"It's Just Ballast"

bal˙last

n.

Heavy material that is placed in the hold of a ship or the gondola of a balloon to enhance stability.

Joy here…You know the song by Sir Mix-a-Lot, "I like big butts…"?  (Now I dare you not to have that song stuck in your head all day.)  Well, that song is kind of like my theme song.  Not only do I dance to it any chance I can get (including the weddings of my friends and my own wedding, or at high school graduations - not my own), but it also kind of encapsulates my physique:  "little in the middle, but she got much back…"

This was struck home to me (forcefully) just the other night.

We were invited to dinner where we would get to see a guy that The Man rode with on his very first ever road ride here in Malaysia.  That was almost 20 years ago, before The Man knew anything about lycra or slim road cycling wheels, before I had ever met him or knew that he existed on the other side of the world just waiting to meet me, the most awesome woman ever who would become the most awesome wife ever.  He was just a kid riding a mountain bike, wearing baggy shorts, and hanging out with the Europeans.

The guys riding "back in the day" (c. 1998).

Well, one of these Europeans was paying a visit to Malaysia, and I would get to meet him for the first time.

Upon meeting me, he immediately compliments me saying that I look like a cyclist.  Now before I got a chance to get all chuffed and feel good about myself, he immediately says (in a thick Austrian accent):  "no extra up top; you don't need anything up there" (gesturing to my non-existent boobs), "it's just ballast," he concludes smiling away at me.

Who knew that needing nothing more than a AA training bra well into my 30s would translate into me having a great cycling physique?  I guess I wouldn't have spent so much time as a teenager wishing that my boobs would eventually grow (which they didn't) had I known that really all they are is unnecessary ballast!

Let's just say that compared to me, this girl
is positively buxom.

Dammit, Walter, where were you when I was 15 and suffering from low self esteem due to flat chestedness?

Can't wait to ride with him this week and show him what my power butt, unfettered by excess ballast on my chest can do!

Over and out,
Joy

Backsliding on the Blogging, but Living the Life!

Joy here…While it's been a while since I've had a chance to sit down at my computer and update my blog with my sporting progress (and some random thoughts that dance across my mind and out through my typing fingers before I know it), and usually these kind of lapses indicate that I've fallen off the workout wagon and have missed all my workouts, backslided into laziness, and generally turned into a bit of a lump (Exhibit A: this post from May 2013).

Then, like some high school girl whose mood swings are as violent as that crazy pirate ship ride that every carnival seems to have and that I always ride on no matter how it makes my stomach twist and twirl and flutter, I settle down to blog again and subject my poor readers (you know, like all 3 of you) to wading through my self-flagellation as I swear that I'll be better next time, and and won't fail; I commit to new levels of sport and high-mindedness, and then, inevitably, it all just follows the same, predictable pattern all over again.

Well, fear not, dear reader, this time, things are different!  This time I've not been absent due to failings and flaws; I've not been avoiding my computer, because I don't want to face logging all my missed workouts; I've not been lounging on the couch playing angry birds hour after hour, nor have I felt my midsection begin to increase at an exponential rate, related, directly to my alcohol consumption.

No, no, this time, I've not been a good blogger logging my progress because I've been damn busy…but busy in a good way, not busy in the "geez, I've not hit my workouts, because I've just been so darned busy" sense of the word.  This time I've been busy with work; I've been busy with life; AND I've been busy with workouts.  Somehow I've fit everything in (more or less), and only let the writing about it fall by the wayside.

And really, if you've been out there LIVING life and not having time to write about it, that's not a bad thing, is it?

I promise to catch up on some of my blogging updates, because there are some good highlights to come…here's a bit of a summary of some of the goodies:

• I did a super cool, futuristic bike fit that used motion sensor technology to situate me on my bike properly, increasing my power and decreasing the possibility of injury (now when I say "motion sensor technology," think WETA Workshop technology that allowed for Andy Serkis to embody Gollum in the LOTR series of movies - and if that means nothing to you, find the closest geek and ask them to translate).
  
• I've both squatted and dead lifted over my body weight at the gym - challenging myself to lift more and do more than I would have ever thought possible, all while having a whole lot of fun!

• I have gotten back into running over the past couple of days since straining a muscle - putting in an easy 9kms (without whining), including revisiting the monkey loop.

• I had a bit of a hamstring/calf injury (that I'm still nursing a bit), but instead of just throwing in the towel and giving up entirely on running, I've ridden my bike like nobody's business and layered in some swimming as much as I can in order to compensate.

• I've done some truly epic rides - not only riding 70kms in a group just to be able to justify amazing banana pancakes made at a grass-roofed cafe in a small town outside of KL, but also riding with Robbie freakin' McEwen of Tour de France fame (this will get its own blog post in due time, because, well, it was just so FREAKIN' AWESOME).

So I'll do my best to keep on blogging and keep on updating…but I'm also going to be busy doing my best living and loving life!

Over and out,

Joy

Malaysia Boleh!

Joy here…Let me be clear right at the start:  I'm not Malaysian; I'm not a Malaysian scholar, and I'm not even all that up on the ins and outs of Malaysian socio-political history or culture; I don't speak Malay; I'm not even lain lain ("other") in the parlance of Malaysian ethno-cultural groupings, but merely an ex-pat, a Mat Salleh, someone forever marked as an outsider.

That said, I love this place.  I love the culture; I love the food; I love the climate; I love the craziness of it all, and I love the sense that this chaotic city gives me that anything and everything is possible.

But most of all I love the people.

Now I spent a good part of my adult life in universities theorizing the complicated hybridized identities emerging out of the liminal sites where the divisions, fractions, and fissures of nomenclature fail to capture the multiplicities that we all possess and embody, so I'm not about to make some grand generalization about how all Malaysians are nice or all Malaysians are friendly, but dammit, it sure does feel that way!

So I'm a bit dismayed at the current row over whether or not the Catholic Church in West Malaysia will be allowed to use the word "Allah" in its Malay language bibles and materials to refer to the Christian God rather than the Muslim one.  The government's stance is that it can't use the word, and the other side says that it can.  Emerging out of the two sides of this controversy has been some harsh words and the potential for ugly behaviours.

To be clear, I don't want to wade into this bruhahaha at all.  I'm not going to pick a side, and I'm not going to make an argument one way or the other.  Heck, I haven't been in a church for a long time, probably since my sister was married in one (and that was back in 2006, and I had a big, black eye and was juiced up on some pretty serious pain meds, so I don't even think I should count that one since my memories are pretty hazy).  But what I will say is that all of these hard-line stances that some politicians are too happy to spout don't seem to tally with the everyday Malaysians (Malay or otherwise) who I come in contact with in my day-to-day life.  The Malaysians I come across are super friendly, people who love a good joke and a belly laugh, and people who are only too happy to sit down for makan.  In fact, I'm starting to be convinced that Teh Tarik may just be the route to world peace.

Cycling cures the world's ills!

Every weekend as I kit up in my cycling gear and head out for my bike ride, I enter into a world where smiles, waves, and cheering seem to be the order of the day.  And I don't just mean out there with other cyclists.  Sure we cyclists wave to each other as we pass each other (or get passed), and we're quick to stop at the side of the road to check on a fellow cyclist who may have had an accident or mechanical incident on the bike.  But it's not just people out there pedalling who are friendly.  The guys and gals riding by on their motorcycles make sure to give me a wide berth; sometimes I get a friendly honk and/or wave.  When the big lorries are stuck behind my slow-moving cycling self and can't pass because the road is winding, they wait patiently, and as I wave them by when the road is clear, I often get a little toot of their horn and a wave.  This weekend, as two separate cars at two different points in my ride drove past me, children waved and smiled out of windows that they had rolled down expressly for that purpose.  The smiles on their faces were beautiful, and maybe they'll be inspired to ride a bike!

Malaysia Boleh!

So when I read the news headlines and get discouraged, I just need to head out there on my bike and have interactions with the everyday folk to remind me of all the great things about people here, no matter what their "race," category, religion, political beliefs, or gender may be.

And maybe if some of those who have nasty things to say would ride their bikes they might have fewer nasty things to say (or at least they just might be too out of breath to say them!).

Over and out,
Joy

2013's Failures...

Joy here…At the end of each year I write a holiday newsletter for family and friends that sums up our year for those we love but don't get to see as often as we'd like.  One of my friends/colleagues (a hilarious and talented author) suggests that instead of these cheery, sun-filled letters (like my last blog post, full of optimism), we, instead, catalogue our year's failures.

And, well, to be fair, I didn't actually take my sporting to a new level in 2013.  I didn't compete in any bike races, sneaking in my one and only running race in December, just before the year ran out, and well, I guess I could say that I took my sport to a new LOW level in 2013, but I don't think that counts.  So failures in 2013 won't be all that hard for me to find.

Thus, in the perverse spirit of Daria Salamon (author of the too-funny novel The Prairie Bridesmaid), here is my summary not of what I achieved in 2013, but rather what I didn't achieve, my top 5 failures:

1.)  I failed to make a million dollars.  Or, to be precise, I didn't earn $7.9million, which is the average compensation for Canada's top 100 CEOs in 2013.  To be fair, that's 171 times the average industrial wage, so while it outstrips my income for 2013, at least I've got company down where I languish with the rest of the plebs.

Here's what they got:

Henley Mansion in England, a $218million house that
I failed to buy in 2013.

Total compensation on average: $7.9 million

Base salary: $1 million

Cash bonuses: $1.73 million

Grants of company shares: $2.24 million

Stocks options: $1.69 million

Other compensation (“perks”): $754,000

Pension value increase: $533,000

Source: Canadian Centre for Policy Alternatives

Heck, I might be okay with the "perks" in the "Other compensation" category, but that's just me.  Chalk income up as a big, 2013 FAIL for me.

A kid I failed to have in 2013.

2.)  I failed to have a kid.  Granted, I didn't try, but as anyone from family to random strangers on the street will tell me, I *should* have a kid (my own ambivalence about it all expressed in this blog post from early in 2013 seems to be of no concern to these many *well-wishers*).

Now I could take this as optimistic evidence of the efficacy of condoms as prophylactics. Even without trying to have a kid, there will be more than enough  people to get in line to tell me that in not having one, I am failing, actually, rather that I'm just a failure.  Full stop.  So on this score, in 2013, I failed.

One of the many awards I failed to
receive in 2013.

3.)  I failed to win Canada's top 40 under 40 Award.  Granted, the award is on hold indefinitely at the moment, but still I failed to win it (or any other awards in 2013).  Heck, I didn't win an Oscar in 2013 either, or an Emmy.  I didn't win a Juno or a Grammy either.  Shit.  This list is adding up.

What am I without external validation?  How can I go on living unless a jury of my peers rises up to congratulate me on something?  What is the point of going forward if I can't add a meaningless accolade to my CV?  These and many other soul-searching questions are those I will have to face as I deal with my dearth of awards in 2013.

I failed to keep my anger under wraps in the face
of crazy.

4.)  I failed to keep my temper in check.  More than once.  In the face of crazy.

I mean, I was raised in a whole "turn the other cheek" ethos, and most of the time I try to let crazy roll off me like water off a duck's back, but sometimes I feel like you need to respond to crazy with crazy in a kind of ever-rising stakes game of crazy-ass poker.  "I see your crazy, and I raise you a shouting, swearing insult."  So when I say that I failed to keep my temper in check a few times in 2013, I'm not apologizing, just stating a fact.

Oh, darn, I failed to look like
this in 2013!!!

5.)  I failed to get rid of "thigh gap."  Granted I didn't know that "thigh gap" was a thing, let alone a thing I'm supposed to want to get rid of until nearly the end of 2013, but ignorance of something doesn't make failing it any less so.  Why would I want my legs not to touch each other?  I don't know.  Why would I want an eating disorder?  I don't know.  Why would I want a giant poonanie that's so big it keeps my upper thighs from touching?  I really can't answer that.  But society tells me that I should want thigh gap; I don't have thigh gap, ergo, failing to get thigh gap is one of my many failings in 2013.

As the first week of 2014 where I hit nearly all my workouts nears its close, I hope you like this retrospective of my 2013 failures…

Over and out,
Joy

Goodbye 2013, Hello 2014!

Joy here…I've started to come up with a theory that my good years are the even ones, and my bad years are the odd ones.  I mean, I was born on an even year; I was married on an even year; I finished my PhD on an even year; I started running races on an even year; I started cycling races on an even year…so really, even years are the ones that work for me.

Alternatively, on odd years I've found myself taking a job in a different city from my husband; I learned the fine art of whinging and complaining during odd years; I quit my job and had to "find myself" during an odd year; and I seem to use odd years as the years to transition from one sport to another:  2011 saw me transition from running to cycling, and 2013 saw me transition back to running.

What all this means is that I've decided 2014 has just gotta be one of my good years.  After all, it's an even year, so, I have every reason to have high hopes.

The pool at my gym where I've been doing a little
water running and a few laps this week.

Add to that superstitious little belief in even years the fact that my professional and personal lives are on a roll and that I happen to be living in an ideal setting, and I really think that 2014 is gonna be a game changing year for me.

And, well, I think everyone should start off every year with that kind of optimism.  I mean who cares what happens throughout the rest of the year, whether or not that optimism ends up being squashed or bogged down as the year progresses?  It's my belief that with each turning of the new year we get the chance to press a giant "reset" button on life so that we can tweak, refine, hone, improve, and increase the quality of our lives in every way possible.  We can be better, fitter, nicer, smarter, richer, healthier, funnier, happier, and all around more special in every way possible.

So as I've hit my workouts for this first week of 2014 - lifting weights at the gym, going for a swim, completing my run workouts - I'm feeling like I'm ready to tackle the world and be the best me that I can be in 2014!

See ya later, 2013!  Helloooooo 2014!

Over and out,

Joy

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