Or Saving My Life One Pedal Stroke At A Time

Posts tagged ‘life choices’

Spartan Race

“This isn’t about going it alone; it’s about becoming part of something bigger than yourself. Spartans leave no one behind. It is great to push yourself alone, but it is even greater to compete along with friends and acquaintances to reach a new level.” Spartan Up! by Joe De Sena (founder of the Spartan Race), p. 163.

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I was on the cargo net climb, frozen into place, unable to move my body the necessary two feet over the top, and climb back down. My friend, Elisabeth, had already scampered up and over the nets, and was waiting for me on the ground on the other side. The Spartan volunteer, a youngster who looked to be about 16, scooted over and tried to help me by saying, “You can do this,” and demonstrating how to get up and over. I gave his advice exactly 1.3 seconds consideration and said, “No, I can’t,” and proceeded back down. On the ground, I did the thirty burpees required when an obstacle is failed. I also started plummeting down the very black hole I fall into when I realize I’ve committed to something that is way beyond my capabilities, a hole that is slippery and lined with, “You should have known better,” “You’re not an athlete like all these other people,” “What the hell is wrong with you?!” “You have no one to blame but yourself,” and my particular favorite, “You got yourself into this mess, and now you’re going to let everyone down. You’re useless.”

It all started back in November when Elisabeth texted me, “You want to do a Spartan Race with me?” My response was, “What’s a Spartan Race?” She explained that it’s an obstacle course, and sent me a link to a video. I watched it and was both intrigued and horrified.

Elisabeth is a long distance cyclist and runner. She’s completed six marathons and countless shorter races. The woman has ENDURANCE. I couldn’t possibly do anything like the Spartan Race in a million years. Could I? Maybe I could. I mean, I’d been doing CrossFit for almost a year and a half. I could do a back squat at 85 lbs, and a deadlift at 150 lbs. CrossFit includes some running, and I was getting better at that. Maybe, just maybe, I could hold my own with the 23 and 34 and 45 year olds. I would just need some extra training. It was quite simple really.

Afflicted with what my cousin’s husband calls the “Whole Hog Syndrome,” when I commit to something, I’m all in. Facebook being the perfect medium, I posted information about the Race. I described the training I was doing. Daily.

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I took a picture of the new outfit I bought just for the race (and ended up wearing something else).

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I even trumpeted the food I was eating. I could, of course, eat whatever I wanted seeing how I was in training and all.

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Race Day arrived. The morning of February 7 found Elisabeth and me trying to get our bearings at the race site, the McDowell Mountain Regional Park outside of Phoenix, Arizona.  We got our race packets, took a look at the participants doing various obstacles in the near vicinity, discussed our race strategy which mainly consisted of us saying we’d help each other and confidently announcing, “Oh, I can do that obstacle!” and figuring out where to leave our bags of clean clothes for after the race. We even participated in the tiny warmup they had before the race.

Then it was our group’s time to go. Off we went, Elisabeth ahead of me. Up a sandy hill to the first wall, which I could only get over with Elisabeth’s help, scrabbling ungainly and plopping in a decidedly uncoordinated fashion onto the ground. She got over the wall by herself. The same with the next wall. And the next one. I started getting a little nervous. But I kept going. I got myself through a wall with cutouts in it, so I felt a little better. Then came the cargo net climb. I had not factored in my excruciating fear of heights.

After finishing the burpees, I knew I was in serious trouble because there were more high climbs ahead. I had lost my nerve and was feeling completely unprepared for the rest of the race. I didn’t know what to do; I sure as hell couldn’t run this race like a real Spartan. It wasn’t that I was incompetent – I would have had to grapple up several rungs of the Ladder of Ineptitude to even reach incompetent. It was that I COULD NOT DO WHAT THIS RACE REQUIRED.

Feeling tears stinging my eyes, I slowly started after Elisabeth. Elisabeth turned around and said, “If you’re going to do this, you need to run faster. I can’t do this race without your help.” I was thinking about my options – sitting down and crying (and not delicately either; I’m talking hunched over sobbing wails with snot running down my face); stomping off in a huff to sit in the car; and suddenly sprouting wings and flying home to Tucson. Her tone snapped me out of my reverie of misery.  She was concerned about her completion time for the race. She was committed to doing this. It was very clear on her face. So I picked up the pace but was still not sure what I was going to do.

I couldn’t burpee my way through every obstacle; that would slow us down to a snail’s pace. Finally, at the rope climb I asked a Spartan Race volunteer if I could just not do the obstacles but stay with my friend and help her. The kindest woman on earth said, “Of course you can, honey. I wouldn’t do any of these things!” She gave me the permission I couldn’t give myself.

From that point on, I decided to only do the obstacles I thought I could do safely, and help Elisabeth wherever possible. We ran up hills and down. She tried every single obstacle and did the majority of them, doing the required 30 burpees for the ones she couldn’t do. I helped push her up when she needed it, provided stability when necessary, helped with the rope pull of 90 pounds, and gave her shoulders to sit on to do a high hand over hand obstacle. The most significant help I gave was in the mud pits (which I actually enjoyed). She’d pushed me out, but the mud piles were too slippery for me to pull her out. So I used one of my strongest assets – a voice that can cut through a crowd like a hot knife through butter. “Can somebody help push my friend’s butt up?!” resulted in a very nice young man stepping forward and offering her his thigh to step on.

I won’t say that the rest of the course was a special, magical time in which my heart became filled with love for the Spartan Race. It wasn’t. But I kept going, and did my best. I also noticed how everyone, and I mean everyone, helped each other. At an eight foot wall we were looking around for a man to boost Elisabeth up when a 5′ 3” gal offered to help. She provided a shoulder for Elisabeth to step up on and once Elisabeth was over the wall, got herself over too. My contribution was to stand there in astonishment.

I did the barbed wire crawl/roll with Elisabeth just before the end of the race. After that was leaping over fire, which was the last obstacle. I could not bring myself to do it because I’d only done about a third of the obstacles and felt like I didn’t deserve it. That was for Spartans. I was covered in bruises that made me look like I had been in a cage fight with Godzilla, and had mud in every orifice of my body. Those are badges of honor for Spartan Racers, but I felt like a phony.

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I have been friends with Elisabeth for almost twenty years, and the words she said to me after the race confirmed why. Those words were, “I know you were thinking about quitting but you didn’t leave me. I couldn’t have done this without your help.” That really made me stop and think.

When it came down to it, I didn’t leave my friend. I couldn’t leave my friend.

Maybe I am Spartan after all.

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Sometimes It’s the Simplest Thing

Last night I did something I haven’t done in years. In fact, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done it. It was something quite simple, so simple in fact that when I realized I was doing it, it stopped me cold.

I lay down on my bed to read.

A few weeks ago I was talking with a friend about all the changes I’ve been through in the last couple years, and she asked me a really good question – Is my life what I thought it would be when I started on this new path two years ago?  After thinking a bit, my answer was, “No. It’s a lot better than I ever imagined could be possible.”  And it is. It truly, truly is.

I knew I could lose weight. I didn’t know I could become an athlete. I knew I could live on my own. I didn’t know I could have a home that is a sanctuary. I knew I could live without a car for a while. I didn’t know I would choose to make cycling a lifestyle. I knew I could do some traveling. I didn’t know that the more I opened up to the world, the more it would open up to me. I knew I could make new friends. I didn’t know that I would also reconnect with old friends and family, and that everyone would become part of a huge supportive network I’m grateful for every single day.

2013 felt like it was devoted to Mind. I needed to wrap my head around the fact that since my marriage was over, I had to live as myself, not as half a couple. Making decisions became easier since I didn’t have to pass anything by anyone else. And the freedom!!! I honestly felt like I had been let out of prison. Anything I chose to do affected only me. I also discovered that I had to do things my ex-husband used to do.

For example, my ex-husband is extremely handy and knows how to do almost anything mechanically related. When I bought my bedframe from Ikea, I didn’t have a clue how to put it together. But my friend, Annie, helped me. Then when I put the Tempura-Pedic mattress (read HEAVY mattress) on, the underlying supports weren’t strong enough. The middle of the mattress bowed up, like a mogul on a ski slope. I slept on the crest of the Continental Divide for months while I tried to figure out what to do about it. I know my ex-husband would have had the solution figured out in under five seconds. I also knew that his ability to figure out a solution to this problem was not a reason to have stayed with him. Finally, one day I took a really good look under the bed and realized how to fix it. I took measurements, went to Home Depot, and had them cut a piece of plywood to my specifications. I manhandled the mattress out of the frame, put the plywood down, and manhandled the mattress back in. Problem solved. All by myself. Since then, I’ve continued to amaze myself with what I can figure out all by myself.

2014 felt like it was devoted to Body. I’d lost 70 lbs, was riding my bike everywhere, and had been doing CrossFit for about five months. As I gained in strength and confidence, my body started changing. I had no idea I could develop this much muscle tone in my 50s. I realized that all those thoughts I had about how middle age meant fatigue, weight gain, and weakness were myths. The more I work out, the better I feel. The more I work out, the stronger I become. The more I work out, the more confident I become about all aspects of my life. IMG_3984

2015 feels like it is about Spirit. I haven’t written a blog post in almost five months. I love writing my posts, but the past few months the pace of my life has had a supersonic speed. For example, I taught at a school in Costa Rica for a month. Thanks to students at Cortiva-Tucson, I rediscovered my love for teaching. Another way to think of it is that once a teacher, always a teacher. I hadn’t done entry-level massage therapy and bodywork classes for about 10 years. Because of the dedication of the Cortiva students, and their commitment to learning, I was willing to try something new, in a new culture, and to reap the huge benefits that being unafraid yields. I discovered a heretofore unknown love of the ocean, and I even learned to like running by running along a beach that seemed to be created just for me. Beach 9-4-14 Path along the beach     10501624_10203386779366726_6971403773729792128_n

Another milestone was I met a country music singer I’ve idolized for almost 30 years, Dwight Yoakam. I first discovered his music when I moved to Tucson in 1987. I distinctly remember driving down I-10 when “Streets of Bakersfield” came on the radio. I actually said, out loud, “I know that’s Buck Owens, but WHO is that singing with him?”

Once I found out it was Dwight Yoakam, I couldn’t get enough of his music. I bought every CD he put out. I discovered good friends of mine were also fans. We went to every concert he played in Tucson, getting seats closer and closer to the stage each time he performed. In February, 2013, we were 3rd row center at the Fox Theatre. In 2014, we were again 3rd row center but with MEET AND GREET. Suddenly, 30 years of dreaming about meeting the man whose music was so important to me, and having the opportunity to tell him so, was in my hands. And you know what happened? I froze. He couldn’t have been more gracious, but I could not say the thoughts in my head. I had the most beautiful speech planned, and had even rehearsed it. It went something along the lines of discovering his music at a very difficult time in my life, and it’s been like a brightly colored thread woven through my life ever since. None of that came out. Some stuttering inanities did, but nothing close to my heart, and then I bolted.  However, I  discovered that he is just a man. Granted, a man with the voice of an angel, but he is just a human being. And so am I. Ironically, now I think I’d have no problem chatting with him but the need to is gone.

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I traveled to western New York to reconnect with family I haven’t seen for about 35 years. This was an incredibly important trip for me to do, on many levels. I haven’t even processed through all the layers of significance and, when I do, it will no doubt be the focus of a future blog post. There were numerous trips to Phoenix, which is about two hours from Tucson, to visit friends, family, and do some work. I also chose to have a Christmas vacation in Santa Fe with a friend of mine. We ended up having a fantastic journey through the Petrified Forest and Painted Desert in northern Arizona, then spent a week in that beautiful city.

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I also signed a year lease on my townhouse. This is very, very big. It means I’ve made a commitment to stay where I am. Instead of wondering if I’m meant to be somewhere else, I am choosing to make my stand here. It means I am willing to stop running, physically, emotionally, mentally, metaphorically, and, yes, spiritually. It means I am now choosing to face the demons coming up from the depths instead of blaming someone else or planning another trip or overeating or drinking too much or working too much or trying to find a romance.

So now I lie down on my bed to read. Because I have created a home. And I finally feel safe.

I Want to Go to Morocco

Morocco

Morocco

The other day someone asked me an interesting question. I was talking about how I want to go to Morocco and she asked me something that I’m pretty sure other people have thought but haven’t said out loud to me. It was, “Aren’t you afraid?”

My immediate response was, “No.” But this made me stop and think. I’m not afraid. I’m not afraid of a lot of things. But I used to be. I used to be afraid of everything and, because of that, my life was limited and limiting.

Ever since I can remember, I’ve wanted to be a teacher. I played school as a kid, setting up the classroom, organizing everything, getting all the other kids in their seats, and giving them their lessons. I even wrote cursive letters across the top of the wall, just like they had in school back then.

When I went to college, I studied biology. Most of my classmates planned on becoming doctors, but that didn’t appeal to me. I worked hard and got good grades (I love learning, after all), but I just couldn’t see myself going to medical school. One day, I happened to say to some of my friends that I would love to be a high school biology teacher. The looks they gave me were a combination of distaste and incredulity. One even said, “Really? You have such good grades I thought you’d want to do something… more.” Wow. I immediately thought of all the great science teachers I’d had in junior high and high school. If it wasn’t for them, I never would have tried something as daunting as heavy sciences like organic chemistry, microbiology, and biochemistry.

Me, at Ithaca College in Ithaca, NY around 1980.

Me, at Ithaca College in Ithaca, NY around 1980.

But I was afraid that my dream wasn’t what I should have. So I didn’t become a teacher.

Fast forward a few years. I was living in Dallas, Texas, doing what I thought I should do – working a secure job with a steady paycheck and benefits. But I hated it. It was too big a city for me and the culture was something that didn’t fit me.

But I was afraid to move and try something new. So I didn’t. Until I had to.

I ended up moving to Tucson, Arizona, something that saved my life (more information about this can be found in my post “Warning: This One’s Heavy). I ended up working how many people work – in a cubicle, with, again, a steady paycheck and benefits. I hated that job. I hated being confined. I hated that I got written up for “talking too much to my co-workers.” What I hated most of all was that the work was meaningless.

And one day I did something I was very afraid of. I walked into the Desert Institute of the Healing Arts and signed up to learn how to be a massage therapist. I was afraid, and I did it anyway. It took me over a year to complete the program. Along the way, I got fired from my job, went on food stamps, and most of the time had no idea how to make ends meet. But I wasn’t afraid. I just knew this was the right thing to do.

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I kept at it. When I graduated from the Desert Institute, I massaged in four different offices. I did temporary office work. I was a vastly underpaid seamstress. Eventually, I was able to get off food stamps, and decide what I wanted to do. I wanted to massage, and I wanted to teach. I became a teacher in training at the Desert Institute, working my way up to become the Chair of the Anatomy and Physiology Department. That biology degree had really come in handy.

I also explored other types of bodywork, becoming certified in shiatsu (a Japanese type of bodywork that is based on the same principles as acupuncture) and Thai massage. From there, I began teaching those modalities. I’ve now been a massage therapist for 23 years, and teaching for 21.

This is me, receiving shiatsu from Yoshi, one of the instructors in the shiatsu program

This is me, receiving shiatsu from Yoshi, one of the instructors in the shiatsu program

Along the way I married someone I thought I was supposed to be with for the rest of my life. It seemed like we were perfect together. And we were, for a long time. Until I understood that we were no longer on the same path, and hadn’t been for quite some time. In fact, we were so totally unsuited to be with each other that one day I realized I was fat and tired and afraid of everything again. Mostly, I was afraid I couldn’t survive unless I stayed married to someone I clearly didn’t love anymore, and who clearly didn’t love me. So I stayed. Because I was afraid.

And then I wasn’t afraid anymore.

I wasn’t afraid to learn how to live as myself, not as half a couple. I wasn’t afraid to learn how to become healthy by eating better and exercising. I wasn’t afraid to be alone so that I know when I meet someone special I will want to be with him because I love him, not because I’m lonely.

Me, January, 2013

Me, January, 2013

Me, December, 2013

Me, December, 2013

However, there is one new thing I am afraid of. That is having a life that is only half lived. So, no, I’m not afraid to go to Morocco.

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(Just click the blue box with Watch on Vimeo in it and it should play. You’ll see why I want to go to Morocco.)

Of Dioramas and Other Weighty Matters

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Well, my initial goal for my blog was to write a post each week. It has now been three and a half weeks since my last post so that goal I set for myself is seriously under question now. But that’s just how things work out sometimes. We plan and plan, and work and work to meet goals, and the Universe has other things in mind. That pretty much sums up life, doesn’t it?

Take, for instance, a couple Saturdays ago. I had the whole day planned out – 7:30 am workout at Wildcat CrossFit, ride downtown, bagel with peanut butter for a breakfast, surf Facebook until the 10:30 am Zumba class with Rosemary at the Downtown Y, lifting and core work afterward, a lunch with friends, then back home by 2 pm so I could do some work. As you may be able to tell, I like to map out just about everything I do. It makes me feel comfortable, and it’s how I accomplish things.

Everything went along just fine until the lunch with friends. The hour turned into two, then another half hour. I was having such a good time, it was hard to leave. I still had a 45 minute bike ride home so, finally, I walked back across downtown to get my bike. Along the way, I remembered that I’ve always wanted to take photos of El Nacimiento.

El Nacimiento is a traditional Mexican nativity scene. In Tucson, it is part of the Tucson Museum of Art (http://www.tucsonmuseumofart.org/exhibitions/el-nacimiento/), and is located in La Casa Cordova. Despite not being at all religious, I have an inordinate love of nativity scenes. I finally figured out last Christmas why I love nativity scenes – it’s because they are dioramas. And I LOVE dioramas! I love how a moment in time (relatively speaking) is captured in a craft format. Someone constructed buildings, mountains, streams, a Ferris wheel, a city, people, trains, dogs, trees, elk, igloos – you name it – all to depict an event or an idea. A diorama is 3D. A diorama is real.

El Nacimiento is not your usual nativity scene. As can be seen in the first and second photos, which do not even show everything, the diorama is HUGE. It is intricate and must have taken hundreds of hours to build. It probably started off as something simple, then took twists and turns. Additions were made, evaluations of the progress were done, new ideas were thought of and incorporated. There were probably some areas that seemed like a good idea on paper, ended up looking less than perfect, then were scrapped and redone.

The end result is something truly magnificent. It is unprecedented. It is unique. And it is not what the originators initially had in mind. But it is what happened, and what it ended up being.

Just like my Saturday. I had all sorts of plans but there ended up being twists and turns, and I ended up not doing any work at all. Instead, I found something beautiful. I found how it is I actually live my life.

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