I look out my window, everything looks normal: it’s a nice spring day. Kids are on the trampoline. People are biking by, walking their dogs. Just an average day.
But it isn’t, really.
I think back to this day, one week ago, and it was all systems (mostly) go: kids were planning their trip for March break, I was still going on mine (though wondering if we pull the plug, given that the US seemed, well, yeah). Work was normal, but I was making contingency plans. We celebrated Will’s 14th birthday with a terrific family dinner. Oblivious.
Business as usual.
But it wasn’t, really.
If you’d asked me, what would a week later look like, there’s absolutely no way I could have predicted this. NO WAY.
Cue the global pandemic. And the endless Covid-19 memes.
And the giant “?” floating over all of our heads. I mean, COME ON.
So, explaining this to the kids is interesting. Their little bubble of bliss hasn’t changed all that much, expect that they can’t ski. Oh my word. What a hardship. I don’t know how many more times I can say “wash your hands”. I encourage them to go outside and to stop eating my supply of snacks. I need someone to hack Fortnite and Tiktok, stat.
I try to explain that no, I don’t know what the fuck is going on, I have not lived through something like this. The closest thing I can relate it to is 9/11… and even that had us on a plane “business as usual” about a week after those planes flew into the towers.
This feels different. However, the need to be near people, to be close to those important to me, feels very much the same.
Buzzword of 2020: “social distancing”. How quickly we’ve adopted it into our vernacular.
I’m freaking tired. I’d like to think I’m handling this well, but the constant, minute-to-minute change is rough (this isn’t me whining. This is fact.) Anxiety is pretty high. I want to keep my routine but that seems selfish, somehow? Staying off social media and reading too much news helps. Going outside helps. Seeking normalcy helps. Squeezing my people helps. WINE HELPS.
Today, we found out that school is closed indefinitely. Kids were all stoked until they realized… I’m the new homeroom teacher.
This quote popped up in my social media a few days ago and when I read it, I realized that I felt like it was pointing an imaginary digital finger right at me.
In a newsflash to absolutely no one, parenting is tough and relentless. Good days, bad days, great days, terrible days and everything in between.
No matter the phase you find yourself in, be it the newborn, the terrible twos (uh, hello terrible threes!), it can feel like it’s the craziest thing you’ve ever done. Each phase is hard, different and challenging in its own unique and all consuming way.
I look at my friends with younger ones and don’t really find myself missing those days (except for the cuddles). I see friends who are now happy empty nesters, who seem to be relishing their new found freedom (what do they do with their time, I wonder?)
Meanwhile, my foreseeable future is entrenched in the tween/teen phase and let me tell you…
I was not prepared for how challenging I’m finding this particular phase. Whoa.
Maybe because I’m a control freak and seemingly suddenly this house now holds 4 very distinct and vocal personalities that don’t always mesh?
Maybe it’s because I set unrealistic expectations, do a crappy job of voicing them and then am annoyed when these aren’t met?
Maybe it’s because – and here’s where my irrational voice really takes over – time is flying and what if I’ve messed them up and it’s too late and they are moving out too soon!
Maybe because I try to draw on my own experiences as a teen… but the realization that my upbringing could not have been more different than theirs dawns on me (catholic boarding school, anyone?) and, well, kinda flailing around in the dark over here!
Fellow parents, how often have you gone to bed at night hoping you haven’t ruined your offspring? Asking for a friend.
I’m grateful to my parents for granting us so much freedom (even though at the time we were probably desperate for more); that much I can pat myself on the back for passing along to our trio. But as for the rest, it’s a steep learning curve for me, and the kids. It feels like we’re in the same class, together! I hope we pass the final.
I’m trying to take little steps back from time to time and try to take a view of the bigger picture ahead. Forcing these little people out of their own comfort zones and into the mold of my expectations isn’t working. I’d never let anyone do that to me, so why should I expect them to let me do it to them?
Trying being the operative word, up there.
The point of this post? None, really. Except to hope that someone will tell me that the next phase is easier?
I did a pretty deplorable job this year, keeping this thing up to speed. Every time I’d start to write, I’d get about 3-4 lines down and the- ooh something shiny over there! And voila! Another unfinished draft post added to the list of topics I started to write about but couldn’t quite finish.
So, mostly for myself, I thought I’d smash 365 days worth of thoughts/events/recaps/listicles into one year-end post. That way, I figure I’ll have something tangible to look back on for 2019… rather than all those judgy, unfinished drafts staring back at me, waiting to be tackled.
(editor’s note: I will delete them in 2020. Clean slate!)
These past few years, I’ve tried to give myself a vague goal of planning something fun each month. I’ve learned that I love having something – big or small – to look forward to. Some of these are clearly a little more look forward-to worthy than others. I can’t truly remember what 2017 or 2018 ended up looking like, hence me forcing myself to commit it to … the screen. I debated about posting this. While proof-reading, it really drove home how lucky I am. I felt this vague need to apologize for all the fun (or at least, I consider it fun) stuff I get to do. But then, I’d be apologizing for living my life. And that’s silly.
Please be forewarned that this post will read alternately like:
A very poorly edited travel blog;
A scented journal written by a 12 year-old in sparkly pen (wink, wink @bopstardom)
Utter nonsense to anyone but myself. Which I’m completely fine with. ‘Tis my domain, after all.
So, without further ado, here’s a peak inside my very own memory lane.
I really thought I’d kick off January with a bang. I think I succeeded… but not in the very best way.
Things turned around when we hit the beach. I relished the time with the kids somewhere that saw them really just act like kids, and less like small humans trying to be too cool to be with mom. We read books, built sandcastles, ate fish and checked off one “touristy” thing a day. I get in trouble for saying that “holidays with kids is just parenting except somewhere hot” and yet… it felt different. In a good way.
The sunrise attempt that failed
I like to say there’s nothing redeeming about February (sorry Brad). It’s dark, it’s cold and incomplete. It feels like spring is far away, and winter has only just really set in.
But, there’s a silver lining! It also kicks off the race season. In 2019, the First Half was unseasonably cold but I got to run it with the 2 running partners I’ve had the pleasure of knowing since we started these runs with 1 shared gel 17 years ago…
I also travelled to Montreal for my dad’s 80th (!) birthday and what would end up being my final trip to Tampa (foreshadowing)…
2 big deals… my first born turned 13 #ohmygodihaveateenagernow. He’s taught me a lot about the world and myself, he knows how to push my every last button, he’s almost taller than I am and… I love him to bits and hope that one day he will read this and blush.
Then, I ran my first Ultra! It was snowy and sunny and not what I expected in any way. I had no expectations and 50k is a long way to go on your own 2 feet. I can say that I am proud that I actually pulled it off.
March was topped it off with a visit to what triathletes affectionately call the “Dirty-T” to ride some trails that are really all just out to get you, with 2 of my favourite people. I learned lots of new things about Phish and the Grateful Dead and yet I’m still here to tell the tale. I’m also plotting my return.
Up, and up, and up….
And then it was hard to get up.
Rocks and pokey plants abound
My groundhog day event that also kind of lets me be a tourist in my own little hamlet. It was my 4th or 5th… maybe 6th? Whistler Cup.
And then we wrapped that up and moved right along to…
The first work trip of the season was a dream. Great company (hi, work husband!), amazing country and, really, I could go on and on about the coffee. I won’t, I’ll spare you.
I think my favourite thing about travelling somewhere completely different is how quickly we are able to adapt to being out of our element. Day 1? Fish out of water. Day 4? I feel local, ask me a question as a test. On my way to catch my flight home? Oh, I live here now, sí.
You know when you find those colleagues who make you laugh for absolutely no good reason? Find those colleagues and hang on tight.
Just doing my job. NBD.
Another year, Another cup
An overlap with April really, since I didn’t get back from Spain (literally and jet-laggy) till mid-May.
Problem solved by a quick mission to the Sunshine Coast and reintegrating into real life with my people. The kind of getaway that only involves plans insofar as “what will we ride today?” and “is there any more coffee?”
Then I broke a few ribs (whoops!) and didn’t finish a mountain bike race that I started.
We could do this for hours…
And this, too.
The pace seems to change in June. We’re all anxious for school to be done (each of us for our own reasons). The calendar gets a bit busier and a little less predictable. The days get blissfully longer and warmer. Events and work ramp up.
The flip of the calendar also meant the start of triathlon season! Xtri Whistler was a great return to dirt – I highly recommend it!
And Will, my aforementioned teenager “graduated” from his elementary school.
There aren’t a lot of kids anymore who get to experience their formative school days with the same tight-knit group of pals for 7 years. I hope that one day, they will realize how lucky they are. Living is a small town has many perks; I consider this to be one of them.
Whistler X Triathlon
He blames me for the discrepancy.
For the last 6 years, July has been a lycra-clad, sleepless, spreadsheet-hell blur. Ironman Canada would trump all, I’d work a ton and essentially let my children parent me/themselves and rely on everyone in my world to help in any way they could.
Sidebar: my friends are truly incredible and know how to make me laugh in the best possible and also most inappropriate ways.
This year was no different, but it came with the added twist that this was to be the race’s final iteration in Whistler.
It was… bittersweet. That’s it for now on that.
That’s all she wrote
Final race morning
A fitting end
The greatest part of August is that we challenge ourselves to cram 8 weeks of summer into the remaining 3.5 weeks before the return to class.
We spend a lot of time at the lakes while baking in the Pemberton heat… we bike… we do a whole lot of nothing (in fact, my most favourite day last summer was an afternoon spent on the deck with the kids and their friends, during which we did exactly nothing. Absolutely glorious).
I capped it off but a European adventure that melted into September. We have (dangerously) cracked the seal on racing in Europe (foreshadowing on September)…
The Euro Redemption tour of 2019 started with some lost luggage and delayed flights (my travel mojo follows me closely), a visit with one of my oldest and greatest friends, exploring the countryside on two-wheels and rekindling my love affair with rosé.
From there is was a work trip to one of the prettiest and also priciest (!) spots over there. Trains! Chocolate! Tiny hotel rooms! Belly laughs! Police escorts (long story)!
To kick off Europe!
Sticking to my day job
France is awesome.
Hence the escort…
Cut off my access to the bakery
I like to be juvenile and pretend that September is my birthday month (because it is). What better way to celebrate a birthday than racing a World Championships in the south of France with your twin? Yeah, I pretty much nailed my birthday month.
The race itself wasn’t a performance of a lifetime. But it was memorable for the venue, the company and the experience. Say what you will about triathlon and its odd little community, it has brought me fantastic opportunities and introduced me to my closest friends.
Plus, I got to come home to some spectacular trail runs with my village.
We went to Kona and it was ridiculous. In a good way! Sun. Coffee. Bikes. Underwear. Volunteering. A fake wedding. All things triathlon. Will we top this in 2020? It’s gonna be tough but I am willing to work for it.
ALSO! Anja ran her first 10 k trail run which was both awesome and adorable.
I can’t believe we did this.
Here come the bride(s)
Proud mom moment.
November is like February’s ugly red-headed step child. Seriously. Out here, it’s dark and gloomy. Kids are tired. I’m tired. I scour the internet for last-minute get aways.
I pretty much nailed it this year… a restorative girls trip to Montreal with a surprise detour to New York. To watch Anja wander, wide-eyed and amazed, through the crush of NYC was so worth it.
Tip: make sure your life includes people who are there for you, not matter what. The kind of people with who you can reconnect after not seeing each other for a year or so and it feels like no time has passed. Everyone needs people like that.
Happy Holidays, y’all…
While this journal entry was completely self-indulgent, writing this made me realize that I really do lead a charmed life. I have my share of tough bits and heartache (don’t we all?) My highs are high and my lows are low – just like everyone else out there. I’m not unique, or exceptional in this way. I am learning to be grateful for all of it.
Most importantly, I am surrounded by people who know how to pick me up if I am down, whom I can lean on when I need to and I’m learning to ask for help (sometimes. This is a work in progress). I’ve got a great “modern family”, who alternately make me laugh and make me crazy and because of that, my sense of humour remains intact through it all.
7 years ago, on a sunny fall day that was meant for being outside, soaking in the last bits of summer, mum died.
I write about this and her every year on this day; mostly it’s so that I can contemplate and remember. Gives me a good excuse to cry, and be sad, but also grateful. The posts get a little easier to write because everything is less acute. They get harder to write, for the same reason.
Maybe 7 years is a good time to end these? I don’t know yet.
I recently had the chance to visit with an old friend who ended up knowing mum well, when he and I became friends. We talked about our time together and laughed so hard at shared our memories – in which mum played a starring role, front and centre. We were an inseparable (and unlikely) trio, my friends and I, but for whatever reason, Mum tolerated (appreciated?) our ridiculousness with an eye roll and a glass of wine.
I love hearing these stories, which perhaps time has distorted a little bit, because they make me laugh so hard that the best kind of tears stream down my face.
She definitely had an impact.
I miss her less a little less for me, but more for my kids. Anja doesn’t remember her, but she knows the stories. The boys have vague memories that I hope they hold on to. We do talk about Omi quite a lot, still. They are getting old enough now that I can tell them the stories about when Mum (me) would do stupid teenage things that would make Omi so mad.
They absolutely love those stories. Which is a good thing, because I’ve got a lot of them saved up.
I think of her most when I am doing something with the kids that is so different than any of the things she and I would have done together. The kids are so active and I try hard to be a part of all they do. I can hear her in the back of my mind, fretting because someone might get hurt and asking me “when are you going to grow up”? But I’m not, really: that’s my way of parenting. It reminds me of how different I was/am to her.
Reading books together on the deck? I look down and my hand rests on my lap exactly the way I remember hers doing. I am my mother.
One arbitrary day on a calendar can stir up so many emotions. Today, I’ll hug my people a little tighter. Tell them I love them a few more times than usual. Send them a few excessive ❤️ emojis. Because I still can.
School’s done for the year in 3 days, 3 hours and a few minutes. I can assure you that I’m not the only one in this house who’s counting down.
Man alive, we are tired.
I can’t really put my finger on it, but it seems like the past few weeks have had a bigger impact on all of us than in years past. Will crosses out days on his calendar. Anja asks every day “how many more days”? Rory quietly goes about just being done, already.
Personally, I can’t wait to take a break from the endless cycle of lunches, homework, and the constant back and forth that essentially sums up life with 3 active, school aged kids.
It kind of feels like we’re all just keeping it together thanks to spit and grit. And band aids. A hell of a lot of bandaids.
These past few days, parenting has been boiled down to nothing more than managing emotions – including my own.
I’ll probably be eating my words in about a week from now… But until then, bring on the sleep ins, heat waves and evenings at the lake.
It’s easier to manage emotions when they involve popsicles and sunscreen. Mine included.
How many times in the past few weeks have I cracked open the laptop with the intention of writing something mildly insightful? Plenty. How many times have I gotten distracted by something shiny and left the page open, untouched? Also plenty.
But it’s Monday morning… 9:22am. I’m caffeinated, have been up for hours and would like to continue to ignore the inbox and to-do list and the piles of laundry for a few more minutes. So here I am. Staring at a blinking cursor and wondering what to write about.
Frighteningly, we’re halfway into 2018. In January, I stated my intentions for upcoming year. I’m not one for looking back and looking inwards. But hey, why not see how it’s all going?
More outside -> So far, yes. Spring and summer make me want to be outside always.
Less inside -> See above. And we cancelled cable TV.
More water -> This could use some work.
Less booze -> Yes. Mostly. With a few exceptions.
More extrovert -> Pretty much no. Getting outside of my happy little circle of people is proving tough for me.
Less introvert -> But I’m trying.
More together -> Not as much as I’d like.
Less apart -> But that’s why there are phones. Hi, Lynn!
More yes -> Yes! It’s fun when you can say yes when a no is expected.
Less no -> And it’s scary (see above, #5).
(But sometimes) more no -> I gave a big NO last week. Hard yet liberating.
(and sometimes) less yes -> Learning that the answers don’t need to be instant.
More bravery -> Sometimes, I can surprise even myself.
Less fear -> The older I get, the more I am learning to be less scared. Imagine how fearless I’ll be at 86?
More simplicity -> With objects, this is easy. With people…
Less complexity -> People are complex. Very, very complex.
More doing -> 100%
Less wishing -> But I’ll never stop wishing.
And with that, I shall wish away Juneuary…
❤️ no number for this one.
9. 5. 7. 17.
6. We unite.
Above, a visual recap of sorts of life since January.
Most of the time, I love training for endurance events. But lately, I haven’t. I kind of feel like I’ve lost my spark.
The last 6 weeks or so have been a mix of mini-injury and illness. I guess I should count myself lucky, considering it’s been a long time since I’ve been sidelined for anything other than my own choice. Normally, when I’m not doing anything, there’s a itch to get going again, to sign up for something, to find a challenge of some kind.
But not this time. And it’s… weird.
That perpetual guilt most of us endurance nerds feel about not getting a workout in has pretty much evaporated. All those little red boxes in Training Peaks? Meh.
I was feeling fired up after an awesome little bikes-only getaway to Maui. Strong and happy.
But since then, the inconsistency that comes with not being able to get off the couch due to coughing like a life-long smoker has totally stalled me.
And now, I feel like it’s really hard to get going again.
I’ve given myself a 2 week hall pass to do whatever I want, whenever I want to. I’m hoping to reignite the spark by putting myself on a start line that I’m totally unprepared for.
I woke up in the dark, to the sound of rain smashing down on the roof. I remember there’s a rainfall warning in effect.
I quietly head downstairs. Pour some coffee, check my phone. The first thing I read is that Gord Downie has died. It takes a moment to register. Then it feels like a punch in the gut. As the media said… we knew it was coming, that doesn’t make his passing easier. We lost a man who was the voice of my Canadian generation.
We chaotically get out the door. It’s wet and dreary; we all bicker and fight over trivialities, but we get to school, walk the dog. The usual. Exhale.
I get to work. I’m underdressed, it’s snowing. Hard. I spend the day feeling cold, kind of foggy.
I hustle out of the office with the intent of getting home, spending some cozy time with the kids, sneaking in a workout. Dinner and a glass of wine, maybe.
I drive 300 meters down the road, then sit at a standstill for 45 minutes, thanks to the unexpected snowstorm. It takes just under 2 hours to make the 38km trip.
I walk in the door, I’m greeted by a sea of wet coats, boots and bags. That’s ok, I think. They’re home, I’m home. Let the cozy times begin.
Cozy times don’t happen. The kids are amped. I’m tired, feeling both lethargic and frazzled. I don’t want to make dinner. I feel overwhelmed by everything and nothing in particular. I offer our usual Mile One, if they promise to bring homework. I plan on leaving the phone at home. Family time.
We’re at the door when we discover that yet another jacket has been carelessly left somewhere, never to be seen again.
Rationally, I know it’s just stuff. But oh, the proverbial straw and camel.
It’s been about 45 minutes since they put themselves to bed, after they made themselves dinner because I quit. Threw my hands up and declared myself done.
You could say I had a hissy fit. Because I basically did.
And now I feel like a petulant brat. I want to go get their warm, sleeping little bodies, pile them into my bed, hold them close. I want to erase the last 4 hours. I feel regret for my words, my stubbornness. I feel that nagging mom guilt.
Instead, I’ll quietly go kiss them and whisper that I’m sorry. I hope they hear me.
Tomorrow will be better. It’s got to be. I will be.
You know how, when you’re driving, and a squirrel runs out in front of your car, freezes, dashes this way and that? And at the last second it somehow manages to survive and doesn’t get squished and returns safely to the ditch?
That is a terrible analogy, but I feel like I was the squirrel and September was the car barreling down on me.
I may have hesitated, but hey, I survived and am now happily back in my ditch!
Last month was busy but oh so fun. That said, I am definitely a creature of routine, so it’s great to be home to my little mountain bubble and slow down a little. Also, September was birthday month, celebrated the best way I know how: sweating with friends.
My little brother got married! Family weddings are fun (granted, I’ve only been to 2, 3 if you count my own, so I’ve little to compare it to).
If it’s a good one, you leave the night with some funny stories, sore feet and a new family member.
Working the Invictus Games may rank up there as one of my favourite events to be a part of. Hideous yellow shirts notwithstanding, the athletes and volunteers are just so great. No prima donnas, just kind and hardworking people. I got to reconnect with old colleagues and see athletes I met in 2016.
Also, I’ve not been called “ma’am” this frequently since the last Invictus Games. For that reason alone, I’m not cut out to be in the military.
Trouble makers are my fave
33C, yellow, welcome to day 1
I won’t tell you who he’s looking at
With all that’s going on in the world… hurricanes, shootings, and a completely incompetent leader south of the border, I’m ever so grateful to live in my little mountain bubble. Maybe it’s a false sense of security that comes with living in a small town, surrounded by people you trust and rely on, but it felt so damn good to come home and bear hug my people.
I struggle with the sense of helplessness that comes with watching everything that is happening in the US. It makes my blood boil and yet, there is literally not one thing I can do about it, besides ignore it. Which I can’t do. Yet.
Home is where my heart is
Is it still panic training when there’s 2.5 weeks left to race day? I’m going to go with YES. Working sport and endurance events is terrible for one’s fitness (no sleep and fueled by sugar, for starters). So I am definitely playing catch up. I got a roll down slot to the Xterra World Championships, and I currently feel like I’ll be throwing down a wicked battle for last place.
I’m packing the SPF 100, and the sherpa position is still open. Any takers?
Is it possible to experience FOMO for a season, even if you are still technically in the midst of said season?
That’s how I currently feel about summer, and its impending end.
I’m not ready.
I feel like there are still many adventures to be tackled. I don’t want the kids to go back to school. I wish the days weren’t getting shorter.
Anyway. There’s not much I can do about the changing seasons… except maybe be more diligent in planning the adventures.
Chicks in the sticks, anyone?
I’ll be participating in the 70.3 world championships this weekend. Note that I stated that I was participating, not racing. That upstream swim has made me rather nervous. I have images of swimming into a firehose, then playing catchup for the rest of the day.
But at least we have plans to check out the Grand Ole Opry!
When I arrived, I didn’t know my colleagues. By day 6, my stomach hurt (in a good way) from laughing and we joked that we’d pretty much either push each other in front of a moving bus or take a bullet for each other. You know, depending on the day.
Events are funny that way.
When I was in Penticton, I had a lot of flashbacks to my first triathlon: IRONMAN Canada in 2004. I had no idea what I was doing, and little did I know then that I would end up, in a very roundabout way, turning my hobby into a career.
Life is weird, isn’t it?
It’s official: riding bikes with my kids is my favourite thing ever. I have my own biker gang, and I love watching them try things that I don’t have the guts to.
The tables have turned, and there’s no going back. It’s a good thing I can still smash them on the climbs, because Mom doesn’t “get sendy”.
The kids are home again after a long month of adventures, trips and family time. I am a loner for certain, but my world feels off axis when they aren’t here with me.
The house is sparkling clean and quiet when they are away. I get a lot done. And I kind of hate it.
They came home yesterday. It was loud, messy and chaotic.