8:13 p.m., July 23, 2019

Location: Port Townsend Vineyards Tasting Room, Water St., Cloudy. Mist blowing in from the west.

I decided to finally leave the house this evening, or rather, not putz around in a big lonely house after work, or sit and stare at the windows in my writing room. After being here for two weeks, and for once, not being exhausted (despite 3 hours of sleep today) I decided to actually go out and be in the presence of people (and see a friend). Mainly because I knew my extroverted sanity needed it.

So, I’m sitting on the back patio of the PT Vineyards tasting room, at a table for four but with the attendance of one. A healthy serving of Viognier, the pita bread and hummus plate and those New Yorker magazines again. Last night’s article was about a Bjork-like pop musician, which I enjoyed; tonight’s article is a heartbreaking story of a family with twin babies and how they’re using GoFundMe to help support their $2 million medical needs for their childrens’ disease that likely won’t let them live much longer. I couldn’t finish reading it.

Also, sorry, J, if your magazines may be a bit more wrinkled with a minor grease stain, as the wind fluffed Pages 19-21 into my dish that had a significant drizzle of oil. But I learned that I love cold cooked sliced beets topped with roasted cauliflower and garlic hummus. It’s an earthy purple cracker.

I’m under a fancy canopy that automatically rolls back when the wind kicks up. But the sprinkles that were promised at 8 p.m. are splattering my screen.

I also get to walk home in it. The sprinkles that is.

This Viognier is really good. This evening is also a recon mission for possible future visits with company.

The water looks like it’d be a great night for sailing, despite the low clouds, as the water’s surface is wrinkled and a tiny bit wavy.

(wipes off the screen)

Realized (again) on Facebook today that nothing of value is being posted these days. It’s mostly “Feel Good About Yourself” memes, political shit and videos of animals. Super tired of it. Except the cat videos. I’ll pause to watch the cat videos. Dog videos make me cry.

8:22 p.m. I have 6 more minutes.

I had planned on transcribing more of my maritime interviews this evening. My little Olympus recorder is surprisingly pretty awesome at catching the interviewee. I just need to shut the hell up during the interviews because it catches my unnecessary commentary. It’d make editing the transcript A LOT easier. Just think of it as recording audio for a video.

(wipes the screen again)

oh what else, what else… brain is fading because of the wine. It has the same effect as beer. Which is why I don’t drink during the week when I want to get stuff done.

Speaking of, the weeds, OH GOD THE WEEDS in the front of my house in Bremerton are horrendous. I’ve never let my yard go this far. Garden therapy next week.

I wish I’d been able to spend more time at the little places in town during the evening during my time here, but, well, it’s no fun to go out on your own regularly. It’s not a thing I do, anyway. I like it occasionally – but mainly for breakfast and lunch. At night, I prefer a dinner companion. My daily streak of time in PT ends on Friday but I hope to spend more time up here in the company of others in the future.

8:28 p.m.

Post edit:

No wonder I like Viognier. It comes from the Rhone region and my favorite red (Syrah) is from there.

The title is actually false. I put in a lot of miles this weekend. Mostly on Friday and today, Sunday, driving to and from Bogachiel State Park for a ladies camping weekend on the coast.

Put a couple hundred miles on Bertha, but about eight walking miles on my feet on the South Fork Hoh River trail. Woke up more sore today than I have during some of my last few long runs. Huh.

The trail was lush with ferns and spooky with moss draped over dead tree branches, but it petered out into a climber’s trail, with no destination for a day hike like ours (We learned you can access Mt. Olympus from here, though). We met a bio-acoustic ecology student from Schumacher College who told us trees communicate through the ground. He had tied red flagging to his listening spots and encouraged us to stop at each.

“Be well,” he said as his goodbye.

We heard various bird chatter at one. Not much at another. Distant rushing water at the third (or was it the breeze?). I figured maybe understanding this concept was like learning to drink wine – it takes time to train the ear on what to listen for.

We took pictures and moved on.

Speaking of sound, the evening winds are picking up right now in PT. I’ve decided to move to the front porch for the first time since “living” here to write and soak in the last of the weekend sun while sipping on a Zero Miles double IPA.

That will certainly guarantee that I will get nothing done this evening, except maybe unload the car and possibly consider entertaining the idea of making lunch for tomorrow. Also write drivelous nonsense on a blog that doesn’t get as much love as it should.

That breeze really does cover up the street noise and people noise unless the source of the noise is within eye sight. I’m still not sure if I like it or not. After 2.5 days of friend chatter, it’s a hard transition to a quiet house. It feels lonely. But that’s part of the retreat part, right? To get back into the head. The problem of an Extrovert. And the reentry process after a weekend (mostly) off the grid. It reminds me of climbing trips and how girlfriends and I would bemoan the transition back into civilization and day-to-day life.

I blissfully managed to stay off the phone this weekend, save for a few texts. Popping on Facebook right after I got home justified staying off it this weekend. People went to beer fests, music fest, Pride fests, had hearts broken and generally screamed about the state of the world.

The phone is tucked away in the corner of the house and silenced. My head is already in a weird space during this transition. Maybe I should pop on the OK Computer vinyl that my friend purposefully set out for me.

He also has New Yorkers that I am gleefully devouring. They’re so new even he hasn’t had a chance read them. I apologize in advance, J, for the smudging of some of the words from my thumbs. The July 1 looks OK – except for the column from Patricia Marx, who is always a delight to read; the July 8-15 looks more interesting. I loved discovering in 2013 that my sister also loves New Yorkers – I think I introduced her to them (or maybe she read them before?). Regardless, I like that we have that in common. We’d read articles to P as bedtime stories when he was 2. He probably thought we were crazy. If you put her and me together on a good day, he’d definitely think we’re crazy. Or laugh at us. Or with us. On a good day, our family is like that. I miss that.

I was so excited to find Chetzemoka Park down the street from the house the other day. Shakespeare in the Park is performed there every weekend in August. I went once and it was delightful. Despite this August being 99% filled already with travel and commitments, I hope to squeeze in a performance -– maybe on a Sunday?

This week looks to be painfully less chaotic compared to last week. The previous seven days involved shellfish, mountain goats, things that needed to be posted ASAP, supporting our team in preparation for a presentation, and photographing 3-year-olds who were supposed to be throwing oyster seeds on a beach but instead were chasing small crabs.

The most distinctive noise in Uptown is the church bell calling out the hours. I don’t have to look at my phone in the middle of the night when I hear the chimes. Even when half awake, I always hear the chimes.

The sun has finally gone down behind the house across the street. The breeze is picking up. It’s time to go inside.

I’m in Port Townsend house sitting for 16 days. I’ve never house sit for this length of time before. It’s for a dear friend from mountain rescue. We’re also collaborating on a project for an upcoming photography show; I’m supporting with written words. I wasn’t sure of my time commitment to do such a thing this summer but I knew once I settled into his house, my journalist deadline instinct would kick in and all would be fine. I’m treating my time up here like a writing retreat and it’s been refreshing to just sit in my own head for a while with a project.

In fact, I don’t know whenever I’ve ever done something like this. It’s hard for me to sit down with my thoughts.

Of course, it’s taken some adjusting. It’s like being in an AirBnB but you know the person who lives here but yet you don’t, since for the majority of your six-year friendship, you’ve lived an hour from each other and visited only briefly via meetings, missions or the Internet, plus the occasional meal to catch up.

It’s also really quiet up here.

It’s an older home, historic, built in 1889. 10-foot ceilings, odd additions, with exterior siding on the inside of the first floor bathroom. It’s two floors, with a lovely wide staircase that creaks. Especially that last step at the top. Until yesterday, whenever I put weight on it, I jumped a little. It sounded like a little mouse squeaking. Or a groaning rocking chair. I couldn’t decide.

Now when I approach the step, I gleefully put my weight on it, entertained by its “eek.”

I told an acquaintance I was staying in PT in an older home. Her eyes got really big and she told me of her stay in an older home up here one time too. “There are ghosts, Tiffany. But they’re friendly ghosts.”

To entertain myself, I’ve named the “ghost” of this house, who is responsible for all the little old house noises, Ellie Mc Kay.

***

But I didn’t think about ghosts the first night. Or the second night.

The first night was filled with nightmares that I blamed on drinking old wine. And just not being used to the structure’s noises – gutters leaking, house settling, neighbors scuttling about. But it was one of those nightmares where someone walks into your room, even though you know it’s not real, and they appear in the doorway, and you’re trying really really really hard to say the name of who you think it is, and if you just open your eyes and speak, it will all be over, and then they just say in a deep low voice:

“I missed my ferry.”

Your eyes fly open, you start panic breathing, and then you don’t sleep for the next hour.

Night 2 had legitimate reasons for unusual noises.

I was mostly awake (again, blame the old wine) and suddenly, there was a huge BANG downstairs, followed by the entire house shaking.

“OMG SOMEONE IS COMING TO KILL ME THEY’RE COMING UP THE STAIRS WHAT AM I GOING TO DO WHAT DO I DO–”

Then the shaking didn’t stop – for about a solid 30 seconds (so it felt).

“Wait. I think we had an earthquake. That HAD to have been an earthquake.”

A few minutes later, at 3 a.m., I see half of the Pacific Northwest is awake on Facebook because of a 4.6 in Everett, followed by a 3.5 aftershock.

Reassuring to know but I still didn’t fall sleep for another hour.

On the third night, I didn’t have any wine. I slept like a baby.

***

The past few days, while I adjusted to establishing a routine in a space that isn’t mine, I’ve almost dreaded coming back each time. It’s quiet. Almost too quiet. There’s no one here.

Not that it bothers me at my house in Bremerton. I live by myself there too. But I live in a whirlwind of energy, with lots of traffic, a tenant going in and out downstairs at odd hours, my own coming and going all the time, sprinting out the door to run or go to work. Plus, projects, so many house projects. And social events.

But here? Nothing.

Tonight, as I was sitting next to five photographs from which I’m taking inspiration to write interview questions, I was struck by how much I’m enjoying the quiet. The only noise is the rustling of the trees from gentle winds that breeze through town every evening, which seems appropriate for a seaport town.

I set priorities during these 16 days to retreat, interview, write and run, and not really do much of anything else (aside from the full time job). Haven’t really even cooked, thanks to the delicious farm stores and the co-op with their fresh grab n’ go food.

I thought I’d stack my time here by jumping on all the weird things that PT has to offer. But nope.

And now I get why writers do these things. I thought I’d be bored or distracted, but that’s the point. I’m not.

Of course, I’m distracted right now, laying out my thoughts about the blissful quiet. But I’m treating it as a writing exercise. I don’t do that enough. I’d like to do more.

Hopefully this house will give me more adventures to write about.

March 9, 2018 9:28 p.m.

And so, of course, my bummed out mentality leading up to the morning of my birthday turned for the better.

It always happens. Every year. Always annoyed the last few days of my previous year, but then the day of, I’m flooded with good feelings and everything is OK with the world.

I worked a half day, and took rest off to go to Seattle. Wasn’t sure what I was going to do; maybe just wander around the city, maybe hit a museum.

Then, while getting cleaned up, the idea of owning a scooter overcame me.

It’d been in the back of my head the past few years, thinking a little bright cherry red scooter for work commuting would be great fun. It’d match the Jetta. I’d take the nice backroads of Central Kitsap, especially on blue sky summer mornings.

The idea came over me in a kind of panic at first but in a very determined fashion, like, yes, YES this is something I DEFINITELY NEED TO DO. No research, no overthinking, just go out and buy.

So, after a brief search on Craigslist, with a little help from KG, 2 hours later I found myself getting out of an Uber at Seattle Cycle Center near Greenwood, walking into the shop and suddenly wondering what the hell I was doing there.

But I approached the desk and started with, “So, it’s my birthday. I’m turning 39 and well, I’m interested in the Buddy 125 you have on Craigslist…”

The next hour or so, the nice sales guy patiently dealt with my questions, my request for pictures of me on the bike, any history on it, what I’d need to do to get it out of his shop, what kind of helmets were out there, how they should fit. He was quite informative, didn’t try to sell me something quick, encouraged me to take a class, learn what kind of bike and brand I’d want, make sure I really want something like this.

I left feeling better, more educated and excited. At dinner, KG quizzed me on why I wanted it (um, from a vanity point of view, it seems cool and it’s a good commute alternative. In his classic way, he drops his head a little, slowly closes his eyes and shakes his head, then looks at me with a sly grin and says, “No, those are perfectly good reasons to own a scooter.”). Plus I was getting encouragement from Sara, the one of few motorcycle ladies I know, and then there was the absolutely raging cheerleading crowd from Facebook that was all in agreement that Tiffany should buy a bright yellow scooter for her birthday.

This all happened Tuesday.

I called the sales guy on Wednesday with a few more questions. I printed out the motorcycle knowledge and skills guide from the state department of licensing web site.

Thursday, I put a deposit on the scooter, cleared my schedule for Saturday, and scheduled with Sara and KG to get it back to Bremerton.

And that is how Tiffany had a mid-life crisis named Buttercup.

March 5, 2018

At the time of this writing, I will have been alive for 38 years, 11 months, 5 days and 3 hours.

I think.

Honestly, I’m not sure if that math is right.

But an easier way to look at it is that I’ve been alive for nearly 14,235 days.

“That’s it?” I said outloud to my empty house.

It does not feel like it’s been that long. It feels a lot longer.

At the time of this writing, at about 10:20 p.m. Pacific Standard Time, March 5, 2018, in about 21 hours (figuring in the time difference for living on the West Coast, but being born in Louisville, Kentucky at 10:09 p.m. on March 6, 1979), I will turn 39.

As the day worn on today, the thought of the ticker turning became a bit more… heavy. I don’t know why. Maybe because Sarah, my work sister, is leaving this week. Maybe because it’s been blah and gray here lately and definitely the time of year when cabin fever and the gray hits me (and the rest of the northwest) pretty hard. Also, Monday.

I also get kinda glum around my birthday, especially if I don’t have something planned. And I don’t really.

Well, that’s not necessarily true. I always try and plan something on the weekend closest to my birthday, whether it’s a long getaway or just a one-day event. KG indulged me on Sunday and went with me to Musselfest in Coupeville, where we sampled 8 types of mussel chowder, did a fair sampling of the wine beer and garden, ate our way through the Paella and BBQ food trucks, tried to get on a boat to see a mussel farm, and then drove alllll the way back around to the mainland, with a stop at the Skagit Valley Co-op for our weekly groceries, before popping on to the Kingston-Edmonds Ferry and zipping back down to Bremerton.

Or, maybe because I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be feeling at age 39.

It’s like going through puberty for the 4th time in your life. You’re not quite a kid but you’re not quite an adult.

I’m not married. I don’t have kids. But I own a house, have a pretty good job, am surrounded by a strong supportive community and certainly don’t sit around twiddling my thumbs with nothing to do.

So, is this it? Why does it feel like something is missing?

I’ve been feeling like this for a few years now, and expressed it to a friend recently, who is a slightly older version of me by a few years (not married, no kids, owns her house, has a solid career):

“Yeah, I went through that. And then, you suddenly realize,  you’re OK with it. And you’re happy. And you do what you want.”

That worked for a while. But it’s hanging over my head again. (I really think it’s the gray. And not enough outside time. I was never this cranky when I was hiking/skiing on a  regular basis.)

I’m not much of a long term planner, more of a short term, “get things done because I wanted them down yesterday” kinda of person when I feel passionate about a project – both in my professional and volunteer careers. I mean, when you find something good, why move on? I’ve never been super career driven, just something stable, I guess. I wasn’t even sure out of college what I wanted. Honestly, the magazine industry scared the daylights out of me and newspapers were the only other option for my skill set (aside from going back to college). I knew I always liked promotions/public relations when I dabbled in it in college. Promoting the tribes’ treaty rights wasn’t ever something I’d considered as a job but well, it’s surprising what people will pay you to do these days. It was also made clear to me that I’d likely work for the tribes after I sent home reports about how much I enjoyed covering them as a reporter.

It’s supposed to be sunny on March 6, 2018. I certainly hope so. I need that sun. I notice it helps considerably with being able to survive out here. I’ll work part of the day, then go for a run, clean up, and ferry into the city for a stroll to absorb the energy, then meet KG for dinner in Pioneer Square. And I know I’ll feel better by then.

The New Year Resolutions.

The List.

What I’m Going To Do in 2017.

How I’m Going To Make Myself Better.

How to Stop Making Excuses.

I’ve been making these lists the past few years and posting them here. Then later I publicly flog myself for not doing the 20 million things I want to do.

I stepped back the other day and thought, well, why HAVEN’T I done those things?

I’d realized I’d set myself up for failure. I wasn’t planning. That and I was wanting to do too much, which turned out to be overwhelming so I’d just go back to scrolling through Facebook and Instagram.

Stuff doesn’t just happen. While I prefer that it just does, I know in reality, depending on what it is, it just doesn’t.

Other than committing myself to things that involve other people relying on me (Group vacations or athletic events, OMR trainings/meetings), I hadn’t followed through with the first step that I tell myself every year – print out a paper calendar, tape it to the wall, each month side by side so I can see it daily, and write in all the stuff I want to do this year.

That’s all fine and great but it’s like a brainstorming session – you can come up with a million ideas but who is going to do the follow through?

Looking back at my  previous lists, as well as my ongoing internal list of things I want to do all the time, there’s a lot. And how much of it is reasonable?

I want to play all the time – yoga, ride, trail run, scramble, get back to indoor rock climbing, try out water sports.

I want to garden all the time – make my backyard a sanctuary, do manual labor and put some much-needed sweat equity into the house.

I want to work on personal development – read those self-help books that help me look a little deeper and help open my perspective on life at almost 38, with no kids, not married, GREAT job and yet still frustratingly wonder “WTF am I doing with my life?”

Frankly, I feel like I should be traveling the world as a vagabond, not trying to Martha Stewart the shit out of my cozy 2 bedroom, 1 bath little house, with a 9-5 job. (at the same time, as I wrote that out, I realized that sounds kinda fun too – SEE! TOO MANY WANTS).

(This also brings to mind a Gloria Steinem quote from an interview in 2015 on Fresh Air about her latest book, and is pinned to my wall – “I think in general, as a culture, we tend to think there are two choices: settling down or traveling. And actually you need both … birds need a nest and they still fly. It took me a while (to understand) that it wasn’t either/or – it was both.”)

I’ve recently gotten into professional development – I want to take classes – certified or not – on digital marketing and social media, help develop my skill set to help my current job and see where that takes me. Put those skills into practice. As the world knows, I’m terribly bored with my current skills.

I want to bring more creativity into my life – sewing a little bit last year helped that, and dating someone these days who thinks outside the box, thus leading to some very imaginative conversations, has me excited too. Take drawing classes, finish up a few of those woodworking projects, hell, even paint the house different colors. I want to write and read more.

But all these things take time. And I could pick one of them and focus on it the entire year, neglecting the others. But how is that balanced?

After last year’s insanity, in which I became the absolutely most busiest I’ve ever been in my entire life (which is hard to believe since I seem to be busy all the time, but when you’re eating out three times a day for 2-3 months straight because you have no time to cook for yourself because of work and volunteer activities and bike training, that’s the extreme end of busy for me), I finally was forced to step back and take stock of my mental, emotional and physical capacity in early August.

Relinquishing a lot of that “I must do this and that” because that’s who I am or who I USED to be was a huge relief. I just wanted to “be.”

But that’s a key question – who I USED to be. Life changes. There are no constants. I need to be accepting of that. Except tea. There’s always tea.

I’m in mountain rescue but I haven’t climbed a damn mountain in three years – am I still interested in this work? I am, because I love the concept of SAR and participating in it when I can. And I want to use OMR as a way to practice communication strategy and public outreach. But again, that requires sitting down, time and focus.

—

I like to plan and pay for events (i.e. organized trail runs and bike rides) so I have something to look forward to, and it forces me to commit to it, but then it hurts when I have to say no to something else when it comes up and conflicts with my original plans. I hate saying no. As cliche and millennial as it is, I DO live that life of Fear Of Missing Out (FOMO). I also question why I don’t just go out and do it every weekend like everyone else (run, ski, etc) and realize I always have something else going on. So it’s not like I’m at home sitting around watching TV all the time. I take pride in knowing I DON’T do that but I also wonder, then what AM I doing?

KG and I have had several conversations about the FOMO effect recently. We’re both pretty independent people who need “me” time to take care of stuff. We get in a funk if we don’t have that “me” time. We struggle to give each other that space yet want to spend time with each other so not to miss out on experiencing things together. Thankfully, we talk about it, rather than me wringing my hands at home going, “oh god, am I giving him enough space? And yet I can’t be afraid to tell him no for my space. We both have major projects we’d like to complete on our own, how do we do it and see each other and yet support each other but also have fun like we’ve been doing the past few months …”

(Which, I’ll admit, I still feel this at times. This is old anti-communication Tiffany speaking. She’s continually working hard to break through those barriers. She’s still realizing that relationships go through evolutions and development and not everything is sparkly and hearts and unicorns and rainbows all the time, despite how much she wants it to be).

KG made another good point too. He has developed a list of governing values – a set of overall rules, values, moral codes that he lives by. And he makes most of his decisions measured against these values. He said that should be my first step, which will help guide me toward the things I REALLY want to do (and not what I feel I should do or what I THINK I want to do just because it’s been like that in the past) and add value to my life. Not take away value (i.e. time management, enjoyment, etc).

I’m also realizing that while I’m a people person in most capacities, in the past year I’ve discovered I REALLY like being alone too. When it comes to learning/education – I enjoy in-person environments the best, networking, sharing ideas, brainstorming, being creative together. Call me old school that way, I guess.

At home, in the evenings, especially lately since I’ve been sick, I’ve been enjoying being at home with an online course, a book, even editing for work (and snuggled under that amazing blanket I got from KG for Christmas).

So, all this rambling – what’s the result?

I FINALLY printed out all 12 months of 2017 and they are taped to the utility closet door, so I see them every. single. time. I pass by it on my way to the bedroom and kitchen and bathroom. I keep a pencil nearby to update each day with whatever fun activity I’ve done that day. Kind of like a daily journal. DONE.

My 2017 “resolutions”: (initially laid out early Jan 2017, with updates early Feb 2017)

“Me”

Simple. 

Regular yoga (Start with just Wednesday nights, my favorite yoga class at the YMCA – that’s ME time). No one gets in the way of these, not friends, KG, dinner, work, anything. Someone must be dying, bleeding or throwing up for me to give up this. (UPDATE: So I’ve yet to go to that specific class – even though KG pushes me to go it when I mention I have other options on the table-  but I discovered YouTube has a ton of yoga videos, and I found a pretty good 30 day series that I’ve been sticking with, so, progress!). 

Regular cycling – weekends, as they get nicer. I have a nice regular group of cycling friends now to rely on. Sign up for STP again? (Update: talks with friends point more toward RSVP and/or the week long bike tour of Oregon in the summer)

Creativity (classes) (still working on this – thinking more of the yard and interior of the house right now – hitting up the sewing machine may be a good start though)

Professional development (UPDATE: UW social media course was cancelled so, do a social media marketing online course via coursera; then sign up for the digital marketing course at UW in March!)

Personal development (take those books on your shelf, make those dark week nights your reading nights)

Get back into mountaineering shape – this will happen in time as the season gets warmer. If I set a goal to climb Baker (FINALLY) that will help get my butt in gear. Use the Melissa Arnot plan. Or shoot – train for another triathlon! oooohhhhh I wonder who i could get to do that with me!!! 

This post feels a lot like the previous ones, but this has more awareness and energy behind it. More external moral support instead of just my brain. more intention with ideas of how to move forward. And the list is not nearly as long and overwhelming. And it will be printed out and posted next to that calendar. OOOOOHHHH – corkboard with command hooks for the wall. That’s enticing.

Another concept I came across the other day too – living a life that is meaningful versus finding ways to be happy.

SO many buzzwords and phrases – finding your passion in life. finding happiness. What does happiness look like? Working to live, not living to work. make your job not feel like work. Another post for another day.

I’ll be the first to admit – I’m not politically active.

They bore me, they confuse me. For my professional life, I was trained to be objective, unbiased, and I carried that in to my personal life. I don’t debate because I know I don’t know all sides of the story. I don’t like arguing, I don’t like confrontation. I don’t like being told I’m wrong. Some call that lazy or ignorant.

But I have a job. I pay my bills. I try to adult as best as possible. I’ve worked hard to get where I am. I have food on my table and a roof over my head. Stay the course and all will be fine.

I kept my ear kinda open this election season, but not too much because it all turned into white noise. I tried to listen to the debates but my brain just shut down and absorbed nothing. I just followed the wrap up stories afterward for highlights.

My general view on politicians is not the person themselves, but the people they choose to advise them. That’s what scares me.

I unfollowed as many of my FB friends as I could who were posting political stuff 24-7. I didn’t see my first old-fashioned presidential candidate TV commercial until the night of Game 7 of the World Series, seven days before the election.

I was going to write in myself, vote for Gary Johnson or Hillary. Regardless of where I filled in my little dot, it still felt weird, hard, confusing, heartbreaking. I couldn’t figure out why though. I asked myself, “Why do you care so much?”

And now, I’m experiencing feelings I did not know I had about politics. Or the future of our country.

I, like others, felt decent that Trump was not going to take the presidency. I tried to avoid FB all day on Tuesday, and didn’t really check any results until just before I went to a meeting at 7 p.m.

At 8:15 p.m., Lana and I leaned over her phone. Trump was winning. 209 – 168 or something ridiculous. We stared at each other in disbelief.

My stomach dropped. And didn’t stop. It still hasn’t stopped. I knew that despite what happened Tuesday night, we’d all wake up, still with jobs, families, values, morals.

But I know it’s what’s down the road that scares everyone.

I get it. We need turnover in political environment. Break the elitism. Were these the two to do it? We all constantly heard no, and was sorely disappointed that our country of more than 300 million people couldn’t have had better popular candidates.

Do we need someone with political experience, familiar with that realm, environment, and is diplomatic? Can reach across the aisle? Yes.

Do we need someone with business and financial know-how to help run the business of government, which, as someone who works for a government agency, knows it is ALL ABOUT managing finances to get the right things done? Yes.

Are these the two to do it? Despite whatever horrible things they’ve done, said, portrayed, pontificated?

These two have zero reality of the majority of the American population. They are SO out of touch.

I only watched and read about an hour of the results before I turned it off. In a situation when a majority is upset and freaking out, my gut reaction is to play Devil’s Advocate – Sure, he’s said all these horrible things and can’t talk his way properly out of a paper bag, but let’s look at …

Then I think, yikes. NO. No way.

Then the commentators this morning started reviewing his campaign promises. From what it sounded like to me, he will be UNDOING EVERYTHING EVERY PRESIDENT BEFORE HIM HAS DONE, DESPITE POLITICAL LEANING.

Things that have led us to where we are today.

Now, of course, many will argue that those things have led us to current state of greatness or current state of disaster. So, there’s no trying to debate that.

A commentator this morning put Paul Ryan and Trump side by side and ticked off all the things they disagree on, despite being from the same “side.”

It was EVERYTHING.

*sigh*

My father.

For the past 18 months, he’s been saying, “Don’t underestimate Trump.”

Whenever my father makes a declaratory statement, and my gut knows he’s probably right but my heart wants to doubt him, he always turns out right.

For the love of America, I hope you’re bloody right, Dad. Jesus Fucking Christ, I hope you’re right and he proves us all wrong. I can only hope that someone comes in and sedates him, putting to sleep his horribleness as a person and pulls out whatever teeny tiny business sense he does have to balance a government budget. That is absolutely the best I can even possibly muster for finding something positive out of this entire situation. But even that’s a tiny sliver of hope that my gut is not happy with.

The only other positive takeaway is listening to my sister tell me how her 5-year-old son has been listening, paying attention, absorbing information and making his own decisions the past few months. He and his mother both voted for different candidates. Neither of their candidates may not have won, but I could not be more proud of them and especially, him.

I don’t know how to start this one. All I know is that I want to write down everything about this weekend (and this season) because I’m in the post-event funk and don’t want to forget anything. And it’s faster for me to type than to handwrite in a journal.

And, should I do this again in the future, remember what to do and what not to do.

Training (i.e. How To Get Your Friends To Train With You):

For the time I had, I think I did the best I could. Beth brought up the idea in January, and I signed up in March. Between supporting a conference, making two trips to the East Coast, making two quilts, helping manage a film project, ending a relationship and completing some major work projects, then pumping out at least one or two short rides a week (sorta) and one long ride a weekend, (with some spin classes thrown in for good measure, so I thought) every little bit helped.

Doing a variety of rides on the Olympic Peninsula, in Kitsap, and in Seattle, and having a variety of training partners (even if I did have to bribe most of them with beer and food) kept rides interesting.

But by end of April, I was already burned out on training, especially the weekday rides. They just weren’t fun. I was by myself, exhausted after a day of work and stressed about getting in miles/time on the seat. Plus I was doing spin classes, again just to get more time on the seat. I lost a ton of weight quickly and was eating all the time, which was great, but I also was dealing with sore hips and knees, which wasn’t great. I dialed it all back a bit, dropped the spin classes and focused on developing fun long rides for folks to join and things got a little easier. Plus, with all of Kitsap’s hills, I learned the correct direction to ride the county, so I wasn’t climbing ALL the time.

Training took me to different parts of Washington I’d never normally get out and explore, such as the countryside north of Seattle, the Key Peninsula and the Olympic Discovery Trail between Sequim and Port Angeles. Some of these included the occasional fun supported rides where, frankly, you ride for the free food, with the benefits of beautiful views.

I learned how shop rides can be full of jerks, how riding with your friends is way more fun, how it is possible to find fun riders who aren’t jerks and who become your friends, and how friends you hang out with already can become bike partners.

Also, fun names for every training ride is required: Crazy Train; Flying Guinea Pigs; Four Dudes and A Lady; Suck It Up Buttercup and Ride; Taco Pizza Cat, Animal and Hot Pants; Sea2Issy; Sea2Issy: The Ladies Ride; The Bakery Tour of Kitsap (Bikes, Beers and Baked Goods)… I know I’m missing a few.

Sometimes, a solo ride WAS cathartic, such as on an early beautiful weekend morning, before traffic gets crazy in Silverdale and you’re done with 20 miles by 9:30 a.m., and the whole day is still ahead of you.

I learned how to retape my bars, adjust my brakes, ride without a seat bag and with only minimal gear, how my front derailleur works and how much mine sucks, and that I really need to build a bike stand in my garage so I can do maintenance.

I definitely felt myself get stronger (most the time). Hills get me excited (mostly) but so do long fast flats. Riding in the most powerful gear on my granny ring got easier and easier over the season. When my big chain ring worked, that was even more fun.

Don, who has been teaching me to ride road and mountain bikes on and off again for 13 years now, was most appreciated. I kept his advice in my head throughout the training season.

Food:

Kind bars. Gels. Cliff Shots. Vitalyte is the only electrolyte drink I should stick with. Everything else is horrible. Why and how Nuun works, I have no idea. It reminds me of diet soda, which is terrible in the first place. And Gatorade. Only in a pinch. That stuff is disgusting unless your body is shutting down and literally needs liquid sugar. Stepfanie’s Calorie Bomb cookies were dense but great on the road.

Beer mid-ride is fun. Homemade cookies 10 miles down the road after said beer is more fun. Beer and burger post-ride is the best.

STP WEEKEND:

SO, the weekend comes. July 16-17. Our original team, Beth, Joe, Matthew, Margo and myself, changed bodies a few times. Matthew and Margo weren’t able to ride, so we found Chris and Kristen. At the last second, Chris and Kristen aren’t able to ride, so it was down to the original three. However, at lunch on Day 1, we pick up Greg, so a nice little team of 4.

Logistics for the day before the ride and getting to the start line took on a life of their own for months before finally being narrowed down. I wound up going into Seattle Friday night at 7:45 p.m., being picked up by Beth at the ferry, going to UW to drop off our overnight bags, picking up pasta and salads from Olympic Pizza III, making a breakfast quiche for the next morning while Beth picked up Joe from the airport, then me going down the block to Reba’s to spend the night at 11 p.m.

Up at 5:15 a.m., at Beth’s by 5:35 a.m., inhaled aforementioned quiche, biked from Capitol Hill to the start line at the E-1 parking lot at University of Washington and dashing from the start line at 7 a.m.

The idea of 100 miles in a day was still a bit daunting, so I broke it down mentally by segments of 25 miles. That’s do-able. 25 miles is a piece of cake.

The route took us along Lake Washington for several miles, which was lovely. Then it dumped us into the industrial complexes for the next 20 miles south of Seattle, before our first major rest stop, sponsored by REI. We’d heard the REI stop was legendary, so we were excited to check it out.

Nope. Sorely disappointed. Not sure what I was expecting (Maybe something along the lines of what Flying Wheels event did for food, which was every possible type of carb in the form of sandwiches, bars, muffins, cookies and candy) but it was only bananas, oranges and tortillas. Granted, it WAS the first stop of the day after only 25 miles. Oh and Clif Bars was handing out pouches of basically liquified oatmeal. I do not know anyone who actually enjoyed them. I refuse to eat liquified oatmeal. I have a hard time with the concept of oatmeal in general.

But we kept our spirits and hopes high for the next stop.

We rode for another 25 miles, which included the infamous Puyallup Hill (the first of two major hills on the entire ride), which wasn’t necessarily steep, just long. I thought it was fun. Otherwise, the ride was pretty mild and flat on Day 1.

Our next stop was in Spanaway for lunch (50 miles-ish). I figured after we got out of the industrial area, the route would be prettier, and it was. The group of bikes didn’t thin out as much as I thought it would though.

Spanaway/Lunch was in a high school football field. Turkey sandwiches, hummus, pretzels, cookies, bars, fruit and resting. Not a bad combo. Picked up Greg here.

The section after Spanaway was the best part of the ride. We got to bike on a closed road through the military base (Joint Base Lewis-McCord) for a good bit, a few more streets, then the route took us for 14 miles on the Tenino-Yelm bike trail. This was such a nice reprieve from street riding with cars and stoplights.

By the time of the Clif Bar Mini Stop, at 88 miles, it was greatly welcomed, but not for the Clif Bar freebies (wretched liquified oatmeal). No, the Tenino High School Basketball Team was madly handing out popsicles, watermelon and other fruit, while keeping the water jugs filled and a soundsystem pumping music. It was hard to leave, but only 20 miles to go for the rest of the day sounded pretty sweet.

Bums were starting to get sore during these last couple miles, and we were stoked to cross the city limits into Centralia, the event’s official Half Way Point, where camping, food trucks, live music and a beer garden awaited riders. Located on the Centralia College campus, tents were lined up back-to-back on every possible patch of grass available. Kristen drove from Port Orchard to join us and give us any support we needed. We met up in the beer garden for some congratulatory beverages for an hour or so before riding our final six miles of the day to Chehalis/Recreation Park. This is where we met our hosts, The Pattens.

Biking through Chehalis around 8 p.m. was interesting… a quiet little town, completely shut down, even though 10,000 riders were invading the region. It reminded me a lot of Athens, Ohio, where Beth and I went to college.

Instead of camping, and since every hotel in the region was sold out before March, we took our chances and paid the local chamber of commerce to find us a place to sleep. The organization has a program where local families open their houses to riders to crash for the night. Our hosts, Matt and Paige Patten, were known for hosting about 15-18 people each year and was rumored to be one of the best private hosts in town. We quickly found out why – huge house with room to spread out our stuff, a real shower, meet other riders over dinner, comfy couches to crash on, and a large spread of food, including homemade spaghetti sauce and pie and ice cream and then pancakes and eggs and sausage for breakfast… we could not thank them enough. They even hauled our overnight bags to and from the park for us.

Refreshed and full, we left Sunday morning, bombed down the hill from their house and got back on route.

Now, at this point, getting back on the bike is supposed to be the hardest part of the entire trip. I was told multiple times that training for STP isn’t so much putting miles on the legs as it is putting miles on the seat, to train the butt for the time on the saddle.

I have say, I was pleasantly surprised how much it didn’t hurt, but I can’t say that there wasn’t some noticeable soreness. I was surprised a little bit around mile 120 when my quads started to make noise. Nope, 80 miles to go, you can’t quit on me now.

The next 50 miles or so were some of the prettiest of the entire ride. We started around 8 a.m. under overcast skies, but the clouds soon burned off and we were cruising on roads that meandered around farms and old houses, with some rolling hills thrown in for good measure. Then we got to the hill that was the “other” rumored hill on the ride, but I didn’t realize it until we were at the top and large yellow signs told us that Free Banana Bread was ahead! We were told about this stop by the Pattens, where a family greeted everyone with free banana bread at the top of the big hill, of which we heartily engaged. I THINK this was Napavine.

The Winlock stop was interesting, as you had the scent of fried onions in the air at 10 a.m. from a burger stand. We did not stop to engage in the fried onions.

The ride between there and Lexington, our lunch stop, wasn’t much to remember, other than lots of rolling hills. The training in Kitsap finally paid off.

We spent an hour in Lexington, with similar food from the day before, and we all actually sprawled on the ground to take a quick nap, as it was common to see bodies spread out all over the place doing the same. It was another tip I’d heard about – definitely rest at the stops, don’t just eat and go.

This was around noon, at which I turned on my music on my phone, bluetoothed it to a little portable speaker I borrowed from a co-worker, turned it up and stuck it in my jersey pocket so everyone could hear it. I did this the day before as well and it played a big part in getting to the end of the day when everything is stiff and sore but the only thing to do is pedal. So I sang and danced on my bike.

Bikes started crowding up again as we got closer to the Lewis and Clark Bridge, which meant crossing the border from Washington to Oregon! I queued with my team while we waited for volunteers to stop the southbound traffic so Goldwing riders could escort us onto the bridge. As we started climbing (it wasn’t just a flat bridge across, it was a definite very tall up-and-over bridge with a fantastic view of the Columbia River), Beth just took off like a bat out of hell, so I chased her to keep up.

And that girl passed EVERYONE on that damn bridge. I was so impressed – this city slicker girlfriend of mine who I’ve known for almost 20 years and has embraced the mountains and biking just in the past few years totally kicked it up a notch and continually impressed me with her outdoor badassery. Later, she said, “I just wanted to get off that bridge! I did NOT like riding on it!”

After we got into Oregon, roads started to get a little dicey, as shoulders were non-existent in some places, and bikes were lined up front to back, with cars screaming by. The route eventually put us on Highway 30, which was a four-lane highway with fantastically wide shoulders but went on for MILES – for 41.2 miles to be exact.

At one point when I really was in a groove with a flat section, I shifted to my front big ring and within two seconds, the damn chain fell off. The guy behind told me my chain fell off while I’m muttering expletives and yelling back at him, yeah, I know. So I just yelled out I was slowing, so people would slow down and not crash into me.

I eventually came to a stop, tossed the bike and myself over the guardrail and started to put the chain back on. Joe and Beth stopped to help, which was great when we got it back on, so there were two extra pairs of hands to hold the bike and shift gears while I ran the pedals so we could make sure the chain shifted properly. So, once again, no Front Chain Ring for me. (I may have shifted it into too hard a gear. Still a newbie at this).

So, back on the road, along the highway, stopped at a few more stops to rest our bums (St. Helens for a good long stop until 3ish, I think, and then Scappoose by 5 p.m., where we were told we only had 16 miles to go, but the finish line closed at 7 p.m.!) and eat some food and coach each other through the next few sections. The last hour or so of the ride I was starting to get nauseous but I think it was from the pain from the saddle sores because I was definitely well hydrated and fed but not TOO much. So I thought anyway. I stayed away from the terrible electrolytes and stuck with water, spacing out the Vitalyte I did have with me.

Then suddenly I heard whoops and hollers … we’d just crossed the city limits into Portland – 13 miles to go! At that point, I passed a dad and his kid who was probably 9 years old. I’d been watching him and two other kids around his age pump out the miles the past two days like it was their job. It was the coolest thing to watch. I got the sense that the parents were confident their kid could do it but still pretty cautious, and giving lots of words of encouragement. As I passed the dad and his son, I told them both, “Your son is amazing. I am super impressed!”

So, Portland! Cardboard signs were posted along the side of the road, telling us how many more miles to go, starting with 10 miles. We crossed another up-and-over bridge that gave us a sprawling view of the city to the west and I was thinking, “Oh man, we’re almost DONE. We’re almost THERE.” And I was kind of sad. All the fun was almost over.

After the bridge, the route took us through very urban Northwesty-type neighborhoods, filled with older Craftsman-style homes lush with gardens, past University of Portland, along Willamette Blvd. and eventually into downtown Portland. Because Portland doesn’t provide police support, we had to stop at every. single. stoplight. on the way to the finish line, so there was a massive group of bikes at each stop.

Then all of a sudden, we’re in downtown, the cowbells get louder, the crowds get bigger, we turn the corner and there’s the big green inflatable Finish Line arch! We zoom through it and into the chute, where we’re handed our STP Finishers patch. When I biked past Greg’s cheering family, my eyes got a little misty because it hit me that it was all finally over. But I didn’t have time to cry because otherwise I would have crashed into the bikes in front of me. Heads up, Royal.

I regrouped with my team and we high-fived and took pictures. We indulged in our free Meal Of Choice (a very loaded burrito from a food truck), a beer and then talked the massage people into a quick 15 minute massage since they were closing soon. Grabbed our souvenirs (a choice of hat, shirt or a water bottle), our overnight bags that were shuttled from Chehalis to PDX for us, and then gingerly biked another mile to our AirBnB for the night, where we promptly showered and then did not move the rest of the night.

Afterthoughts:

Frankly, I’d do it again. I wouldn’t say it was easy but it wasn’t the hardest thing either.

Key things to remember for next time:

Chamois butter – It’s supposed to prevent chafing but I swear it also helped stave off the saddle sores.

The right electrolytes – riding with a bloated stomach and belching all the way to Portland is not fun (even as much as I like to burp).

Music via loud speaker – definitely helped get through the drag of the second half of the day.

Have a team – I could not imagine doing this alone.

Even if you’re spending the night past the beer garden, stop for a beer or two and a piece of pizza.