Einstein and what do I want to do when I grow up?

Someone sent this Albert Einstein quote to me today:

"Life is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving."

I had been thinking about my situation……that is, where I am in my life personally, professionally, financially, and emotionally…..and contemplating whether it’s time to make some changes.  I don’t mean small changes like where I buy my espresso each morning or what I do on my day off from work, which to be sure can still make a big difference, but of more transformative actions like moving to another part of the country, embarking on a journey of spiritual rebirth, or changing careers. The quote added a new perspective to my ponderings.

The reality is that I have been where I am for a long time.  I mean that literally and figuratively, in that I’ve been living in Vermont for 22 years and have been in Chittenden County for 19 of those years.  My daughters have grown up here, left to go to college elsewhere, and returned to do their post-graduate work in Vermont.  I have had the opportunity to work for several interesting companies in Vermont, have gotten divorced here, learned to rock climb and kayak, and even fell head-over-heels in love again  four years ago, something I had stopped believing was possible.

Recently the relationship that developed from that love came to an abrupt end.  I won’t say much about it here except than she wasn’t who I thought she was, she didn’t value me or the relationship as much as she had led me to believe, and her sneakiness and dishonesty at the end has left my heart shattered and my trust in my fellow human beings greatly reduced.  Right now I don’t know if I’ll be able to heal and try again or not.

I mention her because Burlington is not a very big area and it is impossible not to see each other from time to time, in passing on the road, at the market, or walking on Church Street.  I have never been very good at letting go, accepting endings, and moving on.  For some people it seems to be easier, but for me it’s a massive undertaking……it makes the 140.6 mile long Lake Placid Ironman that I’m preparing for seem like a short walk on the beach at sunset.

I saw her this last Saturday for the first time since she told me she didn’t love me anymore and could I please move out of her home that day? I hadn't heard from her at all....no calls, no texts, no e-mails, nothing.....she never even said good-bye.  It's like we never existed and without closure I am like a drowning man without a life preserver. I've been trying to rebuild my life, to create new connections and find some solace wherever I can.  And, I have been toying with the idea of fleeing the area to avoid just this kind of thing. Seeing her on Saturday renewed my desire to be somewhere, anywhere else, where I could be spared such encounters.

The thing is, I love Vermont.  It’s a beautiful place and I take more than my fair share of peace, joy, and fun from living and working and training here.  A part of me doesn’t want to change, doesn’t want to give up what I have here.  But then I think of what Albert Einstein said and I wonder if I need to keep moving to keep my balance (or re-establish it).  Maybe it is time to try a new job, to go to a new place, to be open to new friends, experiences, and opportunities.

I feel like a kid thinking about how to answer when someone asks them what they want to be when they grow up.  I don't know.....the answers aren’t entirely clear at this point, but at least I can be grateful that I have the freedom to consider my options and hopefully the courage to face whatever I decide.

Believe

It's amazing what the human body can do when we don't let our mind hold us a back.

Last weekend I ran a 10K race in Shelburne, Vermont with my daughter Nicole.  She had never done a 10K race before, having been a sprinter on the track team in high school.  Needless to say, she carried a little trepidation into the race, peppering me with questions about how fast to go, should she carry a drink, what was the course like.  We started together, but I run faster than she does, so I didn't see her until we made the turnaround on the out and back course.  She looked good, chugging along with her headphones on.   I crossed the finish line, congratulated a couple of guys that finished before and right behind me, then jogged back along the course to meet her and pace her to the finish line.

I had to go a little farther than I expected to find her, maybe a mile, when she finally appeared, moving well but looking tired.  She strided out and finished at just over 47 minutes.  This, it turns out, was good enough to win her age group.  What a big smile when the race organizer called her name to accept her prize.  I am very proud of Nicole and when she runs the Vermont City Marathon in just about 7 weeks, I'll be there at that finish line cheering her next accomplishment and marvelling at what we can do when we put our doubts behind us and just go.

How did I do?  Well, I ran the fastest 10K of my life and won my age division as well.  I'm not sure I fully comprehend how that was possible, as each year I am getting older and conventional wisdom says I should not be getting faster.  Nor am I training to get faster; in fact, I am training to go longer as I prepare to compete in my first full distance Ironman at Lake Placid in July.  I showed up last Sunday to run a good 10K, to test my fitness, and to maybe knock a few seconds off of my personal best, which is just under 42 minutes. I didn't think, I didn't plan, I just ran, finishing in 38:03.  The course may have been a little short, but I still greatly surpassed my expectations, proving that the body, even a 48 year old one, is an amazing thing.

This weekend I went for my first long outdoor bike ride.  I met three others at On The Rise Bakery in Richmond and we road US Route 2 all the way to Northfield.  It was sunny and beautiful, although fairly cold and a little windy (both ways, oddly enough!).  On the way out I was getting uncomfortable, my neck hurt, the two other guys were hammering and the woman Amy, who's a pro bike racer, was staying with them, while I was having to work harder than planned just to keep up.  Doubts periodically flushed through my mind....."I'm not in as good shape as I thought, I don't know if I'll be able to keep this up for 70 miles, let alone 112 miles in my Ironman". 

Eventually we made it to Northfield and turned back.  We made a pitstop in Montpelier and then headed for Richmond.  A few miles down the road one of the hammerers went off the back and I didn't see him again until I was changing into my running gear (yes, I ran off the bike when we got back to Richmond).  We were headed into a brisk wind on the way back with each of us taking turns at the front, pulling, then dropping back and drafting as the next person in line took a turn breaking the wind.  Soon Amy said she was bonking and couldn't pull anymore.  I told her to tuck in and John and I pulled the rest of the way back. 

My neck still hurt some, but not as much as on the way out.  My legs were tired, but I still had reserves to do the job at hand.  By the time I finished my run I was feeling tired, but not exhausted.  It was the fatigue in a body that did what it was supposed to, despite the less than encouraging messages in my head.  I followed yesterday's workouts with a long run today and I refused to let my mind distract my body from moving through 15 miles at a strong pace.  I just kept saying you can do this.

I still have a long way to go to be ready to race at Lake Placid, but this weekend encouraged me that I will get there, that I will get to the finish line, and maybe even get to race a little.

Numb

I can't seem to escape the feeling of numbness. I am either actively thinking about, feeling angry, sad, hurt, betrayed...or I am numb, feeling empty. There appears to be no place I can go where my memories don't follow me, no activity that frees me from the torture of my broken heart. Increasingly I find a margarita, a glass of wine, or some other beverage in my hand in an attempt to medicate, to drive myself to feel less, think less, slumber more. It works, but only for a while.

I'm lucky in a lot of ways. I have a job I don't love, but it pays well. I have my health and I use that to stay in great shape. I live in a beautiful place and I try to experience and appreciate that as much as possible. All of these things allow me moments of peace, occasionally even pleasure, but moving on has never been easy for me. I really loved this woman and I have way too many wonderful feelings to easily forgive and forget.

I know it will happen. I will find a new path. But right now I hate how palpable the old one is, how it haunts me and leaves me exhausted and miserable and numb.

Sunset in morning

My dad had a saying that he frequently used, "sunset at night, sailor's delight, sunset in morning, sailor take warning!" He was in the Marines during the Korean War and I suspect this is one of many anecdotes he brought back.

It's been a strange winter weather-wise in Vermont this year. We've had almost no snow and the temperatures have been inconsistent to say the least. As a triathlete I train year-round and that means running outside all winter. On Tuesday I did a hard session on my indoor bike trainer, then quickly changed into running gear for an easy 4 miler. I dressed for the cold, but it was more frigid than I expected, about 5'F to be exact. Needless to say, I ran faster than planned because my face got numb and my hands really hurt.

This morning my training plan said to do a pace progression run for an hour. This is a good, hard workout, but not so intense that it defines how you feel for the rest of the day. For me it's 20 minutes building to a steady run, then 3x7:00 minutes of work interval with 3 minutes rest in between, each interval faster than the previous one, with a 10 minute cool-down back to home.

I like this workout and, as we're in March now, the days are getting longer so I don't have to run in the dark as much. Even though Tuesday was bitter, this morning was mild and breezy, temperatures in the 50's. It was a pleasure to step outside into the half light and start ticking over the legs.

Not long into the run the sky began to turn pink. It was beautiful as there were some light puffy clouds to catch the color. The "sunset in morning" didn't last very long, but, despite the portent that my Dad's saying whispered in my head, for me, on this day, it was a great accompaniment to my workout.

Simply put, I didn't take warning. Instead I hammered out three good intervals, reveling in the light, the color, the mild air, and the peace that comes to me when I am moving under my own power swiftly enough to sense the speed as the Vermont landscape slides past.

Maybe some day I'll be a sailor, but for now triathlon is my thing, Kona Ironman is my dream, and I'll take all the uplifting sunrises I can get.

Just called to say hi

Having a partner in life can be an amazing and comforting experience, but like many things in life it is all too easy to take it for granted.  I recently went through a break-up, it happened suddenly and I didn't expect it.  When the end came it was drastic, immediate, and mystifying. 

Now, a month later, I am perhaps through the worst of the shock, hurt, and fear......I am begininng to settle into being alone again.  I miss many things about that relationship like falling asleep next to the person I love, going to yoga and reaching out to touch that person or meet their eye during class, or laughing together at something funny in everyday life.

Today I noticed that I missed the little bit of contact that we used to have each day while at our respective jobs.  This was an e-mail, a text, occasionally a phone call just to feel connected.  These weren't as frequent or as deep recently as I would have liked, but I still find that as my day goes on now I feel a certain emptiness at not having that connection anymore, knowing I won't see her at home tonight, won't get to talk to her about our days or greet her with a hug. 

It is that daily spark, that little tie to another person that I loved and shared life with that I miss the most.  I'm sure some day I'll have that friendship and closeness again, that I'll love again, but today, right now, my heart aches for that missing connection that was cut so cleanly a month ago today. 

Ghosts

I am haunted by the ghosts of my memories;
The regrets for things said and done, or not said, not done;
The remembrance of a touch, a tender word, the way the flowers looked as we picked them;
The warmth and softness and passion that moved from your lips to mine, and back again to you;
The feel of your skin against mine, the smell of you on the nape of your neck;
The sunsets shared, the food enjoyed, our hands intertwined;
There were adventures gone bad, laughing in bed, talking with the covers pulled over our heads;
Making love after just the right amount of red wine, the taste of sweet chocolate still lingering on our tongues;
Can't forget running together every week, the way you looked under the water when we dove from the boat and swam side by side, lying on the beach feeling happy, close, in sync;
My fingers know your curves and trace them still in my mind as I wake alone in the middle of the night;
First time snowshoeing, crunching through the drifts, drinking warm lemon tea as we lay beneath white blanketed trees;
Fireworks and thunder showers, blizzards, and moon rises, I ran naked in the rain to make you smile;
Waffles for breakfast, coffee together every day, dinner with candles as you came home to me;

These ghosts they come when I first wake each morning;
They slip through my mind as my bike travels familiar routes that now seem strange when I cannot ride home to you, be greeted by your smile, your smell, your eyes saying you were mine;
The spirits tear at my heart, already broken with grief, when I run, my feet left wanting that they cannot share the same path as yours;
I drive through town, the memories come, I spot you sometimes and am afraid of the darkness that drives sobs from my body and tears down my cheeks;
I understand loss, but am unable to reconcile not knowing why, not understanding your feelings, nor you mine, you having no desire to ever talk, be friends, or even acquaintances.
I gave all I had and I know it may not have been enough, but I haven't been able to accept that after all we shared I am left with ghosts, but no farewell, no real good-bye;

My ghosts have no form, but they unsettle and hurt nonetheless;
I cannot banish them, am unable to find an escape;
Hope for the future sometimes holds them at bay, but not for long, not enough to feel relieved.
They fill me with fear, make me hollow inside, my only relief comes when I finally succumb to sleep.

Transitions

My sport is triathlon, which means that I swim, bike and run. For an Olympic distance race I’m in the water for about 25 minutes, on the bike for just over an hour, and then I run for about 40 minutes. For a half-ironman,  the swim is a little longer, but the bike and run are more than twice as far, with the race totalling 70.3 miles. I train year round to maintain my fitness and, hopefully, improve each year. What most people don’t think about is that the races also include the transition from one discipline to the next. As an athlete I not only train each event, but I also practice transitioning from the swim to the bike and from the bike to the run. Even so, putting socks on wet feet and trying to run and jump on a bike is definitely awkward, and I have never looked clumsier than when I fall over trying to remove a wetsuit as fast as possible.

My point is that even though I practice transitions in my sport regularly, it is still difficult to do it with poise and composure. Just over a week ago I competed in my first race of this season, the Mooseman 70.3 half-ironman in Bristol, New Hampshire. On race morning it was 41 degrees as I went through body marking and prepared my gear for the race. The water temperature in Newfound Lake was about 60 degrees, which is cold even in a wet suit. As I finished the swim my feet were numb and, most likely, my brain was too. I took twice as long as normal to get my wetsuit off, put on my bike gear, and wrestle to pull arm warmers onto damp arms. The extra couple minutes that I spent in the swim to bike transition translated into finishing 8th instead of 6th in my division at the end of the race.

Transitions in real life tend to be even more problematic as they usually surprise us, the consequences are of much greater import, and frankly, most of us don’t do drills to improve our ability to cope. Life transitions are stressful because of their ambiguity - we don’t see them coming and we don’t know what the outcome is going to be……very often they also involve some kind of loss or grief, and that adds another dimension to the situation.

I went through such a transition earlier this year when my three year relationship ended unexpectedly. The woman I was living with and whom I loved very much seemed to be withdrawing more and more from our relationship. It wasn’t clear why and she wouldn’t talk about it. On the outside we were still friends, lovers, and partners.  However each passing month I felt as though our connection was weakening and that our interactions were increasingly superficial.  I tried to take up the slack and worked harder and harder to make our life good, but she that effort didn't seem to make much difference. She had two young kids and I had been living with them for a couple of years, perhaps she just didn't have enough love inside to give to her kids and to me. Nothing was bad, but things weren’t right either and not being able to talk about it left me feeling isolated and unloved. Eventually I moved out in an attempt to force the issue (bad idea, by the way), she broke off the relationship, we never did talk about why, and I was left to move on, to transition.

It was hard and it really hurt. The pain and suffering of my longest races is done in about 5 hours and maybe I'm sore for a few days after.  When my relationship ended my sense of loss and failure hung on so much longer. I feel like I’m through the dark times now, but I think it’s important to thank my friends and daughters who supported me during that transition (and who cheered for me at Mooseman!). I also think it’s important to recognize that transitions are hard on our hearts and our bodies and our minds. We need to be good to ourselves as we go through the motions. For me that meant lots of time with friends, regular massages, daily affirmations, and lots of sleep.

My sport helps keep me grounded and focused on the moment at hand, as well as on the future. One of the keys to success in any sport is visualization…..you have to see the outcome you desire and the motions required to achieve that outcome. Life transitions, while so much harder and more complicated, still benefit from focusing on the future, from believing that, as a good friend said to me not long ago, this too shall pass. Today, with that in mind, I am looking forward to a future that once again includes a committed relationship.....one characterized by gentleness, openess, love, caring, friendship and romance.

That's a transition I can't wait to make.