A Realization

I love cars almost as much as I love bikes and shoes. It's a good thing that both bikes and shoes are cheaper. Usually. My winter car is an eleven year old BMW 318ti. I keep thinking I should trade it in for some newer, spiffier model. But with only 86k miles and most of the mechanical systems recently overhauled, I should get another 100k miles out of it. And that's fine - it's actually still a very fun car to drive. If I need something to get my pulse up even more, I'll take the Go-Kart-On-Crack (a.k.a. The MINI) out for a spin.

Since I have now admitted to myself that I'm not getting rid of it any time soon, I opted to buy four new wheels and Bridgestone Blizzak snow tires for it. Ordered them on online at TireRack. The whole package (tires, pretty nice wheels, mounting, delivery, etc.) cost less than the wheels on my CX bike. WTF?!?!? Then I realized that the bikes I'm throwing on the roof rack on that car are worth more than the car that's ferrying them.

Somehow, that just seems sick and wrong.

Stretching Limits

I've been very fortunate to have events and people in my life that push to do new things or do old things at a new, better level. If I look at snowboarding, I think of the time Frank took to what at the time felt like a bottomless dropoff on a cliff in Tahoe in the middle of a snowstorm.

"Umm....you want me to board down that?"
"Yes, you can do it. I've seen you board. You'll be fine."

We dropped in and sure enough, I made it down. Yes, I did fall a few times on the way but that was more a case of me bailing rather than committing. It was my lack confidence that caused the falls rather than lack of ability.

I had a similar experience on the board with Julie as we dropped into a mogul field. Or the time S showed me how to boogie board in 6 foot surf off Big Beach in Maui. Ok, well, that almost killed me but I now have real knowledge of my limits in rough water. An example away from sports might be the time I was once working on a DVD authoring product. Senior management wanted us to add the ability to produce Blu-ray format discs. A couple of slight problems existed though...the Blu-ray spec had yet to be finalized and oh, yeah, there was no hardware, either burners or players, to test with. We managed to do it, though. And on schedule as well. I was skeptical at first but my team proved me wrong.

In all those instances, it was something I NEVER would have attempted had someone not encouraged me. And I'm not referring to situations where you go out with an expert and they goad you into something that's way over your head. It's more that they recognize something that you don't see in yourself or you do see but still are held back by fear.

And then there's mountain biking and my friend, Cathy. I'm not sure how much she realizes how much she's responsible for improving my ability on a bike and getting me to attempt things that really, I would have considered insane two years ago.

"Let's go ride Thursday night in the woods. You'll need lights." I say ok but in my head I think, "Holy crap! I'm going to die! But then I go and realize just how much kick ass fun it is.

"Teri - ride that log/rock!" or "The line is on the left, through the dirt in the crack, then stay right." or my personal favorite, "Momentum is your friend." She's a great, patient instructor and I've really improved riding with her. And I'm still amazed that there's one bridge I can ride that she has a mental block on. ;-)

So this week, she invited me to an epic ride to be followed by an epic feast. Three to four hour ride on the bike. Ok, I think I can probably do that provided we keep the pace sane. But then the forecast calls for temps in the twentys with wind - so it feels like it's about 10 degrees. Now typically, I think I would have wussed. Resorted to the rollers or perhaps even done a cx race. But I was committed, I was going to do it and I promised not to whine.

We met at her house, did the requisite clothing check (How many layers are you wearing? Are you wearing the big or little gloves? Skull cap or balaclava? Light jacket or the winter jacket?) then headed out. I had a complete and total blast. We didn't start really feeling a bit chilled until 2 hours into the ride. About 2.5 hours in as I struggled on what seemed a little hill, I finally announced I was done (but I didn't whine!) and had enough left for the 45 min ride home. Three hours, 26 miles or so, and then a change into dry warm clothes and a well deserved feast of Big Ass Lasagne.

So thanks, Cath, for making me stretch to new limits. And now I have no excuse for not riding outside this winter. There go my warm weekend afternoons on the couch in front of the fire. ;-)

Being a Wuss

It's only November and I've started whining about it being too cold to ride outside, resorting to the rollers in the basement, and even Abusive Spin Class. And this morning, I got what I deserved - Full Kit Dude plunked himself down on the bike in front and offset to my left a bit. He was also in the first row, right in front of the wall of mirrors. So, five minutes in when he fully unzipped his jersey, I had to suffer with the view. Not a pretty sight. I'm ready to ride outside again, thank you very much.

Along those lines, I was also made to feel like a wussy rider by reading this blog. Now, there's an Alaskan woman I can admire.

Sun?!?!?

Now for Camano Island, WA (98282)

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Mostly Cloudy
Humidity: 81%
Wind: WNW at 1 mph
Last Updated: 11/15/08 7:25 AM PST

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Catching Up

What are long flights good for besides writing race reports? I have at least three races to write about but really don't feel up to reliving them. They've all gone pretty much the same: goals have been to ride hard, not get lapped and try not to come in last. I'm setting the bar pretty low these days while racing with the big girls. Sad, but there it is.

Wrentham was fun in the way that cx can be fun. It was hard, my bike was shifting like crap, the start was almost a pile up on the sandy first right turn, but the MRC boys are always a fun crowd. Plus, Frank was in town and she's a total cowbell queen. Someone complimented me on the fact that I could do the log better than some of the guys and true, I did feel smooth coming through that section. Post-race beers, cigars and chocolate milk (how weird is that?) with the Colombian and Frank was thoroughly entertaining. So I had fun, didn't get lapped and didn't come in last.

This past Saturday was the race at Plymouth North. I'm getting a little tired of that course - it just kind of bores me. As I was waiting for one of the earlier races to finish so I could jump on the course for a pre-ride, I saw Mo pull into the parking lot. I thought to myself, there goes my goal of not getting lapped. I was hoping Mo wouldn't be going all out and saving something for the bigger race in NJ the next day.

The race itself was uneventful. I definitely rode stronger than last year and when I heard them announcing the bell lap for Mo, I was much further ahead than I was the previous year when I saw the stars and stripes jersey of the leader catching me. So again, not lapped and not last.

Finally, Sunday's race, also in Plymouth was at Plymouth South. Now, THAT is a course. Loved it. 3 big climbs, 2 smaller ones, some mud, some single track, some sand, some sucky soggy grass. It rocked and it killed me. I purposely hung back a little at the start as I didn't want to mix it up with the fast girls and get in their way on the first twisty section. By the time I hit the dirt path around the soccer field, I was in last place (uh oh, there's goes one of my goals!) but sticking to the wheel in front of me which seemed like a good idea given the huge wind. Right before we went into the woods before the hill behind the bleachers, I was feeling like the pace the woman in front was setting was just a tad too slow. Decided it would be a good idea to get into the woods in front of her, so pushed to get around her, and never saw her again.

To illustrate just how slow I am compared to these girls, the winner's time was about 45 min which was about 9 min per lap. I was averaging a hair under 11 min per lap. ~sigh. In fact, as I came through the end of lap 4, one official gave me the bell and another yelled, "You can finish now if you want and I'll place you!". NFW. If I'm going to suffer, you bet I'm going to do it big time. Give me more, baby! So I headed out for yet another lap which I think was my fastest (go figure) and I actually felt the best. It also helped that I had a bit of adrenaline going since I wanted to make sure they didn't start the mens pro field just as I was heading through the finish line. Wouldn't that have been a huge cluster%$#@. Or more embarrassing, the announcer saying, "Sorry folks, we're going to have to delay the start of the men's race while we wait for one last woman to drag her sorry ass across the line." ~sigh. It was bad enough that when I finished, he said something like, "There's Teri Carilli finishing up the race. She didn't have to do that last lap. In cross there's two ways to finish a race, both are good." I wasn't sure what he meant by that. Despite achieving both goals, not lapped and not last (well, last finisher, two women chose to DNF instead), I felt like I did at Nationals, exhausted, frustrated and ready to cry. Slapped myself upside the helmet, remembered that somehow in all of this, it was still fun and I'm incredibly lucky to be out there doing what I'm doing at all. So it's all good.

An 85 Year Anniversary Worthy of a Champagne Toast

Eighty-five years ago today, my grandmother arrived at Ellis Island. Eighteen years old. She was excited to be joining her sister and brother on these shores, and thrilled to be on an adventure. I never asked her what it felt like to sail into New York's harbor on that November day, if she saw the Statue of Liberty from her ship, what Ellis Island was like, if she was scared or homesick.

Eventually she married my grandfather, a Sicilian who crossed the border from Canada illegally according to family legend. My dad was born 14 years after she arrived here, followed by my aunt a few years later. They lived in what to me felt like a huge house in the Bronx which seemed to be the central meeting place of the entire extended family. Every Sunday, they all gathered there for dinner and catching up on how everyone's week went. My grandmother and her two sisters prepared the meal, my great uncles were charged with bring the pastries for dessert. My cousins and I explored all the spooky corners of the basement, played the William Tell Overture on the Victrola (which now graces my dining room) or played in the garden. To this day, the smell of fresh basil reminds me of that little garden in the Bronx. Odd but true. The day for the adults was spent most around my grandmother's enormous dining room table. As the family grew, there wasn't room for the kids so we ate the kid table. While the adults enjoyed dessert and black coffee, I sat under the giant table, listened to the conversation (80% in Italian, 20% English), and annoyed my aunts and uncles by playing with their shoes. I know that sometimes then I was bored but God, what I'd give to be able to rewind the audio of one of those dinners and hear it as an adult. Or even better yet, have one more of those Sunday dinners with all of them again.

Fast forward many years - my grandfather, my grandmother's sisters and brothers had all passed away. My grandmother was living alone in a small apartment in Scottsdale, still walking to the market every day, totally strong, sharp and self-sufficient (as all Di Bianco women were and are). I was in town for some reason that I can't remember and she asked me to join her for dinner. Just the two of us. Such a far cry from the huge family dinners I remembered from the Bronx. But the food was still just as good (and I can still remember the exact meal she prepared) and she still wouldn't let me help with the meal or do the the dishes. I did ask her then why she made the trip across the Atlantic. I had heard numerous stories about her step-mother which confirmed all the stories I had heard in fairy tales concerning evil step-mothers so I knew that was part of it. The unexpected part was she said that she was madly in love with some boy her father didn't approve of and thought shipping her to her siblings in America would be best. She wondered aloud how her life would have been different had she stayed and I silently thought how would my life be different (or, I suppose, would I even exist?)

My grandmother passed away in 1996 and is buried in Arizona, such a far distance from her native Italy. In her 72 years spent in the US, she never returned to visit. If there is one thing I regret with regard to her, it's that I never traveled back to Italy with her. To have her show me around her town, swim with her off the Maiori coast (even over the point where the fishermen warned her about the octopi living in the rocks which is huge when you know how much stuff in the water freaks me out. I did not inherit a love of swimming in the ocean from her unfortunately) would have been amazing. I know that compared to this girl who moved cross country kicking and screaming, she was certainly the brave one. I so wanted an escape route back home that I made the decision not to sell my Boston home. And while I still think that was a good decision, I wonder how my experience would have been different had I really cut the cord to the east coast. Not that I would have settled in Seattle - way too dreary for me, but still I wonder. And I'm thankful that one 18 year old girl was a true adventurer and sailed into NYC 85 years ago.

CBC Pumpkin Ale Fest!

Pumpkin Ale Fest! We decided to spend Halloween evening at Cambridge Brewing Company's pumpkin ale fest instead of handing out candy. I sincerely hope that doesn't make us Halloween Scrooges but seriously kids, we did good by not contributing to your weight gain and tooth decay. ;-)

Being the old folks that we are, we arrived early to secure a table. SE and PFFC joined us a little later on. CBC had some guest pumpkin ales on tap so we sampled quite a few. I think we all agreed that the original (CBC's own pumpkin ale) was the best.





Around 8pm (it was Ada Clock....don't ask...inside joke), they brought out the giant 138 pound pumpkin that had been filled with beer. As CBC said, the pumpkin was so big, so pressurized, and so full of delicious pumpkin ale it put the integrity of their gial walk-in refrigerator at risk. Two men dressed as Franciscan monks wheeled the enormous orange gourde through the crowd while loud Gregorian chant music played over the sound system and people stood on chairs to see what was happening. A tad bizarre and went on a bit too long. We were all warned that they weren't responsible if the pumpkin exploded and pumpkin guts ruined our clothes so I was happy that they decided to wheel the sucker out into the courtyard for the tapping. But then, I was sadly disappointed when there was no resulting splatter on the pub windows when they finally tapped that thing.

It was a fun night although I had way too much beer and not enough food. Fortunately, I wasn't planning on racing NoHo the next day. When we arrived home, we discovered that the kittens had had their own Halloween fun and apparently were miffed that we hadn't given them treats because we received a trick. One half of a mouse left in the family room, entrails hanging out. Happy Halloween.