New Trail

We rode a new (well, new 'this year') mountain bike trail today.  Yes, it's a trail I have ridden before.  And yes, I have pretty much been kicking ass so far with my bike.  So it was only logical to think that I could ride the 'hard trail' at this park.  I mean, come on!  When you add the easy, medium, and hard trails together it only adds up to just over ten miles.  I can do that.

I had it in my head that I was going to kick ass on my time and I started out great.  The easy part of the trail was exactly what it said it was...easy.  I got to the medium part and I walked my bike over the first obstacle.  No biggie.  They put these crazy first obstacles out there to scare the pants off you.  I was not scared.  I took the first turn of the course just fine and then there was the second turn.  Fail.  I quazi wiped out and as I did, I felt a stabbing pain in my left quad.  Crap.  Okay, no biggie.  I can ride through a bit of pain (actually I could ride through a lot of pain).  I continue the ride, cussing up each hill, and decide to hang out by the hard trail interchange until Nathan and The Brainiac comes along.  I'm injured and it's okay if I just finish the medium trail with the kid.

I got to the hard/medium interchange and decided I would stretch.  After stretching I felt much better.  I can do this!  I hopped back on my bike and took off down the hard trail.  OMG! The hard trail was fucking hard.  The hills were unreal and the obstacles were intense.  My thigh was burning up each hill, but I'm stubborn.  I figured I could make this.  I cried a lot during this ride.  Some for my thigh, some for my friends (which is not a future post, but still it's something to cry about), some for me.  This whole ride was a mess.

I'd love to end this story something like: "and with thigh pain, sweat, and tears I rode on and finished the trail!"  But that's not how this story ends.  At just over the six mile mark I wiped out again and pulled the quad really bad.  A road was visible from the trail several yards back.  I limped my way back to that part of the trail.  I got my bike, and my ass through the fence and rode the gravel road back to the trail head.  I gave it every thing I had...it just wasn't enough.  I may be pretty freaking good, but I'm not quite the shiznit yet...

 (I took this picture after I pulled myself together from one of my crying fits.  I think it's pretty.)

Tough Competitor

I'll admit it, I like to compete.  I've never been the kind of athlete or student to be 'first', so I've always competed, mostly, with myself - or for the coveted 'not-last-place' spot. 

I'm going to try my luck at mountain bike racing this summer.  I started out saying things like:
"I hope I can do this."
"This will be fun."
"I'm just doing this to keep me motivated to lose weight."
"My goal is to finish the race."


I have now resorted to, "What were the times of the girls who raced in my class (at this course) last year?!?!?"  Yep, I did the math.  I made an excel sheet.  I'm tracking it and I am training for first place.

A Little Less OCD

I've been doing this 'training' thing for a few reasons.  First, I'm going to try mountain bike racing this year - scary, yet freaking fun!  Second, I'm also going to run on a relay team, which will run almost 200 miles in the course of a day and a half.  Again - scary, yet freaking fun!  Third, I'm in the process of losing some extra, unwanted pounds. 

During the first few weeks of my training I went total OCD on the weight loss part.  I wore my BodyBugg all the time.  I tracked every-single-thing I ate.  I was obsessed with the 'numbers' aspect of it and made a spreadsheet.  I entered in my calories burned and my calories consumed every day.  I posted on Facebook my calorie burn, every day.  And then...I got bored with it all.

I took off the BodyBugg and didn't track my food at all last week.  I still tracked my walking/running mileage and my biking.  But I really let go of the micro-management of the weight loss part of the journey.  My official weight-in day is today, Monday.  I lost three and a half pounds last week, which is more then I have lost in one week so far!  Yay for stopping the OCD and yay for the weight loss!

Freezer Hide and Seek

From time to time I play a little game with my family.  It's called something like..."How Long Can Mom Go Without Stopping At The Grocery Store?" or I like to call it "How Creative Can Mom Get Before We Refuse To Eat?"  We've been playing the game this past week.  We did really great until Sunday.  Sunday was Easter and we had a wonderful dinner, while visiting family.  But, we came home late and hungry.

I scanned the freezer and fridge.  I decided to make some sort of creamy-lemon-caper-chicken-pasta thing.  I was tired though and really did not feel like cooking.  Natron made me a deal that we could order Chinese food for dinner if I could order for less then $20.  DEAL!!!  We had Chinese, sent the kids to bed, and all was good at the Olson House.

The next day for dinner I looked in the fridge for the chicken I had taken out the night before.  Hmph.  I can't find it.  I search the freezer.  No luck.  Well, that's weird.  I *know* I took it out to defrost because I was going to use it.  What the heck?  I search the fridge again.....and the freezer.  Wow, it's no where to be found.  And then I open the microwave...yep, there it is.  Nasty, defrosted, ruined chicken.  Did it wreck my game? Oh no, it just ended up getting a bit more interesting :)

Monday I made some sort of pork chop stir fry.  Tuesday we had pork chop, rice, frozen veggie hotdish.  (Nasty, but the kids ate it up like crazy!)  Wednesday we had venison stroganoff on spaghetti noodles (totally klassy) and tonight....well crap.  I'm out of proteins. 

We had nine chicken nuggets that I split between the three kids.  Then they ate up what was left of the noodles (no sauce) and hotdish.  BUT WAIT.  What is that shiny package at the back of the freezer?  A rouge package of pork chops?  I squeal with delight!  I rip open the package and find: A FREAKING PORTION OF GROUND BEEF!!!  SCORE!  Thursday night ends with Italian Nachos (tortilla chips topped with beef - browned with the rest of the bruschetta I had in the fridge, and mozzarella cheese).  It's Friday tomorrow and I get to go shopping.  Team Olson wins!

Bionical Me

I started my *official* Ragnar training this week.  The training schedule lists that I would run for 15 minutes at a time, three times a week.  My first run went just fine.  It was slow and I was unhappy about that, but I did it.  My second run of the week was yesterday morning.  It started out great.  I did a warm-up walk for five minutes and then the plan was to pick up the pace for the next fifteen.

I felt good for about the first five minutes and then the whole "Why am I doing this?  This is hard!" kind of stuff started running laps in my brain.  I looked at my Garmin to check the time...I had run for about eight minutes.  Awesome!  I am half way done!  I struggled up a long, but honestly not-big-at-all hill.  I checked the time again.  It read about a minute after I checked the last time.  Weird.  This really sucks.  I vowed to not check it again until I got to the corner.  I dragged my arse to the corner and looked again.  I don't even know what the fuck it said.  All I know is that I wasn't even close to my fifteen minutes...what the fuck.  I quit running.  I started to walk.  I was pissed.  How could it take me *that* long to run all the way here?!?!

On further examination of my Garmin, it would seem as though my bionic left boob hit one of the display buttons AND the start/stop button while I was running...hmph.

Where the Wild Things Are

Warning: Spoiler Alert!

Our family watched "Where The Wild Things Are" last night.  It was a movie I was anticipating watching.  I spent the summer seeing the pre-views for it and each time I saw them I would get choked up.  I had hopes that the whole movie would reach inside my soul and move me, like the pre-views did.

Well it did.  For me the movie was heart wrenching, emotional, and yes...moving.  The biggest thing I took from the movie was a lesson I try to teach my children.  It's a lesson I have yet to learn, but I'm still trying.  It's that 'you' are not in charge of anyone's happiness, but your own.

I'm not a king.  I don't have a "double re-cracker that can crack through anything in the universe and that's the most powerful thing ever.  Period.  Done."  I'm also out of "sadness shields" and I'm unable to make everyone want to sleep in "the pile" or stay "with us forever".  I can't make everyone get along.  I can't make people play nice or by the rules.  And even though I want a big, huge fort where everyone can be together...there are times I would like a small room of my own too.  It's also true that I like some Wild Things more then others.

Two Faced

I've been completely moved by a friend's blog.  She talked about how she is going through her closet and getting rid of anything that doesn't make her feel great.  I was so inspired.  I decided I would go through my closet too.  As I threw (well over) two garbage bags of clothes on the floor, I realized that I am 'in love' with two completely different styles of clothes:

Style number one:  Jeans and a nice shirt/t-shirt.  I can dress it up with accessories and I can go any where or every where wearing them.    

But then there's this inner part of me...it's the part that loves to be the 'Mother Freakin' Princess'.  It's the part of me who wants to look like this every day:

The question is: How the hell do I get these two very different parts of me to go together?!?!?