2007 draws to a close

A family of six falling like dominos to the stomach flu over the holidays isn't exactly what Norman Rockwell had in mind. A family of six where everyone makes it to the bathroom for the first time ever proves timing counts more in reality.

Teaching the Tribe to do laundry is an essential and a relief most of the time.
Shrinking Trimama's one and only wool/angora holiday sweater from the Gap does not count as one of those times-sigh

Glitter is not good for the washer unit. Neither is too much detergent or underloading the tub. So says Mr. Washing Machine repair man when asked what we can do to keep from destroying the new HE machine. Apparently he missed the mountains surrounding him as he went about his work which would explain how he would speculate that we under loaded the machine- ever.

A white winter is infinitely better then a frozen brown one any day, especially when the temps hover in the mid 20's.


28, 27, 29, 30, 25, 14, 12, 32, 30, 45

What's wrong with those numbers? Nothing except that they are the average day time temps for this week. The 14 and the 12 are New Years Eve and New Year's Day. Making the decision to jump in the New Year a difficult one. What's at stake is a move up the food chain from minnow to pike. With a lot of open water swimming to do this summer, I have about 48 hours to decide what type of bait fish I want to be for the season. E coli being the number 1 predator in these parts, I'm not convinced it will make a difference.

I love my Otter Box for swimming. I really need to work on where to hold it during my workouts though. Indoor training season requires a split suit, and I love my Tyr Tankini as well. O-box holds well in the top- no problem. Until handsome young swim team coach asks to see it. Awkward moment as I turned to fish it out. I really need to learn to keep some things to myself. That is one disadvantage of having 4 kids, you tend to lose your dignity with your perspective of seeing things as the world sees them. oops. I should have been clued in when Tac kept asking to see the box.

Is there a difference between sensual and sexual. In my mind yes. I parse them along the lines of romance and lust, relationship with another and relationship with self. Sensual is just so much more appealing in my mind because it is both costly and valuable. Sex is cheap. Sensual can be sexy, and generally is without even trying. And this whole divergent conversation was brought to you by what is currently on my ipod, not by cute swim team coach. I'm very close to being old enough to be his mother.

I can't imagine the world without the gift of music. I love how music gives expression to our thoughts and completes and compliments our psyche. There are those songs that make you smile every time you hear them. Or the set you play when different moods hit. I pretty much always have a song playing in my head, I'm a singer too. At work, in the shower, making dinner, always have been, most likely always will be.

So, that's my ramble before I go back to bed- being the 6th domino in the stack, it seems like a good "stay in bed and get better day"

Happy New Year!

Merry Christmas

                    Peace on Earth

Good will toward man?

The presents are bought...almost

The ground is white....completely (blinding snowstorm Sunday took care of that- but we still shopped)

The Yule log is burning, or is that the turkey?  and all is well.

Merry Christmas to all!

Trimama's coming to town

Which town is it?  One of my all time favorites, I'll give you a hint

And one more

Oh, I know you know I'm going in November, but in my estimation, if you add November + Friggin Freezin need to thaw + a little recon is nice + girls weekend away!!!!! + friends running in a Rockin race and I think it all adds up nicely to a weekend getaway for Trimama.  I will have a car, I will travel, and I don't plan to sleep much.  Afterall, if you are going to leave your hibernation, you might as well take advantage of it and thaw completely.  So, if you've figured out where I am going, let me know I'd love to meet up with my 'zona friends.

Reason

"My daughter's not going to have children, the world is too terrible a place to raise them."  commented one of my clients at the Y.  Of note, this client has lived through the Great Depression, a world war, multiple "police actions", a cold war, food shortages, gas lines, communists threats and plague and pestilence.  Perhaps a more fitting statement is, "I'm not going to have children because I don't have the guts to work hard and prevail as you did mom, and I've pretty much given up on the world and insulated myself into my lonely but safe little cocoon. "  In my estimate, we have children for the very reason of the state of the world today; we fight back.  In my own little microcosm, my children bring me great joy and make each day worth living.  They make me want to be a better person.  They and their counterparts are why I steward my resources, why I recycle, why I conserve, why I vote and remain politically active, why I volunteer at school and why I notice all of the other children around me and one of the reasons I have great hope that the future is bright.  I suspect my client wants grandchildren and her daughter, having the sense to know she doesn't want to reproduce and is quite content owning her own business, has thrown her mom the only bone she might gnaw on and carry around to all of her luncheons and bridge outings.  What disappoints me is my client is content to gnaw.  And beyond gnawing, to encourage others to join her at the carcass.  I expect better from her generation.  I expect better from my generation-both those who choose to reproduce and those who choose to not.  Clearly you don't have to have children to be a good citizen, my client proves that point, you just have to be willing to look beyond today.  Is it as simple a choice as the eagle and the vulture?  

End of soap box.  

Christmas is coming, yea!  Christmas break, yea!  Too much to do, too little time, always.  But, I managed to squeak in a 5 mile run (yes run, albeit slow) and a 2500 yard swim and 400 yard aqua run.  The Otterbox is awesome, with one exception-where to put the darn thing.  Right now it goes inside the front of my suit- a little awkward, especially at the end of my swim when I have to choose between walking around the pool deck with a third bulge and fishing the thing out discreetly.  

Have a Merry week

Put some back into it men!

The Tribe's recon mission that began with a low speed tumble out the side door of the mini van and a roll down a snow covered embankment, followed by an all out sprint into the neighborhood playground, had turned into a full on search and recovery operation.  The neighborhood Christmas party was Friday night and there were tokens from a treasure hunt to find.  Unfortunately, in the days following the hiding of the tokens, 6 inches of snow had fallen.  I joined in the mission with a shovel and proceeded to move .72 acres of snow by hand.  Eureka!  we found a silver ticket!  Only three to go.  But it was cold and it was Friday and The Tribe was tired, so one by one they left for home and hot chocolate, with the promise that if we uncover more treasure all who hunted will have a stake in the claim.  A promise is a promise, no matter how dubious the merit.  I, already being declared evil for falling into a state of chocolate madness and eating candy #7 from the advent calender (on day 4 nonetheless- I thought they'd never notice before I could replace it), am held in scrutiny as the prize for each silver ticket is a cupcake from one of the greatest bakeries known to man.  But alas, no more silver tickets as the early departure of  the sun left the search for another day.  Five cupcakes remain encrusted in snow, possibly until spring, or until chocolate madness besets my brain and I rent a bulldozer.

The annual Toys For Tots Christmas party was a success on all levels.   I departed from my lite beer restrictions and indulged in a splash of Bailey's, quite possibly the greatest liquor known to Trimama. I figured I had negative calories in the bank following the treasure hunt.  We met the new neighbors, a single mom with  5 kids at home and 3 that have moved on.  New companions for The Tribe at the park.  The average age at the party was in the vicinity of 82, not including The Tribe, but including a young couple from up the block and recent Jeopardy champion.    

Best news of all, no surgery.  Turns out Trimama scars easily.  One look at my Grand Central Station stomach and anyone could have told you that.  Scarring worked to my advantage here, as any part of the ACL that  tore away was now held in place by... that's right scar tissue.  Good news/bad news.  The scar tissue is what makes the rehab so tedious and painful, have to break it down.  I've dealt with scar tissue all my life, so I see it as a challenge.  Turns out I also bruised my femur and cracked the head of my tibia, all which are healing fine, but will no doubt lead to arthritis down the road.  "And there is nothing you can do about that" assured the doc.  So, the rehab continues.  I am done with the cross trainer.  Ugh.  Back to the treadmill and the track, but I actually managed a 10 min mile on the treadmill, so improvement is on the horizon.  I am a cardiovascular mess.  But, I've been here at least four times before, following the advent of The Tribe, I know how to come back.  

Added incentive, while we were stripping at Florida, I managed to recover a pro swim cap from the sand.  I presumed that wasn't worthy of "lost and found"  and ferreted it home.  Visions of Bella or Chrissy swirled in my head, but it was not to be.  Turns out the cap belonged to a Dutch pro who turned in a personal best 11:37 at Florida.  A pro who's just like you and me.  Sort of.  Inspiring all the same, as I train to swim like a pro for Arizona.  Which explains why the swim instructor at the Y was amazed when I informed him I had only recently dropped into the pool, in spite of his insistence that I had been swimming for "someone"- as in team- for some time.  He said I had great form.  I swooned right there on the deck.  Not really, but I did take it to heart until Tac pointed out that the guy probably just thought I was cute and wanted to ask me out.  Jealousy is so ugly.

My rehab includes a lot of water jogging, so Tac and I bought each other an otter box with waterproof earphones.  Yea.  Imagine the mystery when an otterbox showed up for the iphone.  So, I got an otterbox, an otterbox and ear phones for Christmas.  Go figure.  The box fits a shuffle, which is great.  My shuffle is programmed the Trimama way and then some.  There might need to be another shuffle under the tree because as they say, "I'm a little bit country, he's a little bit really off the wall and behind the corner rock and roll".  The Bird and the Bee, who comes up with this stuff?

We've also reinstituted the advent family gift tradition.  Instead of making Christmas day a mass spectacle of presents, we extend the holiday to include the four Sundays of Advent.  Each Sunday a family present is unveiled.  So far, Dance Dance Revolution for the Wii, a must for every holiday party, well except the neighborhood one, and a state of the art ice cream maker.  Tac and the Tribe have been busy challenging Ben and Jerry for superiority rights.  I am not an ice cream eater so the diet remains intact for now.  Did I mention the machine can make margaritas?  One more item to pack for IMCdA.  

Speaking of which.  I'm in the process of securing clients and therefore vacation budgets for 2008.  I sincerely hope there are motivated weight loss folks in January as  I will be unrolling a new program the end of this month.  Who wouldn't want to be trained by a PT, Dietitian and Ironman Triathlete to get in shape and lose weight?  We'll see.  

So that's a wrap, although I by no means meant to cross the picket line.

Train safe and train smart.

Random Ramble

Wheels were down and rolling at 4:45 yesterday morning, the 4X4 engaged on the Blue Bean, heater blasting to roll back 4 degrees of deep freeze, I was off to work.  Crunching down the barely plowed road, mind adrift in a quasi caffeine haze, a sound began to ebb it's way into my conscience.  (or is it conscious- actually I believe in this case you can apply either)  Squeak, squeak squeak, squeaky, squeak.  Now, I swear I heard, scratch, scratch, scratch, let me out, let me out!  I wanted to think new Jeep commercial and even began to sing "Rock me gently,..." hoping my little friend would jump in and harmonize.  However, whatever critter has been taking up residence in my car is not so intent on friendship- he ate my stash of almonds.  All of them.  And these weren't the co-op bundle bag of almonds.  These were the can of buttery delicious goodness, perfectly salted almonds.  Not only that, he left a mess of chewed lid all over the floor boards.  Moving 45 miles per hour on icy, pre plowed roads did not exactly invite a visit from my back seat friend.  I sang louder, with the outside hope that whoever was squeaking would realize my size and considerable singing advantage and make a departure out the crack in the back door.  He was a trooper, or more precisely, a paratrooper, as the squeaker departed, albeit with no chute deployment.  

R.I.P. little buddy.

That's when it hit me.  I don't have recess duty today.  I don't have recess duty tomorrow either.  In fact, I don't have recess duty all year.  "No" is such a lovely word.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed recess duty in the early fall and late spring, but 2 frosty hours mid winter, no thanks.  Which got me thinking about the game of tag.   In a dog eat dog world, is tag really all that advantageous a game to be teaching.  Think about it, everyone yells "not it" and runs away.  Ok, maybe it is good CYA training for corporate America.  But, really, everyone wants to be the hunted?  Ok, you make a good point, in the dating world that's not a bad angle.  I always try a twist on tag.  Sidling up to an unsuspecting participant who queries, "who's it?"  I respond, "I am", and "tag you're it!".   I do this until everyone playing thinks they are "it", and in mass confusion they give up and go swing.  

I visit the ortho surg today for a consult about the leg.  I'm hoping he takes one look at my uber sexy tri legs and immediately insists on cutting edge bionics to fix my knee.  Chances are better I get a graft from a middle age couch potato besought with commonmansyndrome who takes over at every race and compels me to sit at the side of the road eating chips.  Good thing I'm a personal trainer, I'll whip em into shape.  I'm hosting a contest for The Tribe and all takers to "Name the Knee"  It's my best defense against my inner conflict of having someone else articulate my joint.  Of course, 75 percent will still be all Trimama, but if the 25 percent is at all like The Tribe, I'm doomed and will spend the rest of my life biking and running in circles.

More snow today and Saturday, is this the year to break down and finally buy skiis?  We'll see what the surgeon says.  Ride safe

A Declaration of Intent

An Ode to Bolder:

The Boldest when it comes to making a declaration of intent.



And now my declaration of intent.

This past year has been a tough one athletically and mentally speaking for Trimama. In May I put up a vacancy sign to my brain and fear came in and took up residence. Wildflower spread it's seed and it's grown like a weed in my brain and I regressed to fearing pain. While 2006 was a year of purchase and opportunity, 2007 saw squatters reclaim some un tilled land. By September, the whole homestead was up on the block. In my effort to fight back, I crashed a bike, wrecked my knee and have spent 2 months pushing the pain envelope to bring healing, with at least 2 months to go to recovery. Darker still, the searing pain that accompanies a torn ACL and uber sprain of a knee has decided to take up residence with old childhood memories and have rendered me terrified to get on a bike again. I wish I was being overly dramatic. I wish I could reroute my brain, but that is going to take some work.

There is a story in hebrew tradition of Moses bringing the Israelites to the edge of the Jordan River and dispatching 12 spys to recon the "Promise Land". Ten of the spys returned telling horror stories of giants and military machines of war. But two returned, looking beyond the giants to see a land of milk and honey. In their minds, their deliverer had not freed them from 440 years of cruel bondage to slavery, only to leave them short on the banks of the Jordan. 40 years later, one of those spys lead the Israelites across the Jordan, through the giants and the machines of war and into a new land, where they've remained, essentially to this day.

Every one of us has giants in their lives, obstacles that threaten our hopes and aspirations. I aspire to bring the hope that the past does not have to dictate the future, the giants do not have to win. Whether the giant be abuse, cancer, loss, broken dreams, whatever.

The overtly sexual nature of the song not withstanding, Bono is making a declaration of intent; Charles Manson stole a lot more then a song during his reign of terror with Helter Skelter, U2 is taking it back. Not lost on me is that this is one of the greatest hill climbing songs of all time. I despise hills. They scare me. I'm taking them back.

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It's going to be long road, the pain envelope is vast, but we've pushed it before, because there is milk and honey waiting on the other side.

Oh, btw, I don't want to do this alone, who's with me?

I am a friggin IT genius

Ok, don't ruin my moment- but I, yes me, the incompetent one, actually fixed my own computer program!  I don't suppose wars will end, or that world peace is imminent, but isn't it really about the little miracles.  Speaking of miracles, (or not) the wise man was grazing in Baby Jesus' manger this morning, apparently in addition to a census, there was quite a famine in the town of Bethlehem, that or Balthasar had nipped a few too many times at the camel's milk, only to fall asleep while falling prostrate.  If you grew up catholic, you've witnessed all too many accounts of uncle Balthasar during mass, so it's all the same to you.  It's not all the same to me, and I will be picking up the CSI toy crime detection lab to dust for fingerprints and determine which of the Tribe has been violating the "Don't touch my nativity scene" edict.  One of many presents Tac and I will test drive before wrapping.  Two Christmases ago, Tac had racked up 1.2 million SSX Tricky points before Christmas Eve.  I have three seasonal statue panorama things.  You have no idea how difficult it is to depict the somber joy of the holiday when you regularly find the snow man wrapped in swaddling clothes and Baby Jesus making snow angels with the reindeer.  I still have the original Nativity scene Tac and I bought for our first Christmas.  Ours was a simple household, which might explain the discount bargain bin nativity that consisted of one blonde haired/blue eyed Mary, one 80 year old Joseph and one white as the driven snow baby Jesus.  The only thing that keeps me from ditching the aryan nation nativity is that it's our first one, this just might be the year we break out the air brush set from Aunt Edna and set things right or suffer the seasonal enigma of displaying a "major award"  

One of my favorite all time iconic christmas memories, (if you don't count Blue Blocker Santa who wears  his polyester, white beard like an ascot and generally has the flask at his side as he drives the sleigh at our current Christmas tree cutting venue, and for whom I credit with the very early demise in the Tribe's santa mythology), was the year my Aunt played santa at the annual, family Christmas gathering.  Once a year we bundled our way into the KC Hall to eat jello salad and krumkake with the once-a-year aunts and uncles, awaiting anxiously the appearance of Santa Clause and his bag of gifts.  Santa reached an entirely new level of mythology with her four inch long acrylic nails and false eyeslashes, cig dangling from her robustly painted, pink lips.  The wife of my father's brother,  I lived in mortal fear of being an in law from that day forward.  In laws routinely drew the short stick in that family.  

Christmas officially begins at 12:01 am the Friday after Thanksgiving.  Prior to that time, all holiday music is forbidden, but trust me The Tribe has some very creative versions of "Deck the Turkey with lot's of stuffing" just to tweak mom a little.  We avoid the holiday displays in Target as if the plaque were stored along those aisles.  I'm adamant.  I'm a holiday separatist.  There, I said it.  But who wants to celebrate IndepentHallowGiving.  Target does I tell you.  It's not unusual for The Tribe to wake me up at 12:01 singing carols with Tac.  They love the season, and you know what, so do I.  

The tree is up, the fire is warm, the carols are playing 24/7, and the snow is in a constant state of tease.  It's the little miracles that really are important, and I have a lot of them in my life.  

Happy Holidays!

My Turkeys

I'm posting on an old post because Blogger won't let me add new posts right now- so this is a test- which didn't really work.  So, I'll have to get Tac to work on this for me.  Ug. 

On the way to the Summit of Boreas
What a view!
Playing in the creek

Cross training
King of the Mountain!

Playing at altitude-the kids don't seem effected as much as the adults

We are having a great time in Breckenridge. Spent Weds in Copper Mtn and the Kahuna estate, with Stronger and kids and the Grayhounds-swimming, tanning, snacks, cold beer, watching the lifts run up the mountain-that works. Adult night out at the local brew pub for dinner. Words aren't enough to describe the richness of fellowship with this group of fine people. I'm starting my own personal mission to get Mrs. Grayhound posting- you all or y'all would love getting to know her as much as I have.

The Dummies come in tonight, the 3X assault is Saturday so a romping good pasta feed is in the works Friday night. I have to weight Bolder down somehow so we can keep up with him during the day.

Happy trails!

Welcome to South Dakota

Where the interstate stretches out before you in undulating miles and a beacon of Americana awaits off every exit ramp. We saw our first Wall Drug sign at mile 75 and lost track at number 110. We blew by Wall Drug, but how can you pass up buying gas in Mitchell, home of the Largest Corn Palace in the world. Now, I only need to see the "Smallest Corn Palace" in the world and my life will be complete.
We hit the road at 4:10 am and about 9 hours later we pulled into Rapid City. A quick swim in the pool for the kids, a much needed nap for me and then the short drive up to Mount Rushmore.
It's hotter then an oven here, 107 yesterday- 105 today. but a cold front is coming through, so it ought to be in the miod 80's tomorrow. Perfect driving weather to make the trek to Colorado- a seven hour drive. Contrary to HG opinion, Chopper is doing just fine on the drive.
I'm off for a quick run before it gets to 95- I sympathize with you southern folk now.