Rock the Tri (Relay that is)

It was just one short month ago that I received an email from A with this random and crazy request to do the swimming portion of a triathlon relay. I looked up the race online, the Austin Tri-Rock series. Not only was it a longer swim distance than most triathlons I've heard of before, but it was to take place in Auditorium Shores. Seriously?

I immediately hit 'reply' and literally had "no way" typed out, but something kept me from sending it. A would be doing the 17 mile bike, a sort of test run for her individual triathlon taking place at the end of September, something you couldn't pay me to do. H would be doing the 5K run, an easy feat since she runs weekly. But as I've been writing about it quite a lot lately, I grew up a swimmer and was ironically in my swim suit when I got the email... but teaching swim lessons is different than being in the right kind of shape to compete, especially after 10 years since your last race.

So I wrote to the swimming guru (aka Mom and Summer League Coach) asking for advice: "Do you think I could really do this after 10 years out of the water and with only 4 (busy) weeks to train?" Afterall, she had participated in a Tri-Relay back in the day (after only 4 kids, ha!) and there is a picture in our house of her running out of the water that resonates with me as an adult. This is the image I imagined of myself.

My mom's reply wasn't exactly the vote of confidence for which I was hoping (and secretly expecting) but it was realistic. She provided a workout suggestion and I took it. I dug out my trusty cap and goggles, put on the single one-piece suit I own and hopped in the pool for a timed race against myself. Boy, was it a wake up call. This was going to be more work than I would've liked. "Should I just save myself the embarassment?" I wondered...

Swimming Finish Line, Auditorium Shores

H had already replied to A's email with an enthusiastic, "I'm in! Let's do it!" so of course, they were waiting on me. Did I really want to be the Debbie Downer of the group? And past that, should I turn down a challenge I would never give myself? No and No. So after three days of what felt like a mental ping pong game of  'yes' vs. 'no'... I gave in.

During the 4 weeks leading up to the race I received more random emails and texts from A unknowlingly reminding me of how much of a slacker I was: "Swam 2200m today then ran a mile. It actually wasn't bad!" Yowzers... I had only swam twice so far and was huffing and puffing after 300m. Race day called for more than twice that and I was feeling unprepared. The thought kept creeping back into my mind, "What have I gotten myself into?" Then I would console myself with "I'll swim this weekend". Didn't happen.

I'll admit it was my own fault. If I was truly dedicated and/or worried about the race I would have swam more often and for longer distances. After all, it was never an issue of IF I could finish, it was my own personal standard of winning. But in a situation like this, after being humbled by 10 years out of proper swimming shape, I knew winning wouldn't be the case no matter what.

Well today was race day. We woke up at 5:45am (the earliest I've woken up in a while for anything except a flight) and were at Auditorium Shores by 6:40am, just in time for the start of the Intermediate Division. This was the part of the race that was twice as long as our Sprint Division... and these crazy people do it all by themselves. We saw the first guy out of the 1500m swim and I started the countdown to my race. I kept reminding myself that I shouldn't feel nervous because I had it easy compared to most: I was only responsible for one portion of the race while most people were responsible for all three.

Relay Transition Zone - Bike Rack

My responsibilty included not drowning, something I joked about but was a real concern for some. I kept looking around thinking, "if they can do it, surely I don't have anything to worry about". And so it was time to get in the water. The green, dirty, dog furry Town Lake water.

I was sure to put on my goggles before getting in, and to cover my ears with my cap. I hung back as we all treaded water at the starting line, and so started the countdown. As the charming and funny  announcer reached 3, 2, 1... everyone's heads were in the water. I guess this was it, like it or not. I stayed close to the inside, hoping to cut the corner without wasting precious oxygen. And as the red buoy was within reach, so was the front of my group. It suddenly dawned on me that I might be one of the better swimmers.

Aside from my foggy googles and naive swimmers in my way, the swim actually wasn't that bad. There were only a few peices of seaweed and some leaves that brushed me, but without it we would just call it Deep Eddy. As the longest stretch of the race seemed to take it all out of me, I noticed I was passing some of the groups that had taken off a good 5 and 10 minutes ahead of us. And with only one other blue cap next to me, I realized I could actually win this thing. If not to be celebrated the way you would in a pool, I wanted to win it for myself. So the forgotten and yet familiar feeling I had during most of my races in childhood returned and pushed me to finish hard.

I've said it before and I'm going to say it again: I feel very blessed to have had the swimming upbringing that I did. Because not only was I able to compete without much training, I was the first out of the water in my heat, faster than my goal time. Where's my blue ribbon? Just kidding.

I honestly feel kind of silly bragging about it, but I am truly proud of myself. [insert laughtrack here] Seriously, though: I had no idea how it was going to turn out and as swimmers know, it's all about what the clock says. My watch noted 12:48, a full 12 seconds under my goal time. For being pretty nonchalant about my actual performance before the race, I was surprisingly satisfied when I saw it.

Watch out for Jumpshot's "Kobayashi", my secret weapon.

And now it's time to brag on my teammates. We finished under our goal time of 2 hours and I felt so proud to have been a part of such an amazing accomplishment. Watching these impressive athletes make it through the finish line (and with smiles on their faces!) just boggles my mind. These are people that are busier than I am, older than I am and they do it... I guess I'm just lazy. I can't imagine doing alone what we did together, and to think that my teammate is going to do it by herself excatly 26 days from now is inspiring. Her push and drive to create our team has generated some of the most magnificent memories of the decade.

 

I know I'll remember how I felt today for years to come.

Team Mur-End-Busch!

 

Good Luck to A!!  

 

A True Swim Lesson

For anyone who shared the same distain for the month of August that I did growing up, you know exactly why. No, it wasn't the heat that brought me to tears as swim meets and July 4th drifted into my memory... because we all know that when you're relaxing and playing in a pool it doesn't matter how hot it is outside. August meant going back to school. It meant real clothing, shoes and bedtimes. Not to mention homework. And as a kid, I'm not sure what's worse.

Flash forward to now, when my high school class officers are literally in the process of planning our 10 year reunion, and I've almost lost hope of ever feeling that free again. As an adult, there is no such thing as Summer Vacation. I usually refer to it with fond and yet condescending nostalgia, as if all my pride lies in the responsibility I've created for myself. But in all actuality, Summer has transformed into a season of opportunity for extra work instead of extra relaxation. I could lie to myself and try to believe I don't know how this happened, as if I had an overnight miracle like Tom Hanks in "Big", but I do. And tonight, at approximately 7:05pm, after three months of working 10-12 hour days, I was reminded of what Summer should mean. At least for me.

I was giving another swim lesson to a happy, fast-learning 5 year old girl in her backyard pool. This was our last lesson for the summer and from 6:30-7:30pm it was going to be my standard teaching of freestyle, backstroke, and maybe a little butterfly. But as I tried my best to peak her interest yet again, I was failing. I could feel her resisting. Not with stubborn disobendience, but with a certain sadness unexplained by obvious circumstance. It was at this moment I decided to stop being "Coach Julia" and genuinely asked her what was wrong. With tears in her goggles she looked up at me and said in the quietest voice you've ever heard, "I just want to free-swim". I couldn't blame her.

Neither could her mom. So there we went... flipping and playing, having handstand contests and swimming under eachother's leg tunnels. Memories of playing "Sharks and Minnows", "Marco/Polo" and "Colors" came rushing in... along with the silly "George Washington" hair-dos, "Little Mermaid" impressions and the ever-embarrassing wedgie wars. I truly felt like I was on summer vacation again, 10 years after the last one I got to experience. And all because a 5 year old stated what she wanted. There wasn't a fit, no breakdown or fight. She simply placed it into the universe for us to embrace or swat away like a bee. And I think if it had been any other night, I would have squashed it dead. But when it comes down to it, don't we all just want to free-swim? I wonder what would happen if we all stayed true to what we really wanted... I can tell you right now my work weeks would be three days, ha. Wouldn't yours?

Instead, I've just finished a microwaved meal and plan to work out in my living room. But it's ok! My consolation is that tomorrow is Friday. And in both kid and adult world it means the same thing: two days of freedom. I may have a different set of interests for my free time than a 5 year old, but Saturday and Sunday are the prize and we're all in the merry-go-round race together. I suppose I should make the most of it and enjoy my time with the kiddos I am blessed with meeting. Maybe they'll remind me of more lovely concepts. Afterall, kids do say the darndest things. Let's hope the next one wishes out loud for me to win the lottery...Wait, you have to play to win?

It's time to wake up!

When my soft and subtle alarm starts to sound from my beloved iPhone each morning, my heart breaks. It doesn't matter if it's Monday or Saturday, it's Every. Single. Time. Don't worry, I don't hate my life, I just love the feeling of pure relaxation. And it seems the only circumstance where I'm able to attain this feeling is in bed, after a night of sleep with enough time ahead of me to get where I need to go. Most days that's the office, surprise, surpise.

So why is the only part of my life that includes procrastination the sleepy part? I think this is where I'm actually kind of normal. I've been told more than once how odd it is that I'm so wired all the time and driven to do my chores, run errands and let (what should be daily) relaxation fall by the wayside... so by pressing my snooze button seven (yes, seven!) times on any given morning I am joining the club of feet draggers, the lazies, the colt of procrastinators... that is, until I get up.

Then I'm reminded of my lists. My half-awake brain usually sounds something like this: "Damn, I wanted to stop by Jiffy Lube to get an oil top off on the way to work but now I don't have time." In true disappointment I tell myself I'll get up early to be sure to do it tomorrow. Now do I actually follow through the next morning? You bet your ass I do. Who can live with putting off something like that more than once? Not I.

I know, weird. But it's that motivation which will inspire me to wake up the first time my alarm sounds the next day, giving me too much time before work and sometimes misleading me to be late because I felt like I had so much time I decided to water the plants, start some laundry and maybe even vacuum. Ha, so silly to vacuum at 7:30am.

Whether it's the necessary minimum of 15 minutes or a full two hours that I have that morning, every moment is used to it's fullest. Pending morning lists invading my morning or not. The bed gets made, my teeth are brushed, mascara is applied and most days I even put on some jewelery. People at work might never even know I woke up only 25 minutes ago if it weren't for the inital dazed look on my made-up face. On days I have an extra few minutes I'll make some coffee at home or even stop to treat myself at Starbucks for you know, making it all the way to Friday. Hey, sometimes we all deserve a little TLC. Mine comes in the form of a $5 Vanilla Chai Tea Latte I can sip at my desk while opening the first of my 100+ emails that morning.

Along with the small tasks one can easily add on to their morning, I've recently discovered the ingenious feeling that results from completing a workout at the start of the day. It totally negates that dragging feeling of trying to decide if I should squeeze it in before dinner, combine it with the evening dog walk or stay up late and miss that lovely feeling of going to bed at a reasonable time. Just the other day I was haunted by that familiar knock while standing at the copier at work (where I will sometimes do lunges while waiting for my papers) and was especially delighted to remember that I had already worked out that day. How could I have forgotten? Maybe I even vacuumed, too... I had to think back as that morning had felt almost like a whole different day. This left my evening to feel relaxed and free... I was able to sit on the couch and watch America's Got Talent without the guilt that I should be doing something productive. Because I already had.

Now there are people that swear by waking before the sun rises just for that reason: to be productive and allow time later in the day for other important (or not important, one may decide for themselves) activites.  My mother is one of them. Needless to say I didn't inherit this "early riser" trait from her, but I will state proudly that I have learned the value in it over time. Her reasons were more concrete (there are a lot of afternoon/evening obligations when you have seven children) while mine are somwhat trivial... but from either standpoint, starting your day without feeling rushed is probably a good thing.

That's why I have to go to sleep now. It's officially past even my "late" bedtime (after Jimmy Fallon has ended at 12:35am) and I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be one of those snoozers. But alas, this blog will be creeping into my relaxed mind as the bells start to chime in 6 hours... will I procrastinate another day? Hm, I think I'll figure it out then.

Here Comes the Sun

When the temperature outside becomes warm enough for tank tops and bathing suits, I smile. Although I know it means six months of sweaty car rides and high electric bills are upon us yet again, it still makes me happy. The sunshine represents a feeling of freedom... not only from feeling cooped up inside for the winter, but from the regularity of what we've let become normal: fabricated lighting and climate controlled environments. To me, there is something to be said about nature's NATURAL cycles... although I very much appreciate my air conditioning, I also very much enjoy what we are given on a daily basis. And during Spring, Summer, and some of Fall in Austin, it's sunshine.

My whole life I've been warned against skin cancer. Given that my Irish family has a running history of a few incidents here and there, I try my best to take it seriously. While at the dermatologist for my skin exam a couple years ago, I was asked how many times I had been sunburned in my life. I paused. "Am I really supposed to be able to answer that question?" I scoffed... I mean, at my age and with my swimming background, I can't even begin to have an accurate guess. I replied with doubt in my voice: "One hundred? Maybe more?" This would mean I was burned about 5 times each year from when I was 5 years old, about the time I started swimming outdoors each summer. And when I thought about it that way, I realized I must have been burned way more than that. At least once every Saturday at the meets and then again at each Schlitterbahn trip. You can't forget the team parties and 4th of July festivities... the list goes on and on. The dermatologist's facial expression showed disappointment. Woops. At least my exam checked out with nothing to worry about... for now.

Fast forward to today, Tuesday, April 10th, 2012. My skin is still a shade of pink (I like to call it sunkissed) from the weekend's outdoor adventures at the pool and the Barton Creek Greenbelt. Some would say it's unhealthy. I say it's life. Ok, ok, I should use sunscreen. But it's so greasy and smelly and gross. It makes my hands feel dirty and stings my eyes. And it comes off when you get in the water anyway, so what's the point? I realize these are childish and naive excuses... but I feel a sort of pride when I see color in my skin. To me it means activity. Fun. Life. It reminds me of the fun I had during my treasured time outside the office. Not to mention it looks great under a white tank top.

So for my dear friends and family that roll your eyes at me every time you see me basking in the sunshine without a greasy layer of man-made chemicals on my skin, remember that the sun is natural. I would like to thank you for your concern but also remember that many people lived long, happy lives before sunscreen was invented. One could even argue that I'm getting my much needed Vitamin D. Hah. At least I know I'm being careless. Next time we're outside and you're worrying about wrinkles I'll be soaking it all in, happy to feel the burn.

More than just a Walk

My ironically named childhood dog, Spike, was with our family from Christmas morning (when I was just 2 weeks old) until the day before my 13th birthday. He was an overly sweet & shy multi-colored mut, probably part Spaniel and part Lab, we were never sure. His floppy, ruffly ears and worried eyes are what I remember most. Our normal interaction was when my dad would let him in the kitchen through the laundry room during a rainstorm or when it was cold. I would cuddle up with him in a blanket on the kitchen floor, waiting for my mom to come home from PTA meetings. Other than that, he was mainly an outside dog. We were blessed enough to always have big backyards in which he'd pave a trail around the permiter. He'd pace those paths day and night, almost like he was protecting us from whatever was on "the other side".

In our current house, the one at which I have the most memories with him, there are two gates in the fence. With seven kids and our friends coming and going, you can imagine there was the occasional escape. I remember seeing him dash away while looking through the kitchen windows... he would take off up our quiet and secluded street that, at the time, only had 4 other houses on it. We'd rush outside and yell his name with a certain tone reserved only for moments like those. In desperate times my Dad's voice would always do the trick. He'd tuck his tail and come trotting back, sad that the adventure he could taste was cut short. We'd secure the fence again and find a sibling to blame. Some times took longer than others, but Spike always made it home safely. Although he was an active animal, the practice of taking him on walks wasn't familiar to me. I guess we were all partly to blame for his intense curiosity of "the other side" of the fence.

The main memory I have of taking him on a "walk" was when I was 8 years old and had gotten confident enough on my rollerblades to think it would be fun to take him out. I put him on the only leash I could find and off we went. I was like Santa Clause being pulled by my one little reindeer: I was flying while he was doing all the work. We were both pretty happy... until he suddenly changed directions, clotheslined me with the leash and I crashed to the ground. My bloody knees and tear-filled eyes accompanied Spike back home where not only my skin was hurt, but my pride as well. So much for dog walking being fun. I'm sorry to say that was the first and last time I tried walking my dog. And then I met Riff Raff.

Anyone who knows me knows that I don't have a dog, instead I have two cats. Jack and Honey are 6 years old and perfectly self reliant, but lovable all the same. They cuddle with me in bed and join me in front of the fireplace, but can also be left alone for the weekend. Not to mention they don't need to go outside. Ever. Which also means they've never seen a dog before. Again, until I met Riff Raff.

Riff Raff is not like any other dog I've met. Sure, he's got the basic and essential dog qualities that everyone loves in a canine: he's sweet, loyal and gets scared during thunderstorms. But what I will say that separates him from the others: he's so incredibly smart. Sometime I truly wonder if he understands english. He's obedient on what it seems is his own free will. Meaning, unless there are cars around, he doesn't need to be on a leash. And when he is, he almost never pulls. He merely trots next to you, enjoying the stroll and sounds of the world as if he were a human.

Until recently, I was only accompanying T on these walks. I would go along and enjoy it for personal reasons: excercise, quality conversation and catching some sunshine. But since I've had a number of opportunities to spend some one-on-one time with Riff lately, I've discovered just how fun dog walking can be.

From the moment I get home and he greets me at the door it's pure joy, for him and for me. It's been proven that pets can improve their owner's health but I'm satisfied with just an improved mood. It may have been a crazy Monday or a dragging Thursday... I may be hungry or need to go to the bathroom, but when Riff stands up to show his excitement that you're finally there you forget about your own needs. Since I'm not a mother yet I can only imagine this is what it's like to have kids.

Sometimes it's hard to even get inside the door to put my purse down. But I manage to grab a water bottle and go out the door again. Riff's bliss shines through his smile as he keeps looking toward you while going down the stairs. We turn the corner and in the evening sun he knows it's time for another walk. He prances through the parking lot and greets the other dogs - methodically looks around to inspect any changes from the morning trot, a long 8 or 9 hours before.

A lot of people might view this as a chore, but I've realized it's a gift. When else would you take 30 minutes to walk around your neighborhood or go to the park? When else would you have the time to breathe in the outside air and watch the sun set? For me, it's not that often since I work in an office and my kitties don't go outside. But thanks to Riff, I get to do that when he's there.

I guess I should be thanking T and the long schedule he keeps - it's because of his hard work that I get my alone time with Riff Raff. I think I'm now officially a cat AND dog person. If only Spike could be here to see it <3