Call Me Bob

As in discombobulated. As in the bobbing in the pool with no sense of direction -- or rather with the waves slapping me in all directions. We waved the kids off to summer today and since they've left, I've been a whirlwind of self-induced activity. A close colleague is retiring so we saw her off with a second-to-last luncheon. Then I screamed into my classroom and dug in. The shelves got my attention, the cabinets... I even made it to the file cabinet before I was interrupted and reminded that the staff party starts at 4:00. I biked home and am going to squeeze in a run before arriving at the party late.

But see, thing is -- my head is still in those files. I'm culling and pulling the best stuff to pore over this summer and revise my units. I'm thinking word studies and demigods and theme. I'm thinking new novel and a whole semester of revised gifted curriculum. And I'm motivated to do it! But alas... the running trail and then a night of wine with colleagues calls. What are the chances my head will be in the game tomorrow??

Do not answer that.

Embarking

My shoulders hurt, my knees ache, and my ego is bruised. I'm not as good at things as I want to be, as I thought I was. I'm not who I thought I would be. The failures in my life greet me in the mirror, grinning in my pretending face.

I'm having a tough time in my own skin these days. But/and it is nothing new. I have been like this. Perennially discontent. While the leopard of my discontent doesn't change its spots, they do vary in shade and degree. And they're killin me these days. So me and my spots are gonna march to the beat of a new drum, a pulse, a heartbeat. I am going to meditate. My body has been reacting adversely to my other "remedies": I can't take the excessive exercise anymore, I always knew that happiness did not lie at the bottom of the Ben & Jerry's container, and going out with friends only works when you actually leave the house.

Tonight while I was soaking in this selfness, with various books and other forms of distraction strewn around me, I chanced upon that book that's been neglected since I bought it four years ago -- Mindfulness in Plain English. Already it speaks the truth and hits my nail on its head and I've only started.

I will continue tri training and pursuing excellence in my teaching, but I want freedom from the unhealthy aspects of drive and desire. I want to perceive clearly, to see what is, is. I want to accept it without judging. I would add that I want it all yesterday, but that sorta flies in the face of the sagacity I'm after. Today I start.

The Rain Keeps Falling

I know I should be happy for it because we need it. Fire danger and such. But truly it depresses me. I'm already depressed and weepy. I am going to miss these kids like crazy. They drive me nuts and keep me from my work and interrupt me, but I am going to miss them and the purpose they give my days. I am going to miss the autism-spectrum kid who wore his puffy orange coat all winter and ran through the halls throwing elbows to get to lunch. I'm going to miss him barging into my room every morning and sweeping my hands off my keyboard so he can load music for me to play anonymously ("I feel funny when the kids ask me all those questions") at Advisement. I'm going to miss the girl who used copious amounts of glitter on every project this year. I'm going to miss her and her friend coming into my room in the morning and talking each other's ears off about swim practices. I'm going to miss them dropping their voices to whisper the latest 7th grade girl drama. They shield me so well.

I am happy that the school year is ending and I want summer vacation and I felt the initial rush of excitement and have travel plans and exercise plans, but man, I'm gonna miss these kids. And this slow, drenching rain we're getting is no cure for my weepies.

Pondering...

I am just back from the pool and it seems like everything I ever knew was learned there. I learned how to breathe, I learned how to pace myself. I learned how to be long and lean and stay on my side to milk every ounce of distance out of that scull. Ahh...

I swim and feel how it is to be smoothly in control versus flailing like  a madwoman. When the flailing begins, I reel myself in. I reflect. I am pacing myself these days. I'm not climbing like a fiend -- partly from choice, partly because I've been coaching and can't fit climbing in. I have been biking, walking, and swimming once per week.

I have not confined my pondering to the pool. I had an impromptu think session one night when I flatted an hour from home. I had a tube and tire tool, but had removed my pump some months ago to cut weight for a supported ride. It never quite made it back onto my bike. Brilliant, I know. But, the walk was appreciated. It was sunny and I didn't start blistering (note: these bike shoes are not made for walkin') until home was in striking distance. So I walked and soaked up the sun. Sweat trickled down my back and beaded under my helmet and it was good.

It occurred to me that rock climbing may not be my Next Thing. It takes advance planning. It takes a partner whose goals are closely-aligned, and it takes me away from home. Nor does it feel like swimming. So I hatched the notion that I just might become a triathlete again. I've climbed mountains and plugged my holes on them. I'm just not compelled to get back to them. (Funny how the drive left once I'd done  the 14ers and how perfectly the two years it took to complete them also completed my divorce self-remedy.) Mountaineering has a big checkmark alongside it.

Walking on that bike path, I was struck by my tri training options. That very bike path is within spitting distance of my deck. (Well, even if I couldn't exactly hit it, I'd give it reason to pay attention.) There are dirt running paths all along a nearby creek, and the pool is five minutes away.

This all started with the putzy little tri training I'm doing for my family's annual sprint triathlon -- in which I will be participating for the first time in three years. And now... who knows where it will take me. I'm already dreaming of a tri bike and AG awards, not to mention hours on the bike exploring these country roads and trying open water swimming in reservoirs. Running doesn't even frighten my creaky knees. Match?

Side-note re: climbing -- I did meet the goal of getting the lead cave 10 route. Just this week, the night after I'd decided to ease off, I nailed it. (Of course.) I had dreamed of it on Sunday night and the dream came back. I was confident and scooted up to and through the crux. I will continue to climb socially and to peck away at my climbing goals, but triathlon... I'm sniffing around your door again. :-)

Fire Breather

Papa Bear swooped in to save the Skinny Defenseless cub from Dragon Breath.

So I blew on him too. I huffed and puffed my all-day-teaching coffee breath all over him. I hope his house is shuddering tonight. He lives in a precious place where belief does not match reality. Where his kid's tears matter more than those of anyone else's kids.

I live in that gingerbread house down yonder. By day I sit at my desk and drink second rate coffee. Lots of it. I sit behind said desk, cracking my whip for the children to work and breathing on them should they get too close. I'm a super hero who isn't afraid to mix my genres and am positively fearless when it comes to my metaphors.

But I digress. Back to Papa Bear...

He swooped in when Poor Defenseless got caught and called out. Now Poor Defenseless became not only that but also acquired the virtues and title of Innocent Perfect Sweet Kindness. Papa Bear asserted that he knows her well enough and she would never bully another kid.

(Hahahahahahahahahaha. Parents, we all know our kids would never do ---. Fill in the blank. FYI: Your kid would do it. Sorry. This isn't a happy ending fairy tale. Tonight I serve up the under-represented witch's perspective.)

So Innocent was crying, and I nearly was with heartache for the bullied girl and anger at that Big Bear lumbering onto my turf and throwing his shirt-tucked-in, I'm a big-important-in-this-district-hardass around. Nailing me to the wall with, "Couldn'ta been my kid. Are you sure it was bullying? I don't use that word lightly."

Well, Papa Bear, she was not playing nice and perfect. To the point where bullied girl went home crying. I hope Innocence cries tonight. I hope she thinks. And Papa Bear, I hope you heard me say that your hard-on is not welcome in this house. I hope you heard me say step off and let the girl cry. Let her reflect on what she did. Let her come talk to me if I was wrong. Let her talk to the girl who went home crying because of her actions. I can sleep in my just-right bed tonight. And Papa Bear, if my words didn't give you pause, I hope my coffee breath stopped you in your tracks.

Energy

Today is the kind of day where enthusiasm and joie de vivre exudes from your pores if you spend even 30 seconds outside. I just spent an hour. My brain tentacles eked out in thoughts and wonderings, possibilities -- nay, inevitabilities! It's that kind of day in Colorado.

My mind went to economy. I want economy of movement, economy of swim stroke, economy in the delivery of instruction to my students. I want economy in my writing. I wanna cut, cut, cut extra words. I never dreamed economy would turn my crank, but it's doing it for me today.

My brain wandered to yesterday's climbing trip. It started ingloriously with a drive through pea soup fog capped by an ice pellet greeting at the parking lot. There ensued a healthy debate on bailing. We decided to hike in and at least take a peak at the crags. Then, as it is wont to do in Colorado, the sun popped out and saved the day. I shed my down layer and raincoat on the hike in. By the afternoon, I wished I could shed right down to skins. Warmth permeated the air and the rock was warm to touch... mmm...

Cayenne sent an 11A on lead. I was about 100 feet away, doing a 10B on top rope and heard her grunting (unusual) and turned to see her 30 feet up her crag, working in a circular motion on the wall, looking to optimize her position for the next grab. I could hear people yelling encouragement, her belayer and his constant stream of beta. Below me was Cinnamon Stick (the token male on some of our climbing nights), sweating and shirtless. Typical of the way in which we girls let each other know we have each other's backs, I told Cayenne to get going; I didn't want to see her ass looking fat as she hung. The guy climbing the route next to mine laughed and said I didn't know him that well yet. It was that kind of day -- wonderful, with everyone in a celebratory, sun-salutory kind of mood.

It's an ahh... spring, warmth, sun kind of energy. I'm in. :-)

Ladder 2000 Swim Workout

I started triathlon training today. *Gasp* in more ways than one. This will be my first tri since 2009. I last swam in October. So, like the fish out of water I've been, I gasped my way through this 2000 yarder. This used to be a short workout; today it was positively a doozy.

300 yards EZ - Ahhh... Drape self at end of lane for one minute to catch breath.

6 x 50 Kick w/ 30 seconds rest. - Huff and puff and blow someone's house down. The little girl with pink inflatable arm bands in the next lane heard me coming and turned around, startled, "Oooh!" Thanks, kid.

3 x 150 Pull w/ 30 rest - My shoulders, my shoulders! I think they realized we weren't climbing, but still decided to w-ache up. I worked on my catch. I've forgotten a lot.

100 - 15 rest

200 - 30 rest

300 - 45 rest

200 - 30 rest

100 - La la la. I have always been fond of ladder workouts.

50 EZ

Time: 50 minutes. Nothing was fast, except maybe my breathing. But, dang, I did it! I am back in the water!

Peak Picking

I am shivering with anticipation! Strong Sis and her family are coming out for spring break and I'm in charge of scouting out a 14er for us to do. I have three options: two long class 1s and one shorter class 2. Avy conditions are currently good. The roads are icy but open to their usual winter closures. That adds six miles to the summer distance, but as those are road miles, they're an easy march. I'm pumped!

So here's what I'm considering for us:

• Grays Peak - 13.5 miles RT, great views and it's close to Denver. It is pictured here with its neighboring 14er, Torreys Peak, as seen from Option 2, Mt. Bierstadt.
• Mt. Bierstadt - 13 miles RT. I've done this one four times already so I'm not as excited about it, but it's an "easy" one so it has to make the list.
• Mt. Yale - Class 2, 9.5 miles RT. This one turns my crank. I have a thing for the Collegiate Peaks and I have a special affinity with this one. On my first attempt, Yale handed me my keister on a snowy platter. On my second (successful) attempt, I took my friend's dog and had a ball outlasting her energy. On my third trip, then-boyfriend and I snowshoed to treeline to share hot chocolate, full-on sun, and belly-aching about the difficulty of winter 14ers and false summits before turning back. I love the stories that peak tells me!

As you can see, my heart lies with Yale, but I have to be practical. It is class 2. Not many people have been up it. That means we will be breaking trail. That's hard work. It also means that I will have to do really good route-reading. That has never been a strength of mine, but I have improved. Yet in winter... everything changes. All trail markings wear a snowy disguise. Hm... Another Yale story or not?

Open Letter to My Father

Because of my recent breakup, I have been subjected to my father's judgments and prognostications. I, apparently, am having trouble "moving on" since my divorce. I have done nothing! I have not been happy in the least, just a weeping pile of misery. What an ass. To judge me and my life like that. The presumption is that he knows what's best for me and that he and mom have to "worry" about me because I'm not married with 2.2 kids living in some big house, going to dance recitals, and sending pictures of his grandkids to all our relatives. He wants to see me married off and taken care of. Or some such thing. Well, I would like a mate, Dad, but I'm not going to saddle myself with some man who has no initiative -- even if you like him. He drank too much, worked too much, and intuited too little. Get off my back.

Open your eyes and see the good I have in my life. That's what I do every day. I have sadness and loneliness, but you did not raise me to moan about my woes.

Open your eyes and see the good I have done in my life. I give as deeply as I know how. I talk with kids about ideas, read their writing, and read their faces. I intuit what they need next. I care about their education, I care about their hearts. I am driven. I touch their lives and those of my colleagues. What I possess is what I give. My knowledge, my resourcefulness and problem-solving, my humor, my smile. These strengths are in demand. I give them.

Dad, acknowledge that I am a round character and quit trying to flatten me out with your notions of what happiness has to look like for every person. Really love ME, not your idea of what I should be as your daughter, as a woman in this society.

Dad, I am a mountain climber. I scale rocks for fun. I ski in blizzards. I laugh while cornering on curvy hills. I am not a mommy. I am not a cook. I am an athlete and a go-getter. I am a thinker and a feeler. I am a friend, sister and aunt. I am a good daughter.

Hello, Dad, meet me.