Be where your feet are....

Sometimes, maybe even usually, I learn much more from my clients than I feel they learn from me.  This week, someone shared a quote "Be where your feet are."  Sometimes things take up residence in my mind, and replay in many situations.

There is something so concrete about being where your feet are, while my mind wants to wander to where my feet were, or where they will be tomorrow.  This is something I have fallen in love with in motorcycling; letting your mind wander can lead to some very scary situations, so my attention is consistently brought back to the present.

Yet, as humans with full and varied lives, we have to plan for our future, and the past sometimes does continue to affect us.  Would it be healthy to only be where my feet are, all the time?  I spend a lot of time listening to adventure rider radio, hearing people who let go of everything, and just ride, for a period of time.  My hubby and I have done this, but only for a couple weeks at a time, so by the time we really let go, it's almost time to start thinking about coming back.  It sounds like some people eventually can live the reality of being where their feet are, day in and day out.  "I'm out of money, I'll stay here until I get some, and then move on."  Others realize as their finances dwindle or checkboxes are marked from their goal list, they are drawing closer and closer to the end of an adventure, a way of living, their current life.  They must contemplate what is next for them.

How can you know what is right for you, when you have only lived one way?  Planning for the next goal, the next dream, the next adventure?  So much of my life was spent thinking about my future.  Motorcycling gives me a reprieve; just be where my feet are.  Counseling does the same thing; it is a rare moment that in a counseling session my mind will wander; I am usually 100% focused, both on the detail of what I am being told, holding the memories of stories from the past, holding the goals the person has stated for their future, and holding the space to allow people to reweave their lives into a tapestry they can love.  In grad school, I had a teacher that told us we can get swept up in our clients story, but it is our job as therapists to be the one in the room with at least one toe on the ground.  That groundedness, that space, is something I give willingly and naturally to others.  But, with a life, house, bills, kids, dog, how can I just *be* right now?

This brings me to a common concept I work with clients on, that holds very true for me.  It is about intentionality and choice. Perhaps we can live a full and happy life by balancing the present with the future (and even the past) if we are intentional about where our thoughts are in the moment.  When I find myself ruminating about something that has happened, I remind myself that I am not being where my feet are, and that is ok.  That past has taught me something for who I am today.  When I am caught up daydreaming about our next adventure, I let myself know that too is ok.  I am choosing to use this time thinking about my future.  And, when I find that my lack of presence is affecting my relationships or wellbeing, I can remind myself to bring my attention to my feet; because that is the foundation for the rest of me, in this present moment.

Perhaps my future will include more days where I am simply existing where my feet are, because I am less tied to things that pull my attention into the future.  Perhaps my future includes extended motorcycle travel, in which I wake up, throw a leg over the bike, and say "I wonder where my feet will take me today?"  In which I will stay present, explore side roads, smell flowers, eat local food, talk to local people, and let them tell me the best direction to point my feet.  But meanwhile, I will enjoy the stories of others living that life, and appreciate where my feet are today, snuggled up under a soft and adoring puppy.  With friends and family and chores and work that I adore completely.  And daydreams of places far and near that I wish to explore.

Choose to be where your feet are, or not.  But choose.

On believing in yourself...

This weekend, my hubby and I did the 25 Hour of Starvation Ridge race with our 6 person team, Mudfish Racing. We tried last year, but there was much bad luck, injuries, and I really didn't have the skills yet; we didn't finish the race. I went in with the reasonable goal of halving my lap time from last year (which was over 3 hours), and our team went in with one goal: to finish.

Months of preparation; lights, getting the bikes ready, putting together a team that would be dedicated to the goal to finish, and the skills to do so. Most of this year, I just planned on being pit crew. But, as mentioned in other posts, dirt biking has come together for me this year, finally. I'm not a fast rider, but I can do almost anything up through single black diamonds (my next skill needs to be bigger log hops. I think that's what's holding me ack right now. But I digress.)  I completed the six and twelve hour with ok times, and more importantly, successfully. And I finally started riding black diamond single track with relative ease.... They can still be at my challenge level, but I don't fall my way through them anymore. I also finally don't really feel anxiety on my dirt bike 95% of the time. And that other 5% makes sense! So, when decision time came for this race, I was in.

Friday came, Nathan had an orientation for Jury Duty, I got the final things packed, and then we were off! At Starvation Ridge by 3, we had plenty of time to set up, visit with friends, register, and even go into goldendale for dinner! If you ever get a chance to eat at The Glass Onion, try the fried cauliflower. It's amazing.

The rest of our team arrived, and we finished setting up and goofed off for a bit... A time check pushed us to our senses; gotta get some rest before the race!

The day of the 25 started clear. We'd survived the windstorm the night before, and felt ready for anything. The riders meeting started early. The start: the first racer in the team would be running a quarter mile over uneven ground to their bikes, which had to be laid on the ground. Our first rider got a great start!

The race was on. There was constantly something to do; tracking lap times so we'd know when to watch for people, prepping the next rider, making sure food and drinks were readily available, fetching this or that, putting on layers, taking off layers, it really was never ending. I was up third.  I wasn't a bit nervous; I had this.  

The race is constructed in three loops, with three checkpoints.  (This becomes very important later in this blog entry.)  Each loop is marked with some sticks and colored plastic, and there are mile markers as you go around.  The race this year was about 18 miles; very manageable.  Each team has one transponder that is transferred from rider to rider, and this year, we had a rugged phone we passed as well.  The non-racing team members are responsible for transferring these items from the racer returning from their lap to the one heading out to save time.  

And I was off.  Down into the race start, and through the woods; they are tight and twisty, but manageable.  I come out of the woods, around the corner, and... weird.  I accidentally put the bike in neutral.  I click down and up.  Oh $h*#.  That's not neutral.  I've thrown a chain.  I get my bike off the track, pull out the emergency phone, and a volunteer comes over.  Since I can't fix this on the track, I asked him to run my transponder back to the pit so the next rider can head out.  By the time I pull the phone out, turn it on, and call, Nathan is on his way to help.  I push my bike to the top of a hill, and he pushes it back to the pit.  I can't find a single person with a master link for a 420 chain, so I call the nearest motorcycle store and head out in the truck.  

If you ever get a chance to drive centerville highway on a non rainy day, do it! It's beautiful.  Maybe you'll see wild turkey like I did!  I get to the motorcycle store and find out we also need a tube; one of my teammates shredded his on his first lap.  Supplies gathered, I head back to the race.  Luckily I've done this repair before on my own, so I know I can do it.  But, even better; They're offering to fix my chain up quick so I can get my gear on and try my lap again! 

Geared up and ready, I wait for Nathan to get back.  I don't have to wait long; he's quick!  And I'm off.  Back through the woods, into the first flat area, and zoom! I roll on the throttle and it behaves exactly how a dirtbike should! Alright, this is going to be fun.  The first loop was so much fun.  Lots of wide, freshly churned farm land, minimal elevation changes, some short uphills and short drop offs. A gravel road, and then the hillclimb!  (We're still wondering if this is "Nissan Hill" or not, but that's not important.)  I see the hill, plan my bottom practically on my gas cap, and full throttle to the top!  I LOVE LOVE LOVE hill climbs these days.  I went a bit slow at each of the splits, because one was going to be marked for the easy way or the water hole.  Found it!  Ok, now we can complete this lap with confidence.  More wide open gravel road, more churned farm land, and then the first check point.  Well, that was easy.  

The second lap was more of the same, except we go to go through a farm house which is way cool. And there were some v-notches, ditches, etc.  Then, there was a drop off down hill bigger than I've done.... I hopped off my bike and quickly walked it down; Not the most efficient option, but it was quick and safe, and I was back on my way. Another up hill, easy peasy. I'm sure I'm missing many things, but they are details, to be relived viscerally in memory and dream, not terribly pertinent to this entry.  Checkpoint two done.... into a mudhole, thinking I remembered someone say take the right hand line, and oops!  That wasn't the dry or doable line; turn around try again on the left side, success!  On this lap, we get to ride through a farm house, and there was a lot more of the same; the miles flew by, and before I knew it, I was at the last check point. 1 hour 22 minutes; I'll take it; less than half of my time from last year!  I was safe, my bike was safe, and I could do another lap!  

In the midst of all of this, the rain had turned from a sprinkle to a steady rainfall.  The next rider went out, and the rain continued.  The afternoon turned to evening, and the conditions worsened.  Our riders were coming back describing extreme, slick as snot, deeper than front tires.  Nathan does his lap, next rider went out, and we powwow.  Nathan described the conditions in the dark and wet, and he said it was up to me, but he wouldn't recommend it.  He said it turned into double black diamond riding.  Now, if it was just trail riding, I'd probably just go for it.  But finishing this race depends on the team working together, and it's not just one persons ego.  So, we skipped my turn, and sent out a more experienced rider. The lap times grew longer, one rider completed the first loop and came back to the pit without finishing.  Nathan and I went for our nap, and another rider got stuck on the big hill, needing to be towed back because his bike overheated.  But, even with these glitches, we stuck to the plan... Never give up and never surrender!  We were not leaving this year without finishing the race!  The conditions started to improve.  Nathan and I got up to check in with the team.  One rider on deck, then Nathan.  I said I'd like to try one more lap since things were getting better.  The next rider went out, and Nathan got ready.  We waited, Nathan napping in full gear.  Would the rider make it back safely? Would he be calling for help?  Here he is!  He had a great time, and said conditions had improved.  He also described all of his challenges.  Totally doable, I think.  It's decision time; wake up the rider after me, or go out and do my lap.  I know, deep down, that I can do this.  I gear up and warm up my bike.  The sun is rising.  Nathan comes back, and says "it's a little better, not much."  Oh well; decision is made.  I can do this.

I start what will be our final lap.  The first loop, which before was easy, was almost impossible.  The mud threw my bike this way and that, sending me to the ground in short order.  Well, first fall out of the way.  Everything that had been easy was ridiculously hard; the churned farmland was just rutted mud, slicker than snot.  And some of it was tacky because it was drying out, so it sticks to anything on the bike not moving.  But, I'm moving, making progress.  The hill climb is in front of me, and I'm up!  Ok, I can do this!  The gravel roads were now mud roads; rather than 5th gear, I was in a solid 3rd for those. Somewhere on this lap, I get stuck on a hill with side whoops that I find my bike straddling.  I'm working my behind to turn the bike around and try a different line, when a volunteer comes over and gives me a push in the right direction.  I love the volunteers.  I see mile marker 3; 3 miles?  That's all I've gone?  Nathan has been talking about this before, but I've never felt/channeled anger to fuel my riding until this moment.  I got pissed.  "I'm going to finish this F*$%ing race" I say aloud in my helmet.  Repeatedly.  And I go faster, more aggressive, and it starts to come together. Crossing mud ruts was easier than paralleling them.  Slipping the clutch all the time, riding a gear higher than I need kept the back tire somewhat in line, but risked me killing the bike if I got too slow.  So, lots of first gear high revs, using the clutch to modulate what was happening.  I had to make peace with the fact that I may have a line chosen, but my bike had a very different plan for this ride.  I may point myself right and the bike may end up on the left side of the course.  Ok.  Letting go of control.  And using these on the fly learning experiences, I reach the first check point.  I'm pretty sure I dumped the bike on the way out of it.  Deep ruts, no speed, oh well.  Pick the bike up and go.  

Funnily, the course actually got easier after this.  I think this portion was a bit higher in elevation, so it was slightly less slick.  You could see dirt under the four inch top layer of mud in spots.  Some of the mud was tacky from the wind storm.  My new lesson was that not all the mud at Starvation Ridge is the same. Sometimes you have to lean forward and sometimes you have to lean back, depending where you have/need traction.  Sometimes you can roll on the throttle, and sometimes throttle sends you to the ground.  But, the rock garden, slightly challenging to pick my way through before, I just bounced through, grazing the tops of the rocks and tires sliding off rocks into the mud.  Way better than a dry rock garden. I miss a turn, see the farm house, and turn around to get back on course.   I am approaching my arch nemesis drop off; I hop off the bike, unsure how I'm making it down, but determine, when a volunteer who was hanging out offered to ride my bike down for me.  Ok... I slide down on my bottom, mud too slick and steep to walk, and I'm back on my way.  I get to an intersection with no markers left; I go the way it looks like the track goes, and see someone headed toward me at top speed. I interpret this as a wrong turn, but now I wonder if maybe he'd gotten off course.  Anyway, I follow him and realize the color of the ribbons has changed.  Now, there was a spot where the ribbons overlap, I remember from my first lap.  So, I continue until I head through the barn.  I KNOW the second check point is before the barn.  I call Scott, the race designer.  He coaches me back to the white ribbon 2nd loop course, and I have to redo the last 4-5 miles I just did.   Through the farm house, through the rock garden, and back to the big drop off; no volunteers. I can do this... a moment of panic, and I hop off my bike.  Leaning the bike against my hip, I slide downhill, using the clutch as my break.  Well, that was easy.  I'm off again.  I find the spot I made the wrong turn, go the right way, make it through the mile I missed, and to the check point.  5 more miles!  

The last lap was nothing to worry about. More of the same.  Balancing being careful and trying to just finish up quick, the miles count down.  A few people pass me and cheer me on.  Finally, the last check point.  They remove my transponder, and it looks like we are in 6th place (out of 7th I believe, 16 minutes behind the team in front of us.  Darn.  If I hadn't of missed that turn off.)  But, we met our team goal this year.  Last year, we learned a lot about prepping for this race, and this year we completed it.  

I pulled into our pit, and shared stories. I don't think Nathan thought I could do it.  It's been a long time in coming, but I finally feel like I know my own abilities.  I have a calm confidence about dirt biking.  With practice, maybe that confidence will include speed, but I am happy right now that I can conquer most terrain.  (we won't talk about lap times for that last lap; between dropping my bike multiple times and getting lost, I'm pretty sure it exceeded my last years times, and kept one more rider fro going out.)  

Which brings me to my point that I really mean this long and meandering post to be about. We all have an inner voice.  We need stillness to hear it, and life experiences to learn to trust it. Often this voice is drowned out by self doubt or the doubt of others.  My recent and not so recent explorations into the concepts of mindfulness have helped me to find and listen to that inner voice, and to discern when how accurate it is in the moment. I was incredibly grateful for that today.  I wanted our team to finish this race, and I knew without a doubt that I could do it. I think in life, I have been fortunate enough to have many experiences where I set my mind to something and finished it.  I had a funny thought in the middle of riding today, which was "This is harder than graduate school!" And in many ways, it was.  But I think I am able to build on those past experiences where I believed in myself and it worked out, in these moments where doubt could try to creep in. And, on that note, I'll just close with this message to myself, and to you, dear reader.   'always believe in yourself.  you are capable of more than you know, all that you dream.'

How can I not?

I was recently asked "how can you work here and ride a motorcycle?"  I suppose for that question to make sense, the context may be helpful.  The person who asked was most familiar with the fact that I work with people who are recovering from a Traumatic Brain Injury.  I also specialize in helping people cope with persistent pain.  This, of course, is not the first time this question has come my way, in some fashion or another.  And it left me thinking...

First, let me ask you, what do you love to do.  Do you love your job?  (Cheers! Me too.  We are among the lucky minority it would seem.)  Do you love caring for your children?  Do you love to ride a bicycle?  How about hiking?  Do you like road trips?  Driving to visit family?  Skiing, snowboarding, skateboarding, surfing?  What is it that you love to do?  What makes your life interesting, meaningful, and fun? 

Stop for a minute, and see if you can remember ever hearing about someone being injured doing these activities.  Because I have.  Almost everything I do in the course of the day before getting on and after getting off of my motorcycle, I have seen people endure pain or brain injury from.  What sort of life would it be if we asked people to stop caring for their homes because they might get hurt?  To stop spending time with their family?  To stop working?  That's preposterous, you might say.  But in every activity there is risk.  And if we let that risk stop us, we are living a life based in fear.

What if instead, we ask what makes you come alive?  How will you know that you have lived a life worth living?  What is your passion?  How do you know your life is in balance?  What if I asked you those questions, and helped you to build a life based on their answers?  What if we respected other peoples answers to those questions, even as they are different from our own? 

Like all of you, I am a complex person.  I love my partner beyond belief.  I love my kids in ways I cannot describe.  I can spend an evening chatting with friends and have no idea where the hours went.  I like to smile at babies in the grocery store, and pet other peoples dogs on hikes.  I love to talk with people, to understand what is meaningful to them, and to help them figure out how to pursue their best life.  I like going for walks and catching a surprise scent of roses, or discovering I am suddenly in the middle of a bog.  I love to snuggle into the couch with soft blankets, and fall asleep while my family watches TV, my puppy's curled behind my knees.  I love to camp, sitting around the campfire at night, drifting off to sleep unplugged from civilization, waking to the sun and the birds.  And I love to ride motorcycles. 

On this list, are motorcycles statistically more risky than the other activities?  Sure.  But the joy from each of those activities makes the others even more fulfilling.  Each of the passions I describe above shine a light of joy on the others, making the other activities that much better.  Take one out, the others shine less bright. Fear is also exponential.  If we remove an activity we want to do because of fear, we will also have more fear in the other activities we love.  Take out riding motorcycles, and suddenly we wonder if we are safe driving in a car to visit with friends.  And we notice the number of hikers that have fallen from trails this year.  And walking alone becomes riskier, because we may fall or be attacked.  Airplanes?  Statistically safer than driving, but hard to fathom.  Oh, that brings us to driving; one of the most dangerous activities most of us do on a daily basis. Nixed from the list. Suddenly, the risks are in focus, and nothing is safe. 

Our brain tends to follow a path.  A path of self confidence, curiousity, and optimism or of fear, distrust, and pessimism.  (or pick any path between these two extremes...)  We practice this neural pathway over and over and over.  And I choose to practice joy, optimism, freedom, and wonder.  Which leads me to anser the question "how can you ride a motorcycle?" with "How can I not?"