The Soul Takes the Plunge

When Hurricane Patricia hit the west coast of Mexico,
San Jose del Cabo had amazing surf for two days.

I've been struggling with this post for a long LONG time. Not on paper, but in my head. Something happened in Mexico. And I can't shake it.

In a word: I changed.

I changed from the person I was into the person I keep wanting to be. I started to ask myself those deep soul-inquiring questions. Why? Why are you doing this?

I had no answer.

For the past several years, I've become a slave to Triathlon (capital T) and the Mdot. These are the Lifestyle Corporations that induce me to shell out enormous amounts of cash chasing something that is supposed to make me feel good about myself. Yet, the more I tried to be a Triathlete, the worse I felt about myself. And the more Triathlon friends I surrounded myself with, the more I started to hide from them.

It comes down to one "ism": "Comparison is the thief of joy."

All I've done is compare myself to others and I keep coming up at the bottom of the list. Never good enough. Never fast enough. Never cool enough. Never good-looking enough. Never having the best gear. The newest gadget. The fastest clothing. I was afraid to talk to any of the Triathlon people because I would seem like the "low-income ugly red-headed cousin who ran in cotton sweats." (Why this is bad, I have no clue, as I used to embrace that part of me, the part that was different and unique.)

But I kept trying - if I was faster, people would like me, right?

The problem is, I didn't like myself. I didn't like what I'd become. I resented the Lifestyle Corporations that existed only to take my money, and sell me overpriced races and stuff that would make me "faster" or look "cooler" and tout my accomplishments. Triathlon is all about gear and bodies (note, please don't hang me, Triathlon friends, I'm interpreting the 95%). I found myself in forums where people said things like "how many bikes is too many bikes?" walking around at races with too much skin on display (which, obviously, always looked better than mine), and being on a team where my cohorts say things to me like "going to Kona is great, but how does it help our sponsors?"

I spent a lot of time with my mouth agape at things Triathlon people said, a lot of time being disgusted with the commercialism of the whole thing, and a lot of time worrying that I would never measure up.

Most importantly, I forgot the Number One Fundamental Reason For Doing Something: because I enjoy it.

This past weekend, I watched a movie called "The End of the Tour." It's basically one long conversation between two men: acclaimed writer David Foster Wallace (one of the people I am apt to name when asked "If you could meet anyone, living or dead, who would it be?") and Rolling Stone journalist David Lipsky. They spend five days together in 1996 during the last week of Wallace's book signing tour for Infinite Jest. It begins with Lipsky learning of Wallace's suicide in 2008. I don't know why this movie affected me so much, but it precipitated an almost four-day soul-defining time-out. It made me realize I have become a drone. I've defined myself by outside standards instead of inherent inner value. I've stopped caring about making a difference and started accepting failure. This has happened in life as well as sport.

I was reminded of a time when I never needed to race. I could go swimming or biking or (especially) running just because those things gave me myself. When I challenged myself with additional miles, I did it not because someone else was doing it, but because, simply, I wanted to challenge myself. Seriously, the reason I started distance-running in the first place had everything to do with self-help. It cleared my mind. It gave me peace. It just felt good. And I never told anyone I was doing it because I never cared what anyone thought about it. I even liked doing it alone.

Now, I read everyone's daily updates on Facebook and rate myself. I stopped doing sport for the pure joy of it and started doing it for external affirmation. Getting the medal became important. Winning was important. People would like me more if I won, right? I started (harshly) judging myself by everyone else's accomplishments. Daily. I would, and will, never measure up.

I've been fighting against this attitude my whole life - this hypocritical dichotomy. Deep down, I believe people have worth just because they exist, and I deeply value my friends because they're my friends, whether they have achievement medals or not. But, over the years, my OWN worth has stemmed from my school grades, my swim finishes, my track finishes, how prestigious my college was, how prestigious my job was, how much money I made, whether I was married, whether I had kids, how many marathons I did, how many Ironmans I did, and finally, the dream I've been chasing for a few years, whether I can finally make it back to Kona and have a good race there.

Why?

I've nothing to prove. Lately, it's not like everyone hasn't done an Ironman. I've become a drone to the Triathlon Lifestyle. To the Corporations who know how much money I (don't) make but will find a way to make me fork it over. I do it year in and year out, and nothing changes. They get richer and I'm still the same person I was. With more stuff. And less worth.

Something has to change. I have to change.

I was smiling during and after the rough IM Los Cabos swim.
I was sad it ended so quickly.

And now, I can say without doubt, that instead of learning nothing in Mexico (note: I started Ironman Los Cabos, I didn't finish), I learned everything in Mexico. I learned that I love Mexico. I love the food. I love the people. I love the landscape. I love the water. I LOVED the water. Not the drinking water. The ocean water. While I was out there fighting the chop in the 2.4-mile swim of Ironman Los Cabos, I was having the most fun I've had in a race. Ever. And now, I want to do that. For no reason but because it's fun, I feel challenged, and I want to.

I think I want to swim. In the ocean. Long. Distances.

Thus, I may have something new to write about. Let the adventure begin.

Here are some of our photos from Mexico.

First place we ate in San Jose del Cabo was a little hole-in-the-wall
called El Mesón del Ahorcado (The Hangman).
The tacos were to DIE for. Look at all the salsas!!

Cabo Pulmo National Park

Coastline of Cabo Pulmo National Park, we snorkeled here.

Again, with the food..
this was Mexican street corn, so so SO great
(I know, it's only a cup of corn scraped from the
cob with sour cream and queso blanco, but OMG, what more do you need?)
It's also coincidental to note that someone in Cabo San Lucas
compared my dress to a dorado (fish).

And here's a video I made of snorkeling at Cabo Pulmo 

(we somehow figured out how to rent equipment from the non-English-speaking Carlos who has a little shack on a tiny beach and lets you take "showers" with a hose - amazing reef right off his coast):

No Regrets

Recently, I came to the realization that my 50th birthday was less than a few months away, and I've completely stagnated (mostly at work but somewhat in life also). Coinciding with this realization was a series of what seem to be cosmically-related events:

• My path crossed with several people I greatly admire who are working as artists. They've encouraged me to consider doing the same - that I "have what it takes."
• I've been welcomed into a group of self-employed creatives - artists, designers, writers, musicians - who share information, tips, help and support on their work and business at Creative Juice.
• I accidentally came across THIS blog post (note: the blog is pretty amazing to begin with, you might want to bookmark it for future reference).
• And I read THIS article (containing what might be my favorite line ever: "Pressure a creative to finish a piece in a timeframe with which he or she isn't comfortable, and you better be prepared for a nuclear explosion.")
• A former art school mate and friend I've not seen in almost 20 years got in touch with me through this blog. He has his own studio and gallery and is self-employed selling his ceramics.
• I ran into (literally, bumped into during a weekend run) a good friend from the Zoo who reminded me of what it was like to have a job I was really passionate about (at the Zoo) - when I felt I was making a difference in the world.

I had to descend into some serious soul-searching. My current job (web developer at the Cleveland Museum of Art) is awesome for many reasons: the institution is great, the work is steady and oftentimes engaging, and the pay and benefits are generous. But there are no growth opportunities in the near future and my creative side is longing for an outlet. Real development projects at work are few and far between and my job rarely finds me problem solving or utilizing my more-than-fifteen years of web development experience. Boredom has set in - the monotony of the daily grind. There are no perks: I rarely get away from my desk (the unfortunate life of a computer programmer), I spend about two hours a day in the car during rush hours, I only get two weeks of vacation per year, and my hours are, you guessed it: nine to five. I worrying about time for training. Or for art. Or, most importantly, for my family.

Frazzled one night at my drawing desk, I blurted my anxieties out to my husband Jim. My potential solution was simple: to quit Ironman (maybe quit racing altogether). It seemed like the logical solution in this consumer-driven work-yourself-to-the-bone-retire-and-die world. Keep your day job, right? I'll never change the world as a triathlete. In the end, no one cares where, when, and how I raced. And I was tired of only taking vacation time to go to races. No time to relax. Something had to give, and I had to make the "right" choice. Geez, I sound like my parents, don't I?

Jim wasn't thrilled to say the least. He reminded me that triathlon is something I love. (He's right.) And I had just bought a new bike. I spent the rest of the night crying and arguing with him.

We both knew that there was another choice: to quit my job. (Giving up my art wasn't a choice - it's always been something I have to do. Denying it wouldn't solve anything and it would keep me awake at night.)

Thus, we entered many weeks of struggling with what it meant for me to quit a full-time job and income and become a self-employed artist and web consultant. I confided in my closest friends, especially the ones who were working as artists. They listened to me rant: about not yet giving myself a chance as an artist, about my misgivings of not having a steady income and living off my husband, and about my fears of trying to sell myself. (Note: selling myself is the scariest thing in the world because I rarely find reason to even LIKE myself.) And yet, my friends and Jim continued to lend support and advice. One of the things everyone told me was that I could "be thankful [I] have a supportive partner."

Strangely, what this life-changing decision came down to was a bunch of cliches posted by friends on my Facebook wall or muttered during the struggle - things like "Making a big life change is scary. Regret is even scarier." That's what it kept coming back to. I never want to know that I was afraid to take a risk because it was just too risky. And so I took the leap. And I resigned from my (awesome) job. And now I'm nervous - no, terrified. And I keep asking myself that same question over and over - what if I fail?

But there's also one question I keep forgetting to ask: what if I succeed?

Here are my two latest lino prints:

Morning Inspiration 1

Morning Inspiration 2

March Update

Nothing much is going on in my world that's worthy of writing home about, but here's an update (like anyone cares).

My daily drawing has been a fail because I stopped doing it while I was feverishly preparing a talk on my latest project (the Cleveland Museum of Art's website) for the Cleveland Drupal Users group. The talk went well, despite my struggles with stage fright.

My training has been another fail because my physical therapist still can't fix what's wrong with my left hip and the torn labrum in my shoulder is back to its pain-state after the cortisone shot wore off. But this past week, we got a little closer to fixing my hip - a new stretch seems to have freed up the tendency to pull my foot inward on the left side. I have some new stretches and a less pessimistic outlook on the future. I've given up hope of running all 26.2 miles of the Boston Marathon and begun to look at this trip as just a way to satisfy my craving for New England clams.

I will be having periodontal surgery tomorrow - three teeth will have gum grafts and then I am told I must give up two weeks of training to recover. This will probably kill me (another reason for writing this blog just in case it's my last). I will attempt to focus on my art in (strangely still-optimistic) hope that I may get good at something before I die.

The only thing I did conquer recently was making pie crust.

And I learned something that I always knew about myself - that I was a fish in a former life. There's no other way to explain how I feel when I'm in the water and not focusing on swim training. Sometimes it feels like it's the only time I'm truly at peace with the world and myself. It also might explain why I've almost gone crazy living in places that are land-locked.

Anyway, that's pretty much all I got, and some pictures of the goings-on in my life...

Latest drawings (the first two are hip pain, the "lightbulb" one was during the Super Bowl when the lights went out in the Super Dome):

There were two new Play-Doh disasters (autobiographical): 

And we took a trip to Pittsburgh to eat, shop, and visit my favorite Edward Hopper painting: 

We saw a special exhibition of art from the World's Fairs at the Carnegie Museum of Art:

Then we went to the galleries - and once again checked out Hopper's Cape Cod Afternoon:

We got lost in Pittsburgh for the 50 billionth time (note that at one point, the GPS thought we were smack in the middle of the Monongahela River)

I went running on a very snowy morning along the north shore riverfront trail (one of my favorite Pittsburgh running spots)

Nutrition, Dietary Transitions and Observations

I don't have anything to write a long blog about, but I want to stay in practice so I'll write about a few little things. Most of my time lately has been spent either at work (because we've had some really big things going on at the Zoo), logging miles and/or soul searching.

As an athlete, I'm always looking for that one thing that will make me better - whether that means faster or stronger or more durable (always a plus for someone known as the Disaster Magnet). The most recent thing I'm in the middle of is changing my nutrition both in and out of training and racing.

I've become a huge fan of First Endurance, so I'm switching over to using mainly their products (mostly E.F.S. liquid shot and drink) while training and racing. And how can you argue with the company that makes the "official training and racing supplement" of Leopard Trek and has a product mixture dubbed "the holy hand grenade." With my next long brick, I'm hoping to get a good test of whether this change will solve my dehydration and nausea issues on the run. Afterall, my problem seems to be related to salt and electrolytes and E.F.S. stands for Electrolyte Fuel System.

On the non-training front, I've also had a heads-up on nutrition. A good friend emailed me about dietary choices and asked me if I had ever tried switching to the "paleo diet." Now, I've read a million things about this type of diet - both good and bad - and it's touted by none other than my favorite triathlon coach, Joe Friel. However I never considered it because I don't eat meat. And I've learned that, as a vegetarian, I probably would have starved to death in paleolithic times. The diet is based on eating what paleolithic people ate - basically meat, fresh vegetables, nuts and seeds - with no products that came about as a result of modern agriculture (which, it's argued, our bodies have not yet adapted to). No dairy, no soy, no beans, no grains, no wheat products, etc. Thus, the basic food groups of vegetarians everywhere have been eliminated. (Vegetarians, please feel free to weigh in on this.) Upon reading several online sources (no, I've not purchased the books yet), there is quite a bit of disagreement about whether the diet includes certain products -- the big ones that I'm confused about are olive oil, eggs and yams/sweet potatoes. Some paleo experts say no to one or more of these things, while others do not.

There is also something called the "primal blueprint" diet that varies somewhat from paleo. First of all, it is more about lifestyle than diet. Not only do you eat paleo but you behave paleo - move around like a hunter-gatherer and sprint all-out once in a while. I can handle the gathering part because I have a large backyard and I do regularly gather raspberries, blueberries and tomatoes. And I do sprint once in a while in my training. But this primal thing also makes me wonder if I have to also come up with a way to live in fear of being eaten by a lion or other predator (which, believe it or not, isn't as hard as you might think, working at a zoo and being the disaster magnet and a blogger). One of the big dietary differences of "primal" is that fatty meat like bacon is included unlike the lean-only meat of the paleo advocates. So, yeah, there are variations and I don't know which one is right or wrong, but I also believe that too much of one thing can also be bad.

I will add the disclaimer is that I don't know everything about these diets yet and I welcome comments. However, I HAVE read that these types of diets are good for everything from curing chronic conditions to losing weight to giving you more energy.

Now, having said all of that, I would probably have dismissed diet advice immediately if it hadn't been for the source. It came from someone who has so many important things going on in his own life that I would never have expected he'd have time to send ME an email with nutrition advice. And therefore it was instantly compelling. So compelling that I am willing to think seriously about it - about changing from 20 years of a vegetarian diet. He probably doesn't even realize how much klout I gave his words (but I suspect he knows now).

After reading extensively, I've decided the most important reason to try a new diet was not for me but for my husband Jim. Jim has suffered from several chronic conditions for years: rheumatoid arthritis, hypo-thyroid, low energy, etc. My friend who recommended the dietary change has a spouse who also suffers from similar conditions. Changing their diet worked -- even without a 100% alteration.

After a couple emails about it, my friend questioned that at my level of competition, "isn't it worth a test?" And my answer could be nothing but "absolutely." I am adding fish back into my diet, and Jim and I have cut back on processed foods and carbohydrate consumption. I don't have any answers yet -- I suspect we need a little time to adapt. (And, embarrassingly, stress has sent me to the cookie jar already once this week. It's not something I'm proud of.)

And finally, with work, dietary and athletic challenges lately, I have found myself looking for some kind of deeper meaning, which usually happens after a perceived disaster (such as my broken rib). I wonder what IS the POINT of it all. Sometimes, there are coincidental answers. Like one that came recently at the Zoo.

She even had time to pose
with the photographer *sigh*

About a week ago, the Zoo had a famous visitor, Betty White. I'm sure you know that Betty's popularity has soared recently for many reasons. One of the reasons she's ultra-popular in Cleveland is because of her TV Land show "Hot in Cleveland." She was in town with her costars from the show (Valerie Bertinelli, Jane Leeves and Wendie Malick) to accept the keys to the city from the Mayor. A well-known animal lover, Betty took a side trip to the Zoo for a personal tour from the Zoo Director.

I was "commissioned" to tag along as the official photographer. (What that means is my supervisor said "Betty White is coming to the Zoo tomorrow, do you have time to take some pictures?" Um... what kind of question IS THAT??? My answer? "I'll clear my schedule.")

My world changed that day. Through simple observation (and my camera lens), I got an insight into a woman who has often been called the "Animal Whisperer." I'm convinced Betty White's longevity has something to do with the peace she has with animals and people. I think she left an indelible mark on everyone who met her that day, and I'm now convinced that it may not be all about eating healthy and exercising, but that happiness and peace are essential in keeping us alive and well for many years.

One of the most amazing things Betty White did for us was a one-take 30-second video telling Cleveland about their Zoo. Being behind the video camera for that was one of the most thrilling and nerve-wracking experiences of my life. As the Disaster Magnet, I was SURE that I did something wrong like forgetting to press "play" on the camera.

But I didn't.

I hope that means my disastrous luck is changing.

Triathletes: the Irrational Behind the Rational

I recently followed a twitter link to an interesting article: A Question for You Triathletes... by Ben Greenfield. He asks: "What motivates you to do triathlons?" and then goes on to mention he's not buying the obvious cookie-cutter answers involving rational things like fitness and stress relief. Instead, Greenfield reasons that if we are completely honest with ourselves, triathletes will find we "do triathlons for emotional and irrational wants and fears."

Ok. I'll bite. I don't even need Greenfield's exercise for determining how to figure out my irrational wants. I can delve that deep all by myself with the help of a long training session. It all starts with childhood (come on, did you really think it would be something different?) I was born into a family that worshipped athletes. Football players. Hockey players. You name it. Athletic achievement was valued above all else except, maybe, school grades. And I grew up in the shadow of two superstar athletes -- my brothers -- who garnered all parental attention. First irrational want: to be a superstar. I chose to do it by joining the high school swim team. I was 14.

Despite great success at swimming, then track, AND school, I continued to believe I would never be fast enough, never smart enough,... never pretty enough, never popular enough. Irrational? Yes. But I was young. When I became a "more rational" adult, would the irrational motivators still drive my athletic achievements?

I started running after college. I ran because I loved running, and I needed a break from swimming. Why did I run marathons? I suppose it could have been to address the lingering irrational desires. The pinnacle of my running "career" came when I qualified for the Womens Olympic Trials in 2000. The strangest praise came from a friend of mine who told me I had become a sort of "hero" to all the local runners who were not born with natural talent. (I am NOT making this up.) He said that my achievement was amplified by the fact I was NOT your typical "runner" (by that, I think he meant small, thin, fast, and genetically gifted). I imagined myself the running version of Salieri in the closing scene of Amadeus -- had I become the patron saint of running mediocrity?

Cue the irrational motivators.

I switched to triathlon after ten years of marathoning and several injuries including stress fractures. The rational reason? To avoid more injuries. The irrational reason? Because I was a good swimmer once and I would never be as fast as the "runners." I desperately needed to be good at SOMETHING, anything. I was 36. My fourth triathlon was an Ironman. Irrational? Absolutely.

Now that I'm 44, I find the most interesting motivator may not be irrational at all. It is the one that got me back into triathlon after 5 years off following a bike accident. I never expected to WANT to do another Ironman, because, during that time off, I landed in a job that finally lent meaning to my life -- a job I loved at an organization I believed in. After more than a year of sinking my passion into work, the unimaginable happened. I found out something I already knew from previous experience: in the workplace, hard work and dedication may not be rewarded - the simple truth is that I'm no good at playing office politics.

I responded by re-dedicating myself to Ironman. If there's one thing I WILL get out of being an endurance athlete, it's the satisfaction of knowing that all my hard work pays off. I train hard, I get faster. I race smart, I win. I answer to myself only, and I am responsible for my performance. There are no arses to kiss. And I can live with that.

Fire and Rain

As I get older, I find myself reminiscing more - I guess that's really what writing memoirs is all about. For instance, after my swim the other day, my mind focused on the lock on my locker that belonged to one of my high school running friends and I realized I will never be able to tell her I still have her lock because I've not heard from or seen her since graduation. However, I WAS fortunate enough to find someone ELSE I thought I had lost, my best friend from high school, Jo-Lynn. Is it just a coincidence that Jo-Lynn popped into my head while I was lying in that MRI machine last week listening to the James Taylor song "Fire and Rain"?

Before I say anything else, I just want to say that there are only a few people in my life that I am or would have been willing to die for. One of them is Jo-Lynn. If I had a sister, I would have wanted it to be her. The last time I heard anything definitive about her, she had left her husband of two years - they lived only three hours away, in Dayton. This was sometime around 1990. He wrote to tell me. Why did HE write? I'm not sure - he was actually a friend of mine from college who pursued her (she went to a different university). I thought he just wanted to meet her because I talked about her all the time and how much I missed her.

The last time I saw HIM was when I moved to Cleveland in 1987. I visited him in Dayton. During that visit, he showed me his "scrapbook" -- containing things he had collected from years of relationships with different girlfriends. Scarily, he had stuff of MINE! Stuff he took from my college dorm room. Stuff like, my earrings (!) and some drawings! He was reluctant to show me anything after MY "entry" in the book, but when he left the room, curiosity made me look. It was then that I realized what he didn't want me to know: he was obsessed with Jo-Lynn. He pasted her college ID and other stuff of hers in there. Years before, she had told me they had a brief relationship, but I thought it had ended. (For some reason, HE never told me about it.) 

The whole episode scared the daylights out of me -- I felt like I was browsing through the belongings of a psycho/serial killer. I didn't sleep that night, and I was very happy to finally get home the next day. After that, he wrote and called often. I just let him talk. Imagine my surprise when he told me, in a letter, that he and Jo-Lynn were getting married! 

I should have done something. I should have called her and pleaded with her to get away! But it was her life, and I didn't want to get in the way. I was also afraid that if I said anything, the two of them would think I had feelings for him and was trying to stop the marriage for selfish reasons. So I did nothing. I NOW know I made a terrible mistake. She was my best friend and I loved her, and when it mattered, I did nothing. I do not know the hell that she went through with him, but from only a few statements she wrote, I know it was truly a "hell," and I feel partially responsible.

So now, over 20 years later, I found her on Facebook. I didn't know if she wanted to hear from me. I was scared that her feelings for me might have changed even though mine for her have not. Over the years, I had Googled her name over and over again and never found any information (my mistake was not using her married name). And the past 20 years could never be described as "water under the bridge." We're 44 years old. We have different lives. We travel in completely different circles. But we're only 3 hours apart. Is there a cosmic significance to that?

When I saw her photo on Facebook, I cried. She was the same. The same smile. The same hair. I sent a friend request. She accepted. She said that I looked the same. I told her I never had a friend like her. She told me the same. I read her "25 random things about me" only to find that all the things I loved about her in high school are still traits she carries to this day. I realize now that some of her best characteristics are the very things that make me the person I am today. Jo-Lynn was one of those rare people who just told you the cold hard truth, whether you wanted to hear it or not. She was never about lying or schmoozing or stroking people's egos. She is the reason I resent people who bullsh*t, lie and backstab (things that make it difficult for me to be in the marketing workforce). But she is also the reason I work so hard at being truthful and honest. It may not "get" me anywhere in life, but I can live with that. I have few regrets, but letting Jo-Lynn go is one of them.

Writing all these feelings out may not paint a nice picture of me as a friend, but it IS honest. And although it's not sports- or technology-related, it's still another life-lesson learned. I hope not too late.