Tri-Diver

So my favorite training partner from the Great White North (Montreal), Kristen, did something pretty incredible. She helped her roommate, Karen, celebrate her birthday in style by going skydiving. Oh, but she did more than just fly like a bird up there. She also swam, biked, and ran for the camera and gave this blogger some fun fodder. You can check out her drop from 12,000 feet here. And for a limited time in the header above. I must admit, this looks like a blast! Think she earned a new nickname – Tri-Diver.

Back On Track

Last weekend was a good one. We headed out to Mt. SAC for 734’s Dad’s second race in the Triple Crown Series. It was a beautiful, clear fall day. It was fun to watch him tear up the course and come through the chicanes by the feed zone right after the pros. He had a good time out there and won his age group. (Yup, I was pretty proud of him.) Once I was done passing out bottles, I got a couple of shots of him finishing the race.

Then it was my turn. There was a nice cushy track a few steps away from the finish line. 734's Dad grabbed the camera for the momentous occasion. I finally got a chance to run again. The past three months has been a lot of trial and error, trying to get the new orthotics dialed in. Couldn't run without 'em. Every time I tried to run with them, I got blisters under my arches. After two adjustments, the third time was the charm.

I was so happy to be out on that track that I ran a mile straight. Then I walked/jogged another mile. Didn’t want to tempt fate too much, doing too much too soon. My cardio definitely suffered the past year, but it felt so incredibly good to break a sweat.

It was a start. Not a false start. A start. I’m looking forward to getting back to that point where I can run for miles without breathing so heavy that I sound like a bad prank caller. I want that sense of peace that comes from moving meditation during solo runs. I want to gab with old friends on group runs. I want to challenge myself with speed work and trail runs. I know all of that will come in time. But just to get out on that faded red track with the painted white lines for twenty minutes was pretty exhilarating.

Getting a Jamis Out of a Jam

A few years ago, my college roommate, Lee, lived in Southern California for a couple of years while she earned an advanced degree in creative writing at UC/Irvine. She could’ve stayed another year, but the woods of Western Massachusetts beckoned.

Her last day here was a frantic one. As she packed up her life and loaded it into her Honda CRV, she realized her new mountain bike wouldn’t fit in the car. She also discovered that she had no idea which box she packed her bike lock in.

So before we made our good-byes, I made a quick detour to Performance Bikes to find the cheapest bike rack I could find. I also brought my kryptonite bike lock. I remember watching her frantically assemble it in the alley before she headed out for her 3,000-mile drive home. Her new Boston Terrier, Hunter, waited patiently on a baby blue felt blanket in the front seat.

When Lee arrived home, something perplexing happened. The kryptonite bike lock was stuck. (Oh the guilt that my lock malfunctioned.) She couldn’t unlock it. She managed to get the bike off the rack by removing the front wheel. But the back wheel and the frame were inextricably fused – for YEARS.

Lee lives on the fringe of a state park. She hikes miles every day with her dogs. (She adopted a deaf Boston Terrier, Quinn, later that year.) Mountain biking eluded her. Her Jamis had sadly become what she called “a shed ornament.”

Every spring and summer, I encouraged her to free the bike. Every year, she dutifully tried. She went through an entire can of WD-40. I mentioned this story to 734’s Dad a few weeks ago and he said, “Try cooking oil.”

On the last day of my visit with her, I said, “Let’s give it another shot. Go get your bike.” I was on a mission. If I couldn’t help her stack all her wood for the winter due to the rain, I at least wanted her to free her bike. After trying many times over the years, she was skeptical. Me, not so much. I’ve seen 734’s Dad work on bikes.

I grabbed a can of Trader Joe’s canola oil spray. She grabbed the shed ornament. I was surprised to see how rusty the chain had become. Lee sprayed the lock. Waited a minute. Turned the key. Nothing. She looked up and spotted a raven flying overhead. I looked at her with eager anticipation as she explained, “See this is what always happens.” “It’s gotta work. Try the key,” I said. “All right,” she replied. She blasted the key with some more oil.

She inserted the key slowly and gave it a turn. Low and behold, the lock popped open. “I LOVE 734’s Dad!” she squealed. We laughed and jumped up and down.

The utter delight of that moment reminded me of so many other occasions we’ve shared over the years. The time we escaped arrest at Stonehenge for hopping a bobbed-wired fence trying to get a good sunrise picture. The time we spurned a Brit because he thought he could date both of us – on the same night. The time we made the two-mile trek from the grocery store with arms full of bags in a whiteout blizzard with snow up to our knees by the time we got home. And the time we realized that maybe it wasn’t such a loss that our other roommate, Ida, a budding fashion designer, hadn’t designed us a formal gown complete with a wand. Yeah, we were thrilled. Ride on Lee!

Back to My Old Neck of the Woods

Last week, I took a vacation. Maybe you could tell from the lack of posts that I needed one. I went back to Massachusetts to visit my dad. I also spent some quality time with my college roommate, Lee, at her place in Western Massachusetts. The one thing all three of us have in common is a love of photography.

I have sweet memories of helping my dad develop pictures in his makeshift dark room in the basement when I was a kid. I liked the darkness, the smell of the chemicals, and watching pictures appear slowly before our eyes. The anticipation was magical. He encouraged me to enter a local photo contest once. In my junior year of college, I had a semester abroad in London. I met Lee in the airport en route to England and we became fast friends and roommates. Lee was a photojournalism major. I was a marketing major. She took pictures like a member of the AP press corps. I tagged along with her and took pictures like a Japanese tourist.

I love escaping into that visual world. So whenever I go home, I don’t pack a camera. I borrow one of my dad’s. And I go a little nuts. Here’s are a few that I took along the way. (Okay, more than a few.)

Signs of Progress

True confessions, I’ve been feeling a little left out of the triathlon circle this year. I know I’m a work in progress right now. But it’s funny to think of how far my fitness has fallen in so many ways. Couple that with reading what all my tri buddies have been up to – rides up Palomar, 18-mile runs, 2-mile swims. Race after race, week after week, my eyes grow wide in front of the computer screen. I’m so impressed, yet incredibly envious. Which shows that I’m definitely coming back one way or another.

Since June, I’ve been taking Pilates 2 or 3 times a week. I was an absolute klutz at pretty much everything that first month. Okay, maybe the first two months. Then in August, things started to click a little more. I still feel like I have lots to learn, no doubt about it. However, I had two moments in two different classes this past week where I realized, ‘Hey, I guess I’m getting better.’

My cool Pilates instructor, Toni, said:

“Okay everybody, if you need to take a rest, let your leg down.” I did and she quipped, “Not YOU!”

Then on Tuesday, we had a super crowded class. Toni was standing up and moving from student to student to correct everyone’s form and alignment. Next thing I knew, she blurted, “Okay everybody, watch Amelia demonstrate.”

I wasn’t expecting that… can I just happily say I wasn’t expecting that? Come on, you gotta admit, it’s the next best thing to a race report or a PR.

A Picnic (Bench) in the Park

Friday night I had my stuff ready to go for my first day back on the mountain bike on Trail Patrol in (would you believe?) a year. I was so excited I woke up at 3:00 a.m. like I had a race or needed to catch an early flight.

I must admit I was a little anxious about it since it would only be my second time back mountain biking. I had a great ride on some easy stuff with 734’s Dad on Labor Day. He coached me on how to handle the terrain everywhere we went. I hopped off the bike anywhere I didn’t feel confident of my abilities. I know that’ll improve in time.

When I arrived at El Morro, Keith got out of his truck and announced, “I hurt my knee. I can’t ride!” Oh, the irony. The guy who kept me company on the picnic bench for months while we did our volunteer duties, answering questions, etc., suddenly needed me to do the same.

Keith, “The Governor”, is another big single-speeder. For last Tuesday’s Over-the-Hump race he erred on the side of make-it-challenging by putting on a very hard gear. Then he erred on the side of not calculating right and did an extra lap.

I expected my knee to hurt a little after the ride, so I came prepared with as he put it “the Cadillac of gel packs.” We snacked and drank coffee while he iced his knee. Then another rider came down and alerted us about a woman who was hurt. Fortunately, not so seriously that she couldn’t walk out of the park. The Good Samaritan ran back to help her with her bike. When they arrived, we had a nice ice-cold gel pack for the injured woman’s arm.

She was in tears. She said she always falls. We had to cheer the girl up. Keith quickly admitted, “I broke my collar bone four times.” “So did my friend, Ken!” I added. Then I said, “Keith, tell her the story about the cactus and the bikini wax!” (Yeah, that’s how he pulled about hundred thorns out of his legs and butt last year.) We made her laugh. We hung out with her until her husband arrived. We’re hoping she just had some really bad bruises and not some ligament damage.

Then we helped some Japanese tourists in brand spanking new Yankees baseball caps. I jokingly announced, “I’m sorry I can’t help you with those hats. Talk to Keith.” They laughed. The wife said as she swatted her husband gently, “I told you we shouldn’t wear these around Angels fans.” I said, “Oh no, I’m a Red Sox fan.” Then they jokingly walked away and said, “We can’t talk to you either.” Keith gave them directions.

Next month, hopefully we’ll get to ride our bikes on the trails together again – finally. We’re both sick of warming the bench.

Just What I Wanted

A couple of weekends ago, 734’s Dad won his race at Rim Nordic. The pressure was on. He had to win, so he could cinch the series. I joked that he had to win 'cause it was my birthday. He had some tough competition, but finished strong. This time he did it on gears instead of his single speed. I was so proud of the guy and happy for him.


The next day, we celebrated by playing a little hooky. We both needed a day off to just chill out. We went for an easy bike ride in the morning and then hit the beach in the afternoon. I even got in my first ocean swim of the year. Another milestone after the knee surgery. The waves were mostly flat, but there was one good one that almost took my bikini bottom off. Too funny. When I poked my head up after that one, he said, “You look like you just swam the leg of the 70.3.” Yeah, I’m sure I looked wiped out. I keep reminding myself, ‘wait ‘til next year!’ But this is his year for sure.