Swimming reflections

I wanted to introduce you, my most intimate internet community, to my new beau. I met him in my swim class,where he swims when he's not volunteering at the city pool. He's a wild card for sure (part of his charm) and I suspect he'll give my fabulous swim coach a run for her money.  I am mostly with him for his swim stamina and moxie.  He has the fire under him that I want.  Watch out Michael Phelps!

Olympics past and present

Last night I watched Chariots of Fire. Eric Liddell’s story of gold medal and world record-breaking glory, synergized with the current Olympic spirit, has left me feeling particularly inspired today.  The Olympics rouse us on myriad levels: it has us rooting for our country, our commonalities; we are reminded that the beautiful axiom of “practice makes perfect” really does pay off; the strength of the human mind and spirit lays witness to achieving the impossible (thank you Michael Phelps); and it’s satiates our affinity for competition, for winning.  I find myself thinking to my own athletic endeavors.  I don’t know that I can honestly say I feel God’s pleasure when I run but I do feel something akin to the spiritual when I’m running fast, pushing myself beyond my normal regime, beating my own personal bests.  It’s a reminder that when our reach does extend our grasps, it ups the ante on our grasps.  As we continue to reach for and achieve our own “impossibles,” we’re toppled by more possibilities.  It then becomes a dance of humility, as we give ourselves away to the possibility of our lives or potential—to our God-initiated selves.  And I think when we can see one area of our life began to truly take shape it gives us courage to trust this process in another area of our life.  And this, in my mind, IS the spirit of the Olympics: realizing and risking dream after dream, into reality after reality.  

Currently listening to: All These Things That I Have Done, The Killers.  

Current mood: inspired  ;)                                                              

Current community: Watercooler Wednesday!              

Another One Bites the Dust

I know this barely sounds plausible, and if I were reading (not experiencing) it, I would be suspect of dramatics.  But, my friends that have been keeping up: I FREAKING LOST ANOTHER TOENAIL.  No more pictures because pictures of feet are not all that compelling and ones of feet with six toenails land on the fringes of a freak show.  But… ‘tis true.  Vanity has taken its leave. I have a mere three toenails on each foot.  They are shucking themselves like oyster shells, or corn husks, leaving my little piggies naked, vulnerable and unsightly. Furthermore, it’s unwarranted.  I do not run enough to loose so many toenails.  This is an Ironman status toenail dilemma.  I’m not an Ironman. I have cozy little running routines that make true athletes yawn. I don’t understand.  It’s a cruel joke from the gods, to be sure. I must have had model feet in my former life, and then did something really, really bad. Does karma know no mercy? Or is there a giggling Godhead up there, watching me baulk when it’s time to don sandals, an off-color brand of heavenly-humor? Sigh. Has anybody else lost four toenails in a four-month span? If so, please console me.  And for those of you that take your toenails for granted (as I once did,) grant me dibs on the egocentric portion of your prayer requests, at least for today.

The Three (lost) Little Pigs

Okay.  You often hear that when you run a lot you may end up sacrificing a toenail, perhaps a rite of passage into the world of sport.  I do not like this reality as I like to keep my feet relatively manicured, but okay, I’ll take one for the team.  I'll sacrifice A toenail to the running gods. I’m reasonable.

So I just came home from a lovely summer party, shucked off my sandals and looked down—another naked piggie! It’s strike three; I just lost my THIRD toenail. This is getting out of hand! One more and I may need to bid farewell to this sport because the girl in me still trumps the athlete in me and I simply cannot imagine a life without toenails.  Can you? Of course not.  It's gross.  I know.  Trust me!! 

Obviously,  this post won't get me dates but I am all about keeping it real and this is the sad, pathetic reality of my little piglets.  Notice in the picture the fourth toe over --how the paint job looks like I was on crack.  No toenail there my friends.  I've painted my skin.  And in the morning I will do the same to the Waldo standing there naked, next to my big toe.  And I'm out one on the other foot too. Again - painted skin.  This is post the 4-6 weeks of dealing with black (bruised) toenails. I don’t have great toes to begin with so this is a definite addition of insult to injury.

What the freak?  

The 2008 summer running mix

After much tweaking, skipping, replaying, organizing and, most of all, listening while pounding the pavement, I do believe this is as kick-your-ass-good as running mixes get. I’ve been running to it for the past two weeks and felt like I should share the love.  It has been tested and approved by yours truly.  Predicted to increase your speed and enhance your mood with repeated plays.  It can even double as a dance mix.  It’s all love my friends.  Indulge yourself in some iTunes downloads; I even made an iMix called Run Baby Run. Check it out here. (But beware, it left out a few key songs, namely: U2 and the 80's hits I put on there.)  This is about 8 miles of running mojo.  Enjoy.  And add on.  What do you listen to when you run? 

Fighter:  Christina Aguilera

Stars:  Switchfoot           

Vertigo:  U2  

Paralyzed: Sixpence None the Richer         

Tatoo: Jordon Sparks    

The Way You Move: Outkast

Little Black Backpack:  Stroke 9

Low (feat. T-Pain):  Flo Rida           

I'm Not Afraid:  Fleming & John           

Without Me:  Eminem           

Jessie's Girl:  Rick Springfield           

Centerfold:  J. Geils Band           

Ain't No Other Man:  Christina Aguilera

Yeah:  Usher           

My Humps:  Black Eyed Peas                    

Love Song:  Sara Bareilles           

Lose Yourself:  Eminem

Ignition:  R. Kelly

and, for those of you that have a little nostalgia with punk rock:

Add it up: Violent Femmes

Blister in the Sun: bLunder

(Warning: these two songs are a little dirty, even the clean versions)

Mach Tenn Triathlon

I just finished my first triathlon for 2008, pictured here with a few very dear friends.  Triathlons are a lot of fun.  Five years ago I could barely run a 10k.  I did not grow up doing sports and in my 20’s, the time in life you’d think I’d be out showing off and having fun, I was entirely too intense and cerebral, discovering “who I am” from the inside.  Blech. When my dear friend Krista talked to me about training for an Olympic triathlon four years ago, the language was foreign.  Studying for a counseling licensure exam that summer, I decided that study in tandem with exercise would be a good, disciplined routine, so I enthusiastically agreed.  Reflecting back, I think I became a heavy on cognitive/behavioral therapy in my office that summer, which to put simply is an effort to reject distorted cognitions and to replace them with more realistic and self-helping alternatives.  Distorted cognition: I am not an athlete.  Self-helping alternative: No I’m not, but there’s no reason I couldn’t be. 

Cut to today: Having completed a slew of running races, a few hefty bike rides and 5 triathlons, my perception of myself has changed.  So has my reality.  I keep up with what’s happening in race culture throughout the summer.  I have a little community of quasi-athletes (like myself) with whom I hang.  I’m in pretty good shape.  And, most importantly, I really enjoy this hobby/lifestyle choice.  

Triathlons are a good starting point for exercise because the respected distances for the three sports are not inconceivable.  And there’s this magic trick called compartmentalization.  Today for example, my third-person self talk went something like this: Swim: Okay Ang, you can swim .6 miles.  You can swim more than that actually; you’ve been practicing.  Yes, you are slow but don’t freak.  Be steady and just keep moving.  Bike: Okay, you are done with the swim and that’s the hardest sport for you.  You know how to ride 16 miles.  An afternoon to the park and back, no big thing.  Be mindful of macro and micro gearshifts. So what that everybody’s passing you?  It's sooo not a big deal, it's humbling remember?  Run: Okay, piece of cake. You know how to run.  This is the ONE thing you can do well.  Don’t stop.  One leg in front of the other. I know it’s hot, think about those Lost Boys in the jungles of Sudan (I always try and trump my whines with someone who’s had it worse).  Four miles is cake. You can run four miles.  Anybody can run four miles.  Etc. 

The only real downside of triathlons is that they can get expensive.  Bike gear is total ching-ching. Swimming and running are sports that call for replacements.  New running shoes every 6 months. (I usually go a year.) Swimsuits are great until they are not, and fall apart, usually overnight.  (It makes for a scandalous swim though, when you go to the pool not realizing that the chlorine has eaten the inner lining of your suit, although probably not the sexiest peep show.)  But you also get things back that money can't buy, like your sense of accomplishment, health benefits, physique benefits, will-power mojo, new friends, good times, memories and okay, I'll stop with the VISA commercial.  But they really are fun my friends and anybody can do them. I promise you, I was the most unlikely candidate and here I am, already gearing up for the next race. (We missed you Ian!)

My summer romance

I’m enjoying my maturing relationship with exercise these days.  We’re in the second phase of things, ya know, when everything starts to settle in, you find your groove, spending less energy being impressed (or in my case, depressed) with your antics and abilities and you just sort-of go with it.  I like it.  My muscles are starting to take shape, not in big ways, but in big enough ways.  Biking up the hills doesn’t feel like self-induced torture and swimming doesn’t require quite as much positive self-talk in the after shower.  Routines are taking form.  I’m especially enjoying biking these past few weeks, with a friend or myself, no matter.  Swimming is still hard but mostly because I'm so slow (as in the slowest swimmer in my class) and I'm not good at not being good at things.  And I recognize –that’s not good.  So swimming is constantly humbling me. I’m down with it. Running is running.  Sometimes I rock.  Sometimes I suck.  Like life, I suppose. We’re not to the “I love you” phase yet but I’m feeling hopeful. Of course there’s the sacrifices: I’m about two days away from loosing my second toenail (I know, gross!) and my hair is being washed entirely too much due to the whole swimming chlorine thing.  Everything worth anything has a price, oui?  Overall though, I’ve got a good thing going with my little tri-sport routines and my little body.  I’m thinking things might get a little more serious over the summer.  

Pray tell, my blogging family, what are you flirting with these days? 

1/2 Marathon Moxie

Today was the ½ marathon.  I’m feeling light-hearted and optimistic right now, which is a much needed break from the low-grade anxiety I’ve had in days leading up to this race.  Up until last night I was feeling under prepared, nervous, lonely (I was anticipating running it solo, but I didn’t) and insecure about my ability to just freaking do it.  It’s been a weird week in that way.  I tend to be an over-achiever and although this quality has contributed to my success in life, often it is my demise. I can get so overwhelmed and immobilized with self-doubt that the weight of my thoughts (usually irrational) can outweigh my intrinsic, God-given mojo. Insecurity totally blows, doesn't it?  But last night, after my long-standing running partner spontaneously decided to run the race with me, things started to look up. In the end, the Country Music Marathon & 1/2 Marathon was really fun, and dare I say…until mile 11 or so…pretty easy breezy.  We had a running joke as I kept trying to mentally prepare us for the long and lonely road which I remembered from my last ½ marathon as that space between miles 10-12 where the people thin out, the bands break and it feels like you, your broken body and the clamoring silence of tumbleweeds are out there in a big, asphalted world, physically and existentially ALONE.  (I told you I get dramatic when left too long with my own thoughts.)  As we psychologically prepared for the long and lonely road, it just sort of came and went.   We started the race too far back (Coral 18! Should have been coral 7. Blech.) and so the people never combed out.  And we were just talking about the normal things: upcoming events, our dates for these events, our workout schedule and funny movies we want to see, our body-ailments, etc.  My friend stopped and walked at the end, I sprinted the last few miles, no big thing.  It was unceremoniously over and I felt proud of my time. Coming in 10 minutes later than my last race, at 2:03:34, I felt great! My training was less disciplined this go-round, I’m getting older, and honestly, I just didn’t care. I felt that calm-still voice say to me: that was pretty badass, and that was that. I reveled in my achievement for a few moments and then went searching for a banana, some water and my finish-line friends.  

Isn’t that how it goes: sometimes the things we fret about, cautiously premeditate and bravely gear up for just pass us on by.  No fanfare. No epiphany. No trumpet blast.  It’s just another thing that got hyped in our mind and, in the end, is no big thing.  I am learning each day that when we just live out our respected lives and do what we do with a quiet discipline, (not looking for fans, approval or the limelight) held by integrity and a call to both excellence and duty (doing our part), in the end that badass feeling in our gut usurps the kooky mind-play or the intoxication of acknowledgment from others.  The badass gut is the real deal:  It comes from within, it's authentic. 

I still baulk at the thought of estimating myself as an athlete.  Fit, perhaps.  Athlete, nah…I still feel like a fraud.  But I must admit that this year, for the first time ever, when I got to that point where the marathon and ½ marathon break, I actually thought maybe I could run an entire marathon someday.  Maybe. It’s good that I don’t totally know the full measure of my potential; I’d probably just sabotage it.  

That’s all I've got.  Going to see a movie with my cronies and I feel certain I will eat an entire box of Milkduds!  That, my friends, is a good time.  

The pictures I’ve posted are two-fold: the glory (exhibit 1) and the guts (exhibit 2).  Happy day blog-reading amigos! 

Swimming

Swimming has turned into therapy for me.  I am not by nature a strong swimmer and when I’m in the pool or open water I can loose my psychological form as quickly as I loose my swim posture.  My swim coach once told me (she says I am getting much better, thankfully) that I tend to have a fight or flight reaction in the water.  I either get overwhelmed with the strength it takes to stay buoyant, keeping a splash in my kick and finishing my arm stroke or I will flail a little, swimming sans poise and grace but in double time, in an effort to be done.  Swimming is like life in this way: it’s only through relaxing, letting go, staying focused and in a state of grace that one can become stronger and more able.  There are no short cuts (besides steroids).  You have to take relaxing very seriously. Each time fear arises, causing you to tense up, you renew the letting-go lesson embodied in relaxation. Tensing up, you relax, tensing up, you relax –a life lesson in the middle of the pool. I do a lot of deescalating self-talk in the water.  Self to self: I really can do this.  I may not be the fastest, but I can navigate my way to the other side.  I am also stern with myself: I must swim properly to get better, to push through the pain, it is not beyond my ability to handle. Don't give up and get sloppy!  Relaxing is not the same as being lazy.  Rather, it is reminding yourself to take a deep breath and just carry on when life is hard, that it’s going to be okay, even when it’s not.  You’re going to be okay.  I’m going to be okay, even when swimming another 400 meters can conjure up the same visceral  (albeit irrational) fear as climbing Mt. Everest.  That said, it is good for me to get grounded in my body and continually inculcate my airy, free-flowing self to bear down.  I challenge us all to find our "swim" in life, that which confronts our fears and avoidance tendencies, and pushes us to mindfullness, as we learn to live, and eventually grow old in the matrix of our fights and flights. 

Don't Stop Believing in the Journey (to Nashville)

This entry is dedicated to Ginger, affectionately known as Scring. Come to Nashville for the Country Music 1/2 Marathon Scring!! You know you want to. I'll let you dance to Red Hot Chili Peppers in my living room ad nauseam. And I won't laugh if you get mad at me because I laugh at you getting mad.  Love, Scrang

...and then there was biking

The time has come in our pseudo-athlete training schedule where we can’t live in denial anymore: we (my training cohort and I) need to start riding our bikes.  Now cycling is not torture, quite the opposite, it’s one of the most pleasurable experiences I know  (except when it’s cold, of course).  But it’s an added exercise to what feels like an already full and strenuous workout routine.  It’s the gift and cross of a triathlon: you keep things interesting by switching it up but just when your swim arms don’t feel like cooked angel hair pasta anymore, and you want to run a banner through the sky that says “I can finally sorta, kinda swim again!!” you remember that you haven’t been on a bike since last summer. And the old drug commercial sets in: These are your legs. These are your legs in clip petals on hills.  (Crack. Sizzle.) Any questions?   Yes.  Have they legalized steroids yet?

A friend left me a haunting message the other day.  He, a professional cyclist I might add, said; “Hey Angela, when are you going to get on your bike again?  You said you’d call about a month ago to take my class; you never called. You better get on it!”  This is God’s clever way of one-upping me, sending me a “cycling conscience.” To add insult to injury, my professional cyclist friend once told me that in his many years of competitive cycling he never fell prey to the peer pressure of steroids which, shamefully, I would probably be tempted by just to make it through swim practice!  

      So it’s crunch time.  Runs are turning into RUNS, as in 8-9 miles a shot.  The ½ marathon is like tomorrow or something.  And triathlon training is no longer “getting in shape” or “working out”.  It’s the real deal, the daily grind, drinking buckets of water, eating right and beating our bodies back into submission. There are two little months left to put muscles on my arms, and pump the tires on my bike.  Wish me luck.  Wish Krista luck, and wellness, as my cohort has been sick the past week.  And we wish you luck with your grand endeavors.  It's a luck fest. In the words of George Clooney: Good night, and good luck. 

Stumbling towards muscle tone...

I'm one of those people that stumbles into things.  I stumbled into Nashville because of a boy... stumbled into a high-profile publicity job because my boss quit... stumbled into counseling because Mars Hill Grad School looked cool and Seattle is sexy... stumbled into writing for a wine magazine because I like to drink...  I am not one of those people that dreamt up a life early on and spend my years checking things off.  I actually admire those people! My drive rears itself differently. By nature I'm motivated, creative and conscientious and of course I've had moments in life where it's felt like I'm "living my dream" or living in "dreams realized," but they never got realized before they were lived.   I'm not a, "Finally, I'm here!" kind of girl.  I'm more like; "Yeah, this is good.  And, whoda thought, it totally fits! I'm all in!"   

Well today, during my longest run to date in 2008 (5.5 miles), my friend Krista and I were talking about our workout schedule, our love and longing for sugar (38 days to go!) and the upcoming races we've verbally agreed to do with each other.  And I began to wonder when the hell did I stumble into becoming an athlete?  Now, I'm NOT an athlete in the truest form. I was in Madrigals in high school, not track.  When I'm in races I'm generally competing with the spectators, not the other participants. But by the end of our run we had our spring and summer planned, chocked full of mini-triathlons and a few Olympic ones.  We both baulk when people call us "triathletes" as it feels so undeserving.  Krista deserves the title more: she's done two Olympic triathlons, a marathon and a half-marathon.  My list of athletics is not that accomplished.  But I digress.

Isn't it interesting how much of life, that feels so intentional on our part, is actually intentioned for us.  Life makes much more sense in the reflection of our choices and our disappointments, versus the projections.  I would've never thought I'd be into training for races, even 5 years ago, but now, as I reflect over the past 4 years, I can't imagine not being into it.  And there are so many of those: I would've never thought...

 "When we're looking ahead, the path behind us straightens."  I've always loved this quote.  It makes everything belong.  And that "everything" is what we end up calling our life and it really does belong.  On a radical level, it really is all good. (Except for my shin splints; they suck.)

Wanna run?

I'm all kinds of happy right now because the sun is out and it feels like running season again in our great Volunteer State.  I went for my first official outdoor run of the season this afternoon with my friend Alayna.  I had a rehearsed speech that I pulled out during our slow and steady 5k, about being head strong when training for an event (we're doing the 1/2 marathon) and the importance or reaching within ourselves for the discipline to maintain and endure a training schedule (versus solely counting on each other for motivation). I spieled on and on about the fun of running culture, the tenacity it takes, the gratification of being physically able to pick up and go for a 5 mile run with any given running buddy, and the self-satisfaction of going into the summer undaunted by a bathing suit.  

She asked if she was going to have to endure my pep talks every time we go running.  

And then we mostly stopped talking because we both had cramps.

Alayna is excited about the catered brunch she's planning for after the marathon.  

I say, whatever inspires you... use it!!  

Personally, I'm inspired by the long awaited sun, the other bundled up runners on Belmont Blvd., and waking up my ritual of throwing on my Saucony's and going on a thirty minute sprint with my friends or Ipod, always feeling better about myself (and my body) in the after-shower.