I Did It

Well, August 21 had the audacity to march its sassy little self right up on the calendar and there wasn't much I could do about it. A triathlon--who, me? Now, that's just a bunch of crazy talk! But there August 21 sat on my calendar, smugly waiting to see if I'd feign illness or simply bury my head under the pillow until leisurely, comfortable August 22 rolled around.

Doesn't the bible say something about it being a sin to get up and head to an athletic event before the sun has risen? There I was, driving to the Aurora Reservoir with everything I'd need to (hopefully) survive the day--swim gear, bike gear, running gear...and my mom, who was kind enough to fly in for the weekend to witness this momentous occasion.

I felt a bit like the new girl in school who had just moved into town a day earlier as I awkwardly got my bike and gear out of the car and made my way to the transition area, pretending like I did this sort of thing all the time. It would have been much more fun to have a friend doing the tri as well (no guilt intended, Summer!), but I couldn't rally any troops.  

Once my arm was marked with my bib number and my wetsuit was on, though, I didn't have all that much time to fret.  Like the possibility I'd start too fast and burn out, unable to finish the race.  Or the fact that merely a month earlier after my swim race in the testing-the-waters relay tri I was completely exhausted and never would have been able to bike, let alone bike and run.  hahahahahaha, a 5k?  I hate running.  Anyway, I was suddenly at the water's edge and it was Go Time.

Triathlon times are broken down into the following categories: swim, transition #1, bike, transition #2, and run.  In the interest of full disclosure, I'll include my times for the race.  Don't judge; it was my first race!

The 500m swim is short for a sprint triathlon; typically it's 750m.  Although I didn't feel particularly fast in the water, I felt fine coming up on the sand and in the picture you can see I'm already reaching behind for the cord to unzip the wetsuit.  Thanks to the handy wetsuit strippers, I got out of that suit in no time.  Underneath, I was wearing the DeSoto Carrera Tri Capri shorts and Nike Drifit top that I'd wear for the rest of the race.

Official Swim Time: 12:46, which I thought was surprisingly slow until I learned that it also included the time getting out of the wetsuit and crossing the line into the transition area.

Official Transition #1 Time: 1:02.  Not bad for finding my bike amongst a sea of bikes, gulping down some coconut water and a bite of Luna bar, applying sunscreen, putting on my bike shoes and helmet, and heading out the gate.

Now, I'm no bicyclist.  My bicycling history includes the following: being the last person in my neighborhood to learn to ride a bike (I was a strictly Big Wheel kid for longer than I'd care to admit), and as I've mentioned before, hitchhiking in college after a bicycle ride went much further than anticipated.  There's no Tour de France yearnings here, folks. 

I had the good fortune to borrow my friend's husband's bike for the past 6 weeks, and my training consisted of riding 6-8 miles at a time through City Park and the leafy streets of Park Hill.  Well, you can imagine my surprise during the 12-mile bike race when I found myself approaching a decent-sized hill.  And then another.  And then another one, and this one seems....massive.  My only thought as I trudged up the 'hill' (the word 'Alp' is more fitting; I saw two people walking their bikes up) was that it was going to be awfully fun zooming down this thing.  There were certainly lots of people on fancy tri bikes with their disc wheels passing me, but I really enjoyed myself. 

Side note:  I Googled 'tri bike disc wheels' to see if that's really what these high-tech wheels are called, and I saw that the price for ONE WHEEL is between $1034 and $2074.  You'd think for that amount of money you'd also get you a magic potion to transport you and your bike up the hill in a flash, or at the very least a sturdy sherpa.

Official Bike Time: 46:38.  For some reason I have no idea how to figure out my average speed...

Official Transition #2 Time: 2:10.  This includes getting my bike back to the rack, removing helmet and bike shoes, and putting on socks and running shoes, and heading out for the run.

My training leading up to the race focused on running, since I'm not a runner.  At all.  A 5k (3.1 mile) distance is not huge, but prior to this summer it might as well have been a marathon.  I became comfortable running 2.7 miles around the City Park Golf Course, and I even had some great 3.5 mile runs.  But I didn't know how I'd feel after swimming and biking, and I don't do well running in the hot sun, either.

It was hot, but the breeze saved me for sure.  My goal was to not walk at all, and I only allowed myself to walk a teensy bit as I navigated the turnaround at the halfway point.  At that point, a girl passed me and offered some kind words of encouragement, which invigorated me enough to start running again. 

I was happy and relieved when the end, including my cheering family, was in sight.  Kenyon ran up and held my hand so we could cross the finish line together, and my other two boys were so proud, saying I was the best person in the world.  It felt great to share the occasion with my mom, my husband, and my three favorite boys.

Official Run Time: 30:18, with a pace of 9:46.  That was much better than I had expected, considering the fact that I didn't feel swift at all.

I had a fear that everyone would act like Captain Racey McTriathlon and I would feel really intimidated and unworthy, but the truth is everyone was totally supportive, encouraging, and there was a thread of positivity running through the entire event.

Official Standings: Final time of 1:32:54.  19th out of 38 in my age group (30-34 year old women) and 246th out of 434 men and women.

While I don't think I'll be getting those disc wheels anytime soon, I will definitely compete in a sprint triathlon again--my next race recap will be from Australia.  And when we're back in Denver, I'll be recruiting a bunch of friends to do the tri with me--you ladies know who you are and you have two years to become good swimmers!

Maine 2011

This year we squeezed in a trip to Maine despite our Halt On Travel To Save Money For Australia plan.  We didn't go last year, and we got a great deal on the flight to Boston, so I caved.  I love that my kids are as enamored with the Maine house that my grandparents built and jumping off the dock at Moose Pond as I am.  When it comes to classic family summer vacations, it's just so darn hard to beat Maine.

Because we now have 385,284,275 house projects left before we leave for Australia (we managed to complete 2 but added 6 more), and I'm competing in a triathlon next weekend, I'm going to let the pictures do most of the talking for this post.

We spent every one of our 7 days in Maine at the lake, loading up with boogie boards, oars, and a stocked cooler shortly after breakfast and returning home after lunch for a rest.  Before dinner, we'd head back for some more swimming, and after dinner a group would venture out yet again for fishing.  The beach chairs are an upgrade from when my grandparents sat and chatted there 30 years ago, but everything else is amazingly, wonderfully, the same.

Pleasant Mountain, view from the beach

my boys, on the rock that seemed so huge when I jumped off it as a kid

cousins out on the dock

Sam enjoying a sand castle meditation

The fish didn't bite much this year; I didn't catch a single one.  My brother clearly had the magic touch and caught something each day, but the kids definitely got an exercise in patience.  Jackson and Alex never got a nibble in the brutally hot fishing tournament, but they were excited to fish every day nonetheless.  

Jackson, Lexie and Alex

Alex in a moment of heavy concentration

Is it just me, or should this be a rain slicker ad (hear me, Target?)

Patience paid off, and there were some successes.

Nana with her catch

Kenyon keeping a lookout for the giant snapping turtle

Kenyon, Jackson, Alex, and cousin Dylan waiting for the results of the fishing tournament

As the next step of stretching his wings, we allowed Jackson to go out fishing on a boat, with just his 10-year old cousin and a friend.  For two hours.  I had a knot in my stomach in the beginning (okay, for at least an hour), but they came back right on time.  They had caught a fish and rode to an island, where they made a fire, cooked the fish, and ate it.  That's the stuff 8-year old boy dreams are made of right there, and I'm so happy that he got to do it.  

Whenever I applied sunscreen, Alex asked me to make sure I protected his freckles.  I love this one.

At one point, there were 14 people (eight of them children) in the modest 4-bedroom home, providing a hearty dose of togetherness.  It's tough enough as a parent to decide when to step in during your own children's disagreements, but even harder with friends or cousins that are used to different norms or parenting styles.  It went well, considering, but there of course was a certain amount of cousin-torture and drama.

reading with Uncle Matt

cousin bunkroom with the same sheets I used 30 years ago.  Are multicolor swirls still all the rage? :)

cousins shucking corn

lobster and mussel feast for Nana's birthday

Lexie and Captain Eyelashes

Maine, we will miss you next year, but as always, we can't wait to come back.

Tri Time

Because I am procrastinating tackling the 385,284,271 house projects in preparation for our year in Australia have nothing better to do, I registered for the Rattlesnake Sprint Triathlon.  I have mentioned before that I'm interested in triathlons, but there's a big difference between thinking 'hey, that sounds pretty cool' and putting forth the training required to be able to finish in a place other than last at an actual event. 

A couple of weeks ago, I did the swim portion of a relay triathlon with my two amazing friends, Summer (who biked) and Martina (who ran).  I didn't really do much prep for this; after all, I was on the swim team in high school.  So what if high school was 17 years ago?  Isn't there, like, muscle memory or whatever? 

The swim that day was 1/2 mile, and I was fairly pleased with my 15:15 time.  And though I imagined emerging from the water and running swiftly to the transition area to hand off the timing chip to Summer for the bike portion, it was ummmmm....impossible.  I was wiped out, and I forced one foot in front of the other.  This was a good tester event to scope out the scene, and it definitely made me see that my underachieving self who is used to performing well with little or no effort was going to have to, ahem, get her ass in gear.



For this race on August 21, I'll only be swimming 500m.  Ok then, I've got one segment down.  Check.  Feeling pretty darn confident at this point.

Next phase--a 12 mile bike ride.  I am not a bicyclist (other than leisurely family bike rides on my vintage Schwinn cruiser), and the only time in my life where I have ridden more than 10 miles is also not-so-coincidentally the first time I have hitchhiked.  I've got some work to do there, clearly.  Luckily, Summer kindly loaned me her husband's Panasonic DX5000 and I'm getting a crash course in bike maintenance thanks to the lovely people at The Bike Depot in Park Hill.  Open bike shop hours where you can bring in your bike and work on it have a volunteer work on it for free?  Yes, please! 

The last phase--the R. U. N.  Ugh.  I don't love running, and despite the fact that a 5k is nothing for some people, there are a lot of choice words I could use to describe the run, so we're not on the best terms.  This phase will be about survival, although I'd really like to be able to refrain from walking.

So, folks, I'm totally training for this thing.  Like, putting forth actual effort here.  Every day, I'm either running (I'm close to 5k distance even though I hate it), swimming (1600m swims at the rec center during lunch at work), biking, or doing strength training (5lb. handweights for my arms and plank poses for my core), or some combination of a couple of those things.  I don't have the fancy triathlon clothing (not the most flattering pieces for my figure, or budget!) and I'm not even going to come close to winning...but I'm psyched.  It feels good to do something for me, like I'm reclaiming myself from years of child-bearing. 

I'll let you know how the actual event goes, and if they're not too terribly embarrassing (other than the run, which I know will be), I'll post my times. 

Whole

He was gone one day shy of four weeks, and had the time of his life.  He loved riding horses and chopping wood with an axe and hatchet.  He knows all the requisite silly camp songs, and he acted in a camp production of Lord of the Rings.  Instead of writing us letters during the Siresta rest period, he and his tentmate often played 'Out You Go', shoving each other out of their tent, or he was off in the woods building forts.  He was the only young camper to be adorned with a nickname (Onion Ring) from the older boys, who all had nicknames of their own. The word 'boss' is now the best way to describe something really cool.  I asked him if there were any girls there he perhaps had a crush on, and the millisecond the question left my lips he answered with a swift 'No!' before declaring that he wasn't going to answer any more questions about that topic.  The boy doth protest too much, methinks. The friendship bracelet I made for him before camp is properly faded, and he could use a haircut.

I planned to take a picture of him as soon as I saw him, but I was so enthralled with seeing him again in real life that I forgot.  A kind man at the airport took this one...

I am so glad that Sam and I trusted that he was old enough for some wing-spreading.  For the past four weeks, he soared.

And now I'm so very thankful he's back in our nest.  Our family is whole again, and life is as it should be.

Numbers

25: Twenty-five days have passed since I’ve hugged my oldest son. I have spent 25 days adjusting to being responsible for the whereabouts of two children, a difficult task considering scanning around me for three is deeply ingrained in my being.

2: These past few weeks, I have played Mexican bingo with two children, admired the soft, perfect skin of two children, snuggled two children in their beds, kissed two children goodnight, and woken up in the middle of the night just to make sure two children were cozied up in their blankets, sleeping comfortably.

5: Denver has had more than 5 inches of rain so far this month. Even my storm-hardened, home-destroyed-in-Hurricane-Andrew self has been shocked by the storms we’ve had in the past week. Two nights ago, Sam and I watched as rains overwhelmed our street and water shot straight up, Bellagio fountain-style, out of the manhole at the street corner. The lid of the manhole rattled around and threatened to shoot up in the air with the force of the water.

40: Denver International Airport weathered a massive hail storm last night that damaged 40 planes. One of those planes was designated to transport my oldest son home safely from camp, and now his flight has been cancelled.  Yes, cancelled.

2: The airlines don’t understand how badly this mother of two is aching to be returned to her rightful place as a mother of three, so I now have to wait two more days to wrap my arms around my son.  Saturday, you seem so far away from Thursday. 

Hello Muddah...

Jackson has been gone for 11 days (not that anyone's counting).  Before he left, he solemnly promised to write every day, although I told him that if he was busy having fun, he didn't need to write every day.  Nana had purchased personalized fill-in-the-blank camp postcards to facilitate the writing process, and we gave him  stamped envelopes pre-addressed to everyone he wanted to write--Nana and Papa, us as a family, and Kenyon and Alex individually. 

I, of course, had written him starting a few days before he left for camp so he'd have one waiting for him on his first day.  Throughout the first week, I asked questions about his tentmate, what activities he's chosen, if he had made any friendship bracelets yet?  I included a puzzle here and there, along with some of his favorite Calvin and Hobbes comic strips.  I wrote a letter in a spiral to make it more fun to read.  His Nana has written virtually every day as well, including fun puzzles from books she bought just for this occasion.  Various friends and family members are sending letters and postcards (thanks everyone!).

We opened the mailbox each day like Charlie opening up a Wonka bar--slowly at first, and then superfast.  Our thought process went like this--he wouldn't write on Monday, the first day of camp--probably Tuesday, after he's had a day to reflect on everything so far.  So we should get a letter from him by Friday, right?  Friday came and went, although we did get a phone call from the camp director letting us know that Jackson was doing great.  She told us the kids have to write on the weekends--sweet, although we thought Jackson would surely write more often than the Required Writing Time.  It didn't take too much effort to fill in some blanks on his personalized camp postcards and place it lovingly into a pre-addressed envelope, right?  

Or as his Nana so eloquently put it, "How hard is it to fill out a fucking card???"

At the very least, we were comforted by the fact that Required Writing Time meant we were sure to get something--until I heard it's common practice to send an empty envelope to your parents.  What kind of parental torture are these children capable of?  I pictured campers chortling around the campfire, regaling others with their stories of sending glaringly empty envelopes home to their child-starved, sobbing parents.  

We rested assured that a letter would be on its way on Monday, and we should get it by Thursday.  When I left the house this morning, Sam promised that he would wait to open the letter until I got home (which is much nicer than me, because there's no way in hell I would have waited if the situation was reversed).  

I walked in the door from work, and there it was, sitting right there on the counter.  A letter from my oldest son, who I miss so much.  I couldn't wait to open it and find the answers to all my questions--has he tried anything that he liked more than he'd thought?  Has he built forts or hiked down to the beach?  Has he played Capture the Flag or gone to Slingshot Alley?  Would he have enclosed his pages of completed puzzles?

With great anticipation, I opened the envelope, pulled out a full length sheet of paper (oh good, he wanted to write more than would fit on the card!), and saw this:

Ok, there were words--another good sign.  No empty envelope for these parents!  Sam, Alex and Kenyon have all been really looking forward to a letter, too, so it would have been awesome if Jackson had included their names as well.  But at least he didn't forget his Mommy. :)  I read on...

"My first night at camp was great.  I passed the swim test!  I'm going to a canoe camp for 2 days."

THAT'S

IT??

We waited nearly two weeks for this??  I turned the page over, looking for more.  No dice.  Using forensic investigative techniques, we deduced that he wrote this on his second day of camp, shoved it into his trunk, and then forgot about it until Required Writing Time.  Then he dusted it off, shoved it into an envelope and sent it off.  We examined the scribbled out portion at the bottom and saw that he had written 'P.S.' but then obviously decided he couldn't be bothered to include any more details about his life and hastily scratched it out.  

Also in the envelope was this little dried flower.

Cute, but I'd rather have words.

We also got a postcard from Jackson's counselor, who wrote that Jackson is a wonderful kid, well-behaved (whew!) and always excited to learn.  He also said that Jackson is a leader in his group and has been helpful around the unit.  

He's clearly having the time of his life, and we would much prefer to not hear from him than to get a daily letter detailing all the things he hated about camp.  We're all thrilled for him.

Here's hoping he'll break the 30-word barrier in his next letter.  14 days until he comes home (not that anyone's counting).  sigh.

The Pioneer Kitchen

I go through periods of getting in touch with my inner pioneer woman, and right now she’s coming out through the food I make. I know you can just picture me now wiping my brow on a flour sack apron as I toil in the kitchen, kneading homemade bread dough and grinding wheat into flour with a mortar and pestle. Um, what’s that old Brylcreem jingle—‘a little dab’ll do you’? Well, I guess a little dab of pioneer woman will do me, because I’m not exactly embracing everything about a pioneer woman’s kitchen life.

But still, folks, I’m canning. Jam, that is. The latest issue of Sunset magazine—contrary to the title, it is not a magazine catering to retiree lifestyles, and if you live in the western states you should subscribe immediately!— features a great article on easy homemade jams and preserves. Upon reading it, my inner pioneer woman jolted awake and I got right to work. While my kids ate breakfast, I whipped up a batch of delightfully tasty blackberry-lime jam. The lime isn’t overwhelming, but does add a nice citrusy note to set it apart from standard jam. Sunset's recipe is below if I have piqued your culinary interest. Not interested in the canning part? Give some to friends, or halve the batch and keep refrigerated for a month—it’ll be long gone before it goes bad.

Blackberry-Lime Jam
2 1/2 tablespoons (half a 1 3/4-oz. package) Sure-Jell pectin labeled "For less or no sugar needed recipes"
1 1/3 cups sugar, divided
2 1/2 cups coarsely mashed blackberries (from about 1 1/4 lbs. fruit; I used frozen but thawed)
1 1/3 cups unsweetened berry juice blend (I used Santa Cruz Organic Berry Nectar)
Zest of 1/2 lime
1 tablespoon lime juice
1/4 teaspoon butter (prevents foaming)

1. Combine pectin and 1/4 cup sugar in a 5-qt. pot. Stir in berries, then berry juice, lime zest and juice, and butter. Bring mixture to a brisk boil over high heat, stirring often.
2. Add remaining sugar. Return jam to a brisk boil, stirring. Cook, stirring constantly, 1 minute. Remove from heat.
3. Ladle jam into heatproof jars and close with lids.

I also made a batch of strawberry-raspberry jam, so now we’ve got a 7 jar inventory of homemade goodness that will last through quite a few PB&Js.  I’ve got my eye on a peach-raspberry-lavender recipe as well; I’ll let you know how that turns out.

My trusty Sunset magazine also led me to what my pie-loving husband has deemed ‘the best fruit pie, or maybe the best pie’, he has ever eaten. The recipe, from Washington’s Anjou Bakery, technically calls for marionberries, but where the hell can you buy marionberries outside of the Pacific Northwest? I went with blackberries instead, and the shortbread-style crust makes this just about the tastiest summer dessert imaginable.

Husband-Approved Berry Pie
Crust Ingredients
2 cups flour
2 1/2 tablespoons granulated sugar
1/4 teaspoon salt
14 tablespoons (1 3/4 sticks) cold unsalted butter, cut into 2-tbsp. chunks
(I sprinkled some chia seeds at the bottom of the crust so the pie felt ‘healthy’)

Filling Ingredients
1/4 cup cornstarch
1 cup granulated sugar
1 3/4 pounds (6 1/2 cups) fresh or frozen marionberries or other blackberries (for frozen, measure, thaw until somewhat softened, and use all juices)
Coarse white sparkling sugar (I used turbinado sugar)

1. Combine dry ingredients in a stand mixer. Add butter and beat with paddle attachment on low speed, scraping bowl as needed, until pieces are raisin-size. With mixer still on low speed, drizzle in 1 tbsp. ice water; beat until pastry comes together, 1 1/2 to 3 minutes. Form 1 1/4 cups into a disk and the rest into a smaller disk.
2. Preheat oven to 375° with rack on bottom rung. On a lightly floured board, roll larger disk into a 12-in. circle. Loosen with a long metal spatula, gently roll around a rolling pin, then unroll into a 9-in. pie pan (if dough cracks, press back together). Fold edge under, so it's flush with pan rim, then crimp. Chill 15 minutes.
3. Roll remaining dough into an 11-in. circle. With a cookie cutter, cut out enough shapes such as squares (I used moons) to cover most of pie. Set cutouts on a baking sheet; chill 15 minutes.
4. Stir together cornstarch and granulated sugar in a large bowl. Add berries with juices and toss to coat. Arrange evenly in pie shell. Lightly brush pastry cutouts with water and sprinkle with coarse sugar. Arrange cutouts over filling.
5. Bake pie until filling bubbles and pastry is golden in center, 55 to 60 minutes (up to 1 1/2 hours if berries were frozen); if edge starts to get dark, cover with foil, and if pie starts to bubble over, put a rimmed pan underneath it.
6. Let cool on a rack to room temperature, at least 3 hours.

With my kitchen assistant Alex helping me, we had this pie in the oven in no time. The finished product looked pretty awesome, if I do say so myself!

The final installation in this round of pioneer woman escapades is making homemade chicken stock. We go through a fair amount of boxed chicken broth, which adds up quickly. A couple of weeks ago, I started tossing onion, carrot and celery ends into a ziploc bag and storing it in the freezer. After using a store-bought rotisserie chicken for last night’s dinner, I threw the chicken carcass in a 8-qt. pot along with my bag of veggie ends. I tossed in some thyme from my garden, added a sprinkling of pepper, and filled up the pot with water.

You don’t want stock to boil; I kept it around 190 degrees and left on the stove overnight—can’t get much easier and it’s all done with scraps!

As you can see in the picture, it reduces in volume with the hours of cooking, so after straining out the solids I netted 5 ½ cups of stock. Not bad for little to no work, and I’ll start a new bag of veggie scraps for the next batch.

Maybe it’s because I’m desperate to do anything to pass the time while crossing off calendar days until I see my son again, maybe it’s because the daily cooking duties have shifted more towards Sam for the summer, or maybe because I’m procrastinating diving into the list of house projects before Australia(!), but I’m enjoying these bonus kitchen activities. Does the summer season bring out your inner pioneer woman as well, or do the hot summer days push you into takeout mode?