we got to the car, she was ready for the air conditioning. We found the hotel and I was excited to hear all of her questions and comments about the things around us that were so different. Her curiosity must have been overwhelming, but she's also at the age where she can do some impressive reasoning.
At a more expensive restaurant than we initially planned, she looked around and asked if I thought if these people were locals or tourists. I said they were probably mostly tourists but that some probably lived here.
"Do you think the Hawaiians like the tourists?"
That is a really profound question that I don't think most people ask themselves when they travel. I started thinking about Belize, where the locals are treated like second class citizens, and tourists are catered to.
"I don't like tourists" she continued. "They're always rushing around all over the place...getting in the way..."
Growing up in San Diego, you get a lot of tourists. I explained the concept of "necessary evil" and how tourists enhance the economy.
We walked back to the hotel in the dark, and wondered what creatures were making the sounds we were hearing. Emily thought maybe they were birds. I was thinking more like beetles or frogs. I told her about the cicadas I heard in Chicago. We saw a ton of cats. One cat ran into the road just as a car was approaching.
"Oh no!" I shrieked.
Emily stopped walking and covered her face "I don't want to watch this!" she cried out,
The car braked and the cat made it to safety.
We stopped and stood under a banyan tree and listened to the sound. "Maybe the ladies at the front desk will know what that is" Emily said.
"Why are you watching that?" she asked.
"When you were little!" I said.
"I don't remember that. I don't remember watching Dora. " (She totally did.)
"Hey, what is the name of that one with the tree house and the sloth?"
"Zoboomafoo! With the lemur? I still watch that."
I woke up this morning just before 3 am, Hawaii time. 6 am San Diego time. I tried to go back to sleep but got up and made coffee instead. Emily, who is not a morning person, woke up at 4 and asked what time it was. I told her it was 4 am Hawaii time and 7 am San Diego time. She said she's used to it being light out at this time. The time thing is hard, that's for sure. Breakfast doesn't even open until 7 am. She's trying to sleep more.
Today we'll be heading out on our first adventures here. I get the feeling that Emily is going to turn out to be quite the traveler. Despite her anxiety, she has embraced all the strange and new things, and I told her how having courage to do scary things opens up your world to so many possibilities.
Saturday, August 13, 2016
Imperfection
I am agitated by imperfection.
My Linux-based laptop that was so fast when I first got it, has developed a long running script at start-up... because of an attempt to figure out why my built-in camera wasn't working. After taking over administrative privileges (sudo) on my computer, I proceeded to mess it up before discovering that I had disabled the camera months prior by pressing F10. All I had to do to turn it back on was press F10 again.
I thought upgrading to the new distro would undo all the harm I had done. Nope. I think it takes even longer now. I desperately deleted a bunch of important looking things on my computer. Nope.
I am agitated. I feel like a failure.
I suddenly find that I am teaching a class this semester- Weather and Climate. I don't get back to San Jose until the night before class starts. This is a problem for so many reasons. I have to meet with HR before they can process my hiring, and I've got a mandatory meeting the day before I get home. I will be flying back from Hawaii while the meeting happens.
To be fair, I still flinch at a stupid thing I said to my friend over ten years ago.
I wonder if other people do this. Say something stupid, or accidentally rude, then mull over it for 20 years. I mentioned the conversation to my friend a couple years ago, telling her I felt bad about what I said. She doesn't remember the conversation. Why do I?
I am torn between swimming in my wetsuit and swimming without. 99% of the other swimmers in the cove are swimming without. I watch the rise and fall of the water temperatures daily. It rises to 75 and very quickly (in an hour or two) dips to 67. I don't want to be in the water without a wetsuit when it dips to 67.
This morning as I hopped off the last step to the beach, a woman coming out of the water told me I was going to be too warm in my wetsuit. I explained that when I hit the currents of cold water, I tighten up, then remain tense the rest of the swim. It's more psychological than anything. Whatever keeps me from freaking out.
As I pushed off the bottom and started my swim, I realized she was right. The wetsuit was uncomfortably warm. I swam fast to catch up with the group that had gotten in just before me. I got a cramp in my side. I was unhappy with my decision.
I reached the quarter mile buoy and poked my head up at two guys I could hardly see through my foggy goggles (after trying out my new anti-fog spray).
"They went that way!" they said, laughing.
I couldn't see where they were pointing, so I just started out toward the half mile buoy.
At the half mile buoy, I stopped and took my goggles off and said hello to Art. He introduced me to Annika, and Annika. He said Annika swims more my speed. I explained my wetsuit conundrum. It probably doesn't matter. There probably aren't many people who fret about their daily choices to the extent that I do.
We swam around a boat docked off shore, around a far buoy, and back to the cove.
I got on my bike and rode more aggressively than usual. I glanced at the swelling ocean as I rode along the shoreline roads. I vowed to never again live away from the ocean.
As an undergrad, something I said in my gymnastics class came out rude. I didn't correct it. Maybe it took me too long to realize it. I still cringe when I think about that.
And I know my agitation over the computer and the mandatory meeting will go away shortly after my roommate gets home and we talk over a bottle of wine (or two). But I also know that for whatever reason, genetic or learned, I will always cling to whatever version of perfection I harbor at the time, and be irritated with myself when I don't fit that vision.
And when a friend tells me to let things go, or not try so hard, I find myself trying harder. An instinct to show them that I can do it. To rebel against mediocrity by expecting more of myself.
It's a perpetual tight rope walk between expecting too much, and not expecting enough. It's hard not to feel slighted when someone says they are proud of my accomplishments, but then disapprove of the manner in which I achieve them. Too much, too serious, too disciplined. It's hard enough to try to fit my own mold, let alone someone else's.
As I grow older, I become more aware of the way I talk to myself. If I keep trying...maybe one day I'll get it right. Or perfect.
My Linux-based laptop that was so fast when I first got it, has developed a long running script at start-up... because of an attempt to figure out why my built-in camera wasn't working. After taking over administrative privileges (sudo) on my computer, I proceeded to mess it up before discovering that I had disabled the camera months prior by pressing F10. All I had to do to turn it back on was press F10 again.
I thought upgrading to the new distro would undo all the harm I had done. Nope. I think it takes even longer now. I desperately deleted a bunch of important looking things on my computer. Nope.
I am agitated. I feel like a failure.
I suddenly find that I am teaching a class this semester- Weather and Climate. I don't get back to San Jose until the night before class starts. This is a problem for so many reasons. I have to meet with HR before they can process my hiring, and I've got a mandatory meeting the day before I get home. I will be flying back from Hawaii while the meeting happens.
To be fair, I still flinch at a stupid thing I said to my friend over ten years ago.
I wonder if other people do this. Say something stupid, or accidentally rude, then mull over it for 20 years. I mentioned the conversation to my friend a couple years ago, telling her I felt bad about what I said. She doesn't remember the conversation. Why do I?
I am torn between swimming in my wetsuit and swimming without. 99% of the other swimmers in the cove are swimming without. I watch the rise and fall of the water temperatures daily. It rises to 75 and very quickly (in an hour or two) dips to 67. I don't want to be in the water without a wetsuit when it dips to 67.
This morning as I hopped off the last step to the beach, a woman coming out of the water told me I was going to be too warm in my wetsuit. I explained that when I hit the currents of cold water, I tighten up, then remain tense the rest of the swim. It's more psychological than anything. Whatever keeps me from freaking out.
As I pushed off the bottom and started my swim, I realized she was right. The wetsuit was uncomfortably warm. I swam fast to catch up with the group that had gotten in just before me. I got a cramp in my side. I was unhappy with my decision.
I reached the quarter mile buoy and poked my head up at two guys I could hardly see through my foggy goggles (after trying out my new anti-fog spray).
"They went that way!" they said, laughing.
I couldn't see where they were pointing, so I just started out toward the half mile buoy.
At the half mile buoy, I stopped and took my goggles off and said hello to Art. He introduced me to Annika, and Annika. He said Annika swims more my speed. I explained my wetsuit conundrum. It probably doesn't matter. There probably aren't many people who fret about their daily choices to the extent that I do.
We swam around a boat docked off shore, around a far buoy, and back to the cove.
I got on my bike and rode more aggressively than usual. I glanced at the swelling ocean as I rode along the shoreline roads. I vowed to never again live away from the ocean.
As an undergrad, something I said in my gymnastics class came out rude. I didn't correct it. Maybe it took me too long to realize it. I still cringe when I think about that.
And I know my agitation over the computer and the mandatory meeting will go away shortly after my roommate gets home and we talk over a bottle of wine (or two). But I also know that for whatever reason, genetic or learned, I will always cling to whatever version of perfection I harbor at the time, and be irritated with myself when I don't fit that vision.
And when a friend tells me to let things go, or not try so hard, I find myself trying harder. An instinct to show them that I can do it. To rebel against mediocrity by expecting more of myself.
It's a perpetual tight rope walk between expecting too much, and not expecting enough. It's hard not to feel slighted when someone says they are proud of my accomplishments, but then disapprove of the manner in which I achieve them. Too much, too serious, too disciplined. It's hard enough to try to fit my own mold, let alone someone else's.
As I grow older, I become more aware of the way I talk to myself. If I keep trying...maybe one day I'll get it right. Or perfect.
Saturday, August 6, 2016
High Seas
I realize all that I've been blogging about lately is my epic ocean swims, but I can't help it. Maybe it's all the strange thoughts that pop in my head while swimming. Or maybe because it's the craziest adventures I go on these days.
After my shark sighting two weeks ago (yes, a small leopard shark swam ten feet beneath me), I was a little nervous about getting in the water today. It didn't help that the marine layer was thick enough to be drizzling, and the ocean was tossing about like there was a storm.
The photo below doesn't do it justice, but this is what I've got:
I dawdled putting my wetsuit on, long enough that a big group started to gather. I didn't know any of them, but I was already deciding to sneak in with them so I didn't have to swim alone.
When a few ladies walked down the steps to the beach, I followed a little ways behind. I've mastered the art of crashing swimmers' parties. Mostly it's kinda like stalking. I creepily follow behind far enough to make it seem like maybe I'm not following them, but close enough to be within sight of the group. It just makes me feel better.
I got in behind the ladies and swam out past the surge in the cove. I noticed a lot of little fish near the surface. I didn't like that that would probably bring fish-eaters closer to the surface. I poked my head up when the ladies stopped to locate another from their group. I smiled and put my head back in and swam slowly enough for them to catch up. They got swimming again and joined up with a larger group already in the water. I recognized one guy, John, as one of the people who were kind enough to let me join them on my first day out.
Off we all went to the quarter mile buoy. The water was far rougher than what it seemed from shore. Waves rose up and dropped off quickly, slapped us in the face and arms. It was hard to see the buoy through the heaving ocean. Long fingers of kelp rose up from the bottom and I tried not to think about them. After awhile I started to take a lead on the group, so I slowed down, looked around, and made sure I stayed with them. These are times I wish I had my underwater camera with me. I'd like to capture what it's like to be eye level with the ocean, especially on it's angrier days. I found a couple images on the internet that give you some perspective.
We made it to the quarter mile buoy and stopped to wait for everyone else to gather. By now I had said hello to John, and Leslie- who was also in the group and had swam with me my first day. I was now in the group, and everyone probably just assumed I had come with someone else. Everyone remarked how much it was like being out on the open ocean in a storm. But being in the group made it far less scary. There was some discussion about whether people wanted to go to the half mile buoy or head back. Some wanted to continue, others wanted to go back. I said I could go either way. A big part of the group decided to go back. One guy said he was moving on, and asked if I wanted to go. I said I'd go. A few more guys said they'd go further too. Off we went.
When we got to the half mile buoy, one group said they were going to swim around the lane markers (to keep boaters out). Another guy said he was going to swim to the other one, then loop around and catch them at their marker. They split off in different directions. I sat treading water, watching the groups split and wondering who to go with. I followed the guy who was heading towards shore, then turning around the buoy and heading back out away from shore.
Boy was that a harsh call. Now we were swimming directly into those waves. With my head down in the water, I couldn't see them coming. My arm would crash into a wave or find free air. I was lifted up, then suddenly dropped so quickly that I slapped down on the other side of the wave. I sat up and looked around. This was crazy! I put my head back in and did my best, getting lifted, dropped, or smacked head on. We met up with the other group and then headed back.
One of the guys, Greg I think, mentioned how a group of swimmers meets a couple times during the week and they're more my level. I really wasn't much better than them, and really, I was just happy to have other people to swim with. Otherwise, all of this would've been absolutely terrifying.
At the quarter mile buoy on the way back, we stopped and talked to some swimmers coming out.
"How is it out there?"
"Still choppy!" responded one of the guys.
"Ha! You mean it doesn't get calm out there, huh?"
"No, it's just as bad out there as it is right here". I mean, we're a quarter mile off shore, paralleling the beach. It was a joke.
"I feel like we're swimming up river on the way back" I mentioned.
"Yeah, for sure" said one guy nodding.
I think what really gets me is that we're out there in this inky black sea- tossed by wind whipped waves, just laughing and joking. And that really points to the power of the mind. Just having a couple people swimming next me, who were comfortable and having a good time, was the complete opposite of what it felt like to swim alone. Had I swam alone today, this is what it would've looked like to me:
Or even this, if left out there long enough:
But alas, we all made it to shore in one piece and I went off to change into my cycling clothes. I rode through the drizzle up to the top of Mt. Soledad, then back down along the coast to my car.
Imagination is a funny thing. Everything in life is perception, and our perceptions are always skewed. How can we ever trust our own minds? But then again, how can we not?
After my shark sighting two weeks ago (yes, a small leopard shark swam ten feet beneath me), I was a little nervous about getting in the water today. It didn't help that the marine layer was thick enough to be drizzling, and the ocean was tossing about like there was a storm.
The photo below doesn't do it justice, but this is what I've got:
I dawdled putting my wetsuit on, long enough that a big group started to gather. I didn't know any of them, but I was already deciding to sneak in with them so I didn't have to swim alone.
When a few ladies walked down the steps to the beach, I followed a little ways behind. I've mastered the art of crashing swimmers' parties. Mostly it's kinda like stalking. I creepily follow behind far enough to make it seem like maybe I'm not following them, but close enough to be within sight of the group. It just makes me feel better.
I got in behind the ladies and swam out past the surge in the cove. I noticed a lot of little fish near the surface. I didn't like that that would probably bring fish-eaters closer to the surface. I poked my head up when the ladies stopped to locate another from their group. I smiled and put my head back in and swam slowly enough for them to catch up. They got swimming again and joined up with a larger group already in the water. I recognized one guy, John, as one of the people who were kind enough to let me join them on my first day out.
Off we all went to the quarter mile buoy. The water was far rougher than what it seemed from shore. Waves rose up and dropped off quickly, slapped us in the face and arms. It was hard to see the buoy through the heaving ocean. Long fingers of kelp rose up from the bottom and I tried not to think about them. After awhile I started to take a lead on the group, so I slowed down, looked around, and made sure I stayed with them. These are times I wish I had my underwater camera with me. I'd like to capture what it's like to be eye level with the ocean, especially on it's angrier days. I found a couple images on the internet that give you some perspective.
(Maxx Buchanan)
We made it to the quarter mile buoy and stopped to wait for everyone else to gather. By now I had said hello to John, and Leslie- who was also in the group and had swam with me my first day. I was now in the group, and everyone probably just assumed I had come with someone else. Everyone remarked how much it was like being out on the open ocean in a storm. But being in the group made it far less scary. There was some discussion about whether people wanted to go to the half mile buoy or head back. Some wanted to continue, others wanted to go back. I said I could go either way. A big part of the group decided to go back. One guy said he was moving on, and asked if I wanted to go. I said I'd go. A few more guys said they'd go further too. Off we went.
When we got to the half mile buoy, one group said they were going to swim around the lane markers (to keep boaters out). Another guy said he was going to swim to the other one, then loop around and catch them at their marker. They split off in different directions. I sat treading water, watching the groups split and wondering who to go with. I followed the guy who was heading towards shore, then turning around the buoy and heading back out away from shore.
Boy was that a harsh call. Now we were swimming directly into those waves. With my head down in the water, I couldn't see them coming. My arm would crash into a wave or find free air. I was lifted up, then suddenly dropped so quickly that I slapped down on the other side of the wave. I sat up and looked around. This was crazy! I put my head back in and did my best, getting lifted, dropped, or smacked head on. We met up with the other group and then headed back.
One of the guys, Greg I think, mentioned how a group of swimmers meets a couple times during the week and they're more my level. I really wasn't much better than them, and really, I was just happy to have other people to swim with. Otherwise, all of this would've been absolutely terrifying.
At the quarter mile buoy on the way back, we stopped and talked to some swimmers coming out.
"How is it out there?"
"Still choppy!" responded one of the guys.
"Ha! You mean it doesn't get calm out there, huh?"
"No, it's just as bad out there as it is right here". I mean, we're a quarter mile off shore, paralleling the beach. It was a joke.
"I feel like we're swimming up river on the way back" I mentioned.
"Yeah, for sure" said one guy nodding.
I think what really gets me is that we're out there in this inky black sea- tossed by wind whipped waves, just laughing and joking. And that really points to the power of the mind. Just having a couple people swimming next me, who were comfortable and having a good time, was the complete opposite of what it felt like to swim alone. Had I swam alone today, this is what it would've looked like to me:
But alas, we all made it to shore in one piece and I went off to change into my cycling clothes. I rode through the drizzle up to the top of Mt. Soledad, then back down along the coast to my car.
Imagination is a funny thing. Everything in life is perception, and our perceptions are always skewed. How can we ever trust our own minds? But then again, how can we not?
Saturday, July 9, 2016
Monsters of the Shallows
The two objectives I had for swimming in the bay this morning as opposed to the ocean were to take advantage of swimming sans wetsuit due to the "warm" water, and to ease my paranoid mind as far as evil sea creatures go.
Last weekend coming out of the cove, I was razzed fairly heavily by an old man about wearing a wetsuit to swim. And a friend of mine last week, shocked to hear I was still swimming in a wetsuit, informed me that she had been hanging out in the water off the pier in a two piece and was perfectly comfortable. I started thinking maybe I need to toughen up and get used to swimming without one. Especially in the "warm" 73 degree water. But now I've decided that I just need to accept the fact that I am very sensitive to the cold, and just embrace my warm, lovely wetsuit. For those who haven't heard, I've got Raynaud's. Not only do I get cold very easily, but when I get cold, the arteries in my wrists spasm and limit circulation to my hands. They go numb and turn all sorts of shades of blue and white, even in 73 degree water.
The human body is about 98.6 degrees. It doesn't take a math whiz to figure out that the "warm" water is 25 degrees colder than the average human body.
I'll have you know, USA Triathlon rules allow wetsuits up to 78 degrees without penalty. Between 78.1 and 83.9, you can wear a wetstuit but will be ineligible for awards. Above that, wetsuits are not allowed.
So why not wear a wetsuit on a training swim? You're more buoyant in a wetsuit, which can act as a crutch if you're not a very good swimmer. I have no problem floating or treading water when there's no opportunity to hang on the pool wall, and salt water makes you float more anyway. In other words, I don't need to worry about my wetsuit handicapping me.
I digress. Bottom line, I'm wearing the damn wetsuit. Screw what others think. Forget objective number one.
So... sea creatures. I'm fairly convinced that if you can't see the sea creatures, they are most likely there. This isn't one of those things where ignorance is bliss.
I arrived at my swim spot this morning in a corner of Mission Bay, stripped down to my swim suit, and walked down to the water with my towel, cap and goggles.
Scuba divers were practicing their dives and a few young boys were in the water up to their knees collecting some sort of creature in a bucket. I waded in to my thighs and pulled my bright yellow cap over my head. I was hoping boaters would see it and decide not to run me over. I do have a tiny morsel of faith in humanity and have decided that most people do not want manslaughter on their record and therefore will attempt to avoid running me over with their boat, or running me over with their car when I'm cycling.
The water was cold, but not painfully frigid. I put my goggles on and dipped in to my shoulders. I lay on my stomach sculling the water, getting my chest used to the cold before putting my face in and beginning to swim. It was only seconds before I was deep enough and the water murky enough that I couldn't see anything but my own arms and hands. So much for objective number two.
For a few minutes, I focused on gliding through the water and practiced my sighting by aiming for the only bright blue boat moored in the bay. Once I got to the blue boat, I aimed for the lifeguard stand on the other side of the basin. I saw a guy on his boat moving about.
I suddenly felt a surge of wake that jerked me out of my calm. I looked around expecting to see a boat zipping through the bay. There was none, which both unnerved me and comforted me. On one hand, I was not about to be run over by a boat. On the other hand... what the hell was that?!
Cue panic.
Can I tell you how much I hate that panicked feeling that I get while swimming in open water? I am a very strong swimmer, I realize the likelihood of being attacked by something in the ocean or bay is incredibly slim, and yet I can still panic out there for no reason. It's almost debilitating. Kinda like when I have a standoff with a spider on my wall and my heart starts racing, my hands shake, and I break out into a sweat as I yell at the spider and throw things at it. Phobias are interesting. Knowing they're irrational does nothing to ease the fear.
Cue pep talk. Carrie, do not be ridiculous. Nothing is going to attack you. Focus on your sighting and smooth strokes.
Two people on stand-up paddle boards came towards me. I wonder if they saw me. Probably. They were probably worried about sea creatures too. I veered out of their line and they went on the other side of a boat. Although I was the same distance from the shore I was swimming parallel to, the further I got from my starting point, the more my irrational fears took over. Something was going to eat me.
I decided to turn around. I could see people walking on the shore and could hear them talking. What would happen if something attacked me? Would they help? No. Probably not. They would watch in horror from the shore. I'm just not so sure it's wise to jump into the water to save a person who's being attacked by an unknown (or known) sea creature. Maybe best to just call 911 and take a video while you wait.
I sighted the blue boat and continued my soothing pep talk to try to calm my nerves. Carrie, don't be an idiot. This is so stupid. You're paranoid. That's what this is, paranoia. It's ridiculous. When are you going to grow out of this?
My stroke became a little choppy as my nerves caused me to tense up. The tip of the ring finger on my right hand had long since gone numb. I checked it occasionally for color loss, but my hands were too pale to tell and my goggles were fogged up.
Something touched my foot!!! SOMETHING TOUCHED MY FOOT!!!!
I thrashed about, desperately trying to escape... the tiny piece of seaweed.
I put my face back in and tried to recover some semblance of calm.
It touched me again!! It's following me! It's after me!
I sat up and looked around frantically. Calm was out the door. No one was going to save me, I was going to die a horrible, terrifying, and most likely painful death.
I saw two more people on paddle boards up ahead, the scuba divers just beyond them. I think maybe the paddle boarders would come to my assistance. I'm pretty sure if the scuba divers saw some crazy sea creature, they'd let everyone else in the water know.
What sea creatures do I fear in the open water? It depends. Out in the ocean, it's mostly sharks.
But there are no sharks in the bay right? (Right. Even though it feeds right into the Mission Bay channel, which goes right out into the ocean.) So what does a bay sea creature look like?
Maybe it's the murkiness of the water. Maybe it's the removal from the ocean that takes away ocean characteristics from these creatures. But the sea creature I envisioned while swimming in the bay this morning looked something like this:
Except a little more murky-calm-water looking, like with a touch of this guy:
And as I try not to stare into the depths of the murky water, all I can see in my mind is something like this:
While I'm fairly certain all of those creatures are found at depths I do not swim, I cannot help but feel like they are constantly stalking me, waiting for their opportunity to strike. And it won't be quick and painless, they'll toss me about like sharks and killer whales do to their prey, terrorizing them until death becomes mercy.
I have no idea how I make it through my open water workouts.
This is what I see while staring into the water while swimming:
Except without the little tiny fish.
This is what is going on beneath me while I swim:
Except without the brave sea monster slayer. So like me swimming, about to be eaten.
I made it shore unharmed physically. As I went about my ride, I analyzed my swim in my head. It was almost like I had been more paranoid while swimming in the bay than the ocean. Perhaps I'd rather be eaten by a great white than one of the murky water sea creatures. I thought about what would happen if I swam in a swimming pool that you couldn't see in. It occurred to me that I would be far more frightened in that case, and the images that I conjured up in my head are not fit to be published on this blog. Maybe the shark thing is a more practical way to die. Less frightening. Wouldn't you rather be killed by a bear than some sort of monster you've never seen before? More natural I guess.
So some more beautiful photos were taken on my ride, where I was far more likely to be killed by one of the many cars but didn't feel nearly as much fear.
Fort Rosecrans:
Ocean Beach:
All taken with my cell phone, which isn't nearly as good as my camera. I should start taking that on my rides.
Last weekend coming out of the cove, I was razzed fairly heavily by an old man about wearing a wetsuit to swim. And a friend of mine last week, shocked to hear I was still swimming in a wetsuit, informed me that she had been hanging out in the water off the pier in a two piece and was perfectly comfortable. I started thinking maybe I need to toughen up and get used to swimming without one. Especially in the "warm" 73 degree water. But now I've decided that I just need to accept the fact that I am very sensitive to the cold, and just embrace my warm, lovely wetsuit. For those who haven't heard, I've got Raynaud's. Not only do I get cold very easily, but when I get cold, the arteries in my wrists spasm and limit circulation to my hands. They go numb and turn all sorts of shades of blue and white, even in 73 degree water.
The human body is about 98.6 degrees. It doesn't take a math whiz to figure out that the "warm" water is 25 degrees colder than the average human body.
I'll have you know, USA Triathlon rules allow wetsuits up to 78 degrees without penalty. Between 78.1 and 83.9, you can wear a wetstuit but will be ineligible for awards. Above that, wetsuits are not allowed.
So why not wear a wetsuit on a training swim? You're more buoyant in a wetsuit, which can act as a crutch if you're not a very good swimmer. I have no problem floating or treading water when there's no opportunity to hang on the pool wall, and salt water makes you float more anyway. In other words, I don't need to worry about my wetsuit handicapping me.
I digress. Bottom line, I'm wearing the damn wetsuit. Screw what others think. Forget objective number one.
So... sea creatures. I'm fairly convinced that if you can't see the sea creatures, they are most likely there. This isn't one of those things where ignorance is bliss.
I arrived at my swim spot this morning in a corner of Mission Bay, stripped down to my swim suit, and walked down to the water with my towel, cap and goggles.
Scuba divers were practicing their dives and a few young boys were in the water up to their knees collecting some sort of creature in a bucket. I waded in to my thighs and pulled my bright yellow cap over my head. I was hoping boaters would see it and decide not to run me over. I do have a tiny morsel of faith in humanity and have decided that most people do not want manslaughter on their record and therefore will attempt to avoid running me over with their boat, or running me over with their car when I'm cycling.
The water was cold, but not painfully frigid. I put my goggles on and dipped in to my shoulders. I lay on my stomach sculling the water, getting my chest used to the cold before putting my face in and beginning to swim. It was only seconds before I was deep enough and the water murky enough that I couldn't see anything but my own arms and hands. So much for objective number two.
For a few minutes, I focused on gliding through the water and practiced my sighting by aiming for the only bright blue boat moored in the bay. Once I got to the blue boat, I aimed for the lifeguard stand on the other side of the basin. I saw a guy on his boat moving about.
I suddenly felt a surge of wake that jerked me out of my calm. I looked around expecting to see a boat zipping through the bay. There was none, which both unnerved me and comforted me. On one hand, I was not about to be run over by a boat. On the other hand... what the hell was that?!
Cue panic.
Can I tell you how much I hate that panicked feeling that I get while swimming in open water? I am a very strong swimmer, I realize the likelihood of being attacked by something in the ocean or bay is incredibly slim, and yet I can still panic out there for no reason. It's almost debilitating. Kinda like when I have a standoff with a spider on my wall and my heart starts racing, my hands shake, and I break out into a sweat as I yell at the spider and throw things at it. Phobias are interesting. Knowing they're irrational does nothing to ease the fear.
Cue pep talk. Carrie, do not be ridiculous. Nothing is going to attack you. Focus on your sighting and smooth strokes.
Two people on stand-up paddle boards came towards me. I wonder if they saw me. Probably. They were probably worried about sea creatures too. I veered out of their line and they went on the other side of a boat. Although I was the same distance from the shore I was swimming parallel to, the further I got from my starting point, the more my irrational fears took over. Something was going to eat me.
I decided to turn around. I could see people walking on the shore and could hear them talking. What would happen if something attacked me? Would they help? No. Probably not. They would watch in horror from the shore. I'm just not so sure it's wise to jump into the water to save a person who's being attacked by an unknown (or known) sea creature. Maybe best to just call 911 and take a video while you wait.
I sighted the blue boat and continued my soothing pep talk to try to calm my nerves. Carrie, don't be an idiot. This is so stupid. You're paranoid. That's what this is, paranoia. It's ridiculous. When are you going to grow out of this?
My stroke became a little choppy as my nerves caused me to tense up. The tip of the ring finger on my right hand had long since gone numb. I checked it occasionally for color loss, but my hands were too pale to tell and my goggles were fogged up.
Something touched my foot!!! SOMETHING TOUCHED MY FOOT!!!!
I thrashed about, desperately trying to escape... the tiny piece of seaweed.
I put my face back in and tried to recover some semblance of calm.
It touched me again!! It's following me! It's after me!
I sat up and looked around frantically. Calm was out the door. No one was going to save me, I was going to die a horrible, terrifying, and most likely painful death.
I saw two more people on paddle boards up ahead, the scuba divers just beyond them. I think maybe the paddle boarders would come to my assistance. I'm pretty sure if the scuba divers saw some crazy sea creature, they'd let everyone else in the water know.
What sea creatures do I fear in the open water? It depends. Out in the ocean, it's mostly sharks.
Maybe it's the murkiness of the water. Maybe it's the removal from the ocean that takes away ocean characteristics from these creatures. But the sea creature I envisioned while swimming in the bay this morning looked something like this:
While I'm fairly certain all of those creatures are found at depths I do not swim, I cannot help but feel like they are constantly stalking me, waiting for their opportunity to strike. And it won't be quick and painless, they'll toss me about like sharks and killer whales do to their prey, terrorizing them until death becomes mercy.
I have no idea how I make it through my open water workouts.
This is what I see while staring into the water while swimming:
This is what is going on beneath me while I swim:
I made it shore unharmed physically. As I went about my ride, I analyzed my swim in my head. It was almost like I had been more paranoid while swimming in the bay than the ocean. Perhaps I'd rather be eaten by a great white than one of the murky water sea creatures. I thought about what would happen if I swam in a swimming pool that you couldn't see in. It occurred to me that I would be far more frightened in that case, and the images that I conjured up in my head are not fit to be published on this blog. Maybe the shark thing is a more practical way to die. Less frightening. Wouldn't you rather be killed by a bear than some sort of monster you've never seen before? More natural I guess.
So some more beautiful photos were taken on my ride, where I was far more likely to be killed by one of the many cars but didn't feel nearly as much fear.
Fort Rosecrans:
Ocean Beach:
All taken with my cell phone, which isn't nearly as good as my camera. I should start taking that on my rides.
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