how do you get your ass kicked?

((this picture has nothing to do with this blog post.))

I grew up with challenging parents. I don't mean that they were excessively hard to please, or abusive, or malicious, those are things my therapist and I can talk about. But they are both, in their own ways, exceptionally challenging folks. They were/are both teachers, and, maybe not connected, perpetually dissatisfied with themselves.
My dad is an athlete, and as such is constantly pushing his limits. He's a great person to discuss fitness goals with because he genuinely believes you can get there. He also is constantly focussed on the next goal, sometimes even before the first goal is met, which can be a little overwhelming. When I started running I wasn't just gonna lose some weight, no, I was going to run marathons (notice the plural. Running is a lifestyle, not an ends to a means). I think he also, not so secretly, hopes I'll run ultras. Right now I'm learning how to swim, and it's not going to be for the pleasure of learning to swim, but so I can do tri-athalons, and eventually Ironmans. I've grown up listening to him harass his cycling buddies, remembering their accomplishments, trash-talking them into trying new sports. When he and his dad hike together the conversations is constantly about who has lost weight, who has gained weight, who is doing well in the group rides, who has fallen off the wagon, etc. This isn't competitive- they genuinely want to be able to congratulate people when they succeed.
Recently my dad was seriously injured. We are talking near death sorts of injuries, which he has recovered from remarkably well (GO DAD!). We just ran a 10k "together" (in costume, another story), and started at the back so he could pass as many people as possible. His rationale for not running at a safe pace on ice and snow with his daughter (who CAN"T get an injury because I don't have health insurance) who had driven 7 hours to run WITH him? The more people he passed the more people would know they could recover from such an injury. He is such a celebrity in our little town I'm sure he was cheering someone on every quickened, slightly stiff step of the way. And if he didn't recognize them from the back, then they were cheering him on as he passed.
And this is how my dad does it. He kicks ass. He has expectations of EVERYONE, not just his daughter. But, though he'll encourage you every step of the way, he is still going to beat you, and beat you good. He'll show you just how it's done- he'll school you. And people LOVE it. He had so many visitors when he was on oxy- and every one he encouraged. He got cards from his riding buddies that said things like "you'll be back hammering us in no time." And he will.
With out my dad I don't know if I would care about fitness. It is a way for me to relate to him, for me to be one of the people he encourages. I run, or try to run, becauseIi want to meet those goals he has for me. And fitness is perfect, because I can reach those goals. It may be hard, and it definitely feels self-indulgent and expensive, but my Dad doesn't care if I get married, or make buckets of money, or if I'm intellectually meeting my full potential. He gauges all of that by whether or not I run. So, I'm doing OK if I can go running. I'm not doing OK if I'm making lots of art work and having lots of sex and learning about new things and not running. Happiness is whether or not I can go hiking this summer. Success is can I keep up with him.

My mom, on the other hand, is constantly changing the rules on what would indicate success. I don't know if this is because she doesn't have the same tunnel vision focus on specific goals that my dad does or not, but it certainly has to do with the fact that she is never completely satisfied with herself. Which is GREAT! She's the least complacent person I know, and one of the most stimulating (stimulated) people I can imagine. Her interests are endless, her inner-dialog spontaneous, her appetites cosmopolitan. She was/ is the kind of teacher that smart kids dream about- always engaged, always ready to encourage flights of intellectual fancy. She never, ever, shuts down- her energy is boundless. She wants to talk about, explore, every topic all the time. She is passionate about so many things that it is hard to keep up if you aren't used to her. And so, my mother is challenging just by being my mother. She could stop right there- just chatter on about whatever and she would be stimulating. But, instead, she has the worlds highest standards for people. Which is GREAT because a lot people do their best to meet them, myself included. I often feel that if i didn't have this high, constantly higher, bar to reach for i would notice that it was a long time ago that my feet left the ground, and soon be in free fall. My mother expects me to be constantly reaching, and therefore I constantly am. Even if I begin to know more about a subject than my mother does, she requires constant updating. She will ask questions, ever more perceptive, and be disappointed if you don't have answers. Which is how she kicks my ass. In advance. Just in case she ever asks, I have to be ready.
But also she and I have a kind of mother/daughter relationship that can border on the "un-healthy." She needs me to be her "play-mate," to help her work through the things that a 60 year old woman works through, probably more conventionally, with a husband. And I need her to support me, both financially sometimes, and metaphysically. So we take on roles for each other that are, by their nature, combative. We are aiding one another in confronting demons! The demons of midlife, the demons of self-discovery. She might not always be right, she might not always understand a situation, but my mom always has an opinion on every aspect of my life. And it's her vocalized opinion, not my assumption of what she might be thinking. I know a lot of women who might think that their mother disapproves of their lifestyle- I'm made very aware when my mother disapproves. She says "I told you so," and loves certain of my ex's more than others (a lot more than others), and threatens to kick me out of the house when I apply to be a bikini barista. She jumped down my throat when I applied to be a brewer at Full Sail, a job I think in retrospect she probably would have been happier if I got. Her high expectations for my lifestyle are amorphous and sometimes strange, but she presents the hardest challenge of them all. She wants me not only to be stable, but to be HAPPY. And what happy "is" changes. So it has to be a variable happy, a happy for all seasons. She'll say things like "I knew you weren't happy when..." When I wasn't listening to the news. When I wasn't cooking. When I wasn't making art. When I was picking up men at bars. Notice, "When I wasn't running" doesn't enter into my mother's rubric.
Side note- I'm funny. I make people laugh. I think a lot about humor and how it works, about jokes and story telling. And my parents require completely different subjects, as well as delivery styles, to make them laugh. My mom was in stitches when I was telling her about the Mad Men party 4-some offer- and my mom doesn't like dirty jokes. My dad is much harder to get to laugh. In fact, even though I know I've done it lately, I can't remember how. But the 4-some offer story bombed, completely. Maybe it's because my mom is more into David Sedaris and my dad watches Nascar.
I have active relationships with my parents. And that's not just because I've been living near them for the last 2 years. I've always maintained very close ties to them BECAUSE they challenge me. I try to challenge myself, and I can do alright for awhile, but nothing gets me motivated like talking to my parents. Nothing that is, except a new, fascinating, preferably sexy, (hate to say it) Man. There have been a few female exceptions to this, but they have been few, far between, and with a very few notable exceptions, crazy.
I'm ashamed to admit it, but it's true. Nothing lights a fire under my ass like trying to present myself to an intellectually challenging, self-assured, appreciative, opinionated penis-wearer. That's why I have such a great, long-standing collaborative relationship with Matt Causey, why I miss A like the dickens, why I have a male therapist (though he's very gentle and a bit of a push-over), and why I adored my older male teachers in High School. But as I'm working my way into my 30's men are suddenly getting not only polite (boring) but also sensitive. They aren't used to having their ass' kicked, and therefore are unwilling to kick mine. I find myself tip-toe-ing around saying anything teasing, or overly personal. I try not to be specific. I find myself agreeing a lot. Which is so tedious. And here I am, miss lay-it-all-out-there-lest-they-find-it-at-an-in-opportune-time, ripe for the ass kicking, and I get nothing! The phrase "Grow Some" has worked it's way into my speech. I'm actually longing for testosterone. Not for cruelty, or judgement, as some of my male relatives are prone, but for worthy challenge.
I hung out with my cousin over Christmas, and he's given me hope. It took him all of 10 minutes get me to tell him my deepest darkest secrets, goofing off about art projects, showing off my newly accumulated TED talk knowledge. And, better yet, he showed off, he opened up, he threw down the gauntlet and forced me to sing karaoke. He put himself out there, the way my dad does physically, or my mom does intellectually to be followed, to be chased. And in a not specifically competitive way he let me know he has expectations for me. And that's great!

Now, how do I get more of that in Wheeler? That really looking, really listening, not just smiling challenge?