It's been a whirlwind week of activities for my son's school...the volunteer load, so far this year, has increased relative to last year. Which is not a good trend.
On the other hand--after the week to come, the amount of time I need to spend on those school activities will decrease dramatically. Which means, finally, finally...my other life--what I can hopefully call a "career" in about three months--will take off. Or at least, flutter its wings.
Friday, September 30, 2016
Sunday, September 25, 2016
Running into Old Age
I don't feel old. That's the simple truth. I'm almost 52, but I'm running races and doing it faster than ever...I have a 7-year-old boy, and therefore find myself hanging out with 30 and 40-year-old women (other moms of 7-year-olds), and don't feel like I'm looking conspicuously haggard compared to them...sometimes I catch my reflection in a window and think, "Boy that person needs more sleep," but I feel like I'm holding my own, as a woman moving well beyond 50 years of age.
However--I do feel like time is passing by very quickly now. When I think about what I still hope to accomplish in life--yes, there's not that much time left.
On the other hand...we've fallen into a good rhythm as a family, these days...which feels good. For the 2nd year in a row, we all participated in a 5K where I ran the distance and my son and husband did the trail walk. Jesse happily announced at the end, "Mommy, you'll be proud of me because I walked the whole distance without stopping." And I was--because my son's favorite thing to do when we're out hiking is to stop after 20 minutes or so and have a snack.
And I managed to run much faster than I've ever run 5 kilometers before. It's about six hours after the race, and it still feels damn good...I'll probably have this feeling of post-race euphoria for the next day or so.
Of course, there were ten and eleven-year-old children out there, running the whole 5 kilometers faster than I did. And, there was one 60-year-old woman running it in less than 20 minutes.
There will always be faster people--that's one thing road racing teaches you. And it's true in every field of endeavor--there will always be faster, smarter, better people.
The trick is to enjoy the hell out of the fact that you, yourself, are right now better than you've ever been. And as I start to slow down (as I inevitably will, as I get older), I'll have to enjoy the fact that I'm doing better at 57, 58 or 62 years of age, than I ever dreamed I could.
However--I do feel like time is passing by very quickly now. When I think about what I still hope to accomplish in life--yes, there's not that much time left.
On the other hand...we've fallen into a good rhythm as a family, these days...which feels good. For the 2nd year in a row, we all participated in a 5K where I ran the distance and my son and husband did the trail walk. Jesse happily announced at the end, "Mommy, you'll be proud of me because I walked the whole distance without stopping." And I was--because my son's favorite thing to do when we're out hiking is to stop after 20 minutes or so and have a snack.
And I managed to run much faster than I've ever run 5 kilometers before. It's about six hours after the race, and it still feels damn good...I'll probably have this feeling of post-race euphoria for the next day or so.
Of course, there were ten and eleven-year-old children out there, running the whole 5 kilometers faster than I did. And, there was one 60-year-old woman running it in less than 20 minutes.
There will always be faster people--that's one thing road racing teaches you. And it's true in every field of endeavor--there will always be faster, smarter, better people.
The trick is to enjoy the hell out of the fact that you, yourself, are right now better than you've ever been. And as I start to slow down (as I inevitably will, as I get older), I'll have to enjoy the fact that I'm doing better at 57, 58 or 62 years of age, than I ever dreamed I could.
Friday, September 16, 2016
Cool Gray City of Love (and Lunacy)
As I read Gary Kamiya's Cool Gray City of Love, I'm reminded of my experience as a new mom, exploring the hidden corners of San Francisco with my baby boy napping in a stroller. (I wrote about many of those explorations in the 2009-2010 posts for this blog.) I do miss those days. And yet--do I really wish to return to my old life in San Francisco?
Yes and no. I will always hold a soft spot in my heart for The City. Ever since I took Caltrain up from Palo Alto at age seventeen, then rode the 30 Stockton up to North Beach--feeling a tremor of excitement race through me as the bus passed the Jack London birthplace plaque, on the wall of a Well Fargo Bank on 3rd Street; ever since I discovered City Lights (best bookstore ever) and Cafe Puccini (best cappuccinos ever); ever since I moved to a little efficiency apartment at Bush and Jones (on the edge of the Tenderloin or the base of Nob Hill, depending how you looked at it) at age 18, then spent most of the next ten years moving from one rental situation to another, one cafe to another, one poetry reading and bookstore to another.
Kamiya writes about San Francisco with the same enthusiasm I felt in those days and which I still feel to some extent. He turns something of a blind eye to the noise and dirt, the junkies and the schizophrenics, the filthy rich in their SUVs cruising to the opera, to the latest "hot" bar or restaurant, or to one of their absurdly expensive private schools. Some would say that those extremes--the homeless and the extravagantly wealthy--are always present in any big city; but in San Francisco in the first part of the new millenium, the extremes are ever more observable, and problematic. Dozens of homeless sleeping in the Powell Street BART station every night; women in neon-glow evening gowns taking their poodles to the Opera...pedestrians getting rammed by bicyclists, people shouting obscenities as they walk down the street...it gets old.
However--I do understand Kamiya's undying love for San Francisco...and share it, though in my case it's a love tempered with a fair measure of disgust and caution.
Yes and no. I will always hold a soft spot in my heart for The City. Ever since I took Caltrain up from Palo Alto at age seventeen, then rode the 30 Stockton up to North Beach--feeling a tremor of excitement race through me as the bus passed the Jack London birthplace plaque, on the wall of a Well Fargo Bank on 3rd Street; ever since I discovered City Lights (best bookstore ever) and Cafe Puccini (best cappuccinos ever); ever since I moved to a little efficiency apartment at Bush and Jones (on the edge of the Tenderloin or the base of Nob Hill, depending how you looked at it) at age 18, then spent most of the next ten years moving from one rental situation to another, one cafe to another, one poetry reading and bookstore to another.
Kamiya writes about San Francisco with the same enthusiasm I felt in those days and which I still feel to some extent. He turns something of a blind eye to the noise and dirt, the junkies and the schizophrenics, the filthy rich in their SUVs cruising to the opera, to the latest "hot" bar or restaurant, or to one of their absurdly expensive private schools. Some would say that those extremes--the homeless and the extravagantly wealthy--are always present in any big city; but in San Francisco in the first part of the new millenium, the extremes are ever more observable, and problematic. Dozens of homeless sleeping in the Powell Street BART station every night; women in neon-glow evening gowns taking their poodles to the Opera...pedestrians getting rammed by bicyclists, people shouting obscenities as they walk down the street...it gets old.
However--I do understand Kamiya's undying love for San Francisco...and share it, though in my case it's a love tempered with a fair measure of disgust and caution.
Thursday, September 15, 2016
Revving Up While Slowing Down
So much happening right now...hard to know where to begin. But continuing with the theme of countercultural activities for a moment...
Fishing is one way to slow down, enjoy the beauty of nature, and keep my son focused on something BESIDES video games. Last Sunday at Santa Cruz Pier was part of that low-technology campaign. And it will continue this weekend, as I've signed us up to participate in Coastal Cleanup Day at Half Moon Bay; we might take advantage of that trip to get in some more fishing, probably at Pillar Point Harbor.
Another activity that my son will start to pursue this year is 4-H, which has a great chapter in Cupertino. I've got Jesse signed up for the rabbit project, which meets once a month, starting in October, and basically covers all aspects of rabbit care. We don't even have a rabbit; but we've held them many times on "Bunny Day" at the local pet store, and Jesse gets so much pleasure from that--his whole system seems to slow down and a special, quiet smile spreads across his face when he's holding a bunny--that I'm pretty sure he'll enjoy being a part of the 4-H rabbit group, for the next year at least. And who knows, it could inspire him to get involved with animal care in a more significant way.
Last Saturday we took a tour of the 4-H farm at McClellan Ranch in Cupertino. Two boys, about eleven years old and as excitable and awkward and wonderful as eleven-year-old boys can be, took us past the goat, mini-horse and chicken enclosures; with pride in their eyes, they held up a couple of beautiful chickens and let us stroke their feathers. They'd raised them from when they were tiny chicks to their present, full-grown splendor. It was, again, a pause and a step away from the computer and video-oriented world my son is steeped in, and I'm very grateful that he can have that experience once in a while.
My husband and I periodically dream of stepping away from Silicon Valley for good, buying a little house out in the middle of Montana or Washington State...the chances of that seem to be fading at the moment, for a variety of reasons. But even as I start revving up for a series of fall activities, I'm enjoying these little moments to slow down, breathe more deeply, and just shed myself of all the trappings of contemporary, Silicon Valley life. It makes a big difference.
Fishing is one way to slow down, enjoy the beauty of nature, and keep my son focused on something BESIDES video games. Last Sunday at Santa Cruz Pier was part of that low-technology campaign. And it will continue this weekend, as I've signed us up to participate in Coastal Cleanup Day at Half Moon Bay; we might take advantage of that trip to get in some more fishing, probably at Pillar Point Harbor.
Another activity that my son will start to pursue this year is 4-H, which has a great chapter in Cupertino. I've got Jesse signed up for the rabbit project, which meets once a month, starting in October, and basically covers all aspects of rabbit care. We don't even have a rabbit; but we've held them many times on "Bunny Day" at the local pet store, and Jesse gets so much pleasure from that--his whole system seems to slow down and a special, quiet smile spreads across his face when he's holding a bunny--that I'm pretty sure he'll enjoy being a part of the 4-H rabbit group, for the next year at least. And who knows, it could inspire him to get involved with animal care in a more significant way.
Last Saturday we took a tour of the 4-H farm at McClellan Ranch in Cupertino. Two boys, about eleven years old and as excitable and awkward and wonderful as eleven-year-old boys can be, took us past the goat, mini-horse and chicken enclosures; with pride in their eyes, they held up a couple of beautiful chickens and let us stroke their feathers. They'd raised them from when they were tiny chicks to their present, full-grown splendor. It was, again, a pause and a step away from the computer and video-oriented world my son is steeped in, and I'm very grateful that he can have that experience once in a while.
My husband and I periodically dream of stepping away from Silicon Valley for good, buying a little house out in the middle of Montana or Washington State...the chances of that seem to be fading at the moment, for a variety of reasons. But even as I start revving up for a series of fall activities, I'm enjoying these little moments to slow down, breathe more deeply, and just shed myself of all the trappings of contemporary, Silicon Valley life. It makes a big difference.
Tuesday, September 13, 2016
Fishing at the Triathlon
This weekend, headed to Santa Cruz with husband, son and brother, for a little fishing at the Santa Cruz Pier. To my surprise the Santa Cruz Ironman Triathlon (70.3) was happening as we drove up; exhausted people in wet suits were lumbering out of the water right next to the pier as we drove by. The swimming portion is just the first leg of the event, but several of the competitors looked like they were already ready to quit, and at least one woman was being helped out of the water by race authorities, so she was definitely done.
My husband and brother set up the fishing gear while Jesse and I went down to the beach to get a bucket of water. I watched more of the Ironman. I'm all but 100% sure that I will never, ever subject myself to that much coldness and misery. Okay, yes, I have set myself the goal of completing an olympic triathlon next year, sometime in the spring or summer...but I'll do it in a place where the water temperature is at least 64 degrees, not the frigid 55 degrees or less of Monterey Bay or the Pacific Ocean. (Even 64 degrees scares me...but we'll see.)
We went back to the pier, where my brother and husband had already caught a couple anchovies and thrown them back. My husband caught another and handed the rod to our son before it had been reeled in; "You caught a fish!" we both exclaimed to Jesse, who looked proud; but then about twenty minutes later, he caught a fish all by himself with his own cast, and said to us, "Wow, the first fish I really caught by myself." Which teaches my husband and me a lesson about trying to fool a seven-year-old.
The atmosphere on the Santa Cruz Pier, even in the middle of a triathlon on a Sunday morning, is "totally chill," to use the popular lingo...you cast, sit back in your portable chair, and take in the seagulls and sea lions, or grab a cup of coffee and a pastry from one of the many restaurants and cafes on the other side of the pier. We released all of our anchovies back into the water when we were done, just dumped them out of our bucket (I hope they survived the fall), and the man fishing next to us shouted, "Free Willy!" and commented, "They're gonna tell their friends how they were just abducted by aliens." Most of the people fishing were men and boys. It was Jesse's first fishing trip where he learned to cast the line himself (our previous fishing trip, on Lake Almanor, was completely controlled by the fishing guide, with his deluxe boat, fish finder and four fishing rods set up at each corner of the boat--not very hands-on for our son, and we only caught one tiny fish even with all that gear and expertise).
What a different cultural experience fishing is, compared to a triathlon...compared to most things in our extreme-fun, hurry-up-and-relax culture. I don't necessarily love fishing myself, but I can understand the allure (pathetic pun intended). To feel that wiggle at the end of your line--suddenly your life and that fish's life are completely bound together. Whereas, in a triathlon, you're pushing yourself through the water like a machine, hopefully not smashing your arm against the body of the nearest competitor, trying not to think about how much pain you're in or how difficult it is to catch your breath...you're not connected to the ocean in any way, you're just trying to get past it and onto your bike. I had a few moments of euphoria during the sprint triathlon I did last year, but they didn't come during the swim in San Francisco Bay; they came when I was zooming through the last part of the bike leg of the race and realized "Hey, I can do this." But they were fleeting, and had nothing to do with the beauty of my surroundings or the wildlife in the vicinity.
I guess I have some qualms about the whole triathlon experience...then again, fishing is pretty nasty for the fish. Let's face it: neither of them are activities I want to pursue on a regular basis.
My husband and brother set up the fishing gear while Jesse and I went down to the beach to get a bucket of water. I watched more of the Ironman. I'm all but 100% sure that I will never, ever subject myself to that much coldness and misery. Okay, yes, I have set myself the goal of completing an olympic triathlon next year, sometime in the spring or summer...but I'll do it in a place where the water temperature is at least 64 degrees, not the frigid 55 degrees or less of Monterey Bay or the Pacific Ocean. (Even 64 degrees scares me...but we'll see.)
We went back to the pier, where my brother and husband had already caught a couple anchovies and thrown them back. My husband caught another and handed the rod to our son before it had been reeled in; "You caught a fish!" we both exclaimed to Jesse, who looked proud; but then about twenty minutes later, he caught a fish all by himself with his own cast, and said to us, "Wow, the first fish I really caught by myself." Which teaches my husband and me a lesson about trying to fool a seven-year-old.
The atmosphere on the Santa Cruz Pier, even in the middle of a triathlon on a Sunday morning, is "totally chill," to use the popular lingo...you cast, sit back in your portable chair, and take in the seagulls and sea lions, or grab a cup of coffee and a pastry from one of the many restaurants and cafes on the other side of the pier. We released all of our anchovies back into the water when we were done, just dumped them out of our bucket (I hope they survived the fall), and the man fishing next to us shouted, "Free Willy!" and commented, "They're gonna tell their friends how they were just abducted by aliens." Most of the people fishing were men and boys. It was Jesse's first fishing trip where he learned to cast the line himself (our previous fishing trip, on Lake Almanor, was completely controlled by the fishing guide, with his deluxe boat, fish finder and four fishing rods set up at each corner of the boat--not very hands-on for our son, and we only caught one tiny fish even with all that gear and expertise).
What a different cultural experience fishing is, compared to a triathlon...compared to most things in our extreme-fun, hurry-up-and-relax culture. I don't necessarily love fishing myself, but I can understand the allure (pathetic pun intended). To feel that wiggle at the end of your line--suddenly your life and that fish's life are completely bound together. Whereas, in a triathlon, you're pushing yourself through the water like a machine, hopefully not smashing your arm against the body of the nearest competitor, trying not to think about how much pain you're in or how difficult it is to catch your breath...you're not connected to the ocean in any way, you're just trying to get past it and onto your bike. I had a few moments of euphoria during the sprint triathlon I did last year, but they didn't come during the swim in San Francisco Bay; they came when I was zooming through the last part of the bike leg of the race and realized "Hey, I can do this." But they were fleeting, and had nothing to do with the beauty of my surroundings or the wildlife in the vicinity.
I guess I have some qualms about the whole triathlon experience...then again, fishing is pretty nasty for the fish. Let's face it: neither of them are activities I want to pursue on a regular basis.
Sunday, September 4, 2016
10K Without Tears
Well, it's done. Woke up at 4:30 this morning, wide awake. Just started reading a book and tried not to let it bother me that I'd only gotten five hours' sleep; jazzed up about the race I suppose. After stretching and a cereal bar, made it out to the car at 6:20, happy to be on schedule. Turned on the engine, and a "Check Tire Pressure!" notice appeared, which hasn't popped up in, well, years. I checked all the tires; they were at 25 psi. Low, but not ridiculously low; decided to risk it.
Two friendly teenage girls waved me into the parking lot with big red flags. It was the overflow lot; "the other one is probably full," they said. It wasn't too much of a walk. The race was well-organized, not too crowded, and low-key overall, which is just what I wanted; and it was almost entirely flat.
I started pretty fast, for me, then after a quarter-mile, realized what I was doing and slowed down. After one mile a big, ridiculous grin attached itself to my face. The effort of slogging through 10 kilometers soon got rid of it; but the same thought kept coming back to me: "I'm so happy to be in decent enough shape that I can do this race, at this speed, without killing myself!" Good health--maintaining it, celebrating it--is the reason I do these races; and I was enjoying mine enormously for those first few miles of the race.
Things got harder at around Mile 4, but not drastically so. I was about 80 percent sure that I could make it to the end without slowing down. The nihilistic thought crossed my mind: "Why on earth are you even doing this? What's the point?" But I chased it away and breathed in the crisp, early-morning air, thought about the cappuccino I would enjoy after the race, but mostly just stayed focused on the present moment, my body and my breath.
I have to admit: for me, the best part of any race is after it's done...but in some crazy way, this race was almost fun.
Two friendly teenage girls waved me into the parking lot with big red flags. It was the overflow lot; "the other one is probably full," they said. It wasn't too much of a walk. The race was well-organized, not too crowded, and low-key overall, which is just what I wanted; and it was almost entirely flat.
I started pretty fast, for me, then after a quarter-mile, realized what I was doing and slowed down. After one mile a big, ridiculous grin attached itself to my face. The effort of slogging through 10 kilometers soon got rid of it; but the same thought kept coming back to me: "I'm so happy to be in decent enough shape that I can do this race, at this speed, without killing myself!" Good health--maintaining it, celebrating it--is the reason I do these races; and I was enjoying mine enormously for those first few miles of the race.
Things got harder at around Mile 4, but not drastically so. I was about 80 percent sure that I could make it to the end without slowing down. The nihilistic thought crossed my mind: "Why on earth are you even doing this? What's the point?" But I chased it away and breathed in the crisp, early-morning air, thought about the cappuccino I would enjoy after the race, but mostly just stayed focused on the present moment, my body and my breath.
I have to admit: for me, the best part of any race is after it's done...but in some crazy way, this race was almost fun.
Saturday, September 3, 2016
10K or not 10K
My first 10K tomorrow...it's going to be hard because I'm trying to do it in under an hour. (I know...really easy for most runners; hard for this mediocre runner.) I'm not super-excited. Plus it's at 8 a.m. on a Sunday.
But the knowledge that I had this race coming up pushed me to run 7 or 8 miles, several times this summer. Pushed me to put in some interval training when a nice slow run would've felt much better. Pushed me to get out there and run, swim or bike, almost every day.
We need these self-imposed deadlines, sometimes...
But right now my only true motivation to run is the feeling I get when it's over and I know I can grab a cappuccino, go home, take a bubble bath and curl up with a good book.
But the knowledge that I had this race coming up pushed me to run 7 or 8 miles, several times this summer. Pushed me to put in some interval training when a nice slow run would've felt much better. Pushed me to get out there and run, swim or bike, almost every day.
We need these self-imposed deadlines, sometimes...
But right now my only true motivation to run is the feeling I get when it's over and I know I can grab a cappuccino, go home, take a bubble bath and curl up with a good book.
Friday, September 2, 2016
Busy Week / Dull Week
It's been a bad week for the writing...I just haven't been doing it much.
It's been a good week for just about everything else. Family is well; school is going remarkably well for Jesse; my biggest volunteer activity at the school has gotten off to an excellent start; I'm exercising.
But somehow...life loses its pizzazz, its tough, beating heart, without the writing.
It's been a good week for just about everything else. Family is well; school is going remarkably well for Jesse; my biggest volunteer activity at the school has gotten off to an excellent start; I'm exercising.
But somehow...life loses its pizzazz, its tough, beating heart, without the writing.
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