OK, it's official, y'all! I've gone from dragging my sorry behind to work five days a week down to three and I'm so happy I might just cry!!! So what better way to celebrate my first Friday of unencumberment than to blog about my fabulous new Dahlia Shrug. All I can say is...let the pictures do the talking. LF, you'll remember this pricey, hand-spun, Canadian sea silk fine yarn was my major find of the summer, and it's all worked up, blocked, and ready for wear.
I don't know how often folks tell me that I should be plying my trade as a fiber artist. I always chuckle. Crochet is, after all, a hand-made affair. Sweat shop doesn't even come close to describing the sort of labor necessary to create anything with a hook. Occasionally I'll see a really cute crochet item at Urban Outfitters or the like, and it's so cute, and so incredibly cheap, I try all I might to imagine how/who built it. As most things in the world these days, it's just too painful to imagine...So I try to make a little this, and a little that, and embellish my own wardrobe, or sometimes gift a friend.
What else can a gal do?
Peter, we're on our way to our daughter's High School! Can you believe?
A bit on assembly. All great crochet motif patterns involve attaching one motif to the next without actually sewing assembly. This adorable shrug follows that standard. There are ten motifs, attached as I hooked, then a woven fishnet type stitch that built sides and cap sleeves.
The great news, upon finishing this divine work, is that I bought exactly twice as much yarn as needed. So, now to decide whether I create a new object, or make the same shrug and auction/gift it off. Time to decide and figure this out. The yarn is lovely, but I've obviously moved on to other projects, already.
Auction item? Who knows...
So...in case you're trying to find some unencumberment on a Friday morning. You might want to join me...stitching, running, swimming, or checking out the early bird affair at a groovy Estate Sale. It's all within our reach, we just have to make it happen.
Every summer, around Iron-training time, I put together a mix-CD. I listen to it obsessively myself, and pass a copy on to close friends who are also training for Ironman. Usually, I'll get some response from friends (my teenager thinks this sucks! or...I really love the Pete Seeger_) or whatever. Peter usually says my CD's are totally self-indulgent and only cater to my bizarre tastes, but hell, if it isn't self-indulgent, how does it have anything to do with Ironman training? And so it goes. I mention this as a lead-in to a race report, because, as always, the songs have potent meaning, at least for me. And so, as I pore over the track list, my attention is drawn, again and again to a terrific sing-along, by Billy Joel. So you know we've got a story here, like it or not! And thus it goes:
It's nine o'clock on a Saturday The regular crowd shuffles in There's an old man sitting next to me Making love to his tonic and gin
He says, "Son can you play me a memory I'm not really sure how it goes But it's sad and it's sweet And I knew it complete When I wore a younger man's clothes"
Sing us a song you're the piano man Sing us a song tonight Well we're all in the mood for a melody And you've got us feeling alright
Now John at the bar is a friend of mine He gets me my drinks for free And he's quick with a joke or to light up your smoke But there's someplace that he'd rather be
He says, "Bill, I believe this is killing me" As a smile ran away from his face "Well, I'm sure that I could be a movie star If I could get out of this place"
Now Paul is a real estate novelist Who never had time for a wife And he's talking with Davy, who's still in the Navy And probably will be for life
And the waitress is practicing politics As the businessmen slowly get stoned Yes they're sharing a drink they call loneliness But it's better than drinking alone
Sing us a song you're the piano man Sing us a song tonight Well we're all in the mood for a melody And you've got us feeling alright
It's a pretty good crowd for a Saturday And the manager gives me a smile 'Cause he knows that it's me they've been coming to see To forget about life for a while
And the piano sounds like a carnival And the microphone smells like a beer And they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar And say "Man what are you doing here?"
Sing us a song you're the piano man Sing us a song tonight Well we're all in the mood for a melody
And you've got us feeling alright
So here's the hook. We're in a bar, people are connected by their own addiction, their desire to create community, there's a guy or two in the place who have talents beyond their station in life, talents appreciated by few but not seen globally, and then the kicker, "they sit at the bar and put bread in my jar and say 'man what are you doing here?'" So, considering Ironman many years in, I get it, loud and clear. It's the community we form, it's the sense of self and ability to share loves and passions...it's about the randomness of life. The randomness that allows some of us to practice sports into forties, fifties, sixties. The randomness that throws us in community when we might never ever have crossed paths, and the randomness of who we were supposed to be, versus who we became. It's also the dream. The dream that we could be more...if only...and it's those moments of what-ifs, whether we're actually any good, or were ever any good, or could be any good, that give us our empowerment. It's the hope, the belief, that we can contribute meaning and beauty to this planet and our lives.
Here we are, for our pre-race tattoo installment party. Mine says: Thinkin of a master plan...
Thinking of a master plan...it's all about 2014!
These friends are a sampling, only, of the community I experienced this weekend in Madison. Not pictured, are the three Oak Parkers that I adore and love, and other assorted athletes that flow in and out of my world more lightly. Sprinkle in the family that came to support, friends who were on hand for the event, and it's a terrific late-summer activity, one that would be hard to walk away from. This is what makes it so easy for me to commit, year in and year out the ritual. How can we not??? As I say, already, "It's all about 2014!" Cycles, indeed. And we'll all be there, perhaps with new and improved tattooes.
In this gang, we have three Kona qualifiers (87-present), and about 30 some-odd Ironmans, plus a handful of Birkibienders, trail races, kids, cats and dogs. The three to my right are absolute rock-stud heroes. Phenomenal athletes and funny, smart friends.
But I've already promised some sort of race report here. So here goes:
Essentials: rack bike on saturday afternoon. deposit transition bags, saturday afternoon
Sunday AM: up at 4AM breakfast: 1 PB Jam sandwich, 1 instant coffee, 1 banana, 1 energy square, 1 water bottle, 1perpetuum (hammer products) infused with coffee. Bathroom stop.
Leave with friends for transition area: body marking, visit bike, visit transition bags, visit bathroom, apply lube, eat more breakfast, sip fluid, finally, around 6:15, put wetsuit on, and get ready to near the swim start.
Swim: pros start at 6:45. Us lowly age groupers are huddled together in the driveway that leads out of the Monona Convention center to Lake Monona. Music playing, video scrolling. There's a scream that lets out when the pros start, then the de-rigeur anthem-singing. By 7 we're all in the water, 2700 of us, waiting for a mass start...Yeah, this is a self-seeded event, where everybody tries to pick in which order they might be able to successfully swim 2.4 miles. Much as I adore swimming, and I adore open swimming, the mass start triathlon will be the end of me. My focus in these events is to avoid becoming frustrated, angry, anxious, nervous, aggressive, or, naturally, hurt.
But I survived, it, the water was choppy, the swimmers were everywhere, and it was a beautiful morning, guided by about 75 water officials (kayaks, boats, boards, etc.).
Run up the helix (twisty up ramp to convention center parking) and into the transition rooms inside the convention center. A volunteer (one of 3000) dumps out my labelled bag and asks me what I need. I explain: arm warmers, socks, shoes, glasses, helmet, etc... I've done this enough times to know that a few extra seconds of care at this station can provide increased comfort and success during the next six to seven hours. I thank my volunteer and am out the door, shoes in hand (I've got a quarter mile jog past 20 porto-lets to my bike).
I find my bike (actually, call out bib number), put on shoes, walk/jog with bike to orange line, mount bike with crowds of others doing the same, and we're off, down the other helix this time. Our ride begins with an escape from the downtown core, so it's mostly bike paths. Narrow, bumpy, slow, no passing. Triathletes rankle at this, but I've done the course enough times to know that the hellishly punishing hills that await us will make up for the soft pedalling and city maneuvering that we do in the first six miles. Patience, friend.
The course is a lollipop. Eighteen rural, relatively flat and straight miles to Verona, then a hilly, winding loop through varied terrain that is thirty eight miles. We do the loop two times, then back on the lollipop stick to Madison.
This photo was taken by a coach/friend on one the more popular climbs on the route where spectators gather to cheer/party/celebrate the day. I've worked at describing this bike course in years past, probably not as thoroughly as more careful bloggers might, but today, I'm trying from a different angle...I've said many times, and it's always true, that this is a relentless bike course. LF in other regions would argue that challenging terrain can be found elsewhere, and it can, but there's something so awfully hard about the wind, the hills, the shifting directions of the roads, the insanity of a repeated hills with the same insane fans/frat boys/cheering wildly, that it simply is that. Relentless.
This photo? Lap one, naturally. My photographer most likely hustled back to town to shepherd in his athletes as they embark on the run portion. And so it goes. I'd like to thank, in particular, the farm families that drag their aluminum chairs to the side of the road to cheer us on. We're playing in their backyard, obviously, and they don't always have friends or family that are racing. I'm so grateful and attempt to share that gratitude as I ride by.
By the midway section of lap 1, although I was riding strong and steady, I was well-aware that my now-famous-not so legitimate-rib-incident would creep up on me if not during the bike, then surely the run. After about fifty miles in a tuck position I sat up in my saddle and felt the foreboding stab in my rib area. Oops. This is going to make a very long day eternal. So, I backed off on the riding, sat up a bit more, lightened my pedal load, attempted to breath deep and slow, and took moments to massage my rib cage. I re-instituted my commitment to finishing this race. I have known, for most of this season, that this wouldn't be a PR crushing year, but a successful one was completely within my reach.
Mile fifty seven I stopped at the Special Needs station and insisted that it was lunchtime. Along with chatting up the volunteers and wolfing down a tapenade sandwich, I lost maybe three minutes. Totally worth the pleasure of justifying this volunteer station and being able to pass all those cyclists again as soon as I started riding again. Sometimes you just need to make misery fun. Anybody else who blogs about this day will mention the winds, so I'll leave that alone. After last years NE winds, I was sort of expecting the worst. Minus any discernable heat or precipitation, it doesn't really get any better. The wind was a bummer, but I think my own pre-occupation with my ailments was more damaging to my own psyche than anything else. Ride into wind, ride up helix, dismount bike, run into transition area, once again to be treated in a queenly fashion by willing volunteers. Pretty cool.
And on to the run. What can I say? I'd like to imagine that there was a day, once, that I got off a bike and was exuberant at the prospect of running 26 miles, but let's face it...half the time I don't want to go for a five mile jog, so why now? But there is my family, yelling wildly as I set off on my path, and my promises on facebook and all my friends out on the course, and what else am I gonna do? I practically prepare for this day All Year Long. The run course is relatively simple.
Not too hilly, not too windy, a terrific collection of people cheering wildly, a variety of scenery, clearly marked miles, abundant aid stations and port-o-lets. A well-executed 26 mile event. It's twisty and curvy and there's not a whole lot of boredom available to the easily bored. To the easily distracted, the course could be troublesome, there's a lot of "oh, look at that" but I'm sort of used to it now. I take off my heavy prescription sunglasses and shuffle along. Except when I'm walking. In case you wonder about Ironman, what they say is true.
There is a lot of walking, except when people are running/jogging. In my case, and many other athletes, there is often a chunk of time during race when there's more walking than running, and the opposite, as well. In my case, this year, it was a sort of all systems off, at about mile 16.
Mile 6
Things were tough for me, my chest was exhausted, I was sick of trying to jog/walk, and so I just started walking. I knew it was going to be a long night, but I also knew that finishing felt like an important thing, and that with my training history this year, that walking more would be the best assurance. Deep down, especially with a crash that slowed my down, I really didn't think that I had run enough to justify a fast marathon (fast being a relative term). So I snagged Peter off the spectator course and we went for a walk, and he talked with me about my friends and my day until I could finish the thing on my own at my usual shuffle-jog. By the time I rolled in it had been a long run. I had smiled and joked, I had actually run, I had jogged, I had walked (a lot) I had taken in a lot of (water/perform/pretzels/bananas/chickenbroth/defizzedcoke/gels) I had visited multiple porto-lets, I had cried, and I had thought...a lot....and sang some songs in my head, not including the Gangnam Style song that was blasting at mile 25.
And then there is that magical moment. It's completely dark but for the bars and restaurants still packed with spectators, the capital building is lit, I've got a glow stick tied around my neck. My whole body hurts, my chest is tired of breathing, my rib hurts, I pick up my feet and start running and it feels as easy as every three mile jog I've ever done. I round the capital building and am nearing a finish chute crowded with screaming people (including my family) and I compliment a few people I pass on the way in. I'm racing to the finish, thrilled to hear the booming voice of Ironman, Mike Reilly, again: Karen Steward-Nolan, from Oak Park, IL, You Are An Ironman!!!!! Woo Hoo!!!!!
And for the participation-inclined, let's play name that tune!!!! Please submit responses!
********************************************************************** IM 2013 CD name that tune contest: 1. "You're amazing...just the way you are..." 2. "I lost my mind, and that's not all in Oregon..." 3. "When you've got friends...to wish you well..." 4. "I've met a lot of fancy dancers, those who can sweep you across the floor..." 5. "Bumpin booties, havin us a ball, y'all..." 6. "Wobble baby..." 7. "You want me down on earth, but I am up in space..." 8. "Clams on the half-shell...rollerskate, rollerskate..." 9. "A freight train was my only friend..." 10. "Baby I like it..." 11. "No one can convince me we're not gluttons for our doom." 12. "Young and old...are doing it I'm told..." 13. "I'd be in trouble if you left me now..." 14. "Would you turn up my volume in front of the cops, and turn me up every time they told you to stop..." 15. "Everybody here must boogie, let me tell you you are no exception to the rule..." 16. "If I could crawl ten years ago, nobody would ever know..." 17. "Take it all for granted like you're the only one..." 18. "I could be a movie star, if I could just get out of this place..." 19. "Looking for my lost shaker of salt..."
Ironman countdown day four, or three, not including race day. Some years, about now, I'm giddy and silly and dancing around the house. Some years, I'm chewing through the walls I'm so cranky and nervous. Other years, I'm so frazzled from trying to pull everything from different compartments of my life together, that it's just one insane swirl. This morning, I woke up to what I can only describe as a hint of nervousness (can I have waited three hundred sixty days before getting nervous before such a potentially nightmarish day?) mixed with a hefty wave of melancholy. Sprinkle with world news that can leave no sane person without a terrible stomach ache, and that's where I am. Now, to wolf down my last meal before leaving in our beloved mini-van towards Madison, Wisconsin.
First, a discussion of gear. Believe it, this photo-array of the packings that I'm taking is a typical selection of what Iron-geeks bring to their lodging prior to race day. Two of just about everything, and one of every sort of race day weather attire. Bike, swim, run gear galore, plus three days worth of weekend-er clothes to enjoy what is a bit of a retreat, reunion, celebration, as it might be called.
The Unencumbered Woman does one better, which is, as usual, I can't imagine leaving for five days without a selection of yarn projects. I'm taking three (or is it four?) yarn works. One, my needlepoint benchcover; two, a pair of worsted weight socks that I started yesterday, and an Doris Chan motif skirt. That, along with a Joyce Carol Oates novel, my training log and calendar, camera, smartphone and sundry chargers, I'm all set for leisure time.
And what about race preparation? I'll jog a bit in Madison, swim on Saturday morning, perhaps tool around on my bike, but for the most part I'm finished with exercise. Yesterday, I got up early enough to swim with my team, and that felt nice. Then, in accordance with the fact that I've been primarily walking since I crashed my bike, I went for a long walk at around noon. By the end of the day, I was wondering what had happened to me. Where is that fighting spirit? Do I care how fast, how hard, how long I take? Simple burnout, fear of failure, or even battle fatigue from a crash and sore breathing three weeks prior to race day. I don't really know, and at my ninth Ironman, it hardly matters. Frankly, this woman has done her job, but enrolling and participating in the Ironman has given me a focus for my years worth of exercise. Most don't believe this, but I know I'd have a hard time getting out twelve months a year and exercising without this sort of encompassing goal. Now, after so many years, the ritual is set and it's almost easy for me to go through the training motions.
And then last evening, as I sat watching daughter's martial arts practice, it dawned on me. As I repeat something that I can savor, year in and year out, our life here in suburbia, the stars of the show are evolving and growing and moving and changing. On the eve of a black belt promotion, that little pipsqueak that cheered me on in 2008 is grown to the size that her sister was in 2008. And big sis, well, there's no shortage of emotional pull in this house as we watch her successfully navigate her first month at a humungous suburban high school. We're so proud of these beautiful, funny, athletic, creative kids, and we're preparing for the next phase.
So what will the next phase look like? Who can know. And maybe this, as much as anything, keeps me coming back to Ironman. I, as much as I love chaos and adventure, am a creature of habit. I grew up in a quiet, predictable, safe home. I was fortunate to grow up in the number one hippie town in the US, and raised by loving, older parents of the WWII generation. My empathy spans the decades and the movements, but at bottom, I crave simplicity. A workout plan, a sweaty day, a healthy hippie meal, and a jigsaw puzzle to toil over. Amidst the rocky world news and national news that leaves so many of us feeling utterly help/hopeless, day after day, I can repeat this ritual race. While I'm at it, I can share my perspective with others, I can honor my own integrity when possible, and finally, I can get some of that mojo out, that a middle aged woman is totally proud to possess. From year to year, I can remember what it was that was happening in years past. Ironman has become a marker, and so, let's go!
I don't know how often folks tell me that I should be plying my trade as a fiber artist. I always chuckle. Crochet is, after all, a hand-made affair. Sweat shop doesn't even come close to describing the sort of labor necessary to create anything with a hook. Occasionally I'll see a really cute crochet item at Urban Outfitters or the like, and it's so cute, and so incredibly cheap, I try all I might to imagine how/who built it. As most things in the world these days, it's just too painful to imagine...So I try to make a little this, and a little that, and embellish my own wardrobe, or sometimes gift a friend. 
