Crash—When Two Worlds Collide

Today started out like all others.  My alarm went off and I hit snooze once (okay maybe twice), the light of the autumn sun peaked its way through my window, the beagles scarfed down their breakfasts like I hadn’t fed them for three weeks, and I walked mindlessly through my morning routine.  My morning Facebook post revealed a small hug and snuggle time with Hannah.  My lunch was packed, I had everything I needed to get me through the day except my morning caffeine.  Let’s not talk about my really bad habit of stopping at the local gas station for a super duper sized Diet Dr. Pepper—it’s just been too hot for coffee lately. 

Everything was right in the world; just a short 15-minute drive and I would be at the office. Traffic wasn’t horribly crazy as it can be during the morning commute.  The only bottleneck was the intersection from Scripps Poway Parkway to the 15 freeway.  I was caught in the middle of it, stopping briefly as not to get stuck in the intersection when the light turned red.  Being cautious and alert I was ready to move forward and secure my space in line.  I don’t remember what was playing on the radio, just the flashbulb second of the loud crash and the stunned feeling that went through my body as I realized I had just been rear-ended.  My Diet Dr. Pepper splashed about, landing in the almost empty cup holder…Mr. Siri, my iPhone happened to be sitting there. 

Startled, dazed and confused about what had just happened I immediately stopped. It took a few seconds, what seemed like light-years, for me to think clearly. I couldn’t just stay in the intersection.  I immediately pulled over to the side of the road.  The man who hit me followed my lead.  He sat in his car for a minute, I quickly texted work and my friend Jen and let them know I had just been in an accident. Jen immediately offered to come rescue me.  I probably should have taken her up on that because I wasn’t really thinking clearly.  Hindsight is 20/20, but I really need to have an accident checklist in my car.  I always do all of the wrong things. I took pictures of the registration information the man handed to me and his drivers license, but I failed to realize his registration was expired, he didn’t give me any insurance information, I forgot to get his phone number, and I didn’t look at the damage on his car.  Lumen (the name I gave my only 6 month old Honda Accord) was bruised a bit, but not as bad as I had first imagined and Mr. Siri was all jacked up from the unexpected swim in Diet Dr. Pepper. 

Information exchanged, the man drove away, and I sat in my car for a few minutes still in shock and dismay. I calmly called the office and let them know I would be late. I needed to go back home for a minute. For what reason, you may ask? I couldn’t find my insurance information (it turns out it was exactly where it was supposed to be in my little folder with my registration).  I also needed to feel the safety of something familiar. 

Driving the short distance to my house the feelings from stress hit me hard. I just started crying.  It’s moments like this one when it briefly hits me that I am single and would have to deal with fixing my world alone.  Of course, that was silly thinking.  Jen would have been there in a heartbeat, well wishes from Nebraska, Missouri and New York poured in. Madlyn and Robin were immediately checking in on me after I posted the picture of the not quite so luminous Lumen on my Facebook page.  They were concerned about the headache I was complaining about. They urged me to see a doctor.  Then my boss’s assistant called me and told me to stay home. I immediately argued I couldn't possibly stay home.  I was getting ready to come in, I had a meeting with my boss that morning and the Chancellor’s Forum to attend later that afternoon. She insisted I stay home and take care of myself and all of the issues that accompany a small accident. 

After much persuading and coaxing I agreed to stay home.  I immediately went inside my house hugged the beagles and called my insurance company; the woman who helped me was very kind and understanding, she walked me through all of the steps.  After I finished talking with her I made an appointment with the body shop, Lumen was in desperate need of a makeover. 

I was in luck, they had an open appointment in 20 minutes.  I quickly changed out of my business suit and heels into a pair of workout shorts, a tank and the most comfy pair of flip flops I own.  I grabbed my phone, my iPod shuffle and headed to the repair shop.  My plan was to drop off Lumen and then walk the few short miles home.  It would give me the time I needed to decompress and process all of the thoughts that were racing through my mind. 

Together!

I have to admit although I was (am) very sad my 6 month old car with less than 10,000 miles is already damaged, I am not bitter. I am grateful the destruction was not worse and no one was seriously injured, I have insurance to help me take care of it and I have a backup car (the Highlander will be happy to be driven for awhile).  Although I appreciate my material possessions, I try not to put too much value on them.  It is only a car and it can be fixed. So much worse has happened in the world, in my world.  Dropping off Lu was nothing compared to the moment I had to decide to put Gillian (pronounced Jillian), my beloved beagle of 12 years, to sleep.  It was nothing compared to the loss of my dear cousin Michael or my most cherished friends Peter and Julie. 

I spent the 3.8 mile walk home thinking about my blessings and all of the positive things in my life. I took pause and enjoyed the world around me.  I took pictures of all of the beautiful sights in nature that

Unexpected beauty in the world

crossed my path.  Wondered curiously about the story behind the various discarded trinkets (pieces of trash) I noticed along the way: Pepsi cans, a spring, candy wrappers, an Avery label, an empty box of Lubricant Trojan condoms, a red piece of paper, and so many other random things. I wish I would have taken an empty trash bag and a pair of gloves with me so I could have picked them up and put them in the trash where they belonged.  Oh and my poor feet wished I would have opted to wear a nice pair of running shoes instead of flip flops.

Lesson learned…life doesn’t always go the way you plan.  Although it sucks when two worlds collide and it is an inconvenience and unexpected expense, it isn’t the end of the world. 

Crossing the Rubicon—My Journey to the Other Side of the Mountain

Today I invite you to walk along beside me as I reminisce about my journey to the other side of the mountain.  Join me on my expedition to a world free of ED (eating disorders). Free of his insatiable demands, his criticizing voice, and relentless requests for perfection. 

Recall I am not going to go into a lot of the specific details about my long battle with ED.  It’s not because of shame or a need for privacy. It’s out of respect and sensitivity for anyone who may come across this blog who is struggling with ED or close to crossing over that line. I know I personally learned my best practices and tips from reading similar stories. Truth be told, there is nothing glamorous about ED. 

While there are certain aspects of my path that will need to be explained to completely understand them, I will try to be as descriptive yet vague as possible.  The intention of this blog is to provide a safe environment for those who read it to heal, process their own issues, just realize they are not alone in their journey, and discover the beautiful world we live in.  Are you ready?  Here we go….

At the risk of sounding cliché there comes a time in a person’s life when they reach a fork in the road, a crossroad where a choice would inevitably have to be made whether they would turn left or right. This is the position I was in when I sought help to conquer ED. I could have taken a turn to the right, which would have led me down the long dreadful road I had been traveling with ED or I could turn left and take the trail completely foreign to me, something entirely different. 

There were so many aspects to be considered.  I had lived with ED for so long, I could have easily continued on the similar path of destruction and challenged how long I could fight and survive the internal battles of his demands.  At least it was a familiar world, ED was all I had identified with for so many years. I knew exactly what to expect.  The other, unknown path was so mysterious and I wasn’t exactly sure where it was going to take me.  I could only tell it was at the bottom of the tallest mountain I’d ever seen.  Looking up, the top seemed so high and unreachable.  The trail looked desolate and scary. It was filled with rugged terrain that would have to be battled before I could make it to my destination.

Knowing it would be the biggest challenge of my life I decided to risk it all and take my first step to the left and up the pathway to the other side of the mountain.  It was the point of no return and at that time I didn’t know if I had the strength to battle all of the obstacles that would block my journey. I can’t help but wonder now if that was how Julius Caesar felt when he first led his army across the Rubicon River. I knew after I took that first step it didn’t matter how scared I was I could not turn back. Although I was terrified, I felt like I had to do it because I could not risk losing an opportunity to discover life without ED’s anchor. Especially if that life was going to be as beautiful as everyone had promised it would be. After all, even if I only made it half way up to the top I would be farther ahead than when I started. 

My journey up the mountain proved to be every bit as challenging as I had imagined it would be.  It took every ounce of strength and courage in my body.  The bright side that I didn’t realize when I started my journey is I wouldn’t be traveling it alone.  I was pleasantly surprised to find there were many friends, old and new, to help me along the way. 

Making peace with food was the first challenge I was faced with.  As a child of the 80s I was all too familiar with all of the fad diets.  Back then it was what we were taught. If we weren’t happy with our physiques there was always new diet to try.  (I guess this really hasn’t changed much in our society, only now I choose not to partake in them).  Following my mother’s lead and her mother before her, I never learned to substitute unhealthy options for healthier ones, rather just to reduce my intake or simply not eat.

The infamous words of Wallis Simpson were ingrained into my head “you can never be too rich or too thin.” Food was considered the enemy.  For so many years it was my crutch, my emotional release and my instrument for control.  Countless hours obsessing and categorizing it and labeling it as good or bad, sanctioned or forbidden.  

In order to make it to my destination I had to let go of those ideals.  During my journey I eliminated any form of dieting and unlearned my food related perceptions.  I admit there are times when I still cut back on certain things, particularly sugar because I have such a sweet tooth, but I know my boundaries and I know I can’t take anything to the extreme. Although I can appreciate a paleo pancake or gluten free scone, I don’t subscribe 100%.  I don’t juice, cleanse or fast.  I know as a good Catholic girl I am supposed to fast on certain Holy Days, but as a survivor of ED, for the sake of health I just can’t do it.  I continue to do whatever it takes to maintain my peace with food, eat to live, but also enjoy it for the celebration it can be in our society.    

My truce with food meant I would inevitably start gaining weight.  That was the next major challenge I faced.   I have to admit it was a very hard concept for me to grasp and embrace.  I had hated my body for as long as I could remember.  Thinking back to myself as a little girl, I could not recall a time when I was complacent with my figure. I remembered stories about how I only weighed 5 pounds 6 ounces when I was born, but I quickly made up for it. I remember being told how I was a little chunky 3-year old.  To make matters worse, it didn’t help that I grew very quickly.  I was taller than my sister three years my senior by the time I was in first grade.  I always felt awkward and couldn’t help but compare myself to her and all of the other petite girls in my class. 

I still vividly recall the first time I was weighed and understood what that meant.  I was in 5^th grade and we were all called down to the nurse’s office.  We were asked to step on the scale, a number was written down and comparisons were made.  I was horrified. That moment marked my association with the value of the number on the scale.   

When I was entrenched with ED I was obsessed with that number.  Weighing myself more than 20 times a day because I could never lose handle of it.  Ironically, that number could never be low enough.  During all of my years with ED even when I was at my thinnest weight, I wasn’t happy with the image that was looking back at me in the mirror. Of course, ED never would have let me be satisfied with that reflection. 

As I was climbing the mountain I quickly realized I was not able to carry all of the things that tied me to ED.  One of the first things I had to leave on the path along my journey was my scale and the number it represented. I haven’t stepped a foot on a scale since that moment. Letting go of that number helped me accept my body and allowed it to evolve into its current healthy state.   I still refer to the first few pounds I gained as “five pounds to freedom.”  Once I was able to embrace them I was able to slowly free myself from ED’s claws.

Of course, gaining weight meant my body was changing, which meant my wardrobe would no longer fit.  Those who know me well would probably describe me as somewhat of a fashionista.  I love collecting beautiful pieces of clothing, mixing and matching everything into my own “Shelly” style. I definitely have the “gathering” part down of the female.  We’re talking about years of collecting suits, designer jeans, sweaters, pants, skirts, dresses, shorts, etc.  None of which would no longer fit.  Although I was very sad at first, I knew I would have to leave them all on the mountain. I didn’t care if it meant running from ED naked and afraid, they had to go.  Keeping them would have been a constant reminder of my life with him, a torturing souvenir of what no longer could be or should be. Letting them go was liberating another step farther away from ED. I even wrote a blog about it “The Grand Purge” which I will try to find and post here.   

I still remember the day I gathered all of the items together.   We’re talking Casual Corner, Ann Klein, Ann Taylor, Tahari, Banana Republic, and The Limited suits, dresses, and pants; Seven for Mankind, Citizens for Humanities, and Rock and Republic jeans; beautiful sweaters and cute shirts from Anthropologie, Express, Free People, Hale Bob, Johnny Was and many of the brands listed above; and a bra collection that would have made Victoria’s Secrets himself envious. My treasures were all packed nicely and neatly into bags and delivered to Goodwill. I know I could have taken them to consignment shops or sold them on eBay, but I needed a quick getaway from them.  Donating them gave me a fast clean break and a peace of mind that someone else who should fit into them would find the same joy I did. It was like planting flowers along the way up the mountain to share. 

Even though my load was lighter without all of the baggage from ED that I was littering along the way up the mountain, I wasn’t completely free.  There was still the greatest challenge of all that would have to be conquered.  Peer pressure! As if the images of unrealistic models in the media and advertisements for the newest dieting craze haunting me everyday weren’t challenging enough, I had a few friends who made recovery extremely difficult. Ironically, battling the media was a little easier.  I promptly recycled all of my magazines and cancelled my subscriptions—Cosmopolitan, Glamour, Self, Allure, Women’s Fitness, Shape, and Marie Claire.  Inevitably I always felt ugly after I read them. 

Although most of my friends and family were very supportive of my recovery, there were a few friends I had to limit contact with. Especially in the beginning when I was being released from ED because whether their comments were intentional or reflections of their own personal issues they were damaging for me. One friend in particular despite my constant pleas to avoid certain topics…weight and diet, just couldn’t let it go.  I still hear her rants echoing in my mind about how much she weighed, or she couldn’t possibly be a certain very small size, or she was so thin her bracelet and certain clothes no longer fit.  Oh and then every time we went shopping together she would always want to know what size I was buying.  It’s kind of funny thinking about it now, because even at my lowest weight I never bragged to the world because ED had it ingrained in my mind to be ashamed regardless of the number on the scale.  Nonetheless, when I was still on that slippery slope of sliding back down the mountain, I had to take pause and take refuge from that friendship.  It got easier as time went on and I realized it was her issue, not mine.  Now I just shut her down when she starts making those kinds of comments, I focus on my health and strength or I quickly tell her she should see my therapist.    

I am happy to report although it was not an easy journey, I crossed the Rubicon and safely made it to the other side of the mountain.  Although I made it seem so linear and easy in this blog it was a real struggle, there were a few times during my recovery process when I actually took short quick visits to see ED.  Today, 6½ almost 7 years after I took that first step, I am happy and free.  I look forward to writing about the wonderful life I have found, lived and enjoyed without him.  

The Sunflower Painting

If you read my blog "The Sunflower" you will appreciate this painting. I was searching for a piece of art for my living room and nothing really seemed to fit.   It was serendipitous  I met Mark Jesinoski, one of the most gifted artists I know, at a Junior League fundraiser.  I admired his style so I immediately struck up a conversation with him about his work. I specifically recall asking him if he had any predominately purple paintings.  One thing led to another and the next thing I knew he was at my house checking out the space I where I wanted to feature the painting.

Long story short, I commissioned Mark to develop this piece. My only requirements the painting needed to have a sunflower with a ladybug on it and it needed to match the "purple surf" wall in my living room.  Mark read my blog for inspiration and this is what he created, the picture doesn't do it justice. It turned out to be more beautiful than I ever imagined.


References

Blog:  The Sunflower 

Artist: Mark Jesinoski

I've Got a Crush on YOU!

I may have already said this, but one of the things I love the most about blogging is it’s a place where I can just be me.  I can freely share the daily life of a quirky single professional gal from San Diego.  A girl like most single women I know who is just simply trying to make a difference and find her place in the world.  

I know there’s a sense of risk personally and professionally for me putting my life out there in the open cyberworld.  We’ve all read the articles warning people about posting too much personal information on their blogs or their Facebook.  In fact, that’s one of the reason’s I withheld from writing and posting my story for so long.  I am happy I finally let go of worry and mustered up the courage to write.  Fear is debilitating, if given enough power it hinders our ability to progress and move forward.  Dorothy Thompson explained it best when she wrote “Only when we are no longer afraid do we begin to live.”

With that said, I have decided since I am choosing to live.  Since I’ve been putting everything else out there—I have been so candid with my feelings, life, and struggles of my past, I may as well shout it out and tell the world this little secret too…. 

I have a crush! (Smiles and a giggling schoolgirl laugh).  OMG, I can’t believe I actually wrote that.  (Blushing just a little, another smirk and grin). 

Some of you are going to have to dig way back into your memory, others who may be a little younger, just try to imagine what I am describing in my journey into an 80s flashback. Girls (okay guys too), do you remember sitting in your room listening your Donny Osmond album “Puppy Love” over and over again?  Or The Jets singing out “How did you know 'cause I never told.  You found out, I've got a crush on you. No more charades, my hearts been displayed.  You found out, I've got a crush on you?” 

I know I’m 41, but I am kind of feeling like that young simple trusting, naïve teenager. I haven’t had a crush like this one in years.  Can a 41 year-old woman have a schoolgirl crush? What do you do with that?  It’s not like I can write his name all over my work notepad. Then again posting it online for the whole universe to read is probably a little more extreme than squiggly notes and hearts on my trapper keeper or peechee folder. 

It’s really difficult to completely explain and articulate what I am feeling, but I will give it my best attempt.  Having a crush is not quite like the ecstatic banter between the Handsome Man from Boulder and me.  That had some potential of going someplace (because the interest was mutual) had he not lived in a different city.   My crush is more like being the little band girl secretly eyeing the captain of the football team when I should have been playing “The Star Spangled Banner” or “Fiesta del Torro.”  I knew he was completely out of my league (okay universe) and I was most certainly not on his radar, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off his glistening eyes and boyish smile. Thinking of my crush also reminds me of the girl who was not only listening to Donny Osmond sing “Soldier of Love” or “The Other Side of the Mountain,” but the girl who felt that heart racing rush looking at his posters or the picture I stood in line for hours at a local bookstore to get. (Oh wait, I think I was 33 at the time.)   He also reminds me of the crushes I had on Tom Hanks when he played as Rick Gassco in “The Bachelor Party,” Charlie Sheen in “The Wraith,” John Cusak in any movie, and of course the Duke Boys. Oh and I can’t forget my instant infatuation and admiration the first time I saw Kevin Wong play beach volleyball (once again in my 30s). Ladies, there was a reason that man was named one of People Magazine’s “Most Beautiful People.” 

Oops, I have digressed. Oh such sweet memories….

The initial attraction to my present day crush was of course his bright smile, beautiful curls and overall demeanor.  From my limited observations I’ve noticed aside from being extremely handsome, my crush is musically gifted, artistic, brilliant, giving, caring, some what of a renaissance man.  A breath of fresh air.  The type of man when you think about him you can’t help but see the sun shine a little brighter in the cool blue sky.  What is especially refreshing is thinking about him makes me happy to be me; it inspires me to want to run out in the world and be a better person. Although a little offkey I automatically start singing Cowboy Mouth lyrics “Scream and shout like you were five. Are you glad to be alive?"  He is certainly the kind of crush that raises the bar of expectations for any man I may ever date.

I have to admit I’d be a little embarrassed if he came across this blog. I am sure he would know immediately I was talking about him, actually I don’t think he would even have to read this blog to know I have a little adoration for him.  I don’t think it would be totally awkward. I think after he stopped blushing, he would be flattered. He is the type of man who would find peace knowing he had that kind of impact.  I think he would be touched just knowing I secretly pray for him each night. Not in the sense that I am asking God or the universe to put a magical spell on him. It’s less selfish, more of positive vibe asking God to watch out for him, keep him safe, and provide him with the love and happiness he deserves.

For me, I find bliss being an acquaintance and perhaps some day a friend. I am also enjoying the natural intoxication that comes from within from a schoolgirl crush.The only difference now is hours listening to "Puppy Love" on vinyl has been replaced with listening to the MP3s I found online of the relaxing and beautiful sounds of skill and grace pouring from the fingertips of my crush to the piano keys.  

References (oh wow, the nerd in me is really coming out)

The Jets Crush on You

Donny Osmond Puppy Love

Donny Osmond Soldier of Love

Donny Osmond The Other Side of the Mountain

Cowboy Mouth Glad to Be Alive

The Race

Labor Day weekend for most Americans marks a time of family, BBQ, back-to-school shopping or long relaxing days enjoying the beach.  For my friend Jen and I it’s our Disneyland Half Marathon weekend tradition.  Yes, 13.1 miles of Disney magical fun.  This year commemorating Jen’s 8^th and my 7^th year of running, walking or crawling the race you would think we had it down to a fine science.   The only unwavering stable traditions…we would be staying at the peaceful oasis, known as the exquisite Anabella Hotel, the drive up would consist of melancholy regrets and wondering why we paid the $180 entrance fee to spend the weekend doing the race instead of sleeping in and enjoying our luxurious room, and our big incentive for finishing 13.1 miles would be every scrumptious sweet delicious bite of apple cobbler at the Lazy Dog Café.

Saturday morning started off with Jen and I texting each other about our estimated time of departure and all of the things we needed to do before we left.  Of course, neither of us had started packing so a slightly delayed meeting time to leave turned out to be a blessing. The originally forecasted cool down turned into an extended weekend of heat topped off with humidity.  How fortunate for us….an opportunity to enjoy a rare Southern California comfort. Deciding we really needed to hydrate I purchased the largest drinks available at the local AM/PM.  Filling our cups to the top with crushed ice, a citrus Vitamin Water for Jen and a fruit punch Gatorade for me, one last ID check (we still laugh about the year we were all of the way to Orange County before we discovered Jen forgot her ID), we were ready for the long drive to Anaheim to pick up our race bibs, timer chips, ugly T-shirts, and other goodies in our swag bags. 

The drive consisted of the usual girl chatter.  Our fun filled week at work; me telling Jen about the Eve Selis concert I attended the night before and the New Zealanders my friend Lori and I saw drinking PBRs at a trendy bar in La Jolla; Jen telling me about a visit from her neighbor earlier that morning and the bachelorette party she attended the previous weekend; and both of us remembering things we had forgotten at home.  All was well until our super sized hydration hit us simultaneously.   Knowing our destination was close we chose to forge on, a bio-break could certainly wait until we reached the expo.  Lesson learned, either hydrate hours before a long drive or suck it up and stop along the way. We definitely were not anticipating the maze of traffic to get to the Downtown Disney entrance where we needed to be. 

Once we found parking, took care of Mother Nature, we were on our way to the expo to retrieve our race gear.  Jen’s attempt to be incognito was foiled when the guy who was handing out her bib made a big production and yelled very loudly “we have another legacy runner.”  This was the catalyst for everyone to turn her way and clap and cheer loudly—so much for trying to blend in.  Normally we enjoy pursuing through all of the booths at the expo, our opportunity to taste test miracle recovery drinks and protein bars, shop for cute shirts, or buy new socks. This time we just weren’t feeling it. One look at the booths we automatically looked at each other laughed and walked out. 

The rest of the day consisted of checking into our hotel, finding a place for dinner (we ended up at Doug’s Grill, thank goodness for Yelp), getting everything ready and winding down to rest up before our alarms went off at 4:00 am. 

Jen couldn’t find her iPod shuffle before she left her house.  I offered her my extra one, but she knows me too well, she decided her short playlist on her iPhone would get her through the race.  I can’t imagine why she didn’t want to listen to my mix of a little Johnny Cash, Sara Evans, Beastie Boys “Brass Monkey,” Dee Dee Ramone “I Want to be Sedated,” a Michele McLaughlin, Scott D. Davis, Lord of the Dance, Litany of the Saints,  MGMT “Electric Feel,” Mindy McCready, Miranda Lambert, and so many others in my eclectic collection.  

I have to say there’s nothing like the early morning wake-up call to make a girl have serious remorse.  Too late, we were committed to the race…Jen’s legacy status was on the line.  

We made it to the start line—17,000 runners ready to go.  From the oldest runner who was 89 to the youngest, each and every one of us had our own story, own journey that got us there and would carry us to the finish line.  There was my friend Dave who was hoping to maintain his speed, my friend Angela hoping to finish and ultimately setting her own PR, the first time ½ marathoners, the pregnant ladies, the injured, the couples, and friends.  

Jen and I had a plan of our own. She was worried about finishing because she wasn’t feeling quite as prepared as she had been in the past. I was determined to stick by her side every step of the way to encourage her to do it.  We didn’t have a PR set in mind, we were expecting a PW (personal worst), but if we stayed ahead of the infamous balloon lady we were successful in achieving our goal. [ We were forewarned if the lady wearing balloons passed us we would have to ride the bus of shame back to the finish line] 

I am happy to say 9 blisters later for Jen and a little sun poisoning for me with the help of many volunteers along the way, the crowd cheering us on, camaraderie of fellow runners we finished the race...13.1 miles of grueling heat, humidity and Disney magical fun!  We were greeted at the finish line with our medals (a special legacy ribbon for Jen), a chilled towel to cool us down, cold Powerade, bananas, and other goodies to help us replenish our strength. We were blessed to witness an engagement, a very pregnant woman cross the finish line, the tears of a runner who was being hugged by her coach (both were so elated for her finish), and so many other joyous celebrations of accomplishment and pride. All of which will be in our hearts when we sign up for the next race.