A New Accomplishment, or, I Looked into the Eyes of Middle Age and Flipped It Off

Setting the Tone for the Year

Saturday, Sunday and Monday all began with bike rides (see the stats on the Stava app below).  The Monday ride was the least-intense but because it was my 3rd ride in a row -- something I hadn't done since early November -- I was already fatigued. Once I came home, I made a turkey, Comte' cheese & fresh lettuce sandwich and drank a tall glass of water. As I stiffly  made my way upstairs to shower, Chris announced that he was going to take a 3-mile run, since Monday was Day 1 of our 10-week training plan for the San Diego 1/2 Marathon in March.  Briefly did I consider pulling a Scarlett O'Hara, but decided WTHI -- I was already sweaty.

So I swapped my cycling knickers for running knickers, my demure-brimmed cycling cap for a proper ball cap, laced up my shoes and off we went. 3 miles, no problem, right?

Wrong. Painfully, achingly, torturously wrong. It was the most brutal and awful run I've done to date. I hated every step and regretted ever taking the challenge.  But I finished the run, glad to be done with it, pleased that I didn't quit.

Finished the afternoon a hot shower, compression tights, and some wine. Dinner was simple. I'm looking forward to what other challenges the year will present me -- as well as how I'll meet them.

New Year, New Goals, New Musings

So we did this today. Yesterday's ride was more challenging (especially mentally) than expected, and today's ride, ostensibly a "recovery" ride, had its challenges as well. I'm happy to have ended a terrific year and begun a new terrificer year with bike rides.  In amazing weather, no less. (Although I wouldn't mind some rain, please.)

When my kids were little and they wanted me to read them a book I'd read a gazillion times (tell me I'm not the only parent to have memorized Goodnight Moon or Where the Wild Things Are), I'd counter by telling them what I called "Peanut Butter and Jelly Stories."  That was their favorite sandwich, and the stories involved two fictitious kids, Emily and her little brother Timothy, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.  The stories were situational:  whatever my kids did, I retold with the sandwich featured somewhere, and a moral or different outcome attached.  For example, if I was taking them to tap & ballet class after school and they got into a spat, I'd use the PB&J story to reflect that, and demonstrate how it might have gone differently.  I don't know that they got that, but they hung onto every word, esp. the adjectives and adverbs. (I'm sure you have no problem imagining flowery speech from me, right?) And it got me out of reading another book that I'd read so many times that I could hardly muster the enthusiasm to re-read. It was also an outlet for my closet author.

Lately I've been thinking it might be a good idea to put those PB&J stories into book form, publish it, and give my kids something to give their kids.  I asked my daughter today if she would sit down with me (she's a writer, a copy editor, a blogger and English, French & CompLit major) and help me recreate them.  I was blown away by her response: "I don't really remember the details, they were largely situational, but I remember I really loved them."  She didn't remember the specifics...but she remembered how they made her feel.  That's huge for an author.  And I'm not one, really.  (Closet-author, yes. Not out yet.) 


I think I'm going to start telling PB&J stories again, and blog them, and link them to where my kids can read them.  Maybe the world needs more PB&J stories...I know kids in the world need more interaction and reflection with their parents. Let's see what happens.

2011 Retrospective

I feel obligated to do this, and I hate feeling obligated to do anything, so if this blogs reads a tad perfunctorily, that's why. You know I'm all about full disclosure. You've been warned.

Reader's Digest Version, in no particular order: Celebrated 30 years of wedded bliss with the man of my dreams. Insanely difficult to close deals and closed them anyway. Chris broke his collarbone. I got a time trial bike and set multiple PRs on local courses. Had a 1st place on a team time trial, and a 2nd in a solo TT, and shaved off minutes from previous times. Was elected and installed as my local Realtor(R) association's President Elect (and kissing goodbye the next 3 years, since I automatically ascend to President and Past President).  Trained for and ran a half-marathon. Deepened relationships with family and friends.  Experienced intangibles that will forever enrich my life. How could it get any better?

The year's been challenging, trying, repugnant, awesome, inspiring, amazing, maddening, transformative, unbelievable, fulfilling on so many levels.  I hope to stay open and available to what awaits me in 2012. Right now it looks like where I want to be.  Happy New Year!

Catching Up---Google Changes too

Less than 2 days before I'm installed as my local trade groups's VP.  Not concerned, no speech needed, just a tad preoccupied that my duties may begin a month before I had expected.  In that respect I'm a tad behind the 8 ball but can catch up.

Chris is doing fabulously well -- he runs the shorter weekday run alone (as do I), and we share the pain of the long Saturday rides.  Really, since we ran 12 mi. a couple wks. ago, it hasn't been bad. Compression tights and  leg-elevation make all the difference. We'll have a hot-tub/Jacuzzi post-run, so I expect our recovery will be just fine.

And if the weather permits we'll ride to Big Sur the next day, Chris's 58th birthday.  He's more stoked than I. Wish I had the words to express how proud I am of him...he could've dropped out of training and no one would have thought less of him for it...yet he HTFU and  embraced this goal as if he'd chosen it.  So what if he finishes with one arm in a sling and brace?  What counts is that his finishes.

And I cannot complain -- even it I had a valid complaint -- he's set the bar that high.

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So, after our run/jog, we cleaned up and headed to Vallejo and the hospital. I stayed with him until they wheeled him off to surgery (he was well-drugged at that point, with more to come).  I realized that he had warm-weather clothes only, and needed sweatshirt, so I drove back  home, got his sweatshirt, handled some calls, drove back to Vallejo in time to talk to the surgeon -- he said it was a very challenging repair -- and a while later they invited me into recovery.

The recovery nurse does some mountain biking, and has that gallows-humor that allows you to laugh at sad stuff.  He was pretty sanguine, and we played on Chris's being very drugged, although he was a trouper and was quite present.

So sweat-shirted and -pantsed we drove home. I'd put a squash in the oven and programmed it to be done by the time we got home, and it was.  I was getting him comfy on the couch and serving said squash when my phone rang.  Our daughter was calling.

So mid-serving I answered, thinking she's calling because the bus is late due to the rain. Noooo, it isn't that easy...she was entering the Interstate, hit something slick, spun out & hit a couple of cars.  Oh, no! \0/   CHP is involved, and they don't cite her. OMG.  I suddenly am overwhelmed and my adrenalin kicks in with no warm-up (wrong!) and I'm questioning the cop.  Kid is all  guilt-ridden; our 92 4Runner is toast, and 3 cars have superficial issues.  Things could be much worse.

So once home I administer wine to 2 of us; Chris is trying to be present but way out there, thanks to good drugs.

He doesn't have to deal with this until Wednesday, although my schedule suddenly goes to hell to accommodate them.   And just like that, I revert to Soccer Mom 3.0.  Not on my Bucket List, to be sure.

So what does one do when circumstances dictate their daily life? One rides/runs one's patooty off, or finds other expressions at working off stress.

On that note, yes, check.

Upheaval and Trauma and Good Fortune

With a title like this, you just gotta read it, right?

After Esparto my racing season was done, and our training for the Big Sur Half Marathon began. All our cycling was for fun, and in between easy, short runs, it was.

On Tues., Sept. 27th, we invited our friends M & B for a short, fast, let's-beat-civil-twilight ride. We rode to their house for a warm up, and headed north towards Winters, over the rollers and to the flats.

We were hammering at a decent pace north on Old Winters Rd., working a fast, smooth paceline. Chris pulled a while, then dropped back. B, a multiple Ironman medal-winner & steady wheel, was pulling about 24 mph. I was right on his wheel, M was behind me and Chris brought up the rear.

I heard the sickening sound of plastic and metal vs. asphalt, M screamed, "Stop! Stop!" I hit my brakes and thought she'd gone down. I turned around to see Chris lying in the lane, still.

I freaked out and called out to him to lay still. He's a well-trained 1st Responder at the refinery and knows to take time to self-assess. He moved before I could get back to him, sat up. We gathered around him; moved his bike off the road, turned down an offer of help by a motorist. Chris seemed dazed but at that point we thought he was OK.

M is a Captain in the Air Force, and an RN working on her Master's -- she noticed the odd gap between his acromion process (far end of the clavicle) and his shoulder -- we thought it might be dislocated. Chris stood up then had to sit right back down as he was immediately dizzy and nauseous. His helmet was crushed pretty badly, he had significant road rash on his shoulder, the buckle on his left shoe was shot, his left glove ripped -- and the bike was OK.

The consensus was that he wouldn't be able to ride home, so B elected to speed back to his place (about 10 mi.) to get his truck to drive us home. Shortly after B left, a guy in a huge SUV stopped and offered to help. Chris was feeling pretty bad at that point so we elected to take the Good Samaritan's offer.

Turns out this guy, G, is a retired Vacaville firefighter, and he loaded the bikes into his vehicle as I loaded Chris -- and G apologized several times for not having a sling. He offered to drive us to the ER but we declined, as we were on bikes. He drove us home, I gave him my card and told him to call if he ever needed anything, he hung up our bikes and left us with his good wishes.

We changed clothes and headed to the ER. Who'd expect the ER to be crowded beyond belief on a Tuesday night? Yes, indeed. It was over an hour before Chris got a shot of morphine. He doesn't complain and I could tell he was in pain.

Fast-forward to when the ER doc shows up: He'd looked at the X-ray and proclaimed the injury morphine-worthy. Clue #1. They dressed the wound, gave instructions and drugs (some of those instructions were directed to me, clue #2). We got home around 11, and although Chris went right to bed, I was wound up like a cheap watch.

At this point we didn't know the severity of the wound, but knew he had to be seen by our primary care doc to get a referral to an orthopedic surgeon -- even this untrained eye knew that fracture would need surgical correction -- and the pre-op, prescription filling, daughter-shuttling -- and just like that, I was in charge of everyone getting to where they needed to be regardless of my needs. I felt as though I was back in the early 90's, Taxi Mom redux.

Let me say here that I'm a trouper, I step up when the need arises, yet sometimes resent having to do so. I was having a tough time being the driver, cheerleader, support, do-it-all person for 1-1/2 people and having to still keep my business and responsibilities going.

That first weekend was awkward; I was still running and riding, and feeling quite guilty about leaving Chris behind...except that I needed my bike time to work off the stress of these abrupt changes.

Surgery was Mon. Oct. 3 -- we ran 3+ miles in the morning, Chris without benefit of coffee or food. He sustained other bruises and injuries besides the clavicle/shoulder, the worst of which was a strained groin/psoas muscle on the left side. He didn't run so much as shuffle. I jogged along with him, impressed that he was moving despite significant discomfort.

Stay tuned for part II...it gets better.