Strategy or Spaghetti?

My oldest son says he wants to be a doctor. He’s been saying that for a while now so I’m guessing as he starts out college next year his intentions will be to start out on that path. Good for him. So many kids his age have no idea what they want to do when they grow up.

But what if he gets into it and finds out the doctoring thing isn’t right for him? Will there be a Plan B? Depends on how he approaches life, I guess. Maybe it’s contingent on how good he is at putting his life’s plan into place.

It’s a lot to expect from someone so young – figuring out how to set about living what’s left of (hopefully) a very long life. But I think if it’s at all possible, it’s something young people should give some thought to. I know I didn’t.

My strategic approach toward life has been minimalist at best. Really, my life plan has been pretty general – go to college, get a job, get married, have kids, keep working, retire and live happily ever after.

I guess it was something, at least. But I think my one major regret in life is my failure to map out a more detailed life plan for myself. But then, who really thinks about that during the throes of youth? You have your whole life to figure out what you’re going to do, what you’re going to achieve, how you’re going to get there, right? But I’m not young anymore. And now I’m middle-aged and still wondering.

My general plan seemed to work for me up to a point. I just carried on with my life and took advantage of opportunities as they came. It worked, until a few years ago, when I really started to ponder what I was really meant to do.

And now a couple of years later – after having had time to think about it and earn a master’s degree to boot – I’m still as clueless as ever. A life in limbo. Unfortunately, when you’re stuck in limbo, there is a tendency at times to wonder whether you’ve wasted your life. Distorted thoughts creep in and begin to tell you that you wouldn’t be in this position had you not wasted your life. Whether or not my career has been a failure is something I can’t discern at this point. Fortunately, all I have to do is look at my three beautiful children to know that my life has had some purpose.

As for my career, though, right now I’m figuratively taking spaghetti and throwing it to the wall, hoping something will stick. Each piece of pasta represents something. One piece might represent a total career change. Other pieces might represent various positions I’ve applied for. Another piece might represent my current small (very small) business. Still, other pieces might represent specific specialized niches that perhaps I should more deeply explore.

Right now I’m on the small business track, seeing where that will take me. Will it work out? At this point, I don’t know. But if you liken it to pasta, I guess it has just as much of a chance of sticking as anything else.

In the meantime, I’m watching my three precious boys continue to grow up. The oldest is a young man now – so handsome and self-confident. We took him on his first college visit last week. I can’t wait for him to enter that new, exciting stage of his life – young adulthood.

And while I know that right now he is just a kid, I hope that he will come out of a college with a plan, a roadmap, some strategy for how he wants to take on life. At least I hope he and my other two sons will be a little more focused than I was. Regardless, I’ll love them with all my heart. But I do have that wish for them.

Because slinging spaghetti ain’t where it’s at.

Doing the Duckman

The coveted prize.

How many people can say that they trained for a triathlon in only three days? Okay, it was only a mini-triathlon, but to a middle-aged, out-of-shape. far-from-svelte dame with a desk job even the most mini of triathlons might as well be the friggin’ Olympics.

I was totally not up for it, but my husband twisted my arm. We were on vacation last year (July 2010) in Vermont, at a family resort near the Canadian border called the Tyler Place. We had vacationed there three previous times, so when it came to the schedule of the week’s activities, we knew the drill. 

Mid-week at the resort brought with it one of the more highly touted events – the notorious Duckman Triathlon. Obviously, I felt a need to test my mettle. So after three years standing on the sidelines, I decided to take a shot at it.

Mind you, my goal was simply to finish – not to place anywhere near the top. Or in the middle, or even next to last. I didn’t care if I finished dead last. Just as long as I finished. That, to me, was a sufficient goal.

The Big Event

So my rigorous training commenced exactly three days before the event. I faced a one-third mile swim, an eight-mile bike ride, and a 1.2 mile run. Could I do it? Well, things didn’t look so good on my first day of “training” when I joined my husband for a jog on the running course. It only took a few steps for my bad knee to feel the shock of the pavement, sharp pain inching up my knee every time my foot went thundering down. “That’s right,” I remembered.” I dislocated that knee years ago. That’s the one that sounds like it has gravel in it every time I go up and down stairs.” And now I was trying to run on it? Get real! Okay, the run was largely out for me. I would have to make it a speed walk instead.

While the running part was definitely detrimental to my efforts, the swim and the biking parts didn’t make me quite so nervous. I had already swum the course a couple of times, so I at least knew I could do it. Bring on the competition!

Wednesday of that week was Duckman Day. It was a beautiful sunny day with record Vermont temperatures – about 95 degrees that day. Unlike Kentucky, though, the humidity wasn’t bad, so the heat didn’t bother me. Let’s get it on.

Me tumbling up to the dock after the swim.

I showed up in my Speedo swimsuit eager to start the first leg of the competition – the swim. The event coordinators marked my arm with a number, I took one last pull off of my water bottle, and then jumped in the lake. The starting horn was about to blow!

As I started to swim, I realized then that the competition was fierce. Lots of feet in my face to begin with. But alas, it didn’t take long for the swimmers in front to pull ahead and for me to fall behind. “Don’t worry about them,” I thought. “Pace yourself. Just worry about yourself.” I must say, when you’re in it for speed, a third-mile swim seems much longer than when you’re casually swimming it for “practice.” Nevertheless, I finished. When I finally pulled myself up onto the dock, I was exhausted, discombobulated, out of breath. As I prepared for the second leg of the event – the bike trip – it took me a few moments to get my bearings back. A true marathoner would never waste such precious time. Good thing I was content being a novice.

And then the bike portion began. It was an easy enough jaunt – from Highgate Springs to Swanton and back. And it was all flat road. Easy breezy.  The biking was actually somewhat relaxing. I was already near the back of the pack, so I wasn’t under pressure to snatch a top spot to the finish line. So I enjoyed the Vermont country and became one with myself. And the cows. Did I mention the road to Swanton was lined with dairy farms? Let’s just say I got a full whiff of those farms on that 95-degree day. Nothing like the sweet aroma of manure on a hot day to get you pumped. It was one thing to get past the farms and finally get to Swanton. But then I had to turn around and again ride through the manure zone on the return trip. I think this must have been an intentional part of the Duckman event.

Finishing my bike ride.

As I made the turnaround at Swanton and headed back for Highgate Springs, I spotted a kid behind me, gaining on me.  As he passed me he turned to me and said in the sweetest voice, “Hi Mom.” Then he whizzed away. It was my 10-year-old son. He had been the last one in the pack and now he had passed me up. I was now running dead last.

No big deal, I thought. So what if I was last? I’ll wear it like a badge of honor. I trudged on through the final stretch of the bike race and made it back to tackle the part of the triathlon I dreaded most – the run. After wasting more precious time to get my bearings once again after the bike ride (and grab a gulp or two out of my water bottle), I embarked upon the last leg – and using a bad leg, at that. I didn’t even pretend that I was going to run. I just started out speed walking as fast as I could.  And walk is what I did for about 90 percent of the course. But then when the final stretch came – the part where you head down the straightaway toward the toilet paper ribbon that your supporters have ready for you to run through – I finally ran. I ran slow, and with a limp to accommodate my weak knee, but I ran.  It was maybe an eighth of a mile, but that eighth of a mile might as well have been five miles to me.

My husband breaking
through his toilet paper
ribbon. (I wasn't too
far behind.)

But I limped along, determined to break through that toilet paper ribbon. I had come so far. Yes I was the last one. But that didn’t matter. I had to finish, and that’s all I had to do. And as I broke through my toilet paper ribbon, I was exhilarated. What a victory for me. I had completed my first triathlon, and had done so being completely out of shape! Pure willpower had helped me to get to the finish line!

And what was my first thought once I crossed the finish line? Simple. “Where’s my duck?”

Lessons from the Duck

You see, I didn’t get the bragging rights that come with placing high in the standings. But I did get the same prize as everyone else. A little keychain rubber ducky. One might think that such a trinket would be at the bottom of my kids’ toy box by now. But no. That ducky is my trophy – proof of my accomplishment that day. It is prominently displayed in the most esteemed of locations – my china hutch.  I treasure the little guy. So nobody better mess with my duck.

It isn’t the actual physical item, really, but what it represents.  Sometimes in life true accomplishments are few and far between. As I think back on the past year, I would say that finishing that triathlon definitely ranks toward the top of my recent accomplishments. I figure it took guts for me to set out to do something that I had never done before without any real certainty that I could do it. And it took all the courage I could muster to do it even though I knew I would probably finish last. All in all, I did what I set out to do – I finished. That means I didn’t quit, even when the odds were against me.

Perhaps it provides a good life lesson – to persevere even when the odds are against you. Of course, a week at the Tyler Place is different from life in the outside world. In the real world, not everybody gets a prize for finishing near the bottom.  Still, the duck reminds me that the only way one truly fails is to never try. So in that sense, my shot at the triathlon was a success.  All I know is that finishing the event enlivened me in a way that I hadn’t experienced in some time.

Thus, I’m proud to say that I did the Duckman.  And I have the duck to prove it. So what will my little duck serve to do? Inspire me to face my fears and set out on even more new experiences? Assure me that I can’t succeed unless I try? Or will it simply go “Quack quack” (or “squeak squeak”) when I roll it and squeeze it in my hands? I guess it depends on how I choose to use it.

For now, though, I think I’ll just relish my accomplishment and cherish my duck. And know that if I was able to do the Duckman with the odds against me, I’m probably capable of doing much more.

Thanks, Ducky, for the boost in confidence. For that, I promise not to relegate you to the toy box. In fact, I think I’ll plan to keep you within my sights for a long time to come.