Today I rode in the Lance Armstrong Foundation LIVESTRONG Challenge. It was a 40-mile ride through the picturesque farms and fields surrounding the Nike World Campus. It might have been yet more picturesque, nay, even bucolic, were it not for the steady, relentless, unceasing rain and wind. But I digress.
I began this little journey a few months ago when my friend Wussy McFairweatherpants (name changed to protect her identity) suggested that I join her on this ride after we had completed the Summit to Surf in July. It will be fun, she said. Won’t it be nice to have someone else to ride with, she said. All the really cool kids are doing it, she said. So, I gathered up my courage and through the miracle of that set of tubes we call the internet, I got all signed up.
Now, a 40-mile ride was kind of intimidating to me. The longest I’d been on was 35, and the first ten miles of that are bombing downhill at forty miles per hour. Exhilarating, yes. Work, no. Except for keeping an eye out for gravel patches and manning those brake levers like your life depends on it. Which it in fact does. So the thought of having a cohort in crime was attractive. When we did the 35 miler together it was over so much faster than when I did it alone, the year before.
Cut to this morning. As I drive to the venue, my cellphone rings. She’s bailing. (To be fair, she did warn me that she might if it was rainy, and I don’t really blame her that much, although I will give her crap about it forever.)
Great. Now what am I going to do? Should I ride forth, alone and friendless (sniff, sniff), into the driving rain? Or should I turn around and go home?
Clearly, friends and neighbors, I have no brain at all. I chose to forge ahead, though I did occasionally falter. Like every minute and a half, right up until we got moving.
So, off we went. Lance Armstrong was there to kick it off, there was much media coverage, hoopla, fol-de-rol, etc. Into the Valley of Rain rode the 3,000! Puddles to the left of them! Puddles to the right of them!
All went fantastically at first. I was completely drenched, but warm; the wind was a bit gusty but not terribly strong, the rain was steady but not a deluge. The hills were rolling and manageable. I stopped at the rest stops and snacked a bit, had some water, some Gatorade. It’s all good. This is easy! … Okay, not easy, but not horrible.
Then, I met (duhn duhn DUHN!) the train tracks. Sure, I’d met train tracks before, and just passed right over them, no problem. But these tracks were different. They were not perpendicular to the road. They were slanty. This was along about mile 25.
The textbook approach to a slanty railroad track is to turn your bicycle slightly to meet them at a 90 degree angle. If you have time and realize that the track is slanty before you pass over it. Which I did not. Also? If it’s raining? Yeah, you’re pretty much screwed.
In all the years that I commuted by bicycle in my misspent youth, I never ONCE wiped out on a railroad track, manhole cover, or crosswalk stripe – all slippery harbingers of evil to the bicycle tire, particularly the smooth ones favored by road bikes.
Yeah. So much for that.
My front tire got over it all right but the back tire slipped right down into the slanty groove and suddenly I was all over the road like a big, nylon-coated sack of potatoes. I took the brunt of it on my right elbow, then my shoulder and hip. My right ankle got into the act as well as the inside/back of my left knee. I slid down the road, merrily slithering along, until finally coming to rest. Which is when the pain began. Ow. Ow, ow, ow. Stinging ow! Hurting ow! OW!
Fortunately, a police car bearing two law-upholding types happened to be right behind me, and they stopped to collect me and my trusty steed off the pavement. Once I determined that nothing was broken, sprained, or bleeding, I continued on, smarting and wincing but Not! Giving! Up! I found that there was a hitch in my gitalong: some shifting difficulties, but I can still limp along. Another rider happened along and accompanied me to the next rest stop, which mercifully was not far away, and once there, I submitted my bike to the attentions of the mechanics who are omnipresent at all stops. They bent my rear derailleur back into some semblance of order. It will require further ministration by Ye Olde Bike Shoppe, but it was good enough to keep me on the road. Also I was given some Tylenol by the medics.
Oh! And they handed out these swell little mini-warm-packs, which they suggested be placed inside each of our gloves, right against the blood vessels that pass close to the surface on the inner aspect of the wrist. This kept my hands perfectly warm for the rest of the ride. A little trick to remember!
Several riders were being assessed there for hypothermia. I do not know what the temperature was today but it was a bit chilly, and with the rain (and shocking lack of raingear displayed by many riders) it was easy to get chilled.
The rest of the ride passed without incident. I was flagging pretty hard but was too close to resort to the sag wagon. I inched my way up the hills and slogged down them, and eventually arrived at The Finish Line! Yay me!
Now, those of you who know me at all should be guessing that this is not the end of the story. And, if you know me well, you should already be adding up the variables:
Fatigue.
Cold.
Low blood sugar.
Anxiety about time.
Poor sense of direction.
I now have three hours to get home, take a shower, and drive to work.
Can I find my car?
Of course not.
After a good twenty minutes of wandering through the vast, confusing parking lots, I made my way back to the post-event party and found some helpful volunteers to assist me. A very nice and extremely patient young man drove me around in a truck, bike in back, through every single parking lot. My car was in the last possible place it could have been. This process took a HALF HOUR, during which I have gotten colder and colder, until I am shivering uncontrollably. Thank heavens the car warms up quickly.
Once I get on the road, I pick my way through complete traffic mayhem and finally arrive home. It is now 2:30pm. I finished the event two and a half hours ago. I call work, tell them I’ll be late, run inside, shower, dress, endure enthusiastic wrestling moves administered by the young one (ow! ow! ow!), and bolt to work. I am half an hour late, due in part to yet more traffic mayhem. This is the first really rainy week of the fall and no one here can drive in the rain now, evidently. There are accidents everywhere.
It was still totally worth it.
I rock! (at least a little bit!)
PS I totally blame my absent friend for the wipeout AND my inability to find the car. Ha! (just kidding) (sort of)
PS Again: My elbow is all swollen up and hurts like a mofo. My hip is developing its bruise quite nicely. And the back/side of my left knee is purple. War wounds!
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Bitter, Table for One
For some reason as I woke up for the umpteenth time in the night my brain started rehashing a recent conversation with my father. This, coupled with the noise emanating from A Person In Close Proximity To Me Who Shall Remain Anonymous, resulted in my getting out of bed. In part as an attempt to head off the inevitable violence that would result had I stayed in bed, as That Person is difficult to wake and I was getting mighty peeved at the levels of sleep-enjoyance that I was experiencing. Which is to say, "nonexistent."
So, the conversation, which takes place on my 40th birthday:
(My cell phone rings)
Me (while getting out of car to enter MembershipCo store): Hello?
Dad: Well hello there.
Me: Hi, Dad, how are you?
Dad: Oh, pretty good, pretty good. Say, I called to tell you that Your Evil Stepmother's job with Gigantic Construction Company is closing ahead of schedule and she's taking another one at the airport expansion out in Major East Coast City. You know, conveniently close to where her kids all live. Far from here. Not near any of my family such as my children or elderly mother or other relatives.
Me: Oh, well I understand how it goes. Believe me. I certainly do. Ha! Ha! Ha!
Dad: Well I'm glad you do. Hey, we're selling most of our crap because given the state of the housing market right now, we're reluctant to buy a house that we might have trouble unloading later should her kids move away from that area, forcing us to relocate yet again. If there's anything you might like, let me know.
Me: Well, we pretty much have everything we need... although we do want to replace the living room couch, as it is an antiquated futon that was chewed on by the dogs when they were puppies.
Dad: Oh, except the couches. Those are spoken for by someone who we barely know, because they asked first, and we can't be bothered to tell anyone that we want to give my kids first crack at anything!
Me: Oh, okay. Well, I can't think of anything else we would need. ....Well, I should get going, I'm here at MembershipCo.
Dad: Oh, are you doing a little shopping?
Me: Yeah, we're having a sort of a... get together with friends tomorrow. September 8th. The day after today, September 7th. Perhaps in celebration of something.
Dad: Well, that sounds nice. I'll let you go then, because I am a clueless idiot and have forgotten every single one of your daughter's birthdays so far, so why in the world should I remember yours? Although that Evil Wife of mine, boy, she never forgets any of her kids' or grandkids' birthdays! But she usually doesn't remind me of yours, your brother's, or any of my grandkids' special days. What a corker she is. Ha! Ha! Ha! Talk to you later!
Me: Okay, bye Dad.
(click)
Okay, so maybe it didn't go exactly like that, but I have helpfully included the subtext for those reader(s) unfamiliar with my particular family dynamics. Or more like family statics.
One day I will not be bothered by any of this.
So, the conversation, which takes place on my 40th birthday:
(My cell phone rings)
Me (while getting out of car to enter MembershipCo store): Hello?
Dad: Well hello there.
Me: Hi, Dad, how are you?
Dad: Oh, pretty good, pretty good. Say, I called to tell you that Your Evil Stepmother's job with Gigantic Construction Company is closing ahead of schedule and she's taking another one at the airport expansion out in Major East Coast City. You know, conveniently close to where her kids all live. Far from here. Not near any of my family such as my children or elderly mother or other relatives.
Me: Oh, well I understand how it goes. Believe me. I certainly do. Ha! Ha! Ha!
Dad: Well I'm glad you do. Hey, we're selling most of our crap because given the state of the housing market right now, we're reluctant to buy a house that we might have trouble unloading later should her kids move away from that area, forcing us to relocate yet again. If there's anything you might like, let me know.
Me: Well, we pretty much have everything we need... although we do want to replace the living room couch, as it is an antiquated futon that was chewed on by the dogs when they were puppies.
Dad: Oh, except the couches. Those are spoken for by someone who we barely know, because they asked first, and we can't be bothered to tell anyone that we want to give my kids first crack at anything!
Me: Oh, okay. Well, I can't think of anything else we would need. ....Well, I should get going, I'm here at MembershipCo.
Dad: Oh, are you doing a little shopping?
Me: Yeah, we're having a sort of a... get together with friends tomorrow. September 8th. The day after today, September 7th. Perhaps in celebration of something.
Dad: Well, that sounds nice. I'll let you go then, because I am a clueless idiot and have forgotten every single one of your daughter's birthdays so far, so why in the world should I remember yours? Although that Evil Wife of mine, boy, she never forgets any of her kids' or grandkids' birthdays! But she usually doesn't remind me of yours, your brother's, or any of my grandkids' special days. What a corker she is. Ha! Ha! Ha! Talk to you later!
Me: Okay, bye Dad.
(click)
Okay, so maybe it didn't go exactly like that, but I have helpfully included the subtext for those reader(s) unfamiliar with my particular family dynamics. Or more like family statics.
One day I will not be bothered by any of this.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Update time
Golly, I haven’t updated in bloody ages. There hasn’t been a lot going on, I mean other than getting stuff done that needs doing, or else putting it off until some other time. More typically the latter.
I got my fingerprints done and back already, so that’s out of the way. Then had to send in a copy of my CNA training diploma to verify that the training was completed no more than one year prior to my entry into nursing school. Now have to submit my transcript for the last term of anatomy & physiology, which I thought I did but must have forgotten. Must find checkbook…
There are some things I need to get done before starting nursing school. For starters, clean out the horrible Pit of Despair that used to be my lovely, spanking clean, shiny office. It has become the “dump & run” room where anything hanging around the kitchen or wherever gets thrown before we have a party or some other such event. And the filing. Ye gods, the filing. I am spending my days shredding ancient stubs that don’t need to be kept (gas bill July 2005, etc.) and trying to find homes for the many miscellaneous pieces of crap that I simply must keep, yet have no place for. The closet is full of college textbooks (ed. note: not mine). There is much junk piled around. It is depressing. I would like to have it whipped into shape before the shit hits the fan in January.
Tomorrow I get to go look for more Crocs. I bought that bright yellow pair at the triathlon and now my feet are totally addicted. For those of you who are not acquainted with my feet, let us just say that they are a sad example of what feet are not supposed to be as regards structural requirements, load-bearing, etc. I wear the Crocs and my feet sing with pleasure, giddy foot-laughter abounds, etc. I wear anything else, even with orthotics, and my feet are sad and grouchy by mid-day, even on days wherein I do not spend much time on my feet. I realize that there are many Croc-haters out there, but I for one cannot say enough good things about them. I mean, I wouldn’t wear them to the opera, but for everyday casual wear they are great. So now I would like a pair that are a slightly less exciting color, like maybe chocolate brown or similar.
Ooh, speaking of the opera, my mother and stepfather and I are going to see “Carmen” this week. The woman playing Carmen looks fantastic. :)
I got my fingerprints done and back already, so that’s out of the way. Then had to send in a copy of my CNA training diploma to verify that the training was completed no more than one year prior to my entry into nursing school. Now have to submit my transcript for the last term of anatomy & physiology, which I thought I did but must have forgotten. Must find checkbook…
There are some things I need to get done before starting nursing school. For starters, clean out the horrible Pit of Despair that used to be my lovely, spanking clean, shiny office. It has become the “dump & run” room where anything hanging around the kitchen or wherever gets thrown before we have a party or some other such event. And the filing. Ye gods, the filing. I am spending my days shredding ancient stubs that don’t need to be kept (gas bill July 2005, etc.) and trying to find homes for the many miscellaneous pieces of crap that I simply must keep, yet have no place for. The closet is full of college textbooks (ed. note: not mine). There is much junk piled around. It is depressing. I would like to have it whipped into shape before the shit hits the fan in January.
Tomorrow I get to go look for more Crocs. I bought that bright yellow pair at the triathlon and now my feet are totally addicted. For those of you who are not acquainted with my feet, let us just say that they are a sad example of what feet are not supposed to be as regards structural requirements, load-bearing, etc. I wear the Crocs and my feet sing with pleasure, giddy foot-laughter abounds, etc. I wear anything else, even with orthotics, and my feet are sad and grouchy by mid-day, even on days wherein I do not spend much time on my feet. I realize that there are many Croc-haters out there, but I for one cannot say enough good things about them. I mean, I wouldn’t wear them to the opera, but for everyday casual wear they are great. So now I would like a pair that are a slightly less exciting color, like maybe chocolate brown or similar.
Ooh, speaking of the opera, my mother and stepfather and I are going to see “Carmen” this week. The woman playing Carmen looks fantastic. :)
Sunday, September 16, 2007
Inky badness
For the second time in about six weeks, an ink pen has found its way into a place where no ink pen belongs. That's right, my friends: the dryer. The dryer full of my favorite clothes. The dryer with my daughter's new shirt and tights in it. The stupid dryer. GAH.
So I'm skipping church today to go find some new clothes. Sorry, Lord Almighty God the Father, I'm having a wardrobe crisis and somehow that's more important to me today than engaging in worship and fellowship with my chosen family.
...That, and the fact that the other day whilst browsing around in a store I happened to see some of the very clothes that just got ruined, and they were on clearance. I can't risk another three hours (service + visiting after + drive time) on them being snapped up right out from under me! By some mindless, undeserving zombie who didn't just have half her major wardrobe staples defiled by Papermate or Bic or whoever. Surely this is excusable.
So I'm skipping church today to go find some new clothes. Sorry, Lord Almighty God the Father, I'm having a wardrobe crisis and somehow that's more important to me today than engaging in worship and fellowship with my chosen family.
...That, and the fact that the other day whilst browsing around in a store I happened to see some of the very clothes that just got ruined, and they were on clearance. I can't risk another three hours (service + visiting after + drive time) on them being snapped up right out from under me! By some mindless, undeserving zombie who didn't just have half her major wardrobe staples defiled by Papermate or Bic or whoever. Surely this is excusable.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Exhaustive List (Warning: v. boring)
So it turns out that going to nursing school requires a great deal of preparation.
Firstly, the prerequisite courses of microbiology, nutrition, psychology (human development), three terms of anatomy & physiology, chemistry, math, etc. Fortunately I was excused from several courses, having already completed them for my bachelor’s, and now they are all behind me. Got all A’s but one term of A&P, wherein I received a "B." (golf clap here)
Secondly, the Certified Nurse Assistant course and certification exam must be completed also. I did that in the spring.
And then once you are at last accepted, they send a fat little packet of materials with a lengthy list of yet more things to take care of before your first day of class. Indeed, at least one week or more before your first day of class. Or else.
1. Send Euphemism College a check for two hundred bucks to show that you are in earnest about attending their program. Do it soon or they will give away your spot to some other schlub. Done.
2. Submit a money order for 18 bucks, a short letter detailing why you need a background check, and a set of your fingerprints (taken at the local cop shop by a burly, bored cop for ten bucks cash only) to the FBI. Do it now as it takes 3 to 4 months to get your clearance. Done.
3. Turn your head and cough! Physical exam and immunizations time. MMR, two TB tests, hepatitis vaccines, tetanus and chicken pox shots. Good thing I have health insurance. I’ll schedule this closer to the start date.
4. Take CPR (Healthcare Provider Level). I’m trying to see if work will cover this one or part of it since I have to take general adult CPR for my job anyway. This agency has become rather tight with a buck so I’m thinking no. But it’s worth a try.
5. Apply for financial aid. Ha! I don’t qualify anyway. But, done.
6. Attend mandatory orientation when commanded to.
7. Blah blah blahdey blah blah. It goes on and on. Sign this, buy that, etc.
Next, there is the supply list. A well-prepared Nursing Student will have, prior to the first day of clinicals (i.e. indentured slavery at some facility or hospital):
1. White scrub top and pants, white shoes, white lab coat with Euphemism College Nursing Program patches – have top already from CNA course, hope the college permits Croc type shoes…
2. Stethoscope
3. Black pen -- oh, I have thousands of these. But an excuse to run out and buy retractable black gel ink pens? Sweet!!!
4. Watch with second hand - given to me for my birthday by an extremely thoughtful friend whose mom is a nurse, or I guess now she is retired
5. Nursing student photo ID (available at bookstore after orientation)
6. Large loose-leaf notebook – got it.
7. Textbooks
8. Rolling backpack recommended - already ordered off internet
9. Parking permit for campus
10. Several 9x12 manila envelopes for submitting assignments
So, the next few months will be spent doing/obtaining all the things I need to do/have to prepare, and all the other things I won't be doing while in school: hanging out with the family, reading for fun, playing World of Warcraft until my eyes bleed, etc.
Firstly, the prerequisite courses of microbiology, nutrition, psychology (human development), three terms of anatomy & physiology, chemistry, math, etc. Fortunately I was excused from several courses, having already completed them for my bachelor’s, and now they are all behind me. Got all A’s but one term of A&P, wherein I received a "B." (golf clap here)
Secondly, the Certified Nurse Assistant course and certification exam must be completed also. I did that in the spring.
And then once you are at last accepted, they send a fat little packet of materials with a lengthy list of yet more things to take care of before your first day of class. Indeed, at least one week or more before your first day of class. Or else.
1. Send Euphemism College a check for two hundred bucks to show that you are in earnest about attending their program. Do it soon or they will give away your spot to some other schlub. Done.
2. Submit a money order for 18 bucks, a short letter detailing why you need a background check, and a set of your fingerprints (taken at the local cop shop by a burly, bored cop for ten bucks cash only) to the FBI. Do it now as it takes 3 to 4 months to get your clearance. Done.
3. Turn your head and cough! Physical exam and immunizations time. MMR, two TB tests, hepatitis vaccines, tetanus and chicken pox shots. Good thing I have health insurance. I’ll schedule this closer to the start date.
4. Take CPR (Healthcare Provider Level). I’m trying to see if work will cover this one or part of it since I have to take general adult CPR for my job anyway. This agency has become rather tight with a buck so I’m thinking no. But it’s worth a try.
5. Apply for financial aid. Ha! I don’t qualify anyway. But, done.
6. Attend mandatory orientation when commanded to.
7. Blah blah blahdey blah blah. It goes on and on. Sign this, buy that, etc.
Next, there is the supply list. A well-prepared Nursing Student will have, prior to the first day of clinicals (i.e. indentured slavery at some facility or hospital):
1. White scrub top and pants, white shoes, white lab coat with Euphemism College Nursing Program patches – have top already from CNA course, hope the college permits Croc type shoes…
2. Stethoscope
3. Black pen -- oh, I have thousands of these. But an excuse to run out and buy retractable black gel ink pens? Sweet!!!
4. Watch with second hand - given to me for my birthday by an extremely thoughtful friend whose mom is a nurse, or I guess now she is retired
5. Nursing student photo ID (available at bookstore after orientation)
6. Large loose-leaf notebook – got it.
7. Textbooks
8. Rolling backpack recommended - already ordered off internet
9. Parking permit for campus
10. Several 9x12 manila envelopes for submitting assignments
So, the next few months will be spent doing/obtaining all the things I need to do/have to prepare, and all the other things I won't be doing while in school: hanging out with the family, reading for fun, playing World of Warcraft until my eyes bleed, etc.
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Half Dead
So, I'm 40 now. Some might view this as a terrible thing but let's just review the past month, shall we? (woo-woo-woo-woo) (<--- flashback music)
-- I got a shiny new bike.
-- I completed a triathlon.
-- I got into nursing school.
Let's review the last few days before I turned 40:
-- An unexpected and decently-sized check came in the mail. Which we got to use as we saw fit.
-- An unexpected packet came in the mail welcoming me to nursing school beginning a full term before I thought I would be attending.
Let's review my 40th birthday party:
-- I got to have a pirate theme which was totally fun.
-- A pack of kids ages 3 to 11 all wielding dollar-store pirate swords with push-button sound-and-light action is a blast. I only wish I had gotten more eyepatches.
-- The food was good and the mojitos were even better.
-- Many good friends and relatives showed up and showered me with good wishes.
-- I got some nice gifts which were beside the point but totally appreciated. It turns out it really is the thought that counts. :)
I had a great birthday. Thank you everyone. I love you all.
-- I got a shiny new bike.
-- I completed a triathlon.
-- I got into nursing school.
Let's review the last few days before I turned 40:
-- An unexpected and decently-sized check came in the mail. Which we got to use as we saw fit.
-- An unexpected packet came in the mail welcoming me to nursing school beginning a full term before I thought I would be attending.
Let's review my 40th birthday party:
-- I got to have a pirate theme which was totally fun.
-- A pack of kids ages 3 to 11 all wielding dollar-store pirate swords with push-button sound-and-light action is a blast. I only wish I had gotten more eyepatches.
-- The food was good and the mojitos were even better.
-- Many good friends and relatives showed up and showered me with good wishes.
-- I got some nice gifts which were beside the point but totally appreciated. It turns out it really is the thought that counts. :)
I had a great birthday. Thank you everyone. I love you all.
Thursday, September 06, 2007
As Promised
We bought the young one a new coat today, in preparation for winter, and she consented to try it on only once we got home. It turned out to be a bit large, but at least this way it will last maybe two years. And here is a photo taken with the spanky new camera:
Cat Prin
Go thou here and look verily within. Disappointment shall not afflict thee.
http://www.petoffice.co.jp/catprin/english/#kaeru
http://www.petoffice.co.jp/catprin/english/#kaeru
Chain Spam Email extravaganza! and other stuff.
I just got another one of those chain-spam-emails. An excerpt:
"In case you didn't know ... Please pass this on.
Terrorist pilot Mohammad Atta blew up a bus in Israel in 1986. The Israelis captured, tried and imprisoned him.
As part of the Oslo agreement with the Palestinians in 1993, Israel had to agree to release so-called "political prisoners." However, the Israelis would not release any with "blood on their hands." The American President at the time, Bill Clinton, and his Secretary of State, Warren Christopher, "insisted" that all prisoners be released.
Thus Mr. Atta was freed and eventually "thanked the US" by flying an airplane into Tower One of the World Trade Center. This was reported by many of the American TV networks at the time that the terrorists were first identified.
It was censored in the US from all later reports."
So, thanks to my Dad, I'm always suspicious of any email I get like this, so I looked it up. The fellow who bombed the bus was a Palestinian who happened to have a similar alias. No connection. Also the account of his arrest are incorrect. Thank you snopes.com!
There are further inconsistencies and falsities in the email, such as the bit about how Ollie North named Osama bin Laden as a scary terrorist at some hearings... when it was really Abu Nidal... and how Al Gore was there... when he wasn't... You can read all about it at http://www.snopes.com/rumors/atta.asp (which links to the North page) if you like.
I'm not especially political so please nobody send me a bunch of spewy comments about my political leanings or tell me I'm a bad American for doubting every little "fact" that gets emailed to me. I just don't like misinformation and especially I don't like sensationalism. These emails are sent out to elicit a response, from the looks of them a knee-jerk one, and I don't like being manipulated like that. How many people read these and believe every word? Too damn many.
In the "other stuff" category: I got my birthday gift from J early, only by about a day and a half which is kind of a record for us. Neither of us is very good at keeping gifts a secret. I wouldn't have gotten this one early except that she left it out in its mailing box a little too long, and in my cleaning for the party I was forced to handle it once or twice. You can't tempt fate like that. So last night it was on the table here and as we noshed I said, "So are you ever going to wrap whatever is in this box from" -- craning neck to read off mailing label -- "Electronic Express Inc.?" So she gave it to me. :)
It's a Sony Cyber-shot 7.2 megapixel digital camera. I will post photos soon, when the baby's hair isn't scary and she's wearing clothes that don't suggest she just popped out of a clown car down at the Big Top. Like right now. Until that time, I do offer this classic shot of her from a week or two ago, right about the time she became keen on picking out her own clothes and putting them on all by herself. Note the creative juxtaposition of stripes and plaids, the playful mixing of shorts with long sleeves, the fun flowered rubber boots. Clearly this young lady will go far in life!
"In case you didn't know ... Please pass this on.
Terrorist pilot Mohammad Atta blew up a bus in Israel in 1986. The Israelis captured, tried and imprisoned him.
As part of the Oslo agreement with the Palestinians in 1993, Israel had to agree to release so-called "political prisoners." However, the Israelis would not release any with "blood on their hands." The American President at the time, Bill Clinton, and his Secretary of State, Warren Christopher, "insisted" that all prisoners be released.
Thus Mr. Atta was freed and eventually "thanked the US" by flying an airplane into Tower One of the World Trade Center. This was reported by many of the American TV networks at the time that the terrorists were first identified.
It was censored in the US from all later reports."
So, thanks to my Dad, I'm always suspicious of any email I get like this, so I looked it up. The fellow who bombed the bus was a Palestinian who happened to have a similar alias. No connection. Also the account of his arrest are incorrect. Thank you snopes.com!
There are further inconsistencies and falsities in the email, such as the bit about how Ollie North named Osama bin Laden as a scary terrorist at some hearings... when it was really Abu Nidal... and how Al Gore was there... when he wasn't... You can read all about it at http://www.snopes.com/rumors/atta.asp (which links to the North page) if you like.
I'm not especially political so please nobody send me a bunch of spewy comments about my political leanings or tell me I'm a bad American for doubting every little "fact" that gets emailed to me. I just don't like misinformation and especially I don't like sensationalism. These emails are sent out to elicit a response, from the looks of them a knee-jerk one, and I don't like being manipulated like that. How many people read these and believe every word? Too damn many.
In the "other stuff" category: I got my birthday gift from J early, only by about a day and a half which is kind of a record for us. Neither of us is very good at keeping gifts a secret. I wouldn't have gotten this one early except that she left it out in its mailing box a little too long, and in my cleaning for the party I was forced to handle it once or twice. You can't tempt fate like that. So last night it was on the table here and as we noshed I said, "So are you ever going to wrap whatever is in this box from" -- craning neck to read off mailing label -- "Electronic Express Inc.?" So she gave it to me. :)
It's a Sony Cyber-shot 7.2 megapixel digital camera. I will post photos soon, when the baby's hair isn't scary and she's wearing clothes that don't suggest she just popped out of a clown car down at the Big Top. Like right now. Until that time, I do offer this classic shot of her from a week or two ago, right about the time she became keen on picking out her own clothes and putting them on all by herself. Note the creative juxtaposition of stripes and plaids, the playful mixing of shorts with long sleeves, the fun flowered rubber boots. Clearly this young lady will go far in life!
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
OMG!!!
I didn't collect the mail for a week or so... Just lazy, wasn't expecting anything good, etc. Sometimes I get a kind of weird pathological avoidance issue about the mailbox, whereas other times I am fanatical about collecting it every day. It's a locking box so I don't worry too much about security.
So today there was a note on the door, "Please collect your mail!" because the box was full. I extracted the armload of mail, sifted through the catalogs, junk mail, etc and found a few items of interest. A birthday card from my friend Elizabeth, who is currently in England, a whopping good fat check from the escrow account of the old mortgage (which J. must check on whether must be sent to the new mortgage company, boo), my updated CNA certificate, etc. Odds and ends.
But ho!
What's this big manila envelope addressed to me?
"Congratulations! As Director of Nursing at Euphemism College, it is my sincere pleasure to inform you of your selection into the Nursing Program beginning winter 2008."
OMG!!!!
Last I heard I had not made the cut in April and so was waiting ever so patiently for the October evaluation... and would be attending in either April or September of next year. Someone must have declined, most people apply at several places and then choose the one they want most. And I was high enough on the list to make it in.
Gah!
So today there was a note on the door, "Please collect your mail!" because the box was full. I extracted the armload of mail, sifted through the catalogs, junk mail, etc and found a few items of interest. A birthday card from my friend Elizabeth, who is currently in England, a whopping good fat check from the escrow account of the old mortgage (which J. must check on whether must be sent to the new mortgage company, boo), my updated CNA certificate, etc. Odds and ends.
But ho!
What's this big manila envelope addressed to me?
"Congratulations! As Director of Nursing at Euphemism College, it is my sincere pleasure to inform you of your selection into the Nursing Program beginning winter 2008."
OMG!!!!
Last I heard I had not made the cut in April and so was waiting ever so patiently for the October evaluation... and would be attending in either April or September of next year. Someone must have declined, most people apply at several places and then choose the one they want most. And I was high enough on the list to make it in.
Gah!
More Tri Stuff (short, at least)
I looked up my times from two years ago when I did the bike and run (walk in my case)at the same tri that I just did.
Two years ago I did not swim, and my bike speed was 12.something mph.
This year I did swim and my bike speed was 14.something mph. Perhaps the new bike? And adrenaline. Definitely part of it.
The walk times were essentially the same.
My goals for next year: cut at least 5 min off swim time. Bike speed 16mph or better. And run the run course instead of walking.
Two years ago I did not swim, and my bike speed was 12.something mph.
This year I did swim and my bike speed was 14.something mph. Perhaps the new bike? And adrenaline. Definitely part of it.
The walk times were essentially the same.
My goals for next year: cut at least 5 min off swim time. Bike speed 16mph or better. And run the run course instead of walking.
More News of a General Sort
It's been kind of randomly hectic lately so I haven't updated in a while. Let's see what's shakin' down by the Swamp....
We lost a chicken to the kiddie pool last week. Oh sweet Harriet, we hardly knew ye... She was the fluffy, curly-feathered frizzle banty. It was a sad day. The remaining two chickens, Elizabeth and Beatrice, seem not to notice her absence, but they do have brains the size of a fingernail so perhaps that's not surprising. The baby also does not notice for which we are very relieved. Eventually we will have to explain this whole shuffling-off-the-mortal-coil thing to her but we are hoping to put it off a bit longer.
Took said young one to the state fair last Sunday. It was a lot of fun, we went with my mom and stepdad, my brother and his wife, and three of the nephews. It was more or less the perfect day to go to the fair, warm and sunny but breezy too and not blistering hot. Delia being 3 is both too fast and too slow (quick to disappear, but needs to be carried if you want to keep up a lot of the time) and as I dislike the stroller in these crowded situations, it was a lot of work taking her, but she had fun. Except on the first ride which was a little too scary for her. It was a kiddie ride but had a little hill and went a shade too fast and she got freaked out. Then we put her on the canoe ride, wherein a tiny canoe goes lazily around a loop of aqueduct and she settled down and enjoyed it.
I myself went on the Regurgitron 2000, or that's what I call it. The spaceship that spins and you lean on the wall and stick to it from the centrifugal force. (Or didn't I hear that it's actually centripetal force and everybody gets it wrong?) Anyway my mom and sister-in-law and the three nephews all went too which was a novel experience. Not sure I have ever ridden a ride with my mother. We all laughed our heads off. I wondered aloud how often they have to hose it out between rides. Eww.
The funniest parts of the fair came courtesy of my brother, who is nothing if not a good sport. First we draped him with our purses and the Big Bag of Kettle Korn, around which orbited Delia, while we went on our ride. Then as we sat and lunched near the stage, on which the talent competition was being held, he got "Whoops there goes another rubber tree" going through his head, which continued at least through yesterday per his text message to me of yesterday afternoon.
But the final story requires a bit of backstory: My brother's backside, or lack thereof, is legendary. First it was just my mom and I saying he had no butt. Then it was friends. Then, he was walking through a popular night spot and heard one person seated nearby turn to their date and say, "Did you see that guy who just went by? He had no butt!" Seriously, his Levi's ride a little sideways on account of there is no butt to anchor them in place.
So as we hiked tiredly through the parking lot that night, I told Delia to "follow Uncle Craig and his imaginary buttcheeks!"
Yeah, it was maybe not the best thing to say in front of Uncle Craig's sons, ages 11, 9 and 6... I myself laughed so hard I nearly had to stop walking and collect myself. I don't know where it came from, but there it was. I am told I must watch my mouth while babysitting said nephews this weekend...
Speaking of which, there is no high speed internet at my brother's. It will be like stepping back into the dark ages. I will need tranquilizers to get through it. :(
We lost a chicken to the kiddie pool last week. Oh sweet Harriet, we hardly knew ye... She was the fluffy, curly-feathered frizzle banty. It was a sad day. The remaining two chickens, Elizabeth and Beatrice, seem not to notice her absence, but they do have brains the size of a fingernail so perhaps that's not surprising. The baby also does not notice for which we are very relieved. Eventually we will have to explain this whole shuffling-off-the-mortal-coil thing to her but we are hoping to put it off a bit longer.
Took said young one to the state fair last Sunday. It was a lot of fun, we went with my mom and stepdad, my brother and his wife, and three of the nephews. It was more or less the perfect day to go to the fair, warm and sunny but breezy too and not blistering hot. Delia being 3 is both too fast and too slow (quick to disappear, but needs to be carried if you want to keep up a lot of the time) and as I dislike the stroller in these crowded situations, it was a lot of work taking her, but she had fun. Except on the first ride which was a little too scary for her. It was a kiddie ride but had a little hill and went a shade too fast and she got freaked out. Then we put her on the canoe ride, wherein a tiny canoe goes lazily around a loop of aqueduct and she settled down and enjoyed it.
I myself went on the Regurgitron 2000, or that's what I call it. The spaceship that spins and you lean on the wall and stick to it from the centrifugal force. (Or didn't I hear that it's actually centripetal force and everybody gets it wrong?) Anyway my mom and sister-in-law and the three nephews all went too which was a novel experience. Not sure I have ever ridden a ride with my mother. We all laughed our heads off. I wondered aloud how often they have to hose it out between rides. Eww.
The funniest parts of the fair came courtesy of my brother, who is nothing if not a good sport. First we draped him with our purses and the Big Bag of Kettle Korn, around which orbited Delia, while we went on our ride. Then as we sat and lunched near the stage, on which the talent competition was being held, he got "Whoops there goes another rubber tree" going through his head, which continued at least through yesterday per his text message to me of yesterday afternoon.
But the final story requires a bit of backstory: My brother's backside, or lack thereof, is legendary. First it was just my mom and I saying he had no butt. Then it was friends. Then, he was walking through a popular night spot and heard one person seated nearby turn to their date and say, "Did you see that guy who just went by? He had no butt!" Seriously, his Levi's ride a little sideways on account of there is no butt to anchor them in place.
So as we hiked tiredly through the parking lot that night, I told Delia to "follow Uncle Craig and his imaginary buttcheeks!"
Yeah, it was maybe not the best thing to say in front of Uncle Craig's sons, ages 11, 9 and 6... I myself laughed so hard I nearly had to stop walking and collect myself. I don't know where it came from, but there it was. I am told I must watch my mouth while babysitting said nephews this weekend...
Speaking of which, there is no high speed internet at my brother's. It will be like stepping back into the dark ages. I will need tranquilizers to get through it. :(
Friday, August 24, 2007
What kind of nerd are you?
I've come to the conclusion that nerds have way more fun, and at last I am coming to grips with my nerdhood. To that end:
| What Be Your Nerd Type? Your Result: Literature Nerd Does sitting by a nice cozy fire, with a cup of hot tea/chocolate, and a book you can read for hours even when your eyes grow red and dry and you look sort of scary sitting there with your insomniac appearance? Then you fit this category perfectly! You love the power of the written word and it's eloquence; and you may like to read/write poetry or novels. You contribute to the smart people of today's society, however you can probably be overly-critical of works. | |
| Science/Math Nerd | |
| Gamer/Computer Nerd | |
| Social Nerd | |
| Artistic Nerd | |
| Anime Nerd | |
| Musician | |
| Drama Nerd | |
| What Be Your Nerd Type? Quizzes for MySpace | |
Monday, August 20, 2007
The Thrilling Conclusion
You might think that if the triathlon is over, so is the story. But you would be so wrong! There is always:
The Epilogue
After the race I'm a little bereft. I'm here alone, so there is no one waiting to hear how it was. There is also no one to pick me and my bike up. I am to ride the shuttle back to the parking garage by Qwest Field and then drive my car back to the park to pick my bike up. I knew this going in and it doesn't really bother me, but now I have a concern: my bike numbers, like many others, have disintegrated in the rain and come off. The bike trail was littered with them. Now I am expected to leave my bike, sans any identifying marks, in the transition area for nearly an hour, during which time any other participant could claim it as their own.
I want seriously to believe that no other woman would do this to me, but I have a dim view of humanity in general and dammit, I just got that bike. Although it's just an off-the-rack entry level bike, I still couldn't really afford another one. And when I look at the gate very near to the rack my bike is on, I am unimpressed with security there. In fact, there doesn't seem to be much. If any. I ask yet another Wrong Volunteer and she is at a loss as to how to address this issue. I leave the transition area full of anxiety and doubt. The farther I walk, the more uneasy I become, and at last I stop at a volunteer tent and tell them of my concerns. They really want to help me but can do little more than offer me a sticker ("Hello my name is... ") to write my bike number on and stick to my bike, which doesn't really appease me much, but they also give me a ziptie. I can attach my helmet to my bike. My helmet has my numbers on it. At least it's something.
When I return to my bike -- by the way, it's a big park and I have walked a LOT since the end of the race, and no end in sight -- my fears are not assuaged. The gate attendant is not in evidence, and the gate is just a big opening in the fence that opens right onto the street. I put the tag on my bike and ziptie my helmet to it and then decide to take it up to the other gate, where several volunteers are posted and appear to be checking bikes to riders as they leave. I tell them why I'm moving it and they try not to make the "cuckoo" hand signal to one another. I can tell they think I'm being paranoid. But my spidey sense is tingling... At any rate I feel better now.
Once again I make the long hike up to the other end of the park where the buses are, and haul my damp and lake-smelling self onto the bus. After another twisty, lurchy ride back to Qwest Field, I face a huge flight of steep concrete steps up to the parking garage. The bus ride has given me a chance to chill a bit and also to stiffen, as I discover when I start up the steps. But, I am surrounded by people who have either just finished the tri themselves or at least know that I did, so I have to put on a show. I muster what surely must be the last bit of adrenaline within me and bound up the steps in a sprightly fashion. ....Okay, fine, if you want to be a stickler for the truth, I walked up them at a normal, even pace. But it took a lot of effort! Vanity, thy name is woman...
Fortunately I have a few miscellaneous plastic bags floating around the car and I use these to cover the car seat so I can drive back to the park without saturating it with lake water. Despite my waterlogged fatigue I did notice throngs of Mariners fans milling in to the Safeco Field area (immediately adjacent to Qwest Field, I have no idea why there are what look like two stadiums side by side in downtown Seattle, but there it is) so I know that I must now negotiate game traffic to get away. I manage this and fortunately have just enough time to retrieve a note off my windshield that I had not noticed until just before the freeway on-ramp. If I were some kind of non-lazy person I would scan the note but instead I will just type it out for you:
"Good Job
Great Job, Vancouver Woman!
Congratulations on getting yourself up here & completing this grueling event. Never mind the short distances, this was a difficult & dangerous event today. YOU ROCK!
On your way home, will you be thinking about the next thing that you'll do for the first time? You're amazing! You can do (nearly) anything!
(signed unintelligibly)"
This note was from the woman who parked her car nose to nose with mine, also doing the tri, who obviously was no stranger to it what with her wetsuit and all. We had chatted on our way in the shuttle. I didn't see her again once we'd entered the transition area. I thought it was a very kind note. Oh, and I had to look up html commands to learn how to do the strikethrough effect. :)
So, I drive on to the park, retrieve my bike, which is safe and sound where I left it, stuff it in the back of the car and then set about to finding my cellphone which I had thought I must have left in the car but still hadn't been able to find. In a sudden flash of memory I recalled putting it in the pocket of my tri bag... my sopping wet tri bag that sat in the rain for three hours... I locate the phone right in the pocket where I'd left it. It is waterlogged but miraculously, it still functions. I call my better half and check in, and off I go.
I decide despite being cold and damp to get out of Seattle a ways before stopping to change. On the south end of Tacoma I spot a Shari's and have a leisurely lunch there after putting on dry clothes. Fine, I still smell like an aquarium, but at least I'm dry. When I get up from the table to leave I find that the backs of my knees are sore.
Traffic is fairly heavy and gets very bogged down an hour or so down the road, right about the time true fatigue sets in, so I stop at a rest area and doze in the car for about a half hour. Once I get some gasoline and a soda at a gas station down the road a ways, I feel pretty awake and make it home without further incident.
I spend the evening putting the baby to bed, washing my smelly tri clothes, and blogging. Oh, and taking ibuprofen. The backs of my knees are killing me.
So let's just take inventory:
Entry fee: $80.00
Hotel for two nights: $200.00
Tank of gas: $32.00
Finishing your first triathlon just before you turn 40: Priceless.
The Epilogue
After the race I'm a little bereft. I'm here alone, so there is no one waiting to hear how it was. There is also no one to pick me and my bike up. I am to ride the shuttle back to the parking garage by Qwest Field and then drive my car back to the park to pick my bike up. I knew this going in and it doesn't really bother me, but now I have a concern: my bike numbers, like many others, have disintegrated in the rain and come off. The bike trail was littered with them. Now I am expected to leave my bike, sans any identifying marks, in the transition area for nearly an hour, during which time any other participant could claim it as their own.
I want seriously to believe that no other woman would do this to me, but I have a dim view of humanity in general and dammit, I just got that bike. Although it's just an off-the-rack entry level bike, I still couldn't really afford another one. And when I look at the gate very near to the rack my bike is on, I am unimpressed with security there. In fact, there doesn't seem to be much. If any. I ask yet another Wrong Volunteer and she is at a loss as to how to address this issue. I leave the transition area full of anxiety and doubt. The farther I walk, the more uneasy I become, and at last I stop at a volunteer tent and tell them of my concerns. They really want to help me but can do little more than offer me a sticker ("Hello my name is... ") to write my bike number on and stick to my bike, which doesn't really appease me much, but they also give me a ziptie. I can attach my helmet to my bike. My helmet has my numbers on it. At least it's something.
When I return to my bike -- by the way, it's a big park and I have walked a LOT since the end of the race, and no end in sight -- my fears are not assuaged. The gate attendant is not in evidence, and the gate is just a big opening in the fence that opens right onto the street. I put the tag on my bike and ziptie my helmet to it and then decide to take it up to the other gate, where several volunteers are posted and appear to be checking bikes to riders as they leave. I tell them why I'm moving it and they try not to make the "cuckoo" hand signal to one another. I can tell they think I'm being paranoid. But my spidey sense is tingling... At any rate I feel better now.
Once again I make the long hike up to the other end of the park where the buses are, and haul my damp and lake-smelling self onto the bus. After another twisty, lurchy ride back to Qwest Field, I face a huge flight of steep concrete steps up to the parking garage. The bus ride has given me a chance to chill a bit and also to stiffen, as I discover when I start up the steps. But, I am surrounded by people who have either just finished the tri themselves or at least know that I did, so I have to put on a show. I muster what surely must be the last bit of adrenaline within me and bound up the steps in a sprightly fashion. ....Okay, fine, if you want to be a stickler for the truth, I walked up them at a normal, even pace. But it took a lot of effort! Vanity, thy name is woman...
Fortunately I have a few miscellaneous plastic bags floating around the car and I use these to cover the car seat so I can drive back to the park without saturating it with lake water. Despite my waterlogged fatigue I did notice throngs of Mariners fans milling in to the Safeco Field area (immediately adjacent to Qwest Field, I have no idea why there are what look like two stadiums side by side in downtown Seattle, but there it is) so I know that I must now negotiate game traffic to get away. I manage this and fortunately have just enough time to retrieve a note off my windshield that I had not noticed until just before the freeway on-ramp. If I were some kind of non-lazy person I would scan the note but instead I will just type it out for you:
"
Great Job, Vancouver Woman!
Congratulations on getting yourself up here & completing this grueling event. Never mind the short distances, this was a difficult & dangerous event today. YOU ROCK!
On your way home, will you be thinking about the next thing that you'll do for the first time? You're amazing! You can do (nearly) anything!
(signed unintelligibly)"
This note was from the woman who parked her car nose to nose with mine, also doing the tri, who obviously was no stranger to it what with her wetsuit and all. We had chatted on our way in the shuttle. I didn't see her again once we'd entered the transition area. I thought it was a very kind note. Oh, and I had to look up html commands to learn how to do the strikethrough effect. :)
So, I drive on to the park, retrieve my bike, which is safe and sound where I left it, stuff it in the back of the car and then set about to finding my cellphone which I had thought I must have left in the car but still hadn't been able to find. In a sudden flash of memory I recalled putting it in the pocket of my tri bag... my sopping wet tri bag that sat in the rain for three hours... I locate the phone right in the pocket where I'd left it. It is waterlogged but miraculously, it still functions. I call my better half and check in, and off I go.
I decide despite being cold and damp to get out of Seattle a ways before stopping to change. On the south end of Tacoma I spot a Shari's and have a leisurely lunch there after putting on dry clothes. Fine, I still smell like an aquarium, but at least I'm dry. When I get up from the table to leave I find that the backs of my knees are sore.
Traffic is fairly heavy and gets very bogged down an hour or so down the road, right about the time true fatigue sets in, so I stop at a rest area and doze in the car for about a half hour. Once I get some gasoline and a soda at a gas station down the road a ways, I feel pretty awake and make it home without further incident.
I spend the evening putting the baby to bed, washing my smelly tri clothes, and blogging. Oh, and taking ibuprofen. The backs of my knees are killing me.
So let's just take inventory:
Entry fee: $80.00
Hotel for two nights: $200.00
Tank of gas: $32.00
Finishing your first triathlon just before you turn 40: Priceless.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
In which I become a triathlete.
Prelude
5:15am -- alarm goes off, I spring out of bed and eat a bowl of cereal with banana. Which sits in my stomach like a brick for the next two hours. I shower quickly and get dressed in swimsuit, bike shorts, sleeveless shirt and bicycle jersey, running shoes, windbreaker. Since I am not running this event I do not have to worry about foundation undergarments. I check out of the hotel and drag my enormous pile of baggage (clothes bag, sports gear bag, laptop bag, triathlon bag, and miscellaneous junk bag) to the car. It is raining. Great.
Twenty minutes later I am at the parking garage to Qwest Field, in downtown Seattle. Here we must park per an agreement with the neighborhood surrounding the park in which the triathlon is being held. I unload myself and my tri bag and hoof it down to the schoolbus shuttle which will take me to the park.
We arrive at the park twenty minutes or so later, after winding through the neighborhoods of Seattle in what seems to be an arcane and torturous route. The rain continues to drizzle lightly down. At least it's warm out.
At the park I make my way down to the transition area, where my bike is racked along with 5124 other participants' bikes on huge groupings of racks. The groupings are labeled and the rows are numbered so finding my bike is not a problem. My body markings are refreshed by a pen-wielding volunteer, I pin my bib to my jersey front, put my water bottles on my bike. Rain drips off of my helmet which I wish I had taken back to the hotel last night. Oh well.
I busy myself with these little tasks to avoid feeling too alone -- it seems that everyone else has brought friends, but I'm by myself in the crowd. Also, I'm nervous. I haven't done the swim before and it intimidates me.
Finally I see that others in purple latex caps are making their way down to the water and so I guess I should too. I strip off my clothes down to just the swim suit, grab my cap and goggles, and start the hike. It's not too cold out, drizzling still but not bad, and I'm not uncomfortable in my swimsuit. Other than some self-consciousness. Which rapidly fades. There are thousands of women here, all in various types of outfits from swimsuits to tri suits to wetsuits, all shapes and sizes, and I'm just one of the crowd.
After some hemming and hawing I had finally decided to take my glasses down to the water's edge and place them on the table provided for such things at the swim finish line. I wore my new bright yellow Crocs down which will give me something highly visible to tuck my glasses into on the table as well as protect them from being swept off the table or squashed in some way. I ask The Wrong Volunteer where the table is and he leads me on a wild goose chase through the throngs of spectators only to find out that the table was very close to where we began this fiasco. Dammit. I put my stuff on the table and proceed, visually impaired and barefoot, to the waiting area. Hundreds of women are huddled there and there is a hum of sound coming off them as I get closer.
Part the first: The Swim.
The way this works is that certain age and skill level divisions are given colored caps -- yellow, pink, blue, orange, etc. -- signifying their waves. They are assigned start times. The rest of us, not old or infirm or elite, i.e. the masses, are given purple caps and our waves are done last. First come, first served. Like a cattle call.
The swim course is a triangle, out from shore, around a buoy, parallel to shore to the next buoy, then back nearly to where the start was. It is lined with lifeguards, kayakers, and swim angels. The kayaks are to provide guidance and a friendly place to grab on and rest or, in my case, adjust your goggles. The swim angels are in the water like we are and carry big foam noodles and are there to help us, either by providing moral support, giving us the noodle to use as we swim, or whatever.
Our purple waves are sent out in three minute intervals. We cheer madly as each wave is released. Then suddenly it's our turn! We make our way down the boat ramp and step into the water. It's not as cold as I thought it would be and Sally Edwards is there to give us a pep talk. She's awesome. We're awesome. Everyone and everything is so AWESOME!!! We count down from ten to one and they let us all the way into the water. I'm fine until suddenly the water is COLD ALL OVER ME AND I CAN'T BREATHE!
It's choppy there by the shore and every time I try to get a breath I suck in what feels like a lung full of water. My heart is pounding and I'm kicking furiously which is not how it's supposed to work -- normally the kick is mostly for balance and because it uses a lot of oxygen and energy to work those big muscle groups, you don't want to wear yourself out with a lot of energetic kicking. I end up rolling onto my back and kicking in a more controlled way, then trying again and again to resume freestyle with the same result every time, a face full of water and that burning-lung sensation. I pass the first two-thirds of the swim this way. At last, as I pass the second buoy and enter the home stretch, I realize that I'm also forgetting to breathe out. If you don't breathe out into the water as you swim, there won't be any room for air to enter your lungs when you try to breathe in. Once I relax a little and remember this seemingly unforgettable tidbit of helpful information, I can swim a little. I bump into a swim angel repeatedly. She has given her noodle to another swimmer and is accompanying her to the finish, encouraging all of us along the way.
While we swim it has begun to rain in earnest.
Close to the finish, as the water gets shallower, I am surprised to find that I can see the ferny, frondy lake plants below me. They are green and wave around and I savor this lush, secret little view.
Finally, the finish line! We stumble up the boat ramp. I find it very hard to get my balance. There are more volunteers to high-five us and help us up the ramp if necessary, and one of them steadies me a bit as I pass her. I make my way to the table and retrieve my glasses and shoes, and continue on to the transition area, weaving a bit here and there for the first dozen yards or so. There is much cheering and congratulating and encouragement from all sides, from the many spectators and volunteers.
Swim 00:24:00, Swim Rank 3078
Part the second: The Bike Ride
Back at my bike, I dispense with the idea of drying myself off. It's lightly but steadily raining and I'm going to be sodden no matter what. I pull my bike shorts and jersey on and struggle into my socks and shoes. My helmet drips and streams water down my face and head when I put it on. I locate the banana I brought with me and find that it has been stepped on inside my tri bag. I eat part of it anyway. A quick drink of water and I start toward the bike start area. There is no riding allowed inside the transition area.
Trans1 00:11:53 (Note: elite triathletes in this race have trans1 times of one or two minutes. Obviously I was not attempting to hurry.)
Once I get past the gate I hop on and start riding. I have ridden this course before and it does not intimidate me; I'm feeling good and I love my new bike, the rain is not too hard and it's fairly warm, so I make decent time, for me. All that slows me down is that I'm still recovering from inhaling a lot of water, and that's making it hard for me to breathe without coughing. The course runs along the lake, then up a short, steep curvy access road onto I-90 across the lake and onto Mercer Island. Nearly to the other side of the island there is a 180-degree turnaround and we ride back the way we came. There are a couple of minor hills. Part of our time is spent in a tunnel which is dry and echoey. Many riders howl and cheer inside the tunnel. At the finish line we are made to dismount and walk (or run) our bikes into the transition area.
Bike 00:51:31, Bike Rank 2280, MPH 14.4
Part the third: The Run. Or in my case, The Walk.
Once I rack my bike and eat a little more squashed banana, I swap my helmet for a baseball hat and put on my windbreaker, after shaking some of the water off of it. I pocket a Clif bar and grab a water bottle, and then it's time to visit the biffy. Trans2 00:07:27
Now I begin the walk. I've decided to not worry about running. I haven't been running this year and it's much too late now to even think about it. I heard from another participant that about a third of us will walk anyway. I set off and walk steadily. I walk rather slowly and am frequently passed by other walkers. This bugs me but there's not a lot I can do about it so I just continue on at my own pace.
This is another out-and-back course along the lake in the other direction as the bike route took us. The last half-mile or so splits off the lakefront and goes up a short, steep hill into the neighborhood and re-enters the park a few blocks away. As I approach this hill I spy Sally Edwards, the paid finisher, who accompanies the last registered participant and comes in last behind her so that she doesn't have to come in last. That last participant is just beginning the walk as I am finishing it. Sally breaks away from the woman she's walking with and goes to the drummers, a couple of guys who sit at the bottom of the short steep hill and play drums to help motivate flagging runners/walkers. She high-fives them and talks to them for a moment and then she starts walking toward me.
"Girlfriend, I been looking for you!" she says.
"And here I am!" I tell her.
"But you're going the wrong way!" she says.
"Aw, I'm sorry!" I say.
When she gets closer to me she high-fives me, looks me right in the eye and says, "I'm really proud of you. You're doing great." And walks on.
I hike up the hill and finish the walk. I decided not to try to run the last bit. Walking has brought me this far. I'll finish at my own pace. At the end, there is much cheering from spectators and volunteers. One amusingly costumed volunteer meets me a little ways from the finish and accompanies me past the sensor. An announcer tells the crowd that my name is Kim something. Which it is not. There must be a delay of some kind in the computer. A young boy puts a medal around my neck and I am done. Another volunteer relieves me of my timing chip and I make my way to the food tent for a little nosh, free to participants.
Thirty seconds later, some other woman is given my name as she crosses.
Run 01:04:34 Run Rank 3392 Pace 00:20:49
Overall Rank 3261 of 3496
Class Rank 850 of 925
Final 02:39:27
Tomorrow: The Thrilling Conclusion!
5:15am -- alarm goes off, I spring out of bed and eat a bowl of cereal with banana. Which sits in my stomach like a brick for the next two hours. I shower quickly and get dressed in swimsuit, bike shorts, sleeveless shirt and bicycle jersey, running shoes, windbreaker. Since I am not running this event I do not have to worry about foundation undergarments. I check out of the hotel and drag my enormous pile of baggage (clothes bag, sports gear bag, laptop bag, triathlon bag, and miscellaneous junk bag) to the car. It is raining. Great.
Twenty minutes later I am at the parking garage to Qwest Field, in downtown Seattle. Here we must park per an agreement with the neighborhood surrounding the park in which the triathlon is being held. I unload myself and my tri bag and hoof it down to the schoolbus shuttle which will take me to the park.
We arrive at the park twenty minutes or so later, after winding through the neighborhoods of Seattle in what seems to be an arcane and torturous route. The rain continues to drizzle lightly down. At least it's warm out.
At the park I make my way down to the transition area, where my bike is racked along with 5124 other participants' bikes on huge groupings of racks. The groupings are labeled and the rows are numbered so finding my bike is not a problem. My body markings are refreshed by a pen-wielding volunteer, I pin my bib to my jersey front, put my water bottles on my bike. Rain drips off of my helmet which I wish I had taken back to the hotel last night. Oh well.
I busy myself with these little tasks to avoid feeling too alone -- it seems that everyone else has brought friends, but I'm by myself in the crowd. Also, I'm nervous. I haven't done the swim before and it intimidates me.
Finally I see that others in purple latex caps are making their way down to the water and so I guess I should too. I strip off my clothes down to just the swim suit, grab my cap and goggles, and start the hike. It's not too cold out, drizzling still but not bad, and I'm not uncomfortable in my swimsuit. Other than some self-consciousness. Which rapidly fades. There are thousands of women here, all in various types of outfits from swimsuits to tri suits to wetsuits, all shapes and sizes, and I'm just one of the crowd.
After some hemming and hawing I had finally decided to take my glasses down to the water's edge and place them on the table provided for such things at the swim finish line. I wore my new bright yellow Crocs down which will give me something highly visible to tuck my glasses into on the table as well as protect them from being swept off the table or squashed in some way. I ask The Wrong Volunteer where the table is and he leads me on a wild goose chase through the throngs of spectators only to find out that the table was very close to where we began this fiasco. Dammit. I put my stuff on the table and proceed, visually impaired and barefoot, to the waiting area. Hundreds of women are huddled there and there is a hum of sound coming off them as I get closer.
Part the first: The Swim.
The way this works is that certain age and skill level divisions are given colored caps -- yellow, pink, blue, orange, etc. -- signifying their waves. They are assigned start times. The rest of us, not old or infirm or elite, i.e. the masses, are given purple caps and our waves are done last. First come, first served. Like a cattle call.
The swim course is a triangle, out from shore, around a buoy, parallel to shore to the next buoy, then back nearly to where the start was. It is lined with lifeguards, kayakers, and swim angels. The kayaks are to provide guidance and a friendly place to grab on and rest or, in my case, adjust your goggles. The swim angels are in the water like we are and carry big foam noodles and are there to help us, either by providing moral support, giving us the noodle to use as we swim, or whatever.
Our purple waves are sent out in three minute intervals. We cheer madly as each wave is released. Then suddenly it's our turn! We make our way down the boat ramp and step into the water. It's not as cold as I thought it would be and Sally Edwards is there to give us a pep talk. She's awesome. We're awesome. Everyone and everything is so AWESOME!!! We count down from ten to one and they let us all the way into the water. I'm fine until suddenly the water is COLD ALL OVER ME AND I CAN'T BREATHE!
It's choppy there by the shore and every time I try to get a breath I suck in what feels like a lung full of water. My heart is pounding and I'm kicking furiously which is not how it's supposed to work -- normally the kick is mostly for balance and because it uses a lot of oxygen and energy to work those big muscle groups, you don't want to wear yourself out with a lot of energetic kicking. I end up rolling onto my back and kicking in a more controlled way, then trying again and again to resume freestyle with the same result every time, a face full of water and that burning-lung sensation. I pass the first two-thirds of the swim this way. At last, as I pass the second buoy and enter the home stretch, I realize that I'm also forgetting to breathe out. If you don't breathe out into the water as you swim, there won't be any room for air to enter your lungs when you try to breathe in. Once I relax a little and remember this seemingly unforgettable tidbit of helpful information, I can swim a little. I bump into a swim angel repeatedly. She has given her noodle to another swimmer and is accompanying her to the finish, encouraging all of us along the way.
While we swim it has begun to rain in earnest.
Close to the finish, as the water gets shallower, I am surprised to find that I can see the ferny, frondy lake plants below me. They are green and wave around and I savor this lush, secret little view.
Finally, the finish line! We stumble up the boat ramp. I find it very hard to get my balance. There are more volunteers to high-five us and help us up the ramp if necessary, and one of them steadies me a bit as I pass her. I make my way to the table and retrieve my glasses and shoes, and continue on to the transition area, weaving a bit here and there for the first dozen yards or so. There is much cheering and congratulating and encouragement from all sides, from the many spectators and volunteers.
Swim 00:24:00, Swim Rank 3078
Part the second: The Bike Ride
Back at my bike, I dispense with the idea of drying myself off. It's lightly but steadily raining and I'm going to be sodden no matter what. I pull my bike shorts and jersey on and struggle into my socks and shoes. My helmet drips and streams water down my face and head when I put it on. I locate the banana I brought with me and find that it has been stepped on inside my tri bag. I eat part of it anyway. A quick drink of water and I start toward the bike start area. There is no riding allowed inside the transition area.
Trans1 00:11:53 (Note: elite triathletes in this race have trans1 times of one or two minutes. Obviously I was not attempting to hurry.)
Once I get past the gate I hop on and start riding. I have ridden this course before and it does not intimidate me; I'm feeling good and I love my new bike, the rain is not too hard and it's fairly warm, so I make decent time, for me. All that slows me down is that I'm still recovering from inhaling a lot of water, and that's making it hard for me to breathe without coughing. The course runs along the lake, then up a short, steep curvy access road onto I-90 across the lake and onto Mercer Island. Nearly to the other side of the island there is a 180-degree turnaround and we ride back the way we came. There are a couple of minor hills. Part of our time is spent in a tunnel which is dry and echoey. Many riders howl and cheer inside the tunnel. At the finish line we are made to dismount and walk (or run) our bikes into the transition area.
Bike 00:51:31, Bike Rank 2280, MPH 14.4
Part the third: The Run. Or in my case, The Walk.
Once I rack my bike and eat a little more squashed banana, I swap my helmet for a baseball hat and put on my windbreaker, after shaking some of the water off of it. I pocket a Clif bar and grab a water bottle, and then it's time to visit the biffy. Trans2 00:07:27
Now I begin the walk. I've decided to not worry about running. I haven't been running this year and it's much too late now to even think about it. I heard from another participant that about a third of us will walk anyway. I set off and walk steadily. I walk rather slowly and am frequently passed by other walkers. This bugs me but there's not a lot I can do about it so I just continue on at my own pace.
This is another out-and-back course along the lake in the other direction as the bike route took us. The last half-mile or so splits off the lakefront and goes up a short, steep hill into the neighborhood and re-enters the park a few blocks away. As I approach this hill I spy Sally Edwards, the paid finisher, who accompanies the last registered participant and comes in last behind her so that she doesn't have to come in last. That last participant is just beginning the walk as I am finishing it. Sally breaks away from the woman she's walking with and goes to the drummers, a couple of guys who sit at the bottom of the short steep hill and play drums to help motivate flagging runners/walkers. She high-fives them and talks to them for a moment and then she starts walking toward me.
"Girlfriend, I been looking for you!" she says.
"And here I am!" I tell her.
"But you're going the wrong way!" she says.
"Aw, I'm sorry!" I say.
When she gets closer to me she high-fives me, looks me right in the eye and says, "I'm really proud of you. You're doing great." And walks on.
I hike up the hill and finish the walk. I decided not to try to run the last bit. Walking has brought me this far. I'll finish at my own pace. At the end, there is much cheering from spectators and volunteers. One amusingly costumed volunteer meets me a little ways from the finish and accompanies me past the sensor. An announcer tells the crowd that my name is Kim something. Which it is not. There must be a delay of some kind in the computer. A young boy puts a medal around my neck and I am done. Another volunteer relieves me of my timing chip and I make my way to the food tent for a little nosh, free to participants.
Thirty seconds later, some other woman is given my name as she crosses.
Run 01:04:34 Run Rank 3392 Pace 00:20:49
Overall Rank 3261 of 3496
Class Rank 850 of 925
Final 02:39:27
Tomorrow: The Thrilling Conclusion!
Saturday, August 18, 2007
I <3 Swag
Spent several hours checking in, wandering the sponsor booths, and then racking my bike today. I freaking love swag.
Technically speaking not everything that I came away with was swag. Swag is the free stuff, and I did buy a couple of things: bright yellow Crocs and a couple of those little doo-dads that you pop into the holes (a pink crown and a big round shiny diamonoid), and a pair of open water goggles. Regular swim goggles are a huge pain. They are small, they tend to leak, if someone bumps you they pop right off. Sally Edwards, world class triathlete and paid final-finisher for the Danskin triathlon series, pushes these goggles at her "first-timer's talk," so I finally tried some on today and they seem to be pretty sweet. They are not off-the-rack prescription like my other ones but I'll manage. Maybe it will be better if I can't see properly...
But I did get some swag, which I swear is half the reason I do these things. Okay, maybe more than half. Every participant gets a tank top which this year turned out to be an unfortunate raspberry pink. We each got a red nylon and mesh bag which will be quite handy for the stuff we have to take to the race tomorrow. And at the sponsors' tents, oh the goodies! Water bottles, carabiner key chains, little first aid kits, baseball hats, packets of sunscreen, and pocketknife-style bike tools with Allen wrenches and screwdriver heads. And little single-serving peanut butters. And water. And "Sport Beanz" jellybeans. And Soleil razors.
Tomorrow morning I have to be up early to be there on time. So I'm getting up at like 5am... Ugh.
Technically speaking not everything that I came away with was swag. Swag is the free stuff, and I did buy a couple of things: bright yellow Crocs and a couple of those little doo-dads that you pop into the holes (a pink crown and a big round shiny diamonoid), and a pair of open water goggles. Regular swim goggles are a huge pain. They are small, they tend to leak, if someone bumps you they pop right off. Sally Edwards, world class triathlete and paid final-finisher for the Danskin triathlon series, pushes these goggles at her "first-timer's talk," so I finally tried some on today and they seem to be pretty sweet. They are not off-the-rack prescription like my other ones but I'll manage. Maybe it will be better if I can't see properly...
But I did get some swag, which I swear is half the reason I do these things. Okay, maybe more than half. Every participant gets a tank top which this year turned out to be an unfortunate raspberry pink. We each got a red nylon and mesh bag which will be quite handy for the stuff we have to take to the race tomorrow. And at the sponsors' tents, oh the goodies! Water bottles, carabiner key chains, little first aid kits, baseball hats, packets of sunscreen, and pocketknife-style bike tools with Allen wrenches and screwdriver heads. And little single-serving peanut butters. And water. And "Sport Beanz" jellybeans. And Soleil razors.
Tomorrow morning I have to be up early to be there on time. So I'm getting up at like 5am... Ugh.
Bodice 101
I'm blogging this from a motel room in the vicinity of Seattle, Washington. In a couple of hours I'll make my way to the materials pick-up for the Danskin Triathlon. Tomorrow morning I'll throw myself into the chilly waters of Lake Washington, along with 5000 other women, and flail my way about 600 meters through the murk until I eventually emerge, gasping, wheezing and frozen solid. Then I will climb onto my shiny new bicycle and ride until they tell me I can stop. Then, in case I'm still not convinced of my generally poor physical condition, I'll walk 5k. I would run it but I'm fundamentally not suited for running, mainly due to my flipper-like, non-weight-bearing, purely decorative feet. I have new orthotics and the left one is not quite right which makes my left leg feel like someone is driving a spike up my tibia by the end of the day. So no running this year.
Meanwhile, since I have a few minutes (translation: none of my WoW buddies are on at this ungodly hour and I got tired of playing alone), I'll finally get around to talking about my visit to this renaissance festival two weeks ago with my wonderful cousin.
Okay, first of all I had no idea my cousin could sew at all, and come to find out she's made this incredible dress. I will post a photo of it when I can. Anyway it featured a laced bodice, double skirt, removable sleeves, the whole bit. Sumptuous. Divine. A friend of hers was visiting from Chicago and was also wearing a cool dress that she'd made.
I was wearing shorts and a tshirt. Maaaaaaaaaaaaan.... I felt so underdressed.
So off we go, after leaving the baby with the eldest of my cousin's daughters (more on that later) and make our way through Ye Olde Parking Lot to the faire. On the way in, a teenage emo thespian dork loudly claims that I am wearing his shoes that I stole from him. This right here is enough to keep me from ever attending another faire... but I soldier on.
Once we get inside, we are assaulted by bagpipe music. Which I secretly love. Shh! Don't tell anyone. There are tents full of medieval and pirate themed merchandise. Food booths featuring Ye Olde Polish Sausage, or a roast turkey leg for that authentic 16th century feel.
My friend Alison calls me at this point. Surprise! She and her family have come up for the faire!
As we peruse the merchants' wares and consume our Ye Olde Curly Fries, I find my gaze directed repeatedly to the, um, frontal regions of many a becostumed wench. There appear to be three general schools of thought regarding bodices. I will, as a service to you, outline them here (with illustration).
Bodice School of Thought #1: Elizabethan. This style is the most modest. The wearer's bosoms are snugly laced behind walls of boned fabric. The image that came to mind most often was the fantastic Cate Blanchett, whom I give you now:
Mind you, no costume at the faire rivaled this one.
Bodice School of Thought #2: The Merchant's Wife. Here the wearer's "girls" are squeezed upward and bulge out from the top of the bodice, but are still technically contained within the confines of the garment. In some cases, the bulge borders on obscene, with the casual observer such as myself wondering when the seemingly inevitable catastrophic failure would be taking place and whether anyone's eye would be put out when it did. A slightly less extreme example:
Bodice School of Thought #3: The Lusty Pub Wench. This bodice does not so much conceal the breasts as showcase them. The garment ends below the actual prominences which are thrust forward, torpedo-like, within their peasant blouse. Think St. Pauli Girl. It was this style that got my attention as I sat watching a truly decent Celtic band -- a couple of barefoot late-teens girls were dancing and twirling about in front of the very un-medieval aluminum stands, their perky pontoons bouncing and jouncing this way and that... it was very nearly hypnotic. Of course, *cough cough* mine was a purely academic interest. Behold:
This is actually a rather refined example, as the girls that I saw were more snugly enveloped by their blouses and little was left to the imagination. Given a choice, I prefer this approach really.
This ends our lesson on laced bodices and the wenches who wear them. :)
More about the baby and her sitter: my cousin's daughter took Delia to a bakery and bought her a cupcake, which the baby ate no-hands style to the amusement of onlookers far and wide. That's my girl!
Meanwhile, since I have a few minutes (translation: none of my WoW buddies are on at this ungodly hour and I got tired of playing alone), I'll finally get around to talking about my visit to this renaissance festival two weeks ago with my wonderful cousin.
Okay, first of all I had no idea my cousin could sew at all, and come to find out she's made this incredible dress. I will post a photo of it when I can. Anyway it featured a laced bodice, double skirt, removable sleeves, the whole bit. Sumptuous. Divine. A friend of hers was visiting from Chicago and was also wearing a cool dress that she'd made.
I was wearing shorts and a tshirt. Maaaaaaaaaaaaan.... I felt so underdressed.
So off we go, after leaving the baby with the eldest of my cousin's daughters (more on that later) and make our way through Ye Olde Parking Lot to the faire. On the way in, a teenage emo thespian dork loudly claims that I am wearing his shoes that I stole from him. This right here is enough to keep me from ever attending another faire... but I soldier on.
Once we get inside, we are assaulted by bagpipe music. Which I secretly love. Shh! Don't tell anyone. There are tents full of medieval and pirate themed merchandise. Food booths featuring Ye Olde Polish Sausage, or a roast turkey leg for that authentic 16th century feel.
My friend Alison calls me at this point. Surprise! She and her family have come up for the faire!
As we peruse the merchants' wares and consume our Ye Olde Curly Fries, I find my gaze directed repeatedly to the, um, frontal regions of many a becostumed wench. There appear to be three general schools of thought regarding bodices. I will, as a service to you, outline them here (with illustration).
Bodice School of Thought #1: Elizabethan. This style is the most modest. The wearer's bosoms are snugly laced behind walls of boned fabric. The image that came to mind most often was the fantastic Cate Blanchett, whom I give you now:
Mind you, no costume at the faire rivaled this one.
Bodice School of Thought #2: The Merchant's Wife. Here the wearer's "girls" are squeezed upward and bulge out from the top of the bodice, but are still technically contained within the confines of the garment. In some cases, the bulge borders on obscene, with the casual observer such as myself wondering when the seemingly inevitable catastrophic failure would be taking place and whether anyone's eye would be put out when it did. A slightly less extreme example:
Bodice School of Thought #3: The Lusty Pub Wench. This bodice does not so much conceal the breasts as showcase them. The garment ends below the actual prominences which are thrust forward, torpedo-like, within their peasant blouse. Think St. Pauli Girl. It was this style that got my attention as I sat watching a truly decent Celtic band -- a couple of barefoot late-teens girls were dancing and twirling about in front of the very un-medieval aluminum stands, their perky pontoons bouncing and jouncing this way and that... it was very nearly hypnotic. Of course, *cough cough* mine was a purely academic interest. Behold:
This is actually a rather refined example, as the girls that I saw were more snugly enveloped by their blouses and little was left to the imagination. Given a choice, I prefer this approach really.
This ends our lesson on laced bodices and the wenches who wear them. :)
More about the baby and her sitter: my cousin's daughter took Delia to a bakery and bought her a cupcake, which the baby ate no-hands style to the amusement of onlookers far and wide. That's my girl!
Wednesday, August 08, 2007
A Whole Different Animal
So I went for a ride on my shiny new bicycle last night. The local bicycle club has a women's beginner ride. I'm not so much a beginner as terribly out of shape, so the length and average speed of the ride are suitable for me. I am about to outgrow it, but they do have longer beginner paced rides that I can try out.
The new bike is so different. I still huffed and puffed up the (albeit, sadly, minor) hills a bit, because of the aforementioned out-of-shapeness, but whoa nelly! It was not nearly so bad as on the trusty mountain bike. By the end I'd ridden a little over 13 miles and didn't feel as trashed as I generally used to on the mt. bike. In fact I felt fine. Little sore in the seatbones but it's a new seat to get used to. I did get a nicer one than the stock saddle as it looked very uncomfy.
The new bike came with pedals with rat traps, but I'm sure eventually I'll want the fancy shoes and all that crap. I'm used to the rat traps so I'll spend some time getting used to the bike before I make any other changes.
The new bike is so different. I still huffed and puffed up the (albeit, sadly, minor) hills a bit, because of the aforementioned out-of-shapeness, but whoa nelly! It was not nearly so bad as on the trusty mountain bike. By the end I'd ridden a little over 13 miles and didn't feel as trashed as I generally used to on the mt. bike. In fact I felt fine. Little sore in the seatbones but it's a new seat to get used to. I did get a nicer one than the stock saddle as it looked very uncomfy.
The new bike came with pedals with rat traps, but I'm sure eventually I'll want the fancy shoes and all that crap. I'm used to the rat traps so I'll spend some time getting used to the bike before I make any other changes.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
Entry Level Cyclist
Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce the newest resident of our garage, a spunky lil' character I like to call "The One I Could (Almost) Afford."
Today I got a Trek 1000 "Discovery Edition" which was the only color available in my size. I wanted the orange model but they were sold out. Nevertheless, it is a fine ride for an entry level cyclist such as myself. I researched a bit online and found good reviews for it as a nice, respectable, versatile bike and a good value. Then I found that a local bike shop was having its summer sale the very next day. How's that for kismet? I did change out the seat for a cushier, gel-padded made-for-the-female-anatomy one. My rump and I have an understanding. I make things as comfortable as I can for it, and it returns the favor.
And we all know that it's not really the rump that we are talking about. But that's all the detail anybody needs to know on this matter.
And now, having not even ridden the thing, I must put it in the garage and clean the house. I'll be gone all weekend to some Renaissance Faire up in Washington with my cousin. I won't get a chance to put any miles on it until Tuesday most likely. :(
Today I got a Trek 1000 "Discovery Edition" which was the only color available in my size. I wanted the orange model but they were sold out. Nevertheless, it is a fine ride for an entry level cyclist such as myself. I researched a bit online and found good reviews for it as a nice, respectable, versatile bike and a good value. Then I found that a local bike shop was having its summer sale the very next day. How's that for kismet? I did change out the seat for a cushier, gel-padded made-for-the-female-anatomy one. My rump and I have an understanding. I make things as comfortable as I can for it, and it returns the favor.
And we all know that it's not really the rump that we are talking about. But that's all the detail anybody needs to know on this matter.
And now, having not even ridden the thing, I must put it in the garage and clean the house. I'll be gone all weekend to some Renaissance Faire up in Washington with my cousin. I won't get a chance to put any miles on it until Tuesday most likely. :(
Wednesday, August 01, 2007
Event Whore
Now I'm hooked.
I did the Summit to Surf, which was fantastic -- the 36-mile so-called "leisure ride" goes from Mt. Hood Meadows to Hood River, Oregon. A hundred yards out of the parking lot at Meadows and you're bombing down the mountain at 40mph, or faster if you are riding a really nice road bike and aren't a wuss. Wussy types on mountain bikes with commuter tires, such as yours truly, top out at about 40.
A friend of my gracious chauffeurs, Karen and John (and official mascot baby Katie) was also registered in this ride. I'm not sure if it was just that Annette was behind me or if I'm in better shape than last year, or more likely a combination of the two, but I was seriously shocked when the ride ended. Technically speaking she was only behind me on the hills, since a really nice road bike can take you up the hills much faster than an aging mountain bike with the aforementioned commuter tires. Also she's probably in better shape. Even though she just turned *cough* forty, nearly two months before me.
At any rate we blew into Hood River by lunchtime, collected our swag: tshirt, keychains, thermal coffee cups, other assorted stuff from sponsors. Annette and John/Karen scored sets of chrome skull end caps for their Yakima racks. Off to lunch. Burgerville was offering free lunch to all participants but we wanted to go to lunch with our hosts at the legendary Char-Burger in Cascade Locks. Pickup trucks filled with Native Americans (with special fishing rights, or there would be plenty of white folk as well) selling fresh and smoked salmon line the parking lot, and the gift shop sells fudge. 'Nuff said. Also, there is pie, and they serve those big fat crinkle-cut fries. Nature's perfect food.
Now, last year I involuntarily tipped over not far out of Cascade Locks and slept most of the hour-plus drive home, (John at the wheel, and for good reason) but this year I stayed awake although I was sleepy. Again: better condition? Maybe so.
Next event: the Bridge Pedal, which takes you over an assortment of Portland's bridges. Annette urged me to register and we intend to make those bridges our bitches!!!1! We chose the second longest ride, 24 miles, 8 bridges. Next year we'll go for all ten bridges which adds about twelve miles. This is a big event with like ten thousand people riding and walking across the bridges, some of which are not usually accessible to pedestrians or cyclists. I've been meaning to do it for years. Every year I'll space it off and then the day before I'll find out about it. Too late. Not this year!
So my collection of event tshirts is growing. Some may argue that I'm getting a bit long in the tooth to wear shirts with words and logos on them, but I beg to differ. :)
I did the Summit to Surf, which was fantastic -- the 36-mile so-called "leisure ride" goes from Mt. Hood Meadows to Hood River, Oregon. A hundred yards out of the parking lot at Meadows and you're bombing down the mountain at 40mph, or faster if you are riding a really nice road bike and aren't a wuss. Wussy types on mountain bikes with commuter tires, such as yours truly, top out at about 40.
A friend of my gracious chauffeurs, Karen and John (and official mascot baby Katie) was also registered in this ride. I'm not sure if it was just that Annette was behind me or if I'm in better shape than last year, or more likely a combination of the two, but I was seriously shocked when the ride ended. Technically speaking she was only behind me on the hills, since a really nice road bike can take you up the hills much faster than an aging mountain bike with the aforementioned commuter tires. Also she's probably in better shape. Even though she just turned *cough* forty, nearly two months before me.
At any rate we blew into Hood River by lunchtime, collected our swag: tshirt, keychains, thermal coffee cups, other assorted stuff from sponsors. Annette and John/Karen scored sets of chrome skull end caps for their Yakima racks. Off to lunch. Burgerville was offering free lunch to all participants but we wanted to go to lunch with our hosts at the legendary Char-Burger in Cascade Locks. Pickup trucks filled with Native Americans (with special fishing rights, or there would be plenty of white folk as well) selling fresh and smoked salmon line the parking lot, and the gift shop sells fudge. 'Nuff said. Also, there is pie, and they serve those big fat crinkle-cut fries. Nature's perfect food.
Now, last year I involuntarily tipped over not far out of Cascade Locks and slept most of the hour-plus drive home, (John at the wheel, and for good reason) but this year I stayed awake although I was sleepy. Again: better condition? Maybe so.
Next event: the Bridge Pedal, which takes you over an assortment of Portland's bridges. Annette urged me to register and we intend to make those bridges our bitches!!!1! We chose the second longest ride, 24 miles, 8 bridges. Next year we'll go for all ten bridges which adds about twelve miles. This is a big event with like ten thousand people riding and walking across the bridges, some of which are not usually accessible to pedestrians or cyclists. I've been meaning to do it for years. Every year I'll space it off and then the day before I'll find out about it. Too late. Not this year!
So my collection of event tshirts is growing. Some may argue that I'm getting a bit long in the tooth to wear shirts with words and logos on them, but I beg to differ. :)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
