Traveling Maniac - Honduras Day 1, A Terminal Experience

For about half the cost of a week’s summer rental on Cape Cod, my sister and I rented an island in Honduras. Let me begin by saying that my sister and I have traveled a few times together and we always have prepared a detailed itinerary with all the details of flights, hotels, contact information, dates, times, sometimes even sunrise, sunset, and the expected weather. This time, we did not. We got cocky. The more one travels, the more one realizes that there is always something that goes pear shaped during a trip. We knew this, but we threw caution to the wind nonetheless. She would fly in from the west and I would fly in from the east and we would meet in San Pedro Sula Airport in Honduras.

July 1^st was departure day. I left my house at 4:30 AM to catch a plane out of Logan Airport that marked the beginning of a journey. This would be a journey of planes, cars, taxis, and boats that would eventually land me on my private island in the Caribbean, off the coast of Honduras. The first flight took me as far as Atlanta where I had a brief layover before boarding my flight to San Pedro Sula. There I would await the arrival of my beloved sister Molly who would be arriving about 3 hours after me. When we arrived the plane circled the airport for what seemed like forever, but was probably only 10 minutes. 10 long minutes, during which my eardrums felt as if they would rupture. When we eventually landed, I joined the long line waiting to clear through Customs and Immigration. I was in no hurry, I had hours to occupy until Molly would arrive. After a very uneventful screening I was cleared through. I amused myself at the very tiny airport by reading, eating, drinking coffee and water, and waiting. I listened to the flute man – a local craftsman selling his wares and playing music for the arriving passengers.

I checked the board to see if Molly’s plane would be on time and was quite surprised when I saw that there were no flights from LAX coming into San Pedro Sula. None. Not one. Hmmmm. There was a flight arriving from El Salvador at the same time as she was to arrive, so I assumed she must have had a layover there and must not have been flying direct. Sadly, without the itinerary, all I knew was the arrival time. I didn’t know the airline, flight number, or origination of her flight.

At last the time came for her to land (I was hoping anyway). I joined the crowd of people outside the Customs and Immigration area and waited as the passengers began to trickle through. One by one they came, but not my Molly. The crowd began to thin as more and more passengers were cleared through and were greeted excitedly by family and friends, but still no Molly. Even the flute man was beginning to pack up his wares. I watched and waited with a sinking heart and knew she was not on the plane. I waited until the last person came through. Even the flute man was long gone by this point. I had no phone with which to contact her and we were booked on the next flight to La Ceiba which was leaving in about 2 hours. I did not panic, and instead went to the airline counter to see if she had already checked in for our flight and had headed to the gate. Instead of hearing what I wanted to hear, they told me that she was booked on the flight to La Ceiba for the next day. This was not the plan, so something must have happened. They investigated a little further and told me that her inbound flight had been in an oversold situation; she was bumped involuntarily and would be arriving the next day.

Well now what was I to do? Should I go on or should I wait? Since Molly had made all of the arrangements I wasn’t entirely sure of the name of our hotel in La Ceiba. I did remember that La Ceiba is a kind of shady place for tourists so I decided to stay in San Pedro Sula, wait the 24 hours, and fly with Molly the next day. The airline re-booked me for a small fee and offered to help me find a hotel for the evening. I declined and opted to overnight at the airport. The shops all accepted US dollars so I knew that I could eat there with no problem. And I really did not feel at all unsafe. I made several attempts to secure an internet connection using the free airport wi-fi but I had no luck. I had hoped to get a connection to see if there was any word from Molly. I wasn’t sure where she was bumped, LAX or in El Salvador, or what time she would arrive the next day, or how we would rearrange all our plans forward going. But I chose not to worry about things and spent a remarkably enjoyable, albeit noisy, evening camped out at the Dunkin’ Donuts. When it was time for bed, I cleaned up the best I could, brushed my teeth, made a little bed out of a couple of easy chairs and my duffel bag, covered myself with my beach towel, and fell asleep. I actually slept quite soundly and was awakened only twice by well meaning strangers who were concerned that I may have missed my flight or that I would get in trouble for using the Dunkin’ Donuts as a hotel room.

For someone in my situation, I was pretty chilled. I felt entirely confident that I had made the right decision. I only regret that I hadn't taken pictures of the airport to share. Oh well, I will have many of those in upcoming posts. Stay tuned!

Breathing Age

I have asthma. During my adolescence I had strange and sometimes painful symptoms . My mom, bless her heart, was not always the most compassionate of women. I would say "It hurts to breathe" and she would say "then don't breathe." Please don't take this as whining, it's just how she was. I do love my dear mother greatly, and I am a tough cookie today because of her for many reasons. I was finally diagnosed as an adult when I eventually cracked a rib from all the coughing.

Once I was diagnosed and I had an emergency inhaler, my quality of life improved marginally and I was careful to avoid second hand smoke and situations that might put me at risk for an attack. This was the case for many years until I decided to begin martial arts training. Martial arts forms and self defenses are largely anaerobic exercise. Sparring and wrestling are somewhat more aerobic, but still do not exercise your lungs the way that the triathlon events do. Even so, my breathing was challenged and I experienced improvement. Wheezing was reduced to a minimum in my day to day life and I felt good about the exercise that I was getting. Oh, and that picture to the left? I eventually lost that match, but earned my second degree black belt that day. So I was pretty happy nonetheless!

I moved on from martial arts to triathlons and got serious about swimming and biking. I was not able to run at that time due to injuries so I participated in relay events. I spent a lot of time in the pool huffing and puffing my way from one end to the other hoping to get faster. I was about ready to give up because my breathing was so bad. I even had resorted to bringing my inhaler poolside. Instead, I got encouragement from the swim coach at the pool who told me that she knew of other swimmers with asthma and that I just needed to push through it. At times, asthma makes you feel like you are breathing underwater; how was I ever going to be able to master this?

I discussed this with my doctor who gave me a new prescription that was a daily maintenance medication instead of an emergency medication. Within weeks of starting the medication I began to feel a difference and I felt confident that I could push through the swimming. And I did! But what about biking? I experienced a very similar journey with the bike. I just had to hang in there and push through it to expand my lung capacity. I used to carry my emergency inhaler on my bike with me and use it before and/or after a big hill. I still huff and puff on hills and cannot talk to anyone until I reach the top, but I have made significant progress.

Once I was finally able to start running in 2009, I assumed the breathing journey would be the same. I have to say that I am not there yet with running. I cannot chat easily with my running partners, and I cannot sing along with my iPod while running - much to the relief of those around me! But I am working at it and I am getting a bit better and running a bit faster. For all of the 2009 season I ran with my emergency inhaler in hand. The inhaler can be seen in all the pictures of me crossing the finish line at my triathlons that year. Those pictures are a reminder of how far I have come. In fact, I no longer even carry an emergency inhaler in my purse or on my person. I cannot remember the last time I had an asthma attack.

In 2010 at my annual physical my doctor tested my breathing and I was still "below expected capacity." I am not one to accept that lying down. I was determined to do all that I could to increase my lung capacity. I am thrilled to report that one year later my breathing age is now the same as my chronological age as a result of my maintenance medications and my exercise! I am at 100% expected capacity.

If you have been diagnosed with asthma, talk to your doctor and review your options for medication and exercise. And don't ever, ever give up!

Can You Butterfly?

I love to swim. I always have and I can't imagine a time when I will no longer love to be in the water. I don't remember a time in my whole life when I didn't feel more at home in the water than on land. When I was really young I used to pretend I was a dolphin. As I got a little older I would pretend to be a pearl diver and try to go really deep and get pretty shells and rocks from the bottom and line them up on the dock. I knew how to have fun in the water - playing and splashing about.

Then one day at summer camp when I was about 10 years old everything changed. I had to complete a test to see which swim class I would be in. "Can you butterfly?", the teachers asked. That question changed everything. I had seen my brother butterfly before and I had messed around with it a bit on my own, so I figured I'd say "umm, I think so." Off I went and I thought to myself, "well this is pretty awful." When I returned to the dock I saw amusement on the faces of the teachers. This only confirmed my fears - I had embarrassed myself. But instead of laughing at my stroke, they were actually laughing at my comment about being unsure. Apparently, like my older brother - I was a natural. My stroke may not have been a thing of beauty, but I had the right idea...some raw talent with no ingrained bad habits. And so it began.

About a year later, I joined the local swim team that my (champion) brother belonged to and I quickly became the ace 11-12 year old female butterflyer on the team. I was a big fish, so to speak, in a very small pond. But at the same time I was living in my brother's shadow. Knowing that I could never be nationally ranked like he was and knowing that I had so many other interests, I finally packed it in the year I turned 13. I have no regrets, only fond memories of the wonderful coaches and the other swimmers. I took the natural next step and became a lifeguard and swim instructor. But now I no longer knew how to have "fun" in the water. It had become ingrained in me to do laps. All I knew how to do was laps and teach - and boy I could swing a mean whistle on a rope!

For many years I swam just a bit here and there; mostly I enjoyed water skiing and tubing with the boys and watching over them as their life guard when they were very young. Neither of them inherited my love for the water or for swimming, but they are both good strong swimmers who can get themselves out of a dangerous situation. A mom can want for nothing more than their safety in the water.

I didn't swim competitively again until I was in my 30s when I started competing on my triathlon relay team as the swimmer. That first year was a tough one so I reached out to a local swim coach for help with my technique. This helped improve my technique, my training plans, and my speed. If you are struggling with speed - the first place to look is your technique. Get someone to help you improve your technique, which will improve your power and your speed. Then have someone help you develop a good training plan that will build your endurance and help with proper breathing.

After many years as a relayer, I started the solo tri gig. When I first started I came in second or third place in the swim leg a LOT (I'm speaking only of my division). How frustrating always being the bridesmaid! But finally last year in the Webster coed tri I took a first place in the swim! I couldn't believe my eyes. I had to check and recheck the results over and over again. I now had street cred - or race cred as it were - and I began helping others to try to reach their potential in the water. What a great feeling to help others with their goals!

I am spending time in the water again as this 2011 tri season begins. The first few times have been a bit stiff and I don't feel very smooth in the water. A few more visits to the pool and I hope to be back into my rhythm and then I can start rebuilding my endurance for the upcoming races. Open water swims are just around the corner. As the water warms I will don my wetsuit and brave the cold lake water, hopefully with great results.

The smell of chlorine brings a flutter to my heart, the sound of a starter pistol in a indoor pool area brings a tear to my eye, and the splashing sounds of a triathlon swim start makes my whole being melt. I am, and will always be, a water junkie.

Riding the Rails

When I was a young girl I used to dream of the railways and being able to travel by train. I am not exactly sure where the dream originated from but I always had this rather romanticized notion of a train. I still dream of traveling via the Trans-Siberian Railway and I am determined to live out that dream at some point in my future. It is on my very long list of places to see and things to do, and I have no doubt that I will get there.

Yesterday I traveled round trip on the Cape Cod Rail Trail on my bicycle. It was not quite the same adventure as being on a train or the same relaxation as having the locomotive do the work but I did, at certain points along the ride, imagine myself on the Old Colony Railroad trains that used to travel this railway corridor. The CCRT is a 22+ mile paved bike path that runs from Dennis to Wellfleet MA. The trail is mostly flat with only two hills - that are really just bumps - and a few minor grade inclines. To the average New England cyclist, these things are hardly worth noting.

I had originally hoped to take a group of about 8 people with me on the ride, but one by one they all had to drop out from the ride for various reasons and I ended up going it alone. Since it was Good Friday, I didn't mind spending the time alone with God, contemplating His sacrifice, and enjoying His creation. And I ended up having beautiful weather - sunny and cool.

I took my time on the first half of the journey out to Wellfleet, stopping along the way for lunch, to take pictures, and for snack breaks. I chatted with the locals at a lunch hangout along the path and smiled with great joy to see the Chocolate Sparrow was open for business (aka Ice Cream), making a mental note to stop there on the return trip. I completed the 22.5 mile ride to Wellfleet in a leisurely 2.5 hours.

I sat down to eat my second lunch (a whole wheat ciabatta sandwich with sharp cheddar, tomato, lettuce, cucumber, and avocado, yum!) and glanced at my watch. Good thing I did because it was already 1:45. Yikes! I had planned to leave the Cape to head for home at 2:00-2:30 and I still had the 22.5 miles to ride back to Dennis. So much for the ice cream stop at the Chocolate Sparrow, so much for any snacks on the way back, so much for pictures on the way back, so much for a leisurely return trip, and so much for leaving the Cape at 2-2:30.

I high-tailed it back to Dennis and made it in 1.5 hours - waving at the ice cream shop on my way. I stopped only once with 8 miles to go to retrieve a text on my phone from my son Dave and respond to it. That whole return ride was a bit of a blur, but I am glad I got in the faster ride and pushed myself just a bit. It was worth it to be able to spend the time at my church's Good Friday service last night. What a great day it was. I am looking forward to going back in May to ride the rails again. I will spend a little more leisure time on the back half of the ride and will plan to have that ice cream at the Chocolate Sparrow - make it a double!

Learning to Listen to My Body

The last time I went to trapeze school two years ago I was sore in muscles that I didn't even know I had. Even my fingers and toes were sore. It took days and days to feel human again. So here I was two years older and 15-20 pounds heavier, but in the best shape of my life. I knew that I would be sore, but I was not sure what to expect.

I went to trapeze school on a Saturday afternoon, and on Sunday afternoon I was still feeling pretty good. The bruises were blooming but the muscles were still holding steady. Unfortunately Sunday night I ate something that didn't agree with me and I spent the night with very little sleep and a whole lot of vomiting. Neither of which helped my poor sore abs.

I took the next day off from work to rest and did very little all day except lay on my couch. BIG mistake. While I got some much needed rest, my muscles felt like they were in a rigor mortis state by Monday afternoon. It hurt to breathe, cough, sneeze, sit up, lay down - you name it, if I moved then I hurt. Silly me. I knew better than to lay around doing nothing but I did it anyway.

On Tuesday I woke up considerably less sore and slightly more black and blue and I went off to work and then two hours of dance class. Silly me. I should have known better than to jump right back in to my routine so soon. Instead of re-energizing me, it knocked me back into soreness and tiredness for two full days. I am kind of hooked on exercise and now here I was completely unable to do anything.

By Friday, I was chomping at the bit with all kinds of extra energy. I had to force myself to stay away from the gym at lunch time so that I wouldn't be too sore for my planned bike ride that evening. I was glad I listened to my body (3rd time is the charm!). I was able to have a great ride on Friday night with my friend Cori.

So I learned two things. (1) rest does not mean to do absolutely nothing, it just means to take it easy and listen to your body and (2) when your body is too sore to dance, stay home and stretch instead. Listen to your body; it will let you know when it is ready to start having you push it to knew heights and distances again, but never ever give up!!

Flying Trapeze

Pretty much all triathletes do is cross train. We swim, bike, run, lift, strength train, punch and kick the heavy bag, do push ups & sit ups - the list goes on and on. Last fall I added dance (tap, jazz, ballet, contemporary) to my list of cross training sports. But last week I added a new sport - the Flying Trapeze. I had been to Trapeze School once before a couple of years ago with my son. I caught the bug, but never was able to fit trapeze into my life at that time. Well I finally decided that I just had to go back. I even had a friend, Joannie, who was willing and able to come along and fly with me. It is truly a special friend who will go flying with you. I am a lot stronger now than I was then and I was pretty sure that I would love it just as much. Well I was wrong - I loved it even more. So here I am now simply addicted to trapeze.

The first jump is always the scariest and this time was no different. I balked a little before finally allowing myself to jump and fly free from the platform. I am not afraid of heights, instead my fear is that I will not be able to hold up my own body weight. After the first jump was over, I felt like my body responded well to the swinging motion. With each subsequent swing I learned how to listen for the caller better so that I could get the most out of the centripetal force of the trapeze and work my body less.

I learned to complete the knee hang well enough so that I was allowed to try the "heels off" trick. In this trick you hold on by your heels and then let go with your hands and reach for the catcher. In the picture above you can see that I am literally hanging by my heels. I was so happy to be able to attempt this trick. It meant that I was gaining small successes as the class went on.

Near the end of the two hour class we start to actually do release and catch tricks with a very experienced catcher ready and waiting for us on the far trapeze. The audio and visual cues of the tricks change just a tiny bit. We get to try for the catch three times. My first was the knee hang and it was a success. Then I was set to try the heels off trick. I had a bad hop on the first jump and totally lost my concentration and then blew it. I nailed the second jump with confidence, but then missed the catcher by inches.

Without a doubt, Flying Trapeze is a full body exercise. I was sore and bruised for a full week after the class, but I have not let that deter me. I am all signed up to go back again next month, ready and determined to successfully complete the heels off catch!

Traveling Maniac - Peru The Rest of the Story

I am such a poor blogger. I abandoned my blog in the cloud forest of Peru last December and haven't returned. My apologies to any of you who actually read my blog. I thought that I would have so much time to blog over the winter and nothing to blog about. Well the second part is mostly true, but I had NO time. I don't exactly know where it went, but it is now gone and there you have it. I did plan some really, really great vacations for 2011 though :-)

With the arrival of spring comes the beginning of triathlon training season. I sent out my first of many weekly training emails today and already I can feel the energy of the season coursing through my veins. And so here I am - ready to leave Peru and get back to my tri-girl training blog.

When last I left my blog we were headed into the rain forest. We camped in these little huts the first night. I played jungle soccer with the locals, watched amazing bats as they hunted for their evening meal, and viewed the most beautiful starlit night searching in earnest for the Southern Cross to no avail.

We awoke early the next morning to head deeper into the rain forest until we reached the reserve zone where we signed in at the ranger station. We proceed down (or up?) river stopping only for "bathroom" breaks and to spot birds, caymen, and monkeys along the way. I was far more enthralled by the flora than the fauna, and there was so much flora to take in that it all started to run together. We had little books to keep a checklist of what we saw, but really - could I identify it for you today? Nope. But it was truly amazing.

We spent two nights in the reserve zone hiking through the rain forest, touring the local lakes, smelling the pungent odor of the wild boar - but never quite getting to see them, and watching the giant otters at play. One of my fondest memories here was climbing to the top of the tower in the middle of the rain forest with no civilization anywhere for miles in every direction and looking out over God's amazing creation. It is no wonder that He said - "It is good".

While in the reserve zone, we were finally able to spot the Southern Cross. What an amazing treat and definitely one of the top 10 things I saw on this trip. We went on a night hike to see the nighttime wildlife and then later went on a tarantula "hunt".

Perhaps the most amazing part of any trip is the thing you don't plan for. My sister and I were supposed to fly out of the reserve zone a few days ahead of the rest of our group because we had plans to see Machu Picchu. The bush plane that was scheduled to fetch us was broken and could not be repaired in time to retrieve us. We had options for getting out so that we would not lose out on our plans for MP.

After weighing all options, we opted to stay with our group one more day and then leave by river canoe (2 hours), at which point we would be met by an English speaking guide who would escort us the rest of the way back to Cusco via taxi (45 minutes), river canoe (30 minutes), and another taxi (10 hours through the Andes Mountains). I think we were both kind of dreading the long taxi ride. In the end - it too was one of the highlights of the trip for both of us. We got to see some amazingly beautiful sites along the way and we got to eat in a local Andes "restaurant" - interesting for two vegetarians!

We did finally make it back to see Machu Picchu - a place that defies description. I am at a loss to find the words to describe the beauty, the enormity, and yes even the sadness of the place. I took hundreds of photos, but even they do not do justice to this wonder. I hope some day to return to this amazing and beautiful country. We left so many stones unturned there and I feel compelled to go back and see more.