The Trade-Off

Ah, the life of an alternative educator. A week ending in tight shoulders and some amazingly sore abs.

After my back-to-back rides last weekend, I was sooo alive on Monday at work. Something about good times with good friends, you know? I actually got to teach English again for one day (the yearbook takes a month and the whole school participates in it). I felt normal, and like maybe I was going to get some riding in this week. NOOOOO. Silly Me.

Tuesday is a blur, but I know I didn't teach anyone anything. The yearbook had one more day to go...hence, Tuesday night insomnia.

I took the morning off because Wednesday night we had our quarterly family meeting. As well as teaching English and being the resident graphic designer for the yearbook working on ancient computers and a crap network (can anyone tell I'm bitter?), I have a counseling case load of seven young people whom I encourage to succeed, as well as kick their asses when they screw up. I am their parents' main contact, most of whom do not speak English. So, I pull out my broken Spanish, and use my students to translate when I am lost for words. Thank God I understand the kids, so I know they are not telling their parents about anything other than their latest offense to the civilized world.

Family Night is actually fun, except for the fact that it is an 11 hour day. I get to tell the parents how their little former gang-member is now achieving credits, and has learned to walk away from fights. It is strange and wonderful to be a trusted part of a family whose culture is so far removed from my own. Sometimes I step back and realize how strange my little world is. I work in the middle of a poor immigrant population. I serve a community whose existence is both necessary and a political hot button. I learn the survival strategies when one is poor and migrant. The strength of my students still amazes me. I become constantly amazed at the resilience of the human being. Bike racers have nothing on these people.

Thursday we spent the whole day packing. We are moving campuses. I will finally have my own classroom. FINALLY!!! I formerly had a room that every Tomas, Ricardo and Enrique would walk into, looking for the main office, the bathroom, or my boss. Now I have a door with a key. Well, when it is all unpacked. So, Manual Labor Day, deep sleep after work. No rides for me.

Friday we took the kids to a ropes course. I am afraid of heights. No one told me that a staff member had to do everything first, then stand up on a tiny platform nailed to the side of a swaying redwood tree, high above everyone else, and help all of the frightened kids. So, after getting past shaking legs and loss of breath, I learned to live in a tree comfortably. I also climbed up giant staples, walked on cables in the sky, and slid down cables attached to pulleys. Okay, it was fun. Now my forearms are sore, my abs are, too. Still no rides for me.

Last night I cleaned my bike, trying to persuade myself I was going to race today. But, here I am blogging instead. I did, however, arrange for a ride this afternoon with a girlfriend and a guy she's trying to hook me up with. I hear he rides fast and builds furniture. So, in spite of a week with no social life and no ride time, I still have hope. There's always hope.

I have thought often of quitting this job. It wears me out, and my boss is a bit nuts. But the amounts of love and inspiration I get from it are addicting. I cannot imagine taking a job where I am less invested. Not to mention giving up my 12 weeks of vacation a year...

Career switching is still possible. Right now I am focusing on career augmenting.

Deadlines Meet Insomnia

3:30 am.
yearbook deadline approaches.
my mad boss my time encroaches.
i wish i were a cock-a-roaches.

bad poetry.
hablare espanol esta noche.
another part fell off my coche.
i am going loco-oche.

called a sub.
work from home to get it done.
playing hooky, but not much fun.
rather be riding in the sun.

out of coffee.
go to make it what the f$%^?
i always forget to pick up the stuff.
i need to quit can't get enough.

contract hours.
overtime not in the pay.
think vacation everyday.
it's almost over, so I say:

Otro cafe
por favor.

What a Fun Day!

Reunited, and it feels so good
Reunited, cause we understood...

Okay, cheesy time over, but today was a day of reunions of sorts. I decided to do the Sea Otter pre-ride ride with my old homie, Gin . I asked him to pick me up from his faraway land of suburban amusements, and off we went down the freeway. Catching up on the haps was awesome. We can talk like two old ladies who went to grade school together. Ah, those were the days...
So, we pull up to the spot and Queen Bella comes out of nowhere, totally incognito.
Almost didn't recognize her, until I saw the posy in her radiant red hair. Apparently Ollie was off to the races, winning the big money to take her out to dinner. She joined our ride, too.
We rode so hard, well, I rode so hard, the rest of them were kind of cruising. Gin had a nice poker face as he tried to play attack-counter attack with Queenie. He failed to consider that she's been training with the best. It was a two Hammer flask day for him.
There were many other lost pals from yore along for the fun, but who knows if they like to be displayed for all the world blog-style.
So, we rode, and rode, and climbed and climbed. I think there was one fun descent, but it's all a blur. Now I remember why I don't race cross-country anymore. What the hell is up with all those granny-gear sections in that course (or is it just me and my spin-to-win mentality?). In the middle of my silent whining period, out of nowhere came Velogirl and her entourage of valiant racers in pink and black. She looked so hot in her Harlot knickers and long pretty ponytail. I didn't get to ride with her, but that's okay - it was still part of my reunited experience.
Hey - that's why I love racing. Because people I love are doing it, and I get to ride with them on their pre-ride days, then run into more of them.
My legs hurt after a record two days of riding in a row (where have my priorities gone?), but I am soooo happy to be back in the saddle, sores and all.

Where Oh Where Has My Little Blog Gone?

Wow, lots of stuff happening these days. No time to blog, but here's the enthralling highlights of the last week:

I went to school in London in 1987, and discovered the Cornish Pasty. Now I have a pal from Britain living up in Sausalito, and his mom came out to visit him. I was told that she would send me home with homemade pasties if I made an appearance. So, up I went last weekend and got my flaky crusted meat and veggie filled delights: pasties, and a little too drunk in the bargain.
By the way, do British people normally do cheers everytime they drink anything? I arrived at the house. A beer was cracked. "Cheers!" We went to a bar and got a beer. "Cheers!" We sat at the table and water was served. "Cheers!" I went to the bathroom, and beers appeared. "Cheers!" I woke up the next day and a Cappucino was made. "Cheers!" Mum made us a fried breakfast and I had a glass of orange juice. "Cheers!" I am not exaggerating.

So, came home later to a bike racer from New Mexico out for a visit. I let him park his motorhome in my driveway and showed him the pie ride. He was here all week, and what a life this guy has designed for himself. He does freelance writing and indexes books, all remotely. He and his dog drive his motorhome around the country doing stage races and climbing the upgrade ladder. He emails cycling girls near his racing destinations and gets them to take him on rides. We rode 44 miles one day, and Gizdich Ollalie-Apple pie was included. What a lifestyle! Some people really know how to work it. If only I wanted to live in a motorhome...



Finally, I met my new teammates for the 24 Hours of Adrenaline. The Tits of Steel Billy Cross 8 hour team is being resurrected. Two of its founding members have returned. Three have been added. On our bonding ride today I finally conquered all of Mailbox. Why didn't anyone who I ride with ever tell me I've done harder stuff? I've had a mental block against that trail for years. It was cake, I tell ya'! The other good news is that I now have met more cool women to ride with here in Santa Cruz, being that some people got schmoopy and left the area. Others just got too fast for little old me. Anyway, technical skills up, personal demon confronted, and all's better because I have another chance to ride with cool local girls who don't mind a slow climb and a tricky descent. Ahhhh....

So there is it blogger fans. The weather's beautiful, the clocks have changed, and I'm once again having grand adventures!

From Aruba, With Love

My mom called me from Aruba this morning. This may not seem odd, but I did not grow up with a mom who goes to Aruba. I grew up with a mom who had to shop at discount stores and wisely took advantage of free government cheese after she divorced in the 70's.
My strong and resourceful former struggling single mother of two now plays golf, travels the world, and drives a semi-luxury automobile. My mother has modeled for me a very valuable idea: marry for retirement.
After observing her retirement lifestyle, I have finally opened my eyes to the necessity of being prepared for this coming old age. I have beefed up my retirement savings, become a penny-pincher. She and her husband are having a great time of it.
And here's another thing I've realized: marrying for your retirement years is a very viable option when you haven't made it to the altar yet, and you're in your late 30's.
The dating conditions are pretty bleak out here in late 30's land. Here's the rub: the single guys your age are mostly recently divorced or have been focusing on amassing success. Many in these groups think they deserve a hot number who is at least 10 years younger than them. Funny, sometimes I feel the same way about what I deserve...
My yoga teacher tells me to marry younger because men age faster than women. She suggests seven years or so. Has anyone told the men that? I don't think so, because the majority of guys who look at my on-line profile are in their 50's. Guys my age don't even search for women their age. Don't they know they are going to get old and sick and die way before us? It's kind of rude to expect me to clean out their bedpan and listen to their incoherent babble in my golden years of vitality, don't you think?
So, I cannot plan for this possible future mate, all I can do is tell the 50-plusers to get real when it comes to dating me. But I can plan for retirement. And to marry for retirement.
Here's the logic of it: both of you have time, you've got money, and you're too tired to look for that unrealistic fantasy of the perfect mate. You know the grass isn't any greener over there, and you know how to enjoy the years that are left. The quality of each other's personalities will be what really matters, because the sex-drive is low. Vanity is lost, and only the choice to enjoy each day as much as possible is viable.
Not that any of this is my mom's reality - I am only surmising. I just see that it's working for her... and I really don't see most men coming to their senses any time soon. They still think they rule the world, after all. And they watch way too much porn.

Anyway, having made this decision to marry for retirement has really freed me up to do what I want to do in the mean time. Change careers, start a business, and ride bikes. Stop worrying about aging and dating. These things are a drag. Working toward a different kind of success is not.

So, who knows, maybe in twenty years or so some of you will be getting a call from Aruba...