When Ironman announced the venue change for Florida 70.3, I signed up without really thinking it through from a timing perspective. All I knew was, it wasn't that awful disney death march for the run, and that was good enough for me. Dumba**.
After battling a very tenacious bronchitis crud for several months at the end of last year, I started training with a new twist -- for the first time ever, I worked with a "personal trainer" to focus specifically on strengthening the supporting muscles (ie all the muscles that are NOT my quads, lol). It was with trepidation that I embarked on the experiment, because my knees and shoulders are always teetering on the edge of extinction and I was concerned about moving outside my comfort zone of a simple weight circuit three days a week at the Y.
What a lucky discovery. Training with Colin (Woodmansee... colinwoodmansee@fitnesstogether.com) turned out to be the single smartest triathlon related thing I've ever done. After a few weeks of backing off on swimming and running while I let my body adapt to the new training, I started back into both and immediately felt stronger and had less joint pain and soreness. With some exceptions for illness (mine or the girls) I managed to consistently train with Colin for 12 weeks, 3x/week, before switching to 2x/week in the 2 months leading up to the race. This would turn out to be the ONLY thing I did with any consistency.
Sometime in...March? I suffered what we at first thought was a slap tear of my shoulder (let's just say you need to be really careful how you pick up a heavy backpack, and leave it at that) but which turned out to be a cocktail of itis.... bursitis, tendonitis, and arthritis. That put me out of the pool for almost 3 weeks, and when I got back in my swimming was tentative, and painful, and my speed was very limited.
After that in no particular order (and involving me either directly or as the MOM) came swim meets, track meets, stomach viruses, strep throats and other respiratory ills, school-related swim drama, Captain crap, and a recurrence of my little viral friend from hell that I have written about previously. Four weeks before the race BiM got the plague and training went out the window with drs visits and the assorted demands of a sickly child. Three weeks before the race I got the stomach virus that landed me in the ER and kept me from eating solid food for 5 days, and that seemed to awaken my viral friend. The two weeks before the race saw ok days and awful days, with the latter leading at about a 3:1 ratio. Some days I could go through the motions of a workout. Others I just tried to nap it out. Fevers, headaches from hell, and a feeling like every ounce of energy was sucked out of my cells was pretty much the norm.
I had resigned myself to not having a very good race. I figured the BEST case scenario would be that I caught a good day and could have an ok race (based on lack of fitness, based on lack of training). Worst case scenario would be I'd have that awful empty tank feeling and collapse in a heap somewhere on the course. I actually felt so crappy I wasn't even mad I felt so crappy, lol.
So... we came down to Haines City on Friday. We'd rented a house a few miles from transition... 3 bedrooms, 2 baths and a pool. BiM needed to spend the weekend hunkered down and studying for finals, and I didn't want her locked away in a hotel room to do it. The house was awesome and perfectly located.
We drove to the race site, checked in LiM for Ironkids and me for the fiasco, sweated, heard the bike course description from Freddy B, who had driven it that day, and then went to dinner at Outback (LiM's favorite pre-race meal).
I woke up Saturday at 4a, even before the alarm, and off we went to LiM's race. She raced very very well... we finally got back to the house after 7 hours on our feet in the sun (well, 5 in the sun) and I discovered my race sneakers had rubbed a very painful spot on my right foot pinky toe. Uh Oh. We scrambled off to Dick's Sporting goods, bought a pair of the same exact kind of sneakers (the difference being they were not rubbing that spot) and came back to the house. I relaxed while LiM and a friend played in the pool with M, and BiM studied.
After a disjointed night sleep and a wake up at 3a, an hour+ before the alarm was set for (sigh) I gave up, got up, and choked down the traditional bagel and hot chocolate and texted with Freddy. It was perhaps a sign of how the day would go that I then put my Garmin into my swim cap and my goggles into my sneakers. And I discovered I had forgotten body glide. Let's just say a speed suit over a tri top over a sports bra provides a lot of opportunity to have skin rubbed off of your body if you forget the body glide.
LiM, M, and I went off to the race site, and I took Bumblebee in to find our rack. Every. Single. Bike. On. My. Rack. Was. Racked. Backwards. Every one. And two race officials were helpfully standing there discussing penalties. So, I got to decide whether to rack right, and have my handle bars hooked in with two others (neither of whom had set up their gear correctly either... it's on the DOWN WHEEL. If you set up on the UP wheel, how do you propose to get your bike out????????)
Luckily the lady to my right came and we swapped sides of the rack, which put her stuff on the correct side of her bike and gave me some room. It took about 6 tries to get my T set up, as I kept forgetting things in my bag or grabbing the wrong thing. Finally, after a good belly laugh at the girl on my rack who had a LARGE Burger King beverage and a bagel set out on her oversize transition mat, along with what looked like several towels and changes of clothing, I patted the 'Bee and wandered out of transition.
The surprise arrival of Team Davenport and seeing Britta F. (a rack mate, which I should have figured given our last names) and Freddy B. and a bunch of really cute canines kept me occupied while we killed time. LiM and I walked to the swim start to see if we could see Lance (we did, finally, for all of :30 before his wave start). A hug from the family and Freddy and it was time to march out with my wave to the start buoys.
We marched all of about 5' before we all squealed like little girls and started to dog paddle with out feet off the ground. My leg had sunk at least two feet into really nasty muck, and that was enough for me. My age group always seems to have a lot of fun, and generally some good comraderie (always with some notable exceptions, of course) and there was a lot of laughing as we waited our turn. We even gave ourselves a round of applause and cheers.
The cannon sounded and we were off, dolphin diving through the muck. It was.... gross. The water smelled and tasted nasty, there was seaweed and muck everywhere, and the silt was so stirred up I couldn't see my own hand. I had maybe 25 yards of unfettered swimming before the girl behind me grabbed my leg. Repeatedly. Another 25 yards (ok, maybe 50) and we caught the trailers of the wave ahead of us. Uh oh. Before I knew it, it was a rugby scrum of too many people in too little space making too many turns.
I settled into 4th in my wave (FOURTH! Uh oh...) and we picked our way through the...logjam... and I got punched, kicked, had my goggles knocked off, and generally fantasized about writing a letter demanding a time seeded start from now on. My mood was darkening quickly.
But the really scary part was, after feeling really good for the first 5 minutes, I felt REALLY bad for the last 25. My shoulders and back tightened up, and I felt lightheaded and weak. It was bizarro, and all I can think is it was a reaction to shivering before the race start and not warming up. And the doubts started pouring in... how the hell was I going to ride 56 miles and then run a half marathon when I already felt like I hadn't eaten in a week...??
There began a 5 hour dialogue with myself... I'd walk to the edge of the cliff and talk myself back down. Over and over and over again. It's that game of chicken we all play with ourselves (usually on the run) where you walk right up to where you can touch giving yourself permission to walk, and then teeter on the edge... because you know once you do that, your day is over. And it can be something as simple as seeing someone in front of you stop and walk... backing off is not even a conscious decision sometimes. I spent the next 5 hours on that edge.
I came out of the water 4th on dead tree trunk legs. I didn't know it at the time, but I'd knocked 2:30 off my previous halfIM swim time (thank you, Coach Mel Nash, who took one look at my stroke and fixed a problem I've had for 27 years -- shameless plug here... all you weaker swimmers out there OWE it to yourself to do a lesson or camp with Mel. He is AMAZING.)
Anyway...
Up the (sandy) hill and on to the 17 mile run through two layers of transition (uphill, of course). I stumbled into my bike area and chatted briefly with one of the girls who beat me out of the water while I struggled to remember what I needed to do to actually be ready to ride a bike. I finally got organized and clopped my way out to the mount area, where I played the traditional game of "why the hell won't my clips go into the pedals?!" before heading off. Uphill. Of Course.
My one main comment about the transition set up was that they managed to forget to put water ANYWHERE in or near transition. This was not cool, and actually would jack me up at the start of the run later on. At the point of T1, it just irritated my already not sunny mood.
The first 30 miles of the bike were, surprisingly, FUN. Lots of turns, lots of rollers, lots of horses and shade and stuff to keep me occupied. I spent the first 5 miles eating fig newtons and drinking as much as I could. Oh, well, that was after I had to STOP a half mile into the ride to re-attach my front water bottle. Count two lost minutes there.
I came out of T1 in 4th. It took a while, but I eventually passed two girls, got passed by one, and passed her back. So at mile 50 I realized, um, I think I'm running 2nd right now. And I laughed, because my swim, which is supposed to be my strength was awful (not in terms of time, but in terms of place) and my bike, which I consider my weakness, had moved me up in place (and turned out to be a good time, for me). Go figure.
The bike was actually not too bad. I had bouts of feeling really fatigued, but probably spent more than 80% of it feeling ok. I tried to spin out the first 20 miles or so, and had a great split at 36, which is about where we turned, went uphill, found the sun, and also found the headwind. Those last 18 miles were rough. Hot, windy, hilly, and generally crappy pavement. My upper body feels like someone hit me with a board after the rugby scrum swim and the stress of controlling a bucking bronco bike at 18-25mph for 56 miles.
Somewhere in there I saw the only draft pack I saw all day -- of course 40-50 year old guys. I heard there was a lot more drafting going on behind me.... and I wonder if, deep down, those people know they cheated. Because WE know they cheated. You are NOT a rockstar if you cheat. You are a cheater. Anyone can run a great half after drafting on a bike. It doesn't fool some of us :-)
Anyway.
As I came in off the bike I saw Matthew and LiM and I could tell Matthew knew how I was doing (place wise) and was doing his best to boost me up to hold on... but I was really worried. I dismounted and almost fell on my face, and that weak feeling swept over me. I got passed by the 3rd place girl IN transition (she sprinted her bike in... I was doing a sort of duck waddle). I looked in vain for cold water and a place to pee (there were like two portalets in transition. Two.) but ended up out on the course, thirsty, overheated, and still needing to pee. And, of course, we are in bright sun and heading almost immediately up a (yes, you guessed it) hill. A steep one. People were already walking and we hadn't run a mile. I struggled up it, but thought I was going to pass out. At the top I found a bush, walked behind it, dropped trou and pee'd. And added 90 seconds to my time. And watched the 4th place girl pass me for 3rd. Sigh.
Back out on the course, and we had a little downhill followed by ANOTHER long uphill. Ok, I'm not laughing now. Finally, at like mile 1.5, we hit a water stop. Every cup of ice and water I could grab I drank/dumped on my head. I even drank the awful Ironman Perform they insist on serving. And the debate over finishing got as loud as it had been all day. I was chilled. Shaky. Lightheaded. It had been a valiant effort, right? Just walk. You know you want to...
So I started the mind games. It's not 13 miles, it's 3 laps. Get to the next water stop. Keep moving. At least make it around once and see Matthew and LiM, then walk. The girl who passed me for 3rd disappeared, and I tried not to be demoralized. You're going to get passed, a lot. You'll never hold on. You're going to walk.
SHUT UP and make it around once. Sheesh. It's f***ing hot. What IS that in my sock? (10 miles of scrunching around my big toe and foot later trying to reposition the rock or whatever was in my sock, the answer was a gigantic blister under my big toe, which hurts very much to WALK on so I'm not sure how I ran on it for so long...)
Another water stop. Another ten pounds of ice and water in my tri suit and shoes. Another brief burst of resolve that quickly melted away in the heat. Several times in the first lap I came close to just walking... on OR off the course. I kept thinking to just take whatever my body would give me, and to NOT go down without at least SOME sort of fight. Finally I resolved that, if half my age group was going to pass me, they were going to pass me while I was running.
At no point did I ever look at my pace watch. I was afraid I was running 9 minute miles and would get demoralized. Turns out I averaged just over 8, even with the pee break and hills. And, I really thought I'd gotten faster as I went, but I actually got a bit slower each lap. Go figure.
First lap in sight....a nice long run through chutes lined with cheering spectators. M and LiM yelling that I'm in 4th. A wave of angst because I knew I was going to let them down and get passed, repeatedly, over the next eight miles.
Back to the double hills. The carnage continued, with probably 50% of the runners pulling over and walking on the sidewalk. Two girls in my age group passed me, but I had no idea whether they were on their first or second lap. I decided to assume second, which put me in 6th. I passed one girl, which moved me back to 5th. Five people podium.
I saw my friend Colleen on the loop part of the lap that had us briefly running next to the oncoming runners. She looked great, which made me smile. All I could do was thumbs up at her as she ran by and yelled my name. Needless to say, her run was stellar and did not involve fantasies of medical tents and bags of fluid.
The ambulance sirens were audible. Water stations were struggling in some spots to keep cups filled. Drinks were getting noticeably warmer. Bleah. The percentage of walkers increased. I started to feel that lightness of body feeling you get before you pass out. A couple cups of (nasty) Ironman beverage helped with that, although then I had to worry about power puking on someone. I was in that place where the sound of people's shoes scraping and the clicking of the ice in my tri suit annoyed me terribly, lol.
Somehow I made it around to the chute to start my third loop. Running through the throngs was a great pick me up, and I started dreaming of the last lap and turning left instead of right. M and LiM still had me figured for fourth. I had me at fifth. Either way, I would now spend the last 4+ miles terrorized at being caught, and debating with myself over whether I could go any faster, or could walk for just a few minutes, or would even finish the course upright.
I hit the first of the double hills and broke, briefly. I walked probably 30 yards. At that point there were probably 2 people running for every 10 walking, and the course was packed as more and more people got off the bike. Somehow I made myself get back on the road and top off the hill running. I ran the second hill. And I saw the 4th place girl, the one who had motored by me when I was visiting the bush on the first lap. She walked the water stop at both ends. I walked the first end but ran the second. She ended up 4 minutes behind me, I think.
Miles 8 and 9 were really mentally brutal. I don't know what the temperature was, and I don't want to know, but I was living for the water stops and playing every mind game I could think of to get there upright. I knew if I could hit the 11 mile sign I could finish, but the last two miles were almost worse, with the desire to just walk, or even stop and sit in the shade, almost overwhelming. I idly wondered if I would fall over after the finish line. I contemplated what would happen if someone passed me at that point. I looked for my friend Freddy, to no avail.
FINALLY I made it to the last water stop, grabbed one final cup of the awful mango flavored (I think) gatorade wannabe, and looked up and saw the turn that would take us down the street lined with people and into the long chute. As I perked up, the guy running next to me said "3rd loop?" and we high fived and ran it in to the first part of the chute together. I got cut off by someone starting her first loop, so ended up a few yards back, but we had the fun of running through a completely empty finishers' chute and hearing both our names announced.
Across the line I started to pitch face first and was caught by several of the awesome volunteers. There seemed to be a lot of EMTs there, and two of them were steering me towards medical when I got my feet back underneath me and staggered out to find the family. I spent the better part of the next twenty minutes alternating weaving unsteadily upright or bent over with my hands on my knees, struggling to breath. Team Davenport came over to show us their autographed Lance gear (if you ever want to learn how to get close to someone famous, talk to them!). I dumped probably 5 bottles of water on my head, and thought about using the inhaler (but decided I was too tired to get it out of the bag on my race belt... which is why I never used it on the course, even though the rattle in my chest was a little freaky at times...)
LiM basically carried me over to the food tent (I must have looked pathetic, because the entrance guards waved her right in with me) and we got some cookies, water, watermelon, and a burger for poor M. I have to say, the food tent was LAME, although the volunteers were again wonderful.
M and L were communicating with C to figure out where I had finished and we were trying to figure out where Freddy was on the course, as I did not want him to finish without someone there to cheer. Finally M had enough of my staggering and declared we needed to go back to the house so I could shower and sit down for a while before the awards, and we reluctantly left,
LiM took the "my racer is dead and can't retrieve her stuff" claim check and walked into transition with me to get my stuff. The volunteers actually double checked the bikes as they left. They took their jobs VERY seriously, but were very nice about it.
The awards were a bit of a disappointment, as Lance didn't show up and they had (unknown to us) allowed people to pick theirs up and leave between 2 and 4. I got mine and we left. In years past they had done roll down for Worlds as the awards were being handed out, but I knew I wasn't going to take the slot even if it came to me, so we left.
When I started training for this event, I had hoped to place 2nd or 3rd. Having finished roughly one pee break and one stop on the bike out of 3rd, even with a run I do not consider my best (although it was certainly the best I had yesterday), I do feel a sense of having missed a chance to do better. BUT... considering for the past month I had serious doubts whether my body (and my brain) would even let me finish the race, I also feel a tremendous sense of accomplishment. That race required more mental strength than anything I've ever done, and I think is a testament to how your mind really does dictate your body in many ways, The physical strength gains I made working with Colin counterbalanced the shortcomings in my actual tri training, and somehow my brain tapped into those during the race.
My final tally of war wounds includes a gash on my ankle, a cut on my hand, some nasty sunburn on my shoulders (ooops, missed a few spots with the sunscreen), a hilarious tri short tan line, the nastiest blister I've ever had on my foot (right between my big toe and it's neighbor), and what may be an eye infection in my right eye (the one that got water in it when my goggles got drop kicked off my face... perhaps my contact, which magically stayed somewhat in place, trapped some bacteria in there... regardless, my right eye is entertainingly blurry and itchy), and some crazy soreness in my shoulders and right knee (the latter from favoring the right foot, home of the monster blister).
What I am not: sore (except the shoulders/back). My legs feel great. My quads are tired but not sore. Colin is a mad genius and worth every penny. I asked him how it feels to have finished 4th in a half IM, because I 100% believe it was training with him that got me through. Lord knows the one 28 mile ride I did on my bike outside wasn't it. :-)
So, that's my very long story of a very long day. Everyone tells me they are not surprised, but... I am. I know how awful it's been to live in my body lately. And I am, frankly, very very proud of that race yesterday. It's just icing on the cake that I actually got an award (my first in an IM branded race!) because battling through what I felt physically and mentally was the amazing triumph, to me.
...that's my why, what's yours?
21 May 2012
16 March 2012
Of rocks, skips, buses and kids...
I have taken to using an analogy to describe my growing suspicion about the truth of my evolving role as a parent. I may have mentioned it in earlier blogs, but I'm about to beat it to death in this one. :-)
You know that awful Olympic sport, Curling...? The one that seems to be the TV stations' favorite filler during the olympics when no other actual SPORT is on at the moment? Curling, to the uneducated me, combines all the funnest elements of shuffleboard and sweeping your house. Basically, one person sends the granite stone, aka "the rock" (a big disky kind of object) zooming down the ice path while his or her compatriots sweep the ice madly in front of the rock, trying to guide it to a given spot down the road. Sometimes the rock hits other rocks and alters its course, which then seems to cause frantic sweeping and yelling of commands from the rock launcher, aka "skip".
So.
I've decided my current role as a parent is to launch the rock, aka teenager, down the path of life, and swoop around it, sweeping madly to try and help keep it, er, her, relatively on course. Sometimes the rock, er, teenager, slams into other rocks and changes course, which elicits much consternation from the skip, er, mother and further frantic sweeping to adjust course.
BUT. Ultimately that rock is heading down the course the skip shoved it on, and it's pretty much all over except the frantic sweeping and a bit of yelling here and there.
My two rocks, er, daughters, took off down that course almost without warning. And, frankly, that launch seemed to coincide with the biofather's inexplicable decision to check out of our world for 7 months starting, essentially, January 2011. Once they started living here full time, their confidence and personalities just seemed to soar... and off they went, leaving their skip (yes, me) searching frantically for her broom (yes, I know what I just said).
I've told my attorney, the counselor trying desperately to focus the biofather on the real issues and secure some sort of "reunification", the psychologist assessing my/our parenting skills, and pretty much anyone else involved in the situation that the bus has left... and there is plenty of room on it for positive contributors, BUT, it's well on it's way, with or without the rest of us. Smart adults will actually jump ON the bus rather than try to stand in front of the bus and expect it to stop and reset to when it was just a little van.
The forward momentum has had fits and starts, of course. The PCS, the issues on the old swim team, occasional biofather related disruptions that actually affected the girls (missed school or practices for "counseling" or other command performances, the early disruption when he first began appearing at events again, a few bombed tests here and there caused by anger/stress related to interactions with him...)... all have periodically caused the bus to backfire. (Wait, I'm mixing metaphors now... caused the rock to scrape? Caused the rock to briefly alter course? Maybe I need to put the rock on the bus or something...)
Anyway, I'd love nothing more than to have the biofather sweeping along with us, on the bus. Unfortunately, he has chosen to run alongside the rock, yelling incoherently and accusing the skip of turning the rock against him.
As BiM's decisions related to academics and athletics become more important (i.e. should she take a full slate of upper level classes... to wit... AP European History, Honors Chem, Honors Alg II, Honors Spanish and Honors Eng, or should she heed the Honors English teacher's doom and gloom warning that "if *I* had a daughter *I* would not let her take both Honors Eng and AP Euro" and take her 600 SAT verbal score as a 14 year old and go to AP English as an 11th grader, where presumably the teacher will not be so...negative...?) the conversations become far less one sided and far more interactive, and it becomes increasingly obvious that BiM has a good handle on her own mind and how it works. (For example, She wants to prove the teacher wrong, but realizes she does not care enough to warrant the hassle or the risk of taking a subjective course lorded over by a teacher who didn't want her in her class. Could she do it? Sure. Should she? Nah. She doesn't want to go Ivy (which is fine with us) and none of us at this house have our personal images and self-esteem wrapped up in the issue of what school either child attends for college, so... )
Now, before I get fileted for not caring enough about academics, let me be clear... yes, academics are important. But they are not, alone, what gives a person soul, or depth, or happiness. It doesn't matter how much STUFF a person knows if they know nothing about themselves or the world around them. In my opinion... And, since this is my blog and my children.... lol.
I think as they race down the ice, er, path of teenagerhood towards adult humanness, there have been two HUGE turning points in their personalities and development. The first is the aforementioned biofatherus disappearus. The second is the Team DiPaolo unanimous decision to change swim teams. The girls had asked on numerous occasions in the year(s) prior if they could go to Bolles or somewhere else for club swimming. At times BiM, especially, had mentioned not wanting to swim anymore if it was for the old team. While their times continued to trend in a positive direction, their experiences and attitudes and overall happiness were increasingly trending negatively.
The run up to the state series last fall was... difficult. The state series itself was...interesting. The culture of "play time" and "lip service" was wearing on us. I read somewhere that we teach our children not to trust their instincts... and that teaching them that actually leads to lots of problems down the road that could be avoided. The philosophy of preserving the girls' instincts governed my parenting long before I read it, and the girls' bullsh*t detectors remain fully operational. We also operate under the belief that, at some point, if you've given a situation or a person enough opportunity to change or improve, and it has not, then it is time to make a choice: either give up and accept it the way it is, or move on. The girls, amazingly, are better at it than I am (which is why *I* am the only one who still feels bad about the situation with the biofather... everyone else has long moved on and left me in the confusing place of being the target who feels bad that the attacker has screwed everything up and is missing out on everything).
Anyway, the girls were ready to move on from the team before I was ready to accept the inevitable. They are fearless... it didn't occur to them people would look askance, and, in their minds, if people DO look askance, then those people become irrelevant. The girls know what they want and, apparently, you are either a supportive part of them achieving it or you are invisible. People pay shrinks thousands of dollars to try and achieve that internal equilibrium, lol.
So, move they did, after several long discussions of possible ramifications and reactions and future scenarios. BiM, especially, never felt accepted or liked by the older swimmers on the other team. LiM loved her friends, but hated the pervasive "play time" atmosphere and didn't like how older kids treated BiM. Neither child appreciated being mocked for wanting to challenge themselves. As a parent, I never felt comfortable leaving the girls in the hands of the coaching staff, as their lack of oversight, awareness in general, and professionalism scared the hell out of me.
It took all of a single practice at North Florida for the smiles to start coming back on the girls' faces.
Fast forward three months and the difference is profound. Confidence, attitude, comfort level, energy and enthusiasm for the team and the sport.... all off the charts. Actually having a coaching staff they trust and respect is a Godsend. While it is wonderful that their times have dropped, the more important thing to us is that they are now in a program with a plan and with structure, where they are accepted in all their quirkiness (Um, BiM...) and sensitivity (that would be LiM) and where I feel 100% comfortable dropping them at practice and going for a run, or sitting at the pool reading with no clue what lane they are in or what they are doing.
(I feel like I should insert a curling or bus reference here, lol, to keep the theme going....)
As the girls' rocks go hurtling down the ice and we go sweeping madly next to them, occasionally having to leap over them as they careen off a stray rock and change direction slightly, I really do feel like our greatest contribution as parents from here on out is to stay out of their way. I'm here for guidance, and consultation, and perspective, and to do laundry and pack lunches and dispense hugs as needed, and occasionally remind the hurtling rocks of the boundaries of their path as long as *I* am still sweeping it....
So there you have it. Parenthood boils down to giving your child a good shove on the ice and staying on, rather than under, the bus.
...that's my why, what's yours?
You know that awful Olympic sport, Curling...? The one that seems to be the TV stations' favorite filler during the olympics when no other actual SPORT is on at the moment? Curling, to the uneducated me, combines all the funnest elements of shuffleboard and sweeping your house. Basically, one person sends the granite stone, aka "the rock" (a big disky kind of object) zooming down the ice path while his or her compatriots sweep the ice madly in front of the rock, trying to guide it to a given spot down the road. Sometimes the rock hits other rocks and alters its course, which then seems to cause frantic sweeping and yelling of commands from the rock launcher, aka "skip".
So.
I've decided my current role as a parent is to launch the rock, aka teenager, down the path of life, and swoop around it, sweeping madly to try and help keep it, er, her, relatively on course. Sometimes the rock, er, teenager, slams into other rocks and changes course, which elicits much consternation from the skip, er, mother and further frantic sweeping to adjust course.
BUT. Ultimately that rock is heading down the course the skip shoved it on, and it's pretty much all over except the frantic sweeping and a bit of yelling here and there.
My two rocks, er, daughters, took off down that course almost without warning. And, frankly, that launch seemed to coincide with the biofather's inexplicable decision to check out of our world for 7 months starting, essentially, January 2011. Once they started living here full time, their confidence and personalities just seemed to soar... and off they went, leaving their skip (yes, me) searching frantically for her broom (yes, I know what I just said).
I've told my attorney, the counselor trying desperately to focus the biofather on the real issues and secure some sort of "reunification", the psychologist assessing my/our parenting skills, and pretty much anyone else involved in the situation that the bus has left... and there is plenty of room on it for positive contributors, BUT, it's well on it's way, with or without the rest of us. Smart adults will actually jump ON the bus rather than try to stand in front of the bus and expect it to stop and reset to when it was just a little van.
The forward momentum has had fits and starts, of course. The PCS, the issues on the old swim team, occasional biofather related disruptions that actually affected the girls (missed school or practices for "counseling" or other command performances, the early disruption when he first began appearing at events again, a few bombed tests here and there caused by anger/stress related to interactions with him...)... all have periodically caused the bus to backfire. (Wait, I'm mixing metaphors now... caused the rock to scrape? Caused the rock to briefly alter course? Maybe I need to put the rock on the bus or something...)
Anyway, I'd love nothing more than to have the biofather sweeping along with us, on the bus. Unfortunately, he has chosen to run alongside the rock, yelling incoherently and accusing the skip of turning the rock against him.
As BiM's decisions related to academics and athletics become more important (i.e. should she take a full slate of upper level classes... to wit... AP European History, Honors Chem, Honors Alg II, Honors Spanish and Honors Eng, or should she heed the Honors English teacher's doom and gloom warning that "if *I* had a daughter *I* would not let her take both Honors Eng and AP Euro" and take her 600 SAT verbal score as a 14 year old and go to AP English as an 11th grader, where presumably the teacher will not be so...negative...?) the conversations become far less one sided and far more interactive, and it becomes increasingly obvious that BiM has a good handle on her own mind and how it works. (For example, She wants to prove the teacher wrong, but realizes she does not care enough to warrant the hassle or the risk of taking a subjective course lorded over by a teacher who didn't want her in her class. Could she do it? Sure. Should she? Nah. She doesn't want to go Ivy (which is fine with us) and none of us at this house have our personal images and self-esteem wrapped up in the issue of what school either child attends for college, so... )
Now, before I get fileted for not caring enough about academics, let me be clear... yes, academics are important. But they are not, alone, what gives a person soul, or depth, or happiness. It doesn't matter how much STUFF a person knows if they know nothing about themselves or the world around them. In my opinion... And, since this is my blog and my children.... lol.
I think as they race down the ice, er, path of teenagerhood towards adult humanness, there have been two HUGE turning points in their personalities and development. The first is the aforementioned biofatherus disappearus. The second is the Team DiPaolo unanimous decision to change swim teams. The girls had asked on numerous occasions in the year(s) prior if they could go to Bolles or somewhere else for club swimming. At times BiM, especially, had mentioned not wanting to swim anymore if it was for the old team. While their times continued to trend in a positive direction, their experiences and attitudes and overall happiness were increasingly trending negatively.
The run up to the state series last fall was... difficult. The state series itself was...interesting. The culture of "play time" and "lip service" was wearing on us. I read somewhere that we teach our children not to trust their instincts... and that teaching them that actually leads to lots of problems down the road that could be avoided. The philosophy of preserving the girls' instincts governed my parenting long before I read it, and the girls' bullsh*t detectors remain fully operational. We also operate under the belief that, at some point, if you've given a situation or a person enough opportunity to change or improve, and it has not, then it is time to make a choice: either give up and accept it the way it is, or move on. The girls, amazingly, are better at it than I am (which is why *I* am the only one who still feels bad about the situation with the biofather... everyone else has long moved on and left me in the confusing place of being the target who feels bad that the attacker has screwed everything up and is missing out on everything).
Anyway, the girls were ready to move on from the team before I was ready to accept the inevitable. They are fearless... it didn't occur to them people would look askance, and, in their minds, if people DO look askance, then those people become irrelevant. The girls know what they want and, apparently, you are either a supportive part of them achieving it or you are invisible. People pay shrinks thousands of dollars to try and achieve that internal equilibrium, lol.
So, move they did, after several long discussions of possible ramifications and reactions and future scenarios. BiM, especially, never felt accepted or liked by the older swimmers on the other team. LiM loved her friends, but hated the pervasive "play time" atmosphere and didn't like how older kids treated BiM. Neither child appreciated being mocked for wanting to challenge themselves. As a parent, I never felt comfortable leaving the girls in the hands of the coaching staff, as their lack of oversight, awareness in general, and professionalism scared the hell out of me.
It took all of a single practice at North Florida for the smiles to start coming back on the girls' faces.
Fast forward three months and the difference is profound. Confidence, attitude, comfort level, energy and enthusiasm for the team and the sport.... all off the charts. Actually having a coaching staff they trust and respect is a Godsend. While it is wonderful that their times have dropped, the more important thing to us is that they are now in a program with a plan and with structure, where they are accepted in all their quirkiness (Um, BiM...) and sensitivity (that would be LiM) and where I feel 100% comfortable dropping them at practice and going for a run, or sitting at the pool reading with no clue what lane they are in or what they are doing.
(I feel like I should insert a curling or bus reference here, lol, to keep the theme going....)
As the girls' rocks go hurtling down the ice and we go sweeping madly next to them, occasionally having to leap over them as they careen off a stray rock and change direction slightly, I really do feel like our greatest contribution as parents from here on out is to stay out of their way. I'm here for guidance, and consultation, and perspective, and to do laundry and pack lunches and dispense hugs as needed, and occasionally remind the hurtling rocks of the boundaries of their path as long as *I* am still sweeping it....
So there you have it. Parenthood boils down to giving your child a good shove on the ice and staying on, rather than under, the bus.
...that's my why, what's yours?
15 March 2012
Welcome to the twilight zone
Wow, four months... a new unrecord for not writing. I've wanted to write, and Lord knows I've had plenty to write about, but it just hasn't come out. I could write volumes about the ongoing experience of being the target of a vindictive, wealthy, too-much-time-on-his-hands, arrogant, socially inept, James-Taggert-in-polo-shirts stalker, but I'll save that for another day. I could write smaller volumes about the inverse relationship between the girls' success in academics and athletics and my training volume. I could write at length about our decision to leave one swim club and join another, but I think I'll just let some of that intertwine with whatever it is I'm here to write about today.
What am I writing about today....hm... usually things just flow... (Crickets chirping)
Eight days ago I had just finished icing my knees after a workout and was all of 2 minutes into a much needed shower when my cell phone blew up. My first hint was when a friend who I haven't spoken to via voice in a year called three times, back to back to back. Then another swim parent called. Then the texts started pouring in, the first one of which read "shooting at Episcopal, two dead", which caused me to dive, dripping wet, to the tv remote to turn on local news. I think I was on the phone briefly with the swim parent friend (Jana? Was that you?) before trying to get a hold of Matthew, who was in a meeting. The first words the TV talking face said was "no students involved" which helped bring the heart rate down below 400, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't shaking like a leaf. At some point BiM texted from a friends' phone to say they were huddled against the wall with the door locked and the blinds drawn and that they'd heard a scream and some of the kids heard shots. She asked if I knew what had happened. The second text I had gotten came from someone who had talked to a JSO buddy, and the word was already there that Dale had been killed.
The cell continued to blow up (and my stupid android chokes on itself after a while, so I could see stuff coming in but not really respond). My lovely exhusband even texted about it, so I called him as I drove to ESJ to let him know I'd heard from BiM (gee, bet THAT won't make it into the next whiny attorney letter or manifesto he sends out, huh...). The drive up was a blur, but I did notice a bunch of other cars with golden "E"s on them racing along as well. Matthew met me at the gas station across from school, and we joined ranks with the hundreds of other cars waiting in line to get onto campus and down to the main pick up.
The news crews and police units were everywhere. We sat in line for probably 20+ minutes before I got enough "where are you" and other kinds of texts that I jumped out and walked down to where the kids were waiting while Matthew stayed with the truck. The scene was controlled chaos. Teachers and staff had formed a kind of holding pen for the kids, who were lined up 4 and 5 deep along the sidewalk. Mr. Day, BiM's life management teacher and one of LiM's track coaches, was calling out names of kids' whose parents were there. Other teachers were directing traffic and escorting kids to cars. I saw a lot of tears, a lot of vacant looks, and a few kids handling the stress by acting like... kids.
I wandered through the herd until I found the girls, and LiM started to tell me that her first thought when the school went into lockdown was that something had happened to her sister. The tears came full force when she told me about some "stupid idiot boy" who was cheering because of the extra days off of school. As we walked back out of the mass towards the truck the girls got big hugs from Mr. Day, we jumped in the truck as it came up and drove out through the chaos. My lasting memory of those moments will be the looks on the faces of the teachers and staff we know who were directing traffic etc. It was some awful mixture of horror, shock, and a concerted effort to hold it together for the sake of the kids.
I'm sure everyone handles situations like that differently, as a family and as individuals. We watched some news for a while, and talked about what we knew. The girls told their stories (where they were, what they heard and were told, how everyone handled it and reacted... what they thought and felt etc). Interestingly enough, BiM had heard that Schumerth had been fired and escorted off campus that morning, and as they were huddled in lockdown she turned to her friend and said "I bet it was Mr. Schumerth going nuts"....
And we let the girls drive the conversation, with questions, comments, observations etc.
They decided they wanted to go to swim practice that night, as we were two days away from leaving for FLAGS (Florida Age Group Swimming Champs) and they wanted to be with their friends.
No one slept very well Tuesday night. Wednesday we were off of school, but the teachers were going to be in their classrooms from 10-11 and counselors were going to be at school. BiM didn't think she wanted to go, but I told her I thought it was very important to get back on campus ASAP and not have a 12 day hiatus with your last memories of the school being the aftermath of the shooting. They coordinated with a friend or two and decided going was a good idea.
The interesting part of that morning was listening to them work their way through going, and what they wanted to do to show their feelings. They discussed what was appropriate to wear, with Lexi choosing chapel dress and a black sweater and Christi picking black pants and a black sweater. Their dress was very significant to them. They asked to pick up flowers or something to leave at the growing shrine, so we did. We pulled onto campus around 9:45. No one was at the shrine, although three news trucks were parked there, waiting.
As soon as the girls got out to walk over with the flowers, the news vultures swarmed. Two crews were literally RUNNING from their trucks. Before I knew it, the girls were surrounded by cameras and reporters. One, a younger man, the girls liked and said seemed sincere. They did not care for the other two. I was about to rescue them when they finally broke away and came to the truck (cameras videotaping the entire thing).
So, both girls ended up on local news stations, as did a number of their friends. Some of the vultures seemed interested in reporting the NEWS; some seemed more intent on sensationalizing or trying to cast blame on the school for not seeing this coming or somehow preventing it.
We spent the next two hours walking around campus, hugging and talking to teachers. I think it was as much for the teachers' sake as the kids' that I wanted us to go. I think the teachers did a tremendous job during the lock down and immediate aftermath, but that everyone was pretty much on equal, unknown, awful footing after that... and if I were a teacher I would not have wanted to head home for ten days, OR be alone with my thoughts in my classroom.
BiM reached her limit after a couple of hours, followed quickly by LiM, but both commented on how glad they were to have gone.
The ensuing days, while interrupted by a swim meet (thank goodness) and 4 days out of town, plus a coinciding visit from the grandparents, have brought various conversations and comments with/from the girls on the topic. As we've spent some time back on campus I think we've started losing some of the jumpiness we all felt in the first days. At first the girls were upset that someone removed the large makeshift shrine at the entrance; now it does seem to be helping to get back to the new normal.
Some news vultures have tried to paint a picture of ESJ as an unsafe place, lacking in security, which really pisses us off. Unless we surround that school with a 10' high barbed wire fence and have armed guards, I fail to see how such an unforeseeable, random event could be prevented. This incessant need to blame -- SOMEONE -- for every random or awful act or event is insanity. To sit with the vantage of hindsight and declare that someone should have read the tea leaves and predicted an event is arrogance personified, imo. Sometimes there is indeed negligence, but not always. ALWAYS there is something someone somewhere would have done differently had s/he known the event would ultimately occur. But it's easy to look at the backstory from the vantage of knowing the ending.
We in Casa DiPaolo prefer to think that Shane Schumerth was slipping into the morass of mental illness in the way that so many do.... a long slow decline, filled with oddness and, in retrospect, warning signs that could just as easily have remained "oddness" and never culminated in insanity or criminal activity. (How many people do we really know who are "off" or "odd" or "socially awkward" yet have never garnered headlines for some random act of insanity? If we sounded the warning bells for every quirky, difficult, unreasonable, or oddly behaving person on this planet there would not be many left roaming freely.) We prefer not to think of this as an act of evil, but rather as an act of a man who mentally and emotionally snapped.... yet snapped in a way that did NOT include killing children. Go figure.
In moments of idleness I wonder... what would have happened if Dale had not been in her office? Would he have backtracked one door to the science class? Continued on 50 feet or so to the Spanish classrooms? Walked the campus trying to find her? Or killed himself in her office as a statement for her to find? Somehow, I have to think that Dale would have chosen the way it played out if the only other options involved harm to students and other staff members. Which of course brings us to one of the first questions the girls asked: do you think she died thinking he was going to shoot more people, or did she live long enough to see him shoot himself...?
Let's go with the latter.
...that's my why, what's yours?
What am I writing about today....hm... usually things just flow... (Crickets chirping)
Eight days ago I had just finished icing my knees after a workout and was all of 2 minutes into a much needed shower when my cell phone blew up. My first hint was when a friend who I haven't spoken to via voice in a year called three times, back to back to back. Then another swim parent called. Then the texts started pouring in, the first one of which read "shooting at Episcopal, two dead", which caused me to dive, dripping wet, to the tv remote to turn on local news. I think I was on the phone briefly with the swim parent friend (Jana? Was that you?) before trying to get a hold of Matthew, who was in a meeting. The first words the TV talking face said was "no students involved" which helped bring the heart rate down below 400, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't shaking like a leaf. At some point BiM texted from a friends' phone to say they were huddled against the wall with the door locked and the blinds drawn and that they'd heard a scream and some of the kids heard shots. She asked if I knew what had happened. The second text I had gotten came from someone who had talked to a JSO buddy, and the word was already there that Dale had been killed.
The cell continued to blow up (and my stupid android chokes on itself after a while, so I could see stuff coming in but not really respond). My lovely exhusband even texted about it, so I called him as I drove to ESJ to let him know I'd heard from BiM (gee, bet THAT won't make it into the next whiny attorney letter or manifesto he sends out, huh...). The drive up was a blur, but I did notice a bunch of other cars with golden "E"s on them racing along as well. Matthew met me at the gas station across from school, and we joined ranks with the hundreds of other cars waiting in line to get onto campus and down to the main pick up.
The news crews and police units were everywhere. We sat in line for probably 20+ minutes before I got enough "where are you" and other kinds of texts that I jumped out and walked down to where the kids were waiting while Matthew stayed with the truck. The scene was controlled chaos. Teachers and staff had formed a kind of holding pen for the kids, who were lined up 4 and 5 deep along the sidewalk. Mr. Day, BiM's life management teacher and one of LiM's track coaches, was calling out names of kids' whose parents were there. Other teachers were directing traffic and escorting kids to cars. I saw a lot of tears, a lot of vacant looks, and a few kids handling the stress by acting like... kids.
I wandered through the herd until I found the girls, and LiM started to tell me that her first thought when the school went into lockdown was that something had happened to her sister. The tears came full force when she told me about some "stupid idiot boy" who was cheering because of the extra days off of school. As we walked back out of the mass towards the truck the girls got big hugs from Mr. Day, we jumped in the truck as it came up and drove out through the chaos. My lasting memory of those moments will be the looks on the faces of the teachers and staff we know who were directing traffic etc. It was some awful mixture of horror, shock, and a concerted effort to hold it together for the sake of the kids.
I'm sure everyone handles situations like that differently, as a family and as individuals. We watched some news for a while, and talked about what we knew. The girls told their stories (where they were, what they heard and were told, how everyone handled it and reacted... what they thought and felt etc). Interestingly enough, BiM had heard that Schumerth had been fired and escorted off campus that morning, and as they were huddled in lockdown she turned to her friend and said "I bet it was Mr. Schumerth going nuts"....
And we let the girls drive the conversation, with questions, comments, observations etc.
They decided they wanted to go to swim practice that night, as we were two days away from leaving for FLAGS (Florida Age Group Swimming Champs) and they wanted to be with their friends.
No one slept very well Tuesday night. Wednesday we were off of school, but the teachers were going to be in their classrooms from 10-11 and counselors were going to be at school. BiM didn't think she wanted to go, but I told her I thought it was very important to get back on campus ASAP and not have a 12 day hiatus with your last memories of the school being the aftermath of the shooting. They coordinated with a friend or two and decided going was a good idea.
The interesting part of that morning was listening to them work their way through going, and what they wanted to do to show their feelings. They discussed what was appropriate to wear, with Lexi choosing chapel dress and a black sweater and Christi picking black pants and a black sweater. Their dress was very significant to them. They asked to pick up flowers or something to leave at the growing shrine, so we did. We pulled onto campus around 9:45. No one was at the shrine, although three news trucks were parked there, waiting.
As soon as the girls got out to walk over with the flowers, the news vultures swarmed. Two crews were literally RUNNING from their trucks. Before I knew it, the girls were surrounded by cameras and reporters. One, a younger man, the girls liked and said seemed sincere. They did not care for the other two. I was about to rescue them when they finally broke away and came to the truck (cameras videotaping the entire thing).
So, both girls ended up on local news stations, as did a number of their friends. Some of the vultures seemed interested in reporting the NEWS; some seemed more intent on sensationalizing or trying to cast blame on the school for not seeing this coming or somehow preventing it.
We spent the next two hours walking around campus, hugging and talking to teachers. I think it was as much for the teachers' sake as the kids' that I wanted us to go. I think the teachers did a tremendous job during the lock down and immediate aftermath, but that everyone was pretty much on equal, unknown, awful footing after that... and if I were a teacher I would not have wanted to head home for ten days, OR be alone with my thoughts in my classroom.
BiM reached her limit after a couple of hours, followed quickly by LiM, but both commented on how glad they were to have gone.
The ensuing days, while interrupted by a swim meet (thank goodness) and 4 days out of town, plus a coinciding visit from the grandparents, have brought various conversations and comments with/from the girls on the topic. As we've spent some time back on campus I think we've started losing some of the jumpiness we all felt in the first days. At first the girls were upset that someone removed the large makeshift shrine at the entrance; now it does seem to be helping to get back to the new normal.
Some news vultures have tried to paint a picture of ESJ as an unsafe place, lacking in security, which really pisses us off. Unless we surround that school with a 10' high barbed wire fence and have armed guards, I fail to see how such an unforeseeable, random event could be prevented. This incessant need to blame -- SOMEONE -- for every random or awful act or event is insanity. To sit with the vantage of hindsight and declare that someone should have read the tea leaves and predicted an event is arrogance personified, imo. Sometimes there is indeed negligence, but not always. ALWAYS there is something someone somewhere would have done differently had s/he known the event would ultimately occur. But it's easy to look at the backstory from the vantage of knowing the ending.
We in Casa DiPaolo prefer to think that Shane Schumerth was slipping into the morass of mental illness in the way that so many do.... a long slow decline, filled with oddness and, in retrospect, warning signs that could just as easily have remained "oddness" and never culminated in insanity or criminal activity. (How many people do we really know who are "off" or "odd" or "socially awkward" yet have never garnered headlines for some random act of insanity? If we sounded the warning bells for every quirky, difficult, unreasonable, or oddly behaving person on this planet there would not be many left roaming freely.) We prefer not to think of this as an act of evil, but rather as an act of a man who mentally and emotionally snapped.... yet snapped in a way that did NOT include killing children. Go figure.
In moments of idleness I wonder... what would have happened if Dale had not been in her office? Would he have backtracked one door to the science class? Continued on 50 feet or so to the Spanish classrooms? Walked the campus trying to find her? Or killed himself in her office as a statement for her to find? Somehow, I have to think that Dale would have chosen the way it played out if the only other options involved harm to students and other staff members. Which of course brings us to one of the first questions the girls asked: do you think she died thinking he was going to shoot more people, or did she live long enough to see him shoot himself...?
Let's go with the latter.
...that's my why, what's yours?
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