If you let it, the mind can run away to the ends of fantasy and back again. Particularly when confronted with a challenge you just don’t bloody well feel up for… such as, when ruminating on a tough UPHILL triathlon only hours away… and then lo and behold, in the deep, dark yet scarily vivid recesses of your mind, yer being abandoned on a high mountain trail, alone, lost, with no food or water, stalked by wolves and cougars, ultimately to end up an early supper for a frustrated mother bear and her eager little cubs.
And there’s where our story begins….
I did get out of the pool last. I did end up alone, the last racer on the bike trail… slowly pedalling if I wasn’t trudging, pushing my bike up the steep, narrow inclines, alone with my thoughts, sometimes singing- and yes, as I sang tunes loudly hoping that, if my presence alone was not enough to scare off predatory wildlife, then my complete lack of musicality would be- but always working to appreciate the sounds of the birds , the butterflies and the burbling of the creek in the narrow valley below, and reminding myself it’s really not so bad. Things can always be worse, after all. And… I took the short option trail, which brought me out to the festive crowds cheering, the first person to take to the trails on foot.
And so, I ran. Again the short course. Which brought me into the finish….
FIRST!!!
OK, so I know that out of 12 individual participants in this inaugural race, I was the only person to take the available short cut. I was also one of only two women to participate. The other woman hauled ass, my friend. She won the event- the long EXTREME event, I might add, beating the guys handily. For her, this was merely a fun event in an otherwise gruelling triathlon circuit over the summer.
Ahhhh, if only…..
Anyways, it was a great day. A great event. And many volunteers in the way of our trusty local Lions Club. They were organizing, offering support and several opportunities for water and oranges.
It was great. And, yes, if it happens, I will, in fact, participate again next year. LONG COURSE!
Today is Canada Day. The Canadians July 4th equivalent, minus the monster fireworks, the apple pie, the jingo-ism and by and large, the historic significance.
But what we will have… is a Triathlon. Yes, a mere two weeks after the last, three events- swimming, cycling and running- in, today, an effort to earn our festive national celebration. Apparently trying to make up for our nation’s lack of any real defining historic moments such as, say, the signing of The Declaration of Independence. Ahhh…. proud to be Canadian.
Anyways, the difference between this event and the last, other than the festive national celebration to follow, is that this is The Inaugural. The Very First. And last but not least, after the swim. Entirely. Uphill.
After a lovely 650 metres in our lovely pool, we make our way, another 12 kms, by mountain bike and then by foot, up… up… up… to, and around, our local ski hill. Before we get the t-shirt. The burger. The beer.
The problem is this is the first time for this event in our area. Really, this should take the pressure off- reinforce the notion of just plain old wholesome, athletic FUN… but I find myself distracted, considering irrationally all of the possible worst case scenarios of this, a very first time event.
OK… so my fear is the biggest issue will be the lack of volunteers. After all, any event such as this is only as good as it’s team of generous and unpaid support! Which means, few, if any, water stations on the course. Also, too few playing a supporting role on the course to ensure all participants are alive and accounted for… and as I am fairly confident I will be one of the last out of the pool and most definitely will lag behind the pack on my shitty, old, kluged and bungee’d, mountain bike, therefore, assuming I have not taken the wrong turn at the fork in the pitifully unmarked trail, bringing me in last to start the run… where I will be parched- thanks to the lack of water stations on course… and I will, as the last participant on the trail, have the ironic misfortune of coming across an annoyed and hungry black bear and her cubs- bothered at having watched other meal opportunities sprint nimbly by- relieved to finally see an available, not to mention adequately fleshy, meal within easy swiping distance. Meanwhile, I have nothing left in the tank. Not to run. Not to climb. Not even to pee. And I will be dragged through the dense bush to my violent and bloody demise. While my family enjoys the music, hotdogs and beer garden.
As I lay here on my comfy couch despondent relaxing before the big event, the wiggly jiggly flesh butterflies are all I can feel of my stomach…. Despite telling myself repeatedly this is a FUN event, just finishing is the goal- times bedamned- I still have that nervous, nauseous tummy and I am wishing I had just never signed us up!
I just want to enjoy this holiday and the fun without the fucking strings! Bottom line at this point, committed and unable, no-unwilling- to back out… Yeah, I just want to finish, alright… ALIVE!
An outstanding long weekend such as this has been ripe with all kinds of shots… What, with happy kids, all the sun, the lake, and our reliable little boat. We’ve waited a long time for this weather and we are drinking it up!
Newfoundland (today’s projected high: 10C… ack!), I apologize for these, on this Best Shot Monday! Oh, and it’s hosted by Melody.
Or, Don’t Forget to Tighten the Stopcock! Oh… and You Might Think About Turning On the Pump….
We have been waiting for this day since last September…. OK, WE might be overstating it a little. Make that HE has been waiting for this day since last September.
Don’t get me wrong, when the boat is up and running, it is sheer bliss. We live on a perfectly lovely lake- clean and clear… and very cold right now. During hot weather there’s no better place to be particularly because our little beach gets pretty durned crowded. And to be out… and away… on the water. Nothing like it.
However, the boat is really HIS summer baby, second only to his golf clubs. Maintenance, cleaning, upkeep, all that jazz falls in his lap and he welcomes it. Believe me.
Luckily on this crowded, cluster fack of a long weekend and for the following week, we are fortunate enough to have lucked out in the boat stall draw at our little marina. It’s going to be upwards of 30 degrees Celcius, so break out the boat, baby!
Break it out we did. 10 kms down the lake, after having opened ‘er up down the middle, slicing through the water under the glorious sun.
From amidst the noise of the motor, Fidgey Fidgenstein calmly asks me, as I am blissfully distracted by the stunning view that was exclusively ours- alone on the lake, the calm before the tourist storm- “Where’s the water coming from, mummy?”
Without breaking my gaze of our surroundings, I casually respond, “Oh, it’s just the splashing, sweetie.”
Absorbed in the unadulterated beauty of our lake once again, within moments I hear a young voice, a boy… becoming increasingly shrill, “There’s a lot of water coming in…”
We look back to children in back of boat. Three sets of shins engulfed in water… and disappearing fast.
Followed by, “TAKE THE WHEEL!!”
“WHERE’S THE BUCKET?!?!”
And then, “WHERE’S THE FUCKING BUCKET?!?!”
Children scatter throughout the small craft searching frantically. In vain. No bucket. I gun it. I can see our marina markers in the distance. I smell smoke. Faster. Home.
I glance back to see Husband tossing water with his baseball hat. Madly.
I work to contain a smile.
We head to town this morning. Bank. Library. Groceries. Pick up papers.
Meet with our liason with School District. The nice lady who ensures we are, in fact, teaching our kid something at home. The meetings always make me nervous. I find myself overcome with feelings of highschool inadequacy as I anticipate having to admit we haven’t completed our homework. I will have to present unfinished little workbooks confirming we haven’t been working diligently away on our ‘modules’… but likely she already knows this. I’ll feel compelled to list the things we are in fact getting formally (read: academically) accomplished, even though it might be a short list… but likely she has already determined that we aren’t a particularly structured bunch and already knows this.
Sally will confirm what lady already knows by stating casually, ‘nothing’, when she asks what we’ve been doing. I will flush, and kick him frantically under the table give him a look, silently reminding him of what we have been doing over these past two months and in my eyes he will read, ‘tell her about:
the garden… the camera… chess… camping… your first triathlon… baking… cleaning up after baking… how, after so many years HATING it, how much you absolutely LOVE reading… THE READING!’
And he will not understand my pleading stare, no matter how hard I will him from the depths of my corneas, and he will sit, his feet casually kicking the legs of his chair, as we all hang on the word, ‘nothing’.
And then I will begin to babble… as though negotiating frantically for our lives.
But, as with meetings past, she will finish by saying, we’re doing great, give us a few ideas and bid farewell. I will breathe a huge sigh of relief and as we walk out to the van, I will ask, incredulous, “how can you tell her we do nothing?”
He’ll look up at me with a mischievious grin, and as it grows into a downright evil smile, reply so very knowingly, “I dunno….”
Little shit.
I am so very exhaustedly pleased, as I lay here headachey and largely shattered on my comfy, cozy couch, to say yet another month is in the can. I know it’s a monthly. It’s all of six pages. But, by golly I swear it’s bloody well like giving birth every month. And, if you’ll indulge the birthing analogy just a little longer, this month was excruciating. I was prepared the day before ‘due date’. I had everything written, laid out, and all submissions in and placed… all but one. A blip on the heart rate monitor strapped around my heaving, bloated belly. So as I readied myself for the final push, the print to CutePDF…. I awaited eagerly, anxiously, the final contribution.
My last contributor, my one complication, in an otherwise uneventful, yet joyous, delivery. A fifty eight year old baby- I mean, man- with long, grey hair and a love for all things musical. He’s in a band. A percussionist- a genius on the maraccas; bloody brilliant on the tamborine. A middle aged master home builder who missed his calling in a for real rock ‘n roll band. He also has his finger on the pulse of all things musical in our area. With no wife and no kids, but for some young, groupie girlfriends, he is everywhere… and knows everybody. His life is one big ol’ party. He is my Music and Entertainment Reporter.
Granted, the job offers no compensation other than a case of beer and the honour and prestige of the title, Music and Entertainment Reporter. Understand that in our town, during the low season: quaint and charming, sort of Northern Exposure meets Deliverance. High season: Northern Exposure meets Deliverance meets Dallas- the Alberta oil money comes to town. So the title is one of great respect and admiration.
No, really.
I do appreciate that given there is limited compensation, expectations have to be managed. I must treat my talent with care, sensitivity and immense gratitude. Not to mention exuberant praise for the work they do… a case of beer only goes so far. Egos must be stroked, readily and consistently.
However…. when I say Wednesday. I. Mean. Wednesday. Even if your 58th birthday was Tuesday.
Thursday afternoon does not cut it. And “I’ll have it to you in 20 minutes” NEVER means four hours.
So, the music column for July has been replaced by a last minute sad-ass review of The Other Boleyn Girl. Music Man’s submission did finally arrive. Too late. I had pressed SEND an hour before. I haven’t been this angry at a man other than Husband in quite some time.
In this case, as with my children, I exercise consistency: You don’t play by the rules, you don’t play. Say what you mean and mean what you say. Take your commitments seriously and show your friends and colleagues respect. And please, we’re all busy adults here, if for whatever reason you can’t do somethin, let me know and then I can plan accordingly. Just don’t leave me hangin’!
Music man will not know he missed the boat until he picks up the issue at newsstand on the weekend to read it. He will call me. Angry. Dejected. Hard done by. Unappreciated.
And I will say, “Tough Tittie, Music Man. A woman in labour is not to be toyed with.”
I am pleased to help announce the launching of BlogNosh Magazine! Yesterday marked the first day of a new online magazine featuring the best archived content from primarily personal blogs, spotlighting a cross-section of topics and perspectives. New posts daily.
I am also pleased to call myself an Editor. A Channel Editor. For the Education Channel. My hope is, as I surf education, and homeschool specifically, blogs that I will come across some really helpful stuff. In finding great posts I will undoubtedly benefit, but I can help in bringing them to the people. Give a little more profile to really good information that I need and without question, others would like to have.
New to this homeschooling game, it’s been a challenge finding homeschoolers of like mind (read:secular) and if I can play a small role in simplifying the search for others in this blogosphere sea, then I will have done my part. I’m looking forward to it!
Interesting thing about a busy week. It’s overwhelming. OK… so not funny in the sense of ‘ha ha’. Just funny in the sense that last week was pretty relaxed, without Husband around, we all sort of took it easy and enjoyed a relatively stress-free week of a little school work and kids games and activities.
This week… the shit essentially hits the fan. Husband returns with a full plate, not the least of which are two days of golf back to back. I’ve got my little newspaper to get out before this long weekend as well as a campspot to set up and reserve for our family and friends for this weekend- two days before we will actually be there. It’s called beating the long-weekend campground rush. And of course, 15 days of school module to squeeze into three. Oh, and another triathlon to prepare for early next week. Hmmmm………
So the motto between us is simply. Just. Do. It. It sounds strangely familiar… as though I’ve heard it somewhere before……
Anyhow, on my way to Calgary on Sunday I managed to catch a talk radio show and the guest was a psychic, life coach, crazy lady but she did say one thing that stuck in my brain.
We spend far too much time thinking about the things we have to do. The things we want to do. Too much time thinking…. Always thinking…. A lot of energy. Thinking. Perhaps rather than stewing. Ruminating. Contemplating. Instead of persistently thinking about the life we want perhaps actually Do SOMETHING to actually achieve it. We should exert a little of that precious time and precious energy spent in our heads, actually doing.
Think less. Do more. And so far, so good. Last night as I was about to get ready for a typical evening of dwelling on what I needed to do, what had to be done to accomplish this weeks demands, instead, for a change, I just did something. Instead of laying upon my couch, thinking, becoming increasingly overwhelmed and anxious, I got a good start on the newspaper. Instead of thinking about doing. I just did.
Just Do It. What a concept! Somebody should really do something with that….
