asking for what you want

a few days ago I was moaning and groaning about the gray clouds, the depressing weather, the seemingly unending season of blah we've been in, well, forever.

I asked for a few things--just a few--like blue skies, like warmth, like green shoots that would blossom into crocuses. or crocus. or croci.

yesterday the temperature rose above sixty degrees, and this morning as I drove off I looked at my side yard and saw that I received exactly what I asked for.

what shall I ask for next?

a new bike? an agent for my book? unlimited super powers? I've always wanted to try being elasti-girl, just for a day . . .

go ride your bike!

hope for you non-athletes

let me be clear: I am not a competitive athlete.
I scrunch my forehead and wiggle my nose a bit when I even say I am an athlete.
I'm really not, I'm just a female who likes to ride her bike, and who's willing to put some effort into training so that she can ride a bit better, a bit faster, a bit longer.
but an athlete?
no, those are those other people.
my daughters, for example. they are on teams, they meet, they practice, they drill, they compete against other teams. one plays lacrosse right now, the other plays volleyball. in other seasons they play basketball, and, well, lacrosse and volleyball.
they will grow up considering themselves athletes.
I didn't.
I played tennis my last two years in high school, and I didn't play it particularly well. we did no running drills in practice, we never hit the weight room. (oh, that's right, that's because we didn't have a weight room.) the closest I got to "sports" in college were water aerobics classes, a weight lifting class (because my university did have a weight room), and tai chi.

I'm glad that my girls think of themselves as athletes: it's a healthy mindset, a label that promotes positive thinking, teamwork, and taking care of your body. it supports a belief that you belong in the world, that your body's geometry is purposeful and capable of providing great rewards. it helps them carry water bottles around, and eat bananas.

I hover on the lip of that label, thinking no, I'm not really that cool, and yes, I am absolutely that cool. I'm a few decades past being a "miner," but know that my beliefs about Who I Am are rooted way back there in park city high school. it was cool to be an athlete then, as it remains cool to be one today.
it would probably be silly to crown myself homecoming queen, and my sense of Who I Am already includes just about every art and honor roll and other activity imaginable, so that leaves me with just one naked gap to fill: athlete.
I can't relive those years, but I can learn to rethink the current me.
I can put my tiara on and wear my bike shorts and be the me I never was back then . . . will this help me reframe myself?
or shall I simply start chanting each day I go for a ride, I am an athlete, I am an athlete, I am I am.
and unfurrow my brow. and set my nose straight.
and accept my destiny.
because truly, and with gratitude and thanks to all who've helped get me here, I suppose I am an athlete.

you, my friend, have no excuse.

skinny tires and snow

this is where my head is today:
moab.

well, actually, it's here in gray-gloomy-waiting-for-a-snowstorm slc, and it keeps jumping onto the freeway, heading up spanish fork canyon past all those stunning and hypnotic wind turbines, out through price and 70 and into slickrock country.

this coming weekend is the skinny tire festival, a four-day event beginning with a 64-mile ride to dead horse point on saturday morning. sunday morning is a 50-mile ride along the colorado river corridor. monday is arches national park and tuesday is a river portal ride.

four years ago a friend and I hopped in her car and drove to moab for this event on a chilly (cold) friday in early march. before we left slc I bought thick biking pants with wind panels on the front and full booties, and packed up just about every warm riding thing I owned. my friend was bootie-less, and we hit every bike shop in moab friday evening, discovering them all to be completely sold out of booties, and painfully low on hats and gloves. I bought a skull cap (beanie), and kissed myself repeatedly the next day for doing so.
saturday morning warmed to about 26 degrees by the time we started our ride, my friend's feet encased in bread bags from the hotel coffee shop. at the first rest stop we warmed ourselves by a portable heater, and she bummed a pair of thicker gloves from another rider who had a spare pair, promising to return them that evening.
sunday morning was a toasty 30+ degrees, and we lunched at the top of dead horse point, perched on the rock surfaces we could find that weren't covered with snow.

this year, my favorite weather site, noaa, predicts for moab overnight lows of 35 degrees, and daytime highs about 65, mostly sunny saturday and generously sunny on sunday.

hmm.

sixty-five? sunny?

we're expecting our snowstorm later this afternoon, the snow level dropping to just a few hundred feet higher than my house. rain for me, and a few inches of snow for those higher on the bench. as evening descends and moves into pure night, somewhere between a few fingers and a handspan of snow will settle upon us.
a good chance of snow again tuesday, and then things begin to clear. the weekend here in slc looks decent, with a potential high of 53 on saturday, the overnight low only 36 or so. partly sunny. hmm. I'm ignoring the chance of snow saturday night and sunday.

playful me wants to go to moab.
practical me says it's a long drive and will cost me a bunch of money and take time away from all those other things I should be doing . . .

but snow? really? haven't we had enough? will biking season ever come?
sigh.

eenie, meenie, miney, mo . . . who all thinks I'll really go?

what gray does to me

I don't like gray.
actually, I don't mind the color itself; quite a few items in my wardrobe are gray, and I think it's the perfect color for a clapboard house, especially by the beach. I like it in carpet, in chenille blankets, and in eyes. it can be enticing on walls, and when used as contrast in paintings. it often provides a delightful backdrop in studio photography, and it's exquisite in suede boots.

but I don't like it painted across my sky, hanging down above the trees, draping itself over my world.

give me rain, snow, sleet, drizzle, hail, even deluges: anything but this nothingness that hides the sun and coats one with a sense of ennui. I want to mount an escalating ladder that stretches up into the sky, reach up to the top of this pervasive gray and rip it apart, exposing the sunny blue space that exists, I know, beyond the bleary bunting that enfolds us.

I want to feel the sun on my skin, I want to connect with those life-giving rays. I want the wind to cease, the clouds to disperse, the crocuses to think about sending forth shoots. I want to ride my bike.
and it's gray outside.

so . . .

I went outside anyway, and rode my bike anyway, and this is what I discovered: the cycling me is a happy me, regardless of the color that surrounds my world.
perhaps, then, the lesson is simply this:
do what you love, regardless of anything surrounding you that whispers shades of negativity, of lack, of listlessness. simply follow your path anyway, do what brings you joy, and reconnect with the you who knows that it is that within which matters most.

calendar directive

if you know me well, you knew this was coming:

do what you're told today. steady on, follow your path, do what it is you're meant to do . . .

march forth.

compulsion

sometimes I'm the proverbial lonely writer, staring at a blank piece of paper, pen in hand, not a single thought of anything worth writing about floating anywhere in my head.

like this morning.

it's raining, it's gray, my legs are tired from this morning's class, I'm lethargic, my house needs a good cleaning, I have work (and laundry, grocery shopping, networking, bill-paying) to do, and nothing---not one darn thing---seems like fertile subject matter.
but I have to write something because I have a blog to keep up with.


now I know, as well as and quite possibly even better than you, that I don't have to post anything here.
ever, actually.
the world would go on, you would survive, I would continue to breathe in and out.
but I post here just as I go to work out during the winter, just as I hop on my bike in good weather. it's part of what I do, it's a commitment, it is a task I've assigned myself.


the other day I took my son to an appointment with a physician. in the waiting room, my son pointed out the picture hanging on the wall across from us, and how the right corner needed to be lifted just a quarter of an inch or so to allow the picture to hang correctly, parallel to the floor and in alignment with the walls.

"I think I have a little CDO," he tells me.
"excuse me?" I look at him, my frowny-lines scrunched.
"you know, OCD but in alphabetical order, the way it should be."
he grins.
"and what about the fact that your floor in your room is covered with books, papers, clothes . . . ?"
"well, the things on my walls have to be straight; I'm always straightening them. the floor, well, not so much."
"hmm," I say.


sharing this with someone revived a discussion I'd been having with this friend of mine who keeps gently suggesting that I might possibly have some bit of the "C" part, the compulsion part.

I disagree, of course.


I feel no compulsion to write and post here; I feel this great big "should" because I said I would, and know it's part of my exercise plan for mind and fingers.

I feel no compulsion to go to spin class, or hop on my bike, or go snowshoeing, or run; I feel this great big "should" because it's good for me, it's part of my exercise plan for longevity, and I will feel better for having done it. as well, I'm likely to enjoy (in some small or great way) at least part of it.


webster's defines compulsion in this way: an irresistible, persistent impulse to perform an act; a force that compels.


in my dictionary, an impulse, especially one that is irresistible and persistent, feels nothing like what I experience when it's time to write here, to go to class, to go run, or to hop on my bike.

irresistible, persistent impulses don't come with sighs, moans, procrastination, lots of positive self-talk, and some pretty heavy bargaining (please, could I just this once skip it? if I go now, I get a cinnamon roll when I get back. I can just do a short one today. oh, do I have to? if I go now, I will let myself out of dusting. well if I do this now, I can have a nap later . . . )


then there's the O component . . .
more than one "friend" has linked that word to my behavior, but I've already discussed it here and here and here, so I won't repeat myself here now.

I'm pretty sure I won't meet the criteria for OCD, and I'm fairly confident that my son won't, either. we'll laugh about our little CDO tendencies, and internally I'll just shrug my little shoulders and think we're not such bad people, and hey, what's wrong with wanting your pictures to hang straight, level, aligning perfectly with walls and floors, just the way they should be?

plug day

combining the above title with this morning's workout (argh, 10 minutes in zone 5, fifteen minutes in zone 4B, twenty-five minutes in 4A and then plenty other working minutes in lower zones), I could be writing about how it feels to plug along at the bottom of a heartrate zone. but I truly don't want to even think about how it felt (I'm just glad it's over) so instead, I will plug a few things that I think are cool. call me oprah.

yesterday a colleague showed me his new business cards. they are so cool: thick, firm stock with clean printing and great graphics, and just oversized enough to make you take note. the coolest thing, though, is that he flashed through his stack like they were a deck of cards, showing me all of the 25 different photos splashed on the backs. he's carrying around his own little photography collection, complete with vital info on the back. these are cool.
www.moo.com

I've written about this site before, because I love it for their wit, cleverness and goofiness covered with a light but permanent coating of irreverence. yep, www.moosejaw.com. they sell my favorite kinds of things: jackets and coats and clothing articles that you might use in the great big outer world, as well as some comfy things you might hang out in at home. their ads are silly or just plain wacky, and always fun to read. I like this company.

one of my most favorite websites ever belongs to a company run by a woman named leigh standley. she is a designer from boston, mass, and she places her clever (and sometimes poignant) quotes on mugs and magnets, tees and cards and whatever else she dreams up. this is my personal leigh standley story: years ago I saw a card of hers with a quote on it which grabbed my attention and captured my heart. I decided to use it as a tag line on my email signature, and for quite some time spread it around that way: love imperfectly with great delight.
then a year or two ago a friend gave me a little decorative doo-hickey with the following words on it: live imperfectly with great delight.
I was stumped. I was quite certain the word was "love" not "live," but after no small amount of research, I discovered that I was wrong, that the original quote really did say "live." my romantic soul just changed it to "love," and I sailed forth in the world loving imperfectly, which I still do to this day.
visit this way cool sight at www.curlygirldesign.com and be sure to play with the map.

and finally, as a writer forever in search of an agent and publishers, I peruse many websites belonging to literary management firms. yesterday I crossed paths with this one, and was delighted by its originality and accomplishment. no staid, boring, old-men's-club-smoking-library here, this firm is run by the young. visit www.movabletypenyc.com for a taste of high tech and possibility. no, I don't tweet and I'm barely allowed to retain my facebook page I'm such an absentee parent, but I have oodles of admiration for those who know how to move in these worlds.

and of course I need to throw in a plug for something having to do with cycling, so I will again tell you how great the fat cyclist is. he is a one-man institution, full of clever insight, deep feelings, wisdom, courage, tenacity, and a love for his two-wheeled companions. he might never write a posting quite like this one, but one of his all-time most popular postings is an Open Letter To Assos, and you can check out the rest of his blog simply at www.fatcyclist.com.

okay, that's it for plug day.
I've enjoyed mine: go enjoy yours!