Susan trains for the Danskin Triathlon!

For those of you who know me well, you know that I signed up for the Danskin last year and decided not to do it about 3 weeks prior to the event. I couldn’t get over the fear of swimming in open water. Open water swimming is very disorienting. I could swim in the shallow end a few strokes at a time, but going into the deep end really freaked me out. For about several days, my anxiety was sky-high until I made the decision to quit. It was a relief to give myself 12 more months to train.

This year for the triathlon, I also had the added benefit of a training buddy. My two friends who did the triathlon last year were Kim C. & Joy. Joy lives too far away to train with and Kim is very independent. I may have known two people who were planning on doing the Danskin triathlon, but for all intents and purposes I was training alone. I hated it. Training for the Danskin by myself really magnified my own loneliness. It was horrible.

The Seattle Danskin triathlon is the biggest all-women triathlon in the country. It is so popular, that when registration opens in February, it closes the same day! The Danskin is a “sprint-length” triathlon. The swim is 800 yards (that’s almost ½ mile), 12 mile bike and a 3 mile run – although my training partner and I choose to walk.

When I quit last year, Heather M. and I talked about doing the Danskin in 2008 and I was excited by the prospect of a training partner. I knew that it would really help my training and confidence. Unfortunately, Heather and I suffer the same malady as many Americans – we over-schedule our own lives. The Danskin takes place in August. We registered for the Seattle Danskin in February. We started training in June. That’s right. We had 12 months where we KNEW we were doing a triathlon and we wait 10 months to start training. We just kept on putting it off and putting it off.

I was worried but Heather was very confident that we still had plenty of time to train. I kept on telling her that I was thinking about taking some open-water swim clinics or triathlon clinics and she kept on saying the “we can do it ourselves”. But we weren’t “doing it ourselves”; we weren’t doing anything.

Let me share some fundamental differences between Heather and me. Heather is a former lifeguard and I’m pathologically afraid of the water. She used to commute to work via bike and I’m still learning how to switch gears on my expensive bike that I’ve ridden maybe a dozen times. Oh, and she’s 10 years younger than me. I finally told Heather that if we didn’t start training in June, I wasn’t doing the Danskin.

We started doing some leisurely biking and we started walking for distance in June. We had signed up for a ½ marathon in late June and wanted to increase our stamina for that. Unfortunately, the weekend before the Virginia Mason Half Marathon, I went white water rafting – and really busted up my knee. I could barely walk. The Half Marathon was out of the question for me! My doctor let me know that the triathlon, which was 7 weeks away, was still a possibility for me. However, Heather & I had yet to do any training other than walking and light biking.

I’ve never been injured before and I couldn’t believe how long a body takes to heal. Walking and biking were out of the question for me for weeks. Luckily, my doctor felt swimming would be a great therapy for my knee. (Biking actually turned out to be the best therapy for my knee – that was the biggest surprise of my training.) I started my swim training about 2-1/2 weeks after my knee injury. However, my childhood asthma had some far-reaching consequences. It took me forever to be able to swim 800 yards with little to no stopping. My lungs were just not conditioned for this kind of workout. It took 5-1/2 weeks of swim training to finally get to the Danskin swim distance.


Heather & I did some open water training too. I was still nervous about going into the open water, but it wasn’t nearly as nerve-racking as 2007. First of all, I was a much better swimmer this year than last year. Five days before the race, I swam ¾ of the Danskin length in open water. That was actually the day that I knew that I wasn’t backing out of the Danskin. At this point, I KNEW that I had the ability to do the tri.

So no more excuses…

Close, but no Cigar - Chapter 6

Erika walked into the room and I was a little embarrassed so I covered myself with a blanket. She laughed and told me to lay on TOP of the blanket. She grabbed a handful of what looked like honey and balled it up. “See, it’s not hot, just warm. Feel.” She rubbed some honey on the inside of my wrist. I barely registered the temperature at all, since I was so nervous and felt totally exposed despite the small towel I used to cover my lap. She lifted the towel and roughly yanked my useless panties to one side. “Hmmmm…I’m just going to prep you. Can you spread your thighs a little?” I just stared at the ceiling and did her bidding. I had no idea what kind of tool she picked up but all of the sudden, I heard an insistent buzzing…

Yes, yes, I received my first bikini wax - or sugaring in my case. (Editor’s note: If you are related to me and/or don’t want to read about the area around my hooha, I suggest skipping this blog entry).

I’ve been taking swimming lessons all summer and since I’m no bathing beauty (yet), I want to at least appear modest and clean at the pool. As any woman knows, shaving is irritating only several hours afterward. If I shave my bikini line, there are definitely a couple of times in the next few days that I’m going into the bathroom at work for a private scratch. (Sorry if this seems impolite to anyone reading this, but you know it’s true). So I decided to bite the bullet and go in for a bikini wax. There were just too many benefits and the only problems were pain and the cost of maintenance. But I can’t justifiably call myself a modern woman unless there is some sacrifice involved in looking good.

After researching some choices, I went to The Sweet Spot in Fremont. First let me just say that they need a bigger sign. Thankfully, the gentleman I asked, knew where it was. You actually have to go down the stairs next to a Thai restaurant to a lower level than the main street. I had no idea this even existed in Fremont. Once inside the very small shop, I only saw female practitioners – I have no idea if The Sweet Spot hires men to perform bikini, Brazilian or any other kind of sugaring. I would have seriously protested if my practitioner was a guy. Maybe after I was used to the entire process, but certainly not for my first time.

Much like massage, you are taken into a small private room with a clinic-like bed smack in the middle. After some questions and small talk, you are left alone to get undressed and get into bed. Also, I was given the choice of wearing “spa panties”. Since, I’m a newbie, I decide to put on the spa panties. The packaging looks bizarrely like tampons. I rip open the wrapping and unroll the panties and I hold them up à la Anthony Michael Hall in “Sixteen Candles”. I’m not kidding when I say this but spa panties are the thickness of a napkin. And like a total idiot, I put it on. If anything, I feel nakeder. I realize nakeder is not actually a word, but it’s how I felt – nakeder.

So I get under the covers because I feel so exposed and I’m not sure what to do. When Erika comes back, she tries to comfort me with the sugar versus wax talk. I’m kind of listening but I’m mostly feeling fat and nakeder. She pushes aside the towel and napkin (or spa panty) to check me out. Apparently, I need to be “prepped” before the actual sugaring can begin. She’s using an electric razor. It tickled. Normally, this might be fun, but since I’m not fucking Erika, it’s just uncomfortable. So, the buzzing takes forever and I’m really surprised by this. I’m only getting my bikini line trimmed and frankly, I don’t have a lot of hair. I’m Asian – we’re not a hairy group of people. The buzzing goes on and on and I start feeling the tickling in unexpected places. I’m getting nervous and blurt out, “You DO realize that I’m getting a bikini, not a Brazilian?”

She knows. She just wanted to make me even all over. OK. So the sugaring starts and she asks me to spread my legs a little. So far, this is my best lesbian experience ever. The sugaring of my nether regions took about 30 minutes. Which surprises the hell out of me because like I said, I’m just not that hairy. Erika let me know that I was getting the “standard” bikini line.

One of the reasons, I decide to sugar versus wax is because there is a rumor that sugar is less painful. I can’t say if that is true, since I’ve never received a bikini wax. However, I do wax my upper lip (what little hair I have is jet black). Here is the breakdown: Wax is HOT and is applied with the hair grain and pulled against the grain. Sugar is warm and applied against the grain and pulled with the grain. Wax does hurt when it’s ripped off of you. However, sugar hurts going ON and coming off. I’m not kidding. I guess it could hurt less than waxing, but I guess you have to make a choice. One tug rated 9 for pain or two painful tugs rated 6-7 each. It’s a tough choice. And the reason Erika needed to trim before starting is because sugaring works best with short hair. The longer the hair, the more it hurts going on. And let me tell you, that is very true.

So after I’m done, Erika leaves me so I can get dressed. I don’t know why – she’s seen and touched everything private. I get off the table and look back to see the mess – it looks like Grizzly Adams had been on that table. Wow. I finally find a trash can for the worthless spa panties, but I can’t find a mirror. I have to wait until I get home to see the results. I ran a few errands before going home and felt extra sexy knowing that my bikini line was beautifully smooth. No itching, no irritation. Yeah!

So I get home and rush to my room. I pull down my sweats and…and I look ready for my Playboy pictorial. The “standard” bikini must be the ones on Ipanema Beach. The hair that was left was really short and left nothing to the imagination. I could see everything. In fact, when I was a little girl and my mom bathed me and my little sister in the same tub, I could have sworn that my sister had a mole on her pubic region. Turns out, it was me. Huh.

- Susan in Seattle

Like a Cheetah!

Yesterday, I went white water rafting again. As usual, it was fun and unusually (for my band of yahoos), no one fell in.

The trip over started off with a drizzle in Western Washington, but by the time we got to the Wenatchee area, it was blue skies and sun. The river was ice cold, which I found to be quite refreshing by afternoon.

First, let me say that I was SHOCKED by the low turnout at Riverside Park in Cashmere. I’m used to hundreds of people crawling all over the park in preparation for a trip down the river. Orion (my outfitter of choice) only had three boats on the water, two of which were my party. I didn’t count, but I think I only saw three other rafting outfitters at the park. I’ve never rafted the Wenatchee on a Sunday, so maybe that had something to do with it. At any rate, it was weird.

My party consisted of 13 people – half of them have rafted with me before. I had some excited first-timers and some nervous first-timers. I’m discovering that separating people into boats is part science, part art, part intuition. My first rule is that friends stay together. I consider myself the wild card for seating. Sometimes, I’ll pull Heather, Kim C. or Tina aside and let them know that they may be sitting with strangers if I need another wild card. There’s always someone who is cool with rafting with a bunch of strangers. I just want everyone to have fun and be as comfortable as possible and I find that first-timers do not want to be separated from their spouse/friend/co-worker. Our 2nd boat had two separate parties of three – whenever I looked back, no one seemed to be talking in their boat. It was like an awkward barbeque – where everyone knows the host but not each other and the host left the room for a minute. My boat had 7 women in it and everyone knew at least two other people – constant talking and laughing about everything! I’m almost embarrassed of how much time was spent talking about Paris Hilton. I’m sure if I shouted out, “Paris Hilton!” at the other boat, they would have had plenty to discuss. Say what you want about Paris, but she can really bring a boat full of people together!

Sauk Talk was kept to a minimum – at least by my standards. I’m sure my friends are sick of hearing about it. I didn’t realize how uptight I am about that whole experience until we started the first set of rapids on the Wenatchee. I was truly scared. I was scared that entire first half. My rowing really suffered from that. I would see a big wave and stop moving. After lunch, I was still scared, but I handled it much better internally. Apparently, externally I was much quieter and subdued the second half. However, I was concentrating hard on being a more active paddler and I think I succeeded.

The waves were the biggest I’ve ever seen on the Wenatchee (I’ve been three whole times now). I was told the water levels were lower than normal – wow! the river really seemed different. But, I don’t know how much of it is in my head. I’m waiting for Karen and Heather to give me an opinion since they’ve been with me all three times. I’ve got to say, I thought it was a great trip. The rapids just seemed really exciting! The people who wanted action certainly got it and the nervous first-timers got a chance to relax between rapids and calm down. There are a couple of friends who couldn’t make it this time and I was really sorry to come back and tell them that they missed a great trip. It just can’t be recreated.

Jonathan (not John) was our guide. And yes, he has the inherent, casual hotness that river guides just have… He was very laid back and calm - which I really needed. I don't feel that I have that much experience, but I thought he did a great job guiding us on our trip. Everyone on our boat seemed to have a fantastic time. And like I said, no one fell in. Jonathan may not even realize it, but we took it really easy with him. Except for 5-10 minutes on the second half of the trip, where Heather and K.P. were exceptionally raunchy, Jonathan was barely sexually harassed.

But he’ll never look at ‘O’ magazine the same way again.

- Susan in Seattle

So I’ve Discovered…

EBAY.

Since I’m easily addicted to things, this is NOT good news. Thankfully, I’ve lost out on some bids. So far, I’ve “won” four items and I’ve got one more winning bid in a current auction. I’ve purchased 1 set of decorative pillows, 1 vintage magazine, 1 amber bracelet and one water color painting. I’ve paid for all my items, so now I’m just waiting for something to show up! Here’s a breakdown of what I’ve ‘won’:

1. Thai silk pillows. I paid $4.99 plus $10 shipping and handling. This is a pretty good purchase. If my parents didn’t go to Thailand twice a year, every year, I’d really have something to boast about. (I can’t trust their taste and I really wanted Thai silk pillows for my living room).

2. An amber & silver bracelet from China. My winning bid was $0.36. That’s right – 36 cents! Shipping and handling was $15 and “required insurance” was $4.00. So I just spent $20 on an amber bracelet. That’s actually pretty good.

3. The December 1984 edition of American Vogue. I love that particular magazine. It’s got a super cool looking cover of Renée Simonsen wearing a silver tinsel wig. I paid $14.99 for it. Let me repeat that. I just paid $15 bucks plus $4.00 shipping and handling for a magazine. Since I collect fashion magazines, I know this won’t be the last.

4. A bought a watercolor for about $2. The seller was the painter. I thought I was getting a good deal, but I didn’t read the description carefully enough before bidding. This is a 3-1/2” X 2-1/2” CARD. So with shipping and handling, I paid about $10 for something too small to put on my wall.

5. My last auction doesn’t end for a few more days. More Thai silk pillows. These are bright red with a Chinese dragon motif. It will look fantastic on my couch. I’m bidding about $6.50 so far. But I want these suckers, so I’m re-bidding if I have to.

I’ve lost out on lots of magazines and plus-size tops. I bid $26.50 for the 1943 issue of Harper’s Bazaar with Lauren Bacall on the cover (this is before she was a star). The winner bid $52 on it so I was totally out of it. I also bid on the 1963 Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue. I bid $2.25 and the winner bid about $8. I’m actually really glad that I’m missing out on all these bids, but I’m totally addicted to EBAY. I just want to be on the site all day looking for shit I don’t need.

Perhaps the next EBAY purchase I should make is EBAY stock…

- Susan in Seattle

Juror #75

For the first time in my life, I received a jury summons. I actually received the summons in March, but I decided to postpone it until late summer, when both of my jobs would be less hectic. Unlike most people, I was really excited by the summons. I watch several of the crime dramas on TV (actually I watch a ton of TV in general) and I was really curious to see how the court process really worked.

My (postponed) summons was for August 23-24th.

Wednesday morning, I made it to court just in time for sign-in. There were perhaps 100 jurors or so in the waiting room. By 8:30, a judge came in to greet all of us. Apparently the judges take turns doing a short “Welcome Orientation” for jurors. It was a nice touch, I thought.

So the welcoming judge is a jovial uncle type - very friendly and loquacious. He thanked us a few times and apologized for the tiny juror compensation. He also explained the general procedure for prospective jurors. He made a special effort to describe the time frames for court cases, since that is what most jurors ask him about. He told us that for a regular case he would ask for 35 jurors to be sent to his courtroom. For more sensitive or controversial cases, he would ask for 50 jurors or so. Jury selection can last for 1 day or maybe even up to a week. And court cases generally last about a week. For the more sensitive cases, potential jurors would be asked to fill out a “biographical form”.

After his speech we got to watch a video about jury duty. About 15-20 minutes after the video, the receptionist (for lack of a better term) announced over the PA system that the first 40 jurors would be called for Judge Darvus. I very anxiously and carefully listened for my name. There was a “Susan” called, but not me. So I went back to my brown belt Sudoku (which was kicking my ass). Then after another 15-20 minutes of waiting, the receptionist announces that Judge Darvus had actually asked for 85 jurors total and the 2nd group would be called shortly. Now when the receptionist said, “85 jurors”, there was an audible gasp in the room. We had just been told, not even an hour prior to this announcement, that 35 jurors would be an appropriate pool for most court cases. I could hear people speculating about why so many jurors were called. There was a lot of tension in the room. I did NOT want to be on this jury. When the 2nd group of prospective jurors for Judge Darvus was called out, my stomach was in knots while I carefully listened for my name. I was Juror #75.

The group of us made our way to the 4th floor and were greeted by a very friendly bailiff. She gave us big cards with our juror numbers on them and then led us into the courtroom and seated us sequentially. I noticed two things right away: the youth of the judge and the youth of the defendant. Judge Darvus welcomed us to her court and gave a general speech about jury duty and court process. I tried to pay attention as much as I could but I was just so curious about the case itself. Then she got down to business and read the charges:

1 count of murder in the first degree and
2 counts of attempted murder.

Wow – I really hit the jackpot. In all seriousness, I almost started crying when I heard the charges. Crying for myself, because there was a possibility that my life (which had been going so smoothly for so long) was about to seriously be disrupted, crying for the young defendant who’s future was perhaps in my hands and crying for the victims who demanded justice. We were then sworn in and our “voir-dire” started.

The judge asked use two questions pertaining to our inability to sit on this jury. Who had a medical hardship and who had plans to be out of town that they could not reschedule. We indicated by raising our cards. She wrote down all the numbers and then one by one, asked the prospective juror what their hardship was. I thought this was great, because people who were less than sincere were about to be called out. (I do want to point out here that we were always given the option of giving information in private). About half the people who raised their card had a good reason and the other half were kind of wishy-washy.

Then we were sent back downstairs to fill out our biographical information. These questions included: Where were you born? What is your race? Do you own a gun? Have you ever been the victim of a violent crime? Are you heard anything about this case? Do you want to be speak to the judge and counsel privately regarding why you can’t be on this jury?

I turned in my biographical information and about 30 minutes later we were called back into the courtroom. Several people were excused to go back into the unassigned jury pool. Several others were asked to stay and be “voir-dire’d” in private. The rest of us were excused. I took this opportunity to call both of my bosses and let them know the situation – that I may be on a jury for a month and how can we deal with this?

I was really nervous that I would be on this jury. I really wanted to perform my civic duties, but I didn’t want my life disrupted so brutally. I felt it may have been a karmic payback for the last 3 years which were relatively boring. I made such an enormous dent in my debt and paid it off! And now, it was possible that I would have to take an unpaid leave of absence to be in the jury of a murder trial! Just my luck.

So the next morning, I go in and wait to go up to the court room. Let me tell you, being on a jury is a lot like being in kindergarten. It’s a lot of waiting, a lot of repeating instructions and a lot of getting in single file lines and walking. Court procedure is so ritualized that it easily doubles the time of the actual case. At any case, we’re back in the courtroom and the entire jury pool goes through a general “voir-dire”. So the defense counsel and prosecuting attorneys take turns asking the entire assembled jury pool questions. We indicated that we wanted to answer by raising our jury number cards.

One early question was, “Is there any reason that you don’t want to be on the jury”. My card went right up. They asked us one by one, what those reasons were. I gave my spiel about working two jobs and not being able to take paid leave and my concerns over that. Since I had been practicing my reasons all night, I was pretty smooth. I did not necessarily get the feeling anyone particularly cared that I couldn’t afford to be on this jury. But one thing became startlingly clear to me as we were being “voir-dire’d”. The same people were always expressing their opinion – which effectively made me much more vocal. I realized that almost everyone expressing their (considerable) opinions would probably not make it on the jury.

And there was one question that I knew marked me for elimination. The defense counsel asked if anyone had seen or heard a trial where they disagreed with the verdict. No one raised their cards. No one. Come on! After O.J. was acquitted, it seemed no one could shut up. I was kind of disgusted by this. So I raised my card. And I said something to the effect that I disagreed with the original verdict for the Rodney King trial (I realize that this was not actually Rodney King’s trial – but you KNOW what I’m talking about). So the defense asked me if I carefully followed the trial and why did I not like the verdict. And I pop out with, “I didn’t follow the trial at all. I saw the tapes and I didn’t think justice was served.”

I should point out here that despite the defendant being black and his counsel being black, I could tell by the look on their face that they’d never let me on the jury. I made a determination of guilt on the Rodney King case, seeing one damning piece of evidence and without hearing one word of witness testimony.

My comment did prompt some cards going in the air. The next man to speak talked about the O.J. trial. He prefaced his story with ‘Well, on the other side of the coin…” He made it very clear that he followed the case very closely and that although O.J. may not have been guilty, he felt that O.J. was definitely not innocent. I only speak of this because his opening remarks struck me as slightly racist. Not “I hate all minorities” racist, but more like, “I like black people as long as they don’t date my daughter” racist. Many people felt those cops were guilty and were upset when they were acquitted. And many people felt that O.J. was guilty and were upset when he was acquitted. That is actually the SAME side of the damn coin. I rest my case.

Since this story is so freaking long, I’ll end it on these notes: The jury was accepted at Juror #46 – so I didn’t even get close.

And the verdict was guilty.

- Susan in Seattle

Final Destination IV (aka The Thrill of White Water Rafting)

I really enjoy white water rafting. It might be because I’m scared of the water and it gives me a sense of accomplishment that I can raft despite my fear. Or maybe I’m an adrenaline junkie in the making. I don’t know. Whatever the reason, my goal was to go a couple times every summer eventually rafting a Class V river. After this past weekend, my goal has now changed. I want to raft a couple of times every summer and that’s all. I think the Class V river thing will just be something that other people do. I’m not sure I’m interested anymore…

First off, let me say that I’m a total beginner. I’ve only rafted a grand total of 4 times as of today. The first time I rafted was 3 years ago. I organized a trip of nearly 30 people to raft the Wenatchee River. It was great! Everyone had a great time. The next summer we did the Wenatchee again as well as the Tieton River later in the season. I skipped last summer for financial reasons (ugh!) This weekend, a small group of us rafted the Sauk River. The Sauk is Class III-IV – compared to the Wenatchee and Tieton, both Class IIIs. Wow, what a difference. Our experience on the Sauk can be summed up thusly: At least, no one died.

Yeah, it was a “River Wild” experience without Kevin Bacon. Although, if our boat had been hijacked by a pair of bank robbers, I wouldn’t have been surprised at all.

Our outfitter (the company that took us out) only had two boats on the water that day. It was just our party and another couple (father & daughter). Including my party of 7, total number of people rafting was 9 plus 2 guides. We put 3 people from my party and the father & daughter on the first boat. I was in a boat with 3 of my friends plus a guide. We were the “sweep” boat – meaning we’d be picking up any people who fell off. Of course, everyone’s nervous about falling into the river. Our guides assured us that that rarely happens. One guide mentioned that he’d been rafting 10 days in a row and no guest had fallen out.

My fore-shadowing is probably obvious at this point. Unfortunately, my parties have a high falling out ratio compared to other guests. Our outfitter has a dunk rate (my term) of less than 1%. My guests have a dunk rate of 15.6%. Ummm….yeah….I honestly can’t believe they still accept my business. My ENTIRE boat fell out on our second Wenatchee trip. Except me. I remember opening my eyes after our boat high-sided on the 2nd to last series of rapids. I was alone. It was scary-weird. I turn around and (thankfully!) my guide was still on the boat. We were in still water by now and everyone had popped up next to the boat thanks to their life vests. We got everyone back in the raft, probably in less than 3 minutes. It was actually pretty exhilarating. I think our guide was the most shaken up. We had one set of rapids left and everyone wanted to take it head on. We were pretty gung-ho.

The Sauk River…ummm….different story.

About 1/3 way through the Sauk run, we high-sided onto a rock. My friend Kim and I were dangling upside down. I was “Matrixing” as The Heat refers to it – I was still as a board, holding onto the chicken wire, slightly sitting up to avoid being dunked into the water. Kim was drowning in 4 inches of water. If she could just have sat up a little, she would have been fine. The looks on my friends faces who were on the high side (which happened to be the right side of the boat) was absolute fear. The guide came over and helped me to sit all the way up and then had Kim fall into the water, where he picked her up back into the boat. This scenario probably lasted less than a minute. I’m sure for Kim it was horrifying.

Cut to right before lunch: Again we high-sided onto a rock, this time the left side was high. I’m in the front and can’t see anyone else but the Heat. As The Heat and Dianna tried to hold onto the chicken wire, it became apparent, we could not get the raft loose in this precarious position. So the guide told them to let go of us and the boat. Dianna let go and started floating away. Our guide dislodged our boat and The Heat was still right next to the boat, but behind it. Kim and I tried to get The Heat in the boat. We couldn’t. Then the guide tries to get The Heat in the boat, while I watch Dianna floating about 10 feet away from us. She’s totally out of my reach; I can’t even offer her any help she’s so far away. I see her floating towards a tree and I’m going insane. I realize that the guide can’t get the Heat in the boat. Kim tries to help him. No go. The guide has to let go of her because we’re entering more rapids. The Heat describes the look on his face when he realizes he can’t get her back into the boat as “terrified”.

Kim and I are literally stomping around on the raft watching Dianna float away in perfect river position toward a tree. I’m screaming at her to avoid the tree, but she doesn’t. Luckily, there is no super strong current under the woods to suck her in and pin her underneath the tree and she is able to grab at the tree and hold on. So she’s holding onto the tree as she watches us float away. By now, the guide is yelling at Kim and me to row because, he “can’t do it alone”. Oh right – we’re still in the middle of a set of rapids. In my panicked state, that actually never occurred to me. So the three of us paddle some rapids, while watching The Heat bobbing up and down in the water ahead of us. Dianna is a speck of fear upriver.

I have never paddled so hard in my life. At the end of the set of rapids is a really big rock. I was frantic as I watched The Heat approach the rock with the raft behind her. The Heat’s head goes down in the water with her life preserver slightly floating above her head as the raft overtakes her and bumps the rock. I can only imagine we are literally on top of The Heat and I am out of my body with fear. Then I see her shooting around the left side of the rock. Behind the rock is an eddy and finally some shallow water! The other guide has beached his raft and is running with the throw bag. The Heat told me later she couldn’t reach the rope he had thrown toward her. She is panicking in the water but doesn’t realize that she’s not moving very fast until the guide screams to swim toward him. Which she does to safety. Thank god.

Our guide beaches us and tells us not to leave the boat. He goes racing with his partner up river toward Dianna. I have no idea what they were planning to do, although my guess is that they had no clue either. Dianna remembers hearing “Let go of the tree”, which she won’t do. Finally she does. She floats around five feet, goes around a rock and stands up in 3 feet of water. She describes the two guides as hanging on to each other to combat the current. In our greatest stroke of luck, a private rafting party came down just then and she hitched a ride to where we waiting.

I honestly can’t say how long this episode lasted. I think less than 5 minutes for the Heat and probably 10 minutes for Dianna. The weird things I remember about this adventure… like Kim trying very hard to keep me calm – but I know she was as panicked as I was. And our adrenaline really kicked in. One of our guides “ran like a cheetah” (the Heat’s words) over the rocks with a throwbag – personally, I can barely walk the rock covered beaches without teetering all over the place. I wonder if he could have run so gracefully for any other reason. Maybe he can. Maybe all river guides can. I can’t – I walk into my coffee table at least once a month. But Kim and I also developed abilities above and beyond our normal skills. For instance, we walked up and down that raft in the middle of the river like it was a hard wood floor -- which is funny because I can barely get in the raft when it’s tethered and someone’s trying to help me into it.

The Heat and Dianna were troopers to get back into the boat. The stop for lunch was literally 5 minutes away. It was after lunch that the fear set in. The start of that part of the trip was full of tension. I don’t know who was more scared: Dianna, The Heat, me, Kim or our guide*.

Afterward, The Heat and Dianna both admitted to thinking that they thought they were going to drown out there. They didn’t say anything until the end of the trip. Which I thought was really brave of them. I can’t imagine how each felt. It was harrowing for both. We were lucky Saturday that no one was seriously hurt.

We’re going again in September.

- Susan in Seattle

*The answer is Dianna. I feel so bad that she had such a horrible experience. I don’t know how I would have felt hanging onto a tree and watching everyone screaming, yelling, panicking, but most of all, floating away.

Here, Have Some Cake and Eat it Too

I had a quasi-argument with my roommate’s boyfriend last night. Arguments bother me long after they are over because I often do not represent my own thoughts/feelings very well. I usually allow my anger to control my words; thereby my anger misrepresents my actual opinion.

Tony is an alcoholic. Something he’s been struggling with openly for about a year and possibly many years to come. Sometimes we talk about it because I too easily succumb to addictions. In my early to late 20’s, I spent money like I was rich and now that I’m practically debt-free I’m turning my attention to my eating disorder. Not the thin-kind of eating disorder (although I spent most of 8th grade throwing up, 9th grade starving myself and my freshmen year of college scarfing laxatives). You see, I’m clinically obese.

Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing ‘clinical’ about it. You can look at me and tell that I’m significantly overweight. We’re not talking 20 lbs here. I’m under 5’1” and I weigh 195. That’s an extra 70 lbs. I used to weigh 208 lbs. So, I’m not just clinically obese; I’m just plain fat.

Sometimes, Tony and I will talk when we are alone about our weaknesses. He always compliments me on my insights. I think he likes the fact that I’m not constantly nagging him about sobriety.

So last night, I came home and found Tony and Trina (my roommate) playing cards and sat down to watch and just shoot the breeze. I don’t know how we even got on the subject, but I said something to the effect that I often wish I could see other people’s sins the way people can see mine. I just feel that if a person wants to give me any type of advice, I want ALL their cards laid out on the table. I want to KNOW that you’re a necrophiliac before you give me diet advice – that’s all I’m asking here. People hide their sins, but because my sins are literally written all over my ass, ANYBODY can give me diet/exercise advice. And trust me, they do! I can’t look at a person and tell that they are an embezzler, pedophile, adulterer, gambler or alcoholic. (I do realize that as substance abuse advances, you can see the destruction, but the effects can be hidden for a long time.) But I can’t hide being fat. I can never hide being fat.

So Tony says something to the effect that: “it’s OK, because you’re problem isn’t as bad as theirs. Your problem can’t ruin your life. It can’t kill you.” Full disclosure here – I am synopsizing. He realizes he put his foot in his mouth so he starts backtracking. Something to the effect of: “since your problem is out in the open, you have more confidence.” (He did use the word ‘confidence’; I’m not injecting that.) Now, writing this down, it doesn’t seem so bad; you’re going to have to take my word for it that I felt that he was diminishing the pain and frustration I feel with my addiction compared to his.

There are some differences between being fat versus being an alcoholic, to be sure. For instance, Tony is trying to get insurance coverage for his rehab. My doctor on the other hand, had to – ummmm….massage the truth – about my need for blood tests because “Obesity” is not covered by medical insurance. Tony can order a drink in a restaurant without strangers making any judgments. I, on the other hand, will be judged at a grocery store by the contents of my cart.

Before I go further, let me just make one thing clear about my opinion on this…I DON’T think that being fat is worse, or even as bad, as being an alcoholic. Or a gambler. Or a drug addict. And although I think the disappearing middle-class is one of the worst problems facing America, I think that overspending as a PERSONAL problem is eclipsed by problems like alcoholism or drug addiction or gambling. I would NEVER say that being overweight or mired in debt is worse or even as bad as being an alcoholic. However, I do think that we both suffer from an addiction problem – he just chose a deadlier poison. I know that some people, doctors and psychologists included, would say these problems are equally bad, but I just don’t buy it.

Apparently, in our little discussions, I’ve given Tony the impression that I think my obesity is as bad a problem as his alcoholism. And I was too blinded by anger to realize that his slightly non-sequitur response was really his way of communicating that to me. But then he said something to me that forever changed the way I see him. And this is almost verbatim:

“I don’t think you’re fat, Susan. How much do you weigh?” Ummm…200 lbs. “Well, you hide it well”. He repeats the whole, “I don’t think you’re fat” thing one more time for good measure. And I’m really bothered by this. He said it to placate me; to flatter me to dissipate the tension that his earlier comment created. But it just really freakin’ bothered me. I’m sure Tony will dismiss this by saying something to the effect, “Well, I don’t think you’re fat because I’m Black.” (I would bet money on that, by the way.) But I think he would be missing the point if he used that as an excuse. He didn’t say it because of his cultural or racial background, he said it because he’s an Enabler.

Enabling is this weird destructive forced cloaked in friendship and support. It made me feel like he’s a liar or just plain stupid. I hope so. Because then I will have to visit the other alternative – that he said it specifically to hinder any progress that I’ve made toward losing weight and a healthier lifestyle. Sometimes I think he’s far more manipulative than he appears on the surface.

But I'm afraid that I’m projecting a little.