Go World

I love the Olympics.  Everything about them.  I love that despite the deep political and social divisions wracking our country right now we can join together and cheer with a rancorous "USA USA" as our Nation's representatives push themselves to victory.  I love the spotlight brought upon the more obscure sports - archery, trampoline, shooting, etc - and those who dedicate their lives to perfection are, for a moment, rewarded with the eyes of the world.  It's the time when it's perfectly acceptable for a 300 pound man to cry his eyes out, and a 100 pound girl to hold us all on her shoulders.  It is truly magical.

Throughout the Olympics, we hear the word "fearless" over and over, as well.  And this strikes a chord.  Outsides often tell me I "must be fearless."  Whether it's for flying combat missions, breaking barriers in womens' roles, ice climbing, racing my bike, it gets thrown around a lot.  So hearing commentators throw the word around throughout coverage of the games got my ears perked up and me to reflecting on what truly is fearless about these games.  Sure, anyone getting up and competing on the international stage is fearless.  Balancing the real world with following your dream is fearless.  Making a game winning play, bridging to the race winning break, sticking the perfect landing require an athlete to shove fear to the dark recesses of the mind where they can't see the light of day.  Sport psychologists have spent years evaluating the minds of champions, and their ability to do this; but this is not the fearlessness that I have found inspiring in these games.  Look beyond the shimmer of the podium, and there you will see fearlessness.

Fearless is the women getting a cancer diagnosis today who watched Amber Neben race and decides not to sell her bike.  Fearless is Aurora, CO trading coverage of the acts of a despicable human being for the smiles and joy of Missy Franklin.  Fearless is the girl who finds her way off the streets and into the gym after watching the Fab 5.  Fearless is the teenager standing up to her molester after watching Kayla Harrison come forward with her story.  Fearless is the 10 year old an Kabul, or Doha, or Tripoli who puts on running shoes for the first time after seeing their country women line up toe to toe with the best in the world.  Fearless is training for the marathon on a 2 miles circuit because it is the only place in your country where you know you are safe from land mines.  Fearless is trusting a teammate with whom you were once engaged in civil war. 

Fearless is that once every four years the world can come together and respect hard work, discipline, and dedication.  Fearless is admitting that I (who cry and nothing) got a little misty watching Tahmina Kohistani take the starting blocks this morning, because maybe the fearlessness of one woman helped spark the fearlessness of another. 


Go Fearless.  Go World. 

I do, in fact, have it all

"Having it all."  There's been a lot of talk about this lately.  I've had numerous people send me Anne-Marie Slaughter's article.  Some just out of curious inquiries as to my thoughts, some with a "see-I-told-you-so" smugness.  And today's announcement of Marissa Mayer - a pregnant women - being named Yahoo!'s CEO sent my inbox all a twitter again with "what do you think about that?!?!"s.  The first round of all of this, in response to Slaughter's unsolicited open letter of advice to all female professionals left me a little amused.  And honestly wanting to talk about it with a few of the [more respectful] pings to my inbox.  But this second round has left me a tad annoyed.  And pondering the definition of "having it all."

Who decided that "it all" included being a wife and mother?  And that those who were not were intrinsically lacking some gene and therefore not complete or satisfactory as a woman?  And, more importantly, when did become socially acceptable to use this idea of "it all" as a lens through which every woman over the age of 30 must be viewed?  In an age where we tote ourselves on being socially accepting of all creeds, colors and lifestyles, society still judges the childless as somehow sub-par or unfulfilled.  Having children is a choice.  I respect those who choose it.  But it's not my choice.  So, to my friends with children, before you assert "you'll understand when you have kids" to someone, take a moment and consider what they may ask you.

I have never asserted to my stay at home mother friends "oh you'll understand when you go to war."  Or when their husbands annoy them "oh you'll understand when you don't have one."  These are choices I've made.  Not choices I impose on others.  Nor a lens through which I view them.

It's 2012.  And about time the June Cleaver ideal of "it all" is in need of change. 

At no time when I was flying Cobras did I think, "gee, a baby would make things better right now."  So I guess I've already failed at having it all.  I should have given up there.  Not pursued further professional qualifications in the Cobra.  And I definitely shouldn't have pursued my job at the liaison office.  Or racing bikes.  Because those long hours in the office, work trips, and training rides would interfere with pregnancies, feedings and soccer games.  Again.  Failure at "it all."

However what if I were to argue that, I do, in fact "have it all."  Because I have a man who loves me as much as I love him.  And we're equal partners.  And I have a career in the Marines I can look back on with pride, as I served my country well.  I am a part of one of the primer graduate programs in the country.  I line up against the best women in the country on the bike (and sometimes men) several times a week.  I have childless girlfriends who are PhDs, scientists, artists, lawyers, doctors, ambassadors.  They race bikes, row boats, climb mountains.  They are published authors and business owners.  And while our conversations wander into the "what if" or the "I want" parts of life, it is never a lament about how we're missing something, but a celebration of how we are going to be able to cram more into "it all."

I am not disparaging those who have made the choice to be domestic.  It is a choice and a noble and necessary pursuit.  But it is not "it all."  It's something.  It's an option.  But those who choose a career or passion are not missing something.

In the past few months, I have spent quite a bit of time pondering what my time in the Marine Corps meant.  I was constantly hounded with questions of sacrifice, and what I had given up to serve.  Yes, I did "give up" quite a bit.  But it was a choice.  Every choice has consequences, and every consequence shapes us.  My consequences have taught me more about what "it all" is.  And what it isn't.

So, for now I'm going to go race my bike.  And pursue my education.  And further my career.  And face every day as a new adventure with my partner.  And wake up thinking, damn, I have it all.           

  

Peas and Carrots

If anything, racing in Colorado is going to make me loose any nerves whatsoever about racing at the national level.  Again, at a local crit I was toeing the line with Exergy, MayMyRide, NOW, Team Type I... and a sundry of former national champions. But for some reason this time I wasn't nervous.  I chatted casually on the line, got a good luck kiss, and held my position on the front row like I belonged there.  The race went off, and in true Colorado fashion there was no "on hey lets just ride around."  The field strung out and splintered in now time, and by lap 5 or 6 we were lapping riders.  The first 10 min or so I had to get my wits about me.  And stop thinking about who's wheel I was sitting on and start thinking about how I was going to move up.  It was about this time that I realized the field had been whittled down to 12-15 women, all wanting to race hard and whittle the field down to 1.  Attack after attack and each was chased down.  It was organized, hard, aggressive.  Everything I want racing to be.  The boy (who had just had an awesome 2nd place finish in his race winning the field sprint) was screaming at me on every lap to move up, do less work, etc etc.  His encouragement  propelled me to get up front and launch a few of my own attacks, win a few primes, and feel like I belonged there.  And then the heavens opened and we raced in a torrential downpour of a thunderstorm.  And the pace didn't lessen, nor the attacks subside.  We dropped a few more riders, and came across the line strung out, soaked and muddy.  I was finally happy again with how I raced.  Would I have liked to have placed higher?  Of course.  But being out here, still not fully acclimated to the altitude, still recovering from a broken bone, knowing I'm strong enough to hang with the ladies out here, and that my aggression is back, I'm exited for the rest of the season.

This morning I was reading some "tips from the pros" blog thing, and the importance of a support network in racing was brought up in a few different ways.  And while it took a broken arm and a 2,000 mile move for me to realize it, I do need this support system.  I have always had an amazing family who I love and to whom owe more debts that I could ever repay.  However it is not until this past injury that I have come to understand what having that rock is all about, and how much it has improved my racing.  And I honestly believe it's one of the reasons I'm back at this whole "I can be a bike racer" thing again.  So, in no particular order, I've come up with a list of reasons why I, the self-asserted most independent and hard-headed person I know, need a pea to my carrot.

- I get faster.  Dudes, here's a piece of advice.  Drop your girlfriends/wives on anything but a recovery ride.  And women, get angry, but not mad when they do.  A huge mental barrier was broken down when I realized "he's trying to drop me because he thinks I can be better" not "he's being an ass, doesn't he realize we're riding together?"  I believe love means pushing each other to be your best, and this doesn't happen in the comfort zone.  (and, by the way, every once and a while I drop him now too.)  Rather than letting me sit on the couch, I was plopped on the trainer. 

-I'm calmer.  This I didn't realize until I was broken.  Now I know I'm intense and Type A and probably a bit over competitive.  But the past few yeas have been so full board go that I never realized how the intensity in both my personal life and work effected my mood daily.  It took me not being able to do anything for myself to be still long enough to realize that there is a strength in calmness. 

- I'm bolder.  Nothing will make you race hard like having your name screamed and someone else investing in you.  When I was down, a huge motivation for me to get racing quickly was the time, money and effort that someone else had put in to my recovery and racing. 

- Breakdowns don't lead to being mentally broken.  At least twice (but probably more now) I've had meltdowns on the bike.  Be it complete exhaustion or a hand that won't cooperate with shifting anymore, my minimeltdowns have been squashed before they were allowed to start.  Apparently there's not crying in training.  Or at least none tolerated.

- I don't have to do it all.  I'm still getting used to the idea that there is someone who wants to help me, and enjoys it.  And anticipates what I may need before I even know.  Whether it's preemptively making another pot of coffee, showing up with a lattee when I'm neck deep in a paper, or changing hubs on race wheels, it really is the little things.

- I remembered why I love racing.

- I'm not judged for how much I eat.

- Laundry gets done (especially since there's so much of it!)  

- And I will stop this before it gets mushy. 

Racing last weekend was awesome.  And it had nothing to do with the result.  And everything to do with realizing the importance of my pea.

Beginning in Denver....

I have been in Colorado for three weeks now.  A whirlwind of driving cross country, unpacking, starting school, starting a job, acclimating to altitude, training, getting a cast off, racing, reading and writing.  My transition from Marine to student is becoming more solidified.  I am never early for anything anymore, and in fact, with the exception of class, subscribe to the tenant that if you're not 15 minutes late, you're early.  I don't make my bed regularly anymore, and have no problem calling anyone I meet by their first name.

However, I have also managed to maintain a fair amount of my Kyishness, as it were.  In the words of my academic adviser, I've taken to academia with "all the grace of a bull driving a tank into an Ivory Tower."  I never was good at making a quiet entrance.  And while the vast amount of reading, and the structure of academic prose-writing are taking some getting used to, I truly am enjoying the subjects and the ability to put the past decade of my life in an academic perspective.  I also relish my schedule that allows me the freedom to drink coffee out of a mug on my couch every morning, ride at the crack of 3pm, grocery shop at non rush-hour, and nap from time to time.  There are days I haven't gotten out of my pajamas until well afternoon, busily typing away, and wondering why I didn't know this life existed sooner.

The same can be said for the training and racing out here.  Unencumbered by city traffic, I don't think I've logged a single "junk mile" since I've arrived.  I can do 70 mile training rides from my front door and only run into one stoplight.  There are stretched allowing me to do 40 continuous minutes of 40/20s (ok, so maybe I hate this fact), and when it gets hot at home, just start riding up and cooler mountain air awaits.  My liberation in Colorado riding may be a bit exaggerated due to the fact that I am finally castless, and feel like bursting out in "Free At Last" song every once and a while.  Being castless also means being able to race again, an admitting slightly frightening prospect as I've been out of the loop for a while.  But if my first experiences here are any indication, racing here will teach me far more than I have learned before.  Rather than the "who wants to pull?  NOT ME!" game that leads to crits averaging 17mph, fields are full of pros, Olympians, and former world champions who are more apt to say "Ok, so who's keeping up?"  Four days out of a cast I hopped in a super technical fast crit, and safely hung out in the pack.  For the first time ever, sitting in was a victory.  Priorities and expectations may have to be shifted slightly, but damn, I love racing my bike with these women.

The move has served me well, as a mist all the change and newness, I am finally making sense of the dualities in me, and allowing them to coexist.  I am in a place where I can train and race hard and know that everyone out there wants to rip my legs off, but still embrace my femininity.  In addition to allowing me the training time I desire, my new schedule has allowed me the flexibility and freedom to be both badass and girly, bullish and soft.  I can beat boys up graveled climbs, snotting over myself, with manicured nails.  I can speak of my experiences flying combat missions while wearing sundresses.  I can line up and race against the best women in the country every weekend, and go home and cook.  The lack of rigidity and structure has allowed me to get to know and love myself, and let myself be fully loved.

Slowing down was not easy.  And there are moments when I miss the comfort of knowing where I'm supposed to be next and when I'm supposed to be there.  It has given me great amounts of sympathy for those who never made the transition fully.  There were many nights crying over what I would do next.  And many days spent searching for sense in a world free from structure.  I am a lucky one in that I crave a sense of adventure, and can't stay planted for too long.  I am also one of the most fortunate in that I have the most incredible partner in adventure a girl could ever ask for.  Every day I am more excited for this new adventure, and more confidant that the decisions of my past were merely building blocks for it. 

Much is still unknown.  I don't know what I want to do when I'm done with school.  I don't know where I want to be when it's all over.  But I know, for now, the mile high city is a good place to start.        
 

Broken

My arm is still broken.  Sadly I'm not, in fact, a wolverine, and will take time to heal.  But the doctor says I'm on track to be riding outside in a week, and racing shortly thereafter.  I'm stuck, in the meantime, on the trainer, whining about life.  Fortunately, the trainer seems to be the only place I do whine.  I am strangely and magically content.  I'm getting taken care of above and beyond anything I deserve.  And my attempts at independence are taken in stride, not ridiculed.  I'll probably escape without loosing too much fitness as well.

We took a distraction trip to NYC last week.  No rules, no agenda, and only toothbrushes were brought.  I ate awesome pastries and spent too much money on shoes.  But there were happy carefree moments that reminded me I'm loved.  I've never been happier to not have a plan.
I leave for CO in a week.  Can't believe it's actually here.  I'm nervous about the logistics, but still content that I'll be ok.
And beside, a cross country move wouldn't be exciting enough if I were healthy.          

Crashing into unsolitude

I've been on a bit of a technology hiatus recently.  Since leaving the office, I have vowed to spend as little time as possible in front of the computer.  Soon enough there will be plenty of computer time.  So I have made it a priority to enjoy sleeping, riding, and coffee shops.  As my technology time has decreased, my numbers on the bike have skyrocketed, and the pesky winter pounds come off.  I've found happiness and solace in place of the anxiety and chaos that was surrounding me.  I have been following my heart a lot the past month.  And it has made me faster, hungrier, and more ambitious.  As May unfolded, I was psyched to race my bike, over the moon about my research fellowship, and feeling very un-alone.  I've been pushed on the bike in ways I never have been (at least on a consistent basis), I have loved the reading I'm doing to get ready for my RA position, and generally just feel happy.
I could go on about the awesome training rides I've done, how great I feel when I get off the bike.  How the magic fit-master gave met a secret 50 watts on the climbs, but no one cares.

I was finally able to test my new found strength and excitement against a strong field this weekend.  The bike got some awesome TLC, I was rested and relaxed, and I was finally getting to race with my teammate Lindsay again.  The race started, fast, and I felt good.  Like the shit-yea-this-is-awesome good feeling.  Breaks went and I brought them back.  And still felt strong.  With about 8 to go I bridged to a move with a Kelly rider that I knew would stick.  I felt strong in the break.  Three of us were working hard and gaining time.  And then all good things come to an end and I was on the ground.  Broken-bone, race-ending on the ground.  Andy and Russ came running over and I yelled at both and possibly hit one telling them to get back to warming up and go race.  I fought the medics, but much to my chagrin, was taken to the ER.  (NOT AGAIN!!!)  And while I was screaming at techs for moving my wrist, breaking Pierre's fingers while the doctor fished around in my shoulder, and nearly passes out when they stuck an injection in the fracture site, an amazing thing happened.  I felt surrounded by people who cared about me.  Friends made me laugh, and my hand was constantly held.  I have been cared for and fawned over since it happened.  I know I'm still capable of doing things on my own and for myself.  But am now assured I don't have to.
My bike has been made trainer ready (ie no shinny white bar tape, sexy wheels or aggressive position), and I've been assured that even with nice weather I'll have company.  I have a wonderful support system of coaches, teammates, mechanics, PTs, and friends.  And a hand to squeeze the daylight out of when things start to hurt a little too much.  And fire in the belly for Aspen and Steamboat Springs           

In which nothing sucked and there were Dragons

So last week (still) didn't work.  And I (still) slept a lot.  And despite some seeming setbacks in life, I can honestly say that nothing sucked about it. 
Some highlights....

I took a roadtrip down south with Monika, raced a road race, and raced up a mountain.  I actually didn't die.  And Monika won said uphill race.  So, goodness abounded.  And we stayed in a cute little resort too.     I also got to follow Lindsay on her Speedweek adventure and awesome success.  I'm so proud and honored to be a part of a team with such amazing talent. 

I spent the week exploring new training grounds.  And I had someone to train with who got great pleasure out of kicking my ass up the worst training hill in history (complete with a cemetery in the middle of it) and yelling at me "STOP, THERE'S A COW IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD".  Yes, a cow.  I am now going to start rating workouts on their cow content and how many times I contemplate killing my training partner if I can catch him. 

And then I went to Bennington.  Where I got to reconnect with Kacey and cram into a tiny motel room with 3 badass (and hot) women to complete the rainbow coalition of a room.  I also raced hard and won a nickname or two.  I'm starting to feel form coming on, and understand what people mean by racing into shape.  I know I'll be ready to start pillaging and crushing when the time comes.  But this weekend reminded me why I love racing bikes.  Why getting called the "pirate space princess" was awesome.  Why having random bike racing strangers feed me ice cream makes me laugh, and why the fact that women are getting stronger and racing more aggressively makes me happy. 

Check out Kacey's blog if you're looking for the metrics of the weekend.  She nailed it.