we are in a winter wonderland today: fresh, clean, powdery snow coating every surface but slowly melting under the sun-filled blue skies which have just opened up in the past hour or so.
not too long ago I sat on my spin bike in my favorite spin room, watching the city brighten up as the clouds slowly split apart and revealed the blue beyond. this was my first daylight spin class in so long I can't even remember, and I rediscovered how much I enjoy the view, especially on a day like today.
there are a few narrow trees which reach high up the left window panes, and I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed watching them change throughout the seasons, from bare limbs to buds to full blown leaves. today the branches are a beautiful purplish gray, reaching tall, spotted with teeny buds and sprinkled heavily with snow.
the pool, below and just west of the spin room, is in its hibernation stage: dormant, quiet, barren. but the "pool policies" sign remains, and this morning I thought that if only my eyesight were good enough, I could read all of the rules.
my next thought was that I probably know all of the rules, which led me to think about how many of us know the pool rules by heart . . . my guess is that you could list a handful of them easily and immediately, without putting much thought at all into it. haven't we all grown up with pool rules?
the first public pool I remember spending time at was in Potawatomi Park, in south bend, indiana. rock music blared, and kids swam and dunked each other and flirted and lay out in the hot humidity for hours on end. I will always connect Three Dog Night's "shambala" with that swimming pool, just as I will always link joy, freedom, and heaven with that same environment.
and the rules?
these are what I know by heart:
shower before entering pool
no running
no horseplay
no jumping or diving except from diving board
no swimming when lifeguards are not present
no glass containers
no alcohol
no diapers
how did I do? the jcc has many more rules for their pool, of course, as most places probably do these days: liability must be limited somehow, mustn't it?
regardless, thinking about swimming pool rules brought back great memories of long, lazy days spent with friends, thinking about nothing greater than whether or not to apply more suntan lotion, how long I could lie there without sweating to death, and whether or not it was time to go buy a popsicle from the snack bar.
which are fun thoughts to have hanging out in my mind as I spin away on an indoor bike while watching the stunningly beautiful snow settle in for the winter.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
on temperature
I have a very narrow comfort range, say from about 68 to 78 degrees. this is where I am happiest, and sometimes 68 is a little chilly and 78 is a little too warm. inside, I mean.
outside is another thing. there I can expand my range from say, 52 to about 84.
I am laughing, because these numbers are ridiculous, given that I live in a high desert that consistently receives oodles of the greatest snow on earth. and given that I like to ride my bike as daily as possible.
the lesson to be learned from this is that I spend a lot of time pushing well beyond my comfort limits.
take last night, for example. bill's daughter is a ski jumper, an amazingly talented, gifted, and driven young woman of a mere 14 years. she is already on the US ski team, and was participating in a competition yesterday with jumpers from around the world. I went to watch the event, my first experience of watching ski jumping live and in person.
do I need to say these events take place outdoors?
probably not.
it was one of those perfect winter evenings: just a few clouds in the sky, the air so sharp and clear you feel it must be purifying your body each time you inhale, a full moon---the largest in 50 years I am told---hanging low in the eastern sky, and snow underfoot. oh, and the temperature was perhaps 30 degrees or so.
I know I'm spoiled, and that much of the world has to deal with temperatures well below that on a regular basis, but guess what? I am soft and enjoy being pampered, not being made uncomfortable.
I wore my huge sorrels, my warmest coat, gloves, hat, and still got cold. really cold. freezing. so frozen inside that my legs began quaking and wouldn't stop. I moved from foot to foot, trying to keep my muscles working enough to create a little blood flow to warm my body.
but I was just flat out cold.
glad to be there, eager to watch the event, but by the end, frozen.
and it reminded me of why skiing was never on the top of my list of things to do: I was always cold. always. my dad once gave me a little knit "nose warmer": a pyramid-shaped thing with a tassle on the end, with 2 straps to tie around the back of your head. gee, right dad, I think I'll wear that when I go skiing with my friends today . . .
there really isn't much of a point to this discussion, other than to say I'm a wimp when it comes to low temperatures.
the good news is that sarah jumped beautifully, and it was truly incredible to be in the company of these elite athletes from across the world and most importantly, park city.
even if my legs shook.
even if my frozen nose was bright red.
even if I was a good 20 degrees outside my comfort zone.
outside is another thing. there I can expand my range from say, 52 to about 84.
I am laughing, because these numbers are ridiculous, given that I live in a high desert that consistently receives oodles of the greatest snow on earth. and given that I like to ride my bike as daily as possible.
the lesson to be learned from this is that I spend a lot of time pushing well beyond my comfort limits.
take last night, for example. bill's daughter is a ski jumper, an amazingly talented, gifted, and driven young woman of a mere 14 years. she is already on the US ski team, and was participating in a competition yesterday with jumpers from around the world. I went to watch the event, my first experience of watching ski jumping live and in person.
do I need to say these events take place outdoors?
probably not.
it was one of those perfect winter evenings: just a few clouds in the sky, the air so sharp and clear you feel it must be purifying your body each time you inhale, a full moon---the largest in 50 years I am told---hanging low in the eastern sky, and snow underfoot. oh, and the temperature was perhaps 30 degrees or so.
I know I'm spoiled, and that much of the world has to deal with temperatures well below that on a regular basis, but guess what? I am soft and enjoy being pampered, not being made uncomfortable.
I wore my huge sorrels, my warmest coat, gloves, hat, and still got cold. really cold. freezing. so frozen inside that my legs began quaking and wouldn't stop. I moved from foot to foot, trying to keep my muscles working enough to create a little blood flow to warm my body.
but I was just flat out cold.
glad to be there, eager to watch the event, but by the end, frozen.
and it reminded me of why skiing was never on the top of my list of things to do: I was always cold. always. my dad once gave me a little knit "nose warmer": a pyramid-shaped thing with a tassle on the end, with 2 straps to tie around the back of your head. gee, right dad, I think I'll wear that when I go skiing with my friends today . . .
there really isn't much of a point to this discussion, other than to say I'm a wimp when it comes to low temperatures.
the good news is that sarah jumped beautifully, and it was truly incredible to be in the company of these elite athletes from across the world and most importantly, park city.
even if my legs shook.
even if my frozen nose was bright red.
even if I was a good 20 degrees outside my comfort zone.
Friday, December 12, 2008
stars upon thars
oh, the things I don't know.
billions of facts, millions of pieces of data, hundreds of thousands of statistics, thousands of ideas and concepts and reasons why . . . what I don't know could fill volumes and oceans.
and I am a curious person, asking questions and seeking out answers, and even remembering a few of these things; yet still, I am ignorant of so much.
my latest "why" question is about the new telephone (and power) phones they're installing along my bike route. in fact, I just googled "telephone pole" and found that the PC word for them is "utility pole," and that they are usually owned by one utility company that then leases space to others. since all of the trucks I've seen working with these new poles belong to power companies, I will assume that our power company owns the poles.
it's been a fascinating thing to watch over the past couple weeks. I started out having no idea what was going on, then picked up on a few clues as I rode along, subtle things like those huge orange signs in the bike lane that shout "utility work ahead," and guys in flannel shirts, down vests and hard hats walking from truck to truck. I saw a guy climbing up a steep hillside, belt of tools strapped around his waist, heading toward a pole a good distance away. but my favorite clue were the long, dark wood poles lying along the side of the road. one, then half a mile up the road, three. then another one, and then a couple more. this is when it all clicked together and formed the belief that they were going to be putting up new utility poles.
the poles were dark with a protective coating, looking strong and resilient as compared to those already implanted in the ground, standing tall but pale and weathered, holding myriad wires and cables stretching for miles and miles.
those reposing poles made me happy.
go figure.
and maybe this is why: at the end of one of the poles, the flat "bottom" if you will, I noticed a star-shaped metal decoration. it was an outline of a 5-pointed star, looking like a cookie cutter that had been pushed into the circular section of wood. how beautiful! and what the heck was that all about?
I thought perhaps it was just one special pole, and became determined to then check out all the bottoms of the rest of the poles I rode past.
they all had stars.
stars on thars.
which led me to thinking about dr. seuss, and his story about the sneetches. which if you don't know or remember, you really should re-visit. it is a story about star-bellied sneetches and those without stars, and how we aspire to have what we don't because of envy, or how we cling to our exclusivity due to prejudice. some sneetches have bellies which are star-less, and some have stars upon thars . . .
I do know why sneetches have stars (one of the millions of things I do know), but I don't know why utility poles have beautiful metal stars upon their bottoms.
and if someone would please tell me why, I could remove this pesky little item from my intensely long and varied list of things I do not know.
and if no one ever tells me why, I will still hold on to the memory of these long, beautiful poles, lying on the ground, showing off their pretty stars. and I will remain extremely pleased that those poles had stars upon thars.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
the gate
I love being in the right place at the right time.
I also love rituals, traditions, celebrations of events, and symbols.
and this afternoon, these two came together for me in a way that put a huge grin on my face that has gone so deep inside it's still with me.
at 12:45 I went for a ride. the predicted high today (41 degrees) had been reached, and I figured it was time to get going. I debated whether or not to head up emigration, unsure of what the bike lanes looked like after last monday's snow. yes, go where I love; no, be safe and head out south; yes, avoid stop lights; no, deal with traffic . . . I chose the correct path today, and headed up the canyon.
for the first time I can remember, there were no golfers on the bonneville golf course. instead, an uneven white blanket sat atop the still green grass. I grinned in amazement, and was thankful the roads were clear. once I started up the canyon, the bike lanes played a game of hide-and-seek, at times dry and wide and other times so full of ice and snow that they were nonexistent. a handful of hearty cyclists were thinking as I was, braving the cold to feel the joy of riding in the sun before the next storm hits.
I decided to ride to the gate at the bottom of the road up Big Mountain, wondering if it had been shut and locked yet after monday's huge snow. as I approached the gate, I saw a truck with flashing lights pulled to the side, and a man walking toward the gate. wondering if he was going to close it right in front me, I rode toward him with a flutter in my chest.
he looked at me, and called out to me, are you heading up and over?
I replied, no, I'm just going up a little ways.
he then said, oh, 'cause we're closing the gate here at 3 pm.
and now, the gate is closed.
which is probably much more significant to motorists and cross country skiers than it is to us cyclists. we non-motorists can just walk around the gate, and we cyclists can keep on riding until the snow stops us. which is when the cross country skiers can start having their fun.
but it's about the event itself, the actual closing of the gate. it is a changing of the season, an acknowledgement that what was, no longer is. I wanted to be there at 3 to witness this symbolic event, but I had to settle for being one of the last few cyclists to ride freely past the open gate.
my part of the world has shifted just a tiny bit more toward winter, and away from the bike.
I also love rituals, traditions, celebrations of events, and symbols.
and this afternoon, these two came together for me in a way that put a huge grin on my face that has gone so deep inside it's still with me.
at 12:45 I went for a ride. the predicted high today (41 degrees) had been reached, and I figured it was time to get going. I debated whether or not to head up emigration, unsure of what the bike lanes looked like after last monday's snow. yes, go where I love; no, be safe and head out south; yes, avoid stop lights; no, deal with traffic . . . I chose the correct path today, and headed up the canyon.
for the first time I can remember, there were no golfers on the bonneville golf course. instead, an uneven white blanket sat atop the still green grass. I grinned in amazement, and was thankful the roads were clear. once I started up the canyon, the bike lanes played a game of hide-and-seek, at times dry and wide and other times so full of ice and snow that they were nonexistent. a handful of hearty cyclists were thinking as I was, braving the cold to feel the joy of riding in the sun before the next storm hits.
I decided to ride to the gate at the bottom of the road up Big Mountain, wondering if it had been shut and locked yet after monday's huge snow. as I approached the gate, I saw a truck with flashing lights pulled to the side, and a man walking toward the gate. wondering if he was going to close it right in front me, I rode toward him with a flutter in my chest.
he looked at me, and called out to me, are you heading up and over?
I replied, no, I'm just going up a little ways.
he then said, oh, 'cause we're closing the gate here at 3 pm.
and now, the gate is closed.
which is probably much more significant to motorists and cross country skiers than it is to us cyclists. we non-motorists can just walk around the gate, and we cyclists can keep on riding until the snow stops us. which is when the cross country skiers can start having their fun.
but it's about the event itself, the actual closing of the gate. it is a changing of the season, an acknowledgement that what was, no longer is. I wanted to be there at 3 to witness this symbolic event, but I had to settle for being one of the last few cyclists to ride freely past the open gate.
my part of the world has shifted just a tiny bit more toward winter, and away from the bike.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
8842
tomorrow is my last hope for an outdoor ride for a while, I fear. the weather channel is predicting stormy weather (that makes me want to sing "stormy weather" like ella fitzgerald) for five days beginning this friday. tomorrow, thursday, the predicted high is only 43, but that's the best looking day for a while.
and I've got this new itch, the number 9000.
yep, I am now a mere 158 miles from reaching this new milestone, and I am practically covered in a rash about it. I keep calculating the possibility of achieving this before the year's end, and with the current weather prediction I'm not feeling terribly hopeful.
even thinking about riding tomorrow is difficult, as a lot of bike lanes are full of snow and ice, especially if I am to ride somewhere I'd like to be riding. if I headed out west I could probably find some dry bike lanes, but I might also find myself frustrated by stop lights and traffic. I'm not that desperate to hit that milepost.
or am I?
hmmm.
158 miles is about 10 hours or so on my bike, which doesn't seem too unreasonable an accomplishment in the next 20 days, does it? last week was the first week I have ridden less than 100 miles since last spring. I'm renewing all of my weight-room/gym acquaintences, and as much as I enjoy that comraderie, there is just a little tinge of melancholy in my greetings. this will be my 2nd winter of elliptical and weight machines, free weights, exercise balls, bosu balance balls, and mats with my bright green ipod blaring through my earphones.
one thing I've noticed is that I'm more current with world issues when I hit the elliptical machine, as that's a good 20 minutes or so that I can read the closed-captioned news. when I'm out on my bike I am blissfully unaware of current scandals, market collapses, and negative health news.
as a matter of fact, I will end on this note: this morning I "read" on the television that 1 in 6 men will be diagnosed with prostate cancer in their lifetime. and that 40 percent less single men go in for screenings than do married men (gee, I bet we can all understand that statistic!).
so my message to you all today is, get that screening on a regular basis, guys.
and I will pray for enough sunshine tomorrow to get out on my real bike and lower that 158 down a couple notches.
and if that doesn't happen, I'll just have more closed-captioned news to share with you.
and I've got this new itch, the number 9000.
yep, I am now a mere 158 miles from reaching this new milestone, and I am practically covered in a rash about it. I keep calculating the possibility of achieving this before the year's end, and with the current weather prediction I'm not feeling terribly hopeful.
even thinking about riding tomorrow is difficult, as a lot of bike lanes are full of snow and ice, especially if I am to ride somewhere I'd like to be riding. if I headed out west I could probably find some dry bike lanes, but I might also find myself frustrated by stop lights and traffic. I'm not that desperate to hit that milepost.
or am I?
hmmm.
158 miles is about 10 hours or so on my bike, which doesn't seem too unreasonable an accomplishment in the next 20 days, does it? last week was the first week I have ridden less than 100 miles since last spring. I'm renewing all of my weight-room/gym acquaintences, and as much as I enjoy that comraderie, there is just a little tinge of melancholy in my greetings. this will be my 2nd winter of elliptical and weight machines, free weights, exercise balls, bosu balance balls, and mats with my bright green ipod blaring through my earphones.
one thing I've noticed is that I'm more current with world issues when I hit the elliptical machine, as that's a good 20 minutes or so that I can read the closed-captioned news. when I'm out on my bike I am blissfully unaware of current scandals, market collapses, and negative health news.
as a matter of fact, I will end on this note: this morning I "read" on the television that 1 in 6 men will be diagnosed with prostate cancer in their lifetime. and that 40 percent less single men go in for screenings than do married men (gee, I bet we can all understand that statistic!).
so my message to you all today is, get that screening on a regular basis, guys.
and I will pray for enough sunshine tomorrow to get out on my real bike and lower that 158 down a couple notches.
and if that doesn't happen, I'll just have more closed-captioned news to share with you.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
loft
I love this word: loft.
like so many of our wacky english words, it has more meanings than I'm sure it knows what to do with. and although I love lofts in houses and the dense feeling of woolen yarn, the meaning I want to play with here and now is this:
to propel through the air or into space.
not exactly a road biking term, at least not a term to use for the kind of road biking I prefer. I have definitely experienced moments of loft while cycling, but I am hoping not to repeat them.
thoughts of loft, however, came to me the other day while I was biking. as thoughts so often do, the notion of "loft" just suddenly appeared in my mind. it might have had something to do with the clouds billowing above the mountains, or not. loft was just, out of the blue, in my consciousness.
and this is why loft is on my favorite words list:
it is light and carefree, it floats.
it is full of joy.
it is untethered and boundless.
it didn't get there by itself: it had help.
I thought about throwing a "loft" party: I would invite everyone who has helped me to be who and where I am today. of course not everyone, as that would entail searching out every person I have ever encountered, which is not terribly realistic, nor would such a huge number of people fit in my home.
but I would invite the friends who have stuck with me through the difficulties, and the friends who have caused me heartache. I would invite my mom, who has been everything from my crutch to my therapist to my friend to (at times) my hospital gurney. I would invite my dads, who all love me and have given me loft in their own unique ways. I would invite bob, to whom I was married for 16 years. I would invite all the boys and men I've ever loved. I would invite every family member I am even remotely related to. I would invite my kids, my past employers, my neighbors, and the teachers who believed I was an asset in class. and the teachers who didn't think I was an asset. I would invite my biking buddies, and my yoga friends, especially the ones who breathe and bend and stretch better than I. I would invite my cello teachers and piano teachers and liz, who this past summer helped me find the susan who is thrilled and inspired by color and shape and design. I would invite my writing group, I would invite everyone I've ever met through the isis sanctuary, where I have learned to open myself up to new experiences. I would invite my business partner connie, who has put up with my ever-evolving self for all these years, I would invite my other connie who helped me sell my house. I would invite bill, who has ridden all over the state with me, fixed my doors, and talked with me for hundreds of hours. I would invite the unhappiest people I know. I would invite every child in the world, and I would give them all cookies.
I would invite everyone who has ever sent a smile out into the world, because I know that somehow those smiles have moved from person to person to person and have, in ways I'll never be able to document, impacted my own little life.
like so many of our wacky english words, it has more meanings than I'm sure it knows what to do with. and although I love lofts in houses and the dense feeling of woolen yarn, the meaning I want to play with here and now is this:
to propel through the air or into space.
not exactly a road biking term, at least not a term to use for the kind of road biking I prefer. I have definitely experienced moments of loft while cycling, but I am hoping not to repeat them.
thoughts of loft, however, came to me the other day while I was biking. as thoughts so often do, the notion of "loft" just suddenly appeared in my mind. it might have had something to do with the clouds billowing above the mountains, or not. loft was just, out of the blue, in my consciousness.
and this is why loft is on my favorite words list:
it is light and carefree, it floats.
it is full of joy.
it is untethered and boundless.
it didn't get there by itself: it had help.
I thought about throwing a "loft" party: I would invite everyone who has helped me to be who and where I am today. of course not everyone, as that would entail searching out every person I have ever encountered, which is not terribly realistic, nor would such a huge number of people fit in my home.
but I would invite the friends who have stuck with me through the difficulties, and the friends who have caused me heartache. I would invite my mom, who has been everything from my crutch to my therapist to my friend to (at times) my hospital gurney. I would invite my dads, who all love me and have given me loft in their own unique ways. I would invite bob, to whom I was married for 16 years. I would invite all the boys and men I've ever loved. I would invite every family member I am even remotely related to. I would invite my kids, my past employers, my neighbors, and the teachers who believed I was an asset in class. and the teachers who didn't think I was an asset. I would invite my biking buddies, and my yoga friends, especially the ones who breathe and bend and stretch better than I. I would invite my cello teachers and piano teachers and liz, who this past summer helped me find the susan who is thrilled and inspired by color and shape and design. I would invite my writing group, I would invite everyone I've ever met through the isis sanctuary, where I have learned to open myself up to new experiences. I would invite my business partner connie, who has put up with my ever-evolving self for all these years, I would invite my other connie who helped me sell my house. I would invite bill, who has ridden all over the state with me, fixed my doors, and talked with me for hundreds of hours. I would invite the unhappiest people I know. I would invite every child in the world, and I would give them all cookies.
I would invite everyone who has ever sent a smile out into the world, because I know that somehow those smiles have moved from person to person to person and have, in ways I'll never be able to document, impacted my own little life.
Monday, December 8, 2008
live bravely
it is snowing like mad outside, and I am feeling
a: glad I went on the rides I did this past weekend, and
b: glad I can't ride today.
it's so gorgeous out there!
bill rode with me on saturday, and shared this great thought: I'm happy if it snows, and I'm happy if it doesn't. if it snows, he can ski, if it doesn't, he can ride his bike. what he called a win-win.
and of course it goes much deeper than that: it's an outlook of whatever happens, I'm going to be okay with it, and even happy about it.
this may not necessarily make bill a better person, but it certainly makes him more content than a great many of us.
this morning while listening to my ipod, I heard a song by Jewel that I haven't heard in a very long time, and one particular phrase stuck with me: I want to live life bravely. what does this mean? I can't know exactly what she meant, but I can build my own interpretation here.
to me, to live life bravely means to be exactly who God (or whomever) made us to be. to accept the imperfections and funny parts and embrace fully our humanness. to do what makes our hearts sing, to honor our commitments, to be compassionate and filled with empathy. to lend a hand and accept a hand.
to step blithely around fear, and keep heading in the direction our feet want to take us in. to give up embarrassment and shame and a sense of lack. to sometimes wait patiently. to sometimes throw caution to the wind and reach out for what it is we want. to accept setbacks, to always learn, but to never give up.
to walk a winding path, to charge straight up the hill. to experience free-fall, and to slide down with a rope between our hands and knees.
to accept what comes our way.
to mold our corner of the world.
to radiate joy.
and peace.
and to hold high your head no matter what.
to live a life bravely.
this has got to be another win-win.
a: glad I went on the rides I did this past weekend, and
b: glad I can't ride today.
it's so gorgeous out there!
bill rode with me on saturday, and shared this great thought: I'm happy if it snows, and I'm happy if it doesn't. if it snows, he can ski, if it doesn't, he can ride his bike. what he called a win-win.
and of course it goes much deeper than that: it's an outlook of whatever happens, I'm going to be okay with it, and even happy about it.
this may not necessarily make bill a better person, but it certainly makes him more content than a great many of us.
this morning while listening to my ipod, I heard a song by Jewel that I haven't heard in a very long time, and one particular phrase stuck with me: I want to live life bravely. what does this mean? I can't know exactly what she meant, but I can build my own interpretation here.
to me, to live life bravely means to be exactly who God (or whomever) made us to be. to accept the imperfections and funny parts and embrace fully our humanness. to do what makes our hearts sing, to honor our commitments, to be compassionate and filled with empathy. to lend a hand and accept a hand.
to step blithely around fear, and keep heading in the direction our feet want to take us in. to give up embarrassment and shame and a sense of lack. to sometimes wait patiently. to sometimes throw caution to the wind and reach out for what it is we want. to accept setbacks, to always learn, but to never give up.
to walk a winding path, to charge straight up the hill. to experience free-fall, and to slide down with a rope between our hands and knees.
to accept what comes our way.
to mold our corner of the world.
to radiate joy.
and peace.
and to hold high your head no matter what.
to live a life bravely.
this has got to be another win-win.
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