Fear and Failure
I bought a road bike. She’s* real pretty. I got shoes that clip in and a fancy saddle so my delicates won’t hurt.
My new ride.
And now I guess I have to ride this bike.
I know it’s ridiculous, but this bike scares me. The clips scare me, because I will fall over. It’s simply a matter of when, not if. You all can start a betting pool now.
But it’s not only falling that scares me. Road rash and shame, unappealing though they are, are temporary. I’m much more afraid of that bike gathering dust in my garage. I look at it and hear the two voices that are constantly bickering inside my head:
Whheeee! A new bike! Just imagine all the great rides ahead of you.
vs.
When, exactly, do you plan to do all of this riding? And do you really expect to ever achieve anything bigger than finishing a little sprint triathlon? Who are you kidding, lady?
A) Don’t tell me you have peaceful silence in your head. Please tell me that you, too, have conflicting self-talk going on.
B) That second voice is bitchy, right?
I think that this latest fear – and doubt – are only a glimpse into my psyche. And possibly a lot of other psyches, as well. I can’t be alone, or else Pinterest, wouldn’t be plastered with quotes like this:
Source: ffffound.com via Tudor N’ Ceci on Pinterest
Source: runforthethrill.tumblr.com via Tudor N’ Ceci on Pinterest
Source: etsy.com via Tudor N’ Ceci on Pinterest
I’m a realist: I know that failure is always a possibility. I tell my kids that it’s much better to work hard and fail than to wonder what if…? And I believe that. I do.
And yet… I think I let the idea of failure hold me back more than I like to admit. You know, if I’m going to tell my kids that they have to be okay falling on their faces, I need to fall on mine sometimes.
I’ve heard people quote this line a few times – What would you attempt if you knew you could not fail?
There’s something to that; I kind of think you do have to approach your goals under the delusion that you cannot, will not fail. But you also have to be prepared to fail, and accept failure as part of the learning process. Is that too Pollyanna?
Just for grins, if I could guarantee success here’s what I would do:
An Iron Man
This may truly may be hilarious, since I’m clearly never getting rid of my plantar faciitis, but still. This is a no-fail scenario, so bite me, plantar faciitis.
Act, On Stage, In a Play
I’ve always said I couldn’t be an actor, because I’m awful at it. That may be the case, but I have no idea if I’m awful or not. My last role was Big Billy Goat Gruff in kindergarten. But since this is a no fail thing, I’m probably going to walk away with a Tony.
This is real life, however, and not my no-fail la-la land. So I’m going to start by taking that bike out for a ride. If you see me, please maneuver your car way far away from me, so that you don’t run over me. And also so I don’t try to wave at you, causing me to lose my balance and fall over because I couldn’t get my feet out of those clips fast enough.
I wonder…
:: Cheesy though it is, what would you do if you knew you couldn’t fail?
:: What are your wise words on tackling goals and trying new things?
*The bike is a she and she’s nameless. Any thoughts?
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Stuff I Forgot to Tell You
Since I haven’t been a frequent flier here lately, I’ve forgotten to tell you some things.
One day perhaps I’ll return to posts with a point, but today’s not the day. Depending on how you view the world, I have either a lot of little points today, or no point at all. You’re entitled to see it however you wish.
Thing #1: Texas Beef Council
I’m remiss, more than a little, in telling you about a great day I spent with the Texas Beef Council, Nolan Ryan’s Beef and Chef Richard Chamberlain. Thanks to my friend, Gigi, our co-host for the day, Austin bloggers were invited to a cooking class and demonstration.
I knew it was going to be a good day, but I have to say I was surprised by how much fun I had. Our hosts were all lovely people and I learned things. Can’t go wrong with that.
A) I was not much of a meat-cooker. I eat meat, but I didn’t like to deal with it prior to shoveling it in. I still don’t really like knowing what part of the animal the meat comes from or what it looked like in between grazing and ending up on my plate.
A1) I can cook meat now. Tenderloin steaks: run and hide, suckers, because I can make people weep with joy after I cook you.
B) I met some amazing Austin bloggers, and got to hang out with a few I was already happy to call friends.
B1) Gigi’s recap is great, including a picture of me appearing to threaten Blythe with a pair of tongs. See? Fun!
C) I ate the equivalent of about five lunches, all of which included beef and none of which included my children complaining about the meal.
C1) Need I say more?
Thing #2: The Passing of Time
I now have a kindergartener (just ask him, he’ll let you know he’s not a preschooler any longer). Graduation was last week, complete with an introduction to each matriculating child and announcements of what the children want to be when they grow up.
H wants to be a police offer, and his friend who lives across the street wants to be a fire fighter. We just need an EMT and the adults on this street will be well taken care of in our old age.
I didn’t boo-hoo like I expected to, but I did feel a tightness in my chest (this is where our resident emergency response team is going to come in real handy), and a pit in my stomach. Mostly, however, I felt proud of my big guy. My funny, sweet, law-enforcing guy.
In addition to my preschool grad, I also now have a two-year-old. H looked at me the other day and said, “Mom, you do know P is not a baby anymore, don’t you?”
Salt. Wound. Thanks, kid.
Yes, I know he’s not a baby anymore. I know he is, in fact, a tiny John Belushi/John Blutarsky. The kid finds bodily functions beyond hilarious and regularly throws his food. He’s into shirtless air guitar and removing his pants in public.
He’s so cute we could eat him. And don’t tell H, but sometimes I am a little stunned that P is not a baby anymore.
Thing #3: More staples. Different Head.
The truth is I didn’t forget to tell you this, because it just happened. Apparently it’s not a holiday around here without a trip to the ER. This time it was Mark, though, and he topped P by one staple.
Open cabinet door met head, there was blood, there was nausea (mine), and finally, three staples. I let him milk it for exactly six hours, and I hope he enjoyed that six-hour recuperation time, because come Monday morning there were pool parties to attend and garages to reorganize. It’s his own fault, really, because he insists he feels fine. I could teach the man a lot about eliciting sympathy.
Thing #4: Triathlon Update
More of an update, less of a thing I forgot to tell you. I haven’t mentioned it in a while, maybe because it’s hard to fit in everything when you only blog once a week, but I am still training for the Danskin Triathlon. It wasn’t quite the training season I hoped for, but I’m going to finish the race. So that’s something.
I feel like my fitness level is improving, maybe not at the rate I had in mind pre-physical-therapy-athon, but it’s improving. So that, too, is something. I still can’t look at a picture of myself without wanting to smash all cameras and mirrors. I have to wonder, though, when – if ever – that won’t be the case?
Updates, done.
Except I’m sure I forgot some stuff, so don’t be surprised if another update post appears soon.
read moreI Hope Nobody Chases Me
Because I can’t get away.
Remember that day I whined about my heel? (If not, you can go ahead and read it now. I’ll wait, but not forever, so you might want to skim now and read for content later.)
A lot of you emailed, commented or tweeted your ideas about what was ailing me and how I could speed the recovery process. I never followed up with you to let you know how things turned out. Here’s my tale.
The general consensus after my convalescence post was plantar fasciitis. I ultimately agreed, and decided to quack on myself. I tried to fix it without going to the doctor.
Wrong.
After a few weeks of toughing it out, trying to run and ending up in excruciating pain every time, I listened to those wiser than I am (that would be: everyone). The coaches of my triathlon training team kept asking, “Have you seen anyone about this?”
They were subtle about it. Until one day when they were not.
“Go see someone, please,” they practically shouted.
Turns out, I do not have plantar faciitis. Are you ready for the diagnosis? I’m about to get very technical here, so forgive me. The problem is this: my legs are screwed up. From hips to heels, my legs are defective.
The doctor’s exact words: “Your calves are very special. In fact, you may have the tightest set of calves I’ve ever seen.”
Sometimes it’s good to be special, but this is not one of those times. Sometimes it’s good to be tight, but this is most certainly not one of those times.
The heel pain was due to – another technical term coming at you – calf messed-up-ness. The calf trouble is due to two things: decade-old injuries to both legs, leaving me with a lot of scar tissue (that’s another story altogether), and some poor construction. As in, I’m put together a little bit wonky, and all of my muscles are t-i-g-h-t. All the time. If you poke my hip, I will flinch, because my IT band is rock hard. (But really, why would you poke my hips? Keep your fingers to yourselves.)
On top of that – or, more accurately, because of that – I also walk funny. My left foot strikes on the outside, then rolls in, and I slam down on my heel. My right foot sort of clumps. Are you picturing Igor? It’s not obvious to the untrained eye (at least I don’t think it is… People who know me, is it obvious that I walk like a monster?). My efforts to compensate for this mess have left me with some gait issues.
Good lord.
I’ve had some hip issues since P was born, and truth be told, my lower back has always been a bit troublesome. The thing is, I ignored all of this. Mostly. There were times I would think, OUCH. But in general, I could function day-to-day and exercise moderately. So I ignored the daily discomfort and frequent pain.
Stupid.
I also kind of thought everyone felt this way. I didn’t know that muscles were not supposed to be hard. All the time. I assumed everyone had some pain when, and after, running. I mean, it’s running. It hurts, right?
Stupid.
So now I know. And if I haven’t mentioned it, I feel kind of stupid for not taking care of it sooner. A decade ago I did some physical therapy for my calves, but as soon as I reached a day-to-day functional level, I was done.
Ten years later, I really miss the camaraderie of training and the excitement of pursuing a goal, like a marathon or triathlon. And that gets us back to the beginning of this tale. I decided to train for the Danskin Triathlon, and realized that my legs still need work.
Long story still long, I now spend two-to-four days every week doing Active Release Technique, therapeutic massage (and massage is a really kind word for that – it’s the most painful thing I’ve experienced next to labor pains), and PT. At home, I’m stretching, doing PT exercises and icing. This is what I do. This, plus laundry, and you have my day.
The bad news? I have a long, long, looooong way to go. My calves are loosening, but my IT band and everything in the hip/butt/thigh region needs more time.
The good news? I am still signed up for the Danskin on June 5. The doctors and my training group coaches feel like I can at least complete the race. This year it’s about finishing. By next year, my legs will work and I can do the race in a more timely fashion.
The moral of this story: do not ignore chronic pain. Do not accept that day-to-day functional levels are good enough. It’s possible that you can do better. It’s possible that you can get better.
I can’t believe I have lived most of my life, and to a greater extent, the last 10 years, in daily pain or discomfort. Stoopid. With two o’s.
I wonder…
:: Have you ever dealt with chronic pain?
:: Do you ever think, duh, why didn’t I do this sooner? (About anything, not just your health.)
read moreIt’s Only a Flesh Wound
The flesh wound portion of our story is coming, but first, did you notice I’ve been kind of an asshat and have not kept up with Tri My Way Thursdays? I’m sorry.
Wait, I’m not sorry. Does that make me even more of an asshat?
The thing is, I’ve been doing some blog-searching and decided that Tri My Way Thursdays is a waste of time, mine and yours.
Mind you, I’m still working toward my triathlon goals. If you could see me lurching around the house on legs that won’t properly bend due to overuse, you would believe me. Thank God you cannot see me. It’s not pretty.
I might tweet about how I’m doing with my fitness goals now and then, or include information in posts where appropriate, but say good-bye to Tri My Way Thursdays. We barely knew ye…
So speaking of asshats (subtlety, it’s my specialty), I am not doing well with another goal: improving my sleep habits. And lack of sleep turns me into a world class, well, you know.
For example.
Today I nearly stabbed myself with a paring knife.
While carrying said knife, a cutting board, and a bowl of strawberries to the table I almost offed myself. My plan was to prepare the toddler’s snack tableside. He’s all about the theatrics of food prep. Or I’m too lazy to stand at the counter and cut strawberries in advance of snack time. Let’s go with toddler foodie, okay?
In a moment of incredibly asshatted decision making, I turned the blade of the knife toward my abdomen and then proceeded to tuck the bowl of strawberries under the same arm. I’ll give you a minute to pantomime putting a knife in your left hand, blade sticking out on the same side as your thumb. Now imagine you have small bowl of strawberries and you place it in the crook of your left elbow. Curve your arm toward your body. Stabbed yourself, didn’t you?
I’m sure divine intervention saved my son from seeing mommy bleed all over his snack. In the split second after I caught my near disastrous error, I had this thought: This is a small knife. The wound almost certainly would not be deadly. If I did stab myself, I bet I’d get to spend at least one night in the hospital. Yay, a vacation!
See what I mean? An asshat.
This post is part of Word Up, YO!, a meme hosted by the fabulous ladies of A Belle, A Bean and a Chicago Dog; Mommy of a Monster (I Mean Toddler) & Infant Twins; and Taming Insanity.
read moreSnippets
Keeping things brief is not my specialty. But today will be just that. Brief, in three parts.
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Part 1: Grateful
We had one of those experiences this week that made my family take stock. I can’t go into details because it’s not my story to tell (Sorry. I kind of hate reading secretive, non-information, but you’ll have to just trust me on this.).
What I can tell you is that someone we know is fighting for his life. The news made me stop, breathe and look around at all of my blessings. Moments before, my husband and I had been whining about the cost of custom built-in cabinets. I’ll let that sink in. The quote for the built-ins was too much. Whaaaa. Talk about feeling small. How much more first-world-obnoxious can we get?
If you’re the praying type, send up a prayer for our friend – God will know what you’re talking about.* If you, too, are fighting for your own life or know someone who is, my heart goes out to you and yours.
I know that what I’m about to say falls under the category of DUH (can you tell I’m a child of the late 70s/early 80s? We said Duh then.), but this life of ours? It’s short and it’s a gift. It can change in a heartbeat. I take that for granted way too often.
I wonder, have you had a moment that stopped you in your tracks?
*I think God is the only one who knows what I’m talking about half the time.
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We’re moving on to (Much) Lighter Fare…
Part 2: A Contest
No, it’s not my contest. My blog is in no way affiliated with this contest. Let me make that clear: I have no affiliation whatsoever with this contest.
My connection is solely my desire to have lunch – and almost certainly become the best of friends – with these two authors: Stacey Ballis and Jen Lancaster.
They are running a contest tied to the release of Stacey’s latest book, Good Enough to Eat. If you pre-order the book, you will be entered for a chance to win lunch with Stacey and Jen! And you get to bring a friend. You know where I’m going with this, right? I expect (I would say demand, but I’m trying to be nice here) you to invite me to be your plus one if you win. Got it?
Click right here for the details.
Please enter. And feel free to win as long as you understand the deal we have struck here today: I will be your date to lunch. Please?
Also follow Jen and Stacey on Facebook, Twitter, and their blogs. The links to all of those places can be found within the contest information. I stalk them regularly and they’ve yet to file a restraining order on me, so I think it’s safe to recommend that you take up stalking them as well.
So click on over, enter the contest, follow the two fabulous ladies and read all of their books. That is all.
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Part 3: Tri My Way Thursdays
It’s not official measurement week, but I’m very excited about the 1.5 pound difference happening here. (Lost, not gained, in case that wasn’t obvious). Turns out I have abs, thanks to Pilates.
It’s been a good workout week, including some cautious forays into running. I forgot that I like to run! I’m a little sore and my IT band is still giving me some trouble, but I see improvement.
Eating-wise I made great strides this week. I was able to make some good decisions in the face of temptation. It was not a perfect week, but better than the week before. I call that progress.
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Yikes. So that was me, being brief.
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