Making Friends

I was talking to one of my friends earlier this week.  She was slightly worried because her beau finally told his mother that he was dating someone.  (There's a LONG back story to this that I can't divulge and isn't really pertinent at this time.) And she is slightly worried about how she and his mother will get along when they meet.  Her comment regarding this was something to the effect of this:  "I don't really have girlfriends.  I do better with guys.  The few close girlfriends I have are like me."  Now, this was not an epiphany for me.  We met each other through our boyfriends being friends, and while those relationships have long since faded, our friendship has stood the test of time.  But our conversation got me thinking about making friends, and how difficult it is to make friends as an adult.

I would say if I had to use the high school term BFF, those are two ladies in my life who fit that bill.  My friend I mentioned above, and a friend I've known since kindergarten.  I can honestly say I trust these girls with my life and secrets.  I would drop everything if either one called and said "I need you". And I know they'd do the same for me.   

Now one could argue that the reason these friendships are my closest is because I've known these ladies so long--21 and 35 years.  The closeness has had a long time to develop.  But at the same time, I don't see or talk to these ladies as much as I see and talk to others.  Yes, at one time I hung out with each of them on a daily basis, but life keeps us from having those frequent interactions now.

I have a fairly large circle of friends I've made since becoming an adult.  (Age wise, not behavior) None of those friendships have developed into anything near what I share with M and S.  I wonder why that is.  Part of me thinks that as we get older, we get jaded, less likely to trust others.  Or is it because those rolls are already filled for me?  I wonder because I don't have the daily high school or college interaction, or the time to hang on the phone daily, if those relationships are nurtured the way my earlier ones were.  I'm not really sure. 

I can say this, I agree with my friend M and her comments about doing better with guys.  The guys I've befriended over the years don't play the passive aggressive, mean girl games that I've seen from so many of my gender.  I get exhausted second guessing myself about who I offended this week simply because I have a bit of snark in me or because I won't give into popular opinion.  Oye!  The other things I can say is that I am extremely lucky to have M and S.  I will go days or weeks without talking to or seeing either of them, yet I have the safety net of knowing they're there for me.  I know when I pick up the phone, stop by or jump on a plane, we'll begin where we last left it, like we've never been apart.   

2011 Road Season in Review

I’m big on reflection.  I’ve seen as a classroom teacher and as a staff developer that people learn best once they have time to process and put their learning in a context.  That’s what I’m trying to do now, as a cyclist, with this past season.

I went into this season being nervous.  I upgrade to Cat 3 after Gateway Cup last year.  That meant, for most of my races, I would be competing against Cat 1/2/3 women.  I was worried about being sorely out classed.  To compound this, I had a dismissal cross season last fall and winter.  One more variable in the equation is that I was job hunting at the beginning of the season as well. 

In spite of all of that, my season started well.  I was holding my own in most races.  I won the time trial at Hermann.  While I cracked in the crit, I had been expecting that.  My Tour of St. Louis and Belleville Crit went great as well.  Then came Tour de Grove. 

Tour de Grove, Midtown Alley was not my night.  I went down hard in the sprint and tore my left side to shreds.  In spite of that, I was able to come back and podium at Dutchtown that Sunday.  I was feeling good about my racing until late July.  That’s when the bottom dropped out.

I am attributing the problem to a dietary change.  I cut out all processed refined sugar.  However I don’t know if that was the actual culprit.  All I know is that I struggled through Edwardsville, the MO State Timetrial and Crit.  I was outclassed by the competition and I was hating racing.  Fortunately I have a great coach who gave me constructive feedback and worked to keep my head in the game and my fitness where it should be.  With some adjusted nutrition, by the time I raced Sedalia and Otterville, I felt like I was back and was looking forward to GWC.

Gateway started out fine.  I planned to race all four races, with Monday being my day to shine.  Friday night I sat in for most of the race and had a decent sprint for 11^th.  Saturday started out well.  I was sitting in the pack and was moving into place in the final lap when I went down.  I’m not sure how or why, I suspect someone hit me. Regardless my left side was again trashed.  I managed to race Sunday and Monday, but my performance mimicked Jeff City. 

So what have I learned from all of this:

• I can hold with Cat 1 & 2 ladies on any given day.
• Tough Pads work better than Tegaderm for road rash.
• A great manicure can survive a crash at 30mph.
• I will not screw with my nutrition mid season ever again.
• I love my team, my teammates.
• None of this matters if it stops being fun.

So cross begins in three days.  I don’t have a lot of high expectations for myself for cx.  I want to race.  I want to work hard.  I want to smile. I want to get muddy. I did upgrade to Cat 3, but not because I think I’m a dirty goddess.  I upgraded because I’ve raced two full seasons and I’m no longer a beginner.  I know I’ll get lapped.  I know there will be races where I’m DFL.  I know I will laugh and have good times with my friends.  And I hope that the disappointment I’m feeling now will fade and that I will have my head wrapped around the idea of racing hard, fast and aggressive when February gets here.

Imperviousness versus Strength

Foreword: I put this on entry ice after I wrote it because I am afraid that people in my life will take it personally when it's not meant that way.  I hate girl drama and I think it's immature and unacceptable to call anyone out in my blog.  While I am shy, I will buck up and voice my feelings when I feel someone is wronging me . . . just ask Klucker.  I wrote this on a day that I needed a pity party, but in accordance with my typical m.o. I sucked it up and dealt with it, only straying from my normal behavior by gorging on mozzarella sticks and diet coke at lunch.  So I fully admit that often times I'm at fault because I am a pleaser who won't tell people what I need or want.  Instead I'll smile and say "sure chocolate cake is fine" when I truly, truly prefer white.

I watch television.  And I like to watch television.  So everyone out there who thinks that means I'm weak-minded, lacking intellectual capability, or just plain fluffy can stop reading now.  I don't get to sit down and watch my favorite shows very often, so I am a frequent DVR user.  That also means I am weeks upon weeks behind in watching one of my favorite shows, one of which is Bones.  The episode I watched last night probably aired six to eight weeks ago.  In the closing scene, Booth and Brennan are talking about the possibility that they may eventually date.  Brennan tells Booth that she is becoming strong.  She goes on to say she used to be impervious, meaning she was unable to be hurt, but now she is becoming strong because she is losing her imperviousness.

The scene got me thinking about how we (the ubiquitous we) treat people.  Is strength sometimes confused for imperviousness?  I think about my relationships, what do I take for granted?  Do I extol bad behavior because I assume it doesn't bother the receiver?  Is that person really just incredibly strong, so they use resolve to power through the hurtfulness?

Several years ago I made a conscious decision to have more friends.  I was at a point in my life where I was a new mother, working 60-80 hours a week, and one crisis away from therapy and Zoloft.  I had (have) a supportive family, but sometimes a body just needs girlfriends.  As someone who is painfully shy--I know that's hard to believe--I put myself out there.  I interjected myself into uncomfortable situations and tried new things so that I could meet new people and hopefully make friends.  For the most part, my risks have paid off.  I can't say the trip has been tailwinds and sunshine the whole way.

A couple of months ago, a friend referred to me as a "bootstrap girl."  What she meant was that I'm someone who doesn't wallow in my problems, instead I pull myself up and attack them.  That can be a good or bad thing.  It's good in the fact that I get things accomplished.  I don't sit around and wait for three boats to rescue me while I sit on the roof of my flooded house; I build my own raft and set sail for dry ground.  One of the bad things though, I think, is that people around me don't realize how fragile I sometimes am.  They're unaware that my feelings are easily hurt when they don't return calls or emails.  They don't know that I need them to defend me when I'm attacked by mean girls.  They didn't see the stress I was under as I job-hunted and looked for ways to maintain my family's normalcy.  I think, to some degree, they think me impervious. 

While there are days I wish I was impervious, I think feeling sadness or stress or grief is good.  Without knowing how bad it can be, I would never enjoy the good times I typically have.  That being said, I sometimes long for acknowledgement that some days my life sucks too.  I sometimes need to have a pity party without feeling that someone is going to "one up" my tribulation.  I sometimes need chocolate chip cookie dough, a spoon, and a hug.

119/365: How Long Has That Been Here?

My 365 Project has caused me to be more aware of my surroundings.  I find myself looking for opportunities to take photos.  I also find whereas before I would think "I wish I had my camera" now I pull it out and take a shot.  Of course sometimes I wonder what people around me must be thinking as I snap away like a crazy papparazzi. 

Today Steph, Kate and I took the cx bikes out for a ride on the Columbia Bottoms.  In spite of the massive amounts of snow we've gotten lately, the roads were in pretty good condition--cinders being the only real hazard.  On the way out past the sod farm, I was counting down the minutes until I got to turn around and begin heading home.  I assume my head was down because I didn't see this tree.  Of course, I've ridden past this point countless number of times and I can't remember this tree.  I don't know if it was recently struck by lightning or if I've just been oblivious or if the starkness of it against the snow caused me to take notice.  Whatever it was, it caused me to stop my hard effort to snap a shot.  The landscape in the bottoms felt raw and harsh yesterday.  The snow had blanketed the fallow fields, with only the carcasses of past crops showing through.  During the ride, the barreness seemed to zap my energy and make me feel as if I were running from something.  While it was good to be outside, not on the trainer, I was happy to be finished and home where it felt more secure.

100/365: The Hidden View

I've had a hard time taking photos and writing the last few days.  I was fixated on it yesterday as I sat down to upload photos and blog.  When I decided to begin my 365 project, my goal was twofold; first was to increase the amount of photos I was taking.  I realized that when Boo was first born, I was a shutterbug, snapping the smallest thing.   But I haven't been that fidel about it as of late.  I realized that during 2009, I took more photos of races than I did my kids.  That bothered me.  My second aim was to increase the amount of blogs I posted.  I wanted to move past my race reports, although I still plan on writing them during the season, to move consistent writing.  The reasoning is that my bucket list still has the line item of getting published.  It has felt like my posts the last few days have been no more than checking an item off my to do list.  Writing is easiest to me when I find something that moves me, something that has a pull. 

Today on my way home, I found a photo that did just that.  This house is on the corner of Union and Delmar.  I've passed it many times, but today it spoke to me.  In another life, I would be an architect, specializing in restoration of historic buildings.  I've always had a thing about structures that have withstood the test of time.  This house has.  I would have loved to pull over and take a variety of shots so that you could see the true beauty of the front facade.  But this angle actually speaks to me more.  At one time, this house was surrounded by other homes.  You would not have seen the rear additions, the functional walls.  You would have only seen the front, what the builder wanted you to see. However time has not been kind to this neighborhood.  Urban decay has plagued the structures that once surrounded this one.  Can you picture the building that might have stood on the corner, possibly a shop of some type?  I would almost guarantee both the front and the side were designed for aesthetics. 

How much is this lone building like we are as people?  We put up that front facade that we expect everyone will see.  But what happens when those flanking structures fall?  What happens when we stand alone?  What's the harsh reality that remains?  How do you make sure you will stand the test of time?  Those aren't simple questions to answer, but I believe that the answers lie in knowing who you are and being happy with that person.  It's also realizing that people are going to form a perception of you, good, bad or indifferent, and you cannot control it.  Being a bit of a control freak and pleaser, that part is hard for me.  It's hard to accept that I can do my best and be the nicest, kindest, ooey-gooeyist person I know how to be and someone may still just not like me.  But I also know, that someone my view me like I view this house.  Even though I see the parts that were supposed to be hidden, I still think it's lovely.

im Speicher

I got the text to call when I had a minute.  I had some stuff going on, so I waited.  I finally called and got the news.  I didn't expect that.  I hung up and the tears came.  I didn't expect to hear that she was gone.  I've been worried about the health of so many others, but not her.  She hasn't really been with us for a number of years.  Her body's been there, but her mind was either trapped or moved elsewhere.

The last time I saw her was a party at the nursing home, maybe for last Christmas.  They wheeled her out, but she didn't know most of us.  She had glimpses of lucidity, but the gears just weren't catching.  I think the last time I remember her as her was some right after my daughter was born. 

We take for granted the people in our lives.  We go through the motion of day-to-day living, assuming our loved ones will always be there.  We don't take the time to call or visit because "we're just too busy."  I stopped taking the time for her after college.  I was teaching, coaching, going to school.  I got married, divorced, remarried, had kids.  I didn't call, I didn't visit.  I invited her to celebrations.  I spent time with her when we were at the same place, but I didn't make an effort.  For that, I am truly remorseful.  She was a special lady.

When my parent adopted me, there was a law that for the first year of my life with them, I could not be cared for by non-family members.  That meant while my cousins all went to daycare as infants, I went to her house.  It must have made an impression on me, because I remember as a three-year-old throwing a small tantrum that I would not go back to Miss Lee's, I wanted to go to her house.  Since my fits were pretty spectacular, and even at that age I was headstrong, my parents acquiesced.  So until I went to kindergarten, my days were spent with her. 

I remember kneeling on the kitchen chair, rolling out dough for chicken and dumplings.  I remember her chasing a snapping turtle into a garbage can with a broom so she could make turtle soup.  I remember frozen glazed donuts, heated in the toaster oven, for breakfast.  Each day after nap, I'd get to watch Mr. Rogers; our game was always guessing which color sweater he would choose.  I remember VBS at the Lutheran Church.  After I started school, I would go to her house on holidays.  She'd always send me to the basement where I'd bring up a jar of blackberries or pickles or some other goody she had canned and knew I loved.  I drank my milk out of a plastic coffee cup that was kept just for me.  It's probably still there.  I can remember her giving me a perm when I was four and I cried because I was afraid my mom wouldn't recognize me with curly hair.  I remember being driven to her house every year on Halloween until I stopped trick or treating because she wanted to see me in my costume.  Most of all, I remember she loved me unconditionally.

Class of '90 Together Again

How times have changed . . .1990 Prom, 2010 Class Reunion.

I had great ideas about this entry on Saturday night . . . of course I don't know how many of them would have actually been coherent had I sat down to write then. Not that I overindulged to the point of non-coherity, more that I had so much running through my mind that I don't think I could have followed a made it all flow smoothly.

I thought about starting several ways:

My name is Suzanne and I am a chubby. I've been thin for four years.

or

There is a sixth dimension beyond which is known to man. It is a dimension as vast as space and as timeless as infinity. It is the middle ground between light and shadow, and it lies between the pit of man's fears and the sunlight of his knowledge. This is the dimension of imagination. It is an area that might be called the Reunion Zone.

or

It's something unpredictable but in the end it's right. I hope you had the time of your life.

or

Digging up my senior yearbook and looking at the superlatives and see how accurate our naive predictions were.

In the light of Monday, none of those seem quite right though. I didn't know if I could hold the theme of any of them through the entire post. And my level of snarkiness has definitely receded. What I do know though, was that Saturday night we brought together over a third of the class of 1990, something that hasn't been done in 20 years. There were lots of laughs, lot of memories shared, and lots of missing those who didn't attend.

We had a five year reunion in the city park. I didn't attend. At the time, high school was too fresh, too close. While I had great times in high school, I won't ever tell you those were the best years of my life. Like I've said before, I was a big girl. I believe my prom dress was a 12 or 14. I was 20-25lbs heavier than I am now. And I was probably an inch shorter. My freshman year was horrific because I had a crush on a senior boy. His girlfriend and her friends bullied and terrorized me. My sophomore, junior, and senior years each got better, but I didn't enjoy life then nearly as much as I do now.

Since 1995, to my knowledge, no one has tried to put a reunion together for whatever reason. Last fall we went to Klucker's 20th reunion and it spurred me into action. I wasn't letting another year go by. I emailed, Facebooked, called, surveyed and tried to spur my class into action. I struggled to get people on board. All in all, I think we had six people, including me, attend our planning meetings. In the end, it was three of us who did the work. We graduated around 64, and had about 69 total in our class including those who dropped out or stayed an extra semester. We found all but four of them.

My prediction early on was that we would have 20 classmates attend, with guests, so a total of 40 people. I got worried when our RSVPs were slow to trickle in. The Friday before our deadline, we had four people attending. A few emails and Facebook posts spurred people to action. By Friday night, we knew there should be 24 alumnus attending.

Saturday night arrived and as I got to Tiny's, Kerri, Shelly, and Rob were walking up. I haven't seen Shelly and Rob since graduation. Shelly was glowing, she's in such a better spirit than I ever remembered seeing her. We got settled and set up and other started to arrive.

My beautiful besties . . . thankfully some things never change!

By evening's end, I believe there were 27 members of the class of 1990 in the room. I recognized most of them at first site, but for a few I needed to hear their voices. Time (and expensive skin creams, gyms and plastic surgery) has been kind to some of my classmates, and others have fought it tooth and nail. Regardless, the people in the room had, at one time, played a major role in my life.

The CHS Class of 1990. My how we've conquered the world!

It was interesting to see, as we sat down for dinner, how quickly old cliques reformed. Columbia has always been a cliquish community and even 20 years later, that had not changed. That being said, throughout the evening I think everyone spoke to everyone. Old grudges were pushed aside as we got reacquainted.

I was amazed as reminsced. There were so many memories I had forgotten and perceptions of events that were very different from mine. I realized many things to which I had apparently been oblivious. I pondered the effect time has on our minds.

This morning we sent out a feedback form to see what others though of the event. I am interested to see if my perception of the evening matches other's. The question that most intrigues me is why people chose to attend or not to attend. Twenty years out from high schoo, things have changed for many of us. We've started and ended relationships and carrers, have families and lives outside of what consumed us at CHS. One of my co-conspirators for the event remarked that he thought a good number of people would attend to "show-off" what they had become, and others would not attend because of where they are in the lives. He's probably on track there. I think there is a bit of curiousity involved as well--like eavesdropping on a conversation. People came to see what happened to their classmates. Is his life still a train wreck? Did she gain weight? I'm surprised he graduated, much less got a job. Ah, human nature.

I can say there were no huge surprises for me. It was fascinating to see how time had cemented personality traits. Those quirks that were there at 16 because full blown qualities at 26 (ok, 37 you caught my math). In high school, the circumstances of being stuck together in a small school forced friendships. Many of them developed because of the situation, I was amazed to see how many of those relationships had withstood the test of time.

I don't miss high school. I don't want to go back and do it all over again knowing what I know now. I don't regret high school either. High school and all of the fun, traumatic, goofy, gory, amazing things that went with it gave me a set of experiences and skills that set events in motion that got me where I am now. High school gave me some amazing friends who are still vital parts of my life. As S.E. Hinton (one of my favorite authors from that era in my life) said, "If you have two friends in your lifetime, you're lucky. If you have one good friend, you're more than lucky." Saturday night reminded me I'm much more than lucky.

The MS150 Redux

The MSRide and I have some history. We have an on-again/off-again relationship that is tenuous at best. I rode my first MS150 in 2004. That year, it was a fairly last minute decision and my team was made up of Klucker and me. I remember struggling through the hills on the second day, not knowing if I could make it. I rode again in 2005, in better shape, but seven weeks pregnant with my angel baby. On day two that year, I puked at the first three rest stops and cried at one as well. I persevered and made it. 2006 saw me seven months pregnant and making PBJ sandwiches at a rest stop. I definitely preferred riding. I returned to riding it in 2007, with little training. I wrenched my knee 40 miles in and sagged back to the start. Since 2007, I scoffed at any suggestion I attempt such foolishness. First, I hate asking people for money. Oh, I typically donate to everyone who asks, but I'm not asking. And second, I really never got into the whole party on a bike atmosphere with thousands of people I don't know.

This biking season arrived and so did the talk of the MSRides. My compadre Steph was leading a group of women to the Memphis edition of the ride. Liz was recruiting for the Gateway MS. I wondered if they had lost their minds. I was racing PICX and E'ville that weekend. To heck with their silliness.

Then July stretched into August and the state crit was a disappointment to me. Racing was wearing me ragged. I need something fun to do. And we ordered a few too many pitchers of gatorade at TQs one night. Never say never because I registered for the Gateway MSRide and sent requests for money out to folks. The salted glass gets me every time. At least I didn't agree to camp.

I won't give a blow by blow of the weekend and the riding like I do in most of my race reports, but I will share my insights about my riding.

I am a group ride snob. There are certain pieces of etiquette one must follow when riding with more than one other person. Communication being the most important one. Let me know where you're going if you're not going to ride in a straight line parallel to the side of the road. And don't ride more than two abreast...that doesn't mean one at the white and one at the yellow. Oh, and if you're stopping suddenly, please tell me. The other one is take your turn at the front. The wind is a b!+ch, don't make me fight it the whole day. I love my Saturday Big Shark and Hub rides, these are never issues there. It's organized, everyone knows what to expect and what to do. It's full of peace, harmony, and hand signals.

As a new cyclist, I hated hills. I would see one looming before me and feel the panic attack start. I had an innate fear of not being able to turn over the pedals. I thought I would get part way up, freeze, and fall over. I've learned how to appreciate hills. I have the skills to attack them and the outlook that I will conquer them. My next loathing became the wind. At least with the hills, there was an end in sight and a respite on the descent. The wind is a relentless adversary. But the more I've ridden in windy conditions, the more I've resigned myself not to fight. I don't like the wind, but I can't do anything about it. I just hunker down and spin. This weekend I elevated something else to the top of my demon list--bad pavement. Those quaint Amish or Mennonite horse and buggies have chewed the pavement like a mouse chews old newspaper. Chip and seal sucks, but Boone County needs to invest in something. I swore the welds on my frame were going to come undone on some of those stretches.

This summer has given me a lot of insight into group dynamics, and the MS ride provided more action research material for me. I have learned a lot about the way one or two changes in a group of people can really make a difference in the way a group behaves, whether those are additions or subtractions. I like to watch the different ways people conduct themselves in the presence or absence of others. I know I fall victim to this, and was a lot more subdued on Saturday night than I have been in other situations. It intrigues me to see the different sides that people have. It was fascinating to watch the interactions between people the longer we were together. It definitely led me to new hypotheses. My predictions are getting better with time, and as I become a more skillful observer (and learn to be silent, like the ever watchful sphinx, at the right moment).

In that same spirit of being a lifelong learner, I learned a new word a few weeks ago, pathlete. Someone had thrown it out on stlbiking, and I had to Google it. Over the weekend, I was exposed to quite a few of these folks--goes back to me being a group ride snob. One of the most impressive ones who zoomed past us in his capped-sleeve, baggy t-shirt, with arm warmers that sagging. I wouldn't have given much thought to him, except for we all stopped at a rest stop. Our group didn't stay long and was regrouping to hit the road when I heard him say, "If I hurry, I'll catch you again." I'm not sure what the payout was for the MS, but it must have been sweet because this guy chased us down and crossed the yellow to make sure he was ahead. Really, if you have that much of a need to show your stuff, TNWs are only $10/week. You can do the whole series for you fundraised for this weekend...and you may learn to hold a line to boot.

My first MS rides were filled with the mantra, "Only 10 miles between rest stops. You can ride for 10 more miles." The longest stretch I would do was from the start to rest stop 2 because I quickly learned that stopping at the first one was a clear sign of a love of chaos. I go out on my long rides, 3.5 or 4 hours, and only stop if I need water. Very rarely do I get off, walk around and spend time socializing with the riders I'm with until after we're all finished. But those rest stops are inviting: orange wedges, peanut butter/ jelly grahams, homemade ice cream and pies. I found myself having to practice restraint to not veer to the right, their tawdry draw. I say this, because I know the longer I spend off the bike, the harder it is to get going again. My legs tighten, my resolve waivers. They are so appealing, yet so, so bad. When I got home and looked up the calories (290) on one of those amazing peanut butter/jelly grahams and that bolstered my view on the maliciousness of those sinful oases.

All playing aside, the weekend was good for me. I began the weekend with some guilt about not racing Saturday and Sunday, because after all I am a wanna-be bike racer. That was juxtapositioned with a tiredness and sullen nature about racing in general. Sunday morning as I got ready, I had a momentary thought about texting Ryan and telling him to ride on his own because I was going to E'ville. (I did have a racing kit with me just in case.) I'm glad I didn't. It was relaxing and undemanding. It gave me a chance to ride how I wanted, not how I needed to in order to prepare for the next event on my schedule. More than anything, it was as much a mental training ride as a physical endeavor: well-needed, well-executed, valuable.