Conquering Greta

When I was a little kid, I used to ski. I was pretty good at it too, lending support to the stereotype I've come across in Australia that Canadian children are born with skis on their feet. We're not born with skis on our feet; it's just, when it's winter 8 months of the year and you live beside the mountains, skiing's what you do! You spend enough time with skis on your feet, you're bound to develop some skill.

So after a few seasons, I was pretty good. I could go off on my own on the easier trails, and I could do some of the harder ones too if I had an adult with me. I was on my way to skiing become a lifestyle when suddenly I found myself wrapped around a tree. It was so bizarre! One minute I was speeding down the slope, turning to stop at the halfway point on the hill, and win the race I was having against my Dad and Pat (who was only 5 and just learning to ski). Then next minute I was staring up at the ski, wondering why I was staring up at the ski and who was crying. Twenty years later I still don't have any memory of what happened between starting that turn and lying on the ground. I hit that tree so hard that it wiped what I assume was a couple of minutes of my life clean from my memory.

That's the kind of thing that sticks with you - not the memory of it, obviously, but the experience. It wasn't until I started learning to ride a bike that I realized just how much that experience has stuck with me; how much fear it has given me.

I never did get back into skiing after that. I remember going cross country skiing on a Girl Guide's trip one time and making some progress then. I had really enjoyed cross country skiing, and eager to get me back on track to a skiing lifestyle my Dad bought me a pair of cross country skiis for Christmas. Unfortunately, whatever progress I had made was quickly undone. While everyone else was off ice staking at McKenzie Lake, I was trying out my new skis. Everything was fine, until I found myself on top of a mid-sized hill not too far off from the frozen lake. Rationally I knew I could ski down the hill and be OK; even if I felt like I lost control, there weren't any trees and I knew all I had to do to stop was fall over. It didn't matter; I was frozen with panic at the top of that hill. I actually had to take my skis off and walk down the hill. I don't think I ever put them on again.

Since buying Greta, it's taken me awhile to actually get out and get riding. I needed someone to help me, and finding someone to do this was easier said than done. But, when my new flatmate (who I will affectionately call Coach) moved in, she was really keen to get me riding. So one sunny Friday afternoon we headed out to one of the nearby parks and my riding lessons began. Coach would hold on as I peddled, helping to correct me and running alongside me...and more than occasionally would get run into by me. Gradually I improved. She didn't need to correct me so much, or hold on quiet so much.

I remember the first time Coach let go: I had been doing pretty good with her only lightly holding on, so she let go. I knew she'd let go and I panicked. I actually froze up. And moments later came to a crashing stop. I'd had this flashback to my skiing accident, to being completely unable to control wrapping myself around a tree. I'm pretty sure that first time on Greta I very nearly wrapped myself around a fence!

That fear of losing control runs deep. So deep that I hadn't even noticed it was there. It wasn't until Coach let go and I realized I really had no idea what I was doing that the fear leapt up from its depths. And I was terrified. But I knew, I absolutely knew that I had to keep going. After a quick debriefing with Coach we agreed to try again, and that she would not let go this time out, even if I was doing really well. With that comfortably in mind, I was able to keep going and the terror subsided.

It actually took quite a long time before I was able to let Coach let go. We always negotiated if she would be letting go or not, and I always felt confident in my ability to stop the bike, or at least fall off the bike, with a minimum of injury to myself should I need to. The trust was there, both in her promise to hold on for as long as I needed and in my ability to be OK when she did let go. But even still, it was easier said than done. The next time Coach let go, she also stopped running beside me. I was riding perfectly fine, but when I realized that she wasn't right there beside me, I just froze up and crashed into the fence. Again. So we debriefed again and she agreed to continue running beside me while I got used to being on my own. Even though by this point we were both well aware that she was much better off being far, far away from me and Greta when I crashed into something!! That's friendship!

About a week after running the 10k, once I'd had my 'recovery' period, we headed out again! This time, Coach would help me get started, but then I would be riding on my own. We practiced on a paved footpath that runs beside a soccer field. Along the narrow side of the soccer field. My goal was to ride to one side and back without crashing. I was getting closer and closer; but still having a few too many close calls with the fence. Then, finally, I did it!! I made it to from one side to another without crashing!!! Now it was time for my triumphant return.

The funny thing about losing control is that if you just surrender to it, you'll be OK. Instinct takes over, and either you recover or you minimize the damage you're about to cause to yourself. I know this! I practice this! Many, many times when I've been horseback riding or walking on a slippery path, I have had that moment of realization that I have lost control, and I have just let it happen, and fallen with grace. Every time that I have surrendered to that loss of control, I've come out OK. Every.Time. And yet, sometimes when I sense I am losing control, I fight it. I fight it and I rail against it, and I make the situation a lot worse. And that is what happened upon my triumphant return.

I had almost made it to the end of the path when I started to tip over. I tried to straighten up, but then I just went too far over to the other side. Again, I tried to correct myself, and... wound up lodging Greta onto my leg. I lay on the path on my side, one leg on top of the other, with my top leg stuck between Greta's tyres. Coach had to come over and literally pry Greta off of me. Here's a picture of my bruises the morning after!

And a week later...

It's been 3 weeks now, and that big one on my calf is nearly gone. The others are gone, and been replaced by a few new ones. I got back on Greta after that rather spectacular stack. I had to lay on the ground in agony for a bit first, then walk it off, but I got back on and eventually did make it to one side of the field and back again.

My legs were pretty freggin' sore after that crash, so I wasn't super keen to go out riding again. But on Saturday Coach and I headed out to the park for one more round. This time I was going to work on turning and she was only going to help me with getting going. As it turned out, I didn't need her to help me at all! I hopped on Greta and took off all on my own!

I was glad to have Coach there, even if she was only there for the moral support. And to take pictures!! Which she did with aplomb. I still had a bit of trouble getting going (as in I'd nearly topple over trying to get my balance), and stopping in time was a bit dicey, and my turning left a lot to be desired. But I was riding all on my own and building up my confidence! And developing all sorts of calluses on my palms from my death grip on the handle bars.

The death grip is starting to lessen now though. Slowly, slowly. After my success on Saturday I felt confident to go out on my own. In fact, as we headed back to the apartment to enjoy our celebratory oversized beers, I decided to ride through the other park, instead of walking my bike back like I normally would. And I just took off!

Since Saturday I've been out riding on my own twice. The first time was Monday evening. There were lots of people and dogs in the park, so I was absolutely drenched in terror sweat as I tried not to run into anyone (and thereby nearly ran into everyone). There's these bridges in the park, and they just go over little dips, but going over the edge of the bridge on a bike would do some serious damage! Every time I had to go over a bridge, I panicked. One bridge in particular, for some reason, I continually crashed into and had close calls on. I don't know why. But every time, I made myself keep riding over it.

I went for another ride today, earlier in the afternoon when fewer people were around. I did great!! I didn't crash into anything. I still freaked out going over the bridges, but I was a lot calmer and therefore didn't have any close calls! I had a goal to do 3 laps of the park without crashing, and then I can go play in traffic. I did that today, but given that the park was pretty much empty, I think I need to do it again when it's busier. But it certainly won't be long before I'm actually going places! I now just need to build up my confidence to ride in a straight line...then I can go play in traffic!

The Final Frontier

As those of you who have been following my blog over the past year will know, I have been on a pretty intense journey of self-transformation. There have been lots of first, lots of triumphs, and a few injuries along the way (but my stories about Greta are for another blog on another day). If through some crazy loop in the space-time continuum someone was to meet the me of now and the me of four years ago (the me excitedly preparing to blow that Popsicle stand called Calgary for a new life down under), I wonder if they would recognise us as the same person? I know I would, because I know that who I am today is who I always have been. I'm just no longer holding myself, or letting anyone else hold me, back.

I like to compare myself to Kanye West, and while he describes himself as the illest motherfucker alive, over the years I have earned my street cred as the stubbornest motherfucker alive. When I made my mind up about something, that was that! Logic played no part in this; it was sheer bloody mindedness. I will admit to you now that there were many, many, many times where I thought: "Damn, I wish I could ride a bike!", "That trout looks really yummy.", "What does steak taste like, anyways?"

The irony in all of this is that while I was so determined to hold on to these ridiculous battalions of stubbornness, because nobody could tell me what to do, I was unquestioningly living my life by the standards and expectations of other people. For instance, up until the age of 26 I'd never questioned that I would one day get married (to some guy) and have kids, even though the thought of doing so filled me with absolute terror. I still remember the exact moment when I decided that I could choose not to do those things. I could take you to the exact spot I was standing as that wave of relief hit me.

Since that moment, bit by bit, I have been calling every single thing about my 'self' into question. It was slow and cautious at first, but now I am quite used to turning my world upside down and inside out. Now when the chance for some new moment of self-discovery comes my way I just shrug and say "Why not?" After all, how can you really know yourself unless you actively explore all the possibilities of what you could be? Like just the other day, I was hungry and I wanted to know if I liked fish and chips... So I went and bought myself some fish and chips (and they were delicious)!

An interesting side note to this self-discovery business: while that mostly means saying yes to new experiences, it can just as importantly be about saying no to old experiences. Discovering what your life could be like without something or someone is a lot more challenging, but you inevitably discover so much more about yourself this way. But again, that's now what I want to talk about in this blog post.

I am notoriously known for two streaks of stubbornness: refusing to learn how to ride a bike, and refusing to eat red meat. I've discussed my bike riding in previous blogs, and I promise to give you all the full scoop on my adventures with Greta soon. But right now, I want to talk about my long lived reputation as a 'fussy eater'.

At the tender age of 3 I declared that I would not eat red meat. And that was the end of that. My family tried, repeatedly, for many years, to get me to try it. But no. My mind was made up and nothing they did was going to change it. Eventually they gave up on trying to force me and settled for subtle nagging. We all endeared many family dinners where some alternate dish was prepared for me, and some stink was made about how I refused to eat like a normal person. (I wouldn't really know about being a 'normal' person, but it sounds terribly overrated!) Interestingly, when I decided to become a vegetarian, the label of 'fussy eater' seemed to disappear. And I certainly was more adventurous in my eating as a vegetarian than I had been as a meat eater.

I was a vegetarian for 7 years. And then... I can imagine how from certain perspectives it would have looked like I was changing myself for someone else, but that was not at all what happened. My decision to become a vegetarian had always been about needing to change my lifestyle to eat healthier. It had been the right decision for a long time. But it was a decision I had also been questioning for a long time. Even before I got onto my whole fitness kick, I questioned whether vegetarianism still held any real relevance for my life. I quietly debated ending my vegetarianism for a good two years before that fateful chicken burger earlier this year. People have asked me if the transition from vegetarian to meat eater was difficult. I thought it would be, but it was not. My body was craving meat, and when I gave in to those cravings, my body was happy! I've felt great, I've had more energy, and I'm not quite as pale anymore.

What's been interesting for me is how my relationship to meat has changed. Before I became a vegetarian, I was very finicky about what meat I would and would not eat. I didn't like handling meat, and if I didn't know for sure what I was eating, chances were, I wasn't going to eat it. When I started eating meat again, I was finicky at first. But I asked myself why, and realised it was out of habit and not actually out of any sort of queasiness about eating meat.

You see, pre-vegetarianism eating meat was not something I had chosen to do; it was simply the assumed default position (much like heterosexuality). When I decided to start eating meat again after 7 years of vegetarianism, it was a very conscious choice. I was choosing to eat animals. I was choosing to eat the flesh of another living creature. I was OK with this. So why would chopping raw meat bother me? Why would a vein gross me out? When I thought about it like that, it stopped bothering me.

Which then got me thinking... what's my beef with beef?

I know that when I was 3 I declared that I did not like the taste of red meat, but that was 26 years ago and well, a lot has changed!! I wanted to try red meat, but was not willing to purchase it on my own in case I actually didn't like it (after all, I am still a broke ass student). Then on Friday, the opportunity presented itself and I pounced!

It was a friend's birthday, and a bunch of us went out for dinner at a rather delightful pan-Asian restaurant called Rice Queen. Being a broke ass student, I have not actually gone out for dinner at many restaurants in Melbourne. Rice Queen made me realize that I will need to remedy this the moment I have a real income. It was just such a cool place, with amazing cocktails and great food. We ordered entrees to share, one of which was duck pancakes. Pre-vegetarianism, duck was on my long list of meats I didn't eat. From what I'd heard about it, it didn't sound like the most appetising of meats. But there it was, and there I was. So I made myself a duck pancake and you know what? It was pretty tasty! It wouldn't be my first choice, but if someone was serving something with duck in it, I would give it a go.

When it came time to order mains, I was flummoxed. I wanted to order the Vietnamese salad, which you could get with beef or tofu. I wanted to try beef, but I wanted to order the tofu. And then... one of the other women said she was contemplating the beef salad. So I proposed a trade: she order the beef, I order the tofu, and we do a swap. She accepted!

And so, for the first time in 26 years...

I. Ate. Beef.

As you can probably tell from the look on my face, I didn't love it. But, I didn't hate it either. When it first hit my mouth, I thought it was quite good. But then it was a bit grizzly and kind of bland. Which is exactly how I remember beef tasting from those occasions when some would get slipped into my food. I don't foresee me ordering any steaks in the near future, but, I am willing to give beef in other varieties a go. I also want to try other kinds of red meat, particularly kangaroo. If I happen to like the taste of kangaroo, it would be easy to integrate into my diet. I definitely like the idea of eating a wild animal that exists in abundance more than an animal that is farmed (and over bred) specifically for food. The beef industry does not sit well with me, and I don't imagine that's going to change any time soon, even if I do suddenly really start liking the taste of beef.

So there you have it. I finally ate beef. That last battalion of stubbornness has been torn down!