A Word on Personal Bests (PBs)

Joy here…Back in 2010 when Nomi and I had this crazy idea to get over our December holiday gluttony by signing up for a 10km race, I started reading sporting blogs and looking at running magazines to see what I had gotten myself into.

The gym where I workout twice per week.

Many of them had this thing called "PBs" that would be listed, followed by a number.  In my world, "PB" means Peanut Butter.  And any number following would be how many peanut butter sandwiches I may have consumed.

Me deadlifting a new Personal Best.

Somehow, I figured that wasn't what each of these articles referred to.  In fact, I now know that PBs are Personal Bests, and athletes tally them up like notches on a belt.  They try to best their Personal Bests; they try to set new Personal Bests; and they rate their performance in races in reference to their Personal Bests.

Now when I started running with my running coach, he asked me what my PBs were for some distances - 10km, 5km, that sort of thing.  And, well, I was like "um, I've only ever run one 5km race, so I guess that's my personal best, but doesn't 'best' imply comparison?"

I think I liked it when PB meant Peanut Butter better.

My computer at the top of the hill with
my new Personal Best time climbing.

But as this week has unfolded, filled with its holiday cheer and gluttony (the kind that usually has me feeling fat and out of shape at this time of the year), I have hit my workouts and set some new PBs.  For the first time in memory, the holiday season hasn't left me bursting out of my pants.

I've squatted 70kgs (a new PB);
I've dead-lifted 67.5kgs (a new PB);
and I rode up that damn hill in under 53mins (a new PB).

So while I have a ways to go before I find my tenacious stick-to-it-ness, I'm dedicating this post to the notion of Personal Bests, whatever they may be.

I think that I (like many people out there) have a tendency to be rather hard, to see the failings and flaws rather than the strengths and gifts, and I find it waaaaaay easier to judge or criticize myself than to pay myself a compliment.

But this idea of Personal Bests isn't just about sport, it's about always striving to improve, about gauging one's efforts and testing one's limits.

Take time to remember all PBs!

We all do that:  we want to be a better mom today than we were yesterday; we want to be a better friend; we want to achieve our professional ambitions; we want to be better to our partners; we promise ourselves we'll keep a cleaner house; etc. etc.

So while I'm taking a moment to tally some of my PBs this week in the realm of sport, I'll also remind myself of some of my other PBs in life this week, like the lovely dinner I made for friends on Friday night, or that I stayed up late to be able to chat on Christmas with my nephew in Canada, or that the kids' books I write are starting to pick up steam sales-wise, or that even with mailing all the way from Malaysia I got our holiday newsletter in the post early enough for most people to receive it before Christmas, or that so far over the holiday season I've kept my holiday cheer to a minimum and not gotten blisteringly drunk (as usual), and I could keep going.

But you get the point.

Every now and then, it's worth taking some time to think about PBs outside of sport and pat ourselves on the back!

Over and out,
Joy

Finding My Tenacity...

Joy here…When I was growing up, I had quite the reputation for being stubborn.  My childhood nickname was "Bull Head" because of this trait, and even now as an adult, my husband tells me that I sometimes suffer from "dogwithabone-itis," in not being able to just let things go.

Was that "bull head" or "bowl head"???
(c. 1977)

I am, in a word, tenacious.

But somewhere along the way to adulthood, I've kind of lost some of that tenacity.  I've become a lot softer in my old age, a lot more relaxed, and a lot more chilled out.

Which also means that I'm a lot more prone to failure.

Over the last year or so, I've grappled with these failures within the realm of sport, but it is my firmly held belief that sport is a metaphor for life and it is a way for us to come face-to-face with the things that we need to grapple with in other aspects of our life.  Put simply, if something is going awry in our sporting life, then there's a good chance that there's something we need to explore a little closer in the rest of our life.

In my case it has been my failure to commit, my lack of tenacity.

I've whinged and whined, moaned and complained, and generally come up with every excuse in the book to explain my lack of sporting and training prowess of late.  I've been too busy.  I've switched sports.  I've moved to a different country.  I've travelled too much.  It's been too hot.  While each individual excuse may hold water, when I look at them all strung together like that over the course of 2013, I can't help but see the many cracks and leaks, causing a bit of a deluge.

So as 2013 comes to its close, I've had to have some good, hard conversations with myself about this issue.  My coach and I have identified it as the most crucial thing to work on over the next 3 to 6 weeks.  And let me tell you, for someone who has 4 university degrees and who has spent a quarter of a century in school (not counting when I've been a teacher/professor), it is rather humbling to realize that the problem here isn't my fitness or my body, but rather my brain.

Hmmmm…I don't think I can share the road with this guy!

I headed out the door to hit my Saturday 10 X 1min. repeat run workout, and came upon a situation that stretched my newfound desire to reconnect with my tenacious self.

I had planned to do this workout in our neighbourhood, but about 3 minutes into running around the neighbourhood streets that were in the middle of being re-tarred told me that I'd have to revise my plan. The smell of hot tar under the Malaysian sun, the many trucks blocking the roads, and the sticky stuff on the bottoms of my shoes let me know that there was just no way that I'd be able to stick to my workout in the neighbourhood.

Now what I normally would have done is thrown my hands up in the air, admitted defeat, and headed home for a relaxing nap on the couch.

One of 5 tar trucks clogging my neighbourhood.

But instead I grabbed my mace and my iPhone and headed out of our gated and guarded neighbourhood, back to another route that I've used before and knocked off my workout exactly as planned, heading home full of my success and tenacity.

And then the next day when I got ready to head out for my 40 minute easy run, I realized that I had left my running shoes to dry in the sink after trying (mostly in vain) to get the sticky road tar off them and they were still wet.

Again, I would have normally decided that the karmic gods were telling me to accept failure and put my feet up.  Instead, I dug through the cupboard and found my old running shoes, put them on, and out the door I went to knock off yet another workout.

My regular pair of shoes drying out, and me luckily digging
through the cupboard to find my old pair that still work in a pinch!

So while one week's worth of completed workouts does not a tenacious lady make (yet), at least they set me on the path to tenacity…

Over and out,
Joy

Some thoughts on Bodies

Joy here…I was raised on a healthy dose of second wave feminism, the kind of feminism that was angry and frustrated, and my coming of age was shaped by the 1980s where feminism's face was that of Margaret Thatcher, the first woman PM of Britain.  My notions of what it meant to be empowered as a girl and young woman were formed by notions that feminism demanded some pretty sharp binaries:  smart OR pretty.

And it was pretty clear that a body was something that any self-respecting woman hated as she minimized its effect on her life.  There were no conversations about PMS having any effect on one's day-to-day life; tears were a definite no-no (as were pretty much all emotions); and the refrain from "Anything you can do" was to be taken as a guiding principle in my young life.

In those formative years, I saw that in order to be a woman worthy of note, one must not concern oneself with physically, including make up or hairdos.  My mom made sure that it was ingrained in me that pedicures and manicures were the luxuries of women with nothing else going on in their lives, or that leaving the house without a stitch of makeup on was a mark of her strong character (and in no way related to how hectic life must have been raising 4 kids).

Without knowing it, I was steeped in a Platonic duality that kept the body and mind separate, with the body being always and eternally inferior to what was going on in my mind.

So as I grew up, if you happened to say I looked good, you were likely to get a dirty look; and if I knew you well, I might even add on a shrill lecture to go with my dirty look.  As I got older, if you were dating me and made the mistake of telling me that I looked sexy, you were likely to get a nasty tongue lashing rather than an erotic tongue licking for your mistake.

Attention to bodies (mine or anyone else's) made me very uncomfortable.

And this all the while growing up with a guilty love of Barbies.

Please, mom, can I get a Barbie????

My mom, however, had a strict Barbie embargo; she wasn't letting one of those body dysfunctional things in our house!  So, of course, whenever denied something, that something becomes even more important and significant, as as a youngster I longed for and dreamed about Barbies, until my aunt bought me my one and only Barbie.  To my seven-year old eyes, when she married my uncle, she looked just like a Barbie (and to her credit, some 30 years on, I think she's still pretty much Barbie's dead ringer), and I certainly didn't (and don't) think any less of her for it.

But in my feminist desires to eschew screwed up body imagery that surrounds us in everyday media; in my so-called emancipated notion that my brain is what counts and my body can be relegated to second-class status; and in my willingness to equate self-love with shallow superficiality, I have forgotten that my body (and anyone else's for that matter) is this amazing tool, one intimately connected to one's spirit and mind.

The ever-talented Jennifer Lawrence playing
Katniss Everdeen.

As I've been out there hitting every single workout as planned over this last week, I've refound that connection between my body and the rest of me.  I've re-reminded myself that through sport I have to face my demons - my fear of failure, my willingness to be self-destructive - and overcome them.  I've also had to realize that my body is truly amazing.  It is strong; it is capable.

Let me rephrase that:  I am strong; I am capable.

A recent New York Times article lamenting the dearth of female action heroes identified Katniss (the character) and Jennifer Lawrence (the actress) from The Hunger Games as being potentially "transformative" in our culture:  "both princess and tomboy, glamorous and earthly, gorgeous and wickedly talented."

Perhaps one of the lessons that I need to embrace on this journey with sport is that I really can have it all, be it all, and do it all.  My body is not the enemy.

2008...

…5 years later, 2013.

That's me…that's my body; and I don't have to hate it in order to respect myself!  

Over and out, 

Joy

Top Ten Random Thoughts

Joy here…After what seems like (and probably is) months and months of having the worst training record that I've had in years and years, I am starting to get back into the swing of things.  First,
it was wonderful to run a 10km race through the ruins at Angkor Wat in Cambodia at the start of December.  It was my first 10km race in over 3 years, and it was my first running race since May 2011.  This race reminded me of all the things that I enjoy about running:  sure there's the fitness and feeling like I'm doing something good for my health, but for me, someone who has spent and continues to spend a lot of time living up in her head, I enjoy the contemplative nature of running.

The face of contemplation that hangs above
my bed in my home in Ottawa.

So as I've gotten back into a consistent workout routine (so far…fingers crossed that I keep it up!!!), I'm able to be a bit more contemplative.  I hit my strength training sessions twice per week, got out there and ran and rode my bike, and have been able to be a bit more contemplative of late as a result.

As 2013 draws to its close, (in no particular order) here is a random top-10 list of some of the things that I've thought about while out there running and cycling:

1.)  The older you get, the dumber you realize you are.
2.)  Being a grown up is really really hard work.
3.)  Living life is not about reaching a certain level and then maintaining it, but about always striving for more.
4.)  Having few really good friends is better than having many not-so-good friends.
5.)  Keep a safe distance between you and toxic people in your life.
6.)  Often silence is better than a pointed rebuttal.
7.)  Don't let the choices other people make in their life have any bearing whatsoever on the choices you make in yours.
8.)  Don't try to change people, but be open to letting them change you.
9.)  Don't look backwards.
10.)  It's almost always better to smile than to punch (even if punching is what you really, really, really want to do!).

The original face that inspired the painting in my home.
From Bayon Temple, Cambodia.

I hope you enjoy the random collection of thoughts that give you a little window into the many things that whirl and swirl in my head as I do my best to hit my workouts and get myself back to where I want to be, so that I can start 2014 the right way!

Over and out,
Joy

Race Report: 10kms at Angkor Wat

The five towers of Angkor Wat rising to the sky.

Joy here…At 4am we awoke to the darkness of a Siem Reap night, the frogs and crickets chirping outside our hotel door, but the birds not singing yet.  The temperature was, in a word, perfect.  It was warm, but with a coolish breeze, and as we got ready for our breakfast with the other pre-dawn runners staying at our hotel the excitement of the upcoming running race through the UNESCO World Heritage site of Angkor Wat was palatable.

Angkor Wat is the largest religious temple in the world, and its construction was completed in the early 12th Century, but still so very little is known about the Khmer empire of the day.  Some of the best information about life under the Khmer rulers is gleaned from Chinese written sources of the day; other information can be interpreted through the kilometres of stone carvings that detail life and religion that meant something to the builders that scholars today can only make their best academic guesses at.

Me and The Man in our tuk tuk on our way to the race.

So as we hopped into our tuk tuk - an open air seat towed by a motorcycle that is the main mode of transportation for the many tourists in and around Siem Reap, the closest city to the many Khmer temples, of which Angkor Wat is the crown jewel - and headed out to the temple site where our race was to be held, we were thrilled to be part of this mass of people - over 7,000 runners - all getting to experience running through a once-in-a-life-time setting, still shrouded in mystery and religious aura.

The roads were lined with other tuk tuks carrying eager runners, each with their number pinned to their shirt, and we could see a never-ending line of headlights spreading the 5kms from the town to the temple site.

Runners gathering as the sun rises.

We were only running 10kms, and we were terribly unprepared and undertrained for our run, but as we drew ever-closer to the site, the glistening waters of the moat appearing out of the darkness and reflecting our headlights back to us, we didn't care at all about how well or poorly we might run.  Instead, we started to get caught up in the vibe.

We arrived at Angkor Wat with the thousands of other runners and their supporters, and we watched the sun rise up over the temple before half-heartedly swinging our legs and trying to warm up.  I, of course, had to spend nearly 30 minutes in a line up to use the bathroom.

With my bladder finally emptied, we made our way over to the start line and jostled our way close to the front.

Ready…set…go!!!

My running coach (who must be super duper annoyed at me lately for my lackadaisical attitude towards training these days), had told me in advance that his main intention was for me to run this race conservatively and get faster as it went on.  He said he didn't care if I had to walk at the start, I wasn't allowed to go too fast.  So as the gun went off and the shouts and cheers roared all around us as the runners headed out away from Angkor Wat towards and through the entrance of Angkor Thom, the ancient king's city and by Bayon, the glorious temple carved with amazing and contemplative faces, I aimed to keep my pace no quicker than a conservative 6min/km.

Runners entering the ancient city of
Angkor Thom.

It was harder than you might think.

Even though I'm undoubtedly out of shape and unused to running.  I was getting caught up in the moment.  People were running all around me, and before I knew it, I was running at 5:51min/km.  I did my best to stay no faster than that and watched as The Man ran away from me, finding his own pace and rhythm as I tried to stay slow and steady (he would eventually finish 3 minutes ahead of me).

I had forgotten the wonderful sense of community that you can experience in the middle of a running race.  People surround you, and they all have a similar goal to run their best, to achieve something, to prove something to themselves or to someone else, and a sense of happiness and camaraderie emerges as people cheer each other on, pat each other on the back and generally send out goodwill to the world.

People around me inspire me in a running race.  I see the old people out there running at their own pace as the tropical sun beats down on us, and I smile.  I see the kids running with their parents, and I think of what a gift fitness is for a parent to give a child.  I ran by a man whose lower leg had been blown off by one of the land mines that still plagues the Cambodian countryside, and I almost cried.  And all of this I was feeling as the stone work of a lost civilization rose up around me, inspiring me further.  As humans we have such capacity for greatness - creativity, physical feats, endurance, artistry, compassion - but it is so easy to crush and trample those things under the more powerful forces of greed and animosity.

If seeing that doesn't inspire you,
then nothing will!

So as I ran, I let the good vibes wash through me.  These endorphins (sometimes considered the runners' high) made me enjoy my run.  I still kept my pace as slow as I could until the turn around point by Bayon.

Then I felt strong, despite a bit of a weird shoulder cramp, but I wasn't sure how much faster I should push it.

I mean, I was flush on the success of holding back for the first 5kms, but then I wasn't sure how much I should speed up for the second 5kms.  I knew that I shouldn't just run like gusto, otherwise I'd find myself running out of gas and walking in no time.  So I built my speed up to 5:44min/km and decided to keep it there for a while, figuring that I could speed up a bit more closer to the finish line.

By the time I ran past the 6km marker, I looked at my watch and knew that even if I ran the remaining 4kms at a 6min/km pace, I would still finish in less than 1 hour of running, I was satisfied.  Even though I didn't have high hopes for this race, I still had the notion in the back of my mind that I wanted to run in less than an hour.

The 5km turn around point at Bayon.

Feeling that my goal was within reach, I ran by one of the volunteers, grabbed the bottle of water he held out to me, and dumped it over myself.  I was already sweaty, and at each water station, I drank some and doused myself with some, remembering my last half marathon 2 years ago that I ran in Singapore under similar temperature conditions.

Action shot of me in motion at
around the 6km point in the race
when I started to know I'd finish
in less than an hour (my
conservative goal for this race)

As I neared the 8km marker, I started to think that I should pick up my pace and run the last 2kms as fast as I could.  But pacing is an odd thing to moderate sometimes.  I seem to have only two speeds:  fast and slow.  "Slow" I can last for hours and hours, and "fast" I only have about 50m before I collapse.  So I wasn't sure exactly what to do, and in over-thinking, I ended up going rather conservatively.  Only when I turned the corner to see the finish-line just around the corner from me did I really open up and run; I was almost sprinting, and felt like I could have run like that forever.  I felt strong and fast, and I was annoyed that the finish line was so soon, because I wanted to just keep on running and running into the morning sunlight with the cheers and excitement all around me and the temple of Angkor Wat rising behind my back as I ran on into infinity.

But, of course, I stopped.

I got my finisher's medal and my post-race banana.  I belatedly remembered to turn off my watch timer so that I could check my running data afterwards.

And even though this is my slowest 10km race (and only my 3rd ever), it is my first running race in just over 3 years, and so I feel a sense of accomplishment in finishing it within the time that I set for myself.

More than that, I feel the excitement of racing, and I've re-remembered the fun and enjoyment that I get out of racing, so I'm going to sit down with my computer and find some other races in 2014 to sign up for.

Because, baby, I'm back!

That's me sprinting to the finish line!

Over and out,
Joy

Race Stats:
I ran a total of 10km in 57:21 with an average pace of 5:45min/km, placing 40 out of 865 women competitors.  Most importantly, I ran the first 5km in 29:11, which means I ran the second 5km in 28:10, faster than the first 5km.  I also know that I had more juice in my legs at the end, because in the final 70m or so, I was running a 3:45min/km pace and my max speed at the end was 2:42min/km; so that tells me that I could have/should have run that second 5kms much faster.  So there's always next time! :)

Siem Reap, Cambodia

Angkor Wat rising into a sky threatening rain.

Joy here…Back when The Man and I first had our great idea to relocate from Canada to Malaysia for the 2013-2014 academic year, I looked around to find some fitness goals for us to sign up for.  One of our friends (Lulu, who gave us a guest post here about learning how to run) told me about this amazing half marathon through the UNESCO protected heritage site of Angkor Wat, an amazing Khmer empire temple just outside of Siem Reap, Cambodia.  So I looked online for this race, and I was happy to discover that they offer a 10km version, not just the half marathon.  I wasn't sure what my fitness would be like by early December, and I just didn't think I could commit to 1/2 marathon training at the moment.

Turns out I was right.

Our glorious hotel pool, as photographed from our equally
glorious hotel pool-side bar!

I've barely hit any of my running workouts, and have been hanging on to my fitness by the skin of my teeth.

But December approached, our tickets were booked, our race registered, and our hotel reserved, so off to Cambodia we went.

We stayed at an amazing hotel - The Shinta Mani, which I would highly recommend - and in between touring some of the amazing temple sites (with our own English-speaking guide and driver), sampling unbelievable cuisine, and generally relaxing in the beautiful setting, we also headed out the door one day to do a little run, figuring that we should at least loosen up our legs a little bit before the big race day!

Out for an early morning jog by the canal.

A canal wends its way through the tree-lined streets of Siem Reap where bicycles, motorcycles, and tuk tuks outnumber cars, and where cafes and shops open up to offer busy passersby anything from textiles to wood carvings to jewelry to food.  The air is scented with spice and lemongrass and sometimes something that I can only describe as the wetness of the jungle, this latter scent arises especially in the quiet of the dawn hour.

As we ran along the canal, making our way between the massive tree roots that dislodge and disgorge the stones from the pathway, much like at Angkor Wat and the other temples that lie in different states of ruin amidst the jungle that has grown up and around them over the centuries since their abandonment, people stared at us and watched us unashamed of the obviousness of their gaze.

A view of Ankgor Wat from the other side, as the rain
clouds blow away to reveal a brilliant blue sky.

Our run was around 30 minutes:  We weren't in shape; we weren't running fast; we weren't even conscious of training; we were just soaking up the beauty of this town that boasts some of the most amazing archaeological and architectural marvels that the world has to offer.

The view of the canal (and across) from the colonial terrace
of the FCC (Foreign Correspondents Club), which was once
the French governor's mansion.

It's hard to resist the temptation to wax philosophical about the tragic history of Cambodia - not just its colonialization by the Thais and French and its genocidal suffering under Pol Pot's regime, but also its current under-development, sex-trafficking, and exploitation - or to pontificate as an essentialist on the resilience and optimism of the Cambodian people, but I generally tend to loathe people who travel to other places and then write about their experiences as though their few days somewhere have made them deep and insightful experts about the plight or experiences of people undeniably "other," so I won't claim to have any new or important insights about Cambodia, although, you can be sure my mind is bubbling over with my own reflections on visiting Siem Reap.

I will, however, urge you to get yourself there to develop your own thoughts and feelings.

And if it takes something like a running race to get you there, well, then all the better for it.

Over and out,
Joy

I'm a Leader not a Follower

Joy here…I've been trying to get into the habit of heading out on Saturdays and Sundays to ride my bike up a 15km climb nearby; on a good day it takes me around 54minutes to complete the climb, and on a bad day it takes me around 58minutes.  One of the women who I've met on this bike ride has a Personal Best time up the hill of 49:30, and some people take over 2 or even 3 hours to complete the climb.

I usually ride with The Man, but sometimes some other friends join us.  And I've learned something important about myself on these rides.

I'm a leader not a follower.

What I mean is that, when someone races past me (or us), going full-steam ahead, The Man is often motivated to chase them down.  When someone better at something - even something non cycling related - appears in his sights, it is his habit to pursue them and do what it takes to be able to improve so that he can be competitive.  It is a trait that I certainly admire in him.

It is a trait I don't have.

My bike stats for today's ride.

You see, when someone rides past me going fast, my automatic response is "good for you!"  Often I'll cheer someone on, or give them encouragement.  And when The Man urges me to chase them down, I find that I actually ride slower than when I just ride at my own pace.

And when am I fastest?

It's not when I'm chasing someone, and it's not even when I'm just riding along without any goals (as I mention in this blog post that I don't do well without clear goals).  In fact, I ride fastest when I think someone is chasing me.

Are you the one who chases, or are you the one
who is chased?

I first noticed this last summer when I was riding in the park in Ottawa and the group of male cyclists gave me a head start, and I expected them to breathe down my neck at any moment; when, in fact, it took them a good, long time to catch up to me.  And then a couple of weeks ago, we started ahead of some other friends of ours, and the whole time I expected them to catch up with me, but they never did.  Today, The Man had to complete a Time Trial up the climb, and so we only rode together for about 10 minutes, and then he headed back down to the bottom to do his warm up and then ride hard to the top.  I expected him to come roaring past me at any moment.  And before I knew it, I was at the top of the climb and hadn't been caught.  I finished in 53:49, a new PB for me.

I don't know what's the psychology behind chasing or being chased, but I'm becoming more and more comfortable with the fact, that I'll do much better if I feel like I'm being chased than if I have to get out there and chase someone else.  I think, in life, there are chasers and those who are chased.

And I suspect that this is a life lesson for me, not just an insight of how to get the best cycling performance out.

Now what exactly that life lesson is, I don't quite know…but surely it's something deep and insightful, right?

Over and out,
Joy

Mad Sally Goes Pee

Joy here…Last week, as many of you will have read, I had a very near miss with a poisonous Malaysian coral snake (a lovely orange specimen that I wish I didn't see quite so close up).  Well, this week I found myself out there riding the same route, up the 15km climb, and needing a pee break by the side of the road once again.

Filled with fear, I lay my bike down in the grass and stepped forward into the foliage, and this is what happened:

-----Mad Sally Goes Pee-----
Out there under the sun on my bike,

A road bike, not a motorcycle or a trike, 

I suddenly felt the need to pee.
"Oh no," I thought, "can it really be?

I went potty just before leaving,
Surely I don't need to be relieving

Myself so soon!"  But of course,
I couldn't hold it, couldn't force

Myself to just keep riding
Without first heading and hiding

In the bushes so that this Mad Sally
Could find a spot to go pee.

Last time I found a bush
And bared my tush

I stepped on a deadly snake.
The mere memory made me quake.

So what was I to do?
(At least I didn't have to poo!)

I decided to be bold.
For that pee I couldn't hold!

I went to the very same spot
That last week was so fraught.

I stomped all around
Scanned the entire, leafy ground.

Sure that I was in the clear
I showed the jungle my rear,

And felt some relief
And came to no grief.

The snakes stayed hidden,

Both banished and forbidden

As I did the dirty deed
With the very utmost of speed.

So I conquered my fear
As no snakes came near.

But I'm still going to try
To not be the weird guy

That everyone sees
Every time that she pees!

I sure would like it a lot
If I could find a convenient pee pot!
-----THE END-----

So it turns out that I was able to overcome my fears of snakes lurking in my specific peeing spot, but it would be even better if there were toilets somewhere that I could use.  I mean, at the spot where we park the car at the start of the ride, guys just line up on the side of the road and let 'er rip.  And all along the 15km climb up to the top of the hill, guys are able to pull over to the side and just stand there and pee.  It's only girls who have to wander into the jungle.

Oh well…wish me better luck tomorrow so that I'm able to hold it in for the whole bike ride…

Over and out,
Joy

From each according to his/her ability...

Joy here…If you read this blog, then it'll be no surprise to you that I'm having a hard time committing to my running goals and objectives.  And as I was out there doing a 5km run today, I was thinking about that.  My last running race was in 2011, and I quit my job as a professor in 2011.  I've felt a little bit at sea since then; sure I've done lots of things - I took up bike racing; I launched a consulting firm; I moved to Malaysia; I co-founded a series of kids books - but I've not felt the same focus and drive that I've been used to.

Don't get me wrong, there's no way you could persuade me to be a prof again, but I haven't yet fully hit on the next thing that I'll be stuck into for 5 years or so as a challenge.

And as I ran around and around and around the 500m loop in my neighbourhood, I couldn't help but think about that desire for challenge…or about motivation to be more precise.

You see, I think that I'm a very goal oriented person.  Set me a finish-line, and I'll run my little heart out for it.  But in the absence of that finish-line, I'm liable to put my feet up on the coffee table and take a bit of a break.

In fact, one of the things that led to leave academia was the lack of goals and objectives.  You see, once you actually become a prof there are no more finish-lines, especially if your Chair sits you down and says (as mine did), "You have enough published now for tenure, so don't worry about that."  Professional academia is a place where the pursuit of knowledge and excellence are ends in and of themselves.

I think for some athletes, sport is an end in and of itself.

It leads me to think of that oft-quoted maxim from Marx: "From each according to his ability, to each according to his needs."  You see, anyone who has done any graduate-level humanities work will be familiar with Marxism to some degree.  Academics seem unable to resist the siren call of socialism; it's easy to see why:  what's so bad about envisioning a world where everyone is equal and the unjust methods of wealth distribution are abolished?  It sounds positively utopian.

The glitch for me isn't in the theoretical appeal of socialist or Marxist ideals, but in their practical applicability.  You see, I've come to the realization that the whole "according to his ability" thing is a little too static for me.  For without external motivation, there's just no way in heck I would be able to learn what my abilities may be.

Without a race to run, I would never learn how to run.  Without a bigger piece of the economic pie, I wouldn't know what I could ultimately produce.

Now what does all of this mean?

Well, the good news is that The Man and I are in the middle of an interesting project that we're developing together in addition to my other work, and if the potential of this project is what we think it might be, then it just might offer the kind of motivational challenge that I've been looking for for the next few years.

And I suspect that once I'm stuck in with a big professional challenge, one that gets me excited and makes me see the myriad mini-goals on the way to the finish line, I'll also feel somehow more committed to my sporting goals.

In the meantime, let's just hope that I can keep it together long enough to run my next 10km race in Cambodia.  Surely I have the ability to do that, don't I?

Over and out,
Joy

Mad Sally and the Snake

Joy here…As many of you know, "Joy" is not my real name, but the name I use on this sporting blog.  It came from a collaboration with my friend "Nomi" back when we used to blog together on East and West Running as we trained for our first-ever running races - her in Malaysia and me in Canada.  We took our names from Joy Kogawa's amazing novel Obasan about WWII internment and displacement of Japanese Canadians.  My co-blogger took the name "Nomi," the protagonist, and I took the name of the author herself.  It was our little inside joke and homage, and it's stuck.

So Joy I am.

But I'm also a writer in other genres.  In my past life I was an educator, writing teaching manuals; I was a scholar, writing peer reviewed, academic articles; I was a populist writer, penning materials for popular and trade magazines; I was a wannabe poet, drafting reams of earnest but bad poetry; and now I'm a writer of kid's books.

Here we are, the kids' story creative team:
I'm the arctic fox on the right, and Nomi is the kitty cat
painter, while her talented daughter is the imaginative beast.

Nomi and I have teamed up to write kid's stories; I do the stories, and she and her super duper talented 9-year old daughter do the illustrations.

Today's post takes the form of one of those stories, and it's about Mad Sally, yet another one of my pseudonyms.  You see, ex-pats (or white people) in Malaysia are referred to as "Mat Salleh."  There's debate about where the term originated, with some thinking it a bastardization of "mad sailor," those crazy drunken Europeans that early Malays didn't know what to do with!

Nomi's daughter looked at her just the other day and asked if I was a Mad Sally (mispronouncing Mat Salleh), so in this never-ending game of telephone where Mad Sailor -> Mat Salleh -> Mad Sally, I am now Mad Sally, and below is my weekend's adventure with a snake:

-----Mad Sally and the Snake-----

The early dawn light was just beginning to show,
So we loaded the car with bikes and got ready to go.

We drove out to the parking spot,
Getting ready before the day got too hot.

We put on our helmets and got ready to ride,
Up into the hills, side by side.

The trees were swathed in mist,
And the leaves glistened with dew newly kissed.

We were rather early and it was rather quiet,
Well, aside from the monkeys who always make a riot!

But as we rode in the early morning,
Suddenly without any warning, 

This Mad Sally
Had to pee.

So by the side of the road we stopped,
And off my bike I quickly hopped.

I looked into the trees;
It was still; there was no breeze.

There was green all around,
And I stomped to make lotsa sound.

I wanted whatever was in the bush
To get away from my soon-to-be-bare tush!

"Here I come," I said to shrub and tree,
Hiding myself from the road in order to pee.

Then I squatted as if the outdoors were my loo,
Only to see something pinned under my shoe.

Orange on one side it showed,
Then writhing its belly exposed

Horizontal stripes,

And I wondered how many types

Of snakes live out here,
And should I be in great fear

Of the little guy so bright
Pinned under my foot in fright.

My pants were half-mast,
And I peed super fast,

But had to release the snake from under my cleat
Without getting poison bitten into my feet.

So with my heart in my throat,
Fearing my chances remote,

Knowing I had no chance for mistake

I had to leap over a writhing snake!

I jumped half a mile
And ran with no style

Back to the road
Where my husband had slowed,

Waiting for me
To be done with my pee.

He heard my shout,
Wondered what it was about,

And when I described the snake
I had escaped

We decided that next time Mad Sally
Has to go pee

We'll wait and find a pot
So I don't have to squat

And risk the poisonous ache
Of being bitten by a Malayan Coral Snake!

-----The End-----


PS:  I didn't actually take pictures of the snake!  I found the images here from random google searching to find pictures of the little guy who struggled under my shoe!

Relativity...

Joy here…In very simple terms, one aspect of Einstein's theory of relativity is that it clarifies the relative elasticity of our perception of things like motion, space, and time.  Depending on whether we (or other objects) are in motion relative to other things will affect the measurements of those things (such as space and time).

Put in even more simple terms:  things aren't as fixed as you might think they are.

Now what, you might ask, does this have to do with my lacklustre training of late?

I mean, I've been grappling with not being able to hit my workouts, with my injuries and hiccups along the way, and with wondering about my inability to be effectively coached; I've rambled about my pseudo-deep thoughts about why these failings on my part have arisen, about my thoughts on what sense to make of these failings, and my continued optimism to see my difficulties of late as part of a larger journey, a journey that is supposed to be teaching me some lessons.

But there's a funny thing about lessons - Einstein's or not - and that is that it's one thing to understand those lessons, but it's totally another thing to put them into practice.  I may be well aware that I do some self-sabotaging by indulging in that extra drink or dessert.  I may be well attuned to the fact that I need to get some perspective on all this, but those many truths do not add up to equal action.

The only thing that equals action is action.

So as I headed out for my Saturday morning bike ride up the incline, I was feeling bad about myself.  I was feeling like I've not hit my running workouts; I'm carrying an extra kilo or two of weight around my midsection; I'm letting my running coach down, and in general I was letting myself be brought down by negative self talk.

A healthy post-ride lunch with a smoothie!

Even when I completed the climb in one of my quicker times (a good day is around 54 mins, and a slow day is around 58 mins, and Saturday was a 54 minute day), I was still feeling down on myself.  I roared down the hill on my bike, and The Man and I hopped in the car, planning to stop at the grocery store on our way home so that we could pick up something healthy for lunch.

We popped into the local shop still wearing our cycling gear and loaded up on fruit and produce.

As we walked out, I was heading to the car and came face-to-face with a Malaysian lady out to do her shopping.  As she saw me, she literally stopped in her tracks:  "Woa!" she exclaimed involuntarily, and then looked me up and down, "So fit!"

And suddenly, a smile broke out on my face, and I didn't feel so fat and out of shape.  Instead of feeling like the fat sack of potatoes riding a bike, I suddenly felt myself as she saw me, as a fit woman.

I guess Einstein really was onto something with that notion of relativity, after all!

"Woa! So fit!"

Over and out,

Joy

Running…? Not yet...

Joy here…Since arriving in Malaysia this year, I've written a number of times about the wildlife (like this one here that summarizes all the animals I may run into, or this one about being scared away from my regular 3-ish km loop by monkeys), and I've grappled pretty hard with being able to fulfil any of my sporting goals (like this post where I wonder if, in fact, I'm simply not coachable).

And the truth of the matter is that I'm still not sure if the hurdles I've not really been able to jump over - like the presence of animals, or a busy schedule, or prohibitively hot temperatures, injuries etc. - actually have anything to do with relocating to Malaysia and adjusting to life lived on the other side of the world, or if they're just about me being lazy or unmotivated.

The sign at the side of the road where I bike ride warning
about animals crossing!!!

The jury is still out.

I'll keep you posted.

In the meantime, I did get out this weekend to ride my bike.  I make the 15km climb up the 3% gradient in less than an hour consistently, and I'm getting more and more comfortable on the downhill.  I've made some friends on the climb, and added myself to an email list with some other ladies in the hopes that I can get some riding buddies.

So I've done what I can to make sure that I'm getting some exercise on the bike.

I also head to a trainer for 90minute (or longer!) strength training sessions twice per week.  I'm doing squats and dead lifts and martial arts kicks and shoulder presses and all sorts of things that I don't know the words for but that leave me feeling strong afterwards (and sometimes sore the next day).

So I've made some strides when it comes to the strength training side of my regimen.

But I was supposed to head out for a 10km running race this weekend.  But I didn't make it.  I've been having a hard time heading out there for my runs.  Partly it has to do with the fact that there are no sidewalks.  Partly it has to do with some of the safety/security concerns here.  Partly it has to do with injury (like my poor toe).  Partly it has to do with the fact that BOTH the venue and date changed for this event! But more than that, I'm not even 100% sure why I didn't get out there to run.  I wanted to, but I just couldn't make it happen.

So I'm still signed up for a 10km running race in Cambodia on Dec. 1.

Wish me luck…at this point, just luck to make it to the starting line!

Over and out,
Joy

Why do we fall, Bruce? So we can learn to pick ourselves up...

Joy here…In my last post I was full of enthusiasm and getting back out there and into the swing of things, both on my bike and in my running shoes.  I was going to the gym every Tuesday and Thursday for a whopping dose of strength training, and I was building back some fitness running so that I don't have a heart attack and die on Sunday when I head out for my first 10km run in 3 years this coming Saturday.

Then, well, I fell.

On my toe, to be precise.

Ouch!!!!

Back in 2012 I fractured my baby toe, and that put an end to my marathon training goals.  The silver lining in that escapade is that I took up bike racing, and had a heck of a fun season of cycling time trials during the summer of 2012, culminating in a 6th place finish in my category at the Ontario provincial event.

But that was a year ago, and now I'm just getting back into the swing of things workout wise, and I was NOT keen on another broken toe derailing me.

The good news is that the toe isn't broken and is mending nicely.

But the bad news is that as my toe began to heal, I got one whopper of a chest cold.  I'm talking about coughing up gross phlegm and everything.  So even as my toe felt better and better, like I could get out there and run on it, my chest cold was telling me a very different story.

The long and the short of all this is that aside from some strength training, I've done a whole lot of not much.

But today I got out there for a Saturday morning right to pick myself back up and dust myself off.

And what a day…

Beautiful Morning!

So I rode my little heart out, coughing ever so slightly every now and then, as I rode up the hill close to where we live in Malaysia.  The weather was lovely (around 25C) and we could hear the ever-elusive gibbons calling to each other in the trees as we rode by.

Granted, my legs were heavy, my toe hurt slightly, my breathing was laboured, and I was slower than when I last rode this hill…BUUUUUTTTTT at least I was out there doing it.  

And I'll be out there again tomorrow morning bright and early.

Over and out,

Joy