Is This Thing Still On?

 I've been in a deep, deep AI rabbit hole the past couple of days. Lured by the "free trial!" and then generating as much content as possible to explore its potential, its voice, which can be sculpted by my voice and writing style and wondering if it's worth going beyond the free trial and actually paying for something. 

Would you pay for something that you could create yourself? What if life gets in the way and you have all of these ideas and yet not enough bandwidth/energy to execute them? Could you justify using AI? 

It's an incredible resource, this AI. All we have to do is figure out how to use it properly. I still find joy in using my own voice to communicate stories - lessons I've learnt from my nearly 47 years on this planet. Ones I wouldn't trade for anything. Ones that are mine for the telling. 

Enhance or detract? Boost or get lost in the shuffle? 

I suspect a lot is being unsuspectingly generated by AI and this is just the tip of the iceberg as we lean into a tidal wave of content creation. Does that lessen the value of human created content? Why can't AI clean my house? 

I'm posting a bit more frequently on another app - substack. Come follow along if you're interested. Otherwise, I'll see you back here on occasion. 

https://substack.com/@jennifersharp

Red Jackets Covered in Dusty Grief

 The double wide Nebo sleeping bag cover filled with treasures from our cabin in Mazama sat on a shelf over the car for years. I had our good friend Kyle Larson go to the cabin when it sold in 2011 and retrieve some items, shipping them to Colorado. A wool blanket poked out as a soft, gentle reminder that it was ready spring into action and that beneath it, were things from my past and a life so differently lived. 

The thing with garages... they can hold a lot of things that you don't want to face immediately. It's easier to put something in the garage and let it collect dust verses deal with it. Some objects in the garage have sat since Ben and I moved into this house, over 8 years ago. They were hastily moved from Colorado Springs (two houses there, one on Pikes Peak, the other on Lovers Lane) and all trucked over via U-Haul from Seattle. 

Back when I moved from the Pacific Northwest in 2011, I packed all of my memories and material goods quickly into boxes. My grief of losing Ryan was interspersed between books, pots and pans, sweaters and photographs, CDs and journals. In a way, I was running from the house he and I shared, wanting to start my life without the daily reminders of his absence. So I compartmentalized them into digestible chunks. Over the years, you get used to those things blending into daily life. They start to fade into the background. It is after all, just stuff. 

Garage clean out day finally came. Imagine my surprise when I took down the Nebo bag, finally inspecting the contents in order to give those items a new purpose, and taken aback by discovery of the deep red hue of Ryan's jacket. A treasure, hidden from view, and nearly forgotten. I lifted it to my nose, curious if it would still smell like him. Fourteen plus years is a long time for a scent to linger and the scent had gone. So I checked the pockets, like I did the last time I saw the jacket. No lint build up - just empty pockets whose space used to warm Ryan's small and strong hands.

Grief is hard to describe to someone who hasn't experienced it. With time, it doesn't really go away. It just grows dusty and sits while life spins madly on. Every now and then you'll uncover something that whisks you back. A scent, a song, a photograph, a saying. And that dust gets wiped away, reminding you that underneath lies that sense of loss. 

I thought about donating Ryan's jacket. But on second thought, I'm not ready yet. Instead, I'm going to put some things in the pockets that are a direct reminder of Ryan. The last remaining baby jar of his ashes, a hockey puck, a saved loved letter, wedding ring and Juice Mama Zippo. 

Uh oh, I think I just got some dust in my eyes. 

Sinking In

I've been doing a lot of body self awareness lately. My motivation is in hope of alleviating the persistent lower back pain that resurfaced over the holidays and I've found it so much more rewarding. It's been eye opening to see how tight my quads, hamstrings, hip flexors and psoas are and how stretching them help tremendously.

One thing we noticed today (as I worked with Yoga Medicine extraordinary Allie Geer), is that my body is so used to quickly doing movements that I don't really let it sink in and let gravity do its magic. I'm so used to quickly getting on the bike, quickly moving into a pose, moving to get from point A to point B. In a way, that's my protective mechanism. A survival instinct. Do it quickly and efficiently and figure out how to fix things later. 

Which worked great for a long time. Until it didn't. 

So I started asking questions... Why would you willingly put myself in pain? What if sitting and feeling into those sensations was a way to move through them? What if you stop labeling something as hurtful or ouchie and just got curious about the tightness in one side verses the other?

What if you just let it sink in?

Ah... I think we stumbled upon something. I could see the lightbulb go off in Allie's eyes as she recognized that I understood exactly what she meant. 

So now instead of going through the universe without stopping to really feel into things, I'm going to slow it down, really let it sink in.

S

L

O

W

D

O

W

N.

Yes, please. Try it on for yourself and see what happens.

Choices

Two summers ago we were riding on the Monon Trail in Indianapolis when I got stung be a bee on my forehead between my sunglasses and helmet. In the past I've had mild allergic reactions to stings - but nothing life threatening so while it hurt badly, we didn't go to the emergency room and drove from Indianapolis to Chicago for Intelligensia Cup.

Four hours later after napping in the back of our van, I woke up to a very swollen face. We arrived at the race venue and Ben started warming up. I decided to walk down toward registration and even with sunglasses and a hat on, my friends didn't recognize me. I was a little scared that my throat could close up so while Ben raced his race, I opted to skip mine and see if an ice compress and the benadryl I'd taken would make any difference.

The next morning I woke up even more puffy so we headed to a walk in clinic. I explained the situation to the medical staff and got a ration of shit for not coming in sooner. They administered an epi pen shot and prescribed a steroid to help with the inflammation. I checked the banned drug list and sure enough - not even a TUE (therapeutic use exemption) would make it okay to race.

I had a choice to make. And it was an easy one. I'm a coach and athlete and I believe in competing clean at all times. As a leader in my community, it's super important to lead by example. Even though medically I had a pretty good excuse, there's no way it would stand up in an arbitration and I made the easy choice of not racing. Yes we had traveled all that way - but that wouldn't make it right. Taking a prohibited drug and competing is never okay.

My experience came flooding back to me after a local female racer was handed a four year suspension this past week. You can read more about it here. She claimed she was taking testosterone for a medical reason and tried to file a TUE. But the drug she was on is on the prohibited list and she was caught with it in her system while competing. It's up to you as an athlete competing to know what's on the prohibited list and what's not.

To see if the medications or supplements you're taking are prohibited, visit www.usada.org. The Global DRO is a great resource to see if the specific medications you're on are on the World Anti-Doping Agency Prohibited List. A quick check is all it takes.

We all have choices to make. It is your duty as an athlete and coach to know the rules of play and to play by the rules.

Turning 40 and waking up.

I woke up startled this morning.

I've been having a deep sense that I'm curious if most people have who are about to turn 40 feel. The one that wakes you up and makes you ask - did I do everything I was supposed to in my life? Am I living the life that aligns with my values/hopes/dreams/beliefs? Is my time running out?

And sitting dormant, quieted down by days, months, years of routine is the simple fact that I've left one thing unresolved. One thing that I regret not doing. One thing that I know deep in the marrow of my bones needs to get out there: my story. My story about Ryan and how grief has shaped me into who I am. It's as though I've built an iceberg around those emotions and feelings, locking them away, forgotten about.

Then this week, I woke up to the unsettled uneasiness I have about turning 40 realizing that it's linked to my story. And I felt a crack deep into the heart of that berg, loosening up unresolved feelings.

Yet, I'm not scared. I'm not afraid of that ice melting, exposing a pain and feeling so real and urethral.  Grief is a journey that has so many layers that no wonder it isn't talked about. No wonder we have a hard time encompassing it's depth. But more than running straight into the unknown, I'm more afraid that I haven't shared my story with others so that it can help them with their ice bergs of humanness.

My time is running out. I've got to give this everything I've got. I've got to get my story out that's burning a hole into the middle of my iceberg.

Mind The Gap

2017 marks nine years since Ryan died. Nine years of tears, laughter, love, heartache, and a big healthy dose of perspective.

You only live once.

Live in the now.

Less is more.

Follow your dreams and chase your passion.

Make sure those you love know it.

Talk about taboo subjects.

Embrace your values. 

Give thanks and gratitude, everyday.

Over these past nine years I've searched for ways to make sense of what it means to suddenly loose someone you love. I've searched for ways to express that sadness and loneliness around the empty space in my heart with other people who have no idea what it feels like, yet. But there are gaps. A grief gap; a living gap; a what is the meaning of life gap.

I've been searching for answers to the gaps in my life, all my life. Maybe you have too. Gaps exist when you see where you want to be but have no idea how to get from here to there. It's easy to say you only live once. But does that help you dive into something you're apprehensive about? Why do those gaps exist? How can we close those gaps? Do gaps give us hope? Are gaps necessary to help you strive for what you want to become?

I wanted to bridge the gap between experiencing grief and sorrow of losing my spouse and looking at grief as a gift. But I had no idea how to at first. So I started searching.

What I discovered about grief is that everyone processes it differently at different times. I understood that right away when Ryan's mom had a dark immeasurable cloud blanket her movements. Or when an insensitive friend said, "it shouldn't be that bad. You guys were apart most weekends anyway." I had a college friend come visit and stay with me within the first few weeks of Ryan's death and insisted I take down his vibrant pictures I had put up around the house. I could understand if the pictures were morbid and dark - but they were of him climbing and doing something he loved. Why was it wrong to commemorate the person I love in my own home? Was it wrong to miss someone deeply even though we were apart on the weekends? Was it wrong to feel a different grief than someone else? And why does it feel like other people are putting judgement on the way I grieve?

The more answers I found, the more questions I had. I mean really, why hasn't someone written an idiots guide on how to grieve losing your loved one?

I've also come to terms that our language around death sucks. Before Ryan died, I didn't understand how hollow saying, "I'm sorry" would feel for the receiving person. I didn't know what someone should say but I knew that "I'm sorry" wasn't cutting it. What I longed for was for someone to ask me how it happened: why did he die? How did he die? How does it feel to be human?

So, we're left with these gaps in our lives. Gaps that may never have answers. Gaps that may swallow us whole or that might give us hope. And while we may never figure out why those gaps exist or what they're there for, accepting those gaps for what they are is healthy.

https://vimeo.com/103459634

The Ambition Gap

"Nobody tells this to people who are beginners, I wish someone had told me. All of us who do creative work, we get into it because we have good taste. But there is a gap. For the first couple of years you make stuff, it's just not that good. It's trying to be good, it has potential, but it's not. But your taste, the thing that got you into this game, is still killer. And your taste is why your work disappoints you. A lot of people never get past this phase, they quit. Most people I know who do interesting, creative work went through years of this. We know our work doesn't have this special thing that we want it to have. We all go through this. And if you are just starting out or you are still in this phase, you gotta know it's normal and the most important thing you can do is do a lot of work. Put yourself on a deadline so that every week you will finish one story. It is only by going through a volume of work that you will close the gap, and your work will be as good as your ambitions. And I took longer to figure out how to do this than anyone I've ever met. It's gonna take a while. It's normal to take a while. You've just gotta fight your way through."  - Ira Glass

This is so true. Every time I re-read and re-work my book, I encounter the gap. I know it has potential. I know how good it can be but I'm in fighting mode right now, just trying to bridge that gap. So I continue with the 7th re-write.

To those fighting the fight in the murky, mucky middle - keep fighting. I'm right along side of you, slinging mud and covered in it.

Growing out of Plateaus

pla·teau

plaˈtō/

noun

1. 1. 

   an area of relatively level high ground.

   synonyms:

   upland, tableland, plain, mesa, highland, coteau "a windswept plateau"
2. 2. 

   a state of little or no change following a period of activity or progress.

   "the peace process had reached a plateau"

   synonyms:

   quiescent period; More

verb

1. 

reach a state of little or no change after a time of activity or progress.

"the industry's problems have plateaued out"

I coach an athlete whose code/safe word for "it's not working" is plateau. We jokingly landed on it during our last conversation of sorting through her work/life/exercise balance.  I'm grateful to write her training plan and she does an exceptional job adhering to it despite her hectic work schedule, motherhood, wifehood and helping others be the best they can be. She is a giver, through and through. And because of that, she often has a hard time taking time for herself. 

Sound familiar, anyone?

Forgetting to take time for ourselves is common. Especially for caretakers. 

So when this athlete sent another plateau text recently, I knew she was ready to have "the talk". And no, I'm not referring to analyzing data or annual training plans. This talk was going to be about what's really going on. A talk that goes beyond periodization and tapering and figuring out how hard to go during intervals. 

She was cautious at first when we first started talking so I dove right into it. We talked about unshakeable sense of something not sitting quite right.

We all have plateaus in our lives: staying at job because you feel comfortable but know you could be contributing more to society; getting that book published but not finding the time; wanting change but not making the time or effort. Stale moments in life happen despite being super busy and juggling a million things. It's the realization that something isn't working and that your forward progress has halted. 

The good news? Overcoming plateaus is up to you. You can change things. You can put in the time and energy to make a difference in your life. The first step is recognizing that you want change. Then it's figuring out how to make that change and coming up with a game plan. 

Becoming An Expert On Living

Every day is an opportunity to live a fulfilling and satisfying life. Yet it's easy to get swept up in the everyday routine, the struggle, the push to produce and keep up with your workload. And it's just as easy to get complacent and settle into a comfortable routine that no longer challenges you. It's easy and potentially satisfying. I assume that we all do it at some point or another.

But I keep coming back to the same question, over and over again: am I living life to the fullest?

Things will get busy and the routine will swallow the hours in the day, quickly fading into night, and into weeks, months, years, and gasp - decades.

No matter how much times passes though, that question keeps bubbling up.

Am I living life to the fullest? 

Are you living your life to the fullest? When you close your eyes and think about what it is that you really want to be doing in work and in life - are you doing it now? What's preventing you from striving toward that goal? What do you need to overcome in order to pursue your dreams? What's holding you back?

I figure once you land on that dream, then chances are you'll stop asking yourself if you're living your life to the fullest. Or at least that's my theory.

If someone has a road map on how to get there - can you please share it with the rest of us?

When Inspiration Calls...

You never know when inspiration will hit. It could be in the shower, while you're doing laundry, at the store, or during any other mundane task. And if there's one thing I've learned time and time again - you've got to strike while the iron is hot. You have to find a piece of paper and pen or computer to jot down your thoughts or else they quickly fade back into the world. I once read that if you don't capture those moments of inspiration or ideas then they float away, landing on someone else until someone finally picks up a pad of paper and pen and gets to work. How many times have you read something someone else wrote or saw some sort of art and thought, hey! I remember thinking that at one point! Yep, it happens.

And trust me, I've had dozens of creative thoughts since the last time I wrote. My resolution is to start jotting them down with more regularity, to get those ideas out into the world. I created a road map, or rather, a game plan of sorts to help me. And I'm taking steps to make my dreams become reality.

Christmas Traditions: Old and New

I stopped at McGuckins on Sunday, Boulder's local hardware store with absolutely everything you could want in it, excluding fresh groceries. I'm sure every town has a store similar to it - a catch all place where you can buy housewares, green egg supplies, screws, seasonal Christmas items, art supplies, and garden tools all at one stop.

It was early. I beat the after church crowd and walked up to the outdoor Christmas Tree corral and inquired about a tree. Since Ben and I have been together, we've decorated one Charlie Brown tree and that was many years ago, in Colorado Springs. That fact hasn't stopped our assembly of ornaments. Every year we acquire more through either gifts or hand me downs and they get placed in a big box in the basement. A couple of years ago I added an entire box of fragile glass balls and funny naked lady ornaments from my grandmother's house in Hawaii. And this year I added a bunch of childhood ornaments from Seattle my mom had graciously held onto for me.

Growing up in Oregon, our entire family would make the trek out to a  Christmas Tree farm, hack down a tree and strap it to the top of our wood paneled station wagon. One year my grandmother visited from the islands and insisted on going barefoot, promptly catching pneumonia before her return flight. We saw a little more of Gammy that year and I loved every stollen moment.

Decorating was awesome. My mom would play the obligatory Christmas music while we placed ornaments as high as we could, about four feet beneath the top of the tree. Our house had vaulted wood ceilings and we could get a tall tree (8-10'). My dad would put his favorite ornaments high on the upper branches, balancing out the bottom half. The house smelled like noble fir and fresh baked sugar cookies.

This year I was determined to get a tree. I schlepped the tree home in the back of my car, dropping needles every where. After buying a stand and hacking off the lower branches, the 5' tree sat level and I turned on Christmas music. Ben was out on a run to IKEA and wouldn't be home for a couple of hours. He told me earlier he didn't have time to help so I started stringing the lights and the next thing I knew I had opened every box, revealing little treasures and kept memories.

Pineapple glass bulbs, naked lady eggs, the Grinch and Cat in the Hat. A blend of recent ornaments and old. Each ornament not in its original packaging was wrapped in butcher or tissue paper, wrinkled from years of unwrapping and then re-wrapping. Baby's first Christmas from 1978, quilted unicorns, turtle doves, Mele Kalikimaka bulb. And then, an unexpected well of grief when I came across the leprechaun hat with Bubba printed on it.

Holiday's are like that. Ticking time bombs of emotions. They're a guaranteed trip down memory lane. A way to remember previous holidays with those you love and who are no longer here. And a reminder that there's no time like the present to create new memories.

"Hey baby," a text read from Benjamin. He'd sent it 45 minutes prior. I was so involved in hanging memories from the tree, I didn't hear it. As it turns out, "Hey baby" was to tell me that he wanted to help decorate. By the time he came home, the tree topper lay crooked atop the tree, the lights blinking and the tree weighed down by memories.

He admired the tree, noticing the naked ladies first. And when I pointed out his ornaments, he couldn't remember them. Even the creepy pink elf with tracking eyes was foreign to him. It faces away like a scolded child on a lower branch. Mainly so its eyes don't freak us out. I asked him if I should un-decorate the tree so we could do it together. And he said no, but next year he's all over it. Maybe we'll go to a Christmas Tree farm and hack one down ourselves and avoid getting pneumonia.

Notice the Pink Elf on the bottom branch off to the far right. 

Governor Pants

You could feel the buzz of Thanksgiving everywhere on Wednesday. I circled the parking lot and was about to give up when a spot appeared. Inside the grocery story, dads were interspersed in isles consulting lists their wives had given them with kids happily sucking on candy canes.

I stopped by a liquor store in search of my favorite winter brew: the Jolly Roger by Maritime Brewery. No such luck. But I did find a variety of other ridiculously high alcohol content beers that somehow found their way into my cart.

Then that night I baked and baked and baked. I was in charge of desert this holiday and on the menu were pumpkin and pecan pie and Ben's favorite: Chocolate Buttermilk Cake with Cream Cheese Frosting. Yum, yum, and yum.

Earlier that morning I caught wind of a friend learning how to make the best pie crust in Boulder and asked to join. Turns out crust is something that's a little tricky but Jaye, one of Cari and Greg's longtime Boulder friends, was willing to share her tried and true recipe. I wrote down two pages worth of notes. And I'd happily share them with you but you're going to have to come to Boulder to get it. It is that good. So book your ticket already.

The Secret Boulder Pie Recipe.

Chocolate Buttermilk Cake, Pumpkin and Pecan Pie. 

Our Thanksgiving feast was amazing. The group of friends went super traditional: smoked turkey (on the Big Green Egg), mashed and sweet potatoes, mac and cheese (with bacon!), Brussel sprouts, green bean casserole, stuffing, dinner rolls and not a single piece of salad. The group opted to skip the green stuff so we could make more room for a higher calorie count. And then there was desert - a couple of hours later, dolloped in freshly whipped cream. It was a good night to be wearing governor pants. You know - the ones that are just tight enough that if you eat too much, they prevent you from eating more.

We actually had a surgeon cut up the turkey. First you dislocate the joint and then you hack through the tendon. 

Greg working on the gravy. 

We started circling the kitchen like vultures.

Mike pointing out all of the delicious dishes: get in my belly.

A big thank you to Olivia and Mike for hosting!

Ben always tells me he's not photogenic. 

But I beg to differ. Ha! 

Many Thanks

So much to be thankful for today: the wind blowing a cool breeze and clearing out the clouds, a wind chime dinging in the background, a satiated belly from breakfast and plans for a longer mountain bike ride with Ben, Cari, and Mike before a feast this afternoon/evening with friends.

I hope you're enjoying every moment of the day and surrounded by friends and family. Thanksgiving is one of my favorite holidays, mainly because it's centered around sharing food, laughter and experiences with others.

Happy Thanksgiving, y'all.

Tour of Tucson Race Report

A sea of people anxiously await the start of the 34th annual Tour of Tucson. Benjamin and I sat perched on our tandem in the second row - a position secured from winning the mixed tandem category the year before. We're still figuring things out - like if you have VIP access in the platinum corral, you don't need to get there until about 6:45 (we arrived shivering at 6am); that only Benjamin needs to wear a camelbak and I can take four bottles and that I like my scratch on the lighter side - not the syrupy consistency it turned into after four hours on the bike; and that there's always, always, always a break that forms in the first few miles of the race.

A firetruck ladder hoists this year's dedication recipient over the crowd - Denise Mueller, the fastest woman cyclist. And the countdown begins: 10, 9, 8,....3, 2, 1!!!! We are immediately surrounded by dozens of eager cyclists - some racers, but mostly recreational riders all of whom are determined to get to the first river crossing at the front of the pack in nine miles. It's super sketchy.

I'm so grateful Benjamin pilots. His years and years and years of experience in the field, navigating and negotiating the moving amoeba of the peloton, eases my mind as we zip along at speeds over 30mph. I know popping my head out to look around him will throw our balance off and I want him to be focused 100% on the road ahead so I stay tucked in, responding only to his request for more power.  The only time I really get a good look is when there's a bend in the road ahead. Otherwise I've got my head down looking at my Garmin or glancing to the side as we barrel down the road.

The thing about riding a tandem in a sea of people is that they often don't expect the caboose. They're used to the length of one bike - not two. And in the beginning I was sure someone was going to crash into us. I had one guy yell, at me, "watch where you're going!" I risked throwing Ben off by responding, "I would if I could." It wasn't until an hour or so into the ride that I felt like those around us understood just how big we were and that instead of chopping our wheel or freaking out, the best spot to be in a windy, 106 mile race is in the sweet pocket of the tandem draft.

Being on the back of the tandem is nothing short of terrifying. I close my eyes whenever I sense danger and put 100% faith in Ben's ability to navigate us through any pickles. Last night we talked about the deep sense of trust required on the tandem. It actually goes beyond trust. It's the realization that I'm okay if I die today. I'd have no regrets. We don't know when our time will be up but that's not going to stop me from doing what I love.  But for Ben - it's something different. There's no way he would ever ride on the back of the tandem. For him, it's a control thing. He doesn't like when other people drive him or are responsible for his safety or movement through space and time. He has to be in control. But I wonder - are we ever really in control?

After an hour or so of riding, we find ourselves racing to a train crossing with the hopes of catching the break who has been waylaid. The break is within reach - but our mixed tandem competition, Paul and Noreen, are in our group of riders and bridging across to the break could be suicidal. So we sit and wait and find the group facing a massive 20mph block headwind, which seems to shift against us with every turn we take.

We had one mistake going into the second crossing. I watched as Paul and Noreen drilled it to the front of the group, positioning themselves into second wheel. We didn't know we had reached the crossing area so quickly but the sandy and narrow turns leading into it were a sure sign. We lost position- drifting back to about 50th or so and then the tires sunk deep into the sand, tipping us off the bike and leaving us running. The pack was gone - and I struggled to clip in. A rock was lodged in my cleat and took some focus on it to get it out.

"Keep calm, there's no need to panic," Ben said. The rock came loose and I clipped in and we started the chase with about eight riders clinging to our wheel. Tempo on the descents, LT/VO2 on the climbs. Slowly, surely, we rejoined the group after 40 minutes of chasing. We never went into the red, never over-extended ourselves. Again, I'm so thankful for Ben's experience and knowing what it takes to be a contender.

The rest of the race was a slog. The attacks stopped and the wind increased in the last 40 miles. I remember thinking, people are getting tired... and then a crash took out five riders. We were still recovering on the back of the group and avoided the carnage. Paul and Noreen saw the opportunity to break away - shattering the field in the wind as echelons formed. We responded by coming around the group and powering to the break, only to have the entire group come back together. So we sat and waited.

And sat and waited.

And waited, and then sat some more.

The problem with going easy is that you start to notice how everything aches. Your hands, your feet, your butt, everything. But if you want to win a race, you have to be patient. You have to sit and wait.

We rounded the last few corners of the course, pulling into the finishing straight, right on Paul and Noreen's wheel. We still had 500m to go - and Ben initiated our sprint. We dumped 1800 watts, putting a gap between us and the single bikes behind, as well as Paul and Noreen. We sailed through the series of timing strips, and this time I didn't put my hands up in celebration. This time we graciously accepted the win and thanked Paul and Noreen for the fun.

How Dangerous Could It Be?

It was all fun and games until...

Karting was totally my idea, or at least I pushed to make it happen.

My mom bought Ben a gift card for Unser Karting for his birthday in 2015 and it's been collecting dust in our kitchen junk drawer. Our friends Becca and Daniel agreed to get their kart on and we coordinated calendars weeks in advance.

I even tried to find my baklava or balaclava (I can never remember which one is which - one's a sock you put over your head inside your helmet and the other is a Greek pastry).

We rolled up surprised to see the parking lot full on a random Tuesday night. We paid for three rounds. The track is pretty sweet - it spans the entire third floor of a big commercial building on the corner of I-25 and Highway 36. The karts probably top out at close to 25mph, which might not sound like much but if you add in tight corners, fast moving objects, and gas exhaust fumes - you definitely have the makings of a fun race.

I was seated in third for the first round with a fast kart. I passed one guy and then saw the blue flag, letting the guy behind me pass. Then going into one of the tight hairpin turns, some guy decided to cut my inside and I slammed into the wall, hearing a crunch and feeling instant pain in my ribs.

Kart down!

And potential broken ribs. Or maybe bruised. Ouch.

For all of the bike racing and speed that I enjoy - I (KNOCK ON WOOD!) haven't been injured in a long time. A really long time. I sat out the next two rounds and took it easy. The kart was apparently fine - it went right back into rotation for the following round. Thankfully I didn't feel it too much this morning when I woke up.

And as much I would have loved to answer, "how'd you break your ribs?" by karting, I'm thankful I don't have that problem. Don't worry mom - I'll get back on that kart soon enough.

Next time I want some green and red turtles to throw at people.

Book Worm

About every three weeks I head to the Boulder public library. It coincides with due dates and if I'm on top of it - I put a couple of titles on hold. I also browse the new non-fiction section like a kid in the candy shop. Scanning across the hundreds of titles, my eyes fixed on "Live Simply." The book cover was a simple design, complimented by the chapter titles: declutter, organize, spend less and live more.

Live more by spending and doing less? Yes, please.

One of my favorite things about going to the library is the drive home - I devour as much as I can at each stop light, trying to squeeze a few more words in before my eyes are focused back on the road. Tonight's traffic along 63rd meant seeing how much I could read before hitting the accelerator.

More to come on doing less and living more.

Still processing.... check back soon.

Formal vs. informal pantsuits

My pantsuit isn't that formal. Instead, it's jeans with a flannel shirt and a puffy vest.

I started reading a copy of "Lean In" by Sheryl Sandberg this week and it couldn't have come at a better time. Today is a big, big deal. It is the day the first female president could be named to the oval office.

And when (not if) she makes her acceptance speech, it will be for all women. Even if they didn't vote for her. It shows that women belong in leadership positions. It shows that the gender stereotypes preventing women from getting top level jobs in corporate America now have a first - someone who paved the way.

I've always been ambitious. There's a fire inside of me that burns brightly. My sophomore year of high school, I ran a campaign to become the class president and lost. I figured it was my lack of skills or popularity and that the other candidate was way more qualified than I. I didn't figure gender was part of the equation. A man won.

I worked at a flooring company and because of my strong persuasive skills and competency, was moved into a sales position and then glossed over for a managerial position when an opening came up. They gave it to a man.

I applied for an executive director position and I was more than qualified for the position. My interviews went well. I was ambitious and eager to make things happen within the organization and deflated when it was given to a man. A man who told me later that if the organization blew up and they were unable to pay him, I could take the job for less pay.  Um, thanks?

So now the fire is raging inside of me. Now I'm inspired to stand up more, to exude more confidence, to put my name in the hat and not worry about judgement and whether or not I'm liked. I'm not afraid of the backlash for debunking gender stereotypes. I'm more than happy to continue paving the way so that other women have the opportunity to be bold and become the leaders they want to be.

I think that's why I was drawn to boxing in the first place. It was something women were told they couldn't and shouldn't do. But we did it any way. And as it turns out, we were good and it was empowering. Being part of the first women's world championship was surreal. I knew I belonged.

Then there was the madison on the track. Again - women were told we couldn't and shouldn't participate. I remember a colleague on a volunteer organization said I was crazy for thinking women would be interested in doing the madison. That year we had six women's teams compete. The following year we had 10 teams at a national caliber race, outnumbering the men. I love a challenge and I love proving a stereotype wrong.

So when a woman stands atop a podium in her pantsuit - it's for all women everywhere who aspire to step into leadership roles. Be bold. Be loud. Be yourself. Be the change you want to see in the world. And wear whatever type of pantsuit you want.

Cheerleaders and Support Bras.

I'm sure we've all collected dozens of moments when the right person said the right thing at the right time. These moments help define and shape you as a human being over the years.  I've collected a few myself and wanted to share them with you.

Thank you, Austin, for giving me the following words of encouragement after doing poorly on an exam in college.
"Don't worry Jen. You just have to figure out how to study. One day everything will just click." 

Replace study with anything you're struggling with (love, work, make money, etc.). One day everything does just click. Just keep doing what you're doing and don't give up. In the meantime, enjoy the process and the journey it takes to get there. And surround yourself with positive people who encourage you every step of the way.

Thank you, Kym for encouraging me to get into coaching.
"Have you ever considered coaching? You'd be amazing at it." 

Funny - at the time I wasn't ready to hear the message. I ran into Kym at the Coaching Summit this past weekend and we had a good laugh about my refusal to acknowledge the teacher in me. I got to publicly thank her for the encouragement she gave me so many years ago.

Thank you, Mom for believing in me even when I had my doubts. I've put you through the wringer and you've always been my number one fan.

I called her crying after a track race my first year when I quit for the first time because I had no idea what I was doing. It was a post-Olympic year and the track scene in Portland, Oregon was flooded with strong contenders. During a points race, I was spit out the back and ended up quitting because I didn't know if I should keep going.
"Jennifer, look at who you're competing against! These are Olympians. They've been racing for a long time. Pick yourself up, dust yourself off and get back in there."

That pep talk would fuel my motivation to get back on track every time I encountered failure. And trust me, that happened and still happens a lot.

Thank you, Leslie for seeing the light inside of me and making it grow brighter.
"I see something rare inside of you. You've got something kid that shines brightly. Cultivate it."

Leslie pulled me aside during a Coaching Training Institute seminar and practically whispered in my ear and it fueled my fire. And while I don't know exactly what that means or how it will apply - it sparked a sense of curiosity inside of me to be on the look out for how this applies to life.

I cherish those moments of clarity and unexpected impact. My goal is to reciprocate those messages of inspiration to others in the way they were passed onto me.

Who are the people in your life that have motivated you?

The Things We Think But Do Not Say

This short interruption brought to you by a full weekend spent in Colorado Springs at the USA Cycling Coaching Summit....

Ben and I left Boulder early Friday morning to beat traffic. Kevin, my old boss and director of coaching education, gave a short welcome speech before ushering on the keynote speaker, Aaron McHugh. Aaron's recent book, "Fire Your Boss" talks about the internal journey we're all on and figuring out why you do what you do. Is it for money or are you in it because you believe in what you're doing? When's the last time you examined what you're doing and asked yourself why you're doing it?

Aaron's speech resonated with a lot of people. 150 coaches listened in - some here to expand their knowledge, some to reconnect with colleagues, and some just starting their coaching careers. His speech tied into what Alison and I were prepared to talk about later that afternoon during our presentation on Building the Business and not being afraid of failing, and failing often. That's where you learn the most.

In the waning moments before we were due to present, I panicked. It's one thing to give a speech to an audience who you don't know. It's another to stand in front of a room of your professional peers and describe how you've done things, how a turn of events landed you on stage. And while a little seed of doubt sits on your shoulder whispering in your ear, "what makes you so special?" the other shoulder sits a cheerleader..."YES! YOU BELONG HERE! LEAD!!"

I only listened to my seed of doubt once on stage and it made me buckle temporarily under pressure. I swallowed, reached for my notes and continued on, quickly forgetting my temporary glitch. Regaining composure, I started speaking from the heart and let those fears fly out the window.

I love public speaking as much as it scares me. Standing in front of an audience, delivering a message and being completely vulnerable is deeply satisfying. My hope is the message I convey while I have their attention eases their pain, helps them along in their journey and allows a deeper understanding. And it's also my fear that they don't get it. But I can't control that. As long as it touches one person, I've done my job.

As corny as this may sound (hey seed of doubt - who invited you here?), standing on stage is my one of my callings. I've known that but haven't owned it since I first discovered the thrill of having a scheduled poem reading in grade school, the anxiety that came with it in the moments before speaking and the complete relief after the performance. I know I have a ways to go to polish my delivery, to find my voice, to really hone the craft - but like writing, it's in my soul. The more I do it, the more I want to do it.

So bring on the weekly attendance at Toastmasters. Bring on signing up for more opportunities and delivering more messages. I'm practicing. I dream of being a paid professional speaker. And these baby steps are bringing me closer to that reality.