Remembering

Just about five years ago, I started my very first practicum experience.  I was placed in a grade 6 class at Lavallee School, under the watchful eye of Alan Bielaszka.  Even though I was only there for half a day a week, that practicum had a surprising influence on me.  

Al was a wonderful cooperating teacher.  He was always so positive and fun to be around.  I would often hang out in his room for at least half an hour after school, just chatting.  Other teachers would wander into his room, just for that end-of-the-day boost he would give.

Even though I was only a first year education student, Al even let me teach the kids a bit.  I distinctly remember trying to teach them how to perform mathematical operations on fractions.  I doubt I did a particularly good job, but he never said so.  He just let me try.  

The students were great.  In fact, I still keep in touch with a couple of them.  We got to form some pretty good relationships there.  I'd have to say that a lot of this was Al's "fault."  See, every recess, when other teachers hid away from the students to try to regain some sanity, Al went out with his class.  In the winter, they played football.  It was Mr. B and the girls (and Mo Mo - without argument the best receiver in the class) vs. me (or Miss Pirnie, another student teacher) and the boys.  Nearly the entire class played.  The score was kept running all week.  The girls+ almost always won.  They were better organized, and each of the boys wanted the limelight.  But what a good time.

The students never wondered if Mr. B cared about them.  Not really.  I mean, every grade 6 kid will at some point accuse the teacher of picking on them, or not liking them, or being unfair.  But these guys knew - when it came right down to it, Mr. B was on their side.  

And he did his best for them.  He wanted all of them to reach their potential, whatever that may be, and did what he could to help them succeed.

I think of Alan often.  Whenever I drive by Lavallee.  Whenever I see one of the students from that class.  When I'm lesson planning.  When I see teachers interacting with students above and beyond the "call of duty."  When I see them avoiding any additional interaction.

We kept in contact over the years.  A couple of years ago, I popped into Lavallee to say hi.  A lot had happened in his life since I had seen him.  He had gone through treatment for cancer.  He was divorced.  Life was different, but he was happy.  It was on the mend.

Shortly after, I found out that he was seeing someone, and then that they were married.  It was so good to see him so happy.  We continued to chat now and then on Facebook, just keeping up on life.

And then today, I saw something.  I had been invited to join the group "R.I.P. Mr. Bielaszka."  My heart jumped into my throat.  I searched his name and went to his profile.  And there they were.  The last words to a great man.  He passed away on October 6th.  Almost two months ago now.  I wish I had known, but there's nothing I can do about that.  

I miss him.  I missed him before, but I miss him more now that I know he's gone.  But I was given some wise words.  "Don't squander what he taught you, but use yourself as a vessel to teach others what was important for him in what he taught you."  I can't go back and thank him one last time for everything he taught me, but I can do what he meant for me to do.  Care about my students.  Do my best.  Teach them well.  And teach them to do the same.

Goodbye Alan.  You are truly missed.

History...Not Cleared

I sat down at my computer today and started typing in various sites in the address bar.  These were websites I had visited recently, and was surprised when they weren't automatically coming up.  "How odd," I thought. At first I wondered if Caleb had accidentally cleared the history when he was on, and then I remembered that Darryl had been on last night.  (For any of you who do not know, Darryl is, for lack of a better term, my boyfriend, and probably the biggest reason I haven't written anything here lately.  To be honest, my mind has been pretty preoccupied by thoughts of him.  Yes, "young" love...sigh...)  Did he clear it?  Why would he do that?  My mind was suddenly flooded with various reasons why he might clear the browsing history in my computer, some less savoury than others.  I had no real reason to think he was doing anything inappropriate, so why would these thoughts come to mind?

Now, I know that in today's society, we have been raised to be very cautious.  In my opinion, oftentimes overcautious.  However, I blame my thoughts more on history.  Just like, when I type "pc" into my browser, it automatically fills in the PC Financial address, or plug in "mb" and Manitoba Cycling comes up, there are things that trigger my own relationship "browsing history."  I came out of a relationship that lacked trust.  More often than not, it was for good reason.  And now, when a similar situation came up that had been an issue in this past relationship, the same doubts and emotions came rushing back.

If something I'm typing in my web browser is consistently bringing up a site that I don't want to go to, possibly ever again, there is a simple solution.  Clear history.  Poof.  It's gone.  Oh sure, there are often ways that those techie geeks can get stuff like that back, but not me.  Nothing will bring that website up again unless I go there deliberately.  Problem solved.

But there's no "Clear History" button for real life.  I can't just erase the existence of past relationships, or the lasting emotional results.  Oh, how nice it would be sometimes to get rid of the emotional baggage that accompanies those failed relationships.  To not have to drag it into the new one and have it leave yet another attempt in shambles.  To be able to truly start fresh, not jaded.

But then I would also erase the things that I learned from each one.  I also would erase the good things, and quite frankly, that would suck.  Particularly badly for my current situation.  You see, Darryl and I dated way back in 1996.  He treated me like gold then, just as he does now.  But if I "cleared my history" that would be gone, too.  The knowledge of this amazing man - who he was then and how, essentially, it hasn't changed to this day.  I wouldn't have that history to draw on.

So what did I do about the computer?  What any rational person should do.  I simply texted him and asked if he had done it.  "Yes. Sorry. Habit." was his simple response.  I know I can trust his response.  How?  History.  So you know what?  I'll leave my history uncleared, thank you.

Out of the Darkness: A Race Report of a Different Sort

She picked up the gun and caressed it's cold steel.  The tears flowed freely, knowing what tonight would hold.  She could not leave her children to find her.  She couldn't go away, for when they awoke, they would be afraid when they couldn't find her.  And where would they go without her?  She shuddered at the thought.

She picked up the pillow from her bed.  With the pillow in one hand and the gun in the other, she crept into the youngest's room.  She gazed at her while she slept, peacefully inhaling and exhaling, unaware of what was to come.  Setting the gun aside, she whispered, "I love you," and placed the pillow over her mouth.  Without oxygen, the struggle began.  She braced herself against the thrashing of her child, muffling cries with the pillow.  She was sobbing now, wondering how it came to this.  It seemed like an eternity, but the movement finally stopped.  It was over.

She moved to the next room, where her son lay sleeping, and performed the same ritual.  And again with her oldest.  Now, completely exhausted and emotionally spent, she returned to her bedroom.  There, beside her bed, was the phone.  She picked it up and dialed 911.  "Hello, what's your emergency?"  She mustered up her strength.  "My children are dead.  I did it.  I will be next, but I am 8 months pregnant.  Please come save my baby."  And she hung up.  Within minutes, she heard the sirens.  As they pulled up to her house, she picked up the gun.  Placing it in her mouth, she closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.

She opened her eyes.  There was no gun.  Her children were still in their beds, peacefully sleeping, completely unaware of the turmoil in her mind.  Despite her longing, she knew she could not do it.  She could not make it end.  She was trapped.  And once again, in this realization, she rolled over and cried herself to sleep.

This was me, three years ago.  It is something I have never spoken about in detail like this, and even now, I can barely force myself to write the words.  I am still deathly afraid of what others will think.

I certainly did not speak of it then.  I was completely aware of the darkness that had overtaken my mind. I knew (or at least thought I knew) what would happen if anyone found out the thoughts that plagued me.  It was not until I made it through that I ventured to share a small piece of what had been in my mind.  Thank God none of them came to reality.  Thank God for the people who stood beside me.  Thank God for His grace.

Depression and other mental health issues still come with a great taboo.  Those who suffer do not want to speak out.  It is terribly frightening to have, and even more frightening to think of how others will react if they discover the truth of what you are dealing with.  It can change who you are, completely warp what you are willing to do.  Now that I am living without depression, I cannot even imagine harming one of my children.  The thought disgusts me.  I think it did then, too, but it became something that seemed a possibility.  Not because I didn't love them.  They were (and are) the most precious part of my life.  But because, in the confusion of my thoughts and feelings, it seemed more fair to take them with me than leave them without me.  And I did not want to be here anymore.

I don't expect most who read this to understand, though I know that some may.  In fact, it is very likely that someone will.  For those who do not understand, do not judge those of us who do.  We read in the paper of those who kill their families and then turn the gun on themselves.  It seems so foreign.  Why in the world would someone do that?  How can someone actually reach that point?

Even having been there, I don't have the answer to those questions.  I feel very fortunate that I found my way out of that dark place, and am living in a much brighter place now.  I can feel the love around me that, at the time, I only knew was there.  I knew it, but could not feel its presence.

And I knew my God was there.  Somewhere.  I felt that there was a big circle around me, and outside its perimeter were all the good things, God included, and that they could not reach me.  I remember lying in bed, imagining that circle, seeing God outside it, wanting to come in, but Something was stopping Him.  Knowledge of His presence without being able to feel it.  A distant presence, or so it seemed.

I do not wish that dark place on anyone, but I know that it finds many people.  And I know that those people are afraid to speak of it.

And for that, I run.

In 2007, Mona Stott lost her son to suicide.  She decided to take her story and turn it into something positive, so she started a run dedicated to the awareness of mental health, and uses it to support the Mood Disorder Association of Manitoba.

This is the third year of the Niverville Rock & Roll Half Marathon.  (I believe that in addition to those years, a group from the Running Room also did a full marathon in 2007.)  Last year was my first time running.  I decided then that, as long as I possibly could, I would run that half marathon.

Like last year, there is much I could write about this year's run.  It was special for many reasons.  I was able to travel and run with a long time friend who is and always will be very dear to me.  (By with, I mean on the same course - he smoked my butt by over half an hour.)

I was able to run the last mile with another long time and very dear friend, who did the half instead of the 10k because there was a surprise birthday party planned for her husband, and the 10k didn't fit the timeframe.  A teammate came back after he had finished to encourage me as I ran to the finish line.  Another friend was out there completing his very first half marathon.  A woman I went to high school came and ran Niverville on my recommendation.  I saw many people out there that I knew.  Some ran ahead.  Some behind.  But we all ran together.  

A long distance race is much like life.  When you start out, it feels pretty good, but then it gets tough.  Sometimes we can push through with a little self-talk.  Sometimes just seeing the others out there is enough encouragement.  Sometimes you need something more.  Somewhere around the 9-10 mile mark, my body just couldn't keep up to my mind anymore.  I was tired.  But I was also determined.  I kept on going.  I could see the people ahead.  I knew the path I needed to take.  Sometimes as people passed (or I passed someone else), we would speak encouraging words to each other.  It lightened the step.  Sometimes we would run together for awhile.  It was so much easier to run side by side than on my own.

When I hit the 11 mile marker, I had to walk.  My legs ached, my foot had a developing blister.  I was exhausted.  I needed rest.  I took a minute, and started to run again.  My pace started to slow.  I could see the marker for mile 12, but I just couldn't do it.  I slowed again to a walk.

Once I hit the marker, I started back into a run.  I wanted to run that final mile.  I took a quick look behind me, because I knew Rhonda hadn't been that far back.  And there she was.  "Come, run with me."  And she did.  "I am going to run this last mile.  We are going to do it together."  And we did.  There were times that I wanted to slow down, or even stop.  But running with Rhonda kept me going.  It wouldn't surprise me if I found out that she felt the same way.  It was my plan to cross the finish line with her, but as we approached the final meters, my competitive nature took over.  I ran.  I gave it all I had.  I was not going to stop until I crossed the line.  I finished 5 seconds ahead of her.  I hope she understands.  I think she does.

In life, just as in a race, the encouragement and support of others helps us through the rough times, keeps us going even though we want to throw in the towel.  I would never have been afraid to tell someone that I wanted to quit the race.  In the same way, we need to be able to not be afraid to tell others when we want to quit life.  We need people that will come alongside.  Who will run with us.  Or walk with us.  Or, if necessary, crawl with us.  They will guide us.  They will not be afraid of our darkness.  They will teach us to not be afraid of it either, but to walk through it.  They will show us the resources that can help us move out of the darkness and into a brighter place.  In doing to, they will help us find hope that there is life beyond the pain.  And then, there will be.

"It is not the mountain that we overcome, but ourselves."

Playing the game

There's a lot of talk these days about competition, particularly in education.  Some will tell you that you should never, ever promote competition within the classroom.  Others will say that life is competitive, and kids need to learn to both win and lose, so competition is extremely important.  I don't really fit in either of those courts.

If you ask anyone who knows me half-decently well if I'm competitive, their response will be something like, "Terri competitive?  Is grass green?  Is the sky blue?  Did the Bombers completely tromp all over the Riders at the Banjo Bowl?  Does the officiating in the CFL totally suck?"  (In case you're not sure, the answer to all those questions is a huge, resounding YES!)  I don't remember ever not being competitive.  I think part of it lies in a desire to be noticed and acknowledged.  A lot of it is just my personality.  All I know is that as soon as we started getting marks on tests, I would compare my mark to others' marks.

I quickly learned, even in elementary school, who the other top students were.  School came easily to me, so they became the ones I compared myself to.  From about grade four to seven, my main "competitor" was Danny.  He was the first person whose mark I checked.  I also had a crush on Danny.  I'm not sure if I had a crush on him because he was also at the top of the class, or if that was just a coincidence.  All I know is that in grade eight, he seemed to become less concerned with getting top marks, and at about the same time, I lost interest in him (though I still thought he was very cute right up to graduation).

I quickly found others who I could compete against.  The desire to be the best drove my study.  If I slacked off, someone else might do better.  I never wished for them to do poorly.  I just wanted to be better.  And it worked.  When I graduated, I also walked away with the Governor General award.

Then I got to college.  Suddenly I had no idea who was sitting at the top of the class.  The competition factor was gone.  I still made honour roll, but my marks were definitely not what they could have been.

My feelings about being the best have changed somewhat, but I still use competition to drive me.  Not so much at university.  I know that, given different life circumstances, I could do better than I do.  I have had to accept that my marks, even though they are still exceptional, are not what they could be.  But there are more important things in life.

Photo by Ryandavid Photography.

Triathlon, now that's a different story.  I know who is close to me in ability.  Rhonda, a close friend, has traditionally been one of them.  That's us.  I made a copy of that picture with the phrase "Come and get me!" on it.  I gave Rhonda a copy, and put the other one on my fridge as a training motivator.  This past summer, though, Rhonda's work schedule didn't mesh with the race schedule, so I focused on another main competitor - Kim.  Since we're also good friends, I also am well aware of how hard Kim trains.  Knowing the effort she puts in makes me work harder at my workouts.  And I am always conscious of where she is in a race.  In my drive to come in ahead of her, I have pushed myself until I was sick.  I know I definitely go harder to try to beat her.  But if she came ahead, it wouldn't upset me.  It would just mean it was her day.  She had put the work in, and reaped the benefits.

I'm not sure where I learned how to compete without wishing ill on my competitors, without cheating, without being hung up in the win or the loss, but I suspect it was from my mom.  It wasn't from school.  I don't recall it ever being dealt with.  I competed in the local music and arts festival, though, from the time I was six years old, and my mom was almost always by my side.

I won my very first class I was ever in.  I had been playing the piano for only a few months, but I was good.  But my mom always made sure that when I won, I did so humbly.  And lost without pouting or quitting.  I'll never forget my very first speech arts class.  I said my poem.  I didn't win.  I think I got 81 or 82.  (We got marked.  85 was good.  Anything above the was in the exceptional range.  80 was about as low as they would give you.)  I said that I was never going to do speech arts again.  Mom basically told me, lovingly, to not be a poor loser, and yes, I was doing that again next year.  It took some work, but by high school, I was scoring in the exceptional range.

I went to provincials.  I won some provincial classes and lost some.  I learned that marks are subjective.  I learned that, especially once you reach a certain level, adjudications are opinions.  You listen with respect, you take what you think will help you and you leave behind that which won't.  I learned that just because you are the best this morning, that doesn't mean you will be the best tomorrow.  Or even this afternoon.  And I learned not to place my worth in someone else's opinion, because that's all it is - an opinion.  I learned that if someone else beat me, that didn't mean I was a bad person, or even that I was bad at what I do.  Maybe I hadn't given the proper effort in my practicing.  Or maybe, in that moment, everything just came together for the other person in a better way than for me.  Or (as can be the case at festival), maybe the adjudicator was simply drawn to his or her performance more than mine, and it may have been for some reason that had nothing to do with us at all.

I wish, instead of arguing about whether competition is good or bad, we would focus on teaching healthy competition.  Not everyone is competitive.  I understand this.  But there are some of us who are, and telling us that we should be less competitive isn't going to work, nor would it even be beneficial.  That competitive nature is what drives us to be better on all accounts.  On the other hand, teaching how to use that competitive drive in a positive way, to use it to not only be better at what we are doing, but to be a better person through it, now that is a lesson worth teaching.

Virtual Friendship

Technology has certainly changed the way we do communication, and hence, friendship.  Ten years ago, there was no such things as IM.  Twenty years ago, we had no idea what email was.  Twenty-five years ago most people would stare at you blankly if you talked about using a mobile phone.  Thirty years ago, many people, at least in rural areas, still had party lines.

I could go on, but I suspect I have already lost some of you.  Party lines?  Like coke?  No, like you shared a phone line with your neighbours.  You only answered the phone when it was your ring.  Unless, of course, you wanted to find out the latest gossip.  But if you didn't want them to know you were listening in, you'd better be quiet!  Oh, and you actually had to dial, on a round thing.  No such thing as pushing buttons.

And back then, we wrote letters.  You had pen pals.  You took a pen or pencil, handwrote your letter on a piece of paper (you usually tried to find something nice), put it in an envelope, addressed and stamped it, and put it in the mailbox.  Of course, this is why I was never a very good pen pal.  Most of the time I would get to the writing part.  I would even usually put the letter in an envelope and address it.  That stamp thing, and getting it to the post office though, that's another story.  There were many letters that got thrown out (there was no such thing as recycling) because they were outdated.  Some just got stashed away.  When I was packing to move last summer, I came across quite a few letters that I had written.  Some were from college.  Some as far back as high school.  They just never got sent.

Quite often, after meeting someone, at camp say, you would exchange addresses and write back and forth, and that was when you really got to know each other.  Sometimes you had pen pals that you had never met.  I can't remember how that all worked, but I think that in magazines, people could leave little tidbits about themselves along with their address (and sometimes accompanied by a picture), and you could write to them.  After writing back and forth, you might make plans to actually meet each other.  Yes, it was a very different world.  You didn't worry about addresses getting into the wrong hands and giving out personal information.  Of course, a lot of those addresses were box numbers, so I guess you'd be reasonably hard to track down.  And if some creepy person was hovering around the post office all day, just waiting for you to pick up your mail, someone was bound to notice and do something about it.

Sometimes I marvel at how things have changed, and yet haven't.  For example, we still write to people we don't know and develop friendships with them after reading tidbits about them (and usually seeing their picture).  But we don't have to use pens, paper, envelopes, stamps or mailboxes.  At least not real ones.  We simply sign into our Facebook accounts and send them a message.  Or write on their walls.  If you get to know them well enough, you might actually meet.  And you can do this all without leaving your house.  (This is probably why I'm much better at maintaining connections now.)

The thing is, it's so easy to connect to people that we tend to connect to lots.  I have 549 "friends" on Facebook.  I have met most of them.  I could probably delete at least half of them without either of us really noticing.  I don't.  Mostly because it takes too much effort.  Partly because I do communicate with most of them at least once a year.  Partly because I have a hard time getting rid of things - even FB friends.

In some ways, this mass connection has made it easy to form shallow relationships.  At the same time, it hasn't really changed the way I do the friend thing.  I have always known lots of people.  There were very few people that I went to school with - grade school and college - whose names I did not know.  And if I didn't know, I asked.  I had a few close friends - people that I could talk to about anything.  People that I would hang out with.

I still have a few close friends.  One of them, Kim, was a friendship largely built through FB.  I really couldn't give you the details of the evolution of our friendship, but I do know that I can trust her with anything.  I know she's a ton of fun.  And we even hang out sometimes.

That "hanging out" component.  That's what I miss.  It's easier to sit in front of a computer screen and chat with five different people at once than actually get together with those people.  (Besides, they probably don't know each other at all anyway - except through your status comments, that is.)  Online has its benefits, but I miss just being with people.

When I was newly married, there were five of us who got together pretty much every Friday to have a games night.  We had so much fun - talking, laughing, competing.  I don't do that anymore.  I'd love to get together with a core group of friends.  I think people still do that on occasion.  Somewhere, that aspect of life escaped me.

I have also noticed that we seem to have developed an out-of-sight, out-of-mind mindset.  I think this is another product of social networking.  We get used to commenting on status lines and pictures.  We talk to the people we see.  We don't sit down and think, "Hmmm...I haven't talked to so-and-so for awhile now.  Perhaps I'll pick up the phone and give her a call to see how she's doing."  If we don't see them -either physically or virtually - we don't talk.

I have sometimes wondered, if I dropped off the face of the Earth, how long would it take before someone noticed?  Would I ever get a message asking how things were?  Would someone take the time to give me a call?  Would they even be able to find my phone number?

Similarly, would I notice if one of my friends disappeared?  To be sure, there are some I check up on regularly, even if they don't make it onto my current FB home page.  But there are many who could completely vanish and I would never know.  I probably would not bother to make the phone call.  And I probably don't have their phone numbers.  And I don't really like talking on the phone anymore.  Except for sometimes.  And to some people.

But then, is this really any different?  In years past, prior to all our technology, how many people would we have noticed if we hadn't heard from them lately?  Four?  Five?  (Not including family - my mom can tell you exactly when she last talked to each of us.)  About the same number I would notice disappearing now.

So, I guess the old adage is true - the more things change, the more they stay the same.  I think I'll go call someone...

My Life as a Student

For the past five years, I have been a university student.  About six years ago or so, I decided that I needed a career that would support my family.  As it turned out, that was a good decision as within a few months, I found myself separated and raising three kids on my own.

Being a student has been a great "job".  There's a great deal of flexibility in my schedule, and I can dedicate more time to my kids.  When I found out that I was pregnant half way through my second year, I was devastated.  How was I going to do this?  I still had two more years of school!  I couldn't afford to quit school to raise a child, so I did what most don't even think about (sadly).  I had a baby AND went to school.

Now, I did take a year (that turned into two years) out of the education program, but I stayed in school.  It ended up being a fantastic decision, as it allowed me to take courses I would not have been able to fit into my program otherwise.  If all goes well, I will end up graduating with a double major.  While raising four kids.  On my own.  But I digress.

Being a "mature" student, I have realized that there are an awful lot of things, especially in education, that I have learned on my own in life.  I told one of my profs in my first year that I didn't really think that there would be much I would learn in my ed classes, but rather, I would just learn a name to put to it.  He told me I was probably right, but that I should just suffer through and become a teacher.

It's funny, because looking back on the past five years, in many ways I was right, but in so many more, I was wrong.  Somewhere along the line, though I don't think it was conscious, I started to focus on what I could learn, not what I already knew.  I have been able to delve deeper into my learning because I could connect my own experience to many of the things we were being taught in the classroom.  Since I already had many of the basics, I was able to take the finer details and apply them to my teaching, which I could practice daily.  Another advantage to having kids while taking education - you get to put things into practice right away and use your offspring as guinea pigs.  ;)

Sometimes I come across students, seemingly particularly in education, who sit there and complain about how stupid the class is, and how they aren't learning anything.  (Come to think of it, I hear the same thing in staffrooms when it comes to SAG...)  How sad.  Really?  You're not learning anything?  You are choosing to waste the hundreds of dollars that you put into this course by not taking anything out of it?  Sure, there are classes that are chalk full of amazing things to learn.  But they are like diamonds.  A precious jewel.  Sometimes a lucky find.  I would be great if all classes were like them, but in reality, it will never be that way.

But even in the "worst" class, there is always something you can learn.  If you aren't learning it from the prof, you can dig deeper and discover it through the materials and resources that you are guided to.

A group of students were once talking about a certain prof, and saying how it never really seemed like he was teaching anything.  I realized quickly that it was a class that I had taken, and had really quite enjoyed.  "The prof always tells stories," they complained.  "I don't always know what he's getting at."  Somehow, I think they either missed the first class, or were not paying attention, because I know he told us that this was his teaching style.  And why does he teach that way?  It is his culture.  See, they were a part of the Aboriginal Education class, and the instructor was of First Nations background.  They teach through stories.  The lesson usually isn't explicitly stated, but rather left for the listener to discover.  The teaching is holistic.  So very different from our European education.

What a fantastic experience.  Reversal of rolls.  First Nations students have continuously put into our classrooms and expected to learn the same way as everyone else, when that is not the style they have grown up with.  Now we as students were expected to learn from an unfamiliar style.  Perhaps we could now identify just a little bit better.  If that was all that they had taken away from the class, at least they would have learned a valuable lesson.

In eight months, I will graduate with my B.Ed. and B.Sc.  After six years, my career as a university student will be over.  (Or at the very least, put on the back burner until I've paid off my student loans.)  However, my life as a student continues.  Just as I know I can learn from every class that I take, good or bad, I can learn from every experience.  I can learn from my colleagues.  I can learn from my students.  I can learn from my children.  I can learn from my mistakes, and the mistakes of others.  I can seek out learning on my own.  And I shall.  For if I cease to learn, I cease to grow.

From Strength to Strength

I am a single mother of four.

Now, I would venture that most, if not all of you who are reading this know this fact already.  But there are people that I meet outside of my life with my kids who don't.  At least not right away.  In many cases, they assume initially that I am younger than I actually am.  They figure that I am a typical university student, living on my own, working towards my degree.  Inevitably, at some point, I mention that I have a child of some gender.  This happened today.  "Oh?  You have a daughter?"  "Yep.  Two actually."  "Oh!"  "And two sons."  "Oh...wow...I never would have guessed."  No, most people wouldn't.  I often hear, "You don't look like you have four kids."  To which I usually respond, "Thank you," all the time wondering what someone with four kids should look like.  Because I have four, and this is what I look like.

Then there's the single issue.  Sometimes people just assume that I'm married (who would be crazy enough to have four kids on her own?).  "What does your husband do?"  "Um, well, I don't have one."  "Oh...sorry..."  Some people know that I'm single beforehand, which leads to more surprise on the four kids thing. 

Once in awhile, I like to spring it on people all at once.  Just for the shock value.  Like when I met with my practicum supervisor with the other students teachers.  We were to introduce ourselves and say one thing about ourselves.  "I am a single mother of four."  Jaws trying not to drop.  I enjoy watching people while they try to process it.  Amusing.

Probably the most common phrase I hear is, "I don't know how you do it."  You know what?  Neither do I.  All I know is that I certainly don't do it as well as I would like to.  I fail miserably at being a mother more than I fail at anything else.  Take this morning for example.  First day of school.  I get Caleb and Dani on the bus on time.  Charisma needs to leave half an hour later and either bike or walk.  I'm trying to get myself out the door, and she is taking forever to get ready.  "I don't have a lunch kit.  I don't have breakfast.  I can't find a bike lock.  I don't want to walk.  Can't Grandma drive me?"  And do you think I can find a bike lock?  At least one that has a key?  No, of course not.  I tear apart the shed.  I tear apart my room.  I yell.  I carry on.  She's in frustrated, angry, hurt tears.  I really don't give a rip because now I'm late for school too.  And I'm sick.  And exhausted.  And stressed.  I finally give my mom the van key and say that she can drive her today, and walk out the door, barely saying goodbye to Justin, who is standing there crying because I'm leaving again and I've been throwing a bit of a tantrum for the past 10-15 minutes.  Fail.

Thank God not all days are like today.  We have some great moments.  I love the little surprises kids give you - both the intentional ones, and the other ones.  The times when you get to see that yes, they did learn that lesson, beautifully, and you know what?  They may grow up to be an amazing person in spite of my failure.

How do I do it?  Like the psalmist wrote in Psalm 84 - I go from strength to strength.  More often than not, it's not my strength.  The strength of my family.  Of my friends.  Of my faith.  Of my God. 

Today, I don't feel strong.  Today, I am incredibly weak.  But there is a Strength that holds me, that will carry me into tomorrow.  That will bring us all through yet another day.

Using Words as Necessary

My faith.  It's not something I write about often.  Or speak about.  I tend to live more like the quote attributed to St. Francis of Assisi - "Preach the Gospel at all times. Use words if necessary."  It is not that I am ashamed of my faith.  Not at all.  I just don't bring it up much.  Unless it's in a casual, "What did you do this weekend?"  "Well, we did this, that, went to church."  That's why, when the second quality Kim listed about me was that I was a Christian, it kind of surprised me.

Kim and I met almost two years ago.  Somehow, somewhere in there, we became good friends.  She certainly knows where I stand in my faith.  But it's not one of our top conversation topics.  So, to me it was an honour that she chose to place "a Christian" that high on the list.  (Also, to her credit, Kim has a gift for reading people, so perhaps that was why it was placed there.)

Peter (one of Jesus' disciples) wrote, "Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect, keeping a clear conscience, so that those who speak maliciously against your good behavior in Christ may be ashamed of their slander."  I don't know that I would call this my life verse, but it would probably qualify as my "talking about my faith" verse.  There are a few key things in these two sentences.

Prepared

Peter called for preparation.  Not just some hope that, in the time of need, some answer will come floating out of the sky.  This implies study.  No decent lawyer goes into a case without having studied it first.  I think that's the feeling here, except that one never knows when the "trial" might come.  I've been out for drinks with fellow university students on more than one occasion when the topic of creation vs. evolution has come up.  I have listened to their opinions and shared my own.  I am currently reading "The Case for a Creator" largely to be sure that I have an answer.  Also because I am constantly questioning my own beliefs and their validity (not in a doubting sense, but in a sharpening one), and I want to know where the evidence lies.

It is important for me to know what the Bible actually says.  Like any other work, people - Christians and non-Christians alike - seem to regularly take things out of context to prove a point or to justify an action.  Drives me crazy.

I also need to know what I believe.  This goes together with my questioning of my beliefs.  I question them so that when someone else asks, I know what I believe.  Our conversation may cause me to re-evaluate something, but I need to know where I stand now.  At this moment.  I need to know why I believe it.  Not just because someone told me that once in Sunday School.  It has to go deeper than that.

Gentleness and Respect

So many times, these two get left out of the equation.  I think that when most Christians share their faith, it is done with gentleness and respect, but it's not those people that get talked about.  It's the obstinate, belligerent, rude people.  Those who really don't want to listen to anyone but themselves. 

It certainly goes both ways.  I have been in conversations with people who don't share my beliefs who state outright that anyone who believes that the Earth was created is stupid and uninformed.  Richard Dawkins has referred to them (us) as historydeniers in his latest book "The Greatest Show on Earth," a book I do hope to get around to reading someday, even though I find him completely offensive and disrespectful.  I don't really want to read his book - he completely turns me off with his arrogance - but, again, I want to be prepared.  In the same way, no one is going to want to listen to me if I will not display respect for them.

Clear Conscience

This is where the deeds come in.  I know I certainly haven't always lived, in the past or in the present, in a way that lines up with what I believe.  But that is my goal.  To make choices that don't make me a hypocrite.  That give my words about the Gospel, when I speak them, credence.  Here is where the struggle lies, and I think perhaps that here is where the heart of the St. Francis quote lies as well.  Paul wrote a letter to the Colossians, saying, "And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him."  It's a tall order, but a worthy goal.

Tri, Tri Again

Note: This post is chronologically out of order because there was a pic and video I wanted to add.  My apologies.

I love triathlon.  For many, many reasons, which I plan on expanding on in a future blog.  And I love racing.  I train all year so that I will be faster.  If I didn't race, I don't think it would be long before I fell off the bandwagon, so to speak.  My plan this year was to do six races - three sprint distance and three Olympic, something I had done once before I had J and really wanted to do again.  My grand finale was to be Riding Mountain Triathlon (RMT) on August 14th.

Now, some days, everything comes together perfectly.  The training has been ideal.  No sickness.  Plenty of sleep.  Perfect weather.  Today, or more correctly, yesterday (at the time of writing - now a couple of weeks ago...) was not one of those days.  The training had been pretty good until my competitive nature took over on Thursday during group trianing and I pushed a bit too hard.  Health-wise, alright, though I may be fighting a mild cold.  I did not sleep particularly well the night before.  And the weather?  The temp was 13 degrees (Celsius, of course), it was raining, and it was windy.

RMT is notorious for bad weather.  I have done the race four times.  The first time, it was cold, wet and rainy.  The wind blew the buoys off and the course had to be remarked along the beach, and without proper time to do so, they had measured it long.  The second year was hot.  Very, very hot.  Last year, it was cold, wet and rainy.  This year, well, cold, wet and rainy.

And expensive.  At least by Manitoba standards.  It may not make my racing list next year.

But I had a plan.  One of my friends, when I asked him what my best and worst qualities were, responded with, "You don't know when to quit."  He's right.  I didn't have to race today.  I only registered yesterday.  I knew what I was getting myself into.  But I had a plan.  This was supposed to be my "A" race, at least to the extent that I have one.  So I did it.

I have to admit that I did not start the race with a very good attitude.  There were already things about the race that had rubbed me the wrong way.  And now the weather was worse than anticipated.  And I did not feel like racing.

At 90 seconds to race start, I had not warmed up at all.  I hadn't even gotten water into my wetsuit, something I had learned the hard way was essential.  I quickly got enough it, put my goggles and swim cap on, found my starting spot, and had about 2 seconds to go time.

The number of athletes at RMT went up again this year.  Significantly.  I think the final count was something like 460.  That meant the start was bigger than anticipated.  And the swim bottlenecks as everyone tries to swim through the moored boats.  I swam on top of people.  People swam on top of me.  Nothing I couldn't handle.  But then, the shelter of the boats was gone, and the waves hit us head on. This is what the lake looked like:

You may notice that the boat on the far right is significantly off vertical.  For the record, it's not supposed to be that way.  At least not under normal weather circumstances.

Here's a look in motion. I was doing some commentary, but the wind noise won out. (And I don't think the sound of even that transferred.)  Near the beginning of the video, if you watch the boats, you can briefly see the extent that they were rocking. Yes, we swam in that.

There was no bi-lateral breathing today.  Not unless you wanted to swallow a waveful of water.  Forget drafting.  While this is usually my biggest concern in the swim, I couldn't think about it at all.  I was more concerned with not getting sick in the water.  Besides, I didn't know if the person in front of me was going straight, or if the waves had knocked them off.  And even if they were, the waves would knock me off.  Sighting wasn't any easier.  I would look up for the buoy, but all I would be able to see was the wave in front of me.  I had to sight every two strokes in hopes of spotting a buoy once in every 3-4 attempts.

I was so done after 750m.  I was wondering if they would let me switch to the sprint at that point, but figured I had better keep going.

After 1500m, I was thrilled to be on dry land.  Other than getting my right hand stuck in my wetsuit, T1 went as well as could be expected.  The bike, however, wasn't much better than the swim.  Although I had checked my bike before racking it, as soon as I got on, I could tell that something was rubbing.  That something was my back brake.  Now, there are many things I can fix on the fly.  This is not one of them.  So, off I got and adjusted the brake, losing seconds I was not in the mood to lose.

Normally the bike is my favourite part.  I don't know what my problem was.  I really don't remember.  Maybe I just woke up grumpy.  But I was NOT enjoying the bike at all.  Finally at 15km in I told myself I had paid $85 for this race so I may as well just suck it up and enjoy it.  It was better after that, but shortly after the turn-around I had to pull over yet again because my back brakes were rubbing.  Again.  And for the rest of the bike all I could do was wonder if I needed to fix the brakes again.

Another thing you need to understand is that I am not a runner.  At least not a good one.  I generally spend most of the run just waiting for it to end.  While I was on the bike today, I was dreading having to run yet.  Today though, I thoroughly enjoyed it.  Really, truly.  It was my favourite leg of the race, something I have never, ever said before and really don't expect to say again.  After 1km, I realized that if I kept the same pace I could pull off a sub-55 minute run.  That made me really excited.

I had two things motivating me. 1) I wanted to hold Kate off until the 5km mark.  I saw her at the turn-around, which was just before the 5k mark, and managed to pick up the pace just enough to meet that goal.  2) I imagined that Kim was in front of me.  She had, I'm assuming jokingly, suggested that I do that on my Facebook status.  But when I was feeling like taking it easy, that visualization did help.  :)

I did pull off a sub-55 min run.  And, though the results say my time was 3:00:01, it was off by 5 seconds and I know that I came in under 3 hours, because my watch said so.

Overall, I have to say that I was satisfied.

To Have a Good Time

XTerra:  What you do when regular triathlon isn't enough of a challenge.
Duathlon:  What you do when either the weather or the area isn't conducive to swimming.
XTerra Duathlon:  What you do when you have some sort of narcissistic personality disorder.
(Long course: 6km trail run, 20km mountain bike, 3km trail run)

Today was my first ever XTerra duathlon.  When Chris and Rhonda first mentioned that they were hoping to put one on this year, I was so excited.  I had met some XTerra triathletes down at training camp in the States, and loved the idea of it.  They chose to go with a du rather than a tri because a tri would require two transition areas (because of the area set-up), which would be too complicated, especially for their very first time putting the race on.

It's possible that at some point, someone somewhere has done an off-road tri or du in Manitoba.  In fact, I think I heard about one up at Grand Beach in years past.  However, there has been nothing lately, so this was a brand new experience for many athletes.  Triathletes are generally not seen off-road.  Mountain bikers tend to avoid running.  We were all (or at least most) about to embark on a new adventure.

I stayed out at my parents' last night, and during the hour long drive to the race site out at Birch Ski Area, I realized that we were going to encounter a good deal of rain.  Add to that cooler temps.  But thankfully, next to no wind.  The rain, though, can make very rideable trails vey unrideable.

I arrived, got marked, hid under the shelter until we got a brief break from the rain, and then ran back and forth to my van a gazillion times because I was always forgetting something.  (As it turned out, this was our only break from the rain, but thankfully it was never a downpour.)  During the pre-race meeting I took a look around at the other athletes.  There were quite a few I didn't recognize and...um...only two other women.  And I guessed that neither of them were doing the long course.

As we lined up at the start line right after the meeting, I found out that I was right.  Me and 14 guys.  Kate Okany looked at me and said (with a hint of surprise in her voice), "You're doing the long course, Terri?" "Yup. I figured if I'm going to pay for it, I may as well get the most for my money.  Besides, I'm here to have a good time, not to get a good time."  And off we went.

It didn't take long for the guys to drop me.  No big surprise.  I'm not a strong runner at the best of times, and there were some pretty good hills.  The short course athletes started just before I finished my first lap, and I actually almost caught one of the women on the run.  However, as I tried to pick up my pace coming into transition, I experienced a feeling I had never had before - tight IT band.  It didn't hurt yet, but there was a distinct tightness.  Since I knew I still had over two hours of racing to go, and I wasn't really competing against anyone anyway, I backed off.

As I rounded the corner into T1, I was pleasantly surpised to see that my bike was not the only one on the rack.  Almost.  But not quite.  There was, of course, the woman who was right in front of me.  But there were one or two others as well.

The bike was supposed to be easy to moderately technical.  Rhonda told me before the race that she had ridden the whole course, and had done it in under an hour (one lap), so I should be fine.  As I started the bike, it dawned on me - she hadn't run 6km before doing it.  Suddenly hills that would be comfortably rideable were very tiring, and the tiring hills had me walking up with my bike.  And you couldn't make up a ton of time on the downhill sections because it had started raining, which made them quite slick.  I saw a couple of places where someone in front of me hadn't quite made the corner.  Now, I'm sure that for those who had better mountain biking skills, and for those who know the trails at Birch well, the trails weren't too bad.  But since I am not in that situation, it was a tough ride.  I loved it, but it wore me right out.

The description of the course as easy to moderate was a fair one. There was very little flat riding with a few steep hills (they wouldn't have been as hard if it was dry, but they still would have been tough), but very little switchback. There were some sections that were freshly cut for this race.  When I saw Kevin Miller after the race, he had a big smile.  He was very pleased with the technical level of the course, as he had been somewhat worried going in that it would be too easy.  It was definitely doable.  But not easy.

I was really hoping that I would not get lapped on the bike.  I am a new mountain biker, and my skills are desparately lacking.  Still, I figured it was pretty unlikely, since it was a 10km loop, and I was right.  In fact, I managed to pass one of the short course athletes. 

The second loop bike loop was more painful.  Not only were my legs extremely tired, but my IT band was now complaining quite loudly every time I got off my bike, especially the couple of steep downhill sections that I opted to walk my bike down.  I figured for the amount of time I lost not riding (not much due to the braking I would have had to do to stay safe), I made up for by not crashing.  (I did have my bike slide out from under me on one of the very rideable corners, which kind of made me happy - meant that I was pushing my envelope.)

As I ran out of T2, I knew my second run would not be a good one.  I should have been able to come in under 3 hours quite comfortably.  As it was, running on the flat was painful, and running on the hills was virtually out.  I contemplated walking the whole thing - I was in first place regardless - but figured I would run as much as I could, while at the same time trying not to push too hard.  By the end of the run, either I was getting used to the pain, or it had eased slightly, but it was still definitely there.  I'm going to have to do some serious resting and working on that if I'm going to be running the half in Niverville in a month.

The best part of the race?  The post-race food.  Of course, when you are hungry for the last half hour of the race (misjudgement of fueling on my part - I should have had 1-2 more gels during the race), pretty much anything will taste good.  But it was still very good.  And LOTS of food.  Unfortunately for the race directors, there were only 22 racers.  There were several reasons for the low turn-out, the mountain bike provincials tomorrow being one of them.  Fortunately for us, they had made sure there was food for many more than 22.  We left well-fed.

I ended up crossing the finish line in 3 hours, 1 minute and 8 seconds.  I was the very last athlete across the line, something which I am very proud of.  (There have been several times when my kids have asked me if I ever came in last in a triathlon or duathlon, and I had to say no.  Now I don't have to.)  As it turns out, there were three guys who DNF'd.  And even if you just cut my time in half, I would have beat two of the short course athletes.  I'm ok with that.  I did not only have a good time, I had a great time.  And I would do it again in a heartbeat.  Just not today.

An honour bestowed

The other day I was reading a friend's blog and noticed a comment that said that she had been nominated for The Versatile Blogger award.  I thought, "Wouldn't it be cool if someday someone made that comment about me."  Imagine my surprise when I read her blog today and found out that she had nominated me!  Here's what she wrote:

"Another fellow triathlete, Christian, mother of 4, student, and recent very good friend and my most feisty competitor, Terri writes about everything worth living about. She is thoughtful and because she is the newest blogger of the bunch I suggest, I am very excited about where she will end up. The real life Terri amazes me and inspires me and her blog is doing that too."

She made me cry...

Apparently there are some rules that accompany this award.  They are as follows:

1. Thank the one who gave me this award.
2. Share seven things about myself.
3. Present this honour onto 15 newly discovered bloggers.
4. Drop by and let my fifteen new friends know I love them.

I hereby fulfill my obligation to the best of my ability.
 
A Truly Versatile Lady
 
I'll never forget meeting Kim.  We were at a Tribalistic going away party for one of the coaches who was getting married and moving to England.  I hadn't been very active with Tribe, and was feeling a little sidelined at the party.  I found a couple of people to talk to, and then somehow at some point fell into conversation with Kim and Ed.  I liked her right off the bat.  She was fun, enthusiastic, and well, she was talking to me. 
 
I'm not sure exactly how we became friends.  I suppose we saw each other now and then, somehow became Facebook friends, and now she is one of the few people I feel completely safe telling anything to.  We are also competitors in the best sense of the word.  Kim spurs me on to do my best, and inspires me with her own training and racing.  She's also an inspiration to my blogging, which is still very young.  Reading her blog made me want to start my own, so being listed for this award was quite humbling.  Thank you Kim for doing so.  Oh, I have decided that, in honour of your nomination, I will write my next few blogs about the things you used to describe me.  :)
 
About Me
 
I once wrote a list of 25 random things about me.  I'm sure I could list seven more, but to be honest, it's after midnight and I don't feel like it.  So, like Kim, I'm going to take the easy way out and refer you here if you would like to read them.
 
15 Blogs???
 
If you look at my list of blogs I follow, you'll see that there are not very many.  Seven, in fact.  Certainly NOT 15.  So, I will nominate four.
 
spo(R)ting life Ok, legitimately I shouldn't nominate her back, but I really think that Kim is a very versatile blogger.  I love reading about her triathlon/cycling adventures, life and love adventures, and just her opinions on many different topics. 
 
the windswept sparrow I have only met Zoë once.  Well, possibly twice.  She is a friend of a friend who talked about her on a regular basis.  I had also seen her comments on his Facebook and had also seen her in some video work he had done.  He said that she was cool and I'd like her and I had the feeling he was right.  He was.  Zoë's blog focuses on the struggles of dealing with depression and anxiety, but encompasses life.  Her writing encourages many as she openly reveals many of the things that she has and is going through.  She can bring tears to my eyes with one blog and make my heart joyful with another. 
 
A wee bit of BS B - Belinda, and her initials are B.S.  :) - was my R.A. for my first year of college.  She is currently my boss.  She is also my friend.  B is someone who will fight fiercely for those she cares for.  I am always blown away that I am honored enough to be in that category.  She has an incredible heart for the people in the West End.  She is also a relatively new blogger, and I always enjoy seeing where life is taking her.  Or maybe rather, where she is taking life...
 
iNNERFREQ I have known V for years.  17 of them.  He has always been able to make me laugh hysterically, and has always been there with the best hugs when I needed them.  He is random and unique, and his writing reflects that.  I just love the way he looks at life.
 
As for Rule #4, well, I had better go do that I guess, so they can do with it what they wish.

Questions. And sometimes, Answers.

We ask many questions in a day. How are you? What would you like for breakfast? Where are you going? What are your plans for the weekend? Would you like fries with that? Most of our questions are standard and are followed by standard responses. But once in awhile, someone asks a real question, and for me, it always throws me off. Because it's just not expected.

Several months ago, at some point after coming back from ICTN triathlon training camp, I was spending the afternoon with a friend, and the subject of the camp came up. I told him, as I had told many others, that it was fantastic. "Tell me about it," he said. "What made it so great?" And then he sat quietly, in anticipation of my response. I found myself without words. People don't ask questions like that. Questions that actually mean something. That probe beyond the surface we like to live on. And then pause to listen, really listen, for the answer.

It reminds me of another friend who, out of the blue at church one Sunday, asked me how my spiritual life was. "Feel free to tell me that it's none of my business" followed. Maybe that's part of the problem. We think nothing should be anyone's business and are equally afraid of sticking our noses where they don't belong. I chose to answer honestly.

A couple of weeks ago, a co-worker I had just met asked me point blank if I had a man in my life, or if I was interested in anyone. It made me laugh. No pussy-footing around. I answered with the truth.

On Saturday, my son's father is getting married, and we are invited. I was asked yesterday if I had any feelings about the wedding. "Yes, I have lots of feelings about it." I would have gone further into it, though I struggled with two things: how to describe the feelings, and which were appropriate to share with the given individual. Dani came up to us and put a stop to the conversation, but my struggle continues. How do I describe these feelings I have? Which are appropriate to share, with whom, and which should I just bite my tongue about?

Sometimes these real questions don't need to be answered with words. But I think we should ask more of them.

Two Ladies, Some Tools, and a Shed

Move over Tim Taylor, we're gonna get 'er done!

Yes, there were times when we could have used "more power" but for the most part we did just fine with what we had.



Ok. Boxes moved from friends' garage to my house, and opened. Oh good! The instructions are lying on the top in box #1 - packed by a woman, perhaps?









Pieces all laid out, as instructed.


"Now...what comes next?"






All finished! Arrr, arrr, arrr!

The End of a Branch

I realized this morning that our last name dies with my generation. Well, in our branch, anyway. My dad had four siblings - two older sisters and two younger sisters. My brother was similarly stuck between my sister and me. I never had any "Wolfe" cousins. In fact, I don't actually know any Wolfe relatives. They're out there. But I don't know them.

My brother and his wife have two girls, and unless there is some big surprise, they're done. Now, I know that one of their girls could choose to keep her last name and give her son the last name Wolfe, but in all reality, that's not very likely.

This realization made me wish, momentarily, that I had chosen to give Justin my maiden name. Choosing his last name was actually my most difficult decision, as far as names go. I ended up going with May so that we would all be the same, and I don't regret that decision. If he wants to change that in the future, that is perfectly fine with me. I suppose he could choose to change it to Wolfe and keep the name going, but somehow I don't think he will do that either. I suspect, that if he does opt to change it, he will go with Myhre. But that's a decision for another day.

Today, it looks like our Wolfe branch will soon be done, at least by last name. It makes me a little bit sad.

I'd Rather...

I'd Rather
- by Caleb May

I'd rather change a diaper,
I'd rather eat a fly.
I'd rather go to summer school,
Or be a robber guy.

I'd rather have a bunny ear,
I'd rather be a cat.
I'd rather be a circus clown,
I'd rather wear an ugly hat.

I'd rather be a skeleton,
I'd rather go and swirl.
I'd rather do most anything
Than be a girly girl.


I found this in the van today. Caleb wrote it for school. He says it sucks, because he's way too hard on himself. I love it. :)

A couple of Saturdays ago, I worked with a girl I hadn't met before. About half-way through the shift, she said something to the extent of, "You seem pretty cool. You're not a girly girl." No, I most definitely am not. Now, don't get me wrong. I thoroughly enjoy taking the odd time to dress up and go out. I like being treated like a lady now and then. I like it when someone tells me that I look nice today. But I don't worry about breaking a nail. I hate shopping (except for my one day in Arizona, and sometimes, grocery shopping - but that's just because it gets me out of the house alone). I don't spend an hour doing my hair and makeup every day. Rather, I would prefer playing a game of football to gossiping in the schoolyard. My activity of choice usually involves getting dirty and sweaty - on a mountain bike. I like action movies, not chick flicks. And the few chick flicks I really like, most guys like, too. Most of my closest friends growing up were guys. Still are. The girls that I get along with best are generally not girly girls either.

My girls aren't really girly girls either. Dani is more so, though I suspect it may just be a phase. I remember Charisma going through that for a time. Caleb doesn't care for girly girls, as you may have guessed. This makes sense - the female role model in their lives is not one.

I don't know what makes me this way. More testosterone than most women? Perhaps, but thankfully I am not sprouting a mustache and don't have an abnormally low voice. I don't really care why. All I know is that I'd rather do most anything than be a girly girl. ;)

"3am is just not a good time for anything!"

Well, other than sleeping, which I certainly was not doing at 3am last night. (Neither, incidentally, was Jamie Whitmore, whose status quote I stole.)

I have noticed a couple of trends in my racing season this year:

1) The week before is particularly stressful.
2) The night before is extra-short, despite my best efforts.
3) If 1) and 2) don't happen, the weather is too hot and I race poorly.

Today was my first Olympic distance race of the year. Last week definitly qualified as stressful, for reasons I do not wish to get into here. I decided to do laundry far too late last night, which meant an 11:30 bedtime. No worries. Five and a half hours will be fine. I asked Charisma to sleep with Justin so that I could have a better sleep without him, but he would still have someone sleeping with him. 2am - the bathroom calls. 3am - Charisma comes downstairs to inform me that Justin is really crabby and she can't calm him down. 4am - I give Justin a dose of ibuprofin, because by now I figure that something is definitely bothering him. 4:30am - I finally get back to sleep. 5am - my alarm goes off.

Thankfully, I was prepared. The coffee machine was ready to go. Caffeine... Only on race mornings. Otherwise I generally drink decaf.

5:40am - on the road. Ok, 3am would also be a great time for driving, just like 5:40am. No traffic. Most lights are flashing (though this makes the ones that aren't incredibly irritating when they are red). It was slightly foggy in the city, but nothing that affected visibility. Once I hit the highway, it was a different story, however. The other side of the fog provided a beautiful view, though, as the sun was just rising.



The rest of the drive was uneventful as I enjoyed listening to my traditional pre-race tape - DC Talk's Free At Last. If DC Talk ever has a reunion tour, I am SO there!

As I walked into transition, I saw Kim. Kim and I are, in many ways, cut from the same cloth. She is also definitely one of my favourite competitors. We have a great friendly competition that drives me to do better. She also inspires me with many things that she does. At any rate, we immediately proceeded to exchange excuses as to why today's race was not going to go well. No need to make excuses after the race. ;) Mine essentially consisted of lack of sleep and training. I hadn't biked 40km since July 1st, run 10km since June sometime, and hadn't swam 1500m since last August, and now I was going to do all three. She had biked 88km yesterday at an average pace of 33.5km/hr. The only question that remained was whose excuse would survive at the end of the race.

My warm-up, as usual, was virtually non-existent. Take the bike through the gears to make sure it's still working, run to the port-a-potties, swim long enough to get the wetsuit ready to go (100-200m).

The swim went surprisingly well. Yes, the second lap was definitely tougher than the first, as was expected. I really didn't get much opportunity to draft. But I was out in about 28 minutes, and that made me happy. Of course, there was some help from the current...

I ran into T1 and found my bike easily, as it was the only on on its section of the rack. I took a quick look and noticed that Kim's bike was still there. But my wetsuit did NOT want to come off, so T1 was definitely on the slow side.

The bike was relaxing, mostly because my legs didn't want to pedal hard. My heart rate was low, and I wasn't breathing hard at all, but I just didn't have the legs. As we went out onto the second lap, the sprint racers were just going out on the bike. This made for a lot more traffic, which ended up being a good thing. There were about three of us riding at the same pace, so we kept passing each other. We kept it legal, but there was also a whole lot of drafting going on as we passed through each others' draft zones. It also made the ride much more fun. :)

T2 ended up being not much better than T1. The ground was incredibly soggy from the ridiculous amounts of rain we've been getting, so my socks did not go on my wet feet very well.

As I started out on the run, I was almost shocked at how good I felt, especially considering how bad my "warm-up run" felt. The good feeling didn't go away, I was able to get somewhere around an even split, and smile as I crossed the finish line. Oh, and Kim? Well, her excuse held up. She was hurtin' on the run, but she pushed through. Of course, she's also only 2 weeks out of her first 70.3 race, which I know she will do wonderfully at...as long as she trains smart for the next two weeks. ;) (Yes, she's reading this.)

My goal for the race - sub 2:50, and if all was going well, sub 2:45. My final time - just under 2:47. Success! I guess the 3am thing didn't turn out too badly after all.

Boy+bike+ego=snicker.

I have to admit that, in the cycling world, I'm really nothing special. However, as a triathlete, and as a commuter, I'm pretty darn fast. Not the fastest, but fast. Which often leads to amusement during commutes and races, due to the male egotism that I encounter.

Now, granted, there are a LOT of guys out there who are legitimately faster than I am, and I'm ok with that. But I have to snicker a little when guys just assume that they should be faster than me, solely based on gender. Today, I got the pleasure of that snicker twice.

It's shortly after 7am, and I'm casually biking to work, trying not to work too hard because I don't want to start the day all sweaty and gross, and besides, I have to train later. There's a guy riding on the sidewalk, hands in his pockets, no helmet...I'll save that whole rant for another day...and as I ride by, I hear, "Ooohhhh...a passer!" I mumble under my breath, "Well, you're not exactly going all that fast." Then suddenly, this bike flies by as if all hell were in pursuit, racing through a red light (again, saving for another rant). I shake my head, and carry on. A couple of lights later, I saw the same rider, all tired out. I would have easily overtaken him, except one of us turned off. Congrats buddy. You passed me.

On my way home. I'm stopped at a red light. A cyclist comes up from behind me, and positions himself in front of me. I have realized that looks can be deceiving (there's this one guy who rides a recumbent bike who can fly by me - drives me nuts!), but this guy does not look like he has what it takes to stay in front. The light turns green. I have a bit of trouble clipping back in, so my acceleration isn't great, but it still takes me only about half a block to catch up to him, and then be forced to dawdle behind him. Thankfully, there was room to pass him at the next light as he started talking on his cell phone (yes, another rant). I never saw him again.

I know I'm not the only female who experiences this. You can read my friend's story here. Yes boys, girls can be fast, too.

I've considered blogging for awhile now, but had my reasons not to. What should I write about? And more importantly, what should I name my blog? My friends all have clever names for their blogs, and I couldn't come up with one. Admittedly, my blog name isn't all that clever. But it is appropriate, since it seems that most of my life choices lean towards the road less traveled, though, as Robert Frost wrote, "as for that the passing there had worn them really about the same."

(Somewhat ironically, however, choosing The Road Less Traveled for my web address was definitely NOT the road less traveled, since any variation on it or any other significant line from the poem The Road Not Taken was gone. So, I went with a title from one of my favourite poets, Ogden Nash. A Lady Who Thinks She is Thirty.)

I'm not sure what I'll write about in my blogs. Just life, I suppose. Experiences, and random thoughts. It will likely, for the most part, replace my "Notes" on Facebook.

So, in honour of my blog title...

Today, I decided to hit the roads less traveled. It was my first time out on my mountain bike this year. It was quite phenomenal to be in the city and yet feel like I was way out it the country. Just a few minutes into my ride, at a fork in the road, I saw this young lad (lass?) standing in my way.

I opted to bike in the other direction.

As I continued on...

Like I said, it totally felt like I was out on a country ride. But perhaps my favourite sighting was of this gentleman, just waving at me as I rode past:

With all the rain we've had lately, the roads were pretty muddy. My bike and I both came home needing a bath - the sign of a good ride. :)