tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-123119212024-03-13T12:13:19.334-05:00Dude, I am freaking out.I just like to talk, and the cat won't seem to answer me.shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.comBlogger124125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-14429678949267396922010-06-21T19:10:00.004-05:002010-06-21T19:58:06.619-05:00Internet friendsWhenever I explain my blogging relationships to my "real life" friends, I get a bit flustered. Internet friends? <i>I</i> have internet friends? I recognize their legitimate benefit in a changing world while being leery of the stigma. And while the connections I've made with my internet friends have been surprisingly meaningful to me, I was taken aback at just how much the loss of one of them could hurt.<br /><br />Today I found out one such internet friend passed away. While we only met once, it was all I could do after hearing the news to make it home before I started crying. It also took about that long to think, "If this is how <i>you</i> feel, just imagine how awful a loss this is to her family and friends." I suppose we all have to go sometime, but I can't help but feel like a great positive force in the world has left our company.<br /><br /><a href="http://off-the-deep-end.blogspot.com/">Wendy</a> was human and therefore imperfect, but she refrained from displaying those imperfections to me. A swimmer and cat lover with a delightful wit and a great capacity for encouragement, she rooted on athletic accomplishments and human indulgences alike. I can't count the times her comments brought me a smile or a bit of comfort. Though I didn't have the pleasure of knowing her well, I will truly miss her, and my thoughts are with her family. Rest well, Wendy.shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-54655734182581473082010-06-06T16:38:00.005-05:002010-06-06T19:22:11.872-05:005 months from todayI'll be sweating out my latest and greatest Ironman. It'll be my 5th. I should have this whole "training for an Ironman/kind of a badass" routinedown by now, but this time I'm legitimately nervous. I haven't completed an Ironman-- nay, a <i>triathlon</i>-- since I began law school in 2007. I have the bar exam (Job 1, as those who like to use awkward phrases might say) in seven weeks. I'm overweight, an overstuffed sausage version of my old Iron self. And worse yet, I'm embarrassingly out of shape. I know that once I get to the starting line I can handle whatever race day offers; I am nothing if I'm not tough. But this time, whether I arrive to race is a larger question mark than I'm used to.<div><br /></div><div>Sounds like a good time to start blogging, right? I could use some help or support, and I miss Houston and my tri community something awful. I'll never understand why I miss a place that was never meant to be home-- I daresay it's the people I left behind there. But I digress.</div><div><br /></div><div>Today I went on my first run in 6 weeks, and it was ugly. About 2 minutes in my chest tightened, and I wanted to turn back. I look ridiculous, I thought. Fatties shouldn't run in public. People are you going laugh at you as you waddle by. But no one laughed, of course, and a few more minutes in I relaxed and enjoyed a nice (though slow) jog along the lakefront. In two weeks I'll be able to handle anything without that fear of physical discomfort (or is it failure?) rising up; right now it's just a question of getting there.</div><div><br /></div><div>And with that, let me explain my plan. I am going to study for and pass the bar. I am going to take the next 22 weeks and get my ass into shape. I'm going to <a href="https://www.kintera.org/faf/donorreg/donorpledge.asp?ievent=334240&supID=290753540">fundraise</a> for my Janus Charity Challenge beneficiary and my old volunteer gig, the <a href="http://www.gnhcp.org/">Greater New Haven Cat Project</a> (before that, I'm going to finish building my fundraising site). I'm going to lose the 8 pounds that kept me from winning my Law School Bet (weight in = weight out --> new bike). I am also going to blog about it-- and in that order. Some things I want to accomplish in a less formal sense (more of guidelines I suppose?) include trying to curse less and not describing my training as a journey, an epic metamorphosis, or anything else ridiculous for the daily life of a normal human.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, about the blog. I've been here before, but dropped off the face of the planet when I started school and struggled with life, though I suppose not triathloning anymore didn't help, either. But now that I'm back, I'm not sure I'm going to stay... let's see how this trip goes before extending it, eh? I will warn you that unless you email me at my ever classy hotengineergirl at yahoo email by July 15th, you'll find my page blocked from your curious eyes. On July 16th, I'll be switching to a invite-only blog to prevent my getting any stalkers. So, let me know if you want to join. I'll post a reminder closer to the date, of course-- no need to worry about doing it this second (unless you want to).</div><div><br /></div><div>Alrighty. I'm back to bar study (yea.). Catch you in a few days once I pick out a gym to get back in the pool!</div>shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-87091913077274378352008-04-18T09:41:00.004-05:002008-04-18T10:03:23.116-05:00Ironman 2009?I think I have time for one last hurrah in 2009 before I rejoin the workforce the next year. Because I'm limited to late summer races, I really only have one choice left: <a href="http://ironmanusa.com/">Lake Placid</a>. And since I expect the online registration to all but disappear this year, I'm helping out on race day and getting in line to register in person the next morning--exactly like <a href="http://140point6miles.blogspot.com/">Dying Water Buffalo</a> last year. I'm really just following her around, one year late.<br /><br />I signed up to volunteer, and I won't be getting the posh spots in transition and at the finish line that I got at Wisconsin. Nevertheless, it shall be awesome. I'm stoked.<br /><br />I was also thinking about camping instead of getting a hotel room since I just bought a sweet new tent and am looking for excuses to use it. Does anyone have any experience with Lake Placid? Camping is a thing to do there, right? I figured if I don't have to worry about all the things that real athletes have to worry about like sleeping well or preparing enormous amounts of gear for the race, I could take advantage of the amazing locale. But, I don't know if this is realistic. Let me know if you have any feedback.<br /><br />Where is everyone else going in 2009?shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-73188483705635222572008-04-14T20:01:00.006-05:002008-04-14T20:12:05.511-05:00And speaking of Chicago...A law school friend <i>twisted my arm</i> til I agreed to register for <a href="http://www.chicagomarathon.com/cms400min/chicago_marathon/">everyone's favorite marathon</a> with her. It'll be her first marathon. We have a time goal and everything-- basically, contrary to everything I usually do with running thus far. It's a welcome change. <br /><br />I'm scared. I've never signed up to do a race with someone else, except Sunmart 50k (aka "The time I learned that drinking soda while running makes me very sick"). We're figuring out a training plan tomorrow, though mine'll be different than hers on account of that whole ironman thing I'm doing six weeks earlier. That's another good reason to be scared. Even so, I'm excited about the prospect of training with someone since training alone for the 26.2 hasn't worked yet. Admittedly, it's been a long and low-workout-volumed schoolyear without any sort of network of exercisers. I'm lonely up here, and so is my spandex.<br /><br />Okay, enough self-pity. I need to save my whining for the course! ;-)shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-68071207465129320212008-04-14T19:00:00.002-05:002008-04-14T20:09:50.042-05:00Moving to ChicagoAnd as much as I love the band, I don't mean I'm dancing to "Look Away." I'm heading to Chicago for a summer of associateness and Ironman training. <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The good</span>: world, eat your heart out as I open water swim every day (in theory) without the fear of being eaten by a jellyfish-shark. <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The bad</span>: I think that Chicago doesn't make hills, and rumor has it that Louisville is full of 'em. I'm also without my Houston tri crowd, which is nothing short of tragic (so I suppose that should have made it to the ugly, huh?).<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">The ugly</span>: I don't remember how to swim, and perhaps more importantly, I have not secured housing. <br />Still, I'm stoked. No need to go all negativo on myself, right? It's still March. I mean, April.<br /><br />Aside from the excitement of moving to a city with public transportation, I'm a little concerned about where I go for triathlon info. Where should I train? What are good warmup races to do? Can I ride in the city or is it off to the 'burbs in the Nissan like in Houston? <br /><br />I don't know. Do you? Do your friends know? Are there any Chicago trifolk running around The Internets? Can you give me tri relocation advice? I'm all ears!shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-37848147316789879432008-04-12T15:07:00.002-05:002008-04-12T15:15:25.692-05:00Whatcha doin tomorrow?Nothing? Yeah, me neither. So why don't you watch <a href="http://kcwoodhead.blogspot.com">one of Houston's finest</a> drop more time from IM #1 and IM #2 and any IMer in history? <a href="http://ironmanlive.com/events/ironman/arizona/?show=tracker&y=2008">Go on.</a> It'll be fun. With a number like 99, how could it be anything less?shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-54542189946373620592008-04-11T08:23:00.005-05:002008-04-12T23:41:11.273-05:00St. Louis half: a super okay raceI think I owe a everyone poop story. Er, a race review.<br /><br />The St. Louis marathon is much like the city itself-- perfectly fine, but not living up to its potential. On marathonguide.com there's some d-bag from Rochester that goes into this long tirade about how the city's been plummeting from its high point of 1904, but I'd argue that's true of the entire midwest. In a marathon review. And dude is from Rochester, which doesn't sound like a fun place to live at all-- now OR in 1904.<br /><br />But I digress.<br /><br />Race day was great. I got to the start line at 5:45 and met a long row of empty, clean portapotties. Like, really clean. So clean I was breathing normally instead of alternating between gagging and holding my breath. For someone who loves poop stories I have little tolerance for anything poop-related. Give me a puking person and I'll give you a trooper who'll hold back hair and clean up vomit chunks. But traditional bathroom god sacrifices? Ew. Anyway, I used the portapotty, ran into some law school friends/acquaintances, and stretched. Two of the school crowd went to go warm up, and I laughed when they asked me to join them. Of course, when you're going to run sub-8 pace like they did, a warmup is a good idea. Me, I saved it for the race.<br /><br />I started near the 10:00 pace mark and enjoyed the atmosphere. It was a beautiful day to run. It was 45 degrees at the start, so I had on a long sleeve top and throwaway gloves that have never been thrown away; I almost wore a jacket too, but my shorts were navy and my jacket was black and I didn't want to clash. Seriously. It was a fortuitous concern because I was pretty hot by the time I finished; I'm a short sleeves and shorts kind of girl, something I continually and erroneously doubt. The gun went off and so did we, and 7 minutes (!!) later I crossed the mat.<br /><br />And so it was. Miles flew by and my mile splits got faster, so I tried to walk more. It didn't help. I saw Sam finish (an impressive 12th overall) when I was passing the halfway point, and that was exciting, if a little sad he ran almost twice as fast as me. I cruised along happy as a clam with my tunes (a prudent move since I forgot my inhaler and my breathing sounded like a dying cow's final gasps). I walked water stations and some hills and mostly tried to have a good time, which was swell for the first 10 miles. Mile 12 turned out to be brutal, but this is hardly surprising given my longest run was 7 miles, and it was over a month ago. But I made it, and with decent splits:<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">First 2 miles:</span> 20:20<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Mile 3:</span> 9:58<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Mile 4:</span> 10:40<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Mile 5:</span> 9:56<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Mile 6: </span>9:55<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Mile 7:</span> 9:54<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Mile 8:</span> 10:03<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Mile 9: </span>9:50<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Mile 10:</span> 10:07<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Mile 11: </span>10:22<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Mile 12:</span>10:55 <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Mile 13: </span>9:42<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Last .1:</span> 0:58<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Total:</span> 2:12:20<br /><br />Until mile 11 I thought I could make my midrace goal of 2:11, but that didn't happen. Oh well! I still came in the top half of my division and participants overall, which was all I was hoping for. And I broke 1000 calories on my HRM! 1054 baby! It took an average heartrate of 166 to get to 4 caloric digits, but I did it. <br /><br />The postrace fun was, in fact, fun if disorganized and a little crowded. It's really hard to appreciate any post-marathon stuff after being spoiled by Houston, who does the best job with the finish line of any race I've seen. I wasn't very hungry on account of the tummy cramps I had from mile 7 on, so I just snagged a beer and headed home-- <i>big</i> recovery mistake.<br /><br />After I headed home I worked on my last paper for the semester and lounged around. My muscles felt great! It was only my knees and a hand that hurt... til Monday. I got up for school the next day and did a little Frankenstein action; it was funny because it was deserved. After my Sunday mistakes, I iced, cremed, and medicated my legs, and I was feeling pretty good by Wednesday. This Sunday I have to hit the IM training plan for week 1-- five miles. I think I can handle it, but it's hard to imagine being IM training time already. <br /><br />That was my race. Are you ready for the poop story? I gave the squeamish an escape hatch-- and color coding.<br /><font color = red>Onto the real action. Before I really get into it, let me just say that I'm not telling this story to be juvenile; I consider it a duty to inform the public. That and it's funny, at least to the people I've told the story to in real life. Not to build it up or anything.<br /><br />Rewind to mile 4. We were running by the Nestle/Purina plant ((who knew they were one company? Not me) and I got a faint whiff of poop. "Ew," I thought. "What a pity that animal food production smells like feces." But I continued on. So did the smell. In fact, it seemed to get worse though we were running away from the plant; I decided it must be the part of the city we were in. <br /><br />This continued until almost mile 6. The couple next to me mentioned how it smelled like "Turner's dirty diaper" (Turner? sigh), so I knew I wasn't making this up. And since the smell was getting worse, I was starting to get sick. I kept gagging and was afraid I was going to lose my experimental gel (I ate one 15 minutes before the race started-- something I've never done before. It was, by and large, a success-- no surprise since I'm so bad about eating enough calories before and during a race). Suddenly in front of me I see a woman with a spot of mud on her calf. I thought maybe she'd stepped in dog doodoo. I considered if I should go up to her and ask since I was seriously starting to get sick and there were portapotties <i>everywhere</i> along the course where she could clean herself off... but I didn't. I thought it was rude. A couple minutes went by and I looked back at the woman; this time there is an explosion of poo all down the back of her <b>thigh</b>. That was no dog doodoo. That was a woman pooping during the race.<br /><br />(Interestingly, there was only poop down one leg. I've been speculating about this with many but it seems curious, no?)<br /><br />Let me repeat that. There was a woman pooping herself WHILE RUNNING. On the course. The course with 13,000 people on it. My course. Now maybe I should have felt sorry for her, but I didn't then and haven't yet. We've all had running moments when an unplanned restroom trip seems inevitable. In an emergency, YOU WALK to keep from soiling yourself. Craig thinks that maybe she didn't realize it. As someone who slowly caught up to her over 2 miles, I can assure you that she had to know by the exxtreme smell she was giving off. Perhaps she thought she was being heroic? Perhaps. I think 10 minute miles with poop all over your legs is closer to heinous, even if it's a fine pace to run. <br /><br />Anyway, once I realized there was a woman with explosive diarrhea running in front of me, the dry heaves got worse. I had to surge ahead of her or quit-- that's how disgusting it was. Unfortunately for me, the mile 6 water station was just beyond us, and I stopped to eat a gel. <i>She kept running, past dozens of portapotties</i>. I couldn't believe it. Who keeps running with poop down one entire leg? Who is so selfish to think that their half marathon time shouldn't be slowed by a trip to the restroom? I was mad. I don't know if she finished or not; I admittedly never saw her again after she passed me as I was eating a gel. But I did watch her run by 2 sets of portapotties without breaking stride. <br /><br />It's funny. I don't pee on my bike or before/in road races because the thought of urine on the things I love-- namely, my bike seat and my running shoes-- is repulsive, the penultimate disrespect (after, of course, #2) to my possessions and other racers. I think the average packer is fooling herself to think such things are necessary for her race when we're not breaking any records and restroom stops are quick (and if you can minimize them by not overhydrating). But at least I can understand peeing on oneself even though I do not approve. Pooping, however, is another matter. It's icky and it's obvious. Why would one stoop to #2 during a race?<br /><br />That's about all. Although I thought this went without saying before Sunday, please do yourself and those around you a favor-- take a potty break with #2 calls. It's not amazing or impressive to shun the most basic of hygiene-- it's stinky. And even worse, people on the internet will write long posts about you. And who wants that?</font color = red>shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-68671064013613879982008-04-06T18:32:00.002-05:002008-04-06T18:38:30.525-05:00A poop story to end all poop storiesMan. Ooooh man. I hope you're ready for a poop story... tomorrow. I had a grand day at the St. Louis half today, and I can feel it from my waist down. My knees are not feeling swell and I got some chafing from careless dressing, but all in all I really had a great day. I just wanted to let you know I lived and it was way more fun than I remembered. Perhaps in the future I shouldn't go nine months without a race if it can be helped; I need races.<br /><br />Biker friend who doesn't call me now that he realizes I cannot, in fact, bike (Sam for short) like won or came in second or something in today's race. I can vouch for his awesomeness because I saw him finish-- when I was on my way to the 7 mile marker. I obviously planned that.<br /><br />Anyway, I hope you can't sleep tonight in anticipation of a Poop Story. You'll laugh. You'll cry. You'll gag. I know I did.shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-17999876425083805532008-04-05T19:17:00.005-05:002008-04-05T19:44:15.248-05:00Permission slipI need your help. Specifically, I need your blessing.<br /><br />Tomorrow I'm running my first <a href="http://www.gostlouis.org/halfmarathon.html">race</a> since, well, I can't even remember (maybe the Webster Du in July?), but it was a long time ago. And despite my promising February - March training, I am not ready to race like <a href="http://onlineraceresults.com/race/view_individual.php?make_printable=1&bib_num=H4910&race_id=4731&type=result">my last half marathon</a>. I'm cool with that. The St. Louis Marathon was my first, and I'm excited to be back on the course. And I've been looking forward to a physical experience that will tire me out to knock me into a peaceful sleep at night, even if it may include 12:00 miles. But I realized that my shame has reached an unacceptable level when I considered not wearing my chip for tomorrow's half marathon.<br /><br />So <i>you</i> wouldn't see. So <i>you</i> wouldn't point and laugh.<br /><br />In the long term I should consider, oh, not blogging (at all) and voluntarily sharing my race experiences, or finding less judgmental friends. Or maybe I should just stop projecting. None of those solutions can be realized in less than 12 hours, so instead I simply say, "Hey. I'm run-walking a half marathon tomorrow on purpose. Don't laugh at me. I need the exercise."<br /><br />This ship is not running so smoothly right now. I keep having freak accidents and injuring myself temporarily (have you ever gotten punched in the nose? It bleeping <strong>hurts</strong>. I managed to accidentally punch myself in the nose a couple weeks ago; now my nose makes a cracking noise if I push on it, and of course I keep pushing on it. Wouldn't you?), and mini-crises keep popping up. I know it's part of the ebb and flow of existing-- after all, I had an accident-free December and January-- but I'm looking forward to hitting calm waters soon. Somehow I think hanging out for a morning of poop-butt running (hopefully sans poo) will make that happen. But it really sours my happy mental image to see you smugly checking the race results.<br /><br />So there it is. I'll be back tomorrow with some "race" stories and such, and you can bet your asp I'm hitting the beer (even if it is at mile 3 instead of mile 24 like the last time I was on this course). I'm hoping to finish around 2:25, but I've got nothing to rush home to but my kittyman and my last legal writing assignment of the semester. So keep laughing-- just not at me. ;-)shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-10513070782100309422008-03-07T09:52:00.003-06:002008-03-07T09:57:58.128-06:00The very next day...There was no snow:<br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7JnI_KprSZ99zCziURkZ2PYiZ6YqUdGUh4V2RzfL9ouB7a4-qse56lfoWpNraqhN5XjY3-ddmq6zHH3Shexb2FgftsOFRnD992P_E3ZCgATfEIuc_Qm_gc4NCqtGRberBgMqqpA/s1600-h/IMG_1471.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7JnI_KprSZ99zCziURkZ2PYiZ6YqUdGUh4V2RzfL9ouB7a4-qse56lfoWpNraqhN5XjY3-ddmq6zHH3Shexb2FgftsOFRnD992P_E3ZCgATfEIuc_Qm_gc4NCqtGRberBgMqqpA/s320/IMG_1471.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5175028648918004226" /></a><br /><br />Actually, I cheated. I took this photo (again, sorry it's crappy) from my hotel balcony in Phoenix. The change of weather was delicious... I should have stayed longer. My obsession with Phoenix is borderline healthy.<br /><br />Okay, that's it. I just wanted to brag. :)shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-17603979209258738532008-03-04T16:43:00.003-06:002008-03-04T17:19:08.773-06:00Wonderland<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB_Cspy-f5TJoo0Dt-Rv8L0tsvDvw15M6wr2QZVkcpG51CwHuCKW3MCjHIVHmnX282RdCfu11OyvbNU79YkW5NE6yqzdsVabnfBZjJoyYjoIm_3dav64tdqX9lnQOMW2MfwaRHrQ/s1600-h/IMG_1470.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB_Cspy-f5TJoo0Dt-Rv8L0tsvDvw15M6wr2QZVkcpG51CwHuCKW3MCjHIVHmnX282RdCfu11OyvbNU79YkW5NE6yqzdsVabnfBZjJoyYjoIm_3dav64tdqX9lnQOMW2MfwaRHrQ/s320/IMG_1470.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5174021246182749426" /></a><br /><center><i>Room with a view: looking out my apt this instant</i></center><br /><br />It's snowing here. And unlike that crap Mother Nature normally pulls, it's snowing during the day; we got to watch the gift fall from the sky all morning. We've gotten 7 inches and it's still coming down... and I'm thinking I might head to <a href="http://www.city-data.com/picfilesc/picc14798.php">Art Hill</a> this evening for some sledding action, though admittedly I've never done anything like that before.<br /><br />I also got a job offer today.<br /><br />Life is good. I'll be back to posting earlier than expected!shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-65186200666556131642008-01-15T10:10:00.000-06:002011-09-03T17:22:31.917-05:00Gray hairsWhy do they call gray hairs gray hairs? They're not gray. They're sparkling white highlights in a sea of chocolate. I'll never understand, but I suppose I'll let them lie.<br /><br />My mom had the most beautiful gray hair-- everyone commented on it. Each strand of her hair was either inky black or dazzling white; there was no in-between. If you have gray hair like that, don't dye it. It's a crime against humanity to cover up such a lovely display of experience and wisdom.<br /><br />My gray hairs are considerably less attractive than my mom's. For one, none of the gray hairs on my head will be pigeonholed into a single hair color-- instead, they hem-haw around, an inch white, and inch brown. (I have not only <i>found</i> six but allowed them to continue growing. I'm, like, a preservationist or something.) They're ninnies about growing up without their cloak of melanin or whatever colors hair, and they shouldn't be.<br /><br />I found my first gray hair when I was 20.5 years old, and I nearly started crying when I saw it. It was a mark of barren, cold, lonely woman, and an awful personal symbol. Now almost six years later I'm surprised not at the 600% increase of known gray hairs but my serene acceptance of them... minus the mini freak-out I had during law school orientation upon discovery of the temple-dwelling gray hairs. I really do see my little white intruders as genuine signs of maturity. A semi-mastered life, even if I sometimes get the giggles when talking about "duty" too long. Even if I'm in school at age 26. And even if my hair is still dominated by brown. I'm a-growin' up into a real live woman, one in which I am proud, my family can be proud, and my mom would have bragged about to total strangers till they vomited or ran away screaming. I'd say such weighty praise (even if self-delivered; I hope you excuse me) is worth the small burden of some blossoming silver strands.shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-21668302672685964532008-01-13T22:01:00.000-06:002008-01-13T22:16:30.253-06:00Sunshine and butterfliesYou know how life and your mood oscillate? My life and mood are currently great. Divine. Superb. I'm enjoying this high as long as I can.<br /><br />My school break and celebrated return (ha!) have been good for me. My weird acne is gone. My teeth are whitened. My relationships are healthy. My heart can stand it when I run. My apartment isn't infested with roaches. I didn't fail out of my first semester (so far). Life is good.<br /><br />Today I went on my first longish run. Yesterday I was a stinker and sat around dirtying dishes and watching Law & Order to beef up for a semester of Criminal law, so before I went to bed (early) last night I told myself that Sunday would be no fun: I had to run over six miles if it took all day, and I had to do my reading for the first days of classes. I was mentally preparing to be unprepared mentally.<br /><br />This morning it took 30 minutes to get up and out for my run, but I did--even though it was in the 20s and flurrying. (I apologize for abusing those around me by wearing tights, but sacrifices had to be made.) I decided to run to Forest Park, around, and back for a 6.5 mile run; I could add bells and whistles to next week's run, but for today the loop had to be conquered. I told myself to chill out and run 11:00 pace if I wanted. I told myself to walk if I got tired. I allowed myself to bring my nano along for the party. All was well.<br /><br />Two miles in some adorable blonde passed me. I was sad, but people get passed, especially me. Then, 2 miles later, I was a breath away from catching her on a steep, short hill; presumably horrified that such a large spandex-clad butt could catch her, blondie picked up the pace. I did too. By mile 5 we were busting down the trail, running sub-9 minute pace. She cut the course once and got through two lights for which I had to stop, so I never caught her. But when I turned to run home, she turned around with what I think was a look of relief; her pursuer had decided to chase other things, like a shower. <br /><br />But I'll catch her next time. My slow run ended up being about 5 minutes faster than expected, including stoplight breaks. I'm torn about whether or not I should stop my watch when waiting for lights. On one hand, it's not time during which I'm covering the distance. On the other, the mandatory break may make me faster after the rest. I'm currently not stopping (my watch) for lights, but I think I might switch; what do you guys do?shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-22675010858717708322007-12-31T12:46:00.000-06:002007-12-31T13:03:46.214-06:00Feels like the first timeCan a girl get enough Foreigner references in her blog? I think not.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-42492968336878887222007-12-10T18:28:00.000-06:002008-01-17T12:53:57.513-06:00It can get worseThe 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?"<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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 (<i>my school</i> 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.<br /><br />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 <i>was</i> 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. <br /><br />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.<br /><br />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).<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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!shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-77330823824621507282007-11-09T09:19:00.000-06:002007-11-09T09:04:45.518-06:00Don't believe me if I say I'm 27No 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!<br /><br />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 <i>that</i> 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.<br /><br />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 <i>still</i> 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.<br /><br />I am <i>totally</i> stealing a birthday idea from <a href="http://www.triboomer.com">TriBoomer</a> 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.<br /><br />But I am. Enjoy the day-- I will. :)shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-9487334084720614112007-10-28T22:32:00.000-05:002008-01-17T12:50:57.061-06:004 posts 4 UUgh. 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*<br /><br />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.<br /><br />I would also like to point out that <a href="http://off-the-deep-end.blogspot.com/">Wendy</a> 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?shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-61637269395119398362007-10-28T22:24:00.000-05:002008-01-17T12:49:50.122-06:00Lazy = Humiliating: The end of (Sun)daysSunday 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 <i>again</i>. 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 <a href="http://bigshark.com/page.cfm?PageID=69" >cyclocross tutorial pics</a> 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?<br /><br />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). <br /><br />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*shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-20976672145551558582007-10-28T22:06:00.000-05:002008-01-17T12:48:32.092-06:00Lazy = Humiliating: The Friday-Saturday versionLast weekend <a href="http://trigreyhound.blogspot.com">Greyhound</a> 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.<br /><br />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!”<br /><br />Excuse me? Am I the one <i>walking</i> 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 [<i>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</i>]. And yes, my heartrate was an obscene 165 bpm. [<i> 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</i>] 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. <br /><br />No? Okay, not another cat joke ever. Happy?<br /><br />After I ran I volunteered raking leaves for three hours. Let me tell you, that was <i>great</i> 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.<br /><br />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.shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-14547184514924093202007-10-28T21:57:00.000-05:002007-10-28T22:32:52.205-05:00Lazy = Humiliating: The Thursday versionIt’s been awhile. I could have written before now, but the truth is I’ve been busy with school and <i>not</i> 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.<br /><br />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>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>] 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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Are you ready for Friday?shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-47930309578045300652007-10-13T16:04:00.000-05:002007-10-13T16:07:33.238-05:00Guess who passed the patent bar today?Me! Woo hoo!<br /><br />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.<br /><br />Look for a post after my writing assignment is turned in Monday and I've sufficiently recovered or celebrated my weekend accomplishments. *wink wink*shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-41014719984826320512007-09-27T11:50:00.000-05:002008-01-17T12:38:57.564-06:00Why 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:<br /><br />Last Sunday I was set to ride with my new friend <a href="http://www.samyount.com">Sam</a>. (Sam's fast. As a testament to his fastness, Sam did a long run before we met up to ride. I met Sam at <a href="http://www.georgeschweitzer.blogspot.com">George's</a> 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.<br /><br />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...<br /><br />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. <br /><br />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 <a href="http://www.trigreyhound.blogspot.com">Greyhound</a> 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>I</i> make-- both on my new friends and my body. :-(shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-48507722500261364732007-09-14T16:17:00.001-05:002008-01-17T12:36:52.548-06:00Gimme a double straight upDoes anyone know how to train for a double ironman?<br /><br />Seriously. Anyone? I'm thinking I want to have a go at it. <a href="http://www.usaultratri.com/welcome.html">Next year.</a> 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! <br /><br />I'm thinking it's doable; after all, <i>Going Long</i> 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.<br /><br />Let me know if you've been holding information out on me, okay? Thanks.<br /><br />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 <strong>am</strong>) 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? <br /><br />Hm, gotta go-- sink is backing up? I swear I'm moving into the Ritz next year.shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-81278467383464196912007-09-10T16:39:00.000-05:002008-01-17T12:35:47.905-06:00Okay so maybe Wisconsin doesn't suckHmm. 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 <i>heard</i> about their winters? Brr. What's more, have you heard their radio stations?<br /><br />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 href="http://georgeschweitzer.blogspot.com">a true big dog</a> 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.<br /><br />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 <i>probably</i> 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.<br /><br />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? <a href="http://trigreyhound.blogspot.com">Wow.</a> Congratulations on crossing the line-- you're a tough bunch. Now get some sleep and enjoy some free time!shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12311921.post-10007862630863953942007-09-06T18:00:00.001-05:002008-01-17T12:33:39.769-06:00Mid 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. <br /><br />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 <a href="http://off-the-deep-end.blogspot.com/">Wendy</a> and <a href="http://brentbuckner.blogspot.com/">Brent</a>, 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.<br /><br />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 <a href="http://trigreyhound.blogspot.com/">my favorite Houston virgin</a> 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.<br /><br />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!<br /><br />(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!)shelekhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14831081372084360580noreply@blogger.com5