"I'm feeling better ever since you know me
I was a lonely soul but that's the old me
A little wiser now from what you've shown me
Yeah, I feel again."
--One Republic, "Feel Again."
If you've known me for more than 10 years, you know that I haven't always been an athlete. Triathlon has changed me in so many ways... And I've learned so much about myself and about racing in the past 8 years I've been swimming, biking, and running.
If you know me now, you know how much I love it. Two things I often say:
"Race day is the best day."
And, on race morning itself:
"It's a great day for a triathlon!"
A very good friend is doing her first triathlon this weekend (YOU GO, SISTER!!!!), and she asked me for some advice. Here are a bunch of random thoughts on triathlon. I have many others, but these are fun.
Twenty Things You Should Think About Before Your First Triathlon.
Rule #1. Be safe.
Rule #2. Have fun.
While these first two rules don’t really need a whole lot of explanation, it’s important to understand their depth as they apply to both training and racing. For me in particular, because crazy fast technical descents are “my jam,” balancing “have fun” with “be safe” requires vigilance and humility. That gnarly tight left turn? Yeah, I probably can’t take it at 35 miles an hour without wrecking. I should brake (before entering the turn, not after, fyi!!). Understanding this balance comes from experience on the road and on the race course, trying different things and learning my strengths. Thankfully, it has been 10 years since I had a bad crash (knock wood), and I continue to emphasize Rule #1 over Rule #2 so it stays that way. And yes I have broken 50 mph 4 times in the past 2 years.
For a new triathlete, this might mean racing a little cautiously until you learn your strengths and weaknesses. But see Rule #17 and Rule #18, too.
Rule #3. Plan your race…
My overarching race plan for every race is five words: “It’s all about the run.” Especially in the longer distance triathlons, it kind of doesn’t matter what you do for the first two events if you blow the run. Trust me on this one, I learned it the hard way at Eagleman 70.3 2012. My splits tell the story. 2:34 on the bike. 2:20 on the run. Oops. One of the best things my coach had me do for the first two major races we did together was write out a full race plan that covered 2 days before the race all the way to the finish line. What was I going to eat? When was I going to bed? Would I do a warm up run or a warm up swim? What if the race was NOT wetsuit legal? What was I going to eat (and when) on the bike and run? What heart rate was I going to try to maintain? What if I got a flat? What if I hyperventilate in the water? What if I have GI issues? And the best part: what was my pump up song going to be? What would I sing to myself during different parts of the race?
Just going through the activity of writing it all out (like, 6 pages worth for my Ironman) was such a confidence builder. I generally knew what I was going to do, no matter what happened during those 140.6 miles. What if I get a flat? Fix it. And I practiced with canisters two days before. And I needed to, because I flatted at Mile 81. What was I going to eat? Bars and gels for the first half of the bike, 100 calories every half hour on the clock. Gels only during the second half of the bike. Doritos at Special Needs. W00t.
Rule #4. …and race your plan.
Time lost on the swim (or in T1, or fixing a flat) is not made up by ruining your race plan. My strongest of the three events is the bike. But I ain’t no shabby runner. The problem with this combination is Rule #2. See, I have fun going fast on the bike. But shattering my legs on the bike means not running well. As a friend once said, “It’s not a good bike unless it’s followed by a good run.” Short story: I once lost a lot of time in the water. Wait, that’s like half of my races. ONE OF THE TIMES that I lost a lot of time in the water, (Eagleman 70.3, 2013), I spent the entire 56 miles of the bike course pedaling to the mantra: “Plan B is stick to The Plan. And Plan C is stick to The Plan. And Plan D is…” You get the idea. I knew that I had to hold myself back on the bike and not try to “make up” for lost time in the water by going too hard on the bike. I had a good run that day. Even with a craptastic swim time of 50 minutes, that race is still my HIM PR (2:32 bike, 1:55 run).
Rule #5. Rule #5 is Rule #5.
Per the Velominati (Keepers of the Cog) who have a whole lot of hilarious rules about cycling, Rule #5 is also known as HTFU. Harden The Fuck Up. Racing is hard. There will be a moment (trust me) in every race where you question all your terrible life choices that led you to that very moment of pain. That’s when it’s time to invoke Rule #5.
Rule #6. Deliberate, not rushed.
This is the best advice I ever got for how to handle transition. It’s really good advice for other parts of life, too. Essentially, it means being expeditious but not sloppy. Yes, your transition time counts for your total race time, and you kinda don’t want to nap in there, but don't go so fast you forget something important. Then you have to go back and do it over... yeah, that's no good. I once lost a race in transition. No, seriously. I had the fastest combined SBR, but my T1 was like 27 minutes (hyperbolic). Think through every step in advance, and then execute them in order without effing around.
Here’s what I do:
Goggles and cap off while running from the swim exit to T1. Top of wetsuit off, too, if a long transition run. Once arrived at T1: wetsuit totally off. Stand on towel. Sunglasses on. Helmet on. Hit inhaler. Right sock. Left sock. Gel in mouth. Right shoe. Left shoe. Grab bike. Squeeze gel while running out of transition. Arrive at mount line. Mount bike. Go.
Rule #7. Set your phone to Military Time.
Leave it that way and get used to it. You’ll never wake up in the middle of the night in a panic about “DID I SET MY ALARM FOR AM OR PM???” again. Anything to reduce pre-race anxiety is good.
Rule #8. Make a list for your Transition Bag about 3 days before the race.
Give yourself time to have the “OH RIGHT I NEED A SECOND INHALER FOR T2 BECAUSE THIS IS A SPLIT TRANSITION RACE” moment. And the “Yes, I do need sunblock and lip balm and chamois cream and Body Glide." Put little boxes next to all the items...
Rule #9. Pack your transition bag the night before the race.
... And check off all the items on the list, and put the list on top of the CLOSED BAG. Anything to reduce anxiety is a good thing. You won’t have the “DID I REMEMBER MY…..?” moments in the middle of the night. You made a list. You checked it off. It’s in there.
Rule #10. NOTHING NEW ON RACE DAY.
I love this rule. Practice with everything you plan to actually use. That means clothing, equipment, food, you name it. You don’t want to find out ON RACE DAY that your heart rate monitor chafes really badly. And don’t eat anything new the day before, either. Speaking of which:
Rule #11. Carb loading is bullshit.
Google it. The #1 thing you are concerned about on race morning is your bowels moving before the race. I’m not shitting you. (See what I did there?) Traditional carb loading where you eat a big pasta dinner the night before a big race is the recipe for constipation. Don’t do it. You can add some roasted sweet potatoes to your meals 3-4 days out from the race. I usually eat a normal breakfast, a big lunch, and a light, roughage-heavy dinner. I get up in the morning, drink coffee, and exercise my Super Powers (Olwen’s Super Power is forgetting I’m gluten intolerant. Pam’s Super Power is napping anywhere. Abby’s Super Power is pooping on race day).
Rule #12. Be friendly.
Everyone is in the same pain cave. Positive talk on the race course is common and awesome, and you should be a part of it.
Rule #13. Smile.
If you have the energy. There are cameras out there. ;) And if you aren’t having fun: WHY ARE YOU DOING IT???
Rule #14. Stick to the right on the bike course.
Fast or slow. Stick the right. If you’re passing, move left, complete your pass, and move right.
Rule #15. Thank your volunteers.
Especially those poor people who got stuck with the shitty bike marshalling job who are holding back traffic or telling you to slow down because there are train tracks. Thems good people. Without them, we have no race.
Rule #16. Keep calm and (swim, bike, run) on.
It doesn’t matter how much you trained, practiced, or planned. If you talk to seasoned professional triathletes, they will all tell you something that WENT WRONG (or, not according to plan) in their previous race. There are VERY VERY FEW PERFECTLY EXECUTED RACES. One can overcome a great many setbacks on the triathlon course. It’s my “how triathlon is like life” philosophy. Training is merely developing your skill set to overcome all the unexpected things that happen between the starting line and the finish line.
Rule #17. Push yourself.
Rule #18. Listen to your body.
These two rules must be taken together. Don’t cross the finish line thinking “I could have raced harder.” Leave it all out on the race course!! But don’t puke. And don’t injure yourself. If something starts to feel funky in your body, ask yourself: “Is this fatigue? Is this a form issue? Is this a mental issue? Do I need (water, food, salt)?” With time, you will know yourself well enough to differentiate workable pain from damaging pain. I’ve made the mistake. I had a good chunk of time where I didn’t trust myself because I had pushed through damaging pain. Find the edge and ride it. But keep checking in with yourself and back off if you need to. Or stop if you need to. Or stretch, or walk through aid stations or eat potato chips. Find the balance and find the fun.
Rule #19. Finish strong.
Practice your finish line photo in advance. About half a mile from the finish (you will know when this is) straighten your bib and jersey. If it’s the only part of your race plan that you execute properly, do this right. For posterity. For FaceBook. I’m partial to the “one arm in the air, fierce look” pose.
Rule #20. Check your results.
You never know who didn’t show up that day. I almost missed standing on the podium last weekend because I didn’t check.
Tuesday, September 16, 2014
Monday, April 21, 2014
Is there anyone out there?
"When it gets cold outside and you got nobody to love
You'll understand what I mean when I say
There's no way we're gonna give up
And like a little girl cries in the face of a monster that lives in her dreams
Is there anyone out there 'cause it's getting harder and harder to breathe
Is there anyone out there 'cause it's getting harder and harder to breathe."
--Maroon 5, "Harder to Breathe."
On account of moving across the country and racing *ALL NEW COURSES* I thought I would begin writing race reports for my triathlete friends far away.
Yesterday (04/20/2014) I raced the Silicon Valley International Triathlon Olympic distance race.
The race was pretty tough from start to finish. It wasn't my fastest, it wasn't my best, but neither was it my worst nor most painful. The venue was beautiful Half Moon Bay, CA. For the record, it was a reservoir swim when I registered. This race is normally run in Morgan Hill, CA, with the swim in Uvas Reservoir.The drought in Northern California has caused a lot of triathlons to relocate venues. Swimming in Half Moon Bay, also known as THE PACIFIC OCEAN, was not exactly my plan. The water was only 56°!
I invested in a neoprene cap and booties the day before the race. I know the adage is "nothing new on race day," but after my experience in 57° water at the Marin County Triathlon in 2013, I knew I would be much happier with the extra neoprene. The booties were absolutely worth their weight in gold, although my feet were still frozen until about mile 4.5 of the run! The cap was really great too, because It covered my ears. But, it felt a little snug around the chin, and I felt a bit choked. Considering my tendency towards panic in open water, this was a fun little mental exercise. I will stretch it out before the next time I have to use it. Hopefully, that won't be very soon. :-)
A fog bank rolled in about five minutes before the race started. I'm not particularly good at sighting to begin with, and the fog made it very difficult to see the three large yellow buoys. Thankfully I had seen them from shore before the fog, so I had a reasonable idea of where they were. That isn't to say I wasn't a little bit off course at times... but that's hardly a surprise for me.
As for the act of swimming, I really only remember doing it a few times. I was trying hard to find the buoys, trying not to choke, and trying to forget how FREAKING COLD I WAS. When I was able to relax, I got in a few good pulls. Mostly, I was tight and short. That being said, I've had worse swims. The timing mat was right at the T1 area, and therefore my posted swim time includes a 400 m run from the water to T1. When I got out of the water, my Garmin said 34:30. In my dreamland, I will someday finish an Oly swim in 30 minutes.
T1 was kind of a joke as a result of my fingers being completely inoperable. I suffer from Raynaud's Syndrome, and my hands were mostly non-functional when I got out of the water. I couldn't grip my wetsuit pull, couldn't really get my socks on, and I gave up on the gloves I had planned to wear because I literally couldn't get my hands in them. Boo.
The bike course was very interesting: superflat for 10 miles, a giant climb for 2 miles, a twisty steep downhill, and then flat again to the finish. It was pretty. Oh yeah, I dropped a chain. I need to find better mechanic, apparently. I was glad to have my race bike (Cervelo P3), my race wheels (Zipp 808s), and my aerohelmet. I crushed pretty hard on the flats, climbed reasonably well, and was able to control my descent and gain some ground. I tried really hard to maintain a cadence and level of exertion that wouldn't completely ruin my legs for the run. No, my run would be ruined by a part of the body that is even more important than the legs. (Bike result: 4th in AG).
T2 was pretty quick. I changed my shoes, grabbed my racebelt, swapped visor for helmet, and took off (on numb feet!!)
On the run I had a decent plan (thank you, Coach Rob), to "work two miles, push two miles, and hurt 2.2 miles." I was planning on finishing a little painfully, but the hypoxia ruined everything. Well, I certainly finished painfully, but I didn't quite finish fast. My legs had the juice, but my lungs were not having it. This was my 40th triathlon, and it was the first time I've had to try to figure out transitions in different locations. The cold water caused my lungs to constrict, and by the time I got to the run I really needed my inhaler (yes, I have asthma!), I had left it at T1. Darn. My breathing was painful and labored, and I couldn't get a good, low-belly breath after the first mile. My pace fell off pretty significantly as a result. It will take a day or two more for my lungs to recover. My heart was a little crushed, too. I had the legs to lay down a solid 10k, but... oh, well. Next time!!
In the end, I plugged along and tried to enjoy the waves crashing in Half Moon Bay. "The swell" was pretty darn big, and there were lots of surfers out by the time I got to the run. Indeed, a thought flickered across my brain... "Why can't I be that guy? The one who sleeps in, rolls outta bed at 10, and grabs a surfboard?"
Sigh. It's because I'm *this girl* who loves getting up at 4 AM to swim in ice cold water and race triathlons. Wait, maybe not the ice cold water part.
It was a beautiful course, it turned out to be a beautiful day, and I got 8th in my age group.
Triathlon always gives me some new lesson. Per usual, this was another new lesson in humility, but nonetheless: a lesson.
You'll understand what I mean when I say
There's no way we're gonna give up
And like a little girl cries in the face of a monster that lives in her dreams
Is there anyone out there 'cause it's getting harder and harder to breathe
Is there anyone out there 'cause it's getting harder and harder to breathe."
--Maroon 5, "Harder to Breathe."
On account of moving across the country and racing *ALL NEW COURSES* I thought I would begin writing race reports for my triathlete friends far away.
Yesterday (04/20/2014) I raced the Silicon Valley International Triathlon Olympic distance race.
The race was pretty tough from start to finish. It wasn't my fastest, it wasn't my best, but neither was it my worst nor most painful. The venue was beautiful Half Moon Bay, CA. For the record, it was a reservoir swim when I registered. This race is normally run in Morgan Hill, CA, with the swim in Uvas Reservoir.The drought in Northern California has caused a lot of triathlons to relocate venues. Swimming in Half Moon Bay, also known as THE PACIFIC OCEAN, was not exactly my plan. The water was only 56°!
I invested in a neoprene cap and booties the day before the race. I know the adage is "nothing new on race day," but after my experience in 57° water at the Marin County Triathlon in 2013, I knew I would be much happier with the extra neoprene. The booties were absolutely worth their weight in gold, although my feet were still frozen until about mile 4.5 of the run! The cap was really great too, because It covered my ears. But, it felt a little snug around the chin, and I felt a bit choked. Considering my tendency towards panic in open water, this was a fun little mental exercise. I will stretch it out before the next time I have to use it. Hopefully, that won't be very soon. :-)
A fog bank rolled in about five minutes before the race started. I'm not particularly good at sighting to begin with, and the fog made it very difficult to see the three large yellow buoys. Thankfully I had seen them from shore before the fog, so I had a reasonable idea of where they were. That isn't to say I wasn't a little bit off course at times... but that's hardly a surprise for me.
As for the act of swimming, I really only remember doing it a few times. I was trying hard to find the buoys, trying not to choke, and trying to forget how FREAKING COLD I WAS. When I was able to relax, I got in a few good pulls. Mostly, I was tight and short. That being said, I've had worse swims. The timing mat was right at the T1 area, and therefore my posted swim time includes a 400 m run from the water to T1. When I got out of the water, my Garmin said 34:30. In my dreamland, I will someday finish an Oly swim in 30 minutes.
T1 was kind of a joke as a result of my fingers being completely inoperable. I suffer from Raynaud's Syndrome, and my hands were mostly non-functional when I got out of the water. I couldn't grip my wetsuit pull, couldn't really get my socks on, and I gave up on the gloves I had planned to wear because I literally couldn't get my hands in them. Boo.
The bike course was very interesting: superflat for 10 miles, a giant climb for 2 miles, a twisty steep downhill, and then flat again to the finish. It was pretty. Oh yeah, I dropped a chain. I need to find better mechanic, apparently. I was glad to have my race bike (Cervelo P3), my race wheels (Zipp 808s), and my aerohelmet. I crushed pretty hard on the flats, climbed reasonably well, and was able to control my descent and gain some ground. I tried really hard to maintain a cadence and level of exertion that wouldn't completely ruin my legs for the run. No, my run would be ruined by a part of the body that is even more important than the legs. (Bike result: 4th in AG).
T2 was pretty quick. I changed my shoes, grabbed my racebelt, swapped visor for helmet, and took off (on numb feet!!)
On the run I had a decent plan (thank you, Coach Rob), to "work two miles, push two miles, and hurt 2.2 miles." I was planning on finishing a little painfully, but the hypoxia ruined everything. Well, I certainly finished painfully, but I didn't quite finish fast. My legs had the juice, but my lungs were not having it. This was my 40th triathlon, and it was the first time I've had to try to figure out transitions in different locations. The cold water caused my lungs to constrict, and by the time I got to the run I really needed my inhaler (yes, I have asthma!), I had left it at T1. Darn. My breathing was painful and labored, and I couldn't get a good, low-belly breath after the first mile. My pace fell off pretty significantly as a result. It will take a day or two more for my lungs to recover. My heart was a little crushed, too. I had the legs to lay down a solid 10k, but... oh, well. Next time!!
In the end, I plugged along and tried to enjoy the waves crashing in Half Moon Bay. "The swell" was pretty darn big, and there were lots of surfers out by the time I got to the run. Indeed, a thought flickered across my brain... "Why can't I be that guy? The one who sleeps in, rolls outta bed at 10, and grabs a surfboard?"
Sigh. It's because I'm *this girl* who loves getting up at 4 AM to swim in ice cold water and race triathlons. Wait, maybe not the ice cold water part.
It was a beautiful course, it turned out to be a beautiful day, and I got 8th in my age group.
Triathlon always gives me some new lesson. Per usual, this was another new lesson in humility, but nonetheless: a lesson.
Monday, February 3, 2014
All the Colors
“I believe in the Kingdom Come
Then all the colors will bleed into one
Bleed into one
But, yes, I'm still running.”
--U2, “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.”
I’ve been meaning to post in a while. I’m pretty sure there was something interesting that I wanted to say but just didn’t have the time to write it down. And whatever it was, it’s totally overshadowed by recent events. I’ve come to realize that if something is important enough, even if it is temporarily overshadowed, it will come back up. Whatever it was, I’ll remember it and write about it another time.
In writing the next few sentences, I recognize that thought experiments are over. No more wondering out loud “what if?” No more “keeping it on the DL.” The truth is out:
I’m moving to San Francisco.
With my heart in my throat, water in my eyes, and an excitement I haven’t felt in a while, the adventure of life is taking a twist I honestly did not see coming.
Sure, yes, indeed: I applied for the job. I had the search criteria programmed into the USAJOBS website. I got the alert. I wrote the application. I threw my name in the hat. When I got the notice that I had made “the cert list,” I laughed. Hahaha that’s so funny. Wouldn’t that be entertaining. A Special Assistant/Senior Policy Advisor job in Immigration. In San Francisco. Hahahaha.
When I got the e-mail asking for an interview, my heart skipped. Woah, ha. Wow. Ok. Sure, I am still interested. I will interview. Set up a video conference? Sure, I can look into that. I didn’t want my own office to know about it, so I went up to the 8th floor and asked if I could use their V-Tel system. Yes, it was available. Yes, we can do that. It was on a Wednesday. January 15, 2014.
On Thursday, I was facilitating a meeting in the conference room and my boss walked in about halfway through and asked me to stop by his office when it was done. This was unusual behavior. I wasn’t nervous—I have an amazing boss who can be totally real with me and never puts me down, so I went directly there when the meeting was over. He asked me to close the door.
“Are you ready to move to San Francisco?” he asked.
Haha, very funny. I fell out of my chair. What? What are you talking about? They had all called him. Individually. The three people I had interviewed with via video the day before. All of them. And then came the email for the follow up interview. No, they couldn’t wait until I was in Northern California for school. They wanted to do it right away. Tomorrow. 1 PM Eastern. Via video, with the Director himself and the Chief of Staff.
I called my sister and sobbed. How can I leave you? How can I leave that boy of yours? How can I leave my life and my friends and the club and everything I love in DC?
How can I do this?
How can I not do this?
By the end of the interview on Friday, I knew it was over but for the bureaucracy. They were amazing people. Their questions excited me. Their demeanor and leadership style were impressive. They were excited about ME and what I would bring to them, because of my experience, expertise, and professional style—things I have worked very hard to develop over these past few years.
This is the opportunity of my whole career. To be the Senior Policy Advisor to the Director of District 21. Seated in San Francisco, District 21 includes field Offices in San Francisco, San Jose, and covers all counties in Northern California from the northern border down to Monterey. It includes high-tech work authorizations in Silicon Valley and migrant farm workers. The district is probably one of the most diverse in all of Citizenship and Immigration Services. And with immigration reform on the horizon, implementation “in the field” is likely to be one of the most interesting and challenging tasks of government in the next few years.
And I’m going to be the Senior Policy Advisor to the Director of one of the most influential districts in the country. In San Francisco. Where you can swim and bike and run all year. And drink wine. And get to mountains quickly. And eat sushi and good Mexican food.
The Director and Chief of Staff asked me why I would apply for this job. I said, “It has my name on it.”
It’s so bittersweet. Emily. Ben. Justin. Mom and Dad. DC Tri. Olwen, Pam, Kim, Holli, Ashley, Angela, Trevor.... I could write names to fill the rest of this page. You know who you are. You know how much you mean to me. You know that I’m crying as I write this. You know that I would do anything for you. You know when you pick up the phone at 3 AM it will only be midnight my time so you better friggin’ call. You know you have a place to stay in SF.
This life, this world that I’ve worked so hard to build—I’m not trying to abandon it. I’m not trying to end anything!
I am trying to start something. I still need to find something. I’m still looking for something. As happy as I am, as comfortable as I am in life: I need to go outside my comfort zone again. I didn’t see this coming, but here it is, and it’s time to grab on and see where this ride will take me.
It’s going to happen fast, too. I wish I could take my time, but two months is about as long as I could hold them off in District 21. In April 2014, I will be a resident of the State of California.
I still have before me the most daunting task on the planet: finding an apartment in San Francisco. God help me.
Then all the colors will bleed into one
Bleed into one
But, yes, I'm still running.”
--U2, “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For.”
I’ve been meaning to post in a while. I’m pretty sure there was something interesting that I wanted to say but just didn’t have the time to write it down. And whatever it was, it’s totally overshadowed by recent events. I’ve come to realize that if something is important enough, even if it is temporarily overshadowed, it will come back up. Whatever it was, I’ll remember it and write about it another time.
In writing the next few sentences, I recognize that thought experiments are over. No more wondering out loud “what if?” No more “keeping it on the DL.” The truth is out:
I’m moving to San Francisco.
With my heart in my throat, water in my eyes, and an excitement I haven’t felt in a while, the adventure of life is taking a twist I honestly did not see coming.
Sure, yes, indeed: I applied for the job. I had the search criteria programmed into the USAJOBS website. I got the alert. I wrote the application. I threw my name in the hat. When I got the notice that I had made “the cert list,” I laughed. Hahaha that’s so funny. Wouldn’t that be entertaining. A Special Assistant/Senior Policy Advisor job in Immigration. In San Francisco. Hahahaha.
When I got the e-mail asking for an interview, my heart skipped. Woah, ha. Wow. Ok. Sure, I am still interested. I will interview. Set up a video conference? Sure, I can look into that. I didn’t want my own office to know about it, so I went up to the 8th floor and asked if I could use their V-Tel system. Yes, it was available. Yes, we can do that. It was on a Wednesday. January 15, 2014.
On Thursday, I was facilitating a meeting in the conference room and my boss walked in about halfway through and asked me to stop by his office when it was done. This was unusual behavior. I wasn’t nervous—I have an amazing boss who can be totally real with me and never puts me down, so I went directly there when the meeting was over. He asked me to close the door.
“Are you ready to move to San Francisco?” he asked.
Haha, very funny. I fell out of my chair. What? What are you talking about? They had all called him. Individually. The three people I had interviewed with via video the day before. All of them. And then came the email for the follow up interview. No, they couldn’t wait until I was in Northern California for school. They wanted to do it right away. Tomorrow. 1 PM Eastern. Via video, with the Director himself and the Chief of Staff.
I called my sister and sobbed. How can I leave you? How can I leave that boy of yours? How can I leave my life and my friends and the club and everything I love in DC?
How can I do this?
How can I not do this?
By the end of the interview on Friday, I knew it was over but for the bureaucracy. They were amazing people. Their questions excited me. Their demeanor and leadership style were impressive. They were excited about ME and what I would bring to them, because of my experience, expertise, and professional style—things I have worked very hard to develop over these past few years.
This is the opportunity of my whole career. To be the Senior Policy Advisor to the Director of District 21. Seated in San Francisco, District 21 includes field Offices in San Francisco, San Jose, and covers all counties in Northern California from the northern border down to Monterey. It includes high-tech work authorizations in Silicon Valley and migrant farm workers. The district is probably one of the most diverse in all of Citizenship and Immigration Services. And with immigration reform on the horizon, implementation “in the field” is likely to be one of the most interesting and challenging tasks of government in the next few years.
And I’m going to be the Senior Policy Advisor to the Director of one of the most influential districts in the country. In San Francisco. Where you can swim and bike and run all year. And drink wine. And get to mountains quickly. And eat sushi and good Mexican food.
The Director and Chief of Staff asked me why I would apply for this job. I said, “It has my name on it.”
It’s so bittersweet. Emily. Ben. Justin. Mom and Dad. DC Tri. Olwen, Pam, Kim, Holli, Ashley, Angela, Trevor.... I could write names to fill the rest of this page. You know who you are. You know how much you mean to me. You know that I’m crying as I write this. You know that I would do anything for you. You know when you pick up the phone at 3 AM it will only be midnight my time so you better friggin’ call. You know you have a place to stay in SF.
This life, this world that I’ve worked so hard to build—I’m not trying to abandon it. I’m not trying to end anything!
I am trying to start something. I still need to find something. I’m still looking for something. As happy as I am, as comfortable as I am in life: I need to go outside my comfort zone again. I didn’t see this coming, but here it is, and it’s time to grab on and see where this ride will take me.
It’s going to happen fast, too. I wish I could take my time, but two months is about as long as I could hold them off in District 21. In April 2014, I will be a resident of the State of California.
I still have before me the most daunting task on the planet: finding an apartment in San Francisco. God help me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)