This evening I went on my first solo bike ride. The first was with my husband, Lance. The second ride I took with my mother-in-law because Matt was wary of me going by myself on the bike trail. Let me preclude that by giving you a couple facts:
1. I have two black belts. Sure, I haven't practiced in a decade but I'm fairly certain I could throw a solid punch if need be. And to be completely honest to any would-be attackers, I have been known to engage in a Tae Bo video now and again so yeah, you could say I'm pretty current on skills.
2. Matt's mom weighs maybe 130 lb and is just one of those adorable people, the kind you would accompany to a nice garden party but not to, say, an interview for a bouncer position at a club. I did thank her for protecting me after the ride.
Tonight, though, it was just me. Yes, I had an mp3 player with pink earbuds. No one else seems to be listening to music. I'm sure they're all thinking about recovery times and lactic acids and becoming more aerodynamic. I was wondering how exactly they get the candy coating on M & M's. I mean, I realize it's some sort of machine. I'm not a complete fool. But still, I was a cyclist. Me! Nodding to other cyclists the way athletes do to each other. Those were my people. Sure, I felt a great deal of pride being a part of such an elite group of humans and I may very well develop an unbearable ego. It's the price to pay for greatness.
Head nod. 'Hey, bro. Nice wheels.'
Head nod. 'Sweet calves. Looks like you worked hard on those. Well done, you."
Head nod. 'Looking fast, there, bud.'
Except for this one guy. Didn't even glance at me as he pedaled on by me. Jerk. Stop leaning so far on your handlebars. We get it, you're amazing. But you're mean and your entire skin tight outfit is plastered with company logos. Cooperate sell-out!
Not that I wouldn't take some sponsorship of course. But my luck it would be something like Spam or Bubba Burgers or some such and I would pull on my Bubba Burger Jersey and climb on my GIANT brand bike.
Halfway through the ride I was making pretty time when the top of my head started to itch. Like smack in the middle of my head - no way to reach under the helmet. I tried rubbing the helmet back and forth vigorously on my head. I made sure to call out "I'M COMPLETELY SANE!" to other cyclists to reassure them.
I was really hoping it wasn't lice or something. Darn my luxurious locks!
But it was to no avail. I had to take off my helmet. As I did, one of my earbuds got pulled out of my ear, whipped around and hit me in the eye.
Because I wasn't stupid looking enough on that bike.
Scratched the itch - relief. Then I realized I had to get my helmet back on while pedaling my bike. Lest you think you can ride it with no hands, the way we all did all kids, these wheels are super skinny. Wobbling all over the trail, trying desperately to click my helmet shut with one hand and reminding myself to appreciate my hands more. No way I was continuing without my helmet. If I crashed and lost consciousness, there was no way I was giving some ER staff the enjoyment of taking care of me with my pig bbq shirt and itchy head. Those ER people are mean.
I finally finished my ride and feel pretty darn good.
I may not have been fast and I may not have looked pretty doing it.
But today, I was a cyclist.
Monday, April 21, 2014
Friday, April 11, 2014
I'm Basically a Triathlete
Running
Of course, I don't actually run. I walk for a little bit, then I run, then I walk. Like I'll run for four or five mailboxes or something. It's a very scientific process.
Kate has been begging me to go running. I've put it off for a few reasons: she's only 6 and I really, really like running with my mp3 player and singing whenever I feel like it. Every parent of small children knows that being able to do anything alone is practically a trip to the spa: grocery shopping, mowing the lawn, peeing, getting tires rotated, etc. 12 hour shift at the ER? Yes please. Signing the tax return at the CPAs' office? You betcha. I have an appt to get my TB test done next week and I'm really looking forward to it.
But Katie wore me down so I acquiesced. The night before our first run together she could hardly sleep she was so excited. That's not quite how I feel before a run. She woke up at 4, at 4:30, at 5:30, peeking her head out to see if it was time. She had slept in her clothes and set out her sneakers and socks the night before. We headed out with Toby (our dog). Kate was skipping all over the place, smiling huge. I don't want to be one of those parents who hold their children back, but I really wanted to hold her back. Literally. She chattered excitedly the whole time, not even realizing that I was simply grunting my answers due to the fact that I felt moments away from a lactic acid filled death.
At one point I was struggling along thinking things like:
Breathe from the diaphragm, don't raise the shoulders.
Man, it is super hard to keep my arms going while holding onto a leash and a mp3 player...
I wonder if they make ultra compression shorts so nothing moves at all.
If I keeled over right now, how long would the batteries last on my mp3?
I look up and Kate is practically leaping ahead, kicking up her shoes because she likes the way they sparkle.
"Are you running while holding a rock?"
"Yeah, it looks like a piece of pizza and I like it."
Because running wasn't hard enough before without a happy little gazelle running with me.
Aerobics
Even though she's borderline abusive, I feel like I get a good workout with Jillian Michaels. The kids and the dog just add a little extra level of difficulty. Basically like working out on a minefield. I should give myself an extra gold star at the end of the day for getting through a workout while: changing diapers, grading papers, getting told that I'm not doing anything as well as the people in the video, etc.
I lay back to do a sit up with a weight and oh, hey! There's Noah on a yoga ball, guzzling my water bottle:
I crunch my way up and do a bicep curl (because Jillian likes to work multiple muscle groups - it's evil) and there's Toby. A lick on my hand while I'm curling? Sure, why not?
Biking
Matt and I took my new bike on a spin the other day. We have a great bike trail about 15 minutes from our house. My fabulous mother-in-law popped over to watch the kids and we headed out. Matt knows what he's doing and looks it: sport sunglasses, cycling shorts, moisture-wicking shirt. I'm wearing a tank top and workout capris and nothing whatsoever protecting my eyes. When I questioned Matt on why he didn't clue me in, he said he assumed I knew I would need glasses - it's so obvious. Yes, of course it is. For someone who has never been on a road bike and doesn't even have padded shorts, glasses to protect my eyes from the sun and wind never crossed my mind. I've never gone fast enough to need them. In fact, my most recent memory on a bike was when I was about 8 or 9. I was pedaling around our big neighborhood when I stumbled upon a garage sale that was closing up. Perhaps I was especially charming that day or they took pity on my horse teeth and knobby knees but they gave me a huge teddy bear and a sombrero. I pedaled my way home rather precariously, a teddy bear as big as me on my lap and a huge red and green sombrero on my head. So you could say I definitely have some experience on a bike.
Remember how much I loathe running with Matt - how he doesn't run at all but could easily sail past me and win a 10k whenever he'd like? Biking is worse. It's like riding next to Lance but without the doping. He looks like a commercial for Brita or an allergy medication or something, where people are doing these great athletic things. His calf muscles bulge in solid ropes as he stands up on his pedals and charges ahead, urging us to 'sprint' forward a bit. My butt hurt when I sat on my unpadded shorts, my legs shook with exertion when I stood up. It was just a matter of choosing which body part I wanted to torture at any given time. What made it worse was that I was struggling on a bike which has the brand name GIANT splashed on the side. That's a self-esteem booster. Matt schooled me on clipping my shoes into the pedals and which gear I should be in. At one point, the sun was streaming through the trees and we were enveloped by dandelion fluff floating slowly through the air. The peace was shattered by Lance, calling out "Push! Push!"
Yeah...no.
They say that exercise helps with memory but just tonight I bathed a child in her diaper and didn't realize it until a few minutes in so that doesn't bode well for that theory.
Finally, a thought:
Have you ever seen someone after a couple months and they suddenly look so trim?
You gasp and say "My goodness, look at you! You look great! What have you been doing?"
And they smile and shrug a little, "Oh, you know. Eating celery, doing jumping jacks. Just eating right and exercising."
You walk away a little defeated, sucking in your gut and vowing to plank it up that weekend.
More often than not, you find out that person had some sort of procedure. Gastric bypass, gastic sleeve, Lapband, what have you. Which is totally fine but let's just all make an agreement to get those disclosures out in the open and not pretend it was simply eating more vegetables and jumping on a treadmill. It reminds me of this clip from Sinbad when he's talking about hair:
The part about the hair starts around 5:50. But the whole thing is funny so just relax and enjoy.
"Listen to me now, you can't be 300 lb in February and 175 in April..."
Of course, I don't actually run. I walk for a little bit, then I run, then I walk. Like I'll run for four or five mailboxes or something. It's a very scientific process.
Kate has been begging me to go running. I've put it off for a few reasons: she's only 6 and I really, really like running with my mp3 player and singing whenever I feel like it. Every parent of small children knows that being able to do anything alone is practically a trip to the spa: grocery shopping, mowing the lawn, peeing, getting tires rotated, etc. 12 hour shift at the ER? Yes please. Signing the tax return at the CPAs' office? You betcha. I have an appt to get my TB test done next week and I'm really looking forward to it.
But Katie wore me down so I acquiesced. The night before our first run together she could hardly sleep she was so excited. That's not quite how I feel before a run. She woke up at 4, at 4:30, at 5:30, peeking her head out to see if it was time. She had slept in her clothes and set out her sneakers and socks the night before. We headed out with Toby (our dog). Kate was skipping all over the place, smiling huge. I don't want to be one of those parents who hold their children back, but I really wanted to hold her back. Literally. She chattered excitedly the whole time, not even realizing that I was simply grunting my answers due to the fact that I felt moments away from a lactic acid filled death.
At one point I was struggling along thinking things like:
Breathe from the diaphragm, don't raise the shoulders.
Man, it is super hard to keep my arms going while holding onto a leash and a mp3 player...
I wonder if they make ultra compression shorts so nothing moves at all.
If I keeled over right now, how long would the batteries last on my mp3?
I look up and Kate is practically leaping ahead, kicking up her shoes because she likes the way they sparkle.
"Are you running while holding a rock?"
"Yeah, it looks like a piece of pizza and I like it."
Because running wasn't hard enough before without a happy little gazelle running with me.
Aerobics
Even though she's borderline abusive, I feel like I get a good workout with Jillian Michaels. The kids and the dog just add a little extra level of difficulty. Basically like working out on a minefield. I should give myself an extra gold star at the end of the day for getting through a workout while: changing diapers, grading papers, getting told that I'm not doing anything as well as the people in the video, etc.
I lay back to do a sit up with a weight and oh, hey! There's Noah on a yoga ball, guzzling my water bottle:
I crunch my way up and do a bicep curl (because Jillian likes to work multiple muscle groups - it's evil) and there's Toby. A lick on my hand while I'm curling? Sure, why not?
Then I'm doing mountain climbers and look over to see the older two whipping each other around by the ankles and laughing. Some women can just bounce right back after having multiple kids - I am not so elastic.
Biking
Matt and I took my new bike on a spin the other day. We have a great bike trail about 15 minutes from our house. My fabulous mother-in-law popped over to watch the kids and we headed out. Matt knows what he's doing and looks it: sport sunglasses, cycling shorts, moisture-wicking shirt. I'm wearing a tank top and workout capris and nothing whatsoever protecting my eyes. When I questioned Matt on why he didn't clue me in, he said he assumed I knew I would need glasses - it's so obvious. Yes, of course it is. For someone who has never been on a road bike and doesn't even have padded shorts, glasses to protect my eyes from the sun and wind never crossed my mind. I've never gone fast enough to need them. In fact, my most recent memory on a bike was when I was about 8 or 9. I was pedaling around our big neighborhood when I stumbled upon a garage sale that was closing up. Perhaps I was especially charming that day or they took pity on my horse teeth and knobby knees but they gave me a huge teddy bear and a sombrero. I pedaled my way home rather precariously, a teddy bear as big as me on my lap and a huge red and green sombrero on my head. So you could say I definitely have some experience on a bike.
Remember how much I loathe running with Matt - how he doesn't run at all but could easily sail past me and win a 10k whenever he'd like? Biking is worse. It's like riding next to Lance but without the doping. He looks like a commercial for Brita or an allergy medication or something, where people are doing these great athletic things. His calf muscles bulge in solid ropes as he stands up on his pedals and charges ahead, urging us to 'sprint' forward a bit. My butt hurt when I sat on my unpadded shorts, my legs shook with exertion when I stood up. It was just a matter of choosing which body part I wanted to torture at any given time. What made it worse was that I was struggling on a bike which has the brand name GIANT splashed on the side. That's a self-esteem booster. Matt schooled me on clipping my shoes into the pedals and which gear I should be in. At one point, the sun was streaming through the trees and we were enveloped by dandelion fluff floating slowly through the air. The peace was shattered by Lance, calling out "Push! Push!"
Yeah...no.
They say that exercise helps with memory but just tonight I bathed a child in her diaper and didn't realize it until a few minutes in so that doesn't bode well for that theory.
Finally, a thought:
Have you ever seen someone after a couple months and they suddenly look so trim?
You gasp and say "My goodness, look at you! You look great! What have you been doing?"
And they smile and shrug a little, "Oh, you know. Eating celery, doing jumping jacks. Just eating right and exercising."
You walk away a little defeated, sucking in your gut and vowing to plank it up that weekend.
More often than not, you find out that person had some sort of procedure. Gastric bypass, gastic sleeve, Lapband, what have you. Which is totally fine but let's just all make an agreement to get those disclosures out in the open and not pretend it was simply eating more vegetables and jumping on a treadmill. It reminds me of this clip from Sinbad when he's talking about hair:
The part about the hair starts around 5:50. But the whole thing is funny so just relax and enjoy.
"Listen to me now, you can't be 300 lb in February and 175 in April..."
Tuesday, April 1, 2014
Random Ramblings
One of these things is not like the other...
An interesting aspect to adopting a child of another race is noting other people's reactions. We really haven't had any negative reactions to Tali (although I'm sure we will encounter some along the way). In fact, it's been really positive. Strangely positive sometimes. I'm noticing that people comment on how cute Talitha is. A lot. Like, a whole lot. Not a grocery shopping trip goes by the people don't go out of their way to tell me how cute she is. They are almost falling over each other to get to the cart to tell me.
Is Tali cute? Absolutely. Sweet and little and pretty. Is she cuter than my other kids? Eh, I don't know. But I sure never got that kind of attention carting around my blue and brown-eye, blonde headed babies as I do my almond-eyed, black haired baby.
It struck me recently that it might not be that they're just telling me she's cute: Perhaps it's a subconscious effort to make sure I know that they're not racist. That they're ok with my Asian daughter. If I really think about it, maybe I do those types of things as well, without even really realizing it. Maybe I'm overly friendly to an interracial couple, a disabled person, a homosexual couple, a person of a vastly different religious/ethic/cultural background from me, whatever. Things that people may assume make others uncomfortable and so I want to make sure everyone knows I'm ok with whatever it is.
Certainly I could be over thinking this but it makes me really think about all the ways I consciously and subconsciously interact with others.
A Race To The Bottom
Matt recently got back into biking again (like the pedaling kind, not the leather jacket kind) and we're looking for a bike for me to ride with him, because I don't have a low enough self-esteem about my physical abilities. This is a man who rode across the country on a bicycle, up to 150 miles a day - and I'm not just throwing a number out there, that's what his actual mileage was (it makes me want to just go eat ice cream and give up already). The only bright side is that he looks pretty darn good in cycling shorts because I'm sure to be lagging behind him always.
We found a bike on Craigslist that we will hopefully be picking up soon. I'm happy to have one, if only to end the incessant teasing by Matt about how short I am and how he's not even sure they make bikes for people that short. I'm a very respectable 5'4" but apparently it's not respectable enough.
This bike listing had everything - a bike my size, shoes my size, a helmet, a speedometer, and a few other bikey-type things that look really professional but I can't quite recall what they are at the moment.
I told Matt that she wrote that she only rode the bike "marginally" and that we may not be able to trust her based on her wording.
"Why wouldn't she say that she rode the bike sporadically?"
"People don't use that word."
"They do if they want to be correct."
Maybe it was the fact that I've been beaten up by Jillian Michaels every morning for weeks but I was really miffed by the wording. I told Matt that marginally should be used when comparing things - This cake is marginally better than the other, He has a marginal lead in the polls, etc. Matt chimed in "Or, I'm marginally better than everyone else."
What makes that so funny is that Matt truly is one of the most humble people I've ever met. He's able to fly a plane, race a bike, drive a motorcycle, make furniture, fix the cars, play a few instruments, and understand the stock market with ease and yet he has almost no ego. Which is really good for our marriage because I have plenty. If I made that statement, people would simply assume I was telling the truth.
"And it's a pretty good price, that must make you happy, Matt."
"Marginally."
An interesting aspect to adopting a child of another race is noting other people's reactions. We really haven't had any negative reactions to Tali (although I'm sure we will encounter some along the way). In fact, it's been really positive. Strangely positive sometimes. I'm noticing that people comment on how cute Talitha is. A lot. Like, a whole lot. Not a grocery shopping trip goes by the people don't go out of their way to tell me how cute she is. They are almost falling over each other to get to the cart to tell me.
Is Tali cute? Absolutely. Sweet and little and pretty. Is she cuter than my other kids? Eh, I don't know. But I sure never got that kind of attention carting around my blue and brown-eye, blonde headed babies as I do my almond-eyed, black haired baby.
It struck me recently that it might not be that they're just telling me she's cute: Perhaps it's a subconscious effort to make sure I know that they're not racist. That they're ok with my Asian daughter. If I really think about it, maybe I do those types of things as well, without even really realizing it. Maybe I'm overly friendly to an interracial couple, a disabled person, a homosexual couple, a person of a vastly different religious/ethic/cultural background from me, whatever. Things that people may assume make others uncomfortable and so I want to make sure everyone knows I'm ok with whatever it is.
Certainly I could be over thinking this but it makes me really think about all the ways I consciously and subconsciously interact with others.
A Race To The Bottom
Matt recently got back into biking again (like the pedaling kind, not the leather jacket kind) and we're looking for a bike for me to ride with him, because I don't have a low enough self-esteem about my physical abilities. This is a man who rode across the country on a bicycle, up to 150 miles a day - and I'm not just throwing a number out there, that's what his actual mileage was (it makes me want to just go eat ice cream and give up already). The only bright side is that he looks pretty darn good in cycling shorts because I'm sure to be lagging behind him always.
We found a bike on Craigslist that we will hopefully be picking up soon. I'm happy to have one, if only to end the incessant teasing by Matt about how short I am and how he's not even sure they make bikes for people that short. I'm a very respectable 5'4" but apparently it's not respectable enough.
This bike listing had everything - a bike my size, shoes my size, a helmet, a speedometer, and a few other bikey-type things that look really professional but I can't quite recall what they are at the moment.
I told Matt that she wrote that she only rode the bike "marginally" and that we may not be able to trust her based on her wording.
"Why wouldn't she say that she rode the bike sporadically?"
"People don't use that word."
"They do if they want to be correct."
Maybe it was the fact that I've been beaten up by Jillian Michaels every morning for weeks but I was really miffed by the wording. I told Matt that marginally should be used when comparing things - This cake is marginally better than the other, He has a marginal lead in the polls, etc. Matt chimed in "Or, I'm marginally better than everyone else."
What makes that so funny is that Matt truly is one of the most humble people I've ever met. He's able to fly a plane, race a bike, drive a motorcycle, make furniture, fix the cars, play a few instruments, and understand the stock market with ease and yet he has almost no ego. Which is really good for our marriage because I have plenty. If I made that statement, people would simply assume I was telling the truth.
"And it's a pretty good price, that must make you happy, Matt."
"Marginally."
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