Authenticity is being true to oneself...when no one's looking and in spite of when everyone is. -E. Meara

Help! After much procrastinating and hand-ringing, I think I set myself up to potentially disappoint here. I've been stewing over this post for over a week now. So I'm taking Nik's (and ggg's before her) advice and just writing dammit!

First...training. A little running here and there, a bike ride straight thru the eye of a hurricane Sunday morning (thank God my computer is screwed up again because it would have been beyond discouraging to know exactly how slow I was going at maximum effort for almost 2 hours) and this morning almost 3000 yards broken into sets at race pace with more "fun" active recovery/near drowning laps thrown in. There were almost 20 of us in the pool today and during the fast sets the pool was completely silent, which usually is a tell-tale sign that we're all working pretty hard. Or it seemed silent; I couldn't hear much but my wheezing and the pounding in my ears. Maybe I'm exaggerating a little but I still came up short compared to several of the hairy Speedo-clad people. Eww.

So, getting naked. As opposed to nekkid. Sorry to disappoint...but it ain't all that. Not even close.

Disclaimer: Much navel-gazing to follow. Read at your own risk.

I read an article recently about authenticity. It really struck a chord with me because I've been doing a lot of work in the area of my own emotional honesty, or authentic self, and how I chose to present it, or communicate my truth. It has been an outstanding privilege and a joy for me to connect with people, both old and new over the past year. I have very willingly taken off my emotionally awkward clothes and allowed myself to be naked. Scary! Terrifying! Empowering! To decide what parts of my past I'm taking with me and to see clearer how I'm going to choose the truths that cover me and protect me in the future.

For the past year, I've been using the written word as the main mode through which I examine who I am and who I hope to become, and one of the reasons I chose writing is because words have always been a comfort to me. Sometimes I just like the way certain words go together and I like finding just the right combination that explains or allows someone to share in the experience of looking outward with me. I am often desperately hopeless when it comes to actually speaking in complete sentences which is why I love to wrap a thought in the perfect words that would otherwise rattle around in my chest and explode out of my mouth unchecked and uncensored. (and ungrammer-checked! Gah!). Sometimes I'm just testing the waters to see if I'm out of bounds or to see how I measure up. So I write to say, in my grammatically-incorrect, punctuation-optional way that I recognize that we all have feelings and hopes and insecurities. These, the ones I try to find some humor in, are mine. Take em or leave em. And I am completely okay with the fact that my truth may be completely different from the perceptions of others. Unless we have a dialog, you may be mistaking some fancy emotional clothes for pink-skinned, jiggly-assed nakedness. I’m okay with that. And I’ll still put words together and enjoy the fact that you read them.

The last few weeks it seems as though I’m particularly naked and I invite you to be brave enough to do the same. I’m actually a little surprised at what I’m seeing in the mirror. I wonder if it’s possible to be too exposed, too vulnerable. I’m working on it.

Oh, and it turns out, I have a wickedly inappropriate sense of humor. So there’s always that to fall back on if you get bored with the truth.

Bitch, please.

The One Where I Talk About Getting Naked

Ha! Got your attention! I will talk about getting naked. But not like you think. Soon.

Since this is also a training log...I've been putting some time in on the pavement and the pool. And the results are starting to show. Thank God. But my swim coach has taken his torture to a new level. It's called Active Recovery. Which I've heard used with swimming and running. Doesn't really apply to my running since my "fast, tempo" running is pretty much the same speed as my "long, slow distance" pace. So, there's really no need for "recovery" from a fast heartrate. (However, I can't expect to get any faster with that method either...but at least I'm moving!!!)

So, Active Recovery. Does not mean hanging in the pool gutter panting for chlorine-laden oxygen like I would normally do after a set at 80% effort in which a hairy-speedo clad person sharing my lane, swimming the SAME PACE I do, attempts to outswim me. NO! Active recovery means after swimming hard enough for green and red spots to form at the bottom of the pool due prolonged oxygen deprivation, I get to the wall, listen for the coach to yell out my time to let me know if I've made my interval (yes, I did 100% of the time thursday, yay me!)and immediately head back down the lane for a "recovery" lap. Crap. I much prefer gasping while hanging off the side of the pool with my face as red as the swim cap I wear. Coach says "NAY-NAY". Off you go. But I believe I will get faster. And those green and red spots are kinda pretty.

You Took The Words Right Out of My Mouth...

But he said it better than I could ever hope to.

READ THIS.

Above all, let's be kind.

Back to the drawing board.

Postcards from the Edge

Hey out there. I’m still around. According to the little counter I have down there, there are still people who think to check in and see what I’m up to. And to me, that means a lot. So, thank you. I have been thinking....and you know what that means. Eventually the mess in my head makes it’s way out through my fingertips. It always seems that the more I move my flesh and bone, the clearer things become upstairs. So as I move more, but not necessarily faster, the words begin to take shape.
I’m thinkin the next one should be a doozy.