messages

each week I check the upcoming weather and make a biking plan, which, albeit flexible, is still the backbone of my week.
on our beautifully stormy tuesday I decided that I would ride outside friday afternoon and saturday, when the weather was looking a little warmer and drier than earlier in the week.
so I actually slept in this morning, arising when it was (oh my gosh) somewhat light outside. I had a plan to fit in my ride between a few other "have-to's," and although my day was busy and full, I was determined to ride.
and then a few things came together that made it imperative that I ride.
today I rode for my mental health.

I didn't think I would be doing that, but by 2:45 this afternoon I couldn't get on my bike fast enough and pedal away from everything that was trying to pull me one way or another.
of course, these things came with me. I knew they would. but I also knew that by the end of my ride they would have changed into manageable issues, tame little bunnies that were just around to keep me hopping. no more the stampeding buffaloes they seemed to be midday.
and indeed, I returned home with just a few bunnies. and a calm demeanor. and a plan.

earlier this week I was assessing certain aspects of my life and asking the universe for a little bit of guidance. which way to go, to move or not to move, to open my mouth or not, to change something or another or to swallow and dig deeper. the answer I received was to "go now," and I was completely stumped. go where? (remember how literally I take everything.)
it wasn't as if I had asked "should I stay where I am or go do this new thing?" because I have no plan of a new thing. so to receive the answer to go, and to go now, left me confused and confounded.
hmmm.
so I asked for a little clarification.
I tried to meditate and let the answer come to me: nada.
I asked a few friends: nothing came to light.
I slept on it: zilch.
I slept on it again: only a teeny little glimmer of a thought.

and then came today, with it's push me-pull me conundrum of experiences, and the running out the door to get on my non-thinking machine, my bike.
and a few more messages for me to contemplate:

* a dozen or so cars passed me as I was riding up the canyon, and I glanced at all of their license plates. only one was obviously personalized, and I think it was also obviously personalized for me, as it read
ROOT.
* shortly thereafter I noticed that my bike was squeaking. yes, squeaking. I think it's coming from my pedals, more my left than my right, but this little (and sometimes not so little) squeak continued to dog me the entire ride.
* the skies have been overcast today, at times quite gray and committed to protecting us from the sun and blue above. but as I rode up emigration, I saw wide swaths of blue cutting holes in the gray, up near the top. and as I neared the top, I saw more and more blue, blue that brightened the entire area. the sun broke through for a few small moments, and I watched my shadow smile.

and what, you ask, makes these three things personal messages for me?
well, me.
I know they are messages I was meant to receive, and this is what they mean.

ROOT: keep rooted, don't give up, dig into who I am even more firmly if needed.
SQUEAKS: the squeaky wheel gets the grease, doesn't it? start making noise, searching out that agent who will champion my writing, my books.
BLUE SKIES AHEAD: they are there. there is light at the end of my (what seems to be) never-ending tunnel. there is hope.

once again, I thank God for my bike.
and since it spoke so clearly to me today, I promise to give it some "grease" before I take it on its next adventure.

boredom

I don't do "bored."
in fact, I tend to have little patience with people who state that they're bored.
but then . . .
then there are those times in spin class or riding laps through sugarhouse park, or on the elliptical machine when I find myself constantly checking in with the clock, willing it to move more quickly through those interminable minutes . . .
so to be completely honest I must admit that I, too, have moments of boredom. such moments arise because of activity that is "wearingly dull, repetitive, or tedious" (per thefreedictionary.com ). which state, try as I might to avoid this, some of my exercising still tends to slip me into. during these moments I just want it to be done. over with. finished. complete. crossed off my list.

monday I rode outside in the chilly pre-storm atmosphere. clouds moved steadily across the valley, breaking for twenty minutes to let the sun shine down, then closing back in and helping me prepare mentally for the incoming rain and snow. I had decided I needed a recovery ride, just a mild, easier ride, as I hadn't had one of those in a long, long time. perhaps that would reinvigorate me, or at the least just be something kind to do for my body.
the thought of riding out south along 23rd east wasn't so much boring as it was frustrating: too many stop signs and stoplights along that route. if I'm going to ride, I want to ride, not to play a game of ride-and-stop, ride-and-stop. therefore I chose to do laps at sugarhouse park. I put in a few miles around the neighborhood here first, so that I wouldn't have to do too many of those potentially semi-monotonous laps, then headed down to the park.
the first lap was fun. the road dips and swoops back up, moves smoothly for a distance, and then does it again, all in an approximately 1 1/2 mile loop. the second lap was okay as well, as I concentrated on keeping my heart rate down on the "ups," which is always a challenge for me.
then another cyclist entered the loop, which was fine on her warm-up lap ~ when I passed her ~ but not so fine when she later decided to zip past me. I wanted to stay with her, but I had committed to playing the recovery heartrate game, and knew I would blow it if I let myself get in that competitive mode.
darn.
I let her go.
the fourth lap started to wear on me. I kept riding past the same walkers, joggers, and roller bladers as before, and by this time knew all of the dogs I would pass: oh, here come the two yorkies, oh, next it's the big golden retriever, oh, now it's time for the beagle . . . and now I'm coming up on the yorkies again, and then it's the retriever . . .
I was amazed by how many people talked on their cell phones while they were walking. I think that I wouldn't do that, but then, maybe they became bored walking that lap again and again. I think I'll be empathetic.
the fifth and sixth laps blurred, and then I had no idea how many darn times I'd gone around the thing.
one more, I said to myself, then I can head home. just one.
okay, one more, just in case it's less mileage home than I thought.
I wanted desperately to pull out of the park and turn up the street, in fact my bike was urging me in that direction, but my darn, stubborn, unreasonable left shoulder forced me around the curve to the left that led me to one more lap.
argh.
I was nearly ecstatic when I completed that last little ridiculous loop and turned out of the park and back into civilization, through the streets, weaving my way back toward home where I could move on with my day and leave any thoughts of boredom far behind.
because, as I said, I don't do bored.

the huge box on my doorstep

how can I not be political today?
I could write about the beautiful snow outside, how much I enjoyed watching it from the spin room this morning, how much I also watch the clock during spin class, or how my heart is heavy from loss of outdoor morning riding . . . but because we as a nation have risen to new heights, I need to go there.
to an abstract concept, that of

I have paused so long my computer is ready to throw the screen-saver action up.

I find myself without words again. so I will begin somewhere else, and see if I can work my way into what it is I'm trying to express.
I have felt pulled by Barack Obama since I first heard of him, years ago. everything that he was then he continues to be now: strong, confident, calm, peaceful, patient, compassionate. he is the person I want to represent me. I may not agree with every thought he utters or every belief he shares, but I respect his thoughtfulness, his wisdom, and his determination to move in a direction that benefits a greater number as opposed to fewer.
Obama carries himself with respect and dignity, and challenges us all to do the same.
I believe that his election to the office of President is a gift to our entire nation, that this man is capable of changing our world. I know this is an aggressive statement to make, but certainty about this resides in my soul. I am not naive, and I know he will accomplish things only if we pull together and assist in the process. but I am certain that his presidency will leave a positive, lasting handprint on this world.
that we have finally acknowledged a need for differently-minded people to guide us is so very beautiful to me. I have been hearing for years about the "spiritual awakening" that we are in the process of experiencing, and this election, to me, signifies another step along the way. it feels like a decision to heal, to move forward, to share more deeply of our common lives.
it's as if a huge box was delivered to my doorstep last night: I untied the bright, joyful ribbons and lifted the lid and there, inside, perched on the bottom but ready to take flight were hope and connection and faith and belief. they have colored my world today, and have touched millions of us with their optimism and strength.
I watched people cry last night, as a dream they did not believe possible came to fruition in real life.
I have always held hope for us all, and you know faith is tattooed on my knuckles, but last night I was given tangible proof of the power of prayer, patience, and wisdom, and I plan to revel in the glory of our nation's huge healing movement for a long time to come.

teasdale, part II

time and distance and the steady rainfall in front of my window have worked their magic, and I can now write about riding last weekend.
I love to ride, once the first fifteen minutes or so are over. and friday afternoon those first fifteen minutes went on forever. we took off on a nicely paved, two lane road, just to ride for an hour or so. thirty minutes out, then turn around. we didn't know where we were going, so each curve and dip and rise was a surprise.
the first few bends and slight rises were fine and fun, and then came a climb. still in my getting-used-to-riding frame of mind, I wasn't prepared for a lot of huffing and puffing and 6 mph stuff. nevertheless, that's what I got. I thought to myself, how about if I just turn around and go wait by the car? bill can ride as far and as fast as he'd like, and I'll just sit there, peacefully, and wait.
but I kept going. I had approached the crest of the hill by that time, and had a little more breath to share with my brain. so the two of us, my brain and I, kept the legs pedaling.
we curved around and thrilled to a descent, then pedaled some more and came to an intersection where we headed south on SR 12.
small rises, brief descents, slight downs, gradual ups: the next handful of miles were relaxing and just right. the landscape shifted slightly with each half mile: red rock mixed itself with bleached bone, with stunted pinon crouching everywhere across the flat spaces of land. in the distance were hillsides blanketed with conifers, deep green against the ivory and rust-colored rocks.
occasional signs and houses dotted the roadside, telling us that 43 acres were available, the hansen's lived at number 389, and that 3 to 5 acres sites with improvements were located just over the hill and around the bend.
we ended up riding this road each of the three days, and on our return leg on the final day, it had become familiar enough that I could anticipate the approaching grade and terrain, the place I would pass the cattle, the graveled drive where I would ride past the decorative mailbox crafted to mimic a fancy red barn.
the sagebrush, the tumbleweeds, the jutting rock towers that make me think God created this fantastic playing board for his own pleasure: these are what will remain with me. the deeply pinkish red soil, the jackrabbits with their dark lined ears, the three bucks in the ravine, the black and white rock faces, and on saturday, the smashed pumpkins decorating the asphalt every few miles.
and, of course, the red dust on my shoes.

red dust on my shoes

getting away is a great thing.
unpacking is an okay thing.
and discovering an unexpected memento of your trip once you're home is a truly excellent thing.

two years ago I rode in the Skinny Tire Festival in moab. it happened on the first weekend in march, and, big surprise, we were gifted with an intense, not-unseasonal cold front for our riding pleasure. I was with a friend, and the night before the ride we hit every store in town looking for booties to cover her shoes. I was fortunate to already own some, but she wasn't so lucky, and she remained unlucky, as every store was sold out of booties. my creative friend then ended up soliciting two empty plastic bread bags from the restaurant at the hotel where we stayed, and slipped those over her socks before putting her biking shoes on. when the temperature is predicted to be 26 degrees, one will try just about anything to stay warm.
I will just say that both of us were cold on the ride, but I think perhaps she was the colder of us two. at the first rest stop we spent a good fifteen minutes with her hands flipping from front to back in front of a propane heater, and she actually borrowed a pair of gloves from a woman who happened to have (??) an extra pair.
it was a beautiful ride along the colorado river. chilly, but a treat, especially after a winter of sitting inside on a spin bike. the next day we rode to dead horse point, sat at the top to eat lunch amidst the patches of snow, and raised our faces to the sun high in the pure blue sky.

the day after I returned from moab, I went to spin class. I put my cycling shoes on, adjusted the bike seat, and hopped on. I clipped one foot in, and then tried to clip in the other. I turned my foot this way and that, stood up and did another little hop, trying to press the cleat into the clip. it wouldn't go.
I unclipped my other foot, got off the bike, and turned my problem foot so that I could see the bottom of my shoe. there, embedded in the cleat was a glob of hardened red rock dust. a grin spread across my face, as the joy of riding around moab instantly returned and encompassed me. I knocked some of the red clump away from the cleat, and got back on my bike, happy as a clam.

this morning I shook out my riding clothes in the laundry room, my shorts and socks and arm warmers that were all in a bag with my shoes, and I watched red dust settle to the floor.

I smiled.

teasdale, part I

I have always found that travel fills my creative tank and unleashes this desire within me to write, write, write. I am stimulated by the new landscapes and environments, by the unfamiliar sights and sounds. everything is refreshed and renewed and I see as with new eyes.
this happens whether I am driving on the freeway headed to cedar city, or sitting in my brother's living room in texas, or relaxing in a lounge chair on top of a cruise ship, watching birds fly above a seemingly endless ocean.
I grab a journal, a notebook, a scratch pad or whatever I can find and the words drip from me and form puddles and lakes and oceans.
but I have just returned from two days in torrey, and I am still awaiting inspiration. I soaked in enough stillness and outrageously stunning scenery to fuel my brain for a year, and yet when I tried putting a creative scrap of sentence on paper I puttered out before a single word escaped my pen.
I am unable to describe my experience.
I am like a radiologist who's forgotten how to read an x-ray.
an architect who cannot draw.
a singer without a song.

a cyclist without a bike.

okay, now I'm back on track.

I am a cyclist with a bike, one who rode a few dozen excellent miles around torrey, utah this past weekend. and having just returned home late this evening, with a seemingly stunted creative drive, I do not have the ability to describe a single mile of my riding.
my belief is that I absorbed so much beauty and space and immensity that it is just taking a while for my mind and soul to incorporate it all. that perhaps tomorrow when I put pen to paper I will be able to find words to express my experience.
but not tonight.
tonight I will remain a writer without a story, but still, and always, a writer with a bike.

sleep

it is said that recovery is a critical piece of any training program.
recovery, rest, sleep; all of these things are supposedly important.
I like this aspect of training, perhaps best of all.

according to running coach dave spence, "actual physiological gains occur during rest and recovery," not during the times we are physically challenging our bodies.
intellectually I have learned to accept this, but it is still a hard concept to fully envelop into my life. I am driven, and determined to better myself. if I rode 159 miles last week, I want to ride at least 160 this week. I want to become better faster stronger, all of those things. and so I think I need to work at it. to work hard. to push. to challenge myself.
and then to do it again the next day.
I've written before about recovery days (also known as "active recovery"), and how I have a love-hate relationship with them. I like being able to take it easy, but . . . I also like to sometimes sprint up a hill. or if I'm not allowed to sprint up the hill, perhaps I could just stay in bed. isn't "active recovery" an oxymoron? let me do one or the other: this both-yet-neither thing is a challenge for my psyche. a challenge which I continue to work on overcoming.

so then I turn to the best thing of all: rest. and I love the days when I know I've earned a rest. when I've worked hard, ridden hard, put in lots of miles and effort, and thus am deserving of rest.
rest days for me usually mean I catch up on laundry, cleaning, and ~ shudder ~ yardwork. I run errands, I straighten my house. I mend what needs to be mended, I clean out a drawer. I make lists of those little nagging jobs that never seem to make it to the top of any list, and I sometimes do a task and cross it from that list. I get out the glue gun and re-adhere something that's come unglued, I sweep leaves off my back patio. I clean a shelf in the refrigerator, I organize a file, I write a note to my great aunt and uncle in missouri.
rest days are good for my organizational self.

and then there's sleep: oh, I love sleep. I love my bed; I often look at it with longing in the middle of the day. I love to curl up at night and let every little muscle in my body give up its hold. I let my toes uncurl, I feel each muscle in my hands let go and relax. I sigh, I say my brief little prayers, and I ask for sleep to take me away.
and to think that sleep, rest, and active recovery are really benefiting my fitness level . . . how incredible is that?

it's a very zen concept, really, the belief that just "being" is of greater benefit than we can usually acknowledge or understand. that we grow most when we do the least. the stillness, the non-doing, is when we incorporate our new learning into who we are, and it's a process that cannot be accomplished by thinking about it.
our physical improvements can't happen until we let go of the work and just let the muscles and body do their own thing.
rest, sleep, recovery.
these make me smile, for they challenge me.
and when I'm challenged, I grow.
when I grow, I am happy.