Funny the Way It Is

 "Funny the way it is, not right or wrong. . ."

- Dave Matthews Band "Funny the Way It Is," Lyrics by Dave Matthews

After a 14-hour Saturday that encompassed my final race in US Masters Nationals, a plane flight from Orange County to Denver and a few hours of unpacking and cleaning, my husband looked at me with dismay when I showed him our tickets to Dave Matthews. But we rallied - we had good seats at a venue only ten minutes from our house - and though we were the stereotypical older people that had to sit during a slow song, we let the fabulous music carry us into some dancing by the end.

Though the set list only included one song from my favorite album (Big Whiskey and the GrooGrux King, 2009), I rediscovered the band through the soaring trumpet, saxophone and keyboard medleys, as well as the surprisingly elegant vocals of the lead singer. After sleeping for ten hours, I went through my playlists and unearthed treasures of memory - the favorite melodies I played on repeat when Daniel was little and struggling, and workouts with music my only therapy.

"Funny the Way It Is" hits my reflex reaction hardest, bringing back visceral memories of a cold morning in the mountains near Glenwood Springs, prepping for a spring triathlon while my husband and children slept. I must have played it twenty times as I psyched myself up for the effort, shivering and trying to keep down instant oatmeal. What a gift to find the song again.

Funny also to compete at age 53, still striving for competitive times in a long course (50 meter) pool after 16 years away. I trained hard this summer, mainly with William and Aden, incorporating weights, resistance training in the water, and lots of sprints, but that long course pool is looooong, and by the third day I had trouble reaching the wall. My times are slower than they were 16 years ago, but I had some wins and I learned a few things that will help my swimmers when I start coaching next week. 

Aden swam well, youngster that she is, despite having Covid the week before and being out of the water for most of the previous ten days. That's not a usual method of resting for a big meet, but she made it work, and made me think I actually needed to rest a little more. My watch was yelling at me for "changing my workout schedule" and not hitting my move goal, which didn't help my already-paranoid mind, a mind that functions better when the body moves frequently. Resting is harder than training.

The more things change, the more they remain the same. Now I need revenge (on myself) for that botched final race but have an overwhelming sense of gratitude for the grand build of the weekend and family to share it with.

Stop "Should-ing" All Over Yourself

Having grown up in the Catholic church as an oldest child and a girl in the 1970's when Title 9 was fledgling and the 80's anthem "You can do whatever you want" not yet unfurled, my internal dialogue was often dominated by "shoulds." My wonderful parents did not contribute significantly to this - American, church, and grade school society overflowed with the sentiment. A young girl always had something she "should" be doing.

Many decades along, having purged most of my Catholic guilt and many general "shoulds" from my emotional vocabulary, I was surprised and delighted to hear the phrase "Stop 'should-ing' all over yourself" from Katie Hoff on the Unfiltered Waters podcast. Upon first hearing it sounded like a much different and dirtier statement, which compounded my delight.

The angle of the "Unfiltered" podcast (created by former Olympic swimmers and World Record-holders Katie Hoff and Missy Franklin Johnson) is the "real" person behind the athlete, the true and difficult emotions that come with competing, winning and losing at the highest levels of sport. Our culture seems to be working toward this greater awareness of the human toll taken by an overdrive to excellence, media focus and the demands of USA fans. Simone Biles, Michael Phelps, Caeleb Dressel and others have been heroically transparent in the difficulties behind their star-studded careers and raised awareness across the board, but the work has just started.

Hoff and Franklin Johnson explain the work they've done in their own lives to acknowledge feelings without judging them, erasing the "Shoulds" and simply dealing with "what is." The reminder works for those of us who are not heroic athletes, but just generally flawed human beings. I can't wait to use that phrase again ;-).

Beachwalk Reunion

 "But I would walk five hundred miles / And I would walk five hundred more / Just to be the man who walked a thousand / Miles to fall down at your door."

- "I'm Gonna Be (500 Miles)" Lyrics and music by The Proclaimers

Twenty-four members of the Clavadetscher/Dravenstott family descended via air and land on Michigan City, Indiana, last week. My brother, John, and his wife, Carol, generously facilitated three airport pickups and the loan of their cars so that relatives from LA, Denver, San Francisco and Montana could make it to the Beachwalk community on the shores of Lake Michigan. 

The Chicago Clavs have made repeated trips to Michigan City and surrounds but none of the rest of us had ever heard of it and were frequently confused about our destination state, occasionally convinced it was Michigan, Illinois or Indiana. To confuse matters further, Beachwalk was in the Central Time Zone (highly relevant for Teams meetings) but only ten minutes away from the Eastern Time Zone. We had to leave at 4:00 to get to a 5:30 dinner only a short jaunt away.

Despite our geographic confusion, it's safe to say that Beachwalk has now assumed a permanent position in family lore. My mom, my siblings and I and our assorted spouses, along with fourteen grandchildren (ranging in age from 18 months to 22 years) all assembled in two brightly painted houses. The green house, containing all children under the age of 14 plus a few of the older cousins, was the noisy house. Our family plus my mom and my sister were generously provided with the the turquoise, or quiet, house.

The Beachwalk community uses small one-way roads and most visitors travel by golf cart from house to pool, beach or coffee/sandwich/ice cream shop. A small, man-made lake allows for paddle boards, kayaks and fishing. Young children roam free in every quadrant via scooter, bike, golf cart or wagon, as parents convey loads of beach gear to the boardwalk on Lake Michigan, just a half mile away. Protected from the main roads and replete with good-natured vacationers, Beachwalk was safe for the youngsters to roam independently.

Our clan gathered each afternoon and evening at the larger house, watching Olympic finals, prepping meals for twenty-four, imbibing gluten-free seltzers, and tossing bean bags for corn hole tournaments. The feet of the youngsters turned black and sand invaded the floors.  Suntan lotion and bug spray perfumed the air and pool time served for showers. Screened-in porches kept evening mosquitos at bay and the grill filled with chicken, burgers, brats, even salmon.

Through each activity - dancing in the small park to our family theme song by the Proclaimers (heroically attempted by a local without thorough knowledge of the lyrics), corn hole tournments, girls' night out at a nearby winery, ping pong in front of the coffee shop, playing in the waves at Lake Michigan - ran a bright ribbon of exultant laughter.  I don't laugh enough in "real life," I decided, since my ribs hurt so much from night after night of guffaws with my family, unused to so much merriment.

Some highlights: cupcakes to celebrate two birthdays and an anniversary. My 17-year-old niece driving us home from dinner at the winery, stoically focused on her driving as we belted Pink songs at the top of our lungs and shook the minivan with our seated dance moves. Omnipresent danger of peeing our pants with laughter when that same niece transposed our group family photo from the lighthouse to a nearby power pant (coal-fired, we discovered, not nuclear). Molly and Julia harmonizing a song from Rent, cousins from Massachusetts bonded with same-age equals from California and the baby running around playing ball with boys three times his size.

Real life routines are a hard sell after the festivities of last week. Despite the comfort of home and space (and quiet), I miss the laughter and the time spent with my family. Same time next year? I'll try to get my laughing muscles in shape beforehand, but nothing brings on the joy and laughter like our reunions.