Dragging myself kicking and screaming across the country

I am an inveterate planner. I make decisions quickly, after researching all my options. I rarely change my mind, and I never hem and haw. Indecisiveness makes me crazy, and I hate situations that require drawn out negotiations or decisions made by committee.

For the past several weeks, I've been wrestling with the idea of spending a month in New York with my family between Thanksgiving and Christmas. My father is ill, and he won't be getting better, and I've vacillated between wanting to be there to sit on the couch and eat cookies while he's still well enough to perform his favorite pass time, and wanting to stay in San Francisco and participate in the rest of my life. I've talked with my mom and siblings, explored my options for taking time off of work, and considered the sacrifices on both sides.

And all this time I've been hesitating to make plans here, because I just wasn't sure about the future. But I was still waiting for something, some piece of information that would solidify a decision. I don't know precisely what I needed to learn, but a conversation with my mom tonight made things crystal clear. I leave for NY on Nov. 25, and I'll return to San Francisco after Christmas.

And I'm so scared that I'm having trouble breathing. I don't want my dad to be sick. I don't want to have to leave my little apartment. I don't want to go to NY in the miserable winter. I don't want any of this to be happening. I'd like to fall onto the floor and flail around in a temper tantrum, kicking and screaming and pounding my fists on the floor in anger and frustration, very much like the three-year-old version of myself.

The rational adult part of me knows that everything will be fine. I'll be gone about five weeks. I'll be able to work out the logistics at my job and my friends will water my plants and keep an eye on my apartment. Statistically, there's no chance that my home will be burglarized twice in one year, and all my stuff will still be here when I get home.

But the insecure little girl part of me is convinced that I'll be forgotten in my absence, that things will go on without me and my friends will forget and my job will replace me and I'll come back to only the shell of a life I've worked so hard to build and that I really love living.

But more than the anger and the tears and the frustration and the fear and the things I wanted to do here this December, I love my dad, and I want to be sitting on the couch with my parents watching TV with cookies and milk. I am absolutely doing the right thing.

Unreasonable Expectations

When I buy a large container of raspberries at Trader Joe's, I have the expectation that less than half of the container will be moldy. And that I won't have to throw away most of my raspberries within three days of purchasing them. Apparently, I have set my expectations way too high.

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When I come to work in the morning, I have the expectation that most of my colleagues will also be here. And that they will work a full day.

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In October in San Francisco, I anticipate cooler days outdoors, but not inside temperatures so cold that I'm forced into two layers, a scarf, and a down vest, all of which must be shed to go OUTSIDE.

I will not blog about politics. I will not blog about politics. I will NOT blog about politics

Things are getting nasty in California with nine days to go. I've given a lot of thought to some very serious issues. I've pondered my options, the legalities, the religious and moral ground on which I stand. I went to a presentation last night that scared me into some additional serious thinking. But I won't blog about politics. Today I will let other people do it for me.

My fear of 16 miles, and wishing I could train fulltime

Maybe it's just job dissatisfaction. Or maybe I'm just trying to find a way to combat a very stressful few months. Or maybe I'm just obsessed. But in any case, I find myself wishing I could train full time. This is ridiculous, as I have no professional aspirations or talents, but I wish I could plan my day around swim workouts, bike rides, and training walks, and not have to worry about spending so many hours each day slowly killing brain cells and muscle mass at my desk.

To combat the work-induced lethargy, I already walk on my lunch hour twice a week. I try to also walk home those two days, getting in roughly six miles over the course of the day. I'm hoping to do one morning bike ride each week once the sun starts rising before 7 am again (next week, I hope!), and I'm working on keeping to my swim schedule. This, and some sturdy rain gear, should keep me going through the winter. Even if I have to spend the winter in New York.

But before I have to make any travel decisions, there's an event coming up that I'm considering riding. It's a 16 or so mile loop on a wine tasting bike ride. Last year, in the SAG wagon, I had a blast. This year, I think I could handle a 10 mile loop easily. But 16 miles? I'm a little scared of that. But Healdsburg would be beautiful, and the ride with friends would be so much fun. So I'm pondering as I nurse an aching plantar fascia and have cut out most walking this week. The hiking alternative that weekend would also be fun, but my foot really hurts, and I'm wondering if this is the impetus I need to increase the time I spend on my bike over the next few weeks.

So I'm stretching. And icing. And pondering.

That little break lasted precisely six days

This morning, I was no longer tired. In fact, I was up early and ready to go. But where? Surveying my options, and the blue sky, I decided to head for a little bike ride before a short swim. I've finally discovered a better route to Golden Gate Park than scary Masonic Ave. If I ride the five blocks up to Sacramento, I can pick up a bike lane on Arguello and shoot straight into the park.

I hit a couple of nice little hills, and spent about an hour riding around the parts of the park that are closed to cars. I know the street closure has been controversial, but it's one of the best parts of living in San Francisco. The Presidio isn't very bike friendly, especially near my apartment (though if anybody knows of bike-friendly parts, please pass them on), and the city streets in and around my neighborhood are just too small and congested for me to ride comfortably.

The best part about my route is that I rode most of it in sunshine. The fog had cleared well into the Sunset by 9 am, making for a fantastic day.

The worst part of my ride was my damp sneakers. I stopped for a bit on the grass to stretch, and my shoes got dewy. Without stirrups on my pedals, my sneakers slid around with each rotation, making the second half of my ride pretty slow. I've been thinking about new pedals for awhile, because I don't have the courage for clips, and I think I may have to do some reading and take the plunge.

My ride today also made me contemplate my road bike, the trusty 10-speed I've had since I was about 11. It's in my parents' garage, but I'm hoping to ship it out here this year and make it road worthy again. My mountain bike is really heavy and the gears don't work. But it was free, so I've been making do for awhile. I'd really like my good bike back, though. I should still fit the frame, but I'm casually looking at new bikes in case I don't.

Look. Over there. What's that to the left?

Do you see it? That large, grey button on the left? The one that says I belong to NaBloPoMo? The one that promises a post for every day in November?

I've signed on again, which this year will mean trekking to New York for Thanksgiving with my computer. I dread traveling with my laptop. I'm also not too enthused about traveling for the worst travel holiday of the year, but family obligations call, and I'm trying to be OK with that.

So I'll be taking my Mac to NY. But before that, there are hikes to go on and bike rides to take and lots of life happening in San Francisco in November. And I'm ready to detail all of it.

But not this weekend. I'm taking this weekend off. I've canceled all of my plans and I'm going to take a nap. And maybe clean the closet. I'm exhausted, and I'm getting cranky. Usually I lead, as my grandmother used to tell me, a very exciting life. This weekend, I'm going to rock boring. It'll be fabulous!

A little break

I had an amazing month - serious time in the gym, two or three weight training sessions a week, an excellent race, and some fantastic walks. And now I'm tired. Exhausted, actually. Too tired to get out of bed in the morning. Work and family stuff have really been wearing on me. So I took the week off. I ate badly and didn't work out and spent a lot of time sitting on the couch.

I've even canceled my 12K training walk tomorrow. I'm going to sleep and cook and try to get my bearings. And I hope to be back to full speed by Monday. But right now, I'm going to lay down. It's time to cuddle up with a book and enjoy the beginning of the weekend.

A breakthrough

I love to sing. I sing along to the radio. I sing while I'm cooking. I sing while I clean. I've sung in some organized group or other for most of my life. But I hate singing by myself. I've written before about the tremendous, heart-pounding, palm-sweating, breath-stopping fear I have of singing by myself in public.

But last week I had a little breakthrough. I mentioned to a coworker, also a musician, that I'd be singing with my choir at a wedding. She asked about the music, we talked about the service, and somehow or another got around to my mentioning that the bride and groom hoped to serenade their guests. With a Beach Boys song.

She looked at me for a moment, and started humming it. I joined her, and before I knew it we'd finished the song (in very nice harmony, thanks), with another colleague in an adjoining cubicle having heard every note.

And I didn't freak out, or stop breathing, or forget all the words. And it's take a week to realize that I've made some progress. Maybe I'm ready for karaoke. Which is good, because it's on my list of things to do this year, and I'm running out of time.

Dear God

Dear God,
I write to inform you that I find your sense of humor seriously unamusing these days. The office politics? Today's email failure? That whole bus incident that made a half-hour trip turn into an hour and a half long fiasco? The dating scene? The possibility of losing my grandmother and my dad in the same year? The family dog? The burglary? The list can go on for hours, and I am not amused.

Perhaps you don't realize you've been targeting me and my family for the last year. Perhaps it's a test. Well, if it is, than I have failed. Because I've had enough, thanks very much.

I appreciate that you probably have more important things to read these days, and matters of international importance that command your attention, but I just wanted to put this out there before I become so frustrated that I start to behave irrationally. I've had enough. I'd really appreciate if you'd pick on somebody else for awhile. Your high-school hijinks and grade-school humor have run their course, and its time for them to stop.

Sincerely,
clairnation

Proudly destroying tall buildings one small piece at a time

I owe a huge shout out to my sister and my brother. Last weekend, my sister visited our family in New York. She and my brother traveled to a questionable neighborhood in the Bronx. Their goal? To preserve a piece of Yankee Stadium before the Cathedral is torn down this winter. Armed only with a pocket knife, they succeeded in removing small parts of the building. I received my pieces of the Stadium in the mail on Saturday, carefully packaged in a little plastic bag. I can't wait to display them prominently. As soon as I figure out how to frame my pieces of hallowed cement.

PUBLISHED!

Several weeks ago, the editor of the Schmap San Francisco guide contacted me for permission to consider one of my hiking photos for inclusion in the Fifth Edition of their guide. And today she emailed to tell me it's been published.

You can see the photo and e-guide here. My photo is in the sidebar on the right, it's the shot of the Ocean under the tag Sausalito Bay Adventures.

And the number one way not to woo me?

Repeatedly talk smack about women who live in the Marina. And refer to them as "Marina chicks"

How not to woo me; alternately titled, This is why I will be single for a very long time

As I've just gone on a first date, I present the top nine ways to guarantee there won't be a second date:

1. Talk endlessly about your stock portfolio.
2. Take jabs at your family and the expense of traveling for the holidays (especially in light of #1 above).
3. Talk to me like I'm an idiot, especially about topics relating to my previous career.
4. Arrange to have a friend stop by the bar.
5. Keep one eye on the television long after the baseball game ends.
6. Assume that I'll have dinner with you at that expensive French restaurant before asking how I feel about French food.
7. Touch me when you haven't been invited to.
8. Talk a lot about your stock holdings, and how lucky you were during the bust years.
9. When I start sneezing repeatedly and say I need to leave, linger over your drink with your friend for 10 minutes.

The inferno has subsided, leaving dust and scorched earth in its path

I first visited Angel Island in June with my hiking team. I was absolutely blown away by the beautiful views, the neat flowers, and the whole environment of the Island. It's a powerful place that holds decades of West Coast immigration history, as well as miles of biking and hiking and walking trails.

This weekend the beautiful Island was mostly destroyed by a fire, a raging blaze that left my apartment, several miles away, smelling sooty yesterday, and draped a haze over the Bay for several days. The fire crews did a fantastic job of saving the historic structures in which I some day hope to work, but most of those flowers, and the trees, and the shrubs that shrouded the trails to Mt. Livermore are gone. My heart aches a little bit today for the devastation of Angel Island.

My job is giving me a stomach ache. Is this the math class of my 30s?

I left work yesterday so frustrated and unhappy and mad that I actually developed a stomach ache. As I seem to have regressed to the sixth grade emotionally right now I am forced to ponder if my job is the current equivalent of what math class was in middle school.

In the sixth through eighth grades, and well into high school, my brain was not ready for math. Something conceptually just never connected, and I was lost and frustrated and annoyed about math most of the time. Different teaching styles didn't make a difference; tutoring didn't really help; and I was disgusted because this stuff: algebra, logic, imaginary numbers, would never be applicable when I needed to make a budget or balance my checkbook. I dreaded tests, and on more than one occasion the thought of a math test - or even a quiz - gave me a stomach ache and made me nauseous. I was also somewhat frustrated that, as an honor student who excelled in history, writing, and languages, I just couldn't grasp something everyone around me seemed to do with ease.

So how does this relate to yesterday? Yesterday made me feel very small and insignificant, in the same way not understanding math used to make me feel. A few things specifically happened that really made me mad:

I learned that my boss has indeed taken this ridiculous THREE WEEK vacation as a honeymoon. Do I care that he didn't inform the people he's worked with every day for over two years that he's gotten married? No. In fact it's a relief because then I don't have to buy a gift. But I do care that in his absence, two colleagues have repeated taken unsanctioned days off or claimed they were working from home when in fact they were vacationing and not responding to email. These absences have left me with half-completed work needed by others, work that can't be completed without the OK these colleagues. And now my reputation is on the line, as it looks like the delays are mine.

I learned yesterday that the two oft-absent colleagues want to hire somebody else to do my job. They're kind of feeling out our assistant about that, and she's the one who told me. She's not interested in either the job or their machinations, and I'm really glad she said something. But now I'm starting to wonder about my job security. I know these two don't like working with me because I'm never willing to blindly follow their often-inaccurate strategy or incorrect directions. They also don't enjoy that I have deadlines and limits and a process through which I do my work. They'd rather I just say yes and turn something around immediately, and, even if I wanted to, the confines of my job make that impossible.

I think I have the support of my boss. I know I have the support of the colleague on our team who has come to work over the past two weeks, as well as others who have noticed who's been showing up every day in my boss' absence. But I'm again questioning whether or not I want to stay in a job I like so much, but have struggled to really make mine in the months since I started it.

The organization I hiked with this spring is hiring somebody to run some of their endurance training programs. The job would be perfect for me. But right now, thinking about applying also makes my stomach hurt. But the thought of change hurts less than the thought of staying.

The 2008 Bridge-toBridge Race

On Sunday I walked a race. By Wednesday, I was no longer sore. You can read the full update here.

Race Day Sunday: The Bridge to Bridge Run (and the carb-loading that preceeded it)

Some months ago, a friend and I decided to racewalk the Bridge to Bridge Run. She had to back out, but as I talked about it with friends at work, I somehow helped to form a team. By Saturday, there were five of us: one running the 12K in preparation for a half-marathon next month, two novices, two seasoned runners who haven't been training lately, and me, hoping to break 15-minute miles.

We pondered team names. We considered all wearing Barack Obama t-shirts. We even thought about running in costume (but that race will happen in May). We finally decided on highlighter-yellow t-shirts and black pants. Then, we could find each other in the crowd.

We met at the home of three of the runners on Saturday night, armed with pasta, veggies, meatballs, and a ton of other food. We ate for two hours, worked out some nerves, and went home to get a good night's sleep.




Race day dawned bright and clear. It was already warm and still by the time I reached the starting line at the Ferry Building. We met at the 10-minute mile mark, which gave us the opportunity to shuffle to the starting line together. They ran ahead and I walked behind, passing dozens of walkers, runners, and strollers as I walked along the Embarcadero to Fisherman's Wharf and through Aquatic Park. I've walked in so many parts of this city, and I think this course outlined the absolute best of San Francisco: sparkling water, sailboats bobbing in the waves, and a view of the Golden Gate Bridge. It was just beautiful.

But I had a time to beat, so I didn't stop to take pictures. I finished my first mile in about 15:10, the second in about 14:50, and the third in about 14:47. And then my watch failed. But that's OK, because I think I managed negative splits, and I know I picked up speed along the last 2K, passed some runners and avoided collision with some cyclists who weren't supposed to be on the course, and I finished in 1:07:13.

Not only did I meet my goal of walking a sub-15-minute mile, but I came close to my goal pace of 14:30, the pace that might get me into the Nike Women's Half Marathon next year. The 7K runners all did really well, finishing strong in under an hour, and our 12K friend finished in less than 1:30.

We wandered around the post-race expo for a bit and then headed to the house of a friend, who kindly hosted a breakfast of bagels, and more bagels, and fruit and mimosas. The race was awesome, the camaraderie was terrific, and the day was perfect. But really, at the heart of it all, I did it for the t-shirt.

Dusting off the Thanksgiving pants*

I never go home for Thanksgiving. The travel is too hard and too expensive for way too little time with my family. And I hate the weather in New York in November.

But yesterday, my brother called me and asked me to please come home. First he asked when I was coming, and when I responded that I am still uncertain, he asked me to please come home.

I know this sounds very selfish, I don't really want to go to NY. I hate the travel and the cold and there's nowhere to go hiking near my parents house, which has become one of my West Coast post-Thanksgiving traditions.

But this might be the last year for the five of us to put on our Thanksgiving Pants and gorge ourselves on turkey and stuffing and mashed potatoes and pies. The pants are a very important part of our Thanksgiving tradition, and I rarely wear mine outside of this sacred holiday.

More importantly, Thanksgiving, for many years, has been a holiday reserved just for my family; my parents, sister, and brother, and sometimes me, and nobody else. That's partly why it's my favorite holiday, because there's no pressure to dress up and perform for friends or relatives. We have no rules about dressing for dinner. We don't need to work around anybody else's schedule. And my dad doesn't complain if we wear our pajamas to the dinner table. So I need to be there. I will be there, even if I have to drag myself kicking and screaming to the airport for an overnight flight on Wednesday.

Out of sorts

Do you ever feel like you don't quite fit into your own skin? Like nothing around you is quite as it should be, and nobody around you acts in quite the way you expect? I feel like huge changes are right around the corner, and nothing is as it used to be, but there's not much I can do to prevent, or prepare for, the future.

My dad's not well. That alone is really scary, but add to it the ongoing fallout from my grandma's death earlier this year, some significant changes on the horizon at work, and the sudden realization that maybe I don't like my job too much, and I've become cranky Clair again - I'm not sleeping well, I'm not eating well, and I seem to have developed an exercise compulsion. And I'm trying really, really hard not to have a public explosion of crankiness.

But if I do, and it happens to land on you, my apologies. It's a temporary condition, and I promise to make it up to you soon.

The Great Facebook Experiment Update

So, this morning I had two new friend requests, and another one or two by the end of the day, perfectly unaided by me. And I tracked down three cousins (and you should all join the group Caitlin McDevitt for Homecoming Queen because we would all vote for her if we could, she's fabulous, and I don't just say that because she's my cousin, and a bit of a mini-me). So now, pretty much without any work on my part, I have 10 or so Facebook friends. Huh. Now what do I do? I can see how this could become a total time suck, and I don't think I want that. But the girls from college? The dear friends I don't hear from that often? The thought of being in touch with them is pretty exciting.

Because all the cool kids are doing it

I've resisted social networking for the better part of the past decade. With two blogs and an active twitter account, why do I need a MySpace or Facebook account? I keep in pretty routine contact with both friends and professional contacts. I meet people for lunch, or drinks, or have long phone conversations with those who aren't local. I have little desire to reconnect with high school acquaintances, and even less desire to maintain Internet "friends" whom I don't actually know.

Until last week. On Sunday, after months of prodding, after people pointing out that I missed out on parties and news of breakups, and even one friend announcing she'd learned about the pregnancy of another through a Facebook post, I did it. I followed the cool kids into the world of Facebook.

I logged on, created a profile, and friended two people - women who in real life are very good friends. So far, one of them has friended me back. And then I posted on her wall to call me, because I had something important to discuss.

And now, after having exerted those efforts, I'm done. I'm launching the Great Facebook Experiment of 2008. I will not friend anyone else. I will wait to see who finds me. So right now, I'm friendless on Facebook. And I'm embracing it.

When the going gets tough, the tough take to the gym

Today, I dealt with bad news with a huge fudge brownie and a moderate-intensity workout, but with increased distance in the pool. I'll be amping up the workouts and cutting down on the chocolate in the future, because while the brownie tasted really good, I felt pretty gross afterwards.

I met my half marathon training buddy for lunch today. We're planning out the 2009 race schedule and I'm investigating different types of training plans and logging systems. It's good to know I'll have something to keep me focused (or obsessed) and healthy during what's going to be a very difficult time for my family. And the muscle definition I'm bound to get out of the next several months will be pretty impressive. So bring it on, I've got new goggles and I'm ready for everything!