Born a Swimmer. My story: Part I.

I know I have mentioned it a few times that I was (am?) a swimmer, and I am sure I will continually make references to it in the future so I thought I would give anyone and everyone a little background as to where I come from. I think its a pretty good story and is at least entertaining, even if you don't know me. I feel like my stacked shoulders are a dead giveaway to my swimming past, or maybe it’s my bad coordination. Or perhaps the fact that I have had four shoulder surgeries and will no doubt have more. Whatever it is, I thought I would provide people with the story of my swimming career. But no, I don’t want to start where things get interesting, because then you would have no idea about the ten years before that!

My mom was a swim coach in her younger years and swam herself for training. While I was busy becoming a human, I swear she swam so much that I picked up on the soothing feeling of the water. After my incredibly late entry into the world (sorry, Mom) she started coaching another season of boy’s swimming. I went to my first swim meet at two weeks old. My dad sat with me all meet in a quiet room, but I am sure that I was throwing out butterfly arms and breastroke kicks every once in a while. I was always around water, and my mom said I always loved being in/around it. I guess I went off the high dive at the age of three, something I don’t know if I could do now. I was a little fish.

Just calculating splits in my tiny little head.

 

I take that back, I was comfortable in the water... unless it was cold.

 

Thankfully, my parents had a wonderful swimming fashion sense for me as a babe.

 

Setting records for my age group.

Ever the little active human, my parents had me in all sports I was interested in. Track, gymnastics, soccer, cross country skiing, downhill skiing, swimming. To be honest, I didn’t excel at anything. I am sure my parents thought they had a dud athletic child on their hands. I saw myself in videos and I know I missed the coordination gene. Even now, I would bet good money against me catching a ball. I can't dribble a basketball and walk at the same time. See, my parents were stud athletes in their own right (and still are). My mom grew up in the 70’s and really challenged the gender equality line when it came to sports. She ran like a gazelle all the way to Cornell, where she was a member of the collegiate track team and ran some respective times. After her collegiate career ended, she moved out west and quickly found cycling, triathlons and soccer. She had joined a women’s soccer league with some of her friends and upon showing up to the first day of practice saw this guy with his shirt off rounding up the ladies. Enter my dad, an all-around athlete who sharpened his athletic skills with any one of his five brothers while growing up and played rugby in college. He had also taken up cycling as a mode of transportation after moving out west from Delaware and enjoyed hiking, climbing, triathlons and clearly women’s soccer. While their first encounter was my mother slide tackling my dad, their relationship made some drastic improvements and their first date was timing at a swim meet (seriously, go figure).  Much of their early years revolved around racing (crits, triathlons, meets, etc.) and traveling. Even after having me join the Wheeler gang, they continued to train with me in tow. So when they saw this gangly girl with a ratty pony tail out there running around, I am sure they wondered if I would be better off as a chess champion (challenging in its own right, no doubt).

My soccer picture. Don't hate me for being cute.

My mom got a little excited when she found that I both enjoyed running and seemed to do well at long distances. Anything much shorter than a half mile and I would trip over my own feet (again with the coordination). She worked to expose me to her former lifestyle while I participated in all the other sports I could find. Downhill skiing was too much work – they wanted me to BREAK going down hills, which wasn’t my style. I would rather just go straight down like an arrow and have my dad catch (tackle) me at the end. And let’s be honest about gymnastics, it was all about the foam pit and trampoline. Cross country skiing was fun, but the two hour commute to be with the team every weekend was a bit killer for my parents. Soccer was basically just a swarm of kids running around a ball kicking eachother’s shins and maybe once in a while, the ball. I think one of my first goals was me scoring against my own team. And then there was swimming. While I was a natural in the water and totally comfortable, I definitely lacked talent. I was easily distracted and could have cared less about laps. I was so small and I am pretty sure I was in the first heat of everything for the first 7 years of my swimming career.

I joined a local swim team after taking some swim lessons at the age of 5. Like every other child but maybe a little worse I gasped for air every chance I got, clung to the lane line in the deep end and was confused at starts from blocks. Swim meets were more about the amount of sugar I could consume and carefully timed naps with intermittent gameboy playing, and practice was a fun time to practice my bobs and squeal with my friends before sitting in the hot tub. Swim suits hung off of me and I was so tiny I hardly excelled at any stroke; I even struggled with floating (I am still a sinker). I am sure I had some good swims in there, but I never stuck out to any one as a champion and associated being disqualified with getting Dairy Queen ice cream on the way home. I think I eventually made A-Champs, which was our regional championship for Inland Empire Swimming (IES). I remember that those meets were SUCH a big deal when I was little - prelims AND finals with actual medals! Our team made a big deal to make kids excited for championship meets with a pump up week leading up to the meet. I still remember my first Regionals meet at King Aquatic Center (KCAC). My mom drove my bony little butt all the way over to Federal Way in the spring for me to race two events: the 50 back and 50 free (oddly enough, also my best events years later). I was normally one of a few kids from the Eastern side of the state, and we normally kept to ourselves with our parents in the stands. I just remember being completely overwhelmed by the pool. It was THREE pools, and was so deep everywhere. The facility was huge! Coming from a pool that was 3 ft deep, this was a drastic change. KCAC was SO COLD for me when I was so small (seriously, my knees were the biggest thing on my leg and people thought I didn’t get fed enough). My mom would go out for a jog and bring me back a hot cocoa after warm ups to, well, warm me up. I don’t think I made finals my first Regionals, but when I did make a finals it was like woah, I am in the big leagues. My mom used to laugh at me on the blocks. No, not in a mean way! I was just SO MUCH smaller than all the other girls in my age group and I was so dang skinny! I didn't have any special racing suits because they were too expensive and I just didn't 'mature' very quickly. But, I was still always so happy at meets. I liked to stand behind the blocks and try to socialize. And seeing as how I was normally one of two or three swimmers that my team had taken to the meet (or none) I was totally oblivious to what I was supposed to be doing. I just liked snacking and swimming and snoozing. Swimming and snacking and snoozing. I honestly don’t think I broke a record ever and probably only ever made qualifying times in the 50 free and 50 back because I was so small and skinny I could snake through the water.

One of my first meets at Federal Way. Nice foam lined goggles.

Basically what I am saying is that I wasn’t that great. Even on a tiny team in Eastern Washington (where swimming struggles as a sport), I wasn’t that great. Had I been anywhere else, I am sure a coach would have talked my parents out of letting me pursue swimming. While I really liked the water I just didn’t show much talent at all. As I rounded the middle school age, I had narrowed down my sports. I liked running, but there wasn’t a club program anywhere, so I only did track on my school team. I excelled, but it wasn't the kind of challenge I wanted. Plus I had the worst bone structure problems being the growing weed that I was with size ten feet, so I rarely practiced anyways. I still look back on these days with complete envy: I never practiced, didn't train, and ran faster miles than I could dream of now (5:32). I was really enjoying that, but liked swimming more. I also liked soccer, but didn’t want to sacrifice swimming and meets for far-away soccer tournaments. Also, I struggled with the all girl team aspect (funny, I still struggle with that same atmosphere). After all, I was the smallest girl on our soccer team and could often be found near the goalie just hanging out and kicking grass. I was kind of given an ultimatum; I had to pick one sport. I just couldn’t maintain all of them. So, I chose swimming.

And I immediately regretted that decision for a really long time.

 

Forever young.

You know those days that we are just in the pits? Yeah, those days. We all have them. Sometimes a family member is sick, a pet passed away, our car broke down. Or someone said some unsavory words, acted disrespectful or hurt your feelings. The days where something rocks our world and leaves us utterly devastated. The days where it just feels like the rays of sunshine are quite making it through the gloom, where we want to just go hide in a cave for a while and let the ickiness pass. You can say with almost complete certainty that you are alone. We feel like a bug that is hitting a windshield. That the world isn’t on our side. We’ve all been there; they aren’t fun days.

But, don’t hold on to them.

The storm passes, the sun rays come back, peace is restored and life carries on. The world isn’t on anyone’s side; it’s as unbiased as a rock and as harsh as an arctic winter. It is an unrealistic person that expects life to be easy and peaceful and uneventful. When life’s giant waves come crashing down on you, ride it out. Hell, sit on top of that wave and embrace the fact that this is YOUR wave. Your challenge; your problem and feelings that only you can tend to. Each problem that we encounter is specific to us.

So when those days come, which they eventually will, take a breath and calmly continue on. Even if it’s inch by inch, you’ll get through it. Tell yourself you can do it, even if it’s just at a whisper. Let people help you, learn so it doesn’t happen again, say what you must say and do what you must do, and move on. These are part of the moments that define you so do what you can and be someone you would be proud of.

This song has always helped me. Don’t mind the video, just listen.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lQksqVL8zSw

(Forever Young Acapella by Audra Mae)

Cheer up buttercup, good things are on their way.

Caitlin and Megan do Ecuador: Part III and THE END!

Caitlin and Megan do Ecuador: Part III

Turns out, I need to actually write a re-cap all on one sitting; otherwise it takes 5 months to get everything written down.

So, continuing from my last post...

We got on a bus and BAM! Just like that we were back in the mountains in Quito. It was a long bus ride, and not a lot of sleep was had by either of us. We arrived back at the ghetto-ish bus station in Quito early in the morning during the pouring rain. It was too early to go anywhere… and we didn’t really have anywhere to go. So, we curled up on some plastic seats with our bags and tried to sleep. Only, we didn’t. The little bus station was crammed with people trying to stay warm or dry and others selling cookies and socks (yeah, vendors walk around selling socks).

Eventually in our sleep deprived state, we decided to try to hail a cab to visit the climbing office. Remember how I said we had planned to climb Cotopaxi but my bag hadn’t come in time? We had been unable to reach the lady who I had booked it through (shady) and so we were going to go to the office in the hope of getting on the climb that left that day. After all, they had told us that a climb was leaving then. Long story short, we couldn’t even FIND the office (the building management didn’t even know who the people were) and so began a tirade of angry emails and phone calls. Eventually they called and offered us a climb in two days, so we would spend the rest of the trip waiting around for this climb. Also, they requested we pay more to join this particular climb. Having already sunk money into it, it was a tough decision but we decided this wasn’t the company we would want to ever climb with and their shady as hell business practices weren’t too enticing. Thankfully, a friend of mine from Ecuador who is a professional mountain guide intervened and was able to get us a partial refund and a half-assed apology. Better than nothing, right?

Bus ride to Latacunga.

 

So what do two gringas do with time in Ecuador? Take a bus into the mountains, duh. We promptly wasted no time in planning our next mini adventure and chose to go hike the Quilatoa loop. Quilatoa is basically an Ecuadorian version of Crater Lake, but at about 11,000 feet elevation and in a very primitive area of the highlands of Ecuador. We took a bus from Quito down to Latacunga to start our adventure.

Latacunga streets.

Countryside from Quito to Latacunga.

Uh, are we ok here?

The view from our hostel roof.

The next morning we rushed to the bus station to catch a ride on a bus to the middle of nowhere. This was a little odd – apparently, Caitlin understood more about how the buses worked but we were taking a local bus that people in the highlands used to get to and from town. I felt really out of place. The bus cruised down the dirt roads like it ain’t no thang. I seriously thought this bus was going to take its last breaths with us, but they must really know bus maintenance down there for these 40 year old buses to climb and descent 5,000 feet every day. I will admit, we looked really out of place. These Americans in weird dress with large bags looking a little helpless and in total awe of the scenery.

 

Woah.

We just kept going up and up this hill, occasionally slowing down to let someone hop on or off the bus. It was gorgeous country, and you would occasionally see this little shanty in the middle of a field where someone no doubt resided. We eventually came to some small towns, but I use this term lightly. I would be surprised if half of them had running water. Caitlin and I were in total awe of the scenery here – it was just STUNNING!

Our bus was hauling – we were making fantastic time. We thought we would start hiking by 12, which would allow us plenty of time to reach our destination for the first night. Suddenly we stopped in what appeared to be a country traffic jam. No, cows weren’t cross the street. There had been a landslide that had taken out the entire road. A little sketchy, yes. They were working to clear it, but with very little heavy lifting equipment it appeared it would take a while. Good thing we brought some snacks. We exited the bus to go play outside and check out the massive landslide that took out the road, when suddenly our bus driver ushered us all back on to the bus. A truck had moved while clearing the landslide, and a few daring drivers (including our bus driver) took a chance and tried to bus it through. A little scary and a lot bumpy, our bus made it through the landslide and promptly stopped at the village bus station where we wanted to get off in Zumbahua. The bus driver almost left without my bag, which left me in a minor panic.

Driving through the landslide.

The next little leg of the trip was probably the most fun. Instead of walking along a long stretch of road for 10 miles or so, we paid a guy $5 to hitch a ride in the back of his cattle truck. He drove like a mad men. Caitlin took a header in to me around a corner. We worked on steadying our feet to snap some pictures of the crazy truck ride, and he eventually delivered us to Laguna Quilatoa. It’s a deep smaller sized version of Crater Lake, but with much prettier surroundings.

Riding in the back of a truck.

Riding so dangerously is so funny.

We started our hike out and eventually made our way in to Chugchilan (Chug-chee-lan). We met a nice English guy on our way there which made for some enjoyable company. We got caught in a torrential downpour, so we hid in an abandoned house to sit out the rain. It wasn’t that it was cold, the rain felt good. But it was coming down in BUCKETS! Eventually it stopped and we made our way to the hostel where they served the best ‘pumpkin’ soup and we could shower.

Hiking over Quilotoa.

Along the rim of the crater.

Looking towards Chugchilan.

Crossing the valley to Chugchilan.

Look closely. There is an ass in my picture.

Caught in the rain storm!

Looking out over the valley.

Yay!

Hiding under a tree keeping dry!

Staying dry in the abandoned house. We decided to do pull ups.

Rain over the valley.

Looking down from the rim of Quilatoa.

Caitlin and I at the top of a hill.

 

We befriended a little dog that was at the hostel. The hostel owner said that the dog had just showed up with some people and never left. It was scrappy and seemed to keep to itself, and they believed it came from Isinlivi (Ee-seen-lee-vee), which is where we were headed. When the hostel owner heard that this was our next stop, he asked if we needed a guide. The trail was rough he said, and it was easy to get lost. Caitlin and I had a look of, ‘puh-lease’ as we politely declined his offer to guide us. We asked for some trail markers of a description of the trail, and he said that you follow the road, until a cattle road branches off at about a mile. You follow that down the hill, take a side trail down to the valley, follow the road down the valley as it turns to a trail. Stay to the left of the river until you get to the last foot bridge before the bend in the river, where you will cross. Walk through the meadows and you will see a trail to your right that will lead you to Isinlivi. See, there were a ton of foot paths going everywhere, as this was the areas main mode of travel. But, we didn’t know that yet so we thought it would be easy to spot where to go.

We started off. Pretty dang happy and in a great mood – what better place to be! We kept the dog with us in hopes that we could get it back to its owner. Plus, it just kind of followed us.

Pretty darn happy, and pretty if I do say so myself.

A cow, a dog, and a girl.

Where we stopped for a snack.

Yeeee!

Caitlin and our k9 friend.

Walking through the meadows!

View from the top of the hill.

Our buddy!

We hiked straight up that hill. You can see the spot where we snacked at the curve of the river in the middle.

Foot bridge sketchiness.

The road that leads to... more roads.

Some kids that were ecstatic about seeing us and followed us for a while!

Caitlin and the dog.

 

 

We headed down into the Valley and made it to the footbridge no problem. It was really humid and pretty hot, but cloudy like it was threatening to storm. The later it got, the worse it looked. We crossed the foot bridge and crossed the only meadow there was to cross and stopped for a brief snack and water, where I discovered a bottle had exploded INSIDE my waterbroof bag, leaving things VERY wet. Not a happy Megan.

After the break we continued on through the meadow expecting to find a trail on this hill. We couldn’t find a trail. We went in circles, combing the area looking for a trail. We back tracked, looked at the dinky little paper map. It’s supposed to be right HERE! We started to get nervous. We couldn’t tell which way were supposed to go and we were losing some time. So, I made the executive decision to just walk straight up the hill. We need to be up there anyways to pass through the valley, and maybe there will be a vantage point up there. We walked up. Straight up. It was pretty fun. Then we found what looked like was a trail that led your through a fence. There was a fence post that was next to a little step up, where you could climb over if you put your foot on this grassy knoll. I was the last to try to climb over, and just as I planted my foot the little grassy knoll gave way. I lost my footing and fell smack onto the top of the fence post. Ouch. My one leg was throbbing, and I knew once the throbbing would go away the stiffness and soreness would set in. Good thing I had my trekking poles! I started crutching on them, which seemed to work ok. Caitlin headed out in front of me, as we were getting nervous with how late it was getting and our severe lack of knowledge as to where we were. We couldn’t tell if the village in the hill was Lisinlivi, and if it wasn’t we would have to act very quick to secure some way to either get there or arrange for another place to stay.

After a really REALLY long walk that seemed to take forever to get to Lisinlivi, we were there. The little village was just what I imagined. Lots of little shanties, very little power, and really nice people. As I walked up the hill to the town, cows were posted to the side of the road to feed on grass. Dogs barked (and charged) as farmers walked around finishing up their days. We got there just in time – clouds rolled in hiding us in a little cloud forest. This was a really high jungle, after all.

Our hostel in Lisinlivi. Pretty awesome place to watch a storm roll through (that cuts out power).

Looking out from the hostel.

 

We hung out in the hostel area, showered, and enjoyed some relaxation time and fire for warmth. I was getting really stiff and hurting pretty bad, but we arranged to take the ONE bus the town has in the morning to get to Sigchos. It was market day, so the bus would be sure to leave whereas on other days it was more just a hope and a prayer that the bus would stop by.

We ate another delicious dinner including the ‘pumpkin’ soup and headed off to bed after Caitlin helped the hostel owner with some of her ‘English’ homework. She was taking classes at a college and was having a hard time grasping some of our phrases and wording, and after trying to explain it, I don’t blame her. English is weird. We got an amazing thunder and lightning storm that night that was actually calming to go to sleep to, and woke up the next morning and quickly grabbed some breakfast. We kept hearing this horn honking, which we thought was weird because there were no cars up here. The bus wasn’t supposed to leave for another hour or so, though, so we thought we were fine. Suddenly, one of the hostel workers came rushing in and said that the bus had been there waiting for us for a half hour and would be leaving soon. We felt so bad – they had held the bus just for us! I hobbled up the road with Caitlin at my side to get on the bus when we saw this:

Walking to the bus. Look closely and to the back of the bus.

At the Sigchos bus stop.

Yep, daredevil sheep.

Enthusiasm!

At first we thought it was a really dare devilish Sheep who was a ‘hop on.’ But as we started down the road in this rickety bus, I feared for the sheep’s sanity and life. There was no way it wasn’t losing its footing on these hairpin turns, and with a steep drop off one side of the road it must be crying itself into a panic. The drive was gorgeous, bumpy, and full of people heading to the market. Plus Caitlin and I. Eventually we made it to Sigchos, which seemed to be the hub of this highland area. The market was huge, with some very unsanitary food stations hanging raw meat up for purchase. I am happy to say I stayed away from eating meat there for the most part out of fear of losing control of my stomach for a few days. As we loaded on to a bus that would take us back to Quito, we saw a Pig, a chicken and a dog tied to the top of buses. I even saw some people climbing on to a local bus. Risk takers!

The bus ride back was gorgeous, but I wasn’t really surprised. Caitlin and I just got to rest and take it all in when… wait, is that a chicken? There was a chicken on the bus. I was so glad I was wearing pants and a jacket. We drove through a couple villages, and it was so nice to see the highlands and the real culture of the area. I really wish I could have spent more time in these mountains hiking village to village – it was a lovely area with truly lovely people.

That is pretty.

We eventually made it back to Quito – phew! Quito started to become really familiar and kind of fun. I started to actually feel comfortable on the buses, even though people still stared. Caitlin and I were so giddy coming back in to Quito on the bus, and also very happy to have found seats so we didn’t have to stand!

We made it back to the hostel where she would stay, but it was my last day there! We grabbed some dinner, hung out a bit more and I showered as I waited for the late hour with no traffic to call a Taxi to drive me the hour plus to the airport.

With sadness I said goodbye to Caitlin! I was so bummed to be leaving, and without her, and jealous of her upcoming adventures! I felt like Ecuador had won this trip, and was so tired and felt depleted that I was happy to retreat to home where I could recuperate.  I made some phone calls from the airport – wifi! And boarded that plane with a really happy heart.

The whole trip back was LONG! In short, I hate American Airlines. Really really hate them with a passion. I have yet to be reimbursed for my bag or ruined trip, and was treated with such an attitude in Miami. I actually was set aside for an hour to deal with a customer service person, who eventually just dismissed me but not after getting an earful. Customs was boring, but uneventful as usual. And finally! English was the main language. After a late night flight from Chicago to home, Joelybean picked me up at midnight in Seattle with open arms!

So, overall Ecuador experience was amazing! I encourage anyone to go! They are really working hard on their tourism industry and working to make the country more accessible and mainstream to attract money. I feel like the country is still really authentic, especially outside Quito, and found it so awesome to be able to visit.

I love these adventures where you are really in touch with reality and accountable for everything. I feel like these trips are where you learn the most about yourself and really truly can see the world and the culture – and that’s what it is all about right? To live life to fullest so hard it hurts; that you are so present it almost brings you to tears. I don’t think I will ever want to stop experiencing things, feeling out of place in such a large world. This world has so much to see, so many things to experience. I still recall moments from all my trips. The crooked tree that hung over a ledge overlooking the beach and ocean; the rainy rocky shore at the southern tip of the South American mainland; the pristine glacier carved valley and the setting sun in the Rockies; the calming alpine sunrise over Mt. Rainier; the early morning mist hugging the cliffs below Machu Picchu. I appreciate and love every happy feeling I have ever had, and urge everyone to do the same. Don’t let anything hold you back; if you want to go somewhere, go. If you want to do something, do it. My life is incredibly busy and pretty jam packed day to day so much so that I don’t feel like I can fit anything else in, but when I look back at my days I wish I could do more and live even more!