Some Invigorating Miles

You know how I always say, “Do something everyday that scares you”?

This morning I was terrified. I hardly slept last night and woke up at 4:50 a.m., several minutes before my alarm even went off. I was anxious.

Taking risks is essential to living fully and experiencing your best life. I know this because I live outside of my comfort zone A LOT and I can honestly say that my life is never boring, it is always challenging and it is the best life I could ever have.

That said, sometimes I HATE doing new things, meeting new people. It is just plain agonizing. I fret about what people will think, will I fail, what if I shit myself, etc. Right when I am getting ready to take a big risk (think skydiving or running with Dean Karnazes last summer) I sit in my kitchen sipping coffee and thinking, “Seriously. You don’t have to do this. It is so safe and quiet here. You could just lay on the couch, read the paper and listen to the wind in the trees.”

And, I could. But that is not me and never will be. I am at my best when I am living on my own personal edge.

The edge is different for everyone. For some it might be bungee jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge (if they let you do that) or completing an Ironman. For others, it is running their first 5K or going to a mom’s group for the first time with a new baby. The event does not have to be hugely major. Not at all. It just has to be something that will result in you feeling ALIVE.

On the run with Dean last August, we were at about mile 18 when he told me he would be blogging about our day together. I wet my pants.  He wanted one word from me that I felt summed up the run. It immediately popped into my head – “Invigorating.” If you don’t believe me, you can read his post HERE.

Here’s the thing: You try new things, you are scared and then the pay off is that you are invigorated. I promise.

So, why was I terrified this morning? I thought you’d never ask. I joined a women’s cycling group and today was day number one for me. I have been cycling on and off for many years, but have never ridden with a group. Not once. My friend, Hillari, has ridden with this group for years and they have a reputation for being strong, tough and fast. Some days I can be strong, tough and fast, but not everyday, and I never know how I stack up next to anyone else. I just do my thing.

I showed up at 6am. About 10-12 women were there. They all welcomed me warmly, saying that they read the blog. That immediately put me at ease. I felt they knew me before they had even met me. Farts and all.

I had one little faux pas at the start because I was nervous and distracted. I went to put on my helmet, and it felt way too tight. Then I realized I still had my visor on.  Here is a re-enactment.

This could be a new trend! I call it vise-helm.

We cruised out on some roads northwest of Longmont  at a good clip. We all shot the shit and the miles flew by. Right before the turn around we had a major climb (Rabbit Mountain for you locals) and it hurt me a bit. But, I did it and I was not last.

All in all – 24 invigorating miles. I loved these women. They were strong, tough and fast but they were also warm, friendly, and inviting. I will be back. It was not that scary after all. I’m a believer in the fact that when we run, ride, etc. with people who are faster than we are, we are immensely challenged and we become faster too. I’m also a believer that our anticipation of things is almost always worse than the real thing.

This is how I look when I am invigorated – shiny!

 

Take any risks today?

Do you run, ride, swim with a group?

SUAR

PS: Don’t forget my Zensah Running Bra Giveaway!

My Skydiving Experience

By now you know that I jumped out of a plane. Not only did I live, but I did not mess myself. Two major victories in the world of skydiving.

The video is not done yet. The minute I get it, I will post it here. I cannot wait to share it with you all. And better than sharing the video from labor and delivery, right? Awkward…

I slept like crap Saturday night. Tossing, turning, trying to wrap my head around jumping out of the open door of an airplane at about 17,500 feet and then free falling at 130 mph for one full minute. Forget about it. There is no preparation.

Sunday Ken and I were up early.

Me: “They said not to wear jewelry. So don’t wear any.” (Not that he does anyway, barring the wedding ring).

Ken: “Dammit. I was going to wear my gold chain.” (He still has the one he wore in high school buried in some drawer. It used to be cool. I don’t know why, but I find gold chains rather sexy).

He ate. I couldn’t.

Ken: “Better try again to get something out,” he said heading for the bathroom.” I don’t want to leave anything on the instructor.”

So thoughtful.

Me: (When he emerges from the bathroom), “I changed my mind. I want to go up together. The plane’s not going to crash. I want to be with you.” (You might remember that in an effort to not orphan my children I wanted Ken to go first and get safely onto the ground. What seemed more important that morning, however, was sharing the full experience and supporting each other through the terror and excitement).

We arrived at Mile Hi Skydiving around 8:30 a.m. Winds were calm. Sun was bright. Mountains were breathtaking. By all accounts, a perfect day to *gulp* jump. I was oddly comforted by how many people were there to skydive that day. Kind of like there was nothing out of the ordinary about doing this. It normalized it for me…slightly.

My mom, dad, kids and several friends were there. We signed 29,000 liabilities, none of which I read. I thought they would freak me out further with their “In the event of you plunging to your death we are not responsible,” clauses. They suited us up. Purple is def my color. I thought the jumpsuits would be mildewed and smelly, but these were quite nice. I might trade in my designer Snuggi for one.

Before we knew it, they called our names and we all got on the trailer to take us out to the take off/landing site. I hugged my friends and mom and dad and cried a bit. The kids ran out to the runway for one last hug as we boarded and that made me cry too. My mom, like me, is fearful of flying.  I know she both hated and loved watching me get on that plane. She felt so much fear for me, only as a mom could.

Here’s the thing. If I was so scared that it made me lose sleep and cry, why do it? Because my desire to jump exceeded the fear. Because in life, you have to keep living and sometimes that means doing things even when it makes your knees tremble and you think you can’t. Here’s where life really happens.

We buckled in, deafened by the roar of the engine.  We were put at the front of the plane, which meant we would jump last. There were about 7 jumpers in our plane. I had been told you should jump first to minimize the fear, but my fear was already so maximized, I didn’t think it would matter. Not that we had a choice anyway.

Half way up

8, 750 feet. I’m continuing to silently cry a bit. My instructor, Dave, told me to sit on his lap. Woah, guess he wants to cuddle me a bit, give me some comfort. Then Ken’s instructor tells him to do the same thing. As scared as I was, it was hilarious to see Ken sitting on another man’s lap and caressing his thigh. Dave pulled me so tightly to him that if he had a boner I would have felt it poke my back. He strapped me to him. Ken said, “Now things are starting to get really special.”

I kept telling myself that I needed to relinquish all doubt and put my total faith in this stranger named Dave who had me belted to him. There was simply no room for questioning if I was going to make the jump. My heart was beating out of my chest. The door opened. 17,500 feet. Go time. People started jumping out. One after another. We slowly moved towards the back of  the plane and the *dreaded* open door. Dave told me to take a deep breath. Then another. He said it would only be scary leaving the plane, (which did not end up being true for me). We stepped up to the open door.

Jumping Out

This was the moment. Three seconds that simultaneously flew by and lasted a lifetime. As I heard and felt the cold, strong wind and stood looking out into openness that was only sky, I took a second to look down. “Fuck” is the only word that came to mind.  Every molecule of my being felt it was wrong to jump from the safety of the plane. But, every part of me also knew I would do it. The photographer video-taping me climbed onto the outside of the plane (WTF?), waiting for us to jump. My instructor rocked us back and forth three times, then we dove out.

Tumbled was more like it.

The first five seconds were a sensation of falling. Think roller coaster or tower of doom. Plunging to the earth. Dave tapped me which was the signal to take my hands off of my harness at my chest and to put them up, kind of like making the “Y” in the YMCA song, only not quite so high. No I did not start singing our going through the moves. Although that would’ve been funny.

Suddenly, we were floating. Flying. Although we were moving at speeds faster than most cars are capable of going, there was no sense of falling. The wind noise was deafening as we fell. I remember looking at the photographer, just a few feet away and giving him the thumbs up. I remember looking down. I remember thinking that one minute felt like a very long time. I remember smiling. Wide. I remember being completely and totally present.

BAM! The chute opened and we were yanked upwards. Uncomfortably so. The photographer continued falling and I watched him disappear towards the earth. Dave maneuvered us in different directions so I could take in the view. Make no mistake. I continued to shake in fear at this point. As beautiful as these moments were, I wanted to be on the ground.

I could now see, like the size of a postage stamp, where everyone was waiting for us to land. It took 5 minutes from the time we jumped until we reached the ground. I looked to my right and saw Ken nearby parachuting. We waved. Here’s Ken’s soft landing. Like a pro:

The Verdict

Would I do it again? Probably not. Am I glad I did it? Absolutely. I would go so far as to say it was life changing in some ways. It was the most thrilling, exhilarating and exciting thing I have ever done. Sharing it with Ken was amazing. After 15 years of marriage, experiences can still bring you closer. I will never forget looking into his eyes and reaching for his hand as we climbed into the air on the plane. I know he was scared, but he didn’t let on because he wanted me to feel safe.  I will never forget kissing him after we both landed. It means so much to relive the moments and to know Ken “gets” exactly what I’m talking about.  He told a friend his scariest moment was watching me jump out (I went right before him). He wasn’t scared for himself. He wanted me to be safe.  I love you Ken. Thanks for it all.

My advice? If you have even the slightest inkling that you want to skydive or do anything else that fills you with some fear (be it running a race, joining the Peace Corps, whatever), do it. I promise it will only make your life richer and will instill within you a sense of “yes I can” about anything and everything in your life. Skydiving might not be for everyone, but what is your “thing?”

“The person who risks nothing, does nothing, has nothing, is nothing and becomes nothing. He may avoid suffering and sorrow, but he simply cannot learn and feel and change and grow and love and live.” – Leo Buscaglia

Holy Sh*t

16 and hours counting until:

• One prop plane
• 15 minutes of climbing
• 15 minutes of praying
• 17,500 feet
• Me crying
• Me trembling
• 1 open airplane door
• 1 instructor strapped to my back
• 1 strong push light shove out the door
• 1 minute of free falling at 130 mph
• 4 minutes of serene and calm parachuting over the Rockies
• 11 friends and family waiting on the ground
• Me kissing the ground, or maybe making love to it
• 1 very major fear – CONQUERED!

Will I chicken out? Stay tuned.

And…a big shout out to Devon and Outside PR. She kept Ken and the kids entertained while I ran with Dean Karnazes for over four hours last month. During that time, Sam mentioned how he wanted to try the new mandarin orange GU (hint, hint). Fast forward to this week when Sam received a large FedEx envelope overflowing with orange GU and various flavors of Chomps including the new watermelon! Also this note (sorry, it got ripped in all of his 12 year old boy excitement, but you can figure it out):

Outside PR rocks!

Pray for me.

(Wo)Man Vs. Dog

Do you ever watch something happen, knowing you should do something about it, but you’re either too lazy or apathetic? I’m not talking about watching a baby get kicked or an old lady get robbed, but something less dramatic. Like yesterday, I full on watched my cocker spaniel eating and swallowing a couple of used Kleenexes (he likes to pull the snot ridden tissues out of the trash – if you ever want to know the difference between humans and dogs just watch a dog eat another dog’s shit or suck on used Kleenexes). So, here’s Lucky, munching away on the Kleenex, and I have the passing thought of, “Oh, I should take those away from him.” But really, the sky wasn’t falling and what was the worst that could happen? Plus, I was eating the remaining half of my bloated Chipotle burrito and watching Oprah making someone’s wildest dream come true. I couldn’t be bothered.

Fast forward to an hour later. My daughter runs in panicked and yelling, “I think Lucky’s going to throw up!” Then, “Ewww..he’s throwing up!!!” Then, “Oh my god, he’s eating it!” (Again dog vs. human. That should be a show, kind of like Man vs. Food).

Definitely one of those mom moments where I realize I should have intervened and this whole mess could have been avoided.  Lesson learned.

And today…my stomach hurts. No, not from eating sugar alcohols. That’s so yesterday. The source is one of three things:

1. Cleaning up Lucky’s puke.
   
   
2. Running Yassos: Like a good and obedient runner, I visited my favorite middle school track as I do every Tuesday to do my speed work. On tap – 7 x 800 Yassos. I’m building up to 10 x 800. After assuring the gym teacher I was not packing heat, only a Garmin and a water bottle, I got started.
   
   I have a love/hate relationship with speed work. I hate how it feels while I’m doing it. All I want to do is stop and lie down and cry. It is so damn taxing. I tend to have a pussy vs. power thing going on:
   
   Pussy: This is hard. I want to stop
   Power: No shit. It’s supposed to be hard. Keep going. A little pain won’t hurt you. The worst that will happen is you’ll throw up. 
   Pussy: I don’t like this. I should be able to be comfortable at all times. I only do things I like.
   Power: Get over yourself. Life is not easy. Getting uncomfortable is how you get strong.
   
   And, so it goes. I love how I feel after doing speed (not the drug but I might feel good after that too). Strong. Competent. Like I really did something.  I also notice a remarkable change in my pace on my normal runs from doing these repeats. Going a few seconds faster seems effortless. 
   
   Today’s results, if you care: 3:31, 3:22, 3:24, 3:30, 3:30, 3:34, 3:33.  If I can do ten of these and keep up a 3:30 average, I should, according to Bart Yasso, be able to run a 3:30 marathon on October 17. Very funny Bart. Are you going to try to sell me a three legged dog who eats Kleenex next? Cause I’m not buyin’.
   
   
3. Visiting Mile Hi Skydiving to Schedule our Jump: Ah yes, this is likely the source of my churning stomach. After the track, I went to the local tiny airport. Ken and I are set to jump at 8:30 a.m. on Sunday. You might remember this was his anniversary gift to me (that and a bat in my crotch).
   
   Just talking and writing about this skydiving mess makes me queasy. 17,500 feet in the air. Jumping.
   
   Here's the thing: I love an adventure and am innately a risk taker (like when I let Lucky eat the Kleenex). I do not, however, enjoy the possibility of dying and orphaning my children. The people at the skydiving place think I am neurotic and I don't care. I told the tandem instructor I didn't want to die. He said he didn’t either. I asked if anyone had ever died. He said, “Yes, but that was a few years ago.” DAMMIT!! Not what I wanted to hear. I asked if he thought I would die. He said, “No.” Very good.
   
   The game plan, because I need some control, is that Ken will go up first and come down. If he makes it I will go. If he doesn’t, I will stay on the ground so my kids have one parent left. I know it’s silly, but I have this lingering and nagging feeling that I am being a “bad” parent by doing this. Yet, there is also this part of me that desperately believes in living fully and taking risks. I also want my kids to see me living fully and taking risks. Since 35,000 people jump per year at this place, I think my odds are PDG (pretty darn good).
   
   As a side note, the instructor said he is not in favor of pushing people out of the plane, but just giving them a little shove. I am slated to have this thing videotaped, so check back on Monday for some entertaining footage.

Enjoy your Tuesday. Season premiers of Glee and Biggest Loser tonight! Think that tough lesbian, Jillian, would jump out of a plane? (Or just yell at you to the get the f*ck out!)

You Might As Well Jump

Tonight’s conversation:

Ken: So, when are you going to jump out of a plane with me?

Me: Well, ummm, don’t we have to give a lot of notice?

Ken: No. Just a week or so.

Me (sighing in a big way): Okay, dammit. You suck. Let’s pick a weekend.

Depending on whether you’re new or not to Shut Up and Run, you may remember that for our 15th anniversary in June Ken gave us both a tandem skydiving jump (also the same night a bat jumped into my crotch). Thing is, I thought I might get out of this. I mean – Dean Karnazes and skydiving and gum surgery all in one month? Holy crap my pants.

But, I made a promise. And it’s paid for. And there is a video waiting to be shot of me jumping from 15,000 feet, so I guess it needs to happen. I will wear a Depends under my skydiving outfit because who knows what’s going to squirt out in fear.

Two airplanes maybe? Just so we don’t leave the kids orphaned? That way if Ken goes first and *splats* or the plane crashes I just won’t do it. The kids will still have one parent. See how considerate I am?

What are you doing this month to step outside of your comfort zone?

Of all the people I have ever known, those who have pursued their dreams and failed have lived a much more fulfilling life than those who have put their dreams on a shelf for fear of failure.  ~Author Unknown

I guess skydiving might be the one thing you don’t want to “fail” at.

I Can’t Take Anymore Surprises

I had two surprises on my 15th wedding anniversary.

No, neither involved getting my cherry popped. That is so yesterday.

Surprise #1: Flying High

We don’t always get gifts for each other, and this year I was at a total loss. 15 years is crystal and watches. Ken’s not a crystal kind of guy (candy dish anyone?) and he just got a new Garmin. I thought I might get us some Cristal champagne (get it?) because Jay Z and I are tight and I do whatever he does. But did you know that stuff is $250? That’s like $10 a sip, and I only pay that for chocolate soda.

So, I settled on getting Ken…nothing. Except a mushy card that made me cry.

He, however, brought out the big guns. I knew it had to be a major deal because he told Sam to get ready with the camera. He handed me the cutest card:

(I told you we were all about the farts around here…)

Then I pulled out of the envelope….certificates for Ken and I to go skydiving. No shit. I almost threw up. I’ve talked lots of smack about wanting to skydive, but I hate to fly and I hate heights and I don’t want to orphan my children and why jump out of a perfectly good airplane??? But Ken said we have to do it, so we will. I do what he tells me. We’ll each tandem with an instructor who probably doesn’t want to die, so we should be safe. Ken has arranged for me to be videotaped while falling to my death. It should be fun to see how I look shitting myself in the air as opposed to while running.

Sam was supposed to take my “I can’t believe it” picture when I opened the envelope, but he had it on video instead, so you get this:

Surprise #2: A Visitor For Dinner

After the skydiving shock, we headed out for a late dinner. I needed a drink just to entertain the idea of jumping out of a plane at 12,500 feet.

We sat on the patio, enjoying a drink and trying to figure out of the host(ess) was a man or woman staring lovingly into each other's eyes, when I was felt something on my leg. Then I felt something in my lap. I looked down to see my napkin fluttering. Something was under it. And it wasn’t Ken feeling me up on our anniversary. I screamed and threw the napkin on the patio. “There is something alive on me!! I think it’s a bird!” By this time I was standing up, hyperventilating. Ken then said, “No it’s a BAT!” Yes, friends for a brief moment in time I had a bat on my lap, dangerously close to my crotch. Bats suck. They are eerie and elusive and rabid and icky.

As Ken and I were jumping around the patio, the busboy came out to try to capture the thing, which was fluttering all over the place (clearly trying to get back to my crotch). Every time the bat jumped, the busboy jumped. I could hear him coaching himself under his breath, “You’re okay. It’s only a bat. You can do this.” Meanwhile, Ken asked if I wanted to move inside, but being the practical person I am, I said no. I mean what are the chances of that ever happening again my lifetime, much less during this dinner? Holy shit. You could travel to Africa for two weeks and never so much as get bitten by a tse tse fly. But, go to some fancy patio on your anniversary and poof! Bat in crotch.

To say the least it was a memorable time.

Now, we have to think about this jump. Would you do it?