Wednesday, June 15, 2016


What to say about NE Bird Camp? Honestly, this moment sums it up for me:

Rec hall, concrete floors, no heat. It’s the last night. It’s dance party night. Someone figures out how to kill the overhead lights and fire up the twinkle lights strung slapdash on the sides and ceiling. And the entire dance floor is women singing at the top of their voices to Spice Girls Wannabe. The speaker keeps cutting out so that 90-ish voices clearly carry the lyrics acapella every 30 seconds or so. And no one is worried about how they sound, or look, or what they have to do the next day. We give 0 effs.

The last time I was on the dance floor at Camp Foss it was the 90s and I think it was my first slow dance. My friends were hugging the wall whispering. I was dancing with some guy I didn’t even want to dance with, but felt too awkward to say no. I was probably beet red. I had a black eye from earlier in the day when I attempted to pass people in the swim section of the running camp triathlon. Needless to say, at 32 singing my favorite song from that year surrounded by amazing vibes and even more amazing women and friends, everything felt like a huge upgrade. Even though life isn’t as clear as that black-eyed kid might have thought it would be.

NE Bird Camp was far and away better than I'd imagined, and my exceptions were high. It was also some of the coldest nights I’ve survived. I wish I could write LOL after that. But A. I’m a cold weather wuss. And B. it was cold AF. But you know what really makes people bond? Minor common miseries. Like cold weather and no heat anywhere when all you packed with spandex shorts and tanks. Honestly I think it helped ease the awkwardness of summer camp flashbacks. Well that and sharing dirt road miles, and Oiselle's woman up mission, and all the great swag, and Shacksbury Cider, and the speakers and demos, and the amazing food…

The entire weekend just had positive, shimmering energy. It was so fun to finally meet some of my favorite humans IRL, and find out that they are just as rad as our online conversations suggested they were. From dancing with sparklers on the dock under a sliver moon to laughing our way through some tough drills with Mike Silva, my face is still sore from smiling. And my abs are sore from laughing. Thanks slow-mo Snapchat and all the women in my cabin.

All I can really can say is thanks. Thanks to everyone who made this weekend possible. Oiselle for creating this team and sending me to camp, Rebecca (Trax) for believing and building this beautiful framework, every sponsor who supported us, Camp Foss for such a wonderful setting and food and shelter, and most of all everyone who showed up with a sleeping bag and an open heart and made that camp come alive. Thanks for creating this space to feel like a kid in the summer again, when all you think about is the moment you're in. Especially if that moment is belting out ....

"If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends! Make it last forever, friendship never ends"

Tuesday, June 7, 2016


PJ loves to play mama. She pushes her stroller around, and shushes her babies to sleep; she asks if they’re hungry or if they have poopy. But lately when she plays mama she says sorry…a lot. In her little higher than normal mimic play voice she says ‘sorry’, ‘sorry people’.

That shook me. Do I say sorry that often? I listened to myself. I do. I actually do. I say sorry when I mean excuse me. I say sorry when I start a request at a coffee shop. I say sorry when I mean nothing of the sort. I’m not sorry. Or am I?

Lately I’ve been sorry. For not being able to push through. For getting sick over and over. For not being the shining Haute VolĂ©e human that is fist pumping her way to a finish line. Or crushing 50 40 mile weeks. For just being a average 30 something, who’s trying not to use wine as a crutch and keeps snipping at her husband. Who’s losing sleep over houses and sewer lines and why my kid keeps saying sorry.

I was planning to race the Rock n Roll Seattle Half. But I’m not racing it anymore. I wrote the coordinator last week. It was really hard for me to do it. I beat myself up over it, why couldn’t I get it together? Why not just race? Even after spending the day throwing up. Or accurately, spent the day throwing up and forcing myself to walk through 5 houses in Tacoma, as the black of sickness closed in tighter and tighter and I could barely walk. I still thought "maybe I’m being a wimp".

Because when the going gets tough, the tough get going. If it were easy everyone would do it. No days off. Just do it.

Saying no can be harder than saying yes.

No. I’m not sorry.