Race to the Start...

Race to the Start

I rise early to finish final preparations.  The sun is still creeping up in the sky, and the dew is dancing on every surface. One deep breath of the crisp morning air tells me fall is on its way, but summer is fighting it back, and still winning.

My nerves are already humming with anticipation as I review, for the tenth time, my list of items for the day. My usual checklist includes: suit, goggles, bike, shoes, helmet, sunglasses, running shoes, and hat. The rest I can do without. Today’s ritual is much the same as any other race day. Meticulously, I place each necessary item in the car, organizing, preparing, and keeping that huge ball of fire between my heart and my head in check-for now.

Although I’m usually on my own for race days, Hubby is coming with. Surprisingly, his presence holds off some of panic nibbling in the back of my brain. “What if I’m not good enough?”  “Am I ready for this?”, “Did I really pack everything?”  He’s excited to witness today’s events and hoping I’ll come out on top.

Backing out of the driveway, I take one last calming look at our home. That too settles me. No matter how amazing or how disastrous this day turns out, this is where I will return.  My home with Little Man, Princess, and Hubby.

We leave Cold Spring behind and start our journey south. Factoring in coffee breaks, bathroom breaks, and getting lost, we figure three hours should do it.

The trip meter whirls away the miles, and the prairies become glacier lands. Open, flat farm acreage morphs into rolling fields with corn rows planted around outcroppings of trees and rock. Farming is different down here. The hills are larger, and the forests seemingly more plentiful. We’re no longer able to head straight to our destination, as the hills and trees the ancient glaciers left behind force us to meander through roads cut into layers of rock and around unfarmable hills covered with gnarled trees. I take another look at the map. We’re still heading in the right direction and should arrive with plenty of time to spare.

A few miles deeper into the hilly scenery, my heart thuds, sending jangling reverberations up my spine and into my brain. Irritatingly, Hubby still loosely holds the steering wheel looking as if he hasn’t a care in the world.

Aren’t you nervous? I ask him.

No, why would I be. This is about you.

Because I’m nervous.  So you should be too.

I can’t wait to sit back and watch.

With a reassuring smile, Hubby puts the small argument to rest.

Thirty miles out, it’s time to make the phone call. I’m ready. I’ve been preparing for this since April. With uncertain fingers and a deep breath, and then another deep breath, I make the call. “We’re thirty miles out, and we’re running on time.”  

As soon as I end the call, my brain short circuits. This is normal for any race day, but hubby is baffled.  He’s never experienced a pre-race melt down.  I’m grateful that Hubby’s driving; at this point, it’s much safer for everyone. To calm my nerves, I text a good friend:

15 miles away

Hands shaking

Heart racing

Reminding myself to breathe

But not too much, lest I hyperventilate…

Pre-race jitters!!!

In that last 15 miles, I manage to lose my phone once, the directions twice, forget how many miles are left, tell Hubby we can save this for another day, and nearly hyperventilate.

Somewhat against my subconscious will, we arrive. Slowing down to pull into the small parking lot, gravel crunches under the wheels of the car. We ease into the parking lot and get a good look at where we will be stationed for a good part of the day. The beach is located close to the parking lot. The water seemed calm and clean. The hills surrounding us cast their protective strength over us making us feel insignificant, yet safe.

The bar, as they often sponsor such events, is thankfully  unpretentious. The building stands grey, the perfect backdrop for the riot of color that paints the mural that screams out and welcomes patrons at the same time. Out back, between the building and the beach, brightly colored picnic tables invite people to relax, take in the environment, and find some pretense of calm. 

We’re finally here.  I take a cleansing breath, crawl out of the car on unsteady legs, and find comfort in the sound of my feet crunching on gravel. Crossing the small parking lot to the quaint, local bar, my world turns surreal. I’m not here, but I am. I’m trapped, an observer in some crazy woman’s body screaming to turn around but not being heard.

Closing my fingers around the once-silver, dull and worn door handle, I look one more time at Hubby for reassurance, and pull.

At a small table to my right in a dimly lit room, two small women sit. Stepping over the threshold, they slowly rise- seemingly uncertain. Willing my feet to keep moving, I close the gap.

“Bev?” I ask.

Can I hug you?  She countered.

For the first time, I saw my biological mother, and she saw me.

The next seven hours are somewhat a blur. I know the food was excellent. The company was exquisite.  This day, I met not only my biological mother, but two half-sisters, a cousin, a niece, and a significant other. And it turns out that I am good enough, I am ready, and I really didn’t need to pack anything.

Little Man's Double Hitter in a Single Inning

Monday night, Little Man and his team capped off the baseball season with their final game.

In the top of the second inning, the opposing team takes the field in a flurry of forest green First National Bank t-shirts. Little Man's team is at bat. Sitting nervously eleven little boys chew sunflower seeds in an attempt to keep their nervous energy under control.  Between nerves and seeds, the boys enter their second inning.

At his turn, Little Man stepps up to the plate and takes his stance. Sporting grey baseball pants reaching just past his knees, a bright purple State Bank of Cold Spring team shirt, and a cocky grin, he delivers his best evil eye stare straight at the pitcher.

Unfazed, the pitcher throws Little Man his first pitch. It's low. The pitcher delivers another fast ball. It's outside. Frustrated, the pitcher sends off another ball. This time, it's right in there, kind of...

As the ball closes in on Little Man, a split second of terror radiates through his body, and he drops to the ground. Too late, the baseball finds its target right on Little Man's noggin. A hush falls over the sidelines. Princess, Hubby, and I lean forward in our seats. Little Man can either take his base, or get up and bat again...clamering to his feet, he looks to first base and then reaches down and picks up his bat. Little Man took his first hit and bounced back.

This time, his grin isn't quite so cocky, but it's still fixed on his face where it belongs. He takes the stance and waits for the next pitch. It comes in right over the plate, but feeling a bit more cautious, Little Man doesn't take it. Strike one.

Little man again squares up to the plate, ready for the next pitch. Right now, Little Man's world is reduced to him and that ball. Everything else falls away. The pitcher winds up, and sends that ball straight toward Little Man. As the ball rocket's toward him, Little Man's world slows down. Eyes on the ball, he realizes it's barrelling straight at him. Turning his body, hoping to avoid an inevitable collision, Little Man takes the ball in the shoulder blade.

The crowd's not so hushed this time. Little Man slowly starts moving again. As the pain hits, so does the realization that he can either hit again or take his base. With one hard stare at first base, and one hard stare at the pitcher, Little Man weights his options more seriously this time.  Decision made, Little Man reaches down and grabs his bat; he's ready to face the ball one more time.

From the sidelines, fans shout their advice.

Come on. You can do it!

Hang tough Little Man.

I can't believe he took it a second time! Way to go Little Man!

Take your base! bellows a voice to my immediate right.

Hubby draws the line. Eventhough Little Man is willing to try again, he needs that one voice to put that slightly cocky grin back on Little Man's face. With that, Little Man takes his base.

It doesn't matter how scared we are; fear is normal. It's embracing that fear and still confronting the situation that defines bravery. Little Man learned that lesson. I'm sure he'll learn it again and again. The top of the second inning of the final game of the season is and will forever be a defining moment in Little Man's big life.

April Showers Bring....

As I follow Facebook commentaries on this lovely Spring day, and watch the snowflakes and gusty winds that usher in May, I personally chose to take a mental day on the 40 mile bike ride on my training calendar. Tomorrow I'll be back in full swing, looking to take the hills again at 40 plus miles per hour on my bike!

Today was a good day to hunker down and frontload on this week's tasks. Fortunately, one of the tasks for today is to plant some green stuff! First, I sent Princess off to collect the marigolds she planted at school with Hubby. These already needed a larger container. Second, I sent Little Man off to collect his 5 bean seeds, two sunflower seeds, and 4 small pots. The kids scooped the potting soil from the bag to their small pots. Princess gently filled in more dirt as she transplanted her marigolds. Little man measured on his finger how far into the soil he should press his 5 bean and 2 sunflower seeds. That complete, he covered the raw seeds with a light blanket of aromatic soil.

We weren't done yet. Both children brought Arbor Day trees home from school on Friday. These absolutely needed to be planted outside, but we were really worried we would lose them once we planted them--unfortunately, it's happened before. For this reason, we now have two new trees decorating the two urns on either side of the front of our garage.

Happy May Day! Princess and Little Man got to play in the dirt, and I got to use the new Hori Hori Hubby surprised me with. (I LOVE my Hori Hori!...Oh yeah, and Hubby, too!)

2011 Earth Day Half Marathon!

I finally did it! I ran my first half marathon.

The entire week before the race, I watched the weather forecast for Saturday, April 16 with optimistic anticipation. Day after day, the extended forecast called for rain into Saturday. And day after day, I found myself rationalizing the possible outcomes for this undesirable moisture.

Monday, I was sure the forcast would change.

Tuesday, there was still a chance it would rain, but we would also likely see warmer temperatures.

Wednesday, rain was defininately on it's way, and I wasn't so sure about those warmer temperatures.

Thursday, the forcast for Saturday changed from cold and rainy to cold and snowy.

Friday, I reminded myself that my training had prepared me more for a cooler run than the sheer discomfort of a warm day. After all, I though, I had trained in the cold; therefore, the impending snow storm would be just fine.

On Saturday morning, I awoke early. I studied the temperatures, the wind strength, and the amount of snow that had fallen the night before. I had one last bit of rationalizing to do. Saturday morning, I convinced myself the sun would wrestle its way out of the clouds, and by the time the half marathon started, this beautiful Minnesota spring day would definitely be warming up.

That's where my excessive optimism failed. After arriving at St. Cloud State University's Hallenbeck Hall, I took my time to do some proper stretching and to carefully examine what others were wearing. I saw shorts, t-shirts, sweat shirts, winter hats, gloves, and layers and layers of other miscelaneous clothing. I figured my attire fell somewhere in the middle. Convinced of my averageness, I felt ready to push on.

At 8:40 a.m. I joined the throng of anxious runners as they flooded out toward the starting line. I did my best to ignore the bite of the wind and the inadequate layers I had donned. Focusing on the starting gun, my race strategy, and anticipated split times, I entered the "race zone"!

The first 6 miles were solid. I kept pace with the group I started with, and was feeling pretty in control of my run. I will admit I did a little too much positioning which caused me some energy deficiencies later in the run. Despite this, I figured I should feel pretty good until mile 9 or 10.

I was wrong. This day, settling in and warming my muscles up were not in the cards. By miles 5 and 6 I was already admitting to myself that this run may not actually feel so good.  Regardless, there were splits to hit. Who really cares how much it hurts? In this situation, pain wasn't relevant. And by the way, this half marathon discomfort was nothing compared to root canal or major surgery.

Feeling better, I moved into the last few miles. I knew I had at least two minutes to make up during the last leg of this race. Telling myself it was time to stop slacking, I refocused and concentrated on one step at a time. This seemed to be working. My arms and legs were moving fluently. My breathing was still regular, and I hadn't actually burned through my quads, hamstrings, or hip flexors yet. I had energy to spare! (The truth was I was so cold and numb that I couldn't feel much of anything...)

Moving into the final 1.1 miles of the course, I kicked it in. I told myself I could do almost anything for 8 or 9 minutes. Minute by minute, and step by step, I approached the finish line. I was no longer quite aware of where the route was taking me, but I knew I was getting close to the end. Entering the final stretch, I summoned my last nugget of strength and crossed the finish line with a flash of exhaustion and exhillarition.

I had done it. I have now competed my first half marathon. I still felt relatively ok, and I had come in under my goal time.

Throughout the run, I did learn a few things:
-A half marathon is too long to "jockey for position"
-There isn't really anything wrong with overdressing
-There is a fine line between acclimating to colder temperatures and hypothermia
-And I would definately do a half marathon again!

Now, I'm passing on Disney Land in favor of the start of TRIATHLON SEASON!!!!! Yippe!!

Little Man's Eleanor Roosevelt Diorama...

Two and a half weeks ago, Little Man, Hubby, and I went to Little Man’s Spring School Conferences. With a glowing review of Little Man’s potential and abilities, Hubby and I also learned about Little Man’s Eleanor Roosevelt Diorama assignment. The diorama was to illustrate their person’s contribution to America’s development. Hubby and I were informed that to date, instead of working on his research in the class time provided, Little Man chose to ignore the work time opportunities—Translation: Little Man knew only that Eleanor Roosevelt was married to an important president…at some point,   within the history of the United States.

Over the following week, Hubby and I continued to ask Little Man when he would be bringing his diorama project home to work on. We received answers like: “I don’t know!”, “Well you threw away the shoe boxes!”, and “I don’t even know what a diorama is anyway!” Even I’m not sucker enough to fall for the fact that little Man was being held responsible for successfully completing this project, in a void, without any instructions.

Finally, this past Monday, on our way home from basketball practice, I asked him one more time, “Little Man, do you know when your diorama is due yet?” And finally, seemingly happy to have an exact answer, he spouted, “It’s due Thursday!”

The car went silent…

Then, being the extremely caring and rational parent I am, I started a very logical discussion (one sided of course) on the practicality of expecting a major homework assignment to magically complete itself, with a high level of quality and expertise, by the due date of Thursday…magically! Soon, we pulled into the garage, and feeling that went pretty well, I shepherded Little Man into the house with specific instructions to go directly to his room and “think” about the reality of his homework plans.

That taken care of, it was time to brief Princess. I pulled her aside, gave her a princess hug, and prepared her for the noise to come. I explained gently that Hubby and I needed to put the smack-down on Little Man, and that in no way was any of the noise to come directed at her. This served two purposes: Princess would definitely not be blindsided by the activities of the evening, and Hubby and I were guaranteed a perfectly well-behaved Princess for a few days at the very least.

That night, Hubby and I fulfilled our parental duties by talking Little Man nearly to death. (Don’t chuckle Mitch!) Together we expounded on the requirements of the assignment. We peppered Little Man with questions designed to force a plan of action. And we ate up a bit more time to ensure Little Man would have a few quality nights of the Late Night Cram Sessions he had so cluelessly chosen.

That night, Little Man researched Eleanor Roosevelt’s contributions to the United States. Of course it was much more difficult because online writing, as a general rule, isn’t written at a fourth grade reading level. He researched, he took notes, he wrote a sloppy copy, and he finally finished these steps around 9:00 p.m. By now, Little Man was hoping for bed, and Hubby and I were fading fast. But Little Man had one more task for the evening - to write a letter to his teacher explaining why he hadn’t started his assignment until this evening. Amazingly, that one agonizing sentence forcing Little Man to own his actions-or lack thereof- only took one hour to write…

Bleary eyed, Little Man finally hit the sack around 10:00. For the average fourth grader, I figured one late night is manageable. But Hubby and I were going to wear Little Man down in an attempt to give Little Man the near-perfect experience of back to back late night cram sessions. By the end of Tuesday night, Little Man typed his essay, proofed it, and embarked on a thought-filled but less than stellar diorama attempt. Note also, no shoe boxes were harmed in the making of Little Man’s diorama. Orville Redenbacher, however, took a hit for the team. Figuring Little Man was sure to have at least one more long study night on Wednesday, we relented at his progress thus far.

Finally, we stumbled into Wednesday night. Little Man was exhausted, Hubby and I were getting delirious with the ominous responsibility of providing the best possible cram sessions ever, and Princess got off easy and went to bed. One slow and increasingly painful step at a time, Little Man made improvements upon his initial attempt at a quality Eleanor Roosevelt diorama. First, he tackled the idea that stick people and stick drawings weren’t likely what his teacher had in mind. Then he realized that three dimensional means floors and ceilings do count. Finally, Little Man conquered the neutralization of Orville Redenbacher’s portrait on the exterior surfaces of his project. At that point, we all dragged ourselves to bed…

Little Man experienced his first experience of back to back late night cram sessions, and even though I’m sure it won’t be his last, I think he’ll at least be satisfied enough with his experience to last him a relatively long time…well, at least through May…and then it’s summer…and I’m pretty certain big projects don’t come along right away in the fall, so I’m thinking we might be clear until Christmas…but then there are promises of presents…(I think I just crossed over into wishful thinking…)

My Teaching Philosophy

As teaching philosophies are elastic, my personal teaching philosophy has been evolving over the last several years. I have taught at various levels including:  junior high, senior high, and post-secondary. Within these teaching environments, I have come to recognize the elements that comprise excellent teaching also create excellent learning opportunities for students.

 I believe:

An excellent teacher is able to meet the student where they are. Adult learners seek education in many cases to improve themselves and to better the lives of those around them. While these dedicated students pursue their educations, however, many are also carrying large responsibilities in other areas of their lives. This may include a full or part time job, raising responsible children, and even taking care of elderly parents. To address the needs of adult learners, an excellent instructor recognizes this tenuous balance on the student’s part. In addition, adult learners bring vast knowledge, experience, and skills to the learning environment.  This wealth of life experiences enriches students’ learning environments. Finally, adult students need to have control of their own learning. While the objectives of most courses are standardized, adult students flourish when given choices and control over some aspects of their own learning. Adult learners are just that-adults.

Excellent teaching should be individualized as often as possible. Just as not all students learn the same; not all students utilize the same learning preferences. Many years ago, as a high school English teacher, I taught nearly every tenth grader in the school. Some liked English, some were ambivalent, and some really resented the class and its content. The great thing about this was when I was able to substitute in classes like woodworking, machining, and metalworking, many of the students fostering hatred for English classes truly excelled in their hands-on classes. This experience speaks to learning styles. Whether addressing Gardner, Flemming, or one of the other learning theories available, the basis is the same; students learn differently. Because of this, I attempt to utilize different learning styles within my classes. For composition, it may be adding visuals to announcements or discussion boards. It might be that a student works better in a hands-on environment. Hands-on students often prefer to break larger tasks into smaller ones. Through interaction and hands-on practice, these students learn and retain more effectively. Through learning styles, an excellent instructor can both better reach students and better facilitate their learning.

Facilitation rather than instruction teaches students tools for learning and a broader perspective of the professional career field they choose to pursue.  Excellent teachers set the expectations for their students and model appropriate methods to achieve these expectations. When teaching, I expect that students submit their assignments in a timely manner. To set this example, my student communications and assignment feedback are prompt. Rarely does a student wait the full 24 hours for an email response or the entire 72 hour assignment turnaround time for submitted assignments. Further, an excellent instructor models a global perspective for students. Many post-secondary students are familiar with the idea of having a job, but pursuing a career is somewhat different. By emphasizing the important experiences, attitudes, beliefs, and values each student holds, we can foster appreciation for all students, thus expanding students’ world views. Finally, excellent facilitation sets students up for success without lowering the standard. Setting students up for success can be seen in instances of cheating or plagiarism. If we, as instructors send a message to students that cheating and plagiarism are acceptable in the academic environment, then we are also telling them it is acceptable in their career field. That would be a grave injustice to any student.  Excellent facilitation sets students up for success, not failure.

In short, whether it is through setting students up for success, individualizing instruction as much as possible, or simply meeting students where they are in their learning, excellent instruction comes down to student centered learning. In short, good instructors know their material, but great instructors know their students.

Spring Fever!

March. There isn't a lot to say about this month. It should be warming up, but that's slow in coming. The walls start to crowd in on me as the need for warmer weather grows. What's the solution?

Paint the walls a brighter color! I suggest a parchment color. It's light, airy, and an excellent backdrop for any decor.

Now that I'm feeling brighter, it's time for a training update. I've been training for the Earth Day Half Marathon now for eight weeks with only five weeks until the big event.

Over the last two months I have learned a few things I'd like to share:

-Don't eat a granola bar ten minutes before a speed workout. It doesn't taste better the second time.

-When you forget your running socks, opt for practical versus fashionable. After tearing up the arches of both feet about 3 weeks ago, I am now earning blisters on my blisters. Nexcare by 3M does make a splendid waterproof bandaid for such occasions. They're economically reasonable, which is good because I'm going to need a lot of them, and they are in fact somewhat fashionable.

-Think positive. By that I don't mean thoughts like "I'm definitely going to die, hurl, or drop this weight on my head. In thinking positively, I focus only on the sprint, set, or mile at hand.

-Stretch! It sounds like a no-brainer, but it really does work. I used to go to my favorite chiropractor, Doc Sara at Chiropractic Performance Center in Sartell, and wait for her to ask if I had been stretching. My response? "Who has time for that; it's a luxury." (Despite the fact that I had plenty of time to drive to the chiropractor, feel bad because I'm not actually stretching, get adjusted, and then drive the 25 miles back home... All because I hadn't been stretching.)

-Take the time to enjoy the workout. When I start a workout, I shut out everything else in my day. I may listen to music, brainstorm, or try to solve the world's problems, but it is my time.  (Sarah B, Remember that one time I was on the treadmill at the school, and you came in with a question?) I often find myself telling potential conversationalists "I'm not here!" Because in fact, I am in actuality a million miles away.

With these lessons firmly in my mind, I am moving into the next phase of my training. As some of you already know, I signed up for the Earth Day Half Marathon because "I'm curious". I have stayed faithful to my training schedule over the past eight weeks and am officially on target for a 1:40.00 half marathon. Yesterday, I did nine miles at 8.5 miles per hour. It felt amazing!

As my true goal for this racing season is to compete long course in the Annandale Heart of the Lakes Triathlon and a few triathlons after that, today I begin to meld half marathon training with triathlon training.

That means, I start training in the pool. Over the next five weeks, I will integrate the triathlon swim training with my current half marathon training. At that point, I'll race Earth Day and shift into week six of the overall triathlon training. As usual, I can make things complicated when I really want to!

So, here's to lessons learned and lessons yet to learn!