Drive

I’m trying to figure out what possesses a person to live at a particular activity level. What drives a person to do the things they do in their day? Why are some people busy while others do nothing; neither way being "right" or "wrong" in experiencing this life...

The Fs drove up here from Phoenix last weekend. They took that 12-hour, painfully long road trip (with two kids, no less) through New Mexico and up boring I-25 to Denver. I’ve been there before: in college, in an Acura Integra with Sophia and three other guys – all of us trying to get to Boulder for the weekend for different reasons. It was fantastic and painstaking at the same time. Thinking back on it now, I might not be able to participate so willingly in the adventure the same way at this point in my life. Not that I wouldn’t have the urge for a weekend road trip, rather that I wouldn’t have the urge to cram in to a small space where your every moves affects the arm space and, most likely, lap of the person next to you. At the time though, there was plenty to talk about with Sophia; I had a crush on one of the guys; and I was aching to see good friends from home.

Anywho (cut to present day), I had been looking forward to the Fs visit for months, ever since Dahlia called to tell me Tony was participating in an Ironman in Boulder. It was going to be a weekend hanging out with the Fs and watching Tony compete in the race. They were going to meet miss m for the first time. I really just wanted some face time with an old friend so we could reconnect in person. There is something about watching someone and being able to smile at them and interact with their life that makes the time/space continuum less complicated for me.

That was the plan before life gets in the way... before Tony’s brother got diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia... before the Fs spent a chunk of the summer flying out to Boston to support him in his fight... before Tony found out he was a perfect match and donated his bone marrow THREE WEEKS before the race. I thought for sure the Ironman, and the trip, would be bagged in light of recent events. Tony, however, stuck to his guns and his training schedule, and ponied up for the big day. I never really understood why until I watched him at the finish line. 

For our part, we got to connect Friday night and have dinner, which is always a good time. Dahlia and I stayed up late and talked; I’m glad we found the space to do that. I give Dahlia props for fighting her dreary eyes so she could listen to her old roomie when she was scheduled for a wake up call at 4:30 am.


AF decided to do an Ironkids event Saturday morning. I set the coffee maker (and made a sign for her that she didn't see). We planned to meet them after the race but miss M got sick the night before. 


We finally met on Pearl Street to get some brunch. It was a good meal though Maddie puked on me again at the end of it. We had planned on going for a hike after we ate but it just wasn’t working out. Instead we walked up Pearl and down along the river. Took a quick stroll in to the Farmer’s Market and D bought some veggies. We went home after that to tend to our girl. 


Sunday I went up to Boulder alone. I was looking forward to watching Tony compete in his race but also to have some time to focus on Dahlia and the kids. It was impressive to see the athletes competing. Tony is in his zone in the situation; all his training and tweaking and toys foundational as he competes in a way he loves. Dahlia is super supportive and a stronghold in the family. A and S are tremendous. They have the enthusiasm of both Dahlia and Tony rolled in to one. They would be happy doing anything but are professionals at being silly and having fun while passing the time.


At the finish line, Tony sported two Ironman medals, one for his race and one for his brother, who would have run this race had he not be commissioned for a more important race the past nine weeks. Their cousin, Herb, participated as well. 

(this truly is one of my favorite photos from the weekend)

The emotions of the race and the physical healing that comes with the completion of five hours of athleticism are part of the reward at the end of the day. Both the athlete and the support crew can admire the drive to reach a goal and be proud of the achievement once the finish line is crossed. It can be a stretch and effort to get there but it's worth it in the end.

They took a different way home; the more scenic route: east on I-70 through Summit County and Glenwood Canyon (one of the most beautiful canyons I have ever seen) and then down Utah's long orange stretch. Still a chunk of time in the car but providing more photo opportunities to stop and enjoy the ride. 

Rhetorical Question

You want to know why I like writing? It gives me a chance to unfold my thoughts and solidify my memories.

In the moment, I am not so fast. I struggle with emotion and with words spilling out of my mouth all over the place like marbles across a wood floor. I usually try to keep them tied up in a red velvet bag (so mysterious and contained), only taking one or two out at a time.

On the page, I can throw it all out there and clean it up; organize it; put it in a nice dress with some mascara and a smile. It's intrinsic to who I am. It's the one constant in my life. 

Jump

Van Halen

A few weeks ago, D was telling me about a great memory he has of his mom teaching him how to float. He was pretty young when she did this and he instantly loved the sensation. I too thought back to those first floating experiences with my parents by my side (my annoyingly clingy, "remind me why we are doing this again" side). Floating scared me from the get go. I found the walk down memory lane clarifying: D is always curious, always testing the waters of the moment; I'm always worried it's too much, always thinking I will sink.

Something about water scares me; I don't trust it. It's not that I can't swim (8 years of swim team and a slew of swim meet ribbons will shut your mouth). It's really because I am grounded by land and not by water.


Two weekends ago we met some friends in Eleven Mile to play on the river. The water was outrageously powerful as it moved through the canyon. The sheer sound was overwhelming. The swift movement and volume was unbelievably fast. The guys balanced on the slack line and jumped in to the water from the boulder. One of them fell off on his first step out and cut his hand on a rock in the river before we got there. The whole situation was fairly safe but then again, it wasn't a controlled environment. 


In between playing, the guys cautiously towed the kids on a inner tube attached to another rope connected to the slack line. The other women and I watched from the sidelines (admittedly one is pregnant). Maybe it was the hot afternoon or sitting quietly up river where things were more calm, but I felt unsettled, like I would highly regret not jumping in to the river. It certainly scared me but I guess in a strange way, the fear was what called to me. I couldn't let another silly experience pass me by because I was scared I might get hurt. I wanted to embrace the moment, not hide from the opportunity. I wanted my girl to watch me jump in; to watch me rise to the occasion rather than shirk some experience using my gender as an excuse in exchange for a subtle shot to the ego via the sidelines. 


I approached the boulder and took off my tank top (not that kind of story, I had running clothes on). I considered the angle for a long time and tried to project how cold the water might be. I went back and forth in my mind knowing I would be okay and knowing I might die. Then again, both are true fact at any given moment. Fully committed I went to leap when a young boy reminded me to take off my sunglasses first. I took the glasses off, turned back, and went for it.

I'm glad I did. The experience proved much scarier in my mind than it was in real life. Though the river took me were it wanted, I was able to navigate the flow. I guess that was the sensation I was looking for: to prove myself able; willing; courageous enough to try.


The afternoon opened up after that. I played on the slack line (hanging from it, not balancing on it) and tried the inner tube. The movement was so fast it felt like I was like being towed behind a motor boat. I laughed with D and swam upstream as hard as I could to make it back past the boulder. I let the water take control and trusted I would figure it out if I got swept away.

...

Here's a video of D jumping off higher upstream.



(I would like to add: I lament for the time in my life when all I wanted to do was fuss my hair up, bump my shoulders, and split kick in the air like David Lee Roth. With the new hairdo, most mornings I look like I am in an 80s hair band; so I guess all I need to do now is focus on my flexibility... and GD this is a good video.)



PF10


It seems to me this week has been an exercise in celebrating life: I count seven birthdays, a set of twins new to this world, a bone marrow transplant, and a whole party focused on living - as requested by one amazing woman who is unable to do anything else but embrace the moment. It's awesome to see how people unabashedly choose love over fear. At home, little miss m is now covering ground at a stealth rate...belly style. The Denver thunderstorms this past week have reminded me that though life is beautiful, we are no where near being in control - we might as well just enjoy the show.