Someone shut the door, we aren't heating the neighborhood!

Tuesday
Lo: 18°Snow
Wednesday
Hi: 25°Lo: 6°Snow
Thursday
Hi: 15°Lo: 1°Partly Cloudy
Friday
Hi: 16°Lo: 1°Mostly Sunny
Saturday
Hi: 20°Lo: 13°Partly Cloudy
Sunday
Hi: 35°Lo: 20°Partly Cloudy
Monday
Hi: 38°Lo: 20°Partly Cloudy

My brothers and sisters in the south need to stop rolling over and hogging all the blankets-it's cold up here. I mean, do you really need 80 degrees the first week of March? What are you doing in bed anyhow, shouldn't you be out training? The Tac and The .Bigun have knocked another podcast in the can, I take no responsibility whatsoever.

HG wants to know, if theoretically she likes Boy and theoretically if Boy likes her can they be dating. I told her to theoretically ask me again when she is 16. Tac and I see no reason to awaken love before it's time. Beyond that, I think a lot of poor decisions are made in the midst of break up angst. I don't think the majority of today's 14 year olds are adequate in consequential thinking and see no reason for her to be "dating" right now. Beyond all of this, she and Boy are good friends, and I think that friendship is better preserved by not adding teen romance to the mix. Case in point, Boy has "dated" and broken up with numerous girls in the past year, none of which currently speak to him. Old fashioned, I know. But modern thinking has produced a lot of divorces, teen pregnancies and catastrophic STD's. If we are wrong, we've just delayed her dating by a few months, but if we are right, well, there is no "I told you so".

I came home from work Monday with 3 inches of water in the basement. Fortunately it was a main drain and not the "main". Huh? 45 minutes of noise, 24 hours of stink and she's running clear. Now, hopefully the flood dries out without ruining the Pergo.

Tuesday morning dawned with Y laid out with a sore throat and fever- so off to the Urgent Care. I think it's strep. The doc says strep is a minor possibility. I say its' strep. Doc returns with prescription. So, 48 hours of mandated home care and the Y is good as new with the exception of thick, throaty healing voice.

Wednesday dawn very early with a fresh blanket of snow. Open at the Y 5am. Train, train train. Yea! By 9 my throat is feeling thick and my ears are burning. Fast forward, this evening. Yep, I'm sick with something. Blah. HG makes dinner, while I oversee from the bedroom as Tac is spinning away in the basement. Want to know what is going on with your kids, pay attention when they are playing "Truth, dare, double dare, promise or repeat" I have no clue what "Promise, or Repeat" means but it has something to do with vague promises of marrying movie stars so long as they fit X and Y criteria. Oh, boy. It's good to pay attention because eventually the dares go to toilet water and dog food. That's when I intervened. The last thing I need is toilet water induced stomach flu.

So, it's a crazy week, with record breaking cold on the way. Any warm, healing wishes would be welcome up here, time to give some of those blankets back!

Monday, Monday

I picked The Tribe up at school last week intent on making the most of single digit high temps and blowing off some steam at the Y. I was immediately informed that the Y was not on the to do list as there was a lunar eclipse to observe. Since a lunar eclipse necessarily involves a moon, I suggested we had a few hours to burn, literally, until the eclipse would begin. Soap joined me on the trainers and we plugged away, only to be completely delighted by the rising of the full moon with the setting of the sun. Lovely. We monitored the progress of the moon, intent on arriving home long before the eclipse began, anticipation rising with the great ruler of the night sky. Dinner was a hasty mess, homework was an afterthought as they took turns watching and reporting.

Along about half past bed time, and the moon in partial eclipse, I informed them that it was time to head to bed. Aaarrgggg. No argument, up to bed. There is a stairwell that rises up from our living room, and at the top of the stair well is an east facing window. There was a day when a certain members of the tribe would lie at the top of the stairwell, silently watching mom and dad's movie, until an exclamation gave her away and she was sent permamently to bed. Little wonder that at 9:32 CST I heard a great cheer and hurrah from the top of the stairs.

We've seen our first Lunar Eclipse! Yes! Then the scamper of 8 feet. A good night's sleep is a reasonable sacrifice for awe and scientific discovery. There must be a profound statement in there to the effect that sleepers sleep while dreamers soar. Soapinator was dismayed at missing her front row seat to the Apocalypse that she was secretly hoping the eclipse would commence, until I informed her that catastrophic destruction might dampen her plans to attend horse camp this summer.

Dreams of triathlon primarily interrupt our sleep presently. Early morning training sessions. Sunday naps cut short to run or swim. But with the coming advent of spring, a Sunday afternoon run in the sunshine is equally as refreshing as a winter's nap, and plodding patiently towards a goal is worth the throwing off of blankets in the crush of morning cold.

I need a theme song. "Let's get it on" carried me through my last monumental season. Last season was more "It's my party and I'll cry if I want to". I compiling a soundtrack. Lucky me, my A race is in the heart of the southwest and cowboys and country western. If I didn't lose you on that last sentence, and you have song ideas, let me know.

"Things That Never Cross a Man's Mind" by Kellie Pickle of American Idol fame is one of my current favorites.

a sampling
I need to go shopping
These shoes are all wrong
Just look in my closet
Not a thing to put on
I wonder how these jeans make me look from behind
Things that never cross a man's mind

Lets turn off the TV
Now can't we just talk
Lets lay here and cuddle
Till we both drift off
If we don't make love
That'll be just fine
Things that never cross a man's mind

That joke is too dirty
This steak is too thick
Ain't no way in the world I'll ever finish it
That car is too fast
This beer is too cold
And watching all this football is sure getting old
Wish I was working this weekend
Not on the lake wetting my line
Things that never cross a man's mind

Her lips are too red
Her skirt is too tight
Her legs are too long
And her heels are too high
Boy, she looks like the marrying kind
Things that never cross a man's mind

Feel free to add your own.

If you haven't voted for EVO Tri, go do it- just for fun.

More importantly, go vote for Lana to get out of the Tomb of Shame and vote Tridummy's backside in (scroll down to "perfume slick".) although I gotta say, it made me laugh.

It's wine and Tac time

it's as political as I'll get

Vote for Commodore!!!!!!!!

A vote for Comm is a vote for the Common Man!

Mom, make me look like a Rock Star!

Buy a nine year old a guitar for christmas, have his dad teach him a couple cords, and suddenly he wants to be a Rock Star! Egged on by his oldest sister, Y (formerly the Urp) decided his normal bowl cut no longer sufficed, he needed to look like a rock star, a la The Jonas Brothers. For the record, the only barber the boys have known is Salon de Trimama. Hair cutting is not rocket science, most of the time. And when it is, there is always the saving redemption of the buzzy. When Y was three-ish, the buzzy vibrated wildly against his head, sending him into fits of laughter and giggles. It might take an entire morning to even him out, but in the end, high and tight and entirely rub able. He used to charge a quarter. He's outgrown quarters and now it's on to rock star. Fortunately his hair grows naturally forward, so the whole long hair, shaggy thing isn't so difficult. His problem is that he doesn't like his hair in his eyes, so we'll see how it goes.

New rule in the Trimama household. If you want to use your mouth to cut someone, you stop the bleeding. In other words, you say something mean to someone, you now say something kind. Creativity knows no bounds, and has fallen just short of "if I was a fly you'd be the first poop I'd swarm." I was hoping for, "I like your smile". There is always the throwback, "you're nice". I want genuine, so we are working on it. I'm of the belief that home should be the place where you sit by the fire and cut the chill, find good conversation and friendship and on most nights a warm meal. But even on cold cereal nights, I want my family to be able to find home an escape from the harsh reality of the world. I certainly don't want home to be the fridge you pass by on the way to your "own" room. I don't think you should ever feel alone in your own family.

"Look what I can do! I'm a genius. It's a skill that took years to perfect. Actually it only too 10 minutes but it's still cool." At times it's good to listen to your kids, really listen, and at times it's good to just let the 90 mile per hour prattle roll off your ears. That's why I've installed state of the art filtering hardware in my brain. The state department has nothing on me with it's ability to filter out "dirty bomb" and "safe house". My hardware discerns inflection and cadence. Not quite on the level of national security, but to me it's essential to know when to nod and uh hmm, and when to interject. It's a working science that I suspect will take years to perfect.

I suspect school will be sullen and grouchy today, the side effects of 7 below and indoor recess, and the cataclysmic sugar crash hangover from Valentine's day. I think we are going to lick salt cubes for dinner. HG has an organizational meeting for Rugby tonight. Rugby is football without pads. I value my baby's brain cells. We'll see. We are working on ways to make her 2000 plus kid very large high school, smaller. Sub groups of friends is the best tactic I know.

Someone bowed down to me and asked to touch my Ironman swim cap at the pool yesterday. I see a future training client. God has blessed me richly, I'm the second highest sales person in our branch this month, next only to my boss. Not bad for a semi part time stay at home mom. Let's just keep getting healthy people!

Tonight I get to make my weekly rounds of the blogosphere- I love Fridays. Glass of wine, virtually connecting with friends. That's a pretty good happy hour. See you at the bar.

Iron Widowed...once again

Someone has been stealing my razors, leaving me to find long, black, comeover like hairs on the back of my knees caps. While a little drag is nice, if it's hairy, it's scary, so I stopped by Target on the way to the Y for my recent 3000 yd swim. (did I mention it's good to be training again?) There is nothing like the clean shave of a new razor, and to verify I hoisted my leg up on the kitchen counter for Tac to inspect. "Look how smooth my legs are?" I say, flirtatiously. Tac runs his hand up my leg with a dreamy look on his face and it's on. Almost. "I really need to shave too." and he wanders off.

I'm an Iron Widow once again...sigh.

But I am glad I shaved. Boy am I glad I shaved. Because we went to a local technical college at the behest of a friend who instructs up and coming massage therapists as they needed bodies. Cosmotology school, I presumed women. Then Michael walked in. Not Michelle, Mike-al. Cute, adorable Michael. Tac and I have been together for 20 years and in all those years I've never encountered more then a casual hug from fellow guy friends. So, awkward. But, I could just about be Michael's mom, and he was very professional and gave a darn good massage. Left me thinking I really need to get on the foam roller a lot more often.

Massage is essential in a northern climes during winter; we tend to forget what human touch feels like for all the layers. Which possibly explains why, when I sit on the big comfy chair, legs draped over the side, I quickly have a bundle of legs and arms joining me as each of The Tribe squeezes in to "their" spot. Four of us still fit on the big, comfy chair. Glancing across the room I see the eye rolls of Tac and HG, tapping wildly on their lap tops, discussing the latest in music and culture-they don't like the pterodactyl screams coming from the mass of body parts on the comfy chairs but they accept it as a part of the normal ebb and flo of our household. If it wasn't their, they'd miss it.

I enrolled HG in our local high school today. Hmmm. My baby's going to high school. I drove the long way home and picked up a bottle of wine. Actually two. Red Bicycle and Red Truck. They were out of Red Guitar. But now I need to get my red eyes to bed so I can get up and make some green cash tomorrow.

It's a spin-lift day with a nice run on Friday. Happy hump day

Tac's new Boot-aaaay

Tac Boy's got a new aphrodisiac and there's going to be all kinds of lovin' going on in the Trimama household. I mean nothing says night time romance like one of these bad boys



Now it's offseason, and Tac's not quite up to shaving year round, so das boot won't look quite so sexy on him just yet, but spring is coming.

Speaking of shaving, and falling under totally too much information, I found a run away hair yesterday. On my leg. Don't know how it got there, but holy mother of sasquatch. Just goes to show you

1) I should probably use a mirror when I shave behind my knees

2) aging hormones can be a beyotch

3) Arctic cold really can speed up the evolutionary process

Thanks for all of your kind words this past week. I'm feeling better-but needed a good cry. So I rented "Away from her" last night and no longer need a good cry. My eyes look like I went a few rounds with poison ivy- I hope the cucumbers work.

It's a swimming day, with work tonight- the premier of "Lost" which I will Tivo if I can actually figure out how to work the darn thing.

Bike/run tomorrow continuing to build base and maybe just maybe it won't hurt to go outside.

Tac's new

Ash or Iron

"There are two types of people in this world, the wooden ones and the metal ones. We all pass through fire;the wooden ones, they turn to ash. But the ones who embrace the fire, allow it to transform them, they come through as steele!" and so concluded my introduction to Paul who knew Dietrich who had survived the concentration camps of Poland. Paul was expounding on his life's creed by quoting his friend Dietrich, who viewed life as a series of challenges meant to refine and polish, strengthen and mold, in essence, it's the fire that defines your core. Paul's eyes danced and his splash of white whiskers flew wildly around his face as he went on to explain his own precarious foothold on life, having been a 16 year survivor of prostate cancer. "God looked down and saw this goofy guy and said 'look at this one, he's kind of fun to watch, I think we'll keep him around for a while', so here I am. The ones who turn to ash have to scoop themselves into a suit of armor and walk around wary and self protected, or worse yet bitter, they don't embrace life. After almost dying by the time I could vote, I opened my eyes and began to see every tree and hear every bird, life's too short to not be iron. And off Paul walked to complete his workout.

As Paul talked I was reminded of another saying "count it all joy my brothers when you meet various trials and difficulties, for you know the testing of your faith produces patience, and let your patience fully grow and develop so that you may be perfect and complete, not lacking anything." By not "lacking anything" I don't suspect they mean a new De Soto 2 piece wet suit, although I'd be willing to work on patience in exchange for that. No, I think they mean embrace the difficulties and trials because they fan the fire that makes you who you are. At least that's what the doc said when I suggested yesterday that it would be nice to have a selective amnesia pill that blots out things you don't want to keep. "You could erase your past, or at least your memory you don't want, but then you wouldn't be the person you are today".

Twice in one day? I think someone is trying to tell me something. Something like, hang in there, you'll get through this week just like every other one. It's hard, but hard is what makes you who you are. Hard gives you patience and compassion, and a deep love for your kids, your husband, your friends and your life.

But hard, at times, gives me a brain overstocked with chemicals it doesn't know what to do with. Memory and experience all seemed to be stored in these barrels of chemicals generally interconnected by an electrical current. When you remember something, your present moment- cognitive mind flows on a current through that barrel of memory and is re experienced by the cognitive thought. That is why we can remember a day at the ocean and smell the salt, taste the brine, hear the seagulls etc. It's all stored in the barrels for our thoughtful mind to access. When the experience is trying, or traumatizing, there are additional chemicals that come into to play, like adrenaline. Which explains why you will feel anxious when recalling an accident, or emergency etc. It's a wonderfully complex system, that's a a beyotch when it begins to short circuit.

I knew I was in short circuit Arizona weekend. I couldn't complete sentences or even words for that matter. Very frustrating for the listener I'm sure, irritating to me as I watch words trail along in sentences and then simply disappear in my mind. I hold the thought, so I know what I mean to say, I just can't hold the words long enough to get them to my voicebox. That's why, for so many reasons, it was great to have Commodore around, because between the two of us you always got a complete sentence :-) Commodore had his memory erased in an accident when he was 16 and essentially had to teach himself to read, write etc again. He's an ironman, and a very articulate one at that- a classic affront to all of those who think they can't do something. So for all of you I hung out with in Arizona, thank you for your pati....

I'm going to be a senile grandma long before age gives me an excuse, my grandkids are going to love me.

So, where was I, losing thoughts. That's where it begins. The breaking of the electric current that carries thoughts to words. It acts somewhat like ocean waves crashing through those rooms filled with barrels and stuff begins to spill out. Random thoughts, memory flashes, feelings. The worst of it all is the anxiety. Fear really. The worst kind of fear is the kind that has nothing to anchor upon. My life is stable, but the fear chemicals are flooding my system. So, I create objects of fear. An IRS audit was my target of choice this time. I can tell myself our taxes are tight. There might be a minor error here or there, but income wise, it's all recorded, expense wise, it's all accounted for. Yet I lay awake at night anxious over a very unlikely audit. This time I felt like I was burning a hole in my stomach. I thought I could shake this off, a lot of times I can. But other stresses in life continued to fuel the fire. My greatest concern is that I sustain so large an upset of my brain chemistry as to turn suicidal. That is without a doubt the most difficult battle to wage. We have two friends and know many others who have fought suicide and lost. It is ugly. And most of the time it is brain chemistry. Thankfully, I've never come close, and my Doc assures me that past behavior is a good predictor of future outcomes. I feel for folks who fall into those chemically induced, deep dark slumps of depression and anxiety. I count myself enormously blessed to have remained at the outer edge of that abyss. Last spring I stopped taking my SSI drug. and I felt great. I was on such a low dosage that it seemed a good idea to let my body coast on it's own for a while. But some significant changes have occurred in my life, such as an ongoing conversation with my sister via email, and so it's time for the old Trimama brain to get a little help again and right the barrels.

Y yes, my cartoon bubble has little guys in HAZMAT suits mopping up inside my brain- only to discover the little worker who wasn't properly dressed when the chemical spill occured-nice skeleton though. I think my work comp just skyrocketed.

I've slept soundly now for the first time in a long time, and that does wonders. Now time to just let the meds work, keep up the exercise and eating well, hug The Tribe often and thank God everyday for another sunrise and another fire to make me who I'm meant to be.

Go hug a friend today and train safe

I suppose I could tell you it's cold here

But that would be redundant and boring. So, how cold is it? Well, my basement registered roughly 47 degrees when I went for a 1:45 spin yesterday. That would be the same temp that registered in sunny south Florida, where my buddy and aspiring Ironman, Bigun, sat on his ahem, refusing to go out into the cold. In the infamous words of our former governor "I ain't got time to bleed" and I also don't have time to complain about the weather. But I do it anyway. Because it's what we do here in the great white north when we aren't sucking down near beer and exchanging hot dish recipes. It's a balmy 8 today, but spring hits this weekend when we see the mid 20's again. I'll be stalking Steve in a Speedo just to let him know there are other crazies out there. For the record, my coldest outdoor run involved snow shoes, 12 below for the daytime high and a good deal of vaseline.

Knee update. It's still attached to my thigh-although there are days I swear someone replaced it with a wooden joint. I don't quite understand the mechanics of that one, but so long as I can swim, bike and run we're good. And, I can swim (5000 yards last week) bike (3:30) and run (I forgot to count- but one run involved oranges and lemons so who cares)

I love Ironman training. Even if the race is 11 months away. It's just the right focus to make workouts fun again. I have a goal. I like goals. I like having a strategy and a focus. It's a relief to move in a straight line in a world where everything spins.

I set my branch's record for averaging the most training sessions each month last year. A podium finish, oh yea! I'm hoping to blow that pace away this year-more people achieving their health goals-yea! Speaking of which, my contingent of newbies continues to grow for the Chain of Lakes Triathlon. I've recruited 7 people to try this race.

The Tribe has the day off from school, so it's back to mom-ing. and yes, they practice their "Stewie" impersonation constantly-oh joy

If you watched Tac's video of The Tribe's Christmas you saw the near hysteria of The Tribe as they opened their presents. Might make one think the poor kids only receive gifts at Christmas time. To the contrary, we intentionally give to them throughout the year and somewhat minimize Christmas so we can focus on faith and family. So, I was thinking about this over the weekend, and somewhere during my 65 degree citrus tree infused run it occurred to me that I really could get used to being a snow bird, which has absolutely nothing to do with The Tribe, except that I thought about how nice it would be to live close to bloggie friends like Commodore and Momo and that's when it hit me; my kids weren't yelling and screaming because of what they received, but rather who they received it from. Chopper was ecstatic to receive a gift from the Soapinator. I don't think he even took in what it was before he set off screaming with joy. It's all about the relationship.

My kids love people and they love having people love them. Which explains why the Soap came home crying from school yesterday. The Tribe's school has a concentrated study focus each year and this year the focus was India. They learned of the caste system yesterday by role playing and as fate would have it, both Urp and Soap were assigned to the dahlit caste-the untouchables. They were allowed to be teased, they had to clean up for everyone, they could not have milk with lunch, they were only allowed to leave for the restroom once in the day and they couldn't speak to anyone not in their caste. Pretty much devastation for Soap who lives for her friends at school.

This past weekend in Arizona was Trimama's Christmas morning. It's not the gift, it's the giver. I had an awesome time with Commodore who took the day off work to chauffeur me and my crew around Tempe/Scottsdale scoping out the Ironman course. He even took us to his favorite Tribe store and his Fitness Empire. The gift of time and laughter.



Then it was on to the expo Saturday with a meet up with Momo, Dummy, Eric, Jumper, Tri Shannon, IronJenny and of course Lana- the gift of friendship and authenticity


And dinner with Iron Jenny, Iron Girl Nyhus, Greg and Mistress and the Mighty Mo- the gift of family




The gift of food and spirits with friends



and race morning, the gift of inspiration and achievement.

Thanks friends, I had a great time with all of you

but now, duty calls

The Poptart dilemma

Britney be damned, a far more urgent scandal has broken in the Taconite household. For time immemorial, Tac has dined on his pastry of choice each morning-two slabs of lard laced cardboard compressed around a slather of sucrose infused goop. He swears by, even worships at the morning altar of the Pop Tart to the extent that the dawning sun dims greatly when he ventures to the cupboard only to find an empty box. As a side note, I have long since given up on visual inventory control and adhere to a straight static purchase model; which explains why there are 14 bags of Honeynut Cheerios in the pantry. The Tribe apparently doesn't like HNC's. But they are on the shopping list, so I buy them. I love them, but I rarely eat cereal. HNC's were the late night-post date- teen angst food of choice for my older sister and I in the days of our youth. We'd collude at the center island just past curfew to chew and chat and move past whatever the night had held. Obviously there is not enough stress in the life of The Tribe, alas no HNC moments yet. I'll take it for now, content with their post school day devouring of tutti fruttis-mere child's play. But I digress. Poptarts. I despise them. I find no nutritional value in them whatsoever. This in spite of the fact that they fueled Tac's ironman training. He swears by them, I swear at them.

Until yesterday. The moons of Venus hit an improper alignment, my hormones leaked precariously, a bag of cheerios fell from the cupboard and knocked me senseless, for whatever reason I threw a Cinnamon Roll Pop Tart into the toaster. I was headed to the Y for a much needed cardio/strength session and toast with PB just wasn't singing my tune, no I was all Pop Tart yesterday. Arriving 40 minutes later to the Y then I'd anticipated, I went straight to the treadmill with no cross trainer warmup, and I ran 45 minutes, without stopping, utilizing the final 15 minutes to incrementally increase my pace to sub 8 min miles. Damn Poptarts. Perhaps I can blame Britney, so ridiculous her trials they've torn a crease in the social fabric of the universe.

Pop tarts morning 2. After all, I need a good 2 hour spin on the trainer today. I've descended into the depths of taste less hell. What's next cheeze whiz on saltines? Cocktail wienies smothered in Kraft bar b que sauce? I need to re-retro back to the future.

And I was on my way, until I went to the Big Box office store with the Tribe. We needed calenders, glue sticks and glue. (I've yet to understand how the Soapinator depleted the gallon jug of glue she purchased at the start of the school year. She doesn't seem to be the nefarious, corner locker, glue junkie type, but perhaps Elmer's has qualities unbeknownst to most adults) There, in the back of the store, along the clearance wall I found a lone symbol of my school days past. The Pee Chee All Sport Portfolio. No semester commenced without a fresh restock of the Pee Chee. I loved those heady first days of school; no grades yet recorded, no sense of urgency in mountains of unfinished work. A clean Pee Chee was a mental restart. Like the dawning of a year where you've signed up for a Great Race after passing through a forgettable season.

I bought a Pee Chee to store my training plans and calender. Well, why not borrow on the optimism of youth to train and an older and broken body to go long. 2008 dawns and there are Pop Tarts in the cupboard, life is good.

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!