Weekend on the Water

Relaxing after a "hard day's work," with a beautiful view out to the water.

The long haul back up from the beach. (Note two small heads at the top: Baylor & Bella, peering through the slats and impatiently waiting for me to return and throw their ball).

View toward Dakota Creek at low tide.

View toward California Creek at low tide. Semiahmoo is in the distance...

Ahhhhh...it's so refreshing to get out of the city. A drive - even on a busy, stop-and-go freeway - can do wonders for the soul, because the destination makes the journey soooo worth it. Particularly when there is a glass of wine waiting upon arrival at said destination.

Last weekend I ventured to Blaine, WA (about 10 miles south of the Canadian border) where my dad's once-designated retirement home has now become his full-time home, though he is far from being retired, both in his career and his goals. Case in point: this weekend, my brother and I were invited up to the house under the guise of spending time with my father and stepmother but as it turns out with the ulterior motive of my brother assisting my dad building an erosion barrier on the beach and moving 100-lb. chunks of concrete. Never wanting to be left out, I volunteered to assist on the beach - I mean, how often do I have the opportunity to get all mucky and muddy and actually be physically productive on the weekend?! However, upon grabbing the PHD (post hole digger - for lack of a more technical term) I immediately realized my mistake, as I took my first hard stab at what appeared to be soft ground and hit wet clay that resonated a vibrating thud through my whole body like a tuning fork. Determined not to let the beach get the best of me, I sweated my way through several holes before (fortunately) my younger bro woke up and took over the task (and somehow managed to make it look easy and effortless - damn him).

So my triceps are a little sore (yessssss - now I can justify my lack of time in the gym) and at the end of the day, the time out of the city spent both in physical labor and in the company of family was a nice treat and reprieve from urban life.

Validation

Sometimes I think I'm too cynical, and that I should subscribe to my mother's much more positive "everyone is basically good" theory.

And then I discover that Frenchi, the local Rite Aid Real Change agent, actually DID drink himself into homelessness (see "Here Are a Few of my Least Favorite Things" in older posts) so I feel wickedly vindicated in my cynicism, although sad for him that this is the direction his life has gone. This doesn't mean that I'm any less supportive of his apparent efforts to get back on track now, but...I guess I just feel that a little wariness in my daily life keeps me from being hurt, or duped. I'm sad that Frenchi's story confirms my earlier suspicions - I was so hoping it would give me a reason to see the world through slightly rosier glasses.

Sometimes Life is Just So Daily

Need I say more?

Lactose Tolerance and the Modern Girl

My stomach has been hurting lately. A. LOT. All the time, actually. It's not ulcers, because - despite an ever-present worry about finances and family and career and friendships - I'm honestly not that stressed out. And it's certainly not all the crunches I haven't been doing, and since according to my own lack of physiological knowledge and lack of interest in considering any other possibilities than the aforementioned, I have come to the conclusion - perhaps more intuitively than I'm giving myself credit for - that my body is trying to tell me something. I know, I know - DUH. It's not exactly an earth-shattering diagnosis. But, it's one that feels like it's worth listening to. My body is trying to tell me that something that I'm ingesting (evidently with some regularity, as my stomach hurts pretty much all day every day) ain't exactly its best friend. And since my body can only tell me so much without actual words, it's up to me to read the writing on the wall: it's time for a change.

The reason I feel this particular epiphany about my body's method of communication with me is because it's literally the first time I've ever felt it. It's the first time I've ever had a pain or unsettled feeling that I've attributed to the connection between lifestyle habits and physiological health. Again, I'm aware that I'm a little behind jumping on the bandwagon with this - but I also believe that most people are skeptics about most subjects until something prompts their own personal come-to-Jesus about the thing. And this feels like mine. I've been eating poorly lately (i.e., if it was my last meal and I had to decide between pizza or Mexican food, I would have last-minute decision anxiety up until the moment I died and would spend the rest of eternity wishing I'd chosen the other) but no more poorly than I've been eating for about...3 years. So the fact that just now I am feeling that something is wrong means less that it's "finally catching up with me" and more that I'm finally in a place to recognize my body's needs and provide this vehicle of my existence with much more love and attention than I've ever offered it. My quest now: to discover the source of my discomfort, and find a way to work through it around it to emerge a healthier, more balanced individual with much greater awareness of my physiological needs.

I think the culprit here may be dairy, and here's why: I'm Scottish. And at the end of the day (if you trace back far enough), I'm related to dear old Rob Roy MacGregor, the rebel Scot and failed cattleman of the 18th century. History has it that Rob Roy, trying to make an honest living as a cattleman, ultimately defaulted on a loan to increase his herd because of a conniving Scot who took his money and herd, leaving Rob Roy and family out in the cold. Legend has it that Rob Roy retreated to the rocky highlands of Scotland, where, without cattle, he and a band of marauders waged war against the duke who ousted him for many years until he was finally pardoned.

HOWEVER, the point here (yes, there is one) is that all the many years Rob Roy spent scavenging without the advent of dairy in the highlands (and the many outlawed Scots who followed his footsteps for years after) produced a generation of children who were, in essence, lactose intolerant - which then continued on and on and on, until hundreds of years later when the availability of dairy became daily staple instead of a luxury, and people's digestive systems became used to it again. Lactose intolerance is actually the norm in Scottish history - it's lactose tolerance that's not in our heritage. And as my day consists of cream in my coffee, cereal for breakfast, SlimFasts (when I'm trying to "get serious") for lunch and condiments on my dinner meals that usually include dairy (ranch sauce, sour cream, mayonnaise) and more or less as much cheese as I can possibly consume without throwing up, I think this is the place to start.

I hope this isn't the case. I sincerely hope that it's something else miserable and easily given up, such as...beets. But I have a sneaking suspicion that's not it (since I avoid beets like agoraphobics avoid the open prairie). And think of all the cheese I might miss out on...the thought is practically unbearable. Even so...I'm willing to explore the option of eliminating this potentially offensive substance from my diet, because I've never really stopped to give my body a voice, and you know what? When I really listen, it has some pretty important things to say.

The Return of the Reluctant Runner

Bay to Breakers is almost here again, and I have discovered that - for the second year in a row - I am alarmingly unprepared for this event. Frustrating? Yes. Surprising? Not really. Not to anyone who really knows me, that is. I am a unique combination of major anticipator and classic procrastinator, which causes me to build my expectations about almost everything in my life to an almost-unbearable level of jittery excitement and then sink into overwhelming despair when I realize that I have yet again failed to completely prepare for the thing I was so eagerly anticipating. It's a truly exhausting process, and I can feel it coming on as Bay to Breakers approaches in just 6 weeks.

But let me back up and explain: Bay to Breakers is a 12K run/walk (7.5 miles) in San Francisco that begins at the Embarcadero with the long and mysterious tradition of throwing corn tortillas out of the starting gates and ends in Golden Gate Park with the long and much-celebrated tradition of a beer garden. Everyone dresses in costume (or dresses not at all - nudity is also a less-celebrated but equally entertaining tradition of B2B) and except for a die-hard few (read: obsessed) no one takes it seriously. Which means I shouldn't be stressed, because this is a run in which local residents sell Jell-O shots for $1 along the race lines and a vast majority of participants come to the race with floats containing various quantities and varieties of alcohol. But I'm flying down to San Francisco to run the thing (with my brother, who beat me last year by a good 10 minutes despite the fact that I passed him as he waited in line for the Port-a-Potty about halfway through - dammit) so I feel like I can't go all that way and spend all that money just to walk it. And since I haven't been running consistently (again, not surprising) I feel like I have a long way to go. As a self-proclaimed "reluctant runner" I've found that it's tough to get back in the running game after a long hiatus, but also that once I'm back, running comes so naturally to me...causing me to wonder why I haven't been keeping up the pace all along.

The race begins!

Off to a slow start...I think it was Will's (right) master plan to lull me into a false sense of security as my running buddy and then leave me in the dust and beat me in the end. It worked.

So, as with last year, I am preparing for B2B with just weeks to go until the race - but this year, with several advantages:

a) knowledge of the course (to my nemesis Hayes St. hill: I will destroy you),
b) desire to kick my brother's ass,
c) desire to kick my own ass, and
d) the big picture of the end goal: to enjoy the hell out of the thing, because it's going to be a great day - time with my bro, a crazy/memorable run, a refreshing cold one at the end and lots of much-needed family time over the course of the weekend.

The end - and the beer! - are in sight upon entering Golden Gate Park.

I'm putting this out there, because as an anticipator I need to actually do the work to prepare and not just build it up in my mind. As my friend Rachel says, goals should be APV - Active, Public and Voluntary - which help the goal-setter achieve them. And with a little advance preparation, perhaps this year I can avoid the last-minute stress before my trip and simply enjoy the ride (or run, in this case). So, armed with sage advice (and perhaps a little of that productivity-inducing panic so innate in my personality) the reluctant runner returns to the road...and hopefully, this year, I'll stay there.