I'll just keep it at 30....

People like to make lists.  And, in my research for a potential book idea, I came upon one such quintessential list of things that every women should know by age 30.   Many of these I believe, actually most of them.  However, I've added a few of my own.  And I give you to "Ky's list of 30 things every women should know/have by age 30".

1. The security to forgive your parents for everything you hated them for in your teens.
2. Something you do better than every man you know.
3. Something, no matter how menial, that you call someone else to do.
4. Something, no matter how menial, that you refuse to let anyone else do.
5. A secret that you will never ever tell.
6. The ability to keep that secret for someone else.
7. A girlfriend that trumps any date.
8. Something you do weekly for no one other than yourself.
9. A pair of shoes in which you know you can conquer the world.
10. A contact list that includes a go-to job reference who actually knows your name and what you've done.
11. A story that will convince any employer you're the best person for the job.
12. The security to say "no".
13. The confidence to say "yes".
14. A miniskirt.
15. A strand of pearls.
16. Running shoes.
17. Scars....
18. ... and the stories to go with each of them.
19. A solo cross country drive.
20. A restaurant you go to by yourself, with only a book for company.
21. A guilty pleasure.
22. A younger man who convinces you you're years younger than your actual age.
23.  The ability to use "your" and "you're"; "to", "too", and "two"; "its" and "it's"; "their", "they're" and "there" properly.  And proper conjugation of the very "to be."
24. The ability to confront an authority figure when you're right.
25. The ability to admit when you're wrong.
26. A broken heart.  And the knowledge you survived.
27. An accomplishment you unabashedly brag about.
28. Confidence in your religious beliefs, whatever they are.
29. Ten things you wish you could tell your 16 year old self.
30. At least one thing you are still scared of.      

And with that, it is time for another Leap

Today I woke up knowing that I will never again go to work as an active duty Marine.  It's a day that has been looming out there like some elusive carrot for several months.  It is the culmination of some thing I have not yet processed.  The very process of getting out of the Marine Corps has occupied so much of my time that I have not had time to inventory my career, or what it means to make the next step.  I know that this is a transition.  And it is yet another chance to show that despite constantly jumping (or getting thrown off) metaphysical buildings, I am very good at landing on my feet.  

 With my 20/20 hindsight, I know that I will be able to objectively look and see that I have done some very amazing things in the 30 something years I've been on this earth.  (No, I will not divulge exact age.  Even my boss knew better than to do that to a lady :) )
I have had more uphill battles than smooth sailing in the past decade.  I trudged through the Quigly in Quantico, puked my brains from airsickness learning aerobatics in Pensacola, flew 6 days a week and studied close to 20 hours a day to get through the FRS quickly and make it to the fleet in Oceanside, kept my head down and prepared for deployments and forged the path as the first female cobra pilot in my squadron in Jacksonville, worked nights prepping for legislative mark-ups in Washington, DC, and toted congressmen around through multiple timezones, warzones and foreign legislators that may as well have been.  I battled sickness, heartbreak, a crashed housing market and America's enemies simultaneously.  I taught myself to trad climb and ice climb, won triathlons and bike races, moved myself around the country, perfected an orange olive oil cake and got into arguments with people I probably had no business talking to.      

I may be quirky for a Marine Officer.  I love to race my bike, bake cookies, wear sundresses and fold origami cranes.  I'm blunt.  I crash out of "my lane" like a bull in a china shop who's just gone 3 rounds with a rodeo clown.  But I made it work.  My unique brand of independent bluntness and intelligent charm has won over 4 star generals, congressmen, foreign heads of state, ambassadors and various cats and dogs along the way.  Leaving the Hill, two congressmen entered statements for the record on my service.  I received a plethora of hand written notes thanking me for my service.  And I'd like to think that all of this means that the shock of impact from all those times landing on my feet meant something.
Many days I wake up feeling alone.  And like life would be better if it had been easier.  If I hadn't constantly scaled skyscrapers only to try and fly off them I'd have a few less bruised, bumps and broke parts.  And that there has to be a state other than pure exhaustion fueled by adrenaline to live in.  But, to paraphrase Tennyson, Mine is not to make reply, Mine is not to questions why, Mine is but to do and die.
So this morning I leaped off the pinnacle I have spent the past three years climbing.  I'm exhausted.  Everything hurt from the climb.  And I know that there will be a jarring impact when I put my feet down, and it will be time to start climbing again.  But that's the only way I know how to live.  And, besides, I have a little while to enjoy the wind in my hair during this fall before I start bracing for impact.              

Whatever Battens are, they are Killed

Every year in April, hundreds of Elite and Fred cyclists happen upon the booming metropolis of Cambridge, NY to drink chocolate milk and eat donuts. Cambridge is the only place in the universe, however, where one has to don spandex and suffer through the dirt on a toy for 3ish hours before enjoying the bounty of this great village. Honestly, I think that Tour of the Battenkill was created by some sadists dairy farmers who taunted a bunch of gaunt morons by making them chase their dairy wagons for a taste of the chocolate infused deliciousness. And now an entire industry has been developed from annually celebrating this event.

So yes, I did partake in the celebration of this dirt-infused chocolate milk drinking, spandex fest. We won't talk about the result. It was. A combination of JV mistakes in positioning, and mechanicals let to it being a disappointment of the weekend.

But all was not lost. Monika and I planned out our nordic ski career, I got to see lots of old cycling buddies, and I learned about honey badgers and skittles.

Next up Speed Week. Where hopefully all of these lessons will come together.

Everything to gain?

It's probably a good thing not a lot of people read this. Because I may just say too much. With all this getting out of the Marine Corps, moving to a new state, become a student again, racing a lot things going on, I can't help reflecting on choices made, opportunities siezed and missed, and the could of would of should of of life.

My sister and her adorable daughter and my mom were here this weekend. My sister is an amazing mother. She has seamlessly slid into the role. She loves little Ella and lives for her. My mother, too, dotes on the baby, and my sister as the mother of her granddaughter.

But that will never be my life. For both reasons of choices I made myself and those fate made for me, I won't be giving my mother any grandchildren. And while I love being an aunt - getting to introduce little Ella to her first bike, horse, and birthday party - I don't ache for a child of my own to complete me. I ache to race my bike fast. To get my thesis accoepted. To get noticed by an ASD or undersecretary for my ability to contribute to the countrys strategic needs.

And this, somehow, makes me the bad guy as far as women in society are concerned. Sure, mothers tout strong childless women as good role models - examples to their daughters that the sky is the limit - but never want their sons to marry them. Men praise and yes ms'am them at work, but whisper unfounded rumors about their private lives at cocktail parties. Objectively, I've achieved much in the past dozen years of my life. People like to tout those accomplishments, blatantly ignoring that none of them would have been possible had I taken the traditional womanly path.

A dear friend told me the other day "you've lost nothing by kicking life's ass and racing your bike fast." And quickly added "you've probably gained everything.". Well for sweet little Ella's sake, I hope so. Because whatever path she chooses, I hope that neither shoves her into the corner of being the bad guy. She's my niece, and namesake, so if she has everything to gain from what I've done, then it was worth it.

Love is a dirty affair

I did another race at altitude. And it was great. My result was so-so. I haven't seen anything official, but for yesterday, there are far more important things than my finish position. Like the fact I raced my bike hard, and lined up with the best women racers in the country. And the fact that they complimented my racing, and were kind enough not to mention that they dropped the entire rest of the field.

I learned a few great things. That women's racing is not always a race to be slowest. That women's fields are full of incredibly strong athletes who work their ass off all week to rip each others legs off every weekend. That there is a great amount of respect given to this those that work hard in chase groups. That tactics in the final sprint are hard on the dirt.

The course was touch. 60%+ dirt. Headwinds. And, despite what the profile said, nothing was flat, or downhill. I'd preridden it many times. I knew how tough it was going to be. Maybe it was the classic Roubaix footage Dave played that morning, but I was far more excited to race than I had been in a while.

And I felt better than last week. I was able to do a little work onto the dirt sections. I chased my little butt off. And got compliments from the likes of Jennifer Triplett for the work I did.

It was hard. And I'm tired. But after last week, it was a good reminder that I love bike racing.

It's a mean mans world

I just finished reading an article on NPR lamenting the gender confusion of our current pop culture heros, including the epitome of cutting edge femme, Madonna. References as varying as Katniss, from "The Hunger Games," to Lizbeth, "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo," to pop-shocker rapper Nicki Minaj are cited as examples of girls bending gender stereotypes for their own protection.

I'd argue that it's not just for protection, but for success.

The other night I was watching "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo" with a buddy of mine. (full disclosure, I've read all three books about half a dozen times each, and was actually pretty excited to couple my favorite books with Daniel Craig) He asked my why I was so engrossed in the story, as I was clearly more interested in watching the movie than an any idle chitchat. "I think I'm Lizbeth," was all I could respond. At a first surfsce glance, the comparison seems laughable; I'm s clean cut Marine, she's a tattooed and pierced computer genius. But strip away the leather and tattoos, and the uniform and no-hair-out-of-place bun, and you have two strikingly similar women. Women who exist in a man's world, women who are more comfortable in solitude, women with unspeakable pasts, women who long for affection, but know that they have a higher calling. Women who may be a little too smart and a little too independent for their own good. Women who men will go to for everything but bringing home to their parents or raising their children.

Personally, I applaud these heros, for giving the modern successful single woman a voice. For asserting that hard work wand determination, not true loves kiss, conquers all. And that getting a job, and taking control of your destiny, even if it means wrestling it to the ground, is sexier than waiting in a bell tower shrieking as some dimwitted prince slays the dragon to save us. "The Hunger Games," is the refreshing anti-"Twilight", a celebration of strength in independence rather than feminine despair and helplessness.

But back to the article. Near the end of it, the author asserts, "It all comes back to the old problem of equality never quite being as close as it seems. Women may be moving into brave new roles, but they're not necessarily doing so in community with each other or with a clearly articulated politics to support the changes they're going through."

Arguably, women will never do this "in community with each other", as their whole reason for entering these roles is to break from community. It may take a village to raise a child, but it takes solitude to find success.

Successful women will never be part of the boys club. Controversy is surrounding the current CEO of IBM (who is.... Wait for it..... A WOMAN) joining a particular golf club. The media still comments on Hillary Clinton's hair. In talking about my time in the Marine Corps to the one I call the "mean mean man", I pontificated a "what if it had been different." He asserted a perspective I never thought about. "You were the first in their world, and here you come running faster and knowing more about everything and doing their job. Did you expect them to greet you with 'oh yay, we're so glad you're here?' You're an achiever, and a doer. And most people don't like that. But fuck them. I'm proud of you." He went on to laud my accomplishments, and get more excited than I am about the prospects for my post-school future. It was strange that this was he validation I needed in this change. That after everything I've done, and still being rejected from the boys club, I could possibly kick ass in the mean mean mans world.

Let's be frenimies

It's been 2 days since I tried my hand at racing with the big girls in Colorado. With a startlist with the likes of Allison Powers, Meridith Miller and a handful of NOW and Tibco racers, and the mile high lack of oxygen, my goal quickly shifted from "kick ass" to finish.

Basic recap: it started fast, got faster, somehow Powers took off off the front and I did everything in my power to hang on. My legs said go. My lungs said hell no.

I brooded and was pissed the next morning. I grumbled at my coach. He said "you could stay home and dominate races, or you can come here, get our ass kicked, and be friends with me again in he fall".

So I went home and slept all day yesterday. And most of today. And tomorrow I'll go back to getting my ass kicked and look towards getting stronger. And fall when I am friends with Jim again, I'll look back at this summer of change and know it made me better.