Temptation

With a strong smell of spring, Benjamin and I zoomed down the Falcon Trail in the Air Force Academy around 6pm last night. Dodging thundershowers and racing daylight, I had one of those "I love it here" rides. And by here, I mean where I am both physically and mentally. I love following Benjamin's quick descents on his mountain bike, love zooming through the forest and over rocky trail sections. Love that my life is what it is and appreciative of so much abundance. And I love that my legs felt amazing, ready for the meandering challenge.

The smells were incredible. An earthy scent: dust, pine needles, green blades of grass, and peppered with small rain drops. I breathed deeply in, thankful for the opportunity to be playing in its presence, full grin on my face as we flew down the trail. Yes, I sang the whole way.

"Who are you talking to?" Benjamin asked at one point.

"Nobody! Just singing!" ZOOM down the trail, booming out the chorus to New Order's song Temptation. Benjamin added the lyrics.

"Up, down, turn around
Please don't let me hit the ground
Tonight I think I'll walk alone
I'll find my soul as I go home"

Colorado rain is much different than Washington's. It comes in small spurts and the drops are like fine needles, barely touching the skin. In the high desert, the rain is welcome. It's the greenest I have ever seen it here, thanks to the nightly thundershowers. Funny though, if you were to visit from Seattle, you'd wonder why everything looks brown.

Spring is late. Much later than last year. We are just now hitting temperatures in the 70's. The snow is melting off the surrounding fourteeners and the river and stream banks are bulging. Our street is lined with bright green bulbs, providing shade and color.

Somedays just leave you thankful. Thankful for everything in your life, in this moment, in this lifetime in this Universe. Come visit me in Colorado and I'll take you on those trials so you can feel it too.  Singing is mandatory.

Signs from another dimension....

Days of the week are flying by. The weeks are screaming by too. And we're nearly half way through May? It's not that I mind, not at all. More than anything I notice how different my routine is.

The world keeps spinning madly on. Fingers fly over the keyboard, communicating with my beloved community right next door and thousands of miles away. Getting things done here there and everywhere. My book is one of my main focuses right now so I charge ahead. (Oh just wait! It's going to be good. Really, really good.)

And then it hits me. A Radiohead song sends me back in time, back to a place that I haven't been in a while. One where I feel alone and the waves of loss wash over me. A lump builds in my throat. My shaggy dog whines from the other room to comfort me. I guess that sob was out loud. Or maybe she's just hungry.

If you've ever lost someone close to you, you know what I mean. If you haven't you will eventually.

It's not that I haven't created a new wonderful life. One that I am thankful for each and every day. I wouldn't trade my life for anything. It really is beautiful, unique and full of abundance.

It's just that sometimes it still hits me without warning. A song, a smell, a taste, a sign that from another dimension letting me know that he thinks about me and misses me too.

Sigh.

A breather from diving deep...

Reconstructing past painful events is hard work. I'm diving deep into when I first understood Ryan died and the events surrounding it. It's like an injured limb that will never be the same after its trauma. Certain weather agitates it, leaving you achey and remembering what it was like before. Before the loss, before the hurt, before the circle of life. 

Except I know I'm stronger. I know I'm wiser. I know I wouldn't trade what happened to me for any one else's life, but that still doesn't make it any easier at times.

Why do I go there? Especially if it's so painful? Because I know deep in my core that it will help heal me. And even better - it could help someone else going through a similar experience.

So here's to facing your worst fears and turning them into beautiful stories.

Tandem Racing is AWESOME.

Written somewhere in the air closer to the Washington Dulles Airport in route to Denver...

The pre-race jitters hit me hard. Heartbeat racing, anxious stomach swirling, and the inability to make a decision. Yet underneath it all - excitement. I tell Shawn that I'm excited and aroused by what's to come. It's her first race so she asks why and I respond because this is a new type of race and I love a new challenge. That and I truly love racing bicycles.

The race is hot from the start. As hot as getting 300 pounds up to speed can be. We lug and heft our body weight quickly, positioning ourselves in the top two around the first one hundred eighty degree turn. I take the corner with no fear and absolutely zero hesitation. Upon exit I tell Shawn to stand and in one fluid motion we're up together winding the tandem back up to speed. We're on the Kiwi's wheel, zooming down the tailwind descent, having enough momentum to pass them and be the first to navigate around the round-about. I take it at full speed, angling and cutting it close to the curb, which puts a gap between us and the chasing teams.

The Kiwi's catch us and accelerate, being the first through a shallow left hand turn and accelerate hard over a small hump of a hill. We fly down hill, gaining speed into the bottom left hand corner. Positioned in second, we take the inside line and lean hard, angling the bike at forty five degrees. I'm focused on the race, not hearing or sensing Shawn's glee as the ground zooms by. The Kiwi's still on the offense, surge on the next hill. Their practiced teamwork seamless and impressive. But the new girls on the block, with two weeks of training and growing engines, are not to be discounted. We came to play. We match the Kiwi's speed while keeping careful watch on the other tandems.

Mackenzie and Kara are the only two brave enough to attack and get a gap on the descent. The tandem teams look at one another, no one keen to initiate the chase. Mackenzie and Kara quickly gain a fifteen second advantage. Coming into the hill, the Kiwi's surge again and we close the gap as we quickly catch Mackenzie and Kara. No one counters until we come to the two backside steep hills. The Kiwi's throw an attack again this time followed by Debbie and Karissa, testing their legs and muscling a big gear. I watch them muscle uphill as Shawn and I delicately spin 100 rpm to their 60 rpm, saving our muscles from early fatigue.

The Kiwi's are trying again to gain a gap and we've already dropped the weakest tandem. My heart is beating hard, lungs thankful for the extra sea-level oxygen. We power up the hill and I make note of the weaker tandems, already showing kings in their armor this early in the game.

Shawn is matching my power, spinning smoothly, face buried in my ass. She doesn't ask what's going on, she just pedals. The surging continues but our light gear and ability to accelerate continue to play in our favor. Her sonar hearing assists as she tells me which side approaching tandems are coming, their movements and creaking bikes announcing the galloping elephants.

We start creating intentional gaps, spinning and accelerating and cornering quickly causing other teams to surge and close the gap. Every move is playing out to my expectations. I'm having a blast, cautious yet giddy at playing different cards with the other teams. It reminds me of track racing and how just out of sheer joy and fun, I'm able to push that much harder. Coupled with the added benefit of partnering with Shawn, and I'm digging into a new level of disassociation. One where I can hover over the pain in my searing lungs, lactic-acid building legs, pushing beyond what my brain communicates to my body. The euphoria is intoxicating. The first lap was hard, but we stuck with the group and I'm encouraged and start observing where to make the final sprint to the finish line.

Mackenzie and Kara attack again, gaining a minute fifteen seconds while the rest of the teams play cat and mouse, waiting for the Kiwi's to try another breakaway. Every move is quickly absorbed and the Kiwi's call a truce and pedal to the back of the group. The next lap is slow and the Kiwi's summon the other teams to work together and catch the break. We quickly reel Mackenzie and Kara back in and they have a hard time staying with us when we absorb them.

Benjamin is standing on the sidelines, coaching me, telling me to feather the gear and spin up the hills, to get off the front but stay attentive to positioning. I start calculating who has anything left in the spring. Lisa and Rachael had muscled up the hills, putting a strain on their muscles. Debbie and Karissa put in a lot of energy when chasing down Mackenzie and Kara. The Kiwi's are the biggest threat. Coming into the last corner, I know this is it.

We're through the left hand turn followed by a sweeping right hand. From the sideline, Benjamin reminds at me to be patient. It's a long uphill headwind sprint from the feed zone. The Kiwi's initiate and we jump on their wheel, easing into their draft. At 150 meters to go, we surge making an attempt to come around the hard charging Kiwi's. We don't stand, mainly because I'm not confident and that lack of extra zip puts us in a respectable second.

I tell Shawn we just got second and she screams in excitement, grabbing my waist and thrilled with our success. I'm tickled as we let our accomplishment hit us in waves. The new kids on the block with a pinto stars and bars bike just made a major statement.

That night we recalled the race from our different perspectives. Shawn, verbalizing her excitement trust my every move. She trusted my tactics, my racing prowess. I told her how synched we were and how much I enjoyed racing with her.

We just received word that in a little over a month, Shawn and I will be representing the United States at a world cup in Italy. Look out world!

My Budding Boxing Career

“Hey Jen, my mom gave me a copy of Billy Blanks Tai Bo. Want to try it?” my next-door neighbor Rose asked one afternoon. Rose was also looking for an athletic vent to shed some weight. And we could follow the sequence of moves lead by a spandex clad kickboxing fanatic with the blinds drawn.

Our moves awkward and uncoordinated at first, we struggled to keep up with the timing between giggles.  After a handful of tries, thirty minutes started to pass with less effort. I started to increase the intensity and began doing the beginner tape twice a day. As I started to shed some weight, I also felt empowered. My fanaticism wore on Rose’s enthusiasm and she started to loose interest and eventually stopped joining me.

“Whatcha gotta do, you gotta PUSH YOURSELF!” Billy Blanks would shout through my TV, willing me to keep my arms up that much longer, challenging me to higher jump kicks as sweat flew from my body and dripped down the walls. I loved every minute of the physical and mental challenge and decided to progress my newfound passion at a local cardio kickboxing gym called, “Kick It.”

The studio was full of eager women punching and kicking freestanding punching bags lead by techno music and an enthusiastic and skilled instructor, Susan Thomas. It smelled of Febreeze coated sweat, masking the odor of dank Everlast gloves and Ringside focus mits. Susan patiently led us through a series of kicking and jabbing combinations, demonstrating them slowly at first and then showing us full speed, sharply exhaling on each point of contact.

“Ch! Ch! Ch! Ch! Ch! Ch!” Her movement fluid as she gracefully moved around in a circle, keeping her hands up and chin tucked. Entranced I decided right then and there that I wanted to move like that. I was ready to take kickboxing to the next level.

“Hey Susan, I have a question,” I asked that day after class. “How do you compete in this sport?”

“Oh! Come with me to a boxing workout tonight. It’s traditional boxing but a start.”

That night we drove 20 minutes north of Bellingham to the small town Ferndale. In the Cobra Kai dojo tucked behind Main Street, Susan and I were the only two females in a testosterone-laden gym. The stink of sweat stung my nose as ten or so guys assembled dressed in white tank tops, baggy shorts and hands wrapped in cotton gauze. The room was lined with mirrors, contained a ring, and time clock. On one of the walls hung a framed handwritten slogan “A Champion Is Made A Day At A Time.”

“Hey Coach Ferguson, this is Jennifer,” introduced Susan. “She’s interested in competing.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, reaching out my hand to shake his. His blue eyes sparkled, nose flattened like a pancake from years of being in the ring and smile displaying a denture mouth. 

“Well, go get dressed Jennifer,” Coach said.

“You can call me Juice,” I boldly replied.

We ran around the exterior of the building then shadow boxed in the mirror, my movements jerky and lacking the finesse of the other boxers. Sweat started to drip from everyone’s temples as we did 50 push-ups, 100 jumping jacks, footwork drills and lunges back and forth across the room and finished with 15 minutes of jumping rope. Coach paired us up according to ability then height to work on punching combinations. The new stimulation left me exhausted before the sparring session even started.

“Juice, want to try sparring tonight?” Coach asked.

“Sure,” I said, having no idea what I was getting myself into but eager to impress.

I strapped on a well-oiled and salt encrusted piece of headgear and slipped on 14 ounce blue boxing gloves. I shoved my cheap plastic mouthpiece in and ducked between the ropes. My opponent, a 14-year-old kid named Jimmy, was the same height but 30 pounds lighter.  His eyes showed no fear and his jabs caught me off guard, popping me hard square in the face and whipping my head back. Eyes watering, nose throbbing I was relieved to hear the end of the round after only 30 seconds. We sparred two more rounds before Coach called it a night and I retired to the women’s locker room.

I sat on a cold, hard wooden bench in shock. The sting of getting hit in the head by a 14-year-old induced real tears when I was safely alone. I knew better then to let those boys see how shook up I was of willingly getting beat in the head. I sobbed for five seconds, looked directly at myself in the mirror and said sternly out loud, “This is it, Juice. This is the reality of the sport. You either take it or leave it.”

I showed up two days later.

Grief as a gift.

I had just left the chiropractors office where the receptionist was watching a live stream of the Boston Marathon. She was an avid runner herself and had a handful of friends competing. Incoming phone calls were answered as she multitasked and filled appointment slots while keeping watching the crowd of runners for those she knew.

I was getting my lower cranky back adjusted. I pushed a little too hard in the team time trial on Saturday afternoon, through the gusts of wind and up hill. My body, unaccustomed to the lower position, protested the next day as I was putting down my 10 pound bag, getting ready for the Air Force Academy road race. I felt a sharp pain in my L5, S1 and couldn't stand up straight. I decided to go out to the race anyway, just in case it was a fluke tweak and see if it would loosen it up by riding.

The line for registration was 50 people deep. I opted instead to get dressed in spandex. I attempted to lift my leg and pull on my shorts, only to feel shooting pain. Nope, no racing for me today. My immediate thought went to the bigger fish to fry next weekend in Greenville. If I'm going to throw my back out, it's going to be at a big race.

That night I had trouble sleeping. It hurt to lie down. It hurt to sit. It especially hurt to stand. I aged 50 years in a nanosecond. My dreams were erratic and I was being chased by a monster.

The next morning I emailed a few people asking for massage recommendations or seeing if I could get into the Olympic recovery center. Mike Durner responded with a referral of his chiropractor, Dr. Jeff Mathews just south of downtown. Lucky me they had a morning opening. It was there I saw the receptionist watching Boston.

Minutes after I left the explosions started. Social media blew up. Normally, Benjamin is my source for what's going on in the world. But when he's gone I frequently peruse FB and Twitter. The tweets started flooding in, adding to the confusion and angst. What is REALLY going on?!?

It brought me to the day Ryan died. When I had so much confusion, so much angst and so many unanswered questions. And now, a Nation is asking themselves those same questions. I want to help, in  any way I can.

Here's what I can offer to those affected by the bombings. And by affected I mean in any way connected to the Boston Marathon. You didn't need to be there to feel its enormity, to witness its ripple effect.

You have permission to be sad, angry, upset, tired, anxious, and guilty. It's okay not to be sad. It's okay to not know how you feel yet.  We all handle tragedy in a unique and personal way. There's no right or wrong. There just is.

Slowly, and often without notice a gift will emerge. It is your choice to let it. To let this reminder of mortality help you live the life you long for. To stop settling for things. To bring fulfillment and happiness into your life now. Trust me, it will happen if you let it.

The power of YES.

Last day, best day.

Greetings from beautiful and sunny Chula, Vista, California. It's the last day of a week long para-cycling camp where I've been piloting a tandem bicycle with my blind partner in crime, Shawn. Together we've powered up and glided down the steep hills surrounding the Olympic Training Center. And I'm happy to report, we've made some serious gains: gains in fitness, gains in time trial times, gains in communication and figuring out what we need to do as a team on our journey to world domination. I repeat, world domination.

Shawn (who is 100% visually impaired) getting instruction on throwing the hammer from Olympic Hammer thrower Brittany Henry.  "People always tell me the things I can't do. I always show them the things that I can." 

Today is our last day of camp. Our last day of combined hard work, pushing and pulling our legs up the Honey Springs hill as quick as we can with various power surges to push our bodies beyond what's comfortable and then settling back into the slightly uncomfortable. Only to repeat the effort a few minutes later. And repeat again, and again and again.

Would I trade this for anything? No way. I'll take every minute of discomfort, every second of pain, every ounce of struggle. And Shawn does too. That's required. Especially on a tandem. Our motives must synch up and our efforts must be in harmony. We must strike the perfect balance between both of our roles, one where we both have our strengths and weaknesses. Together we create a unique blend of feminine power, ready to conquer the world. And we laugh, a lot.

I woke up excited to go uphill. Yes, excited. Dreading hills is now part of my past. Today is a new day and a new opportunity to give it my full self. And I'm thankful for each and every day I get to do that. In many ways, it's a true celebration of being in the now and living in the moment. And to be honest, that's how I want to live me life, everyday, in the now.

I'm able to dig deeper on the tandem. Knowing Shawn is counting on me giving it 100% and counting on me to be on the top of my game every effort enables me to tap into that pain cave that much harder. I banish negative thoughts as soon as they arrive, focusing on the now and the yes, I can!

YES WE CAN push a tandem bike up hill quickly and efficiently.

YES I CAN push through the pain cave that much longer, that much harder.

YES WE CAN  because my partner can too.

YES I AM strong, powerful and confident.

YES WE CAN.

YES!

I discovered that the more you can enter yes's into an equation, any equation for that matter, the more you can. The more you focus on the positive and what you can do, the more doors open up. The Universe responds and grants you more access to what you can do. And often it reveals more than what you first thought possible. Just think of what opens up to you if you practice this often, let alone everyday. Yes we can win. Yes, we will win.

Engagements, funerals, birthdays, para-camps oh my! March is done. And wow, what a month!

I'd tell you more but a picture is worth a thousand words.

The Proposal

We were quickly packing for our trip to Tennessee. It was the kind of trip where you take mainly cycling gear, a couple of cozy pants and sweatshirts and not much else. Our mission: to romp around the back roads of Eastern Tennessee and do some secret training. Benjamin had spent winter there years ago in preparation for the 1996 Olympic trials. He discovered smooth roads, little to no traffic and lots of amazing terrain.

We were in our pajamas, filling our suitcases and he asked if I had room for something. I looked up and in his hand was a little box. A little box with a big ring inside. He got down on one knee and asked me to marry him.

I'd been dreaming of this moment for a while. Not sure when it was going to happen, and in some ways okay with if it never happened. I knew my love for him was beyond measure, beyond conditions, beyond limitations. I feel so lucky and blessed to feel this way about someone, about Benjamin.

So when that little box had a beautiful ring inside, accompanied by a proposal by the man of my dreams, I flew over the moon. And turned beet red.

"I had all these ideas in mind. But I couldn't wait any longer."

Floating on cloud nine, I couldn't stop smiling. If there were ever a moment I could stop time, this would be it. A moment full of much love, appreciation, and adoration.

In fact, I don't think I've stopped beaming.

BOOM!

I feel an energy swirling about, bubbling up inside of me like a volcano getting ready to erupt. It's fueled by many thoughts: on grief, on cycling, on bucking the status quo. Thoughts on why things are the way we think they are. Thoughts on how to make things different.

And then BOOM! Off goes my mountain top. I'm ready to take action! I'm ready to step into who I want to be and who I want to become. I'm getting the ball rolling, one step at a time to make things happen. With each step, I'm taking on the world and making a difference.

The action may seem small. I'm only one human. But my impact on the world may have a rippling butterfly effect. And knowing that fuels my passion. It wakes me up, eager to start each morning. Thankful I have another opportunity to do so. Grateful to express myself and am surrounded by people who believe in me.

Tomorrow night I arranged a Meetup called Loving Friends, aimed at bringing widows and widowers together to start a conversation. To build up my arsenal of people who view grief as a gift and opportunity. To start spreading the message and do good in the world. I'm ready to change consciousness, one being at a time.

Ode to Gammy

Grandmothers are very special people. Not only are they important by the virtue of the bloodline, but they are tasked with teaching grandchildren important life lessons. Today I’m going to share with you the lessons my grandmother, Gam, shared with me in hopes that they can serve you in life as well.

Following your heart and pursuing your passions

Gam grew up on a farm in Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada with 10 brothers and sisters. She was in the middle. At age 16, she and her sister flew the coop to warmer climates and opportunity in Los Angeles. She left with $5 in her pocket.

Imagine: 16 years old, red hair, full of life and adventure and seeing the world. Not the concrete world we’re used to; a world full of possibilities, orange groves and merchants. That’s where she met my grandfather. He whisked her quickly away to Hawaii and they began their lives together.

Even though I wasn’t there to witness it - her sense of adventure and willingness to try something new, her actions of boldly following her heart and pursuing a life of passion is one of the greatest gifts she shared with me. She dared following her heart.

Anything is possible.

Imagine again: a red head, full of life and a thirst for adventure. What she expressed to the Universe came back to her. She had married to George Magoon (my grandfather) whose family purchased a white sand beach called Maihaiula just north of the Kona Airport on the Big Island for $1,000. Together, Gam and my grandfather would take their children there and give them a unique experience.

Do you think that at 16, raised on a farm in Winnipeg she ever could have imagined raising her children in paradise? Yet it happened. Because anything is possible. She taught me to keep an open and positive perspective toward everything.

Life is an adventure

I grew up on the mainland in Eugene, OR. Yet every summer, my mom would take us back to Hawaii to visit with my grandmother. We would travel to Maihaiula for a month at a time. Without electricity or television, we had to entertain ourselves as best we could. Luckily Gam taught me how to fish.

Maihaiula is a half moon bay. On the south side, are some lava rocks that overhang the ocean. I remember holding my grandmother’s hand as she showed me how to navigate through the deep sand, through the coconut groves with falling fronds, avoiding the kiawe thorns, how to walk on aa and puu lava as well as avoid menehunes.

Armed with a bamboo pole, straw hat, butter knife to pick off creatures for bait and a bucket, my grandmother showed me the best fishing hole. I’d plop my line into the water and within seconds bring up tropical fish. She taught me which fish were good to eat and which ones were too boney and how to unhook them and release them back.

Eventually I got bold enough to fish on my own. My grandmother had taught me how to navigate and deal with obstacles and how to fish. And in her gentle way, I understood what she taught me would serve as metaphor with how to deal with life. It should always be treated as an adventure.

Tackling whatever life may throw at you.

Eventually I graduated from my bamboo pole to a fishing rod. I started casting right in front of the house and quickly learned there are good and not so good places to fish. My line snagged, but I could feel a wiggle.

After 20 minutes, Gam came to check on me. She tried untangling the line as well but whatever I had caught was stubborn. Eventually, slowly, I brought in an electric eel and shrieked in horror. Gam didn’t bat an eye. Instead she grabbed the nearest rock and started bashing the head of the eel. “Your Auntie Denny (bash) LOVES (bash) eel. (BASH BASH BASH) She’ll eat it!”

That is one of my fondest memories of Gam. She taught me that no matter what life throws at you or you snag on your fishing rod, you can bash it with a rock and feed it to your auntie.

I am so thankful for my grandmother, Gam. She taught me to following my heart and pursuing my passions, anything is possible, life is an adventure and that I can tackle whatever life may throw at me.

Last week, Gam passed away at 97 years old. She lived an amazing life and was loved by all who knew her. And though her physical presence passed, her legacy continues on in me, in my siblings, cousins, mom, aunt and uncle and everyone else who had the good fortune of meeting her.

So when you find you have an opportunity to share a life lesson with someone, consider the impact you may have on that young persons life. Pass your legacy on. And remember, grandmothers are very special people. And Gam was no exception.

Chapter Two - The First Month.

What you see before you is a book in the makings. I'm going back, reviewing my posts in small chunks. Right now I'm focusing on the first month after Ryan's death.

You would think poking around in the past would stir up all sorts of grief demons. And it does. But underneath it all and only a few days into his passing was a current of acceptance. I knew right away that was the choice I wanted to make. I didn't want to play the victim. 

"Being angry isn't going to change anything."

"I was sad thinking about not bring able to share this with him - no one to come home to and get a big enormous kiss and hug and celebratory beer with. But as night wore on, I'm learning to be okay with that. Or more like get used to it."

So many things change over time. Getting used to Ryan not being here, and learning to love again. I get a big enormous kiss and hugs from Benjamin now. He fills me up in his own, authentic and beautiful way. I am so lucky. I also appreciate all of the lessons I've learned despite the hardship: wisdom, acceptance, limitless possibilities, true love, to name a few. 

And now... a little sample of what I'm working on today....

I want to wake up from this nightmare.

That’s all I could say or think at first. That everything I experienced was surreal and hopefully a figment of my imagination. My heart, my head and my soul would never be the same. Sure my heart would continue beating and my lungs still gathering air. But when you loose someone, someone who is as close as Ryan was, it feels like you get lost in an undertow. Swirling around, practically drowning and you become uncertain which direction is up.

I started mooning people. (Who moons people!? Seriously!) My inhibitions were down and my reasoning thrown out the door. I would laugh hysterically and cry, all at once. My sleep irregular, I often woke up at 3 am, unable to fall back asleep. The easiest thing to do was to think about Ryan. I let memories we share fill the blank void. I didn’t want to be alone in my house at first, and instead opted to stay at my mom’s house. 

Being home alone meant contending with the ghosts. And facing the reality sooner than later that I had to untangle the life I knew in order to make room for a new one. Friends started asking, why don’t you throw yourself back into training? Why don’t you race at Nationals in a month? Why aren’t you over it?

I don’t know if anyone is capable of loosing their mate and then acting as if everything is normal. It’s not. And pretending that it is would only set me back.

It didn't prevent me from trying to act normal. I surrounded myself with friends and things to do. During the day, I had no trouble hanging out with friends and keeping my mind occupied. But whenever I would go home, emotionally drained from having to pretend I was ok, tears would stream down the minute I closed my front door. My pillow and sheets would be covered in snot come morning. I missed Ryan and felt hollow without him there.

Falling for my strong front, people started relying on me emotionally. It had only been 10 days since Ryan passed. I felt incapable of shouldering anyone else’s emotions and ended up secluding myself. My smile, although easy to come despite the tragedy, was a mask for how bad I hurt inside. I wished Ryan were around so I could vent to him. He always had a way of listening to me and by doing so would help solve the problem. But he wasn’t around anymore and I needed to find the careful balance between being social and taking care of myself. Sometimes I needed to just feel the ache.

Checking in from the Couch

My skin has a nice red lobster glow to it. Or at least, it does where my skin was exposed this past week. Hello biking tan lines! It's been a few months.

Mackenzie, Lisa and I with a Tijuana in the background.

My legs sting from both the extra UV and from the 5,000 feet of climbing from today. It's the last day of a mini-training camp for just the para-pilots held at the Olympic Training Center in Chula Vista. We were tested in four different ways - a RAMP test, Lactate Blood test, Otay Lakes Time Trial and the queen of all stages - Honey Springs Hill Climb. Not to mention a bunch of endurance miles thrown into the mix through the surrounding hills.

It's been confirmed - I did not become a better climber over the off season. Darn it! However, the cumulative climbing from moving to Colorado and being in Mallorca this last summer is improving my climbing ability. And that's all this girl could ask for. I'm building muscle memory of how to suffer on longer climbs and what my pace is.

I love this sport.

Seriously, where else do you get a chance to work on your weaknesses day after day, climb after climb? My fellow pilots pummeled and encouraged me. We even went to dinner blind folded one night to experience what it's like to eat blind. Piercing tomatoes with a fork is challenging! And eating fruit salad with Craig switching out my bowl without me knowing it, even harder. That rascal.

What's next? Time will tell. I am excited at the prospect and will continue training my bootie off. I've got some more tan lines to earn. And more town sprint signs to win.

Pilot Parallels

I'm getting a crash course in para-cycling piloting.

It started with a camp in January. Seven straight days on the bike with Rachael on a bike that fit me fairly well. I tried really hard at first to adapt to this new role. To mold myself to the bike and stoker, verbally encouraging us to go faster up hills. And found out, the hard way, that willing and trying can only get you so far. No, no. That kind of work has to be accomplished. You simply have to do it. Sticking to your training plan, getting stronger every day, feeding your body the proper nutrition to perform well, sleeping soundly at night - it all counts in the big picture of riding well.

And it wasn't until after I cracked from getting sick, cracked from trying so hard it ran my ragged, that I finally got it. We had a breakthrough on the bike. Simple is best. One simple word: more. It transformed how we worked together on the bike. It brought the best out of both of us.

Next and most recently - a camp last week. I was asked a week prior if I would be interested in piloting a new up and comer. Absolutely! Six days straight on the bike with Shawn Cheshire, who is new to cycling and being blind. A traumatic brain injury 9 months prior left her 100% blind. We had to work harder to find common ground. She's new to cycling, I'm new to being around someone who is 100% blind. (Rachael could make out shapes and forms and was fairly independent.) First things first - we walked around the dorm room so she could feel where things were so she could memorize their position.

"If you really want to mess with me, just move my things," she joked.

Thankfully the week went well so I didn't have to go to such drastic measures.

Curbs, shrubs, and obstacles we so take for granted of being able to see. I had to look at things in a new light - is this going to trip Shawn? She carries a cane, but built enough trust with me, she would leave it in the dorm room. I was totally responsible for her well being. Thankfully she trusted me on the bike. We did have our moments - like when she constantly compared me to the other well practiced male pilots. Like how long they've been piloting, the way they felt compared to the way I feel.

I found myself having a hard time living up to their piloting.

Eventually we had a breaking point. It was unexpected, as all breaking points are. Picture this: standing starts on a tandem. I know how these feel on a single bike but when you add another rider on the back who doesn't know what they feel like, well, things were dicey. Our first attempt rocked the bike so hard I thought I might dump us. When I leaned forward to accelerate, she stood straight up making the back of the bike sway dramatically from side to side.

"I've never felt that before! That movement has never happened with another pilot!"

We asked Larry, the other blind athlete, to describe what standing starts felt like to Shawn. It's one thing to hear what it's supposed to feel like. It's another to actually feel it.

I let out an audible sigh.

"Jen, why are you frustrated with me?" she asked.

"Because this is new to me too. But you have to be open to us figuring it out together. We'll get it, it just takes practice."

Our next start was light years better. A major breakthrough. The frustration was checked at the starting gate. Trust regained and re-established. We started to synch up and push each other more and more. She stopped comparing me to other pilots and instead adopted me as her pilot. I realized that I needed to trust her as well. She is now my stoker.

By week's end Shawn told someone who jokingly teased me, "I can't have you talking about my pilot like that."

I know she felt the smile that spread across my face. I didn't have to tell her.

From Kayak Morning by Roger Rosenblatt

"You have to understand," she said. "Grief lasts forever."

"Like death," I said.

"Like death. Except death is someone else's condition, grief is all yours."

"I feel worse now than I did shortly after she died."

"And you'll feel even worse next year. And worse the year after that, unless you find a way to transform your grief."

"We're back to that."

"We've never left it," she said. "Grief comes to you all at once, so you think it will be over all at once. But it is your guest for a lifetime."

"How should I treat this guest? This unwelcome, uninvited guest?"

"Think of the one who sent it to you," she said.


I help people who want to transform their grief. If you or someone you know is going through a difficult time, trying to make sense in a senseless world, trying to see the opportunity now available for you, please contact me at jennifer@sharp-coaching.com.

Leaping Into Lovers Lane: Eb and Flow

“Why is she so happy, mom?” A friend’s son asked after hearing that I had lost my husband and then had the nerve to race a cyclocross race in the pouring rain. I was letting out squeals, more than anything out the absurdity of being a new widow and daring to laugh. Especially at myself.

“I’m a widow! Har, har!”

I wasn’t acting like a widow should. Widows should be dressed in black, barely able to move due to their grief. They should stay home and shut out the outside world. They have puffy eyes and sad faces. And mostly, widows are old.

I knew I wasn’t like most widows. I knew I had a choice. And my choice was to get on my bike and feel alive. I wanted to feel my heartbeat so it would give me a brief break. I wanted to forget, if just for a moment, that my heart had a big gapping hole in it.

My heart pounding, body and bike barely cooperating in the mud fest surrounding Marymoor park. My dismounts were comical. I laughed mainly because I had seen so many friends fluidly demonstrate their prowess of getting off their bikes before they hit the barriers. I flailed around, missing the dismount zone, often dumping the bike and bumping my shin. The anxiety would build, a half lap before the obstacle and I’d start laughing. To most I must have sounded like a lunatic.

Yet that comic relief, that ability to laugh at myself was just what I needed. It released some of the grief pressure. A pressure that kept me huddled under the covers at night, wiping my snotty nose all over my sheets and pillow. The pressure that dulled my senses into one feeling: utter devastation. Feeling this emotion scared me. I didn’t want anyone else to know it’s pain.

So instead, I learned to keep my grief to myself. To express it late at night, with Makiah as my witness. I didn’t want to scare people away. I didn’t want to scare myself. Neither my friends nor I knew what to say. How does one handle grief, let alone someone else’s? How do you comfort someone who loses their partner?

I wanted to function back in society as quickly as possible. I didn’t want to have awkward conversations with acquaintances or nimbly navigate unchartered waters. So instead, I laughed like a manic while riding a knobby tired bike in the pouring rain over bumpy grass and off camber courses. I knew I wasn’t acting normal but it felt good.

I wanted to separate the dark grief periods from lighter moments. I gave myself permission to laugh. I gave myself permission to cry. I also gave myself permission, despite my people pleaser tendency,  to turn down social invitations. Yet I still felt like someone was wrong with me and was disappointed when I couldn’t rise to the occasion. When I couldn’t buck up and put on a happy face. But my friends understood. Or at least it didn’t seem to bother them. That widow card has trumping power.

Leaping Into Lovers Lane - A Break.

(Hey All - I did it. I hired a writing coach. She's going to help me get my book published. I've been sorting through pieces and came across this one. I speaks volumes to why I want to get my story out there - to help other people dealing with grief. If you or someone you know is dealing with grief and needs someone to talk to - please send them my contact information. Enjoy.)

I suppose I needed the break, though at the time it didn’t feel like I needed one.  I suppose it was a break from writing, to refocus and figure out my next steps. To live my life and really appreciate things. To experience and gain more wisdom, to follow my heart and do things that I wanted to do.

I do think there’s something to be said about having goals. Of making them a reality and letting the work toward them get you into some sort of routine. And I’ve been feeling the need to revisit a deadline for this book.

When Ryan died, the worst thing that could happen became my reality. I went into shock immediately, floating as though it were a dream. But he didn’t come home. He didn’t suddenly appear out of the blue, unless it was in my dreams. He didn’t call. He died. Everything about his physical sense vanished. And I was left hollow, a mere fraction of the person I was before.

Suddenly very simple tasks become monumental. Listening to music for the first time, going places we used to go together for the first time – my life was forever altered. And that took a lot of getting used to.

Some how I knew early on in the grieving process that I would make the most of it. Doing so was in my nature. I couldn’t just wallow in my own self pity, letting sadness and sorrow rule my existence. No, I had the choice to look at it differently. I immediately adopted the “to know love is better than not at all” attitude and decided to take steps toward healing. Thankfully I had good friends to help me through. We spent week nights together, yet I would always return to the house and cry myself to sleep. It was nice to have diversions – to go out and eat well. But I would come home, reminded again of my loss and break down.

I knew getting regular exercise would get me through. And thankfully I had a training program to follow. And although it wasn’t the best and most focused work (in retrospect, how could it be?), I still went through the motions. I still showed up every day ready to get my heart pounding to feel alive, to feel normal, to escape the loss if only for a few hours.

Except I was still coming back home, home to the ghosts. Home to the reminders. Home to the empty house and ashes sitting on the mantel. Ryan’s absence encompassed me. No matter what I tried, it was always there. That dull ache of missing someone so badly you lose it. A song comes on the radio, a smell, a taste, a feeling and suddenly you’re a puddle of emotions and tears. Hoping no one will see you this weak, that broken. Because I knew, deep down I needed to feel this way. And as awful as it felt at the time, I needed to trudge through it. I needed to feel it, to get to the very bottom in order to heal. To form a base of sadness, of grief so that one day I could feel happiness and love again.

I would never wish this kind of sadness upon anyone. But I do wish upon everyone a wakening up. An enlightenment of sorts. A realization that despite life’s ups and downs, you can and will come out on the other side stronger and a better person. That you can choose to be this way and when you do, when you take happiness and empowerment into your own hands, the world opens up to you. You see things in a new light. You understand that doing what you want to do and striving toward that is so important.

Sure, I still get sad. There are nights when I cry myself to sleep. They are getting further and further between bouts, but they still happen. And I let them. I cry deeply, and sob to the point of where my sweet dogs check on me to make sure I’m okay. And once I’ve cried enough to water the lawn, I breath in deeply and know that Ryan’s there. He’ll always be there.

Banyan

Banyan Trees: a place of gathering providing shelter and shade. A place for communion. Their roots are in reverse - connecting to the ground from their mighty branches.

Thinking about the banyan trees in Hawaii grounds me. There are several within walking distance of my grandmother's house on O'ahu. Some in Judd Forest, a lush tropical jungle behind her house, some down the street on the carefully kept grounds at Queen Emma's summer palace.

When I need to feel rooted, connected and at peace, I imagine the smooth bark and Earthy smell - housing an entire eco system. I breath in its power, feel its strength and sink in. It's nice to know that where ever I am, what ever I'm doing, I can connect to my inner Banyan and find peace.

What moves you? When do you feel connected? What places can you go where you feel safe and connected?

Post Camp

Oye. The legs are hurtin' for certain right now. We just completed a long morning ride (3 1/2 hours) with over 3400 feet of elevation gain. The majority of which was done up a little climb called Honey Springs, almost in Mexico. Oye.

I got me a serious and motivated stoker! Together we crushed the previous time I set with Rachael by 5 minutes. Drooling down my face the last 1/4 mile and grunting made that effort that much harder. Not to mention I have a stoker (Shawn Cheshire) who is giving this everything she has and then some. Two strong women on a tandem. A force to be reckoned with.

I'm getting lots of time as a pilot and strengthening my skill set (not to mention the quads) in hopes of making it to the Paralympic Games in Rio 2016. This week provided lots of encouragement, lots of learning and above all, teamwork.

My body is tired. A good tired. One that feels so good. I can only equate it to after a long day of skiing, where you can't stand a moment longer.

Round 2: Chula Vista OTC Para Camp

It's soooo nice to be back in Chula Vista, CA at the Olympic Training Center, this time piloting for a talent ID camp. It's sunny and warm, which makes up for the testing protocols we just went through. 75! I'll take it! (It was snowing yesterday when I left Colorado.)

On tap for today: Testing. Ouchie.

The test we did today was new. It's a standard protocol that's going to be used across the board to identify potential national and international levels of para-cyclists. Completed on a stationary SRM bike and hooked up to a computer, we start at 50 watts and maintain 75 rpm (designed to be doable by all 12 of the para classifications), and increases every minute by 25 watts, until failure.

What it's measuring is VO2 Max and a better way of testing a wide range of athletes and different fitness levels. (As compared to the steady state RAMP test we did last month, which increased wattage by 25 watts every 3 minutes. Sounds great, right? It's peachy. (I just puked a little bit in the back of my mouth thinking about the test.) But really, when they're looking to identify the next talent group of athletes, the VO2 Max test ramps up quickly and shows the potential of different athletes, verses how fit they are to begin with.)

If you want to hang out with an inspiring group of people, sign yourself up for a para-camp. It's pretty awesome.

Personally, I'm seeing an improvement since my last test about a month ago. Yay! Those 20 hour training weeks are paying off...

Tomorrow we have a "flat" time trial out Otay Lakes road. It's roughly 12 miles and should be a good test to see how we stack up next to other female tandems. At least, what Craig has on record.

My stoker is Shawn Cheshire and she's super new to the sport and improving leaps and bounds every day. She's also relatively new to being blind and learning to integrate competitive sports into daily living. She's falling into the pro-cyclist lifestyle pretty easily. It's easy to do at the training center. You get really good at training hard and really, really good at doing nothing. Preferably from a horizontal position.

Well, the cafeteria calls. Yum. And I don't have to do the dishes. :) More tales from the tandem to come...