Fine Yesterday – WTF – Page 11 – Fine Yesterday … WTF

Athlete Wannabe

Interesting epiphany today. It looked like a lovely morning to ride my bike in to work. And it was. There’s a steep climb that parallels I-520, and at the “summit” is an intersection where bikers gather, waiting for the light to change. I’ve always viewed myself as a bit of a fraud … an athlete wannabe. I apologize for being in the way, scoot over … give all the “real” athletes the right of way. Well, today it pissed me off. One of the serious bikers, in full-on racing gear, tried to cut me off. We made eye contact, and I gave him “the look”. You know – the stink eye that moms give their children when they’ve gone too far? He yielded.

I thought about this on the ride home, and starting thinking about the things I’ve been able to accomplish with my imperfect 51-year old body. Three triathlons. Bike MS. STP. The breast cancer three day … twice. Fourteen 5Ks. A 10K. Ten half marathons. The survivor mud run. A 35-mile hike to climb Yosemite Half Dome. Hiked Hanakapi’ai Falls. It really is remarkable how your head controls your body. Tonight, choosing to think of myself as an athlete made me feel strong and powerful. I got in to a rhythm that shaved about twenty-five percent off my typical time home. I know I’m not the only one that races on, feeling like an impostor. But you’re not. And neither am I.

Athlete

Phuket, Thailand

November 4, 2013: This was a magical day, and I don’t want to forget a moment. My sister and I intended to spend our first day resting by the pool and maybe taking a beach walk. That lasted about seven and a half minutes before we decided to check out what sorts of other trouble we could get in to. We settled on a day-long boat and kayak trip that went in to the evening. It started with about a 45-minute drive through Karon and Surin Beaches. What a city of contrasts! I had heard that Phuket had, for the most part, recovered from the 2004 tsunami. And it had … for the wealthy. The less fortunate have patched up their homes with old wood and rusty, corrugated metal sheets. There are roadside shrines, construction, and ghost homes that were a mere shell of what they once had been. We saw goats and cows wandering roadside, and small motorcycles rule the roads. People load their motorcycles down with their families, and we saw everything from a man riding wearing nothing but a speedo and a good tan, to a local woman in head to toe traditional Thai clothing, completely adorned with sequins. Helmets are NOT preferred. The electrical system here is comprised of hundreds of loosely-draped wires. I am bewildered as to how an electrical issue is found and resolved.

Once we arrived at the pier, we took about an hour ride out to the smaller islands and did some cave exploring by kayak (including one with thousands of bats!), had a wild monkey jump in to my lap, and participated in a Loi Krathong ceremony, where we made lotus flower floats, and sent them off, lit with candles, into the hong (lagoon). This last part was done in the pitch dark, and it literally took my breath away. As we made our way out of the hong, I dragged my hand through the water. The phosphorescence was like watching hundreds of fireflies dance from my fingertips. The last and final adventure of the day (you know me – there had to be at least one more) … we grounded our (big) boat, lost a propeller, and had the boat spitting black smoke and spinning. I think there is something just the tiniest bit wrong with my psyche that this can happen, and all I can think is, “this is going to make a hell of a story.” The scenery and the people here are like no other. I said this was a once-in-a-lifetime trip. I hope that’s not true. There is a specialness to this place that will never leave my heart. Wonder what tomorrow will bring?

Memories of a Landing Strip

Okay. It’s been a while. I am preparing for the Danskin triathlon, so my recent training regimen requires that I don a swimming suit. Let’s face it. There’s only so much you can “tuck away”, particularly for us brunettes. I had a nail appointment this afternoon, and I entered the salon feeling in a somewhat spunky mood. I selected a glossy blue polish for my toes, rather than my typical red or pink. At this point, I am feeling so out there. I think, “hmmm … while I’m here”… This was my first mistake. As my nail technician files, I say, “Hey Jenny … got time for a bikini wax?” Yes! She does. So after the fingernails, but before the toes, we enter her lair. This is always slightly uncomfortable. She hands me this small package, and tells me to change. She leaves. I shake out the thing, and it’s a small postage stamp of fabric with a coil of elastic strung from it. Sort of like a thong for Barbie. Well … alright. So I put it on, lie down, and cover myself with the sheet she also provided.

The employees of this particular establishment are Vietnamese, so most of the time I can’t understand what the heck they’re saying. They giggle a lot. And that’s when they’re only working on people’s nails. So two of them come in to the room, wielding scissors. What the hell?! They yank off the sheet and go to town. They are doing their very best Edward Scissorhands impersonation, and I can only hope they’re not crafting a topiary down there. I give Jenny a horror-struck look, and she says (with her heavy Vietnamese accent), “Need haircut first.” Dear God. I remind them, “bikini wax only, yes?”. They smile, nod, and giggle. The waxing starts. It’s a tag team … wax, press, rip. Ouch. Wax, press, rip. Ouch. They’re getting mighty close to my nether regions, so I mention again, “bikini wax only, yes?”. They smile, nod, and giggle. Crap. Do they understand what I’m saying?! Wax, press, rip. OUCH!! Jesus, I have never worn a bikini that requires that much exposure. Where do they think I’m from?! Brazil??? “BIKINI WAX ONLY, YES?”. But by now, it’s far too late. Whatever is going to happen, has happened. I lay my head back in resignation as they wax, press, rip, OUCH! needle tweeze, OUCH!

Finally, they’re done. They leave the torture chamber, and I wearily rise to my feet and gaze in to the mirror. Oh, no. This is not good. I am left with a prepubescent patch of turf approximately the size of a quarter. Made “The Landing Strip” look like a verdant forest. But whaddya do? I can’t exactly glue it back on. Sigh …

So I dress and walk out of the room feeling like I either need to buy the ladies dinner, or smoke a cigarette. Next time, my attire will include granny pants and a chastity belt.

15 fun facts that helped me to lose the game of “I Have Never …”

1) I once owned a share in a racehorse.

2) I stood at the top of Half Dome in Yosemite. After walking 35 miles to get to it.

3) I had Bell’s Palsy when I was 27, so I have a crooked smile. Asymmetry rocks.

4) I have had a near-death experience.

5) I have jumped out of a perfectly good airplane.

6) For a not-very-athletic person, I’ve done a lot of physical challenges …

…Breast cancer three-day … twice
…Sprint distance triathlons … three times
… 1/2 marathons … eight times
…STP bike ride … once
…Mud run … once

7) The second and third toes on both my feet are stuck together. It did not make me a better swimmer.

8) I rode my bicycle from Seattle to Portland in two days.

9) I got a job once by complimenting the hiring manager on her shorthand. Twenty-four years and seven jobs later, she’s still one of my best friends.

10) I literally got “voted off the island” when I was 16.

11) I have an “Irish Twin”. My younger sister is four days less than a year younger than me.

12) I plan to celebrate my 50th birthday by going to Phuket next year. With my Irish twin.

13) My older sister and I still buy each other rock concert tickets for each other’s birthday every year.

14) I drove around the Grand Circle in Utah with three of my good friends in five days (over 1,000 miles). We’re still good friends.

15) I’ve had three different, wonderful careers. And the second two happened by accident.

How many calories does catching a mouse burn?

Mousecapades

Day one … Let me start by telling you that living alone has its perks. You get to watch trash TV, like America’s Next Top Model and Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. You get to have cereal for dinner, or even just crackers straight from the box. But … you also don’t have anyone to do the dirty work, like “disappear” spiders. Or sympathize with you about the dark streak that scuttled across the kitchen floor while you innocently stand checking your email. (Yikes!) Alas, I find myself unable to “off” the critters. The spiders are cupped and set free. Now I find myself with a humane live trap from PETA to try to snare my furry little rodent houseguest. Wish me luck. At least there was nobody there to hear me squeal like a girl…

Day two … After completely emptying my pantry, vacuuming up 47,000 “pellets”, bleaching the shelving, throwing away a ton of food, and protecting what’s left in plastic bins, I am feeling significantly less charitable toward my little rodent friend. Dude shat in my Kitchen Aid! If he (or she) outsmarts my humane PETA live trap again tonight, it’s curtains. He (or she) will not get another one of my weekend days. Instead, perhaps a little D-Con appetizer…

Day three … Mickie has officially been re-homed. This, after a midnight run (in my pajamas) to the slough by the trail. I’m a pretty tough girl. Been through some $h1t. But I can tell you that releasing a house mouse in the dark … at close to midnight … while it’s raining (did I mention I was in my pajamas?) … next to some strange dude that has seen fit to park by the trail … while Mickie scuttled around my feet … can elicit a girlie-scream that I just did not know I had in me. I am totally stopping at the hardware store for some D-Con. No more Mrs. Nice Guy.

Postscript … I previously mentioned the strange dude in the parking lot on my midnight run to “deliver” my house mouse. I began to think about this from his perspective yesterday. There he was, minding his own … shall I say, “business” … and this car comes CAREENING in to the muddy parking lot at top speed, completely ignoring the potholes that wildly rocked the vehicle, spewing puddle water from its tires. The car screeches to a halt. Door bursts open, and this pajama-clad woman explodes out of the car, holding some (unidentifiable) object at arm’s length. She races in to the sodden, wild grass, leans over for a minute, then begins dancing in a wildly erratic manner. She screams. An other-worldly, blood-curdling shriek. Races back to the car, jumps in. PEELS out of the parking lot, again ignoring the potholes. Man says to himself, “WTF?!” So, mom … I don’t think you had to worry about me being out by myself in the middle of the night. Would you approach this woman?

And the journey begins …

A year ago last June 21st, I was training for a triathlon and had a severe asthma attack in the middle of Lake Washington. The stars were aligned for me, though … I was training with my friend, there were a couple of burly fisherman that just happened to be there to schlep me up on to the dock (at the stern direction of my buddy), the fire station paramedics were a mere minute and a half away, and there just happened to be a police boat patrolling the area. Any one of those things not in place, and I would have been toast (or fish food, as it were).

I remember thinking … it’s a beautiful sunny day, I’m in a boat speeding across Lake Washington with four handsome young paramedics (ahem … young enough to be my son), and I look like THIS?! Then … “we’re going to give you something to relax you”. From then on, it was lights out for a couple of days. Apparently, between the asthma and the lake water in my lungs, my heart was “stunned” and quit beating efficiently enough to keep me alive. Because everything was going my way that day, though, they got me to the hospital in record time. I had an intra-aortic balloon pump inserted in to my heart to keep it beating, and they intubated me to keep me breathing. Sometime the next day, I was conscious enough to hear (with alarming clarity) what was going on, but they had me paralyzed so I couldn’t move anything … no fingers, toes, eyes … nuthin’. That was very, very scary, trying to put the pieces together from what was going on in the room. My doctor tells me that for everyone on duty that night, I became an ER legend for surviving the night. Scared the heck out of my family, though. My first act upon regaining consciousness was to signal for a pen (I was still on the ventilator), and scribble, “WTF? Fine yesterday”. They knew I was going to be okay at that point, AND that I had maintained my sense of humor.

There are minimal lingering effects, but I am significantly more “fluffy” than I was a year ago. Exercise, which had previously kept my weight in check, had to take a sabbatical. I did three triathlons before this happened, but I think I’ll be hanging up my wetsuit. Try something more sedate and land-bound. Like mud runs. These life changes tend to give you a different perspective. Time to take action. I changed jobs. (My previous one had me on the road EVERY week.) I finally bought another house, which I had been longing for. (My own patch of dirt! I can plant flowers! And cook in my own kitchen!)

Since my “really bad swim workout” last year, I’ve gained 20 pounds. This is bad. I am ready to get back to early-morning boot camp, training, and feeling strong. This is good. A few things I’ve learned … 4:50 a.m. is REALLY early! The hula hoop is way harder at 49 than it is at 7, and I want to know who the heck invented tricep dips. I will hunt them down. Sheesh. Next May I turn 50. I am SO grateful to be alive to celebrate it. I vow to enter that third quarter of my life more confident, more fit, and more healthy than I’ve ever been. Here’s to a journey worth traveling.

Postscript … One take-away from all of this, ladies … do not neglect the bikini wax. You never know when some handsome young medic is going to cut off your clothes.