Peace Like A River Flows

Posted on November 14, 2011 by Lisa Jamison

To walk, to run; that is the question.  Pretty big stuff, huh?  Yeah, it’s the stuff of life.  My life, that is.  I’m signed up for the Rock n’ Roll Half Marathon as it makes its debut in St. Petersburg next February.  SJV and I head out a couple times a week to plod along, she more proficiently than me these days, and we’re looking at a training schedule that begins within the week.

To walk, to run.  “It doesn’t matter”, some say.  “Just do it”, I think.  “Start running and see how it feels, then make a decision as you go along”, I’ve told myself.  Go with the flow.

Flow.  I’m trying to go with the flow.  I like a good flow state as much as the next one of my million friends who finds comfort in the constant pitter patter of feet on the pavement or wheels spinning on a breezy day or the sound of water as it passes over my ear or the drone of heavy breathing in a stairwell or rhythmic inhale exhale in a yoga flow.

I’m trying to BE flow.  I’m riding the wave of time…no, I AM the wave.  Or am I time?  Either way, I’m trying to enjoy the ride of it all…being the wave, being the “low” before the “high”.  Crashing on the shore, retreating, swelling…it’s all good.

Peace like a river flows within me

Love like a waterfall pours on me

I’ll never be alone, can’t you see

Peace like a river flows on…

What a day on Bayshore Boulevard!  Trod the same path and you see the same things.  Water, houses, runners, cyclists, cars, cracks in the sidewalk.  Blue skies.  Flag in the wind.  Smiling happy faces.  It’s my place.  Peace like a river flows on.

Hope is a fire burning in my soul

And it’s particularly sunny and warm for this mid-November day.

Life is eternal

SJV heads out on a run with her “other” running partner, her 15 year old son.  Maybe he’ll do the half marathon, too.  I walk towards my beautiful friends and see that her normal Pilates trained gait is altered by her new belly.  Her smile never fades; the bump is answer to much prayer.  And time.  That flows like a river…on…on.

What a day on Bayshore Boulevard!  Trod the same path and you start to see different things.  Runners, but different ones.  New ones, young ones, struggling ones.  Mothers with baby joggers.  Pre-schoolers on weenie little bikes.

Who could ask for more?

Walking or running?  Today I say walk.

…on…think of all I could have missed

…on…I just can’t get over this

Walk.  I say walk the half marathon.  It seems the prudent thing to do.  For 2012 that is.  After that, see what the flow brings.

Faith is a light shining down on me

Mercy is a wind blowing over me

Grace has set me free

Peace like a river flows on…on.

Once again, thanks to Mac Powell, Third Day, and the new found joy of moving with my ipod.  A good song, like peace, flows on…and on.

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Matters of the Heart.

Posted on November 1, 2011 by Lisa Jamison

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were
all going direct the other way – in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.  Charles Dickens, A Tale of Two Cities

Gosh, it’s been a long time since I’ve been here.  Lots to say; nothing worth putting in print.  Great ideas in my head; not translating to words.  Time of a broken heart…and a good heart…and a strong heart…then a broken heart…and a peaceful heart.

With all the highs and lows of life, there are things that remain steadfast.  Kindness.  Love.  Friendships.  Work.  Blue skies.  Spring flowers.  Warm summer sand.  A strong harmony.  It’s a wonder one can find themselves out of balance when there are so many of the basics…constants…ballasts.

So I find myself in November.  Usually this is a season of “low” for me.  I slow, get ready for the  winter of rest and hibernation, retreat into my own.  But for some reason I’m just feeling peaceful and restful and joyful and ready.  In a year that could be characterized as a flat-line of activity, it’s been just the opposite when it comes to matters of the heart.  The highs and lows, the ups and downs, the stabbings and mendings, the meltings and freezings, the QRS….well, you get the picture.

I guess I’ll just go into the season being a little kinder and gentler.  At least in my heart.

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Happy Father’s Day

Posted on June 19, 2011 by Lisa Jamison

Life’s not fair.

That’s one valuable lesson I learned from Dad.  Yup, I can hear him saying it every time one of us whined out a “But Daaaaad, that’s not faaaiiirrrrr”.  His response was always similar; “Who said it was going to be fair?” or “Who said it was supposed to be fair?”.  The statement was pretty much banned from out vernacular at an early age.

As I went to college and then into the workforce I would cringe everytime I’d hear a colleague or a subordinate say the three words.  “What’s with these people”, I’d think.  “Have they learned nothing in life?  Didn’t their fathers teach them anything?”. 

Tangent:  I’ve always been a big believer that everyone goes to heaven.  EVERYONE.  Even Charles Manson?  Yes.  Even people who have screwed up their entire lives and have been miserable bastards to all?  Yes, even them.  That’s not fair.  No, it’s not, but if life’s not fair why would heaven and all of eternity be fair?  What the hell?  Yeah, I’ve never much believed in hell.  Especially in light of the fact that I believe everyone goes to heaven.  I just don’t see what purpose it serves.  Perhaps I don’t understand it all right now, but in time it will all make perfect sense.  That’s how life rolls.

So it’s Sunday.  Father’s Day.  I met a friend for coffee this morning…he had an early flight out to see his Dad…and after he left I sat there and read.  I pull out Rob Bell’s Love Wins and pick up where I left off;  Chapter 7.  The old familiar story about the prodigal son, complete with both sons’ and the father’s point of view. 

You are always with me, and everything I have is yours. 

It’s a lesson for son’s.  For those who squander and those who save.  For those who took and those who didn’t take.  And for those who forgot to receive. 

Grace and generosity aren’t fair; that’s their very essence.  The father sees the younger brother’s return as one more occasion to practice unfairness.  The younger son doesn’t deserve a party–that’s the point of the party.  That’s how things work in the father’s world.  Profound unfairness. 

Where did these kids get the idea it was supposed to be fair?

Grace.  Mercy.  They are gifts given to us from the Father.  And Dad.  And whether you’re the kid that stayed home and forgot to receive the gift or you’re the kid that strayed and is afraid to go home and get it handed to you on a silver platter, it’s there.  Somewhere.  Just keep looking.

By grace, my Dad was given to me.  Seriously.  He didn’t have to take us.  Mercy can be a difficult lesson.  Everything I have is yours.  Sometimes it’s just to hard to accept it.  So to my Dad…Happy Father’s Day.  To Dad’s all over the world…Happy Father’s Day. 

And to the fathers who haven’t stepped up to offer the lesson…have mercy on them.  Maybe they just need to receive the gift today.

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The Right to Park

Posted on May 10, 2011 by Lisa Jamison

As I said a couple of posts ago, I’ve started riding again.  And I use the term a bit loosely!  I went out for my third ride in a month; doesn’t quite classify me as a cyclist to the purists!  Anyway, I went back to the park.  Yup, the park at which I received a parking ticket.  I didn’t forget to pay the two bucks for the privilege this time!

It seems the park lays host to all sorts of memories, emotions, reactions.  Many triathletes were already finishing their ride and transitioning in the parking lot, a signal of my “late” arrival.  The sun was shining but there was a bit of a cool breeze on my skin.  My back was a little tight as I headed out, but I perked up and settled in as I saw the long distance runners coming back in from their training.  I was dry, they were drenched.  I was rusty, they were well oiled.  I smiled, they managed a slight wave.  I was home.  These are my people, this is my weather, and even though my brain had to catch up a little, my body knew exactly what to do.  Thank goodness for that. 

For the last couple of years I’ve been training a woman.  I am familiar with her former trainer.  We don’t “work” the same way so there have been plenty of new lessons to learn.  I’m a firm believer that when the student is ready the teacher appears; I’m not always prepared for or happy with how long that process takes.  Seems I’ve been laying the groundwork of student/teacher for a long time.  She just doesn’t learn the lessons I want exactly when I want her to learn them.  (I clearly have control issues.)  Anyway, about six months ago I got her over the hurdle of “working” her muscles.  She had never really felt the good burn of a strength workout.  Burn=Bad, so she thought.  She’s much more buff than she’s ever been now. 

About two months ago we had a break-through with cardiovascular work.  She never allowed her heart rate to TRULY get  into her training zone because of her asthma.  In a fit of I’m-so-fed-up-with-your-whining-excuses I yelled,  “When was the last time you had an asthma attack?”.  She looked at me blankly and said “A what?”.  “EXACTLY!!!”, I screamed, “You’ve never had a bloody asthma attack because you DON”T HAVE ASTHMA!”.  Who the heck planted that seed, and why the heck was it allowed to park itself in her brain for the last 20 years.  Geeeeesh! 

And yet another great moment came last week whilst climbing stairs.  “You WILL get to the top, even though it may not be speedy or pretty.  Just do it.  We’ll debrief later”, I told her.  Well, we stopped.  A lot.  And that’s OK, because everyone knows your first trip up 42 flights feels…like shit.  But during the climb all sorts of emotions started surfacing.  “My heart rate’s too high.”  No it’s not.  “I can’t do it.”  Yes you can.  “This isn’t right.”  Right for what?  She got shaky.  She got dizzy.  She wanted to sit down.  “Climb on,” I said, “and we will get to the top.” 

Seems her father had what we would not probably label as general anxiety or panic disorder.  And the line he would use when getting anxious was “…and you have to watch it when your heart rate starts to beat too fast because you’ll have a heart attack.”  And one day the man got anxious, had a heart attack, and died. 

There you have it.  It took me more than two years to find it, but the limiting factor had just been unearthed.  We stood on the 42nd floor of the Bank of America Building and waited for her heart rate to come down.  And for the shaking to stop.  And for the irritation of the stupid lessons that were taught by parents who just didn’t know any better.  And for the ignorance to not just let it all go. 

We talked about the future; how her brain would need to remember to let some of the crap go.  And that even though the brain might be thinking one thing, that the body might just want to go through its own, well worn route.  And that the training and retraining can actually be accomplished…so that the brain would forget and the body would remember.  

I rode the little workout that has been working for me; one loop of warm up/spin, one loop of steady effort, one loop of intervals.  And my body fell right into that well thought out plan.  And then Mr. Pain came knocking.  Like the proper hostess my mother taught me to be I ran to the front door and got ready to welcome with open arms and a big smile.  Darn the lessons of the parents.

My clients come in as a vast, open land.  As I circle the park I always find some critter that likes to nest in a comfortable nook, often breeding with recklass abandon.  As the Ranger they get to decide to comes and goes, who builds relationships, when the fee for parking increases, and when the park closes.  I like to think I’m a little like the Parks and Forestry Chief…here I come to save the daaaaaaaayyyy!!

But aren’t I the one who got a parking ticket just a couple of weeks ago?

What's parking in your lot? How's that working for you?

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Everything but the kitchen sink.

Posted on April 19, 2011 by Lisa Jamison
It’s what’s for dinner!

We’ve all had those days.  Forgot to go to the market, really hungry, and must eat now.  Most of the times I eat pretty healthily; others, not so much.  The good new is that if there actually IS some food in the refrigerator, it’s probably pretty good for me.  Same with the cupboards.

 
And sometimes you have to clean out both and hope for the best.
Today’s concoction is both good for me and good tasting.  With a little bit of good lookin’ on the side.  Just like me.  (Just checking to see if you’re really reading!)
 
Grab the big cast iron skillet and saute some onions.  Add come yellow, red, and orange peppers.  At the very last minute throw in the spinach and the chick peas.  In another pot make quinoa.  Add a little fresh parmesan, of course.  Low in fat, with a good balance of protein and carbs. 
 
If planning ahead…I would have used red quinoa or subbed in a bean with some color.  Just for the cosmetics, don’t you know. 
 
And the rest will taste good for another couple of meals.  Enjoy!
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Wheeeeeeeee!

Posted on April 16, 2011 by Lisa Jamison
I wide my bike for a wheely wheely good time!

I haven’t been riding my bike for a long time.  Like…five months.  Why?  Just haven’t.  Have been meaning to, but just haven’t gotten around to it.  I don’t have anybody to ride with.  I don’t want to ride by myself.  Everyone is faster than me.  Everyone is training for something and I’m not.  Wah, wah, wah.  Just sayin’, that’s all. 

 
But two weeks ago I got back on my bike.  I rode around Ft. Desoto with a pal while talking about how we should really do this more often.  Like maybe even train again.  Or maybe I should just ride for fun, I don’t know.  He challenged me to a sprint…”to the bend in the road”.  He took off.  I’m also known as “Lisa-One-Speed”, so I didn’t take off.  I came chugging up behind him and then got closer and closer and then I went flying by him and I yelled a big “Woo-Hoooooooooo!” and then I just kept peddling and going and spun some more and boy did that make me happy!
 
Last week I went to Flatwoods with another pal.  He hadn’t ridden in a while (uh, that would be two weeks since an Ironman 70.3 in Puerto Rico…).  Yeah, I said, we’re gonna suck the same amount.  But we started off and I could tell that it was going to be a little tough.  The first of our three laps had my legs burning.  But the second felt OK and then came the third lap.  We came upon a pack of a few and slowly passed them.  And then we realized that they stayed with us which made us go faster just to show them we could and then my friend dropped back and then I stayed with the other guys and then I pulled a little and then I jockeyed around a little deciding where I could ride and still stay in my aero-bars and I almost got giggling a little and then I realized that my friend was not with us any longer so I slowed down and waited for him to catch up so we could go back to the parking lot where I danced around talking about how happy I was to be back on my beautiful red shiny bike.  Phew, that was fun!!
 
Today I went back to Flatwoods to try to replicate that same ride.  I had a flat tire but my friend (very graciously!!) changed it for me.  It was the back tire.  I consider that “man’s work”.  I usually pay someone to do that for me because I hate doing.  (Thanks GO!!)  Lap one…OK.  Lap two…whoa, my legs are working differently.  Somehow those leg exercises must be paying off because I do believe the right muscles are doing the job.  Lap three and the wind picks up…whaaaaaat?  I’ve lost my friend (he ran HARD all week!) by this point, but find a struggling roadie.  I tell him that we should ride together just for fun.  We peddle and we stand and we fight until we get to the next guy.  I was thinking the new guy looked like a good draft, but he was not going to go for that.  He got right on Roadie’s wheel and stayed there a bit.  I pulled faster and faster and said “isn’t this fun” but didn’t get a reply but one of them complained that he had a cold and that’s why he couldn’t pull but he sure appreciated me doing all the work because so may triathletes don’t want you to ride with him so I kept peddling while I explained to him that we get lost in our own thoughts and just like it when someone tells us that they are glommed on to our wheel so we don’t make any sudden wrong moves and kill the pack and all the while I’m not even huffing and puffing but the two guys yell “hey thanks but we can’t keep up with you anymore but we hope to see you again” and I yell “well yeah I had fun too and thanks for riding with me because I haven’t done this in months and how fast are we going anyway because I purposely don’t have my computer on my bike because I don’t want to get to competitive” and one yells “twenty twoooooooooo” so I smile and finish the lap by myself.
 
I take the last mile back to the parking lot a little slower.  I have missed the mountain bikers and the triathletes and the mud and the sweat and the spandex and the parking lot and the smelly boys.  My braids are blowing out behind me as the wind whistles through my helmet (I just put new stickers on it; isn’t it pretty?).  Wheeeeeee!  The streamers are pretty, too.  And my basket has flowers and I have a bell that I’m not afraid to use if you get in my way.  I think it’s time for a snack.
 
I got to my car to find a ticket on the window.  I forgot to pay the $2 park entrance fee.  Total cost:  $40. 
 
It was sooooo worth it. 
 
 
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When in Rome

Posted on April 13, 2011 by Lisa Jamison
Roam where the journey takes you.

While driving around the other morning I got listening to a program on Catholic radio.  The man speaking was a former Protestant.  (What do you call a former Protestant?  I’ve heard many Christians call themselves a “fallen Catholic”, but if you “convert” to Catholocism are you a “raised Protestant”?)  Anyway,the man had travelled a road filled with questions as he selected the tradition that was best for him.  During his walk he encountered many priests, some who he considered sages, and others he had considered scalawags.  He questioned a sage on the Catholic belief that one confess to a priest rather than go directly to Christ (or any Trinity member, for that matter).  The sage’s advice was that any priest, when acting in a holy capacity, was OK, as any priest would be acting as Christ at the point of confession. 

OK by me, but it was his next point that go me.  The sage had gone on to question the new Catholic about his choice of doctors.  Did the man look closely at their lives?  Did he question the “man” behind the “MD”?  Certainly not…any MD was worthy of our trust, and that’s the way it should be for priests. 
I guess this is why some physicians have a God complex.  We give it to them.  And our Godly folks tell us to.  Hrumph.
 
Fifteen years ago I took a trip to one of my doctors for that yearly visit.  For the record, I got his name from the list of qualified physicians that was recognized by my insurance company.  I hadn’t had my check up with him yet, but he called me into his (smoke filled) office.  He sat there and asked me what I thought about his high cholesterol (he was an Ob/Gyn, so he probably didn’t know about such stuff or have access to such information).  I gave him my 2-cents, which probably involved something about getting off his fat behind, moving, and giving up a few of his (obvious) bad habits…punctuated by his bulbous red nose.  It was a 30 minute conversation.  I left with my records in hand without getting his sage advice about what was going on in my nether-regions.  It seemed like the most appropriate thing to do. 
People laugh at religious f olks, you know, with that “blind faith” we’re known to have.  Faith, by nature, is blind.  Or at least in need of a good pair of glasses.  We have glimmers of Holy visions and whispers of insights.  But medical and health care advice does not have to be blind.  And it shouldn’t be blind.  If we’re allowed to chat and confess and listen to God (or the Universe fo the Collective Consciousness) then we’re certainly at liberty to discuss the intricacies of our healthy lifestyles with a mere mortal.  Or Dr. Mere Mortal.  Or M. Mortal, MD. 
I don’t identify as a Catholic, which doesn’t stop me from listening to their radio programs.  It’s all part of the path to seeing what’s right for me, to strengthen my convictions, or to choose another side path for sight-seeing.   Those off-the-beaten-path trails that often get us off on a tangent are laced with interesting people.  Some with whacky viewpoints, some with new and improved thoughts, and some quite cutting edge.  Some challenge the norm.  Some ARE the norm…but maybe YOU  just got a little lost in the first place.  
When in Rome, look for the roamers.   
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Youth Sports Injuries…just the facts.

Posted on April 9, 2011 by Lisa Jamison

I get ranting.  I have an opinion.  About everything.  But then again, it’s my blog and I’ll rant if I want to (she says in a sing songy voice).

Youth sports injuries occur at about 7 million/year. Interesting number.  I can quote a source here, but don’t know the particulars of what constitutes “injury”.  Said injuries have increased in the last 20 years.  Of course they have; we have more children in sports.  More kids in general.

As we add more kids to the mix we need more coaches, and sometimes those are difficult to find.  Some are undertrained and don’t want to be there (but if you want your kid in the system, you have to do your part).  Others are over agressive and have children doing training protocols that are too advanced for their years. In climates like Florida’s we have year round sports.  And by that I mean…you can play soccer all year or swim all year or play volleyball all year.  That’s a good way to get some overuse injuries.  We don’t tend to honor the “off season”.  We don’t always let the kids switch activities, giving some muscles and movements a break while allowing other body parts to learn new skills and develop.  We have a lot of specificity. 

Consequences.  Kids my lose time from all activities when they get hurt, and they are even shown to miss school time.  With things like growth plate injuries there is often long term effects.  Not to mention the fact that we eventually want people to learn to listen to their bodies, to mother nature, to signs and symptoms.  “Gotta’ make it through the championships” may cause “hearing” impairment.

Rest.  Recover.  Fuel your body with the proper nutrients.  Technique.  Skill.  Camaraderie.  Team development.  Anger management.  Dealing with the stress of life.  Coping with changing bodies.  I just wish there was room for a little more of this.

As with every step on the highwire, I must constantly adjust to the forces that surround me.  It must be the season…the winds are a’ blowin’ and they are creating a whirl of school kids.  I’m a bit on over-stim with the confusion it all brings…happy to have children around, glad to have the business, inability to draw a clear line in the sand, chatter of their voices, glee in their active lifestyle, joy in their advancing skills, chatter in my head.  Sometimes I’m just glad it’s somebody else’s kid and I don’t have the final say.  And sometimes I’m sad the little superstar isn’t my own. 

Damn wind blows me right off the wire on occasion.  Climbing back up isn’t always pretty to watch, but the easiest answer.   And that’s a fact.

Good golly...someone DOES attempt this outside of a circus tent!

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To Be or Not To Be

Posted on April 7, 2011 by Lisa Jamison

That is the question.  And a recurring one, it is.

Kids in Sports...a good thing?

After college I moved to a boarding school as the athletic trainer.  More than once I scuffled with coaches.  At times they viewed me as the young woman who didn’t know anything about __________ (soccer, lacrosse, hockey, etc.).  I often viewed them as the over zealous (usually) men who were fulfilling some long lost dream of their own.  When they were “play at any cost” I was concerned with long term injuries and early disability.  I saw exposed knee caps at dinner (“coach told me not to come to the training room”) and got calls from kids on spring training trips (“I hit my head and coach wants me to take these pills”).  I just figured that world was not for me.

I moved to Florida in October of 1991.  Driving around during my first week here I spotted a well lit ball field full of little weanies.  Couldn’t tell the exact age because they were in helmets and pads, but they were little boys, indeed.  It was 8:30 night; my mind screamed “bed time”. 

In the mid-90’s  a parent brought her daughter to see me.  The kid had to go to practice that day, but she was pretty sore.  She was the star pitcher of her softball team.  In the name of perfecting her pitch she had spent an hour with the coach the day prior.  Fast pitch softball vs. 12 year old girl.  I laughed a little, cried a little, and put a call in to a friend at an Olympic training center.  He laughed at me for thinking I needed a “more professional opinion” on the flaws in that sport system.  “Just tell them why it’s bad; it’s so basic that you don’t need back up from us”, he said.  The kid went back to pitching practice that day.

The other day a parent brought their 12 year old girl in.  I’ve seen every member of this family for years.  “You have a tough decision”, I said.  “Do you play during this ‘championship season’ at a sub-par and painful level, or do you miss this in order to be in shape for the next tryouts?”.  They wanted to do both.  Of course they do.  We want it all.  But at 12 years old, you need to start making the tough decisions.  Or have them made for you.  Do we teach kids that they are living with an NSAIDS deficiency or that inflammation is sign of trouble?  Do we teach them to suck it up or how to read the signs of nature. 

I know what I think.  But they aren’t my kids, either.

And all this comes on the heels of the fact that childhood obesity is a huge (yeah, pun intended) problem.  In Florida, 1 in 3 children are overweight or obese.  Lack of movement and poor food choices are the culprits.  Maybe those kids should get involved in a good sports teams.  Yeah, there are plenty of willing adult coaches there to add a little activity to their day.

Or maybe a lot of activity.  Or maybe too much. 

To be or not to be a child involved in sports.  To be or not to be a parent who pushes for a championship season (or two or three).  To be or not to be  involved in the quandry…that is my question.

Posted in Exercise, Youth Sports | Tagged , , , , , | 1 Comment

Too cool for school

Posted on March 26, 2011 by Lisa Jamison
fight for air climb tampa, Foley
For John Foley…breathe easy.

Today I feel pretty cool.  I can’t say that I’m much of a cool person  to those who are “in”, but I have been known to have my cool moments.  I’m generally alone, lost in my thoughts, dancing in a field, or walking through an airport with a big smile on my face.  It doesn’t much matter that nobody knows who I am or that anyone else really thinks I’m cool, I just “am”. 

But today I live in a cool world.  Today I climbed the Bank of America stairwell as part of the American Lung Association’s Fight For Air Climb.  The event was 56% bigger than last year, surpassing the number of participants they were willing and able to handle.  And their fundraising goal was surpassed prior to event day.  How cool is that?
How cool is it that I got to climb in honor of a friend?  OK, maybe that’s not cool at all.  If John Foley were here he would have been participating.  But cool that he passed away knowing I was forming a team for him.  Cool that he approved the team shirt.  Cool that it brought a smile to his face while in hospice. 
When people ask me why I do “stuff” like this I say “because if you’re going to go workout/race/do the event anyway, you might as well put yourself to good use and raise a little money/awareness/whatever.”  How cool is it that the Foley clan motto is “that I may be of use”?  How proud am I to wear that across my chest?
When John was diagnosed I told the folks in my Bible study.  They were able to meet him, have a meal with him, pray with him and for him…unceasingly, personally, with joy.  How cool is it that many of them jumped at the chance to honor him? 
Last year a four year old participated in the event.  I had one of those “what’s the matter with me?” moments and knew I would do the event this year.  It evolved into something bigger.  How cool is it that the now five year old (go Summer!) and her three year old sister (go Lucy!) were part of my team?  And how cool is it that her Mom and Dad are fellow triathletes?  And how about the fact that their Dad was John’s doctor at Moffitt Cancer Center?  And that doctor and family were reunited?
How cool is it that a few friends signed up the minute I asked them to…just because I asked?  And how about the guy that just moved to town and signed up?  Or the people from the Pilates studio, or the YMCA, just because we had a cool team?  Or how cool is it that a rugby teammate of John’s did the climb even though he just had knee surgery…yesterday?  (Hello, he plays rugby…)  Or the fact that yet another man flew home from his sister’s hospice bedside.  He said “I’ve done all I could do, and my sister would have wanted me to be here.”
I’ve been thinking about John Foley every day for the last year.  Through diagnosis, treatment, and final days.  Through another man’s quick decline with lung cancer and time spent in consolation with his friend  Through botched training sessions that turned into “a-ha moments” when I was aware that I had enough breath to bitch and moan.  Through sadness and perspective and contentment.  To joy.
Today my year has come full circle.  Today the circle of life has been more deeply intertwined with those around me.  Today my mind that circles like an out of control top rests easy.   Today the counter-clockwise circling of the stairwell has settled my spinning soul.
And how cool is that?  Trust me, it’s pretty darn cool.  But perhaps you know that from my swagger…
And while I’m talking about how cool I am…Team Foley won the team division!  Thanks to Dawn, Andre, and Jerry for posting the fastest times for us.  We had a great time talking trash at (and hugging) last year’s winners who were 16 seconds behind us.  I believe that earns us the right to climb first next year!
It’s what all the cool kids are doing, you know.    
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