The Biggest DNF Of All Time - My Marriage

If you read here regularly, you might've guessed by now that something happened. I sort-of fell off of the edge of the blogging earth, and largely off of my other online activities as well. As it turns out, my life has been pretty crazy lately: my husband and I separated two months ago, just six months shy of our 20th Wedding Anniversary. In sports terms, I guess that's a DNF (Did Not Finish). In reality, it's just weird, painful, and awkward, as well as also hopeful, exciting, and freeing. It's a lot of things all rolled into one.

Before anyone offers warm fuzzy feelings, I'm doing fine. I won't go into the reasons here, but suffice it to say that I took my wedding vows seriously, and had very good reasons for leaving. I still care for my separated husband (I guess he's not officially an ex right now), he's a good guy and we have remained on good terms and wish each other well.

Other than a whole lot of anxiety about finding a job, preferably within my skill set (anyone want a software QA person??), this experience is really a net positive. Which is not to say it's not tough. Heck, an Ironman is a net positive and it's tough as hell. So is this. But I know that I will work through it and persevere and come out the other side tougher. If there's one thing I've learned from triathlons it's this: the only way to end the discomfort is just to keep moving through it.

Okay, that's all I have to say. You can give me some hugs now.

It May Seem Difficult At First...

I can't express how much I love this quote. Sometimes, as capable adults, we forget this very simple fact: everything is difficult at first. Maybe that's why parenthood is so great, we get to experience something that we don't remember much of: the learning process from the ground up. There's a reason that baby's first steps are a Kodak moment. But we forget how much time and energy go into mastering even those "baby steps": strengthening the core muscles by first pushing up, then sitting up, then crawling, strengthening the legs by pulling up on furniture and "cruising", walking around and holding onto things, letting go and standing and trying to balance, falling down on your bum and doing it over and over and over again.

It's hard to keep this in mind though, even though it's a lesson I learn over and over again. I recently took up playing the piano more than casually again, mostly because we finally got rid of our old out-of-tune upright and got a digital piano which is beeeyoootiful (and in tune). I don't know why I thought I could just sit down and sight-read and play easily, but guess what? Learning a new piece is difficult, and takes a lot of work. I need to sit down every day and practice (yes mom, just like you told me!) Lesson learned. Again.

I spent last night at our Wing Chun (Kung Fu) class. The drills we are doing are completely unfamiliar to me, and very different in almost all aspects from what we do in Karate. Where Karate is hard, meeting force with force, Wing Chun flows around. Where Karate is straight, Wing Chun is circular. It's so.... difficult! But as I posted awhile ago, I think everyone should be incompetent sometime. It's good to face the difficult, as long as you don't let it frustrate you. Sometimes that's a tall order, and often we stick with things we're good at because, let's face it, it's nice to feel competent and it's often uncomfortable to feel incompetent.

In the swim classes I teach, I occasionally get a person who thinks that mastering new skills should be easy. For some it is, but I do try to dispel this myth on a regular basis. Learning something new can be hard, and if people get that, they're willing to work for it. The person who continues to believe it should be easy will not last long, nor will they ever achieve competence, let alone mastery, of a new skill. Conversely, embracing the fact that it can be difficult, that it probably will be difficult, can give us the will to continue trying until we prevail. That is, until the next difficult thing comes along.

The Gift of Now

I learned an incredibly valuable lesson this week, from my teenager no less.

It didn't start off feeling like a valuable lesson though. It started off feeling more like a pain in the ass. Maybe that's how all valuable lessons start.

It was 4:30. I had just dropped off my daughter at her dance class, taken the dogs for a walk in the pouring rain, and was picking my son up, heading for a 5:00 karate class, ready to practice together. Partway to the dojo, we realize his backpack with his karate gi is not in the car. Great. I turn the car toward home, we are going to be late for class, but probably not by more than a few minutes. We get home though, and his backpack is nowhere to be seen. He comes back out of the house with a shrug.

On a whim, I ask him if, just possibly, it might actually be in the trunk of the car? Lightbulb moment. We've been driving around town with the pack in the car all this time. Sigh. Back in the car, back on the road to the karate dojo. Now we're definitely going to be late.

But a funny thing happened on the way to the dojo. Not really funny, more like amazing. The sky started turning orange, then pink, then bright purple. Then, I kid you not, purple rain started falling from the sky. I have lived almost 47 years and it was the most amazing sky I'd ever seen. Like the aurora borealis in the middle of the day - lighted sheets of rain dancing around the sky in amazing sheets of color. And of course, as a photographer, I'm going nuts because A) I'm driving on the freeway, and B) I don't even have my camera. You'll have to settle for my description and this bad photo we shot out the windshield.

At this point, I'm going nuts and I pull in to a local park and run like crazy for the high ground, hoping I can at least capture it on my phone. By the time I get to the top of the footbridge, of course, the sky has faded completely to a dark blue. The incredible photographable Best Sky of My Life is gone. I walk dejectedly back to the car.

But here's one thing that most parents know: having kids is like having little Zen teachers with you every day of your life. My son says "Well, at least we got to see it."

Bam! Yes. Yes we did. I got to experience that amazing sky. Maybe I don't get to sell a photo of it to National Geographic. But I was here on this earth to see it. And I'll never forget it. And here's the kicker. The real kicker....

If he hadn't forgotten his backpack, we would've been in class. We never would've even known it existed. This incredible miraculous bit of everyday wondrous beauty would've just occurred and we would've been none the wiser.

I'm so grateful for my forgetful son. I'm grateful for his teenage wisdom. And I'm happy to have had the Gift of Now.

Everyone Should be Incompetent Sometime

That is, I think every adult should try something completely new every few years. If you don't, how would you get to experience that moment when you realize that you know absolutely nothing. Or worse, that everything you know is wrong, all your instincts incorrect, your movements backwards and inside out. Every time you experience this, you gain countless amounts of empathy for every person you have to deal with in your life who you might otherwise be inclined to view as  incompetent themselves. Instead, you realize that we all have varying degrees of knowledge about different subjects, and at any given time in the situation of the moment, you may be the master, or you may be the newborn, helpless and incomplete.

As a black belt in karate, I could be basking in the feeling that I have Achieved Something. Arrived Somewhere. Hold some vast store of knowledge that I didn't hold before. Of course, most anyone who has achieved the rank of black belt knows that it's just the opposite. It's more like holding open a door to the vast yawning abyss of all that you don't know in your martial art. It's a dawning realization that even your entire lifetime would not be enough to master all of the skills encompassed in your study. That you have barely scratched the surface.

On top of that, my son recently convinced me to join him in studying Wing Chun, a form of Kung Fu. Now I should point out that all of my training in Karate prepares me to be absolutely incompetent in Wing Chun. I would probably be better off if I had no martial arts training whatsoever. When I'm punching, my Karate instinct is to bring my hand back into the chamber position and then fire it off using my hips and whole body to throw a big old punch, focusing on a fist that is parallel to the floor with the striking surface being the first two knuckles.

Which of course is absolutely nothing like a Wing Chun punch, which uses a vertical fist, no chamber, no big hips, short and fast, nothing of what I already know. And likewise the other strikes and blocks in Wing Chun are very different from what I have studied, leaving me basically feeling like I did on my first day as a white belt in Karate - a newborn, knowing nothing, an empty vessel. Or worse, not even an empty vessel. I first have to empty myself, which is much harder to do than you'd think.

Still, I'm loving this new focus, this new way to turn myself inside out. A new opportunity to still my mind, to unlearn and to learn anew. And when I take it back to my Karate classes, I find myself better prepared to understand what I am studying there. My focus in preparing for my 2nd degree black belt is a "package" of 10 kata (or forms), and these kata are all influenced by White Crane Kung Fu, which is different than Wing Chun, but shares some similarities. In essence, I'm learning the origins of moves that were folded into Shudokan karate many years ago.

As I study both arts, I find myself wrapping back around, like the tails of the yin yang symbol, into a place of understanding. A hard art, a soft art. An intercepting fist, a redirecting touch. Both effective in their own way, both with a place in my body and mind.

I'm learning to be empty, and I'm learning to be full.

The Ability to Break Through Our Ceiling

The oppressive grey fog that has blanketed us this week could be seen as a metaphor. There are times in life when we can't see a path upwards, when our goals feel obscured, we feel boxed in, pushed down, unable to move. All too often though, the grey matter that stands between us and our visions and dreams is quite literally all in our heads. So how do we find a way to break through, up and out to the sunny vistas that we desire for our life?

A run this weekend with my hubby gave me pause to think about how firmly we see our barriers above us, and how yet they are often the thinnest of layers, easily broken through with a little effort.

We started out in the grayest of gray cloud banks, the forest air literally dense with frozen water. In places, the trail was a skating rink of black ice, in other areas it was blanketed in fallen ice crystals from the trees above. But as we steadily worked our way up the ridgeline, the thick mist began to lighten, then to positively glow with a lovely pastel radiance. The air around us became luminous and the snow reflected the pale light so the ground beneath our feet felt like it was glowing.

All of a sudden above us through the trees, beams of golden light shot out through the mist. Although we hadn't planned on it, I knew we needed to take a detour from the trail and head upwards to the top of the butte. Hubby was not so convinced. The trail was treacherous, and as it got steeper it became increasingly impossible to navigate. But I knew that where there were sunbeams, there must be sun, so up up we went.

Sure enough, once we arrived at the top, we could see that we had broken through the layer of grey and were now on top of an ocean of clouds stretching in all directions across the valley below. What had once seemed like an impenetrable ceiling was now beneath us. Although the frigid air below had chilled us to the bitter bone, we stripped down to t-shirts at the top and basked in the warmth like lizards. Sadly, we were on a timeline, so we had only a few short minutes to enjoy the top. I inhaled deeply, taking in the defrosting earth, the unmistakable smell of green growing things, warm dirt. All the way down into the fogline, I sounded like a yoga practitioner gone bonkers, trying to savor those smells before they were frozen into so many impenetrable crystals.

So, when the grey closes in around you, and the walls above feel too thick, what gets you to break through? For me, it's often my training. It might not feel like it at the time, but every time you push your boundaries, you  in turn become less bounded. When you know that your limits are malleable, you can make yourself work all the harder to move them back.

Even on this run, the fact that we had run before, run many winding trails up and down the ridgeline, enabled us to decide on the spur of the moment to run up the mountain. Running up a mountain is not something everyone can do. Most folks would be gasping and wheezing after a minute or two of such effort. So our prior hard work paid off in allowing us this moment of freedom above the clouds.

When relatives, co-workers, or friends express doubt or dismay over your training, it's nice to remember that there are these wonderful times when it pays off in spades. When the grey ceiling that everyone thinks is immovable can actually be broken. By you.

No Winter Lasts Forever

Today while hubby and I were absolutely freezing our last toenail off on a bike ride, and cursing the weatherman who cheerily predicted high temps of 48 when it was just short of ice crystal formation, we happened to bike by an old farmhouse out in the country. It looked familiar, and in fact it was. Just this summer, we got so overheated on a ride on a 98 degree day that we stopped and soaked our heads in the sprinkler that was going on their lawn.

It's hard to believe we could ever have been that hot. Truth be told, we were probably far too close to heatstroke. But at this moment, in the frigid December air, it was almost impossible to remember what a broiling mid-summer afternoon feels like, and back in July or August I'm sure it was equally hard to remember what it could be like to be so cold.

As the end of the year approaches, and I think back on the year gone by. There were days when it felt like all the earth was spinning my way, and others when I bumped up against one frustration after another. When you're at either extreme, it can be hard to imagine the other. But all of those days together make up a year - the hot ones, the cold ones, the hard ones, and the easy ones.

As we head into the year to come, I can see some scary days ahead of me. I'm writing up a resume, something I haven't done since 1988, applying for some jobs that I may or may not get. My son is going to his first day of college in a little more than a week. My daughter is auditioning for a big role she really wants. My husband will face his first Ironman. I will prepare to test for my 2nd degree black belt. I may face a surgeon's knife if I ever want to run again. And there will be trials and tribulations that I can't even imagine right now.

On those days when it all feels overwhelming, I hope I remember this old farmhouse. How it can be frosted over one day, when not so very long ago it was a cool oasis on a long strip of blistering hot blacktop. I hope I can hold onto the knowing - that even if today is hard and the obstacles seem insurmountable, that just a little while later, the world will look completely different again.

Steve Jobs' Words for Living

As a young computer science student in the early 1980s, Steve Jobs was one of the great icons. I vividly remember watching Apple's 1984 commercial launching the Mac, and the impression it made on me. The first home computer I worked on was a Macintosh (a 128k jobbie that you had to switch a floppy disk on a thousand times to do anything) and I spent many long nights in the Macintosh-lined computer lab programming in Pascal and being ever so grateful that we no longer had to program on the VRT screens of the mainframe, or even worse - as our professors reminded us - on the punchcards that loomed in the not-so-distant programming past. Though I eventually ended up working at Microsoft and entering the world of Windows,  I have always been impressed with Steve Jobs' work and his vision.

This speech of his is worth watching (or re-watching) for the insights he brings to the business of life and the wisdom that comes from facing your own death.

RIP Steve Jobs, so few people can truly say they changed the whole world, but you were one of them.

Why Chuck Norris Jokes Are Dangerous

They've been tweeted, Facebooked, and made into Demotivational Posters, and everyone with kids has heard a hundred or so of them. But why are Chuck Norris jokes not just dangerous, but a threat to our society in general?

Because they are the worst kind of lie, the kind we tell ourselves. We like to convince ourselves that hard work doesn't matter, that people like Chuck Norris become skilled, fast, powerful, strong, and fit because of their impossible super powers

Some people wear Superman pajamas. Superman wears Chuck Norris pajamas.

We'd like to think that, like Rocky Balboa or the Karate Kid, Chuck Norris went to some mystic guru-like sensei, worked hard for about, oh, 8 weeks or so, and emerged as the Karate Champion of the World and a Universal Badass. But the truth is that Chuck Norris, like anyone who has achieved anything meaningful, worked very hard to get there. He studied, he trained, he fought, he even lost, he learned from his mistakes and went back to fight some more, and to train some more, and to train even more. And eventually, he became very very good.

Unfortunately, I think a lot of us believe that we should instantly be great at something when we first try it. Or if not instantly, we should, in a matter of weeks, begin mastering the skills. Instead, Malcolm Gladwell argues in his (excellent) book Outliers that true mastery takes about 10,000 hours. TEN. THOUSAND. HOURS. Cogitate on that one for awhile. He gives many examples of successful businessmen, athletes, and entrepreneurs that show how each one had a combination of opportunities that allowed them access to those 10,000 hours. Of course it also takes skill. But skill alone is not enough. Even highly skilled people have to work hard to get good.

What does this mean for those of us who are trying to transform ourselves? In a way, I think it can bring a sense of relief and peace. If we release ourselves from the expectation that we'll be awesome overnight, that we'll acquire the necessary skills in an immediate time frame, then we can gift ourselves with the opportunity to simply suck for awhile. We can then take our time, we can allow ourselves to learn and grow and get better in our own way. We can also allow ourselves to not only make mistakes, but to learn from them. Instead of letting a failure derail us from our goals, we can pick ourselves up and carry on. After all, even Chuck Norris failed his first black belt test. It didn't stop him though, did it?

When we turn away from the American "Magic Wand" approach to mastery and instead accept the notion that meaningful change is often slow and incremental, we also avoid what author David Wong calls "Effort Shock". In his excellent essay How the Karate Kid Ruined the Modern World, Wong argues that Effort Shock (similar to Sticker Shock where we realize that the price of something is far higher than anticipated) comes when

We have a vague idea in our head of the "price" of certain accomplishments, how difficult it should be to get a degree, or succeed at a job, or stay in shape, or raise a kid, or build a house. And that vague idea is almost always catastrophically wrong.

So the next time you're prone to be hard on yourself for failing to live up to your (probably unrealistic) expectations about how something should come more easily, remember that meaningful change comes one step at a time. And that if someone is standing in your way, it's quite likely that person is you. Or, as Chuck Norris himself (the Universal Badass himself) says:

You can usually see your way around the blocks that other people put in your path, but the blocks you create yourself, the ones that come from inside your own thinking, seem rooted in the ground and as wide as the horizon. As indeed they are, for you yourself are standing in the way. The way around the block is from the inside.

Learn to think kindly of yourself, to pay yourself the respect you'd pay someone else. Learn to greet yourself the way you'd greet a stranger - politely, open to the possibility that you might be about to make a friend for life, aware that the person standing in front of you could be anyone, could come from anywhere, could be about to accomplish anything. The stranger could be about to make any number of dreams come true. And having greeted the stranger, realize that all those things are equally true of yourself.

Your Incredible Power To Change Yourself

Alice Bradley has a heartbreaking post on her blog Finslippy today. I suspect that many many people can identify with what she's going through. She feels uncoordinated, like athletic endeavors are not easy for her. She has flexibility issues, strength issues, and things like yoga, kung fu, bellydancing, and now Crossfit have defeated her best efforts over the years.

So she asks whether or not she should stick with Crossfit, try something else entirely, or just give up.

I started to type out an answer there, but it quickly got enormously long. And it seemed to me that the answer is really crucial to what this blog is all about: that the power of incremental change can occur for everyone. That doesn't just mean the athletically gifted, or those that things come easily for. That means everyone.

I want to share my perspective on this here, not just as a coach, but as a mother (after all, this blog is named IronMOM for a reason). With my son's permission, I am sharing his story of overcoming huge odds to persevere and transform himself  and his body via his sport.

Alice, I hope this answers your question. I hope it makes you realize that you have the power within you to make that same kind of transformation. And for all the Alices out there who are not as brave, who are still sitting on the couch and wondering if there's any hope for them, I hope this gives it to you:

=============

Alice,  Oh, my heart hurts for you just reading all of this. But I do NOT think all hope is lost, and here is why:


1) I can assure you that the instructor is not laughing at you inside his head. I have coached a Crossfit-like class (as well as teach swimming, kickboxing, and karate conditioning) and I can tell you that there are many many uncoordinated people in this world. As an instructor I have an enormous amount of respect for any of them who show up in my class. You know why? They are the brave of the brave.
That's you.
Brave.
Because most of the people who have these same issues are not showing up. They are at home on the couch where it is much safer and much easier. I am in awe of the folks who come to my classes and work hard to get where other people get so easily. I'm betting your instructor feels the same way about you. He should.

2) I have seen first-hand the amazing power of just sticking with one thing, and what it can do for your life. Not just from the people in my classes, but from my own son. He is 14 now, but he was born with Sensory Integration Dysfunction. This means that many things were very very difficult for him, from the first day of his life. The world was too loud, too harsh, too scratchy, too smelly.

And talk about uncoordinated? When he was four, he still could not cross the center line of his body with either hand. It was like his brain had a doorstop that it could not cross. He couldn't dress himself, or do any of the things a normal four year old could do. Lots of therapy later, he still had the motor skills of a child half his age.

He also had vision integration problems, his eyes didn't work together so he constantly ran into things and fell off of chairs just trying to sit down. His hand-eye coordination was non-existant, he couldn't read or write without a great struggle and effort. More therapy: Vision therapy this time.

On top of this, the sensory integration issues when he was a toddler had made him a toe-walker (even the carpet felt too weird to step on). His Achilles tendons shortened to the point that he could hardly put his feet flat on the floor. He had Barbie feet, like someone who had worn high-heeled shoes for decades.

At the age of nine, I took him to a karate dojo. I knew I had to find just the right one, because he was still a very sensitive kid. And you can imagine with all of those strikes against him physically, that if he was someplace where people would be harsh on him or make fun of him for what he couldn't do, his self-image would take a beating. I needed someplace where he would be pushed to excel, but where he would be supported in his journey. Luckily, I found such a dojo. He has now been studying there for five years.

Fast forward to today. He is a brown belt, in his last degree and preparing himself to take the black belt test. I watched him today perform a kata in front of the whole class, solo.

His stances were deep and steady, you could never imagine this kid's heels couldn't touch the floor at one point in his life. A deep karate stance takes a LOT of flexibility in the Achilles tendon.

His spinning side kicks were fast and accurate - could you imagine that his vision, balance, and coordination were once so poor that he couldn't figure out how to sit on a chair without falling off? That he ran into door frames just trying to walk through a door?

His punches are so strong and fast, you would never know that once his muscle tone was reported by a therapist to be "poor" and "floppy". Or that at age five, he couldn't stand on one leg, or hop with both feet together.

I am proud of my son, not because he's a gifted athlete, but because he's a determined one. He is living proof that no matter how weak, inflexible, and uncoordinated you are, if you just show up every day and TRY, it will get better.

IT WILL GET BETTER.

You will get stronger. You will get more flexible. You will get more coordinated. It will happen. I know this. I wish I was there to give you a hug and tell you in person. But this will have to do.

RELAX... In Between the Punches

Have you ever learned something new, only to have it pop up over and over again in all kinds of circumstances? That's how my week has gone. In my karate training, I have lots of power. Power is not my problem. Relaxing is my problem. Especially when the sensei is watching, I get so tense I'm wearing my shoulders for earrings. Not surprisingly, this has always been my issue with running as well - carrying a lot of unnecessary tension in my upper body.

Funny thing is, I coach swimmers and one of the main tenets of swimming is you have to be able to relax your recovering side while all of the muscles in your stroking arm are tense. You have to be able to relax your feet and ankles while your hamstrings and glutes do the hard work of kicking. So I should be able to apply that knowledge of simultaneously relaxing and tensing in other circumstances right?

Except that it's really really hard to do. Karate is humbling for me. One of the reasons that I love it is that it teaches me on a daily basis how hard it is to learn this stuff. And that's how hard swimming is for many of the people I'm coaching. Swimming always came naturally for me. I was one of those kids that people called "a fish". I firmly believe I was a dolphin in a former life, that I've always lived underwater until now. That's why I'm so clumsy on land. And maybe that's why my feet are the size of flippers.

So my lesson this week is to relax in between each block, kick, and punch, and only tense my muscles at the last possible second. It doesn't sound all that easy, and trust me it's not as easy as it sounds. Our muscles are so tied together in our brains that undoing those connections of which muscle to tense and which to relax takes time and some mental effort. At the Chi Running seminar this weekend, I also got a great refresher on relaxing my ankles and feet while running, something I struggle with more than any other aspect of Chi Running.

If I think about it, there is also a great application in the rest of life. There are times when tension and action is necessary, and times in between when we need to relax. If we fill all of that time with activity and stress, everything suffers including the things we want to be able to do well. We need the Yin as well as the Yang. Just as I struggle with relaxing the non-necessary muscles, I also struggle with allowing myself time to just be, time without busyness and action. How do you get yourself to relax, either mentally or physically?

The Ironmom Extra Mile: More reading on the Han Dynasty Synthesis and the meaning of Yin and Yang within Taosim at WSU's Chinese Philosophies site

I Am Not Climate Controlled

Oh the weather outside is frightful, but the fire is so delightful. That's the way the song goes. As humans, we strive for comfort. That's why we have recliner chairs with cupholders. No, with coolers built-in. That's why we have "room temperature" and down comforters and towel racks that heat your towels. Not that I have those, mind you. My towels are usually clammy from being dumped on the floor in a heap by whatever child took a shower last and "forgot" to hang them up. Simply a dry towel would be a luxury around here. Did I mention that I really hate soggy towels?

So why should we make ourselves uncomfortable? Why should we go out in the pouring freezing rain when a room temperature room beckons us homeward? I think it's a good idea to occasionally push ourselves to be uncomfortable (and I don't mean just using soggy towels). To experience a greater range of existence than a narrow band of clean, dry, climate-controlled living. What is it like to feel the rain on your face? Dripping down your back? A cold breeze across your neck? Your feet sloshing through ankle deep puddles? It's a sensory feast that's not entirely as unpleasant as it sounds. Just like our muscles aren't very strong if they're only worked in a narrow range of motion, our brains and our mental resilience don't get worked very hard in today's easy existence. Perhaps it is worth building up a great range of tolerance to stimuli outside the range of normal.

When I'm out in the less-than-ideal weather and I feel my brain starting to get into complaining mode, I use a technique of sensory "noticing" that helps me focus on what I'm really feeling instead of just being miserable about it. I start with a series of open-ended sentences and fill them in as I go:

"I hear...."
"I smell...."
"I see...."
"I feel..."

So on a day like today, it might go something like

"I hear birds in the trees"
"I smell wet leaves and fir needles"
"I see the three golden leaves left on a bare tree"
"I feel a light breeze coming from the east"

When I get to the end of my sensory inventory, I start over again at the top, marveling at how things change as I go along. Sometimes we barely even notice our surroundings, especially when we're too busy wallowing in misery at the fact that the weather had the gall to rain on our Sunday long run. When we turn our attention outward instead of inward, what might at first seem simply miserable can turn into an opportunity to actually fully experience the world around us.

The next time you're tempted to just go to the gym when the weather outside is frightful, stretch yourself a little and see what it feels like to suffer the elements. After all, we can always come home to that delightful fire (or hot shower, or warm cup of tea), a luxury that most humans throughout time have not had.

How Do You Know When Too Much Is Too Much?

If you're reading this blog, chances are you may not be completely sane. C'mon, tell the truth. On more than one occasion your friends have told you you're insane for whatever it is you happen to be doing (swimming, biking, and running more than you work, eat, or sleep for instance). And chances are you leap at the opportunity to push yourself beyond your known boundaries. So the question is, when is it too much? And if you're the classic type-A overachieving nutter, how do you know when it's too much?

I've been asking myself this question all week. Lately it just feels like I've added one too many things to my stack, and like an overwhelmed juggler I can't keep everything in the air. So last night I told my kickboxing class I am regrettably going to not be teaching anymore right now. Yep, my career as a kickboxing instructor is over (temporarily at least). I think the canary in the coal mine was when I was teaching last week and I got a call from my daughter. Her Nutcracker dress rehearsal was over, and somehow she had missed getting a ride with the person she was supposed to go with. She was at the Performing Arts Center and they were closing it down for the night. Here I am in the middle of a class, hearing her little voice on the other end of the line. It's usually poor form when you're the teacher to walk out in the middle of class, no? So I felt stuck. Luckily her instructors were still there and she hung out with them until I could get over there, but the situation was far less than ideal, and I had to juggle it with music blaring and people kicking bags in the background.

Meanwhile, three nights a week, my teenage son is either hanging out at the dojo or is home alone. If you know teenagers, you know the absolute worst thing is to leave them alone to get into trouble. Especially at night. Luckily, he's not the trouble type (at least not yet), but it's getting to the point where I don't think that's a good idea any more.

So I looked at the disappointed faces of people in my class, including one gal who just started getting into it and is really having amazing leaps of fitness and I felt SO bad. SO SO BAD. But. But but but but but. At some point, enough is enough and I have to put my family first. Ugh. I'm still coaching swimming, training for my karate black belt, coaching a high school robotics team, homeschooling the kids, writing a screenplay with my son, trying to keep up this blog, and training for some trail runs. It's enough.

How do you know when it's all too much? How do you deal with feeling like you're failing someone by quitting? How do you say No when you want to say Yes to everything and everyone?

Ironmom's Tough Shit Policy

"It's too cold and rainy outside to go for a run."  Tough shit.
"I'd rather eat pasta than vegetables." Tough shit.
"Pushups are too hard for me to do." Tough shit.
"I don't have time to cook for my family and fast food is so much easier" Tough shit.

My son told me I should blog about what he calls my Tough Shit Policy. He thinks it's hilarious, except of course when he's being subjected to something he doesn't want to do. The Tough Shit Policy is simply this:

Taking what you know is right, and applying it with no exceptions. 

There are always easier ways out. It's easier to pretend you didn't do something wrong than to apologize. It's easier to stay inside than to take the dogs for a walk in the pouring rain. It's easier to tell your kids not to do something than to show them by being a good example. It's easier to grab a burrito on the way home than to plan a meal. We all know where those easier ways get us:

Taking the easy road gets us in long-term trouble. The easy road in reality equals the hard road.

Not apologizing will wreck your marriage. You may face a divorce months or years down the road. Treating your kids to the "do as I say, not as I do" parenting style results in a teenager that you battle with daily. Not exercising or eating well leaves you in a wheelchair from diabetes when other people your age are still running marathons.

You know what the right thing to do is today. No excuses. Tough Shit. Just Do It.

Runs With Dog

I'd like to think of myself as a Woman Who Runs with The Wolves. There's me, running naked and free through a primeval forest with my hair streaming out behind me in long golden waves and a pack of graceful beasts fanning out all around me, stopping to let out a wild high howl to the sky... Except that naked part. Okay, strike that. With forty-four years and two kids behind me, too much would jiggle. And let's face it, I got tired of my golden hair streaming right into my face when I run, so I hacked it down to a short 'do a few years ago. And well, the closest wolves in Oregon are the Wenaha pack near the Idaho border, but that's really a long ways from here.

I guess I'll have just have to settle for being a Woman Who Runs With Dog. Luckily, I can do that clothed, with short hair stuffed under my running cap, in broad daylight. For the past few weeks, I've been taking my one year old Heeler/Aussie Shepherd mix Sophie running on the Ridgeline trails with me. Unlike Evil Small Dog (my husband's Beagle/Jack Russell Terrier mix, the one who broke my arm running back in January), she is a terrific running companion. She doesn't chase squirrels or deer and she doesn't really care much for other people so she will  just skirt around them on the trail. Ditto for other dogs, she's not even into playing a game of sniffy-butt, she just keeps on truckin' down the path. If she gets too far ahead, she stops and waits for me with a very patient expression, understanding that my speed and endurance are limited compared to hers.

I know that in thirteen or fourteen years, I will repay her thoughtfulness as the tables turn and I walk with her into her old age. I may even put her into a trailer and wheel her along her favorite trails as I did with my wonderful Sabre, my best buddy and running companion of my twenties and thirties. Through the arc of our life together, we will have many adventures, but I know from painful experience that the times we can run together carefree down life's trails will be limited to about a decade. My years as a runner will far exceed hers, no matter how easily she springs ahead of me through autumn's leafy wonderland this morning. So I vow to enjoy this time we have together on the planet. She's all that I could ask for in a furry partner and more. Today we'll hit the trail together and run like we're wild and free.

No Such Thing As An Ugly Day

On Thursdays I take my daughter to her Mime class (my son's running gag to her is "you need to practice your Mime!", on account of that she's our noisy child and he's our silence-craving introvert, LOL) and usually I head out the door with a fellow mom for what we've come to call the Thursday Mime Run. Yesterday though she didn't appear so after heading inside for a drink of water, I paused in the doorway to survey the thunderous black clouds and an impressive amount of water falling from the sky. A mom scuttling out the door to her minivan said "Isn't it a shame it's such an ugly day?"

I thought about that as I began to run. At first it seemed as if she might be right. It hasn't been very warm lately, and there's nothing like getting instantly soaked to the skin to put a damper on one's happy running feelings. Often when I'm confronted with a situation that is less than ideal however, I search for a phrase that I can dwell on that will change my attitude toward those circumstances. This time it was "the rain is washing all of my stress away and leaving me refreshed."

You know what? What you tell yourself is what you live. Misery evaporated and the rain became a beautiful and invigorating thing. I began to notice things, like how fresh everything smelled, how the air near the ground was still warm from reflected heat and the rain was turning to steam all around me, how some birds were still singing even in the downpour. I began to not just endure the rain but to revel in it, even to enjoy it. My pace quickened, I spread my arms in an embrace of the day and a smile broke out on my face. Ten minutes into the run, the clouds above me parted and rays of sunshine streamed down in place of the rain. A heron swooped overhead, fields of wildflowers looked spectacular in the stormlight, and a flicker alighted in the tree next to me, flashing his orangey wings. My feet were now virtually flying along the path by the river, my eyes taking in the water spilling over the banks, swollen from days and days of stormy weather, with the roar of the rapids blocking out all other sound.

By the time I was done, the sunny hole in the clouds was closing up, my clothes were almost dry, and the rain was sweeping back towards me from the clouds to the North, but I made it back to the studio before it could douse me again. Rather than run in an ugly day, I chose to see the beauty and had one of the best runs I can remember in a long time. It was a great reminder that we are what we choose to see and do.

Kaizen

At the end of every karate class, our sensei says "Kaizen!" and we clap three times. The translation according to our dojo is "Constant, Never-ending Improvement". Wikipedia gives it as "a Japanese philosophy that focuses on continuous improvement throughout all aspects of life."

There is power simply in the saying of a word, especially saying it so emphatically, like an exclamation point at the end of every karate workout. It's a reminder that when we go out the door, our commitment does not end. And not just our commitment to the practice of karate, kaizen is a principle that can be applied to every aspect of life. Of course, kaizen appeals to the engineer in my brain: "Is there a more efficient way to hang and fold my laundry?" I try hanging the t-shirts together so that I can fold them all at one time, matching the socks up as I pin them out. I think about kaizen when I prepare food - is this the best most nourishing thing I can give my body right now? Give my kids' bodies? And of course kaizen goes hand in hand with triathlon training. How can I make my hand position more efficient in my swimming stroke? Increase my running foot turnover? Make my bike position just slightly more aero? And it's tailor-made for the Crossfit approach. Crossfit is nothing if not the practice of kaizen.

Even my work encompasses kaizen. One thing I love about coaching, in fact, is the notion that all of the people who come to me are there because they are in search of improvement, and I love helping them achieve that goal. No matter where they are in ability, they are each striving to make themselves better. It's really a brave act, when you think about it (especially as an adult) to come and seek out a teacher, to try to improve. There are many who never do. I see the same swimmers in the pool year in and year out who never change their stroke, never vary a nanosecond in their lap times. Perhaps they are practicing something else, something more zen, more appreciative of the present moment, I don't know. But I do know that the people who are seeking kaizen are the ones that really appeal to me.

And of course, all of us who have taken the parenting leap benefit from the notion of kaizen. I hope I never get to the point where I believe I am a "good enough" parent. I rarely read the "mommy blogosphere" for this reason, it seems that there has been a swing or shift, almost a rebellion against the notion of trying to become a better parent. Instead, mommy bloggers in droves are embracing and even elevating their moments of mediocrity, laughing about investing in their kids' counseling funds, and handing themselves a "bad parenting award" as if that's a good thing. I'm sure much of this is in response to the perfect-parenting notions of the early internet days, the "I breastfed my cloth-diapered organically born-at-home baby longer than you did" competition that seemed rampant for awhile. But somewhere in between the two is more than enough room for some kaizen, I think. I don't need to be a perfect parent, but I never want to stop striving to become a better one.

Student, athlete, employee, parent, spouse, friend, even blogger - the concept of kaizen can bring all aspects of life into sharper focus. Hmmm, now how do I blog better..... all suggestions are welcome...

KAIZEN!

Silk Purse Run

The sow's ear: yesterday was one of those days from Mothering Hell. Well, okay I exaggerate because I know that somewhere in the world are mothers who are worrying about getting enough food and water for their kids' survival. But it was straight from Pampered Westerner's Mothering Hell. First of all, dear darling daughter went to a sleepover on Friday night, which meant that of course (word "SLEEPover" not withstanding), she got NO SLEEP. So by Saturday evening she was a raging ball of melting down 9 year old. She's normally a feisty little thing, but cheerful and kind. Not so when she gets no sleep. She collapsed at 7:00 pm in her room after much door slamming and didn't wake up again that evening.

Fast forward to 12:15 am, NOW she wakes up, of course. And can't get back to sleep. By the time I install her in our bed, shoving various cats out of the way, I'm wide awake. Which turns out to be a good thing because I sit bolt upright and realize that in all of the hoopla, I forgot to do the Easter baskets. Though she is nine, she is a firm believer in all things magical, like Easter bunnies and Santa Claus (not sure how much of this belief is willed at this point, but whatever). So there I am at 1:00 am putting together Easter baskets. Except that I forgot to buy artificial Easter grass, so what I'm really doing at 1:00 am is cutting up the remains of a roll of birthday streamers into a Easter Basket Grass Simulant. It takes awhile. By 2:00 am I'm back in bed and maybe asleep by 2:30. Daughter, now duly rested after 12 hours of sleep is of course up at 7:00, excited about Easter baskets. I'm feeling already a little whupped.

We get the eggs dyed (supposed to happen yesterday evening, but due to sleeping daughter it's now last minute). Mackenzie, 12.5 year old son goes out to the guinea pig pen to take them to their outdoor hut and comes in saying that something's wrong with his guinea pig. Turns out she has prolapsed something bloody and awful looking out of her nether regions. Pretty much I know at this point that she's a goner, but he and I take her to the emergency vet hospital, bundled up in a towel. The kids have had their guinea pigs for over 5 years now, and I know that they've been approaching the end of their normal life span, but I was hoping for a peaceful passing in the sleep that's more common with smaller animals, not this. Poor little thing, she's such a sweetheart. Vet confirms that it's probably a prolapsed cancerous uterus, and that otherwise she looks to be a very well cared for guinea pig but that she's now come to the end of her days. Horrible decision to put her to sleep after son asks about life-saving surgery. A "damn it", fist in the eye and stifled sob instead of a tearful hugging breakdown are just some of the few indicators that my baby boy is venturing into manhood with not just physical but emotional territory these days.

The rest of Easter goes relatively smoothly - family brunch with my usual strawberry crepes and then for the first year Mackenzie plays Easter Bunny while Asa takes the dog for a walk, and this cheers him up immensely - he loves taking on these older roles. By 5:00 in the afternoon I knew that I SHOULD go for a run, but I had no energy whatsoever. I literally felt emotionally drained and completely lethargic and did one of those long debates about whether or not it was better to just give up or to force myself out the door.

I ended up running with my friend Kay, and I'm glad that she got me out the door. Sometimes it's strange but with exercise you really can turn a sow's ear into a silk purse. Sometimes the very hardest times when you can barely force yourself to start out seem to end up the best. After 20 minutes, Kay turned toward home but I was feeling so good I just kept going. 75 minutes later, I came back in, soaked to the bone with rain but feeling just terrific. It was one of those runs where everything just came together and felt great - strong, smooth, and effortless. I really needed it and again it made me grateful for the blessings of exercise in life's harder moments.

In memoriam, RIP Acorn, one of the sweetest little critters around. This is a funny photo that Mackenzie had me shoot of her, playing on his GameCube.

My Biggest Fear

You know what really scares the bejeezus out of me? What wakes me up in a cold sweat at night? The boogeyman behind my closet door????

It's that my life is too good, too sweet, and something horrible and unendurable must surely be around the corner, because it just can't last this way. Being a parent gives you so much more to fear than any mortal should have to bear. I was thinking of this the other day as I watched my hubby ride his bike to the left of both of the kids on their bikes as we were headed downtown. Why? Because he would rather get hit by a car than let a car hit our kids. That's what being a parent does to your heart - puts something there, much greater than yourself, that you never knew existed. I used to have a "No Fear" t-shirt. No longer.

Today we went for a family bike ride, getting ready for Italy. We rode just over 30 miles with the kids on the tandems (which I can tell you triathlete folks is about equal to 50 miles on my tri bike in terms of effort expended!!). It was fun, we went about 8 miles alongside the river path and stopped at Jamba Juice for smoothies, then another 7 miles to a small town with a shady park. We hung out while the kids played and swung on the swings, ate a picnic lunch, turned around and leisurely came home. Stopped to pick some blackberries along the way, took a bit of a detour to a friend's house, stopped at REI for more travel supplies, and arrived back home about 5 hours after we left. The kids kept us laughing with their antics and jokes, and it was a balmy 79 degrees out, just a perfect day. I am very very blessed and I know it.

So tonight as I go to bed, the only way I know of banishing the boogie man is giving thanks. Consider it done.

Triathlon's Gift to Me

The scene was familiar: gear bag on one side, clothes and equipment spread all over the living room, checklist in hand, thinking over all the details of the quick transitions to be made.... the only difference is that I'm getting ready for my daughter's dance recital. Or should I say three dress rehearsals and four recitals in three different locations with six costume changes each! At eight years old, she's not really ready to handle the mass of hair, makeup, costume, and accessory changes herself at the fast pace she'll need to. Most of the girls on her dance team are several years older than her, but I'll be back in the dressing room helping her make the transitions so she can have her glorious nights on the big stage, something she looks forward to all year.

















By nature I'm not the world's most organized person. One of triathlon's many gifts to me has been to help me figure out how to sort, pack, check off, practice, and organize myself in situations like this. It's funny how many skills transfer from this sport that I love to the rest of my life. Discipline, tenaciousness, organization, good sportsmanship, the influence of triathlon helps all other aspects of my existance.

And today, it lets my daughter shine.

How To Fail

I'm low right now, lower than dirt. Lower than the compressed layers of sedimentary rock that lies underneath the dirt. It's bad enough to fail yourself. That's not a fun thing. But those of you with kids know that nothing is worse than failing your kid.

Our karate dojo was having a "girls night out" sleepover. My daughter was soooooo excited, she's been counting down the days all week. They were going to have games and movies and pizza. I brought home the flyer and put the date on the calendar. You probably know what's coming, right?

I mixed up which night it was on. She got to karate this morning looking forward to the sleepover tonight, and it was last night. All twenty of her friends had just had their fun sleepover and were all talking about it this morning. She calls me on the phone just sobbing as I was out on my bike ride with the TNT team.

I feel like absolute and utter crap. Words fail me.

The only consolation available to me at the moment is that TriGirl Thea linked to Local Girl's very funny blog entry on FAIL, which in turn led to the incredibly funny FAIL Blog. Nothing like having a good laugh at other people's failures to almost let you forget your own. I've also promised my daughter a sleepover on the trampoline in sleeping bags tonight, complete with story-reading by flashlight. Small consolation I know, but thank goodness she has already forgiven me. It's considerably harder to forgive myself.