Tag: challenges

challenges

Holding Out for a Hero

2chicksandapen

Zooming down the highway, on time for being early, lights still gleaming out of the downtown buildings.

“This is the best time of the day to drive to the airport,” I think to myself. No traffic stopping things up. Smooth sailing. I’m gliding from a middle lane to the left, getting ready to take one of the final exits to the airport, when THUCK. I hit something in the middle of the lane. I just hold my breath and pray it’s nothing. Then I hear the “tik-tik-tik-tik-tik-tik” and know it’s bad news. The instrument panel lights up like a Christmas display. Flat tire. Thankfully, I was able to get over to the right shoulder. Hazards on. Now what….

It’s 5:50 am. I’m an hour from home on the side of a busy interstate. Who is up? Who will help? Made a call to 511, our metro HERO unit line. Spoke to a really nice dispatcher. Quick, seamless, shared my location, someone will be there to help me in 10 minutes or so. You may be thinking I should change my own tire. Even though I said there was no traffic, it’s more accurate to say that traffic wasn’t stopped. No, this is a major artery through downtown Atlanta, just before the exit toward the busiest airport in the world. Dozens of cars raced past me at 60-70-80 miles per hour every minute. I had about 8-10 feet of space between me and those fast cars. Needless to say, I stayed in my seat.

20 minutes passed. The sound of fast whooshing wind as SUVs, 18 wheelers, boat trailers, and motorcycles flew by went from annoying to unnerving pretty quickly. I found myself just praying that people were paying attention to the road. That they were sober. At some point I realized I had taken off my seatbelt. I quickly put it back on in case of impact. I called the HERO dispatcher back. Yes, help was still on the way but they have to help any incident that stopped traffic first. I would just have to wait.

By now the whooshing came too fast and too furious to stay calm about it. But really, what are my choices? I’m on the side of a 6-lane highway, with a median separating it from another 3-lane exit. I literally have no choice but to wait. Being in a car at least gives me a little protection.

I flash back to another time this happened, years ago. In the middle of the night. With my daughters. Waiting in the dark for help in an area we didn’t want to be in. Every light that comes toward you is a threat. How fast are they going? Are they sleepy? Do they see me? The car wobbles ever so slightly with each vehicle that zooms by. It’s been years since that time, but my body remembers.

Back to the present…by this point I am looking at my grim flight options to try to distract from the terror of that unrelenting sound. Sold out – Sold out – Sold out – my only options are to pay either $400 or $1,200 dollars to fly out late tonight, which would put me at my destination after one of the main events I am going for. So, as I waited, I canceled. The hotel. The car. The flight. The first family reunion I have missed since 1991. A story for another day.

Finally, the flashing lights roll up behind me. A few minutes pass before a portly man gets out, helmet on and gear attached. He’s done this job for 9 years. I pass him my wheel lock and watch him work…it only takes a few minutes before my spare is on the car and I am on my way. Jason, the driver in his bright green truck, really was my HERO on this day.

On my way to the tire store, I focused on feelings of gratitude. I am safe. I am ok. Nothing is unfixable. It could have been much worse. Someone showed up to help me. Do I wish I was on a plane for a weekend of fun and beach pizza and crumb cake and cousins and memories? Sure. Maybe the universe was protecting me from something. I will never know. All I do know is life happens sometimes and the best you can do is just try to stay positive and keep moving as best you can. And be thankful for the heroes who show up for you.

adventure, fitness and nutrition

Fitness Freedom

2chicksandapen

The CrossFit Ranch. The Original Proving Grounds. Home of the first CrossFit Games. Owned by Dave Castro. Even though I do a lot of my fitness outside of my CrossFit gym, I am a huge Dave Castro fan. I love his CrossFit announcements. His esoteric clues. His persona.

When the opportunity came to visit The Ranch for an event, I was all in. I missed it last year due to a scheduling conflict, but this year I was going to make it work.

It was a celebration of sorts, leaving school directly after the last day of my 10th year as a teacher. A long flight across the country. Renting a car and making the drive. To save on what was already a splurge of a trip, I bunked in with a group of women I had never met or even interacted with much. But, we are all part of the same online fitness community. They turned out to be pretty low key and kind. A group no one would have ever brought together but we were all in it for the adventure.

A 30 minute drive to the Ranch in the morning and we were into our weekend of fitness fun. Signed in, got our swag bag, and dove right in to the first event.

Called “Climb Every Mountain,” it started with a 1 mile run. After that, you did a mile ruck / sandbag carry up the infamous CrossFit Ranch hill. I was the slowest of my heat on the run, but I was smiling and taking in the sights, meeting the people I’d only seen on the screen at the turn around points. Once I got back, I had to choose my weight. I could choose 20, 40, or 60 pounds (or more) to carry…or go with no weight. My home sandbags are 25 and 35 pounds, so I decided to challenge myself with 40. I had done a lot of weighted walking in May, so I felt pretty good about it as I started. It didn’t take me long to realize that the 40 pounds combined with a seriously steep hill was going to be a heck of a challenge. I quickly got to the point where I had to just tell myself to walk 50 paces then drop. Walk 50 paces then drop. I thought the hill would never end. But, I was determined to make it to the top, and make it to the top I did. No time cap on this event so as long as I kept going I knew I would finish. True to fitness fun form, a special surprise guest waited at the top of the hill behind a tree. Yes, I screamed when he jumped out, but then I laughed and had a quick photo opp.

The trip down to the bottom was treacherous with the sandbag, but little by little I made it to the finish line. The smile when I saw my team captain cheering for me at the finish line said it all.

The rest of the weekend was all about fitness and connection. I met scores of wonderful people, all at different points in their fitness and life journeys, all challenging themselves to work hard and be joyful. I picked up heavy strongman and husafell bags. I pushed enormous sleds with a team. I muscled through a long chipper. We ate, danced, and fitnessed together.

The weekend ended with a final climb of the hill. Everyone in attendance climbed together. We carried notes where we had written some things we were going to leave behind on that relentless hill. I wanted to leave behind my fears. My worries about what anyone else thinks. My concerns about failure. We got our hug and challenge coin for the climb, then burned those fears in a fire pit. It was a satisfying end to a weekend of fitness.

What was the best part? Was it meeting so many of the community’s “celebrities” (or really they’re sort of everyday heroes to me)? Meeting them in person, I see that they are sincere in what they believe. They are dedicated to family, fitness, and the belief that we can all be well. They live out their mission. Or maybe it was making new friends, enjoying meals together, morning meditative walks on the beach…really there are too many good memories to list here.

Here’s my takeaway: in the end, no one but you has to understand or approve of what you’re doing. Did people tell me I was crazy? Sure. Did someone close to me chuckle as they asked if I was traveling all the way across the country to exercise? Absolutely. Did those doubters make me do a double take? Maybe for a second. But whose approval ultimately matters? Me. I am SO glad I did it. And I would totally do it again.

So when people look at you like you’re crazy, carry on. In the end, the collection of experiences and memories you have is up to you. No one else can climb the mountain set before you. If something is calling you, answer.

adventure, fitness and nutrition

Pickled

2chicksandapen

Ever been in a pickle? 

I have been in many pickles or jams. I’m not even sure why one refers to a situation in that way. Nonetheless I was asked by a friend to play pickleball and of course I jumped at the chance. Why not? I enjoy a good pickle. It’s the hot trendy thing too, isn’t it?

I had really no clue other than it looked like a cross between ping pong and tennis. Of course that’s how they came up with the name pickleball. Pretty funny to me but I went to trusty old amazon and ordered a starter set of paddles and balls. Bounced a few around my driveway with an unwilling soul. I can do this. I got a feel for the ball and the paddle. It’s all good. 

Hopped on to YouTube and watched a few videos. Skimmed the rule books online. Eew the scoring sounds weird. Not at all like tennis. Who makes this stuff up? Who picked the ball for that matter?  Good lord I have to learn record keeping on top of the game itself. Oh well. I said I would play so I will.

I’m on a team of strangers. All new faces. All different ages and abilities. Talk about a fish out of water. It’s okay I can make friends easily. First practice is called. The team votes for learning vs. competition. Oh no. That’s new for me. I’m super competitive. I showed up and it was so much fun! The scoring was much simpler in practical application than reading it. The game is fast paced. The strategy is as interesting as the kitchen.

Yes, I said the kitchen. Who decided the area by the net is the no no zone anyway? sort of cracks me up. The kitchen has rules of entry. It’s easy to accidentally enter the kitchen especially if you are hyped up in a game and don’t have great body and spatial awareness. It’s sort of fun to watch and I’m not referring to me. Stay out of the kitchen. Easy for me I hate to cook anyway so the rule is simple for me to comprehend. Do not enter. 

Sweat fest is how I would describe my first day on the small court. Day two would be sufficed as the same. Day three was game day. I was playing mixed doubles for the first time with a partner that was new to me. That in itself brings challenges. Then add the newness of the game and our inexperience and boom we lost all three games. I even sweated hearts on the court. See picture below for a giggle. Despite losing I couldn’t wait to play again. Also the sweat session is no joke. It’s the type of sweat where you must immediately change and shower. 95 degree heat could be a factor, too.

We improved each time but we lost as a whole. What an experience. I’m so ready for more. This may be my new summer addiction. Not only am I getting a workout but I’m getting challenged in multiple ways. It’s also new enough in my area that I can share my knowledge with friends.

This is just a fun post to hype you up to try something new. Go get a paddle. Find a friend to hit with. Join the pickleball craze, but don’t break anything.  When you’re ready, join a team. It’s a lot of fun, I promise. And a friendly reminder don’t break anything. Medical professionals maybe ready to cash in on injuries! 

Knee replacements are the prediction. I’m sure due to many older folks showing an interest. Couch to pickle ball.  A sure way to get injured. Why not? Life is short.

family, mental health

The Cruelest Month

2chicksandapen

“April is the cruelest month.”

Maybe it is for T. S. Eliot. But for me, the cruelest month is July.

You might think I’d love July, really. It’s the heart of summer, and I am a teacher. Pool days and party nights, right? But these days, we go back to start a new school year in July, so the turn of the calendar brings a bit of dread. But even more so, July haunts me with bad memories.

It starts with the Tour de France, which usually kicks off in the first few days of July. The Tour was a big deal each year of my youth. Long before the days of streaming video, my dad and brother would get up in the middle of the night to watch the race. Throughout the month of July, it was always on in our house…if not the live stage, a recap or rerun or highlight show. Probably not surprisingly, I eventually developed a fascination with Lance Armstrong and the US Postal team (and the other teams he rode for.) Many a summer hour was spent watching the peloton float through the French countryside.

The family love for the Tour and its fanfare was eventually overshadowed by grief.

July is the month when I lost both of my parents. When I got the call that my mother’s short illness had ended, I had the Tour de France on my TV as I got ready to go over and sit at her bedside for my daily ritual. Four years later, the very same week, when I stood by my father’s bedside as he took his last breaths, the Tour de France was on the hospital TV.

These anniversaries are ones I carry in my heart. Some years I almost forget them. But then, more often than not, my heart gets heavy. Deep sighs erupt from out of the blue. Even when my brain is protecting me from sadness, my body remembers.

If only I could put a sign on my forehead….or pin a little note like Paddington Bear had: “July hurts. Take it easy on me.” Life doesn’t work like that. On any given day, plenty of people around me are suffering. When someone snaps at me for no reason, I have to assume their hearts are troubled for reasons that likely have little to do with me.

So I guess it’s no wonder when the Tour de France ads come on, my heart starts to sink. And most years it remains sunk through all the hard and sad anniversaries of July. The heat and heartache can sap whatever energy I have. It sneaks up on me sometimes, but when I remember I know to be patient with myself and just keep going. Eventually August will come.

perspective

Congress

2chicksandapen

Recently I made an appointment to speak to my congressman. A first for me. I met in person in a great old office in a historic building, not too far from home on his office day. The floors squeaked when you walked on them. The doors were big and bold yet from another time period. Stairs were aged. So much history in just the architecture. My mind went crazy thinking about all that went on over the years in the building. So much fun to think about what once was there. Who might have stepped foot on those floors.

I didn’t really have an expectation with my meeting other than to be heard and see if there was anything his office could do for me given his advocacy reach. I was pleasantly surprised with his approachable demeanor and willingness to review my inquiries. That being said, I have no idea if my issues will go beyond the conference table I sat at but I did my part. I raise my concerns. I used my voice. 

As citizens of this glorious country, we have a right to access our leadership. Some routes may not lead one directly to the president but you have to start somewhere. Maybe you need a local school representative or the mayor. No matter who you need to visit, don’t hesitate. Take the chance. Make a stand. Your voice can count. For those who read our blog outside of the United States, you might not have the luxuries we do. Yet another reason we in the U. S. need to exercise our voice.

Glad to have made a step into voicing my concerns at this age / stage in my life. This may not be my last visit, but it was an interesting process to undertake. This blog is normally not a place to share or comment on political views of any kind, but I felt the vagueness of the post just reminded folks to get involved in their political scene, when the need arises.

Just a ponder post to put out there.