Spinning 'Round and 'Round
My running has been really stale lately--I just haven't had any oomph to it. I even had a dream not long ago that I was running the Miami Marathon. I was on the MacArthur Causeway, just about two or three miles in, when I suddenly thought, "Why the hell am I running this again? I just ran this marathon a month ago! What am I trying to prove?" I decided in my dream that I'd stop where Adam, Doodles, and Pie would be watching me, from in front of my parents' place, which is around mile 8. I'd just head in, have some breakfast and call it a nice morning run. But then, suddenly, I couldn't move my legs. They felt like lead. I just had to run a measly five or six miles, but I was completely stuck.
I'm sure this dream has more far-reaching meaning, but I opted to take from it that I'm a bit burnt out on running. So I've venturing out. I'll still run three or four days a week, but no more than three miles on weekdays and no more than six miles on Saturday. So now, on Wednesday nights I'm taking a yoga class. I started a Friday morning Boot Camp class at my gym (the local Y). And this morning, for the first time, I took a spinning class.
First of all, man did it kick my butt! But the thing is, the minute I sat on that bike seat and had the familiar "ooh it's been a long time since I sat on a bike seat" burn on my tushie, it brought me back seven years (really? Has it really been seven years) to when I was a bike rider in Seattle. And, then, as I thought about blogging it, I thought, "I'll just link to my STP training." And then it hit me--I wasn't a blogger back them--I only started blogging in October 2001. I have no record of my training. I've fallen into this mode of "I blog therefore I am," so if I have no blog history of it, did it really happen? Of course, I'm staring at the patch I got from the race, which is on a bulletin board next to me, with all my running medals (I need the constant motivation to get my ass out there and moving), so I know it happened.
Way back when, when I was free and single and childless, I had a life (no, really!). Although I was so wrapped up in my job, that some might dispute that life. I worked Amazon
, I played Amazon, I was Amazon. No surprise that Adam and I actually met through Amazon (he was evil finance; I was cool editorial). But even before my Adam days, I worked hard and played hard.
So, Amazonians (at least in those days when it wasn't just a bunch of MBAs) used to make the most of their off time by going extreme. Folks didn't just ski--they drove late in the evening after a full day's work to get in a little night skiing to tide them over till their weekends at Whistler. People didn't just go mountain biking for an afternoon--they spent entire vacations flying at top speed down the sides of mountains. People didn't just go out for a beer after work--they spent days in a alcoholic stupor wondering where they hell they had just woken up. So I had to find my niche. I admit, my original sport was martinis. But slowly I began to develop the sporty gene. I had a hand-me-down mountain bike and, with some girlfriends, I trained for and competed in the Danskin Triathlon for Women. I thought I was hot stuff, doing a triathlon, especially as I went from biking nothing to biking a whole sixteen miles! I mean, sixteen miles! That's really far.
I was in this hot stuff mode when my buddy and coworker, Weegie, casually said, "I'm doing the STP with Todd and Scott. Do you want to do it with us?" Now, the Seattle to Portland bike ride is a big event that sounded pretty cool. Ride 100 miles. Camp out. Ride the second 100 miles and arrive in Portland. But going from 16 miles to 100 miles? Was it doable? At the time it was February and the ride was in July. What the hell, I thought. "Yah, sure. That could be fun. Where do you think you'll camp?"
To which Weegie responded, "Camp? Well, if you want to do it in two days you can. But we're doing it in one day."
What did he say? More importantly, What did I hear? (Which, of course, is often not the same thing.) Did someone just challenge me? Challenge me to keep up with the boys? Hmmm! Would it be foolhardy and dumb to ride 200 miles just to keep up with the boys? Um, yeah! Did I do it anyway? Hell ya! Five months of training, including seven or eight hours every Saturday, a couple of hours on Sundays, rides to and from work. I ended up riding the STP by my lonesome--as macho as I was (am), I couldn't keep up with the boys--but after fourteen hours, I crossed that finish line to the cheers of my buddies. So worth it.
I have so many fond memories of training. Weegie used to write up these extensive training manuals, with tips, routes, and motivation. The first time I went out riding with Weegie, he promised me an easy ride. Thirty miles and a zillion hills later (I still remember that little weasel saying to me, after promising a flat ride, "Wow, that was actually a really hilly ride), I couldn't move, nevermind sit down in my seat. By the end of the summer, a ninety-mile ride wasn't a big deal. I had calves of steel. After all my various training--triathlon, marathon, strength training--that bike training had me in the best shape I've ever been in.
Lately, I've been getting more of these flashes back to my old life. Even at tonight's yoga, I can't help but think of standing in the big workout studio at Olympic Gym (man, do I miss that gym!), contorting my body as Ricardo, the teacher, exhorted me to raise my hips higher in downward facing dog. Lying in Savasana, I feel exactly the way I did back then, but instead of builds and blurbs and deadlines elbowing into my quiet space as I tried to still my mind and live in the moment, I have diapers and dramas and, well, deadlines, wandering through my head.
I like these flashes of the old me, these tiny glimpses into my life pre-family. I don't miss it. In fact, I often see younger versions of me out on the street, childless, happy, carefree. And I can feel pleased that I was once just like them, that I had my wild fun. I remember once saying to a friend that I could never imagine myself married, that it seemed such a constricting thought, because I couldn't stand the idea of never having another first kiss. And then I reached the point where I met a guy who made me think, "I've had enough first kisses." So I married him.
And now I have a different kind of fun. The kind of fun where ordering in sushi and watching a video on demand is a cozy and romantic night. The kind of fun where I look at my son in amazement and think, "Where did this little person come from?" The kind of fun where my daughter can make me wonder, "What would it feel like if you plunged both hands into the paint and rubbed them on your belly?"
Amazing what one simple spin class can bring up. I'd better not sign up for the abs class. God knows where that will lead me.
I'm sure this dream has more far-reaching meaning, but I opted to take from it that I'm a bit burnt out on running. So I've venturing out. I'll still run three or four days a week, but no more than three miles on weekdays and no more than six miles on Saturday. So now, on Wednesday nights I'm taking a yoga class. I started a Friday morning Boot Camp class at my gym (the local Y). And this morning, for the first time, I took a spinning class.
First of all, man did it kick my butt! But the thing is, the minute I sat on that bike seat and had the familiar "ooh it's been a long time since I sat on a bike seat" burn on my tushie, it brought me back seven years (really? Has it really been seven years) to when I was a bike rider in Seattle. And, then, as I thought about blogging it, I thought, "I'll just link to my STP training." And then it hit me--I wasn't a blogger back them--I only started blogging in October 2001. I have no record of my training. I've fallen into this mode of "I blog therefore I am," so if I have no blog history of it, did it really happen? Of course, I'm staring at the patch I got from the race, which is on a bulletin board next to me, with all my running medals (I need the constant motivation to get my ass out there and moving), so I know it happened.
Way back when, when I was free and single and childless, I had a life (no, really!). Although I was so wrapped up in my job, that some might dispute that life. I worked Amazon
, I played Amazon, I was Amazon. No surprise that Adam and I actually met through Amazon (he was evil finance; I was cool editorial). But even before my Adam days, I worked hard and played hard. So, Amazonians (at least in those days when it wasn't just a bunch of MBAs) used to make the most of their off time by going extreme. Folks didn't just ski--they drove late in the evening after a full day's work to get in a little night skiing to tide them over till their weekends at Whistler. People didn't just go mountain biking for an afternoon--they spent entire vacations flying at top speed down the sides of mountains. People didn't just go out for a beer after work--they spent days in a alcoholic stupor wondering where they hell they had just woken up. So I had to find my niche. I admit, my original sport was martinis. But slowly I began to develop the sporty gene. I had a hand-me-down mountain bike and, with some girlfriends, I trained for and competed in the Danskin Triathlon for Women. I thought I was hot stuff, doing a triathlon, especially as I went from biking nothing to biking a whole sixteen miles! I mean, sixteen miles! That's really far.
I was in this hot stuff mode when my buddy and coworker, Weegie, casually said, "I'm doing the STP with Todd and Scott. Do you want to do it with us?" Now, the Seattle to Portland bike ride is a big event that sounded pretty cool. Ride 100 miles. Camp out. Ride the second 100 miles and arrive in Portland. But going from 16 miles to 100 miles? Was it doable? At the time it was February and the ride was in July. What the hell, I thought. "Yah, sure. That could be fun. Where do you think you'll camp?"
To which Weegie responded, "Camp? Well, if you want to do it in two days you can. But we're doing it in one day."
What did he say? More importantly, What did I hear? (Which, of course, is often not the same thing.) Did someone just challenge me? Challenge me to keep up with the boys? Hmmm! Would it be foolhardy and dumb to ride 200 miles just to keep up with the boys? Um, yeah! Did I do it anyway? Hell ya! Five months of training, including seven or eight hours every Saturday, a couple of hours on Sundays, rides to and from work. I ended up riding the STP by my lonesome--as macho as I was (am), I couldn't keep up with the boys--but after fourteen hours, I crossed that finish line to the cheers of my buddies. So worth it.
I have so many fond memories of training. Weegie used to write up these extensive training manuals, with tips, routes, and motivation. The first time I went out riding with Weegie, he promised me an easy ride. Thirty miles and a zillion hills later (I still remember that little weasel saying to me, after promising a flat ride, "Wow, that was actually a really hilly ride), I couldn't move, nevermind sit down in my seat. By the end of the summer, a ninety-mile ride wasn't a big deal. I had calves of steel. After all my various training--triathlon, marathon, strength training--that bike training had me in the best shape I've ever been in.
Lately, I've been getting more of these flashes back to my old life. Even at tonight's yoga, I can't help but think of standing in the big workout studio at Olympic Gym (man, do I miss that gym!), contorting my body as Ricardo, the teacher, exhorted me to raise my hips higher in downward facing dog. Lying in Savasana, I feel exactly the way I did back then, but instead of builds and blurbs and deadlines elbowing into my quiet space as I tried to still my mind and live in the moment, I have diapers and dramas and, well, deadlines, wandering through my head.
I like these flashes of the old me, these tiny glimpses into my life pre-family. I don't miss it. In fact, I often see younger versions of me out on the street, childless, happy, carefree. And I can feel pleased that I was once just like them, that I had my wild fun. I remember once saying to a friend that I could never imagine myself married, that it seemed such a constricting thought, because I couldn't stand the idea of never having another first kiss. And then I reached the point where I met a guy who made me think, "I've had enough first kisses." So I married him.
And now I have a different kind of fun. The kind of fun where ordering in sushi and watching a video on demand is a cozy and romantic night. The kind of fun where I look at my son in amazement and think, "Where did this little person come from?" The kind of fun where my daughter can make me wonder, "What would it feel like if you plunged both hands into the paint and rubbed them on your belly?"
Amazing what one simple spin class can bring up. I'd better not sign up for the abs class. God knows where that will lead me.
1 Comments:
I have those moments from time to time and they always hit me a bit squarely where it hurts. I came to Seattle by way of Portland and now we live in Ann Arbor, which so ery much pales in comparison to the two. My young professional years were in those cities. Lately I've been reminiscing a little too much about life before kids, looking at my husband and wishing we could go back to those days, just for a month, to relive it. I miss it, like I miss walking Greenlake, looking at the cherry blossoms in the PNW morning, breathing in the smell of the sound, driving upon the vista of downtown and catching my breath at the beauty of the city. Seattle will always be my true (adopted) home. It's choking me up a bit just to think about it. Thanks for the little spark!
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