TOO MUCH FOOD

I got to thinking how my way of food selection, preparation, and eating, and obsessing about all of this would look to someone from a developing-world or third-world culture.  It's helping me put some things into perspective, especially my issue of eating more than I really need or want, and eating when not hungry. I've been learning to practice "mindful eating" -- eating when hungry, paying attention to the food and my response, stopping when full.

I thought about illustrating this post with a photo, but rather than pirate someone else's, here's a link to my Google image search for "too much food."  Go have a look, just to put you in the mood.

What I see when I think about it is.... so many people are lucky to get a bowl of rice once a day. How foreign it would be to them to go with us into a grocery store, larger than any structure they've ever seen, wander aisle after aisle of astonishingly varied foods, can after box after bag after package of it, the store called "Foodland" (a land where there is food everywhere you look, imagine!), casually pick up item after item filling a big cart with it, complain about the price but take it anyway, pull out cash or a piece of plastic to pay for it (one cart costing more than they will see in a year) and then complaining that we have to put it all away, and we're running out of shelf space, and we can't control our appetite, and we're paying organizations and/or reading books to teach us how to stop eating so much.  Imagine walking into a restaurant, clean and cozy and elegant (a diner or burger stand is elegant compared to a mud hut), poring over a booklet illustrating dozens of delicacies (including hot dogs, grilled cheese sandwiches, and special entrees for those watching their weight), not being able to decide, having too many choices, being presented with a plate heaped so high we can't eat it all (or we do and then complain that we ate too much and we'll have to go to the gym to work it off), and then paying a price that's equivalent to a week's worth of groceries at that rich supermarket.

The astonishment. Can't absorb it. Can't take it in. How can anyone be so rich? How can food be so abundant?

This is an observation that makes me want to eat less, makes me want to eat oatmeal for breakfast and beans for lunch. Imagine being able to decide what we feel like having for breakfast.... imagine even having breakfast. Imagine feeling that we'd like a little snack and then perusing our choices as to which snack will hit the spot. Imagine thinking ahead what we might like to eat, going to the store and buying those foods, having them available so that we know we're not going to feel deprived. Imagine the comfort of knowing that we won't have to wait without eating for another couple hours until our next mealtime. Imagine being able to choose something pleasant to eat when we're not even hungry, when we just have a taste for something cheerful or chewy or chocolate.

 

Imagine making this big a deal out of whether, when, what, how, and how much to eat.

Sometimes I wonder just what it is I'm so worried about. I'm thinking that to me, mindful eating may mean being mindful of how fortunate I am.

ISOLATED

I'm sorry I'm not blogging, world. Sometimes it's just too much to ponder. What to do, what to do?

BUT..... yesterday I heard a robin chirping, and the day before that I saw a coltsfoot blossom. So even though there's snow on the ground again today, whipped by the wind into little tornadoes, I still hold onto this: I heard a robin, I saw coltsfoot.

Been battling Achilles tendonitis. I think my body got confused by my Appalachian Trail preparations, thought AT means Achilles tendonitis, which I barely recovered from in time to start the AT (the Trail, that is) 3 years ago. Since whether or not I have AT affects whether I'll be able to hike the AT, my body gets confused when I start preparing for the AT, and develops AT.

Huh?

SKIRT FOR HIKING

I never hike in shorts or long pants. Skirts rule.

A running skort is good, but I cut out the shorts liner. My favorite, though, is one I made out of men's swim trunks, again cutting out the liner. Lightweight, quick-drying.

I like a skirt because:

• It's airy.
• You don't have to undress to add or subtract warm layers or rain pants.
• Nothing tightens around your legs when you take a big step up or down.
• You don't have to strip and squat to pee, or even take off your backpack.

Long ago, as a marathoner, I discovered the art of the no-strip, stand-up pee. As a runner I accomplished this wearing loose running shorts (pull the leg to the side, practice at home over toilet or in shower.) As a hiker, well, nothing beats a skirt (do the leg maneuver with whatever you have as underwear, which you do need with a skirt.) Once I peed standing up w/o showing anything, behind a Dumpster with several guys and a squatting girl who had chosen the same spot. She and I rejoined the course together; she met up with a fella she was running with, who had waited for her, and she said, "Sorry for the wait." He said, "Yeah, I guess women can't just pee standing up." She said, "I just found out we can, I saw a woman doing it. I'm gonna learn." Be converted, girls. I have even done this during triathlons, wearing spandex bike shorts. It's not as easy but it's doable and you don't have to sit on that yucky porta-pot seat.

My hiking skirt is black, so black microfiber underwear looks like it could be part of the skirt if someone below you on a climb happens to look up. I also like boxer shorts, for modesty and ventilation. Men's medium work just fine. Again, with some maneuvering I can just pee out the leg, although it's not as easy as with elastic-leg underwear.

BTW, the men's swimsuit to skirt conversion is so easy I did it on the trail with my minimalist sewing kit on a "nero" day ("near-zero", hike in the a.m., take the afternoon off for chores and rest.) Cut out the leg-to-leg crotch seam, trim excess fabric a little longer than leg hems, sew existing seams to incorporate any extra fullness, trim seam, hem, you're done. Half an hour at most. I bought the men's trunks on sale at Trail Days in Damascus, VA when I went through, because I'd gotten too small for my running skirt with a 10-pound hiking weight-loss. The men's suit has an elastic waist and drawstring, to accommodate further loss (or post-hike gain.) That was in 2009, I wore it from Damascus to Harpers Ferry, WV, have worn it on section hikes from there to the AT midpoint in PA, and will be wearing it on my midpoint-to-Maine hike this summer.

ALTERNATIVE USES: CONTACT LENS CASES

I love these.

Lightweight, waterproof, leakproof, easy-to-spot storage for 2 items per case.

On the trail or on the bike, I always pocket one with emergency meds: Benadryl in case of bee sting in one side, pain reliever in the other. And one more: stomach-settler in one side, panic-attack pill in the other. (I hate panic attacks, but once in a while I get one.)

We're leaving in a little while for a weekend trip, and I put my face cream in one: Day cream in one side (the one with the light cap), night cream in the other (dark cap.) Beats carrying two jars.

Vaseline, little safety pins....

How many uses can you think of? Contact cases are cheap; if you wear contacts, you get free ones with new orders from 1-800-CONTACTS.

PREPARING

Why am I blogging when I have so much I need to get done?

We're heading out to Ohio for our grandson's 16th birthday. My 90-yr-old mother, who needs a lot of help, is going along. We're leaving tomorrow after lunch. In the morning I have to:

•  Take Mother to the hairdresser
•  Take her dog to board at the vet,
•  Pick up a wheelchair for the weekend,
•  Phen pick up Mothe
•  Leave.  

That means all other preparations have to be done today.

This includes:

• Bathe my dog, who is going with us
• Shower, do hair
• Pack
• Take Mother to the gym
• Skip my yoga class
• Leave at 3:30 with my husband to take care of our granddaughters for the evening. 
• Return from that and watch American Idol with my mother.

So essentially I have to be ready for the weekend by 3:30 today, Thursday, because the rest of the time until departure is taken up.

It's only a weekend. It's the two days before that are the challenge.

DIY GEAR REVIEW -- CIGAR TUBES!

Cigar tubes are just plain trash that I find along the road while I'm running or biking. I love them! They're lightweight, waterproof, color-coded little containers for all kinds of stuff in my backpack and bike-jersey pockets.

On the trail, I use them in my food bag for seasonings. On the bike, I carry my electrolyte tablets in one. I can flip the cap off, shake one tablet into my mouth, and replace the cap, on the fly with one hand. I'm not going to list a whole bunch of uses because you can easily think of your own.

They can easily be cut to desired size, if you want a shorter one, and the cap still fits. Cut the rounded end off one and keep it with your water supplies: if you can't get your water bottle under a trickle, stick the tube into the trickle and you've got a spout.

My hiking buddy had an ingenious idea: again, cut off end,  fill the tube with stick deodorant, cap one end, and when ready to use, uncap and push up from inside with your finger. I've augmented this concept by sticking a cotton ball inside at the "push-up" end -- it pushes up more easily.

(Yes, I do use deodorant on the trail. It's not so much about odor... on the trail armpits are only one contributor to body odor. It's just that I hate the feel of wet pits.)

Keep your eye out for these on the shoulder of the road when you're out for a walk, run, or ride. You're picking up litter, so that's good, too. They're convenient little bits of MacGyver-esque fun for cheapskate dirt-bagging lovers of do-it-yourself gear. And they're free.

DO CHEWING SOUNDS DRIVE YOU CRAZY?

They make me go ballistic.

Since sometime in my early teens, I have felt my guts, muscles, nerves, brain, hair, and fingernails go tied into knots at the sound of anyone chewing, licking, sucking, slurping, crunching, slobbering (insert any other mouth sounds you can think of), and by the sight of gum-chewing (let alone its sounds.) In public, I have had to leave rooms because someone near me was chewing something. At home, my children knew they had to take an apple or carrot into another room. Gum in the house was pretty much out of the question. I have asked people to spit out their gum when I was in their house.

When I was a teen, my parents hollered at me for kicking or clobbering the dog for licking itself. Nowadays, I just rocket off the couch and poke the dog, or sometimes throw something at it, but I'm using extreme restraint.

Mouth sounds and sights send me into a frenzy of tension, rage, anxiety, and other feelings of distress that don't even have names.

But I have learned that the aversion to masticating sounds DOES have a name: misophonia. I'm not inserting a link because all you have to do is google it and you will discover that this is a real disorder, not something you have made up or deliberately cultivated or are doing to get attention or any of the other things people may have told you all your life. I have had people deliberately chomp and slobber at me because they think it's funny. It makes me feel as though I'm crawling inside with maggots. I want to choke them and bash their teeth in.

Little is known about it other than that it is real, usually with an onset around the age of puberty, and that it is most probably not psychological but physical.  Some auditory-neurological connection in which the brain perceives certain normal little sounds as threats to safety and sanity and responds with a fight-or-flight reflex. Sufferers often have the urge to do violence to the perpetrator. They are usually not bothered by their own sounds, and sometimes not by others' sounds if they themselves are also eating or chewing at the same time. Some can eat with other people (thankfully, I can) but others can't. Also, the closer you are emotionally to the person making the sounds, the harder it hits you. Good heavens, this must be why I have learned to tolerate it (barely) when strangers and friends are chewing gum, but go into near-panic when my husband does.

It's only recently recognized and named, in its infancy of research and treatment, but it's not a new phenomenon to people like me who have suffered with it for 50 years.It's kind of like when science finally acknowledged, "Yes, there really are menstrual cramps." We who have it have always known it's real. We are not crazy. There's a cause. They just haven't found it. In the meantime, we just go on controlling ourselves and asking those around us to be considerate, or at least to condescend.

LAND OF THE LIVING

I'm just about back.

My mother was desperately sick. I have seen elderly people more robust than she is die from a GI illness like that. I made a deal with the doctor: Imodium and Phenergan, hospital if any deterioration in next hour or no improvement in two. She did not deteriorate and the puking and the runs stopped but it was 24 hours before she could even sit up in bed unassisted.

By that time it had hit me. And I'll tell you what, I don't know how a 90-yr-old survived.

She slept for two days solid. I would have liked to but I had to take care of her. My husband's nursing capabilities are limited to bringing drinks, and he wanted to keep his distance hoping not to get it. He didn't.

It's been a week now and we're more or less functional again. We get tired easily. A day of a little too much results in a day of feeling like crap. This thing hangs on. The three of us had a cooked dinner at the table this evening for the first time since last Thursday.

It was bad enough for me, and I'm having trouble regaining my normal functionality. I'm glad I'm not 90.

WAKE-UP CALL

As often happens, I woke up at 4:30 this morning. This always annoys me. I like sleep better than just about anything. It's my major chill-out time and I want every drop of it I can get.

But, as often happens when this happens, I was still awake at 5:30, no point trying any longer; I got my Nook and went to the living room. I was reading Oswald Chambers' "The Pilgrim's Song Book" (commentary on Psalms  120-128), highlighting many passages that apply to my current bad attitude (not lifting mine eyes enough, no wonder not much help has been forthcoming.) Heard a distant thump and thought either the dog had let himself out the dog door or the stiff wind had knocked something down.

Then I heard my mother call me. Uh-oh. She was lying on the floor between her bathroom and bedroom, said, "I'm sick," which was evident in a variety of ways. ~Sigh~ My mother is one of the issues I've been letting myself have a bad attitude about, feeling mentally and emotional bled dry. The nurse I used to be came back and I started assessing and cleaning up a patient, enough to cover her with a blanket and get my husband to help me get her off the floor. She was able to walk to bed with help. Finished the cleanup, checked her vital signs, left her to rest. She's obviously got a bug, the exiting-both-directions kind. She's 90; I'll need to watch her for dehydration and/or deterioration.

My husband and I are planning an Appalachian Trail summer, with him driving and me hiking, meeting every few days for a day hike, a night, a re-supply. The last couple hours I've kept thinking, "If we hadn't been here..." but she's got a Life Alert bracelet, and I'm arranging for a variety of people to check in on her daily, so it's not like I'm planning on abandonment.

If I'd been asleep I might not have heard her call. She has a bell but it was on her nightstand out of reach. Thank you, Lord, for waking me up early and sending me out to the living room.

SOMETIMES IT DOESN'T SHOW....

I did a lot of cleaning today. My mother has lived in this house for 20 years and.... well, she's never been big on housekeeping. I got on a ladder and got way up high. I worked for a couple of hours on high shelves, decorative fixtures, the fake ceiling rafters. There was a lot of old pet hair accumulated up there. I washed 2 walls also, and a couple of doorframes that she grabs onto when she walks through; over time that adds up to a lot of grime. I washed it all off.

Nothing looks any different. Things looked dirty when I started but now that they're clean it's not noticeable to anyone but me.

MIDWINTER

I'm like the trees.... they look dead, but they will live again. Well, I probably seem alive to the naked eye.... I feel dead, I just haven't hit the ground yet.

I played the hymns in church, laughed and talked with the congregation, gave a 12-yr-old girl my old Nancy Drew books (she about went through the roof!), got lists from the people telling me hymns they'd like to have, went through the hymnbook looking at them all, watched "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" with my mother, packed up my chicken from the dehydrator, and have dinner in the oven. 

I did not hike. I looked out the window and at the thermometer (high 20*F) and said, forget it.

My brain is covered in snow like Cordova, even though we hardly have any. 

THE SNOW CAVE

 Ostensibly, I got a lot done today.

I went to the post office to return a pair of rubber shoe covers that didn't fit (when I was a kid we called them "rubbers" but that's another innocent word that means something else nowadays.) That in itself is an accomplishment because the return is no longer hanging over my head and the box is no longer underfoot.

I went to the grocery store, the Dollar Store, and the hardware store.

I put 12 cans of chicken (5oz. each, $1 each at the Dollar Store) in the dehydrator. That's chicken once a week on the Appalachian Trail this summer.

I took down the Christmas tree. I watched the Olympic Trials Marathon and Purina Super Dog competition with my mother (or something like that... Incredible Dog?)

I cleaned out a laundry basket full of stuff that's been sitting here for a year or so, stuff from our camper that we sold. A whole year and I've never sorted out the stuff. Now I have. My IronMan Florida Finisher license tag frame was in there. It hasn't been on a vehicle because it's broken. It's plastic, not easy to fix. I held it and looked at it for a long time, then threw it away. I have an IronMan Florida Finisher shirt, hat, and jacket. Throwing away the tag frame doesn't take away my finish. I was 54 at the time.

Made dinner, then we (husband, mother, and I) went to our son's to watch the football games. Played a lot of rough-and-tumble with the granddaughters. Abbie, the oldest, got to stay up late, and she and I talked about assassinations (MLK Day) and she asked me why Abigail Adams was famous, and how she died. I didn't know how she died. We googled it and learned that Abigail Adams died of typhoid. Abbie wanted to know what that was; I told her people get it from drinking dirty water but in our part of the world in modern days we have clean water (because she would worry about drinking water after learning that.) Abbie will be 9 in a couple weeks.
 
Now we're home. But I'm still in my snow cave. All those activities were acts, fronts, maybe illusions. There's evidence that I did them but inside my mind everything is still dim, blue, and frozen.

I think I need exercise. I hiked 7 miles with my hiking pal Chrissie on Thursday but that was the last time I saw myself move. Maybe tomorrow I will go for a hike. Outdoors is not dim and blue.... it's white. Frozen, but alive.

SNOWBOUND

In my mind. Outside, it's cold but only about 4 inches of snow are mildly obscuring the earth.

But my mind.... I'm in a snow cave. It's hard to make the effort to keep an air hole open. It's stifling in here, cold, still, and stifling.

I need to go to the store and the post office. I guess there is still a store and a post office to go to. In my snow cave all is still and isolated.

It's hard to imagine emerging, putting on a backpack, and starting up the Appalachian Trail in four months. If I keep eating as I have been, I won't have to carry food.... I'll have enough stored in my body to get me to Maine.

Guess I'll go warm up the car and change out of my pajamas (I hear that the governor of Louisiana is pushing a move to ban the wearing of pajamas in public places.)

Maybe I need to go make snow angels.

FUNNIES

Yesterday at my party, my husband asked our son's girlfriend's 3-yr-old daughter, "Whose birthday is it today?" She beamed and answered, "Jesus!" We all chuckled, and I told her, "Not quite yet. My birthday is 3 days before Jesus' birthday." Our son-in-law explained, "Yeah, Grandma's 3 days older than Jesus!"

 While I was biking yesterday, I rode past the house where two fast, barking, growling, snapping dogs always chase me aggressively. The Australian Cattle Dog gallops 2 inches beside me snapping at my feet while the larger dog, some kind of mutt, snaps at my front wheel 2 inches ahead of me, teamwork maybe, I'll get the bike down and you can grab her leg. Yesterday, I decided to call their bluff (hoping it was a bluff.) I slowed down and unclipped right in their driveway and asked them reproachfully, "What is your problem? What do you think you're doing?" They stopped immediately. The big one turned away and hung his head. I held my hand out to the cattle dog and I swear he shrugged his shoulders in a "What can I say?" gesture, then slowly approached with a look that was shy and friendly. Then a car passed and he started barking again, apparently unwilling to let the driver see him being non-aggressive. So I'm not going to try to outride them anymore. I'll stop, pet them, and send them home.

On to the first day of my seventh decade. No biking today. The roads are wet and the temperature has dropped 20 degrees from yesterday. I think I'll bake cookies.

SIX DECADES DOWN!

So now I'm actually 60.

I did 60 push-ups and biked 60k. Thought about running for 60 minutes as well, but then thought, nah, I've done enough, I'm 60, for petesake!

Great dinner party, put on by my husband, good deli food and an ice cream cake and adult beverages :-)  AND he gave me a big fat gift certificate to REI. Son Jon and his gf Daphne gave me this photo, matted and framed, from SavageMan 2009 (my first SM completion.)

 It was a great birthday!

TURNING 60

Yup. Me. Tomorrow.

I'm definitely not going to run 60 miles to celebrate, or 60k. Sixty minutes, well, I'm a little out of shape coming back from my ankle injury..... I could do 60 minutes if I throw in a walk every now and then. I could bike 60k, maybe. Not 60 miles, that would take me 5 hours and leave me pretty darn tired for dinner with family.

Aha!!! Sixty push-ups!! Yes, I can, if I do them in sets.


I could read Psalm 60. And the 60th chapter of any of the books in the Bible that go that far.

Or I could go to confession and get 60 Our Father's and 60 Hail Mary's. (I'm not Catholic but I used to be and the most I ever got was 3 of one or the other.)

When I turned 50, I had an epiphany. I had lived half a century and was older than a good many people, and by golly they'd better show respect. Hey, folks, I'm playing it like I mean it now.... no more tiptoeing around hoping I don't screw up. I'm all grown up and I'm putting my foot down solid you better listen to what I say.

I kept that for a couple years.

Maybe I should turn 50 again.

Sixty, well actually I'm doing OK....you can't really tell by looking at me, but I do in fact do push-ups, and I bike and I run and I do yoga and I hike. A person might not picture me riding my bike up The Wall and then continuing up Big Savage Mountain without "weaving" like some of the riders in the photos (if you clicked on the link.) I ride it straight. And they don't usually expect a 60-year-old woman to put on a 30-pound backpack and hit the Appalachian Trail.

I'll look a physical challenge right in the eye. It's the psychological ones that still throw me for a loop. And I still don't know what I want to be when I grow up.

A NEW TEMPLATE

I'm thinking about a new template for my blog. It might help motivate me.
Maybe I need a new template for my life.
I need to get my Bible out  more often. When things aren't working right, it's good to check the instruction manual. I need a tune-up.

Today the few kids (like, 4) in our church put on a really nice pageant. There aren't enough of them to have done a manger scene, which I thought was good..... everyone does that, it was good to have something different. Each one read a passage from the story we all know from the Gospel of Luke. The youngest reader was 7 and perhaps the best reader of the group. After each reading, one of the kids placed one of the figures in the table-size Nativity scene, and then there would be a song about that part of the story. After the  the angel appearing to Mary, and the placing of Mary in the creche, Savannah, who's 12,  sang "Mary, Did You Know?" a capella. She has a strong, lovely, country-bluegrassy style that I love to listen to. Adults also did some of the vocal selections, including an a capella trio of two other ladies and me.  We had agreed on one of the less-usual melodies, but the lady singing the melody got confused and sang yet a different one (we hadn't rehearsed at all), and the two of us on harmony tried to wing it and follow her, and she got confused and followed my descant so I dropped down to her melody, and it was kind of a comedy of errors but we kept on singing without letting on. After church the three of us laughed like crazy. After our unprecedented rendition, the congregation sang a couple of carols accompanied by their hesitant pianist, me, and then Savannah finished up with Silent Night, again a capella, and again I marveled at the power of this ingenuous young girl's talent. I hope, if she takes voice lessons, some opera singer doesn't get hold of her and take away that old-timey twang that makes her singing so special.

COUSIN EDDIE IN PERSON

 Actually it's my grown (?) son.

Hijacked this from his Facebook page, but I took the picture.

IT WASN'T CRAZY, JUST UNREASONABLE

The temperature is just above freezing outdoors, less in the shade where there's unmelted ice. I got all bundled up in my bike clothes, factoring in sweat-wicking because uphill is hard work, and windbreaking because downhill is fast and cold after sweating uphill, and what about my feet, will I ever learn how to keep them warm, and...... with my tires all pumped up and the bike standing beside the front door, I gazed out the window and said, "Do I really want to do this?"

I have had frozen feet every single ride, can't seem to get a handle on it. And after a ride one day last week, I  felt cold the rest of the day, despite hot tea, a fleece blanket, and a heating pad under my feet. 

And I put the bike back, took off the layers of clothes, got dressed all over again, put my dog on the leash, and went running. It was SO nice to be lightly dressed and still be warm, enough that within 10 minutes I'd taken off my gloves and unzipped my jacket. And so nice to have my dog along.

So I might or might not make my impulsive goal of 1,000 miles on my new bike by the end of the year. I'm at 885 miles. If it warms up to, say, 40*F, I'll ride some more. And if I don't hit 1,000 miles in the next 2 weeks, I'll hit it next spring, and in the meantime I won't be getting salt and ice-treating road grit all over my bike, and I'll be warm. 

CRAZY GOALS

The new bike my mother gave me in August has 794 miles on it now. I'm wondering whether I can get in 1,000 by the end of the year. But it's December in Garrett County, MD, and although we've been enjoying unseasonably warm weather in the last month, tomorrow is supposed to be rainy and mid-40'sF, and then not getting out of the 30's for at least the next 10 days. Some will be dry, though..... with proper layering, wool socks, or neoprene socks (I got some at Goodwill for $2), balaclava, knit gloves under my bike gloves, fleece jacket, and windproof jacket, maybe I can do this. Darn, I should have kept riding after the century ride I did Halloween weekend. Until yesterday I hadn't been on my bike since. I needed the break, though. I'm ready to ride again. Maybe it'll make me tough.

I DIDN'T INTEND TO RUN TODAY...

...considering that I am easing back in after a layoff and injury.
 
But I did, because I needed meditation time. I was personally upset by something someone said, and needed to work off some steam while I pondered how, or whether, to respond to the person, and how to respond within myself.

I went for 50 minutes, running 2/walking 5, total of 14 minutes of running and 36 of walking. I pondered and prayed. I was still angry and hurt when I got back, but my husband was using the computer, which I would have used to respond.

Killing time until I could get to the computer, I looked in the "Reader Helps" in my Bible, under "When Others Disagree with You," and read the passages.

In the end, I decided to let it go. This person has the right to their opinion and to freedom to express it. It probably was the result of experiences in that person's own life and was most likely not intended to have any effect on me.

My walk/run was 3.2 miles (in 50 minutes, big whoop!!), farthest I've gone in over a month, maybe 2. I restarted my pushups yesterday, too, at a lower level than previously. Yesterday's total was 36, in sets that went like this: 6, 8, 8, 6, 8. I messed up.... one of the 8's was supposed to be a 6. So I have 2 extra to my credit :-)

RETURN TO RUNNING

After a layoff of 2 weeks following a couple months of not much running anyway, I'm returning to it.

Tuesday I did walk/run intervals: 5 minutes walking w/ my mother's dumb dog Woody and my own good dog Journey; then with just Journey I did 4 of run 5/walk 5, then run 1 more minute and walked the last 4 = 35 minutes total.

My quads were sore the next day.

Actually still a little sore today, but I went out and did the same, adding 1 minute to 3 of the runs. It went like this:
With Journey & Woody: walk 5.
Just Journey: run 6, walk 5; run 6, walk 5; run 5, walk 5; run 2, walk 3. Total 42 minutes.

We'll see how my quads do. And my ankles. I have not turned an ankle for almost a year, since I went to minimalist running shoes (Saucony Kinvara's). In these shoes, which aren't much more than an ultralight upper attached to an outsold with just a suggestion of midsole, my feet are more flexible and I can feel the surface I'm running on. If I step on something uneven, I feel it and correct my foot. In regular running shoes, by the time I realize my foot it turning, it's too late to correct it. Hiking boots are the same. In fact, my concern about my ankles now comes from having wrenched both of them a few weeks ago, backpacking in leather boots. Same thing: My foot couldn't tell where it was landing. So I'm returning my hiking boots (REI accepts returns with no time limit even if they're used) and planning to hike in my mini running shoes, or maybe even those Vibram 5-Finger "shoes." Seems like the less shoe I have, the better my feet are.

BEHIND

Ever feel that you should be blogging but you're so far behind on your life you can't possibly can't catch up?

CAN'T FIGURE OUT BLOGGER

It won't let me comment on anyone's page. I sign in on my own page and then when I go to someone else's, it says I'm not signed in. This is frustrating.

THE PUSHUP THING

Well, that one didn't last long. After the soreness I did a couple more days and then started making excuses: I did planks in yoga class, my arms are stiff from biking, I need to run, etc. etc.

Going to start over at a lower level.

In so many things of late, I'm just finding it hard to push up off the ground.

OUCH

I think I did too many pushups. I did them but I'm paying for them. I'm going to have to wait until the soreness goes away to continue on to Day 2!



HOW MANY CAN YOU DO?

one hundred push ups

That's my goal!

I did this a few years ago and got up to 46 consecutive pushups. Then, for some reason, I quit. Why did I do that?

Here's how it works:

You do an initial test, however many pushups you can manage before your form starts to deteriorate. It doesn't matter whether you manage 20, 10, or less than 1; there's a program level for you.

I was able to do 12 for my test, on Sunday. This put me at Level 3 of 7. You're supposed to rest your arms for a day between workouts, so I started my program today.

My first day's prescribed sets went like this: 10, 12, 7, 7, (rest 60 seconds between sets) and a final set to failure (at least 9 prescribed.)

 I thought this workout looked scary and considered starting at Level 2 (6, 6, 4, 4, 5+) but then decided that if I'd tested at Level 3 I'd try Level 3. Well....."Do or do not. There is no try." So I did. All the reps in all the sets, with my final set going up to THIRTEEN! Whoo! Total of ...... WHAT???? Forty-nine???? I did 49 pushups my first day???? Well, not consecutively, but I did 'em.

Yes, these are full-body straight-leg pushups, not from the knees.

Not bad for Grandma Hamilton. Even though I won't be 60 till December.

How many can you do?
http://hundredpushups.com

SALVATION AND MY BIKE

My bike started giving me brake problems.... again. Brakes and gears have been giving me issues since last year. This time the brake pads were worn way down, but when I put new ones on, they didn't seem to be grabbing right. Hmmm, never replaced brake pads myself before, maybe I didn't do it right. I figured I could take it in to the shop, get them adjusted, and go riding from there.

It didn't happen that way. The reason my new brakes weren't working was that my wheel rims were so worn that the new pads weren't making contact properly. (I had put them on just fine.) What I needed was new wheels. The ones I needed were going to cost more than I could afford. Oh, and by the way, it looked like I was going to need a new front chainring set pretty soon, too, which was going to cost about the same as the new wheels.. In the meantime, to keep it running, they could sell me a cheaper set of wheels but my current ones, they said, weren't even safe. Ready to shred like one of those meat cans you open with a key, and you don't want that to happen while you're on the way down a hill at 35mph.

I could tell the inexpensive wheels didn't roll well. I didn't want them.... they would make everything harder. So, all bummed out, I took my bike and her bad wheels and worn-out chainrings home to talk to my husband about what to do. SavageMan is a month away.

Well, my 90-yr-old mother heard me talking about it and asked what was up. She asked to make sure she had it right, that I needed new wheels to make my bike rideable, and was going to need to spend the same amount soon on another part.  She questioned the logic of replacing one expensive part after another on a bike that had 10,000-12,000 miles on it and kept breaking down. And she asked, if I were to get a new bike, what it would cost to get the bike I need.

Long story short, I've had a brand-new bike for a week now. Trek Madone 5.2 WSD (Women's Specialized Design) and it's gorgeous. Riding it is like riding butter. 

My mother wanted to do this for me. She's not rolling in dough but she does have a little extra. I talked about how we could use that money for improvements to her home. I felt awkward: I'm an adult, and my mother was offering to buy me a bike. But I could see she was going to be very disappointed and sad if I didn't let her do this for me. So I've got this beautiful new bike that flies over the roads and breezes up hills (well, I do still have to grind hard up the worst ones but they're easier than they were before)  and I don't have to be afraid that some part or other is going to give out on me mid-ride, mid-hill, mid-race.

And I'm trying to get my head around this gift that I could not have gotten for myself, haven't earned, don't feel I deserve. She says with all I do for her that's not even a question. I'm always feeling I should be doing more.

And it occurred to me.... it's like salvation. It's a gift. I did not earn it, did not have to earn it, because it's not earned, it's a gift. It's there; I need only to receive it. There's nothing I can do to pay for it, because the giver paid for it, it's already paid for, it's mine. Salvation; a new bike. Amazing, the lessons the Lord teaches us.

PREVIOUS BEAR ENCOUNTERS

I see a couple black bears a year here in Garrett County, MD. Sometimes from the car, but most often I've been on foot or on my bike.

One of the most spectacular was while I was out running with my two dogs 7 or 8 years ago. I heard the usual thrashing in the brush up ahead and had my usual expectation of seeing a deer, but then a bear cub the size of a beagle crossed the road, followed by another, followed by a third. Obviously, when you see a bear cub (or two or three) maybe 50 yards ahead of you, you stop immediately.... there's got to be a mother with those little guys. Sure enough, out she came, followed by a FOURTH cub! And, oh, dear, the mom stopped in the middle of the road and looked at me, and one of my dogs barked at her, and I'm thinking, what to do if a bear with cubs comes after you? They say stand your ground and yell at her to go away. But she just stared for what seemed like half a minute but probably wasn't, before moving on across the road and into the woods.

I reversed my direction. I wasn't going there.

Then maybe 3 years ago, I was biking on a small but well-populated road along Deep Creek Lake, and here came 2 cubs followed by the mother, right across the road into a driveway, and there the mother stopped although the cubs continued on into the yard. Again I stopped. She was right smack next to the road, which had no shoulders. I wasn't riding past her. Even if I turned around and went the other way, she could go from 0 to 30 a lot faster than I could. So I just waited. She looked at me. I looked at her. She waited. I waited. Finally, in a friendly voice, I just said, "Hi!" She turned and booked, along with her cubs, to the back of the house and into the woods.

Quite a few times I've seen a bear up ahead while I've been biking; hollering out, "Hey, Bear, move! I'm coming!" has been enough to make them get out of the road.

But I never had one come this close to me before. I have a friend who's a woodswoman (hunter, hiker, wanderer) and she never goes into the woods without her bear spray on her hip. I've teased her about it. But now I think I'll ask her where she buys her spray. Maybe I've been too blasé about these beautiful, usually non-agressive, powerful creatures. This juvenile bear was awesome but I wasn't nuts about the way he ran right towards me. He'd changed his direction -- had started running into the woods and changed his mind for some reason. I thought the mom might be behind him, coming after me, or that he had decided to chase me off instead of running away, or who knows. I thought he was going to fight my dog (whose purpose is to deter marauders of all species, but I don't want her mauled by a bear.) Oddly, I wasn't frightened, just thinking faster than I ever imagined possible. And after he went away I went ahead and finished my run, 5 more miles, including a 2+ mile road through the forest with few cars and no houses. I mean, what's the chance of two close bear encounters in one hour? I just plain wasn't scared. Call me crazy.

But when I got home, after excitedly telling my husband, I went scrounging through some old stuff and found a can of bear spray we'd bought when hiking in Yellowstone and the Tetons. It said "Exp 2007." I took it outside and shot a little blast at the fence. It still shot. I sniffed the fence. Smelled like pepper. But I'm sure it loses potency. I'm buying myself a new can. ~Sigh~ It costs about $45, but I guess it could be money well-spent.

CLOSE ENCOUNTER OF THE URSINE KIND

Out running with my dog, about a mile into a 6-miler, heard some scrambling and scrabbling in the woods ahead, pretty usual, probably a deer. Oops, nope..... a young bear in a tree, about 4 feet up. A little larger than my 50-pound dog, who set up her special "funny-looking animal alert" bark. I thought the bear would continue up the tree, but he jumped down and ran into the woods. My instincts made me dart my eyes around to see if there was a mama, but I didn't see one. Then, crash, scramble..... a bear is running out of the same spot, straight towards Journey and me. Is that Mama?? No, same youngster, but he's coming right at us. Journey was lunging, ready to give him the what-for, and I'm still looking for a mama, and thinking, he's not very old but he could kill my dog (or me, I guess) if he had a mind to, and how on earth do you break up a dog-and-bear fight, I guess you don't, you drop the leash and let your dog keep the bear off you, even at the expense of your dog.... amazing how many thoughts can run through your head in a fraction of a second. I yelled "NO!!!" at both Journey and the bear, and he veered off about 2 feet from Journey (maybe 6 feet from me) and dashed across the road into the woods. I'm left with my mouth still open from the "NO!!!" and still looking for a mama when out he runs again, maybe 50 feet away, back across to where he came from. Journey still wanted to give chase. Several cars were stopped. They all waited a respectable interval before going again, too..... no doubt, like me, wondering if there was another one nearby. The young'un seemed to be alone, though; probably a 2-yr-old in his first summer on his own.

Well, I always enjoy seeing a bear, but ordinarily I wouldn't choose to see one quite that close. Oddly, at the same time I was holding tight to the leash and shouting "NO!!!" I was also conscious of how beautifully black and shiny he was..... I would have liked to reach out and touch him.

Well, maybe not.

MISSING HIKER ALERT

These were posted within the last 24 hours on Facebook by a friend of mine and I'm passing it on:

‎63 year old Eric Robinson from Australia, set off to thru hike the Highline Trail 7.28.11. He was scheduled to finish Sunday 8.7.11. Please Call Sherriff Mitchell at 435.738.2015 or Julia Geisler 415.695.4502 if you are available for the next few days to join the search or have any info.

Calling Volunteers! Missing Hiker on Highline Trail, Uintas, Utah: Eric Robinson
PLEASE SEARCH BLOGS, FACEBOOK, TRAIL JOURNALS for anyone who hiked on the Highline Trail between 7.28.11-8.7.11 and get in touch with them. ANY INFO ABOUT ERIC WILL HELP.

JACK OF ALL TRADES, MASTER OF NONE

I'm suffering from a notable lack of focus.

I need to/want to/should be doing so many things that seem to rule each other out. I need to be training for SavageMan; I need to rest a couple of injuries; I need to decide whether to do the whole race as registered for or downgrade to the shorter distance or maybe the AquaVelo (skipping the run); I want to skip all this for now and go hiking with my backpacking pal Rocky; I need to clean & remodel my mother's house; I need to clean up my own accumulated junk.....

I need to do just one thing for long enough to progress a little towards accomplishing that one thing.

I need to light somewhere.

I just now started practicing hymns for tomorrow's church service and stopped right in the middle of one and went out and moved the car out of the driveway so my husband can get the truck in. My husband was not there, in the truck, waiting; he's coming after awhile. I stopped in the middle of the hymn to move the car. Then I came back in intending to go back to the piano but instead sat at the computer and started loading the weather radar map to decide whether to go for a bike ride or a swim or neither, and while the weather map was loading I switched to my blog. Haven't gotten back to the radar map yet.

I got a new tent, finished seam-sealing it yesterday, and want to set it up for tonight when it's supposed to rain. A friend has Tyvek she can give me to make a ground sheet, so should I go get that from her before I set up the tent and if so, should I bike to and from her house (24 miles each way) or should I drive there and back or just set up the tent using something I already have for a ground sheet that doesn't fit?

Pretty soon the bike-or-swim question will decide itself for me, as will the bike-or-drive question: I'll simply run out of time. Not to decide is to decide.

I still haven't gotten back to either the radar map or the piano. It's a wonder I've stayed at my blog post this long.

EASTER ESSAY: THE TICKET

Written months ago..... I haven't been able to publish posts and just now found out how to fix it! On with my "Easter Essay" -- finally!!!

*********

I felt so free..... driving along the back country roads, with my bike in the back seat, after a long frustrating day, to meet my friend Roxanne for a ride. I'd been looking forward to it all day and I felt free, free! Rox and I are going biking, hallelujah!!

Until I saw the red and blue lights flashing in my rear-view mirror. Unmarked car. Darn.

I knew what it was, though. We had moved in with my mother several months earlier and were finding many things that she had lost track of, one of them being renewing her car tags. We'd discovered this earlier when I got pulled over for expired tags, but the officer found, on running the registration, that it was current; the renewal stickers just had not been applied. The cop gave me one of those "get this fixed" orders but didn't ticket me since the registration was current. Mother had no idea where they could be, so we ordered new ones. Well, I procrastinate and lose track of things too, and the new stickers were still in the glove box.

So when this second officer pulled me over, I reached immediately for the registration papers and the new stickers.

"Hello, officer, I know it looks like my tags are expired but it's my elderly mother's car, and she lost the renewal stickers; I have the replacement ones right here but haven't put them on yet," handing them to him.

He looked at the registration and the stickers. He said, "I already ran your tags and I know your registration's current. Be sure to get those stickers on soon. Actually the reason I've pulled you over is..... I clocked you awhile back at 55 in a 40 zone and just now at 62 in a 50."

My spirits plunged as I felt a heavy weight fall crushing down on me. No more light, free feeling.

"It's 40mph starting back there at Black Hawk School Road, with a notice before the change," he answered. "Did you see me sitting there? " "I didn't," I said. (Unmarked car sitting at a stop sign...) "You've been following me that long?" It had to have been at least a mile.

"I have," he said. "That's two violations in a mile and a half." (Plus, he could have said, not paying attention, not seeing the speed limit signs, not noticing the police vehicle at the intersection or behind me. And I thought it was 55, not 50, right here where he'd pulled me over, but he'd clocked me at 62.)

"You can put your stickers back in your glove box; be sure to put them on soon. I do need your registration, license, and insurance information."

Oh no, please..... we'd been living in Maryland for close to a year and I still had my Florida driver's license from when we were RV'ing and didn't live "anywhere" but had to declare a state of residency, so, like many full-time RV'ers, we declared one we occasionally visited and actually stayed in sometimes that had no state tax. Please please please...... I gave him the documents. He read them.

"You say this is your mother's car?" "Yes, it is. My husband and I have moved in with her to take care of her." "She's elderly, you say?" "Yes, sir." "So, how long ago did you move here from Florida?" Oh, geez. Well, not quite. Most recently we'd moved from New Orleans from New Hampshire from Texas. We'd lived in Florida for 6 months in 2005 but at the time we were registered in South Dakota. It seemed too complicated and farfetched to explain.

"Um, several months ago. (Maybe 8 or 10 since we actually changed our address..... isn't that just a few.....?) "Things have been pretty confusing, getting my mother's issues sorted out. I guess I sort of put off getting my own license changed." (I guess you're supposed to get your Maryland one within 60 days of taking up residence there.)

"Well, you have two significant speeding violations, and expired tags even though your registration is current, and I'll have to run the info on your out-of-state license. You now claim the same address that's here on your mother's registration, is that correct?" "Yes, sir, my husband and I have changed our addresses to receive all our mail and services there."

So he goes back to his patrol car and I lean my head on the steering wheel and moan, "Oh, God, no, oh God no, oh God no, oh God no......" How am I going to pay a speeding ticket? Speeding plus all these other issues? How much is he going to hit me for? SavageMan is next month, I was going to get my bike a complete tune-up and new tires. I guess not, now. How could I have been so happy and so heedless? God help me, God help me, God help me...... 55 in a 40 that I didn't see? 62 in a 50 that I thought was 55? I couldn't have been, but he's been behind me for over a mile and I didn't even notice him, even in his unmarked car. I'm just flying along in my bike shorts and jersey with my bike in the back seat singing, "I'm free, I'm free, it's (finally) a great day to be alive...." but my bubble is busted. I'll probably just go home. I'll be needing to save on gas to pay for the traffic ticket.

With my head still on the steering wheel, I hear his voice at the window again. I lift my head and stare out the windshield.

"OK, Mrs. Hamilton," he says. "I haven't written you a citation. I've written you a warning for exceeding the 40mph speed limit. I don't want to penalize you; I just want protect you. Slow down, pay attention, and stay safe. And get your Maryland license soon and put those tag stickers on. You have a nice ride, now," glancing at my outfit and the bike.

And then, so kindly and gently it felt like a soft, warm, blessing rain: "You're free to go."
Free to go. It echoed in my head and my heart.
You're free to go.
You're free to go.
You're free to go.

You have this violation, and this one, and this one, and this one, and this one. (I discovered later that the insurance information I had handed him was expired as well, although, again, the policy was current but the card had been lost. He either didn't notice or, after running my insurance info, didn't mention it.)

But you're free to go.

Free to go? It took me a beat to absorb that. Then I gave him an astonished "Thank you!" and suddenly felt 20 pounds lighter. I felt uplifted and inspired.

Free to go. When I approach the heavenly throne and see that video of my life they always show you, I hope the Lord says to me, "Well, you've had some issues, haven't you? I've watched it all. You had this problem, and there was a tough choice here that could have gone better, you've always felt badly about the way you treated some people, you blew off some things that were important. But I don't want to penalize you, I just want to help you. I've taken care of all of it for you. You're free to go."

I put the written warning in my Bible.

It's been probably 9 or 10 months since that happened. I should call the police station and ask to speak with that officer, and tell him how much that extraordinary kindness meant to me. I think I'll even tell him I hope that's what Jesus says to me when I get to heaven: "You're free to go." He made my day, and left a lasting impression on my life. Maybe letting him know can make one on his.

I Think It's Fixed......

Switched from "old post editor" to "new post editor" in Settings. One more try.....

Test Post

To see if I can publish.

WHAT TO NAME THE SNOW?

So we have snow again today. Not much, but too much just the same. Around here, spring snows have names. There's the "Sugar Snow," which falls after the sap starts to run in the maple trees. It's good for the sap run, increases and prolongs it. This is the picturesque folklore snow described by Laura Ingalls Wilder in Little House in the Big Woods, and in Lillian Hoban's superb children's story The Sugar Snow Spring. Lots of people in lots of places have heard of sugar snow, and the sap in fact has started, as evidenced by buckets hung on the trees and Maple Festivals in nearby small towns. Then there's the "Robin Snow." This was a little harder to pin down to a written reference, but I found a thoughtful one on a blog called Basic North and another mention at Country Captures, a photography blog. Where we live, the definition agrees with the second one: snow after the robins come back. Basic North's grandmother said it falls after the robins start to sing. I've heard robins singing (as opposed to just chirping, which they do at first) in the past week. It's a heartrending, wistful, nostalgic melody, and according to Basic North's grandmother, portends two more snows. These may well be the "Onion Snow" and the "Sarvice Snow." The Onion Snow covers the ground after onions have been planted in the garden. The references I found all said the expression seems to be unique to central Pennsylvania, but this is western Maryland and it's known here as well. I planted onions about 10 days ago but..... I doubt if anyone else has, anyone with any sense, that is. No one plants anything until late April, and many don't try until Memorial Day. In a true Onion Snow, the green growing tops contrast prettily with their white blanket. Well, I planted plants, not sets (tiny bulbs) during a teaser warm spell and although I mulched them with straw they're looking pretty peaked after a week of return to sub-freezing temperatures. I'm an experienced gardener and know better than to plant anything in March, but I couldn't stand it anymore. I put out collard plants, too, and they don't look so good either. The Onion Snow is said, in some parts, to be the last snow of the year, but here in Garrett County, MD, we know there's at least one more to come: the "Sarvice Snow." I couldn't find any references at all to this one. The "sarvice" tree, or service tree, also known as juneberry and shadbush, flowers out in mid spring, and is so called because in days of yore its lacy white blooms graced the settings of services like weddings and funerals which had to be postponed during the winter, until the roads became passable to bring the preacher through again and/or the ground would yield once more to the edge of a shovel to dig a grave. I haven't heard this anywhere but here in Garrett County. Anyway, I know the sarvice blossoms aren't out yet, so the Sarvice Snow is yet to come. Maybe I can make one up. How about the "Coltsfoot Snow?" Coltsfoot is a little flower that looks like a small dandelion and grows mostly on the gravel shoulders of roadsides. I know people rejoice to see robins on their lawns but it's when I see coltsfoot that I know for sure that spring is coming. I started seeing coltsfoot just this past week, when I was out on one of my cold-weather-testing bike rides. Or the "Peeper Snow." Again, this past week, I perceived another hopeful sign: the tweet of just a couple of spring peepers. They sound a little like someone whistling for their dog. And when I hear them I thank God. It's spring! But when freezing temperatures and snow return (as they always do before the peepers find the partners with whom they want to reproduce) they stop and go back under the ground or fallen logs or wherever it is they hibernate. This snow has driven the peepers and their whistling back into winterland, not to be heard again until the next thaw. Or.... we could call it the "Bicycle Snow." Snow that dampens motivation, freezes enthusiasm, and wrecks the training program of the distance cyclist who has already ventured out hopefully on a few early rides. Well...... it doesn't damage the maples, or the robins, or the onions (except maybe my prematurely-planted ones) or the sarvice trees and it won't put this cyclist off the road for long.

THAT LOW???

Well, after Phil B.'s comment to my post yesterday, I have no excuses left except road conditions. My bike won't make it on ice or snow. Just wet..... I don't know. Requires a big clean-up after riding on wet roads. I guess I should bite the bullet and do that in a "the show must go on" mindset, in case it rains on Gran Fondo day (I'm registered for the 125-mile Diabolical Double in that series of events.) But only cold? Well, Phil.... I guess you've convinced me I can rise (or descend) to the occasion, and have to, since our spring's not coming very close very fast and I need to get in my distances. I gotta get the feet thing figured out. That's the only part of me that's cold. I don't have much more room inside my bike shoes to increase sock thickness. My feet don't just feel cold, they go dead-white with blue toenails. I'll try a couple layers of thin nylons under my woolies. Actually, I was chilly when I first started out on a long downgrade, but knew that once I hit a couple hills I'd be plenty warm. And I was. I had a little backpack to stow discarded layers but didn't want to stop to do it once I was in a groove. I'd have been more comfortable, but now I know I can do Killer Miller when I'm overheating. I did Killer Miller TWICE. Got to the top the first time and thought, "Gee, I wonder how long it's taking me to scale this thing? I'll go do it again and time it, then I can measure progress." So I went down carefully (there's still gravel on it from ice treatment, but you can't go down it all-out in any case because of the grade and curves.) Halfway up on take #2, I realized.... yup, Grandma here forgot to check her time at the start. But it was still good training. So.... definitely no more "It's too cold for biking."

HOW LOW CAN YOU GO?

I keep trying to find this out, in reference to whether it will be possible to ride my bike outdoors. I'm somewhat behind where I'd like to be in training because it's been "too cold." We had a thaw in February, with a couple days in the upper 50'sF, and I was ecstatic, looked forward to it all week, dismounted my bike from my indoor trainer, and did 25 miles. Next week I needed 35, but when it was time for that, we were only going to make barely 50*, but I thought, well, with an extra sweater... let's try. Thirty-five miles in the bag. Temps have just plain deteriorated from there. The day of my 40-miler, we were only going to make 47*. Well, 47*, 50*, there's not that much difference. It was windy and I was chilly and took a really hilly route, but made 37.5 miles. I could have done the extra 2.5 but that meant riding past my house, and I was cold and tired and the temptation was too great. About 10 days ago I made 50 miles, temps in the mid-40's. And it's been dropping from there. No relief from daytime highs in the 30's for close to a week now. Having tasted the open road, I'm averse to mounting the bike back on the trainer. But 30's? I can't bike when it's in the 30's!! Except today I did. Two pairs of tights, two sweaters, a wind jacket, thick wool socks, fleece neck gaiter convertible to lower-face mask, fleece hat under my helmet, full gloves under my bike gloves. I was overdressed. Long hills were hard, not because I was tired but because I was hot. Sweat dripped down my back. But my feet still got cold. Have to work on that one. So now I know I can bike when it's 35*F. No "It's too cold" excuses left, since I don't expect any more days in the 20's. Hopefully. Sunday is supposed to be around 50*F with 0% precip chance. I need a 60-miler, starting after church. So glad daylight saving time was early, even if spring hasn't been!

Awhile back, probably about the time of my 58th birthday, I wrote that I was going to start a project to arrive at my 60th birthday in the best shape of my life. ~Sigh~ Well, I do have a passion for extreme endurance athletic events, and I'm registered for a 125-mile bike ride the end of June, but I have so let myself go this winter. I need to lose 10 pounds (again) and I just this week broke down and let the doc prescribe me cholesterol medicine. I have a bit of rebellion, suspecting that the cholesterol hype is just that, hype, promoted by drug companies who naturally want as many people as possible consuming their product. But even I had to acknowledge that, given all current knowledge, this was a little much and I might need a few pills. I've also decided to forgo most animal-based foods for awhile: meat, milk, cheese, eggs. I guess a little skim milk or egg whites wouldn't do any harm. I'm not convinced that dietary cholesterol and saturated fat are the culprits anyway (I suspect that's part of the hype and deception) but I'll give it a try for a bit. I don't mind being vegetarian. I've done it before. Meat's not essential for me. There's plenty of protein in the plant world. I keep thinking, there's so much that goes on in my mind, if not my life, and if I don't write it down it will all be lost when I'm gone. Living with my soon-to-be 90-year-old mother is a constant reminder that none of us is here forever. I would like to live to be her age, but I would like to arrive there with my back straight and my body strong enough not to have to rest after walking across the kitchen.

HELP ME

Let me be a little kinder,
Let me be a little blinder
To the faults of those about me,
Let me praise a little more.
Let me be, when I am weary,
Just a little bit more cheery,
Think a little more of others,
And a little less of me.

Let me be a little braver
When temptation makes me waver
Let me strive a little harder
To be all that I should be

Let me be a little meeker
With my brother who is weaker,
Let me think more of my neighbor
And a little less of me.

Let me be when I am weary
Just a little bit more cheery,
Let me serve a little better
Those that I am strivin' for

Let me be a little meeker
With the brother who is weaker
Think a little more of others
And a little less of me.

CREEPING UP ON ME

I already spend too much time on the Internet. But I've got major things to blog about. One is SavageMan, which was, what, 6 or 7 weeks ago now? And no race report? Even though I keep alluding so something life-changing? Honest, I'm not leading you on. It just seems so big to blog about that it's overwhelming. Here are pictures, though...

AND.... Last week I had the wonderful opportunity to stomp another state on the Appalachian Trail, starting at Harpers Ferry, WV and hiking through Maryland to the Mason-Dixon Line with a new hiking friend. Four days, 45 miles, on the AT and I haven't written a trip report!!!

Nope, bogged down here in my head with "How Going to Church Both Aggravates and Assuages My Fear of Mistakes."

Maybe it's time to move on (or back) to real life. Triathlons and backpacking, biking, running, all that stuff. Or at least the memories of them.

STARTOVERS AND MAKEOVERS

Again in church today, affirmation of my not making such a big-headed deal out of goofing up. The lady who led prayer asked for guidance for the day's preacher, who "says he gets nervous because it's been awhile since he's been in the pulpit." Hmm... I never thought to ask for prayer about my getting nervous becayse it's been awhile since I've sat at a piano. I should have thought of that, asking for prayer.

Anyway.... I keep getting these little lessons that I'm not the only goofer-upper around. And thank you, to the couple of readers who have assured me of the same thing. Maybe it comes from having been raised by stage-performing musician parents: When you get up there to perform, you better know what you're doing. But I'm not performing. I'm.... well, participating. Offering. Helping. Just sort of doing. I'm not the star. I'm a participant. We're all in it together. I need to remember that.

I started running again today. I've run only a couple times since SavageMan, having sort of lost interest in running altogether -- my SavageMan "run" was soooo baaaadddd. (I still haven't told the story of that run.) So today I went out for half an hour, including a few sprints of 30 seconds or so. I'm looking ahead to improving my endurance for next year's SavageMan. I want no repeat of this year's dead-woman crawl!!!

The final makeover to report on is my mother's kitchen. Why didn't I think of a "Before" picture? I guess because at first it seemed like just painting. It's become a real project. New drawer/door hardware. New paint. Gonna be pretty when I put the doors back on. Then I'll have to do the walls. I'm a newbie at this. Never opened a paint can before. Yesterday I spilled most of the gallon can on the floor. I shouted a bad word and then started scooping it back into the can with a dustpan. Today I figured out I can strain out the pet hair and dust it picked up on the floor and use the paint after all. The learning continues.

MISTAKES PROBABLY AREN'T SUCH A BIG THING

A few posts ago I wrote about being the pianist for an upcoming wedding, and being afraid of goofing up. As a matter of fact, I did goof up. During the wedding march. Ouch.

I've been pinch-hitting on the piano at church lately, since our regular pianist has been ill. I'm out of practice and keep hitting clinkers. I look at my hands and lose my place on the page. I look at the notes and lose my place on the keyboard. I feel embarrassed. I wonder if people are thinking, "Ouch."

There's this gentleman, Mark is his name, who often preaches. He's not an ordained minister. He went to seminary for awhile but then suffered an illness, some kind of infection, that caused massive brain damage. Mark has recovered slowly and spectacularly. He drags one foot a little when he walks, and his speech is a little slow and a little slurred, but understandable. He was never able to fnish his ministerial studies, but he pores over his Bible and he prays and he preaches. He sometimes stammers and has trouble getting words out. He loses his place on the page and is silent for several moments recovering it. He reads from the Bible, tangles the words up, and says, "I need to start over," and he does.

His messages are profound. Twice today I wrote in the margin in my Bible what Mark had just said about a verse, and added "BINGO!!" (I'd like to see my descendants when they get their hands on Great-Great-Grandma's Bible and read that!)

What I'm seeing, what hit me as he was delivering what God had laid on his heart, is that.... the mistakes don't matter. Mark has trouble with words and with concentration and with connecting thoughts, but connect them he does, in the most profound and striking manner. Anyone who hears him would understand immediately that he has difficulty and doesn't let it hold him back. It's plainly evident that he's an extremely deep thinker and excellent speaker and devout Christian. No one gets impatient or thinks "Ouch!" or has any response except to what he's actually saying.

So when I hit wrong notes..... it's the same. So I have trouble keeping it coordinated. So I've never been able to learn to put music in front of me and read it right off as I do written words. Anyone listening can tell that I do play the piano, I have a feel for music, I just have trouble delivering it, and despite the mistakes I'm giving it all I've got.

And when I make mistakes in life...... same thing. I know how it should go, I just hit some wrong notes. Just like anyone else. I'm not so special that I don't make mistakes.... and not special because I do. Most goofs really don't matter that much.

ABOUT TRIBUTES AND FUNERALS

The things on my mind today are about dying.

Someone we knew, a man our age, died this week. We went to his viewing today. There were HUNDREDS of people there and it was only one of four viewing times. He was well-known and well-liked. Actually, he was one of our county commissioners, on the ballot for re-election in the upcoming mid-term a little more than a week away, had won the primary..... but he would have been well-known and well-liked even if he hadn't been commissioner. He was commissioner BECAUSE he was well-known and well-liked.

Anyway, I was seeing all those visitors, and hearing what people were saying to each other about how well they'd liked Denny. I remembered a memorial tribute I'd heard last month after a friend of my mother's died. And I'm thinking....... the people who died aren't here to see how many people come, or hear the nice things that are said about how much they were valued.

Why don't we say those things to people while they're alive? Why don't we have a party, so everyone who knows them and likes them can come?

Maybe there's somehow less risk in saying the nice things after someone has died. We don't have to risk awkwardness.... "You, know, Denny, you're a really great guy, a really good egg. It's a privilege to know you. Whenever you say you'll see to something, I know it's as good as done. You're a man to appreciate." How do you respond to something like that? How do you say it? Why is it easier to say it after the appreciated person is gone?

My mother is turning 90 in April. I'm throwing a shinding and advertising it in the paper. Also in April, my husband is turning 60, but he says he doesn't want a shindig, just our kids and grandkids.

Back to the viewing....among the hundreds of people at the funeral parlor were many that we've known for years and years, as well as many we both felt we should know but couldn't place. We knew them in some long-ago context and now we were out of that context and we've changed and they've changed and it was like maybe remembering someone from a previous life. A woman walked past. She saw me and did a double take. I did a double take. We both said, "HIIIIIII!!!!! How nice to SEE you!! It's been probably 20 years!!" We embraced. I have no idea who she was. She didn't say my name so I suspect she couldn't remember who I was either.

I have a proposal: At my funeral, and at any I'm in charge of before then, like my mother's, I want to have, beside any door where people might be coming in, a box of those name stickers that say, "Hello! I'm......" and pens so that people can write their names and slap them on. Along with a sign reminding everyone to use the stickers, and to include on them how they know the deceased and/or family. It would help everyone. "Hello! I'm Ellie Hamilton.... longtime friend, kids the same ages." "Hello! I'm Clamity Jane, Bill's cousin." You could walk right up to strangers who share your shock, sadness, and memories and call them by name and know who they are and have the ice already broken. Someone you should know, about whom you'd draw a blank, has a name tag and you know immediately, "Of course!!" No awkward moments. It would help family members greet all the visitors: My husband and grown children would have no idea who some of the people are who might come to my funeral. Cheat-sheet name stickers would help them out a lot.

I'm starting a new trend in funeral etiquette, right here, right now. Name stickers.

I'M GOING HIKING!!

Next week. On the AT. Starting Tuesday. With my friend Chrissie. For probably 5 days. After we get back I'll tell you where we went.... not telling now b/c my blog is public and I'm picky about who knows where we're going, since it's not busy-busy thru-hiker season.

I'm so excited! I'm getting everything ready and having so much fun. I'm no more organized than I was when planning my thru-hike, but at least I feel I know what I'm doing. It's just a matter of putting together the right stuff.

Weather is supposed to be really good, with daytime highs ranging from 50's-70'sF, nighttime lows 40's-50's. I'm going to be test-driving the Hennessy Hammock I bought this past spring. It's tricky to stay warm in them under about 65*F, so I'll be working on that problem. If I'm cold, well, I can always just put it on the ground, or just sleep in the shelters.

Chrissie is a woman my age whom I've known for 25 or 30 years, but we just this spring discovered what good friends we are! Since the 1980's we'd cross paths once in while, with kids the same age, and we knew each other to say "hi" but that's as far as it went. Then this spring a mutual friend told me Chrissie wants to hike the AT and would like to talk to me. So I called her, and we went in May down to Damascus, VA for the annual AT Trail Days Festivel, where we tented for two days beside a beautiful river. There, and on the 5-hours-each-way drive, we talked soooo much, about everything. She's Christian and we went to church together there on Sunday before driving home. It's amazing to think we've known each other so long and could have been friends all that time. Well, we are now. And we're going hiking!

RE-LIVING THE TRAIL

What I really need to do is re-copy all my Trail entries, put them in order, add more memories to them, and make a separate blog out of them, as well as copying the whole thing to TrailJournals.com. There is so much more that didn't make it into the entries, and they're all mixed up according to whether I posted them myself when I had computer access, or my husband did when he talked to me, or my daughter Avery did when I mailed her a whole bunch of them.

It will be confusing. I actually did start a Trail Journal there, under the name MacGyver09, but then I didn't keep it up, choosing instead to put everything here in my blog. Then on the Trail I got re-named "Yard Sale," so anyone I knew along the Trail will look for me under that name, not MacGyver.

And this is really, really braindead, but as many times as I've typed "MacGyver," I can't remember at this second whether it's "Mac" or "Mc." Ever have that happen? Of course you've been unsure how to spell something, and neither way looks right, but..... you own name?????

I'm losing my mind.

I think it's "Mac."

Linking to my Appalachian Trail Journal

AGAINST THE WIND: Springer Mountain, Georgia!

Well, that didn't work. It only takes you to the first post. Gotta work on this some more. Wish I knew HTML-speak.

CAN'T THINK OF A TITLE... BRAINDEAD

Well, the wedding went off fairly well. I hit some klinkers but don't know if anyone noticed or not.

I have been negligent. Seduced by the quick status updates and easy friend-tracking of Facebook. But it's hard to put the story of my life on Facebook. I need to post here.

For instance, I didn't post a report of my 2010 SavageMan Triathlon. Unlike last year's race, which I breezed through having a blast, this year I found it grueling and life-changing. Yes, actually life-changing. I need to write about that.

I am thinking about a second Appalachian Trail thru-hike attempt. In 2012, to celebrate being 60. Yes, in 2012 I will be 60. Actually I'll turn 60 in December of 2011 but I'll be 60 when I do my hike.

To keep from re-hiking already-covered miles, I may very well start in Maine and go south. That way if the Trail beats me again at least I will have seen a different part of it.

I've been following the absolutely riveting story of a southbound thru-hiker, on Trail Journals. His trail name is Churchill, and he writes like..... well, like a dreamer who's a realist, or a realist who's a dreamer, or both. You can find his ongoing story at My American Dream at Trail Journals. He's like a book I can't put down. He started in Maine in July and is now going through the Shenandoah/Blue Ridge region of Virginia. I remember so well being there. Yesterday he described standing on a cliff taking in the view and daydreaming...... I'll bet I know exactly where he was standing. He daydreamed about hang-gliding, but it also involved an imaginary hiking partner in the person of John Denver, and ended sadly, with a twist. This guy is an incredible writer. He's gotta get his journal published. It's something rare.

If anyone read my blog last year while I was hiking, you know that weight loss was one of the things that put me off the Trail. Well, by New Year's, I had gained it all back, plus more. This spring and summer, I've lost over half of it, training for SavageMan AND just changing my eating habits. I don't go hungry. Sometimes I still get cravings and graze or binge. But mostly..... I eat to nourish myself. It works.

THE WEDDING PLAYER

How did I get into this?

I seem to be the pianist for a wedding. It's happening tomorrow (yes, a Tuesday.) When I agreed to this a month ago, I hadn't played the piano since my mother and I made that tape of cello/piano music almost 2 years ago. But here it is. In front of a whole lot of people.

I have stage fright. Performance anxiety. I looked for tips on the Internet.

The best one is: "Offer yourself as the medium through which the composer's spirit and intention will flow."

In other words... forget about myself. It's not about me. It's about this beautiful young couple and God's grace flowing through and around them as their beautiful celebration unfolds.

I'm praying. I'm practicing. I'm visualizing. But I'm still going to take some Xanax before I go.

Re: Westernport Wall

Hah!! I went down to Westernport today and attacked The Wall  over and over.

 

I made it 6 out of 9 times. The other 3 times, I fell. The first attempt, while I was fresh, I made it consecutively up all 4 blocks (each block a hill.... it's one 4-block-long hill, average grade 25%,  interrupted only by the cross-streets.) You have to do all 4 w/o unclipping on race day to get a brick laid in the road.

 

After that, I just did the last section (31% grade), or the last 2, over and over, memorizing how to navigate the obstacle course of potholes and cracks (mostly 4-6 inches wide, several feet long, and at least an inch deep). I also developed a Plan B route up, in case there's someone in front of me on race day. I've determined that it's not so much an issue of strength as of balance and controlling the bike. There's a certain point before which I must not veer left; after that point, a slight left shift is helpful (Plan A) but not essential (Plan B.) I'll tell you what, I popped a few wheelies and wondered how I was still upright even though the bike seemed to have stopped moving forward, but 6 out of 9 isn't bad. At the top of one of the successful ones, I wondered, "Is my rear brake rubbing my wheel? Did itget knocked off center in that last fall? Feels like it was harder this time..." and then discovered I hadn't even been in my freakin' lowest granny gear!!!! Shoot, now I'll have to practice doing it like that >:-<

 

The tenth one.... well.... I started one last trip from the bottom of the 4 blocks and rode 3 of them, but then said, "Nahhhhhh......" and turned left instead of going up. I couldn't face it again and could tell I probably wouldn't make it. I was very, very tired.

 

There was a neighborhood boy about 12 on a mountain bike who tried it but didn't make it. He said sometimes he does, sometimes he doesn't. That particular time, I made it, and he gave me a thumbs-up and said "That's a hell of a climb." He also rode down it, which I absolutely will not try.

 

One injury per fall: right elbow bleeding in 2 separate places (from 2 of the falls) and right hip with a swelling, obvious broken capillaries, and a great big bruise on its way (I fell to the right each time).

 

I plan to go do this once a week until I know that street like the back of my hand and riding it is no big deal.

SavageMan Bike Course, Take One

Find out about SavageMan here.

 

Sado-Masochistic, is what it is. 

 

My son Jon and I took it very slow for his first riding of it and my first this year, and I declare, I think that's at least as hard as pushing a little harder because you're out there longer.

 

We both made the Wall. Except I cheated.... stopped after the first 3 preliminary hills to get my breath before I tackled it. Jon rode straight up all 4. 

 

I bonked halfway up Maynardier Ridge (the last of the nasty hills, about mile 44) and had to sit and rest a little before continuing. It's the first time ever that I haven't made it up that hill. I was surprised because I'd just gone up all the other hills ,including "Killer Miller" Hill , without any distress. I took a couple salt tablets (cheapies from the drugstore) and a breather and then walked the rest of the hill. Jon gave me a Hammer Gel. (I'd been using a concoction of peanut butter and honey.) A few miles later I still was feeling bad, hamstrings and calves were trying to tie square knots, and Jon gave me an Endurolyte. He was carrying freebies from the Gran Fondo. I was just stupid, is all, and didn't plan right. I know better.

 

Or else I'm just getting too old for this.

 

About 15 min after the gel and lyte tab, I felt better, and by the last 5 miles I felt  normal. When we got back to the cars, Jon put on running shoes and ran for 10 min, while I drank recovery drink, guarded his bike, and waited to see what I'd come back as in my next life. Guess I'll have to wait for another day to find that out, though.

 

I feel OK now. But I'm done w/ homebrew gels and drugstore salt tablets. Put out the money, honey, and put the hammer down.

 

5 hours for the 56 miles = 11.1mph. Bleah. I need 12mph to make the cutoff, which I did handily last year by 10 minutes. 

 

There are still 2 months left.

OH, FOR PETE'S SAKE....

Just a quick review, my husband and I are living with my mother because I/we don't feel it's safe for her to live alone anymore (89 yo, has trouble getting around due to arthritis, osteoporosis, and shortness of breath.)

Found out today during a routine doctor visit that she's been having episodes of chest pain for quite some time but hasn't mentioned it because she doesn't want to be a "fussbudget."

At first I was angry; how could she not tell her daughter, an R.N. who lives with her to look after her and her health, that she gets chest pain???

But after awhile I started realizing it wasn't deliberate, it was just ignorance and an odd form of being considerate. I shouldn't be angry.

PRACTICING THE PRESENCE OF GOD

I have such a short attention span. And so much going on in my life. It's hard to remember that God is a part of it all. Hours or half a day go by when I forget all about Him.

Brother Lawrence says that will happen, when a person first sets out to form the habit of continual communion with God. And he pretty much advises, "Just press the 'reset' button. You will get the hang of it."

Of course, since The Practice of the Presence of God was written over 300 years ago, those aren't the exact words. But that's the jist.

When I first opened the book a couple weeks ago, I opened to this sentence:

"That our sanctification did not depend upon changing our works, but in doing for God's sake that which we commonly do for our own."

And right there, my life was changed.

He is in my swimming, biking, and running, as much as my son is when we arrange to train together. I forgot to ask the Lord to swim (40 minutes) and run (20 minutes) with me today. I choose to believe He was with me anyway, inviting Himself as a silent partner..... as silent as I was. My thoughts were elsewhere but He knows I would have asked Him if I had remembered. He's not bound by human-type "I wasn't invited" huffiness. He knows you meant to ask Him.

Until I get in the habit, I'm thinking I might set my watch to beep every hour I'm awake. Just to remember to check in.

You can download the book, read it, and/or print it out for free here.

SUN'S OUT....

....after I just finished 24 miles on the bike in the rain. I set out hoping to beat it, but got rained on anyway, just enough to keep me cool and make me a little cautious of curves, descents, and my brakes. Heard a little thunder, had one lightning flash a mile away, but didn't get struck or have to take refuge in a house (which I did once last year and made new friends.)

Anyway.... if I'd waited a few hours, I could have done it in clear weather.

But now I've had recent practice riding in the rain.

24 miles included 4 of the major hills of the SavageMan course: McAndrews Hill, Otto Lane, "Killer Miller," and Maynardier Ridge. Plus another long climb (Twin Churches Road) to get to McAndrews Hill.

I am so blessed to live practically on the bike course. Just a couple-mile ride gets me to either of 2 of the dreaded climbs. I'm getting so I don't even need to go into my lowest granny gear much of the time, which makes me very happy!

LAZARUS, COAXED FROM THE DEAD

I want to get back to blogging. I have had so many unwritten pages, so many unrecorded chapters, of the story of my life fly away in the wind this summer. I can only hazily remember that I lived them.... I can't ever read about those days or truly relive them, or remember the truths I learned from them And nobody else ever will, either.

I have been so consumed with myself. That's why I haven't been able to share myself.

We just had a wonderful week in a truck-camper at a small lake in Michigan, with our son Jon, his daughters Sarah, 2, and Abbie, 7, and our 11-yo granddaughter Gracie. Gracie and I took time for an overnight trip to Chicago, by train, just the 2 of us. We had never been anywhere alone together except maybe Wal-Mart or Kroger's. It was a special treat.

So were the next couple days at the lake, our family, swimming, playing on the playground, catching minnows in buckets, and visiting or being visited by many family members we rarely get to see.

Kind of crowded in the little truck-camper and even more so riding to and from in the truck itself, but togetherness is what it's all about.

In case you're wondering..... we sold the RV in which we'd lived for the past 5 years. We live only in my mother's house now, keeping her company and making sure she's OK, and have recently gotten the truck-top camper, which sleeps 5 somewhat comfortably. It was our first trip in it. Next month we'll take our grandson.

I had much, very much care of the 3 young ones during this time. Gracie's 11 and needed companionship and alone-time more than she needed care. (Except when she tripped on an escalator in flip flops and mangled her toe; she needed care then.) So I applied myself to caring for the little girls, and making room for downtime for the hardworking men and the almost-woman girl, who loved floating on a raft without little ones tethered to her. During the week I got in one run with Jon (sprained my ankle) and one 20-min lap swim while Jon took all the girls out on a pedal boat. I worked to give each member of the family some of myself all week, and I didn't have that stressed out feeling I get when I whine about there not being enough of me to go around. Just giving myself up to the needs of the others, encouraging them to help themselves and the others when possible, thanking them for doing so, doing it for them if they didn't, speaking gently even when I wanted to raise my voice to get a response..... it went so smoothly because I took along a lifelong friend that I haven't been in close touch with for some time but who was thrilled to go along and help out and spend time with me.... Jesus. What a help he was, how pertinent his suggestions, how soothing his frequent "That's OK, I'll handle it." He's gently pointing out to me places where my words will add to the conversation, and places where it will just muddy the waters. Often I spew in words about some similar experience and start realizing that no one is listening, they've started other conversations.... they don't care what my experience was. If they do, they will ask me. If they don't, I'm off the hook, don't have to worry about how what I said came across.

Talking less doesn't mean I'm withdrawing. I pray it's the beginning of greater fellowship, now that I realize I'm here to appreciate and help them, not to yak about my own passions, roadblocks, burdens fair or unfair, whether other people's opinions are right or wrong...those things shouldn't be important to me. All that matters is saying what God nudges me to say, and he's provided me with some pithy stuff this week.

And with that I'll leave you all wondering till another day.

On this trip I learned major things:

• It's not about me.
• Pray without ceasing.
• All things work together for those who love God.

I can face life again.