The Commitmentphobes Guide to Getting the Love That Terrifies You

If you are curious about the resurgence in my blog writing after the hiatus, it's because I'm injured...again; one of the job hazards of teaching white belts is that they are very clumsy. A student fell on me, breaking two toes. I'm still teaching Spin and Karate, but no hiking or biking in my "spare" time.

I’m in the best of both worlds at the moment. I’m in the moony, happy, make others sick first stages of a new relationship. That relationship having grown out of a solid friendship, there is all the bliss with (almost) none of the game playing. Being with a man who does not play head games or hide his feelings is so novel to me, I get confused.  I also get a little panicked.

I might be a bit of a commitmentphobe….but I am trying to work on it. The entire reason I’ve had a lot of bad boyfriends isn’t that I’m “unlucky in love”. It’s because I am subconsciously attracted to men who I have absolutely no chance of having a successful relationship with. Some commitmentphobes form attachments to the unattainable, they pick an object of affection who lives far away, is already in a relationship or has some other large barrier to being together. This way they can have all the drama of being in love without all that messy actually working at having a relationship. I go the other way; I am attracted to guys who are carrying around so much emotional baggage they can hardly stand upright. The type who run away the moment they start feeling close, only to come back again when they sense I am getting fed up. They are the ones who pursue a girl like their life depends on getting her, and then neglect her and emotionally push her away until she’s halfway out the door, then do everything they can to pull her back, all the time blaming her for “always creating drama”. I call them Lava Lamp Boyfriends.

Enter the nice guy. After years of dating Lava Lamps, I’ve met a guy who is sweet, expressive, honest and completely trustworthy. He’s also athletic, outdoorsy and fixes things like bikes….and boy can he climb a hill on his bike *swoon. Before he ever read my blog he was a perfect checklist of the etiquette that impresses me so. We are so compatible that I am starting to think I have entirely imagined him. Sure, he’s a bit younger….ok, he’s a lot younger, but he’s an old soul, I’m a young spirit and cougars are in this season. I am not making it sound impossibly perfect, it is impossibly perfect – and that’s what sets off my commitmentphobic panic alarm.

The first round of panic came early on when discussing his Movember facial hair and he said “just wait six months when it’s big and bushy”. Granted, I don’t generally like facial hair and so he thinks the look of panic on my face was at the thought of a bushy “mountain man” beard, but  it was that harmless enough sounding phrase “just wait six months”. I don’t ever plan anything more than 3 weeks in advance with someone I am dating. I once broke up with a boyfriend (years ago), because he talked about teaching me to ski and we had started dating in May. I squelched the panic and convinced myself he was just goading me over the goatee.

Panic number two involved the perfect gift and a huge timeline.  I am a nature loving, get dirty in the outdoors kind of gal (my guy calls me “Granola Hot”, a categorization of women I did not know existed until now). In fact it was a long hike in the woods that made us both realize our friendship could cross the line at any minute if we dared to let it. I also love homemade gifts and prefer to be picked flowers than sent them so what my guy did shows just how well he truly understands me. He is growing me a tree. “What?” “I am growing you a tree, do you want to see it?” flipping through the photos on his phone. “It won’t be ready for 3 years though. There are three, I have a tree, there’s one for my dad and you have a tree.”

Breathe, breathe, breathe. On the one hand, a guy who would grow me a tree gets me better than anyone I’ve ever dated. On the other, he’s planning to give me a gift in three years….Slow, deep breaths - in for four, out for four. Don’t Panic! It’s a wonderful gift and the fact that he is thinking long term is a good thing. These are the conversations I have with myself regularly so I don’t start to sabotage with one of the many stupid things I do to get in the way of my own happiness.

I’m not a horoscope kind of person. I read them for amusement but put absolutely no stock in them. I have a friend who does. We share the same horoscope, as does my guy and my best friend, and some of the things she tells me about the personality of our sign are pretty dead on. Years ago she told me, “Pisces are like all fish, try to grab them and they will dart away from you in fear. Swim up next to them and they will swim with you forever.” So maybe, just maybe, since we are two fish and don’t have anything to grab with, we can swim through this relationship ocean together happy and only mildly panicked.

Job Hazards and Personal Disasters

Coming from both a training and a theatre background I have friends who hate exercise, friends who are athletes, friends who are fit and friends who used to be athletes but currently hate exercise. The latter is where our story begins today.

Years ago I vowed never to train family or loved ones. Whenever I have tried to personal train someone close to me it has turned out disastrous. First, they have the lowest compliance with the programs I have created for them. Second, they try to bargain their way out of doing the workouts THEY approached ME to design for them. And, they argue with me when I try to correct their form, something that drives me nuts. 

Recently (and very foolishly) I broke that vow and now I am remembering why I made it in the first place. The most difficult of all, even more so than training my exercise hating mother (which I didn’t think possible), is training someone I am currently or used to date. Most people date others with common interests and I am no exception. When I belonged to theatre companies, I dated actors (and subsequently vowed to never do that again; a vow I’ve had no problem keeping), now I generally date cyclists or martial artists. The martial artists don’t need my professional services – they know the human body better than any family doctor I’ve ever had. Then there are the cyclists; the epitome of grace and fluidity on the bike, complete disasters off of it!

Normally, when working with a client I have strict parameters around the relationship. We meet at the gym at a mutually agreed upon time. If they are late, the time is still subtracted from their session. If they cancel at the last minute, they lose the session. They listen, they ask questions, they do what they are told because, well, that’s why they hired me!

People I date(d) show up late, and think nothing of calling and cancelling at the precise time I am expecting the doorbell to ring. Ah yes, the doorbell is ringing because they are training in my home. Maybe it’s the theatre training or maybe the karate sensei in me, but when I am training someone, anyone, I get into the role. I treat everyone like a client. I don’t give kisses or caresses, I don’t want to sit and chat or cuddle a bit before we head into the basement. Work is work and I have no problem compartmentalizing. I dated another black belt for years and for the first 2 no one at the dojo even realized we were dating. I have watched another sensei punish his wife with pushups in class. It’s all about the discipline in karate and dojo is dojo, it is a separate and distinct society.

As startling at it is, here in the closing months of 2011, many people still hold on to the ancient, outdated beliefs of the traditional roles of women and men. Women should be nurturing and vulnerable and need protecting, and although they are supposed to have a butt you could bounce coins off of, they aren’t supposed to kick butt to get it that way. Men are supposed to be providers and protectors who can also fix things. The fact that most men provide for their families with desk jobs that make them out of shape has not altered expectation anymore than wanting a woman with a great body has even though exercise is the only way to achieve it.

Now, when you are a female personal trainer who also has a couple of degrees of black under her belt, even the most traditional or sexist of men recognize that you don’t need their protection. Unless they have really healthy self esteem, though, they will not appreciate that you are also more athletic than them, until you have them in your basement, teaching them some strength exercises. They may be able to handle you being more flexible (men really don’t care about flexibility, anyway…at least not their own); they may be ok with you having better balance. But even the most progressive guy will feel emasculated if you are stronger. That’s when the arguments start. The nice guys, with healthy self esteem or at least modern views of gender equality will make excuses and explanations for why they have the weaknesses they have. The insecure guys who hold fast to sexist stereotypes about guys and dolls will feel so threatened they begin to tear you down, dragging your self esteem to their levels. They start by looking around the room and telling you what needs fixing (because, they can fix it, they are manly men) or cleaning (because you are not a womanly woman). If the insecurities are really bad, his exgirlfriends will start to creep up in conversations over the next few days. Generally in a reference to how good she was at something that either you are hopeless at or that you are really proud of but she does better. It’s an ugly game. Sadly, that doesn’t make it any less popular.

My sensei has a lot of platitudes he repeats to us. We call them “Senseisms”. Some of them are hysterically funny and some of them are so insightful you’ll find yourself repeating them anytime a friend is in need. My favourite is, “don’t blame yourself for what other people lack.” The next time I find myself in my basement, listening to the litany of charges against my femininity I am going to remember that the list has nothing to do with my lacking femininity; the lacking is of self esteem on the “manly” side.

The Best Wingman You May Ever Have is the Bad Date the Girl You Like Is On

Like all good stories that probably shouldn’t be told, this one starts with "I have this friend"…he’s funny, he’s smart, he’s attractive, he’s fit and he likes a lot of the same things I do. We talk, we ride, he patiently and sympathetically listens to me whine about the terrible guys I’ve dated in the past. We’re just friends. Hear that sound ladies? It’s the sound of your buddy’s head hitting the wall.

We all have one, possibly more, cute, funny, really nice guy friends who are always there for us, whose company we thoroughly enjoy. You know the one; he’s the first person you call after a bad date. He’s the one you call after every bad date. He’s also totally into you and he’s waiting for you to wake up and smell the coffee, sister. Well, here’s a steamy cup of espresso for you:

Being involved in or a fan of some very male dominated sports, I have a lot of guy friends, in fact at times my life is one big sausage fest – hold the toppings, they are all just friends. Some of them I have had secret crushes on, a couple of them I dated a life time ago. In either case, I relegated all of them to the friend category and spent time and energy dating men less attractive, less funny, less charming, and less intelligent than my friends.  After my last big breakup and subsequent bad first date, I was so turned off of the idea of relationships I made a New Year’s Resolution not to date for a year. It worked, I was happy. I had the best summer in years, hanging out with cute, smart, attractive, really good guys who were just friends. I was really happy. So happy, in fact, that I forgot about said resolution when an old friend (and crush) invited me out and I discovered much to my surprise that he considered it a date. Things went fine; I didn’t even know it was a date until it was nearly over. I got a little excited (probably from the validation of an old crush asking me out). We had a second date. It all went terribly, terribly wrong. Remember my older blog entry about etiquette? It was pretty much a checklist of everything he did wrong. Seriously, it made me suspicious that he read it and set out to exhibit every pet peeve I have. When I got home, I asked a cute, funny, smart guy friend to go to the pub for his amusement and my catharsis.

As we talked and I related the details of my bad date I realized I had never had a bad time with him. That being around him made me happy, very happy, and then it hit me. Why am I spending valuable time and energy on bad dates and unfulfilling relationships when I was sitting across from someone who was cute, funny, intelligent and already had an excellent track record of making me happy? The answer is, I’m not anymore….and it turns out, he’s totally into me.

Violent Control

For those who have never met me in person, I will remind you once again that I am short...really short...5'1" short. Take a moment to appreciate that and let's move on to the next fun fact, I'm a nidan (second degree) in karate and I teach that art. I do not teach MMA (that is a blog that would not end if ever I did start to write it), I teach one art, Okinawa Goju Ryu Karate Do, the same art I have trained in for over a decade.

Often, when someone learns this about me they make one of the following (dumb) remarks; either they tell me I am too small to be a black belt (Okinawa, the birthplace of karate being filled with seven footers, as it is...), or they tell me they want to fight me. There is a third camp, who tell me that karate is violent. I find the first two just annoying, the third ironic given that it is the people who do not train in a martial art who generally tell me they want to fight me, not the other way around. Anyone who has ever participated in or even watched a karate class will tell you that it is not violent (if it is, run out of that dojo like it is on fire!). Karate when taught correctly, like all continuing education classes, should be about discipline, self mastery, respect, body awareness and awareness of everything around you. 

Having trained with thousands of martial artists from around the world for over more than a decade, I have rarely met one who has been in a "fight" (bare fist, street clothes, outside the dojo), since they started training in a martial art. Go to any hockey arena, football stadium, or fitness centre and I bet you'll find more fighters than you will in the average dojo. Comparing what you see in action films or the UFC is like comparing what goes on at a Greco-Roman wrestling tournament to the WWE. Yes, there will be some "bad" Sensei's and dojos, just like there are bad coaches and teachers, but that is indicative of that particular person and to condemn an entire art form with over 200 years of history because of a few bad practitioners is ridiculous and ignorant.

Karate is no more violent than any contact sport, in fact I would say it is less so as, in realizing your own power, emphasis in teaching is placed on learning to control it. The world would be a better place if more people learned that.

Misunderstood

Kids like me. They have always liked me. They like me because I genuinely like them, well most of them anyway, and I like to play. As a teenager I was a favourite babysitter to second cousins, and the children of parent's friends. Understandable, having grown up in the theatre, my bedtime stories where productions with character voices and pantomime, and I could always be suckered into "another story, please" without much hesitation. 

I am about to begin my seventh year as a children's karate instructor. Everyone knows this about me, it is hardly a well kept secret, Yet, my friends still insist on perpetuating this myth that I hate children and am either mean to them or avoid them at all costs. I have no idea where this misconception comes from or why friends take such delight in perpetuating it when they know for a fact what I do for a living and if they have children, they have watched me dedicate hours to their amusement. I am completely puzzled as to why people who know me so well derive such pleasure in such a false portrayal of me. Especially with so much evidence to the contrary.

People are funny.

Dare or Dare (and that's the truth)

Ever since the National Road Championships, I have wanted to try and yet been completely intimidated by the climb up to Rattlesnake Point - the road that is the wallpaper for my blogspot (the climb starts at 10% gradient!). I like hills, and I am a sucker for any man who can climb on a bike, but I've never actually ridden on anything so steep it had to have switch backs and even then cars strained to go up it. In moments of pure stupid bravado, I have said I'd sell my bike before I walked it up a climb, but never had *really* climbed. 

When the challenge, and a partner in riding crime presented themselves, I had to finally see what I was made of. My original intention was to do the climb once and take photos as my riding partner did hill repeats. We hit the bottom of the climb and I was a little nervous that I might not be able to climb it (many have not on their first attempts - and I love my bike, I'm not ready to sell it), but I pedaled on..and up, and up, and twist, and up, crested and then I knew I had to try it again. I did stop after two to take the promised photos, but then I just had to try it one last time. 3 loops in all, almost following the national course, certainly not the 10 that the elite women did or the 14 that the elite men did, but enough to boost my confidence and send my self doubt packing.

Today I was at a barbeque (yes, that's how we spell it here) and there were a number of women asking me about karate and spin classes, and telling me all the reasons why they couldn't do either. When I asked if they've ever tried a class they quietly said no. It amazes me the things people talk themselves out of without ever giving it a chance. How much they miss out on because they have already decided that they will fail. I think that's the main reason I teach kids, they don't make excuses or talk themselves out of things, they just try, until adults start holding them back and saying "you can't expect much out of them, their just kids"....Kids aren't too small, adults' minds are.

The view from above

Friendly and Accessible, Is That Too Much To Ask?

This morning was my first time witnessing the huge production that is getting a wheelchair on the "accessible" GO Bus. After 10 minutes, the passenger was finally on the bus and felt it necessary to apologize to the other passengers. This upset me. She did not do anything wrong by wanting to take public transit, what did she have to apologize for. I took the opportunity to move up a few seats and speak with her regarding her experiences and barriers getting around the region. She was very eloquent on the subject, speaking with humour and thoughtfulness. I gave her my email address and look forward to having an ongoing dialogue with her about this and many other subjects. 

After the equally large production to get her off the bus, which made her miss her connecting train, I was left with an even stronger conviction that I must broaden the scope of my aims to make Durham Region bicycle friendly. It must become people friendly, community friendly and accessible on all levels. Urban planning for the convenience of vehicles at the cost of the mobility of people is short-sighted, exclusionary and wrong.

A Card, A Joke and a Date With Destiny

I know, I know, I told you July would be all about cycling and it’s August now, so you figured it was safe to take a peek at the old blog – well , I lied.  This isn’t about racing; this is about the public’s right to enjoy the simple pleasure of riding a bike without fear.  It’s also about how, as a friend recently put it, “a joke went bad in a good way.”

I work for 3 municipalities. The nature of the fitness business is very transient, so instructors and trainers tend to work in many facilities. It’s nomadic but we like it that way, at least I do. At one municipality in particular, there is an excellent relationship between City Hall and the Recreation Complex and many staffers from “the hall” use the rec facility (you’d be surprised by how uncommon that is).  The CAO for the City was a regular in my 6:30 am spin classes before he was promoted to the post and for a bit afterward, but then work and life got in the way. He has a great sense of humour and the best intentions so I felt comfortable giving him a little nudge to get him back on track, but how to say “get your butt in gear” in just the right way? So, I bought a sympathy card, wrote “so sorry to hear about the loss of your motivation. Please let us know if there is anything we can do to help during this difficult time”, signed it and stealthily left it on his desk while he was out. A week went by and I heard nothing. I was a little disappointed (and a little nervous). Midweek the following week he hunted me down, promised to be in class Friday and asked how things were. This question led to a conversation about the slowness of the industry in summer, cycling in the region and the problems therein. I was given a business card. I sent an email enquiring about bike to work week. He put me in touch with the Sustainability Program office at city hall. I met with an enthusiastic and thoughtful woman who matched my passion and my optimism. Our discussion went from “bike to work week” to a bike friendly region and that progressed to her suggestion that I be introduced to the staff in Clean Air Initiative at the Regional level. The wheels started turning (pun unapologetically intended) in my mind. I knew I needed feedback from the community, so I created a “group” on facebook for people to voice concerns, comments and suggestions for improvement. I invited friends and crossed my fingers. Within 13 hours on a July long weekend my little group had 44 members, friends jumping in and offering me their expertise and services and the cycling community in Durham began approaching me with offers to help in any way they could. I am still overwhelmed at how fast things are moving and how many people are willing to help a stranger in a cause they have already exhausted themselves fighting for and I am absolutely ecstatic, grateful, hopeful and every positive emotional offshoot!

I am fully aware that change is a long, slow and very hard process, but someone has to start it, why not me? I may not be the one to finish it, it may not even come to fruition, but I’d rather tilt at windmills than sit on the couch and whine.

Follow our quixotic efforts on facebook  http://www.facebook.com/groups/265156826833494/ and twitter http://twitter.com/#!/CycleDurham or send an email to cycledurham@yahoo.ca

I am The Ellis Island of Odd

Bring me your weird, your wacky, your "why did they even make this?" I cannot resist things that are so bizarre people will not believe they exist unless I can show evidence. Sometimes it's a chance encounter in my random travels, sometimes they are gifts (I am not always sure if the gift-giver is aware how unlikely their gift's existence should be). I've decided to open a sort of digital museum of the lunacy I attract. Here is one of my most prized possessions, originally bought by my older brother as a gift for a 4 year old.....

Yes, you read that right, Samuel Taylor Coleridge's Kubla Khan - The Pop Up Edition!

With pop ups befitting the poem

Images sure to stay with one's inner child for a lifetime

The recipient of this gift did grow up to be a very talented artist. His concentration piece for his portfolio was an illustrated interpretation of Dante's Inferno.

Hello, My Name is Hypocrisy

I just finished a training course with an organization I volunteer for. It is always interesting when a cross-section of the population from different cities get together, especially when discussions about helping “different communities” are involved. Today, as I listened and smirked at suggestions for dealing with certain cultures, I was smacked in the face with my own prejudices about what a “prejudiced” person looks like. When I think of intolerance, I automatically picture a white male from a rural community and by doing so I am just as guilty of stereotyping as the people I pretend to be more enlightened than.

We all quote the platitude that “everyone has prejudices” though in my head I add the qualifier “else” between “everyone” and “has”, but it is not true. I am a ruralist, I stereotype people by their proximity to urban centers. I also stereotype people by their level of education (ridiculous, too, as I am well aware that education does not correlate to intelligence and vice versa), and I judge people by their interests.  If, for example, someone tells me they like NASCAR, I make all kinds of assumptions about their lifestyle and it’s wrong. It is just as wrong as suggesting all people of a particular culture share the same political beliefs or that all people of a certain sexual orientation have the same dating patterns.

It is human nature to classify things. That’s what we do. We have built an entire area of science around the practice. At the time, there was probably a need, but as we move toward globalization, demographics become less important. I am far from advocating for the homogenization of humanity (though it is happening whether I advocate it or not). Quite the opposite, I believe diversity adds to the richness of humanity. I also understand that it can lead to barriers between people. At this moment, I want to put aside the cultural awareness I so prided myself on and start trying to understand individuals on a case-by-case basis, but I am lazy and classification makes things easier, so it may be just a matter of time until I revert. I hope not.

Fell In Love With a Road

Well, I'm back from a one woman mini-training camp. Having some time off, and sensing my "vacation" plans about to fall through and become day-trip activities around the city I was trying to get the hell away from, I shut off my mobile, left the laptop, packed up the bike and headed for the hills. Oh those hills. 

I had always disliked certain areas of this vast province I live in. Judgments based on both over exposure and non-exposure at the same time. Sometimes, when something is too familiar to you, you take it for granted. I opened my mind, traveled several hours out of the city to places that were a prominent feature of my childhood and put my tires to the tarmac; testing myself on the toughest climbs in the area. Then it happened, I fell in love with a place I used to hate because I finally really saw it for the first time.

This was a very transformative training camp for me. In recent years I had spent more time on my mountain bike because riding my road bike brought up a lot of bitter-sweet, sad memories. All that was stripped away layer by layer, climb by climb, and beneath I found the little girl who first fell in love with the freedom, the challenge and the wonder of riding a bike. I was reborn as a cyclist out on those climbs. Along with a lot of sweat, I left behind all the negative associations that had piled up around my bike and realized they didn't have anything to do with my riding. I was riding a bike long before any of the negative stuff ever happened.

Grinning like a maniac, I attacked twisting, snaking descents with a fearlessness I haven't felt in a long time. Climbing the toughest hill I have faced to date, I was overcome with a strange experience. First my arms, then my face started to tingle; not in a pins and needles sort of manner, but in a feel-good euphoric sort of way one would generally only experience if they were very fortunate during an entirely different type of cardiovascular activity. It was wild. It was definitely a cycling first for me, and I want more....

Whatever it is you used to love to do, before it became not fun anymore, before life or disappointment or negative associations got in the way, I hope you rekindle that spark and fall in love all over again. It's magical!

Doing my bike courier impersonation at the train station

Life is Like a Bike Ride

I love the sport of cycling, I love watching races, I love riding my bike, and I love teaching spin classes and hooking the “I just want to burn a lot of calories” crowd on to my favourite sport. What I love most about cycling are the climbs. Years ago, a friend of mine (I wish I knew where he was now) told me that I made life intentionally difficult for myself. I am sure I am not alone in doing so; I believe many of us live this way.

When I think about going out for a ride, images of long stretches of flat, smooth road are not what spring to mind. That kind of ride sounds mind-numbingly boring to me. I imagine a hot, sunny day, lots of rolling hills and ideally at least one brutal climb that makes me question my worth as a bike rider. That, to me, is an awesome day on the bike. I have not yet gotten off my bike and walked it up a climb, nor turned around and avoided one. I’m not saying it will never happen, but I hope it doesn’t. It is no surprise that my “bucket list” includes riding up two mountains (Ventoux and Alp d’ Huez, in case you are wondering).

 

I regularly do an experiment with my karate students. It’s not new and I certainly didn’t invent it. I pick a small student and ask them to raise their arms to the side. I instruct the student not to let me push their arms down, and then I do so with complete ease. Next I have the student close his or her eyes and visualize steel beams coming from the wall, through one arm, through the chest and out the other arm. I ask them to focus on how sold and strong that steel support is. Then I hang off their arms, lifting all my weight off the floor – every time, without fail.

I don’t think I am a drama queen, despite my days in the theatre and the protestations to the contrary of my last boyfriend (he should talk!). The reason I love the climbs is the test of my mettle. I probably approach most aspects of my life the same way. I wouldn’t call myself an adrenalin junkie, by any means. Yes, I like to challenge myself, but I don’t know if I do so more than the average person. I don’t know a lot of average people. I do know a lot of people who literally get a light in their eyes when they speak of overcoming something very difficult. It’s not about bragging rights and it is not about pride. It’s about seeing what really is possible instead of listening to what is impossible. I was going to end this entry with, “try it, you just might like it”, but if you are a regular reader, you don’t need to be told that, you already live it.

Left for Dead – The Family Edition or Why My Rotting Corpse Won’t Be Found Until the Neighbours Complain About the Smell

For several weeks I had been planning and favorably anticipating attending the Canadian National Cycling Championships with a friend and meeting some other friends on course. I was a little let down when my friend told me, just before the event, that he had other obligations. I was a little more concerned when, already on the GO Train, none of my messages to the other friends had elicited a response. Ah well, being out alone isn’t new to me and it doesn’t generally prevent me from venturing forth. I met the obliged friend at the train station and he very generously brought me coffee and drove me to the ideal course vantage point, the brute of a climb Rattlesnake Point. In under a minute of being dropped off I heard my name called. There were my friends, fortune was smiling on me. Little did I realize this would be the last fortuitous event for several hours.

The race kicked off and the action got crazy right away, with a crash on lap one. Riders settled down a little and attacks were made. It was good racing. My friends left after about 4 laps. I was a little concerned, but had assurance that, if I really needed a ride back, I should just phone.  My mobile phone battery has the lifespan of a mayfly, so I turned the phone off to be safe and happily soaked up the National Cycling scene, watched the podium presentations and pulled out my phone. I discovered, to my horror, that it had somehow turned on in my bag. I had enough battery to send two texts and then it died. I was stuck, atop possibly the worst climb in Ontario (let the arguments begin!), with no option but to start the long trek down into town and public transit. Why didn’t she just ride to the course? You may well be asking yourself. Well, here’s the punch line, I had been ordered off the bike due to a foot injury.

So I walked, and I walked, and I walked, on an unlit side road. Down, down, down into town, with support vehicles blowing past me well above posted speed limits.  Rising from a steep drop somewhere in the darkness I could hear the sounds of the riders, somehow having restored their energy, partying to thumping beats and digital sirens. I marched on. Two young men did drive down and offer to take me back to the party. I politely declined but suggested they might be helpful in, say, calling me a taxi. The laughed and drove off in the direction they had come from. My white Pearl Izumi rain jacket must have caught their attention in the dark (and prevented me from being hit by other racing motorists). I began to feel a little sorry for myself, but then I watched the fireflys float through the fields and realized it wasn’t that bad. In fact, it was a nice night for a walk. Probably not the best thing for my injury, but we don’t have to tell my doctor about it.

Finally I came upon street lights, traffic lights, sidewalks; all the trappings of a civilized world. When I hit the first gas station I broke down and called a taxi out of concern for making the last train. The taxi took 20 minutes; I missed the last train by 12. With nowhere else to turn, I hesitated and then called my father collect from a pay phone. He promised to come collect me from the station. He never showed up. So I waited, and waited. Walked to the 24 coffee shop, walked back. Repeat. Finally, at 7:17 am I was on the first train heading home. Two hours fifteen minutes later I walked in the door to find a message from my father, left at 8:30 am. After hanging up the phone he decided that his headache (an issue he never mentioned while we were speaking) was too great for him to drive.

The moral of the story? Even the Canadian cyclists like bad Eurobeats….


(Please, before you think I am blaming my father, read the tags on this blog. I realize MY sole culpability in the outcome of these events)

Rollin mixing it at the front before his frame cracked

Team Ontario hanging in

A treble for Team Spidertech in the Elite Men's Road

and top spot on the podium for U23 (nice to see Ontario on the  podium)

Felt sorry for those prairie boys

If You Wanna Be Happy

I have joked for years that if I ever got married, my first dance with my husband would be to the Kid Creole version of If You Wanna Be Happy (for the rest of your life, never make a pretty woman your wife). I love that song, it makes me giggle and it raises an interesting hypothesis about attractiveness and happiness. (Side Note:  gentlemen, we can be feminist and have a sense of humour). I have spent the last 24 hrs or so fairly immobilized by yet another injury and amusing myself with countless hours of Margaret Cho stand up. Margaret Cho is fabulous and I wonder how anyone could watch her and NOT instantly fall in love with her.

I absolutely relate to Margaret Cho about not fitting in, wanting to be accepted, having trouble finding love. For those of you who do not know me personally, I am about as petite as an adult woman gets without requiring hospitalization. I am tiny. My abdominal muscles are visible and so are my ribs. Being thin and being fit has never brought me instant acceptance, friendship, love, or a better standard of living. I have been just as screwed over by friends, co-workers and lovers as any of my chubby counterparts. I’ve probably spent more Saturday nights alone than them. 

Ladies and Gentlemen, I do not want pity, nor am I fishing for compliments. I want to tell the world that your weight, whatever side of the scale you fall on, is not the key to either your happiness or unhappiness. Strange words coming from someone who works in the fitness industry, I know, but it’s true. Men let doors drop on me, just like everybody else. They shout at me to get the %*@& off the road when I am riding my bike, lyrca clad. Boyfriends cheat on me with heavier, less fit women. It’s all the same. When you get treated badly, it usually has nothing to do with you. Bad behavior toward you says more about the person behaving badly than it does whom they are behaving towards. Stop torturing yourself trying to find out why he or she “did this to me” and instead wonder why you let them. Shun the people who treat you poorly and lavish attention on those who lavish it on you. Sounds like common sense, but too often we do the exact opposite.

Life really is what you make of it, it’s not a cliché. The world is one big self-fulfilling prophecy and you will have returned to you the attitude you project. So don’t worry that other’s can see through you and realize that you are really a pathetic loser. They can’t, they are too busy trying to hide their own pathetic loser from everyone else.  Having thighs the size of tree trunks or a gut that has its own postal code is not as unattractive as the huge chip on your shoulder.  So let’s all decide right now that whatever self-improvements we decide on are self-motivated. Let’s stop trying to appear to be what other’s want us to be and start spending more time with those who want us because of who we are.  In the words of my girl, Margaret, “our revolution is long overdue”.

Post-it Traumatic Stress

I found this Post-it note in an equipment storage area at my work. I am awaiting to hear from a psychotherapist friend of mine if she thinks this would qualify me for a stress leave.

Sticking It To The Man

“Life in a box is better than no life at all. I expect.”

Tom Stoppard wrote those words in his play “Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead”. I wonder at its truth. Do we expect that life in a box is better than no life at all? The North American Ideal, built on the American Dream, the Wild West and the Gold Rush tell us no, we’d rather be dead than boxed. However, especially in North America, we work long hours in cubicles, offices, and even at home turning our very living spaces into boxes of toil…for what? in order to buy a bigger box to live in and a fancier box to drive around in so that our neighbours and so-called friends will envy us? But we have no friends; who has the time? All we have are colleagues and acquaintances and a perhaps a family we don’t spend enough time with.

I find it interesting that our society disparages all addictions save workaholism. It is just as destructive to the individual, the family and community as any other addiction, yet it is encouraged and rewarded. I am beginning to believe that the current trendiness of zombies is because we identify strongly with the creatures. Sleep deprived, culture deprived, we shuffle, shambolic, through our own lives, over-worked so that we can buy more comforts and entertainments to ensure the anesthetizing of our minds is complete. “I am dissatisfied with my lot in life, quick turn on the HiDef television before I think about quitting my job and boycotting consumerism.” Perhaps there is more to the rise of the big box stores than we realized…

...Or maybe I Just don't feel like going to work today.

Conversations With My Martial Arts Students:

As another session of karate wraps up for the summer, I am reflecting on the interesting encounters I have had over the years. Here are some of the conversational highlights from my teaching career.

“Please stop licking the walls” (it comes up surprisingly often)

“The style of karate you are learning is not kung fu” (it may not seem amusing to you, but when you have to make that distinction about every 2-3 weeks to the same group it becomes funnier)

“I find it hard to believe that hitting me in the back was an accident when you started at the back of the room and the drill did not include the movement of legs or feet”

“Your question is; what should you do if a Samurai tries to hit you with his sword?” (The answer, of course, is call me or at least take a photo for me – just where are these children hanging out?)

“No, I don’t live in Japan” (bitch of a commute to work that would be! side note, adults have also asked me if I plan to move there and when I respond that I would love to but what would I do, they assure me I should teach karate....in Japan....to the Japanese....I'm sure to make a killing! )

Me: (to students hesitant to do as they are asked) Do you know how to say “no” in Japanese?”

Students: shaking their heads side to side

Me: EXACTLY!

Me:  You don’t want to lean forward when you punch as that will put you off balance. It also brings your forehead closer to your opponent, which we generally try to avoid

Adult male student:  (pointing to his frontal lobe) I’d rather take a punch here (then pointing to his chin) then (sic) here

My teaching assistant:  Looks like you already have

Adult Female Student: (upon my demonstrating the proper pivot for a sidekick) that can’t be right, that looks stupid

Me: My mistake, it’s your 2 second class, I’ve been teaching for 6 years; naturally you know better

Student: I couldn’t believe it, she was dropping c-bomb after c-bomb (I have borrowed the “saying I can’t will get you 20 pushups” rule which I strictly enforce, and thus the phrase “c-bomb” was born)

“It’s not so much that you take off your warm up pants after skipping, it’s the way you make a production of tearing them off in the manner of a male stripper” (dear friend, you are sadly missed)

This one actually occurred in the hallway of a rec centre I teach at. Two guys walked past me, one wearing a "Tap Out" t-shirt, went quite a distance down the hall and then one of them said

"Nice belt, did you buy it at the flea market"
To which my my teaching assistant, without a moment's hesitation, responded
"You tap out so often they gave you a t-shirt, huh?"

The Morning Man

Every Monday morning for about two years now I have encountered the same man at the bus stop. In all that time he has never glanced at me or shown any visible sign that he is aware someone else is near. There is also an older gentleman who often joins us and he and I exchange pleasantries and polite conversation. Morning Man remains stoic amid this conversation. Hoodie pulled over his head regardless of the season; he just sits and stares up the hill in the direction the bus approaches from. I thought this behaviour a little antisocial so I enlisted the opinions of friends. They suggested the behaviour was not so much antisocial as outright weird.

Perhaps long bus rides to work give me way too much time to think, but I wonder if this man were ever to be mugged at the early morning bus stop, would he be able to give an accurate description of his assailant to the police? Is he as unaware as he seems? Does he suffer anterograde amnesia and so every Monday morning is a new experience for him?

I’m tempted to show up one Monday in a gorilla costume to see if he notices.

The Next Five Years: A Photo Essay

Start at the pub. Drink until one of the patrons becomes a soul-mate

Soul-mate identified, you'll need a dress

You'll want to look your best on your big day

Indelible proof of your love

You'll need to entertain your guests

Mesmerize the crowd with your first dance together as husband and wife

Everything you need to set up your home

and live happily ever after

I originally posted this photo essay to facebook but I felt it needed it's own space. All these stores and services are located in the same strip mall in Ajax, Ontario. I used to pass it every day on the bus and always thought it was so serendipitous that, of all the stores that could be put together in a plaza, these establishments came together perfectly to tell an impossible story.

Respect Anachronism

I’m not generally prone to nostalgia. Quite the opposite, I tend to assume things will continue to improve otherwise what is the point in continuing? I have no use for the days of “good old family values" which allowed a man to beat his family without fear of the neighbours calling the police and saw young women enter university with the sole purpose of getting an Mrs. before their names rather than a designation after it. I do, however, believe in respect and that apparently makes me very old fashioned. Here is my quick guide to etiquette:

Lateness: When you are chronically late you are telling others “I think my time is more valuable than yours and thus it is ok to make you wait.” You may very well think you are more important but that is not how others perceive you. They see you as disorganized, unreliable and flakey. (Kudos to Anna, who is always punctual, if not early).

Mobile phones: Take a lesson from emergency nurses and triage your communication with others. The person who has taken the time to physically be with you deserves top priority and your undivided attention. Next, phone callers and last, texters. Having a phone conversation or texting when you are with someone tells the person who actually made the effort to see you that you would rather be spending time with someone – anyone else. If that is how you feel by all means go spend your time elsewhere, we’ll both be better off. (Shaun, Mike K, Paulina and Jaime thanks for always making me feel like I am the reason you left the house whenever we meet up).

Meals: It is never ok to begin eating before everyone at the table is served. Period. Also, body fluids and dinning spaces don’t mix; when you are around food keep them on the inside. Please excuse yourself to blow your nose; you’ll want to wash your hands immediately after anyway....won’t you? (I wish everyone could experience dinning with Hien, always the consummate gentleman at table).

Baseball caps: They are not fashionable and wearing one does not make you an athlete. Unless you are painting, renovating or it is required as part of your food service industry uniform, take it off indoors. (None of my friends wear baseball caps; they’re a stylish bunch with great hair).

Doors: It’s very simple; he or she who gets there first holds it open for the person behind them even if that person is a stranger. (As a side note, my friend Nick still offers a lady his arm when taking a stroll and yet very much seeks to associate with women who will challenge him. I’m trying to convince him to come to Canada and hold workshops).

Here’s one that is perhaps a little nostalgic and most likely to meet with disagreement. I do miss the days when someone picked you up by getting out of their car and knocking on your door and got out of the car again to say goodbye when dropping you off. A text from the driveway is the digital equivalent of a honk. (I bow respectfully to Jennine and Craig, possibly the last two people on the planet who still do this).

To those of you seeing your manners in this blog (whether specifically named or not), I appreciate your refinement and how wonderfully aware you are. Thanks for being charmingly you. 

Shhh, Let Us Not Spoil this Moment With Questions

There are certain leitmotifs which have been the steady undercurrent of my young (shut up) life. They often take the form of someone attempting to disguise a “witty” (read insulting) remark by forming it into an oh-so-clever and original question. If Taoist philosophy is to be believed, one must give away what one wants to receive so I shall give earnest answers to rhetorical questions in the hope that only authentic conversations are returned to me.

No, I am not related to the Kennedy family. Ok, there might be a thread connecting us somewhere, but if there is, it is a very, very long and extremely weak one. Sorry, I can’t get you an invite to Martha’s Vineyard – you don’t want to go there anyway, it’s full of inbreds.

Obviously I am not a “dead Kennedy” or this would be a séance.

I don’t shop in the children’s section for my clothing, but I sometimes do for my shoes, which I then don’t have to pay taxes on. Who’s snickering now?

I cannot, in fact, just eat and eat and eat and never get fat. You mentioned something about a bet?

No, I do not actually have to register myself with the Police. They don’t care. An interesting urban legend and I have no idea how it got started but as my friend Ben put it, “would that mean if we didn’t register our weapons the police could confiscate them? Let me get the hacksaw; put your arms and legs on the table.”

I can show you what I would do if someone grabbed me like that, but it’s not going to be cute and harmless and you are going to hurt like hell.

No, I am not too small to be a black belt. Are you aware of where karate originated? Screw it, let me go get a map and my power point presentation.... and maybe the hand puppets....

Square Pegs Connected to Round Dots

I have a yahoo email account, which means that in order to read all those missives of love sent to me on a daily basis (ahem) I have to get past the “news” page. Usually I manage to ignore all the gossip and self help articles that pass for yahoo “news “ but I confess, this one piqued my curiosity and I had to read it the way you must look at an automobile accident as you pass no matter how hard you try not to: http://ca.news.yahoo.com/eerie-links-between-harry-potter-bin-laden-203434253.html  from Rueters, no less! Immediately I started to imagine how this article came to be written. A frustrated novelist-turned journalist is taking a creative writing class at the local community college in order to improve his chances of publishing and is given the following assignment, “take two things that you normally wouldn’t put together and connect them in a short story.” While on a 10 minute break mid-class his editor calls and tells him about Bin Laden’s death and asks him to submit his article before the run of paper, there’s only one possible way to complete both requests on deadline....

I decided to take the same approach for my blog, so here is my news report on a recent oil leak in Alberta

Friday’s oil spill from a leak in the Rainbow pipeline in Alberta, which closed schools due to children becoming sick from fumes, invokes chilling echoes of the 1979 science fiction film Alien where a foreign substance enters into a crew member’s bloodstream causing him to suffer illness. Also like Alien, this spill is likely to have many sequels.

Hyperconnected, Terribly Disjointed

I’ve linked myself in, tweeted, emailed, texted and put in lots of facebook time. I am as connected as a woman could possibly be and yet I still haven’t a clue about what is going on in the life of too many of my friends. I suspect the more connected we become through technology, the greater and more embellished our public personas become and the more thwarted our real selves are.

I have gone entire weekends without stepping outside the house. It’s not something I am proud of. I also suspect that among my acquaintances, followers, fellow twits and faces few would ever guess that about me. The more able we are to communicate quickly, the less we seem to tell each other.  Perhaps we stay in touch more, but we barely say anything.  A text cannot replace a phone call and neither come close to the type of genuine exchange you get from sitting face to face with someone and actually speaking with them.  So, dear friends, I’m pulling the technological plug, sort of speak. As of tomorrow, I will communicate with you in full sentences (and full words). I will invite as many of you as I can to join me in outings, and to the rest, who are dreadfully far away, I will write letters. Perhaps they will be electronically delivered but they will contain as full a thought and language as I am capable. Let the new (old school) social experiment begin!

If you can’t reach me over the next little while, look for a garden, I’ve probably stopped there to smell the roses and maybe read a book, the kind you still have to turn pages on.

Schadenfreudian Slip

In evidence for an old post. USADA's report on Lance Armstrong was released to the public today: http://cyclinginvestigation.usada.org/

Canada's Michael Berry admits to doping under the Lance Regime and Cycling Records are for ever changed. Will what replaces it be better or worse remains to be seen

Everybody loves a good downfall. It’s a very ugly part of our nature which most of us would like to deny, but the fact that there are more “reality” TV shows and gossip column, blogs, etc than sitcoms suggests it is our new favourite past time. Well, not that new, mythology is filled with stories of the mighty and oh how low they fall.

I am not proud to confess that I share this very problematic characteristic, but for YEARS I have been rooting for the plunge of America’s favourite cyclist, Mr. Lance Armstrong.  I cannot even tell you how or why my dislike for him was born, only that I devoted much time to it. I have done more research about him than I have the riders I adore. I have been waiting, wishing, dreaming of the day he got caught. Now there is an FDA probe into his career and I find myself doing a reversal of hope.

No, I am not becoming a Lance lover, by any means, but I must come to terms with the fact that if I were to hate every boisterous, successful person who would do anything to guarantee their own security, I’d have to turn to the hermetic life. 

My flip-flop is not based on ethics or humanity, just a hard look at my own make up. I still can’t reconcile why it is I so intensely disliked this man I had never met. After all, two of my favourite cyclists of all time have been caught doping.  Look at any person great at anything and you will see someone with intense focus, drive, introspection and commitment to their craft – in short, a very selfish person. Did I hate Lance because I couldn’t be him, did I hate him because I saw some of myself in him? Or did I just need a scapegoat for pent up aggression? Whatever the reason, I know that his downfall will not be good for the sport I love so much, it will not be good for cancer research or the hope of cancer patients and it will do nothing to further the psyche of humanity.

Maybe, just maybe, instead of tearing down false idols, we should stop turning mere mortals into them. Who knows, without all the adoration, scrutiny and pressure, they may grow into the kind of person we would all want to become.

The Long Walk Home

For those who haven't guessed already, I'm a single woman (not a bad thing) trying to get along in a "you must couple" world. I've been through bad break up to a bad relationship and the whole experience has left me questioning the nature of relationships, at least what they have become and what they have failed to evolve to. I'm not going to rant about the modern drama of coupling (at the moment), just one night in the life of the dating spectrum.

Since my break up, and the many terrible revelations about my ex that have resulted from it, people have felt a need to "fix me up" (ironic because I consider him to be the one who was broken and thus requires fixing). After some gentle prodding from a friend I agreed to go out with a mutual acquaintance. I saw this as more of a possible developing friendship than anything akin to finding a life partner (whatever that actually means) as he too had been through some hard relationship times. Let's face it, this was more like a support group. Coffee meet up was fine, and discovering hunger led to grabbing a bite, no big deal. The invitation to go for a drink caught me during a particularly rough week and thus a weak point so I agreed despite the inner voice warning me that he might be looking for that ever elusive "soul-mate". Well, like our coffee led to dinner, his "drink" led to about, oh, six, or eight in a short span. By about 11:30, with conversation exhausted, I pointedly asked how he intended on getting home as he was obviously too drunk to drive. He mumbled something about calling a service that would drive him and his car home and asked about me. "I guess I'm taking the bus and then walking the rest of the way", I responded. Obviously his alcohol addled brain missed my tone entirely because he said "ok, well thanks for coming." That was it, not even an offer to walk me to the bus stop. So, a wave in the parking lot and I was left to find my way home, alone, closing on midnight. Yes, my friends, men have always been known to go staggering lengths to impress me!

To the well meaning friends who want to fix me up, I love you and I am so pleased to have such caring people in my life who want me to be happy. If you truly want me to be happy, just fix me up with a good bicycle mechanic who will keep my two rides rolling fine all summer and leave my soul blissfully mate-free