Feels like the first time

Can a girl get enough Foreigner references in her blog? I think not.

I've swum twice this week, my first dips in the pool since early November. It's a funny thing about swimming-- I find the first trip back for my chlorinated baptism is the best swim I do. I feel light, quick, thin. My stroke is smooth, and instead of focusing on the inefficiencies in my pool, I feel my hips turn, slow and steady, the source of my power. I can see my turns, my streamlines, as the things of imperfect beauty that they are. I can beat 14-year-old girls and 60-year-old boys. More than anything, the pool is my playground in that first swim. This first was even better because it was in 72 degree water. The lifeguard yelled at me when I hopped in, but I couldn't understand anything but "72." It turns out the pool heater was broken, but I didn't mind-- 72, like my first swim backstroke, is perfect.

Of course, the grace only lasts as long as my first swim-- the second swim is laborious and painful as the first run. A modest 2200 left me feeling like I'd gotten booster shots in my delts, and by my next dip I was horrified at my kick, my left elbow position, and my breaststroke pull. By swim #2 I sucked at all things aquatic, but it's okay with me. I don't work to be graceful; I work to be less awkward. Maybe by the time I'm finished, all swims will be as satisfying as the first.

It can get worse

The maintenance guy came out of my bathroom at 11 PM on Saturday and told me my toilet was broken (no crap) and that he couldn't fix it. When I asked what I should do he said, "Well, do you have a big pot or pan?"

I knew right then that this wasn't going to end well. He meant, of course, a big pot to dump water into the bowl to get it to flush from the water pressure; my toilet is old-school, and some valve went bad (and no, I didn't stop it up). To fix it, they were going to have to replace the whole toilet or replace the hard-to-find valve, but both would require shutting the water off in my entire 6-story building. I tried to be cheerful about it, even on Sunday when maintenance guy's boss didn't make the appointment to come look at the toilet.

The toilet didn't break me. It was the roaches. The roaches?! Yes, the roaches. Last week I got a call saying they were going to exterminate in my apartment because of "an infestation." Gross, I thought, with not a little bit of haughtiness. I'd never seen a roach in my place and assumed that it was someone else's filth that caused the problem, and that my extermination was just a preventive.

You know the phrase "pride cometh before a fall"? Well, it stings a little right now. I started actually seeing roaches in my place the day of the extermination, and so I armed the crevices with killer motels and stalked the place with an ever-present can of RAID. But they kept coming. I remained steadfastly sane (well, that's a slight exaggeration) and took comfort in my friends' assurances that roaches come out after extermination "to die." Some at my hand.

Sh!t hit the fan on Sunday. For lunch I made some homemade mac and cheese. For dinner I ate the same, but when I nuked it, it was too hot. I left it on the counter to cool and used the restroom. Of course, it took me five bleeping minutes to fully flush the toilet (and about 15 gallons of water-- not that I counted), and when I returned to get my dinner I found two roaches. They appeared to be considering whether they should or should not jump into my bowl of cheesy goodness. I was considering if I should off them or myself. I chose them. Then I scoured the kitchen, looking for more of the bastards to drown in RAID. Then I cleaned like a frenzied housewife. There were tears, and very real sorrow for having to throw out my precious mac and cheese. I'd snapped.

Normally at this point I'd dig through my lease, read up on some landlord-tenant law in Missouri, and cruise the board of health's website for something to get the jerks running this show (my school by the way). Armed with info, I'd send a letter politely acknowledging that I wasn't some idiot consumer and then saying something about expecting things to right themselves, but without sounding prickish. But there was no time-- Monday I had an exam in my weakest subject, from my hardest professor and the one I was most eager to please (for the moment at least-- I find I'm most eager to please the professor whose exam I have next). I shot off a justifiably angry-but-not-crazy email to maintenance and went back to cramming and looking around the room for pests in paranoid fashion.

Today I got a call from the recipient of my nastygram (I really did try to be nice in it) saying they were going to re-exterminate my place-- the day of my last exam, a take-home which I was planning on actually taking home-- and they were going to fix my toilet this morning. When I left for my Monday exam they were still at work on the john, but I felt comforted. As I should, right? And the roach problem was from some icky dude, but I was assured the problem was being handled. No need to go Rambo-vigilante on my neighbors to find the SOB who's compromising my home, humble as it may be. Things were getting done.

Okay, pseudo-crises resolved and onto what I came here to do: kick tail on exams (or, alternatively, how to sort of learn how to be a lawyer, but not all the way because law schools think that's too simplistic). Monday's exam was a 3 hour trial with 4 questions. #3 was supposed to be substituted by a new #3 in the packet. I took the exam, but there was a particular law by which I was completely baffled, so afterward I broke etiquette and asked the guy in front of me about it (who seems really good at law school). What? he asked. He had no clue what I was talking about, and he looked like he was going to cry. Frick! He asked someone else about it, and that guy shrugged. Double frick! Did I answer the wrong question? I headed to the registrar's office to see if I could just find out what I did. I decided that if I messed up I certainly deserved it for not reading my exam properly; I am, after all, a grown person capable of reading and writing exams, and should account for my mistakes. The registrar was much more sympathetic than I expected-- apparently my professor made the change at the last moment, and some students answered the wrong question and others didn't do the 4th question because he'd mentioned in class that there were going to be 3 total. This is a nice mess. Should the question be thrown out? Which one? What about the people who wrote the exam properly-- should they be penalized by taking out anything? I started to cry (again). A fraction of my life depended on that score. Summer jobs are hard to find for 1Ls, and I needed to score grades to make it out of the proverbial Pile-- looks aren't going to do it.

It turns out I did answer everything as I should have, at least from a procedural standpoint. But by the end that was little comfort! I've been crazed from the subject, crazed from a bleeping roach infestation, and crazed from a superbleeping toilet that won't bleeping flush. Grades for a semester based on single exams? Hey, bring it on. "Problems at home" on top of everything else? It was too much for this mouse (ugh, hopefully don't have those too).

Now I'm spent. I have one more exam in my best subject, and I secretly wish it were tomorrow. Hopefully my roof doesn't cave in or my cat get a rare form of rabies and attack me in the middle of the night... but if I were a betting man, I wouldn't put my money on me this week.

I'll be back next week after exams, driving home, and a daunting amount of job search stuff. I'll have other stuff to talk about besides school... like not being in school. For three weeks. I'm drooling in anticipation already!

Don't believe me if I say I'm 27

No cyclocross last week... I couldn't unbury myself from schoolwork, which is slightly more important than learning to remain vertical on my bike. Sam assured me that I wouldn't have been the slowest chick there though, so it's definitely something to consider. Of course, not this weekend. Craig's in town!

Perhaps of more interest is that I'm doing my second annual candy-free November. You may remember that last year Craig said that I was addicted to candy, so I took a month off to prove him otherwise. Here it is, 9 days in and I'm just posting about it-- it should give you an idea of how much easier it is to do the second time around. And unlike last year, I'm not substituting candy with 2-4 Toll House kiosk cookies this year (could that be how I got fat last year?). Instead, I'm eating fruit bars and granola bars, with the occasional super-delicious sweet... such as birthday cake.

Perhaps of more interest than that is it's my birthday today. Thanks to USAT I've been telling people all year that I was 26, my USAT age (don't worry, I'm not still bitter... much). My gut reaction is to say I turn 27 today. This may be cute now, but it won't be in three years. I've been robbed of my perkiest-sounding age of 25! You might as well just start calling me a hag now.

I am totally stealing a birthday idea from TriBoomer and am taking up the ol' b-day tri: 1 mile swim, 22 mile bike, 3.2 mile run (the .2 is for the 2 days I have to wait to do it. I'm sure I'll still be filled with birthday spirit on Sunday). I know the distances are a little, um, off, but dammit I can swim a mile in my own tri if I want to. Is it a sad reflection on my life when I can't plop down for a couple hours to work out? Yes. But life is what it is, and quite frankly, this may be my happiest birthday yet. That pool isn't going anywhere.

But I am. Enjoy the day-- I will. :)

4 posts 4 U

Ugh. My title annoys me. One of the most striking old-lady attributes I perceive that I have is an absolute disgust with electronic shorthand. I text most words fully typed (b/c being an exception), and I IM with full words as well; admittedly, I'm not very good with capitalization and punctuation, but it's not as important to me so I clearly let it slide. The only person who shortens things that I can stand is my brother, and that's because I love him anyway. Everyone else? *shudder*

But I digress. I am waiting for the day when I can write without interrupting myself. :) Here are four posts for you detailing what a sad sack I am. It's better if you read them in order (Thursday first, Sunday last). If you're annoyed I posted 4 times in one night and not at all in 2-3 weeks, tough nuggets-- you can just read one a day or skip them all. I really am trying. I'm also trying to keep up with some blog reading, but I usually read at school (at lunch, not in class) and am having a nasty problem with my internet connectivity. I read, I comment, I press "Publish your comment" and get the finger from the internet gatekeeper. Just know I'm reading, even if it's silently.

I would also like to point out that Wendy called me out on my bragging about Geronimo and his fetch-playing. I have to be honest: he only plays fetch with his mouseys, a set of 5 little fur mice with leather tails. He will play fetch with all 5 colors though (actually, the first package of mouseys are dead and had to be thrown out, but the same is true for their replacements). I just didn't want to mislead anyone about the awesomeness of my cat. Speaking of the G-man, did you know that cats have-- and lose-- baby teeth? That freaked me out, because I discovered this when mine had 3 canine teeth one day and only 2 the next. I found the lost tooth when I was sweeping the next day. Gross huh?

Lazy = Humiliating: The end of (Sun)days

Sunday morning found my butt kicked--by Saturday’s ride. My legs weren’t sore at all, but my butt was. I couldn’t sit on my bed/broken couch, let alone my horrific mountain bike seat. I bailed, self-conscious about the lameness of my excuse. A visual inspection confirmed that I indeed bruised my butt again. But what do I do? Dare I get a new seat? I’m afraid of investing any money into my mountain bike. And after I did a little cyclocross research, I got super intimidated. I’m an out-of-shape noncyclist with a 30 lb mountain bike. The guys in the cyclocross tutorial pics are on sleek bikes with no suspension and pretty cycling jerseys and with what I can only assume is a healthy interest in riding without constantly braking. What was I getting myself into?

Perhaps the more accurate question is what AM I getting myself into--because I promised to race next weekend, and so help me if I wuss out again. Here’s what I’m thinking: I have a week to ride (every other day at least) the course in Forest Park and gain some confidence and pick up a teeny bit of CV fitness I lost. Cyclists generally poo-poo the triathlete mentality of buying new stuff all the time, so my mountain bike (which is a respectable if inexpensive Specialized) shouldn’t draw too much criticism. If there’s a ton of people there then there’s a chance someone else will be slow like me; if there aren’t who gives a shit if 40 people see me get destroyed? My only concern is getting in the way of other riders. Oh, and genuinely sucking at something besides basketball (helpful hint: pick me last in any ball sport. I’m wretched). But how am I going to get better if I’m downright afraid of biking? There’s a reason I tossed my tri bike on the trainer instead of pulling on a pair of tights to hit the roads, and it’s not just laziness or a disdain for spandex-clad butt jiggle. There’s no better place to get some handling skills down than on the more forgiving terrain of dirt and grass, and once I get some cycling confidence I really think I’ll be in a different world than the one I’m in now. And I think it’s time I had a public dose of humility--since school isn’t keeping my ego in check (that was 100% sarcastic).

I’m convinced. Are you? If not, don’t tell me. I’ll give you the story next week... who knows, maybe I’ll be looking for a cyclocross bike in a few months. Or maybe my I’ll buy a unicorn or a pair of designer sunglasses. Same thing really. *gulp*

Lazy = Humiliating: The Friday-Saturday version

Last weekend Greyhound called me with a swimming drill question. As I listened to the message, it occurred to me that I hadn’t swum in almost a month, so Friday I hit the AC pool for “at least a 2000.” The good news is I made it a happy 2400 m (2640 yards!!). The bad news is I was sore before I got out of the shower; the 8x75 IM order 50/25 set (my very favorite--50 fly-25 back, 50 back-25 breast, etc) nearly killed me. What was breathtaking butterfly (I’m sure!) my first 25 was undoubtedly mistaken as a blue-red gasping whale floundering down the lane on my last 25. But did I stop? How could I? Gasping whale or not, I was finishing my favorite set-- the lifeguard was watching after all.

Saturday my back and arms were ridiculously sore, but I was determined to work it out. I decided to go for a quick 30 minute run, and instead of going the flat way around Forest Park I went the other direction, which has a .75 mile-ish-long incline. Given that I live a quarter mile from the park and I was turning around at 15 minutes, this was going to be the meat of my out leg of the run. It wasn't exactly fun, but I made it without walking and held a not-horrifying-not-awesome 10:00 pace. At 15 minutes I turned around, and soon after I passed a walker who was heading uphill. He looked utterly ridiculous--a silly hat, huge purple jacket and the stride that refused to be constrained to the right half of the path. He was smiling, so I said hello. His response? “Keep it up! You’ll make it!”

Excuse me? Am I the one walking here? Aren’t I going downhill? I know that I never look like a runner, no matter if I’m running 7:30 miles or 12:00 miles. I’m okay with that. Sure, I’m leading the pack on the “most noticeable bowling-pin shaped body” award [thanks to that mirror by the pool entrance--and the jerk who put it there-- which made me very aware of that fun fact on Friday]. And yes, my heartrate was an obscene 165 bpm. [ another fun aside--on the first half of the trip I considered what kind of headlines I could make if I keeled over: “25-year-old Ironman has heart attack on 3 mile jaunt.” See? I’m great to have around at festive events] But still--I couldn’t have looked that bad; the cat didn’t say anything to me when I got home, and he would have mentioned it if I'd looked like I was going to puke.

No? Okay, not another cat joke ever. Happy?

After I ran I volunteered raking leaves for three hours. Let me tell you, that was great for that sore back/arms thing I had going on. Then I showered. Ha! Yeah right. I really pulled out my mountain bike to go for a ride with Sam. Remember him? He’s the one I crashed with going 1 mph last month-- I actually still have a mark on my thigh from our little joyride. He hadn’t called me since then (can you blame him?), but he wanted to recruit me for a cyclocross race on Sunday. Determined to look less like an idiot on a bike, I took him up on a Saturday practice run on a cyclocross course in Forest Park so I could decide about Sunday’s race.

Within 1 minute of riding away from my door I fell over—my bike went left, and I went right. Thankfully I was wearing a longsleeve t-shirt, so nothing was hurt but my shriveled-up pride. Seriously, who falls on their own street? On a mountain bike? In my defense, though, I just put my old spd's on my mountain bike and it's the first time I've been on them. Interestingly enough, that was the only time I fell the entire 2ish hours we rode. Sam showed me how to get off my bike while running, then hop back on. (I guess in cyclocross you’re off road and you ride a loop that has obstacles in it--you have to hop off your bike and carry it over the obstacles.) At some point I tried to hop off my bike and my right foot refused to come out of the clip. It turned out I’d lost a screw on the bottom of my cycling shoe, and it was hell getting my foot out since a mere twist wasn’t doing the job. After that I rode with only one foot clipped in... I don’t recommend it, especially if you want any hope of keeping your weight on your feet and not 100% on your hiney. But even riding all funky half clipped in, I went from ultra-awful to just plain bad at riding the course. Yess! After riding to the LBS to fix my shoe (for free--which was good because I didn’t have any money to pay them), I was pretty psyched to race on Sunday. I went home to shower and run some errands, already sore from the day’s work but uncharacteristically comfortable with trying something new the next day, even with the promise of an almost-certain butt whooping.

Lazy = Humiliating: The Thursday version

It’s been awhile. I could have written before now, but the truth is I’ve been busy with school and not training, and is there anything lamer than a law school blog? No. Law school is what it is, and is remarkably similar to what it was 40 years ago. No story there.

I’ll start with the first bike story. It finally turned cold here, so I could justify putting Lucy on the trainer rather than hunt for excuses not to ride around town. After a fun dinner with the new “girls” on Thursday I came home, did a tiny ab workout, cracked open a beer, and went to work on “winterizing” my bike. I took off my back wheel, and proceeded to change the tire to an old one-- no sense in ruining my new ones on the trainer, right? [I had a little trainer debacle in 2005 where I shredded my tire and it nearly exploded from what I assume was the wrong amount of pressure on the back rubby thingy... admittedly, it would have been a much better story if it had exploded. Maybe next time?] I took off the black (new) tire, which was harder than I remember, and put the red/old tire on, which was also harder than I remember. Here I committed mistake #1-- I put the wheel back on the bike before inflating the tube. Of course there was a pinch (mistake #2), and of course it flatted. Wheel off the bike, tube out, new tube in, check for pinches-- for real this time-- inflate, wheel back on the bike. About the time I was putting the trainer spindle (?) through the wheel I heard dripping. What was that? It was my handlebar spilling my beer all over the windowsill (mistake #3). So much for drinking on a schoolnight! But I was sure the hard part was over. All I had left to do was throw Lucy on the trainer and rearrange my closet-sized apartment to fit the new piece of furniture.

I clearly overestimated my trainer and furniture-moving expertise (mistake #4). I couldn't get the bike to get on the trainer because I had the rubby thingy all the way jacked up from moving it to Saint Louis and didn't realize it. The cat was playing with the front wheel holder. I was frazzled, and it wasn’t pretty. After some time, a broken futon (and a broken bed for me!), and lots of cursing, I had everything worked out. It was shameful how much of an ordeal it was-- and we shall never speak of it again.

Are you ready for Friday?

Guess who passed the patent bar today?

Me! Woo hoo!

They call it a provisional pass, but I don't think I'm in any danger of losing my right of passage (ha!). It wasn't as hard as I was expecting.

Look for a post after my writing assignment is turned in Monday and I've sufficiently recovered or celebrated my weekend accomplishments. *wink wink*

Why oh why can't I stay vertical on a bike?

I wish I had pictures for you, but I don't. All I have is a whiny story. So here goes:

Last Sunday I was set to ride with my new friend Sam. (Sam's fast. As a testament to his fastness, Sam did a long run before we met up to ride. I met Sam at George's going away party-- since you asked and all) I haven't really ridden much since moving to St. Louis, which seems wrong because the roads are littered with cyclists. I could easily write a very long post about how the mid-sized midwest kicks the rest of the country's butt, but I'm still trying to convince myself that I don't love St. Louis. I think it may be too late though-- there's a reason I came back, right? Anyway, Sam was gonna show me the ropes of riding in the Lou.

So we set out. From my front door. Our pace was pretty leisurely, which relieved me since I was being characteristically freaked out, worried-I'm-too-slow Mishele. After about 12 miles we turned around to head home, and at 20 miles we stopped at a gas station so Sam could get a snack; apparently it's not fun to do a long run then ride around without having something to eat. So we stop, he eats, we go to get back on the road...

and I fall over. Going 1 mile an hour. I surprisingly ended up with nary a scratch, but I did pick up the nastiest bruise I've had in recent memory in the middle of my thigh. It'd be a pretty picture to add to this post since it's so many pretty colors-- red, brown, magenta, purple, indigo, blue. If I didn't know better I would have thought that when I fell I was really just putting a painful temporary tattoo on myself.

The rest of the ride was fine-- I successfully clipped in and out at every light (no small feat because there are a lot of lights-- I need to offer some defense here), we got home, my pride still hurt, and I buried myself in my books. But as I was heading to bed it occurred to me that my history of first impression is falling over. My first ride ever with Greyhound I tipped over at my car after 70 miles of success. K saw every time the bollards in George Bush Park got the best of me this spring. My first ride on Lucy ended in a fall right in front of the start line of the first crit race at the Picnic Loop. What the heck? Do you have any idea how often I've replaced my freaking bar end tape? (both sides currently need it now but I'm too cheap to buy more.) Why can't I ride like I do all the times I'm alone, all the rides with friends? Some impression I make-- both on my new friends and my body. :-(

Gimme a double straight up

Does anyone know how to train for a double ironman?

Seriously. Anyone? I'm thinking I want to have a go at it. Next year. But I want to use my Louisville training if possible, so if you know anything about whether I can do an Ironman and then do a double 5 weeks later, that'd be great-- please email me!

I'm thinking it's doable; after all, Going Long says if you're going to be a d-bag and do two ultra races in a season, you shouldn't peak twice but rather should train, taper, race, rest, race (I think... I actually think GL's a snoozefest and have been in the first or second chapter for 2+ years). Besides, the double wouldn't be for bragging rights since normal people don't understand the difference between an IM and an IIMM. I just want to do it for me.

Let me know if you've been holding information out on me, okay? Thanks.

P.S. Want to hear how silly I am? Most of the time I could give a rat's hiney if someone beats me. Hey, I'm slow, and I'm genuinely okay with that. Nevertheless, there's a woman here I call StL swimmer chick, and she whooped my ass in the pool 3 weeks ago, in her last swim before her first ironman in Wisconsin. Still, I was (no, I am) 90% sure I could take her if I trained for it, so I got uncharacteristically competitive with her... and then she swam a 1:00 WI swim and finished the whole thing in under 12 hours. Shyeah. I'm an idiot. Well, I did the same thing with a tough cookie named Gina from Longview. She's the youngest to do a double iron and is doing the triple this year, but she's also done Sunmart (which I did... sorta) and IM Arizona. And like swimmer chick, Gina totally kicks my butt-- by like an hour or two in a 50k and by 90 minutes in AZ. Why can't I be competitive with normal people? With friends or enemies? Why complete strangers that are little tri beasts?

Hm, gotta go-- sink is backing up? I swear I'm moving into the Ritz next year.

Okay so maybe Wisconsin doesn't suck

Hmm. That's going a little too far. I will concede that perhaps I hate the entire state because of a general bitter, bitter cold that never left me one Sunday evening last September. But you know what? People there still drive like dips. And the air makes my eyes stay red. And have you heard about their winters? Brr. What's more, have you heard their radio stations?

Those things aside, I take back my general sucky review of the state. Wisconsin is... okay. From April to August. Sometimes it's fine in September like it was this weekend, but I'm not going to go too far in my compliments here. I headed up north on Friday night to see some superstars of the triathlon variety-- I met some of the internet big dogs and watched a true big dog PR in 10:freaking36. I dropped a pro as a catcher. I almost punched someone for making fun of a wayward swimmer, but then vehemently spouted off about how someone who can't swim 1.2 miles in 2.33 hours is a selfish witch and an enormous liability to the entire sport (uh, sorry if it's you... but you are. Pick up duathlons or get a swim coach). I swam on Saturday (woo!). I watched transition clear out of people, clear out of bikes, then fill right back up with them again. I cheered. I handed out bags in transition just so I could see when people were getting in. I accidentally ruined lots of finishers videos because the catcher boss told us to catch people as soon as the pictures were snapped (but if he'd mentioned I'd get on camera I'd have put on some lipstick and some revealing shorts *wink wink*). On more than one occasion I almost teared up, but my lack of soul prevented such emotional outpour. It was a great trip.

But as for the race, I don't have anything to offer... let the real people talk about their races (I'm a robot). I will just say that 1) I was insanely jealous of the perfect water conditions you lucky racing bums and 2) you should volunteer at an ironman because the subs they feed you are DELICIOUS and you get great parking and 3) if you don't like touching strangers, catching at the finish line probably isn't the best choice of volunteer positions. Still, it was an awesome experience and I'll do it again. And now, after seeing it on the other side, I think I can say the same thing about Ironman Wisconsin; I'll do it again. In fact, I'd be doing it again in 2008 if I hadn't already said yes to an iron proposal over Labor Day weekend.

Anyway, I just wanted to say hello. Thanks to everyone for being so nice in person and not saying anything like, "WOW I didn't recognize you because in the two pictures in your blog you look so ridiculous I thought you were photoshopped." That was sweet. It was nice to see the faces behind the laptops, to get a feel for how real and unreal folk are. And to the Ironmen? Wow. Congratulations on crossing the line-- you're a tough bunch. Now get some sleep and enjoy some free time!

Mid 70s? No rain? Is this the same course?!

This isn't a law school post. Why? Because actual law school has kept me busy enough that I don't have time (okay, minor exaggeration... I've had a rough second week of school since I spent hours this week looking at new computers). I suppose it's only interesting to me anyway; law school's been done before. It just happens to be like an academic nirvana for me personally. Maybe later I'll put you to sleep with it, but now I only have time for an Ironman Wisconsin post.

I'm heading out tomorrow to drive up (grr after a Contracts makeup class during freaking happy hour and what should have been my third hour of driving). The forecast? Beautiful. The race cast? Beautiful. I'm so excited to see old faces and meet some new ones, like the elusive Wendy and Brent, both of whom I missed in Arizona. I'm stoked for my volunteer meeting on Saturday. I'm stoked for some wannabe Gatorade swim action (around 9:30 on Saturday-- anyone wanna meet up for a quick dip??). Basically, I'm just so freaking stoked to be watching the drama-- real or melo-- unfold before me. It's gonna be a blast.

The only bad news? I can't stay til the end of the race anymore. I'm only volunteering at the finish line until 8 pm, then am driving home around 9 or so-- whenever my favorite Houston virgin gets that m-dot cherry popped. Call me crazy but the idea of getting up at 4 AM after volunteering til 12:15 AM had me a little nervous about dying on the road and/or missing my 10 AM Torts class. Sorry kids, but school comes first.

Speaking of which, I have to get some stuff done before I head up north. Sleep well and see you on the course or at the finish line!

(Oh, if you want to me up, feel free to email me or use my cell number if you have it. I swear I'll pick it up this weekend!)

Somebody explain this to me.

Today I went for a run. There was absolutely nothing notable about it. Now my toe feels broken.

What?

I got up and of course did not feel like running, so I walked the .25 miles to Forest Park; I figured if I didn't want to run by the time I got there I could always just walk a few miles and enjoy the day. Once I got to the park, however, I felt duly inspired to run (since I couldn't get my heart rate over 95 by walking briskly... that and I felt like a soccer mom) (not that there's anything wrong with soccer moms) (though I do hate soccer).

I ran three or so miles at 9:00-9:15 pace. I didn't trip. I didn't roll my ankle. I wasn't startled, and I didn't have a single misstep. No bikes ran me over. The only thing even remotely interesting is that I saw my Legal Practice professor walking her dog, and the second half of my run was 8 seconds slower than the first half. After my run I again walked home, thankful I'd gotten in my 4th consecutive daily workout, which is pretty good considering I haven't done that since, well, May. Maybe May. More likely April.

Anyway, around 20 minutes into my run my big toe started hurting out of absolutely nowhere. I figured it was being weird then, but now it still hasn't gone away-- it hurts to wiggle, flex, stretch, and bear weight. It's slightly swollen, possibly discolored if the lighting is crappy enough, and refuses to be put into a shoe. Hey, maybe it's my shoes!

Except my shoes should be broken in (~40 miles on 'em) but not breaking down. What's more, I wear these shoes (Saucony Hurricane 8s) about 75% of the time I run because they're pretty and pink, but not a wussy pink. It is true that the Sauconys are B widths and my Mizunos (Wave Riders in mens because they're better looking) are D widths, but I haven't experienced any trouble in either shoe since I bought them in June or July.

Perhaps I've been working out too much... except of those 4 workouts in a row, two were swims and the other was an embarrassingly short ride, and none were especially intense. Not a lot of stress on the big toe there, especially since it didn't hurt until well into the run.

My socks? Fancy wicking ones that weren't bunched up. Breakfast? Brand of deodorant? Heck, I'm out of ideas. Anyone have any tips for me?

Off to ice and advil I guess... man I suck.

Next post will probably be all law school if you wanna skip it. Look for it once I get ahead enough for WI to squirt it out of my brain.

Master Plans

Today is my very first day of law school. And what am I doing? Reviewing my reading? Fretting about classes? Nope.

I'm blogging.

The truth is I'm sitting pretty with my work this week and I only have one class today. I'm nervous, and I have hours til class to get progressively more so. Yeesh!

This won't be too long (I actually do want to get some more reading done before this afternoon...) but it is important. I have two plans I want to share in hopes of being more accountable for them in the upcoming year/years. Plan 1: the don't get enormously fat plan. Last winter I beefed up to 12 pounds over my racing weight from Wisconsin and Arizona. I think that's simply revolting from a 24-year-old, and I don't intend to do it again. Here's my plan: leave law school at what you came in (152) and you can have any bike you want, Mishele. I can't be sure of my financial situation of course, but that's not the point (I suppose I don't have to buy it the minute I graduate). The point is to have the permission to get whatever the heck I want.

I told the plan to K first. Her response? "If you're the same girl that's going into law school, you're not going to buy a $6,000 bike." And she's right; I believe you have to earn your toys. So maybe I'll just get a little step up and sell Lucy to a newbie. Maybe I'll buy a decent road bike. Doesn't matter right now does it?

The only problem with the plan is I've lost 4 pounds since I moved here. I don't have as much time to eat as I did when I worked, though I suspect I'll start eating again soon. In the short term I'm chilling out with the workouts and am down to 2 mile runs because I want to take it easy and make time for some physical therapy. My feet just haven't been the same all year and I'm afraid. I'm looking to do a half marathon in January-February and maybe, if all goes well, the St. Louis marathon in March. StL was my first marathon (untrained of course, but that time it was on accident), so I'm hoping to break my time of 4:52 from 2004. If the plan works as well as it should I hope to break it by an hour... we'll see.

And Plan 2:
IM Louisville. Hey you Cincinnatians-- get your hineys down to watch me race. Just once. Please? I signed up and had to pay with my debit card, which was strangely more painful than paying with my credit card. Maybe it was just stressful because I don't know the card number and was worried about some 2-minute sell out craziness like Lake Placid (like Louisville would ever be as cool and popular as Lake Placid). I don't know. Anyway, I'll see you kids back in Ironform on August 31, 2008... hopefully I don't gain 10 pounds of muscle in the meantime. ;-)

Woo hoo! Off to study/learn/be humiliated? :)

The most embarrassing picture in my tri life

And in my real life. I'd rather be running-- nekked, pale, and jiggly-- next to supermodels than have this on the internet. It's so bad I have to acknowledge it first lest someone think I think it's okay to look like this.

Triathlete gets laughed off course, cries for days

Go ahead and laugh. I'm already a step (and a laugh... and a tear) ahead of you.

You're it

Somebody tagged me. Since I have to get my stuff moved to the ‘Lou tomorrow and get oriented, I’m too distracted to do a great job with this post. But the good news? Despite the fact I’ve been out of town the past two weekends, I can’t get into my new apartment til Saturday and am moving up on Wednesday, my crap isn’t packed, I haven’t gone to IKEA, and I haven’t returned my library books, I’m still sane. Did someone drug me?

Jobs I've had
receptionist
office servant
office assistant (noticably better than office servant)
lifeguard
swim instructor
SAT instructor
ham seller
mystery shopper
hostess
chemist
engineer


Sweet sweet movies
Gone with the Wind
Thomas Crowne Affair (old or new)
Donnie Darko
The Little Mermaid
Super Troopers
Zoolander

My guilty pleasures
Chipotle
kitty kisses
instant messenger
farting at work
laughing about farting at work
Soda
tri gear lusting
m-dot
Godiva
singing in the car

Places I’ve lived
Cincinnati/Blue Ash/Loveland, OH
St. Louis, MO
Houston, TX
Orlando, FL

TV shows I enjoy
Scrubs
Desperate Housewives
The Daily Show/Colbert Report
Law & Order: SVU or CI

Favorite foods
Donatos
Kolaches
bananas
carrots
Original flavor goldfish
Diet Pepsi
Peanut butter Twix


Websites I visit daily
houstonracing.com/forums
Stuff on my Cat
Le blogs to the right

Body parts I’ve injured
ITB/hip/knees/shoulders (I suck)
Foot (It sucks)
Big toe (Broken once or twice)
Lip? (Stitched up twice)

Nicknames I’ve earned
Bruno
Mitch
Jazzy
Shelly
the unforgiving Shelly Belly
Sister Michelle (For some reason in the 4th grade I thought it’d be cool to pretend I was a nun, and my nerdy friends came along for the ride. Yeah, I don’t get it either.)

Dreams I harbor
Cat farm
Early retirement
Tiny house
20 mph average
Pooping, burping, boogery babies
Developed sense of fashion
Glorious career success (though probably not at the same time as poopy babies)

Small joys

Yesterday was a big day for me. I got home from work, got the mail, and found my USPTO registration application accepted (having, of course, spelled out my middle name this time). I also scheduled my exam date; when doing so, it appeared that I could not have taken the exam on the date I’d originally planned anyway even if my application had been right the first time, which was something of a comfort. My mistake was not so much that I spelled my name wrong as I had listed my work address as the mailing address, and I daresay it sat a floor below me for a number of days before making its way to my inbox. Still, it’s nice to know I didn’t screw up my summer for not reading the “name” line directions--I messed it up because I sent it somewhere I was not directly in charge of the mail.

After scheduling my test--and after much debate with Craig over which date to choose--I sat down to read Harry Potter. I was only supposed to read two chapters, but somehow I indulged myself much further, past more than one good stopping point. Around 11:15 (2 hours of reading) I decided I simply couldn’t wait another day to finish it, so I read til almost 3 in the morning. It is finished. And even though I tried to ruin the ending for myself by skimming the last few pages, I failed in my quest; the ending wasn’t what I remembered skimming at all. I won’t spoil anything by mentioning any details; suffice to say I am mildly disappointed and quite disapproving of the lucky Number Seven. That wasn’t a children’s book I read.

Story about Harry Potter: you may remember a couple months back how much of a tizzy I put myself into by reading the first six books back-to-back within a 3-4 week period. Well, in my zeal to support the library I refused to buy the seventh book, insisting I shouldn’t pay to read such a popular publication. A week before the book was released I put it on hold at my local branch with a keen sense of smugness--I’d outsmarted everyone! Unfortunately I was not the only person to think of this because I was 383rd in the hold line. I figured I wouldn’t get off the list til after I left for school and even considered buying a copy. Good thing I didn’t! I quickly moved from 383 to 260, then to 66--all within a week. By the 31st of July I had the thing in my hands. Isn’t that impressive? Go Houston Library!


Ah, sweet peace. I can finish this summer staying sane, something I’ve been practicing for 8 days now. I’m starting to think it suits me quite well.

Race Review: River Cities Tri

River Cities Tri-- Shreveport, LA
800m swim
18 mile bike
3.1 mile run

I have no clever title for you. Sorry.

Anyway, I headed to Shreveport, LA this past weekend for the River Cities Tri, the "oldest tri in the South". Some of you may think an Ironman is tough to get into, but here in the South we take our tris seriously-- this race sold out its 1300 spots in less than three hours this year. This race is so well put on it's crazy: great competition, nice course, reasonable lines, great sales at SportSpectrum at packet pickup, and loads and loads of swag (totally sweet nice bag, New Balance tech t, New Balance running shorts, tech socks, tech hat, t-shirt, sunglasses that actually look cool, poster, bottle of Amino Vital whatevers, gu, amino vital liquid drinky thingy, water bottle, and a water gun). After hearing the H-town ladies rave about it last year, I signed up this year as soon as I woke up on the day registration opened.

Saturday I met up with some of the tri hotties (and a husband) to caravan to the race. The whole trip Lisa was warning us about how long the lines were at packet pickup, saying it could take up to 2 hours to get out of there if the line was really going. We were resigned to waiting since we had nothing better to do, but it turns out this year was different-- we got in line and out within maybe 5 minutes. After checking out the store to cash in on some good deals we packed into the car again and headed to the hotel.

The only crappy thing about this race is the location. From packet pickup to the host hotel was about 30 minutes, and from the hotel to the race site it was another 30 minutes. Not very convenient. On the other hand, the host hotel was reasonably priced and pretty nice, so the drives were tolerable.

Anyway, we checked into the hotel, settled in, went to dinner (which of course took forever) and got to bed around 10, 10:30 on Saturday night. Soon enough it was 5:15 the next morning and we were packing up our things to go; we decided to just use the outdoor showers at the race site to clean up afterward instead of trekking back to the hotel, unloading the bikes, showering, and loading everything up again.

The race site was great. True to the James Bond theme for this year's race, girls with water guns peeked around trees as we entered the park; there was also a gaggle of women in eveningwear and a James Bond in a tux waving hellos to the incoming cars. There was plenty of room to park (and the line to get in was only about 15 minutes, which compared to last year was a marked improvement) with plenty of facilities, and a roomy transition area.

The race started at 8:00, with all the dude waves going first (except Clydesdales and relays). My wave--15-29 women-- was the first of the chick waves at 8:24. I started in the front row and reasonably far out from the inside line of buoys. As we started, I was braced to get beaten up in the hot, murky, black water but again I was pleasantly surprised... my dog fight/swim was nonexistent. No one hit me, no one kicked me, no one ran into me except one girl, and once we realized where the other was, we swam side-by-side to the turn buoy ~300m out. Isn't that amazing?

I was swimming steadily but not too hard. Unfortunately for my wave, the oldest group of men was also swimming steadily and not too hard-- we destroyed the wave ahead of us! Before I even made it to the first turn buoy I was dodging wrinkly slow guys. I swam a straight line throughout the course, but still I had an unbelievably crappy time, and I think the swim/obstacle course is part of the reason. 4 minutes (5? 6? whatever it was) is not enough time between old man wave and young woman wave. I climbed out just over 16 minutes for 800m (wtf?) and hit the timing mat at 16:42. Lame! I expected to come out around 15:00! On the other hand, I still finished in the top 20% of my AG on the swim, so it's possible the course was long.

Transitions were SO long in this place-- maybe 100-120 yds to transition, 80-100 yd long transition area, then another 60-75 yds to the bike mount line. I was glad I didn't leave my shoes on my bike!

The bike was a rolling hill course with only a few short steep(ish) climbs, but a lot of turns. I was hoping to hold 18 mph for this race. Why not the 19 mph goal that I had for all my other sprints? Well, 1) I wasn't making the 19 mph in previous races and haven't been on my bike very much recently, and 2) this was an 18 mile bike course instead of the normal 11-13 mile one. Nothing much to say other than the course was pretty, I refused to get in my small chainring for the hills because I'm a macho MORON, and I lost my chain once. This pissed me off to no end, because I've been losing it a lot this summer (though it stopped for awhile...). I suppose I only lost like 30 seconds, but it felt like the end of the world when I had to stop. I was close to missing my goal at 12 miles, so I picked it up the last 6 and came in 59:something, 18.3 mph pace. A small victory!

Anyway, the bike was fun. I brought along Accelerade again for my aero drink, but this time I also brought a bottle of water since it was supposed to be in the upper 90s and I figured 20 oz of liquid might not be enough. Unlike Webster Du #3 though, I did not get ill on the bike. The Accelerade (Citrus Grapefruit, the hands-down yummiest premixed flavor they have)(by the way, I think this is weird since I think real grapefruit tastes like vomit) does act funny in my body, though-- for some reason I can't burp when I drink it on the bike. Because of this I have to be careful not to drink too quickly, but so long as I feel good I don't really care about that; I could certainly stand to pay attention to my fluid consumption a little more. I also changed my pre-race breakfast from fruit + slim fast + a bottle of Accelerade to clif bar(f) + bottle of Accelerade, but that was only because I forgot to bring my own breakfast and had to bum a bar off someone. And as much as I like hippies and their organic foods, I can't eat clif bars. Will that get me kicked out of triathlon?

I've digressed. Back to the bike. As I pulled into the park for the last fraction of a mile I opted to take one foot out of my shoe to speed up my transition. I only do one foot because I can't take my left hand off the bike. I know, I'm a crappy cyclist with crappy handling skills but I just can't do it, and normally the one-foot trick works quite well. Unfortunately, I only undid the Velcro on my right shoe-- I never actually took my foot out. Once at the dismount line I almost fell over since I had no free foot, and THEN I couldn’t get my dang foot outta my dang shoe. Do I suck at life or what?

Other than that shoe incident T2 was fine. Again, it was a long trek to the run course, and I was expecting to feel bad again as I've been feeling pretty icky on my tri runs recently. The run was a 5k through the park, mostly under shade with a couple gentle rises. The course is set up so you can see the competition around you and I saw all the girls I came with and other Houstonians, always a welcome sight. My goal for this run was to break 30:00 (9:41 pace), and with that in mind I set off. Mile 1 found me at 8:53 (woo!), mile 2 at 8:50 (double woo!) and I finished up in 27:29, 8:51 pace. Not stellar but not too bad either, and way better than I was expecting!

I ended up finishing in 1:46:52 and 23 of 64 in my age group and making all my goals but the one for the swim. Since I came more for the race experience and to hang out with my tri buds one last time, it was good enough for me.

Afterward the group chatted, drank some beers (I had three, beating my goal of two for this race!) and swiped some Ozarka Sport water (that spit is gooood), and then a couple of us took a shower in the outdoor shower near the lake. When one chick and I arrived, the 2 showers had about 8 women, and most were soaping up like we were planning to do rather than just rinsing off. The experience was so weird-- everyone was laughing and sharing bathing supplies and holding the shower lever for other women. I fully expected someone to take off her top and start making out with someone it was so typical-male-daydreamy. Alas, reality was no so colorful. Once we were showered and changed we hit transition to get our, packed up the car, and headed back to the great state o' Texas.

In short-- great race, great company, great swag. You should totally do this race if you ever get the chance. The end!

P.S. You'll notice there are no pictures of these so-called "tri hotties", nor any pictures of my sweet race goodies. Don't hold your breath waiting for them, either; I have no camera since I broke mine in June, and Craig's is in New Jersey with him. I’m afraid you'll have to use your imagination in my blog-- disappointing I’m sure.

The (real) end!

The newest member of my family

The first weekend in July Craig and I went to Dallas, and this post was written one cheerful Friday afternoon a week later...
Saturday we drove up after the Kids Tri to catch a Rangers game and hang out with a college roommate Jackie; the whole reason this particular weekend was chosen was to get a cooler being handed out at the game as a promotional item. Well, we missed the coolers, at Saturday's game-- which of course annoyed me to NO end-- and went back to Jackie's house to hang out for awhile. On Sunday Craig and I were heading back to Houston after some yummy brunch and a trip to the Sixth Floor Museum, which covers the JFK assassination info/theories/whatnot.

As we got in line to get into the museum, someone mentioned there was a stray outside. We looked just in time to see a furry kitten scurry down the stairs and under a car in the parking lot. The kitten looked to be about the size that Gary was when we first got him at six weeks, so I begged Craig and Jackie to let us catch him, or at least try for 5 minutes. The kitten, wise to our plan, twice climbed onto the struts of the front wheel of a Sebring, just out of reach. The third time we tried to get it, it climbed into the engine area where we couldn't even see it, effectively forcing us to catch him; after all, if he died after being scared into some moving car parts, I'd be responsible.

About an hour into this ordeal the owners of the car came out, and we asked if they'd set off the alarm to scare the kitten out-- and they did. The kitten didn't budge. Then we popped the hood to see that the kitten was under the engine block. The car owners were very nice about the situation-- what a blessing to have nice folks around, huh? Finally, we risked starting the engine to get him out, and out he came. The guy driving the car slowly reversed, exposing the kitten under the front bumper, til we caught him under a parking cone.

As you can imagine, he wasn't too happy. He was spitting and hissing like a snake, and he managed to get Jackie and me with his claws when we tried to nab him. Finally a parking attendant got him into the canvas bag Jackie had in her car, and we took him home.

The kitten looked to be about 4 weeks old. He was filthy, covered in fleas, and his eyes and nose were gooey. His stomach was jutting out like a starving kid in a UNICEF ad, but the rest of him was skin and bone; you could feel every rib, every vertebra in his spine, all his awkward hip bones. He was more bird than kitten! The pad of one of his paws was also burned, exposing angry pink flesh. Basically he looked ready to be on his way out, and I declared as much several times... there was no sense in anyone getting attached to a goner. But once in the bag he was docile, drinking milk we fed him from a straw and from dipping some leaves in the milk bottle. We cleaned him up, put him in a box, and drove home to Houston. He slept on my lap most of the time, purring and snuggling.

When we hit Conroe, the little guy took a dump in the box we'd started him out in. At first it was funny (EW! The cat pooped in the car! Gosh it stinks! Ahahahaha!) as we prepared to get off the highway. But once we saw the poo-- full of twigs, an entire berry, and distinct roundworms-- it wasn't so funny anymore. I cried the entire way back home. It just seemed so overwhelmingly unfair: here was this cat, fighting like hell to make it and despite his struggles was still not a mean kitty, and all these vile little things were sucking the miserable life from him. Life isn't fair. But for a darned domesticated and reasonably helpless animal, life should be fair.

After a LONG ride and lots of tears we got home and set up the kitten in our small bathroom (it's like a 6'x7' room including the tub) and gave him a bath to drown some of those fleas. I slept in the bathroom with him so he wouldn't get lonely; after all, we'd just ripped this guy from under a car... the least we could do was be hospitable.


Hello tiny kitty!


So help me, if anyone comments on how fat Gary is I'll delete your snarky little jab. His skin is really loose (AND he's on a diet). Lily is checking out the new addition in the background.

The Monday vet trip wasn't very fun. I came in and the vet listed everything that was wrong with him and everything that could be wrong with him. The vet was very frowny and seemed to be prepping me to put the kitten down, which I found shocking since we'd already started treating his eye and he looked so cute and fuzzy having been bathed; how could such a purry fuzzball be dying? The vet whisked him away for 45 long minutes, while I sat pretending to read a Dog Fancy and crying. Still.

Turns out that old bat veterinarian wasn't right. Kitten tested negative for FLV, didn't seem to have any fleas, and was given deworming stuff that would have those roundworms dead in the litter box by the morning. He was also about 7-8 weeks old, not the 4 we'd originally suspected-- that's how underfed he was! He told me to keep him separate from my cats, gave me some food, antibiotics, and eye ointment, and an appointment in 2 weeks. None of this happy news was as gratifying as the congratulations he offered for the addition to my family.



Geronimo coming home from the vet

Now we have a frisky, fuzzy kitten named Geronimo (Gerry for short) in our bathroom. He makes training a bit more challenging because we try to keep someone in the house all day to play with him and the other cats, but they're so great to be around that it's no real trouble. And I'm so worried that his naggingly cloudy eye will never heal and that his cute kitten sneeze is far more ominous than it sounds. But how much more can I fret? If he's too sick to make it, at least he had a couple weeks of love and regular meals. If not, well... as far as I'm concerned he may be the best thing to come out of Dallas.

P.S. We never made it to the museum. Maybe next time.

I wrote the above at lunch, and was planning to add some pictures and get the post on my blog once I got home. But once I saw him that evening Gerry wasn't better-- he was way worse. Both his eyes were getting cloudy again, and he was sneezing all the time. Instead of being satisfied that my original dead-cat-walking prediction was coming true I was devastated. I spent the weekend crying in the bathroom with the kitten. I got so desperate that I begged Craig to take me to Walmart at like 1 AM to get the freaking kitten a freaking humidifier.

This experience was very disturbing for me, and I decided that if this is what it's like to have feelings, I'm glad I only have them a few times a year. I try to stay reasonable-- if not a little cold-- but there is something about physical suffering that really eats at my tiny, hidden soul. I'll leave the feeling to the rest of you for the most part.

After a few days the kitten again started getting better. His right eye weeps a bit and it's a slightly different color green (he's also on Lysine supplements to help with that... and yes. My cat is on supplements and I can't even get a one-a-day vitamin in my diet), but it won't spread to the other cats since they also already have the virus. [Virus= herpes. Like 80% of cats have it, as my others do, but it lies dormant in most animals unless they're sick or stressed. Just wanted you to know.] Geronimo is now a 3.5 lb snuggle bug of love, though he attacks Gary too much. I'm taking the kitten to school next week in hopes he'll calm down just a little over the next year. Don't worry-- I'm sure to keep you posted.


Geronimo last week, being a kitten. :)


Sleeping with Craig, though getting progressively more irritated that I won't stop taking pictures of him while he's sleeping. Geronimo won't make it as a model.

Seriously... was I born in 1907?

Me [modeling a skirt in a store fitting room]: Do I look like a whore in this skirt?
(I need/want a new skirt to replace my ankle-length, sits-on-my-natural-waist skirt I got in college)
Craig: Mishele, you're in a knee length jean skirt.

Me: So no?

Craig: Sigh.

Put your hands where I can see them—hanging on the wrong side of the law

Around 1 AM this morning Craig and I got the last load of stuff from our old apartment. Included in the last load, of course, were the odds and ends that refused to be packed—our welcome mat, the odd picture, canvas grocery bags, and kitties. Our cats do not like stuff slowly disappearing from their home, but even more than that they loathe riding in the car. Within seconds of starting the engine I was listening to a chorus of meows and whimpers while surrounded by weird crap from our apartment. In all this commotion, I forgot to turn on my headlights while I was in the brightly lit parking garage; fortunately, Craig had my back and said something to me as I pulled out onto the street. I turned them on, cruised up to a red light, and turned right onto an empty San Felipe.

Seconds later there’s a cop car behind me with his lights on. What could I possibly have done wrong already? Did I seem drunk? Is it illegal to drive with two cats? Did I have a tail light out? My mind flashed to a time my mom got a ticket for driving without her lights on, which was silly--she’d turned out of a parking lot and 10 yards later was pulled over on a road so bright that headlights wouldn’t have made a difference. But I was only without my lights through a private driveway--isn’t that okay?

I pulled over (and in true kitty fashion, the cats meowed even louder at having stopped) and started freaking out. Before this I’d been pulled over 3 times: once for no reason by some meanie who made me start crying after he left, once for running a red light by a nice guy who let me go because I seemed really scared and he thought that was funny, and once for speeding by some dude just doing his job... I guess. I’m 1 for 3 with nice cops. The thing is, I don’t need a cop to be nice and let me off the hook for breaking the law; when I run red lights, I should be ticketed. When I speed, I guess I should be ticketed as well (I’m not a huge fan of speed limits, especially since I don’t drive very fast-- my truck is incapable of it). All I want from a cop-MisheleK interaction is some bleeping respect. I am not used to being treated like trash in my everyday life; for the most part folks are nice to me at the gas station and the bank, at work and at the gym. I’m a human. Others are humans. It all works out nicely. That is what I want from a police officer--basic human dignity. I realize I can’t have it because life is what it is, but a girl can dream.

So I pulled over and dude comes over to my open window. “What’d I do wrong?” I asked.
“Well, if you want to be really nit-picky, you didn’t come to a complete stop at that red light. You should have stopped all the way instead of just rolling through.”
I was slightly annoyed since I was as close to being stopped as you can be without completely stopping--and the road was a ghost town. Still, I brightened since the odds of a cop ticketing for something he refers to as “nit-picky” were in my favor.

There were howling cats in the background. “You moving?” he asks, flashing his torch through my cab.
“Yup.”
“Well, I pulled you over because you pulled out of the garage without your lights on--” (frick!) “--and there have been a series of car thefts in the area. Would you mind showing me your license and proof of insurance?”
Would I mind? Would I mind? Heck no I don’t mind! Thanks for asking! Whew! My shaky hands flew to get the documents. As I handed them over I asked him if I looked suspicious. He shrugged.

After checking my stuff he let me go and I called back to him that I’d be sure to stop at that corner from now on (especially since I’m never going back to it). I drove on to catch up with Craig, who’d waited for me, and thought of how crazy it was he asked if I would mind giving him proof I wasn’t stealing my own car.

Now I'm batting .500... and I’ll take it.

Du it, man: Webster Duathlon #3 Race Review

This was my first duathlon: a 2 mile run, 12 mile flat bike, and a 2 mile run. I won the entry back in February and have been looking forward to this race ever since. I've also been mentally preparing to get my butt handed to me; duathlons aren't as popular as tris, but the folks who do them are way faster. After racing I decided that duathlon folks are simply tougher-- even the sprint du's are not for the faint of heart.

Anyway, Craig came with me to this race. He's not a fan of idiotic tri cheering and I'm not a fan of someone coming along with me who doesn't race, so it was his first non-IM race. I thought he'd like it better because du's are supposed to be different-- most folks don't bring a cheering squad and the races are pretty small. We showed up about an hour before the start, got my packet, put my bike in transition, and just hung out. I thought there seemed to be more people than I'd expected, and there were; this was the biggest du of the series with 160 folks coming out. Crap! How was I supposed to place in my age group if more people showed up?!

After a .5 mile jog warmup and some stretching I headed to the line. Dude in charge told us about the course-- out-and-back run, two loop bike, and out-and-back run-- then just said "go" and started us off. It doesn’t get more low-key than that I guess!

Run 1: My goal was to run 8:30-8:45 miles. Starting out going fast is hard! Swimming is a way easier way to start a race. I was ready to start walking within 3 minutes, but naturally didn't. A few folks passed me on the way out, but for the most part it appeared I started in the right part of the pack. I also saw a few HRTCers (naturally ahead of me), so that was nice. At the turnaround I grabbed some water and went to pass some guy about my age. He refused to let me pass him, so I was forced to run with him the entire mile back to T1. Men-- such jerks! Anyway, I soon forgot him when I got to T1-- I've never been so happy to get on the bike!
Run 1 time: 16:41 (8:21 pace)
Run 1 pic: Do I look happy?

T1: My transitions were more about fashion: T1 was headband to bike helmet, and T2 would be bike helmet to hat. It's important to look your best at every opportunity. Anyway, I grabbed another water and walked to my bike. I was spent after the run and needed a rest. Still, I owned T1 because I switched my pedals (a nice lend from a friend also racing) to cages so I could wear my running shoes the whole time; I was in and out in 0:37. Woo!

The bike: two loops of fun. My goal was again 19 mph pace. On the way out we had a tailwind, and the way back was naturally a headwind. I passed a surprising number of people, so that was cool. I also got passed by a few, maybe about 5-- some who'd passed me on the run and would again pass me on the second run, but whose transitions were slow on account of the shoe issue. Suckers! Anyway, the bike was pretty, you know, bike-like. The only problem was my tummy was bothering me a lot so I couldn't eat or drink anything after about 15 minutes. My stomach has been going haywire recently (it's where I store my stress-- lots of room around there!), so I don't want to blame it on my new Accelerade nutrition plan. Maybe I had too much Accelerade before the race? Perhaps my race breakfast is incompatible with it? Anything is possible. The thing is I've never had Accelerade except for post-workout recovery/hydration until this race; more experimentation is definitely needed. That's about it for the bike except that I kept going back and forth with some stupid 14 year old kid. He was annoying the crap out of me because the first time I passed him he was drafting off his dad. Then 3 minutes later he and his dad completely blew by me-- what the crap? I caught the kid again on the second loop, and near the end he passed me... and then kept looking behind him to see where I was, swerving into the middle of the lane. I was annoyed and didn't want to get passed on the bike by some chump kid, so I surged on the street before T2 to beat him. A note to all you 14 year olds out there: don’t f*ck with me. (See? Edited for children!)
Bike pace: 18.6 mph Better than the week before, especially since I wasn't in cycling shoes/clips. Woo!
Bike pic: Nice pedals newbie!

T2: I took off my helmet and put on a hat. Nice, huh? :) Out in 0:27.

Run 2: My goal was +20 sec of run 1 pace, so 8:50-9:05 pace. Oof! Can I walk this? Of course the second run was worse than the first. I saw Lisa, cage pedal lender, at the half mile point and she told me they had cold towels at the turnaround. Booya! My goal at this point in the race was to come in under 1:15 (I came out of T2 at 56:xx) and pass three people. By the turnaround I'd caught two, but I ran a 9:14 mile. Crap! I had to get going to make my goal! After a towel and yet another water (don't judge-- it's hot here) I busted my hiney as much as I could to get in by 1:14:something, passing a third guy in the process. My last mile was 8:57, enough to get me in at 1:14:41, 1:14:38 watch time. Celebration!
Run 2 time: 18:11 (9:06 pace)
Run 2 pic: I'm about 400m from finishing, so I eeked out a solitary smile. Courageous I know.

Afterward there were breakfast tacos, beer, soda, and bananas-- a decent spread! I could only handle water a banana, and a diet Coke. Craig and I hung around with some club members, waiting for results. Normally, there's one girl in my age group at these races. She runs sub-7 minute miles both times (or close to it) and bikes at 20+ mph. Of course I had no chance of winning my age group while she was breathing, but 2nd of 2 was good enough for me-- that was my plan. Well, we were in for a huge surprise when results were posted: there were 6 girls in my age group. Dammit!

And at the top of that list: MisheleK. I won my age group and there were actually other girls in it! Sweet! I won a pint glass and a 700 tube, which I gave to Lisa (who came in second in her AG) since I ride 650s and her gracious pedals lend shaved some serious time.

I will definitely start doing dus-- I like tough stuff, and I really want to get better at these. The atmosphere is also a little more my style, so that's cool. I realize now that +20 seconds for the second run is very unrealistic; still, I want to get my run 1 time down a little faster. Maybe a longer warmup would help? I'll try that next time. And that nutrition issue I need to get ironed out before my last tri of the year: River Cities next weekend.

One other slightly related thing I've noticed in my past two races-- there are "real" triathletes at sprints, perhaps more real than ironmen. They're the folks who race, year in and year out, train every week, each season. It's not that one IM they've done that defines them because they're more than that after a decade of races and, perhaps more importantly, gallons of post-race beers. They don't get their panties in a twist over tri technology, and they don't buy a new bike every other year. They're there to race, to live the life. I want to be like that. But it's not going long that can do it-- it's local races, olys and sprints and HIMs, ties to a real racing community instead of a faceless racing giant running faraway events. The truth is that it's excruciating to go fast for any length of time-- I think it's harder than going steady for an IM. I want to do more sprints next year, even with Louisville looming, because they test your mettle in ways a day-long race simply cannot. They make you real. Besides, I know I've got the mental hardware to go long-- but can I go hard? I'm starting to wonder. And I'm going to find out.

I had three beers!: Jeff and Brede's Intergalactic Tri Race Review

This is two weeks old. My bad. Anyway, J&B's is a sprint run by my tri club: 300m pool swim, 12 mile flat (and fast?) bike, and a 3 mile run. Last year I volunteered--fun, but I wanted to get in there and give it a go this year. It's a sprint, so the race report should be slim...

The swim-- I seeded myself at around a 4:42. I was nervous because I've all but given up swimming this summer, especially because my last pool swim I caught two people, and I didn't want to be getting caught in this race since it sucketh. I needn't have worried though: apparently everyone lied on their swims because I did a very painful 4:59 (probably a 4:49 if you just include the swim and not climbing out and getting across the mat). No one caught me and I caught no one. Yesss!

And here is the best race pic ever. Oooh, and here's the second best ever. Who takes pictures of people while they're getting out of the pool??

Transition-- sucked because I thought I had to move my stuff to the other side of the rack to avoid a penalty. Everyone knows that you have to have your transition towel on the side of your bike touching the ground. But did you know that you have to have the down side of your bike on the same side as the rack number? Me neither! In fact, I don't think anyone really knew that til the head official said something before the race and after transition was closed. However, he also said it is the passing rider's responsibility to get out of the draft zone, which isn't true once you've overtaken someone; it's the slow guy's job to get behind the fast guy. I hope that official learns the freaking rules before he does another race.

The bike-- an out and back. As soon as I hopped on my bike it started raining. Awesome! It poured the entire time, and I had trouble getting any speed between getting pelted by raindrops and being wary of the puddles in the road. I got passed by my new friend Rick (who won his age group and destroyed me on the swim) and a girl in my age group. More on her later. Anyway, I averaged 18.3 mph, not great but not too bad I guess. I really wanted to get 19 mph, but maybe another time.

T2-- fine. I got socks on this time since the cuts on my feet from my last sockless sprint took about a month to heal-- ow!

The run-- really bleeping hurt. It was my slowest sprint run, which could have been because we ran on "grass" (read: swamp) for about a mile of the course. Not too awesome, especially since I was wearing my new and incredibly heavy shoes. Which were ruined by the end of the day. I ran 8:59 minute miles despite my faithful running speedwork every Tuesday. Crap!

Afterward I hung out with K and her tri man (who also won his age group) and hit the kegs as hard as I could. I got in three whole beers! Never mind it was over almost three hours and well before 11:00 am-- I'm a drinking champion! Eventually the weather also cleared up, but not til long after I finished. I felt bad for all the newbies, who started later in the swim on account of their slower seed times, because they were out in the worst of the weather. What kind of first timer experience is that? Anyway, I came in 4th of 27 in my age group; that girl in my age group that passed me on the bike (I tried in vain to reel her in on the run... no dice) was a really fast and accomplished triathlete, and I have no business racing with her. Still, she only came in 3rd-- could I be moving up the food chain?

Three other things about the post race party: K came up to congratulate me on my 3rd place finish. I thought this was suspect since two girls had passed me on the bike and I started 46th, so chances were good that someone was 25-29 ahead of me. Turns out she read the results wrong and I came in fourth, much like I did to my friend on the 4th of July. What goes around comes around!

I also met Jane at the race. She came up to introduce herself and said she read my blog. I danced around like a schoolgirl who needed to tinkle-- 'cause that's how I roll. Smooth, like butter.

Afterward I went to get my stuff from transition and head home. I noticed that everything I owned was not only already mildewing but smelled like actual crap. Turns out that of all the mud on the course, I managed to find the pile of dog poop to step in. Disgusting.

All in all a great race. And a longer report than intended... sorry!

I'm selling any children I have when they're 12

especially if they're girls. But, I'm willing to buy them back at 17... if there's a discount involved.

Last weekend I was the coordinator for the swim portion of a kids triathlon, and kids from 6 to 13 come out for the race. I have to admit I'm a little afraid of kids because they bite. And poop. And puke. And fall over. But I was at the race in the pool area last year, and no one seemed to make too much of a fuss-- I could handle these kids. My real race concern was starting the kids; it's hard to tell from my obnoxiously dry humor, but I have the weeniest pipsqueaky voice in town-- just think mouse with laryngitis. My voice is actually a main point of conflict with Craig because he can never hear me when I talk on the phone (his phone sucks!!) or in France (must not speak too loud or they'll know we're American and we don't know French!). We may end up divorced because he can't hear me, or he may end up smothered with a pillow because his lack of hearing me is pretty frustrating.

But anyway.

The race went well, and even my itty bitty voice could be heard by the 8 year olds. Everyone listened, (okay, most kids listened. Good enough for me!), and the volunteer mothers commented on how "nice girl" I seemed. Ha! I was just about to say that I liked kids when I came across the 12 year old girls wave.

These were not children before me. They were pre-adolescent witches. Gone were the bright-eyed questions like "Can we hit people?" from the 9 year old boys. Gone were the 7 year olds' tears because the water was too cold. And most sadly, gone were the 10 year olds' requests for someone to swim the course for them. 12 year old girls were different beasts. Let me just say it was a long six minutes before I set them off. I still shudder thinking about it.

That's all. Just wanted to share. I have a newfound respect for myself because I was on time (in Katy by 4:45 thankyouverymuch) and for parents for not eating their young at some point. If your club does one, you should definitely volunteer at a kids race. They're so small and cute-- so long as they're not crying or puking at you.

Just something to think about.

The not best 4th of July ever

Have you ever wanted to conjure your stress from an unknown force to a tangible thing, ball it up, eat it, then take a big de-stressing dump and triumphantly flush it down the toilet? What a coincidence! Me neither! But I think that's what happened this week. I woke up Tuesday feeling kind of icky, so I decided to call in. Little did I know I would actually be feeling awful by noon and yelling "Uncle" by 2, all the while whining and moaning to Craig. Poor guy. Anyway, I thought I felt better by Tuesday night, so I went to the Freedom 5k on the morning of the 4th.

I shouldn't have left the house, but I didn't see the warning signs. I was running this 5k, eating some kolaches, then meeting the girls for a 40 miler on Lucy. It was gonna be great. Instead, I ran 2.6 miles because the course was partially flooded (they're not kidding about that Texas rain, folks), unenthusiastically ate my kolaches, and went home to sleep the rest of the day away. I missed the parties and the little of the fireworks I couldn't see from my apartment (that is, if I'd watched them. I'm not crazy about fireworks). I do feel less stressed now though, even if I'm still rumbly in the tumbly. And the 2.6 miler? Perfect 8:00 miles (8:12, 7:54, 4:42 by the ol' watcheroo-- I think I could've brought home a full 5k at 8:00s, but we'll never know). I talked with another girl after the race and we decided the mile markers weren't in the right spot since I was pretty sure I took it out sub-8 and struggled in the second mile. Oh, here's a story about that girl, let's call her Judy: Judy said she was leaving before the awards ceremony, so when I saw she was 3rd in our age group, I ran over to tell her to stick around. Turns out that was the second page of results for ladies 25-29 and I'm a huge A-hole since the sheet clearly showed she was 10th. In my defense, however, places 1-7 were on a sheet very low on an adjacent column, so anyone coulda made the mistake. In fact, I KNEW there was a mistake since I was in first (really 8th), but I couldn't find that other sneaky sheet; in the future, I'll keep my mouth shut to keep my stinky foot out of it.

Anyway, boring 4th for me. Ran (also warmed up-- a good move and a lesson learned the hard way. Several times), nibbled, slept. No post-race blowing chunks, from running or beer pong. How's that for patriotic?

Would you trade it?

Greyhound and I had an interesting ride this Saturday, complete with 5 used tubes and CO2 cartridges and about 3 hours of delay. Despite the challenges of the day it still beat getting rained out of like the rest of Houston was on Sunday. And it beat working. And it beat getting poked in the arm with bits of glass and metal. It also beat getting eaten by a shark, chased by an angry clown, and stepping in dog poop with both shoes. At the end of the day you just have to ask yourself: would you trade it for a cool glass of iced tea and a book? Would you trade it for having to work all dang weekend? Would you trade it for 10 pounds of blubber on your frame and high cholesterol?

Chances are you probably wouldn't. You're gonna have crappy rides and miserable runs (especially in Houston), but in the end it's worth it. And if it's not, life's too short. Find something else to do. You feel me?



P.S. Saturday's melodrama was all but forgiven on Sunday. I got in my interval workout I accidentally napped through on Tuesday and destroyed that mofo in a nice cool sprinkle. After that I met the 'Hound and we tore up the waves for an hour of open water swimming in rain and, well, thunder. Don't worry--it sounded pretty distant. And we both made it out alive, always a nice perk.

My avatar

Many moons ago the Dread Pirate asked me about my avatar. Bloody shoes? What the heck is wrong with me? While that question may have too detailed an answer for interest, I can explain the nasty pic.

My first tri ever was Outloud's Ironstar half ironman, complete with 59 miles of biking pleasure instead of the standard 56. I told the 2004 version of the race along with the 2006 one from last fall, so I won't get into it again now except to say that I forgot socks-- no dirty socks, no toe socks, no knee highs-- nothing. When I realized this in my hotel the night before the race I opted to do the run without socks instead of driving the .8 miles up the road to a Walmart to get a pair. You know how they say it's better to get 30 minutes less sleep but not be rushed during your race prep? I don't believe that.

So I set up my transition with no socks. At 10 miles into the run a pair of women who kept going back and forth with me (they were running faster than me but walking longer at the aide stations) asked me if I felt okay. Um, yes. That's why I'm even splitting my consistent yet unimpressive 10:50 miles, biatches. Then one pointed to my feet, which were wearing the bloody shoes that hadn't been bloody when I started. I seriously almost puked. See, I knew I was rubbing my feet but there weren't really hurting a lot; I had no idea that both my ankles were completely raw. I finished the race okay (choosing to ignore the gasps of children as I ran past them in the last mile as well as avoid looking down at my disgusting feet), got some medical attention for my feet and all was well.

After the race I took a picture of my impressively nasty shoes; I have to admit I was a little inspired by Schilling's pitching and bleeding through his sock in the 2004 playoffs either the night before my race or the night before that. I thought it was an appropriate visual symbol for me: a true dumbass, too lazy to miss 15 minutes of sleepy indulgence, yet tough enough to handle the distance. Slow, stubborn, dreaming of badass-ness... that's me.

But I'm thinking it's time for a new avatar, one without blood, puke, or and sort of bodily fluid if possible. Suggestions? Remember now I don't race pretty, as evidenced in every single freaking race picture ever taken of me.

Um, best compliment ever

The coolest thing happened to me on Monday. I spent the past 5 days in Sarasota, FL visiting my aunt and spending time on the beaches that seem to do so much for my mental health. Since last week's Houston workouts got canned due to freakoutedness, business, and laziness, I brought along my running shoes and goggles (even I won't wear a swim cap in the ocean. I have some pride).

So Friday I swam in the Gulf. 11 minutes out, 8 minutes back, lots of sand and salt up my nose. The water was a little cloudy (did you know that's when sharks are more likely to attack?? Did you know I have an irrational fear of being eaten by a shark?!) and I'm a weenie, so I stayed pretty close to shore and just swam parallel to the beach. Despite the relatively small waves, I got destroyed.

Saturday Craig and I ran over the bridge and back. 5-6 miles. I think he was imagining ways to thow me over the edge into the shark-infested waters below.

Sunday found me at a different beach with Craig. Instead of swimming we just stood around and attempted to get our shoulders burnt (we succeeded). At one point I thought I saw a snorkel about 25 feet out from us... and then realized it was a dorsal fin. Holy shit. A dorsal fin. Oh god! There's another. And another! Three dorsal fins close enough to eat me in 4 seconds flat. I immediately spat out curse words and moved to get closer to the shore than the couple floating near us-- I had no qualms of throwing strangers to the sharks.

Then the fins turned 90 degrees and it was apparent they were dolphins. Well, at least I was only overreacting and not completely imagining things. How often do dolphins swim on your beach? Not too much in my world. Pretty cool!

But this post was not supposed to be about my vacay workouts-- it was prompted by my Monday swim. I decided a 30 minute jobbie would do the trick, and after chillin out max with my aunt, I popped on my goggles and got to work. 17 minutes out against some pretty serious (read: demoralizingly butt-kicking) waves, but I assured myself I'd catch some of the juice as a tailwind on the way back. I ended up only getting about as far as I'd gotten on my Friday swim, though I did start a little farther down the beach. At 17 minutes I retied my hair, rocketed out some of the salt water in my nose and turned back. 12 minutes later I was gratefully back to my towel.

But at 10 and a half minutes into the way back, I stopped and stood to find my aunt and our stuff on the beach. A tan old guy (on vacation? new local? coulda been either) sees me and hurriedly comes my way. "Hey, are you a competitive swimmer?" he asks.
Me: No [truth: yes? Do tris count? I figured they didn't since I didn't train in the ocean. Hey, I never said logic was a strong point.]
Old guy: Did you ever swim competitively?
Me: Yeah, I guess when I was younger. [truth: swam 10 years.]
Old guy: Well you looked amazing swimming out there. I watched you swim out against the wind and the waves and couldn't believe how strong you looked. Have you considered swimming competitively?
Me: Nah, I just really do this for recreation now. [truth: because tris don't count. And they're fun.]
Old guy: You look like you should be in the Olympics the way you swim out there! Very impressive!

And he rushed away. Wow. When's the last time someone went out of their way to compliment me? I can't even think of a time. I considered replying. "Yeah, well I'm pretty sure Olympian swimmers don't train in string bikinis" but it came to mind a second too late (and it's rude and I didn't want to alienate my only fan).

But the coolest thing to me was that I felt like a total jerk swimming out there before he came up to me. I was getting pummeled by the water and had difficulty maintaining my stroke. I imagined tanned hotties in next-to-nothing swimsuits sunning on the beach, laughing at my pathetic attempts to conquer a corner of the sea. But instead I got a sincerely nice comment from a stranger. AND I got to gross out some tourists by blowing my nose into the water.

I love vacation.

(By the way, you should think twice about your ocean swimwear if you're a chick. The first day I got lots of seaweed in my top. The second time I got chafed from the string holding up my swimsuit top. Isn't my life hard? Perhaps I should have stuck with a tri top.)

Life as an unironman

I feel like I'm taking crazy pills. This summer? Sucking so far. Last week I got in every workout except a 1200 quickie swim before spinning (that day I went home to be lazy and Craig miraculously got me to go to spin class anyway. Without trying. He's gifted), but I got in an unscheduled 19 mile speedy-for-mishele ride on Saturday. Success, right? I was stoked to do my weekly training summary til I added it up to be 6:05. Six hours! What a waste!

The truth is I'm lost without a $500 daylong race ahead of me. I can't function. In fact, last week I blew off my double workout one day just so I could triple up the next, a la my ironman days. What the heck is wrong with me?

Part of it is stress. I don't have anything to pour all my freakish anxiety and petty annoyance into at the end of the day except for patent registration studying, which actually puts me to sleep every night. If I could get hold of the MPEP editor, we'd have a nice little chat about repeating things more than once. But studying is not so much the "sweat out your stress" kind of outlet to which I've been subscribing. On top of that, I have pseudo tri friends now. Yes, I'm the fat one, slow one, and sometimes ugly one but I can still marginally cling to the group of h-town tri hotties (and I can still claim "the smart one!"). That sounds nice, but my lone workouts feel more like lonely workouts these days. If I have pseudo friends, why don't I have pseudo training buddies? Do they not really like me? Do they think I'm too slow? Lazy? It's absurd that I even bother letting such nonsense cross my mind, let alone occupy my thoughts in the quiet of the day, but there it is: crazy girl creeping in. I thought I drowned that witch in middle school.

Instead of grabbing a cocktail and a Lifetime movie to deal with my [imagined] problems, I'm IMing it up again. I don't like people frowning in disapproval when I say I'm taking the summer easy and getting some sprints in.... for three years. (That actually happened, by the way. At Tejas. By more than one person. Can you believe that?) I don't want to feel left out of the loop when I'm way more knowledgeable than most of the local idiot talking heads when it comes to doing an ironman, especially Arizona. But mostly, I want that iron structure back. I want to feel like me again instead of this babbling insecure creepy girl waiting by her phone instead of brazenly ignoring it when it rings. I am not myself right now.

So I'm headed to Louisville in 2008. Admittedly it's my second choice, but I simply can't secure the bones to get up to Canada the first day of law school classes (small detail) or swing a community fund slot for IM Canada. So I'm heading back (almost) home on August 24th or 31st in 2008. Maybe my family will make the measly two hour drive to cheer me on. Er... maybe not. But you know what? I really don't mind either way. I don't do this for cheering family or dri fit hats or that tri community I so love and hate-- I train for me, all me. Hopefully I can get out of 1L with some kind of fitness that doesn't resemble that of Jabba the Hutt. I'll have a solid summer to toil away my evenings bruising my hiney and chafing my chest. And I can't wait.

But this summer? I really need to study. And give kitty kisses to Gary and Lily. And get back to being normal me that doesn't give a crap if I'm riding solo or in a group or what Summer said to Austin when she was drunk last week. Just making the decision has given me a little of the peace I'm used to. Back to basics and off the crazy pills... I hope.

Louisville in 08! Now who's with me?!?!

Uh, just kidding.

Wisconsin-bound

I will catch you when you fall. Well, provided you do it at the finish line. Oh! And assuming it’s my turn in line. I’m going to Ironman Wisconsin in 2007, but not as a competitor (ha! As if I’ve ever “competed” in an Ironman); I’m volunteering as a finish line catcher all day. From the easy, confident stride of the winner to the hobble of the bitter 12:01 AM unofficial finisher. There will be tears. Sweat. Blood, perhaps? Oh, and puke... maybe puke. And me.

You kids are gonna make me proud. And stinky. Try not to sweat on me.

Ready to run? Tejas sprint tri race review

Tejas Sprint
600y swim/10.5 mile bike/3 mile run
Sugarland, TX 6/10/07

Ah, my first real race of the season. My training has been light, but I was so stoked to get out there on Sunday morning that it really didn’t matter if I was about to get my booty kicked. Tejas was a benchmark race since it’s the only one besides Arizona that I also did last year. I wanted to spank 2006 Mishele until the run, when I’d probably let her win; I’m still afraid to run. I’m a weenie.

Anyway, I woke up at 5 on Sunday morning and felt okay. Got to the race site, fiddled around with crap in my car, and rode down to transition which was about .5 miles from the parking lot. On the way there I ran into Lisa and Robin, local tri hotties who are also pretty speedy. We hung around while we set up transition, got our chips, etc. Good times.

Finally the race began. The swim was supposed to be a 600 yard open water swim in a decidedly nasty neighborhood lake. This annoyed me because last year was on the same course and was an 800 meter swim, but oh well-- at least I could beat my swim split from the year before. I was in the 6th wave and started in the second row of bodies. You know, it amazes me how nice all the girls are... til the gun goes off. Let the water wrestling begin! Despite the rat race I got out in front pretty early and swam about as straight as humanly possible. I felt pretty good about my line and my effort and fully expected to exit the water around 9:00, so you can imagine my disappointment when I didn't hit land til almost 12:00. What the crap? I don't do 2:00/100yd anything, not even warmdowns. I didn't fret too long though because I saw a good swimmer maybe 30 seconds in front of me in transition, so it wasn't just me being pokey.

T1. Good work. In and out.

The bike. Ah, I was so looking forward to riding. The course was an ultra-crowded out-and-back 2 loop course on new roads, a last minute change back to the crappy 2006 bike course. I stuck above 20 mph except when I was digging around for food or taking u-turns, which I royally suck at. I felt good. Funny thing though: I packed two frozen water bottles in my car that morning, one of water and one of Gatorade-- one for the bike and one for afterward. I left them both in the car, leaving me with just my aerodrink until the run. Oops! It was just as well though because I hate ingesting on the bike. Anyway, just as I started losing my focus tri hottie Lisa came breezing past me-- she's a real force to be reckoned with on the bike. The second she was out of my draft zone I chased her to T2, determined to get her on the run since I have been a stronger runner than her in the past.

T2. Super fast, despite dropping my running shoe (2 seconds) and running the wrong way out transition (4 seconds). Always room for improvement I suppose. I also tried something new dismounting: I left one shoe on the bike. Perhaps the first time trying this should not have been during the race.

The run. My once strong leg is now my greatest fear, in small part because I rolled my ankle on Tuesday and strained that tendon on the outside of your lower leg. It hurts, but it wasn't bothering me when I started running. Lisa was within spitting distance of me for about 50 yds, then she took off and I, well, didn't. Last year I negative split each mile by 30 seconds (8:30, 8:00, 7:30-- not too shabby). This year I clung to 8:30-8:40 pace, and barely. Still, my run was strong and consistent, which I guess is all I can ask right now. A funny thing happened on the run. At mile 1 there is a water station and a photographer, and it's right by transition and the finish so there are tons of folks around cheering. I saw the photographer and planned to smile, but then realized I needed water to take the gel in my hand I was supposed to down in T2. So I keep glaring, grab a water, down the gel-- and trip over the guy in front of me b/c I was drinking. All of the sudden Darlene (remember her from Arizona?) is there beside me cheering. Surprised at tripping and hearing my name, I got water up my nose, which promptly got rocketed out my nostrils. So there I am, being called (out?) by name near lots of people while water and snot run down my face. It was awesome. Anyway, the rest of the run was a pretty 3 miles (2.8-2.9 miles according to the Garmin freaks) until the much anticipated finish. Once I caught my breath I immediately removed my shoes and found my feet a painful chafe/blister party. Good to know now that I can't run without socks even for 3 measley miles. Yeck. Post-race I hung out for awhile (Craig did too), then lifted and got in an open water swim with Greyhound. I was pretty pooped by the time my head hit the pillow.

Here's the comparison from this year to last:

Year	2006	2007
Overall time	1:17:46	1:11:36
Swim	13:10	13:10
Swim pace	1:30/100y	1:32/100y
T1	1:30	1:38
Bike	37:30	32:15
Bike pace	16.8 mph	19.5 mph
T2	1:26	0:46
Run	24:12	25:10
Run pace	8:03	8:23
Age group place	10/29	8/35
Overall place	317/613	237/629

(I recalculated the bike and swim splits to reflect the proper distances since they aren't right on the results. In case you're one of those stalker types that checks that sort of thing.)

Improvement I'd say, especially comparing my bike split, T2, and place in the grand rank and file. Now I just need to smile for the cameras, get some run speed, and club a few girls in my age group so I place one day.

Two more posts coming up this week!