No, my dear blog-reading friends, I have not been purposefully ignoring you. Rather, I’ve been a bit preoccupied.
Let’s just say that I’ve learned first-hand what happens when a hot water heater in an upstairs condo bursts and spills its guts. The answer: the water flows down. Straight down from the upstairs condo (aka: my neighbor’s place), through the ceiling and walls of the downstairs condo (aka: my shiny new rental). Then, with nowhere further down to go, it seeps its way horizontally across the subfloor, soaking into the carpet pad, spreading beneath the wooden floorboards. It makes itself known as I step barefoot across the carpet, wondering why out of the blue I’m leaving a path of wet footprints. Has my brilliant dog momentarily lost his sanity and bladder control? Could my washing machine have massive indigestion? Are my feet leaking, I wonder?
The past week has been a blur of ripped out flooring, drywall dust, monster fans & dehumidifiers, hotel rooms and take-out food. All this and so far only the emergency measures have been taken. I have yet to see an insurance adjuster or reconstruction crew. My furry (and thoroughly house-trained, I might add) pup and I moved back into the chaos temporarily last night, but anticipate being ousted again once the restoration begins. Should make for an interesting holiday.
Numerous friends have commented on how positively I’m handling all this. Here’s the thing: yes, it’s a major pain in the backside, and I’ve had a few less than cheery moments. But the reality is there’s not a single thing I can do to change the situation, so my only recourse is to choose my reaction. Rather than latch on to a nasty bundle of stress and grumbled curses, I may as well laugh it off and make the most of it. Take a vacation. Look forward to new floors. Explore some local restaurants. Be thankful I rent rather than own.
I only need to step beyond the gates of my condo complex to the edge of the Richmond Bay to get a reality check as to the relative inconsequence of my particular problem. For the past month the shoreline has been dotted with the bright white & yellow of decontamination suits worn by the oil spill clean up crew. All access to the water has been cordoned off with caution tape and warning signs “Oil Spill. Clean up in Progress. Contaminated Area. Keep Out.” Though the clean up is advancing, it’s a tragedy of major proportions which will have a long-lasting impact on our Bay Area natural environment. It makes the damage in my condo seem like a meager practical joke.
And after all, wasn’t it me who, in a previous blog, penned this nugget of wisdom, “I’m quite convinced that if we long-course triathletes didn’t have a remarkable affinity for suffering we’d never accomplish half of what we do”? So it’s time to live by my own words, to embrace the challenge and inconvenience, to persevere in the face of adversity. To suck it up.
Speaking of which, I did duck out of the mess briefly last Saturday morning to suck up another kind of pain at The North Face Endurance Challenge Half Marathon in Marin. The mere thought of tackling the steep ascents and descents of the Tennessee Valley and surrounding trails was enough to inspire a rash of excuses from three of my male running pals as to why they couldn’t make it (I won’t name names, you know who you are and your shame is your own to bear). Only one stepped up to the Challenge, so together Grant and I attempted what we thought would be a “good training run” disguised as a race. In our pre-race banter we both projected times of 20-30 minutes slower than our standard half marathon finishes, to allow for the climbs and our off-season fitness levels. How optimistic of us. The race was brutal, badass and beautiful; three massive, unforgiving climbs, partnered with pounding downhills that punished my quads and low back with every stride. Man, was it ever fun!
So while I await the word on the fate of my condo, I’ll continue to find interesting ways to amuse and challenge myself. Anyone up for a “training run” this weekend?