shanghai'd by the olympics

I love the Olympics. The amazing feats of sheer athleticism, the inspiration of all-out efforts, the grimaces as the athletes pull out all stops to attain a shiny metal disc and a moment of glory on a stand. I love the drama of the background stories that the media puts together, I love laughing at the obscure sports (and often giving them grudging respect after watching them), I love feeling the pain of the losers, I love the whole thing. What red-blooded human being doesn't love the Olympics, honestly? I think we all have at least one competitive bone in our body to which the Olympics make their siren call.

So the Olympics, as you might have guessed, have totally shanghai'd my last week and a half. Since we don't have cable, I'm stuck to whatever broadcast offers in the evenings, so don't picture me ignoring the kids and hubby all day and night while I keep up with all the events. No. And I still do have a lot I'm doing during the day, but the nights. I normally shut down around 10pm, don't function too well after that. Well, more than a few nights the past 10 days I am still cheering on the American swim team (wasn't that men's relay AWESOME?!!! Phelps rocks the casbah!!!) and the women's gymnastics and the volleyball and the marathon, and now track and field! I groan when I set my alarm as I crash in bed at midnight, but I still do it, more nights than not. I mean, it only comes around every four years.

I didn't think they'd suck me in so bad this summer. But my change in work schedule just prior to August gives me a little more time freedom, and then my parents invited us up to Sedona last weekend so the addiction started on Friday the 8th as we watched the opening ceremony stuff and then hours on Saturday watching the women's weightlifting and the dramatic beach volleyball matches, and I was hooked. Let's be honest, though. The addiction started back in the 80's watching my first memorable Olympics on our neighbor's borrowed TV (we didn't have one when I was growing up!). I joined the hordes of little girls that dreamed of being the next Mary Lou Retton, among other heros that paraded before our impressionable, hero-seeking eyes.

So that, in a nutshell, is where I've been the past 10 days. I have eaten, and worked, and slept. Have had to nap in the afternoon with the kids, for goodness' sakes, to keep this up! I mean, my own marathon training is taking it out of me too, I had a gnarly 16-miler at South Mountain this weekend, and got another ugly 20-miler coming up next weekend (they're all ugly after about 15, I start just slogging away about then). And I still visited my Grandma last week, and took the kids to a picnic lunch at Squaw Peak on one of the cooler mornings, and got surprised at my own birthday party (!), and went to Bible study and shopping and the rest of life kinda went on as usual. I'm not dropping out of existence, but I am wondering when I will get to bed early again.

You'll probably still find me in front of the Olympics again tonight.

Excuses, events, an end of an era

Where do I start? Does it matter?

In the two weeks since I last wrote, I have been horribly sick for 3 or 4 days; visited a friend in Tucson; caught up 2 months worth of my husband's business finances; steam-cleaned my carpets; interviewed for a training position; went to a birthday party sans kids and stayed up til 3am; started intense weight training and longer long runs in preparation for my October marathon; ended one job and started another; and today I write this as I wait for my sister to arrive and drop off my four young nephews, who will stay at our house today and all day tomorrow while she is away.

That all just sounds like a bunch of excuses for not writing, however. Yet I feel as though so much has occurred, I have no emotions left to process it all. I mean, even the steam cleaning felt emotional. I don't think my carpets have been this clean since we moved in to our house eight years ago; maybe once before the kids arrived? That thought brings both happiness (my floor is finally clean!) and shame (think of the filth we've lived in!).

The intestinal virus I got left me so fatigued I couldn't drum up any emotions other than the hope that it would finally leave me alone to recover. I became so dehydrated my husband almost took me to the hospital. I thought of the large deductible we would have to shell out, and rallied enough energy to attempt putting down more Gatorade and fend off such drastic measures. Eventually that worked. This made the third time this year that I caught such a bug , and I'm ready to start eating Activa yogurt daily, or try colon cleansing, just to avoid another one.

Staying up past midnight for the party and the finances - well, if being sick taught me nothing else, it taught me that I cannot simultanously increase my marathon training and decrease my hours of sleep (and then add a playdate with friends recently ill). Note to self. Bad combination.

So that leaves the job change. Finished my last day as personal trainer at the corporate fitness facility of Schaller Anderson, now turned Aetna, in Tempe. I made some neat friendships in the past year; I am sad to be leaving them. However, I am trying to look at the positive. That was a season, on to the next. Maybe this is the opening I needed to pursue the writing career I've been slowly working on, as well as continue some training on the side. I'm excited to start working on the website copy for IronBody's new interactive website (see www.iron90.com for the current site); and finish writing two booklets for my husband's coaching business (I also helped write copy for his updated website, www.victorencinas.com, that premiers on Monday!); and maybe some more time to add to this blog, just for fun?? I love to enjoy all three of the activities I love - writing, running, and training. And then I think of the other, major hat I wear. Maybe I spend some of that extra time reading and playing with Jude and Audrey, who got a little ignored last month while I've worked and written and ran extra hours. I'll let you know how it goes!

Do I have to say goodbye to Superwoman?

A friend of mine, Ellen Antill, wrote a recent life-coaching blog post titled, "Goodbye, Superwoman." In it, she describes having battled her "Superwoman complex" and offers helpful techniques to "decrease her influence" in our lives (see authenticlifeconsulting.wordpress.com, blog dated 6/10/08, Goodbye Superwoman).

But do I want to decrease her influence? I so WANT to be Superwoman, some days. She seems so put together, in control. She has that fantastic, round, jet-black hairdo, the gold tiara, the patriotic colors, and that hip-ful, rounded 80's form instead of the anorexic 90's look. Seriously, though, letting go of even wanting to be Superwoman is tough. The constant balancing act of being fully present in what I choose to do, and evaluating whether the things I choose have become too demanding for me and my family - I never find that perfect mix. I'm always teetering on one side or another. Make that precariously teetering, some days. I realize that's the nature of balancing, but shouldn't my form improve, my balance tighten, the legs quit that irritating sewing machine quiver?

Take last week. I had jury duty and work that took me away 6am to noon for three days; and I think my poor husband positively bristled when I reminded him I would be gone Saturday morning for my 3 hour marathon training run, followed by an all day jaunt to Payson for a close friend's birthday. And those were just the things I had scheduled without my kids. Was that being Superwoman, or was it just an uncommonly busy week? When does being a 21st century Renaissance woman, high-capacity in several areas of life, turn into being Superwoman, trying to save the world all by her lonesome? Is it when I try to squeeze in a training appointment, Bible study, and visit my Grandma in her care home into that same busy week? Is it when my satisfaction with said week yields personal fatigue, cranky husband, and clinging children in the following week? Do emotions (mine, his, or the kids) determine when I have crossed the line?

I invite your thoughts and comments on the subject.

Rest or work?

Rest. The very word relaxes me. I repeat it to myself on crazy days. Rest. I will get some, eventually, I think to myself, and then I keep moving through the craziness. I've decided this weekend that often both rest and craziness exist primarily in my head.

This weekend, for instance, my husband and I planned two nights away in Fountain Hills, on the edge of town, with kids farmed out to family and a friend. Ahh, rest for two whole days! Sure enough, the weekend included plenty of lolling on king-size hotel bed watching movies, splashing each other in the pool, and eating out. It also included a couple hours of time alone doing Bible study, writing down goals, and talking about the future of Victor's business. Still restful? Sure, but now the rest seems to cross the border with work, since business and intense thought and writing went on.

Our weekend also included a long workout session at the nearby YMCA - yoga for me, weights for Victor, and a post-workout game of one-on-one basketball. And the day after, an early 12-mile trail run for me. Still restful? Not for most people. Victor slept in - rested - the second day because the YMCA fun was enough fun for one weekend. On the other hand, the trail run actually represented an "easy" weekend effort for me, since I was supposed to do an 18-mile long run for marathon training, and I just didn't feel like sacrificing that much of my free time away from Victor during our weekend together. So twelve miles felt restful in comparison to eighteen, and I got back just as Victor hit the shower. Perfect.

On the other hand, some kinds of "rest" impede better rest, such as staying up till midnight on Saturday night watching a movie (restful) and then tossing in bed for five hours of restless sleep instead of sleeping in (not so restful). The best laid plans go awry. Here I had the perfect opportunity and excuse to stay up late NOT on the computer doing the budget, AND sleep in afterward as long as I wanted, and my body did not follow the agenda. I paid for it with a wicked migraine later that evening.

Finally, the weekend also included our two children joining us at the hotel at 9am the last day, to eat a late breakfast and go swimming for a couple hours. Restful? Actually, yes. Even with the marathon session in the pool of impromptu swim lessons, tossing them into the deep end, trying out the hot tub in 100-degree weather, and then attempting to keep them awake for the hour drive home so they got a real nap in their own beds. Much better that than coming home to tired, whiny, clinging kids who feel like making us pay for being away doing Fun Things Without Them for two days.

So my question to myself as I lay in bed last night, gratefully post-migraine, was this: had my weekend been restful or crazy? Was it more work, or more play? Hmm. My husband loves the following quote, regarding rest, work, and play, by James A. Michener: "The master in the art of living makes little distinction between his work and his play, his labor and his leisure, his mind and his body, his information and his recreation, his love and his religion. He hardly knows which is which. He simply pursues his vision of excellence at whatever he does, leaving others to decide whether he is working or playing. To him he's always doing both." Victor, as do I, believes that when our God-given gifts and passions and dreams align with our actions, we don't distinguish so much between work and play, between rest and un-rest. When God rested the seventh day after creating the world, do you think He took a nap? Genesis says He spent time admiring the panoply of wonder and design in His untouched world. So, dear women, go rest. Go work. Go play. Decide in the doing whether you are mastering the art of living.