Letters from the Foxhole

by: muse

Letters from the Foxhole is a series of reminiscences, lessons learned, promises made and broken, embarrassments and heartbreaks endured, in flashes of insight so compelling they cannot not be ignored. They are missives from Tori’s past written by her muse.

Something you’ve got to know about Tori: she’s a woman with a loving heart, a healthy appetite for risk and a history of making choices based on gut feelings. Sometimes it’s a disaster. Most of the time it turns out all right. A lot of them are funny; she might not think so but we try to see the humour in them.

Although her marriage lasted almost ten years (together for 12), the first time they separated was after 2-and-a-half years. So do the math, she’s been single most of her adult life. That makes for a lot of great tales.

Her friends keep telling her to write down all her stories, but she’s been reluctant, until now. We’ll call them semi-auto-biographical. They are Truth, but who can have all the facts straight after years of mulling-over and fond memories and – yes – regrets and recriminations?

They’re named “Letters from the Foxhole” because Tori – although a smarty-pants overachiever in almost every other sense – has a history of abuse and abandonment in her family which has led to an almost constant battle with a legacy of emotional scarring. She’s really trying hard, but Tori has a strong innate sense of justice and falls in love fast and deep. Dynamite combination: if she feels exploited or ignored – watch out for the intensity of emotion that ensues.

But it’s not all fiery passion and drama. When it’s good it’s sublime and peaceful and she can remain friends, in fact some of her best friends are former lovers. Truth be told, we think Tori is looking for someone who can provide an even keel: a stable, calming influence while retaining a shared sense of play and wonderment. Someone strong enough not only to withstand her intensity but to revel in it without feeding it further. When she finds that person, she’ll have her life partner.

If you’re interested to know why Tori has given her muse the pen on this series, just take 20 minutes and watch Elizabeth Gilbert talk about creativity to a TED gathering.

 

Look what I’m doing Saturday morning!

Cougars are carnivores

by: Muse

She always hated being called a cougar – just because she had a couple of younger boyfriends doesn’t meanshe wanted to devour them, and she never, ever went to clubs to find them, take them home and discard them in the middle of the night, or at morning light.

cougar

Photo by Guppiecat

Or did she?

With Red it was about the watch.

He was 23. She was 35.

He bought a watch when they had no money and they were living in a basement suite in a mountain town.

He smoked pot almost daily. His hair was long and curly and red. And soft. He was – dare I say it – well endowed and well skilled. They were dynamite in bed. She still thinks of those times. Wistfully. Late at night. When she is alone. Once she thought she saw him on the street in Victoria this summer, soft hair spilling out from under a toque. Slight swagger. Bloodshot eyes.

(Never mind. It wasn’t Red after all.)

Back to the watch. He showed it off proudly when he got home. She was in the bath trying to soak off her work day. She worked 11 hours a day, 4 days a week. The 3 days off each week were nice, but she worked damn hard for them. To blow off steam she would come home at lunch and run the trails. When the snow came she would grab her x-country skis and go up to the groomed trails above town. She was soaking after a nice trail run, or ski, can’t remember which.

She wanted to hike and climb in the mountains. He wanted to ride mountain bike. She hadn’t found climbing partners by the time the snow came and he hadn’t made it out for a ride. He spent some time sitting in his cousins filthy little trailer, trying to convince him not to drink himself to death. But that’s a different story.

I thought we were going to discuss with each other before we spent more than 100 bucks, she said.

His face fell.

It’s my own money not our money, he said.

But you owe money to other people, she said, heart sinking into the bathwater lockstep behind his face. Somewhere she knew she was out of line but couldn’t help herself, she didn’t back down.

The next day he reluctantly took the watch back to the store.

A couple of months later before the kids came to town for a visit she broke up with him. He went to live in a rented house with a bunch of other young people.

He bought a watch.

Recently her lover sent a text message, saying he’d like to take her out for lunch but he had to go for a speed workout.

No problem, go run! she replied.

Wow, the last woman I dated insisted I miss some workouts, he said.

I wouldn’t want to be responsible for someone changing who they are, she said. When you date a marathon runner how can you not expect 100-mile weeks, sore quads and early nights?

She didn’t tell him – it’s not that I understand running. It’s because she’s finally beginning to understand all too well the fallen face, the immediate self-recrimination, the inevitable heartbreak of the carnivore.

PUHLEEZE HALP~!

Time to rebrand. Time for a survey. Which is to say, it’s time to talk about me some more. It’s just a few questions trying to get at the heart of what makes ME so special. Or not. There’s room in there for criticism too.

Then I’m going to turn all that research into one fantastical blog-reading experience for y’all and many more people.

Don’t worry – I know what I’m doing. I didn’t spend two years in graduate school and almost 20 years in corporate communications for nothing.

  • First rule of Spin Club: don’t talk about spin doctors.
  • Second rule of Spin Club: don’t talk about spin doctors.
  • Third Rule of Spin Club: Know Thine Audience.

Early pre-testing results indicate my new colours won’t include green, and I’ll keep dishing about the hilarity that is my life.

But that’s all I’ll say for now, you get to tell me the rest. Be honest, be sincere, be helpful. Here’s that link again: My SurveyMonkey.

Beacon Hill playlist

Someone on Twitter asked me for a playlist I was compiling for a friend’s birthday. I have delivered the CD, so here is the playlist. You can listen to most of it, kinda sorta, on my Blip.fm channel:

  • The Walking (and Constantly) – Jane Siberry. I found a nice little home-made version on Blip.fm
  • The Chain – Fleetwood Mac
  • Soma So De La De Sase - Bobby McFerrin (Medicine Man album, not to be found on Blip.fm. Yes, he does a LOT of work in jazz and classical, not just that stupid be happy song!)
  • 31 Years – Elliot Brood (also not found on Blip.fm)
  • 1863 – Dianne Reeves (also not found on Blip.fm)
  • Closer to Madness – Jesse Cook
  • Mbaye Uwande – Mighty Popo
  • Legions (Aftermath) – Zoe Keating
  • Original of the Species – U2
  • Good Morning Heartache – Billie Holliday
  • Blame it on My Youth – Holly Cole Trio
  • Better – Regina Spektor
  • Lips Like Sugar – Seal feat. Mikey Dread

I’m nothing if not eclectic.

They can’t all be good runs

or .. I really regret not eating more than two cookies, a Bounty and some veggie soup yesterday

marathon runner

Marathon Runner Tori. Hard to believe this was only three weeks ago - RVM 2009

I bonked during my run this morning. Just as I finished my warm up.

I ran down Cook St to Dallas Rd, then headed over to Moss, intending to finish the w/u along the flat and straight, then go right into the hill workout when Moss starts to climb.

Instead, I walked home after about 20 minutes into my run, completely out of gas, cursing silently and outlining the reasons why: chief among them the fact that I ran my first marathon three weeks ago. Michael warned me something like this might happen — it takes 3-4 weeks to recover fully from a 42.2 km race.

But my atrocious nutrition the day before (see above) had a lot to do with it too.

Now I sit with my oatmeal in hand and my feet in ice water, vowing to grab a super-veggie burrito from Hernandez’ for lunch, enjoy a drink after work with a friend, and try for the hills on the weekend.

Streaming consciousness

When the rain moistens the streets and the leaves limp and slick underfoot threaten  banana-peel humility I slap on a headlamp and chase the drops falling in its beam of light.

Three workouts in 36 hours. Not enough to outrun the deafening silence of still unfulfilled dreams.

Slick with sweat last night, no window open wide enough. Perimenopausal? Flu? Nerves? Restlessness?

We all have our reasons for running. Mine are no different and no clearer and no more mundane or less important than anyone else’s.

The hills slay me. I choose them. They are my poison. Post-marathon, there’s no training group and I am finally alone. I forgot how much I love to go inside – deep inside – when there’s no chatter and laughter and distracting us from 3 hours of tightening hips and growing blisters, averting our gaze from the boredom and the pain and the effort.

I love the boredom and the pain and the effort. I love the wet soaking through my jacket, I love dancing around puddles and the thrilling little shock of cold wetness on the toes. A surprise – I find a fresh alley, a new tree, a shiny streetglow under a lamp that wasn’t on at this time 3 months ago. I find a new insight, a poem written and forgotten before I see warmth again, a story plotted with characters and lost to the search for a bagel back in the cozy smallness of the kitchen.

I am naked when I run alone.

Marathoner’s Torture Series: Race Day

I finished the Royal Victoria Marathon yesterday with a chip time of 4:42:35.

It was unlike anything I’d ever done before. Uncharacteristically my legs stiffened up at the 25 k point, something they never did during long training runs. Until then I was on track for a 4:30 finish. After that, it was just pain.

And so it goes with racing. It wasn’t the worst I’ve felt during a race, but I certainly could have felt better. It was a humbling lesson in allowing myself to sink into the moment, as painful as it was. I was able to just let it be. The pain, the gorgeous day, my lovely daughter giving me fresh water bottles at 13 and 34 k. It was what is was, and it was good.

My baby daughter Sarah, the one who died in my arms, the one for whom I was running yesterday, was with me the last 2 or 3 k, pushing me along. I was quite emotional – grateful, sad, happy it was over, immensely proud of myself for coming such a long way. I found a kick I didn’t think was there in the last 800 metres. I can’t describe the feeling of seeing the finish line, it was just as I’d visualized. I was in tears.

The technical lesson learned was that I may have gone out too quickly. My team mates were doing 6:00/k at first, and my plan was to start out at 6:25/k. so I dropped back after 8 k. Too late maybe, perhaps contributing to the leg pain later.

My soul lesson was one I learned the evening before the race when I met Michael Lebowitz and we shared some of our writing with each other. I was privileged to read an as-yet-unpublished piece of his that really inspired me. Before I headed out the door I wrote a Twitter post paraphrasing part of it and scheduled it to go out as I was finishing the race:

“It’s not about the pain, or the training, or my pace. I’m letting it be. It’s about who I am in this moment.”

I dug deep into that wisdom when my legs were screaming at me.

I am very grateful for some other moments during the race:

  • A warm hug for a dear one, on Dallas Road at about the 10K mark. I felt those arms around me for miles and miles.
  • Bill Broughton, who was there every few kilometres taking pictures.
  • Suzy – running partner from the Vancouver Half Marathon this past May, urging me on just as I entered the Inner Harbour to the finish.
  • Tim, Cathy and my dear daughter Mary who were at the finish line cheering me on.
  • A secret swig from Tim’s flask to wash down my finish line bagel!
  • Superman. I beat Superman!
  • I also passed a clown and a guy in a lime green costume.
  • The excitement of the start line with my running group.
  • The exhilaration of seeing a sea of runners all around me filling up the downtown streets.
  • The gang from Frontrunners cheering everyone on.
  • The amazing volunteers without whom we could not race.
  • Martin from Los Angeles (who I ran with for about 1 k) who loves Victoria so much he wants to move here.

And of course, I am grateful to Caroline and Randy who fed us the most sumptuous Thanksgiving dinner later that day. I piled my plate high and ate the entire thing, then had two desserts. What a perfect way to celebrate 42.2!

Race Plan – splits and cheering times

I think I will be finishing in 4 hours, 30 mins, but I will be happy just to finish! Here’s a link to the course map.

Start gun is at 8:30 am. It will take me anywhere from 5-10 mins to make it to the starting line. (at Menzies and Kingston, Parliament Bldg). Then my chip will begin recording my time. SO my start time will probably be around 8:35 or 8:40 am. THIS IS ALL APPROXIMATE:

Mile             Split            Approx time            Approx location

1             00:10:18             8:50 AM Wharf at Bastion Sq

2             00:20:36             9:00

3             00:30:54             9:11 Cook & Park (toward Heywood, into Beacon Hill)

4             00:41:13            9:21

5             00:51:31             9:32

6             01:01:49             9:42 Dallas Rd at Ross Bay

7             01:12:08             9:52

8             01:22:26             10:03 Richardson at Cowichan (Mary!)

9             01:32:44             10:13 Oak Bay at Hampshire/Monterey

10             01:43:03             10:23 Oliver and Central (Monterey School – Rena!)

11             01:53:21             10:33Beach Dr. – Just passing Victoria Golf Club

12             02:03:39             10:44

13             02:13:58             10:54 Beach Drive at Bowker

14             02:24:16             11:04

15             02:34:34             11:15 Beach Drive at Lansdowne. Turnaround is on Exeter

16             02:44:53             11:25            Just past Cattle Point (on way back)

17             02:55:11             11:35 Passing Oak Bay Marina/Turkey Point

18            03:05:29             11:46

19             03:15:48             11:56 Beach Drive at Oliver (back past Rena again)

20             03:26:06             12:06 PM Mitchell at Oak Bay (please don’t say “Almost there!”)

21             03:36:24             12:17 Richardson at Lawndale – 34 K the farthest I’ve ever run

22             03:46:43             12:27

23             03:57:01             12:37 Dallas approaching Clover Pt just past Ross Bay cemetery

24             04:07:19             12:48

25             04:17:38             12:58             Dallas at Pilot. NOW you can say “Almost there.”

26             04:27:56             1:08               Erie and Dallas

FINISH 04:30:00 1:10 PM – in front of Parliament Building facing Inner Harbour

I speak. I flow. I am.

Quiet friend who has come so far,
feel how your breathing makes more space around you.
Let this darkness be a bell tower
and you the bell. As you ring,

what batters you becomes your strength.
Move back and forth into the change.
What is it like, such intensity of pain?
If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine.

In this uncontainable night,
be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses,
the meaning discovered there.

And if the world has ceased to hear you,
say to the silent Earth: I flow.
To the rushing water, speak: I am.

Rilke

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