YOLO! Ya Only Live Once

Am I the track, or the coaster? 

YOLO. A new teenager term I learned from my almost-14 year old Lil Lady, last night. She says its from a Drake song and ALL the kids say it. She says she says it to herself when she is afraid of something but wants to do it anyway.

I'm not sure of my feelings on this philosophy~ it sounds dangerous. This is teenager-without-full-frontal-cortex-development-speak.  With age, unfortunately I have become more cautious, i.e. I'm basically am a scaredy-cat about a lot of things.

I have my moments like on my Costa trip when I dared a jump off a natural waterfall. Or skiing down the black slopes in Wyoming, Colorado, and Tahoe.  Maybe its in fake-life, on vacation, that I let down my guard and say "Wheeeee!!".  But in real-life, I'm insuring every damn thing I can think of, buying extra toilet paper, and checking the door locks every night multiple times, and worrying myself silly about where I'm falling short with my kids.

Of course a teenager has a YOLO attitude.  What the hell do they know about fear?  What do they know about ANYTHING?  I was 13 and my biggest concern was acne.  Or the name brand on my jeans.  My teenager doesn't even worry about those things.  She wakes up each day and looks into her closet for her outfit for the day, sees a plethora of choices (thanks to Mom) and carefully selects her look.  Make-up (again thanks to Mom) and hair are meticulously placed for maximum cuteness, and down she goes for breakfast.

I'm a teenager....LALALALALALA!!!

She might stress for half a second if she didn't finish a homework page, but no worries, she has an advisory class set aside for homework catching-up time.  If she fails a test, her teachers give her a "make-up test".  What is this thing?  I don't remember getting all kinds of chances for making better grades.  Oh yeah, I studied and listened and got the A on the first try.  No wonder she is totally comfortable with her Bs on her report card.  I say, You could try harder.  She says, Wow look how well I did without even trying that hard!  Ayiyi....

Do I sound bitter? I'm really not.  I remember those days.  Middle school, high school, and college were THE funnest years of my life, if you are looking in the no-stress-and-worry category.  I did those years to the fullest.  They were great.  But I have to say my life today is better.

And by better I mean crazy busy, stressful, rewarding, and full of fun kiddo moments, fun love of my life moments, and fun friends moments.  Like the dog walks I do with one or the other of my daughters (if I'm lucky both, and they talk, not fight) where we cover their day's activities or upcoming events.  Or like dinners out with Sinatra where he and I sit like Big People at the bar and order yummy concoctions before gorging ourselves on a decadent meal.  Or when I'm doing my nerd-speak about races and training with my friends over wine.  It really doesn't get better than any of that.

I am making the most of my time here.  The rough stuff I worry about is always there, but I will try to take the YOLO teenager approach and do the scary thing anyway.

Crazy Little Thing Called Tri

I've been so caught up in school starting and getting my meager training in and reading OTHER people's blogs about how much training they are doing, I haven't posted in a while.

I love reading athlete blogs.  I have one I read that the girl did the Augusta 70.3 yesterday, and I'm eagerly awaiting her report.  I read another of a friend I've met in my running community about her badass splits on mere training runs, let alone winning or placing in all of the 5ks and 10ks she does.  Another blog is about a lady's adventures while going through her divorce and she swims in the Pacific and hikes Northwestern California's peaks. Fascinating.

So I better get back to reporting on my own athletic endeavors.  This past weekend qualifies.

Waaayyy back in June I was convinced by my two best tri girlfriends, K and K, to sign up for a Half-Iron close by in Kerrville, TX.  My biggest races have been olympic, also called quarter tris, and that was mostly just this year.  My intention was to train and work up to a half-iron, or 70.3, triathlon by next year.

I've been doing sprint level tris for 5 years so this year I'd decided to only sign up for olympic level ones.  Sprint are usually a 500m swim,14-15mile bike, and a 5k run.  The olympic races are usually 1500-1600m swims, 24-28mile bike, and a 10k run.  Almost twice as much.

Last May, I reported here that I did my second olympic tri here in Austin and wasn't thrilled about my swim but otherwise was happy I'd gotten through another big race.  Swim lessons with a tri coach in June gave me confidence to sign up for the Half with K and K.  Now I said it was a Half, but I wasn't signed up to do the whole 70.3, mind you, only the swim leg.  I had gotten better and more comfortable and extended my lessons into July and now swimming is my favorite of the 3 sports.  Shhh, don't tell my bike.

So I volunteered (not really, I had to pay for this) to start off our team 70.3 with the swim portion.  One point two miles in the Brazos River.  I've come to realize all our lakes and rivers around central Texas are pretty gross.  The prettiest I've swam in was Aquarena Springs in San Marcos...a cccold spring with the turtles and fishies and seeing clear to the bottom...but even that had plant life that threatened to rope me.

I kept up my swim class, and did some biking and running too.  I did two more olympic tris, and still didn't feel a groove in that distance.  Except for my swims, my times didn't get better, so my frustration grew.

The Ladies of Tri...and Stevie

Truthfully, I had been slacking way off on the biking and running.  I can ride any day of the week, any distance you throw at me, and all I've ever done was one, maybe two training rides a week.  Cycling isn't a weak spot for me.  Running...jeez running continues to elude me.  I go out on my own and feel okay but in my races I'm sluggish and internally whiney the whole time.  I'm not often happy with my times and I've lost the ability to capture a "runner's high" which I used to get a lot more. But training for running once or twice a week doesn't seem to help.  So I swam.

During our grand plans for the Kerrville Half Relay Tri weekend we got caught up in the nerd-speak race-talk with our training group, Blue Moose.  A pack of all ages/all abilities, we are just a fun group of friends who get together to train and do runs, rides, and tris.  K and K and I decided since we were going down there, we'd go early and do the sprint tri the day before the relay.  Why not? We're badasses, right?  Also it gave me a reason to throw in a ride or run or two while I practiced to swim my one point two miler.

As this past week progressed, the forecasts of rain became more and more dramatic.  90% rain was predicted for Saturday, the day of our sprint. 20% chance on Sunday morning, when I'd do my half-iron swim. I had a million things to do with the kids, as usual, and the idea of trekking 2 hours into a rainstorm, only to have the race cancelled wasn't appealing.  I was getting in a foul mood about the whole weekend.  But the hotel was reserved, the entry fees were nonrefundable and already spent.  I get reimbursed from my BEEF team but not if I don't do the race.  The chance was slim that Saturday's race would be a go, but one of the K's convinced me Kerrville was wine country, so the weekend would not be a bust.

I took a half day off work Friday, which is always a bonus.  Got home and loaded up my car with everything I'd need for two rainy muddy races.  Picked up K and got some serious girl-time talking done on the 2 hour trip down.  You know you'll keep a friend forever when you can talk nonstop about work, kids, men, weight, working out, racing, and wine in the span of 2 hours.  The other K was driving down after work but we kept tabs on her via GPS so we would know when she got in.  The rain began lazily as we pulled into the hotel lot.

Once we all three were there, we got our packets from the on-site registration pick-up and realized we had to rack our bikes before dinner.  It was raining more now.  The bike racking was literally next door to our hotel so we walked our babies over there and left them in the cold unforgiving rain.  We paid some cashola for those babies, so to leave them outdoors uncovered in a deluge of rain is NOT okay with us.  Normally we house them in our living rooms at home for gosh sakes!

This race set-up was different than any of the others I've done.  The bike racking was T-1, or transition 1, and the running start was at a separate, T-2 which was two miles away.  After consulting some race officials and several maps, we figured out where T-2 was, and dredged over there, in the rain.  Yes we drove but in an unfamiliar town, with low dark clouds and constant rain, I was starting to get irritated again.  We had moisture-proof bags with our run-out gear to leave in T-2.  By the time we got back to our car, I'd been in and out of the rain fully clothed and not swimming, biking or running for less than an hour, and it was already pissing me off.

Off to Mamacitas for dinner with Blue Moose and a margarita to calm me down.  I never drink before a race but I had convinced myself it wasn't going to happen, so why not?  By the time I finished my rita, I felt guilty and thought, the law of averages, it would stop raining and we would race, and I'd be hungover.  I quickly switched to water.

As we drifted off to bed, earlier than I would've at home (because of the margarita?), the rain was light but continual and the forecast now predicted at least 60% most of Saturday.  The race officials had said short of lightening the race would go on, but me and my Ks were pretty sure we wouldn't ride our babies in the rain and risk life and limb on slick unfamiliar roads.

Saturday at 6AM we suited up and poked our heads out to see light drizzle.  We know the diehard community of triathletes would smirk at such wetness and persevere.  We are just competitive enough to join that school of thought.  We took the remaining gear over to T-1 and were happy it wasn't cooler since we were starting out wet as it was.  Body-marking done and we had time to make another bathroom break back at the room before putting on our wetsuits.  Well, I did.  The other two were brave enough to go in without.  The water was 75 degrees which is relatively warm but wetsuit-legal.  I figure why not use the sprint to test out my wetsuit which I fully planned to use the next day for the must longer 2K.  I swim at the pool in 82 degrees, and I think that's cool for me.  The temperature outside was about 70 so getting in the water wasn't a shock and off we went.

500 meters is a really short distance for a race. If you can freestyle, like me, you're done in 8-11 minutes.  Even with all my training, I was on the 11 minute side of that.  Too many turns and since I'm not out front I'd get caught up in the traffic and then you are changing direction to avoid flying feet and arms.  If you can't freestyle, like one of the Ks, you are still done in 15.  Easy peasy.  Up the hill (seriously, a hill up to transistion? Thanks!) and on the bike.  I had to stop and let the "strippers" take off my wetsuit.  Literally 4-5 people stand there outside the water and turn you around, unzip you, force you to sit and pull the suit off you lickedly split.

I took off on my bike breathing hard (from that damn hill) and soaking wet.  No need to dry off since it was still spitting slightly.  It could've been worse, the rain was barely noticeable as we took off.  Fast swimmer K was right behind me.  The course was loopy and lots of in-town turns and repeat loops but otherwise I made it through the 15 miles in about 48 minutes.  Apparently many people (without computers on their bikes telling them the mileage) were confused and turned toward the bike finish before they'd done the 2nd outer loop.  Inexperienced riders should invest in a $20 bike computer, so they don't accept awards when they only rode 8 miles instead of 15 (this happened in the sprint relay my training mates did- MY friends did it correctly).

Into T-2, threw on my running shoes and a visor and saw one of the Ks ready to go too.  The other K was just coming in, she made up some serious time from her slow swim on a super fast bike.  I took off with K and the other K came up and passed us both, as she usually does.  She's a runner, hence her doing our run-leg of the relay the next day.  Me and K started out slow and I told her to go ahead if she needed to.  She doesn't like to leave me but she's slightly faster than me so I feel I'm holding her back.  Through the trails and back she was a bit ahead of me, but within sight.  The other K was way ahead and we saw her only after the turnaround.  Her overall time beat us both, I was the slowest of us three, thanks to my run.  But at 1:42 I was pretty happy, since my past sprint tris have all been 1:45 or less.

I had an epiphany after that finish.  I like sprint tris.  I feel good after I'm done and during I don't dread the next leg coming.  In my age group I'm not the slowest.  Sprints are typically what beginners start with so the chances of me placing better are higher.  I know that sounds silly but there are professionals who excel at sprints and continue to do them while they rack up more trophies.  Same with 5ks.  I've placed as high as 7th in a sprint in my age group, women 40-44.  Its usually a fairly large division since triathlon is a popular sport among the just-divorced or bored-with-my-life crowd.  Saturday I placed 9th in my division. Whoo-hoo!

I did all those olympics earlier this season because they were the "next step".  On my way...to what?  Ironman?  I have already decided after watching and reading about friends who are training for Ironman that I don't want to devote that much of my life to triathlon.  As in, I don't want to ruin it.  Its still fun.  Or it was when I was doing sprints.  The olympic races are daunting for me.  Faster, more authentic athletes go for the olympic races.  They are training for half-irons and irons.  Olympics are their stepping stones.  I felt fat and slow at my last few.  At the sprint, I felt great, drizzle and all. I think I've (re)found my niche.

K, Me, and K- Team KiCK It

Next up:  I must work on running more efficiently just as I did the swimming.  I have seen the results in my swimming since my classes started.  I have a friend who is willing to give me a running plan and work with me at the track.  I'm all for that.  I just want to feel better running, like I wanted to feel better swimming.  I got the swimming down and even learned to be faster.  On Sunday, I swam my relay leg for my team.  I felt good, I used my techniques, I kept sighting well, I stayed out of the fray as much as I could but followed buoy to buoy until I finished.  Toward the end I felt good, and I felt like I hadn't swam 1.2 miles.  So much better than I'd felt in previous shorter 1600 meter open water swims.   My friend says he can get me there with running.  Cool beans.

Back to Saturday after our amazing sprint (my training mates relayed it and got FIRST PLACE in spite of those 1-looper bike dummies) my friends and I checked out one of the local wineries.  You throw a rock around that area and you're gonna hit a winery.  This one came highly recommended by my training mates.  They took us there and we did a tasting.  All the while talking our nerdy race talk.  We've been training together for over a year now so there's plenty of material.  The wine loosened us up and we talked for hours.

A few grapes at The Chisholm Trail Winery

This adult-time is precious and so necessary for me to grow as an athlete and as a 40+ adult.  I missed Sinatra immensely because I know he would've loved every minute of it, but he was home being a dad to his kids.  It wasn't his time to nurture his me-time.  He fits in with this crowd perfectly and we all have such good times.  We will have other weekends and he will be there.  These are my friends for life and the fact that they are my friends have enriched my life just as much as triathlon has over these last 6 years.  There's more to learn in my training, in my races, and in my friendships.  Cool beans, and pass the wine.

In My Mind's Eye, I Totally Work It

In my 40s I have been challenged with my weight and my physique, watching it go up and down, in and out, but never landing where I want it.  I have figured out my Hormones and my Hunger are in control and my Mind who wants to wear sundresses and bikinis and only a sports bra to run in, has to sit in the back seat while the other two hoodlums do the driving.

I think I look like this...

But I really look like this...

I work out, yes.  But lately nothing changes whether its a lot or a little exercise.  I don't feel good if I work out only a little so I continue to try to do SOMETHING almost every day. I weigh myself every day.  I fluctuate 4-6 lbs over the course of a month.  Its maddening.  If I am not changing much of my routine or my food, then why do I float around in the 150s that much?  

Thanks Brightroom!

Food.  I do like food.  I have done Weight Watchers, juicing, and online diet plans and dropped down some, but only at most 8-10lbs max.  Then I bottom out.  Eight to ten pounds is a lot on my frame, and I have loved it when it works but as I've crept into my 40s, it takes grander and more extreme dieting to make a dent.  Did I mention I like food?   Its about portion control and the healthy food pyramid I am certain.  But I know I'm not willing to sacrifice like the pros.  Not many people would, so I'm not alone there. I'd love to juice at least once a day, but who has time to clean up that damn juicer?

As much as I like food (and because I do), I hate race pictures.  They are the over-priced "professional" pictures taken by the photography companies that work 5Ks and marathons and triathlons.  Sometimes the photographer lays on the ground to get that shot of us running or cycling by.  This never works.  Depending on how close they get to me when they snap the shot,  I look like a two-ton gorilla, or my head is too big for my body, or my leg fat is billowing in a downward motion.

As in the photos displayed here,  I tend toward a hulkish rather than girlish figure, all massive arms and popping booty in a form-fitting wetsuit or on a skinny little bike.  I am well aware I weigh twice as much, if not more, than that bike.  If it wasn't for the bike, I'd never make it up those hills, that's for sure.  Don't get me started on how unforgiving spandex is.  Thank God everyone out there wears pretty much the same thing so I'm never the worst one.

Lots of Junk in that Trunk

I have been in better shape than I am currently but I never have nor will look like Ms. Desiree Ficker (see above), multiple Ironman top-five finisher and awesome triathlete from my town of Austin, TX.  Underneath all my mass, I might look like her, but I have yet to find the secret to unlocking my potentially (and alleged) tiny underframe.

Work that bike, Girl...

When I pose for pictures I can turn my angles and work it so I look more fit than I am.  Like an overweight mom who's Facebook profile picture is her happy face over the shoulder of her child, who's she's hiding her body behind, I use props to camouflage certain undesirable body parts as well.  Thank you Skinny Bike! Sans the props, I go for the legs together-facing front-biceps at my side-neck prolonged, I look like I have more muscle than fat.  I can work with that.

I just rode 36 hilly miles here, so who cares if I'm fat?

But alas, in the professional race picture, when I am in flight, my limbs out of my control, and angles nowhere in sight, you get what you get.  It ain't always pretty.  But so disheartening when you have felt like a champion and finished something you didn't think you could, but then see pictures that make you look like someone people may think didn't even train for this.  Or didn't train enough.  Or didn't take it seriously.

Happy I'm almost finished and out of the spandex

NOT my best angle

Of course I shouldn't compare myself with the super-fit elite athletes who don't eat anything preserved, and  grow their own organic veggies in their backyards, and who workout every day for hours.  Again, not likely to ever be me.  I do take my racing seriously, and within the scope of my life, with my kids and job and dogs and boyfriend and boyfriend's kids and parents and friends, I do all I can and make the best of it.  I have been more fit in the past, but I've never been this busy.  

My Hunger and Hormones will eat do what they may, but I must champion my Mind to see the healthy girl I am, not magazine cover-perfect, but strong and worthy of being out there with all those other athletes of all shapes and sizes.  Mind, free yourself.

You're still a BadAss, lumps and all

Nothing Worth It Comes Easy..at Least Not For Me

I think back to my childhood and have fond memories of growing up in a neighborhood I could roam freely and had friends on every corner.  I am lucky to still have those friends in my life today.  I had two parents who provided for me, and even as I grew into a moody teenager and thought they were too strict when I had a curfew earlier than most, or had to wait to get clothes I wanted when they were "on sale", or had to share a room with my sister, it was a good life.  As I tell my 13 year old "No" or make her earn her allowance with real chores, I smile to myself because I know I'm teaching her the valuable lessons I was made to learn.  I will scold my kids in front of their friends, which mortifies them, but I even want THEM to know my kids can't get away with murder and live to tell about it.  Life ain't easy, Kids.

I worked my chores or baby-sat for my parents' friends to earn money.  It is why I have worked ever since I've been out of college and why I know I'd prefer to work, than to stay home with my kids, if I was given the choice (I wasn't).  Nothing has been handed to me.

Okay so no, growing up I didn't work to put food on our table, or to buy myself my first car, or even to send myself to college, but I always knew the meaning of the word "work" as a child and teenager.  I try to teach my children there isn't an endless supply of money and that I must hold off on this or that purchase until I have the money.  They must realize the bank isn't spewing out an endless trail of cash to Mama.

I was pretty damn sure of myself, no?

I reflect back on other struggles I've worked out growing up.  Things I tried out for, I didn't always make.  An acting class at about age 11, I got the umpire part, which gave me exactly three lines~ "Strike One", "Strike Two", and "Strike Three".  Not my idea of a stellar debut.

More devastating was being in 8th grade at a "new" school, the public school we were districted to, but I had gone to a private Catholic school for 6th and 7th.  I had trouble in Catholic school with girl-fighting and gossipy social drama, so I begged my mom to send me back to public school where all my elementary friends were flourishing.  I had been a 7th grade cheerleader at the private school but was not at the public school at the end of 7th to be able to try out for cheerleader for 8th grade.  Therefore, I was no longer a cheerleader, something I loved dearly.  What was worse? All of my neighborhood and elementary school friends going to that public school MADE CHEERLEADER.  I remember sitting at the mall food court that summer before and I saw my cross-the-street neighbor and our other friends.  They came over to my table and one-by-one said "I made cheerleader!"...each and every one of the four of them.  I smiled and congratulated them (because that's what a nice person does), but inside I cried.

I spent my 8th grade year cheering on the sidelines in my volleyball uniform or my regular clothes because I knew every cheer since all my free time was spent with these girls.  I was okay with it pretty quickly.  It built character, even if I didn't know it at the time.

My freshman year in high school I tried out and made the freshman squad for our drill team.  So did  all my friends, except for a few who were clearly better dancers and were moved up into the "real" squad as freshmen.  Enjoyed my time that year, except for the occasional rudeness of the seniors who felt the need to haze us "Reserves" because we were less-than in their eyes.  At the end of that year it came to be time to try out for the main squad.  I was too-cool-for-school and my same friends who were excited cheerleaders the year before were not that into the drill team anymore.  They were moving on to sports like volleyball and tennis so as a group we didn't try very hard at our try-out dance.  I didn't make the main squad.

Suddenly I realized I WANTED to be on the real squad.  THIS was what I was doing with my high school career, not sports.  I had another chance.  I could go to the Reserves summer camp, with the incoming freshman, and learn what I'd already been taught, and try out again at the end of the summer.  As a sophomore, this was a huge bitter pill to swallow, but pride be-damned, I did it.  I sucked it up and got through the camp, the try-out, and made it.  Did I appreciate the spot on the main squad a little bit more than the other girls who'd made it as freshmen?  I think so.

School grades and classes came easy to me, thankfully.  I did not worry about getting into the college of my choice because back then they took the top 10%, no questioned asked.  That was me.  My SATs weren't great, but luckily my entrance wasn't hinging on those.  At college academics were never a struggle for me.  Again I tried out for the dance-team there, and didn't make it.  I was disappointed but the girls who made it were really, really good, so I moved on.  I didn't live on campus and wasn't in a sorority (another "no" from my parents) so finding friends was my struggle.  I joined my college's student council and that helped but I spent my first two years without any close friends to hang out with, other than my roommate who was from my hometown but a year older and in a different major.  Eventually my classes for my major produced friends who were in all my classes and my study partners.  We socialized and became involved in each others' boy-troubles and family lives.  Those years weren't easy but eventually I gained confidence from making the best of them.

As an adult, I didn't find the love-of-my-life easily.  I struggled through my 20s dating guys who weren't really that into me, and even with my ex-husband I was never sure he was "the one".  Clearly he wasn't.  He was nice to me and a nice guy in general, but he came with a host of issues that stem from his growing up with doting parents and in a society who views his deafness as a pass from working hard or expecting much from him.  He IS a nice guy, and his disability does cause him strife, but he never would gut it out where I could respect him for his determination and successes.

A divorce, a broken rebound relationship, and a bout with cancer later , I am happily independent and raising two daughters of my own.  My struggles, hard work, and lessons learned DO put food on our table, and cute clothes on their backs, and nice travels and new cars for myself.  My workplace is not a struggle other than normal office politics and cranky customers at times.  I have enough money to cover the basics plus some extras.  My family and friends are close by me and are my outlet from doing it all myself.  Love life? Going swell.  I have found "the one" I believe.  I love my Sinatra because he is a ying to my yang and he adores me and my girls and he understands my life, even from 200 miles away.  But easy? No.  Not hardly.

Love, yes. Bluebonnets and rainbows? Not always.

We are at a crossroads right now.  Coming off a honeymoon-style beach vacation where we laughed and often said "I love you" just out of gratitude for the time together, we were hit the next Monday with reality.  The horrible reality that the courts and his ex will not allow us to be together as the family we envisioned.  Nothing has been written in stone, but a report by the court's liaison to the judge suggested he stay with his kids in the county they live in, where the kids have been most of their lives.  For the best interest of the kids, they should be near their mother, and not allowed to move with their dad 200 miles away.  In 3 weeks the judge will look at this report, and listen to his lawyer's protests and her lawyer's protests and decide where MY life will be going in the next months and years to come.

It sounds selfish, worrying about MY life.  Its not about me and Sinatra living happy every after.  These kids don't deserve to be made to choose.  Their parents must agree to something that will affect their lives forevermore.  Up to this point, no agreement has been even close to being made.  My inclination is to not stress out the kids and let them live with Sinatra in their home as it is and has been.  Unselfish maybe, but it rips my heart apart to offer that.  It isn't really mine to offer, it will be decided without my input.  My name and involvement was barely mentioned in the court's report, as if I'm a concerned once-removed extended family member but not a player.  He wants to "fight" to be able to move, but to what end?  A bitter mother who subtly or not-so-subtly will make the kids feel like shit for choosing to remain with dad, and Sinatra hauling them all here and the kids regretting everything that isn't what they've always known?  I know kids are made to relocate all the time, but with both parents on board and supportive...making the move a safe place.  This could be anything but a safe place after the lawyers are done with them.

My biggest struggle here is this situation is out of my hands.  I've never been good with that.  I mull over the options with Sinatra and give my advice and opinions, whether he wants them or not.  I am not a wallflower. Therefore I have the backbone and resolve to let go of a losing situation.  I've done it twice before in love, and I survived.  But this time is different.  I am not letting go of the love I have with Sinatra.  I won't let him slip away as my future.  But if we are destined to take the high road, which is of course the harder road, then we will have to revise the definition of our future.

I will find a way to not resent the times I need him here and he isn't due to come for days.  I will gut it out and not feel sad when I attend my kids' functions and games without him by my side.  I will work with their schedules for holidays and vacations.  I don't have a choice here, but I can choose how to react to this.  It may be my life's most difficult struggle, but it may reap the best reward in the end.

Who DOES this?? Costa Rican Paradise Revisited

Certainly not a 42 year-old mother of two at mid-life, working full-time as the sole provider for her family, all the while keeping up with new-school-year preparations and extra-curricular activities. Wait, yes with all that, THIS vacation was just what the doctor ordered.

That smile is for reals...during a walk through a rain forest on my way to a natural waterfall.









Since my trip to Costa Rica two years ago, I remembered the lush green all-naturale views of the countryside and the dirty brown rivers with crocs lounging on the banks. The humid air with a seaside smell, the native Costa Ricans walking or riding bikes alongside the roads as our driver Juan Carlos hurled our van down the road without regard for the painted middle lines or speed limit signs. These things were the same, but no less thrilling to experience again.

                       Our home for the week. No, this isn't a postcard~ I walked out of the house to this!

I don't know if it was because I was with my Sinatra, or my bestest work-friends, or because it was a bit longer than last time, but this trip opened my eyes to so much more beauty and appreciation in Costa Rica. I breathed in the salty air more. I looked around and took mental snapshots, as well as literal snapshots, of every gorgeous scene.

 We weren't exactly laying around getting sand in our shorts however. Day one brought on a gondola ride up a severe mountain with nothing but deep forest greenery for miles...only to zipline down that same mountain on thousands of feet of wire, hanging over the waterfalls and streams and treetops.

Strapped in and ready....

                                                                        

Soar Woman!

Sore abs aside, we ended the day with a scrumptious meal of sesame tuna and fried plantains cooked by our chef Carlos, and a rousing game of Yahtzee with my housemates.  Yeah, throw in a few Coronas and Imperials, and a shot of Patron with my sweetie, and it was a damn good day.

Day two was an all-day nautical affair. A 2-hour boat ride on a yacht with a group to La Isla Tortuga. Yes, Turtle Island. Yes, we saw a few majestic sea turtles as well as a couple of whales peeking out along the ride. But that was just the ride out.

                                                                   Clearly I'm jazzed


We arrived at the small beach off the island and immediately were wisked off to an even smaller island to snorkel. Quite lovely, swimming with the fishies. Then back to the beach to eat lunch and relax.

                                                                      Fantasy island

I slept in a beach chair to the sound of the waves, I played in the surf with my friends' two 11 year olds, I lost my sunglasses in the surf (waht-wahhh), I spoke with colorful parrots and inhaled the boat captain's BBQ chicken, veggies and rice.  All things relaxing.  I watched the clouds roll in and worried a storm might catch us on the ride back, and then I kept my eyes closed to ward off the nausea as I dozed next to Sinatra on the bumpy boatride back.  I was grateful the pouring rain only let loose as we climbed into the van for our ride back to the house.

A shower and more relaxing later, we were made more yummy cooking, shrimp pasta, and Yahtzee into the evening. I think I went to bed early that night, since my sense of time was all vacation-y, so it didn't really matter.

Day three was a bit lazier, but began with a 2-hour ATV drive up in the mountains. I was given my own to drive and wasn't sure I knew what I was doing, but managed just fine. With the day before's rain, it was muddy but thankfully only puddles to ride through.

At the top of the mountain was a little cafe with a little lady cooking little empanadas that were the real deal. The tour guide suddenly started chopping some huge sugar cane sticks and had us work a grinder to make sugar cane juice. Random, but really cool.

Working it!

Do these greens exist in the crayola box?

                                          We made it back to the house with plenty of time to play on the beach out front...Sinatra and I boogieboarded, and got completely water-logged, but loved every minute of it.

We look so professional, no?

Day three's evening was something of a treat.  Our driver Juan Carlos invited us to Mass at his church, which was held on this Wednesday because it was Mother's Day in Costa Rica.  All of us sunburned Americans file into this open air Catholic church and were blessed to witness a Spanish Mass, with pure loud singers and even un perro (dog) walking through in front of the altar during.  The rain began to hit the metal roof which gave the air a cool wet feeling, and it was really something special.

This was taken after Mass, where I understood only 5% of what was being said

Then dinner at a local restaurant where I ate octopus and fried rice...the octopus was like really...octopus-y, but once I ignored the little tentacles on the meat, strangely, I liked it.

Day Four was really my favorite.  We had Juan Carlos drive us an hour and a half outside of town to a woman's untouched property.  It took so long because the road we rode on was brutal with rocks and pits and we had to go really slooooww.  We paid four colones a piece for her to allow us to hike through her property.  It was muddy, it was hot, there was heavy brush which I had no idea if little creatures would pop out of, and it was treacherous walking.  We slipped and slid and got muddy, would cross a creek and rinse off, then on to more mud and fun.  Juan Carlos knew the way and finally we arrived at the end.  A three-pool waterfall, "Tres Piscinas", completely hidden in the forest and naturally flowing huge gobs of water.  I was tentative at first.  Got in the first pool and braved it.

I'm not mad here, just am being pummeled

We saw some local boys up at the third tier crawling around and some of my friends started walking up the muddy hillside to go up there...Juan Carlos in his flip-flops took the easy route up the rocks.  I decided I could do that.  I'd rock-climbed before, you know, at the ballpark or amusement park.  This was just the same except it was real rock, real water, and moss stuff everywhere.  I did it anyway.  Then Sinatra followed.  He ended up going to the next level where the boys were, climbing in his bare feet.  My treaded hiking shoes had an easier job on the slick rock but it was still a scary climb.  The local boys began to jump off the top pool into the second one.  Huh. That looks fun.  I was already up there.  Why not?

             Sinatra turned into George of the Jungle somehow....was it to keep up with me, Jane, here?

I was the first estupido American to jump.  The locals assured me, in Spanish so really who knows what they were saying, that I was fine if I just jumped out from the edge, to avoid rocks near the waterfall.  Sinatra followed. The two 11 year olds with us did as well.  My adrenaline was running high but I used it to climb down the slick rocks and wait for Sinatra, while he did another jump, just to tempt fate.  He met me on the rocks and we shared a precious moment.  High on adrenaline, we sat down and took in the whole scene over the roar of the falls, and have this fabulous picture now:

                                Now my wallpaper on my laptop because this pic is freakin' RAD

After a picnic lunch on the rocks (sitting on them, not drinking them) we hiked back to the van all smiles and happiness, singing George of the Jungle and Gun's and Roses' Welcome to the Jungle...really a great experience.

Sinatra and I came away from this trip with Costa Rica's slogan of "Pura Vida!", or pure living, as our new mantra.  Yes we have busy lives and kids needing things and work to do, but when it all becomes too much, we have to take a minute and remember nature's beauty, happy Costa Rican's simple lifestyles, and the sound and smell of the ocean.

                                                                    Pura Vida, ya'll

Freakin' Friday

The longest week of your life is the one right before a vacation. Today is the Friday before mine. I suffered through this week and its effin Friday already! I made it.







I will be flying to Costa Rica on Sunday and staying until NEXT Friday. That's a good vacation. I don't get to take off a solid week that often. Spring Break is usually a whole one off with the kids, but rarely do I do it any other time. And definitely not without the kids...but this one will be adult-time. In Costa Rica. Buenos Dias!!

                                     This will be my view for the next week....yeah, paradise.

My Sinatra and I will step off the plane into the 120% humidity and a margarita, and spend the week in Jaco. On the beach. In the jungle. Above the treetops. We are not picky. Whatever we are presented with, we will say "Gracias" and go with it.

Yes it is close to school starting. Yes we both have job-related obligations that will be on hold for the week. And yes, we both have kids who are not coming with us.

A friend offered his home to us, and we accepted. I did not think I should pass up an opportunity to frolic on this beach yet again, in this country which I fell in love with two years ago.

I would've loved to bring my children to see it, but the airfare alone would've killed me. We will save our big fun family trips for long weekends and Spring Break ski trips.

Now its Friday and I'm counting down the minutes until my vacation begins. I must put my work affairs in order, give the doggies extra guilt bones, and kiss my kiddos good-bye. Off to another adventure...

Hurry Up and Wait

Coming off a weekend camping trip with Sinatra and all our 5 kids, plus one for my Lil Lady to have a friend. We chose Waco, TX which is somewhat in between our two homes, although with Sinatra driving through Dallas traffic he's got the harder and longer leg of it. I am lucky to live on the north side of Austin so I'm heading out of town ahead of Friday afternoon traffic. The weekend started a bit crazy though, and I had some serious discussions with myself on the way to Waco.

I was off at 3pm on Friday so we could get loaded up and out of town no later than 5 to make the drive and be at the campground by 6 or 6:30pm. This gave us all time to set up the camper and get dinner going before dark. I had discussed this with Sinatra 2 weeks ago when we reserved the camp the last time we were in Waco. He even said he'd have to get on the road by no later than 3 to make it through Dallas traffic to meet me by 6. As per usual, I revisited this plan a few times within the past two weeks because I am a planner and have a need to talk out my plans. He's on the phone with me multiple times every day, so it is very probable he was the one I talked to about this plan.

His drive without traffic is close to 2 hrs, mine is only 1hr 15min, but with traffic and pulling the slow camper he's closer to 3 hrs so I told him to call me when he got into his drive so I could time it where we'd meet up at the same time. Got off at 3, went to get the girls from their friends' houses and got home about 4. I began packing up and telling the girls to get their things in the car and texted him what's up? He texted me "we just left", this was 4:15...ugh, running late but ok.

I'll get my stuff done and leave around 5:15. But at 4:45 he tells me they had to stop at Walmart for something to fix on the camper...I didn't know if that meant he was there or had already done that. So I asked. His reply was "on the road now" Mine: "Where?" His: "Lewisville." This is the next town just outside his burgh. Grrr...

So now its almost 5pm and he's just leaving to get into downtown Dallas traffic. Me no happy was putting it mildly. I know he wasn't all that jolly either, but I wasn't being sympathetic. Got the kids back in the house (they were waiting in the car) to cool our heels for another 45 minutes. I truly began to fume after I talked to him and he said he didn't realize I was off work early. What?? I'd only said it multiple times in talking about getting there and setting up camp. Was I talking to myself?

My bigger issue was he didn't listen to me, as in he's only half listening to me on the phone, often because they kids are in the room, he's on the computer or he's at work or driving around doing one of a million things he needs to get done. I didn't take it well to realize he clearly only half hears me when he's on the phone with me.

He's the busiest guy I know who has trouble getting anything done. Organizationally he can be a mess. Too many irons in the fire and only enough man-power to be able to half-do most of them.

I feel for him being single, because I am as well, but I manage with lists and calendars and a mind that handles multi-tasking well. He, notsomuch. I drove to Waco thinking how would I marry someone who will need corralling and nagging to get things done?? I did that already! A man won't change at this point in our lives. Warning, warning, danger, danger! Sirens going off, red flags flying, and I'm sending him to the penalty box.

So after an hour drive with me muttering to myself ("I ain't going to be the one who...I'll just have to do it all my own damnself..."), we got there after 7:30pm. The sweet campgrounds people said they weren't sure we were gonna show up (I bit my lip on that one), and I arrived first by about 10 minutes.

He backed the camper in and got out looking as harried and of course I melted, so we got everything set up in no time. We got the BBQ going and had hot dogs on the pdq. Not to kick a guy while he's down but dinner was thanks to me, since I'd bought the weinies and everything to go with them the day before. He came with very little in the way of groceries...another thing he didn't get to. Ummmm...I see a pattern here. Oh boy.

We barely got fed before the sun went down and then off he went to the store for more stuff for the next night. Really, the enormity of getting the camper ready and then getting his three in the car and through rush hour Dallas traffic should have knocked him out for the weekend.

He was pretty great by my side as we finagled 7 kids (yes, one more was added for the day) to a water park on Saturday. We cooled off in the wave pool (no alcohol, either! Waco is so Baptist-y) while the kids ran around the smallish park. We rode the rides with them too and we all had a great time.

That night back at the camp we were cooking out again. It's a challenge getting our kids to put DOWN the iPod/iPhones and look at the lake, or the birds, or the trees around us. I tried my best to get them out of the AC'd camper and walking around the campgrounds.

His burger meal was tons better-tasting than my dumb ole hot dogs, and he cooked them all over a hot pit in the 95+ degrees without complaint. Maybe I'm the one who needs a-changin'. Hmmmm....

I hope it was a few happy memories for the kids for a lifetime. It was for me, and hopefully for my Sinatra too.