Taller, Slimmer, Younger

My friend Jen and I have been laughing about the fact that I bought a book called, "Taller, Slimmer, Younger." What caught my eye wasn't the title, or the fact that the author apparently is a Gwyneth Paltrow Goop contributor. No, what caught my eye were the bolded words in the subtitle "foam roller" and 21 days. There are photos and instructions for something like 65-80 unique foam roller stretches and exercises.

So, I got through Day 9 and then went to Nashville for a long weekend for my birthday without my foam roller. Because of that break from the 21-day regimen, I surely am still short, definitely am not any slimmer, and am either a whole year - or at least four days - older.

Nashville. Yup.

Cons: litter and kind of dumpy, a lot of construction/new development when you're trying to get around that also is making Nashville unaffordable and contributing to the homeless problem, restaurants that use tons and tons of plastic every single day, no recycling.

Pros: maybe the new development/revitalization can help with the trash problem, the homeless people weren't scary, good food (including vegetarian and vegan options), a lot of locally-owned/non-chain restaurants including in places that looked pretty dumpy but then were cool on the inside, a variety of music options every night.

My favorite part of the trip was the first night. We had a really good dinner (with multiple-use dishes) and then went and saw a bluegrass band at the Station Inn. I think I'm going to subscribe to their streaming service. It's this little, very old hole-in-the wall place in a newly rebuilt, less interesting neighborhood.

Top: East End Nash bluegrass band
Bottom: Husb getting a beer

The next day we walked around and in the capitol on the way to the Johnny Cash museum. Later, we got Dan some BBQ and then went to the Ryman Theater and saw the Grand Ole Opry. It was fascinating. They mix up each show so there's a little something for everyone. I liked the corny old timey guys and the Old Crow Medicine Show. Note: The Ryman is worth going to when someone you like is in town.

The capitol is way bigger looking on the
other side of the hill.

These old guys were cute and festive. 

We went to an old, wood-laden fancy hotel bar afterwards. Apparently the men's restroom is a sight to behold in terms of its art deco stylings. There were older guys making sure the coast was clear and then sending their lady friends in for a look. I didn't go in, but the pictures online are interesting.

This view from our Airbnb kind of sums up how I felt when I woke up on my birthday. I was glad to have a view of the working river and watch the barges/tugs and the swing bridge moving the train tracks aside for the boats, but despite being in a different place and on a different schedule, my first thoughts when I woke up were about missing my dad and my dog and thinking about the upcoming holidays and the year ahead. It didn't help that I made the crappiest french press full of coffee and that my neck was super sore from sleeping weird.

This might look a bit better if you click on it; it is a panorama photo.

We walked all over East Nashville, though, which was a nice change of pace. I tried some sour beers at a taproom. I think I mostly ordered a flight just so I could use the TN-shaped holder to carry my mini-drinks to my table.

From dinner on Sat night; we weren't
the first northerners to go to that restaurant.

At the end of the night we went to Nashville's First-Ave-ish music venue. We weren't into the opener or the main act, but went there for - and really enjoyed - seeing the Black Pumas, the second of the three bands. They closed with this song. The live version was super energetic and fun, as was their whole set.

Our last day we walked around by Vanderbilt, ate, visited a distillery, went in some shops, etc. This replica of the Parthenon (originally built in the late 1800s for the centennial exposition and then made into a permanent building in the early 1900s) was not yet open but it was still interesting to see.

I would go back to Nashville, but only to see a favorite musician at the Ryman. I have no regrets, even though I got off track for getting taller, slimmer, and younger.

(Oh. I took advantage of down time on Friday to get some stuff together for my team for next year's BikeMS rides, and to put together my main page for next year. Here it is if you're looking to make any year-end charitable contributions: http://main.nationalmssociety.org/goto/GoMaggieGo.)

Trying hard to not become a sheep

“Whoever becomes a sheep is eaten by wolves.”
― Henri-Frédéric Amiel, The Private Journal of Henri Frederic Amiel

The woods by where my mom and Terry now live - the woods that I decided were mine when we started visiting my then-to-be-stepdad's cabin when I was in the third grade - are the place that I consider to be my home in my heart.

Despite this being home, and despite discovering piliated woodpeckers, coyotes, and even moose tracks in recent years, I had never seen a fox here until last Christmas. I had never seen a bear (although I had heard one) until last June. And I had never seen signs of a wolf until today.

My goal, when walking, was to not become a sheep!

For context, my boot is a size 9.5.

My eyes were more on the ground to see what else had passed this way before me (answer: smaller deer, shrews, rabbits, birds, mice, squirrels, coyotes, and foxes) and scanning to make sure I wasn't being followed, rather than taking in the full breadth of the scenery, but I still managed to see some of the beauty around me.

I was having some problems uploading videos which are cooler than the photos that follow because you can hear the wind in the trees, which is pretty much my favorite sound. You can find them here, though:

McDermott video #1

McDermott video #2

Best if you click on this.

Road headed back toward the house.
A truck had come through where I was walking, but
thankfully it was after I had stopped to go to the
bathroom right out in the open...

You can burn all my mail and disconnect my phone...

I need a change of scenery

"I need a change of scenery" is pretty much the most (only?) pick-outable lyric in The Skin of My Yellow Country Teeth by Clap Your Hands Say Yeah - - my favorite song to bike to. To which to bike.

That line isn't why I like the song, nor is it the reason why Stacy kindly put it on the video she very, very kindly pulled together of my September San Francisco/wine country bike ride, despite it being quite a change of scenery. (Thank you, Stacy!)

But it fits for the video. It fits for bike riding. And it fits as an explanation of the inside of my head the past month or so.

I visited my Beth (I hate qualifying my relationship with half of my parents and siblings with the word "step"). I got to go for a chilly, pre-snow ride with my friend Matt followed by a good Korean dinner, and now I'm visiting my mom and Terry. On the horizon - a mix of family and friend gatherings for Thanksgiving and a December trip to Nashville.

I thought I'd throw in some random photos that illustrate either a change of - or a need for a change of - scenery.

I had to work in the dining room for a week
because an injured Piper needed monitoring
and she couldn't go up/down stairs. Wearing
a sweater that Beth and my dad gave me
for my birthday last year, I enjoyed
working in a room with much more
natural light than my office.

2+ weeks after her injury, and largely better,
she snuck upstairs when I was in my office,
sliding the barricade out of the way. She
also needed a change of scenery!

I was considering having cocoa
instead of tea while typing this
(it is cold here in the northwoods),
but decided to have the best of both
worlds: a handful of stale mini
marshmallows while my tea heated up.

I made a survey for my siblings to assess
our plans for exchanging Xmas gifts. I
put a picture next to each option, including
this totally bizarre image. Evidence
of a needed change of scenery?
Regardless, I love the Internet.

My sister Molly went with me to visit Beth. She
really pushed to pull out the lawnmower, which
she'd never driven before. I guess she needed
a change of scenery, too.

Not a change of scenery exactly, but a change
of perspective. Since when is a neck a butt?
When the phrases "pain in the butt" and
"pain in the neck" were created, did
they mean the same thing?

October in 8 Photos

October got its name when the Roman calendar (like the Romans, I guess) was in charge. I kind of like the idea of starting the year in March. January and February are kind of... you know. I digress. October was the eighth month. Hence, eight photos.

This month has been a mix of ups and downs, highs and lows, sunshine and, yes, snow. After some quality family time at the beginning of the month, I went with some friends to Lanesboro for what was supposed to be a biking trip. It was cold and windy and snowy. There was a break in the snow and my friend Deb and I walked on the pretty bike trail. 

I'll need to go back to Lanesboro in 2020 and
ride the trails. We went 10 years ago and it
was really nice. Cold wind and a brief reprieve from snow
 proven by a lack of cyclists.

I don't have Deb's permission to share her
photo. The bluffs were pretty.

After the non-biking biking weekend, I went for a nice sunny but chilly bike ride on the federal holiday known as Columbus Day. Even though locals were off work for Indigenous Peoples' Day, the trails around the lakes (which I never ride due to crowding) were really empty.

I took a way better photo of Lake Harriet, looking
east. I deleted it though. Oops. You get the
bandshell as a consolation prize.

See? It has been wet. I ignored the trail closed
sign of course, but only because I could walk on
that little sidewalk. With temps in the 40s and
pretty deep water, I wasn't going to risk getting
my feet wet.

After a frustrating detour- and construction-filled
ride from the lakes to the river I stopped to
just absorb the sights.

 This past weekend I got out again. Running some errands - the long way, along the river.

Looking upstream at the Mississippi (straight ahead)
at the confluence with the Minnesota (left)

I made a snap decision
to stop at Summit and
have a beer. Good call.

The high Mississippi in Minneapolis, close
to home. The leaves on the trees are
much more full (or were, until today's rain)
in Minneapolis than in St. Paul. I think it
is due to the orientation of the river and
the direction of the wind. Although I
like to badmouth St Paul.

On the way back to my house from this river crossing, I slowed down to leave the trail and get on the street as a family was approaching from the other direction on their bikes. A girl, about 7 or 8 years old, and I grinned huge grins at each other and locked joyful eyes for close to 10 seconds. I don't normally look in someone's eyes that long. I felt like we were totally communicating happiness, freedom, and joy with each other. It was one of my favorite moments of the entire year and a needed connection with humanity.

Matter is neither created nor destroyed

As I sit here, with my dog, I remembered a thought that came to mind as we drove to Wisconsin, with our hastily packed suitcases, the contents of which perhaps signaled that one cannot plan a journey of grief: "We need to get a puppy."

What, you ask? Yes, as I was nauseous and crying and in shock about the fresh news of my dad's death, I was thinking we ought to get a puppy.

My parents used to tease me and say that they would like to be reincarnated as my dog, because I take good care of my dogs. So, yes, for a moment, I thought: the reincarnation process probably goes pretty quickly, I don't want another dog, but I should maybe try.

Now, of course, I know this is ridiculous. But it got me wondering what the timeframe is for reincarnation. You can Google it. I decided not to click on the many, many links to fora dedicated to this topic because I am scared of the browsing cookies and too lazy to repeat the search in an incognito tab.

So, I rely on Wikipedia. There are a number of different types of reincarnation, depending on your culture, religion, philosophy, and the era in which you live. There weren't many timeframes listed, some believe it is almost an immediate transfer, others are more open ended. Tibetan Buddhists, however, believe it happens within 49 days. This stone depicts the Buddhist reincarnation process.

So, anyhow, the 49-day window is closing, but I won't be getting a puppy.

Brains are weird. Grief is weird. Life is weird. But at least we have senses of humor. And I have a happy dog at my side.

Mystic hills, the blue Pacific, and goldenness

"It seemed like a matter of minutes when we began rolling in the foothills before Oakland and suddenly reached a height and saw stretched out of us the fabulous white city of San Francisco on her eleven mystic hills with the blue Pacific and its advancing wall of potato-patch fog beyond, and smoke and goldenness in the late afternoon of time." —Jack Kerouac, On the Road

After spending nearly three days in Portland for work, I lugged my monstrously huge suitcase to San Francisco. Well, United Airlines lugged it. But it was hard to get off the baggage carousel. It held a pair of dress shoes, two pairs of casual shoes, and a pair of biking shoes and pedals. It had my charger for my laptop, and also for my Garmin, a Go Pro, and a bike light. It held padded shorts and a decidedly unpadded bike seat. A baseball cap and a bike helmet. 

Yesterday was the big day I've been talking about for many months: the BikeMS Waves to Wine Ride. I had to get up at 5 to be at the Brisbane Marina and ready to roll at 7.

I wasn't supposed to get a free jersey for
the ride, but they gave me one.

San Francisco in the distance, from
the Brisbane Marina.

I took the blue route. Rest stops #1&2 were
ridiculously close to so we hit 3 rest stops
early on. Preventative hydration was
a good thing.

We rode west from the San Francisco Bay into the south side of San Francisco (only slight hills) and to the ocean. Thankfully, it was early and traffic was light. We rode up the big hill by the Cliff House to the Presidio (rest stop #1), with the ocean on our left and Golden Gate Park on our right. We wove around and got on a bike path that took us up to the bridge. 

The shadow with my visor makes my helmet
tilt look more jaunty than normal.

There's a bike path on the west side of the bridge that takes you over to Marin County. We rode through some pretty little towns in a little inlet area and arrived in Fairfax at rest stop #2 - the parking lot of a bike shop. From there, we rode further into Marin County and started climbing into the golden foothills.

I sought out quality companionship at the rest stops.

After rest stop #3, we did more gradual climbing. I was riding my niece's mountain bike, so despite going way slower on the flat and downhill parts, hills were generally easier for me than the other riders, it seemed. I often passed people on the climbs, and they passed me on the descents. However, the descent into the redwood forest by Muir Woods was blessedly light on bike and car traffic, and I was able to enjoy the sights and smells of the forest. We then came out of the woods and started riding up hot and exposed yellow and brown hills toward Point Reyes, where my Grandpa M. worked when he was in the Coast Guard in WWII.

Lunch at the halfway point, on the eastern side
of Point Reyes.

My feet needed a break from my shoes.
The wrap was actually good.

At lunch, I was thinking two things: 1. I could ride my niece's bike every day; it was so comfortable. 2. Maybe I was too freaked out and overtrained on hills this summer.

My trusty steed, with my bike seat and pedals on it.

At least the wide tires were slick, rather than knobby.

Both thoughts were premature. The hills began in earnest, especially where the 100-mile route split off from the 86-mile route. There were way fewer people and they appeared to be 100% of the dude variety. It was hot, it was sunny, it was hilly, and there was a headwind. But I kept slowly climbing, passing people along the way to rest stop #4.

There was live music at this tiny stop. Note the
pickle jars. 

People were dragging at this point due to the sun, heat, wind, and hills. They sat in the shade, eating pickles - - glorious pickles. I grabbed a second handful of dill slices when I heard this exchange: "I hate this next part." "Is it that bad? How long is it?" "I'm not sure, I think 4 miles." I also grabbed a mini Clif Bar and stuck it in my jersey.

And so I began, slowly, into the wind, with a lightweight bike with really big slow tires and a generous serving of chamois cream on my sitz bones, which had been making their presence known. At the bottom of "The Marshall Wall," people (including a group of mysterious women wearing Google jerseys) were stopped in a tiny patch of shade to drink some water and gird their loins. I took a photo of of the hill from the bottom, but it does not in any way capture what I saw before me. I drank my water, shoved the Clif Bar in my mouth, and headed up. 

I don't think it was 4 miles, but it was long and it was steep and kept on going. I've done other long steep hills like this in the Bay Area, but never after having already ridden 72 miles and not quite so steep at the base. I did a hill like this in Wisconsin in August, but it was a fraction of the length of this hill. I plugged along in the easiest gear on the bike, going about 4 mph. I think I dropped down to 3.7 at one point. I'm not sure. It was hot and I tried not to look. I just thought about rotating my feet and keeping my shoulders loose.

The top of The Marshall Wall (i.e. the road to Marshall).

I made it and then I rode my bike downhill for a very, very long time. We had some other climbs and descents and rejoined the 86-milers at rest stop #5.

The bike mechanic told me we were near
Tomales Bay.

The rest stop was on a cliff with a cool wind coming off the water. (The bike mechanic was wearing a sweatshirt.) It was shady. Everyone lingered. From here on out, we had some hills into rest stop #6, but also had a stretch with a tail wind. When we weren't going uphill, I was going at a good pace. Rest stop #6 was pretty deserted because it was somewhat exposed and people just wanted to finish. I ate some good cookies, though, as I adjusted my socks. 

I was scared we'd have to climb into Petaluma, but it was mostly just rollers. I rolled in, stuck my bike the corral, found my checked bag, and headed for the shower truck. I ate dinner, had a beer, and killed time until I could catch the shuttle back to Brisbane and then drive back to my sister's house.

Success!

Sadly, I had no buddy for this finish
line sign and forgot my normal
solution of sticking my helmet
in the other head hole.

I dawdled a bit when I got back to my sister's - unpacking my stinky clothes, etc. But when I went to bed, I crashed and slept solidly.

This morning we went for excellent massages, and then met Molly's friend Kate for a stroll around Filoli Gardens and the estate. It was a nice relaxing way to tie up the weekend.

The massage place had rocks on a hot griddle
in my massage room.

 

Kate and I showing off our similar haircuts.

That's one big fireplace, yo.

So, to recap: the ride was a challenge, as I suspected it might be. But I am glad I did it.

It was my first century ride of the season and my riding has been sporadic in recent weeks. I thought of my dad a lot during the ride. First, I thought of him because he always kept tabs on my rides and would have texted or emailed me to wish me luck and good weather. So, I got a little teary at the beginning of the ride. Then, when I was riding through a particularly pretty part by Muir Woods, I got a little teary (okay, I made an audible sob noise), because he would have liked my report-out. When I was riding in the hard parts between miles 65-80, I thought of when I did a tough ride many years ago and he sent me flowers with a note about how I refuse to wilt in tough conditions. That made me determined to keep on plugging along. I started thinking about the things that I should tell Beth, my stepmom, about the ride and the things she might like to know. They are slightly different things, but that is okay.

I am so grateful for all of the support I've received from people the past few weeks, but really it is just an extension of the support that I've been receiving from people for many years. Thanks all, who keep me pedaling forward - - literally and figuratively, and thank you for helping me raise $7,840 for the MS Society this year. I met people on the CA ride who, just like people from MN, are affected by this disease and are benefiting from all we're doing.

Deep Thoughts While Running (or, why I should stick to biking)

Last year, we saw Cloud Cult play with the Minnesota Orchestra and it was fantastic. It was so good that, in early August, we bought tickets for the similar-ish March 2020 show, and I bought the violinist coffee and a pastry at my neighborhood coffee shop because she goes there, too.

I went "running" last Friday night and again tonight because the weather was nice but I didn't have time for a bike ride. I'm not really a runner. My dad was my cross country coach for two years, until I decided I'd rather date the runners than actually run. When I was in my early 30s, my dad and I did a 5k and as I got tired near the end, he ran backwards for a while to talk to me and encourage me to catch up.

Anyhow, as I was running, I was thinking about the phrase in this Cloud Cult song that I was listening to: "But you can't know beauty if you don't know pain."

Although I prefer this song for its other lyrics ("You got a breathe a little deeper, you gotta suck it, suck it in, there's your meditation" and "Some days you give thanks, some days you give the finger"), I've thought about this phrase about beauty and pain on and off over the past couple of years. There's a similar phrase in a Modest Mouse song: "If life's not beautiful without the pain, well, I'd just rather never ever even see beauty again." I always thought that was a pretty extreme sentiment, but it is a pretty song.

In his recent book, Jeff Tweedy talks about the suffering artist idea and says that people don't need to suffer to create music or art, that it is kind of a load of bull that we'd expect artists to have to go through more than other people to be able to do their jobs.

Because I love all things Tweedy (spoiler alert), I had sort of adopted and adapted this view and still believe that you can be happy and find beauty in things without suffering as a contrast.

But now, I have to throw into the mix two own writings of my dad's - - a letter to his siblings when his mother died and a poem we just found of his entitled, "September." In both, he talks about trees needing to be scarred to flourish as a metaphor for human suffering and happiness. I still don't know that I buy it, but it gave me some things to think about when I trotted in a most unflattering way around the lake today.

Minnehaha Creek headed into Lake Hiawatha

Lake Hiawatha where the Creek pours out toward
the Mississippi River. If you zoom in you can
see the Mpls skyline in the distance.

So, yes, deep thoughts by Maggie who most definitely is not a runner and is trying to squeeze in any sort of cardio even though she really needs more butt-on-seat time before the California ride. 

(Oh, and by the way, if anyone is cyberstalking me and thinks my house is going to be vacant when I go to California, it isn't. And I have nothing to take anyhow. But the house will still be occupied.)