About a year ago, the picture accompanying one of his articles just jumped right off the page at me. Here’s the link to it: http://archives.seattletimes.nwsource.com/cgi-bin/texis.cgi/web/vortex/display?slug=pacificpfit20&date=20060820&query=LaBoo.
See what I mean? Aren’t those women just gorgeous? And in their faces I saw the love of God, the love of each other and a beauty and peace I couldn’t wait to be part of. I got up from the table, went to the computer and tried to find their group, the Soul Sistas, through a variety of search engines but couldn’t so I emailed Richard, introduced myself and told him that I wanted to donate my time to help the Soul Sistas. Within an hour he emailed back.
The rest, as they say, is history.
We began by me presenting my Pilates 101 lecture at one of the Soul Sistas’ organizational meetings and we got the program rolling with a series of 8 mat classes at an elementary school where one of them is an assistant principal.
May I digress?
At that school, I did something I’ve heretofore only dreamed of . . . I dunked. Every night of class, we’d do Pilates in the gym and every night I’d notice that the hoops were always cranked up, slanted out, put away. There are unicycles, roller skates (the old fashioned 4-roller type), hula hoops and all manner of juggling props but none of that ever tempted me. One night, the hoops were down, and not only were they down but they were really low – it’s an elementary school, after all.
I grabbed a ball and dunked. I hurt my knee. I hurt my ankle. I hurt my shoulder. I was wearing Danskos and I was 49 years old but I finally dunked. First I cried, then I laughed, then I taught, then I iced. That was a good night.
Back to the Sistas.
They formally began in 1999, they all met at church at the Martin Luther King Junior Memorial Baptist Church in Renton, a suburb of Seattle. After Miss Stephanie LaBoo finished her first triathlon, everyone on the band wagon and they all decided to get in shape and that’s exactly what they did. They motivate each other by working out together and they’ve mined the Bible for all the verses that support our efforts to take better care of ourselves, honor God by honoring ourselves and respecting the gift of our bodies and our health.
This all fits hand in glove with my philosophy of living. My body is the house for my life: I can’t move to a bigger, better, more efficient house and likewise, nobody can make me move to a less efficient, less strong house. I can only make minor repairs. I can’t significantly change the plumbing, electrical system, roof or back yard which, by the way, may be big but remains well defined – thank you Jesus! Attempts at major repairs are guaranteed to be underfunded, take too long and not turn out exactly as planned. This is true for all of us but most of us don’t realize it. The Sistas realize it. And, they act on it by performing daily maintenance so perhaps they’ll avoid the need for major repairs in the future.
These ladies run marathons, finish the STP, the Seattle to Portland bike ride, and do all manner of other endurance sports and activities.
It was clear from the start and without doubt, they are in much better shape than I am.
During the initial series of classes, I learned that the Sistas have some physicians who guide them but there was a gap in the care chain with nobody taking the lead at the cycling, running and swimming level so I hooked them up with my favorite personal trainer, Eric Wilson, who happens to hold a Masters in Exercise Physiology and is just about the greatest guy ever. Here’s a link to his website: http://compfit.com/pages/bio.php.
We ran another series of classes for the Sistas this spring and we’ll pick back up again in the fall. They asked me to teach at their 5th Annual Church Health Fair, which took place back in March right after Sunday service. Most of the speakers were physicians and after all that sitting and listening, Sister Heidi Side Kick and I got the whole congregation scooping, lifting, rising and floating. The Pilates Nun teaches Pilates in the house of the Lord! Hallelujah!
The Sistas like to do the Danskin triathlon. Pretty much every major city has a Danskin, it's one of the largest and oldest races in the country and it's a cancer fundraiser. The one here in Seattle is held every August at a big park on the west shore of fresh water Lake Washington. But there's a problem.
Many of the Sistas feel swimming is their weakest sport. Some grew up not knowing how to swim. Some can’t put their faces under the water. Some do not like to mess up their hair. Can I get a witness!
Back in March, as our spring series of classes was ending and they were gearing up for their competition season, I volunteered to swim for them, should they need me.
I used to do a ton of triathlons and I’ve done my share of open water swims and I’ve put people under who were ahead of me but shouldn’t have been and I’ve had excellent experiences with all my races. I've never won a race except for once but only because there wasn’t anyone else in my age group (30 – 35) because the race started at 4 in the morning, dead of summer, in Florida, when all the sane people my age were just getting to sleep after a night out on the town and I forgot my shoes so I ran barefoot because it was either flip flops or Thorlos – the Thorlos won - and we took a picture of my feet and I sent it to Thorlo along with a letter explaining what I’d done and they sent me 2 dozen new pair of socks and that was also the race where I was bitten by a dog on the run and that’s the race where my brother-in-law’s swim trunks came off on a flip turn – yikes! – and that’s the race I used my sister’s one speed Schwin with a child’s seat rusted to the back which of course did not pass the safety test but I pleaded that I was in town from the west coast and had to borrow the bike and that I’d be at the back of the pack and promised not to cause problems but I did end up causing problems because when I cruised across the finish line barefoot and with a chunk out of my gastroc they insisted on having the medics clean the bite which they did really quickly and in plenty of time for me to receive my trophy and take a bow as the dogbit, barefoot winner. I digress.
The Soul Sistas asked me to join their wonderful group and although I do not train with them on their many weekly workouts - I don't have time - I’m still on board with being their Pilates teacher and will always help them in any way I can.
The Danskin was today, August 19th, and about a week ago, Miss Stephanie who is the organizational head of the Sistas called and gave me the word; I’d be the swimmer for a Sista named Jackie whom I’ve never met. Jackie would do the bike and the run; together we were a relay team. I’ve never done a relay team triathlon before; only me, myself and I. John, my straight husband, and I used to do a 5-stage race together down in Bend, http://www.mbsef.org/events/ppp/, and I’m familiar with the requirement of passing off a chip. That’s what Jackie and I would have to do in order for her to set off on the bike after my swim.
Jackie and I spoke by phone a couple of times and we made a plan to hook up this morning at 7 at the canopy over the bike start. Stephanie tried to sub me in, proper like and paperwork wise, with the race organizers but registrant changes are not allowed within 2 weeks of the race.
Today I swam under the identity of the gal who was originally signed up to be Jackie's partner, but due to an illness in the family, had to drop out. I am Melda. I am 40. I’m a Sista. In honor of my dad, who died of cancer in '93, and two clients with cancer, I wrote their names on my arm and swam for them.
I've written about growing up in Florida so many of you know that I'm from the Sunshine State. I learned to swim in the Gulf of Mexico, which for most of the year is right around the temperature of a warm soothing bath. All my open water swims have been in the Gulf.
What you don’t know is that I’m exothermic. This explains almost everything about how I am, who I am, what I am.
http://chemistry.about.com/cs/generalchemistry/a/aa051903a.htm
I do not hold heat. Rather, I generate heat and I give it away. I also occasionally explode, but in a good way. Everyone around me is warm while I am cold. I am always cold. I look forward to cremation because I know, right at the end of my physical being, I’ll finally be warm.
At least, I always assumed so but after today’s swim, perhaps not even a pizza oven would do the trick.
I was disheartened by hearing the pounding rain over night and having to add a third blanket to my bed. It’s August in Seattle, after all. We were supposed to hit a high of 67 degrees today and in addition to not being well trained to swim – I haven’t been in the pool for many years - I was not psychologically prepared for the cold air temperature or the rain. And it poured.
The water in Lake Washington in the dead of a Seattle summer is between 65 and 70 degrees. Here’s the thing about hypothermia: you’re supposed to be able to live for one minute for every degree of temperature of the water you’re in. This is based on a couple of assumption, the most important one being that you’re curled up in a ball which preserves your body heat. The very act of swimming, opening your body for all the heat molecules to go flying out of you, off of you, is the thing that makes it so routinely people drown from hypothermia in Puget Sound, which runs in the low 50’s, in less than 15 or 20 minutes after dumping into the drink. Your local pool is probably kept at 82 and I promise you that your local pool feels cool when you first jump in. Anything below body temperature feels chilly. I’ve actually been cold in a 103 degree hot tub.
I was definitely worried . . .
I borrowed a wet suit from a lovely client who happens to be a rock star water skier. She warned me that it would be hard to get into it, politely avoiding the obvious reasons – she’s petite and I’m, well, not – and she said I may even need help getting into it. She gave me a full body suit and a shortie. I thought the shortie would work really well. She also gave me two rash guards, silky liners to help the wet suit go on a little easier. She told me once I got it on and got it wet, it would loosen up a bit and feel much more comfortable.
Have I mentioned I’m claustrophobic?
I can’t zip my sleeping bag even though I’m freezing. I can’t wear a neck gaitor, even though I’m freezing. When I had a panic attack at a science museum trying to enter the “touch tunnel,” a 90 foot pitch black tube you crawl through on your hands and knees, the man who talked me through it told me claustrophobia is learned. Daddy was claustrophobic. Does that mean I learned it from him? Can I unlearn it?
It was a sad situation of competing problems, one physiological and the other psychological. I knew I’d be cold and that I’d risk triggering a panic attack by trying to get into the thing that might keep me warm. A dilemma, to be sure – what’s a freezing neurotic to do?
I tried to get into the shortie by myself last night. When I say it was like recreating birth, that doesn’t begin to describe how tight this thing is. I would need a strong helper to get the thing on and I’d have to get someone at the race to be my helper since every single one of my “friends” decided to sleep in instead of get their lazy butts out of bed and come crew for me.
A tall decaf, an Everything bagel and I was on my way at 5:30 am. I caught the shuttle bus without incident at around 6. On the bus, I asked some girls sitting in front of me if they'd done the race before and they had, so I asked if they thought I’d need a wetsuit and they said that unless I have been training in water this cold, I should wear one. They said they checked online this morning and the water was at 60 degrees. They said I should definitely get in the warm up area, a part of the lake open to swimmers so they can acclimate to the water, and get over the shock of how cold the water is before my heat starts. They said the water is so cold that it would definitely take my breath away.
I was supposed to meet Jackie at the bike start at 7 but the bike start was within the security gate separating competitors from the crowds. Over 4,000 folks do the race and they all seem to have friends who do get out of bed on a Sunday morning to come and cheer them on – the crowds are huge and tightly controlled.
At 7, I was pleading with the gate guards trying to get them to let me in even though I didn’t have my team number ID on my leg (in fashionable Marks A Lot, no less) and I didn’t have my paperwork to prove I was a competitor. I called Jackie’s cell and I called Stephanie’s cell, and kept going into voice mail.
I hit a Honey Bucket and in an attempt to get my gear bag and my umbrella inside the potty, the umbrella broke in the open position. This forced me to actually fight with the umbrella and for a while, and solely because I would have to get too close for comfort to the soiled urinal in order to man handle it into submission, it won.
I took up a lookout post outside the fence surrounding the bike racks and began scanning the crowd looking for a Sista, any Sista. Did I mention it was pouring? Did I mention it was freezing?
I finally spotted Aquinetta and Islamah and screamed their names until they heard me over the pounding rain. Aquinetta brought a Marks A Lot over and passed it to me through the fence. I wrote her team number on the back of my calf and as I did, I noticed the scar from the dog bite from that race in Tampa so many years ago. An omen, and not a good one.
I got in the gate, found Netta again but she didn’t know where Jackie’s bike was racked and didn’t know where Jackie was. It was about 7:20 so I was considerably late in meeting Jackie at the prearranged place and time. My swim heat was scheduled to launch at 7:48. I was still wearing rain gear, fighting with my umbrella, freezing and carrying my gear bag.
I hauled me and all my stuff down to place where I was supposed to meet Jackie and even though I didn’t see anyone who matched her description – she told me she is 5’9”, black with short curly hair – I still asked everyone who was black and female if she was Jackie.
Sad.
Desperate.
I prayed.
I told the Lord I needed to find this woman, that I was a Soul Sista and I was here to swim, that I needed to find my teammate Jackie. Honestly, dear reader, just as I was issuing these prayerful demands to God, someone tapped my shoulder and said “are you Rebecca?” Jackie found me. Thank you Lord – really fast work and so very appreciated!
Bad news.
Jackie had lost my swim cap, which is color coded for my heat. With 15 minutes to go before my heat was to start, we went looking for a cap, me following Jackie through the mud, me carrying my gear bag, wearing my goretex raincoat and fighting with my umbrella.
Another Soul Sista found us a red cap and then we were off to stow my stuff by Jackie’s bike. I got out of my jacket and wet pants, stripped off my down vest, two hats (ball cap under a 300 wt polar fleece beanie) and finally had to come to terms with the cold rain soaking me. I stashed all my stuff in a garbage bag and crammed it in between some bikes.
Jackie wrote my real team number on the front of my legs, and she scratched out, with Marks A Lot, Netta's number that we put on my leg in order to get me into the secured area. I'd been edited.
Bad news.
Jackie lost the Velcro ankle strap extension for the chip; to attach it she only had a short blue band that wouldn’t go around my ankle. She was down on her knee in the mud, in the pouring rain, trying to put the thing on me and it was way too small. Someone said we needed the black Velcro extension and Jackie said “oh, that’s on my bedside table.”
With 5 minutes to go until my heat was to start and us a good 100 yards away from the lake, Jackie found a Velcro extension, strapped it on me and off we went toward the water.
I joined my other red-capped heat mates, I was already at the back of the pack and that’s where I intended to stay, and off we were.
I didn’t see the movie Titanic but I feel as if I was in it this morning.
Attempts to swim my favorite and strongest stroke, freestyle, failed miserably. I was gasping. I couldn’t catch a breath. My goggles were completely fogged. I flipped over on my back and tried to regain my composure. I worked my stay warm plan, formulated as I stared into the abyss at 2:30 this morning, which was that I’d focus my efforts toward kicking super hard which uses my biggest muscles and would warm me up the fastest.
I’m very used to interval training, I know how to survive the coming and going of what happens to our bodies when we generate explosive effort. This was way beyond that. Actually and more accurately, I think it was beneath that. I couldn’t breathe. Even with my head above the water.
A swim angel is a swim course volunteer who rides a couple of noodles, those foam rolls that float. There are maybe 10 – 15 swim angels in the water with each heat. At the perimeter of the triangular course which extends 150 yards toward the middle of the lake, there are gorgeous Pacific Rim looking guys with ripped abs in knee length surfing shorts (was I hallucinating?) on surf boards and there are guys in kayaks and there’s a couple of Coast Guard boats.
They were all asking if I was okay.
Many years ago I did a canoe race on super windy Odell Lake down in the Oregon Cascades where the Sheriff’s Marine Rescue unit begged us to let them rescue us. My race partner was an anorexic marathon runner with about 2% body fat, neither of us knew how to steer so we toured the entire lake essentially being blown all around instead of proceeding along the race course, proper. In the long history of the Odell Lake Canoe Race, we were the first double-female team to ever enter the race - it’s a brutal event - but we refused to be rescued. The guys in the rescue boat ended up thanking us for all the overtime pay they’d receive by staying out on the lake so long! We were applauded heavily upon our arrival at the finish line - everyone realized we'd paddled 3 or 4 times longer than everyone else - but by the time we got there most of the food was gone and almost everybody else was already drunk. I digress.
Back to today. I knew I needed to physically regroup and that I didn’t need help, just yet anyway. So I plodded along, with only a few red capped heat mates behind me. When I got into a bit of a groove with a modified back stroke, I felt a tap and lifted my head to see a kayak paddle hitting my shoulder. I was off course. The guy in the kayak said “hey, you’re heading to Mercer Island!” I needed to pay more attention but that was difficult because it was all I could do to gasp fast enough to keep myself afloat.
A ways after clearing the first buoy, I was shaking so hard and gasping so fast that I grabbed onto a swim angel’s noodle and together we coasted for a good long stretch. She was a sweetheart and told me about a swim shop on Leschi that rents wet suits. I wondered, do they deliver?
I got myself into a kicking groove and calmed my shaking a bit by working on extending my breathing. I tried to put my head under the water a few times and, it was the oddest thing, I just couldn’t do it. I only remember one other time in my whole action-packed life that I was physically unable to carry out the intended plan and that was during anaphalyxis and I kept trying to lay down so my running partner could put ice packs on me to try and control the hives that were breaking out all over me but I couldn’t stop moving around, walking around, walking in circles. I couldn’t stop moving even though I wanted to.
The thing this morning about not being able to put my head under, it felt the exact same way.
I think it’s got to be some sort of survival instinct type thing. You lose a huge amount of body heat out of your head and I think on a cerebellum level, I recognized that my bodily systems would not continue to even minimally function if I immersed my head. So I didn’t.
I used all my strokes, including the dog paddle. I finished the half mile swim in 26 minutes, which in younger, more condition, and warmer days used to be my mile time. It's good to have no shame when it comes to things such as this.
As I got out of the lake and began the short run to hand off the chip to Jackie, I heard some folks yelling my name and lo and behold, fabulous Tanya, who loaned me her wet suits, and her fabulous husband Scott had come out to see me. There they stood, in the pouring rain, watching for me, yelling for me and when I left the course and ran over to them, they gave me big hugs and kisses. Standing in the downpour, they were every bit as wet as I was.
I got my stuff, changed under the shelter of a tree (where I noticed when putting on my shoes that my feet were blue) and we hooked back up and they took me to breakfast at Glo’s where I ate a ton of food and drank 3 cups of drip.
Once home, my shower wasn’t long enough but ended when I ran out of hot water. I sat under my hood dryer for over an hour, deep conditioning the lake water effects from my hair. The water was filthy, at least by my standards. I think that might have something to do with the fact that the swim takes place in the same area used as the Hydroplane pits for Sea Fair, which was just 2 weekends ago. Filthy and freezing - bonus! I already have a blemish on my chin. Seriously. And as I type, I’m wearing 4 layers on top, 2 on bottom. I have on my thickest knit cap. I’m finally warm.
Stephanie, the organization leader of the Soul Sistas, called to check on me and I told her there’s something wrong with the way I’m living my life that I don’t have more time to train. I’m going to change that starting tomorrow morning.
In spite of my poor performance, I can’t wait to do it again. There’s a pool two blocks from where I live and I will be in it this week. I’m shopping for a wetsuit. I’m going to get good at this. Again.
Stephanie and I talked about the next series of classes for the Sistas and we decided we’ll have this next round of classes at the studio so I can put them on equipment. My studio is a block from Seattle’s new sculpture park, http://www.seattleartmuseum.org/visit/OSP/default.asp, with access to miles of trails along Elliott Bay. After class, we’ll head out for some cardio, city-style.
And, in addition to enriching my life by being involved in theirs, the Soul Sistas have been good for business.
Last year this time when Richard emailed me back the day the Soul Sistas article first ran, he told me he was working on an article on the stability ball and asked if I could contribute. Hell the Yes! And that lead to this: http://archives.seattletimes.nwsource.com/cgi-bin/texis.cgi/web/vortex/display?slug=fitball03&date=20070603&query=richard+seven+leone.
And there’s another something on the way from Richard . . . he emailed just this week saying he’s working on a compilation of health and/or fitness advice from local experts and asked me to contribute something.
Here's what I told him my best advice is: You can only be as good to others as you are to yourself. I was ill for a couple of years in my late 40s and that was the first time I ran out of what it takes for me to continue to serve my family, friends, clients and employees. Since then, my health has stabilized and, on a daily basis, I’ve become acutely aware of my energy budget . . . I’m very thrifty!
My time in Lake Washington this morning helped me redefine that bit of advice anew. I’m different tonight than I was this morning. I know you are too.
Isn’t life grand?