Today, The Feel Good Tribe posted 95 Questions to Help You Find Meaning and Happiness. I decided I would take this slow and start with the first 10 and see how that worked out for me. I have no problems sharing because I will admit, I was rather stumped on a couple, so maybe I could use a little help, ehh? OK, here we go…
In one sentence, who are you? I am a human being who is perfectly flawed and possessing both ugly and beautiful qualities.
Why do you matter? I matter because everything I do, no matter how grand or minor, affects the lives of others.
What is your life motto? Hakuna Matata! Just kidding. “Push Thru!” and “It is what it is” seem to be the things that work for me. Both keep me grounded and focused…when I remember to say them to myself.
What’s something you have that everyone wants? No idea. Maybe my ability to get back in the saddle the day after surgery and poke fun at the situation? I cannot really imagine that being a big deal to more than a few people and my boss. My kids don’t care about that though. My kids want my love…and they know they have it. There is nothing that I have that I imagine everyone wanting. “Everyone” is a pretty big concept. I have the determination to live. Maybe everyone should want that, but they don’t.
What is missing in your life? True acceptance of self.
What’s been on your mind most lately? Loving myself enough to walk away from toxic relationships and believing that I deserve happiness. Wanting to set a positive example for my daughter and instill those beliefs in her.
Happiness is…a 9-letter word that gets treated like a 4-letter word, at least subconsciously, by too many people including myself at times.
What stands between you and happiness? I do.
What do you need most right now? Self-love, sex, and candy.
What does the child inside you long for? The type of hug that you can feel from the ends of your hair strands to the tips of your toes. And maybe some crayons and wax paper.
That time of year to kick off the road racing season with the Froze Toes RR.
That time of year also marks the dawn of the Team Seagal Death By Hills (DBH) Ride. A day when those who would rather not pin numbers to their person and race the flats and wind in Columbia, MO choose to meet across from a coffee-house and embark on an adventure of hills and “Dodge the SUVs”.
The ride is organized by a bunch of Jerks who apparently just like to suffer for the sake of suffering.
[Wipes tear of pride for knowing such people]
This was my third DBH ride (though the first was done with a group of ladies riding the course backwards to meet the Jerks because a couple of us had to coordinate babysitting, so maybe we don’t count that one).
I have to admit, I was a little nervous yesterday morning as I geared up and rolled out of the house to ride over to Wolf Public House.
I have not been riding my bike for the past couple weeks, save a spin class here or a short ride there.
I had started doing yoga again last week, but was not sure how well that and the one spin class on Saturday was going to do me on the DBH ride.
Top that with making poor nutritional choices in the morning with only a cup of chai as I hurried to get out the door, I was sure I was going be toast.
I was wise enough to grab some Shot Bloks and a “pocket PBJ” just in case I felt a super-bonk come on.
I knew I would only be out there for part of the ride since I had to get home to The Sass, but still, I wanted to enjoy a few hours in the sun and saddle and getting to see some people I had not seen since early Fall, if not Summer.
I rolled out and met the group and was really excited to see all the Jerks who showed up.
It seemed (at least to me) to be a lot more than last year’s ride, but then again, I try not to count or do much thinking on weekends so who knows?
*shrugs*
We rolled out and it felt SOOOOO weird to be on the skinny tires in a group, so I made sure I hung way back…at least until after we passed the dead thing in the road that had been there for days.
(Even though you call those things out to folks, you just sort of know someone(s) is/are going to nail it and that can bring on the wrecky, so best to hang back is what I always say when chatting with myself in my head as I sometimes do whenever I start a group ride.)
The first climb, one I have done a zillion times, was a doozy as I was reminded that I have not ridden in a while other than that spin bike and the paths in Ft. Wayne, IN.
OOOF!
It was super cute how the wind did not go away on the climb as I had hoped.
Frankly, I have come to love climbing because I hate wind so much and that is how I typically avoid it. Yesterday was a nice cocktail of both, so once we made the first turn, I sort of had to shut my mind down to the wind…or cry.
I chose not to cry. (Go ME!)
Excellent!
By the time we dropped down into Woods Rd, I was relaxed and locked out of my own head, which is a good thing because for a hot minute it was touch and go.
I got to ride with Wendy and catch up a bit and that made the riding so much better/easier.
You know what else made the ride easier?
Knowing that Wendy’s husband, Jim was driving SAG in the Team Trail Monster mobile.
Somehow just knowing that Jim was there with bike racks ready in case anything happened to anyone took about a ton of stress off the situation.
Exactly at the moment I realized Jim would be there the whole ride, the whole thing got easier.
My heart rates were lower on every climb (and even lower on the climbs that I skipped!) knowing that if I had a bonk that could not be saved with a sammy or sugar, I could beg a brief ride/recovery from Jim until the route got closer to my house.
Luckily, that did not happen and I was able to ride and chit-chat.
I would like to take this time to thank Jim for being there for my friend, Brad who got a breaky on his bike, a super badass Specialized TT bike used in Ironman events.
I feel confident that Brad’s pretty TT bike simply had a meltdown after being made to climb repeatedly. Poor little TT bike started to cry after The Seven Bitches and wasn’t having it and went all “no worky” and threw a fit tangling its chain up in its brakes as we approached the base of Allenton.
DBH Ride = Death to TT bike. So sad.
[Ducks pouts and objects thrown at head by Sad Brad as he reads this.]
Also, Jim’s face as he looked at the carnage of chain and brakes was pretty priceless, so thank you for that as well.
As the eleven o’clock hour arrived, I knew it was time to modify the route to loop back to the pad and I was sort of bummed.
When I got home to The Sass, she was all in for me making a cheese, fruit, and meat tray.
We tied the dogs out in the front yard and I sat out there for a while watching Jerks roll back in from the ride while Sass worked on her art.
I had ridden significantly fewer miles than last year but had twice as much fun…and for that, I am grateful.
That seems to be a very difficult thing for some people to say/admit, whether it be to themselves or others.
I personally do not struggle with this, but then I am left with a different scenario…
When I say that I do not want to do something, there are people who will attempt to read between the lines and find the underlying meaning of such a pseudo-grand statement.
Frequently I will be asked my favorite question…
“What’s wrong?”
What’s wrong?
Now there is something wrong with me because I don’t want to do “XYZ” that someone else wants me to do but that I do not?
Why can I just not want to do something and it be that simple?
It is that simple for me.
I know this because I have trusted some people who have coerced me into doing things I knew I did not want to do and you know what?
(This will come as a shock…)
I didn’t like it.
DOY!
I am not afraid to have fun or afraid to try new things, but I know myself rather well and don’t feel I need to prove anything to anyone by doing things that I know I will not like.
“You never know until you try it,” is a load of shit.
Guess what?
I KNOW I will not enjoy jumping put of a plane or eating cockroaches.
I do not need to dip a roach in some soy sauce and “try it” to know that this will not end well for anyone…including the person who attempts to pressure me.
I have figured out that in many ways, I am like Sass’ dog, Sasha.
She hears me. She knows what I am saying.
Hell, she is looking at me right now and I can only assume she knows I am typing about her.
Sasha knows what our commands are, but she will not follow one until she is good and ready.
I don’t work more with her on this because I can relate and want her to be her own persss….errrr…canine.
(Project much?)
All this said, because I am so direct with what I do not want, I am always amused when someone poke fun at my alleged “excuse making”.
Ehhh?
When I don’t want to do something, I say it. When I cannot do something due to schedule or other conflict, I say that.
If I have a valid reason for something, it’s a valid reason. If I say I do not want to, that is the reason. It’s done. Trying to make it something else is not my issue and I am going to start shrugging more.
If I say that I don’t want to swim or ride my bike, I fail to see the excuse.
I don’t want to.
Period.
However, I am wired so that the more you try to pressure me into it, the less likely I am to do it because you are sucking the joy that I would get from the activity right out of it for me and even if I did it, I wouldn’t do it with you because you are a dirty little fun-sucker.
Some people have this issue with sex as well. Good luck with that.
You keep talking about it and the other person is never going to give it. Let it lie and it will happen. Maybe. If they want to.
This applies to so much. So, so, SOOOOO much.
I don’t know who you are or if you ever feel the need to make excuses, but I am here to say, just tell people that you don’t want to.
They cannot argue with that. Really.
They will think they can argue while also stating that they don’t want to argue, but they do not have a valid argument.
Don’t act like you don’t have these people in your life because everyone does. If you don’t, then chances are YOU are that person. My bad.
[hands tissues to shocked reader]
No one can tell you that you want to do something and if they try, you are then afforded the opportunity to reward said person with a fantastic “have you lost your effing mind?” look that everyone loves to receive.
Today is “Tri Friday” and I am not swimming.
Why?
Because I rolled out of bed and proceeded to slice the hell out of my finger during the bagel-slicing process…because I am just that talented with bagels and knives; and…
I don’t want to.
For the record, I also do not want to:
Ride my road bike (right now; not never)
date
get an enema
do Kickbox Jam EVER again
eat gluten-free pizza
organize my closet
There you go. I challenge you to prove me wrong.
*smirk*
Go start your list…of things you want to do. It’s a whole lot more fun.
When I was a Catholic, I used to effing LOVE Lent.
I really cannot explain why except to say that I am a masochist who not only takes pleasure in my own “suffering” but even in the self-perception of such.
I always say that I am not competitive, but man, every Lent I became a first class asshole. (I think that is sort of contradicting the point of Lent, but I was young and didn’t know much about myself, but I knew I could mind fuck my peers like it was my job.)
Yes, as an adult I realize that that was wrong and likely why I got my ass beat so many times by said peers between the ages of 11 through 15. Derrrr.
1986 was my most successful Lent…because it lasted until 1999 and I still think that was pretty awesome. I gave up red meat and pork year-around. (I have since dabbled in both, but rarely as my body no longer understands how to process either so I have to stay close to home and the porcelain.)
The obvious problem with the extended Lent was that I stopped being a Catholic in 1987 but sort of just kept up the Lent. I have no idea why.
*shrugs*
It made meals during the 86-87 school year easy because my mom never cooked dinner after August 14, 1982.
(Go Mom!)
When I moved to St. Louis, I became aware of the whole Mardi Gras scene and Lent became a big thing again.
Every year, except this one, I said that I will give up F-bombs…but I really love them a lot and they comfort me.
F-bombs are like the word “dude” or black heels. They go with many situations, good and bad. I am not likely to give up F-bombs, ”dude”, or black heels ever in my life, so you should know this now.
That said, just as with black heels, I know when and where F-bombs are appropriate. You have never witnessed me wearing heels at the pool or on my bike, so I think I have a handle on it. I can be your librarian or your truck driver at will. I am a very talented lady. Trust.
This year, The Sass and I decided to do this Lent thing together. I explained Lent to her and she gave me that look with the raised eyebrow which she clearly inherited from her mom.
I told her that I want to give up candy and adult drinks and she seemed impressed.
(To be clear, she was impressed about the candy. Come on!)
My candy addiction is sort of off the charts.
I do not like chocolate so much and never milk chocolate (Thanks, Mom!), but I love sugary snacks like red Swedish Fish and Lemonheads. Those two things alone give me the happies.
Imagine my excitement (and subsequent fear) when Pinnacle Vodka came out with red gummy vodka!!!
Are you effing KIDDING me?!?
Clearly there is a Satan and THAT asshole works at Pinnacle.
They have also killed me with their “cake” and “marshmallow” flavored vodkas.
All it took was for me to open the bottle of the red gummy flavor and I knew I would never buy another bottle.
(I drank that bottle…of course…because…HELLO!)
I have tried the cake and marshmallow flavors in testing the theory that Satan is indeed French and does work for Pinnacle. He is and he does.
Now, lest I sound all weirdly bible-thumping and blame Satan for vodka, you must know that I jest.
People are to blame for their own likes, dislikes, and curiosities. I have always been one who could take or leave vodka and I am sort of happy that there is such an overwhelming saturation of the market because (in proving my theory that there is a god/goddess who watches over me), I am an individual who does not do well with too many options.
If given too many options, I typically walk straight in the opposite direction because I am a giant “ostrich”.
My god/goddess gave me Pinnacle so that I would walk away. I did. Now I feel like I am cheating at Lent because it doesn’t feel like a very big deal…which is why I added the candy component.
Candy is a VERY big deal!
OMIGOSHILOVEITSOMUCH!
I am not even halfway through a candy-less day and I am tweaking like Cupcake Brown back in the day.
This is not pretty.
I told Sass I would drink juice to satisfy my craving, but I don’t have any at the moment and that sort of sucks big hairy ones.
I am pretty sure Sass is going to kick my ass this Lent.
She calculated her decision wisely and put her plan in place. I did not do the same.
I have taken Christian off the market. I am not ready to sell him and since I have listed George, I am just going to go that route. Sorry for being a tease; I just love Christian too much to let him go. Peace.
With a heavy heart I must post that I have decided to sell Christian, my beloved, amazing and beautiful CX god of a bike.
While I think I would rather sell George, the completely useless road bike…
…I realize that George is more practical for the acquiring of the almighty base miles and the everlasting sitting on the trainer.
I think.
I don’t know.
*shrugs*
I think maybe I feel that George just isn’t as hot as Christian and that people will actually want Christian because George is really just another roadie…and really, who needs that?
I kid. George is also pretty. Thank god.
*sigh*
Christian has brought me much happiness and a few podiums in the short time that I have had him (one cx season).
He has been cheered by fans at the National level and he likes to party.
I am buzzed in this photo taken at CX Nats and carrying a flask.
He is light as fuck, because let us be honest, my ass sure is not particularly fast and somehow I passed a racer or two from time to time to win beer and those adorable ribbon/medal thingies…I credit Christian.
If you are already a fast bike racer, Christian will bring you many “happy endings” and frankly yields better results than puppies and babies as far as conversation starters. (I have both. Trust me on this.)
No one has ever stopped me to talk about my road bike. Case rested.
Christian looks great in photos and will make your people think you are “pro”.
He can do anything (ANYTHING!)*
You should have him…but only if you intend to race him. The last person to whom I sold a cx bike not only let it fly off her roof rack (not her fault) but also never raced him… the poor dear.
Here is the skinny on Christian:
He is a 50cm 2012 Ridley X-Night frame:
He has:
1.5” oversized lower head tube bearing and fork crown for superior control and stiffness;
Mudless tube technology on fork and seat stays;
Fully integrated Kevlar cable guides for smooth shifting and longer cable life;
Fully replaceable CNC rear drop outs for improved shifting and durability
BB30 bottom bracket reduces q-factor and weight whilst increasing stiffness;
Christian is being sold as a complete bike. SRAM Force shifters and front derailleur and Rival in the rear. SRAM cranks. Pedals and saddle not included.
$2,500.00 with Fulcrum Racing wheels and clinchers…
…or $2,950.00 with Rokkit Wheels’ Rokkit R50 Carbons and Challenge Fangos.
(Methinks we all know the better deal here, yes?)
Email me with inquiries at: gorydreadmond (at) gmail (dot) com and/or post valid questions in the comments.
Peace.
*Disclaimer: Christian is a bike. A bicycle. He cannot do “anything”. He can only do what you make him do and that requires participation on your part. He will not cook you eggs florentine, clean your house, or walk your dogs. He does not do laundry or pay bills. He most certainly cannot fly, so don’t be a dumbass and try that shit. He is not a horse and will not buck you, but if you end up bloody while riding him you are either a klutz, the people around you are klutzes, it is Suicidal Squirrel Day, or you are having a “lady moment”. Do not blame Christian or me and request return payment for any of that nonsense. If for some ungodly reason you ride him after purchase and hate him, I will take him back and refund your money in full…after inspecting him with an infrared light. Do not think I joke about this because I do not. If I find a crack, you are screwed. If I find spooge, I will understand…but will still request you clean him up and then return him for your full refund. I reserve the right to refuse to sell him to people whom I do not believe will provide him a good home or who have been mean to me or are just too fucking ugly (inside or out) for this bike. I reserve the right to change my mind on the sale if I cry for more than 120 seconds after agreeing to sell. That is all. For now.
**I will ship within the continental U.S. Outside of that, you must coin up or fly out.
This post has nothing at all to do with that movie, but I had to acknowledge it for what it is.
This post is about how a person who loathes Valentine’s day with the passion of one thousand suns got past that little issue and realized how gosh darn lucky she really is.
The adorable little hateress in today’s story is none other than the super, mega, awesome biotchness who typed the post you are now reading.
ME!!!! (Duh.)
So the story goes like this…
I have always hated Valentine’s Day. It started when I was 6 and I had a crush on the butcher.
(Yep. The butcher. The guy who slices deli meats, not some freaking serial murderer. Sheesh!)
I would go see him every Saturday morning during the shopping trip and man was he a hottie.
To clarify my idea of “hottie” at the age of 6, I liked Andy Gibb, Jon from CHiPs, and Potsie on Happy Days. I was an odd child.
Well, I dug this butcher. His name was John (or Jon); I never asked.
What I do know is that someone revealed my love for him. A love I had kindled since I was about 5. I used to try to dazzle him with my mad dancing skills and Snoopy knee socks. (This shocks you, yes?)
John gave me a gift the year I was 6. On Valentine’s Day he gave me a gift of 2 stuffed monkeys hugging. (I know. That was technically very sweet and technically, John was a good guy.)
What he did after he gave me the monkeys is tell me that he was getting married.
Ummmm…’scuuuuuuze, me…?!?!?
To whom?
Not me. (Again, Brooklyn; not Bayou Country.)
Since I was not then as I am not now in possession of a credible “poker face”, I can only imagine what my look must have said. What I do know is that I stormed right out of the deli and stood next to the bike awaiting Anna to finish the shopping and get us on with my life without John/Jon.
I refused to go back into that deli on any following Saturday and did not attend his wedding, to which Anna and I were both invited.
That was it.
I considered Valentines’ Day a day of people giving you gifts because they fall short in the ways in which you wish they would not…
…and more importantly, a day on which people (like my 6-year old self) hold unrealistic expectations of the people whom we allegedly love.
I didn’t need that stress.
When I got older and was what we now call a “tween”, the V Day stress came up again. Oh my GAWD, do junior high school girls stress out about this shit!
Ugh. I had to play the game because they already thought I was a freak and that would have been worse if I didn’t act like I gave a shit about holidays and “love”. Double ugh.
“Love” when you are 12 is some boy with braces and big blue eyes who you hope will grow up to be cool like your grandpa but of whom you could not currently imagine kissing because there seems to be a lot of spit going on there and you have heard horror stories about braces wires and said wires poking through people’s mouths…which would not only be painful but would get you in a heap of steaming trouble at home.
No thanks.
You might still let this boy kiss you with what you will later realize is the messiest excuse for a kiss ever and wonder how it is that your gag reflexes were not triggered by having to wipe that person’s spit off your face.
BLEH!
(Hi! I was a little bit uptight as a kid, if you have not guessed that by now.)
So, yeah…V Day was about unrealistic expectations which turned into unrealistic physical expectations, which by high school had turned into all that PLUS a full-blown competition amongst the study body…even if unspoken.
Just what I needed; another reason to absolutely loathe high school and the fact that I was not a tall/petite blonde who was adorable with perfect skin and the whitest Keds on the planet. Awesome. Go me!
Later in life, once my body grew into itself and I figured out how to maintain my eyebrows, V Day took on a different spin. A spin in which I was left with the unfortunate task of having to plan things or receive ill-conceived gifts (like the XL white down MEN’S jacket and red lace Onesie I got in ’97)…
…or irrational gifts (like the 2.06 ct diamond I was presented with by a friend who knew I was engaged to someone else but believed himself to be the better catch, in 1999). Maybe he was a better catch, but the act freaked me out enough to run far, far away. As far as I know, he has not hurled himself off a cliff and is married to a lovely girl who said yes.
I always felt a lot of pressure on Valentine’s Day to do or be something that I am not.
I was either supposed to act romantic toward someone to whom I did not wish or I had to explain to this person or that person why I did not wish to spend my day doing alleged romantic things.
Blah, blah, blah…
Every year, whether single, dating, engaged, or married, there has been some sort of mess associated with Valentine’s Day.
…and someone’s feelings getting hurt; typically (TYPICALLY) not mine.
I do as well at Valentine’s Day as I do with dating. I do not do well with forced discomfort that relies on others for a result.
I can make myself damn uncomfortable on the bike any old time and know that the only thing keeping me from and/or getting me my happy ending is me…and sometimes a stray tree.
Yesterday, I was reminded, without intent, by some friends and my kiddos that Valentine’s Day can just be about a good meal (or two) and eating candy while watching a sappy movie with sparkly vampires while your dogs work out their issues with each other.
There doesn’t have to be an expensive gift, or a restaurant, or dressing up.
There can be happiness about roses given to your little girl by her daddy…
…and happiness about the fact that you have surrounded yourself with the kind of people who would rather chill out than exploit and diminish the grandeur of real love for superficial demonstration of commercialism.
Don’t get me wrong, plenty of people truly love the people for whom they make February 14th a romantic day…but I am also willing to bet that those people demonstrate their love the other 364/365 days per year as well.
I know what you are thinking. You are thinking this will be one of my fantastically uncomfortable anti-church rants.
You know what?
It is…sort of…but not really.
I mean, it is, but it has nothing to to with religion; it has to do with the Town and Country Popo.
Dear T&C Police:
You are an amusingly menacing bunch. You know that? I mean that in the nicest, law-abiding way possible, but really, you need to chill the hell out and allow some things to be “sacred”.
You know what is wrong?
Hiding in a church parking lot attempting to trap speeders who are just trying to get their asses to work in the morning.
What’s worse?
Hiding in a church parking lot on a HILL so that when the alleged speeders see you, they all slam on their effing brakes and fuck shit up for the masses behind them.
I feel alright with myself in a non-guilty way because I happened to be doing 56 MPH at the time that I saw you and I was going with the flow, so really, how many speeders were out there this morning? Let it go, man.
There is just something fundamentally wrong with someone (ANYONE) hiding behind a cross, lying in wait to do evil things like ruin someone’s morning.
(haha…get it? ”Lying in wait”. I’m funny.)
You want to do that shit, at least do it on the shoulder or in the driveway of an assisted living facility, but not the church where (some) people go to feel safe.
Let’s be honest, people in general (unless they are on bikes) feel safe in Town and Country because traffic crimes are the big deal; not “real” stuff.
As a former Catholic, I for one get a little sick/anxious when I see a cop car in a church lot because…well…you know…The Catholic Church is a little messy with the laws right now/forever.
What I do know is that for all the people who rant about Jesus and God and what he/they would want, I can say that Jesus is NOT (N-O-T = not) down with speed traps set up at his house.
I have never read in the Bible that he hated the gays, or a particular race, or other religions. (Though I do have some doubts that the authors of The Old Testament thought highly of women, but that is another post entirely. Jesus clearly liked the ladies and loved his mommy and that is all good with me.)
What I have read in the Bible is that The Big JC LOVED sinners! LOVED them! He didn’t fuck their shit up and oddly enough, he had more than an ounce of perspective regarding the level of sins.
Speeding, though not a thing in his time, could not have been that big a deal if he forgave the assholes who crucified him. Come on.
[weighs crucifiction v. speeding and raises one snarky eyebrow and smirks]
All I am saying is that if you must speed trap sweet and semi-innocent lead-footed folks, park somewhere else.
Park someplace that will have added benefits….like McFugginDonalds! That would be a fantastic idea and a community service because folks might start looking at it with scorn since the whole “nutritional facts” thing is clearly a big fail. Oy.
[drops head in hands and sighs]
Anyway, that was my two cents, which I was able to write without bias because I was not one of the unfortunate souls caught in your web this morning. I feel fortunate that you did not write me a ticket for which I would need to contribute more of my adorably tiny salary because frankly, I don’t have much more than two cents at the moment so please also allow this paragraph to perform as a formal “Thank You” on my behalf. You guys are awesome…and pretty…and strong…*GRRRRR!*…and your cars are really neato!
*kisses*
-Me
*Disclaimer: This post was written in humor and I have no beef with the T&C Police. They have not screwed with me since 2004 and I deserved it one of the two times. (Twas an odd year.) I really do not care where they park but do believe parking in front of fast food restaurants (this works for any police department, really) would deter people from eating there and thus might actually provide said folks an additional (if unintentional) service.
I do not dislike cops and am rather fascinated with much of what they do outside of the ticket-writing which has been a thorn in my side since I was 16 with a Mustang. My late grandmother, aka “Racer Annie”, also agreed with me on tickets and I write this in homage to her spectacularly-shoed lead foot.
I support all law enforcement with regard to their DUI/DWI efforts and always will.
I would also support law enforcement fucking with people who drive slow in the left lane, but T&C does that and they get a HUGE thumbs up from me for those efforts and it makes me want to give them a giant hug.
Normally, when I talk about “The Sickness”, I am talking about Jens Boom, my 29′er boyfriend who lets me ride him as hard or easy as I want and lets me get a little wild.
Lately, I have been having to talk about some other sickness and I cannot lie, it has crawled right into my mind and given me the sads.
The first week of November, during the Cincy3 CX festival, I started to get sick.
At first I was just a little run down, then it grew bigger/worse.
Because I am me and not all that brilliant at times (and grossly selfish during cx season), I did not take a break and kept up with the traveling and racing and the all-around not resting of self and body.
I was at my old company and things were ugly and cx made me happy on weekends that my daughter was at her dad’s.
Well, I ended up with walking pneumonia. I have written about this before.
I went to State CX Championships anyway, inhaler, antibiotics, and all.
I was on so many meds at the time that I would have been happy to stay in bed. I didn’t.
On the day of the Championships, I realized I had made a truly awful mistake the day before…
I had left some items in the back of the velowagon after that day’s race and they were now still very wet…including shoes and gloves.
My skinsuit was fine because I had a spare, but ummm…so what?
I lined up freezing, wet, and miserable, and tossed the idea of taking my gloves off back and forth until I decided to just go with them.
Yeah, well that is what my hands felt like after 2 laps in the freezing wet that was the Championship race.
What’s worse, I kept seeing that scene in my head as I was racing and that was not really a good thing.
I started crying from the pain in my hands and lungs and the gasps were strong enough to cause me to lose my breakfast, which was a pretty spectacular way to end a race, so that is all I am saying about that day. I hated that day. That day was the entire 2009 cx season in 30 minutes. That day sucked.
I now have what is potentially permanent nerve damage to my right pinky, constant acute pain, and limited function of the digit. Good stuff. I’m pretty excited about it myself, because you know how much fun I have with my malfunctioning and/or rogue body parts.
*semi-dramatic sigh*
OK, so I took a break and forfeited some racing and mentally shredded myself while trying really hard not to.
I got back on the bike a few days before Christmas.
I got on The Sickness to kick the ass out of my sickness.
Now sure, I had gone to some spin classes and had been swimming and doing some funnish things at the gym, but to really ride….well, that was pure happiness.
I had to take it easy and went out with some good people who wouldn’t let me do anything stupid.
And while I maybe started with a more challenging ride than I should have, I was over the moon excited to have had my ass kicked and couldn’t wait to measure my health and wellness by returning to that final climb.
I felt the sparkle returning to my eyes and the mischievous smirk playing on my mouth.
We continued to go out…somewhere…anywhere…almost every day. My addiction had returned.
Fast forward to the week of CX Nats. A trip we had always planned and one that had never included me actually racing.
I spoke to Kirk just before the weekend and he said there was no point in me racing after how sick I have been and missing the races leading up to the event.
He was of course right and said that the only benefit I would receive from racing that race would be for novelty. He told me to take my bike and ride the course with Jim and get my workout that way.
I agreed that that was a great idea! Originally, my travel partner-in-crime was also going on the trip and we were going to run while out there; no bikes. Once a schedule glitch kept Suze from traveling with us, running didn’t seem all that fun.
So we went out to Madison and I decided I was absolutely without a doubt not racing and said it out loud to anyone whom would ask.
Nope, not racing.
At pretty much the 11th hour (because why would it not be?), I looked at Jim and told him I wanted to do the novelty race.
The novelty race being the Women’s Elite race. My first Elite race and not at all intimidating, right?
No stress. Just fun, heckling, and counting the minutes before Katie F’n Compton lapped me.
Jim looked at me in that way that Jim does because he knows I am like this.
(Yes, I routinely feel for my friends for having to deal with my spontaneous whims of doing things”just for fun”.)
So, I registered, looked oddly at my number fully absorbing how many women were in my race, (93) and then very oddly…I did all the right things! I hydrated, didn’t party, took it easy, and went to bed early.
(Technically, right there should have been a sign that I was still sick. Just saying. I almost never do the right thing the night before a race. I am very bad at the night before. Mostly because I over-think it and I stress out, so I do stupid shit to keep me from doing the stressing/thinking thing.)
I bought that HotHands/Feet stuff so I could be a ginormous pussy with snuggly warm hands in the race (because we all know I would not be going fast enough to stay warm) and some red Swedish Fish for post-race and I was ready.
The shortest (and bestest) race report EVER from the 2012 CX Nats Women’s Elite Race is below:
Yep…Kirk was right…and in being right, he allowed me to get my spirit back.
I did my novelty race and was excited by all the new year held.
He put my plan together and man was I excited!
At the end of the plan he wrote, “Small steps – stay healthy.”
So that brings me to now.
Last week I jumped into my plan and rode mostly indoors. On Thursday, I decided to do my intervals outside because I was going nuts in the house. It was 37 degrees, but I layered up and wore super warm lobster gloves (because I am just that Pro!) and the HotHands/Feet thingies.
I even wore a hat.
Immediately upon getting off the bike, I went to the steam room and sat inside making sure to loosen up any gunk that may have crept in while I was outside.
I took a steamy hot shower, and felt pretty good about things.
I felt alive.
SOOOOOO alive and good and happy.
I almost did a naked podium stand in the locker room, but…you know, I get a little tired of those ladies judging me, so I didn’t.
*smirk*
Friday, I felt less alive…and each day since has been worse.
Now I am back on the inhaler and antibiotics and feel worse than I had during the worst of the walking pneumonia.
When I look back at the year, I have been some version of sick since the end of June when I kicked my own ass in Colorado.
I cannot seem to get it together with this whole breathing thing and every time I turn around I am sick.
I have taken breaks. I have rested. I have hydrated.
I have been off the bike for four (FOUR) effing days. FOUR!
Now, I am crawling out of my bleeping skin because I want to ride my bike and while I know that technically I could do it, I wounder…should I?
Well, it’s that time again…you know, the same time that it was yesterday and the day before, where politicians (and actual humans) focus their energies on “winning”.
If we are frank, this shit happens all day long even when the topic has nothing to do with politics.
Last week someone actually told me they are focusing all their energy on “beating Obama”.
Hmmm…
Whaaaaat…?
OK, let us suppose for a minute that in the Magical World of the People Against Obama, they could paint him as a baby-raping, Medicare-check-stealing, dog-kicking, granny-beating, aerobar-having, goat-fucker.
What? That’s all bad stuff, right?
OK, so there you have this awful person. He’s awful.
Guess what?
His awfulness does not change who you are.
If you were an asshole before Obama was unmasked as the Supreme Asshole, you are in fact still an asshole.
As a matter of fact, one of my signatures says this: “Pointing out that I am an asshole does not make you any less of one.”
I wrote it.
You know why?
Because I am an asshole and I need to remember that any time I want to point out how asshole someone else is.
Sure, there are many glorious levels of asshole, but regardless, it is a club much like the mafia and once you are one, you sort of have to really work to get out; most do not succeed.
You know what else?
I could care less about Obama…or any other candidate. I know I have to, but I am also the type who will look at the one most beaten down by the opposition and think, “Hmmm…they must be afraid of something,” and then I will research.
Now, I have exceptions to this way of thinking of course.
I just will not vote for someone named “Newt” because that is a stupid name and also he looks like he belongs on a poster…and not the good kind.
Also, I do not agree with him and he has odd and unsettling speaking mannerisms that increase my distrust for him.
…and his name makes me think of The Great Space Coaster with Gary Gnu and the catchphrase “No Gnews is Good Gnews with Gary…Gnu”.
Soooo, no on Newt. Just like that.
“No news is good news with Newt.” There; fixed it. You’re welcome.
(Yes, that is judgmental and a bit obtuse, but I am completely self-aware and these are not exactly the rantings of a life coach or spiritual guide for feck’s sake. I have already stated that I am an asshole, so get on with it.)
That said, I won’t go around telling people what an asshole I believe Newt to be; I will talk about the positives and benefits of whomever I choose to endorse.
How the hell are we not tired of all the mud-slinging?
I’m not just talking politics, people.
I am talking in everyday life.
Hey, I am pointing at me first.
Last year someone dragged me into an ambush of negativity simply because they did not like me. They could not tell me what I had ever done to them, but they were hellbent on making sure others heard the news about what a jerk I am. They did their “civic duty” and warned people that I would turn on them or sprout a second head and eat their babies or some such nonsense and it was amusing…for a bit…but then it really started to hurt my itty bitty wittle feelings*.
(*”Itty Bitty Wittle Feelings” is the intellectual property of Lisa Petty, Petty Jokes, the spindoctor of snark and sarcasm…but I love it and her so much that I frequently use the term.)
For a while, I would defend the rantings of the person by pointing out their unhealthy and mean-spirited behavior and then I felt like my attacker and slapped myself.
As I continued to deal with the situation and had more interaction with people to whom this person was marketing her odd campaign to destroy me, I found myself saying to people, “Yeah; I am an asshole…but she is not less of an asshole, just maybe more observant than the average asshole who actually has a life.”
See that right there? I was owning being an asshole…and it did make some people pause to think for a moment. If this angry person was so awesome and happy and good, why was she on a crusade of hate?
Dude, hate is way worse than being an asshole. I will take an asshole any day of the week over a hate-mongering maniac. Hate-mongers are exhausting.
So, fast forward to present time and witnessing some things that really do not affect my life in any way, I am able to sit back and objectively observe this behavior in everyday life…
I see people focusing so much with what is going on with other people’s success and/or failings without pondering to consider why it even matters to them.
Wishing someone to fail does not mean you will get their success.
Also, if wishing someone to fail does not make you feel a little sad, there is something fundamentally flawed with your character and perhaps you need a vacation, a vibrator, a happy ending, or a combo of all.
The times I have sucked the most in races were the times I said to myself, “I want to beat so-and-so…”
You can’t let these people or ideas get in your head. It will ruin you. You will get wrinkles and look ugly.
You will see your production decrease in work and play.
You will laugh less.
You will start to see people become more and more quiet around you.
Make no mistake, they are not agreeing with you. They are either afraid of your wrath and don’t want to be your next target…or they feel sorry for you because you are irrational and lacking in the balance to have a true debate…which by the way is only fun when there are opposing sides.
A group of people sitting in the room agreeing with each other sounds about as fun as eating Skittles off the shag carpet. Sure, it may be good for a split second, but then you realize that even if not entirely wrong, it is still a little “off”.
I am all for debates and disagreements.
I would just like to see more healthy debates and disagreements with people arguing what their side does fantastically/correctly instead of arguing what the other side does poorly/wrong.
You want an argument? Preach with negatives.
You want a sale? Sell the positives.
But always debate with balance…and maybe think that way too.
After re-reading last year’s Feats of Strength, I am smacked in the face with just how spectacularly different this year was.
I raced MTB this year. Marathon races. What can I say here…?
HOLYSHITIFUCKINGLOVEDIT!
If there was ever a way to feel complete zen and pain and badass all at once, marathon races were it for me.
3+ hours of dirt, sweat, pain, snot, and saddle sex while people cheer and spray you with Super Soakers. Hmmmm…
Oh my dog! I had such a blast!
MTB racing used to intimidate the hell out of me. Hell, riding a mountain bike in general with its different fit and weird tires just flat out freaked me out. That is why you would see my crazy ass on my cx bike on trails it allegedly did not belong.
*PSHAW*
First off…cx bikes belong EVERYWHERRRRRRRRE!
OK, perhaps they do not belong on a ski lift for that extreme downhilling thing that some folks are into, but in my world we do not shun the cx bike.
That said, I had the honor of riding the Specialized Epic Marathon 29er for Mesa Cycles this year and on that bike, aka “The Sickness”, I found my inner kid in a different way than with cx.
I found a kid that I never was and frankly didn’t know existed.
The wild child party girl that I am during cx season was replaced with a calm, quiet, giggly mess of a girl.
It was all very bizarre and I have no idea what to say about it.
MTB was not on my list of grievances, but after landing on the podium my last race of the season, the day after doing a mock sprint triathlon*, I was pretty effing stoked and consider that fear conquered.
(Always save the bike, people!)
*A group of us had signed up for a sprint tri to do with The Sass and it was canceled due to storms. Two of us did the distances anyway indoors at Lifetime Fitness…whom I would also like to thank for not looking at us like we were fugging nuts considering we still had our numbers written on our arms. That was awesome.
[clears throat]
Eh-hem…anyway…
I guess that also means I wrestled my issues with triathlons to the ground too. It was the swimming, frankly. I was really not a fan when I looked at the sport as a whole. The Sass however wants to do them and she is a fantastic swimmer…and giggles a lot when doing it. That’s weird, I know…but she’s a giggler and I like to be around that.
Don’t get me wrong, triathletes on bikes still freak me right the fuck out because…well…TURNS!
And also don’t get me wrong that I will forever (FOREVER) make fun of anyone on a group ride in their aero bars because, seriously? SERIOUSLY?? You folks are wrecky!
But I have conquered my issues with “the swim”; the stupid suit, the cap, the goggles, and how my hips look when doing all of that. I am now relaxed and actually enjoy the swim, so one less thing to stress about. Heh.
I have wrestled a few other things from the list too. The main one being that I have learned to let people go. Just let them go. You don’t need to kick their ass, just let them go. If they are dead set on being a tool/jerk/douche/bitch/maniac/stalker, let them. Those are their issue(s); not yours. You have to ask yourself what value they have on your life and conquer your fear of them not being there. Sure, conquering your anger and fear may give you the sads for a while, but if you sit back and breathe, you may see a lot of things that you were missing before…like peace. This year, I wrestled chaos to the ground and kicked its ass…because it’s really about the chaos and not the people. To this day, I still love the people I let go this year, but not their chaos.
OK, perhaps I have not entirely kicked chaos’ ass, but I have called it out and am giving it the silent treatment with a raised eyebrow and it knows (KNOWS) that I am on to its little game.
I was about to say that I have not wrestled cancer to ground and kicked its evil ass…but the fact that I am here typing this blog means that I actually did. I have to remember that. Twelve years, baby. <- BAM!
[shakes place where titties used to be]
Well, there you have it. After a colorful year of c*nts, chaos, and cancer, I am still kickin’.
I wish I could say I have no regrets from this year, but I do. I am writing each one down and lighting them on fire on New Years Eave so I can let them go. I wish the same for anyone reading this.
