the calm before the stork

So, when I started this blog, I was not pregnant. And I really was intending to bikeride 100 miles this summer.

Now, its seems I’m in training for a different sort of ride.

My apologies to the one or two people who still drift by here to check my blog from time to time… It has been a while since I’ve posted, and I didn’t quite know how, when, or if I was going to break the news here. So if anyone is still left in my cyber circle (Doc?), here’s the scoop:

I am now 14 weeks along. My hormones probably officially started going nuts about mid-march, which coincides nicely with my sudden lack of interest in biking. I was still writing this blog for a while, as I tried to figure out how this rather large change was going to impact my identity as bikegirl (not to mention my identity PERIOD) and as my brain was basically being bathed in mind-altering gestation chemicals. Hello mood swings!

So, while I still continue to ponder whether to just bring the baby blog on in this space, or set up a new home for such ramblings, that is the news for now.

Keep checking the blog myself to see if I’ve written anything lately. Oh right, no, I haven’t.

What have I been doing? Working a lot. Taking walks. Snipped a sprig of jasmine from the vine in the garden and placed it in a white china espresso cup on my desk. The tiny flowers perfumed the room for days.

Finished yet another hat. Intended to knit it for my friend’s 2-year-old, but misjudged the guage and instead of the 15-inch size I was hoping for, ended up with a floppy 22-inch-er. This is the pattern I used. Looks cute enough on me (will have to try again to make one the right size for Arlo). Will add a photo if I can ever get the camera back from my husband, who is busily constructing and photographing and now blogging about his playsets. (Talk about Falling off a… these toy displays/playsets/works of art were merely the glimmer of an idea barely one year ago and now, he’s definitely in motion!)

Also made an extraordinary meal recently. (I warned you I might talk about food if I lagged on the biking.) Threw chopped leftover roasted boneless lamb leg in a pot with canned tomatoes, raisins, apricots, prunes, onion, carrots, garlic, and a little maple syrup and boiled it down into the most amazing stew. Lamb had been spiced with a rub before roasting:

Toasted Spice Rub

1/4 cup fennel seeds
1 tablespoon coriander seeds
1 tablespoon peppercorns
1 teaspoon crushed red pepper flakes
1/4 cup chili powder
2 tablespoons kosher salt
2 tablespoons ground cinnamon

Toast the fennel seeds, coriander seeds, and peppercorns in a small, heavy pan over medium heat. When the fennel begins to turn light brown, add the red pepper flakes, and toss several times. Immediately turn the spice mixture out onto a plate to cool.

Put in a blender with the chili powder, salt, and cinnamon and blend until the spices are evenly ground. If you have a small spice mill or a coffee grinder dedicated to grinding spices, grind only the fennel, coriander, pepper, and chili flakes. Pour into a bowl and toss with the remaining ingredients.

* * *

Inspiration on how to improvise a fruit stew, which started out as merely a dream/craving, came from this recipe.

Which begs the question: Why don’t I just ride a little bit on my own every day?

Answers/excuses: I don’t have a lock for the bike so if I go somewhere, I can’t stay there. I don’t feel safe riding without a buddy. (Scott is an excellent buddy.)

Nevermind that I see kids riding their bikes around our neighborhood all the time. See previous post for a hint to my history of not taking risks like biking somewhere all by myself! Not to mention growing up in the canyons of southern California, in a house perched on a hill above the road. Even if getting back up the driveway weren’t daunting, where would I have ridden to? My neighborhood was all hills, and we lived miles away from anything interesting, like a store. I guess I could have ridden down to my friend’s house, but I can’t imagine how I would have gotten back up, except by walking the bike…. Funny how the long steep street I live on now mirrors the terrain of my childhood.

So, it was yet another perfect Bay Area day, sunny and cool. I had been in bed all morning, because I wasn’t feeling 100%, and because it was our wedding anniversary weekend, and we were doing every indulgent thing: eating out, cooking in, exchanging presents, going to a matinee, seeing friends, listening to live jazz, knitting (me), working on toy-related projects (Scott), and vegging out.

We had planned to go for a ride on Sunday, something maybe 10 miles, something flat, coastal, low-traffic. But when Sunday came we mostly wanted to stay home. Until we started getting antsy. Around two-ish.

Feeling lazy about loading the bikes in and actually GOING somewhere, we decided to try walking the bikes up our street, to a part of the neighborhood that is a LITTLE BIT flatter, and get me some of that practice I definitely need.

Once again, just getting ON the bike was a challenge. Who said that all 150 pounds of me should be perched on anything so NARROW?

We rode around. And around. Today, there was no song in my head. Today all I could think was that I don’t really want to be doing this. And then I would think, this type of defeatist thinking is not terribly helpful. And then I would think, hey, where’s the music?

After maybe 15 minutes, it was clear that I just wasn’t into it. Scott suggested we take a break, as were were right next to a grassy park, ringed with redwoods, oaks, and ornamental plums. We laid the bikes in the grass and then lay ourselves down. Damp, thick grass, bright warm sun, blue sky. I ate my delicious Larabar. “Hey, isn’t this what we were doing at home?” Scott said.

Well, yes, and it was nice to be laying around outside, rather than in, and on grass that we don’t have to weed.

To get home, we rode down the hill, rather than walked. Or, I should say, we FLEW. I had the sense that if I used the brakes less, I might not only enjoy it more, but also might enjoy more stability. But, I am who I am (Popeye?) — so I flew part of the time, and firmly ground down the brake pads part of the time. That’s what they’re for, right?

As we returned the bikes to the garage, I turned to Scott and said brightly, “That was a success.” Because it was. Despite all of my mental and emotional resistance, we HAD gotten on the bikes. It happened. I rode. A bit. And that bit, being evidence that the resistance did not entirely win out in the end, counts.

I have excuses. I’m just trying to remember them right now.

In the meantime, I’ve been thinking a lot about the title I chose for this blog. It was an impulse-thing. In the spirit of clichés and homilies. But as I go along, I notice that everything I do has these two sides to it: that one can fall into almost any activity fairly easily, and in order to really do that activity, one has to face and give up the fear of falling.

Easier proselytized than done.

Example: I was never a good skier. I come from a family of non-skiers. A few times, in high school and college, I tried. I bundled up in borrowed clothes, took ski school classes, learned to snow plough, to shave through powder and ice in a slow, wobbly side-to-side across a grade while holding my feet in a “wedge.” Gamely I hugged the bunny slopes at various ski destinations while friends went whizzing by on their black diamond jaunts. Eventually I had to admit this to myself: I’m too afraid of falling to actually SKI. You have to be willing to risk that to literally “get anywhere.”

I have other stories that end better. The time my friend Gabie convinced me to learn how to rock climb and I ended up traversing a 40-foot face in Bear Valley, at sunset; the time another friend offered me a flying lesson in a two-seater Cessna, and I toured the Bay Area from the sky.

And even though in both cases I was terrified, and enjoyed both tremendously, I became neither a rock climber nor a pilot. Maybe one bite of risk was enough, or maybe those activities just weren’t quite my flavor.

I have other excuses for what might seem like an inordinately cautious nature: My mother.

She probably wouldn’t mind my telling you that we think my mother could have had a successful career as a disaster-forcaster for the CIA.

Most every activity had risks, and my mother could list them. My favorites were the man who was going to inject me with drugs at Disneyland, or the mall, and kidnap me, and the man who was going to do something similarly nefarious to me in the ocean if I went to the beach without adult supervision. In high school.

I can’t say my mom was wrong. Even as I type this, I believe that bad people do bad things in public places. Some of the time.

But on which day are you going to break your leg? And how many slopes go unskiied because of that fear?

In light of all this, my ongoing commitment to improv theater is a bit of an enigma. Granted, the likelihood of grave physical injury while playacting is fairly small, but the fear of falling is no less in operation in that world: being onstage, with people watching, having to MAKE SOMETHING UP?

(You can’t put embarrassment or humiliation in a cast and have your friends draw on it.)

Lately, I’ve fallen into knitting, as you know, and gourmet cooking, with gusto. The only falling risk here is metaphorical — a badly constructed garment, a less-than-tasty meal. Okay, I do worry a bit about food safety, so I wash my hands a lot, and I’ve burned and cut my fingers a number of times…

But, I’m clear I don’t have that “T” gene the scientists have been talking abut these days. There’s even health insurance policies marketed to thrill seekers. This site actually tells its potential customers they can “party hardier,” knowing they have purchased this type of medical coverage.

Which leads me back to biking. Clearly, there is physical risk here. And as you know, I struggle with it. And one can lead a perfectly fine life without getting on a bike. I’ve managed up to now. But I also have a little bit of that road-not-taken feeling (pun unintended). I don’t want to not bike because I might fall. I don’t want to not do anything in my life that might give me joy because of fear of failure or injury. But I can’t just get on a bike because I started a blog about it either…

The question is, will I ride the bike today out of guilt or joy?

Honestly, I’ll probably wait until the weekend.

Meanwhile, I’ve been all-talk about the various knitting of hats and posted no photos to prove it, so here are those:

This first one came out kind-of girlish, and a little small, and square-ish, and I wanted to keep it, and I had enough yarn left to try again, so…

This one looks great on Scott.

Instead of following the directions in the book, I tried another method of decreasing that was sort-of what another pattern I had bought described, and sort of something I made up: Dec 4 sts, evenly spaced, each rnd, making sure decs are not on top of the ones in the previous row.

Both hats didn’t seem to WANT tassels or earflaps. So I will have to try again with another hat better designed to take those augmentations.

And, yes, both match “his” scarf.

Tra la la.

Had a little shot of inspiration today in the form of some bike blogger camaraderie. Someone found my blog and rolled me — Yay! Now this means I have to keep up my bicycling. (You thought I was going to extend the blog roll metaphor into some clever phrase about keeping rolling along. So did I. Oh well.)

I want to keep biking, I will keep biking. (Say this to self repeatedly with thick Russian accent. It helps. This is a reference to the text of the guided meditation my first Russian teacher — in Russia — used to motivate my class each day; substitute “speak Russian” for biking.)

And for those of you keeping up with the other areas of my life that suddenly are in motion, the show on Saturday went great. I hope to have some photos or video for you soon. And, here are my latest SFist posts:

Yolk on Our Face

Fly Us to the Moon

We went 22 miles today. This is the route we took: (clicking here will download PDF) — which is 20 miles itself, plus I’m counting the mile down our street to get to the lake, and mile back up again, which, by the way, I did mostly in second gear on the front — for those of you who know what that means, and I am CERTAIN there is a more professional bicyclist way to say it — only dropping down to granny gear for that last 100 feet from the park at the corner to our driveway. Scott stood in front of the house and watched me stop (for a long time) and catch my breath, determined to get enough energy up to pedal that last tiny bit, not walk.

I was VERY nervous at first, getting back on the bike (clearly, it had already been too long, and confidence ground was lost). I found that if I sang a noodle-y nonsense song to myself as I rode, that helped. But then a van came around me very close, and someone else honked, and then I was VERY VERY nervous (minus-1 on my scale of 1-5). I was just about deciding that I was going to need to change my name on this blog when…

Scott made us stop (we were maybe at mile two) and he said, “You’re riding nervous.”

Ah. Yes. True. Very true. Perhaps I need to relax? Sure.

That actually helped. Really. Just to hear him say that — I realized, in the phrase “riding nervous,” it’s nervous that’s the problem. Not riding.

Continuing on the route, confidence built, and fortunately traffic waned, as we rode over bridges and around past water, and airplanes.

I decided one thing very definitely: I HEART BIKE LANES. I also heart that the bike lane on the return side of the lake had not only a stick figure bicyclist on it, but a stick figure bicyclist wearing a helmet — like an upside-side down cereal bowl.

What I can’t figure out is why I don’t also get to wear a mouth guard, knee pads, elbow pads, and wrist guards.

Other nice things about the ride today: Alameda is FLAT FLAT FLAT. Wheeeeee.

Yes, I actually said wheeeeee at least three times.

Also, on the way out to Alameda, I very distinctly thought to myself as we passed the Motel 6 on Embarcadero: “If I need to, I can stop, and Scott can ride home and come back with the truck.” So you can imagine how it felt to pass that same Motel 6 at a jaunty clip on the way back.

And Scott taught me how to not have my hands hurt so much: Suspend my body from my sternum, and hold the handlebars gently, like a loaf of bread.

It’s a good thing I had two years of Pilates under my belt before embarking on this bicycling thing. Because I actually know how to suspend myself from my sternum, how to use my lats to help get the tension out of my shoulders, how to get my transverse abs to fire and give my quads and lower back a break, to check in with the connection between my heels and sitting bones, to use my inner thigh and hamstring muscles when I pedal.

Not that I’m showing off or anything — this is just the trip my brain takes around my body while I’m pedaling, checking in with each muscle group from my palms to my heels and then starting over again.

Main song in my head this time: La la la, lalalala laaa, La la la, lalalala La. (The Banana Splits theme song — and YES, I also sang this out loud — to soothe myself. It’s a nice song for a sunny, crisp, east bay bike riding day. It’s also the song bridesmaid Jenny used to calm me during the prepartions portion of the day of my wedding.)

I was most happy to get home again, though. Mission accomplished and me still in one piece. More confidence building exercises coming soon-ish.

Here I am, all pink and sweaty and pleased to be back and raising the victory fist:

Scott and I have agreed that I will get back on the bike tomorrow. Report to follow.

Knitting Update #1, Liebe:

Liebe’s ulnar ligament (which controls that gripping action opposable thumbs are famous for) has a better shot at knitting back to its place on the bone now that she has had it SURGICALLY REATTACHED. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. As of last night, our accident survivor was quite doped up on codeine and giggling maniacally while editing together video montages of her recent hospital experience, with the two-handed help of girlfriend Linda Devers.

Liebe’s advice to all: If you have to have surgery, do it at Marin General, where they have lovely views and valet parking — and if possible, schedule your visit on a Monday or Tuesday (as that is when a massage therapist makes the recovery room rounds).

Knitting Update #2: Husband Hat and Scarf

If you count how many hats I’ve unraveled, this is #3 in the red-hat-for-valentine’s-day series, but #2 in the number of hats I’ve completed. I made the scarf to kind-of but not completely because that would be girl-ish match. I folded the scarf and tied a piece of string around it to make it look gifty, and now Scott is keeping it in his display case with other mint-in-box items. Will have to sneak in and cut string in order for him to wear it. But for now, I’m leaving it be, as is, because I think it looks pretty cool all “wrapped” like that too.

Still had yarn left in those 3 colors, so am working on hat #3 (or #8 counting all the hats that have not made it to the end by now), in a more matchy three-color design, with brim and earflaps, and maybe tassels — depending on whether or not they will strip the wearer of his dignity or not. (If I decide I want to keep it for myself, I’ll skip tassels and go straight to pom pom.)

Boy in Hat Eating an Orange in his Office on a Cold but Sunny Day:

and Scarf Under Glass:

Knitting Update #3: Under the Heading of Knitting Myself a New Career…

Two more foodie posts o’ mine posted this week on SFist:

TheatreFIRST

Moon Cakes

This week my dear friend, world class ordinary-object puppetry artist Liebe Wetzel, fell off her bike.

Fell off and ripped all sorts of tendons in her right hand. She may never regain the use of her thumb, the doctors say. I say (pray?) that hands as intelligent as hers will come back, have to find a way to come back, can’t help but come back.

Or else, maybe she’ll do more characters using other body parts? (This movie features a bald head.) Here’s a hand-arm one: Moose. And here’s one with feet: Soul Man Chorus

Speaking of falling, another dear friend Lyena fell out of a tree four-plus years ago and broke her back, altering the trajectory of her life and her lifelong performance career. Here’s her website: lyenastrelkoffdotorg which tells her amazing story, and here’s a photo of Scott and I with Lyena and Dean at their wedding on New Year’s:

As far as my bicycling progress goes, we’ve decided not to do Team in Training this round, so that Scott can go to Megomeet and sell his playsets — though we might do the summer session that leads to a century ride in either Marin or Hawaii in September. And we will do Oakland Yellowjackets, which starts in April.

In the meantime, I haven’t ridden ALL WEEK! This is TERRIBLE. It’s raining, that’s one excuse, and I’m terribly behind on my three jobs right now (excuse number two), and… Ugh! Must get back on bike.

I have to revise my estimation of which bike store is the world’s greatest. This one’s pretty grand too, also not too far from our house, and sent me the MOST detailed emails this week offering great advice on which bike I might want to buy: Wheels of Justice

Speaking of falling off, falling into new activities, falling in front of friends and family, I will be performing next Saturday in an Action Theater improv show. I don’t know which is scarier. Bicycling, or performance.

In other firsts, I posted my first, and second, foodie articles on SFist.com this week.

And meanwhile, while it still rains, I knit: I’ve finished Scott’s hat, and now am starting on a not-too-matchy scarf. (Will post photos soon-ish.)

I suppose I could keep training without him, and we could go our separate ways on the weekend of June 3, but that kind-of defeats the purpose of having a Mutually Enjoyable Activity. Not sure if we could continue to do the training together, with him skipping the big ride at the end.

Wondering further if this is a sign that the scale for this idea has tipped overtop to a 6. Between this scheduling snafu, and the recently gleaned info that AMBBR has two big ascents and many small leading to 2500 feet of ascent/descent over the day — at a baseline of 4500 feet above sea level… let’s just say I’m a little daunted.

Yellowjackets, here I come?