newbie on the block

Bone clicking cold

2011-02-02T13:28:00.005-07:00

Wait, wait.....can you hear it? That Styrofoam squeak that sets your teeth on edge and make your ears tingle. In a second, the legs move the protesting skis over the cold snow, ripping the new wax from their bases.

Skiing fast is almost intolerable. The cold sears small bits of exposed facial skin and creates a ringing ice cream headache.

The rows of moguls are diligently lined up with whipped curly cue tops. Delectable to look at but wind packed into dense ski ripping snow. I gazed at them from the chairlift and decided to take my guy to a spot where I knew I wouldn't end up arguing with an insurance company over an emergency room visit.

As we skied over to a more sheltered chairlift, I wondered if it was possible to frostbite my thighs. They were numb but have the most significant amount of my body fat sheltering them.

Even after adding full size body warmers inside my mittens, my fingers ached with pain. That's good because fingers don't hurt when they are frostbitten.

The visual is interesting. I stayed on my feet during this lesson. (Not always a guarantee.) My client went down a few times, snowing puffing up into his face and down his collar. My core quivered with the cold just watching him.

It was a good day for top to bottom bump runs. We stayed warm...er......ish. The conditions hammered in the need for solid skills. My job was easy.

I figured it was a great lesson.....except for the chilled core until late afternoon. With that said, I wouldn't make a good desk jockey.

................................................

2010-09-22T14:56:00.007-06:00

.... sometimes words are hard to form.

They drip off my chin in the form of sweat when I'm in the middle of a bike race.

Crying and screaming, "I want to quit!"

They rear end each other in moments of anger or joy, tripping and stumbling over the tongue.

They swim downstream with the gentlest of flow, sparkling with the sunshine.

But that time before the storm.....the quiet before the swirl of wind and the tilting of leaves....is a clue. One patchwork square prepped to join the multitude of others, becoming a new, yet hand worried quilt.

In the end, the rainbow arches across the sky, no first or last, but one beautiful moment.

Today, I saw a rainbow, and remembered, I have seen many.

(Where's the bloody leprechaun anyway?!)

I had a dream...

2010-09-08T17:54:00.002-06:00

My dream woke me up this morning.

I hate waking up. I dislike the point where I know I have to pull the two blankets and the down comforter off me to face the chill of my bedroom.

Today, despite two dancing dogs, I took a minute to prod at the wisps of dream memory. I could see me leaving home, and, Mum. Only home was Heber City and Mum was in my house but I couldn't find her.

I felt myself run to Sandisfield. Well, it was more like float on the wings of angels. Sounds strange but the feeling was righteous and holy. I was going home to finish something, close some doors so others could open.

Only, Mum wasn't there. I could see her though. I saw her in Heber driving her car and living her life like she was whole and healthy again. I panicked and tried to run back to her. A lady walking on the street, holding her little girls hand tried to ask me questions. I ignored her. Couldn't she see I had somewhere important to go. I ran faster.

Only, she kept up with me.

I arrived in Heber knowing in my heart that Mum was there and healthy. In the dream, I never saw her but I knew, I just knew she was in my home in Heber.

I woke up.

As I drove to work, I thought of all the signals my body has given me to stop rushing through life. The soupy, quicksand feeling of unclear emotions and thought. I think about my immersion in my past, my fascination with my future, my lack of attention to my present.

None have been as effective as presenting Mum to me in Utah.

Of course, maybe I'm just crazy. I hate running and the center of the U.S. is frightfully boring.

Whaddaya think?

Abstract vs Concrete

2010-09-03T19:19:00.004-06:00

I was a math whiz in middle school. What I call simple math, add, subtract, multiply and divide. My brain would see the number before I could articulate the words. Somehow I got tested into some advanced classes for high school.

I must have projected an aura of intelligence that I didn't really own.

Logic and reason irritated me. I didn't, and still don't, care how fast the train was traveling between Seattle and Chicago with 50 passengers compared to 150 passengers between Chicago and Massachusetts.

2x is woman, not higher math. Two x chromosomes is concrete to me. It is the craziness of being awarded the dubious prize of hormones gone rampant and a thinking style that challenges Buddha.

What brought all of this on? I went to a lecture at the Center of Excellence for http://ussa.org/magnoliaPublic/ussa/en/formembers/coaches/news/USSASportEducationPresents0.html ....Phew!

I went because I wanted to get my brain clicking for ski season and I value the input Ron has had in our teaching industry.

I didn't expect I would fully absorb the information. A combination of fluorescent lights, educational format and printed material puts me in a state of hypnotic confusion related to too many years trying to be learned. It makes me itch like poison ivy.

I'm going to veer off the road for a minute. I am about to start my fourth year racing cyclocross. The first year, I was going to be damned if I did the traditional dismount off the bike. Get your visualization skills going now.

At supposed speeds approaching a set of three barriers, about mid tib/fib height or higher,(for me, not Lurch), I was told to take my right hand off the bars, grab the top tube at approximately the same time I un-click my right foot from the pedal, swing my leg over the saddle and pass said leg between my left foot and bike frame to step on to the ground. Apparently, my left foot would magically un-click so momentum, and me, could swing my bike out to my right side at a 45 degreeish angle with the ground while I leap like a gazelle over the barriers.

It didn't always end up that way. I never got seriously hurt but I did bounce off barriers a few times with my bike still attached to my left foot.

I practice. And practiced. And practiced. With familiarity, came contempt. So, of course, I now wait until I'm closer to the barriers before I dismount. I laugh at fear of speed. I still hit the barriers but the practise ones are soft so they just fall over. Not so much with the real ones.

I also learned different ways to dismount. Depending on speed, angle and how much wine I drank the night before, depends on how I place my right foot. I have a few schema's in my back cycling jersey.

If I got the lecture right, this means I have a some reflexive memory about how to dismount from the bike. What that means, is the information doesn't have to travel all the way to my brain(most of the time) for my body to react. That means I'm saving this random number of .120 seconds over my less competent competition.

That means one thing. My competition gets pissed and beats my ass in pure demonstration of strength when they pass me on the flat grass. Alas, there are multiple elements to being a great athlete.

Yes, I know the lecture was about skiing. But, remember, I am a concrete learner. I like information to be applicable. It's cyclocross season now.

Back off, ski season. I'm not there yet.

The Wompus

2010-08-29T17:00:00.003-06:00

"Like most upheavals, damage is only permanent when we let it be so powerful we can't get out of bed before peaking underneath to convince ourselves there is no boogeyman.

You will meet versions of your nightmares with your loved ones, your competitors and yourself. It's what we call living, laughing and loving.

Just be Jen and keep your hands steady on your bars, two fingers lightly touching your brakes and be ready to dismount before your wheel touches the barrier...people who love you will be on the sides cheering. "

I have had a few months sabbatical from my blog. I don't like drivel. I'm not a fan of social talk. I want to know the point of where I'm going. I have had to learn to be patient and wait for some clarity rather than make it happen. I had nothing to write because I had nothing to say.

The quote above is something I wrote in reply to a young friend's frustration with loved ones. She had the luxury of being life flighted off the side of a road in Otis after a crash on her bike. I say luxury because it could have been a last ride in an ambulance with a sheet over her face.

Her recovery has been a few months and now she wants to race 'cross this fall. I guess some people want her safe and racing a bike doesn't fall under that title. I understand.

But, what I really understand, is the fight. The littered battleground of disregarded choices, open bottles of guaranteed elixirs for happiness, amongst scattered plastic containers of different sizes and shapes filled with the substance of the battle that is factual and real.

We fight because we can. I look under the bed at the boogeyman and give him the finger. I know he is there. Sometimes the glow of his flourescency tumbles out and fills my bedroom with color. But I have learned to wait him out. He'll leave and bother someone else.

So my words to Jen are about living and understanding with living, comes upheaval. It's better than having that sheet over your face.

TOFU

2010-08-25T08:04:00.000-06:00

starvation

2010-08-25T08:01:00.002-06:00

starvation

2010-08-25T08:01:00.001-06:00

otis

2010-08-25T07:59:00.000-06:00

Maslow's Hierarchy

2010-07-26T17:19:00.002-06:00

Maslow surmised that we have a hierarchy of needs. Lower ones are physiological, topped by safety, social, esteem and finally at the tippity top, self actualization.

You can google his descriptions of each level. That isn't my point.

It's easy to look ahead, look around and reach out when we feel healthy and safe. Not so much when when every card is flipped over to expose a grinning, black hearted joker.

My hand shows four aces now. Admittedly, a little tattered, but aces.

Lesson

2010-06-19T15:58:00.002-06:00

I sat on the dry, cracked earth and pondered calling Willie, the lawn guy for all my work houses. Just get the phone and hit speed dial 'cause we talk a lot in the summer. "What's up Willie? It's your favorite garden girl. Are we watering P------'s lawn yet?" Sounded easy but my phone was slightly out of my arm's reach, lying on the ground next to my recently discarded hoody.

I looked at my phone, sighed and chose to lie my body down in the scratchy grass. The sun baked the second hoody that still cloaked me. My head felt heavy with the blood sluggishly moving towards my skull. The sounds of the dogs panting, the roofers swearing in Spanish and the wind rustling the leaves dimmed as I listened to my body's cry for sleep.

Wearily, I sat up and shuffled my butt cheeks closer to my phone. Call done, I put the stupid thing back on the ground and contemplated the garden in front of me.

I am not me, the woman I know. I move easily and rapidly through my work houses. I relish maintaining my own yard and house. Nightly..,mostly...I hop on one of my bikes for a jaunt about town or through the woods. I laugh out loud at the dogs antics on our walks.

This woman, who is she? So tired, she lets her buddy mow her front lawn without a murmur of protest. She sits in her lounge chair at 3pm, falling asleep until it's time to rise, grumbling, to feed the pups. Casting her eyes away from her bikes because she feels exhausted thinking about riding.

The dogs are more patient than I with the process. They sit at my feet, only asking for pets and love. The lack of movement creates angst for me.

There is a lesson here. I know. But, I get it. It's time to move on.

I am not crazy.

2010-06-11T07:10:00.002-06:00

Back in my youth, (a pinhole vision down a long corridor of life), the river bordering our family property was typically a gentle body of water. I could hear the sounds of the small waterfalls dipping into the swimming hole. What still sounds like a singsong whistle of robins regaled the air. And, the zzzzzzzzzz's of the mosquito before it became suspiciously quiet as it nestled on some unreachable spot of my body. We still own that land. Someday, I will go back there but expect it won't sound the same.

In the spring, the water crashed with white water as the snow melted and I suppose the dam's were opened, diminishing the other sounds of nature.

This winter, changes in my body spoke to me like a class six rapid. I had no clue where the dangers lay, but it was clear something was occurring and I had better put on a life vest and grab a good sturdy corner of the raft.

My mantra was "be patient". I said that from December to last week. I finally found out that my constant draining fatigue and halted metabolism was due to an underachieving thyroid gland, among a few other wacky changes women endure as they age.

This is not an admittance of aging, however.

What it does mean is while I am still chanting, "be patient", I know there is an end in sight. My monastic eating habits will eventually become more elastic, allowing me to a small cup of gelat0 or indulge in a hamburger sitting in a dark, dense bun.

Until then, I will sit on the diving rock above the whitewater and relish that I am in control of my own destination, for a spell.

Staying off the hooch

2010-06-01T20:03:00.003-06:00

Being a self admitted sugar addict who has been off the hooch for five weeks means I have to look extremely carefully at all ingredients when I buy "health" food.

I'm not real bad, you know. It's not like I chug Aunt Jemima maple syrup while I hide behind my kitchen cupboard. (No self respecting east coaster would eat syrup made with corn syrup.) I don't pack white sugar in between my gums and lips. (Mostly because it gives me shivers down my back when I mistakenly chew on it.) And, I certainly don't eat flat Hershey candy bars. However, kisses, especially with almonds, are a different creature all together!

My gal pal, Dayna, and I have talked about this. Sugar is like cocaine. One small square of 75% plus of dark chocolate is not bad for the average person. Unless you are an addict. Nibbling on one square turns into popping the whole chunk in your mouth because you want it to "melt" on your tongue. Yeah, right.

Before I know it, a second square is magically in my hands and since it's broken off from the family, it has to be eaten. Somehow, in a matter of less than a day, that 4$ bar of chocolate has one square left that has to be eaten because the paper is messing up the cupboard.

The whole progression is ugly. It leaves me feeling like ants are crawling around on my head and my pores are clogged with sugar crystals. That's why it totally pisses me off to find sugar, in whatever disguise it is wearing, in my healthy purchases. And, it really pisses me off that I have recently discovered that reading the ingredients on most packages requires me to squint and, or, hold the packages away from body in order to focus on the words. WTF!

But, it is worth it. Every bloody expensive cent is worth taking the time to look for the foods that make my body sing with happiness and free my mind of the scourge of sugar guilt.

.......I am still annoyed about the tiny print on the packages.........

Life is not a dress rehearsal.

2010-05-31T20:39:00.002-06:00

"Life is not a dress rehearsal."

I have heard this statement several times without really listening to the words. It rapidly swam through my conscious and settled in the Red Foxx junk room of my mind.

Seriously. We all know we get one chance. Unless, of course, you get bitten by a vampire who decides he won't take all your blood and let you live a miserable existence not eating chocolate or drinking wine or devouring big loaves of yummy smelling bread slathered in salty butter and cinnamon sugar. Heyyyy, that's me for the past five weeks. Okay, let me just get back on track.

I think most of us try to do it right, life that is. It's just that overwhelming curiosity that overcomes me when I see a rock strewn, tree shaded, dirt path perfectly set up to roll some big fat tires over right when the day seems to be at the calmest point. I never hear the impending roar of Niagra falls around the right hand corner. Nor, do I see the people lined up standing in their barrels ready to jump into the white water.

Sooo, while I think I am on a shortcut to the main road, I am usually on some crazy ride through moonshine country dodging bullets and bothersome black flies. Don't get me wrong. It's fun to take the side roads....until it isn't anymore.

So, at this point in time, I do solemnly swear on this computer, to hesitate at least five minutes, er, a few minutes, ah, wait a minute. Back up. I will promise to cup my hand around my ear to listen for the sound of the crashing falls in the distance. Hopefully, I remember to cup my left one because my hearing in my right one is faltering some. Anyway, my eyesight is pretty good as long as I have my contacts in...without them, I am hopelessly blind. So, I will open my eyes wide and peer into the shadows of the trees to see the barrel wearing people. I really hope they were pink because that is sooo much easier to see in dark shadows.

You get what I'm saying. Good.

Patience

2010-04-30T22:20:00.001-06:00

I am sitting by a pool with the undeniable need to practice the art of waiting. 1 week it takes to slow down my Western feet to move through the soggy tropical heat of Bali.

Waiting for the first cup of ambrosia/coffee takes infinite patience. The native Balian moves with measured steps and calmness. Getting a food bill takes forever.

Things we take for granted, towels and toilet paper in a hotel room, are the exception and not the rule. We multi use our sarong for a towel, a sheet and a cover for our bike shorts cladden body,(to not offend Muslims).

And, the bartering...always the bartering. Nothing is as it seems. A room price..a book..clothing..food in the markets..a taxi, all negotiable. It would be exhausting for me but Dayna loves to cross wits with the seller.

Tomorrow we head out on our bikes to Balian, a stunning surfers paradise.I can't wait!

Bali

2010-04-25T17:52:00.002-06:00

Bali. Tomorrow. For a month.

In Kuta, back to the noisy sounds of the traffic horns. Natives calling out, "Hey, Lady" while we walk by the busy markets. Music pumping out of the primarily Australian filled bars and restaurants near Kuta beach.

To the quiet of Balian, where surfers reign. The roar of the water rolling up to the beach lull us to sleep. The tops of young coconuts lopped off to sip the water.

To the mountainous villages where I still dream about the colorful food markets and smell the Indonesian coffee and spices.

To a new adventure on Lomboc, a smaller, less touristy island.

And, always, the film of perspiration from pedaling in the tropical heat and the soothing coolness of the water at the end of a long day ride.

I look at this as my "me" time. A time to renew, regather and rethink. Last year, I didn't come back with any material belongings except the purchase of a necessary sarong to use at the hotels with no towels. I suspect this year will be the same.

Time off

2010-04-21T18:38:00.002-06:00

Time off means spending three days getting my Heber yard into shape. Three days getting the SLC yard up to the poof poof standards of our neighbors. Saying ta ta to all the foreigners, or, at least the ones who can fly around the volcano plumes.

Most importantly, it means getting back on my bike, er....pedaling my ass back in shape for Bali, for racing, for riding with the g-narly gals pals, for health, for life.

It hurts. Really. Riding with Melissa on Sunday made me question my instructor life in the winter. Don't get me wrong. I don't plan on changing it, or, the way that I run through the winter helter skelter with all the days blending in to one.

I think it made me realize I need to take a drastic step. A cleansing one, so to speak.

A colon cleansing.

Surely if I went for a vacuuming of my insides, I wouldn't re-experience my Stein's lunch from the beginning of March on a mt bike ride in April. I wouldn't feel like heaving, or taste the copper taste of blood, or, see little white dots floating around in my vision.

It's just a thought. I'm open to other ideas.

A picture says a thousand and one words.

2010-04-15T20:11:00.018-06:00

So much to see on one dog walk. So few fences that succeed on enclosing.

A glimmer of something beneath the surface.

Beauty of monolithic proportions.

Companions for life, however long that is.

Secrets on the surface of the water.

An enduring hidden soul.

Un-orderly, yet commonsensical chaos.

Simple pleasures.

Cotton candy on a stick. The greatest compliment to nature is how humans copy it's simplicity.

Focus on the future.

Synchronicity and family.

There is something about wandering, dogs in tow and camera in hand while silence rules....silence of civilization. Frogs croaking, birds singing and tall cattails rustling with hidden animals slows the pattern of my thoughts. The river slumbering by with tiny eruptions of discontent when rocks disrupt the ambling sings to my heart. I gather and hold the vision of Rocky charging after the ball floating down the river and Bella bounding from one clump of grass to another to finally dig furiously for some ground animal.

Spring is here and I am glad.

One small shade tree.

2010-04-12T09:27:00.004-06:00

Once upon a time, April was the month of endings, rather than a month of fresh and new.

I was reminded of that last night when a friend was in turmoil about our winter ending. I remember three years ago grasping the whoosh of air left by my foreign friends hoping it would leave me with some semblance of sanity.

Now, I realize April is similiar to the crescent moon, part of it's glory hidden in a shadow. It waits behind a curtain of time for the right moment to appear before us.

Sometimes we only see the small thin shadow we throw as we pass through our life. We forget that the size morphs into different shapes. We envelop other people within it's shade. We provide relief for our friends, or, a place of love and entertainment.

So, while I struggle a little during April, I realize it's momentary and I hope she realizes it will change for her as well.

An exceptional day.

2010-04-02T20:09:00.004-06:00

I am 47 going on 5 when i see the icicles hanging from the giant snow laden pine trees. It distracts me long enough to sense the narrowing of the sounds of the boots clicking into bindings and children impatiently calling out to their parents while I wait for my guest. By chance I looked up at a gigantic aspen cloaked in all it's silvery glory dipped in snow to see the hazy sun attempting to blast it's rays through the branches. Beauty quietly sang in a soft out of focus manner.

I have turned over many rocks on my intrepid journey over softly trodden paths, wide sweeping roads and vine draped jungles. With each step, I have come full circle from where I began. A childlike acceptance of what is and not what will be.

Life is uncomplicated with the realization that much of my experiences are not determined by how other's see the world. Interactions are based on individual expectations with a nominal amount being how we have learned to socialize with other beings. We try to follow rules of engagement, of proper behavior, of acceptable response, but they are part of our surface. The rivers beneath, whether raging or calm, are what really dictate our moves.

With that, I have realized I have more than just the option of standing on the river banks watching the otters play in the frigid water, or, jumping in and freezing my ever living ass off because I am ill prepared for the adventure. I am allowed to decide about my actions and prepare for the inevitable reaction.

That's when it comes to my work.

My personal life is another matter. I like to shut the barn door after the horse gets out and mates with the donkey. Ah, life is never perfect.

5 reasons why I teach children.

2010-03-30T20:38:00.004-06:00

1.) They weigh less so when they fall, they are easier to pick up.

2.) They will always try something new.

3.) Streaks of sunshine bounce off their smiles on the grayest of days.

4.) They don't need a reason to giggle.

5.) Snow cone breaks

We sat in the snow for our snow cone break this afternoon. The wind was howling, the sky was gray and the snow was slow and sticky. They didn't care. We opened our juice and poured it on the snow packed in the cone shaped paper cups. We had dug carefully below the top layer so we could avoid the sap covered hard crust under the trees.

We discovered that the aspens we were leaning against were not immune to the wind. We propped our backs on the swaying trunks and dug our heels in the snow while we munched on our treats. As always, with every child I take these type of breaks with, giggling and wiggling ensued.

Most grown-ups have some type of quiet time with children. My quiet time, their 'rest' time, is stopping on some snowy spot and consuming a snow cone. With one stop, we take a needed physical break and a bonding with nature. This time it turned in to a chance to experience the how the wind made the trees dance.

They lasted about 15 minutes before exclamations about frozen posteriors and visions of snowmen danced past their eyes. I dragged a huge ball of snow off a small aspen and we rolled it to the perfect spot to build an imperfect monument to our day. Their childlike silliness and unadulterated laughter rang through the trees while the wind sang a tune to the swaying trees.

We finished our creation in time to see Mom ski by with her instructor. The five of us gathered while she admired their work and listened to their uninterrupted spilling of joy.

What an afternoon!

2010-03-20T19:11:00.002-06:00

"We will put our boots on here. You can stand over there and wait." The words from the mouth of a man I will simply call, "him" as he pointed to a far away corner.

Quite simply, my hackles rose on my neck a little. As I walked away, I counseled myself on not immediately taking them to the nastiest terrain I could find and whooping their condescending asses. After all, they were obviously new to the Deer Valley experience and didn't understand that my job as a ski instructor elevates me above the status of one who scrubs him's toilets with him's toothbrush because he deserves toilet bowl canker sores.

I waited. I put on my patient, friendly face while I plotted their demise. Demise, as in, him and her were going to love me by an hour into the lesson despite themselves.

I wandered outside where the cold bite to the air and the colored sparkles on the snow calmed and re centered my heart. I chatted with Bjorn who with childlike abandon showed me his new skis. I watched Wayne trot back into the St Regis to help his guest get his bindings fixed. As I soaked it all up, I realized I didn't care about him and her's attitude enough to make it personal. With that thought, I remembered I was a professional who had something they wanted, and, I would deliver.

It's interesting how a step back provides a step forward. A switch in my mind set lead to a very successful lesson. There is no guesswork with return clientele. I can approach their doorstep dressed as Theresa and act like Theresa without selling myself. This couple simply reminded me that I had to sit quietly on my deck chair and wait for the hummingbirds to feed on the sugar water without my interference. They wanted the food, they would show. The couple wanted information, they would indicate when and how.

Strangely enough, we connected within 10 minutes of putting on our skis. I asked where they normally skied and was told Otis Ridge. Bwahahahahaha, my sister owns it. That's some funny stuff. They talked about the lady who trains seeing eye dogs. Twang...that would be Jamie, my oldest sister. Bloody weird!

Communication didn't just open a teeny bit, it flooded out. I gave them each one thing to work on for the morning and before I knew it, the lesson was over. We all got what we wanted.

The morning set me up for a very successful afternoon despite the fact that he finished the day sans skis sliding down Big Stick on his ass! (Sweet!) I will put today in the win column on my Stranger Danger portfolio.

Solitude

2010-03-10T19:56:00.002-07:00

"Inside myself is a place where I live all alone, and that's where I renew my springs that never dry up." ~Pearl Buck

I looked at the distant mountains as I rode up the chairlift with my lesson of a single lady yesterday afternoon. I longed to pull my camera from my pocket and make permanent the image before my eyes. The sun was bouncing of the pure whiteness of the freshly fallen snow. The specialness was emphasized by that one solitary spot in the distance. The rest of the mountains were cloaked in dark, murky clouds.

I felt a pull, a tug of my heart as we unloaded from the chair and moved away from it's view. Slowly, I shook myself in to the present and gave tactical directions on how to maneuver the small man made moguls at our feet. As we skied down the run, I gave myself permission for one last glance over my shoulder, longing to be immersed in the view rather than present in the lesson.

As I drove home, my mind returned to that moment of something I can only begin now to put a name on as "solitude". The unframed picture of the secluded, yet tranquil mountains spoke to my soul, seeped into my bloodstream while vibrating a tune to something yearned for but not obtained.

I could probably psychoanalyze my behavior into some grand scheme to isolate myself from loved ones and life. It isn't that complex. Peace is all I yearn. Peace inside my head, calmness snaking throughout my body. I know I'm not unusual in this way. The unusual is finding it, and, I will.

2010-03-07T06:23:00.002-07:00

My sister, Mary, has struck again. She wants me to tell up to six outrageous lies about myself, and at least one outrageous truth. I'm also suppose to nominate 7 other bloggers but I suspect I will get no response so par for the course, I'm doing it my way. (Frank and I are tight, btw.)

1) I designed all of Beyonce's clothes. Her Mother sneaks into my brain in the middle of the night and steals my ideas.
2)I believe that American Idol is a cultural epidemic and that Simon Fuller is hot.
3)I am pretty much the smartest Theresa I know.
4)I was on the presidental ticket before that Alaskan lady slept with the candidate. What was his name again?
5)My minimum speed limit is 80 on interstate 80.
6)I have an identical twin, Shelagh. She has to wear blue contacts and dies her hair blond so no one will know.
7)I was a child beauty queen until my sister stole my tiara and traded it for an invisibility cape.

There you go Mary. I know, I know, I didn't follow the rules. But I am a rule breaker. What can I say.

Check, check

2010-03-05T19:13:00.003-07:00

What was special about today? The stillness of the snow blanketing the bushes soothed my barely awake senses when I let the dogs out. It also sent pinpoints of excitement quivering down my spine with the realization I was teaching a group of self proclaimed advanced skiers for the next three days.

Self proclaimed is usually different than reality, especially when the client is an unknown entity. It doesn't stop the average instructor for hoping for a chance to dance the dance of joy in big pillow size piles of powder nestled amongst the silence of shade producing trees.

Well, long story short, I lucked out and drew the long straw. Shelagh and I co-taught a group of 5 relatively decent skiers. We spent the morning correcting balance issues and the afternoon skiing tree shots and elephant snot, hard balls of elephant snot.

My work. It is a curious thing. Hair raising static electricity occurs when the client sends nonverbal cues of acceptance or disbelief during the lesson. Accepting the tingling of my scalp until I can sort through to the heart of the client, takes patience and fortitude. Today was perfect. While Shelagh explained fore/aft and lateral balance, I absorbed body positions and watched faces. An opportunist's moment of glory.

Like two stealthy thieves, Shelagh and I piled our loot in to significant piles to be distributed the next 2 and 1/2 days we had with the ladies. To hand them a canary yellow diamond without a prenup is a newbie's mistake.

A tired sense of elation pervaded the air at the days end. The five ladies were happy but ready to retire their skis and remove their feet from boots.

Adieu, adieu fair ladies, until tomorrow

Erik, our Yellowstone guide

2010-02-28T08:07:00.005-07:00

Erik is a snowmobile guide, or, that is how I was introduced to him. As it turned out, he was much more than that as I discovered throughout our day.

He drove his company van into our parking lot at 6amish. We were twitching and jumping with excitement and giggling with childlike abandonment. We probably presented ourselves like a group of overgrown puppies tumbling over each other with the thrill of meeting a friendly stranger.

He jumped out of the drivers seat, apologizing if he was late while opening the doors for us to climb into his van. As he got into his seat, he explained that four other people would be meeting us at breakfast to join our adventure. Hah, poor souls! His news barely affected us. Like all five year olds, we were pretty absorbed in ourselves and wouldn't have a problem playing next to other kids unless they messed with our toys, i.e. snowmobile.

He nervously chatted with us while he drove us to the "cowboy" breakfast. We pretty much swallowed him up whole with our energy and enthusiasm. I have to give the guy credit that he stayed with us for the day after dealing with us the first five minutes of introduction.

We had a big table set up for breakfast. We have all been pals for a while so our interactions during meals tend to gravitate towards familial recognition and complete chaos. We kept the chaos toned down a little....bit.

As much as I don't like to immediately eat in the morning, I shoveled in some eggs, bacon, biscuits and grits. I don't "princess" eat when I know I have to race bikes because bonking sucks. The fear of being out in the middle of Yellowstone, eyes round with hunger and stomach rumbling did not appeal to me. (Little did I know Erik was a candy facilitator/pusher.)

The other group arrived and much to our relief were young and vibrant. Sweet, we didn't have to tote around some scaredy cats on the ride! They pretty much resisted us swallowing them into our group but managed to maintain smiles over our antics throughout the day. (We are overwhelmingly joyful at times.)

After we finished, we climbed back in the van to go to the office for our equipment gathering. If there is one thing we know as ski instructors, it is how to dress for warmth and comfort. The office gal gave us first dibs while the other group did paperwork....it was a bit like a shopping frenzy the day after Thanksgiving. We had our stuff in under 15 minutes, pants, jacket, helmet, gloves, boots and balaclava were gathered. Again, our instructor persona's required us to neatly pile our individual junk so we could be ready when we met our clients....the snowmobiles. (Can you feel the wiggling of our tails and the clicking of our nails dancing on the floor of the van?) Meanwhile, Erik was running around handing out hand warmers, Kleenex and in general checking to make sure every one's needs were met.

About an hour later, we were in the park and at the snowmobile stamping grounds. If you cupped your hand around your ears, you could hear the snorting and stomping of the mobiles ready to be released from the paddock. ( I also hear snow pixies whispering sweet nothings to my small clients, just in case yer all wondering.)

Bjorn went right to the only green one, hoping in his heart it was the fastest. Michael and Doc took the rear, probably betting on which one of us they would pick out of the snow bank first. I approached mine a little nervously because I haven't driven one frequently and I knew this group was going to go as fast as he would let us.

As it turned out, I have a need for speed.

Time flew by. We covered the 40 miles to Ole Faithful in record time, so Erik said, so we had plenty of time to experience the half hour walking tour. Ick, walking. Ole Faithful was being reticent so we waited around for him to blow his stack. He did after a bit but it wasn't as awesome as normal because the day was kind of gray so it was hard to see the plume of steam.

After we had a bit of lunch, it was time to pack up our belongings and saddle up our horses. Shelagh and I pestered Erik while we walked back to the machines. I truly think the guy is an angel because we pester real well and he didn't try to shake us. However, I did give him a heart attack when I practically squealed at the sight of a coyote walking by us.

Our addiction to speed was rewarded by a longer ride out to check out some bison. The road was like the ribbed sides of uncooked lasagna and acted like natural speed bumps. Did I mention we like speed bumps?

I would love to tell you where he took us, but I don't retain that type of information. What I did retain was the vibrant colors of the steam beds, the eeriness of the steam filling our vision only to clear up and show a remarkable landscape, the sounds of giggles and exclamations and the extraordinary feeling of being lucky and alive.

At that moment, I understood why my guests come back to me at Deer Valley. Erik was treating us just like I treat my guests. He cared. I could feel it. It wasn't the obvious things he did like providing us with hand warmers, or, waiting in line for all of our lunches to come through and deliver it to us so we wouldn't have to wait. It wasn't the bag full of candy he kept pulling out to make sure no one was calorie plummeting. It wasn't the thumbs up as he stood before all of us getting ourselves sorted on our snowmobiles before taking off.

It was his enthusiasm for his job. His desire to communicate it to us and have us love Yellowstone as much as he did. He loved what he was doing. I wasn't astonished to find out he had worked in Turkey at refugee centers. His heart appeared bigger than the acres of Yellowstone. He took care of all of us because he wanted to, not had to.

As he led us home, I realized I was in the presence of something special. Not just one person, but a group of people who loved what they do, do what they love and were willing to share it with me. They are as close to family as I can have here in Utah. Erik helped facilitate that.

Just so you don't think I've gone all sentimental, I'll finish the story telling of our day. We RACED back home! We made a stop at a beautiful waterfall. We climbed all over the Continental Divide sign. We walked out on to a lake and made snow angels. We finished with a stop on top of some magnificant falls with a cool slide down to the base of the falls. When we finally pulled in to the the parking area, we were satiated with fun and glowing with our adventure.

The ride home was a little quiet. Each of us savored our day and nursed our tired body. As we piled out of the car at our hotel, Erik thanked us for the day and the gratuity we gave him. We all sort of shrugged our shoulders and gave him a "no worries, mate" I added, "I like to think we all understand the difference, the Deer Valley difference. You gave us 150% of yourself and made the day sparkle for us. Thank you."

We dragged our smelly bodies to the nearest brewery, devoured food and drank beers while the olympics played on the corner TV. We all knew the day was special and were content to sit with each other while we cheered each of our counties on, Canada, Australia, Sweden and the U.S., brothers and sisters of all.

Don't panic

2010-02-27T09:50:00.003-07:00

Most mornings Baby Bella wakes me up with the thumping of her tail on the window blinds. She prances around my feet while I stumble into my slippers and bathrobe. She would gladly eat breakfast first but I make her and Rocky go outside before food. I swear she is the fastest pee-r in the doggie world because food is her number one priority!

She didn't get up this morning. I nudged her off the bed but she just thumped her tail. Hmmm, I let Rocky out thinking she would charge after him. Not. I pulled her off the bed and she landed with a solid thunk on the floor. I still didn't believe anything was really wrong until I scooped out Rocky's breakfast. When she didn't charge in to the kitchen, my heart fell to pieces.

She will be four in April. She is really just a baby. Instead of assuming the worst, I called my vet and was referred to Cottonwood Animal Hospital. Doc helped me lift her into the car and off to the vet we went.

X ray's and blood test show nothing. He thinks it is a clot of some sort but won't really know until Monday when we can do an mri. I know. She's a dog. MRI's are expensive. But she is a young dog. And she is my baby....period.

At this point, they are giving her steroids to see if it will help stimulate her legs. I don't see that as a long term solution since it just masks the problem rather than solves it. But, it is a start. They will also try to get her to stand after a round of the steriod injections.

I don't get it. I just want my Baby Bella back.

You jump first and I will be right behind you.

2010-02-26T09:48:00.005-07:00

"I'm going to Jackson to update my cert credits. Wanna go?"

That's all it took. Next thing I know, rooms are booked, snowmobile extravaganza arranged and it's late Sunday afternoon in two cars headed to cowboy country.

Have you ever stood over a steep cornice with your ski tips dangling off the sides, the wind tilting you forward, sun beating on your back while a slight sweat breaks out over your body? You realize if you don't stick the landing, the tumble down the chute may end up equipment and body strewn. The reality is more likely that only your feelings will get hurt and your ego bruised when your friends laugh at you before they check to make sure you aren't mortally injured.

Despite what most people think, I am a loner. I thrive on solitude and quiet. I have gone to the steep camp at Jackson alone and loved it. This time was different.

I can say without qualms that I have never laughed as hard or as frequently as I did during our four day stay. Incredible pal, Shelagh, was in my group along with GQ Paul and everyone likee Mikey. We let Bjorn and Kent ski in another group mostly because Bjorn is usually hopped up on espresso and skis like a jackrabbit in heat. Kent was the sacrificial lamb.

I mean, Jackson Hole is no Deer Valley but we enjoyed ourselves anyway. HAH, hahahahahahahah! Holy Hell, their beginner terrain starts at Tower Three! JH is a magic mountain even when it needs more base to cover the rocks peeking through the carpet of snow.

Really, Shelagh and I girled everyone and kept hopping behind Carl and Mouse when they would shoot down something gnarly and steep. I loved, no, I dare say, I ADORED my two days skiing the steep camp!

Day three was the snowmobile adventure.

We had a rep before we were even picked up. Kent had done such a grand job smoozing during the booking that the lady put her husband on our group because she was sure he would have a blast. He did.

I know, I know snowmobiling is not green friendly. I understand my rights but I went ahead and rode one anyway. Our guide, Erik picked us up at 6am. We initiated him at breakfast with our spill over the cup enthusiasm and no holds bar sarcasm. He didn't leave us there so we figured he was a hardy type of guy.

After breaky, he drove us to the office where we proceeded to don our snowmobile duds. Half of us plowed through the racks and found clothes that looked like they would keep us warm. The other half, Paul, Kent and Bjorn, primped and posed to make sure they had the fashion fit. After all was said and done, we loaded up in the car for the hour drive to Yellowstone.

Wow. Wow, what a day! We rode for over 100 miles. I have seen Yellowstone in the summer. It is far more magical in the winter. The miles and miles of virgin snow tattooed with animal tracks and trees is spellbinding. The misty vapors of the different geysers swirled mysteriously around the landscape, occasionally wafting by us enough to hide us in it's mist. I was overwhelmed with the intensity of the colors of nature, bright green, rusty orange, turquoise blue.

We saw a coyote waltz through the people crowded ole faithful grounds. We watched an otter play out on the heated lake. A plump raven sat on a naked branch. The herd of bison ignored our enthusiasm as we snapped pictures 50 feet from their beds.

We drove....FAST! We were only allowed on the snow packed roads. Perfect as far as I'm concerned. We behaved most of the time. Who can resist pushing the throttle as high as possible on the long stretches of empty roads? And why not try cornering with your body hanging off the side and the snowmobile screaming to hang on to the turn? Sick fun!

Every time we stopped, we reacted like children. Hand slapping, giggling, exclamations, boasting......the freedom and glory of pushing limits and feeling exhilarated! I can't say we were sad when it ended. I think we all knew we were tired after our 12 hour day. We helped him gas up the snowmobiles, grabbed some drinks and loaded our wrung out but happy bodies into the car for the long drive home. We hit Jackson some time around 8pm. We were ready to give back the gear and go to dinner.

There is so much more to write about on our adventures. More than just fact. I don't think I can paint the proper picture of the hilarity of our trip, the camaraderie of our interchanges and the impact our guide had on me with his unlimited generosity. I leave this week with a general sense of well being and happiness. The realization that I am a person of fortune and friends is contently present in my mind.

The difference a year makes

2010-02-17T18:20:00.003-07:00

My Peter Pan lifestyle means that I occasionally forget how old I am. The way my body feels after hammering bumps all day, five days in a row reminds me. I am sure someone pulled my right liner out of my boot and put a leftie in there today. I was "chunking" it, as the boys say, for the first hour today. (Chunking, unlike "ill", or, "dope" is a negative word.) Our first run was right into some trees and bumps. I found out pretty quickly that my reflexes were firing a little slowly when I almost ate a tree. The muscles around my ankles and lower legs were tire and cranky so sometimes you just have to suck it up and take a handful of painkillers, in my case aspirin...always in my pants pocket.

I spent the weekend skiing with 4 16/17 year old guys. I really don't need to write any more than that. Ow.

I have skied the past two days with two of my favorite kids, er, pre teen.....and I realized today that they are older than last year.

Blatantly obvious you would think.

Seriously, if they are older, than that clearly means...(I'm thinking before I make a grand leap into admitting anything about age...)....that I am older.

I have finally discovered the disadvantage of my job. While time apparently conspires with my dna to bring my metabolism to a screeching halt, sag my once firm chin and destroy my ability to retain the simplest of information, now I have to recognize that I am dealing in a job that makes the aging process glaringly obvious.

THE KIDS I TEACH ARE OLDER THIS YEAR!

Oomph, I'm back. I had to find a paper bag to hyperventilate in for a second.

Do you feel my pain here? Not only are they getting older, they are growing up. It is like having children but seeing them once a year and realizing at that moment I missed important changes in their lives.

I still have one gift. The one that I seek each winter. I don't have to go on a treasure hunt. I don't have to wonder if it was misplaced. I never question the existence. Their smile, their laughter and their pure delight when we see each other again after the summer absence. The pouring out of fun every minute, the sword fight of words and the earnest desire to learn to ski is the gift that realizes my desire to fly the Peter pan lifestyle even as I age.

I only hope that I retire before they all start having kids and I have to jump cornices and ski bumps when I'm 70!

Ouch

2010-02-13T17:58:00.004-07:00

Three falls today. THREE!

One was executed quite elegantly when I stuffed my skis into the back of a bump while I was traversing at high speed through some powder. Stupid bump. Some dude found me floundering in the snow like a newborn giraffe and gave me the, "Sweet, you owe a six pack." Charmed, I'm sure.

The second one was a near crash with a tree. Stubborn cuss. The tree, I mean. I have no idea how my right skied stayed on the same side of the tree as my left leg, but I will refrain from selfishly making wishes for myself when I see pennies heads up. I will also donate my "first star I see tonight" to some other unlucky soul. Fortunately for me, one of my students saw the near miss and got a bit of a giggle out of it.

The last one was boorishly dumb. I was skiing back down to the base at the end of the day and decided to make some powder turns in this small stash near some trees. I saw the road at the end of the stash. I noted it to myself as I approached it and saw the drop on to the road. I got a clear picture of the road when I stuffed my face directly into the road. Sigh. Idiot.

Besides beating the crap out of myself, it was a great powder day.

Me don't like being sick

2010-02-12T10:23:00.003-07:00

I HATE being sick! Not because of the sick part. That's irritating but it doesn't raise my wrath at all. It's inconvenient and it disturbs my sleep, but it goes away.

I hate being sick because I HATE being inactive!

So this is my theory. Stay with me now. You know how you believe your dog is really thinking about stuff, like the lack of walks or the decrease in treats. Mine look at me with their big brown eyes and I'm positive they're trying to tell me something but I'm too stupid to translate from animal to human.

Or the fact that I still believe in a small part of my mind that there are teeny people in the television and not a panel of electrical cords. No, uh, never mind about that one then.

Well, I believe that my body is holding me hostage. It gives me all kinds of nonverbal cues to stop and smell the roses. When I don't, it wrestles me to the ground and pins me to the mat. Basically it's saying, "I'm going to drink this poison if you don't listen to me." "I mean it. I'll do it." "That's it, you are grounded!" And it ups and licks the next bug infested kid that saunters by me. Ugh, truly disgusting!

Then, I wake up with the dreaded stuffy nose at 4:30am. Drats! Double drats! I did everything I was suppose to do to stay healthy. I drank plenty of water, uh, in the form of coffee. (A girl has got to stay warm and awake.) I ate all the right foods. (Toasted bagels with warm runny butter and honey count.) I exercise, excessively....albeit it may in the form of a wedge, i.e., pizza, or, skidded parallels. And it may include shoving swaths of tissue towards a mucusy green nose of said bug infested kid. I go to sleep early. (Most wild instructor nights are ending around 9pm with the onslaught of age.)

So, WTF!?

Who is my body to tell me to slow down and take care of myself?! I don't deserve a day off from work just to stop the downward migration of my head cold to my chest! Now I have to work two extra days in the summer to make up for one lost day in the winter. WHAAAATTTT! I am not even going to get started on that whole issue.

Hah, my body can hold me hostage but my brain will still go into overdrive. It's not even 11 am and my brain has hit the highway doing 90mph.

So here is my pact with my body. Let me get well again and I promise to take a month off in Bali this spring. I will dutifully soak up the sun, ride my bike and eat lots of rice and chicken. I will also promise to not drink any of the local wine....double ICK....and will stay off the sweets....mostly because we'll be riding in places where sweets are hard to come by but my body doesn't need to know that.

There, hostage maneuver negotiated. Time to move on in to President's week and skiing at Jackson.

Health and happiness

2010-02-10T17:38:00.003-07:00

I realized something today as I was lying on a bed at the acupuncturist's office. I was kept waiting for 45 minutes while he ran about taking care of his clients. I could have become indignant since he had left me there with a sheet to cover my underwear clad body, but I practised patience. 46 years old and I still have to practise patience.

Yesterday I had a massage to readjust my body. An hour and a half later, and I felt whole again. The acupuncturist was going to fill in the rest of the blanks. My system felt sluggish and inefficient. I wanted Dr Ding to unclog the highways and byways of my central nervous system so my mushy brain could interpret the script it has been getting.

He sent a Morse code to my body as he tap tapped needles down each side of my spine, along my shoulders, into the nape of my neck, out to my ears and the top of my head and in to the heels of my feet. The heat of the lamp was placed directly above my spine. He whispered something in Chinese to me and he was gone. I would like to think that he said something wise and significant to me but I'm pretty sure he was reciting his laundry list of things to do for the day.

I don't know if you have had acupuncture but it doesn't hurt to have the needles put in. It can hurt to move once they are in so I forced my body and mind to relax while the heat of the lamp lulled me to sleep.

That sleep is equal to quadruple of the hours I have lost this winter. It was a fathomless, deep feeling that I slowly came out of after an unknowing amount of time. Once awake, I was still so drowsy that I laid there snuggling in the desire to never reach full consciousness. When he finally came back and removed the needles, I was reluctantly ready to dress and restart my sabbatical from life.

While I foolishly hoped my cold would be gone, it isn't. I'm not so worried about it though. It will slither out of my system in a few days and infect some poor other soul. I do feel content that instead of buying stock in Hostess by eating my weight in twinkies or ho ho's, I took the time to fix some near broken cogs in my body.

The long and winding road.

2010-02-09T19:32:00.004-07:00

So I promised myself I would get on a cardio routine at the start of February. I feel I have successfully accomplished my goals.

Originally Monday was a day off so I thought I would be able to roll out a bike and snow shoe with the hounds. Instead, I agreed to work. Alas, my workout turned into the task of lifting a heavier cup of coffee before leaving to teach.

By the end of Monday, my legs were heavy with ski lactose. Ski lactose, you say? Hip flexors, I T bands, hip joints and knee ligaments start to feel like tight guitar strings twanging pain signals to the brain. It is not the satisfying feel of legs heavy from bringing the oxygen levels up so high in your muscles that your lungs squeeze and wheeze with each circle of the cranks. I tried to work them out with an hour hike with the hounds but I'm pretty sure I can't count that as exercise.

This is not a complaint....it is an acknowledgement of the lack of cardio involved in skiing. Well, kind of. Maybe I should say, in teaching skiing. Because Tuesday I went to Snowbasin for a ski with some friends. Hiking and sprinting was the motto of the day. I may not have spun on my bike or gone nordic skiing but my heart rate climbed enough peaks to clean up some of the tired muscles in my legs and lower back.

Wednesday and Thursday, I WAS TRASHED! I managed to get the dogs out on some snow shoe expeditions for an hour or so each day. But that was it. Oh well.

I taught skiing Fri, Sat, Sun and Mon. By Monday, my ski muscles were bunched up into tight fists and I was skiing cheater right turns because my left knee was so bad. I initiated the turn with the little toe of my right foot, staying off my left leg until I was through the center of my turn. I also came down with the chills while we were skiing Monday morning. By lunchtime, I was frozen to the core. Hmmmm, think that was a prelude to my now present cold?

Today? I had planned on skiing with some ex ski clients and a group of their friends. Not so much. Instead I did my taxes, had a massage and walked the dogs. My heartrate spiked a little while doing the taxes but overall I maintained a steady plodding beat. Same with tomorrow...the skiing piece. I have an acupuncture appointment and a dog walk planned.

Sigh. Maybe my fitness will magically rise to the occasion when I have to sit on a bike in Bali. Ironic, isn't it? Skiing 100 plus full days a year and I have a fitness issue. Sigh.

So, what am I gonna do......?

2010-02-02T19:51:00.003-07:00

My sister, Mary, who I have long admired for her laser like wit(sarcasm), intuitive comments(cry babies don't run corporate monstrosities) and sharper than broken fragments of glass intelligence(runner up to the smartest gorilla around) has lost the proverbial plot.

She has turned into a sweet, caring like(I say like because I am not sure the transformation is complete) sibling with sunshine shooting out her buttocks and Pollyanna phrases tripping of her tongue.

What is this, you say???? I know! I am concerned. I figure once Dad gets wind of this and it interrupts his corruption of said angels in the land of heavenly blackjack games, she is in line for a rash of burning words! I can picture him lifting his head up from his buffet of bread, milk and sugar, spoon halfway to his mouth long enough to slide a glance her way and give her a snicker of pure disbelief.

Despite her sideways trek off the holy grail of sarcasm, she is still my sister, an elder one as well. With that said, I have to comply with her request.

"Your blog award states that I need to list 10 things that make me happy, practice them as often as possible and then send the award to 10 more bloggers."

I am sending this award, first to Theresa, my sister.

BLOODY HELL! I will remind you, Mary, that I am doing this because I don't have Mum or Dad to run to and tattle on you.

1)www.newbieontheblock.blogspot.com/2008/11/thanksgiving-day-antics.html
Friends, new and old, make me happy.
2)www.newbieontheblock.blogspot.com/2009/12/zoom-zoom-zoom.html
Skiing
3)www.newbieontheblock.blogspot.com/2009/05/mountain-people.html
Traveling
4)www.newbieontheblock.blogspot.com/2009/09/morning-sun-rise-during-our-dog-walk.html
&5)
Going for walks with my dogs and sunrises/sunsets
6)www.newbieontheblock.blogspot.com/2009/07/one-hour-spin.html
Working in flower beds and yards.
7)www.newbieontheblock.blogspot.com/2008/10/they-have-goods-on-me.html
Rocky and Bella, the loves of my life
8)www.newbieontheblock.blogspot.com/2008/11/captions.html
cyclocross racing
9)www.newbieontheblock.blogspot.com/2008/11/debs-50th.html
Laughter!!!!
10) I looked and looked for my last one. I didn't find what I wanted. But truly what I love most...
Solitude

There you have it, Mary. I hope all the links go through to the particular posts. If they don't, feel secure that you can click on any number of my posts to read how happy each of these areas of my life make me.

I would pass this on, but truly I don't see any of my friends following through with my request. And it doesn't much matter. Rereading some of my old posts has been like following a string of softly glowing pearls. What felt like a journey through valleys and mountain peaks at the moment of experience, has really been a series of lush rolling hills. I am happy for that reminder.

My Golden Rule

2010-01-30T19:42:00.003-07:00

A smile is a smile when you feel the warm and breadth of it embrace the sock fur between your toes to the gray roots on your head. (Btw, you all have gray roots. Maybe they are still in their infancy coddled between the membrane of your skull and the follicles of your hair...but they are there.)

Sometimes I hit the automatic smile button. It's part of my pay structure as a ski instructor. The writing in the contract is hard to see because they use invisible ink but if you rub a little red wine, (a lot would be wasteful), it is glaringly apparent smiling is part of the job description.

Now, the type of smile is also indicated in lilliputian print. Since most of the higher levels ski instructors are older than dirt, they can't really read it so they can claim age discrimination when called on the carpet for any deviations.

As I am one of the older higher level instructors, I can't disclose any more information from our contracts....mostly because of dementia.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this mostly because I have been smiling for 7 hours straight, 9 days in a row. I mean, don't get me wrong. I smile because it falls out of my realm of control, not because it's in my contract. I'm sure I burned up enough calories to eat a whole plate of Windy Ridge macaroons.

I'm home now and I'm a little too tired to form a smile on the outside. I'm bad, I know. But, I also know that the smile initiates conversation. And I am way too tired to listen to words, never mind sounding them out in an understandable sentence.

I felt like a grown up once this week.

2010-01-24T18:34:00.008-07:00

"Today you are you, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is youer than you." Dr Seuss

Some days are easy. Friday was the simplest.

It wasn't the guest. It wasn't the snow.

It was the opportunity.

The opportunity to realize I was a big kid. The biggest. Almost grown up status.

I worked with Chris and Brian, (ski instructors), while we moved our wolf pack around the mountain feeding on piles of snow and laughter. I admire and respect these two guys. The realization that I was truly their peer lit up in my head like a fluorescent light bulb.

I guess I felt like one of the second string. I thought I was at the top of the food chain, after the pack leader had a snack on the kill. That day, I realized that wasn't true. I can hold my own with the two of them...well, mostly.

Point being, I felt a glow of accomplishment. That is, until we did our last run down to the base. They sailed down the bump run. I sort of bumpled and thumped down.

Oh well, I still remember the glory of grown upness for an afternoon.

Reprimand

2010-01-22T19:07:00.005-07:00

Me. I was reprimanded today. At work. Wow, was my initial thought. Followed very, very quickly with anger. Here is the interesting part. I was reprimanded for two different status updates on facebook.

To clarify, the updates were not inflammatory, derogatory, etc. They were simply worded updates that someone else decided to interpret differently than the intent.

Here's the thing. I get to work by 8am every morning. I am not paid until 8:45/9am. But as soon as I walk in employee space, I put on my level 8, mentor, trainer, professional face. I may not be chatty ecause I need that time to gather my soul strength for the student. I quietly go about getting ready for my day, answer questions if asked and smile. Smile. Smile. I spend all day teaching, guiding, coaching, caring and smiling.

Does that sound superficial? What's your interpretation of what I just wrote? Oooh, that sounds easy. What's her bitch?!

If you know me, then you know what my bitch is. I give 150% of me to my student(s). I file as much of the information they give me, verbally and nonverbally, as I can squish between each of the follicles of my hairs to absorb it into my skin so it can travel to throughout my body, mind and heart. I let it sit. I taste it. I smell it. I feel it....and then I use it to help them become better skiers. I do the same thing when I ski with staff. I. Am. A. Wet. Rag. At. The. End. Of. Most. Days.

To get called out for two mild updates that no one asked what they were really about or how I may have handled the situation burns the hairs on my ass. I was, and still am, insulted that my character can be called to question when I have demonstrated myself worthy more times than not.

Here's the thing. I love my place of work. I am proud to be employed by Deer Valley. Somehow I will figure out how to put this incident in perspective and place it in the annuals of my life. I will not, however, change how I express myself. That, my friends, would be a little too Sally Field playing in "The Flying Nun".

So, was it a happy ending you ask? Of course,because ski instructors specialize in happy endings. I talked to the powers that be and took my stand. The powers that be appeared to listen.

So then, why am I writing about it? Mum and Dad are gone. She would have stalked right up to DV and gave them a tongue lashing for me. She was great at waving her arms and giving people that scary look. Dad would have just laughed. I figured the thought of Dad laughing at me taking my own stand made me a bit happy.

BTW, Mum is up there looking down. She's still pissed.

Stealing my sister's thoughts

2010-01-20T11:11:00.002-07:00

Mary, my sister, writes about, "settling into the pause". The place between thought and action.

I was on face book looking at my Aunt Jeanne's picture. An incredible longing for my mother came over me. I wanted to see her one more time. I thought if I just enlarge my aunt's picture, I'll see Mum again.

It didn't work. Her picture was all fuzzy and distorted. I felt overwhelmed with tears and pain. When does it become less? This yearning to have Mum present is still surprisingly intense.

With the feelings, came the urge to fill the emptiness with something. Food, action..something to dull the sharpness. The pause is an interesting place to visit. One where I feel like an unregistered alien in a not so comfortable country.

There is no avoiding the frequent visits to this pause. Reflecting at the valley between thought and action may be a better way than turning my back.

Pause over. Now, about that snowshoe trek with the ferners.

Sun, sun go away.

2010-01-18T06:26:00.003-07:00

Yup, Yup. It's been a week since my last post.

I have developed the "ski all day and drop in the evening" attitude to a fine art this season. Last week was spent clinicing and evaluating instructors, (harder for me than skiing with a paying client), skiing with new clients, watching the world cup, skiing with old clients and scoring evaluations.

"Why is this so hard Buttercup?", you ask skeptically. I can lift one eyebrow, so I do at this question. (I can also wiggle my ears but that doesn't fit into this scene.) The undeniable fact is while the abundance of sun is delightful in the winter, the powder piling halfway up the ski sidewall is demoralizing for a Utah skier. Well, and the inevitable hate mail as a result of the evaluation scores always darkens the soul a little.

Oh, have I mentioned the serrated ski edges have made carving turns delightfully difficult?! Staying off the rocks would be the logical conclusion. Rocks are sneaky however. They group into masses of marching defiance and spread themselves out on bump runs. I swear I hear them giggling when they sense a green suit charging over the rise. Sneaky little bastards!

I am NOT complaining however. I am only explaining my absence on the blog. I am off now to prepare myself for another donning of the green suit of resolution. "I will not succumb to the weather. I will not succumb to the rocks. I will not succumb to grand weather." My morning chant, as it is.

Emotional pollution and reindeer games

2010-01-12T18:39:00.002-07:00

Honey thick veins and traffic clogged lanes appeared for the start of my day.

The law of the land says time will be turned back universally in the fall and not individually in our minds. It didn't make sense until today.

I sat in my car with my past in the passenger seat and wondered how I make it an acquaintance rather than a foe or friend.

Several days will pass before it's imprint will fade from that seat. Time's pendulum will swing eternally back and forth before the imprint will leave my heart.

I hope someday to see it in a soft red glow winking from a distance. Until then, I will pack it along while I dance on the snow with my comrades in arms playing our reindeer games.

Energy

2010-01-08T19:36:00.002-07:00

I read somewhere that the left side of the body is female and the right side is male.

"What does this mean?", you ask.

I don't have a clear answer. Or a generic one at that. I guess it all depends on what characteristics we each give a y and x chromosome.

"Whoa there little horsie! This is a might complicated." , you say.

(What that really means when a Y chromosome says it is, "What a load of horseshit!")

I have some thoughts on the topic. (Clearly, or I wouldn't be bringing this topic up!) I habitually injure my left side. My left knee is constantly annoyed with my whole body. My lower back acts as the antagonist between my I-T band and my hip flexor. I have to periodically pull my left shoulder from my earring. And my hearing in my left ear is about as sharp as a skipping stone. (Nothing to do with age, mind you.)

If I go by the above theory, I'm harboring grudges on the female side of my body. Traditionalists would say that I'm over taking care of people. Child bearing religions, no particular fingers pointed, may say that my body is resentful it hasn't born the fruit of it's expected labors.

You know what I think? I think it's my weaker side so it loses more battles. Hey, maybe in a previous life, like back during the caveman times, I carried children on my left hip. Ooh, better yet, I was a pillager during the Norse times and I used to carry my spoils of war in my right arm so my left side had to manage my horse and sidearms, i.e. feather boa, or something. WAIT, Cleopatra used me as a comfy chair and used to lean more on my left side than my right.

So, what is the point of this tirade/directionless post? Really....it's irritating that anyone has to not only explain everything in psychological context but to pin a stereotypical tail on male or female traits.

Really, my left side is a klutz. Or, maybe that ass cheek is bigger so the weight pulls me in that direction. Oh, wait a minute............................................................................

A smile crosses all international lines of communication.

2010-01-05T19:17:00.003-07:00

I laughed when Heather and I walked out on the slope today. I saw an instructor start at the sound and look directly at me. I yelled out, "How are you doing, Robert?". He grinned and said, "Fantastic!"

Rye, the snow pixie, would tell me that my laughter rang out and made people look at us. I just grinned at her and shrugged my shoulders. I told her to look back at the people and I would bet all the chocolate in the lodge that they would be smiling. Fortunately, I was correct since she is a bit of a crazed sugar gnome.

Smiles beget smiles. Laughter incites a gurgle of sound from most people's bellies. How much would you pay for that gut aching feeling, the cramp on your smile lines, the inability to stop from hugging yourself while you bend over in laughter...the carefree feeling of joy ringing from your soul?

It is priceless. But, it is easy to acquire. Smile, and someone will smile back. Stop and look around. An individual in your visual sphere will emanate a feeling of happiness.

Blah, blah...who invited Shirley Temple to this blog anyway!? Trust me, evil twin Skippy is alive and well. She periodically surfaces, particularly after 4pm and a heavy care taking day on the hill.

The crew and I were talking about this yesterday. A smile is part of our uniform. It's an automatic switch we have wired into our psyche. A bit of the chicken and the egg theory. Do we smile because our job requires it, or, do we have the job because we have smiling souls? Who knows.

The fact is, a smile doesn't cost anything. Not money, not health...nothing. Try it and see what happens.

The journey through many doors.

2010-01-03T18:31:00.004-07:00

In two short weeks, I traveled from the land of snow pixies to the cynicism of a wizened old 8 year old.

While I am gently teased by coworkers for my tendency to immerse myself into the Alice and Wonderland like world of children, it works 99% of the time.

Bare with me for a moment. Skin, when hydrated, has this beautiful plump look that fills the pinch between two fingers. Dehydrated, it looks like the dry, abandoned sheath of a snake, wrinkled and sad.

Imagination, the fullness, breadth and depth of a child's, is whirling with senses gone wild. I love, no, I adore, the pomp and circumstance surrounding an invitation to join their world. I can hear the flit of the pixie wings. I can see the glitter of their tiny cottages. I feel their joy for living. That is what children offer when imagination is on the menu.

Last week, while this particular little girl has the look of an angel and feet that can ski most terrain, her imagination is tightly packed in a small corner of her mind rather than filling her heart. I am no less attracted to making her smile and enjoying her presence. I am simply sad that she shuns the possibilities of snow pixies.

I wonder. I ponder. What door will she open when she is older? Will she hear the whispers of a beautiful chorus of flying dolphins? When the sparkles drift from the sky and land on her gloves, will she wonder if they are small villages of grinning elves? Will everyone but her know that the vibrations of bumpy snow is the result of a stampede of happiness rolling down the mountain? The booms of avalanche guns are surely the giants in the sky bowling in the lanes of forest pathways to clean the old redwoods to make room for the new....aren't they?

For now, all I can do is be present for the child she is and not the child I would like her to be. I am reminded that the door I opened several years ago was swollen and stubborn, but worthy of the effort. I hope hers swings open with a shining brightness on the other side.

Sigh. I realize that no matter the age, the path is our own. I hope as time goes by, the kids I have skied with will see a light imprint of my foot walking along side their own.

From beginning to end

2009-12-24T19:04:00.002-07:00

The poignancy of a beginning is the knowledge that there is an end. The in between is where we live, laugh, love and sail on the wings of snow pixies.

Rye and I ended our week long adventure today. This 9 year old pixie had some of the glittery dust missing on her wings on our last bump run today. She was tired and her feet were protesting the confines of a ski boot.

With that said, she tilted her helmet clad head and agreed to one more pass through the small villages of pixieland to her final destination of her human family. The adventure was over early so the memories would stay colorful.

Sadly, I know this story won't survive another child. The twist and turns of every chapter was Rye's alone. I was merely given a hall pass for a short jaunt through the eyes of her imagination.

I hope some day to look back on this week and reach for my sparkling pipe cleaners. I will put them on the arms of my reading glasses while I lie back in my comfy couch and I will sail with pixie wings to a world far, far away yet so close to my heart.

Indeed, I am a lucky gal.

Girls Rip

2009-12-21T19:51:00.003-07:00

Disturbing as it is to feel like my skiing was sub par for the start of my season, once I put my teaching cape on, the feeling of rightness returned.

Training apprentices pokes the surface of teaching to some extent. The glow on the students faces is the same. The rainbow of attitudes is similar. But, it is a job for them.

While the hunt for the key that opens the window of learning is different from student to student, the anticipation it creates is always the same for me.

Waiting for the right signal from the student is so very difficult. Letting someone explore the boundaries of ski ability is exhilaratingly hard to do when I can see in a matter of the students first slide down the hill what the issues are at hand.

So, I lead quietly. I pull off to the side of the trail and let the student take over. I go up chairlifts and down runs chatting, laughing, prodding and leading my charge to a secure place in mind, heart and body. They always open the window to learning before I crawl in.

Last Friday I waited for Rye to let me in. She is delightful to ski with and really loves the sport. Sounds funny, huh, "loves the sport." Believe it or not, there are plenty of people who take lessons because it is a "have to" and not a "want to".

We have been skiing together for three years so our base relationship was already established. Alas, children get older and funny things happen to their minds and bodies. (I quite resent the fact that as they get older, so do I. Seems unfair really.) Fortunately for me, Rye still hasn't reached the tumultuous age where girl children and female grown-ups grate on each others nerves!

We skied for a few hours before she threw the window open so wide, the brightness and warmth of the surprise took me a bit by surprise.

She believed in fairies.

Well, so did I. Wow! We were on an instant road to success. Once we established that the twinkles in the snow were Snow Fairies, (later to be changed to Snow Pixies..story later), and grumpy ones at that, we were off to the races!

We have traveled far and wide since Friday through the villages of the dratted Snow Fairies who trip you in deep snow, Snow Mermaids who cuddle and protect the whale pods and finally to the Snow Pixies, our long last pals.

I could explain but I'm sure if I do, one of you will send men with a white jacket and long arms to my house to take me on vacation for a few short years. It is suffice to say that when Rye felt she was comfortable with me, she let me in the door of a child's imagination. The sparkle and zest swirling from that open door has gently reminded me to keep my eyes open and dreams alive.

Rye and I have a few days in front of us when we may have to battle some trolls and a gigantic wompus as we pursue steeper terrain. I believe we will be fine as we decorated a tree with candy canes as a tribute to the snow pixies.

A girl has to believe in something. Doesn't she?

Fast Lane

2009-12-21T06:31:00.003-07:00

Winter starts like this...on your mark..lalalalalala....get ready....dodidodido...goooooooooooo! What appears to be a sauntering start to an opening season turns into a slippy slide into a congested traffic jam.

I offer my deepest apologies for the lack of posts. However, I have been deeply immersed in rebuilding small villages of snow pixies and socializing with co-workers at the end of a work day. I'll pull my act together tonight to give you a little something something about life in the fast lane at Augusta Way.

ciao, have to get ready for another day of wrestling trolls and intercepting communications from pixies.

Hold the presses, Alert the media...

2009-12-15T22:03:00.002-07:00

....I can ski!

Yah, yah...I know...big whoop...cry me a river. But really, I...can...ski!

I thought I was washed up. A has been. Theresa who...?

But, with a twinkle of the eye, a wiggle of the ear and a rub of the tummy, my turns magically came back.

Ah, doubters, all of you..oh, there wasn't any doubters. That's not the point. It doesn't matter if a whole team of the very best of the best stand behind one person who doubts a happy ending. (NO...not THAT happy ending!)

I like to think I am a mature, reasonable person. Bwahahahahah. No, really.

I can reason and sort my way through the movement patterns of skiing with a clear head. I know my problem movements. I anticipate them and cut them off at the pass. Well, except the times I end up upside down in a pile of powder.

However, injury is a tough angle to sort out with a clear head. Especially when my income is directly related to the end result. After checking out the tune on my skis, thumbs down btw, I grabbed my friendly pair of skis preparing to venture out on to some more soft terrain. Kent E, a ski buddy/coworker, intercepted my stealthy move to weep silently in the corner alone while nursing my bruised ego and injured knee.

Let me just stray here for a moment and say something about the dangers of making friends. THEY WANT TO SPEND TIME WITH YOU! I know, I know...this comes as a complete surprise to most souls. It's even worse with loved ones. THEY BELIEVE TIME TOGETHER IS VALUABLE AND SIGNIFICANT. Well what the hell! No one showed me the small print in the contract.
(Hopefully, either you know I'm joking or you think I'm crazy. Either thought is acceptable.)

Anyway, two hours later of collaborating with Kent and my skiing was significantly different. He said ..."you aren't flexing your left ankle in your right turn." I said..."that must be why my heel is off the sole of the boot." I fixed that.

He said..."It's flexed, now move the leg out from underneath the body." I said..."yup, yup, I know my lateral movement is stiff." I moved my legs out to the sides.

He said..."your right knee is collapsing into your left knee." I said..."damn, if I didn't feel that happen." I maintained a consistent space between my knees.

I felt myself swoop down the mountain with my momentum carrying me in a forward movement. My skis swept from side to side in a long arcing sweep with a sweet, smooth transition under my body. It was blissful!

Ok, so it was on a green/blue. You gotta start somewhere.
(We did move it to steeper terrain and to my surprise the movement held and the knee pain took a seat in the highest of bleachers watching me with the most powerful of binoculars.)

I adore my sport. I love the interchange of information between great teachers and skiers. The simplicity of our interchange and the instant results makes me realize how lucky I am to have this friend. And all friends......quietly the lights dim and the Who's from Whoville sang their Christmas song.

Isn't this story sweet?

Aren't I just a wee bit on the edge of crazy?

Some day ask me about the housekeeper who cleaned our house today for 11 hours.

Perspective

2009-12-14T15:21:00.003-07:00

I love slinking and slithering through soft rounded bumps. The ones that are formed after a good powder day. Not too firm, yet forgiving and soundless. The paths around them are still soft and silky like talcum powder.

I've come to realize that injuring my knee is giving me great perspective. Where once I wouldn't think about mild terrain changes, yesterday my body clenched in pain and my heart squeaked in panic.

Okay, okay, that sounds a little overdone. Really what happened is my legs screamed in pain because I wasn't let my skis move over the bumps and down the hill. What was once a supple move of my legs, became a snarled up traffic jam. I squatted, I thrust my tails around the corner and allowed a full upper body rotation so I could give a peace sign to the skiers up the hill. WTF.

I know better than that.

Today, I took the feelings I remembered way back in the corner of my brain and practised on some easy terrain. Yup. It sucks when the mighty fall. Well, mostly because they leave a huge divot in the ground where their head hit first. Small villages sink into the hole, children are left parent-less....yetta, yetta, yetta. All I am saying here is the ego is a mighty weight.

Apparently my knee is playing some games with my head and my skiing. It hurts when I ski. Not like, "Oh, I did a hard bike ride and my legs feel like concrete posts." More like a sharp intrusive pain. So I figure a game of exploration was in order.

If I ski groomed, it doesn't hurt as much. Check
(Noted, groomers kind a suck.)

If I keep my turn shape in more of an 's' style rather than a 'c' style, it doesn't hurt. Check.
(Noted, unfinished turns are fun until you are on something steep and narly.)

If I edge my ski aggressively and pressure builds up as the ski passes under my body, creating a retraction type movement which requires some power to handle the spring of the ski, I get some pain feedback from the inside of my left knee.
(Noted, if I only make turns to the left, I should be able to avoid this pain.)

If I make a move to round out my turn at the finish by rotating the left femur and and lower leg in the direction of travel(we will assume my right leg is mirroring this move), I have pain in my knee.
(Noted, I can successfully execute this maneuver if allowed to finish the rotation with my right shoulder dipping into the hill.)

Well, here's the issue. If I am not actually weighting the left leg properly at the start of the turn, the pain in my knee is simply a symptom of a wrong movement pattern. Ok, well, not simply a symptom because the pain is not imaginary so something is wrong with it. But, I believe I am aggravating the pain by trying to protect the injury.

My answer is to go to my happy place. NO, not the wine cellar! I mean terrain that is mild enough to remind me of my effective movement patterns so I can transfer them back to the stuff I really like to ski.

I am a BLOODY genius!

The purpose of this post was something else entirely... It occurs to me that my injury is giving me a better perspective on my student's struggles with skiing. While the mind may be willing to learn, the body and heart may take up a spot at Custard's last stand and say, "We ain't moving from this here spot."

It would be simpler to be a monkey.

Laughter and the echo of laughter

2009-12-10T19:50:00.003-07:00

Today was a surprise to me. My energy is endless when it comes to teaching skiing. I am warm with satisfaction when I see someone improve skiing. But, truly, I soar without wings when I glimpse a quivering smile of satisfaction when the students feel the change happen. I experienced this twice this week. That, my friends, is fantastic.

Today was also the last day of training for the newbs. I have pretty much established myself as the deliverer of one liners and light heartedness with this group. I have worked with the newbs for several years with the same trainers. Every year, the jesters hat has been hand-knit to fit my particular head. It is an easy task for me.

Anyhow, I had the tables turned on me a little. The five newbs had so many one liners and obvious camaraderie, that I pretty much laughed through my morning.

That, my friends, is refreshing.

Zoom, zoom, zoom

2009-12-08T19:26:00.003-07:00

Right, right. Left, left. Stretching out to the furthest reaches of my sides. Long left leg, short right...long right leg, short left.

It can only be described as zoom,zoom,zoom...the feeling of moving fluidly from one turn to the next. It's a crazy snap feeling of the legs passing under the body only to zap the snow and pass back under.

There are the occasional "oh shit" moments when one leg skittishly refuses to play nice with the other. These are the moments when the hearts beats an extra beat and the ground comes up fast. But recovery occurs and zoom, zoom continues.

The snow. The snow was softly forgiving and sang the sweet sound of cold against ski, a squeaky sigh. Not the sound of skis pushing through piles of snow or the scrape of ice against edges. The air sparkled with rainbow colors and puffs of breath.

Today was a great day.

You sure ski purty.

2009-12-07T20:16:00.005-07:00

You know the mountain bike racer, or, cyclocross racer that comes across the finish line looking fresh? Like barely a bead of sweat was broke? The shirt is not dotted with streaks of snot and dirt/mud? No grimaces of pain? ........................me neither.

So, I have never had the goal of being a purty skier. Skiing is about reacting to the terrain in the most fluid manner possible. Sometime the terrain kicks back pretty hard so balance is acutely challenged. It isn't always pretty but it is exciting and fun to maintain skills while meeting the demands.

Today. Today was about sitting in meetings for 5 hours contemplating my fear of how my knee was going to react to skiing. I have hurt my knees a whole lot. It sucks. Even with having two new acls, one new mcl and various meniscus surgeries, knee pain strikes terror in my heart.

By the time we went out, I was pretty convinced I could ski......purty. Not satisfactory. However, smooth enough that my close friends and trainers would know something was wrong but nothing the newbies and gp would recognize.

Ah, in the end, who cares about the knee. I was on the hill, teaching the sport I love. By the end of the day, the excitement and interest that was starting to gleam in the newbs eyes was more than enough to make my knee mend and my heart glow.

The Fort

2009-12-05T19:32:00.004-07:00

This is the first year I have been able to participate in the final 'cross race of the season. Quite seriously, I think the g-o-d's were protecting me in the past because this one was cold and slippery!

But let's talk about the snow for a minute. BOORAH, HOORAY....finally we have some snow falling! I remember opening day last year at DV was one big adventure. We had plenty of snow to do the newbies ski split. So much so, that they had to negotiate a mini mogul field on their first run. Not a particularly nice thing to do on your first evaluation run.

I like driving in the snow, unlike most of the drivers on I-15. I especially like the bob and weave technique the slow drivers use. "Keep it slow, keep it slow...OH, dodge across all three lanes and....keep it slow in the passing lane....." Holy hell, you're making me crazy.

And, what is up with the black diamond lane? I know I'm not suppose to drive there because apparently the black diamond draws all the the same people who get in the expert lane for airport security and have to ask the guards whether they need to empty their change from their pant pockets. (This is after they have laboriously sorted through the oversize carry on luggage that will be taken from them at the departure gate because they won't fit in the overhead compartments.)

I always give myself enough time to get to the races so this craziness happens around me but doesn't really prick my skin, if you know what I mean.

I pulled up to the site and registered with Melissa. BTW, she was wearing a darlin' one piece ski suit that was clearly meant for a larger woman. But, still sassy on her! Once signed in, I knew I was going to race. I feel like I can pretty much throw a race to the wind until I hand in the release paper. After that, it's like signing a marriage certificate. I'm in for the good and the bad because it's just too much work to get out of it.

Fortunately, I showed up in time to get a pre ride in right after the C men. (I hope you can hear my sarcasm because it was bloody frigging cold and snowing. The last thing I really wanted to do was sweat in any way, shape or form.) Luckily, the ride was an important one. I found out my thumbs were in the first stages of frostbite after ten minutes and the course was slippery as shit! I was smart enough to wear warmer gloves with hand warmers in them, but definitely didn't learn a lesson about the slippery stuff.

I had no real intention of warming up so I spun for a VERY brief time. I rolled up to the start with my plastic pants and jacket. I gave Doc my jacket but no way was I giving the pants up. Funny enough, I never overheated in the frigid temps.

I had a clean start and stayed on my bike for all of half a lap. I went down on my hip near a sandpit by the water when I took a slippery corner a wee fast. Sigh.....fortunately my hips have floating devices naturally attached to them so I didn't get hurt but I did lose about five spots.

I was screwed for staying with the front group now so I settled for pin balling back and forth with the middle group until I stacked it again before a log. I slid pretty nicely on my rubber pants but managed to stuff my left ribs into the log for a full stop. Hence, the first injury. I'm sure they're bruised, cracked or something but they will heal.

Damn if I didn't stack it again after a sharp right hand turn, over the log...all successfully executed mind you, only to slip on the pavement and shove my left knee cap into the ground with a slight twisting. Doesn't sound good does it? It isn't. But I got back on the stupid bike.

My next fall was a sweet little slide in front of the announcers that I turned into a roll so I wouldn't struggle getting my bike off the ground. Nice...that one didn't hurt at least.

So, while I am a fairly well balanced ski athlete, I was beaten by mother nature today. I finished the race, bolted to my car and turned the heat on full blast to bring my toes back. Let me tell you, my toes came back because they hurt so much I had tears streaming down my face. Fortunately they distracted me from my now swollen knee and aching ribs.

Once my toes came back and I could actually concentrate to change my clothes and put shoes on, I bolted out of there. I wish I had the cojones to stay and watch, but I knew my knee was going to shortly be a big issue and I didn't want to get chilled again. Unfortunately, it meant I missed Doc's podium finish of third. I'm sure he had a fan club at the finish.

Home now and pretty sure my knee is not quite right but only time will tell. Unfortunately, I have hurt my knees enough times to know when it's a real injury. Simply what it means is 'cross has stolen a little bit of my aggressive skiing for a few weeks. We'll see. I should probably dig out my old knee brace just in case.

DD(Dayna) is rocking it out on the west coast of Portland. Make sure you all check in with her on facebook to see how she did....she is a stellar chick.

Homesick

2009-12-02T18:49:00.003-07:00

I went to Heber today so my eye doc could try a hard sell for whatever the newest contacts he thinks I desperately need. Apparently I'm "of the age" where my eyesight should be leaping and bounding down a very steep slope to an engorged, savage river flowing to the deepest pits of hell, or so I'm told. After forking out some unexpected bucks for my car this week, I figure I can silently suffer through my 6 months worth of last years most excellent hard sell.

The eye doc was hardly the high point of my morning. First of all, I managed to get my car filled up for a good 30 cents a gallon cheaper at the Heber smiths compared to any gas station near me in SLC. Isn't that kind of odd? Shouldn't gas be cheaper where there's more purchase power? I hate getting screwed for a life's necessity. (For me...maybe not for you local SLC workers.)

Then, heart of all hearts, I took the dogs for a romp at the Provo river. I love this spot! I have forgotten how much I like this spot for the dogs to run free. Even better, unlike the dog park, the dogs can lay a log down in the bushes and I don't have to run over and scoop it's steaming mass off the ground. I'm all for keeping the dog parks clean but nature is nature.

I am totally content to wander around there with the dogs until they have enough fresh air and want to turn around to go back to the car. No people....surely fishermen aren't people?!.....and it's easy to walk away from the noise from the traffic on 40.

I miss Heber.

Afterwards, I hung with some of my DV peeps at El Chubasco, the best and cheapest Mexi food in the area. I wondered around a little with Kylie at PCMR while she tried on some ski pants but wasn't really into the shopping scene. I did get some Christmas gifts for Mapleleaf and Deb. I also found a sweet surprise for DD's birthday present. Heehee......

Next up, DV's employee open house on Thursday. We get to try out some smattering of food and wander through booths offering up some pro deals. We're going to wander on over to the distillery afterwards to see how it holds up under some ski instructor tomfoolery.

I get to test out my new alignment set up on Friday. New foot beds, a little redirection of my stance so I stand flatter on the skis and a lift in my right boot to accommodate my shorter leg should be a sure fire way to set me up for an embarrassing moment on skis with all the other trainers at DV. Sweet! Fortunately, I have a pretty decent sense of humor so I'll cover my potential gaff with my usual brazenness.

Where was I going with all of this? Ahhhh, I think I came to the realization with DD last night that my homesickness with Heber has a little to do with my winter season starting. As cool as all the bike chicks are, I don't see them much until June. All my winter friends are based out of PC. I feel a little like a herdless shepherd.

Sigh.....life is never exact.

Blog absenteeism

2009-12-01T17:09:00.002-07:00

I need a ruler tapping on my knuckles. I've been a blog slacker. I don't know how it happened.

Let me flip a few pages backwards. Or, maybe a whole chapter. I have been slacking since I moved to SLC. Is it the energy sucking pollution surrounding the city that has stolen my blog mojo? Maybe it is the matter of being employed a month longer than I'm used to in the fall. Perhaps it is the lack of random wandering off into the sunset to destinations unknown.

None the less, I dislike predictability in my life to some degree. That is, chaos is a great thing. It hides all kinds of fur balls and dust bunnies in the hidden compartment of my psyche. No chaos means I get to look at the different stacks of crazy called my 'life'. Well that has got to stop. Thank g-o-d for ski season.

The race on Saturday was a disappointment only for the reason that I was last after getting a flat on the highway to hell...road climb after the start. The course was perfectly suited to me with lots of singletrack, sand and a few slippery spots. The end of the course was fast and fun. I didn't even really mind the road climb. Oh yeah, the spectators were real loud!

The best part is the course was hard enough to shut all brain functions down. No time to think about life's crazy twists and turns. Even better, I was sufficiently tired at the end that I didn't mind going to a friend's house to watch a stoooopid football game.

What's up next? Skiing, and, more skiing. Time to slide quietly on the snow, methodically moving the legs in a synchronized rhythm. It's peaceful and it is solitary, even when I have to offer my innards to appease the angry guest gods. This means absorbing all the crazy waves of emotions that come off the guest only to urinate them into a toilet later on. Sounds harsh but it is no different than being a therapist. If I owned all the positive and negative energy that occurs during the average lesson, I would be a gurgling mass of goo. Fortunately, I'm way too stable for that...ahahahahahahahah....wow, I don't even buy that one.

The cross of the big ring.

2009-11-22T19:46:00.003-07:00

Why, why, why does a person who would be considered a master's athlete compete to the point of physical and mental disorder? When the end result is to merely finish in the top ten with left hammie burning and singed like the end of a candle stick, do I persist in crucifying myself on the cross of the big ring?

And when I say "master's" athlete, I referring to my age, not my depth of experience. I have competed successfully in many of alcohol games. I have finished in the finals of duals of sarcasm and wit. I stepped upon the podium of debauchery and fun living. I sallied with the best of loving and living.

Alas, I have not amassed a fortune in my ability to compete athletically. There in lies my confusion of why I persist in competing in a sport that does not meet my talents of surviving in human interaction and caretaking. What cross do I have to bear to put myself past the threshold of reasonable pain and mental stability? WTF!

And, why, oh why, do I still love this sport? When someone has an answer that does not include strait jackets, prescription drugs, or taking away my bikes, I'll be hanging out on a ladder painting a house in Park City.

Mt Heber state championships and ski teaching

2009-11-21T18:19:00.005-07:00

Holy bumpy batman! Riding the Heber course was a bit like trying to stay on a bucking bronco. There wasn't much about the course that wasn't bumpy or rutted!

My only real complaint about the course is it would have been a complete blast to have the barriers set up on one of the fast sprint sections. Speed going into four barriers would have been a complete spectacle for the viewers and would have made it more interesting for me.

I didn't have a goal today. After having two weeks off of racing and gathering all my ski gear for it's annual pilgrimage to Deer Valley, I realized skiing is my sport. Not ski racing, just skiing. Not bike racing, but skiing.

I love 'cross. I will keep racing 'cross until I can't lift my bike over the barriers because the swing from my curtains(sagging triceps) gets in the way of my vision or knocks me over sideways. It is my excuse for pure dark chocolate indulgence and bottles of taste bud twitching Cabernet's.

But racing my 'cross bike doesn't engage my senses like skiing. I finished my race today extremely happy with my effort. I drove to my trainer meeting at DV thinking how much I really hope I don't have to work opening day at DV so I could race.

I walked into the meeting room and was engulfed with such a sense of well being and belongedness that I realized how much I love my winter work. By the time we finished our meeting, I was yearning for my ski season to start and was ready for the end of 'cross. Blasphemy.

I'm good at 'cross, not anything spectacular. I don't train enough. I don't have a deep enough athletic background to excel. I don't want to work for it. I love it for what it is.

Skiing. Not only does it feed my need to understand and solve things in parts, it feeds my desire for freedom. Sliding down a hill, slithering through bumps, ducking through trees all let me be alone in a small amount of space while still being with friends and clients. It feeds my soul...bleck, how corny.

Anyway, today was a great day. 'Cross race and ski teaching all in one day. Nothing tops that.

Maple leaf

2009-11-18T18:10:00.005-07:00

So last night I went to dinner with my fave gal, Shelagh, a.k.a, Maple leaf, the Canadian.

We both began working at Deer Valley in '96', (er, right Shelagh? I always forget how long I've been there.) The forces of the universe were working that day because we sat next to each other on orientation day. (Perhaps if the forces had known what kind of grief we would dole out as a duo, the decision would have played out a little differently.)

We hit it off immediately despite the fact that she was from a distant foreign country and clearly didn't understand English very well. Ahahahahahahahaha, I love dishing it out to the Canadian sometimes!

We bonded as friends. It occurred to me the other evening that I've been in a relationship longer with her than with any of my intimate relationships. (Clearly sex messes relationship up.) We have had our share of mishaps and laughter. She has had an emergency travel fund stored so she can bail me out of whatever country or relationship I happened to be mired in.....(as a side note, she likes I"m currently in SLC. A tank of gas is nothing compared to a last minute flight to Slovenia!)
Why would I possibly write about a person who comes from a country with absolutely no military power or weapon capabilities?!

It occurred to me after dinner that she is not just a great friend but she has been a mentor for me as a skier. She rocks it on skis. She has the attitude that no lesson is too much or too hard. She slips into her leadership roll at DV with the ultimate ease. She is a true professional.

So when she complimented me on my skiing, I felt genuinely grateful that she believed in me. I know, I know..I still have to put up with her complete disregard for Vermont maple syrup, but someday she will see the folly of her dysfunctioning taste buds.

I hope Maple leaf and I have a bank vault size of future memories to live.

Choo, choooooo train of sanity is leaving the station.

2009-11-13T20:19:00.008-07:00

Seven days off the bike. That's how I know winter is approaching.

Weird how my interest in cycling just turns off like a valve. This cold stuff is only meant for skiing. I can wear lots of layers and I don't have to suffer climbing up hills. The skiing part isn't much exercise but I get plenty of exercise hauling people around on the end of my poles and tugging them out of snowbanks.

I'm hiking today because it keeps me warmer than making circles.

People who make me proud

2009-11-10T06:40:00.002-07:00

Go check out the Monavie/Cannondale site. Bart, Matt, Alex....all of the team, you do Utah proud!

2009-11-09T17:24:00.002-07:00

"I'll spot you while you're on the ladder Mum........."

Whenever life gets me a little or a lot down, I look into Rocky and Bella's faces. Their big brown eyes and wagging tails make all life's little woes disappear.

And, seriously, dpgs are way cooler than cats anyway.

Ready for snow

2009-11-09T06:41:00.002-07:00

I had a revelation on Sunday while I was walking the hounds up on Empire. I'm ready for skiing and snow. It's time for the bike to be put away and to get my binding function test done on my skis.

I'm ready for all leaves to be covered in snow. It's time to throw the snow tires on the car, for ice particles to form on my nostril hairs and the sound of crunching snow from parking lot four to Snow Park lodge to begin.

The sounds of accents, the recounting of summer, the rush of joy when I see my winter friends is right around the corner.

It's better than Christmas morning.

It is time for winter.

Wheeler race numero dos

2009-11-01T20:25:00.003-07:00

If you look real close, you can see the wily Maine coon cat sitting in the window teasing my great white Hunter. We got to listen to two wild chases during the early morning hours. Fortunately cat 2, dogs 0.

What to say about the second race this weekend?

You know the anxiety you feel when you have to go to the dentist and you know he's going to want to stick a needle in your jaw to get rid of that niggling pain you have had for a few months? And what you are really afraid of is he's going to say is, "Sorry Mother Theresa, we're going to have to pull that tooth because you have a full fledged infection in the root." So, he does the root canal and you think you're in the clear, only you still have a niggling pain in your jaw and it's now crawling up to your eyeball and ear. Clearly you think you're dying and you very well may be. But, the real problem is he didn't get all the junk from the root and he has to drill again. You sit in the chair thinking maybe having all my teeth pulled is a better long term option. Dentists...and they wonder why no on likes them!

Well, second race day terror is a little like that. The fear of how bad my legs were going to feel has a way of building up from a sensible/reasonable expectation that I should be tired to a snarly, saliva dripping fanged monster living under my bed ready to snack on my foot as soon as it hits the floor. It is amazing how my imagination is capable of terrorizing my common sense into a scawling infant.

Amazingly, I felt great. My legs were strong like bull. Okay, that's a slight exaggeration but I'm allowed to do that on double race weekends. I put in a good two laps on the course around 10:15am, got a great 45 minute warm-up, pushed out another lap to see if my rear tire was still holding air(it was) and I was pretty much ready to go.

When we lined up, I knew I felt as good as I could for a second race day. I started hard and pushed myself for the whole race. For the very first time, I didn't have that initial thought of, "What the hell am I doing?!" I felt great and tried to ride as hard as I could.

The course suited me a bit because it was fast with lots of single track. I loved the sharp turns, the couple of short steep shots downhill and for the first time the double track didn't beat the hell out of me. I held 6th for the first half of the race until Meara passed me with a lap and a half to go. I tried chasing her but she's all of 12, kidding, but I wasn't able to stay on her wheel.

I am afeared to say that my fitness may be turning a positive corner with half the season over. Typical for me!

Doc conned me into a cool down after the race by promising me a cappuccino that was only .5 miles away....liar... I did get my coffee and he did get me to cool down, so we'll call it a win/win situation.

Right now I am questioning my sanity about doing a double race next weekend. But who am I kidding..sanity is not high on my list of things I want for Christmas!

Wheeler race number 1

2009-10-31T17:59:00.003-06:00

So I packed up my devil horns and dress, including forked tail and headed on over to Wheeler Farm. I was sturdy in my belief that 2.5 hours of riding this week was going to ensure me a spot on the podium of satisfaction. ( I only rode 1.5 hours more this week than last week because Darrell was starting to question his original assumption that I was dedicated to the sport of making circles.)

Fortunately the podium of satisfaction is not a concrete entity and can be defined on an individual level. My definition started with that my forked tail was successfully pinned to the back of my dress and not poking me in my anal region. Once I had that mastered, I was at a total loss of what my next goal should be for the race.

THE RACE.....oh yeh, it was about the race not the costume. I only worked 2.5 days this week so my legs were abnormally stress free. Darrell cooked me a waffle and omelet for breakfast so my tummy was happy. I got a great warm up on the trainer. My bike is still not shifting correctly. I chose to keep it out of the big ring rather than have an pre race spat with Doc. All was good.

The start was crazy. Not only was the start official an incompetent nincompoop, but the start area wasn't roped off. Logistically what this means is anyone who is feeling especially anxious will get up in the front row even if it means starting off the road and on the grass. Bad choice since there was a little incline to get back on the road for the take off.

Nincompoop said go to the lady A's only to have them pile up in a big crash 10 feet from the start. Total chaos. They say human's are separated from chimps by several things, one of them being a higher order of intelligence. Lady B's totally negated that assumption when they repeated the same crash as the A's 15 seconds later! I peeled off to the left as I saw Lisa F doing a wheelie into the whole mess. Crazy!

The total good news of the whole race is I didn't get my forked tail caught in any moving parts of my bike. The total bad news of the result was I got a compression flat with one lap to go! Total bummer!

After the crash, I got on Robin's...BAM, POW*...a.k.a. Melissa's wheel and stayed with her until she got around one chickie and I was stuck behind....story of my life don't you know. The single track was tacky, twisty and fun. The ground was a bit lumpy, probably the reason for my later flat.

For once, I didn't lose energy in the middle of the race. I felt strong and was steadly picking off opponents. The fact that people were strewn all over the course with technicals helped me out as well. Until I flatted.

I could see one more woman I thought I could pick up just as I felt my rear tire start to slide out some. I felt the rim burp on the ground and knew I was done. Oh well.

I carried my bike in with one lap to go. Darrell asked me if I wanted to finish the race and he would fix the tire but I said no. I didn't want to just finish. I wanted to be in that same spot with the same opportunity to catch another woman's wheel.

Tomorrow is another day and another race on the books. I am so tired now but am looking so forward to racing again!

Snow day

2009-10-27T17:48:00.004-06:00

My two companions and I stayed home today while a poor lad installed the hidden fence during the snowstorm.

I went outside long enough to walk the fence line, move my car out of the garage and take the dogs for a 20 minute romp at the dog park.

Either I'm going to have to go buy heavier cycling clothes, or, I see my riding future getting extremely dim until sunshine hits the pavement again.

It has come to my attention that I am happy. I'm not sure where I picked this piece of merchandise up, but the price tag seems ridiculously low.

I shopped for 6 plus dog years, putting an odd assortment of items in my basket only to find that they were made in Taiwan, guaranteed to last a fraction of their advertised life.

So, sorry for the lack of exciting posts, rants and craziness. Give me time. Something will rub me wrong eventually.

There it is folks. Happy people are sooo boring, aren't they......................

Draper 'cross race

2009-10-25T08:44:00.002-06:00

Most people pull out their weeping nappies when they hear the word "rain" in the forecast.

Cyclocross racers rub their hands in glee. They slither, bounce, jiggle around their house looking for layers of clothes, embrocation products and spare wheel sets. They practice their snarliest look in the mirror for the inevitable moment when pain is so great on the race course they need to distract the spectators from the tears pouring from their eyes, snot dripping from the nose and drool hanging from the left corner of the mouth. The look has to be practiced for spontaneity because all thoughts, intelligent or otherwise, are emptied from the brain the moment the race official says, "GO!"

There was no weather for my race. At 11:30am, I was greatly disappointed to see warmish weather and clear skies. At 2:30pm when the men A's and 35 plus A's raced in the pissing rain and 20 degree cooler temps, I was 99% happy to be standing on the side of the course in full rain gear! Perspective is amazing!

Doc has been standing in his pulpit, pen in one hand, paper in the other, preaching to the choir(me)the necessity of riding more than one hour a week. I've been snapping gum while I lounged in the pews rocking out on some ipod tunes and giving him the high sign. What does Dr Cross know?!

Excuse me, but hanging from aspens and pines, climbing ladders and carrying work crap around surely passes as a work out....doesn't it? (And for those of you who don't know me, I truly realize this is only preparing me for my inevitable decline back to primate status.)

I rolled up to the Draper course chewing on what my goals were going to be for that race and the following 7 races of the series. I knew I was eating the whole humble pie at Draper due to lack of riding so I put a check mark in the "going to get a bitchin' work out" column and pasted my smiley face on.

I warmed up for 30 minutes...(the Draper course is surrounded by hills so warming up was the only option.) I rolled up to the start and socialized with the huge mass of women there. Giggle, giggle, hee-hee, ha-ha...the official said go and everyone morphed into demons and off we went.

I tried to stay behind a wheel on the road climb. It was windy and since I hate road climbing, I wanted someone else to do the work. I landed on Lisa Fitzgerald's wheel and stayed with her through the single track until she slithered by two girls for the next set of single track. I ended up stuck on the wheel of a chick who was clearly not a mountain biker. We crept like snails throughout the second single track section while I watched my wheel of choice move away from me. C'est la vie.

I had some gear shifting issues from big ring to little ring. It created a little time slag on my part but probably it was probably more of a mental trip than anything. I didn't want to crank down on the peddles and have the chain break or bunch up anywhere so I coddled it a little. I loved the downhill sections and the sandy cornering. The first single track was fast and fun. The second set of single track was a little grueling but manageable. The run up was ok this year. I'm not a runner, otherwise I would pick a running sport. I managed that part, but didn't kill it.

The following single track was fast with a few tight corners and one short steep downhill followed by a short steep uphill. All and all, a really fun course....except the road climb.

Getting stuck behind the slow rider on the single track ruined my mo' for the beginning of the race but I chugged along. 'Cross is primarily about tactics and I screwed that piece up by not passing her earlier. I hit the proverbial wall mid race but it wasn't as high as the Great Wall of China so I was able to scale it for a recovery at the latter part of the race.

I more than met my goal for the race. My legs have been aching every morning from hanging Chrissy tree lights outside. I wasn't even sure I had anything to give for the race. But, like most cyclocross racers, I am addicted to digging deep to the valleys of twitching muscles and nerves and poking them with a red hot pitchfork. Crazy, huh?

My initial goal of just finish the race and "get a workout" turned into an intrinsic battle of wills. The voice of "you are incompetent" competing with the voice of pain to be overridden with the voice of, "HTFU..harden the .... .. and just do it" These are the voices of 'cross intermixed with the cries of support and the calling out of my name with the spectators. How can I give up when the finish quiets the inside voices and compels peace to reign once again in my soul?

Though.....I can still make a case for moo moo dresses and overindulgence of chocolate.

My humor is back from sabbatical.

2009-10-23T21:23:00.004-06:00

Small fact unknown to a country girl. Grocery stores in the city are very busy on Friday afternoon. As a matter of fact, the stores are less crowded than the parking lot. WTF!

Seriously, I consider myself pretty fortunate that I am traveling Foothills in the opposite direction of all the traffic. Unfortunately, they're probably going to some quiet country grocery store while I'm battling wits with the ADD business women trying to park next to Starbucks for a quick end of the week pick me up.

Interestingly, life is pretty simple even with the big move. I have been single for two and a half years. I liked it for the most part. Beyond the obvious part of living a disassembled life for a little bit while the boxes are being emptied, Doc and I are walking in step with each other. Life is not upset in any great manner.

Well, except for the part where my dogs have yet to meet his cats. Bella knows they're present since she sits at the bottom of the stairs intently peering through the dog gate. I'm not really sure if she's interested in the cats or their food.

And, the part where I had to find a gas station I wanted to make my regular pit stop. And, the grocery store I would buy my preferred food. And, riding my bike on a fairly regular route.

It's all coming together. Now, like everyone else, I just have to find time to ride my bike before night falls and the wompus starts roaming the streets looking for mischief. (The wompus is the fictional character that lived behind the living room piano in my childhood home. I am positive he followed me to Utah.)

It's all good. I just can not wait to beat the hell out of myself at the Draper 'cross race tomorrow.

Heber 'cross race

2009-10-20T07:00:00.004-06:00

Sorry to my loyal two readers. I have been in the middle of moving so normal life is in a state of nonexistence.

Saturday was a bluebird sunny day. The course is a few blocks from my house so I drove. I am an American and have earned the right to be lazy. Really. I also had fresh stans set up in my wheels and I wanted my pump in case I was still losing air. And a get away car in case the Russians invaded.

I showed up in time to gear up and get a pre ride on the course. I knew there was a small army of goatheads protecting the fairgrounds from anyone who wasn't holding a cone of cotton candy so I only rode on the race tracks.

Bloody fast and unforgiving. There wasn't a single, solitary spot to light up a cigarette and put my feet up. Jon gets a shiny new nickel for the approach to the run up. It was fast with a left hand turn into a barrier before the chunky run up of Mt Heber.

I did one lap and went back to the run up for one more try. I tried to strong arm Chris Sherwin into being my Sherpa during the race. Alas, he simply laughed at me. A girl has got to try.

The red haired siren and I went out for a spin on the road before the race. If I had any sense, I would have lost Melissa in the wilds of Heber. I am simply too much of a hostess, sigh. Gigi had forsaken us for a Big foot sighting adventure so I had the waffle station all to my self.

I tried something different for my start. I lined up in the second row. I wanted to see if staying on someone's wheel in the beginning would help me conserve energy in the end. This was the wrong course for that. It had a long fast stretch right smack into the barriers. Being in the front would have been an advantage rather than bottle necking with everyone at the corner. Also, picking the correct wheel to follow quickly became apparent to me. I need to be on someone who starts as strong as I do and I picked Kara. Normally this may be a good thing but she raced the men c's already so she wasn't quick to begin.

I felt strong in the beginning. Well, as strong as you can when your legs are pounding with blood and your heart is thumping out your ears. About the fourth lap, my body was trying to tell me something. I didn't hear it because I was busy spitting the metallic taste out of my mouth. More importantly, I was having a summit meeting between my legs, heart and brain. My legs felt like they ended in concrete booties and the other two primaries were screaming at them for a little cooperation. Sigh, why can't we all get along.

Brutal. I put a smiley face in the happy column when Kathy finally passed me after the remount on the barriers. It meant I could shortly nurse my ego with some buddies and suckle on my water bottle so get the nasty blood taste out of my mouth.

The good point of the race, I battled with the desire to quit and won.....again. I wish I could say I feel a surge of fitness knocking on my front door but realistically I haven't earned any such gift. Work has been physically demanding. The moving has been emotionally draining. Intellectually......competition doesn't mean much to me in the athletic arena. I'll never have that edge and I'm good with that. AND, I GOT A BUCK FROM FOX!

But, I love the sport and I dig the participants. In the meantime, I'll plan on having a big win when everyone I'm racing with has a big boozer the night before and are throwing up on the course.

The Doc knows best when it comes to cyclocross

2009-10-14T20:19:00.003-06:00

For the first time in my cycling life, I don't have to haul my bike to the shop. Darrell keeps fixing my bike ails. This time it was some clinking noise in the Ridley. Clearly it's brand new so the noise was making me a little insane. He fixed it..something to do with something. See, I already forgot what the problem was.

The best part is he took a pound off my bike. This is so AWESOME! It means I don't have to take any lbs off me....total bonus! He simply made my tubeless wheels tubeless. I have been running slime tubes in them. The whole stan technology seemed to time consuming and complicated for me. (yah, I know. Low tolerance level.)

So where does this leave me? With a lighter bike, and, the same absolute fitness I brought to the season. What does that mean? Who the hell knows. I think it means I'll still love the sport as much as I did with the cannondale...my mac truck.

Cycling country mouse moving to the big city.

2009-10-13T07:48:00.007-06:00

"Alice laughed. 'There's no use trying,' she said. 'One can't believe impossible things.' 'I daresay you haven't had much practice,' said the Queen. 'When I was your age, I always did it half an hour a day. Why, sometimes, I've believed as many as six impossible things before breakfast.'" Lewis Carroll from 'Alice in Wonderland'

I am freshly amazed each morning by how quickly life moves. I can hear the roar of it passing but like the jet in the sky, it's presence is barely discernible.

Sunday morning I was determined I was going to the Ridley 'cross clinic, sick or not. Fortunately, the day turned in to a sunny, mid warm sort of fall day.

I know I have written this before but it bares repeating. I have taught skiing for over 20 years. It's easy to break skiing down and teach it's components. I have a pretty good inkling of how people learn and how to motivate them to exceed their expectations. No big surprise, but Bart easily does this when he teaches 'cross.

The real burden of teaching is not the teaching. It is the part where you have to get through to the student. It would seem that some people have more hard wiring the information has to pass through. Others take the information as quickly as it takes to shuffle a foot on a carpet and then reach out and get a shock touching a metal object.

I was the kid in school who took the time to touch the window before the metal door handle so I wouldn't get shocked. Three years later, I not only understand the mechanics of 'cross but can execute them with some skill.

Like everything else we learn, once the basics have been installed in our hardwiring, we are ready for an upgrade. Example: No longer do I worry about dismounting after a corner. Instead I can see how Bart kept his front wheel turning while dismounting to keep the forward momentum of his body while lifting the bike. The visual is one of the bike moving at a horizontal angle to the ground but at a slight angle behind Bart. I have a picture but I have to dig it up.

Overall, another great clinic experience even though my calves were tight Monday morning.

The only other news on the front........the country girl is moving to the city. Yah, yah, for all you SLC'ers who say it isn't a city, it is. It is especially for someone who has always lived in a small town and has never had the interest to move to the city...EVER!

Sometimes though, as Aristotle said, "Change in all things is sweet."

You know you don't feel well.......

2009-10-10T18:00:00.002-06:00

.....when you stay home to clean behind the stove and refrigerator rather than race your bike.

I know. Most people stay in bed, or, snuggle on the couch with the mutts, or, sit in a hot soapy tub of mineral salts and lavender oil when they don't feel well.

I don't know how to do that. I'm "not well" learning impaired. I tried for thirty minutes this morning. I sat on the recliner couch whilst sipping my coffee and petting my dogs.

Then, hunger struck so I heated up some homemade chicken soup,(yes, for breakfast). Standing in my kitchen was enough of a reminder for me that I am moving in a few short days.

So it began while I stood there eating my soup. I pulled bits and pieces of my life off the shelves and started stacking and sorting. That led to vacuuming and cleaning. Somehow or another, I ended up pulling my fridge and stove away from the walls. I found staked out areas claimed by the massive hair/dust bunnies living there.

Now, all the dishes are sitting on my counters instead of in the cupboards. I ran out of steam about 2pm. I struggled with not going to the fairgrounds to watch the women race. I struggled with not watching Doc race. I struggled with not eating the pumpkin cake and banana bread I made,(trying to use up little drivels of ingredients that I don't want to move with me.)

Here it is, 6:15pm. I missed the race but I made some inroads on my new life. I do feel like the stuff cats regurgitate on the living room rug that still has bits of fur and bone attached. I do feel sad about leaving my home.

I also believe the teeter totter will swing in the other direction tomorrow.

Secret 'cross training

2009-10-06T19:26:00.003-06:00

My training started with a trip to the social security office this morning. Did you know they don't open their windows until 9am? I didn't. I supposed they would be ready to go by 8:30 at the latest. Did you know you need to jump through a whole lot of hoops to get back your birth given name? Yup, I'll be making a third trip in the near future.

I showed up at one of my gardens on top of Bald Eagle, DV to not garden but to power wash a deck the size of my house so we can stain it later this week. Much lower on the fun factor than splashing my bike through the Wheeler race course on a snowy November Saturday.

I wasn't too cold even though the temps were low enough that I was shoveling the snow off before I used the washer. And it was kind of fun to spray a neighbors cat teasing my dogs. The waterlogged gloves and shoes was totally reminiscent of a Heber race we had two years ago. The fairgrounds were waterlogged and the mud ripped derailers of bikes.

After clipping back a few plants, I packed up the dogs and we went for a little 'cross training. Riding with Bella is a bit like being in the midst of a bunch of ill mannered racers. She gets very excited to run with me and very upset if I pull away from her.

And then there is the necessary ball throwing session and pond skimming hour. I'ld like to say I receive serious benefits from these rides but I think it's more likely I'm piling more hours in the fun bag than anything.

But that's what I do.

Utah 'cross # uno, the pain cave

2009-10-04T10:48:00.004-06:00

Get your durrrr, da, durrr ready(cardboard on the inside of paper towels used for announcing special occasions). Roll out the wet grass. Dig the slippy slide from the basement. Practice breathing with a Darth Vador mask over your nose and mouth.

Ring, Ring. Hello? This is Matt, the Maitre'd of the Utah cyclocross series. I have your invitation to the PAIN CAVE!

Time to 'cross!

My secret 'cross training plan unfolded true to form at my first race yesterday. I wrung my hands all summer strategizing on my performance for the '09 season. Doc gave me outrageously silly advice like, "ride your road bike". Dayna said eat clean to fuel my body so I consumed lots of croissants.

(Oooh, speaking of fuel, I need a new intake something or other on my escape. The idle on it sounded a bit like my lungs yesterday for the first 20 minutes of the race.)

I listened to them just like I listened to my mother when I was a headstrong teenager. I knew they were correct but I was probably going to go my own way none the less.

I had some cool gadgets like a skin suit and carbon fiber bike. I lined up next to Christy Clay who was looking a little white around the gills. Sorry Christy, I should have offered to let you leave your butterflies with mine in my warm up jacket.

They gave us 30 seconds to go and I mentally counted down. At go, I jumped into the lead and held it stubbornly for the first few minutes. I held a pretty decent spot for the first lap which is a huge improvement from last year. This was the first thing that made me happy. I was passed by much of the field by the middle of the second lap but I was o.k. with that....I was following my secret training plan to the letter 'T'.

The second piece of the day that made me happy were the barriers and infield. I am approaching the barriers with quite a bit of speed and maintaining it while I run through them. The twisty turny infield with it's small rollers and logs fed my strengths in cycling so I was able to regain wheels there.

I still struggle with the long, open stretches. I'm told it's lack of power but I think it's total boredom with open space. Either that or my force field is creating too much friction with the gathering air space.

You know that gap between a man's waistline and his butt crack that is such a small distance but really needs to go away??? That was the gap between Melissa and myself for the latter half of the race. The jeans would get pulled up right near the barriers with me pulling right up to her just to fall back down to the crack on the following straight away. Fortunately for all of us, she has to have a party with her subsequent domination of me.

I didn't really see Kris Walker so much as feel her pushing against my force field. Close your eyes for the next paragraph because some of you all might not like this description of her approach.

It was like losing my virginity. It was going to happen at some point so the path of least resistance seems to make the most sense. It doesn't mean I just handed it over like a piece of coffee cake sans the fixins'. I dressed it up with a nice little dessert fork, purty piece of china and a glass of milk. There has to be some ceremony present. But, eventually, the coffee cake gets eaten and everyone is happy. (Ok, that description weirds me out a little but I'll keep it.)

Same with letting Kris pass me. I saw her coming up in the infield me so I prepared myself for the inevitable. About the time she passed, I had the perfect opportunity to follow her line over the logs. Damn, I wish she had done that sooner so I had a cleaner line throughout the race!

I finished, did a cool down lap with some of the gals and paraded myself back to the finish to chat with Doc about my mishaps and victories.

So with that, I have entered the 'cross season with a bitch of an opening race. I don't suppose I'll ever love the Weber fairgrounds for it's flat, wide open space but it's 'cross so I'll take it.

Hey, what do you call a dog's badankadank? Badogadank...ahahahahahahahha..I kill myself!

'Cross panic

2009-09-30T18:01:00.003-06:00

Can you believe we went from sunshine and fall to clouds and winter? I took this picture, yes, while I was walking Rocky and Bella this afternoon.

I tried the bike riding thing, because I had to. Brakes went on the car, no bueno. The bike ride was short but friggin' cold! Fortunately, Wayne loaned me the use of his car so I'll be rockin' the family van until Ford figures out what's wrong with my car.

So here is the thing, I worked by myself today at the distillery. No yacking, no constant questions, no music, no machinery...it was GREAT! And, I had a small room with a view of the falling snow. Now don't get me wrong, I am not ready for winter but the whole day was very peaceful...until the brake incident.

I have been oiling wood for one of the offices. I wish I could tell you what kind of wood but it goes in one ear and out the other. The fact is it doesn't matter. What matters is how beautiful the wood looks after the watco is applied. The varying colors pop up into an amazing kaleidoscope of reds and browns. Visit the distillery when it opens and check out the panels on the bar. It is the same wood.

I was embroiled in 'cross panic last night. It is likely that Friday will be my only ride day this week before the Weber fairground race on Saturday. Climbing scaffolding and ladders squished my desire to ride this week. Cold, snowy weather completed the damage.

The quiet of today brought it all back in to perspective. I don't know how or why, but I removed some of the fat layers insulating my sanity. I can count on one thing and only one thing on Saturday. It will hurt like hell.

Morning sun rise during our dog walk.

2009-09-29T17:50:00.000-06:00

Ski instructor, anyone?

2009-09-28T18:06:00.003-06:00

I walked the dogs at 7am before I left for work. It was the least I could do after only allowing them two thirds of my bed last night.

I showed up at mid mountain Deer Valley with a little trepidation about the cold. I may be a ski instructor but I don't like being chilled in any way, shape or form. My job, get this because I think it's truly funny, was to help my co workers take siding off a McMansion.

No way in hell do I see myself levering my body weight against a crowbar while standing on an extension ladder or scaffolding. It just isn't something I foresee myself putting on my resume. Fortunately, Edo knows this and put me on painting detail.

The good news? I spent the day with a crew of ski instructors I like. The bad news? Extension ladders. Some day when I grow up, I want to be able to move one while it's upright. Right now, I can do a bit of a crab walk/sideways shuffle with them. Anything else is pure comedy, and, broken windows.

The owner seems to appreciate the fact he sees me on all of Edo's work sites. Since he hasn't offered to make me his trophy wife, I expect he will continue to see me where ever Edo tells me to go.

What is the point of this post? Why to explain my 'cross training, of course. I did an 8 hour core workout combined with some serious step ups and lunges. My arms are tired enough from brushing that I don't suppose I'll attempt to train on my cross bike tonight.

We'll all be on the same site tomorrow with the hope we can get the major amount of our work done before the weather change.....maybe a nasty race on Saturday? Hmmm, I can only hope.

2009-09-27T19:14:00.001-06:00

Sugar house 'cross practice

2009-09-25T17:41:00.005-06:00

Perspective. That's what I got out of Thursday night. And sore legs and ribs.

There won't be any psychiatric hospital visits over the dismounting and remounting on the bike. Passing the right foot through the bike and left foot for the dismount is a snooze. I am moving with much more momentum and ease over the barriers. I still have a little hop remounting but I'm confident that will change soon.

No tire marks on the crotch from a missed remount. No flaying around on the ground because my foot didn't come un-clipped. I didn't create a domino effect by hitting a barrier.

I put on my invisibility cloak when Doc was looking for someone to lead the B group around the park. I wasn't sure it would work with a significant other, but it appeared to function since he picked Dayna.

Perspective:

I finished the evening with some unsettling feelings after watching some of the new women handle their bikes. It was somewhere along the lines of, "Holy crap, more newbies to whoop my ass."

Have you ever noticed that dog sitting next to the car waiting for the owner to come over and let him off the leash? He sits up, eyes focused, head twisting, tail wagging. Eventually, when he realizes the owner isn't going to come over, he settles down on his belly, head cupped between his paws, tail sitting silently.....kind of hopeful, but a little resigned.

I felt a little bit like that. A little resigned to my fate as a B woman racer. A mid pack filler while all the bloody gifted athletes soar past me in their first year of racing. Yes, I know, poor Mama T. Boo hoo hoo.

I did the mature thing. I assessed my feelings and decided how I would manage what I viewed as a potential beating this fall. Well, the problem with that is not all the personalities agreed with my analysis. I put democracy aside, put Mature Theresa in as the head of the monarchy and threw the peons in the cellar chained to the wall. Of course the echoes of their wailing still seeped up into my bedchambers so I took an ambien. Nighty night.

The next day, two things happened. I received a simple note from a friend and thought deeply about another one. One's confessions brought tears to my eyes. The other's troubled brow stirred my sympathy.

Through the complexities of our personalities, our goals, our lives, everything that makes us individuals, we make pure maple syrup a complex manufactured product with brown coloring that doesn't retain the original simple flavor of nature. Whooooaaa, that is not an explanation, Theresa!

As much as we try to be simple, we are not. It is the nature of the human beast. I was reminded by my two friends to not only use my crayons to color life but to borrow from them as well.
Blah, blah, blah, she says.

Maybe you will understand this. The fabric of our lives is a richly colored, multi patched quilt that needs tender care and many repairs. As much as I feel like I keep tripping over mine, I have capably repaired the torn bits. Occasionally the reminder that others are doing the same, makes the world more intimate and sane. Hell, quit with the metaphors, girl! Okay, I'm done.

However, with all that said. I still worry about the ass kicking! Just sayin'.

'Cross time

2009-09-23T18:48:00.006-06:00

Rad Racing, or, Holy Hell, I have to run up that?!.

2009-09-22T18:23:00.004-06:00

Just a cool picture.

I'm pretty sure any of you who have raced 'cross' know how hard it is to do back to back races. I know a 30 minute race appears to create about as much of a wave in the atmosphere as does a teardrop dripping into the Atlantic ocean. Trust me, it's hard and it hurts.

Once I finished the race on Saturday, I had to spin my legs out. I also had to grab some recovery drink from the car, slip on a dry top and smile/chat with D's relatives and my friends. This is how you know I'm not a real athlete....the chatting piece. By the time I started my spin, my legs were already feeling heavy from the race effort.

I ran into Dayna right away so we spun out together, until she flatted. Good part, we reviewed the race. Bad part, we walked back to the car with her flat. I hate walking. I dropped her with the gaggle of friends/family and spun for another fifteen minutes.

By the time I got back, changed, loaded the bikes, ate some food, finally peed...ewww, I know, but totally important...and said good byes, we were approaching 5:30. We both really wanted to be off our feet for the evening but had some obligations with watching the elites that evening. We shot home, drank water, showered, shot the shit, drank water, drove back, caught up with Jenn and Jenn, drank water, watched the elite women, used the toilets, drank water, watched part of the elite men and drove home.

We all know I would prefer to drink wine. As a matter of fact, I think I'll pause and open a bottle right now. Hang on.

You think drinking that much water is excessive? Not! Not when a second race is looming at 9am. And, an hour drive to get there. We were up at 5:30....(ah, small note. I was up at 4am because someone text ed me.).....with the car fully packed for the later flight home, and at the site by 7:30ish.

Registration was a breeze. Warm up was longer than the day before. My legs, however, felt like dead weight. I pre-rode the course only to find the dreaded run up was as heinous as described. Pre cyclocross racer Theresa would have come down with the swine flew right then and there, spat the dummy and walked home to Utah. Now, three seasons hardened, I winced a little looking at the steps to hell, swung my bike on my shoulder and started climbing.

What the hell do you do? I guess I figured I auditioned for a big girl part two years ago and finally got the wink.

Anyway, the race is a race. I rolled up late and didn't really care. I pulled in to my spot with the cat 4's and waited for the gun. I was kinda hoping the official would point the gun at me to put me out of my misery. Obviously, he didn't. Bang went the gun, punched it I did and pulled right into the middle of the group.

Like 30 seconds later with my legs pulsing with lactic acid, a little rabbit ran out in front of me. At that point, I thought Rooster was sending me a signal. I giggled a little and took all that is holy of a mantle off my shoulders. I raced. I made myself use bigger gears than was comfortable. I stood up even though my legs felt like they weren't going to support me. I kept my hands off the brakes on the downhills. I tackled that damn run up 3 times.

The whole race, I chanted to myself, "It's suppose to hurt." Really. Over and over and over again. I was so happy to finish the race. I finished 17th but the number doesn't really mean anything to me.

I'm not sure why I've picked 'cross' as my particular life challenge. I know it's made me use a different measuring stick for success. I have to stop and physically shake my head to dispel negative thoughts from building up in my head and paralyzing my body when I feel disappointment approaching. The days that I stop this process are the ones I know I have fed hope and pride.

Anyway, let's just say that I have many mixed feelings about my weekend. The one thing that stands out glaringly clear to me is that I LOVE this sport and can not wait for my next race!

A starcrossed weekend

2009-09-21T16:09:00.006-06:00

The annual chick trip for Dayna and me. You can't tell it from this pre race picture, but we're both shaking in our suits!

Going to Star crossed in Washington is a prime example of how D and I like to take a shortcut right to the busiest, most bitchenist 'cross' event of the year. Nooooo, messing around with some smaller event wouldn't have made any sense at all.

I still haven't made friends with my thoughts about the race. We're acquaintances surely, but friends, not so much.

We had an abbreviated warm up. Registration didn't open until 1pm and we didn't get the memo to leave a freshly squished skunk waiting in line for us while we warmed up. By the time we arrived at 1:15 after dealing with some mechanical issues, the line was longer than the absent but necessary line for redemption for all my 'cross' friends passing through the hazy place between a life of perpetual sweat or downy soft clouds. Hmmm, stress levels rose and I'm not talking about the flowers.

By the time I finished with registration, I had 15 minutes to raise my stress level to a high pitched scream heard only by my competitors. The course was a designed to look like the water of a flushing toilet. Everything circled around and in the velodrome until the center point inside only to be spit out into a septic system of grass and pavement. Fortunately, it had rained the night before so my arms could absorb the softened bumpy grass and dirt.

The course had a pavement start that hit a stretch of grass before rudely turning into a sharp left corner to a sharp right corner to a side hill to a very, very, very(remember this description) sharp left corner to some log barriers on a hill. Once mounted on the bike at the top of the hill, sharp right to very sharp left to some pretty simple straight aways and mixture of soft turns inside the velodrome.

A few easy barriers in the velodrome and we wound up and down the side hill of the velodrome exterior to a straight away one way to a straight away the opposite way. We were spat back out to the pavement with a few back and forths on the grass and back to the logs.

Simple course, no major hills and no confusing spots. ( And, yes, I am riding with Doc on Contender. Big surprise, no! Am I saddened to leave a fantastic team like Revolution/Peak Fasteners, YES! But the skinsuit came with it's own ass so how could I say no!)

Okay, back to the actual race. I had to get up and get a drink of water. My throat is dry from all this story telling.

Dayna's master group was called up while my group waited. Did I mention that the size of my group pushed against the ozone layer? Hmmm, no? Well, it gets better. I was #137. They were calling up in numerical order.........only the official had the papers backwards. He started with the names.....and called up #190 first. Hmmm, of course the women bitched. Of course, he thought it was typical y chromosome whining....until he turned the page...and saw his mistake....where he promptly started calling up from 101 after just finishing with 150. I ended up somewhere in the second to last row.

Whatever. I had a smidgen of panic but it was 100% more about standing in a large group of women about to beat the crap out of ourselves. Whistle went off, we charged. Nah, not really. I was in the wave in the back. It was a bit more like a soft roll out.

I hit it as hard as I could to stay on the wheel of the chick standing next to me. I knew she would be fast and I wanted to follow her path. We made it out to the barriers when all hell broke loose. (Maybe 3-5 minutes in) Women were splatted all over but I made it by them to go over the barriers. I mounted at top only to have someone tip over right in front of our group. Damn, damn, damn.

I didn't fall down but my front wheel was stepped on. I hurriedly remounted and took off....kinda. My handlebars were ready to go, but my wheel was pointed sideways. Sigh. Apparently my mechanic, me, hadn't tightened the headset enough. Sigh...I'm not paying the mechanic this week.

Anyway, between the cluster fuck and the adrenaline, by the time I fixed the wheel, seconds really, I was taking up DFL.

What do you do? Do I just quit? Do I burst into tears, throw my bike, tear apart the course tape like the Tasmanian devil? Or, just keep racing? Yeah, I raced. Trust me, I had more than one moment when I thought of letting the air out of my tire on the hidden back stretch. Delirium does that to you.

Fear of failure is an interesting emotion. As much as we think the burden is from the exterior, the waterways of failure run through our interior. While I didn't want to be a smear on the windshield for my 'cross' mentors, my own demons are a whole lot more vicious with their feedback.

I pushed through any conscious thought of ANYTHING and just turned over the pedals. I shut off everything but pushing as hard as my body would let me. I don't think I made a huge impact on the overall race but I finished. I'm sure I'll have more to talk about as soon as I have more time to process the experience. I'm still soggy now and will probably be that way for a little while.

We went to Rad racing the next day but I'm too tired to write about that one now. Tomorrow. The pictures below are just a teaser. After the race Sunday, Dayna drove me to her childhood home. Very cool spot in Olympia on the water.

Remind me not to follow her around just cause she says so....two brutal races and climbing down and back up these stairs was her idea of recovery. Bitch.

Re-memories

2009-09-14T18:48:00.004-06:00

Just my thought for today.

Sometimes I have to let unexplainable and irrational behaviors run a little wild. They're old friends who have entwined their roots in my very being and flourish during unexpected moments.

I slow myself down in all areas of my life so I can catch the wisp of a clue. Hah, who needs to slow down when life is so happy to hand over the reasons. I realized Mum's anniversary is Thursday. Seems like I should be over her death, but, apparently I'm still mourning her.

Is there a deadline? Shouldn't there be a definitive moment when memories become re-memories that don't have the same tweak of pain? You know, memories that can only be repeated because there are no new memories to have.

Just my thought for today.

2 b or not 2 b

2009-09-13T17:31:00.004-06:00

This is one of my all time favorite pictures. I took the picture doing my favorite thing in the world, meandering with the dogs.

Every day I wake up and make a decision before my feet swing from my bed. The triumvirate is complete with Rocky and Bella nosing in on the outcome. (Particularly the last few weeks when my ribs have been tender and Bella slaps her big hound paw on them.) Most mornings, the touch of Rocky's silky ears and Bella's insistent nose in my neck, color the vote.

2b, or, not 2b....present and accounted for with loved ones, with strangers, with work, or, with me. Ah, life is so complicated with Theresa all the men think. Not really. Most people know what cards I'm holding because I lay 'em out on the table. Isn't that right, Doc?

This morning was not 2b. But it was still successful because I have a partner who recognizes this, listens to me and is comfortable letting me come around at my own speed. I think he's using a little reverse psychology on me. It worked. Once my hair settled back down on my head, I was ready 2b.

Wonder what tomorrow will b?
Sugar house park cross practice run up hill...it sucks.

Man or woman, does it matter who passes you?

2009-09-11T17:01:00.006-06:00

I am a self admitted speed freak. I love to drive fast and I don't particularly like someone driving slow in the passing lane. (Slow to me is under 75.) It is inconsiderate and irritating.

Now, don't get me wrong. I don't tailgate, flash my lights, give fingers, wave my arms or anything like that. I fume a little in my own head and then I settle in.

Yup, I nestle in my brain and hit emotional neutral. Alas, my sense are alert. I am aware of the idiot who is speeding up the right lane apparently unaware of the car moseying along at 55 directly in front of him/her. You know who I'm talking about. That driver that slams on the brakes, jerks to the left narrowly missing your passenger side bumper, sucks up to the inconsiderate bastard going 75, only to jerk in front of the 55er to barrel on down the highway.

Do you notice the gender of the driver? Do you care? Myself? No clue. I'm still in adrenaline overload with my hair follicles tingling. And, maybe just a little jealous that he is free of the congestion while I am diligently playing by the rules..kinda, except for the speed thing.

Where the hell are you going with all of this, Theresa? I'm not sure because now that I'm in my fourth decade, I lose track of my thoughts all the time.

Oh yeah. I was thinking about 'cross'. Of course. What else is there to think about when September rolls around? I was hoping and praying that the Utah cross fairies had answered my prayers. (Can't you just see Matt and Jon in taffeta dresses sprinkled with glitter?.....Hmmm, a Halloween outfit perhaps?)

See, I consider myself a well traveled 'cross' racer with a deeper bucket than most to dip my proverbial experience ladle in....damn, I am a master at this stuff...OK, ALRIGHT...so I only raced in Oregon for four races last year besides the Utah series. I am an exaggerator extraordinaire.

But, I enjoyed, no, I adored....wait, I savored more than a succulent piece of dark chocolate, the opportunity to race with better females racers than me. It was an inspiration to be on the course with so many incredible female athletes. I know they were incredible because they lapped me. Sue Butler looked like she had wings on her feet when she sailed by me over the barriers. I had time to watch her because there was a five barrier set up after a dirt/stair run up that was so steep I could barely get my knees high enough to make the stair. My feet felt like there was cement caked up higher than my ankles.

Lap me, she did. But, she also had enough air in her lungs to say "good job" to me as she passed. I was touched by a goddess! She didn't have to do that. I realized the spirit of the sport is not about 1st, 2nd or last. Yup, here it comes. I just can't post without adding something crunchy granola.

The spirit of 'cross' is about community. A group of people who somehow slipped under the microscope of a sane society to congregate and participate in a sport that all but demoralizes us by it's sheer fickleness. It doles out great pain, nasty weather, intolerable pain..oh, I already mentioned the pain...technical preciseness and a grasp of all that is great and horrible about this sport. But as a community, we are dedicated.

It doesn't matter to me if it is a man from the C class or a woman from the A class passing me on the course. I still want to pitch my bike straight at their heads. Er, I mean, it isn't a statement about me. I hope I have enough air in my lungs to wheeze out a "good job" to someone...anyone actually....even the person following me to take down the course.

Star crossed

2009-09-07T16:14:00.003-06:00

Realization one this weekend, I was tired and needed Saturday off the bike. Realization two, standing around to support Stormrider at the PCPP from 9:30 to 3:30 was enjoyable but not relaxing. Realization three, if I didn't go on a bike Sunday, I was going to turn into an overfed, belly dragging sloth. So I put in three hours on the road. Realization four, I am a lazy ass cyclist when I can't even stand up at a house warming party Sunday night because my legs are tired. Realization five, despite Gigi's fervent denials of fitness and Rhonda's proclamation of an easy ride, mountain biking with them today has left me a mere shadow of my former self.

There is a whole lot of other realizations but they aren't so important. The fact my bathroom is still unpainted, my apple tree limb is dangling and the outside of my house still needs paint touch-ups is trifling.

The fact that Dayna and I are leaving for StarCrossed and Rad racing cross is the reason for my sudden amped up cycling energy. We decided to forgo the Oregon trip this year and tackle some new events. I'm excited to do these bigger races in such a cross crazy state. My expectations are that I won't stun people with my finesse and fitness but will have the chance to get my legs and head going for the cross season.

Ah, the glory and pain of cross...can't wait!

Osprey

2009-09-06T14:34:00.002-06:00

This osprey has been bugging me since early this spring. There are several nests on my bike route and I usually stop to watch them each ride. I see as many as 6 of them perched up on the telephone poles over by soldier hollow and I never quite knew if they were ospreys or not.

I finally got a picture and looked it up. Sure looks like an osprey to me...very beautiful.

I felt like I belonged on the bike today. The vacations and the rib smacking made it hard to get my rhythm back. But this white girl can dance even if it's a bit rusty at times.

I have big plans this week for the bike. My boss also has big plans with me painting. The trick is making the two work together. I think climbing ladders will work on my strength training for the next few weeks. The painting should help me bulk up my guns, at least on my cross carrying side.

Are you going to eat that?

2009-09-04T15:27:00.002-06:00

I was hungry earlier today. I rode PCMR with Rhonda for a bit and then had to split off to make work on time. I wasn't hungry at the car. Not interested in food while I loaded some brush in my car. I ate an apple while I talked to Maple leaf, only because I knew it was good for me. I wandered around the liquor store looking at wines when all of a sudden I had a vision.

It was a vision of a grease laden, sloppy BK burger with a side of nasty fries. Whooooooaaaa, WTF! That pretty much scared me. I looked around to make sure no one noticed my impure thoughts. Hanging near French bordeaux's and Burger King flashes through my head? Plebian!

Clearly I had lost my mind so I thought why not buy some liquor store beer. Beer? I don't really like beer. I don't even know the difference between a lager and a pilsner. Sinful, I know. I'll probably have my card carrying hops and wheat friends rip my friendship card in half.

I know, I know. You are all waiting to hear if I went to see the King. I didn't. I ate my avocado, slivered almonds and cottage cheese that I had stored in my little lunchbox. Sigh...boring...loser... I can't even dress up the description of my lunch. It's so, old age, healthy, bleck.

It's the thought of cross season that held me back. Carrying that burger jiggling around in my blood stream, filling up my arteries and buckling the seat of my pants with more dimples than a golf ball...that thought is enough to stop me in my tracks...today.

On a positive note, I managed to get five rides in the past six days, four of which had some belly and substance to them. The cross training night wasn't much but damn my ribs hurt so much the next day, I could barely get out of bed.

Maybe that's why I have visions of burgers dancing in my head.

Cross training

2009-09-02T23:17:00.002-06:00

I took Rocky and Bella out for a little training this pm. Well, that was after I found all the parts for my cross bike that needed to be put back on. Fortunately for me, Doc had worked on my broken front brakes(from Bali) and my rear derailer. I had about an hour before I had to get ready for some dinner with Dayna at Wahso. (It took us two hours to get the waiter to warm up to us...huh, hard to believe.) Bike, dogs and me off to figure out this mounting/dismounting stuff.

The big muscle that runs down your back goes right into your ribs. Yeah, that's the one that helps you pull your center back on the bike for a remount. It was a little tender for the first 30 minutes. I'm not sure it got any better but I was caught up in the fun of cross again so I didn't notice it as much.

I found this great spot for run up practice. It's funny how soothing it is to just practice instead of riding like the friggin devil so lack of fitness doesn't sneak up and smack me in the head in September.

Next up, riding with two roosters at Glenwild tomorrow night. Mmhmm, that's right.

Doctor knows best

2009-09-01T19:40:00.003-06:00

At least that is my maxim from this point forward. I had to go for my yearly indignity, physical exam, today. Seriously, I'm sure they use a small hourglass to measure each patient's time in the office. DING, last molecule of sand passes through and you had better hope you don't have any cold steel in any parts of your body because the doc is out the door. Don't be so cynical, Theresa.

Okay, I agree this doesn't really apply to my doctor. She answers my questions, asks appropriate ones and even has time to flatter me. Yup. She did. She told me I was extraordinarily fit and healthy for someone my age. Well, don't you think that would make me feel warm and fuzzy. No, it didn't. Actually, it kinda made my anal glands itch and burn a little.

So, I was polite and I didn't scratch in front of her. I also kept my mouth shut because I knew she thought it was a compliment. It's just that, "someone my age" thing makes my colon clench. I'm 46, not 70. And, I work blinking hard to maintain a modicum of fitness so my sagging chin doesn't swing out and smack my 30 something year old friends off their bikes.

Anyway, back to my point. She pretty much thinks my health looks like this..........................

because she is looking at my exterior, and probably not my posterior.

But if she took a good look at my bones and ligaments, she would get a gander of this.......................

Frankenstein has nothing on me.

Alas, she pissed me off a little. For someone my age...hah, I laugh at you. I mock you. I, oops, damn that rib hurts when I fling myself around.

Pretty small thing to be irritated with, isn't it? Hey, eventually I'm going to be 47 and I need to savor these younger, furious days.

Humiliating injury

2009-08-30T20:24:00.002-06:00

I expect to get injured here or there from cycling or skiing. Riding bikes 6 days a week and skiing sometimes 30 to 40 days in a row mean the stakes have to go up. I came out of last ski season with a little bit of 'stuff ' torn in my shoulder and lower back. I routinely whiplash my neck on mountain bike. There was a reason I wasn't sent to ballet school as a youngster.

But, to slide a chair leg off a deck and crash my ribs into a metal pole at a picnic of strangers when I wasn't drinking, that just seems unfair.

After a night san z's and no moving or breathing deeply, I was feeling a little sorry for myself this am. So I hit the gin bottle. NOT! That would have ended with me tripping over the rug going into the bathroom or something. I hit the caffeine fast and furious and geared up for a mountain bike ride with the flying kiwi and the crazy canuck, Ruthie and Gigi.

The climbing didn't seem to rattle my cage too much. That usually hurts anyway so a little extra pain is almost unnoticable. The abrupt front wheel stops into roots wasn't a ride in the amusement park. (BTW, I hate amusement parks!) Ruthie blasting us downhill over gargantuan rocks and moving roots was kind of high on the pain meter. And Gigi egging me into a big gear climbing the stupid ass hill to John's definitely sucked. (Oh yes, your hair will get wet during cross season, Gigi.)

Now, I'm paying for the ride with handfuls of aspirin and doses of chocolate. Thanks Gigi....I'll be injured and fat to boot! I would really like some friends with the ability to model normal behaviours, i.e. staying home when injured so the court jester can rub my feet.

Riding legs are back.

2009-08-29T09:54:00.002-06:00

This little guy was giving me some lip yesterday while I was working. I don't know if he just didn't like the way I was handling the daisies or if he is normally a curmudgeon.

I put three road rides under my belt during the week. The experience has taught me that I will probably never do another cycling season vacation without the bike. A few days off is fantastic for the body, ten days, not so much!

Cycling is as natural as breathing for most of my friends. They spend all winter turning the pedals, or for some inexplicable reason, have enough fitness base they can jump back on the bike in the spring without suffering. I don't know if they run sandpaper over their backside to ensure the calluses are tough as bark or if they have lungs the size of elephants, but they don't appear to have an adjustment period.

I love cycling, in a reluctant manner. Perhaps I "should" want to hop on my bike after a 7 hour winter day of being bundled in heavy clothing and putting my body in awkward positions to help the guest enjoy a sport that is as easy as breathing for me. But I don't. I want to hop in comfy clothes in a 70 degree house, throw a blankie over me and pretend I'm a princess while the jester serves me hot chocolate and rubs my feet. Is that too much to ask?

I'm wandering a bit here. The point is, I look at my bikes a little sideways come springtime. They don't become friends until mid summer. And surely don't become best friends until cross season. "It's just like riding a bike." Aaargh, don't I know that maxim!

No more vacations san bike. I have to pay the penance now and hop on my bike.

Back to biking....

2009-08-26T17:36:00.015-06:00

I'm off to dinner with some ski clients...yes, I said it....ski clients. Take a look at these pics from my own self,(I'm using Canadian grammar now in case that sounds funny). I'll add some narrative after din din.

Darrell looking in to his future...watch out for the sharp objects coming at you...poor man. If I was superstitious, which I"m not not unless you call an absolute refusal to walk under ladders with paint cans hanging on them, I would wonder about this pic in Port Townsend.

I like this picture for the obvious reason. I have labeled it, "a storm brewing in a woman's life". Usually an apparent situation with most of the ladies I know.

Court is convening in the hobbit forest of Quinault lake.

Ocean shores....look up kid, you're future is rolling in......

Isn't this sweet? Really, I mean it!

I flew back in from the Canada Monday night, a U.S. territory north of us. Oh man Maple Leaf, does that just get under your skin?! We flew in to Buffalo, crossed the border in Niagra and drove through a tornado to Lake Severn.

We were greeted with a weekend of beautiful sunsets.......

breaky on the deck....................

a few canoe trips into the back areas of the lake..........

while we comfortably resided in a cabin right on the lake shores.

We stopped on the Canadian side of Niagra on our way in,(of course loaded with beer from duty free in the boot).

I love traveling, but stick a fork in me cause I"m done for a bit. Well, until the annual trek to Oregon for 'cross racing.....................

When the earth stops spinning so damn fast, I'll have an update.

2009-08-26T07:40:00.001-06:00

"OH SHIT, WHY DIDN'T SOMEONE TELL ME NIAGRA WAS SO STEEP!"

Play time

2009-08-13T15:40:00.003-06:00

I'm heading out for some play time the next ten days.

Yup, I know it seems like my whole work thing is a play thing.

It isn't. I just like what I do.

First up is the Washington coast for five days. Can you hear and smell it....the ocean, birdbrain?!

Then, I'm home one day to go in the opposite direction.

Canada ay. I'm gonna bag me some donuts and real beer. Nawww, Mapleleaf's Ma and Pa have their 50th wedding anniversary in Toronto on August 23rd. I thought I would mosey on up there to keep in the parents good graces. They sit pretty high up on the list of people I would do most anything for....accept marry their daughter so she can have a green card.

So I'm off on another 2 hour tour tonight and tomorrow...I'm afeared I'm going to lose all my fitness in those ten days. Hell!

Two hour tour

2009-08-13T06:50:00.002-06:00

The ying and yang of road cycling is finding the perfectly quiet road to spin on while keeping the heartrate at a decent high. Alas, the world according to Theresa, that is.

Sometimes I feel like Gilligan pushing off from shore. It is meant to be an ordinary piece of my day. Unlike Gilligan, it doesn't become a crazy adventure but a chance to see some extraordinary sights.

A red tail hawk appeared to be following me for a portion of my Kamas to Francis to Woodland loop. My phone camera didn't take a decent pic of her so she is wandering around the universe undocumented and free.

Two hours on the bike feels comfortably easy. One set of goals have been met.....a natural desire/need to get on the road bike. The rest of my goals have to do with racing cross.....mostly gaining more power.

I expect the 40 minutes will still hurt like a mother no matter how much riding I do this summer!

Taping and sanding

2009-08-11T19:49:00.002-06:00

I spent yesterday and today scraping, sanding and taping off windows. I love this house so it isn't much of a hardship to do the work. I like the sounds of nature so I don't usually listen to my ipod. The house is big enough that the four of us are spread out doing different tasks. I am the starter, Raphael cleans up the windows and wood, Mike does the primer and Edo finishes with the paint. Easy.It might seem like I get the dirty end of the deal but I'm a detail orientated so it suits me.

The real danger of my job isn't my tendency to overreach when I'm on ladders, or, carry the razor in my mouth with the blade still out(saves me time not putting it back in). It's the free radical brain time. Mike generally interrupts that with some stupid y-gender comment like, "Hey Threeese, do you think lesbians couples have standard top and bottom postions in sex?" That was the topic du jour. There are many more where that comes from. Fielding these questions makes me realize that apparently I have been a bad, bad girl and am paying some sort of karmic dues.

I packed work in around 3pm and went for a mountain bike ride out of DV. Not only is the house right there, but I had a meeting with ski school at 5:30pm. Yup, I said it...ski school. Winter looms, my friends. As a matter of fact, when I was riding up tour de homes to get to Mid mountain, I was bloody well thinking rosebud is pretty steep for a green run! Hell!

I went from there to Mid mountain to empire to TGIF to tour de suds to some trail that I have never been on before but it was steep and twisty...fun. Great ride.

The meeting.....hmmm, what can I say except the mean age of the room was 60, and, possibly, the waist size the same. (Slight exaggeration about the waist.) John, our manager likes to keep us updated on any new developments at DV. I like to go because it gives me a portion of the 12 clinic credits I need each winter.

Other than new heated decking at silver lake and taking over the Deer Valley lodging from it's previous losers...not DV, BTW, this summer has been relatively quiet for development. The St Regis in Deer Crest is scheduled for opening in Dec of '09'. The Montage in Empire is still scheduled for Dec of '10'. So far, the first 22 H2B visas have been approved, primarily for natives of commonwealth countries.

The real news is that ski school won't be allowed to ride the people mover up to the St Regis, guests only. Bummer! That means after dropping guests off at the hotel, I will have to ski down to and ride Deer Crest, slowest chairlift existing in order to ski to base for my days finish. The people mover has a much higher cool factor..and faster.

Meeting over, soon to be married house mate done crying and I am ready to hit the hay at 8:30pm. Where do my days go?

Heber to Kamas, via Midway and Charleston

2009-08-09T15:36:00.003-06:00

Sometimes a route,(that's not root, for all you aussies), gets so built up in my head that I dread the day I decide to do the ride.

I have had mixed feelings about the climb into Kamas from Heber since I was in Mum's womb. (Yah, I could sense that someday I would cut the umbilical cord and traipse 2000 miles away from home to needlessly raise my heart rate and tire my legs.)

That first hill looks like the road to trepidation, not redemption. Today I put on my big girl shorts and pulled myself away from nursing another cup of coffee for the chance to raise my ticker a few beats.

As an aside, Joel, Jennie's siggie other, was the one who clarified the need to climb hills to me. He said it was the easiest way to raise his heart rate so that is why he likes climbing. Who knew the goal was to raise the heart rate...!

I don't know what the temp was this am, but lets just say friggin cold for August. It raised my hackles straight away. I warmed my body up by heading into Midway from where I live in Heber, over on the south east side of main street.
I took river road to forty because I knew I needed my body to warm up to the idea of climbing a hill.

The road to Kamas......has been built up in my mind like the monster under my bed when I was a kid. When I looked under the bed and simply saw tumbleweed, I was a little disappointed. When I climbed the hill to the Jordanelle overlook, I was dang happy to find out it wasn't as bad as I thought.

The rest of the ride to river road into Francis was mildly hilly with one great downhill that I knew I would have to climb in order to go home. When I turned around in Francis, I had a second of brilliance about that hill. It was only a moment in time. One small fraction of my life would be spent climbing on the way home. I have spent harder moments convincing people to slide down a 1% grade on a ski hill.

Can you hear the boasting? The pure pride of accomplishment. I admit it, it's there. I don't love riding on the road. It started as a means to the end for cross season. Today was a breakthrough day. I did what I set out to do without any shortcuts. I rolled back into Midway and sat on a bench with my coffee. I realized I wanted to stay out longer, so I did. I spun the bike out to soldier hollow and checked on my favorite falcon nests. I went through the farms in Charleston to check out some more nests and then made my way home.

Now, I'm waiting for raspberry coffee cake to finish cooking so I can take the mutts for a walk before engaging in the battle of the century. The SLC world croquet tournament at Dayna's house. I pretty much suck at ball sports so I'll consume some wine to make it more interesting.

Struggles, my future mountain bike

2009-08-08T07:48:00.002-06:00

I'm going to name my next mountain bike "Struggles". I love riding the mountain bike. I think naming it Struggles may help me make friends with the few baby demons I have irritating my backside. You know, "keep your friends close, but your enemies closer." Something like that.

In the whole scheme of things, my demons are almost cartoonish. I have the one that I like to call Sugar. Sugar is sweet and deceptively accomodating, but also comparitive to having that trashy house tenant with 10 raggedy ass, ill mannered children. I mean, the rent is paid, but the house is turning into a rickety old shack.

The other main one is Hormones. When I was younger, Hormones came to visit once a month. Don't get me wrong, she showed up with a complete array of gucci luggage. And she wanted plenty of space to spread out and look at her goods. But she had lots of adventures so her stays were short and exciting. Now, she just drags in a worn, old leather trunk. It's plastered with stickers from her life adventures. And, it's heavy so she doesn't like to move it around too much. She stays longer and sounds like a constant drip on an aluminimum sink basin.

So, I plan on making them my bike companions. That way I can carry on a conversation without expending too much energy. I'll try not to move my lips but I think it's better to keep the conversation out in the open rather than screaming in my head. Bad for my health.

Carry on. I have a ride planned today with Sugar. Hormone is on vacation.

2009-08-04T17:06:00.004-06:00

I guess the great thing over the last three years is I have learned a lot about trees from my geeky tree guy. Or, at least enough to know when they are diseased, or, lacking water, or, too much water and how to take care of them.

The real problem is that most people don't take care of their trees. They value them for their privacy shield and maybe for their beauty but not much else.

I love my new clients. They bought their DV home in February. Instead of putting flower beds and fluffy stuff first, they really want a facelift for the trees. If I say we need more sprinklers, they say do it. If I want fertilizer, they clap their hands and it appears. So far the only thing they don't want to do is take down any trees. I'm all for that because proper care may save them.

It is mucho trabajo! I'm slowly making a dent in the work. It has been about trimming dead branches, large and finger size, assessing and taking down some small diseased ones and contacting my lawn guy about the ones that need fertilizer and, or, sprayed for insects. If I had time, I could do the fertilizer. But, I don't. I don't want to be licensed for spraying so I leave that for the big guys.

Needless to say, I don't think a ride will happen tonight. I could be wrong. I may jump on the bike for 45 minutes just reassure myself that my legs are still attached to my body. I don't think so.

More important is a shower to get all the itchy teeny sticks and sap off my body.

I love my job.

Saturday ride

2009-08-03T14:27:00.002-06:00

Reverse.

I finished the evening standing on Deb and Wayne's deck, post tiki party, watching the fireworks with Doc. Real fireworks, not the ones that shoot out of Debra's eyes when Wayne pisses her off. Ruthie had just finished harassing us, (nuff said), when we decided it had been a very long day for both of us. It was time to wash the sin of mojitos from our skin and go to sleep.

I walked over to party since they're only a few blocks from my adobe. Have I mentioned how much I love cycling and abhor walking. The only thing I dislike more is traffic congestion. Heber was a circle of craziness because a parade had just finished on main street. Hence the walking.

I found a big old terracotta flower pot to fill with dirt cake for the festivities at Deb and the man who will remained unnamed. (I am still a little annoyed with the heinous ride on Friday described in the previous post. I plan on referring some evil child to him this winter on the ski hill.) I probably should name the cake shortcut cake because I was too tired to do my normal thing and make everything from scratch.

At the Canyons, I rode the lift back down to my car after the award ceremony. (My bike was in the car...no wheels, no walk.) I sat there surrounded by amazing people. They all have their personal stories/sagas. Looking back at that picture of us, I still feel the power of the brightness and strength pouring off of all of them. Amazing.

I waited at the finish line for Ruthie and Gigi to come in, two of the most inspiring people I know. Ruth finished with her usual aplomb. She had barely eaten breakfast, nothing for lunch and still looked like she was ready to take a bull by the horns. Gigi came in overheated and tired, but smiling. I hunkered down with her for a bit while she got her legs back under her.

They both podiumed. Pretty proud of them in fact. I can write about it now because I have had a little space to think about the day. I stood at the finish feeling the heat pound through my jersey. My water was tepid and unappealing. I felt dirty and was tired of squinting into the sun. Strangely, I felt pinned there until the two of them came in. For some inexplicable reason, each of them have brought tears to my eyes in less than a weeks time.

I did ride 2.5 hours that am. Maybe I was tired from so many hard days in a row. I don't think that was it. I believe Mum has revisited me in these two gals.

It was a good day.

A weekend of riding...what else.

2009-08-02T11:51:00.005-06:00

You see this picture. Shed away from this man. He looks all docile with the Yes Dear glass. Hah, don't let it fool you.

I asked for a simple three hour road ride. Three. Not two, not four...no where in the middle. The process of adoring road biking is long coming to me. It's somewhere in the shimmery distance of my future. What, I'm 46 and there isn't much distance? Exactly what I'm talking about.

The bunny took me to Chalk Creek. Yah, yah, whatever to all you roadies. I know this is like child's play for you. Remember it's like bailing hay to me.

Innocent enough. The climbing isn't difficult, the traffic light, the weather perfect, road is close to excellent....company...hmmm, lets leave that for now.

I hit my, "this is silly and where are the rocks and when do I get to perch above my saddle", about an hour and a half into the ride. I can't help it. I feel like one of the slave rowers taking the emperor for a spin in his boat on the calmest river existing. Turn the crank over and over and over.......aaaargh!

My brain is like an attic filled with junk. Everything is place just so, albiet a little precariously balanced. Riding mountain bike requires attention to detail. The junk might wobble a little but it usually stays put when most of my energy is focused on staying alive. Yeah, not so much with road riding. The junk does not stay in the trunk!

Anyway, we reached the Wyoming border right before my mental breaking point, about 2 hours. Oh goody, we get to go back and lose some elevation. Headwind. I didn't actually have a temper tantrum out loud. I couldn't spit the dummy and sit on the junk trunk at the same time. Wayne would have kindly let me hang on his wheel but I'm a stubborn cuss. I wanted 3 hours of a workout and wasn't going to suck off someone elses wheel. We finished in 3.5 hours. Wayne and I are still friends. Mostly.

You see this gate. It's too my backyard. It is open 75% of the time.

Our new friend, Matilda or Tilly for short, entered our lives just over a week ago. She adopted Ruthie and Troyboy. She advertised for someone who would walk her at 2am, a human chewtoy and excitement 24/7. In return, she would wag her tail faster than any top could spin and swap spit with any brave soul who gets close to her face. She's a doll.

Rocky doesn't care about her because she isn't round like a ball.

Bella thinks she is a chippie and is all for a good chase around the yard.

Anyway, that is our story for now. I have something else brewing in my head but I have some turf to swing and a recovery ride to spin.