Living the Dream

Day’s Verse:
Anyone who meets a testing challenge head-on and manages to stick it out is mighty fortunate. For such persons loyally in love with God, the reward is life and more life.
James 1:12

A few days ago — Thursday evening, perhaps — I thought, “Gee, it’s been a while since I updated my blag. I’ll do something about that tomorrow afternoon.”

The following afternoon, however, found me horizontal on the couch, unable to painlessly move anything below my neck. Sitting up was a trial, as it involves legs and back. Typing — holding my arms out — forget about it. Much better to just lay on the couch and occasionally groan. In fact, it’s only today that I’ve had the oomph to stay upright long enough to blag. No, I didn’t get in a bike crash; and, in fact, I’ve had crashes that left me feeling less battered than I did on Friday evening.

Nope. I went skiing with my friend Ellen.

Although I know Ellen from the bike world — we’ve taught a number of classes together — she is an avid winter sport person. She loves skiing, snowshoeing, anything that involves snow. For our get-together this month, we decided to play to her strengths and head up to the snow. I’ve never skied before, but figured Ellen could teach me. Her family has kids of a variety of ages and sizes, and handily I was able to borrow her daughter’s skis and boots (her daughter, by the way, is going into middle school). Should be an adventure, right?

We optimistically set off from her house at 7:30 am and reached Cabin Creek, up in Snoqualmie Pass, about an hour and fifteen minutes later. We went by Hyak and she said, “We could ski there, but it’s really boring because it’s totally flat. Let’s go to Cabin Creek, where there’s terrain.” I agreed. Little did I know what “terrain” would mean for me, skiing noob that I am.

Here is a picture of Ellen.

Doesn’t she look nice, happy, and innocuous? A totally misleading image, as it turns out.

Here’s me, partway through our ski adventure, at Hyak.

By the time we took this picture, I’d spent a couple hours slipping, sliding, and — most of all — falling on the “terrain” at Cabin Creek. Despite my big smile, I was already getting some inkling that this was going to be a deeply painful experience, and that the pain wouldn’t go away after we got off the skis.

We started out and I skied for about 3 seconds… and then fell on the first gentle slope. I laughed, got up, and started again. And did it again, and again, and again. I couldn’t keep the skis parallel very well, and those inner-thigh muscles soon began indignantly letting me know that I don’t usually use them, and what was I thinking? Although Ellen did her best to teach me, I never really figured out how to turn, go up hill, go downhill, or stop. That, however, didn’t stop us from going up and down hills, around corners, etc., because that’s what “terrain” involves.

At one point, though, I was skiing along by myself, with Ellen off the front making it look easy, and I had a moment of easy grace that felt like flying. It was beautiful, exhilarating, elegant, joyful, fun. In that moment, I understood why people would choose to ski. Then I fell down and that was the end of my epiphany moment.

After about a mile and a half, Ellen asked if I wanted to go into the woods. Sure, I guess, it can’t be worse than what I’m doing now, right? WRONG. The woods were an intermediate skiing course, and it quickly became abundantly clear that there was no way I’d make it. I fell, and fell, and fell — this time on steeper slopes that were harder to recover from. It was really (a) embarrassing, and (b) painful.

At this point, Ellen decided that maybe terrain wasn’t such a great idea for somebody who’d never skied before, and maybe we should try something a little more boring after all. We decamped to Hyak, which was populated almost entirely by retirees and parents with toddlers on skis (who, by the way, still skied better than I did).

So by the time we took the picture of me at Hyak, I’d had my feet slip out from under me pretty much every way you can imagine. In fact, a few times I was astonished that my legs could get into that tangled of a mess. My inner thigh muscles — whatever they’re called — were really hurting by then, from unaccustomed use as well as all those times I ended up doing some ungraceful version of the splits. My ankles and knees were battered and bruised (still are!). My arms and shoulders started getting tired, too, because in addition to falling on them a bunch, I kept catching myself with the ski poles and, frankly, I have a cyclist’s upper body (which is to say, nothing).

Hyak went better, as it was perfectly flat and I skied in the tracks, which requires almost no skiing ability whatsoever — just right for me. I only fell a couple times. Here’s us partway through Hyak.

Ellen was right, though; I’d never skied before, and I still found Hyak boring on the way back. Boring, but not painless. I could feel my legs getting really fatigued, and it got increasingly difficult to control those already-unruly skis. My ankles also really, really hurt where to tops of the boots were, like maybe I’d put the boots on wrong… or maybe just all the falling bruised my ankles badly and I was just starting to feel it.

In any case, we got back to the parking lot, and I took the skis off… and the car was like a million miles away. It looked like a tiny speck, a car you’d see from an airplane during takeoff. I gritted my teeth and walked, every step misery on my ankles. Somehow the distance dilated to be much shorter than it looked originally, so we got to the car without my collapsing in a puddle of exhaustion (and slush). Putting on my regular shoes, which don’t reach my ankles, was heaven.

The drive back to Ellen’s house, and then my drive home, were exercises in stiffening up. By the time I arrived back home, I could hardly pick my legs up, couldn’t lift my left arm or touch my left ankle (and my right arm and ankle were only a little better), and both my knees had swollen up and were covered with bruises. Verdict: Hot soaky bath required. That didn’t really help, though, as we had no hot water. I dragged my carcass to the couch and hardly moved until Ian levered me out to get into bed.

All Friday night, changing position proved to be an exercise in minimizing agony. It was awful. I cannot even express how much pain I was dealing with. It wasn’t unbearable, but it was really, really bad. It was more than just muscle pain; I know what hard exercise does to muscles, and I’m familiar with that feeling. This was worse. I think I must have pulled a few things in all the falling. Fortunately, I’m young and resilient.

I went for my team bike ride on Saturday morning and confirmed that biking muscles and skiing muscles have very little overlap. My legs did feel fatigued, though. Skiing was hard work. When I got off the bike, the pain all came back. I hobbled around groaning the rest of the day. Sunday was the same, but noticeably less so. Today, on Day 3 After, I’m still sore, but I have almost full ranges of movement back.

Now that’s what I call a good time. Oh my, yes. Because as a cyclist, I understand that pain and fun aren’t incompatible. I’m not sure I want to ski again any time soon, but it was really good to do something I’ve never done before and that I’m really terrible at. It was humbling. And everybody can use a good humbling experience now and again.

4 Snide Remarks

Day’s Verse:
Love never gives up.
Love cares more for others than for self.
1 Cor 13:4-ish

It was bound to happen sometime: On a group ride yesterday, there was a crash. Three riders went down, but fortunately I was not among them. I just started to write a detailed description of what happened, but I’ll just summarize, since the details aren’t that important:

We were riding in a loose paceline with a good amount of space between us, because we were on a very curvy stretch of road. I was towards the back. Riders 1, 2, and 3 were just ahead of me, with the ride leader ahead of them. As we went around a corner, Rider 1 (two bikes ahead of me) slipped and fell; we still don’t know why he went down. Rider 2 (one bike ahead of me) promptly ran into him and went flying over his handlebars. Rider 3 (directly ahead of me) slammed on his brakes and crashed, but didn’t hit anybody. I had time to see the crash happen and react safely — I honestly don’t remember what I did, but it was some combination of steering and stopping. I just remember tossing my bike on the side of the road and running to check the damage to my buddies.

Rider 2 got up fairly quickly, but Riders 1 and 3 stayed on the ground for a while. We established that Rider 3 hadn’t hit anybody, and he seemed okay, but he took a little while to recover and get up. Rider 1 we kept on the ground, because he reported head and neck pain in addition to stomach pain from where Rider 2′s front wheel had run into his stomach — ouch! We called 911.

Then we waited, the ride leader taking care of the guys who’d crashed, while me and the other uninjured rider (who was behind me) directed traffic around the blind curve. This was actually fairly important, as Rider 1 remained in the road, and cars couldn’t see anything until they were right on top of us. We used the familiar “car up” and “clear” to communicate and it worked very well.

The Medic One aid car arrived after a few minutes. They checked everybody out, talked to Rider 1, and started the process of putting him on a backboard preparatory to moving him. They patched up Riders 2 and 3, too, and then waited around for an ambulance to move Rider 1 to the hospital. Rider 2 called his wife, who picked him up and took him to the hospital, too. Rider 3 suffered bruising and some road rash, but he and his bike were okay to go.

A Mercer Island police officer arrived after a while and he started asking what we’d seen. He took my information, as I was the only one who’d actually seen the whole thing firsthand. Then he warned us that Riders 1 and 2 could both receive moving violations for their bike handling failures, because they were operating as vehicles on the roadway. That’s right: In addition to paying craploads of money for medical care and bike/gear repair & replacement, and having weeks of agonizing bruises (if not worse injuries), Riders 1 and 2 could actually be ticketed, too. The cop said that Rider 1 was “driving” too fast for the conditions, if he couldn’t control his bike at that speed; and Rider 2 was following too close if he wasn’t able to stop without a collision. The cop seemed irritated that we’d had this crash on his road, and mentioned all the paperwork for such a minor collision. He also mentioned, almost wistfully, that if this had happened on the I-90 bike trail, it would be a whole different story. Well, too bad, buddy. We were on the road, and you get paperwork.

Eventually we split up. The Medic One aid car took Rider 1 off to some ER. Rider 2 and the ride leader waited for Rider 2′s wife. Rider 3 and I headed back home. I kept an eye on him the whole time, and he seemed okay. Later we found out that Rider 1 “only” suffered from bangs and scrapes. Rider 2 — the guy who went over his handlebars — came off the worst: He fractured his collarbone. He has a one-week-old baby at home, too, which I imagine will add to the fun of recovery.

So that was the first significant crash I’ve witnessed on the road. It shook me up. I wasn’t immediately involved, thank goodness, but it wouldn’t have been difficult for me to be Rider 1 or 2. A different ride order, is all it would’ve taken. As the cop pointed out: Everything has risk. Riding in a paceline on a curvy, damp road is risky. We accept that, and usually it’s fine. I’m grateful I wasn’t in the crash, but if I had been, I’ve accepted that as part of riding — the benefits of riding outweigh those dangers. Even so, I’m feeling a little twitchy about group riding.

1 Snide Remark

Day’s Verse:
Everything was created through him;
nothing—not one thing!—
came into being without him.
What came into existence was Life,
and the Life was Light to live by.
The Life-Light blazed out of the darkness;
the darkness couldn’t put it out.
John 1:3-5

Merry Christmas, only a little bit late. Life has gotten busy since December 19, but in the best possible way: Family, friends, giving gifts, eating, playing games, going for walks. I really value the time we’re able to spend not necessarily doing things, but just being together with people. We kept Christmas very low-key from a gift-giving standpoint, and as a result, we aren’t inundated with “wonderful” gifts that we don’t have anything to do with. As usual, though, we did give away lots of money to a wide variety of charities, which I find much more satisfying than giving people stuff.

On the stuff side, though, I had a very cool thing happen. About a month ago, I got an email from Apple. They said that the batteries of first-generation iPod Nanos, like the one I owned, had started exploding. Exciting! So, much as I wanted to keep a potentially explosive device, I filled out the paperwork to return my iPod to Apple. A few days later, I got an empty cardboard box, including return shipping label, with special iPod-shaped foam inside. I put my iPod in it as per the directions and shipped it off to Apple. They promised “a replacement” in about 6 weeks.

Time went by and I forgot about it. I hardly use my iPod these days — I don’t use it on my bike, because of the risk; when I’m at home, I use my computer speakers or the really nice speakers downstairs; in the car I listen to the radio (NPR, usually). Not working in an office, I don’t have to worry about keeping my music to myself. Owning music isn’t really on my radar these days. Why buy an album or song when you could stream?

Anyway, periodically I wondered what the Apple “replacement” would be. A “new” first-gen Nano? A newer Nano? I figured that anything newer than my old iPod would be an improvement: Devices only get better with time, usually. The latest iPod Nano is a really spiffy device quite different from the one Ian gave me, oh gosh, 6 or so years ago.

Then, a couple days before Christmas, I got the shipping notification from Apple. My curiosity went up a notch. What would my replacement involve? I admit, I hoped for something better than an exact replacement, although I couldn’t exactly complain if they gave me a first-gen to replace my first-gen. Long story short, my box from Apple came today. Inside: An 8 gig current-generation Nano. Awesome! It has twice the memory my old Nano did, is half the size, has a touch screen, and was totally free to me.

Merry Christmas, indeed!

1 Snide Remark

Day’s Verse:
The Word was first,
the Word present to God,
God present to the Word.
The Word was God,
in readiness for God from day one.
John 1:1-2

Ian is reading The Passage, by Justin Cronin. I read this book last year (ish), and suffice it to say the descriptions of vampires had me turning on all the lights in the house before I walked around after dark. Creepy. Just the fact that Ian’s reading it gives me the shivers when I remember it.

I, on the other hand, just finished Portrait of Dorian Gray and have started in on The Sparrow. I’d never read Dorian Gray before, and I enjoyed the writing, of course, although I found the philosophy espoused revolting. I have nothing thoughtful to say about Dorian Gray, I’m sorry to say.

The Sparrow I read once before, some years ago. It’s the type of book I find myself drawn to, even though I can’t bear to read it more than once every few years. Books of inexorable fate slowly bearing down on the characters, regardless of their choices, behavior, or struggles; books in which the characters’ interpretation of events, reactions, and misunderstandings drive them to their fates, one inexorable step at a time; in short, tragedies. Last January I described that very type of book. Lo and behold, The Sparrow has that sense of inevitability and deep characterization that I find myself drawn to. It’s melancholy, but beautiful. Usually those types of books leave me thoughtfully pondering their themes much longer than otherwise.

I aspire to one day write a story that leaves the reader feeling the way she does at the end of The Sparrow, Time Traveler’s Wife, The Giver, or Wreck of the River of Stars.

Anyway, after this, I may need to read something cheerful and upbeat. Any recommendations?

2 Snide Remarks

Day’s Verse:
Everyone had to travel to his own ancestral hometown to be accounted for. So Joseph went from the Galilean town of Nazareth up to Bethlehem in Judah, David’s town, for the census. As a descendant of David, he had to go there. He went with Mary, his fiancée, who was pregnant…
Luke 2:2-5

If you lived here, this is what you would see.

And it would be normal.

Make a Snide Remark

Day’s Verse:
They entered the house and saw the child in the arms of Mary, his mother. Overcome, they kneeled and worshiped him. Then they opened their luggage and presented gifts: gold, frankincense, myrrh.
Matthew 2:11

Although my family’s never been big on Christmas traditions, we do like to pull out our ornaments every year and reminisce about them. When I got old enough, Mom gave me my box of personal ornaments, which I had labeled all by myself when I was in elementary school. Taking it out this year, I actually read what I’d written as a kid, and had to smile. I tried hard, anyway.

Try 1: Kathleen’s Orn[a]ments

This is a good try, and at least at age 8 I was able to spell my name and, astonishingly, use an apostrophe correctly — more than many adults can do today. “Ornaments” proved more challenging, though, as the next attempts demonstrate.

Try 2: Kathleen’s Christmas Orn[a]ments

Oops, missed that elusive a again. Drat.

Try 3: Kathleen’s Christman Orname[n]ts

Uh-oh, getting worse. “Christmas” does sound rather like “Christman,” and I suppose you could argue that Christmas is about Christ-man… “Ornaments” continued to defeat me, although this time I missed the second n rather than the a.

Try 4: Kathleen’s Chriscman Ornaments

“Christmas” continues to pose a real problem for me — defeated by phonetic spelling! — but at least “ornaments” came out right this time. And check it out: Nana sent our presents in a box formerly containing electronic typewriter correctable ribbon. How quaint! It’s even dated: Do not open until 12/24/92. This box has floated around our family for almost 20 years.

On no side of the box did I actually successfully spell “Kathleen’s Christmas Ornaments” correctly, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. It was more for lack of box sides.

3 Snide Remarks

Day’s Verse:
I’ve decided that there’s nothing better to do than go ahead and have a good time and get the most we can out of life. That’s it—eat, drink, and make the most of your job. It’s God’s gift.
Ecclesiastes 3:13-ish

Strapping on my watch always helps me get into a working-world frame of mind. I don’t wear a watch at home; watches are for keeping track of time during a training and making sure we stay on schedule. During trainings, I usually preface our breaks by saying, “Okay, we’ll do a 15-minute break. It’s 10:25 right now, so be back by 10:40.” Then, at 10:40, I make sure we’re really going again. If people are off answering emails on their smartphones, we start anyway, because I’m a firm believer in sticking to the schedule. We start on time, and we almost always finish early. During the training, I keep an eye on my watch while the other trainer is talking, too, and I’ll help her keep on time (solicited help that we agreed upon ahead of time).

Some participants have commented that they find this overly controlling, seeing me as a time Nazi, with no flexibility in the schedule. But other participants have given me positive feedback for the very same behavior; these people are probably on-time type people themselves, and they appreciate adherence to advertised times. Personally, I believe in adhering closely to the schedule as a way of respecting the participants’ time. Most of them are teachers with 10,000 responsibilities, of which my training is just one — often one they don’t even want. By finishing on time or early, I feel like I’m able to help acknowledge that shared reality.

When I’m not working, though, I leave the watch on my desk. My phone — the watch replacement for many people — stays on the counter. I don’t keep an eye on the time at all, unless I have an appointment. Even then, sometimes I’ll set a timer rather than always watching the clock.

We have this societal agreement to divide time into all these discrete units: Years, months, weeks, days, hours, minutes, seconds, and even smaller if you want to go there. That’s a handy convention, sure, but I want to just live, and let time take care of itself. This moment won’t ever come again. If I don’t live in it because I’m anticipating another moment, I’ve sacrificed something irreplaceable.

I get to practice this philosophy from here on out, because I had to cancel the training schedule for this week due to a forecast of “wintry mix” for tonight and Thursday in the Tri-Cities. Mixed snow and rain, followed by freezing fog: Not safe conditions for doing a bike class.

So my week, which looked busy, suddenly emptied out. I’m feeling let down and bummed out, because I looked forward to and was all prepared for this last training. I packed up the car and everything. We canceled 15 minutes before I had to leave the house. This was the last training until March, when a few school districts need last-minute training; then the grant ends after March, leaving me once again unsure about my future.

The big question is: What next? The big answer: It’s a mystery. I’m going to let future Katie worry about it, while present Katie lives in this moment.

Make a Snide Remark