Laps and life

The closer the race gets, the more long lonely runs, long grueling rides and many hours in the pool, back and forth. All summer, I was very fortunate to have access to gorgeous lakes and warm wonderful days to get my swim time in. Now with snow and cold weather, I am relegated to the pool. I can not even imagine how many miles I have swum since I joined the swim team at the age of 7. Back and forth.

To pass the time one day last week, I swam through my life. Every lap was a year in my life. Kind of flew through the first couple of years. A spattering of memories, feelings and visions. School days and friends that came and went with each passing year. Somehow I made it through teenage hood, I hated my mother and adored my father. As soon as I reached lap 16, I recalled driving away from my parents, my first love and acne. Then off to college. I thought I knew everything. I protested the war, I lectured my parents about the world and population explosion. I vowed to go into the peace corp and right the world and create a peace loving universe. I struggled with what to do with my life after college, elected vet school, put off the peace corp, figured I was much smarter than Bella (mom) and still adored my dad, Eli.

At lap 21, I giggled at the fact that I downed a fifth of tequila at a party my folks put on for me. Maybe even swerved a bit in the lane. I met the farther of my kids at a friends wedding. Decided I wanted a family, gave up on stopping population explosion, and got married. I worked, cooked, cleaned, cried a lot. At the 36th lap, my thoughts turned to my children. My heart bursts with love for them. I remember a moment, standing next to my sons crib, gazing down at him as he slept. My cousin came in and we just stood there looking at the pure innocence. Yes, we would kill to protect them and die to keep them safe. Never had I felt such raw fierce instinctual emotions. As I swam on, my arms started to get tired. 43 laps, 3 sons, a divorce, a very stressed out single mom. I got really tired. Kept meeting the wrong guys, but took away from each relation a lesson. My kids kept me sane and I tried not to drive them insane.

The time went so fast. Soon they were off to college and "drove away". I had vowed to enjoy every second with them, to be there after school, to drive them to their swim practice. And I did. And the time flew by. Menopause and I almost went crazy. My parents at lap 55 were gone. A big hole remains in my heart, swimming helps lessen the sorrow. A lap later, I moved to Bend. Now into the groove, I swim on and get my pace settled in. Lap 58 and I found the right guy, my boys are wonderful young adults, I found a career I love and I live in a beautiful place.

Now into the future, I swim on. My race, my future in veterinary dentistry, an empty nest for the first time in 23 years, a new relationship. And then I reach the 65th lap. Retirement. Not sure that will ever happen. Maybe a slow down in working and more travelling. Lap after lap, I design my life. Always open to the unexpected, dealing with a cramp, constantly thinking of my kids, travelling. Into the groove, I push on to 70 and 80. My parents were very active until their late 80's. So can I. My children worry that they will have to take care of me. I tell them I'm spending their inheritance. I flow into the 90's. Can I stay active? Can I still swim? Can I know I'm swimming? Lap 120, I am done. I have always told my boys that I am going to live until 120, go scuba diving, come home and call it a life. Too much to do to stop before that.

The Wind is my friend

It always seems that no matter which direction I am riding, the wind is in my face. Whenever I head out I start my mantra, "The wind is my friend" Now if I were a pilot, I would be delighted with a stiff breeze at take off to increase my air speed; or if I were a captain on a sailboat, I would rejoice with the billowing of the sails and the salt spray. However, on my bike it can be, well let's say, interesting.

During Ironman Hawaii, even though I had trained a lot in the wind swept hills of Sonoma County, I was not prepared for the fury of Pele. As we started out on the road to Havi, the breeze turned to wind turned to gales. Looking down the highway to the cyclists ahead, I noticed we were all leaning at about a 50 degree angle into the crosswinds coming off the ocean. At one point, much to my dismay, I found myself all the way past the center line, buffeted by the wind sideways. Luckily for me I avoided the traffic, other bikes and the lava.

As we went up the coast for the turnaround the wind was in our faces. I was in high gear, peddling furiously, going down a steep grade, I glanced at my computer and I was going a "blistering" 9 mph. I kept my spirits up, telling myself that when I turn around I would have a lovely tail-wind. Finally, I hit the town, did my half circle, over the timing pad and headed back out. It was heaven, I was flying down the hill. I checked my timer and thought "Wow! With this tailwind, I'll be back in no time." Well, reality caught up with me. The winds shifted and I again had a head wind or a crosswind all the way to the transition. I was never so happy to get off my bike and get my running shoes on.

Now, in Central Oregon, I have plenty of wind and time to recite my mantra. It still seems that the wind is in my face more often than not. I have tried to make friends with the wind gods, It is a process. So, I still hope for a tailwind and accept that the head wind is out of my control. "The wind is my friend, the wind is my friend, the wind..."

Flotsam and Jetsam

I love to comb the beach searching for treasures the sea presents. Always hoping for a fully intact sand dollar, a piece of shimmering abalone shell or a bright red rock. Waiting patiently for a crab to emerge from it's hiding place or maybe spying on a harbor seal and her pup. The same mentality applies to my bike rides. The shoulder of the roads become my seashore. What has the earth "washed up" for me? What have passing motorists tossed out, discarded for me to find and make up stories about?

Well, it is sometimes frightening and sometimes comical and other times beautiful. The shoe tree is a work of art. Each shoe must have some great stories to tell. What possessed that teenager to throw their $75 shoes upon the branches of this lone juniper tree out in the middle of the badlands? What did his mother say? Is it an act of defiance or pure joy at the freedom of the act? Was their malace in their feat , a challenge, a dare, or just silliness. Was it just teenagers or were there some "adults" who wanted to get in on the fun? And why has no one pulled any of the shoes off "the canvas" to put them upon their feet as they tromp away into the sunset? Oh, the stories those shoes could tell!

I think this rider forgot their steed.

Unfortunately, I see a lot of death and destruction along the roadside. Skeletons may be all that are left of a life cut short by an auto. Fox, coyotes, deer, dogs, cats, rock chucks, mice, squirrels, snakes, chipmunks, frogs. All are vulnerable. And then there are the crosses and flowers marking the sites of people or beloved pets taken from their lives all too soon. The epitaphs letting visitors know who was lost, attempting to keep their loved ones alive in the memories of strangers. The smiling faces looking back at you, the letters of love, burned forever into your mind, of those you never knew, but now feel connected. "Share the Road". How many riders are struck down by an unaware driver? Do they really try and pass as close as possible or honk at you, just to frighten you? Share the road with all living things. Drive cautiously.

And then there all the inanimate objects. I wonder if anyone has done a study on what is thrown from cars to land along the shores of the road. Is this a commentary on our society or a comment on those people who litter? Definitely more Budweiser than Pepsi, plastic bags, diapers, usually neatly folded into a tight small rectangle. I keep hoping to find a paper bag filled with unmarked $100 bills lying in the ditch, waiting for me to discover it. So far, mostly pennies and more recently nickels and dimes, even a few quarters.

You can do your shopping on a ride. There is always something for sale. Signs exclaiming that it's a great buy, just call. Houses, horses, cars, food, taxidermy and some equipment that I have no idea what it is for, but it's a good deal. I especially like the signs announcing a store is coming up so I can purchase my snickers bar and a cold/hot drink.

Lots of car parts. You would think someone would notice their muffler fell off. Nails, bolts, hubcaps, fuel tank caps, bungee cords. Sometimes actually usable tools can be found. Each piece has a story behind it.

I like reading the signs announcing who has claimed that stretch of road to keep clean. They should have a phone number, so we can call and let them know the condition of their road. Our masters team has a stretch on the way up the mountain. I do my best to help. At times I come home with more than I left with. All in all Central Oregon's roads are pretty "clean" compared to other areas.

My favorite flotsam and jetsam are the flowers and rocks I discover along the way. Being on a bike, I can take the time to spy the flowers that I miss in the car. The rocks are distinctive to our volcanic origins and form very interesting shapes. Obsidian is my favorite. I do not know the names of all the flowers or trees, but certainly their beauty helps me through those long rides.

And then I get to meet some very interesting observers along the way. The horses have to come over to see the weird person with wheels instead of legs. And the birds, especially the crows, are quick to offer words of encouragement. The cows seem to be more lackadaisical about the whole process. Deer and rabbits scatter, not sure what a coyote would do, not sure I want to find out. I talk to them and really hope no one is watching. They may call the mental health unit to come pick me up.

I like to make up stories, let my imagination run wild. By the end of my ride, I can create whole lives from a piece of flotsam. I'm still waiting for that mob boss to toss the wrong paper sack out of the window. I could pay off my bills, start my oceanography school, start a foundation to help people pay for pet health care, get a chocolate lab puppy and have world peace. Well, maybe I can make a difference somehow.

Thanks for listening to my ramblings.

Aloha and mahalo

Deb

The Attack of the Dive Bombers

We were on a lovely trail headed to some lakes off the Cascade Highway. I was delighted that the recent cold weather had knocked out the mosquitoes. It was clear, warm with a slight breeze. My task for the day was 3 hours of running. I had just come off the bike and headed into the "brick workout".

It was quiet. No one on the trail. I felt unstoppable, like I could go forever. And then the attack began. Buzzing dive bombing bees. They got S'Kaana, he rolled into the mud, rubbing his face. They nailed me on my legs and arms. I frantically waved my arms and sprinted up a hill, yelling inappropriate words. I was a mad women staggering as fast as I could using my water bottle as a weapon. The attack stopped as fast as it had begun. But the war was still on. As we proceeded, "licking our wounds" the buzzing began again. They are tenacious buggers. Stealthy. Persistent. My frenzied antics were not successful. But I had a plan.

I took a water break, gritted my teeth and exposed my arm to the flying "Red Baron". He landed. There was a minuscule moment of concern for the life of this annoying insect and then my water bottle struck. He fell to the ground, his wings crushed, blood oozing from his wounds. I take no prisoners! My foot rose and fell without a thought of regret. The bug was now juice on the bottom of my shoe. S'Kaana felt the sweet taste of revenge.

We pressed on, listening for more flying commandos. There, another one was preparing to stage a come back battle. I raised my shoe and let them sniff the blood of a fallen comrade. They recoiled, like a vampire to the smell of garlic. They watched from a distance. For the rest of the run, when any came near, I gave them my "sole" and we were allowed to pass unharmed. I'm thinking of marketing this as a very effective insect repellent. Not sure if any one would want to smear bug juice all over themselves. But those bites are painful. Luckily we made it back to the car in one piece and some wounds to share as a testament to our "War of the Bugs".

My Running Buddy

This is my best running buddy, S'Kaana. He is always eager to go and never complains. He always finds the water and keeps the man eating squirrels at bay. He knocks me over, sprays me with water, as he shakes, to cool me down and shares my lunch. His enthusiasm for life is infectious. Sometimes, after the alarm goes off, he snuggles closer and stares at me until I roll out of bed and put on my running clothes. S'Kaana does not like my bike. The mountain bike is good, but not the road bike. He knows what is in store for him by the shoes and hat I put on. Is it a romp down by the river or a long boring asphalt pounding grind or staying at home while I get a ride in? His love is unconditional and he never holds a grudge. What's that quote,"I wish I were half the person my dog thinks I am".

The Magic of the Ride

I can not say whether it is spiritual, magical or a combination of both. Something happens when I get on my bike and start to ride. When I first started in triathlons I had a comfort bike. Not the fastest one on the road. I then upgraded to a very sturdy steel frame and got my first tri-bars. Also tried clip in pedals with mountain biking shoes. As I got more entrenched in the sport, I began to have bike envy. My steel frame was reliable and I had good components, but I was not "in love". Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, it was stolen. I was then presented with the task of finding a bike fast as my Ironman was coming up in a few months. It takes a while to fit your bike and get comfortable with it, so I was anxious to buy one and start training. Where do I start?

I walked into my favorite shop, Johnathan's Bike Shop and yelled help. Well everything fell into place. Johnathan advised me on a frame to suit my needs and my body type, we picked the color, he made the call and the company had one my size and color and only one. We ordered and I spent many hours picking out the brakes, the handle bars, the speed plates, the color of the taping, wheels, bottle racks, it was like preparing for a new baby. And then I had to wait. And wait. Pieces started to arrive. Johnathan started to assemble them. Then the frame arrived. I was not allowed to see it til it was made whole.

After what seemed like years, I got the call. As I walked into the shop I spotted a bike in the window, and it was love at first sight. I was dismayed that I had waited so long for mine and there was the bike of my dreams, right in the window of his shop. Johnathan saw my longing and with a big grin, pointed and said, that was mine. Oh! I was breathless. There was a spirit about my bike. The ruby red weave shimmered in the sunlight. The shinny black wheels spoke of long fast distances to be traveled. The tri-bars and seat were set to my body frame, perfect, so comfortable, like a favorite old leather chair. My bike beckoned to me, come with me, ride the wind, together we will create magic. And we did. We qualified for Hawaii. We, Kaua in Hawaiian, was his name.

When we landed on the Big Island for the championships, it was surreal. It was an unbelievably amazing experience. Made more so by the tragic events of 9-11. So much emotion, excitement and energy. We headed out to the lava fields to pay tribute to Pele. I picked a spot high on the ridge of lava overlooking the sea. I stacked rocks, left coral and sea-shells and asked Pele for a safe journey for all of us. The director of the race offered a prayer the morning of the race asking the bikes to carry us safely to the finish.

Kaua and I were put to the test. The winds that year were the strongest ever recorded. They were pushing racers off the road into the lava beds. So many times Pele threw her anger at us. But we stayed stronger. So many times I almost flew off the course, almost fell over, almost lost hope to finish. But we persevered. It was truly a mystical moment. After 112 miles of a gruelling course, I rounded the last turn and headed into the transition, we had done it. Kaua had endured. I was in tears, from shear exhaustion, gratitude to have survived and the feeling of belonging to something magical, something bigger than all of us.
Every time I head out on a ride, I give thanks that I have had a safe journey and give hope that it remains so. Way too many others have not been so blessed. There is definitely a spirit connection with my bike, Kaua. Can that really be the case? We have now had over eight years together. Much longer than any of my old boy friends. We did crash once, in San Jose. It was very ugly. As they were calling the ambulance, my only thoughts were, where is my bike going to fit in the ambulance and why can't I finish the race. Well, it was only a concussion, road rash for me and Kaua and some stitches in my head. We, have been very fortunate.

We spend a lot of time together. Those 6 hour, hundred mile training rides leave a lot of time to contemplate and philosophize. My family is probably jealous of my bike. He does live in the bedroom and has a special seat inside the car. Wait til I tell you about my running buddy, S'kaana. Be safe out there and share the road. Deb

Who What?

I think people who spend a lot of time on the bike have a weird sense of humor. I was tutting along, no pun intended, on a great day through the forrests along the Cascade Highway, admiring the lakes and rivers, when I noticed some writing on the road. Thinking it must be words of encouragement for a rider during a recent race, I was thrilled with the prospect of receiving the powerful thoughts behind the well intended phrase. Something like, well, "way to go" or "you're almost there" or better yet, "what a stud". But, to my complete disappointment, the perfectly lettered message said "Who Farted?"

Bodily function discussions are topics for new parents, the geriatric crowd at an evening gathering or with my clients regarding their beloved pet. Not something I wish to see scrolled on the roadway. However, I almost lost control of my bike from laughing so hard. When training or during a race, it can become the main focus of your thoughts. Where do I stop to take care of my needs? Who will pass me if I stop now? Can I hold it a bit longer? Can I find a tree? And most importantly, do I have some TP?

So, to whomever the message was intended, I hope you had a good day of riding and that no one was behind you.

Are there sea monsters?

Saturday we planned to take off for Lucky Lake. It is a sweet little Cascade lake just a short walk in, about 1 1/2 miles on a good trail. After much ado, with errands, getting my youngest son, Ethan, to work and menu planning, we reached Lucky at about 4 pm. Well, it gets cold in these mountains and the wind comes up and I am sure the lake monsters are hungry. I, however, was very brave and dove in. Well, actually I slowly walked in, sucking in my stomach and raising my arms up, trying to avoid the cold. Not quite sure why I do that, doesn't help. My dog, S'kanna, was barking loudly, wanting to join me. He is not a straight swimmer and has a tendency to swim over the top of me. Tom kept him happy with cookies and chasing sticks.

My job for the day was an hour swim. The water was cool and very clear. The bottom was fluffy silt. If you put your feet down you would sink to mid calf. I took one circuit around, about 27 minutes, and my imagination took over on the second lap. Are there sharks in Cozumel? What if some weird worm lives in the silt and grabs my ankle? What was that shadow? Where is that rippling coming from? Is someone, thing, following me? I think I'm hypothermic now. I have no feet or fingers. Of course the monster may have eaten them, and I would not even know it. I'm really cold and I've done 57 minutes. Good enough. But I really do not want to put my frostbitten feet in the mud, something may pull me under. Luckily, I was able to dog paddle to the log and climb out, not very gracefully.

I sat in the sun for awhile trying to warm up, hoping for a memory of what it was like to be hot. I am very happy and elated that Cozumel water temperature will be close to 83 degrees. Yeah! I do not like to be cold. On the way out, I saw the "sea monsters" gliding across the lake all in a row, reflecting the setting sun. They were, I am sure laughing at me and my silly notions. They certainly were making quite a racket. The walk out was brisk. The car heater was the best invention ever. I survived.

Aloha and Mahalo

To all those who have pledged and all those who have trained with me and supported me, thank you so very much.

This crazy idea of raising funds for The Peter Emily International Veterinary Dental Foundation all started one morning when I woke up, stepped on the scale, groaned at my 164 pounds of flab and promptly announced that I wanted to regain that feeling of being fit and trim. It also serves to keep me honest with my training when I advertise to the world my intent to finish an Ironman in order to raise moneys for a worthy cause.

This will be my 6th Ironman. The race date is November 29 in Cozumel, Mexico. I will swim 2.4 miles in the pristine ocean of the Caribbean. Maybe the dolphins will show up to play. We then hop on the bikes and ride 112 miles around the island, across the island, down the coast, up the coast and back and then do it again. It's a small island. After we drop off our bikes at the transition we don our foot gear to run 26.2 miles around the island, across the island, up the coast and back and then do it again to finish at the town plaza. My goal, as always is to finish without up-chucking. Beyond that, I am striving to qualify for the Championships in Hawaii for 2010. And of course, to bring awareness to the Foundation and raise funds to purchase much needed equipment.

My training is going well. There is plenty of time on those long rides, swims and runs to perform mental gymnastics. Thoughts race, no pun intended, through, around, in and out of my brain. I can only wish that my swimming, running and biking can keep up with the head.

Thank you for your support. I hope you enjoy my thoughts "from the saddle".