You 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
Sunday, January 13, 2008
Monday, December 31, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, December 10, 2007
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!
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!
Friday, November 09, 2007
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. :)
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. :)
Sunday, October 28, 2007
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?
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*
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.
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?
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?
Saturday, October 13, 2007
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*
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*
Thursday, September 27, 2007
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. :-(
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. :-(
Friday, September 14, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, September 10, 2007
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!
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!
Thursday, September 06, 2007
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!)
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!)
Monday, September 03, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, August 27, 2007
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? :)
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? :)
Monday, August 13, 2007
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.
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)
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)
Tuesday, August 07, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, August 06, 2007
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!
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.
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.
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