Bay Area Trip, Spring 2009

When a good picture is taken of yourself, do you wonder if they'll ever be another good picture taken of you again? This picture is like that for me. It may very well be the last good one. Seriously, I dunno if all the elements will converge again like this. It was taken Friday. I had driven into San Francisco a couple hours before and Betsy and I were riding our bikes along the Embarcadero looking for a decent sports bar to watch college hoops. Betsy took the picture from her bike as we rolled along. The weather was perfect; the sky, the water, the Bay Bridge, my favorite color jacket; I'm glowing happy . . .

We had just come from the Rainbow Coop which is always my first stop when I go up there. Betsy took the BART over from the East Bay with her bike and met me there. We putzed around the aisles of the store. I bought vegan apple pie and a new cookbook called Vegan Soul Kitchen by Bryant Terry. Terry is originally from TN, but now lives in Oakland. He calls himself an eco chef and a food justice activist, which wildly inspires me. He also has written a recipe for Jamaican Patties with Sweet Coconut-Ginger Creamed Corn, so forget it, I love him. So, Betsy and I wove through Rainbow laughing loudly, muted only when we peeped out some new thing on the shelves -- oh and once we fell silent when an anorexic woman passed us sporting a full chin beard. Tattoos covered her bone-arms. I think it was a woman. But definitely anorexic. With a chin beard for sure. "I love this town," I said. Our cashier was a tall man with pig tails, wearing an ornate black-beaded choker and a green-khaki skirt. I hardly noticed until I was paying. Then I was set on picking up something in his voice, in his mannerisms to give me more of his personality. I listened to him talk as I slid my ATM card through. He gave me nothing but warm welcomes and casual conversation. He was just a regular dude dressed not so regular.

Oh look, here we are again on the Embarcadero.I feel like a bike model! Get outta here. I love myself. After Rainbow, we went to eat at Cafe Gratitude. The day was sparkling through windows so we sat in the bay seat to watch everyone coming in. A woman in a flowing skirt and purple velvet hat sat at the bar of the restaurant next to a hand-written sign that read "Free Tarot Readings." No one had joined her and it didn't really cross our minds either. The waiter came to take our order. At Gratitude, all the food and drink are listed as affirmations. The shake I ordered was named the I Am Grace, and the waiter will say, "Yes, you are grace," and on. The waiter rattled off the specials: "Cream" of mushroom soup and the entree was an enchilada stuffed with nuts, carrots and cranberries. Betsy closed her menu and said, "Oh yea, that's for me." I said, "Yup, I Am the Specials," which the waiter didn't get so we awkwardly had to tell him to hook us up with the soup and the enchiladas, dang. He said, "Here's the question of the day: What inspires you about Nature?" I blushed at such a personal question thrown at us so unexpectedly. Defensively, I only thought of smart-ass things, but I kept my mouth shut. Betsy said, "Blues and greens," which was a good answer. I declined partly because Blues & Greens shouldn't be topped, but mainly I thought, "I am Nature. I am Nature." The menu had gone to my head.

Later that night, we went over to Hotel Utah to catch Bhi Bhiman, who is a fantastic singer from Oakland. I consider him a lyrical activist too, but I'm surprised nothing of the sort is mentioned on his website. His lyrics are heavy on comedy, but poignant too. His voice though, that's the thing; his voice is divine and quirky and special though he looks like any dude on the street who wouldn't catch your eye. I stared at him most of show, set on getting something from his mannerisms to get more of his personality, but I only felt it when I closed my eyes and listened.

What I learned about myself the next morning as we climbed Mt. Diablo on our bikes is that I have a lot to learn still about cycling. We all know this about ourselves, about many things, don't we? But we kind of really don't know this about ourselves, do we - that we usually don't know much. The good news is that I was fit enough to make it up the hill in ok form and I was nowhere near discouraged. But I was just unfit enough to realize I have only chipped the tip of this sport. I feel inspired to forge on. I have a feeling I have no idea what I'm getting myself into, but on we go!

Here we are 54 minutes up the hill at the Ranger Station, Betsy, me and Betsy's husband Jim. The thing about learning something about yourself in one day is that you'll probably forget all of that the next day. On Sunday morning, Betsy and I went on a 17 mile ride from Layfayette to Oakland to the top of Skyline and back. The views were spectacular. Most of the ride was on a two-lane road sandwiched by messy and fragrant pines and clear creeks.But the last 12 minutes to Skyline was hill. A hill steeper than Mt. Diablo for sure, and while I felt fast and good and confident and inspired after Saturday's ride and for a lot of Sunday's ride, that last bit of hill made me think I had even more work to do than yesterday's epiphany. Gasping the last 200 yards to the summit, determined not to stop, I didn't appreciate that Sunday's realization had to trump Saturday's. Betsy waited for me at the top, said I did just fine and then she flew back down the hill, clocking in at over 30mph while I cautiously made may way down squeezing the brakes so hard I was afraid to set the tires on fire. But once down the gnarliest part of the hill, I locked into a type of fast coast that made me feel deeply for my bike. I blazed through pine-tree shadows, skimming needles and dirt. I fast-nodded my good mornings to the cyclists making their way up. The sun flickered like an old film reel and the smell of buttery tree sap laced the rushing gust I cut through easily. My fragility on a seventeen-pound wisp of a vehicle disappeared, and Whitey and I were gonna be all right.

Nearing the end of the ride, we cruised leisurely on the path towards Betsy's house. Some parts of the path were too beautiful not to dismount and admire and photograph. We balanced the camera on a post and hit the timer. .” I wanted to stuff the huge feelings I had during the ride into a hefty bag and lug it over to Café Gratitude. I would dump it on the table and the floor – some would spill into the kitchen -- and I’d shake out the last bits of it by gripping the tips of the bag. I’d tell the waiter, “Is this what you mean? Is this the easy answer you were looking for? Here it is."

Thanks Betsy for such a great weekend.

Trinity

Two nights ago, the girls and I watched The Secret Life of Bees. We cried our eyes out, even Mina, which I think is a developmental milestone. I think it's the first time she's cried during a movie. It's a mark of maturity. While the credits of the film rolled, an Alicia Keys song came on and Mina stood in front of the TV and started to dance. Inspired, I got up too and we danced. And after some coaxing Maya was up. After some freeform flowing about, we reverted to one of our favorite pastimes, the Can You Do This Dance game, which I have played with some of my closest friends at parties, at nightclubs, in a living room to the radio. The girls and I stood in a triangle dancing and laughing, like we do often, and it was a snapshot of our lives. I know not of a bound closer or stronger than between the three of us.

We love our Papi. We gush over him and get all excited when he comes home. We all, in our own way, yearn for his approval and affection. He gives it freely and he is protective and loving of his girls, but Papi knows the goddess triangle-bond in our house is an interlaced and powerful thing. The girls and I will huddle together instinctively; we gravitate towards each other. We are magnetised without thought.

Maya's middle name is Trinidad, spanish for trinity. She was named after a baby I used to babysit decades ago. When he was months old I would lay him on the bed and snuggle next to him. He'd stare at me. I didn't know babies did that. He once lifted his tiny hand and placed it on my cheek before he went to sleep. His name was Trinity, and he moved me, which I didn't know a baby could do either. When he was about one and a half or two, his parents found out he was fully deaf. He was the most special baby I'd ever known until my own trinity was formed.

The girls change daily now. They move beautifully in the dynamic of our world; so smart and responsible and fun. I love to hear all the daily stories and how they interact in the worlds outside of the house.

Maya likes a boy, at least today. Don't tell her I told you. She doesn't crush easily and it's fair to say she's extremely picky. Her last huge crush was on the singer Chris Brown, but the day she learned about the abuse allegations committed on Rhianna, she ripped his posters down off her walls in long shreds. Good for her, I thought. So, she kind of likes this boy M and he's not like the little jerks who troll around the school halls as they let everything and anything fly from their mouths. M is a devout Muslim. Maya and he have had conversations about being peaceful. M goes to the counselor's office when it's time to say his daily prayers, and most importantly, he's nice to her. Oh and he's tall. She said, "He's not allowed to date until he's 16." I said, "Neither are you." We laugh easily over this though she knows I'm not kidding.

Mina is having her best school year yet. 4th grade has been solid. It's not A+, but it's a far cry from dreaded 2nd grade. Since 2nd grade, I stay very close to her teachers telling them to email me on any slip up. It helps a lot. Mina still has big focus issues and I had to go in recently so the three of us, the teacher, Mina and I, could figure out how to rein in some focus. Mrs. H. asked Mina very sincerely if she felt she as unable to focus, like, her brain wouldn't let her. It was a fair and warranted question. Mrs. H. said that recently while she's lecturing or writing on the board she'll turn around and Mina's seat will be empty. Mina's at the back of the room, getting tissues, f'ing off with the pencil sharpener, helping someone with some unrelated thing. Mina told her earnestly that she could focus, and I know she can too. I know she doesn't have ADD or anything else. She's just really driven by the rules of her own brain. I love that about her. But -- and I've said this a hundred times -- I still gotta get her through school, y'know? Check out her latest tennis video below. This girl has laser focus -- and quite sick hand-eye coordination I might add.

Anyway, I just love them both so much. Just thought I'd share that, again.


I'm off to the Bay Area in the morning to visit Betsy. I made her raw macaroons and raw granola this week, and I packed Whitey Heidi up in the car so we can climb Mount Diablo on Sunday. In a few short hours, I'll be driving up the 5, over the Grapevine and through the California almond orchards. Night, y'all. Happy Weekend.

The Lonely Great Wall

The Great Wall of Los Angeles sits almost out of sight off a suburban stretch of road in the valley. It is probable that its fading colors catch the peripheral vision of passerbyers, maybe less of those who pass it every day. When the girls and I visited the mural today, it looked in need of attention; not just a touch up -- though it was graffiti-free and not as corroded as I thought it would be -- but just of some appreciation. It seemed alone out there.

Looking down the half mile of the painted flood channel that threads a lush-green pedestrian park was anti-climactic for the girls, I could see. The way I had pumped up The Wall may have warranted this reaction. Maybe they were expecting flashing lights and piped-in music; possibly a digital screen spelling out the mural's significance. I started walking along the chain link fence, telling them to come on. I explained what I knew of the different panels. I didn't know every story, but I hoped some of it, any of it, would be interesting to them. For the first 50 yards their minds wandered. I told them to pay attention. I told Mina to stop hunting for walking sticks, for Maya to slow down and take it in. After about ten minutes, The Wall enveloped us. Some of the stories were familiar to the girls. Some not at all. They slowly became engaged and the details of the mural started to stand out. Like the little seen image of the California lynchings, mainly of Latinos, others of Chinese and blacks, a lot done in the Los Angeles area starting in the 1850's and continuing into the 1930's. They are very aware of the Rosie the Riveter image. They know this symbolizes that women are capable of all things including keeping the country running as men fought in war, but The Wall's panel named Farewell to Rosie the Riveter was a sobering one because it symbolizes post WW II and how women were expected to stuff themselves and their capabilities back into a "traditional" and limited role once men were back to "handle things". After new concepts, Maya would usually only ask, "Why?" I gave Mina the camera and let her take photos how she wanted. And Maya and I talked about why oppressive history isn't told enough. She told me that she had recently learned about Pol Pot of Cambodia, but she learned of him and his massacres in English class. They have been studying poetry and her teacher introduces a lot of underrepresented stories through literature, and Maya wants to know why she doesn't learn about these things in history. Why didn't she know that Thomas Edison was Mexican, born in Mexico, adopted by white American parents? Why would the United States refuse to take in Jewish refugees during World War II like when we turned away the thousand people on the SS St. Louis?Why would the Los Angeles government force Latina families out of their homes in the 1950's without compensation , confiscating 300 acres of Chavez Ravine for their own projects that eventually led to freeways and Dodger Stadium? The girls and I looped the park and spent over an hour looking at the mural and talking. The girls, and me too honestly, are now so used to immediate information at our fingertips -- a history of events as well as the interpretation -- that the slow-building thoughtfulness of the art and the history telling through images was impactful, and long-lasting. We left filled and contemplative. And we hope we kept The Wall company for a little while too.

Lucha-Pugs

Husband just got back from a four-day business trip in Puebla, a town a couple hours outside of Mexico City. He brought back gifts. Gifts that allowed the Sisters Pug to explore their alter egos. Finally, these dogs are able to fulfill a life-long dream; the dream of getting into the ring as the famous tag-team phenomena:

¡Las Pugs Enmascaradas! Here they are posing for promotional merchandise and a poster for an upcoming movie, but soon they must get ready to face many fierce opponents such as La Weenie Dog de Mil Mascaras, Diablo Con Cola and the dreaded Muerte Lassie. Do they look worried?

Ok, maybe a little. But that's understandable! They are very new to the sport. They feel uncertain about some of the moves they've practiced over the months: The Paw Hammer, The Four-Legged Aerial, the Parejas Wag and the Roll & Beg. Here, Lupe is practicing the tricky Sad Clown Technique. It is a trap for the other team to feel concern about why the clown is sad. When they approach, the pair pounce! This often results in a pin and a victory.

Here, in practice, Lupe sparred against Carmen, one on one. The battle was heated, almost personal, until Lupe ripped off the mask of Carmen. This is almost an insufferable humiliation for a luchadora. If this were to happen in a real match, Las Pugs Enmascaradas would be no more.
Suddenly, during their photo shoot, Las Pugs are challenged by their rival The Tiajuana TeaCake! Carmen pretends not to see. Lupe and the TJ TeaCake lock legs, both death-gripping the scruffs of their necks.
After an attempted (albeit illegal) piledrive to the tail, the TJ TeaCake is able to unlace the mask of Lupe. He is much too fast for the dog. More humiliating than having one's mask ripped off in a match is to have the rival try on and lounge in the mask of the loser. Las Pugs' dream may be dashed before it hatched.

Viva la Lucha

Basketball Bug

When we used to go to a lot of Tae Kwon Do tournaments, almost every time one of us would get sick afterwards. Bug-sick. Throwing-Up-For-Hours Sick. The longer the tournament lasted, the higher the probability was that one of us would be hugging the bowl by the next day. We called it TKD Sars. We also had TKD Sars amnesia, where we'd be so pumped for the tournament beforehand that we would never remember this phenomena until someone was throwing up afterward, like clockwork. We considered packing medical masks in the girls' gear bag to wear around the arena during tournaments. We planned on getting those designer ones people were wearing in Hong Kong when the real SARS first hit the scene. Mina wanted a Hello Kitty one and Maya was going to paint big red lips on her's. I would get a denim one and Husband, he didn't care as long as he didn't get the the damned TKD Sars. But we never remembered those either.

Over the weekend Maya participated in her first two-day basketball tournament with her club team. Tons of parents and siblings were crammed together in a gym watching middle schoolers ball it up . . .and this morning Mina is throwing her guts up. Every twenty minutes I hear a little girl version of hard-retching toilet bowl echos, and I rush to her side. Basketball Sars!

Other than that, the tournament was great. It was a learning experience for Maya because it's hard to conceptualize or explain the big difference between practicing and real-live game action until you get out there and play some games. Maya doesn't really understand yet why she gets so nervous or freezes up a bit or loses confidence, and I try to tell her that we practice hard day in and day out just so the freezing and the nervousness and the lost confidence subsides, even a little, once a real game begins. That's true with anything, right? Not just with sports certainly.

The tournament was at Lynwood High School which is arguably one of the tougher neighborhoods in LA. But the Lynwood of today is not the Lynwood I remember 20 years ago. Back then the school was desolate and barren, an almost forgotten place where the frustration of kids left a mark, on the neighborhood and towards the community of people. But today, the high school is entirely and beautifully rebuilt. The community shows life and revival, from the little I saw. I was inspired by the transformation.

In the gym, three courts were running games simultaneously. Mainly middle-school kids ages 12-14, boys and girls, though there were a couple games of 12 & Under girls. These are the best games to watch. You see teeny, tiny superstars in the making and 12 year old girls who have experienced rocketing growth spurts and the basketball court may be the only place where they feel comfortable about that. We have a girl like that on our team. She's 13 and 6'0" -- a big girl, not lanky -- and we shout her praises every time she uses that strong body of hers to muscle the other team in the paint. At the tournament, her dad who is easily 6'7" and her two older sisters, both over 6'2", cheered her on loudly from the sidelines.

On Maya's team, there is a cast of characters. I'm writing the feel-good movie script in my head right now. In the based-on-a-true-story movie version, the team is lead by a sincere and talented coach who knows that basketball is a way to inspire young women to achieve their dreams and build confidence. She's a passionate coach who believes in hard work and team work. The team begins its season on a losing streak. The first few games are difficult because there's no synergy, they haven't gelled yet. The main character is hard on herself for not being better, for freezing in games, for feeling lost sometimes, but her family encourages her because after a lot of practice it will click for her; not only the ability but the purpose. Have fun for godsake, they tell her. Other characters on the team include: The big center who might feel pressured by her tall dad and tall sisters. A very talented 12 year old Russian point guard who was probably too good too young and who now might not know how to bust up to another level of talent. Her dad yells instruction in Russian from the stands. There is the Korean guard - probably the best girl on the team -- because she's all heart and speed. And all hair. She has the fiercest hair cut I've ever seen, adults included, and she rolls up her baller shorts then pulls them down a bit, she rolls her jersey into her bra straps and pulls her socks up high. The girl is fly! (The narrator of the story wonders if it is appropriate to ask a 13 year old where she gets her hair cut.) There's the rock solid forward who plays all blue-collar like: reliable and strong. There's the wild yet still lax guard who is so athletic and still so chill she doesn't hardly ever break a sweat but can still bound up higher than most, when she feels like it. And then there's the main character's nemesis. You gotta have one of those! This forward believes she's God's gift to the team. She's cocky and has a handle for days, meaning she can split two defenders with her dribble more confidently than her teammates. She has a natural ability that she likes to flaunt, but what she flaunts best is her attitude. She blasts her teammates when they don't catch her rocketed passes or when they turn over the ball; she rolls her eyes when they don't make a shot. She argues with the refs in true NBA time-wasting fashion and when Coach pulls her from the game for talking back and other offenses mentioned above, she plops down in a pouty HRMF! on the bench and crosses her legs and arms. It's Nemesis 101, I tell ya. In the first game of the first tournament, Main Character and Nemesis get to bickering on the court because even if Main Character doesn't feel so confident yet, she still doesn't want to take shit from that girl. Coach benches them both. In the end of the movie, the team gels and Main Character's hard work and confidence click. She and Nemesis find respect and a possible friendship. And though the team loses the Spring League Championship by one point, they've all learned invaluable lessons about being a team and about themselves! And scene.

Pure entertainment, I tell you.

I got up this morning at 5:30 to take my regular 6am spin class. I strapped on my new heart rate monitor that Husband bought me yesterday at Costco. As I excitedly fumbled with the straps around my ribcage, Mina appeared in the bathroom doorway. She was rubbing her eyes. "Mami, I don't feel so well," she said. A day of Basketball Sars barfing was about to begin. I held her hair back as she sang into the bowl for the first time and I checked my heart rate. A calm 71, it read.

At the tournament, Coach tries to pull them together.
Lining up against Lynwood.
Working it out in her head.
Back to practice. This is the sunrise from our patio this morning. I lifted Mina so she could see it. It didn't make her feel better, but she thought it was pretty.

Friday Mishmosh

Mina came to the breakfast table this morning with a dollar bill and said, "I'm going to show you a magic trick I saw." I swiveled towards her and watched. She folded the dollar into a little bitty tight square, showed it to me, tapped it, then unfolded it to reveal the exact dollar, facing the same exact way. She looked down at the dollar when my face revealed that I was still waiting for an end result. She said, "Oh man, how'd he get that to work?" I said, "What was supposed to happen?" She said, "It was supposed to turn into a hundred dollar bill."  I just want to innocently report that I still love the thought of baking. The idea of sitting down to cinnamon cake and tea, or the waft of blueberry pie nearly done, the image of a mound of rosewater cookies under a clear, dome cover or eyelet aprons and steel whisks and flower-patterned oven mitts . . .it all makes me swoon still. But I haven't baked lately. I had to give up the eating of it all -- the testing and perfecting --and the ragey after affects; even if the affects were only safely swirling wildly within my mind and body. I didn't even bake for Valentine's Day, which is kind of unthinkable, but since I'm in hardcore training mode I couldn't bring myself to go back, and now I just fondly reminisce about when baking and I were in love. We may still have trysts now and again. Loves like that die hard. However, I've been teaching Maya how to bake. She requested this last year and for Christmas I got her a set of utensils and some equipment she could call her own. I shoved over some pans in a cupboard for her things. She's been baking away, a perfect student. I'll test her things a tiny bit, but not much. I see the effort she put into it. I see the finesse building. She'll be a fine baker. 

Cycling = Compelling TV, and GOTRIbal

Do you think recording and watching every minute of the Tour de California is too much? Yea, me neither. Have you been watching too? Girl, did you see when Lance Armstrong's trial bike got stolen the night before the prologue and he's all, "There's only one of those in the world so you best not show it to anyone if you did steal it." And I was like, right?? And then Fabian Cancellara dropped out before Stage 1 after he smoked everyone in the prologue? He said he had a fever! And I'm all, What the--? And then Francisco Mancebo won Stage 1 after riding 108 miles in torrential rains. There was so much hard rain that UK cyclist Mark Cavendish was all, "I coulda stayed on the Isle of Man for this!" EL OH EL! And did you see what Floyd Landis was wearing? Nutz, right? Good, good drama -- if you enjoy four hours of cycling television, which is a given. Ppff. Seven more days to go, and I'm stoked!

Remember the bad-ass cycling twins from the great ATHLETE movie poster in the last post? The twins and I are practically BFF now. I told them I want to be the triplet because when I grow up, athletically, I want to be just like them even if I am about eight years older. Check out Kellie's website and if you're a tiny bit inspired by my athletic resurgence, this woman will put you over the moon. If you click on her training calendar to the right you'll say things to yourself like, "Ok, maybe I can go run those 2 miles . . ." Kellie also directed me to a site called GOTRIbal. This is a support-group site for any woman who has ever even thought about doing a triathlon. Even if you're just thinking about running your first 5k, this is a site of support, information and out-and-out love for female athletes around the country, from beginner to pretty elite from what I can see. When the most in-shape person you've ever seen is telling you that you that walking a 5K is an accomplishment, there is a safety there that makes it ok to believe it too. The cornerstone philosophy of the site is that the higher up the ladder you go as an athlete the more you're able to pay it forward to athletes who are behind you in experience and accomplishments. I can get behind that type of communal sharing and support any day of the week. I encourage all of you to spark up your inner athlete here too. Let me know when you do so we can link up on the site.

I posted this to my GOTRIbal page because I thought if Facebook can do stuff like this, then why not the athletes too. Some of it is stuff you already know. Some of this is on my Facebook. Well, here you go anyway:

25 Random Things About Me, Athletically

1. When I was thirteen, almost 30 years ago, I thought I'd be the first woman to play in the NBA. I missed that mark by a lot. But I did run a few playground courts in my day, up until I was pregnant with Mina.

2. In high school, I ditched school often to go play pick-up basketball at our neighborhood legendary court where pro's played off season.

3. Once, at these courts, I played three on three against Cynthia Cooper who was a star at USC back then. She was so gracious and encouraging as she kicked my butt all over the court.

4. I was on a spring board diving team in my teens. When I hit the board on a routine dive, I was so mind-fucked that I joined the swim team instead because I believed the two hour workouts would be easier. I was right.

5. I was inexplicably pretty good at the backstroke and very mediocre at everything else.

6. Though I did play one season of water polo on the boys high school team.

7. And I placed tenth for women in a Mile Open-Ocean Swim Competition many years ago. I couldn't believe I had (kinda) placed

8. I get all soft in the knees over college basketball (DUH!!), and March Madness is a sacred and cherished time in our house (Noooo . . .). I didn't go to college, which allows me to jump on any fan bandwagon I want during the tournament!

9. When I was nine, I had my picture in the local newspaper for being an all-star soccer goalie. The picture is of me diving for a ball in the mud, with a Dorothy Hamil haircut.

10. I've commuted on a bicycle my entire life, but December was the first time I ever rode a road bike.

11. And now I'm in love with cycling.

12. Deeply, deeply in love.

13. (You already know this one too) My commute bike is a black fixed-up hand-me-down Specialized named Loops. My road bike is a pristine white Cannondale Six named Whitey Heidi. My nine year old daughter named them both within seconds of looking at the bikes.

14. I love both bikes equally.

15. I'm not a very good runner, mentally or physically. I'm trying to break through that because I've been attracted to triathlons for 20 years. I've shied away from them because of the running.

16. I'm going to do my first triathlon this June.

17. I'm going to learn from the women at GOTRIbal how to get through and do well at the running part. I thank them, in advance.

18. I support my daughters 110% in anything they want to be involved, but I'm secretly thrilled that they are both natural and driven athletes.

19. Playing ball inside our house is not only ok, but encouraged.

20. My husband was ranked on the east coast tour in tennis when he was younger.

21. He has no patience to teach me tennis and frankly I have no patience to learn from him. Ha!

22. As early as five months ago, I was stuck in an emotional plateau regarding my fitness and my athletic ability and purpose. I questioned if staying fit was even worth it, worth anything, especially as I march on into my 40's. Then I rode a road bike.

23. Now, I'm on a mission.

24. Now, I train smarter than when I was a teen or in my 20's.

25. I've randomly met a handful of people in the last four months (and was directed the GOTRIbal site) who bring me more support athletically than I've ever had in my entire life, and I can only think that it is some divine intervention, some cosmic fate or quite possibly just a seasoned understanding that being an athlete has always been and will always be a big part of who I am. If I still can move it, then I need to move it. And move it as strongly as I possibly can.


Let me know if you do this list too. Beginner or pro, I'd love to hear what motivates you, or what you've done or what you will do. Or what you've always dreamed about doing. It starts with that, y'know.