socks

socks wear out. this is a fact.
especially those white ones you wear inside your tennis shoes.
if you put them on your feet, wear them, and actually move around and participate in the world, they will eventually develop holes somewhere and reach a point where no amount of darning will revive their former state of cushiony life.
and if you try to keep your favorites around, extending their lives, what you will eventually discover is that the only way to do this is to keep them off your feet and in the closet.
which makes them only the favorite socks you used to wear.

I have a pair of Favorite Socks that have already crossed the line into the Not Good arena, but I do not want to throw them away. because truly, there's only a hole in one of them. the other is still okay. and I don't want there to be a hole, because I really love these socks, and the sides and tops are still fine . . .

letting go is difficult.
extremely.

I find something I like--or even love--and it spends time in my space, and I am so happy with its form, its function, its fragrance, its ambiance... whatever it might be. then, over time, it fades or becomes less fruitful or loses its essence or becomes depleted or dies. at this point there is grieving, there is acceptance, and there's often a desire to replace.
sometimes you want the exact same thing, precisely what you had before, and it can't be found.
(now this is where google can be extremely helpful, and I have used it numerous times to try to track down something I don't know where to find. of course, I don't always have success. but it's sure better than how it used to be, searching through catalogs and running from store to store, or just having to give in to the impossibility of ever finding that nutty item you just have to have.)
other times you're ready for something different.
and some times, just some times, a replacement is not possible at all.
you acknowledge the loss, you grieve, you--at some distant point--finally come to acceptance, and you carry what was as a part of you forward, inside, always.

socks grow holes, candles burn and melt away, chocolates get eaten, mugs break, plants and even people die.
new is not always better, but it doesn't have to be worse. new can be exciting, stimulating, invigorating, and possibly even better for you. but nostalgia or just plain longing for the old often remains, for just as long as it needs to.
for socks, this may be a few months.
for my beloved orchid, perhaps a bit longer, even years.
for people, possibly forever.
and it's all okay, isn't it?

the personal ad

people in bike class have been talking about which events they want to commit to, and there's always some of that hey, come with us talk bouncing around. which is great, and seems like fun, but sends me to a place of thinking, yes, but then I'll be all alone when you all take off ahead of me.
this is the problem with having blue card friends.
or even white card male friends.
or even white card female friends who are still faster than me.

I need to find someone who rides just like me.

a new kind of personal ad: 1.45 power-to-weight ratio looking for same to ride bikes with during events. male-female-androgynous-homosexual-heterosexual-doesn't matter: this is about riding a bike. must not be too strong of a rider, yet must be slightly obsessed and willing to sweat like hell. prefer a morning person, as events usually start early in the day and I don't do well around grumpy people. just looking for company, and don't mind exchanging dumb jokes and stories that wind and twist around before coming to an end which can be in the middle or anywhere else. not too chatty, though, as I sometimes slip into a meditative place while riding. would be helpful if accustomed to carrying a few extra snacks, cartridges, and tubes, and would be a great bonus if adept at changing tires. must be willing to stop for refueling, but not be one who spends a great deal of time at rest stops.
just looking for someone to keep me company while the rest of my friends take off up the hill or across the flats.

what do they say about choosing friends you want to emulate? apparently I'm quite good at that.

Milestones with a Capital M

I've written before about milestones.
they are huge and important, crucial really, in how we process our movement through life.

I have passed a Milestone.
and I want to shout it from the mountaintops:
I have reached a point beyond the panic barrier, a place of safety.

okay, okay, what--you wonder--am I talking about?
I am talking about the mental games I engage in each time I work out at an extremely high heart rate. the infamous zone 5, the VT, ventilatory threshold.
if you google VT, these is a description you might find if you spend about 30 minutes digging through citations, medical speak, and a lot of obfuscation as I just did:

The point during graded exercise in which ventilation increases disproportionately to oxygen uptake.

whatever.

here's a better place to go for a definition, because I think this person captures my understanding (and lack thereof) of it all: joe friel's blog. and if you don't feel like popping over there, I'll briefly tell you what he has to say about it: we're all confused.
it seems that those of us who read about and participate in the world of fitness use these vaguely and variously defined words in different ways with the result of some quiet and rarely discussed mass confusion.
lactate threshold.
anaerobic threshold.
ventilatory threshold.
in Power Camp World, these have different meanings (of which I am still unclear), as apparently they may or may not in the real world.
joe friel suggests that they are often used interchangeably and come down to the same point: the point at which you are redlining.
oh, redlining, of course. now I get it.
joe suggests it's the place a fit person can work for about an hour; this is definitely not the Power Camp World's VT. but perhaps it is the Power Camp World's LT. or its AT.

whatever.

I digressed.
all I really wanted to say today is that I have finally reached a point where I have overcome my VT panic. I have conquered my own mind. (though this really sends my mind whirling: I have trained my mental self to conquer my mental self. think about that.)
my body has finally convinced me that the You Are Going To Die part of my mind is wrong, and the You Will Survive This part of my mind is absolutely, completely, positively and permanently correct.

I was telling john about this yesterday, and he gave me another word for it: breakthrough. I have broken through a barrier, one which I hope to never again sink beneath.
I have challenged myself twice this week with extended work sessions at and above VT, and neither time did I experience panic mode. (although I did experience about 15 seconds of certainty that my abdomen was going to explode if I didn't get off the bike and go relieve my bladder right now, but then even that belief faded away to nothing.)
I am saying goodbye forever to those I Am Going To Die thoughts, banishing them to my early years as a cyclist.
from now on I move forward firm in the belief and understanding that panic is unnecessary. I can do this, I have done this, I will continue to do this.
I am on the other side of the wall.

congrats, me.

energy one and energy two

I've been thinking about energy today.

there's this kind of energy:

it is the end of the fourteenth week of power camp, and more than a few people in class have commented on their level of depletion. you can eat all the bananas and power bars you want: there still exists a point where you are just done. when you give and give and give, your body sometimes sends up a white flag, begging for respite.
and then there are times when you think you have nothing left, but you do. somehow, your body reaches deep within and finds something to spit out at the world.
this is the come and go energy that is fueled by nutrition, muscles, training, hydration, drive and determination, sleep, and respite. (yep, intervals, bananas and kale all fit nicely here.)

then there's this kind of energy:

it is the end of the fourteenth week of power camp, and many of us campers know a great deal about each other. we know who will be there consistently, and we know who goes running on wednesdays instead of coming to class. we know who the first few through the door will be each morning; we know who will arrive ten minutes into the warmup.
we get a sense of each other, we learn who we like to sit next to, who fits our own way of being.
our energy field, what I consider an almost palpable aura, is there with us no matter how many bananas or whole wheat bagels we've eaten, how many challenging classes we've been to in the past week, or how little sleep we've had. it's bigger than our daily fluctuations: it's who we are and how we present to the world. it tends to be fairly consistent within (and without) a person, though there are always highs and lows and subtle changes due to inner growth.
some energies I love to be around. they are peaceful and calm, positive and hopeful. which does not mean the owner of this energy can't be active and outgoing, dynamic, realistic, accessible. we can have traits that seem in conflict with our overall energy field.
some energy fields are intense, some are almost angry, some are so spiky and bright I can't get too close.

energy can be tweaked, both with glucose and with effort.
I know at times my energy field has been heavier and more solemn than usual, and I can feel that in my physical efforts. I may still be able to perform, but it has a bit of the feel of running through water. when my energy field is lighter and more love-filled, everything happens more easily, from spin class to making lunches for my kids to mowing the lawn.

this is my self-prescription: for energy one, more bananas, less chocolate cake, darn it all.
for energy type two, meditation, yoga, and more headstands. because there's nothing like spending some time viewing the world upside down to connect you more firmly with the joys and wonder of your own reality.
give it a try.

six senses

monday's ride:

I smelled wet leaves and wood fires burning in fireplaces, winter's ponderous atmosphere and quick breaths of spring's potential.

I felt cold drops of water sneak through the ventilation holes in my helmet and make their way through my hair to my scalp, I felt the wet kick-back from my tires that penetrated my bike shorts and chilled my rear, I felt cold air dance on my cheeks.

I saw low dripping clouds hover above the foothills, leaving a dusting of snow in their wake, I saw running rivers and standing puddles and drops of rain, thick and fat, giggling on their way down from high above.

I heard cacophonies of birds in community trees, the splash as I crossed gutters heavy with water, the thick sound of my tires revolving again and again upon the dark and wet asphalt.

I tasted water fresh from the sky and water kicked up by my front wheel, the latter flavored with specks of dirt and as unwelcome in my mouth as the former was welcome.

I knew peace, I knew calm, I knew certitude. I knew myself centered and full of peace, one with my bike, one with the world and everyone within.
I knew I would return, in my mind, to this ride, in moments of need, to smell the wet, feel the cold, hear the birds, taste pure water and taste the grit, and see my way to a place where I am fully, thoroughly, contentedly me.

the urge

I've been singing the queen song under my breath all morning, you know, the one that states I want to ride my bicycle, I want to ride it now . . .
and I'm watching the rain continue to fall, lightly, down to the thoroughly sopping wet ground.

and I believe it will dry up by this afternoon so I can go ride my bike.
I am hanging on to this belief with every ounce of my being, and I will not let go.

I so want to write here about my outdoor ride: the chill air upon my cheeks and the freshness circulating through my respiratory system, the smells of a humid february day and the pure excitement of riding a flat road at a brisk pace instead of sitting in a sweat-filled room listening to music pound from speakers mounted on the four enclosing walls. I want to write about my new wheels, how fun and fabulous they are, how I can feel their gift to me with each revolution: I'm light, I'm aerodynamic, I'm here to help you swoop and fly.
I want to write about joy and freedom and purity and connecting with what truly matters, that vital spark of energy within that ignites when I'm participating in the great big world out there.

I've spent a lot of time during the past 5 weeks indoors, being quiet and alternatively contemplative and numb. I've read a library shelf's worth of books, and I've sat huddling under blankets trying to lessen the chill of my stunned and aching heart. I've ignored the greater world, and I've looked out my windows with a sense of incomprehension. the world continues, it gently rotates and grows and shrinks regardless of whether I participate in it or not.
I haven't wanted much to participate in it this last while. an occasional urge has pushed me out, and then I've retreated again to the safety of my home's protective womb.
today, however, I want to honor the almost microscopic voice within that is asking me to go out there, to touch and feel and breathe and listen.

if the skies will only play along with me, and take their moisture further up the hillside, to where all the skiers and boarders beg for more. and leave this lone cyclist to a bit of dry pavement, where she can honor that tiny voice and find a place to fully be who she craves to be.

examination

you know my middle name could easily be commitment, and I'm pretty sure you know how I feel when I blow it.
so I am dissatisfied with myself today.
because yesterday was an odd day and ~ although early in the day I was aware that there was a task to be performed ~ I neglected to write and post anything here.
at one point, before the rain began coming down relentlessly, I thought that I would be riding outside and would write about that.
then a bit later, when I decided to go snowshoeing instead, I thought that I would write about that.
but what came to pass is that I returned from showshoeing in the snowy, vigorating cold, and forgot completely about my commitment.

as I sat to write this afternoon a fleeting thought passed through my mind: I could put yesterday's date on today's post and hope that no one realized.
ha.
that thought sat with me for about half a second before my sense of authenticity and integrity grew jagged and arched its back and threw that idea out of my reality.
so here I am, once again admitting that I am a fallible human.
I have beautiful intentions, and work to be the very best me that I can be.
but I slip up sometimes, and I have weaknesses. I am foilable and full of foibles. although I strive to be connected more with my spiritual, divine side, where I can step outside of my human self and have empathy and understanding of this weaker being, the truth is that I must nevertheless live and breathe within this flawed human person who I am.

now we know that I eat too much cake and have a terribly unhealthy sweet tooth issue, but I've spent a great deal of energy working through my other shortcomings. one of my greatest remaining struggles is to learn to live my authenticity while balancing my own needs with those of others. how to be in control of getting what I need for myself without causing hurt or harm to others. how to not give away my joys in an effort to give others what I think they might need.
I believe, perhaps, that the process of mothering is what causes so many of us females to find ourselves dealing with what I'm describing. we spend so many years putting our children's needs out in front, that we too easily lose touch with what our own needs might be. and some of us forget that what nature craves is balance, and healthy relationships do the same.

perhaps yesterday I needed a day off from creating a posting here.
perhaps I didn't know how to recognize that ahead of time.
and possibly my true and wise inner self made the decision for me, unbeknownst to my outer, oblivious self who instead lazed and read and relaxed in oblivion.

socrates famously stated that the unexamined life is not worth living:
I suppose I will never know.