I've gotten back in to rowing. Sculling, specifically, which is better for my back. I found a club near here (only an hour drive!), called Castle Dore Rowing Club, which is a recreational (ie, non-competitive) community fitness club, largely made up of middle-aged vets with busticated back. Perfect! (Or so I thought.)
For the past month or so I've been going out with them on a Sunday afternnon. The river is lovely (when there's water in it). It's always a scratch crew, made up of whomever shows up: men, women, novice, vets, whatever; we all get lumped in together. I was really enjoying myself, just pissing about on the water, not having to think about upcoming events, split times, or whether stroke could possibly go any faster up the fucking slide (Jesus Christ, Becky, it's not a race to the catch!).
And then something happened. I was in a crew with 3 blokes, all of them half-decent oarsmen. We set a rhythm. It wasn't shit. We pulled on it. The boat moved. We lifted the shell onto the surface of the river and heard the water bubbling cheerfully as we whizzed along. We moved. It felt fantastic.
And I was done for. The adrenaline all came surging back in time with the surge of the boat. I felt my heart pounding. I heard my quads say to me, "Oh yeah, we remember this!" I fell in love again.
The quiet, little, recreational club isn't enough any more. I want to go fast. I want to go fast now. I'm too young to be an allakadoo. I'm too young to be this old. I'm getting back on the ergo. I'm setting training regime, and when Pirate and I move away from Cornwall sometime this spring, I'm joining a proper boat club again. I want to win shit.
Showing posts with label attitude. Show all posts
Showing posts with label attitude. Show all posts
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
It's not that I don't love you anymore
I do, really and truly. And I think about you guys and wonder what you're up to. (One could argue that if I want to know what you're up to then I should log in and find out. But that would be logical.)
It's just that when i lived in Bristol I was a maiden trapped in a small room in the 7th floor of an ivory tower block, and my computer was my main connection to the outside world. Now the outside world is, well, just outside. I walk through my door and rather than finding a stinky, loud, smelly city full of torn bin bags, skantily clad drunk students, and crapping seagulls, I find a lovely garden full of sunflowers and sweatpeas and zinnias and corn and tomatoes. And if I go a little further than that there are other houses, with actual people in them. Meat people. And some of them are really nice. And we play board games and walk to the shops and keep each other company.
And there's the house itself, always with things to do, meals to cook, and laundry to fold. (Always with the fucking laundry. Jesus-H.-Christ-on-a-pogo-stick that man generates a lot of laundry.) And I find I just can't bring myself to sit in front of a computer for one milisecond than is longer than absolutely necessary. And not even that long. I've become abslutely crap at checking my email. It's driving my mother up the wall, but I figure that's fair revenge for being driven up the wall by her before the wedding.
So I'm still around, and I still love you all, I'm just unplugging for a while. I'll still be here intermittenly, so feel free to stop by. I like hearing from you. I just won't be a daily poster any more. Maybe at some point in the future I'll return to being a more regular writer, but in the meantime I think I'll stick to Big News. (I'm hoping that before next Christmas I'll have some Big News to share with you.)
There. That seems a good place to leave off. Always best to leave the readers hanging.
It's just that when i lived in Bristol I was a maiden trapped in a small room in the 7th floor of an ivory tower block, and my computer was my main connection to the outside world. Now the outside world is, well, just outside. I walk through my door and rather than finding a stinky, loud, smelly city full of torn bin bags, skantily clad drunk students, and crapping seagulls, I find a lovely garden full of sunflowers and sweatpeas and zinnias and corn and tomatoes. And if I go a little further than that there are other houses, with actual people in them. Meat people. And some of them are really nice. And we play board games and walk to the shops and keep each other company.
And there's the house itself, always with things to do, meals to cook, and laundry to fold. (Always with the fucking laundry. Jesus-H.-Christ-on-a-pogo-stick that man generates a lot of laundry.) And I find I just can't bring myself to sit in front of a computer for one milisecond than is longer than absolutely necessary. And not even that long. I've become abslutely crap at checking my email. It's driving my mother up the wall, but I figure that's fair revenge for being driven up the wall by her before the wedding.
So I'm still around, and I still love you all, I'm just unplugging for a while. I'll still be here intermittenly, so feel free to stop by. I like hearing from you. I just won't be a daily poster any more. Maybe at some point in the future I'll return to being a more regular writer, but in the meantime I think I'll stick to Big News. (I'm hoping that before next Christmas I'll have some Big News to share with you.)
There. That seems a good place to leave off. Always best to leave the readers hanging.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Back at "GO"
Today is my 30th birthday.
30 is one of those landmark birthdays where you sit back and look at your life as it is and compare with where you thought you'd be at this point. Let's take a look, shall we?
A. Where I thought I'd be:
Happily married, at home with my Pirate, having some people to dinner to celebrate.
B. Where I actually am:
At my parents' home in the USA, back where I started, feeling old and wondering when I'll see my Pirate again.
Now before you panic let me assure you this has nothing to do with any kind of marital issues. Pirate and I are still madly in love and horny as hell and all that gross newlywed stuff. The problem is immigration issues. I'm stuck here, waiting on my spousal visa, without which I cannot return to the UK. They said it could be as long as 10 weeks.
My aunt knows the Honorary British Consulate for the Detroit area, who is a very nice man and is trying to push things along for me and shorten that 10 week estimate. Meanwhile the Pirates-in-Law have contacted their MP to push things along from that side. With any luck if they both push hard enough they'll meet somewhere in the middle and I can get the fuck out of here.
So here I sit, in my parents' house, feeling old, wondering how I ended up back here again. I feel rather like I've been playing a board game, and drew a bum card or landed on a crappy square that sent me back to "GO" while everyone else is playing on, now half a board ahead of me.
Oh yeah, and I gained 6 pounds over the holidays. 2009 is off to a great start.
30 is one of those landmark birthdays where you sit back and look at your life as it is and compare with where you thought you'd be at this point. Let's take a look, shall we?
A. Where I thought I'd be:
Happily married, at home with my Pirate, having some people to dinner to celebrate.
B. Where I actually am:
At my parents' home in the USA, back where I started, feeling old and wondering when I'll see my Pirate again.
Now before you panic let me assure you this has nothing to do with any kind of marital issues. Pirate and I are still madly in love and horny as hell and all that gross newlywed stuff. The problem is immigration issues. I'm stuck here, waiting on my spousal visa, without which I cannot return to the UK. They said it could be as long as 10 weeks.
My aunt knows the Honorary British Consulate for the Detroit area, who is a very nice man and is trying to push things along for me and shorten that 10 week estimate. Meanwhile the Pirates-in-Law have contacted their MP to push things along from that side. With any luck if they both push hard enough they'll meet somewhere in the middle and I can get the fuck out of here.
So here I sit, in my parents' house, feeling old, wondering how I ended up back here again. I feel rather like I've been playing a board game, and drew a bum card or landed on a crappy square that sent me back to "GO" while everyone else is playing on, now half a board ahead of me.
Oh yeah, and I gained 6 pounds over the holidays. 2009 is off to a great start.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Bad Ass
I've begun taking jujitsu and boxing. Jujitsu on Tuesdays and boxing on Thursdays. It's brilliant. It's helping to bring my fitness back up to snuff (which has suffered abysmally since Henley last June), and is helping my mental state as well. Get me, I'm tough. *Grrrrr!*
Monday, October 13, 2008
TAFKACB
(The Artist Formerly Known As Chaucer's Bitch)
Timorous Beastie recently brought it to my attention that there might be some confusion over what to call me, now that my name has changed:
"Bitch, I don't know what to call you now! I can't call you Pirate, as that's him indoors. Mrs Chaucer seems too formal, and besides, it's you, not him with the Chaucer connection. Any suggestions?"
It occured to me that other people might have been wondering the same thing, so I thought I'd better address the issue.
I guess the answer is: whatever you want to call me is fine.
One thing I've noticed is that just about everyone called me something different, anyway. People seem to generate their own pet names, and that's cool with me.
Dave used to refer to me as "Chaucer's Lady-friend." (He has an excellent sense of propriety.) I suppose now that I've become respectable he'll call me Mrs. Pirate, and that's fine, or he may come up with something else.
A lot of people referred to me as CB, which I quite like, and anyone who fancies is invited to continue to address me as such. Or perhaps people would like to switch to CP, my new initials? That certainly works.
Herebe Monsters took to calling me Ceebs, which I always found rather endearing. I hope he doesn't stop.
Some people have called me simply Bitch, which is also fine. Hell, I've been called that since I was 11 years old, and getting married is unlikely to change that, so by all means carry on!
Annie Rhiannon tends to call me Chauce or Chaucer's, and again, that works just fine.
It's funny how the blonkosphere (if I may commandeer a term of Annie's) reflects the real world. In meatspace just about everyone I know has their own nickname for me. I've been called everything from Snowblower Lips (thanks to Andre Wajtusik in first grade) to Wench (first bf in college), as well as all possible variations on my given name, of which there are many. I like that.
Naming things is, on a fundamental level, a sign of ownership (Yes, I've read Genesis and I think that part is spot on.), but it also says "you are special to me." You don't go to the trouble of naming something to which you are completely indifferent. It takes effort and thought, even if your goal is to insult. (Cheers, Andre.)
People sometimes ask me when they first meet me, "Do you prefer {my full name} or {the obvious nickname}?" and I always tell them that either is fine. I like people to make up their own mind about what to call me. They always have in the past, and I think that's A Good Thing.
Timorous Beastie recently brought it to my attention that there might be some confusion over what to call me, now that my name has changed:
"Bitch, I don't know what to call you now! I can't call you Pirate, as that's him indoors. Mrs Chaucer seems too formal, and besides, it's you, not him with the Chaucer connection. Any suggestions?"
It occured to me that other people might have been wondering the same thing, so I thought I'd better address the issue.
I guess the answer is: whatever you want to call me is fine.
One thing I've noticed is that just about everyone called me something different, anyway. People seem to generate their own pet names, and that's cool with me.
Dave used to refer to me as "Chaucer's Lady-friend." (He has an excellent sense of propriety.) I suppose now that I've become respectable he'll call me Mrs. Pirate, and that's fine, or he may come up with something else.
A lot of people referred to me as CB, which I quite like, and anyone who fancies is invited to continue to address me as such. Or perhaps people would like to switch to CP, my new initials? That certainly works.
Herebe Monsters took to calling me Ceebs, which I always found rather endearing. I hope he doesn't stop.
Some people have called me simply Bitch, which is also fine. Hell, I've been called that since I was 11 years old, and getting married is unlikely to change that, so by all means carry on!
Annie Rhiannon tends to call me Chauce or Chaucer's, and again, that works just fine.
It's funny how the blonkosphere (if I may commandeer a term of Annie's) reflects the real world. In meatspace just about everyone I know has their own nickname for me. I've been called everything from Snowblower Lips (thanks to Andre Wajtusik in first grade) to Wench (first bf in college), as well as all possible variations on my given name, of which there are many. I like that.
Naming things is, on a fundamental level, a sign of ownership (Yes, I've read Genesis and I think that part is spot on.), but it also says "you are special to me." You don't go to the trouble of naming something to which you are completely indifferent. It takes effort and thought, even if your goal is to insult. (Cheers, Andre.)
People sometimes ask me when they first meet me, "Do you prefer {my full name} or {the obvious nickname}?" and I always tell them that either is fine. I like people to make up their own mind about what to call me. They always have in the past, and I think that's A Good Thing.
Friday, October 10, 2008
Worth Watching
This video is over an hour long, but why don't you give it a go tonight instead of Big Brother or Antiques Road Show? You won't regret it.
Monday, June 30, 2008
Just because it's football doesn't make it OK
I arrived home yesterday evening from Salisbury to find Bristol in an uproar -- riots in the streets. There were dozens of people screaming, shouting, chanting, cars incessantly honking horns. I had no idea what was going on.
I arrived at my flat and phoned the police. The 999 operator said "is your life in immediate danger?"
"No" I said.
She hung up.
There are plenty of legitimate reasons for phoning the police when one's life is not in immediate danger!
So I looked up the non-emergency number on the web and spoke with a constible. I explained that I was afraid to leave my flat again, and that from my window I could hear the shouting and chanting and horns and the noise was a significant disturbance of the peace, and asked them to intervene.
"It's just the football," he said. "They're just celebrating. We don't want to spoil their fun."
???
If I threw a party for some -- any -- reason and caused that kind of disturbance the police would surely have broken it up. How come it's acceptible if it's football?
*grumble grumble*
another fucking sleepless night.
I am SO sick of this bleeding city.
I arrived at my flat and phoned the police. The 999 operator said "is your life in immediate danger?"
"No" I said.
She hung up.
There are plenty of legitimate reasons for phoning the police when one's life is not in immediate danger!
So I looked up the non-emergency number on the web and spoke with a constible. I explained that I was afraid to leave my flat again, and that from my window I could hear the shouting and chanting and horns and the noise was a significant disturbance of the peace, and asked them to intervene.
"It's just the football," he said. "They're just celebrating. We don't want to spoil their fun."
???
If I threw a party for some -- any -- reason and caused that kind of disturbance the police would surely have broken it up. How come it's acceptible if it's football?
*grumble grumble*
another fucking sleepless night.
I am SO sick of this bleeding city.
Thursday, June 05, 2008
Motto
(It seems I'm not the only person eager to tie the knot. Go California!!! I just love the mental image of hordes of people madly in love storming the clerks' offices with shit-eating grins on their faces.)
I was talking with a friend the other night about what makes relationships work in general and what makes my relationship with the Pirate work in particular. It occurred to me that I approach my relationship in the same way that I approach the rest of my life. I have a simple motto by which I've lived for many years. It goes like this:
You do the best you can with what you got in the time allotted.
It reminds me that I'm not perfect, I'm not super-human, I can't do everything, and some times there are compromises to be made, but if I do the best I can with whatever I have to work with, than I'm doing OK. That's really all anyone can do. I can't bend the laws of physics to achieve my goals, but I can give my utter best effort to whatever I'm doing within the contstraints that the world imposes. And yes, the world does impose contstraints.
If you do that, it also makes it that much easier to be a forgiving person. It also makes it easier to accept forgiveness from others when you fuck up. (I have particular difficulty with this.) I know that I do my best for the Pirate. I'm not perfect, but I always make an effort. He knows this and so when I fall short he's never upset. Ditto the reverse. We're not perfect, but we do our best and are accommodating and flexible. There is a corollary to this motto which I learned from my high school chemistry teacher. It states
Live your life so as not to be an inconvenience to others.*
Sounds cheesy, but it's a good approach. If, in your day-to-day activities, you think "will doing this be a nuissance to someone?" or "How can I rearrange this to make it less inconvenient for X?" things seem to go OK. This doesn't mean being a doormat, it doesn't mean living your life for other people, but it does mean living your life in such a way that you don't force other people in to situations where they have to be a doormat for you. It means being independent, self-sufficient, and not being a burden to anyone.
We are all occassionally a burden to someone. That's human nature. Sometimes we all need looking after. But that goes back to the first statement. If you do your best to not be a pain-in-the-ass, people will recognize this and be forgiving and helpful those times when you are. And you can do the same for them.
That's all, really. Pretty straightforward stuff.
What are your favorite mottos/mantras?
*Thanks, Fr. Maclernan. I don't remember much about electron orbitals or covalent bonds, but this little gem stuck, and frankly, it's more useful anyway.
I was talking with a friend the other night about what makes relationships work in general and what makes my relationship with the Pirate work in particular. It occurred to me that I approach my relationship in the same way that I approach the rest of my life. I have a simple motto by which I've lived for many years. It goes like this:
You do the best you can with what you got in the time allotted.
It reminds me that I'm not perfect, I'm not super-human, I can't do everything, and some times there are compromises to be made, but if I do the best I can with whatever I have to work with, than I'm doing OK. That's really all anyone can do. I can't bend the laws of physics to achieve my goals, but I can give my utter best effort to whatever I'm doing within the contstraints that the world imposes. And yes, the world does impose contstraints.
If you do that, it also makes it that much easier to be a forgiving person. It also makes it easier to accept forgiveness from others when you fuck up. (I have particular difficulty with this.) I know that I do my best for the Pirate. I'm not perfect, but I always make an effort. He knows this and so when I fall short he's never upset. Ditto the reverse. We're not perfect, but we do our best and are accommodating and flexible. There is a corollary to this motto which I learned from my high school chemistry teacher. It states
Live your life so as not to be an inconvenience to others.*
Sounds cheesy, but it's a good approach. If, in your day-to-day activities, you think "will doing this be a nuissance to someone?" or "How can I rearrange this to make it less inconvenient for X?" things seem to go OK. This doesn't mean being a doormat, it doesn't mean living your life for other people, but it does mean living your life in such a way that you don't force other people in to situations where they have to be a doormat for you. It means being independent, self-sufficient, and not being a burden to anyone.
We are all occassionally a burden to someone. That's human nature. Sometimes we all need looking after. But that goes back to the first statement. If you do your best to not be a pain-in-the-ass, people will recognize this and be forgiving and helpful those times when you are. And you can do the same for them.
That's all, really. Pretty straightforward stuff.
What are your favorite mottos/mantras?
*Thanks, Fr. Maclernan. I don't remember much about electron orbitals or covalent bonds, but this little gem stuck, and frankly, it's more useful anyway.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Getting Spanked
Never in my life have I had so much fun losing.
On Saturday of this past weekend I was at Metropolitan Regatta at Dorney Lake. Sal and I were entered in a double scull.
We got our asses handed to us on a very wet platter.
To be fair, it wasn't our fault. I know that sounds like a cop-out, but hear me out. Poor Sal was sick as a dog. When she picked me up in the morning she couldn't get any air through the gallons of snot and mucus filling her sinuses. Her breathing sounded like a kid blowing bubbles through a straw into a chocolate milkshake. So really, we never stood a chance.
The only reason she even got out of bed was because I had mentioned that my in-laws were driving all the way down from Preston to watch. 4 hours in the car just to watch me splashing about in a boat for a minute! (Pirate was playing cricket that day. They didn't drive 4 hours to see him play. Ha!) I thought it was rather heroic of her to even make the effort.
Here we are after our humiliating defeat. See what good losers we are?
We had a good start. We went off the blocks at 40 spm, our best start ever. But Sal couldn't get any air into her lungs and so couldn't get any power out of her muscles, so I basically pulled us down the course. We stayed well in the thick of it for about the first 500m, at which point we looked at the sign reading "500" and simultaneously (we established later) thought "Fuck, is that all?! I thought we were coming up on the 1000!"
At that point 4 of the 6 crews pulled away and we were left fighting with the crew in lane 3 to not finish last. We were neck and neck with our co-losers for the middle thousand, after which I got a massive cramp in my left forearm, a consequence of having a death-grip on the blade, and couldn't hold my oar. The harder I drove with my legs the harder it was to hang my weight on the oar. Without wanting to I found myself letting up on the pressure and the crew in lane 3 got the better of us. We limped across the finish line gasping, moaning, not moving at all together and looking very novicey indeed. Which was, naturally, the point at which my in-laws saw us. Wank.
So we drank some Lucozade, shrugged it off, declared that we'd done our best in impossible circumstances, and got on with the serious business of picnicking with the in-laws in the shade by the lake. And it was an utterly lovely afternoon.
An added bonus was bumping in to a good friend of mine from Manchester that I haven't seen in several years. I wasn't expecting him to be there and suddenly there he was in front of me. What a treat!
Eventually the in-laws dropped me off at the train station in Reading so I could make my way home, where the Pirate and I met up with the other Bristol rowers for a curry dinner, which was fun, and then went to see the new Indiana Jones movie. (I'll put up my review tomorrow.) A great day all around. Never mind the utterly spectacular, catastrophic defeat. *shrugs* Whatever.
On Saturday of this past weekend I was at Metropolitan Regatta at Dorney Lake. Sal and I were entered in a double scull.
We got our asses handed to us on a very wet platter.
To be fair, it wasn't our fault. I know that sounds like a cop-out, but hear me out. Poor Sal was sick as a dog. When she picked me up in the morning she couldn't get any air through the gallons of snot and mucus filling her sinuses. Her breathing sounded like a kid blowing bubbles through a straw into a chocolate milkshake. So really, we never stood a chance.
The only reason she even got out of bed was because I had mentioned that my in-laws were driving all the way down from Preston to watch. 4 hours in the car just to watch me splashing about in a boat for a minute! (Pirate was playing cricket that day. They didn't drive 4 hours to see him play. Ha!) I thought it was rather heroic of her to even make the effort.
Here we are after our humiliating defeat. See what good losers we are?We had a good start. We went off the blocks at 40 spm, our best start ever. But Sal couldn't get any air into her lungs and so couldn't get any power out of her muscles, so I basically pulled us down the course. We stayed well in the thick of it for about the first 500m, at which point we looked at the sign reading "500" and simultaneously (we established later) thought "Fuck, is that all?! I thought we were coming up on the 1000!"
At that point 4 of the 6 crews pulled away and we were left fighting with the crew in lane 3 to not finish last. We were neck and neck with our co-losers for the middle thousand, after which I got a massive cramp in my left forearm, a consequence of having a death-grip on the blade, and couldn't hold my oar. The harder I drove with my legs the harder it was to hang my weight on the oar. Without wanting to I found myself letting up on the pressure and the crew in lane 3 got the better of us. We limped across the finish line gasping, moaning, not moving at all together and looking very novicey indeed. Which was, naturally, the point at which my in-laws saw us. Wank.
So we drank some Lucozade, shrugged it off, declared that we'd done our best in impossible circumstances, and got on with the serious business of picnicking with the in-laws in the shade by the lake. And it was an utterly lovely afternoon.
An added bonus was bumping in to a good friend of mine from Manchester that I haven't seen in several years. I wasn't expecting him to be there and suddenly there he was in front of me. What a treat!
Eventually the in-laws dropped me off at the train station in Reading so I could make my way home, where the Pirate and I met up with the other Bristol rowers for a curry dinner, which was fun, and then went to see the new Indiana Jones movie. (I'll put up my review tomorrow.) A great day all around. Never mind the utterly spectacular, catastrophic defeat. *shrugs* Whatever.
Tuesday, May 20, 2008
Not another rowing post
or, Living in My Body Again
I'm just beginning to realize/accept that my back will never be the same again. I will, for the rest of my life, have to make small adjustments to my lifestyle. That said, it's not so bad.
Of all the things I love most about rowing, it's the feeling of really loving living in my body that gives me the biggest high. I feel comfortable inside myself. Not in a vain "oh don't i look great" kind of way, but in that way you felt as a kid, when you ran around and jumped off things and climbed things and didn't actually think about your body. You just did what you wanted and expected your body to keep up, and 999 times out of a1000 it did.
That's what rowing does to me, and that's just how i'm starting to feel again for the first time since my injury. My body is beginning to feel like mine again. I tell it to do something, and it does it. The constant fear of pain and injury is starting to dissipate. It's not gone completely, i still hesitate when I do things like put my pants on in the morning (if you've ever had a lower back injury with sciatic pain you know that bending over to put your knickers on and lifting one foot off the floor is one of the most impossible small tasks and usually comes with a side order of searing agony), but by and large I am just going about my life. In my body, which I can almost stop thinking about.
It's nice.
I'm just beginning to realize/accept that my back will never be the same again. I will, for the rest of my life, have to make small adjustments to my lifestyle. That said, it's not so bad.
Of all the things I love most about rowing, it's the feeling of really loving living in my body that gives me the biggest high. I feel comfortable inside myself. Not in a vain "oh don't i look great" kind of way, but in that way you felt as a kid, when you ran around and jumped off things and climbed things and didn't actually think about your body. You just did what you wanted and expected your body to keep up, and 999 times out of a1000 it did.
That's what rowing does to me, and that's just how i'm starting to feel again for the first time since my injury. My body is beginning to feel like mine again. I tell it to do something, and it does it. The constant fear of pain and injury is starting to dissipate. It's not gone completely, i still hesitate when I do things like put my pants on in the morning (if you've ever had a lower back injury with sciatic pain you know that bending over to put your knickers on and lifting one foot off the floor is one of the most impossible small tasks and usually comes with a side order of searing agony), but by and large I am just going about my life. In my body, which I can almost stop thinking about.
It's nice.
Friday, May 09, 2008
I may have spoke to soon maybe
or, How the Bitch Got Her Mojo Back
See, with no prospect of racing on the horizon, the training of rowing is just fucking miserable. It has few redeeming qualities.
But when there's a goal, well, that's a different story, see?
So I've hooked up with this chick from Another Cunting Rowing Club (ACRC). We've been training in the double scull.
Our first outing showed some promise. Then she got ill and I got busy and we didn't do much for a while.
Our second outing was brilliant fun, this past weekend. Pirate came down to the boathouse and went for a jog. We got in the double and did some race starts. The resident waterfowl were out with their small fuzzy offsprings, and they saw that it was good.
Monday morning, same story. Although 2 training days in a row left my back a bit stiff, we got on just fine. We're starting to think there might be some real potential here. So we're racing at the ACRC regatta on 17 May. We're entered in both Senior3 and Senior1. This race will be the litmus test; if we do well, it's full speed ahead to Women's Henley!!!
And then came Wednesday.
I can't steer for beans, let's make that abundantly clear right now. So what did I do? I crashed. Into the men's double. While we were both doing full-pressure pieces. Result: 2 bent riggers and an oar to my lower back like getting bludgeoned with a baseball bat. Ow.
Again I say unto thee: ow.*
But the weather was glorious and sunny and sultry and hot and steamy, and the fuzzness of the duckylings was exceptionally fuzzable, as were the swanlings, with the grey fluffness and the tiny peepness, and the leafness of the trees was bright and green and the sun glinted on the still Avon waters. The pieces were strong and swift and I could hear the bubbles gurgling under the bow as we sliced through the river: the boat was singing to us! Sing, boat, sing!
Yeah. I'm back.
*Great excuse to go to Argos and buy a giant heated, vibrating back massager. Tonight I will try sittin on it for variety. I expect it to be excellent.
See, with no prospect of racing on the horizon, the training of rowing is just fucking miserable. It has few redeeming qualities.
But when there's a goal, well, that's a different story, see?
So I've hooked up with this chick from Another Cunting Rowing Club (ACRC). We've been training in the double scull.
Our first outing showed some promise. Then she got ill and I got busy and we didn't do much for a while.
Our second outing was brilliant fun, this past weekend. Pirate came down to the boathouse and went for a jog. We got in the double and did some race starts. The resident waterfowl were out with their small fuzzy offsprings, and they saw that it was good.
Monday morning, same story. Although 2 training days in a row left my back a bit stiff, we got on just fine. We're starting to think there might be some real potential here. So we're racing at the ACRC regatta on 17 May. We're entered in both Senior3 and Senior1. This race will be the litmus test; if we do well, it's full speed ahead to Women's Henley!!!
And then came Wednesday.
I can't steer for beans, let's make that abundantly clear right now. So what did I do? I crashed. Into the men's double. While we were both doing full-pressure pieces. Result: 2 bent riggers and an oar to my lower back like getting bludgeoned with a baseball bat. Ow.
Again I say unto thee: ow.*
But the weather was glorious and sunny and sultry and hot and steamy, and the fuzzness of the duckylings was exceptionally fuzzable, as were the swanlings, with the grey fluffness and the tiny peepness, and the leafness of the trees was bright and green and the sun glinted on the still Avon waters. The pieces were strong and swift and I could hear the bubbles gurgling under the bow as we sliced through the river: the boat was singing to us! Sing, boat, sing!
Yeah. I'm back.
*Great excuse to go to Argos and buy a giant heated, vibrating back massager. Tonight I will try sittin on it for variety. I expect it to be excellent.
Thursday, May 01, 2008
Announcement: I'm quitting rowing
(I think.)
I've had it. I've just had enough.
I work and work and work and work and get fuck all back. In the last 4 years I've been in 6 races, only 1 of those in the past 18 months. And now I have no prospect of racing this season.
I train and train, but don't get any closer to my goals, because my goals are competitions and I don't have the chance to compete. Even losing would be better. At least if I lost I would have had a fighting chance. As it is, I don't even have that much. And now there is no prospect of racing in the future.
Fuck it all.
There is still the slightest chance I may yet find a doubles partner for Women's Henley Regatta, but that is becoming slimmer by the day.
So I've told Bristol to put it where the sun don't shine, and I've joined a local club. They're friendly, and they have some nice equipment. I will pass the summer paddling around the Bristol docks in a single, and hopefully enjoy some summer sunshine, keep myself in shape, and maybe get a bit of a tan.
And come the end of the summer, September, the wedding, and all those other life changes, I will hang up the blades for good. I will not look for a rowing club in Plymouth. There is one, but it's crap, the water is crap, and there's no good competition down that way. So it would just be more the fucking same, and I can't face that.
When I get to Plymouth I will attempt something I've always wanted to do: martial arts.
I've had the chance to take karate lessons a few times over the years, and I always wanted to give it a go, but I've never had the time. I was always committed to my rowing schedule. So now I'm going to give myself the time. I'll try to find a decent karate or judo or tae kwan do studio. It will help keep me in shape, it will be new and exciting, it will be good way to work out aggression and frustration (a mental health benefit rowing has always provided me which is a key to my sanity), and I like the idea of an activity where I get to beat the crap out of people. That has a lot of appeal right now. A lot of appeal.
It's been a difficult decision. I never thought I could turn my back on something I love so much. It scares me that I'm capable of that kind of mind-shift. But it doesn't feel like i've turned my back on it, it feels more like it's turned its back on me.
But of course, as an athlete, you have it drummed in that winners never quit and quitters never win. I'm not a quitter. I'm a winner. I don't quit. Ever. I don't give up. But how is this not giving up?
Shouldn't I be more determined than ever? Shouldn't I go to Plymouth and start my own club, if that's what it takes? Shouldn't I do everything in my power to keep going?
When does that cross the line into stupidity? When do determination, commitment, and perseverance become shouting at a brick wall?
How can I quit and still face myself in the morning?
But how can I keep going, when it's ceased to be a joy and become nothing but a burden? When does it all stop being worth the constant mental and physical struggle? How can I walk away and keep my self respect?
I've had it. I've just had enough.
I work and work and work and work and get fuck all back. In the last 4 years I've been in 6 races, only 1 of those in the past 18 months. And now I have no prospect of racing this season.
I train and train, but don't get any closer to my goals, because my goals are competitions and I don't have the chance to compete. Even losing would be better. At least if I lost I would have had a fighting chance. As it is, I don't even have that much. And now there is no prospect of racing in the future.
Fuck it all.
There is still the slightest chance I may yet find a doubles partner for Women's Henley Regatta, but that is becoming slimmer by the day.
So I've told Bristol to put it where the sun don't shine, and I've joined a local club. They're friendly, and they have some nice equipment. I will pass the summer paddling around the Bristol docks in a single, and hopefully enjoy some summer sunshine, keep myself in shape, and maybe get a bit of a tan.
And come the end of the summer, September, the wedding, and all those other life changes, I will hang up the blades for good. I will not look for a rowing club in Plymouth. There is one, but it's crap, the water is crap, and there's no good competition down that way. So it would just be more the fucking same, and I can't face that.
When I get to Plymouth I will attempt something I've always wanted to do: martial arts.
I've had the chance to take karate lessons a few times over the years, and I always wanted to give it a go, but I've never had the time. I was always committed to my rowing schedule. So now I'm going to give myself the time. I'll try to find a decent karate or judo or tae kwan do studio. It will help keep me in shape, it will be new and exciting, it will be good way to work out aggression and frustration (a mental health benefit rowing has always provided me which is a key to my sanity), and I like the idea of an activity where I get to beat the crap out of people. That has a lot of appeal right now. A lot of appeal.
It's been a difficult decision. I never thought I could turn my back on something I love so much. It scares me that I'm capable of that kind of mind-shift. But it doesn't feel like i've turned my back on it, it feels more like it's turned its back on me.
But of course, as an athlete, you have it drummed in that winners never quit and quitters never win. I'm not a quitter. I'm a winner. I don't quit. Ever. I don't give up. But how is this not giving up?
Shouldn't I be more determined than ever? Shouldn't I go to Plymouth and start my own club, if that's what it takes? Shouldn't I do everything in my power to keep going?
When does that cross the line into stupidity? When do determination, commitment, and perseverance become shouting at a brick wall?
How can I quit and still face myself in the morning?
But how can I keep going, when it's ceased to be a joy and become nothing but a burden? When does it all stop being worth the constant mental and physical struggle? How can I walk away and keep my self respect?
Tuesday, April 22, 2008
Allow me to clarify
I wasn't taken out of the boat because my back was acting up and they considered me a liability. My back didn't start hurting until Monday, and the Henley decision was announced on Sunday night, shortly after my coach admitted that "the quad is going more quickly than I expected."
The decision to put a coxed 4 in Henley rather than a quad had nothing to do with my condition. It was based on the fact that in the coxed 4 category there is an "Intermediate Division," whereas with the quad sculls the lowest division you can enter is "Elite." Coach wanted to put our boat against the softest available competition. That was the ONLY reason, never mind that it just happened to fuck over one of the longest-serving and hardest-training (by his own admission) members of the squad.
And as for my back, it gave me problems purely because training camp is an extra-intense training environment. I hadn't been on the water in a few few weeks (because the university was on spring break), and though i'd been doing a lot of land training (cycling, hill sprints, etc.), my back objected to going from no rowing to rowing 3x a day overnight with no buildup. I predicted that would happen, and so was not surprised. I was surprised by the cascade of other problems it created.
After I got back from camp I went to see my chiropractor ("Miracle Mike"), who massaged out my hip flexor properly, put things back where they belong, and within minutes I was fine. The next day I was back to fighting fit. So I'm fine, it was just a case of over-doing things a bit, and I'm back to training. But not back in the boat, of course.
I'm currently in the process of looking for a partner to double with me at Henley. Tonight I'm going on the water with a woman from a neighboring boat club who is also looking for a doubles partner. We'll see how it goes.
The Bristol Uni boat club may have effectively thrown me off their team, but I am determined to make that THEIR loss, not mine. Bristol uni can go to hell.
The decision to put a coxed 4 in Henley rather than a quad had nothing to do with my condition. It was based on the fact that in the coxed 4 category there is an "Intermediate Division," whereas with the quad sculls the lowest division you can enter is "Elite." Coach wanted to put our boat against the softest available competition. That was the ONLY reason, never mind that it just happened to fuck over one of the longest-serving and hardest-training (by his own admission) members of the squad.
And as for my back, it gave me problems purely because training camp is an extra-intense training environment. I hadn't been on the water in a few few weeks (because the university was on spring break), and though i'd been doing a lot of land training (cycling, hill sprints, etc.), my back objected to going from no rowing to rowing 3x a day overnight with no buildup. I predicted that would happen, and so was not surprised. I was surprised by the cascade of other problems it created.
After I got back from camp I went to see my chiropractor ("Miracle Mike"), who massaged out my hip flexor properly, put things back where they belong, and within minutes I was fine. The next day I was back to fighting fit. So I'm fine, it was just a case of over-doing things a bit, and I'm back to training. But not back in the boat, of course.
I'm currently in the process of looking for a partner to double with me at Henley. Tonight I'm going on the water with a woman from a neighboring boat club who is also looking for a doubles partner. We'll see how it goes.
The Bristol Uni boat club may have effectively thrown me off their team, but I am determined to make that THEIR loss, not mine. Bristol uni can go to hell.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Cultural differences
The cultural differences between the US and the UK never cease to surprise me. I really didn't think there would be significant differences between wedding customs. (To be fair, this is a result of my own cultural egotism, whereby I just assume everyone does things the same way I do, because obviously that is the best way to do them. I mean, duh!)
The things I have heard about weddings here in the UK, for the most part, shock and horrify me. Luckily for me, they also shock and horrify the Pirate. He loathes, as I do, the whole commercial industry that has sprung up around weddings, so we're both keen to keep things as simple as possible.
We did want to have a nice reception in a pub somewhere, where people could gather, share a tasty meal, tell us how great we look, and call it a night. But we have a rather large guest list (over a hundred and growing) and we couldn't find a pub that could accommodate more than 80. Deciding that the people were more important than that decor, we've opted to keep the huge guest list and have the reception in the banquet room of a big, corporate hotel. What it lacks in ambiance it makes up for in convenience.
So here's how it's going to be:
Ceremony at 3 pm on a Friday afternoon in September. We will have a choir, and organ, and brass quartet, and the volume and joy of the music will blow the roof right off the medieval church.
Upon leaving the church we will depart through an archway of swords (Pirate's friends all carry swords, naturally) and oars. It might be a little goofy, but it's us. And hey, they're all blades, right?
The guests will wander across the street to the hotel where they will have drinks and canapes in the bar while my husband and I (!!!) have loads of pictures taken with family and blade-bearers.
About 5 pm or thereabouts we will wander in to the banquet room. Dinner will be served in three courses. (NO buffit.) The cake will be the desert, because that's what the fucking thing is FOR. It will taste good, because I will bake it.any of the English guests are annoyed at not getting a second dessert, that's their fucking problem. It will be decorated with fresh, edible flowers.
Somewhere in there there will be some toasts raised. Pirate's father will drone on at length. Mine will be bashful, tear up, and sit down as quickly as possible.
There will be a dance floor. There will be a DJ (one of Pirate's friends). He will play the music that we specify, and if the Macarena or Chicken Dance come on at any point in the evening, I will break both his legs. (And don't think for a minute that I can't or won't.) People will dance or sit and talk as they deem most fun. The DJ will close up shop at midnight, and that will be the end of it. Period.
There will be wine on the tables at dinner, and we will provide something bubbly for toasts (and non-alchy for the fair number of tea-totalers in the crowd, probably Appletizer). But the bar afterward will be a cash bar. Booze is just too expensive, and my parents are already effectively paying for this twice what with the exchange rate and all, AND they're throwing a second reception back in the states for the Yanks who can't come over, so.... no free bar after dinner, and that's just how it's going to have to be.
It will be fun, it will be simple, it will not get out of hand, and it will keep the focus where it belongs -- on the wedding.
Bloggers are welcome to come to the ceremony (I'll give more details later), but for obvious reasons I can't invite y'all along to the reception as well.
The things I have heard about weddings here in the UK, for the most part, shock and horrify me. Luckily for me, they also shock and horrify the Pirate. He loathes, as I do, the whole commercial industry that has sprung up around weddings, so we're both keen to keep things as simple as possible.
We did want to have a nice reception in a pub somewhere, where people could gather, share a tasty meal, tell us how great we look, and call it a night. But we have a rather large guest list (over a hundred and growing) and we couldn't find a pub that could accommodate more than 80. Deciding that the people were more important than that decor, we've opted to keep the huge guest list and have the reception in the banquet room of a big, corporate hotel. What it lacks in ambiance it makes up for in convenience.
So here's how it's going to be:
Ceremony at 3 pm on a Friday afternoon in September. We will have a choir, and organ, and brass quartet, and the volume and joy of the music will blow the roof right off the medieval church.
Upon leaving the church we will depart through an archway of swords (Pirate's friends all carry swords, naturally) and oars. It might be a little goofy, but it's us. And hey, they're all blades, right?
The guests will wander across the street to the hotel where they will have drinks and canapes in the bar while my husband and I (!!!) have loads of pictures taken with family and blade-bearers.
About 5 pm or thereabouts we will wander in to the banquet room. Dinner will be served in three courses. (NO buffit.) The cake will be the desert, because that's what the fucking thing is FOR. It will taste good, because I will bake it.any of the English guests are annoyed at not getting a second dessert, that's their fucking problem. It will be decorated with fresh, edible flowers.
Somewhere in there there will be some toasts raised. Pirate's father will drone on at length. Mine will be bashful, tear up, and sit down as quickly as possible.
There will be a dance floor. There will be a DJ (one of Pirate's friends). He will play the music that we specify, and if the Macarena or Chicken Dance come on at any point in the evening, I will break both his legs. (And don't think for a minute that I can't or won't.) People will dance or sit and talk as they deem most fun. The DJ will close up shop at midnight, and that will be the end of it. Period.
There will be wine on the tables at dinner, and we will provide something bubbly for toasts (and non-alchy for the fair number of tea-totalers in the crowd, probably Appletizer). But the bar afterward will be a cash bar. Booze is just too expensive, and my parents are already effectively paying for this twice what with the exchange rate and all, AND they're throwing a second reception back in the states for the Yanks who can't come over, so.... no free bar after dinner, and that's just how it's going to have to be.
It will be fun, it will be simple, it will not get out of hand, and it will keep the focus where it belongs -- on the wedding.
Bloggers are welcome to come to the ceremony (I'll give more details later), but for obvious reasons I can't invite y'all along to the reception as well.
Thursday, December 06, 2007
Halp!
Dear Adoring Public,
Can anyone answer this question:
Why would someone say they want to get married, and then not want to tell anyone they are engaged?
Besides Romeo & Juliet-style familial disapproval (which doesn't apply here), can anyone think of a reason to keep an engagement a secret other than having serious second thoughts???
Signed,
Befuddled in Brizzle
UPDATE: After I got a little weepy with him about it, he finally bit the bullet and told his folks. (They were ecstatic.) I feel somewhat relieved.
Can anyone answer this question:
Why would someone say they want to get married, and then not want to tell anyone they are engaged?
Besides Romeo & Juliet-style familial disapproval (which doesn't apply here), can anyone think of a reason to keep an engagement a secret other than having serious second thoughts???
Signed,
Befuddled in Brizzle
UPDATE: After I got a little weepy with him about it, he finally bit the bullet and told his folks. (They were ecstatic.) I feel somewhat relieved.
Friday, November 30, 2007
It's time to stop taking Islam seriously
I used to be a flaming liberal, always ready to defend the rights, freedoms, and thoughts of anyone. I felt that all cultures were equally valid and no one had the right to criticize anyone else's culture. Our Muslim friends and neighbors have finally convinced me I was wrong. (Oh, the irony.)
I thought the whole Danish cartoon scandal was rediculous, but those sympathetic to the over-reacting Muslims did have one good point: the cartoonists were deliberately poking fun. Now most people can take a joke, and even those of us who can't will usually just sulk for a while. We certainly don't go around calling for the public decapitation of the person who made the unwelcome crack. And yet a bunch of "extremist" Muslims did just that.
But this time, this time there is no excuse, no defense, no justification for the insanity. The cartoonists may have sparked riots, but the fact is they did intend to be insulting (that is the point of a satirical political cartoon.) Mrs. Gibbons plainly had no such intent. Hers was a well-intentioned, if slightly (and only slightly) misinformed act. (I say 'slightly minsinformed' because apparently the ban on using the name isn't universal -- for several months kids took the teddy home before a parent complained. Clearly the parents of all the other kids were as blisfully ignorant of their religion as Mrs. Gibbons.) And now there are riots calling for her execution.
I refuse to resepct any culture/religion/ideology/whatever that suggests death (or even 15 days in prison) is an appropriate punishment for an accidental insult. Mrs. Gibbons harmed no one. She hurt no one. No property was damaged, no lives or reputations unraveled or destroyed. This is out of all proportion, and we are under no obligation to respect it.
I'm sure that the government and some other prominent individuals will be reminding us shortly that this isn't the majority of muslims, it's just a crazy "extremist" minorty. But is it really? Where are the protesters telling the protesters to shut up, chill out, and go home? Where are the MUSLIM voices crying out that this is nuts? They are conspicuous by their absence.
Ben Macintyre of the The Times would like us to believe that the Sudanese government is using Mrs. Gibbons as a pawn in their political games. That's probably true. But if it were only a few corrupt and nasty government officials who were making a scapegoat of Mrs. Gibbons, the incident would be much smaller in scale. The problem is that thousands of people agree with the goverment. The Sudanese people are not crying "Our corrupt goverment is using an innocent woman to maniuplate our support! They are shit and we will oust them!" No, they are crying "Death to the infidel! They are as happy to make Mrs. Gibbons a scapegoat as the government is, and that makes them just as crazy and just as extremist.
And this isn't just a few nutters in Kartoum. There is slilent complicity all over the world. Middle Eastern nations should be condemning this for the insanity it is, repremanding the Sudanese government for making Muslims the world over look bad. Where is the outrage from other Islamic nations?
Now, before you go and delcare a fatwah on me (oh hell, go ahead and delcare it anyway; nothing I say to you will make any difference if you're of the fatwah-issuing mindset), I'm not saying that every Muslim is a crazy extremist. Just the majority of them. Why? Because Islam itelf it inherently irrational. Built into the very fabric of the relgion is intolerance, over-reation, extremism, impatience, suspicioun and contempt. No rational, thinking being would view the reaction to Mrs. Gibbons faux pas as appropriate. End of. The people calling for her death or imprisonment are not rational and they don't think. Furthermore it appears that this is the majority of Muslims.
If you do not behave in a reasonable manner, I am under no cultural obligation to accept you as a reasonable person. And if you follow a philosophy that condemns reason, thought, and rationale, I will dismiss you as unreasonable, thoughtless, and irrational. Political correctness be damned.
I thought the whole Danish cartoon scandal was rediculous, but those sympathetic to the over-reacting Muslims did have one good point: the cartoonists were deliberately poking fun. Now most people can take a joke, and even those of us who can't will usually just sulk for a while. We certainly don't go around calling for the public decapitation of the person who made the unwelcome crack. And yet a bunch of "extremist" Muslims did just that.
But this time, this time there is no excuse, no defense, no justification for the insanity. The cartoonists may have sparked riots, but the fact is they did intend to be insulting (that is the point of a satirical political cartoon.) Mrs. Gibbons plainly had no such intent. Hers was a well-intentioned, if slightly (and only slightly) misinformed act. (I say 'slightly minsinformed' because apparently the ban on using the name isn't universal -- for several months kids took the teddy home before a parent complained. Clearly the parents of all the other kids were as blisfully ignorant of their religion as Mrs. Gibbons.) And now there are riots calling for her execution.
I refuse to resepct any culture/religion/ideology/whatever that suggests death (or even 15 days in prison) is an appropriate punishment for an accidental insult. Mrs. Gibbons harmed no one. She hurt no one. No property was damaged, no lives or reputations unraveled or destroyed. This is out of all proportion, and we are under no obligation to respect it.
I'm sure that the government and some other prominent individuals will be reminding us shortly that this isn't the majority of muslims, it's just a crazy "extremist" minorty. But is it really? Where are the protesters telling the protesters to shut up, chill out, and go home? Where are the MUSLIM voices crying out that this is nuts? They are conspicuous by their absence.
Ben Macintyre of the The Times would like us to believe that the Sudanese government is using Mrs. Gibbons as a pawn in their political games. That's probably true. But if it were only a few corrupt and nasty government officials who were making a scapegoat of Mrs. Gibbons, the incident would be much smaller in scale. The problem is that thousands of people agree with the goverment. The Sudanese people are not crying "Our corrupt goverment is using an innocent woman to maniuplate our support! They are shit and we will oust them!" No, they are crying "Death to the infidel! They are as happy to make Mrs. Gibbons a scapegoat as the government is, and that makes them just as crazy and just as extremist.
And this isn't just a few nutters in Kartoum. There is slilent complicity all over the world. Middle Eastern nations should be condemning this for the insanity it is, repremanding the Sudanese government for making Muslims the world over look bad. Where is the outrage from other Islamic nations?
Now, before you go and delcare a fatwah on me (oh hell, go ahead and delcare it anyway; nothing I say to you will make any difference if you're of the fatwah-issuing mindset), I'm not saying that every Muslim is a crazy extremist. Just the majority of them. Why? Because Islam itelf it inherently irrational. Built into the very fabric of the relgion is intolerance, over-reation, extremism, impatience, suspicioun and contempt. No rational, thinking being would view the reaction to Mrs. Gibbons faux pas as appropriate. End of. The people calling for her death or imprisonment are not rational and they don't think. Furthermore it appears that this is the majority of Muslims.
If you do not behave in a reasonable manner, I am under no cultural obligation to accept you as a reasonable person. And if you follow a philosophy that condemns reason, thought, and rationale, I will dismiss you as unreasonable, thoughtless, and irrational. Political correctness be damned.
Tuesday, November 27, 2007
Weekend musings, part II
Saturday
Saturday was the UBBC Head, a head race on the Avon river sponsored and organized by the Bristol U boat club.
It was also my first competition since Fours Head last november when I ruptured a disk in my spine. Almost a year to the day, and I was finally competing again.
Neither my coach nor captain wanted me to do the race. They didn't feel I was ready. I felt that ready or not, if I didn't at least give it a go I would explode with frustration. I finally went over my coach's head to Head Coach Big G, who told my own coach that I could do as I bloody pleased and if I wanted to race it was his job to make sure I was entered. Big G is mostly a giant prick, but when push comes to shove he does get your back.
The compromise was that I would compete in a single scull. I much prefer crew boats, but we all know that if I'm in a crew boat and my back starts to crumble i will actually kill myself before I stop rowing. The First Commandment of Rowing is: Thou shalt not let they team mates down. In a single, though, if it all went tits up I would allow myself to stop and be rescued without the worry of ruining someone else's race. So a single it was.
There were only two of us in the W Champ 1x division: myslef and my team mate, C. Pirate was there to lend support (translation: abuse hurled at me from the last bridge) and rescue me if need be. The weather wasn't great, but far better than it could have been. It stopped drizzling just before we arrived and didn't start up again until after everything was over. The temperature was barely above freezing, but there was no wind at all, so I didn't get too cold up at the start marshalling.
I was the very last boat of the day, which sucked. I didn't have anyone baring down on my stern to push off of, which is too bad. It's a big psychological boost when you are out-running someone. Being last also meant that by the time I came heaving by nearly all the spectators were gone, so there was no one left cheering except the Pirate and my coach. Otherwise the banks were silent. It reminded me vaguely of a description I once wrote about the last woman in the Athens Olympic marathon, but only when I thought about it later. At the time, I coudn't hear the silence over the sound of my own breathing and my blades popping in and out of the water.
I did finish, and finished strongly, but not quickly. I was under-rating. I didn't have a stroke-coach on board, and I was shooting for a rate of about 25-26. (Not ambitious, I know, espeically for a 3.5k head, but remember I haven't done this for a year, I'd done hardly any training in the last 3 weeks owing to my cold/flu things, and before that, I had been unable to do any difficult training pieces without suffering serious consequences. Hence the reason my coach didn't want me out there at all.) Basically, my goals were to scull a strong, steady rhythm, keep the power on but not kill myself, take good line down the windy bits of the course, and cross the finish line withoug a career-ending injury.
Actually that's complete and total bullshit. Who are we kidding here? My goal was to fucking WIN. End of. All that crap I just said was what my goal should have been, and if it had been, I might be a lot happier today, having achieved all of the above. But no. My goal was a very unrealistic gold medal. But who gives a shit about realism? goals aren't meant to be realistic, they're meant to be hard. And there's no fucking point in racing if you're not in it to win.
Hence the reason I was so crushed to have had the slowest time of the day. Bah. Sheer stubbornness should be able to overcome circumstance; that's what it's for. Next time, damnit, next time. And tonight I have a 5k erg test to murder.
Saturday was the UBBC Head, a head race on the Avon river sponsored and organized by the Bristol U boat club.
It was also my first competition since Fours Head last november when I ruptured a disk in my spine. Almost a year to the day, and I was finally competing again.
Neither my coach nor captain wanted me to do the race. They didn't feel I was ready. I felt that ready or not, if I didn't at least give it a go I would explode with frustration. I finally went over my coach's head to Head Coach Big G, who told my own coach that I could do as I bloody pleased and if I wanted to race it was his job to make sure I was entered. Big G is mostly a giant prick, but when push comes to shove he does get your back.
The compromise was that I would compete in a single scull. I much prefer crew boats, but we all know that if I'm in a crew boat and my back starts to crumble i will actually kill myself before I stop rowing. The First Commandment of Rowing is: Thou shalt not let they team mates down. In a single, though, if it all went tits up I would allow myself to stop and be rescued without the worry of ruining someone else's race. So a single it was.
There were only two of us in the W Champ 1x division: myslef and my team mate, C. Pirate was there to lend support (translation: abuse hurled at me from the last bridge) and rescue me if need be. The weather wasn't great, but far better than it could have been. It stopped drizzling just before we arrived and didn't start up again until after everything was over. The temperature was barely above freezing, but there was no wind at all, so I didn't get too cold up at the start marshalling.
I was the very last boat of the day, which sucked. I didn't have anyone baring down on my stern to push off of, which is too bad. It's a big psychological boost when you are out-running someone. Being last also meant that by the time I came heaving by nearly all the spectators were gone, so there was no one left cheering except the Pirate and my coach. Otherwise the banks were silent. It reminded me vaguely of a description I once wrote about the last woman in the Athens Olympic marathon, but only when I thought about it later. At the time, I coudn't hear the silence over the sound of my own breathing and my blades popping in and out of the water.
I did finish, and finished strongly, but not quickly. I was under-rating. I didn't have a stroke-coach on board, and I was shooting for a rate of about 25-26. (Not ambitious, I know, espeically for a 3.5k head, but remember I haven't done this for a year, I'd done hardly any training in the last 3 weeks owing to my cold/flu things, and before that, I had been unable to do any difficult training pieces without suffering serious consequences. Hence the reason my coach didn't want me out there at all.) Basically, my goals were to scull a strong, steady rhythm, keep the power on but not kill myself, take good line down the windy bits of the course, and cross the finish line withoug a career-ending injury.
Actually that's complete and total bullshit. Who are we kidding here? My goal was to fucking WIN. End of. All that crap I just said was what my goal should have been, and if it had been, I might be a lot happier today, having achieved all of the above. But no. My goal was a very unrealistic gold medal. But who gives a shit about realism? goals aren't meant to be realistic, they're meant to be hard. And there's no fucking point in racing if you're not in it to win.
Hence the reason I was so crushed to have had the slowest time of the day. Bah. Sheer stubbornness should be able to overcome circumstance; that's what it's for. Next time, damnit, next time. And tonight I have a 5k erg test to murder.
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Baby winge
I read an article last week in the BBC. I genuinely don't remember what it was about, but one line stuck out in my mind, and has been turning over and over in my brain ever since:
"Many women blame the lack of adequate child care."
What exactly are they blaming on the on the lack of childcare? I don't remember, but it was probably something to do with either why so few women are in full-time employment, or possibly falling birth rates. It doesn't really matter, though. What is amazing about this statement is how blaze' it is. I bet few, if any, other readers of the article even batted an eye when they read it. Of course it's to do with inadequate child care. Duh.
And yet, this is an extraordinary assertion. I find it incredible that anyone, in any situation, should feel entitled to child care of any form. It really is an amazing assumption, completely new in the past couple of decades (which is but a pimple on the butt of the sum total of human history), that we feel entitled to give birth, spend a couple months with baby, and then go back to our careers, leaving someone else to look after the spog until he or she is 18 and old enough to leave home.
Ok, maybe not completely new. Extremely wealthy women throughout history were obligated to produce heirs to inherit their husband's property, but refused to engage in anything so bovine as actually feeding their own children, and after the first loud wail the bairns were handed off to be raised by wet nurses and governesses. But that is by far the exception, and even then it was never viewed as a government's responsibility. It was still a personal choice (either raise them yourself or spend your own money to hire other people). No one used other people's money to hire other people to raise their own children. Such an idea would have been preposterous. And yet, that's exactly what we do today.
Japan, Italy, and pretty much all of the developed world are facing major birth rate crises. The problem is that couples have been breeding far below the necessary 2.1 kids per couple to sustain the population, and the result is that in a few more years there won't be enough workers paying in to the social benefits scheme to support all the old people retiring and living off it. In both these countries women cite The Lack of Adequate Child Care as a primary reason for having one or no kids. Interestingly, when presented with a choice of raising kids or having a career, most people seem to be choosing the career. Fine. At least it's a choice. They are saying "I can't do both, so I choose one over the other." I can respect that.**
What I can't respect is the sense of entitlement, that the government has some sort of obligation to raise my children so I don't have to sacrifice anything to have them. And that kind of attitude is all too common. It's deeply reminiscint of people who want pets but don't want to do any of the dirty work, like walking the dog and scooping the cat litter. Can you imagine someone writing an article for the BBC, or giving a story on the news, saying "I'm completely entitled to have a dog, but I don't have time to take it out twice a day to walk and poop because I work full time. Clearly the government needs to institute more comprehensive dog-ownership programs to assist working dog-owners with their dog-walking and poop-scooping tasks. These programs need to be made especially accessible to poorer dog owners, who often have the most dogs but the fewest resources to look after them." Man, would I love to see that.
Don't misunderstand me. I'm not saying that a woman's place is in the home making babies. I am saying that you shouldn't even be contemplating having kids (and that's "you" meaning all of you, male and female alike) unless you're prepared give something up to have them (that is the nature of parenting) and are prepared to raise them your bloody self.
What do you think? There are a few moms and dads who hang out here. Do you think you are entitled to child care and after-school programs so you can continue to work? If so, why?
**Interestingly, no one has suggested a mass adoption campaign to move unwanted or orphaned babies from overpopulated countries like India and China to developed countries. If Italy is willing to pay its women cash to make babies, why shouldn't they just spend the cash to import and raise babies that would otherwise languish in a 3rd-world orphanage? It would help balance things out a lot. Everybody wins! I'm serious about this.
"Many women blame the lack of adequate child care."
What exactly are they blaming on the on the lack of childcare? I don't remember, but it was probably something to do with either why so few women are in full-time employment, or possibly falling birth rates. It doesn't really matter, though. What is amazing about this statement is how blaze' it is. I bet few, if any, other readers of the article even batted an eye when they read it. Of course it's to do with inadequate child care. Duh.
And yet, this is an extraordinary assertion. I find it incredible that anyone, in any situation, should feel entitled to child care of any form. It really is an amazing assumption, completely new in the past couple of decades (which is but a pimple on the butt of the sum total of human history), that we feel entitled to give birth, spend a couple months with baby, and then go back to our careers, leaving someone else to look after the spog until he or she is 18 and old enough to leave home.
Ok, maybe not completely new. Extremely wealthy women throughout history were obligated to produce heirs to inherit their husband's property, but refused to engage in anything so bovine as actually feeding their own children, and after the first loud wail the bairns were handed off to be raised by wet nurses and governesses. But that is by far the exception, and even then it was never viewed as a government's responsibility. It was still a personal choice (either raise them yourself or spend your own money to hire other people). No one used other people's money to hire other people to raise their own children. Such an idea would have been preposterous. And yet, that's exactly what we do today.
Japan, Italy, and pretty much all of the developed world are facing major birth rate crises. The problem is that couples have been breeding far below the necessary 2.1 kids per couple to sustain the population, and the result is that in a few more years there won't be enough workers paying in to the social benefits scheme to support all the old people retiring and living off it. In both these countries women cite The Lack of Adequate Child Care as a primary reason for having one or no kids. Interestingly, when presented with a choice of raising kids or having a career, most people seem to be choosing the career. Fine. At least it's a choice. They are saying "I can't do both, so I choose one over the other." I can respect that.**
What I can't respect is the sense of entitlement, that the government has some sort of obligation to raise my children so I don't have to sacrifice anything to have them. And that kind of attitude is all too common. It's deeply reminiscint of people who want pets but don't want to do any of the dirty work, like walking the dog and scooping the cat litter. Can you imagine someone writing an article for the BBC, or giving a story on the news, saying "I'm completely entitled to have a dog, but I don't have time to take it out twice a day to walk and poop because I work full time. Clearly the government needs to institute more comprehensive dog-ownership programs to assist working dog-owners with their dog-walking and poop-scooping tasks. These programs need to be made especially accessible to poorer dog owners, who often have the most dogs but the fewest resources to look after them." Man, would I love to see that.
Don't misunderstand me. I'm not saying that a woman's place is in the home making babies. I am saying that you shouldn't even be contemplating having kids (and that's "you" meaning all of you, male and female alike) unless you're prepared give something up to have them (that is the nature of parenting) and are prepared to raise them your bloody self.
What do you think? There are a few moms and dads who hang out here. Do you think you are entitled to child care and after-school programs so you can continue to work? If so, why?
**Interestingly, no one has suggested a mass adoption campaign to move unwanted or orphaned babies from overpopulated countries like India and China to developed countries. If Italy is willing to pay its women cash to make babies, why shouldn't they just spend the cash to import and raise babies that would otherwise languish in a 3rd-world orphanage? It would help balance things out a lot. Everybody wins! I'm serious about this.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
I went on a pub crawl last night with the Atheist, Agnoistic, and Secular Society. The theme was "myths and legends." I went as Eve. That's Elrond's ho on the left about to do something lurid.
How d'y' like them fig leaves!
I did have an apple earlier in the evening, but I ate before this pic was taken. Sorry.
How d'y' like them fig leaves!I did have an apple earlier in the evening, but I ate before this pic was taken. Sorry.
Monday, October 01, 2007
Why black Americans should support the gay rights movement
This is so good I'm reproducing it in its entirety. Thanks to Joe for putting it up at his place. Spread the word, mis amigos.
"Gay and lesbian rights are not "special rights" in any way. It isn't "special" to be free from discrimination – it is an ordinary, universal entitlement of citizenship. The right not to be discriminated against is a common-place claim we can expect to enjoy under our laws and our founding document, the Constitution. That many had to struggle to gain these rights makes them precious - it does not make them special, and it does not reserve them only for me or restrict them from others.
When others gain these rights, my rights are not reduced in any way. Luckily, "civil rights" are a win/win game; the more civil rights are won by others, the stronger the army defending my rights becomes. My rights are not diluted when my neighbor enjoys protection from the law – he or she becomes my ally in defending the rights we all share.
For some, comparisons between the African-American civil rights movement and the movement for gay and lesbian rights seem to diminish the long black historical struggle with all its suffering, sacrifices and endless toil. However, people of color ought to be flattered that our movement has provided so much inspiration for others, that is has been so widely imitated, and that our tactics, methods, heroines and heroes, even our songs, have been appropriated by or serve as models for others.
No parallel between movements for rights is exact. African-Americans are the only Americans were enslaved for more than two centuries, and people of color carry the badge of who we are on our faces. But we are far from the only people suffering discrimination – sadly, so do many others. They deserve the laws' protections and civil rights too.
Sexual disposition parallels race – I was born black and had no choice. I couldn't and wouldn't change if I could. Like race, our sexuality isn't a preference – it is immutable, unchangeable, and the Constitution protects us all against prejudices and discrimination based on immutable differences.
Many gays and lesbians, along with Jews, worked side by side with me in the '60s civil rights movement. Am I to now tell them "thanks" for risking life and limb helping me win my rights – but they are excluded because of a condition of their birth? That they cannot share now in the victories they helped to win? That having accepted and embraced them as partners is a common struggle, I can now turn my back on them and deny them the rights they helped me win, that I enjoy because of them?
Not a chance."
Julian Bond, Chairman of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People
"Gay and lesbian rights are not "special rights" in any way. It isn't "special" to be free from discrimination – it is an ordinary, universal entitlement of citizenship. The right not to be discriminated against is a common-place claim we can expect to enjoy under our laws and our founding document, the Constitution. That many had to struggle to gain these rights makes them precious - it does not make them special, and it does not reserve them only for me or restrict them from others.
When others gain these rights, my rights are not reduced in any way. Luckily, "civil rights" are a win/win game; the more civil rights are won by others, the stronger the army defending my rights becomes. My rights are not diluted when my neighbor enjoys protection from the law – he or she becomes my ally in defending the rights we all share.
For some, comparisons between the African-American civil rights movement and the movement for gay and lesbian rights seem to diminish the long black historical struggle with all its suffering, sacrifices and endless toil. However, people of color ought to be flattered that our movement has provided so much inspiration for others, that is has been so widely imitated, and that our tactics, methods, heroines and heroes, even our songs, have been appropriated by or serve as models for others.
No parallel between movements for rights is exact. African-Americans are the only Americans were enslaved for more than two centuries, and people of color carry the badge of who we are on our faces. But we are far from the only people suffering discrimination – sadly, so do many others. They deserve the laws' protections and civil rights too.
Sexual disposition parallels race – I was born black and had no choice. I couldn't and wouldn't change if I could. Like race, our sexuality isn't a preference – it is immutable, unchangeable, and the Constitution protects us all against prejudices and discrimination based on immutable differences.
Many gays and lesbians, along with Jews, worked side by side with me in the '60s civil rights movement. Am I to now tell them "thanks" for risking life and limb helping me win my rights – but they are excluded because of a condition of their birth? That they cannot share now in the victories they helped to win? That having accepted and embraced them as partners is a common struggle, I can now turn my back on them and deny them the rights they helped me win, that I enjoy because of them?
Not a chance."
Julian Bond, Chairman of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People
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