This morning when I realized my new "why," and it brought a tear to my eye. Yesterday was the 31st anniversary of my dad getting struck and killed by a drunk driver near Menomonie, WI. So how did an "old"event lead to a new driving force in my life? I always thought I already knew my "why" -- an impetus to get my butt out of bed in the morning and focus my energies. Personal development trainers constantly admonish us to find a meaningful goal to motivate ourselves into action. For the past several years, I've been telling everyone that I want to:
Send my kids to the colleges of their choice
Save for retirement
Pay off my mom's bankruptcy (new on the list as of last year)
Protect the environment
Protect endangered wild animal species
The above list has been pasted on my bathroom mirror for so long, the paper is water-stained and yellowing! (Posting goals in the bathroom has become the modern-day equivalent of wearing one's heart on the sleeve.)
So far, I am still working on making the list a reality. While our oldest kid IS in college, it was his second choice, which he attends because it gives him the best financial aid package. My "protect endangered species" goal is manifesting through my Youth Art for Saving Wolves MN project. I envisioned myself as a wealthy benefactor, traveling the world and donating large sums and organizing massive projects, but this smaller project is a step in the right direction. The other goals are still mostly in the "some day" category. I was born on my dad's birthday, creating an especially close connection between us. I absolutely totally freaking adored Dad! He would take me motorcycling, snowmobiling and four-wheelering. I even liked watching him tinker under the hood of his car. Dad was a mechanical engineer with 3M, well-regarded by friends and co-workers. Just being with him in public seemed to elevate my status.
Bernie Bruins, August 1965
Dad dreamed of breaking away from 3M and starting his own company. For nearly his entire career, he had been making 3M rich by giving them his time and engineering talents. In the last few years of his life, he secretly kept a few designs from 3M, and had started scoping out industrial office space to develop his inventions at. But one cold February night in 1984, during a diabetic attack on a country road in Wisconsin, he stopped the car and was struck and killed from behind by a drunk driver. He was declared dead on arrival at the Menomonie Hospital. Dad, you died broke, divorced, lonely and unable to break away from the corporate chains to create the wealth you deserved. You were a smart guy, and I know you would have seen the brilliance of the ACN
compensation plan, with its triple-whammy of residuals, leverage and
bonuses. ...and we are doing all of this while wiping out childhood
hunger in the US!
My new epiphany is this: in exactly one year, I will be the same age Dad was when he died. If, by God's grace, I live beyond that age, it will be like Dad is passing me the baton, and encouraging me to work smarter and go farther than he was able to at his soul-killing job at 3M. Dad, I promise you I will honor your memory and go to the top in ACN!
With my three Minnesota Senior Olympic Games events behind me, but the archery event only yesterday, the adrenaline is finally subsiding and I can tell you what it was like.
Two days ago, I spent the afternoon preparing for the tournament, having my bow repaired at Average Joe's Archery, and practicing and adjusting my sights at Rapids Archery in Coon Rapids, MN. If you have not discovered Rapids Archery yet, I highly recommend it! For a mere three bucks, you can practice shooting all day long, and the bales are well marked and maintained.
Yesterday morning, with bow case and a couple of lawn chairs loaded in the van, I excitedly drove to Bloomington's Marsh Lake Park archery range for the Senior Games tournament. It was a beautiful day for archery: overcast, four-mile-an-hour wind, not too hot. Although I left 75 minutes prior to the event, a highway closure added a 25-minute detour through South Minneapolis to my trip.
I had practiced once at the Marsh Lake Park archery range. Today it had been amazingly transformed. The half dozen saggy straw bales facing east had been moved off to one side and replaced by a neat row of 19 deluxe foam bales on wooden easels across the range's north side. Colorful, four-foot-wide plastic targets were tacked onto each bale.
Archery targets at the MN Senior Olympic Games
By the time I parked the van, it appeared as though
the other contestants had already checked in. The majority were men, dressed in neat outdoorsy clothes and looking ready for a day at the lake, with coolers, bowstands and spotting scopes (like a telecope) set up on tripods. Some had even brought mini awnings and umbrella chairs.
I set down my equipment, took out my bow out of its second-hand hunting case, and walked over to the check-in table. As I walked past the row of men with expensive-looking equipment, I felt their eyes upon me. "Do I look like an amateur? Do I look too young? Does my bow look cheap?" I wondered. I own a decent bow -- an "Infinite Edge" by Diamond -- but it is green camouflage and looks like utilitarian hunting bow, not a fancy wooden or high-tech one. Then I spotted Roger and Kathy Wertanen, a friendly couple I had met at the previous
Saturday's Track and Field event, and felt a bit more at ease.
2014 Minnesota Senior Games archery contestants
The check-in staff inspected my bow, asked if my arrows were marked with my initials (they weren't yet), checked the bowstring's draw weight, and made sure I had brought a release. Then they handed me a clipboard with my scoring sheets, and told me I would be shooting at Bale #17.
The six female archers were grouped at one end of the shooting line, the men at the other end. I must have had a bewildered expression, and the other woman in my age group, Julene Hakl, reassured me, "We'll get you through!" She and and a few volunteers began filling me in on the myriad rules: don't touch the bale before the arrows have been scored, mark all of your arrows, make sure your arrows are the same color, etc. A dad sitting behind me volunteered his 11-year-old son, Noah, to act as my "spotter," looking through a spotting scope and telling me where my arrows were hitting. Noah seemed happy to take on this important job, and I was happy to not have to bend over and pick up my binoculars after each shot.
Firing Line: I am on the far right, in the black shirt
A loudspeaker voice announced that we would get two practice rounds before the official event. Thank goodness! I shot all of my arrows into the grass during practice, and discovered that I was aiming with the wrong distance pin. A group of volunteers came out to help locate the arrows, but I found most of them by taking off my shoes and going barefoot. This was against official rules, but it was before the event and I found the arrows quickly. A "traffic light" set up on one side of the field shone green during the
five minutes we were allowed to shoot each "end" (set) of six arrows, yellow
with 30 seconds remaining, and red in between ends.
Then the whistle blew, signaling us to step up to the firing line. My stomach was full of butterflies, and I wondered if I was prepared enough. Was everyone scrutinizing me? We began shooting at the longest distance, 60 yards, the opposite of how I had been training. I blocked out of my head the realization that I had only shot at a 60-yard target for the first time the previous day. I focused on maintaining proper form: taking a deep breath, getting anchored, finding the target with the proper pin, firing, holding "still like a statue" until the arrow hit the target.
Female archers score their arrow hits
After the first six arrows actually hit the target, I realized that I could fare decently if I maintained my focus and paced myself. I had done a yeoman's job setting my distance pins, so the key would be using the correct one at each distance, and not allowing my nerves to take over. Plantar fascitis had flared in my feet two weeks prior, putting me on crutches for a weekend. To preserve my stamina, I sat in my lawn chair every spare moment. The previous day's four-hour practice marathon also concerned me. Would my strength withstand two days in a row of shooting? While there was no getting around holding the bow and drawing back the string, I set the bow down and rested as much as possible between rounds.
I would be remiss if I did not mention how lovely it was to meet the other archers and shoot with them. Their dedication to the sport and shooting skills were admirable, and give me new levels to aspire to. During one scoring round, Norma and Edna (pictured above in the yellow and blue shirts), remarked, "We've been discussing you, and you must be a 'miracle child,' because there is no way you could be old enough to be in this tournament!" Rather abashed, I thanked them and explained that although I was still 49, my 50th birthday in December made me legal to join the Games.
The event was supposed to end at Noon, but one archer's equipment failure, requiring extra make-up time, stretched out the event until after 2:00 pm. Nobody had explained the complicated scoring process at the end, where every participant is expected to tally the score sheets until they match. Despite losing one arrow and hitting the wrong target with another, I earned 23 points above the minimum. I not only qualify for next year's national event, but because there were only two people in my age category, I earned a silver medal!
My daughter, Tacy, running late for a birthday party, frantically called me on my cel phone at 2:15 to inquire as to my whereabouts. Sigh! The kids were unaware of my accomplishment. Reassuring Tacy that I was going as fast as humanly possible, I finished scoring my and Norma's tally sheets, and turned in mine at the booth. I told the staff I was in a rush because my daughter was late for a birthday party. Most Senior Games participants are retired and must not have many obligations. They looked perplexed, and said they were about to hand out the medals. I think they had planned to do it more "ceremoniously," perhaps in front of the entire group. But after explaining my home situation, they nodded in understanding, handed me my silver medal in its plastic bag, shook my hand, and said "Congratulations!"
As I drove home, the adrenaline began to drain away and I felt as though I could have collapsed in a chair for the remainder of the day. But not until I drove Tacy to her birthday party and picked up a few groceries on the way back. Olympian by morning, mom by afternoon. This tournament begins my journey to the 2015 National Senior Games. Looking forward to honing my skills during this next year!
Silver Medalist Janet Lenius
Saturday, Aug. 9th, 2014
An unexpected side benefit of attending the Ann Bancroft luncheon (see
previous post) was that I ended up in the National Senior Olympic Games!
Standing in line next to me waiting to talk to Ms. Bancroft was an employee
of the National Senior Games Association. The fellow informed me that
Minneapolis was hosting the Games in 2015, and that competitors must turn 50 by
Dec. 31, 2014 to qualify.
I was unaware that such a thing as Senior Olympic Games even existed!
I used to run 5k and 10k races in my 20s, before giving birth to my first child
at age 30, but gave that up due to overstretched ligaments that were causing
pain during the high-impact exercise. Five years later my second child
arrived, and with her came added foot problems. I was forced to (gasp!)
begin wearing comfort shoes (how humiliating)! I spent my 20s in
three-inch heels. But I digress...
Me running Grandma's Marathon at age 22
In the ensuing 19 years, I've done "maintenance-level" exercise,
such as spinning classes and weight training, to stay toned and feel
good, but have not competed in any races.
But after a week or so, curiosity got the better of me and I Googled the
website, http://www.nsga.com/. I turn 50 this year on Dec. 6th, so I will
definitely qualify. The listings included some "old fogey"
sports like bowling and horseshoes, and there were events that were out of my
grasp, such as running races. But then I spotted race walking and
archery.
"Could I?" I asked myself. I was unsure as to whether I
could withstand the training or learn the proper form, but my 12 years of
distance running and dozens of races had to count for something. I had
even run a marathon! Race walking would surely be lower impact and seemed
within my grasp.
I had tried archery with my daughters at Girl Scout camp, but not other than
that. Unlike the discus throw, archery seemed to pose less of an injury
threat. Then there is the "Hunger Games" appeal and the way
that movie has romanticized the female archer as lone hero. Another
appeal was that it is a practical skill. If our society collapses into
anarchy and we end up hiding out in the woods, the ability to shoot a rabbit
for dinner would definitely be handy!
So one evening in May, after the rest of the family had gone to bed, I
impulsively registered for the 5000 meter racewalk event and the compound bow
archery event. Total cost: $40. The confirmation email arrived the
next day, making it official. Now I was committed, and my journey as an
Olympian had begun!
My first job was to purchase a bow. I found one on Ebay that turned
out to be made for someone much stronger than me. I could not even pull
the bowstring! No worries, the seller happily refunded my money once I
returned the bow. When purchasing my second bow, I was careful to pay
attention to the "maximum draw weight," and got one rated for 25-35
pounds.
My next mission was to get the bow fitted for me and buy some arrows.
I took the bow to Average Joe's Archery in Coon Rapids, MN. The staff
there treated me very well, expertly assembling the pieces, fitting it
to my strength and arm length, adjusting the sights, cutting arrows to the
proper length, and even coaching me on shooting techniques. I happened to
visit during their "Customer Appreciation Days," so ended up getting
free shooting practice on their range as well!
Now I am in practice mode, refining my technique and aim, and learn
how to score my "ends" (groups of arrows). The Minneapolis park
system has four free archery ranges that I have been regularly visiting.
I've enjoyed meeting other archers and learning all kinds of helpful tips from
them, including their favorite archery shops and ranges. I
consistently group my arrows at the nine-o'clock position, so I plan to head
back to Average Joe's for another lesson on technique, and buy a few more
arrows to replace the ones that mysteriously disappeared in the woods.
The racewalking practice has been a "long, winding journey" as
well. I found a book called "Racewalking Clinic," which has
practice drills specific for the race walker. I have also watched a few
YouTube videos.
My technique has been inconsistent, as I don't believe I completely
understand it. I want to "get" the form one hundred percent
before I start adding speed, but now that there is only one month before the
race, I need to start adding speed!
Shooting pains under the toes have been cropping up during my
fast-paced three-mile walks. Last week I made the mistake of going out for a race-walk without first
warming up or stretching. After a half-mile the foot
pain was so great I had to hobble back home. My wonderful husband David (who happens to also be
a massage therapist) informed me that a muscle underneath the calf, not the toes,
are the source of the problem, and that I can prevent or reduce pain by
massaging this muscle. Check.
I also got in to see a
podiatrist, who chided me for not warming up or stretching, and recommended
that I add long compression athletic socks (I am really a fogey now!) as well as replace my "Smartfeet" shoe inserts and wear pads
under the balls of the my feet. Check.
Today I emailed the organizer of Twin Cities Race Walkers, and asked about
their twice-monthly meetups in Como Park. If I can meet even once with this group to learn their techniques, I believe it would be tremendously helpful.
With one month left before the competitions, the pressure
is mounting. But I am excited to see how far I can
go with my two new sporting endeavors! So, dear readers, what have you done for your body lately?
Today I had the opportunity to hear arctic explorer Ann Bancroft speak about her adventures. What a treat! The setting was the tame and sedate Edina Country Club -- a far cry from the frozen tundra where she earned her claim to fame.
Although her famous trips via dogsled and the one on foot with Liv Arnesen while dragging a 267 pound sled happened several years ago, she is preparing for another trek commencing October 2014. This one will include six women, one from every continent in the world. Truly a global, multicultural event!
Many people have read about Ann's adventures, or perhaps heard interviews with her, but sitting eye-to-eye with her at the front table in a room full of 200 people and hearing her recount her stories "live" really let me understand what it was like.
Most fascinating for me was that as she spoke I imagined metaphors for trying to accomplish anything in life. She talked about how she had to persevere with hours of hard work to reach her daily mileage goal, and that reminded me about persevering and never giving up on my goals. She talked about her and Liv becoming discouraged midway through the trip, and how they made silly videos to buoy up each other spirits. I thought about how my family and I joke around, and encouraging others I come in contact with each day, to keep their spirits up so we can get through tough times and achieve our goals. She spoke of making her treks educational, so that kids around the world could learn from her experiences. I thought of how important it is to give back to others and think beyond my own selfish needs. I saw pictures of her out in all that nothingness for days on end, and thought about how we can make meaning out of life even when all around us everything looks bleak.
After the meeting I shook Ann's hand and thanked her for her excellent talk, and was impressed with her air of happiness and absolute self reliance. What a great role model and reminder that anyone -- and especially women and girls -- can accomplish what they set their minds to.
Thank you, Ann, for talking to the Bloomington, Eden Prairie, and other Twin Cities Chamber of Commerce members today!
Read about Ann's upcoming trek and her charitable foundation at http://www.annbancroftfoundation.org
I haven't contributed any posts in months, mainly because I wasn't sure what to write about, and don't want to bore people with mindless drivel. But last month my eldest child headed off for college, and I feel like it's time to sort out for myself what the heck just happened.
Recently I read an excellent Star Tribune piece by a father whose daughter just started college, and what that meant for him. It really summed up the parental role -- doing that to the best of your ability, and then being willing to step back and "set your eagle free." He didn't use that metaphor, but basically, you have an 18-year period where you are more involved on a day-to-day basis, and then at some point, you stop the constant coaching and nagging and taking care of their day-to-day affairs, and say, "Ok, now you do all of that. I hope you were paying attention."
As parents, I think we get lulled into thinking our kids will be kids forever. After all, we have 18 years to raise them. Tons of time, right? So I think we adopt "parental habits," or ways of relating to them, and then when the kids want to strike out on their own, those habits no longer appropriate and we have to regroup.
Tiernan being my first, he is the one who has taught me the most about being a parent. My "chickens started coming home to roost" when I would get feedback from teachers about his role in bringing his classmates together to work as a team. While I cannot take all of the credit, -- he has had a number of remarkable mentors, both inside and outside of the family -- it was direct feedback that all of the time I spent working with him and teaching him what I knew was having an effect not only on him but on other lives he was touching. I don't think the next statement can come off as anything but sappy and self-satisfied, but here it goes anyway: It is splendidly gratifying to see this happen! I didn't coach anyone to say those things about him; it's just what I heard and observed happening at his school community, the neighborhood and elsewhere.
During Tiernan's last summer at home, as he got ready to "take flight" for his college dorm room, knowing his days at home were numbered made me realize that my parenting job -- for the early years -- was ending. The conversations we had were more thoughtful, and he began asking more pointed questions about choices I had made and was making about my own career and life path. I tried to answer him candidly, as I felt that I had lacked mentorship in my teens, with the parent I lived with working full time and constantly harried, and an alienated relationship with the other one.
The day before Tiernan left for college, as we sat down for dinner, I mused, "This will be your last dinner at home with the family." Never again will the dynamic be quite the same; the banter will change without his funny quips, intense questioning and deadpan expressions.
The following day we drove Tiernan 100 miles to his college on the prairie and moved him in to his brand-new, LEED-certified dorm room. We moved in all of his stuff while he checked in, and I hooked up his computer, and David made up his bunk bed -- final caring gestures. To Tiernan's credit, he did not scold us for lingering and fussing over where all of his stuff would be placed. He even restrained himself from rolling his eyes at our enthusiastic introduction to his roommates!
Finally, it was time for David, me and Tiernan's two little sisters to pile back into the car and drive back to Minneapolis. We each gave him a hug, and Tiernan even kneeled down on the floor to make it easier for his littlest sister to hug him. "This is it," I thought. I was the last one out the door, and Tiernan stood in his doorway and watched as I walked down the hallway. I knew he would see my face in profile as I turned the corner to walk outside, and I was determined not to reveal a sad grimace.
As we drove alongside the cornfields and ponds, and the sky darkened into night, the "pile of bricks" finally hit me in the chest: I realized he was gone. He will most likely come back and visit, and might even stay with us over the summers, but we have just closed the door on the growing-up years and now the eagle is set free. I hope we have taught you well, Tiernan. Now we will stand back watch your flight trajectory, and we will rejoice when we see you soar.
So you've written your first novel, or have hashed out your college term paper and now you would like a pair of expert eyes to look it over. How can you tell if the editor you are thinking of hiring is a good one? The answer lies not only in technical skills but in how the two of you mesh as a "working team."
Before you hire them, ask them about their background. What is their education and training? What jobs are they currently doing? How long have they been editing? Can they tell you a few examples of work they have edited and people they have worked with? Can they show you any samples?
Secondly, what are their interests? Do they seem like a scholarly type who likes to read, or a writer who takes great pleasure in being a wordsmith? If they do not show any of these qualities, you may want to run as fast as you can in the other direction! If they only seem tepid towards language and communications, you may want to be cautious about hiring them.
Lastly, but no less important than the first two, how do the the two of you get along? Do you feel like you can communicate your ideas comfortably with this person? If you disagree with something they cut out of your paper, will they get offended or uppity when you protest? If there is going to be a lot of friction when they are working on your paper, this irritation will sooner or later have you avoiding having them work on any more of your writings! Do you like the person? If their personality is at odds with yours, you will be uncomfortable spending time with them, and won't want to hand over your hard-earned money.
I don't mean to go on and on about the feelings part of the writer-editor relationship, but it really will undermine everything if something is not right. I have had people not hire me after they have talked to me for a while and described their project. I am willing to bet it was for a "feelings" reason. Did they dislike the tone of my voice? Did I state an offensive personal belief or value? Maybe I was too liberal-minded, or prettier than them and they were feeling insecure about it. Who knows? It may not have been a rational-minded reason, but it was enough of a reason that they never called me back.
On the other hand, there are people who have hired me because they appreciate my hunger for knowledge, the time I have put into getting good at writing and editing. Or they like that I am still easy to talk to enjoy sharing a joke once in a while. There are those who have said, "I can call you any time about anything and you are ready to work on it right away." One person said, "I can't thank you enough for all you've done." This is starting to sound like a commercial for me as an editor, but I am just trying to show you that there different clients feel comfortable with different personalities, so keep on looking for an editor that you feel comfortable with, and you will be sure to find the one you "click" with.
After continuous cat ownership since age 10, I am developing a theory that it's a mistake to have more than one cat. I believe this because cats like to rule their territory, and every time they see another cat, they feel it is a challenge to their supremacy. One of the worst things that hurts their feelings is the insult -- the absolute humiliation -- of being forced to share the love and attention of their owners. Purrcilla we have had the longest, and when David's cats, Schlepp and Schmuck, died, we ventured to the humane society and replaced them with two new cats. Purrcilla was furious, as she felt that her home was finally really "hers" without having to share it with other cats. One of the new cats Suki, has taking a liking to hanging out in Grandma's apartment, and will swat at Purrcilla if she sees Grandma petting Purrcilla! Mystic, our black Persian, loves to slowly creep up to Purrcilla, crowding her space and trapping her in various spots around the house until she hisses and tries to get past him. He will keep this up for hours, following her through the house. Purcilla's solution is to stand by the front door and turn her head to look plaintively at us, as if begging to go outside. Poor Purrcilla. Once out, she will stay sometimes stay out for days on end when the weather is warm, just to get away from "the freaks" (other two cats). Suki is just plain wigged out by any amount of activity, feline or human, and will actually hiss at us if we are moving around too much and she feels she is trapped. Late at night, as David and I are winding down for bed, she will start to whine in a strange cackling way, as if to tell us, "Go to bed already, and snuggle with me!" Despite their personality quirks, after 16 months together they have created some semblance of peace, staked out their personal territories for napping and hanging out, and usually do a pretty good job of pretending that the others don't exist.
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