The old saying goes, "Time flies like the wind. House flies like the wall."
I was on a walk one morning with Kaya (a very slow walk due to her being 14 years old at the time) when I realized that by the same time next year, life wasn’t going to look anything like this. I could feel the impending change.
All too often we distract ourselves from the big moments in life with more busy work.
If we’re not doing it subconsciously to ease the sting of very real moments, then, even worse, we’re careening forward at breakneck pace completely unaware of where life is taking us. I had reached the end of a big chapter in my life and I wanted to be fully present during this time of change.
This realization came a little later than I would have liked, though. I was busy training for my first Molokai, gearing up for another tough year of competition and being on the road for events. I had also decided it was time to start trying to have a baby. Hours were spent looking long and hard at my competition schedule and trying to imagine where this baby thing was going to fit in. I wanted to be in my second trimester during the hardest part of the season, so I felt good during races, and I wanted to be “super pregnant” during my off-season in the winter. The plan was, if it didn’t happen, then we’d wait till the same time next year.
I literally was planning my life around my paddling schedule, not my paddling schedule around my life!
A few weeks later, I did the 13.2 mile Carolina Cup Graveyard race on my OC1 and won overall, men and women. I wanted to do it OC instead of SUP because of my Molokai training. I felt strong, fit, and relaxed. A far cry from how I used to race that race. I remember the first two years I did the graveyard, I held too high a heart rate for 2.5 hours and was sick for about a month after the race each time from over-reaching. This was before I knew about aerobic deficiency syndrome and long before I had a normal female hormonal cycle. I was, downright wrongly, under the impression that athletes didn’t have normal cycles. I believe this is where a younger writer would say ::facepalm::
No matter how good I felt, I didn’t think it was possible to race all out for two hours and conceive a baby in the same day. Oops. (Also, my apologies for “TMI”)
Three days later I knew something was up. I was SO bloated. I was really tired, not like in the past when I pushed too hard. This was different. And, I felt a little nauseous in my morning workouts. I didn’t think too much about it, but it was hard not to think about it. I was in my taper phase of my training before Molokai and I had a bit of extra energy and my brain was slurping it all up thinking about this weird feeling. The flight over to Hawaii cemented my thoughts though, because I was experiencing cramps and fatigue… things I should not be feeling in peak fitness headed over to one of the bigger races of my career.
In an effort to not make a very long story longer, everything that could have gone wrong went wrong. We landed, my chase boat cancelled, I found a new one, my AirBNB was a scam, I checked into a hotel. Race morning came and I got LAUNCHED out of my boat into the air by a huge wave. I came crashing down out of control onto my boat, breaking it and giving my downstairs some intense bruising and swelling. I didn’t think I was going to get to race. I was in pain. My (borrowed… gonna have to pay for that) boat was cracked all the way around and I was worried was going to take on water - let alone its structural ability to catch big, open-ocean swells without cracking or snapping further. To make matters worse, I had the terrifying thought that the impact could have jarred the little ball of cells I suspected was in my uterus. I flagged down Johnny and we literally duct taped the boat back together. But not before my seat blew away. This was not my day.
This was mother’s day. Literally. It was Mother’s Day 2023.
Was the universe trying to tell me to chill out? Slow down? Not take things too seriously? Go home and focus on my pregnancy? I have no idea. We found a different seat that didn’t fit the boat well, but worked… kinda. The pain and swelling in my butt and groin were getting intense and the ill-fitting seat exacerbated that. I got myself to the start line: bruises, tears and all.
The rest of the 32 miles consisted of moments of pure joy when I would catch a bump and fly across the deep blue surface waters… cancelled by a moment of shock and anger when another racer’s chase boat wake sent me flying like popcorn out of my seat to the left of my ama. I’m sure anyone watching at that point thought I was a kook… why can’t she get back in her boat?? Because if I put pressure in the middle to lift myself out of the water I may crack it the rest of the way and I’d have two halves of a boat! Other moments were bliss as I thought about my little ball of cells, his first Molokai crossing, my first Molokai crossing, and the story I would tell him one day about our first mothers day together. Other moments were an absolute drag as the wind or swell came from challenging directions and my body sent extra energy to my little ball of cells instead of my race effort.
I made it across the channel.
This was my wakeup call. Someone once told me that being pregnant was like having super powers when it came to racing and training.
They lied.
I removed everything from my 2023 calendar… well almost everything.
I had already committed to doing the Va’a World Championships with probably the most awesome (yes, I’m biased) team ever assembled to compete in the women’s open division by the USA. I did NOT want to miss that. But, showing up for the team meant multiple trips to California to train with the team, do some practice races with the team, and compete at the Gorge Downwind Champs in Oregon with the team too. The commitment was huge, and that was before I had to fly 15+ hours to Samoa!
What would the team think? What would people think? I decided to keep my good news to myself. Things were easy enough to hide on the first trip to California to train and race with the team. I wasn't really showing yet, although I could see the changes in my body. Not to mention all I wanted to do in my spare time was sleep, and I'm pretty sure I caught my hosts, the Craytons, giving my overflowing dinner plate the side-eye. (Thanks for letting me eat so much of your food, by the way!)
By the time I got to the Gorge, I was feeling downright plump. I was exhausted. My boobs hurt. My second workout each day had become a nap. Even then, I felt great and strong when I was in the boat with the team. Our USA women's team raced and set a new course record on the 12 mile course. For training sake, we stayed in the boat and raced the men's race too… another 12 miles. About half way through that second race, I hit a wall. I ate all the extra calories I brought with me and backed off the effort a little bit. I still felt healthy, and happy to be in the boat with this team. I didn't want to be a weak link. I gave them everything I had to give… minus what I was giving “Cletus the Fetus” (that was his nickname at that point)!
This didn't leave me with much of anything 5 days later when the singles race went off. I set out at a comfortable clip in the Gorge OC1 race and tried to let the water do all of the work. It was exciting being in the pack of women, going bump for bump. Although, I had very little motivation or competitive drive when I was in a boat all by myself. Was it the lack of a team? Pregnancy fatigue? The 24 mile all out effort from a few days ago? A combination of all of the above? Whichever, I honored the feeling and enjoyed the event for what it was. I kept my heart rate aerobic and played the game and raced whatever race I happened to be in at any given moment. I didn’t wind up doing poorly and secured a podium place in 4th.
One morning over coffee later in the week, our Team USA seat 2, noticed me pouring a cup of decaf. She furrowed her brow, smiled, and said, “decaf?”
I responded with raised eyebrows and a coy grin, “decaf.”
She was a mom, and I knew she knew. But she’s also a good friend and I knew that my secret was safe…
Until I got the text.
Our team captain had just gotten an invite for us to compete in November at one of the biggest outrigger races in the world, the Hawaiki Nui in Tahiti. She was calling to make sure I was in. And… while she was at it, could I come out to California in September for the Catalina Crossing? An answer was needed ASAP. I just replied, “No.” Not wanting to spill the beans. But, why would I pass up the opportunity to go to one of the most awesome events ever? After she had addressed and rebutted every possible concern she thought I could have had, I had no choice but to tell her that it wasn’t any of the typical hangups when doing big events with big expensive travel. It was the fact that I would be 8 months pregnant and there was no way I could compete, even then, I sure did not want to do any more long-haul flights!
Silence.
Then, congratulations and excitement. Something about “wouldn’t have made you paddle 24 miles at the Gorge…” and we can still keep the secret if I wanted. I told her I didn’t want the team thinking I got majorly out of shape, so we could tell them.
The trip to Samoa was one for the record books. I’ve done a lot of solo racing… in fact, I’ve only done solo racing! This was the first time I was a part of something bigger. I finally got to check off a big paddling bucket list item, OC6 team at a major race. Even though it was bittersweet knowing I couldn’t join them again in Tahiti. We toured Samoa, swimming with giant clams, in giant sink holes, on pristine beaches, and amidst beautiful coral reefs.
When race day came, we went out like we meant it, keeping pace with all the lead boats. Then, as the other teams slowly faded enroute to the first buoy, we steadily pulled ahead. From there, we kept pulling ahead little by little, until we had a very comfortable lead. Even then, anything could happen, and at one point the lead boat was guiding us in the wrong direction… we hammered back onto the proper course holding our lead.
Going up with 5 other amazing women that I have the utmost respect for to receive our gold medals was probably one of my favorite medal ceremonies of all time. This was the first time USA had put together a women’s team that was able to win at Worlds against the best paddlers on the planet from Tahiti, New Zealand, Samoa, Hawaii, and other very paddle-centered cultures! With that, my heart, and my competitive spirit felt full. I was ready to go home and relax for a while and focus on becoming a parent.
Things didn’t slow down as much as I was hoping they would. I was 8 months pregnant, I was the new Ozone rep and Corey and I were clearing an acre of land for a tractor-trailer sized pull-through and parking space for our new 40’… er… 45’ shipping container filled with outrigger canoes (that minor 5’ detail was actually really important) with nothing but our lone electric chainsaw and Mahindra tractor. I had just recovered from Covid. Before that, the dated septic system and HVAC in our “new to us” house kicked the bucket. I was desparately trying to organize the new baby things that I was beyond grateful to have been gifted from friends, neighbors, and family… but it was A LOT of stuff. And, unfortunately, I was so busy with the pull-through that I didn’t have any time to decorate the nursery.
Then, there was Kaya. My loyal sidekick, my best friend, my training buddy, the living being that helped me cutivate discipline, patience, and a calmer and more joyful demeanor. She was nearing 15 years old, and as far as pure-bred boxers go, she was a record-setting age. Her immune system was starting to struggle with recurring skin infections, her back legs were starting to drag, and I needed to help her up and down the stairs every time she needed to go outside. She wasn’t the spry, independent pup she had been for 14 years any more. You could see it in her face that she was frustrated with her inability to do things. But, even then, she had good days and bad days, and on her good days I’d walk her down to the lake and swim with her. We used to swim every day, my heart sank the first time I looked back at her and she didn’t want to get in the water. That’s when I knew the end was drawing ever closer and the thing I didn’t want to think about was inevitable. Then a downright terrifying thought entered my mind… what if I had to make a decision about the end of her life? What if it didn’t happen naturally? How much was too much? I panicked and didn’t know what to do.
Doesn’t sound like much of a sabbatical does it? But it was, I didn’t write about any of it. I didn’t post about any of it. I just observed my life unfolding in front of my eyes and tried to stay present and focused for every single moment of it. The good, the bad, and the ugly.
I knew I was going to lose Kaya. I knew I was going to gain a son. I didn’t know when any of it would happen exactly. I just knew that life was about to look entirely different than it had been for the last 14 years. I liked the way my life had been… loved it, in fact. The journey was truly the best part.
Fifteen years ago I had a health scare. After which, I ran out and got a puppy so I had someone to motivate me to get up every morning for walks and play time and go out every evening and weekend too. Kaya was fit and fast, and she literally ran circles around me. I wanted to be better for her. I wanted to have the energy to play for long times or to run far. I slowly started getting fit. I joined a gym. I ate healthier. Kaya watched me transform from slow, chunky lump to decently fit human. We were in our primes together. Funny thing, when I started to over train and under eat, it was around the time she started slowing down a bit. And, in having to do slower walks with her and lower intensity activity, she helped me even more. Every step of the way, what she needed was what I needed.
Then the day came.
On a bright, sunny morning in November I woke up and fed her the homemade food I made her each week to help with her arthritis. She had some tumors that her body pushed out and shriveled to almost nothing when I swapped her to her special diet. After licking the bowl clean, I took her outside like I always did and helped her slowly down the stairs. She walked out into the yard and did her business. But then she stopped and stared down at the lake extra long, she gave the air a big sniff.
I waited for her to take it all in, I had no where to be like I did almost every sunny Saturday for the past 12 years. I had spent the last 2 months just being present for her. I was so tired in my third trimester, we spent a lot of time cuddling on the couch napping. What she needed was what I needed, as it always had been.
She walked back over to the steps, I gave her a big pet and some kisses and told her what a great dog she was. We went inside and I tucked her into her bed. Corey laid down next to her for a minute and gave her some love and told her that we would be OK, that we loved her, and whenever she was ready… we could handle it.
He and I went to the new baby’s room to go through some things. I imagine she could hear us back there laughing and giggling about some of the toys and family hand-me-downs. Life was beautiful, peaceful, and moving on. With our joyful sounds in the background, she drifted off for her morning nap… and never woke up again.
I will miss that dog for the rest of my life. We spent weeks mourning her loss and reviewing what she taught us so we could be better humans and better parents. Above all else, we noted how even in her death, she seemed to put us first. She waited until we were all home, on a gorgeous day, where we had nothing better to do than to go out in the sunshine and dig her grave. She seemed to know the baby was coming and would take all of our energy, she seemed to realize that I was low on energy to help her.
“It is the light in the lantern which shows you the path, not the lantern”
Two months later I was closing out work tasks to take off on maternity leave and rushing to finish the baby’s room. I was too tired that day to go outside and work on the new shipping container pull-through. After doing some drilling, I felt really tired so I sat down at the dining table. I was exhausted and a little crampy. I didn’t think anything of it and resolved that I needed to push through and finish this project! I stood up to go cut the next piece of wood and… boom. My water broke. The next morning under the January new moon I welcomed my son, Blaise Friedrich Zilg-Curtis into the world in a lovely home-birth.
I honored my body and the healing process by staying home and laying low for the first forty days… minus one 45’ shipping container delivery. For which Corey needed to go out and clear extra land and we needed to grade and fill before the container arrived.
Nothing was slow, nothing was easy, and nothing ever went as planned. There were some places I could have been more present, and others places where I should have pushed back and been more protective of my time. Adjusting to life with a new baby was as difficult as everyone said it would be. But, we also thought being with him was as great as everyone said it would be too! Coming out of our cocoon has been slow. Thus ending my sabbatical… if you could call it that. As I suspected, life looks absolutely NOTHING like it did one year ago. Every. Thing. Is. Different.
But I’m glad I at least tried to dial back from my normal “break-neck” pace to be more present for the moments that really mattered. The in-betweens. Working with a team and being a part of something bigger than myself. Focusing on only one event in a year. Swims and naps with Kaya on sunny days. Honoring her life. Cuddling up with Corey and our new baby as the morning sun broke through our bedroom window. Watching him grow. It was important for me to be available as one chapter of my life closed and another began. It was important to me to feel like I was more present in each moment, to be more intentional with how I spent every single minute of my year.
Life is about change and nothing ever stays the same. Here’s to the next chapter.
I'll see you all on the water soon. I'm excited to get back to it!
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