the lion

another poster in the spin room has this to say:
the thrill is not just in the winning, but in the courage to join the race.

the word "thrill" seems a little strong to me, but perhaps it's more accurate than I think. there is a little bubble of energy and excitement that comes with decisions that put us outside our comfort zones.
and I like the concept that it takes courage just to join the race: by accepting that, I give myself a mental pat on the back. which is something we all need to do from time to time.

I've discussed courage before, but it's one of those topics that comes around again and again, at least in my life. I'm not starting a pity party, and my intent is not to arouse sympathy; I simply need to acknowledge some facts. perhaps it's that "nearing the end of the year" evaluation and assessment time, or perhaps I'm feeling a little melancholy because we're in the holiday season which is full of expectations and encounters and --- to be honest --- no small amount of stress.

regardless, I am reflecting on the courage I've had to dredge up during my adult life. it seems like I've had to find a whole lot within myself. it doesn't always come quickly or easily, but it has come. at times I've dragged it in by its little toe, but it has come. at other times I have had to beg it into existence, stretching it into an enormous blanket and wrapping myself in it, attempting to cover every single centimeter of exposed skin. and it came.
I've accepted loss, I've made difficult decisions, I've stuck to my truth when it was abhorrently uncomfortable. I've walked away from good things because they weren't exactly what I needed. I've made myself vulnerable; I've stood firm when to move away would have been a thousand times easier. I've done a thousand things I didn't want to do, knowing that they would ultimately strengthen the me I am.
I've walked into rooms alone more times that I want to think about.
I've faced hateful things with little more than my own psyche to stick up for me.
I've given up things I loved because I know they belonged somewhere else.

God gave me a pretty good brain, and a huge heart. He gave me a great home. I didn't need to search for the things the scarecrow, the tin man, or dorothy had to. but apparently I was the lion, destined to find courage somewhere, somehow. I've had help along the way, but it's like so very many things in life: no one can do this for you.

I've pulled courage from deep down within myself, let it stand tall behind me, and joined the race. it doesn't always feel good, and sometimes it's outright painful. sometimes it causes great sadness, sometimes tears.
and yes, sometimes because I have found courage within myself, I get to experience that teeniest, little thrill.

peace

imagine, if you will, a narrow, twisting canyon road, barely two lanes wide. there may be bike lanes along the sides, but if there are, they are now covered with snow and lacy edges of ice. tall pines are visible on the slopes of either side, and the edges of the road are full of all sorts of growth that is now covered with inches to feet of thick white snow.
the road climbs gradually, at times a bit more steeply, and the snow-laden trees bend in toward the asphalt and the sky looks so very far away, the blue marred only by faint ribbons of white. it is a winter wonderland, the trees so heavy with snow that the image you see is like a black and white photo that has been tinted so that the black is a deep green; you see green and white, green and white, everywhere you turn.
you park, you strap on your snowshoes, and you head up a trail. you are far from the first up this trail: it is already snow-packed and wide enough for three to walk abreast. you walk on the edges of the trail, your snowshoes eager to do their job on the powdery surfaces. your feet are warm, your body begins to heat up with the exertion of the upward-climbing trail, and your cheeks burn lightly with the cold.
a first cabin peeks from between the trees on your left, and soon you have passed it, and also the next. they hunker down into their snow-covered foundations, and hold their walls tight to themselves as the snow sits on their railings and roofs. more cabins appear as you move along, and they disappear behind you as you climb, and climb. the trail ascends continually, but kindly, your heart just keeping a steady, working beat that sends small beads of sweat across your forehead and back. you remove your hat, and feel the pureness of the crisp air caressing your entire head.
a perfect cabin suddenly appears on your left: the stones of its foundation lovingly placed, the hewn boards laid in perfect pattern, its very design one of both beauty and function. snow sits heavily on the roof and gables, swooping down in graceful cornices, hanging over narrow sills. you pause to gaze upon this fairytale abode, and know deep in your soul that whoever built this home did so with great care and love.
when you move on, you notice again how tall and strong the trees that surround you are, their hundreds of branches and millions of needles holding armloads of snow, occasionally releasing small bundles that shower down upon you. the wind sends a small breeze across the treetops at a bend in the trail, and millions of particles of snow are thrown into the air thirty feet above your head and directly between you and the sun: they sparkle and glitter and dance in the air until they disappear from sight, becoming absorbed into new snow structures.
it is quiet save for the squeak of the snow beneath your shoes and the sound of your own breathing.
tens of thousands of trees stand resolutely, arms full of snow, feet implacably placed beneath the white ground. when the wind moves through their tops they whisper words of strength and hope, and certainty about the beauty of the future.
you sit for a while, allowing yourself to be absorbed into the environment, soaking in the richness of the scene spread before and around you. you inhale, and exhale. your breath floats in front of you for mere seconds, and you gratefully turn your face to the sun.
it is cold, the air is pure, the silence is deeper than the canyon is old, and the feeling that swirls around and through you in none other than that of absolute peace.

walking on treetops

there are certain things you know when you're a kid, that you no longer know when you're a middle-aged adult.
for instance, how to get up from the snow angel you've just made without destroying the beautiful angel you've just made.
this afternoon, lying on the snow after making my snow angel, I realized that I no longer knew how to get up. so I lay there, the snow starting to penetrate my many protective layers, laughing at myself. laughing at how I'd managed to become so old, laughing at my ability to forget such a crucial thing.
the situation was complicated by the fact that I was wearing snowshoes. they added a unique design to the bottom of my angel's gown, and now they were adding to my consternation. how does one get up from a snow angel without ruining it? and how does one get up at all, with snowshoes bound to their boots?
when I finally stopped laughing and had had enough of the cold, I rolled one way and then the other, hoping to gain enough momentum to roll myself out of my beautiful creation.
no go.
I leaned to my right, tentatively pushing a knee into the snow to see how far it would sink if I put my body weight on it. it held, hardly denting into the slope at all, so I pushed myself onto that knee while turning and lifting my feet as high off the ground as I could, rolling off to the side. where I then stood, and looked at my beautiful angel. preserved pretty well, I thought, considering the situation.
which becomes even more humorous when you know the entire situation: my snow angel is (and soon will be "was," given that I believe it's snowing there right now) high on a hillside far above and east of little dell reservoir, where my tracks were the only human ones at all.

bill gave me snowshoes for Christmas: this is my first pair, and I am thrilled! I took them out for a test spin today, and of course I headed to the spot I love to ride. I parked by the gate at the far end of the reservoir, and headed onto the snow packed road. there were cross-country skiers and another showshoer, and --- to my dismay --- a few snowmobiles. (I'd never even considered the fact that snowmobiles might be allowed on the road now that the gate is closed: I always think of it as a "no motorized vehicles" season. alas. )
this was only my second time snowshoeing, ever, so I started out just walking along the road, not having a specific destination in mind. after 20 yards or so, some snowmobile tracks headed up the slope on the left side of the road. I thought I'd give that a try, and walked along those tracks for another 20 yards, when I saw some deer tracks taking off to the west. I decided to follow those for a while, and next thing I knew I was heading up the hill. and up. and up.
I started chuckling to myself about the same time the sweat began dripping off my forehead and into my eyes: what is it about me and hills? I can't not climb them!
I climbed and climbed, occasionally sinking into snow drifts and at times trekking along windswept spots of only a couple inches of snow blanketing the crushed grasses. there were wide open spaces of pristine snow, smooth and perfect. and then there were acres and acres of hillside covered with what looked to be smallish, dark brown-gray, sparse bushes. which, as I approached them, turned into the tops of scrub oak. I walked between the spindly branches sticking out of the snow, giggling to myself as I pictured their trunks and roots so very far below. I followed the deer tracks until they leapt over a ridge I wanted to climb up, then was on my own the rest of the way.
the only thing that saved me from my own determination was my late start and the slowly approaching dusk: I did not attempt the highest peak, telling myself I had to save something for next time.
and also, for next time: I plan to check in with a child beforehand, to be sure I know exactly how to remove my body from my snow angel after her creation is complete.

yes, I did

yes, I really did take 2 days off.
in a row.
I've even had thoughts of reducing my postings down to 6 a week instead of 7.
giving myself a day off every single week.
thoughts, I said.
if I actually follow through with that idea, I'd have to decide which day to take off: a busy day, to lighten the load, or a slower day, to give me a more complete break. and since at this point I can't seem to decide which would be better, I will keep posting every day.
sometimes indecision is a decision, isn't it?

one hour

I went to a spin class this morning, Christmas eve, and it was packed. full of lots of people like me who --- I think ---- just wanted to feel good about eating so much these next couple days.
according to my heart monitor, I worked off about 630 calories, but I have to tell you I almost died doing it. I didn't mean to, but I worked excessively, extremely, ridiculously hard. my heart rate hit a new high indoors, my legs wanted to give out, and my face took on a permanent flush. sweat was pouring off me, dripping onto the rubber mat beneath my spin bike. I watched little sweat drops forming on the back of my hand . . . knowing that's what my upper lip looked like. by the time class was done my towel was almost as wet as if it had just been through the wash.
SO, to make up for this, I had 6 pieces of fudge and about 6 cookies this evening. whew, I'd hate to let my calories expended get above my calories inhaled.
it was only an hour, but what an hour.
the good news is that I think I'll sleep extremely well tonight: I won't need to worry about visions of sugar plums keeping me awake.
merry Christmas!

plumbing postscript

my sink no longer leaks.
and I did nothing else to fix it.

I'm humming the twilight zone theme song, can you hear it?

I'm tempted to leave it right there: finis. perfectus.

but of course I can't leave it there. obviously, there is more to the story. but the truth is, I don't know what the rest of the story is.

I replaced the part, I tightened everything up, and it leaked.
I tightened things a little more, and it still leaked.
I left it alone for a day,
and it stopped leaking.

now, I'm thinking it's possible that the little bit of goop (could it be plumber's putty? it seems like I've heard of something like that) I saw by the mouth of the pipe somehow attached itself to the part that needed a better seal . . .
I'm also thinking it's possible that something just went beautifully well in my universe.
that does happen occasionally.
like this morning in yoga.

we were doing mountain poses with a foot crossed over in front and above the opposite knee. then we bent forward, arms bent and hands in prayer pose by our hearts, squatting down and resting elbows on knees. more or less. and my balance was perfect.
I experienced that feeling that all of us who work hard at something live for: a feeling of joy that my work has resulted in an improvement. after 18 months of yoga and hundreds of weight room sessions spent balancing on a bosu ball, my balance has improved.
I was outwardly calm. I breathed. and inside, my little kid self was saying woo hoo!

it's nice when the universe gives you good experiences, those that make you feel cuddled and protected and as if you're part of life's flow.

the clothes we wear

this is obviously going to be on the lighthearted side, which is possibly a welcome relief for us all. no goopy sentimentality, and no preaching. whew.

I passed a man in the gym the other day, and this is what he was wearing:
beanie on head, dark brown leather dress jacket, navy blue warm-up pants with white stripes down the side, and cycling shoes. oh, and glasses.

this is what I wear to the gym: yoga pants (you know, those stretchy black things that aren't too tight and end well above one's ankles), sports bra, tank-style workout top, socks, tennies, my ipod in its green armband, and a light zip-front jacket.

this is what I see at the gym: everyone pretty darn comfortable in whatever they wear, be it tight capris or loose gym shorts, and old tee or a cycling jersey.

there's one couple who come work out together and both wear black bottoms and orange jackets.

some people wear bike shorts (which I have been known to do, when I hit the weight room after a spin class) and even bike shoes (which I would never do, because I can't stand to walk around in those things).

there is a noticeable lack of make-up in the facility. I love that.

most women have tame and pretty decent looking hair, however, which amazes me (at 6 in the morning, mind you) given the way I look when I wake up.

some men wear hats while they work out, and my question here is, doesn't their head get hot?? I don't think I'd like working out with a hat on my head. am I to extrapolate from this that men are more embarrassed about morning-bed-hair than us women? or are they just less capable of making it look decent without a real shower? thoughts to ponder.

there are a lot of funny-looking tennis shoes (trainers would perhaps be a better word, if I may borrow that from the brits) out there.

I am the only one I've ever seen there with a bright green ipod armband. hmmm.

I rarely notice anyone's socks. perhaps I should pay more attention.

and by the way, I am still wearing a good portion of what I wore to work out in, let's see, about 13 hours ago . . .
I'm off to the shower!