I think this video is hilarious and I’m kinda diggin the Girl Power Groove thing they got going on here.
I’m under the weather at the moment so I thought I’d catch up on my blog reading — I was starting to get scared again while studying group rides and what counts as an acceptable speed. I needed the levity. These gals are having fun and you know, I kinda think that’s how it should be.
And then another cycling video just for fun.
My money and I have parted ways. It’s been a horrible breakup really. Dollar bills flying out the window, while I sit on the floor crying, begging them to come back. I make false promises of goodness and mercy, but they don’t listen. They know I’m lying. Truth is if I could hang on to enough of them, I’d just hand them over to my hair dresser anyway — my roots are showing, I’m desperate. I’m almost willing to go without food if it means staying a red head for a little bit longer.
My husband however, is not as committed to my vanity. He lies and tells me he likes my roots and thinks I should grow them out. After all, if I’m as committed to GMO free and organic food as I say I am, does it not make sense to stop poisoning myself with expensive hair dye? 
I tell him to stop trying to confuse me with logic. Vanity is no match for truth at this point. If this keeps up, I’m going to wind up channeling my inner Rhoda.
In spite of my desperate pleas to stay, my dollar bills continue to leave me for greater loves like college tuition, a new furnace, a blown engine (which required a new to us car for my son), property taxes, dock fees, my sons meds, caring for my parents, my comedy habit, and physical therapy. Not to mention the usual things like food, utilities, and my mortgage; now it seems they want to leave me for my laptop.
I am presently laptopless — which sounds waay dirtier than I mean that. My laptop is my life people!
Let me just say that every letter in the alphabet is important, especially those that are part of your passwords and when that one letter doesn’t work, all heck breaks loose. There’s no getting onto Facebook, or Twitter, or your bank account or… if you’re like me this week – YOUR WHOLE STINKIN LAPTOP.
There is no work around. Trust me, I’ve tried!
My life is locked away in a 4 lb it’s”gotta be pink because it’s cute” Dell processor. My banjo practice videos, my art work, my writing, my jokes, my blog. ALL of it – locked away from my prying eyes, because one stupid letter has gone awry.
Desperate to access my “life in a hard drive” I did the unthinkable. I pried off the offending letter in hopes that if I applied appropriate pressure to that little dot beneath the key, my letter would somehow resuscitate itself.
Didn’t work.
And to add insult to injury, adjoining keys have now bailed in protest. Nice. Traitors.
Which means I get to suck up what’s left of my redheaded pride, put on a hat, go to some geek rescue store and try to explain what happened. That’s not going to be cheap. Nor are these children going to care that I have a computer degree (from 1986, I know don’t laugh). They are going to look at my keyboard, and then try to sell me a new computer. My laptop is MAYBE five years old, I don’t want a new computer, or their goofy software that they will no doubt load trying to up sell me something. I just want my keys to work properly.
I need another expense right now like I need 10 more pounds. And no, I do not wish to discuss the ten pounds I gained over Christmas leaving me 20 in the hole with my doctor’s goal of “just lose ten by Valentines Day, can you do that?” — sigh. Hoping for a miracle here.
There is good news in this wine and cheese fest. I won something this week that will help me – not with the money, or my hair, but with my weight. See that pretty harness? It’s from MonkeySee in Australia. My friend Ashley B. over at Women Cyclists Blog (Seriously check her out, I love her blog and I’m not just saying that because I won free stuff, I promise.) did a product review and hosted a giveaway. I won. Yeah me! I got to go online and order my own (I got pink of course) and I can’t wait to get it. Yes, I will review it for you guys. This looks like a killer product. Actually anything that makes me visible to motorists at night and helps me stay alive rocks in my book.
So you see, it’s not all bad. And I do realize in the grand scheme of things, not being able to afford to get my hair done is not the end of the world. There are people far worse off than I. So don’t send me hate mail, okay? I am “cowgirling up” as they say in Oklahoma and I am gonna ride — maybe not a horse per se’, but at least my bike.
Have a great weekend you guys.
I’m a redhead again. My year of hair repentance is over. (Some of you may remember the great blonde fiasco of 2011). There is much rejoicing in my house as I got the green light to cut my hair and go back to my truest self. I cannot tell you how much I missed my hair. Learning patience is not an easy journey.
Raised an only child by a single mother who worked two jobs when she needed in order to make ends meet, I had to learn how to wait for things.
Today I live in a world where I no longer have to worry about what I’m going to eat, if I’m going to eat, and where I get to live. Lulled by a false sense of security, I’ve forgotten how to wait.
I am safe.
I am in many ways, the exception rather than the rule.
I am impatient and a perfectionist.
In this season of my life, I catch myself wanting it now instead of later and get impatient with the journey.
I still wait for the day when I can finally say “I’ve arrived.” only I read in Fully Alive that arriving is death. Once I arrive it means I’m out of things to learn and mountains to climb. Arriving means I get to relax. I’m ADD, if I relax I’ll get bored. When I get bored, I forget who I am and make stupid choices.
It’s the valleys of life that teach me compassion and it’s the mountains I conquer that teach me bravery. Without those two crucial things in my life, my spirit withers. I lose touch with who I am created to be and I lose touch with others.
I want to race through the valley, and be on the mountain top already. I forget that the journey is the life. Whether I’m in a valley, climbing a hill on my bike, or standing on top of the mountain, I’m breathing. I’m alive.
I used to dream of the day when I would no longer be neurotic until I realized it’s that place of living in the raw, stuck between the shitty first draft (As Anne Lamott would call it) and the clean up that gives breadth, depth and meaning to all of my relationships and experiences. It’s here in the middle where the oxygen is most abundant and I am at my most truest self. It is here where I am free.
Living in the middle means I get to be bad at something until I become good at it.
Living in the middle means I get to feel pain, know hunger, and suffering on occasion and learn that this too shall pass.
Living in the middle lets my eyes scan the horizon for the next goal, and the next opportunity to push myself beyond my perceived limitations and experience the joy of real accomplishment.
Jeff and I took a new path while riding bikes yesterday. This one has more hills than flat lands and I wasn’t prepared. I wound up walking the first hill and dug down into myself for the rest. I decided that I could stop and catch my breath if needed but I was not coming off my bike again no matter what. I knew that hill was waiting for me on the return trip. I knew I was going to have to dig in if I wanted to climb it.
I watched my pace and kept close to his. I shifted gears, pushed through the pain and refused to stop. I made it to where he was waiting and then…
…………………………………………………………………I threw up.
I am living in the middle of the consequences of throwing a temper tantrum and gaining 50 pounds hoping to assure that I’d never get hit on again. I’m living in the middle of learning boundaries, facing fears and finding myself. Sometimes living in the middle means doing the right thing even if it means I have to throw up afterwards. (Fellow scardy cats will understand that one)
Living in the middle is messy. It means I don’t get to have all the answers. It means I get to make mistakes and be imperfect. It means I get to try again until I get it right.
I don’t know what middle you are living in right now. Maybe it’s the middle of a storm, the middle age of life, the middle of a climb or the middle of a descent and you keep waiting for the day when you can finally say “I’ve arrived.”
Don’t settle for arriving. Don’t waste time wishing you were there, when you could be living in the here and in the now.
Strive to live.
Dig down.
Get messy.
Make mistakes.
Be neurotic.
Throw up if you have to.
Choose joy.
Believe in yourself.
I love stories like this.
Okay ladies and gents, I have some great news. Are you ready?
I bought a bike.
I know, that news seems pretty anti-climactic really. Especially after telling you guys how I totally lost my mind (or found it, either way) and went Democrat this fall. Compared to that, buying a bike may not sound like all that much.
You see it’s like this. I own a five speed and I hate it. You have to pedal like crazy just to get it to change gears. It can’t handle hills, it hurts my back and I can’t keep up with my friends when we ride the river.
Why do I own a five speed that I hate? Because my husband insisted I get a different bike, and I was in a mood that day. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s a man or he’s the primary bread-winner and I feel… well I don’t know how I feel. I just know that the more he insisted I’d hate it, the more deeply my stubborn heels dug into the concrete and linoleum floors of Wal-Mart.
Who buys their bikes at Wal-Mart?
We do. Or rather we did. We purchased four bikes that day and he didn’t want to go broke doing it.
Like a lot of married couples I know where one partner works outside of the home and the other inside the home, there are at times power struggles. We were eyeball deep in just such a struggle the day we purchased my nasty bike.
My husband chose the store and the price he wanted to spend. He’s the breadwinner and I was in a… well let me just say a bad place in regards to how we handle things financial in our home. So when he picked out my bike, I balked and walked over to this really pretty dark blue five speed. The more he insisted I get the bike he picked out, the deeper my heels dug into the concrete and linoleum floors.
Home she came.
One ride up and down the moderate hills of our bike trails in Tulsa and I knew he was right. I hated it. Did I tell him that? Nope.
That was four years ago and yes, I’ve ridden a bike that I hate for four whole years because I am not about to tell him he’s right.
Now, I have a dilemma. I’m trying to lose weight and I have a bad ankle from a childhood injury that makes running, walking, and anything aerobic really very painful. Cycling, is my best option.
A lot of my friends ride. Some of my friends even compete. They are a wealth of wisdom. This time, I didn’t take my husband shopping with me. Applause for stepping out of my normally timid, hugely co-dependant/male-dependant butt would be appropriate here. Really, I won’t mind.
This time, I did the research and picked out a bike I knew I would enjoy, be able to ride and could afford.
For starters, I didn’t go to Wal-Mart. I went to Tom’s Bicycles in Tulsa. Tom’s is locally owned and operated. If you want to save jobs in America support locally owned stores. Toms has two stores in Tulsa, one on 68th and Peoria and one in the heart of MidTown on 15th (Cherry Street). I know nothing about bicycles and their staff helped me make the best choice for me. You can click the photo of the water bottle above to learn more about Toms.
This is the bike Jenny helped me pick out. It’s a Giant Brand and is just my size. I’m only 5’4′ and I did not know bikes came in small, medium and large. This is the first size small I’ve had in years. This dieting thing is working already. I love this bike. It has 18 speeds. The bottom nine are on the right handle and the upper nine are on the left. I can changed gears up or down with a simple click of a switch.
This is a street bike. It’s not a blend or mountain bike. The tires are thin and oddly bare. I didn’t expect that. Not sure how it’ll handle on wet roads, but I’ll find out.
Click on the photo above if you want to more about Giant Brand Bicycles.
Now, this bike does have one slightly annoying quirk. It likes to throw me off.
They say that once you learn how to ride a bike, you never forget. “They” have never met the likes of me with a new bike and toe straps. See this photo? That little bugger held my left foot hostage five minutes into my maiden voyage and I crashed right in front of my house. I have gravel in my hand and elbow and my left thigh and right breast are deeply bruised by the handle bars. But you know what, I got back on and only crashed one other time.
Toms is closed on Mondays, but come Tuesday, the straps come off the pedals and I head back to Toms for gloves and a helmet. I’m thinking that’s probably wise. Don’t you?
So there you have it. I Deana, researched and purchased my very first street bike.
Let the adventure begin.
Working out to stay in shape is a lot more fun than working out to get back in shape. Just saying.
Do you remember last summer? I knew I needed to get back in shape. My bout with depression several years ago has left 50 pounds that I need to deal with. Rather than allow that to depress me all over again, I’m taking a more positive approach.
I have friends and acquaintances who inspire me. One wrote a book on climbing mountains with his daughter. Another ran a triathlon and placed third in his age group. Another became an Iron Man. Another, recovering from a heart defect and surgery, is fighting to really get in shape and run a marathon. Another friend ran her first 5 K.
A surefire way to fail your goals is to set them so unrealistically high that there is no way to meet them. I said I wanted to do a 5K, but I treated it like I was training for a full marathon, definitely not the smartest thing I’ve done.
I was a martial artist at one time. I’ve competed nationally in Tai Chi and Shaolin Kung Fu. There was a time when I could rock more than this chair I’m presently sitting in. I’m a long way from where I was and getting back will take more than just a day or two. I have to work my way back up to that level of training.
It is okay to allow these people to inspire me, but last summer I took that inspiration and set goals so high and so unrealistic that I crashed and burned very quickly.
I set out on my own. I downloaded information on how to train for a half-marthon, joined Zumba, promised to join a church fitness class…blah blah blah.
I didn’t see my doctor. I didn’t do anything about my left knee that is not stable, or my right ankle that no longer tolerates my weight because of a childhood injury. I didn’t check my blood pressure, blood sugar or anything else. I just jumped into the deep end without the proper gear.
And I didn’t last a month. I failed.
Good thing about failure, is you can learn from it. I found a trainer and joined her class on Wednesday nights. She is harder than my physical therapist when I blew out my ACL six years ago. Her class is a three fold experience, mind, body, and spirit. It’s the best workout I’ve had in a long time.
I saw my Doctor and she is treating my blood pressure and helping with my diet. I’m wearing the right gear for both my knee and my ankle.
Can I keep up with the class? No. Heather showed me where to begin. I used to love working out. I’ll get that back. Beginning is half the battle.
I’m in Nashville watching a friend of mine film a comedy video and will be back on Wednesday. Have a great week everybody.
This post written by Deana O’Hara for Redemption’s Heart. No part may be copied or redistributed without express written permission of the author. January 16, 2010
Month’s ago someone Tweets “What is your favorite running song?”
Seriously?
There really is such a thing?
I mean unless there is a song called running makes me vomit, I just didn’t see the point.
Being as he was training for a triathalon I’m thinking he was serious. So replied.
“C is for cookie” by cookie monster.
Radio silence ensued and my serious running tweet-pal never asked that question again. That or he deleted me from his follow me list. Who knows.
I wasn’t always so flip about running. I actually used to like it, until I shattered my ankle. The dr’s fixed it, and I could run again, but now my ankle is in need of a brace to help me walk straight. Marathons are out. At least that is what I keep telling myself.
Only, I keep reading about people almost 20 years older than I placing third in this triathlon or that person running in that race. I even read a book about a guy who was running marathons and climbing mountains with his daughter when he was my age.
I’ve done the whole conversation with God – in my true to mask joke form “you know God at my age and my shape, I could achieve neither the race nor the spandex.” That is just too big of a step for me. KWIM?
So what happens? God apparently agreed with me and so he sent me Heather.
Heather – from church – our C-Fit instructor runs her very first 5K and places third for her age this past Saturday. I saw that and thought, I can run a 5K. I mean it’s only 3.10 miles. I just have no idea how to train for that. I’d have to train, trust me. My favorite song really is C is for cookie.
My next thought was after reading all my friends post about the Tulsa Run and other such marathons, is saying I’m gonna try for a 5k the total of weenie ville? Maybe, but it is a start. And to help me because I know nothing about running, I found the From Couch to 5K training information.
So… to David who climbs mountains, Reed who always ran past my door every day, Melissa who trained for a half marathon last year, Heather who tried a 5k and did it, and my other triathlon friends, I’m gonna do it.
And I’m going to try not to feel like a wheenie about it.
EDITED JULY 9, 2010 — The verdict is in… I cannot run, my leg won’t tolerate it. I can, however, swim and cycle. Those will be the areas I can pursue. I tried. And I’ve learned my limitations. yes, I will some day need a brace. That is reality and not defeat. And I’m learning how to be okay with that.
Deana O'Hara - Speaker, Comedian, Writer 