Weekly Review 3: The warmth of a family

A slight break in tradition here.  This is normally when I would tell you about my training for the week and how I royally screwed it up.  While there is a bit of that below, I also wanted to share a unique experience I had with some pretty incredible people.

First thing's first though: the training.  This week was good overall (go me).  I hit most of my goals and most of my workouts.  Quite a departure from my norm, I know!  But one workout was especially helpful and made me feel optimistic in a whole new way.

I had to pleasure of riding with my coach Brian Hammond on Thursday to Alpine, a roughly 40 mile round trip of some pretty great hill training.  Now please keep in mind that I have been riding a bike on some level for 7 years.  I should know what I'm doing, right?  (please visualize an annoyed yet comical emoticon here...)

It seems that when I ride I am down right expert level at descending hills.  I know that sounds sarcastic, but there is quite a bit of technique to be good at descending.  It might be the extra ice cream I like to keep stored on my body during the off season that makes me fast, but there is more to it.  I am also pretty average at flat roads.  Put me next to someone stronger and younger than me and I can usually keep up with them.  If they are attractive, nothing holds me back.

But climbing a hill, I get smoked every time.  Being such a genius and having more letters after my name than I know what to do with, I assumed I was doing it right.  Well, here is another example demonstrating that those letters mean basically nothing.  Tell that to my student loan collectors.

You see, when I would go up a hill I would usually stay in my big front ring and steadily work my way into easier gears in the back.  My mentality was to power up the stupid hill with all I had and hope and pray I got to the top with both lungs being spared from collapse.  It's a hill; it should make you hate yourself.  Right?

Wrong.

Brian, the all-knowing-bike-maestro, set me straight.  As it turns out, the amount of power you are putting out on a flat road should be the SAME amount of power you put out on a hill.  Well now, it seems I've been doing that rather wrong, haven't I?  With his guidance, and occasional chastising that was well-deserved, I rode right up those hills feeling, dare I say it, pretty darn good.

Imagine my surprise when he told me that the speed and wattage we were using that day were at his race levels.  He consistently pulls in the bike portion under 6 hours without really trying.  Upon hearing this, I did what was perfectly natural and expected of any athlete.

I peed.

How exciting!  Maybe I don't suck the proverbial rotten egg after all!  Maybe I'm just dumb and don't know how to ride a bike.  An important distinction between being fat, slow, and unable to produce any power.

I found this enriching.  I hate to admit it, but I'm almost looking forward to my next bike ride.  Who am I?  That's crazy talk.  Not bad for a 40 mile ride to find out a 6 hour bike time for an Ironman should be easy at my current level.  My last race logged an impressive 7+ hours.  This was a good lesson and I am grateful to my rock-star coach.

That was pretty good, but below is the best story of the week.  To give it proper set up, here is a touch of back story:

Sometime this summer I booked two flights to Alaska.  It's stupid, but I did this only to earn more airline miles so I could maintain my preferred status with the airlines.  Please don't judge me.  It hurts.

The second of these two flights featured a 10 hour layover in Anchorage, AK.  I wasn't sure what the hell I was going to do for 10 hours, but I figured I'd pack my running shoes and go out and chase a moose.

Then, during the first week of September, I was lucky enough to take a vacation to Maui which I'm still glowing from.  Seriously, the sun is strong there and I'm still glow-in-the-dark from a sunburn I got.  Not cool.  While there I decided on a whim to get more tattooing done (sorry Mom).

My tattoo artist that I met was awesome.  Picture the quintessential Hawaiian dude, complete with cool Hawaiian clothes, tattooed face, and a spirit and energy that would warm John Boehner's heart.  His name is Samson Harp, and here is a video that gives you a small glimpse at who I've come to know.



If you just skipped that and continued reading, you're dumb.

Well, as I was getting worked on by Sam, he told me he was moving to Alaska in the next few months.  I began to question his sanity.  After hearing his reasonings for the move, we discovered that he was moving to Alaska one day before I was scheduled to be there for my 10 hour layover.

It's a shame the universe never gives me any signs, right?

We booked the time to add on to my left arm.  How could I not?  What happened was more than I could have ever expected.

Upon arriving at the airport, Sam and his wife came to pick me up in their own car.  I know I am from a different culture, but I once made my own brother take a cab to the airport because I was hung over.  I was flattered.

They drove me to their home.  I met their children, all 7 of them.  I gave their two dogs a scratch behind the ears.  I was welcomed.

During the tattoo, his children would peek around the corner shyly and wave at me.  A smiling face would appear in the window and giggle.  I was entertained.

After the tattoo was over and the equipment cleaned, I anticipated being driven back to the airport to wait out the rest of my layover.  Instead, Sam invited me to stay at his home.  I graciously accepted.  I was surprised.

I played outside with his children, who are magnificent by the way.  Afterwards I was invited to eat at their dinner table with the family to a home cooked meal.  I was nicknamed "Uncle Strawberry" by one of the girls due to color of my skin and my rosy cheeks that looked different than theirs.  For one unexpected evening, I was invited into their family and embraced as their own.  I was humbled.

Sam once told me the true meaning of the word "Aloha."  To a visiting tourist, I knew it meant hello and goodbye, but it goes so much deeper than that.  I won't succeed describing it here.  I don't think I am able.  In the video above, you might have noticed that when Sam greeted his client, they put their foreheads together and simultaneously drew in a deep breath through their noses.  That level of trust and sharing, that intimacy, that love.  That is Aloha.

In my mind, Aloha is some sort of Chi, Karma, good naturedness, and oatmeal cookies all rolled up into one convenient package.  It means affection, peace, compassion, mercy.

I was marvelously honored to have experienced a glimpse of this, and feel an immense privilege to share it here.

To Sam and his beautiful family, please allow me to send Aloha to you.  While we may look different, grew around different cultures, and have entirely different lives, I feel as though my family has grown.

My goal from this week, and dare I boldly state that it's a goal I will strive to meet forevermore, is to be worthy of the Aloha that was given to me.  How magnificent...

Uncle Strawberry with the whole gang

My new best friend, happily attached to my right lower extremity