life

Ass Crack Hour Before Dawn

/ Sloan / 2 Comments

I currently started waking up at 3:55am twice a week. Why the hell would you do that? You ask? Well, the YMCA in my town opens at 5am and I hold the key to turn on the lights and treadmills at 4:30am. It’s cold and foggy and nothing but 7-11 is open that early, or late, depending on how you look at it.  In the past if I was awake at 3:55am it’s because I had yet to go to bed, now I’m responsible for the opening shift twice a week! Coffee makes me less of a zombie, people watching keeps me going until noon every Monday and Wednesday.

I have been living in the Pacific North West for just over two months now. When I arrived I was in awe at all of the beautiful people here. Young, thirty-ish couples and families buying organic food at the Co-op, older people hiking further than me in the park, kids biking and walking to school with out complaint. This part of the country is just healthier than the east coast and the mid west.

Working at the Y has opened my eyes to the true effect of the PSW or at least the attitude of the people here. First I’ll describe my job after I turn on the lights and the machines at the ungodly hour of 4:30. I then unlock the doors at 5 and let the masses in! And by masses I mean the 60+ year olds waiting outside in the dark. The majority of people waiting for my turn of the key are retired men and women that are used to being up at the ass crack hour BEFORE dawn. These people greet me with my name, a smile and the weather report and then go on their way through the door to swim, lift and elipt the morning away before the sun peaks his head above the mountains.

I’m forced to think about my family back in the eastern part of the country while I’m meeting all these people out west. I see elderly men and women the same age or older than my grandparents looking young and sprightly! Up early, being social and active. I compare and contrast the 50 some things to my parents who are both active, but live further east. My mother in the Midwest with stresses of Yacht Club meetings, Christmas parties and her marketing job; working out and being outside become low man on the totem pole when life gets thrown at her. My Dad who is a recent Colorado resident has stresses of a new job, moving, meeting people; he’s bombarded all day and going for a hike isn’t high up on priorities.

As the morning carries on the age group varies to young high school boys, to 40 some business people, to octogenarians that resemble people my parent’s age! There’s a woman that comes every time I work and when she scans her membership card I have to double check every time, her age claims she’s 94—she looks about 62, a 62 year old that looks good!

I scare myself some times. As I’m sitting at the desk trying to keep my eyes open and brain active beautiful men and women come in and I play a game with myself. The game is ‘guess their age!’ Most of time I find myself oddly attracted to the men that look 30 but are actually 45 year olds that just look so youthful, (don’t worry Mother, I’m not going there.)

I can only attribute this amazing beauty and youthful look to the air, the mountains and the amazingly active lifestyle people in the PNW maintain all their lives. I think people here in Oregon make vitamin D intake precedence. Sunshine is not a luxury but a necessity in their daily lives.

Seeing these people and constantly being surprised by their age is inspiring me to explore, constantly push myself physically, mentally and hope that when I’m 34 I’ll look 24, when I’m 64 I’ll look 56, when I’m 86 I’ll look 72! We can only hope, right?

Silent Motivation

/ Sloan / Leave a comment

Sometimes I say I’m going to go for a run. I say, I’ll go after work, meeting, lunch, coffee date “after________ insert obligation here” I hate not running first thing. My typical routine is to get up, roll out of bed, stuff something in my mouth and go run. My mind still numb, sleep still in my eyes, I like to start my day with fresh air not a computer screen. But, like most normal people that’s not always possible!

Today, for example, I just wasn’t feeling it—and I had to be at a meeting, and I didn’t really want to go to the meeting with wet hair or sweaty after the run. So I gave myself some silent motivation.

Silent motivation is the best form. While getting dressed I squished my boobs into my ultra tight, unforgiving, uuber supportive sports bra. So at my meeting I knew I had something I had to do after. Though comfortable, the bra always makes itself known to the wearer. No way was I going to be defeated and [gasp] take off the bra with out sweating in it first! HELL NO!

So what did I do when I got home? I traded my clogs for running shoes, my cotton for wicking and hit the road for a few miles. Silent motivation…works every time. [Wink]

 

 

Break ’em. Ride ’em!

/ Sloan / Leave a comment

Being on a road bike is a long road. The road in front of you seems to go on and on and on. That is, until you see a stop sign in the distance, that red hexagon that tells you to stop, slow down, unclip and wait for the oncoming traffic. As a cyclist we have to obey the rules of the road, yet a 35 mile bike ride does more for your body and mind than sitting in a car for 30 minutes does.

 

I recently hooked up with my old TNR (Tuesday Night Ride) group at Velo City Cycles in Holland, Michigan. I saw heaps of familiar faces, got a hug from MC, the shop owner, and biked with an old friend (whom I met by bonding over our love for our Bianchis.) As the miles passed by I chatted with different guys on the ride, rolling over the hills, noticing the different landscape we have here in Michigan versus Maryland. Flat versus hilly, farm land versus the Chesapeake Bay I’ve become so familiar with.

If love could come in a bike...

 

Half way through the ride I began to feel the five miles I ran earlier that morning. My quadriceps were ‘feeling the burn’ that Coach Troy would be proud of. My outer quads worked hard while I ran.  Now the inner quads were working (and screaming!) But the feeling of working, of hurting, of knowing I was going to be sore was tremendous and great. This ride was about the ride not the destination (I know! Cliché, but it’s soooooo true!) I enjoyed the conversation, I enjoyed the scenery, I didn’t enjoy the farm smells so much, but the silos towering over the fields were beautiful in a Pure Michigan way.

 

Obeying the rules sucks. But to be respected on the road cyclist must obey the rules. However, just by being on a bike and competing with the cars we’re breaking some sort of unwritten rule. We’re riding on the road on two wheels, powering our bodies on this machine with nothing but a helmet (brain bucket) for protection. Our spandex shorts most definitely aren’t the most stylish of clothing and some of us wear jerseys, I’m too poor to invest and just wear a running top… so in a sense, as we’re following the rules of the road we’re also breaking them down. We’re unconventional. I feel we’re sticking it to the man by not buying gas, by using our bodies and machines as efficiently as possible we’re somehow better than those people driving and riding shotty. It may take us a little longer to get somewhere but we’re enjoying the ride not just looking and waiting for the destination.

 

And what’s the destination anyway?