Taster Spoon

Is it really stealthy if it's all over the Internet?

Man!  The holidays, right??

Last week was the annual Beer Mile.  Inexplicably, I was not last.  Then again, I thought there was a PowderPuff division (2 beers only) again this year, but was mistaken.  I actually got denied a high five.  I made up for it at the pizza party after, though.

Because it requires the organizer to borrow a school track, the Beer Mile is typically the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, when school is out, everything is deserted, and nobody gets in trouble.  This year the organizer responded to considerable grumbling from all those who had to travel elsewhere for the holiday and scheduled it the week following.  It was held at a high school track where the organizer was able to persuade someone to both shut off the lights and leave the gate open so we could be appropriately secretive.

Ace was under the impression that this is a costume-wearing event.  As the results will show, however, his understanding was not  universal. 

Clearly, some take the event more seriously than others.  The winner, who drank 4 beers and ran 1600 meters in 6:42, was wearing track spikes. 

As we were driving home, we spied, off the highway, through the trees, what looked like a regular Santa's Village - holiday lights and blinking sculptures.  So we exited and drove around trying to find it.  Finally, we found a Santa Clara Park District installation: Vasona Park's Fantasy of Lights!  Entry fee was $10, but we were having such a good time, we didn't balk.  As we were about to drive in, the guy in the ranger station handed us what looked like 3-D glasses. 

"These are for the lights?" I asked.

"Yes."

Ace and I each gamely put on a pair, and sure enough, the glasses had what I can only describe as prismatic lenses that shattered each point of light into a halo of figures.  Specifically, I saw circles of angels everywhere - thousands of them!  And as you nod your head up and down, the angels flap their wings.  It was strange and wonderful.  (Note to self: keep 3-D angel glasses near deathbed.)

See if you can find the flaw in this reasoning:

Children love Christmas.

Children love dinosaurs.

Therefore, dinosaurs wear Santa hats.

Ace's glasses did not offer him visions of a multitude of heavenly hosts.  He saw thousands of dinosaurs in Santa hats.

The next night was my firm's holiday party, held at what I can only describe as Jay Leno's garage.  It was like a big warehouse where private owners store their classic cars, but which one can rent out for parties.  I thought it was weird to pay for the privilege of looking at other people's stuff.  I guess that's not so different from the Art Institute, though. 

Then we were up early for the latter two thirds of the Stealthman.  A friend in the triathlon community - Lorraine - celebrated his 40th birthday by doing an entire Ironman (2.4 mile swim, 112 mile bike, 26.2 mile run), in Hawaii, solo.  That is to say, he did it on his own time, self-supported, alone.  And called it LorraineMan.  (Except that Lorraine is obviously not his real name so it sounds better with his real name.)

So last year another triathlete friend celebrated turning 40 by having the Stealthman.  He and a group of friends showed up at a local pool and swam 40 x 100m.  Then they rode their bikes for 40 miles.  Then I think they ran for 40k.  Cities around here are very annoying about getting permits for organized events, charity bike rides and whatnot - hence, Stealthman. 

Doughnuts also figure heavily in the event, though I believe there already is a Tour de Donut out there. 

This year, because of the office party, Ace and I begged off on the 41 x 100 m swim at 6 am on Saturday, and instead joined the 40 k bike ride.  I've ridden my bike once this year, on Bike to Work Day, and as Rad observed on Saturday, I was ready to sell my bike by about mile 12.  I'll take his advice for next year: two pairs of padded shorts.  Then I joined the more-reasonable run, that was 41 x 400 m, or 10.1 miles up and down Black Mountain.  That part was really pleasant - Rancho San Antonio was beautiful, chilly and dry.  I had three doughnuts.

We went to the house of friends who made bacon and turned it into a BLT salad event that was ingenious and also delicious; then we went to the housewarming of a new friend who lives in one of those gorgeous apartments at 101 Alma; then we went to the almost-midnight Christmas mass for students at Stanford, because Ace likes to hear the Brassworks quintet and sing carols at the end.

Our sleep schedule, so helpfully set to Chicago time last week, has relapsed to a late night habit that makes me feel bad every morning.  Sometimes I wonder whether I should just give in.

Out of My League

 I never would have imagined I'd ever become jaded about awards ceremonies. 

   

Early on in Ace's and my relationship, I was startled to discover that a triathlon takes a whole lot more time out of the weekend for speedy people than for the rest of us - because they must wait around until the whole thing wraps up so they can get their medal or plaque.  And in the beginning, I was tickled. 

  

I felt like a special person just attending the awards ceremonies, and paid careful attention to looking casual and comfortable there, lolling around on the grass, so bored, like, of course, this is totally my crowd, when in fact it is nothing like my crowd.  I have hierarchy issues and am not one to so much as make eye contact with my betters. 

 

It's a funny thing, sport, the way it puts the talent and the wanna-bes into separate social spheres for what are mainly practical reasons.  For instance, I may get along well with a fast cyclist, but I'd never meet them, because we ride at different speeds and would have no opportunity to talk.  Whereas I think Ace conducts a lot of his socializing with certain people over the course of long bike rides and runs, and develops a set of fast friends through proximity as much as anything.

 

When I swam with the Masters set at Stanford, those of us in the slow lanes used to joke that the fast people had no idea who we were because they never looked South.  This is mainly because the whiteboard on which the workout was posted (and the coach) were positioned next to Lane 1 (on the North side of the pool) so the 1:25 people had no reason to ever look down across the rest of us, bobbing and straining to hear the joke.  We knew who THEY were, but they had no idea who we were.

There's also the factor that there's probably a lot more attrition among slower people, perhaps less dedication (maybe it's less inherently rewarding to consistently bring up the rear, maybe they have too much else going on in their life), a lot more people coming and going, and so the community of the slow is necessarily less tightly knit. 

So I don't mean to suggest that fast people are snobs (which, no question, some are), but only to say that there is clearly an 'in' group, and that dating Ace has, for me, been an odd experiment in athletic social climbing.  Suddenly I found myself sharing the joke (I had thought it was a joke but it actually wasn't) that someone had signed up for San Jose mainly because they were out of olive oil.  And as pleased with myself as I was to do Boston and those national and world championships last year - they had the important secondary effect of making me feel a lot more comfortable around Ace's peers, like I was good enough in my own right to talk to them - to make eye contact.   

And there's some chicken-and-egg aspect to it, as well.  I got that roll-down spot to Clearwater in 2006 because I had tagged along to an awards ceremony with Ace - I got it just because nobody better qualified in my age group was there to claim it.

 

I took a step back from triathlon this year for a couple of reasons, one, I really wasn't enjoying it as much as I had.  The looming events that had once provided really helpful and positive motivation to exercise had morphed into pressure that made me feel constantly inadequate.   And two, let's face it, I wanted to go out on a high note, and 2007 was really an amazing year for me.  (On paper, anyway.  In terms of accomplishment and self-discipline I'm more proud of my first Ironman.)

I've discovered this year that I've lost my sense of awe with respect to the fast people.  I've learned that being fast is a product of both natural aptitude and hard work, and that one can make up for a lack of the other to a surprising degree.  So people's finishing times doesn't actually tell you that much about them, about how well-rounded they are, or about how full their lives are.

I realized I was in a different place when we were talking to a friend after the race and he remarked that he came in second.  I had no idea whether he was looking for congratulation or commiseration.  And I was neither impressed nor sympathetic, because I realized that the statement contained no meaningful information.

Anyway, I watched Ace finish up his "season" (he had done two races this year) by competing at Treasure Island Saturday.  It was an entertaining race to watch, because, I don't mind telling you, he trained very little.  He runs about 5-10 miles a week with Run Club, he rides his bike for a couple of hours on Saturday mornings if it's not raining, and he joins me at the pool on Sunday mornings if we manage to wake up in time.  The big joke this past week was that he was 'tapering,' because he missed one of the runs.  

On race morning, we nearly overslept as Ace hit his snooze button in his sleep until at one point I groggily said, "Don't you have a race today?"  He raced his car up against surprisingly dense traffic for a Saturday morning, and fifteen minutes before his group was set to be in the water he had yet to register. 

The announcer called out his name a few time at the start of his wave as a force to be reckoned with (because he had won last year) and Ace had the grace to wave sheepishly.  I watched the first lap of the swim, saw him round the buoy and pause to sit up and look around in surprise that he was in the lead.  As I angled the camera for his first lap of the bike, I chuckled as he passed me, asking, "how many laps?"  Of course I told him the wrong number (thankfully he clarified with someone better informed).  And then I was looking the wrong way when he ran past me on the final lap of the run.  The announcer called him out again, because, to both our surprise, he won. 

The organizers set the awards ceremony for some five hours after he finished.  We killed time as much as we could - snacking and napping and getting free ten minute massages, but come on.  After a couple hours Ace said we could skip it.  I felt bad.  I didn't have big plans, I could nap some more, it seemed ungrateful to bail on receiving a medal.  But I was also irritated by the inconsiderate planning.   Making people give up their entire day?   To wait three hours in the rain?

Supposedly he'll get it in the mail.

You are what you eat - and VU is a Cutie!

One can use one's fruit stickers to make one's friend laugh at work for no reason. 

(Secretary, on handing card to friend: "There's no return address on it, and no writing!  Is it code?")

Or, one can use them to distinguish one's bicycle box from all the other identical bicycle boxes at the airport.

A lot get lost in transit.

Go Banana Slugs!

I had to take a break from the recapping; it's been a busy weekend. 

Among the endurance athletes with whom Ace associates (triathletes, mostly Ironman types), there had apparently been considerable smack talking re who could run the fastest mile.  Not mile as part of a marathon after a 100 mile bike ride, just the fastest all-out mile.

So Dave had the brilliant idea to organize "the MILE smackdown" on Saturday.  Every weekend during the winter, Los Gatos High School hosts an all-comers track meet - $5 to compete, $2 to spectate.  I'd never heard of it before, but it's brilliant, and a lot of fun.  Since Heather needed to spend the morning riding long (she's training for IM Coeur d'Alene), they asked me to keep an eye on Kevin while Dave warmed up.

So I got there early, just as things were getting started at the meet (they were calling out the pole vault!), and was amazed to see athletes of all ages (from children to middle aged women to older gentlemen) making their way to the track.

I squeezed in a morning run along the Los Gatos Creek Trail - it was a perfect day, sunny and cool, with cherry and plum trees just bursting into bloom - there were hundreds of people out on the trail.  And when I got back to the school, the track meet was well under way.

The boys ran their mile (photos are here - and Dave's writeup, with video, is here), and then Ace and I hung around to watch.  The two-mile race was a wide range of everything from muscle-bound college athletes honing their skills and determination to ten year old girls scampering all around the lanes, and chatting the whole time - Ace and I made a bet of how quickly they would get lapped - he won with "one and a half laps."

I attempted to show Ace what I had learned that morning from the infomercial for Hip Hop Abs, and a pack of high school kids watching from afar broke into applause at our moves.

We were packing up to leave as they called out the 4x400, my favorite race to watch in high school, because it's adrenaline packed because it's an all out sprint, but it's still long enough that big exciting gaps can add up or places can get traded back and forth.  The announcer said that one pair of guys needed another pair to make a team, and Ace shrugged and jogged over.  He motioned me over, so I joined them.  It was two club athletes from UC Santa Cruz (apparently UCSC is not known for its athletics so they just have a club).

I agreed to take 3rd position, and Ace 4th.  Man - those guys were FAST - our team was in first place when I received the baton - three machinelike dudes passed me like I was standing still (swerving around me because I wasn't about to give up the inside lane, suckahs!), and then Ace just held on to fourth place for our finish in 4:19.75.  Yes, you heard me - a mile in 4:19.  I contributed like 73 or 78 seconds to that.

I don't know why we thought we could hang with college athletes, and I felt bad for 'losing it' for them, but Ace rationalized that if we hadn't joined them, they wouldn't have run at all.  And at least by going first and taking such a big lead in the first two laps, they knew they were the best runners out there.

Sunday was the prologue for the Tour of California in Palo Alto.  I put on my Team USA jumpsuit to be supportive of the home team, but for a T-shirt wore a red shirt with a big white Swiss cross, both because it color coordinated, but also because I wanted to cheer for Fabian Cancellara because he is super cute.   Although I was self conscious each time I walked past the med tent.

I had signed up to volunteer, but by the time I arrived at check in, most of the necessary jobs had been handed out.  "Here," said the organizer, handing me a T-shirt, "wear this and go over to the [I forget] tent - you can do economic impact or Health Fair [or whatever she said]."

So I went to this booth where the lady gave me a bag of noisemaker clapper thingies, and a stack of sweepstakes entry forms.  Instructions were to give clappers only to people willing to fill out sweepstakes entries.  ("Make sure they're over 18.")  While there were actual sweepstakes prizes, the purpose of the entry forms was to capture personal information so they (Herballife?  I'm not sure) could market to people.  I raised my eyebrow.  "If they really insist on protecting their personal information, you can show them this."  The lady turned over the form to a section in fine print with a check box - the completely non-obvious opt out section.

I was pretty grumpy.  I've done my share of surveys and stuff in high school and college, but those were paid jobs, or at least internships with ad agencies.  To ask a volunteer to be party to that made me pretty irritated.  I ran into a couple of other people in the same shirts, with the same giveaways and stacks of forms, and we commiserated on how this was totally not what we had signed up for. 

So I changed back to my original shirt (go Cancellara! you're so cute!), filled out forms for me and Ace (checking the box), and handed out all the clappers to the only people who wanted them - little kids. 

I cheered on a street corner on Palm Drive, saw some friends and eventually met up with Ace who was trying, as usual, to get on TV (pictures to come), and then we went our separate ways again.  Oh!  I also forgot!  I got Tyler Hamilton's autograph.  (He's so cute!)

Ace and Claudette.

Ace holding up traffic (but not getting on TV, dammit!)

Yesterday was a bunch of cooking, and buying my lesson book for the Japanese classes I'm starting, and running 15 miles.  That took, like, all day.

While you were sleeping

I was shutting off the alarm and feeling my way for the bathroom.

Team Sheeper, a schmancy multisport team based in Menlo Park, was hosting their annual Ultimate Run.  (Sheeper, as far as I can tell, has a tendency to organize ridiculously epic workouts - 300 mile bike rides, or whatever, for no particular reason.)

The Ultimate Run is an 18 mile run from the parking lot at the Woodside School, over to Wunderlich Park (which I never knew was there), all the way up, nearly to Skyline, 6 rolling miles over to King's Mountain Road and Huddart Park, and back down to the parking lot. 

It's crazy!  It's insane!  It just might be my only real opportunity to put some miles in before I fall way behind on my marathon training plan, which is on my schedule as needing to start sometime in these two weeks we're on holiday in Thailand.  Although I have little hopeful thoughts that we'll get out for a jog around town to get a local feel for the places we visit, I don't think it's realistic to plan on too many 2 hour runs.  It's hot, it's humid, in Bangkok it's crazy polluted...and more to the point, there's so much else to see and do!

A friend mentioned the Ultimate Run about two weeks ago.  At that time, my longest run since my 13 mile run in November was 9 miles.  Doubling it - and adding a mountain - seemed a little unwise.  So I immediately made myself do a 2 hour run (at the end of which I was really weary), and last weekend I did a shorter but way hillier run - the PG&E trail at Rancho San Antonio.  I also read somewhere that if you are in a pinch and need to dramatically increase your mileage without doing yourself too much damage, you can alternate running and walking (say, 8 minutes of running, then 1 minute of walking) and supposedly go up to 50% further.  So that was my plan, but I knew I'd have to  get there early.

Runners were starting the Ultimate Run in several waves according to projected speed, hoping to finish around the same time so they could all cook pancakes in the parking lot.   The first wave was set to go at 6:30. 

I picked up Rad, and we met some others in the parking lot, but didn't get going till about 6:50.  He and Tracy wore headlamps and led the way.  It was about 35 degrees.

I tried to be very purposeful about the walking breaks, taking them from the very beginning, because I know very well that no matter how great you feel at, say, mile 8, you can be real trouble just four miles later if you haven't paced yourself.  Rad's training so far has topped out at a half marathon last weekend, so he was amenable to my pace.

I was actually pretty beat by the time we got to the top of the hill - only 6 miles in.  The mountain top was pretty well clouded in, but there was one meadowy patch that allowed in a couple of beams of the rising sun - that was very satisfying.

But on we went into the cloud and (periodically) the rain.  Rad and I continued run-walking (or, as I prefer to put it, rokkin') the whole way.

Here are the lovely ladies of the second wave, who passed us near the top and made sure we made the correct turns.  We needed the help.

On the way back down, we were  passed by the final wave, of the very quickest runners. 

They are humoring me to make it appear they are struggling to keep up with me.

Victor is apparently sponsored by Polar.

Victor also gave us some directions on how to leave the park - to follow the signs for Phleger Estate. 

Little did we know that was a detour that took us about a mile out of our way - two, once we backtracked.  We were suspicious, and it got kind of Blair Witch - debating whether to continue on this questionable course or to just suck it up and go back the way we'd come.  Rad checked his GPS, but we were deep in a ravine and he had trouble finding a satellite.  Eventually we did turn back - but poor Victor was so certain he just kept going until he and Derek were practically to Skyline.

Anyway, Rad and I trudged towards the exit - his GPS said we had gone 19.6 miles - it was another two or three to the parking lot - when we saw a familiar blue car near the bathroom about a mile from the bottom of the trail.  We'd been gone so long Lorraine had worried about us and sneaked in the Service Entrance to the park.  We gratefully accepted a lift the rest of the way.

The rest of the way to...pancakes!  Bucks was jammed, so some fifteen of us ended up at Brian's Restaurant in Los Altos.  (Only about two of us belonged to Team Sheeper, so we didn't want to mooch their parking lot pancakes.)  Ace rolled out of bed in time to join us, and to participate in one of his favorite Sunday morning activities: playing with babies!

Clearwater 70.3 2007

I was waiting for the pictures before posting on the Clearwater race, and now the excitement has all but dwindled away.  So I'm cheating and cribbing from the recap I sent Boots and KK and AfricanKelli (whose tote bag, unlike some of us, performed like a champ at Clearwater). 

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As for me, I didn't "do" what I wanted - I had hoped to redeem myself from what I felt last year was less than my best effort.  And I just didn't end up training like I had hoped I would.  I think now that it's not realistic to expect myself to stay motivated from January all the way through November, especially when it gets a little chilly.  I'm a softie, that's all.  That said, I felt good the whole way through and had a lot of fun.  Oh, and I was sore the next two days, which makes me feel like I gave it a good effort.  I wasn't sore after that duathlon, which made me feel like I hadn't tried hard enough. 

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(Very Personal) Race Recap:

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We dropped off our transition bags the night before, to be hung on racks, and weren't supposed to add anything to our transition bags after that.  But Aunt Flo arrived that morning, and I went up to the guys standing guard and was like, "I know we're not supposed to add anything to our bags, but..."  And smiled sheepishly and held up a tampon.  And the guy looked at me and was like, "What is that?"

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I was like, "Uh...it's a tampon?"  And he looks at it blankly and says, "No, you can't add anything."  So I make this incredulous face and don't go away, so he yells to another guy, "HEY ARE THEY ALLOWED TO ADD A TAMPON?" while everybody else is standing around looking at me.  The other guy is actually normal and chuckles and says to me, "yeah, we've done a few of those this morning."  So the clueless guy goes off to put it in my bag - starts going down the wrong row, and I'm like, "237!  Left!  At the end!"

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It goes without saying that there was no tampon in my transition bag.  But the volunteers in the change tent were awesome.  Actually, the volunteers everywhere were really, really good except for that one guy. 

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The swim was a real washing machine.  The women 18-34 wave was first (a couple of us predicted - correctly - that we'd just get passed all day long), and I didn't want to be pushy at the beginning, so I spent the first half of the swim getting kicked as I tried to work my way up, which was slow going since we're all around the same speed, and then the second half getting clobbered as the subsequent male waves swam right over us.  I haven't swum since July so I was just grateful that I didn't poop out.

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I had had a goal for my bike time - the course is really 'easy' - really flat - everybody seems to get PRs there - even though I'm a terrible cyclist, it kind of chapped me last year that I couldn't do the bike in less than three hours.  Ace has given me some really helpful tips on how to become better, but even I didn't expect his advice to do me a lot of good when I haven't been training.  Anyway, I got a flat tire that kind of broke up any momentum or rhythm I had had, but frankly I was so thrilled that I was able to change it at all that I didn't care anymore how the race went as a whole.  Some ladies on the side of the road sat there, watching me change it for 15 minutes, and gave me a big round of applause when I finally got going again.  As it turned out, when I subtracted out my tire-changing time, I met my bicycle goal, so I was pretty content with the day.

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As a few people have observed, your performance (whether relative or absolute) at this race is meaningless, because it isn't really a fair reflection of how you'd do at any other race, or where you stand among your peers.  As with last year, drafting was rampant and egregious - huge packs of 20 guys (yes, it was generally guys).  Some people refused to give an inch, and so found themselves swept up in the packs (the rule of dropping back 7 meters when someone passes you is OK in a normal race; when you're getting passed by 15 people in an unending stream, it becomes ridiculous and unfair) - naturally, these people had phenomenal bike times and probably PRs.  But so what?  Other people attested that it was important to them to race fairly - they genuinely tried to avoid drafting - but however talented a cyclist you are, comparing such a person's time with that of a drafter is apples and oranges.  I guess the organizers tried to squelch the big packs of last year by spacing out the men's wave starts, but word on the street was that drafting this year was merely "better."  (Ace didn't go this year, largely because he felt the drafting made the race too unsafe.)

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I felt good on the run; it wasn't nearly as hot as last year.  They didn't have salt at the aid stations, just pretzels which I didn't want to stop to munch.  I trusted that the Gatorade was "Endurance Formula," though, and seemed to be okay.  (My fault - forgot to go to the athlete's meeting.)  They moved the finish 1/4 mile or so closer than last year so I didn't have an exciting sprint at the end, but that was also my fault. 

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I met a gentleman who named Dave who lives in Clearwater - turned out he had done the original Ironman in 1978.  What a genuine person.  At dinner one evening he floated the proposition that Kona should be 100% lottery for age groupers, in keeping with the spirit of the original event.  He hopes to do Kona next year for the 30th Anniversary, and I hope he does.

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Our friend Chris crashed on the bike, broke his collarbone in two places and put a gash in his leg so deep you could see the tibia.  But he finished the bike AND the 13.1 mile run after that with a blood-soaked shoe, finishing in 4:17.  Who are these people?

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By the time I crawled in they were out of food!  But I got my free massage and it was better than some paid ones I've had.  If you are in the Tampa area, his name is James and he is super committed to this profession and very knowledgeable - and gives a great rub!  (I'll add contact info to this space later; I took his card.)

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I just looked up my results.  Compared with last year, my swim was 2 min slower, my bike (not counting flat) was 3 min faster, and my run was 4 min faster.  So hey!  Satisfied!

Maybe this sport isn't so bad.

Think fast, McFly.

Today's the day.  My swan song.  Think lucky.  Think clean roads.  Think slippery wetsuit.  Think sunscreen.  Think high cadence.  Think fast.

Actually, screw all that.  Just think fun.

Foreboding

I haven't been swimming since July.  Is that what I should worry about for this race, or is it the sharks?

Clearwater 2007

Today I head for the sun and the sand.  Or something like that.

Last year, when Ace and I traveled to Clearwater, we were charmed to find our trip to Florida really felt like a trip South.

The Atlanta airport features a looooong row of what must be 50 identical white rocking chairs. 

Every one was in use.

In the Tampa airport, instead of having "Women's" and "Men's" rooms, the washrooms were designated thusly.

Oh, I do declare.

Clearwater itself is an interesting place.  The town itself feels like a grungy tourist trap - as I've been looking for a place to stay for this weekend, the reviews on various travel sites overwhelmingly talk about dingy dumpy divey motels with swayback beds, careless managers and roaches.  The restaurants were expensive, with uninspired, fried food that was doubtless trucked in from elsewhere.  It's the home of Hooters. 

We liked the place where we stayed, but the cantina next door kept us awake at night and construction traffic rumbled us awake early in the mornings.

But all of these criticisms seemed beside the point when you got to the beach. 

The beach was amazing - white and delicate as superfine sugar.  It wasn't necessarily warm in November, not because the sun didn't shine, but because it was extremely breezy. 

As a result, an industry of cabanas exists. 

Brightly colored half-shell tents that block the wind blasting in from the coast are sprinkled around the beaches like jimmies on a vanilla cupcake.  In their shelter, it feels like a warm day at the beach, and you peel down to shorts and a bikini top.  As soon as you step to one side, though, you quickly have to put on a sweatshirt and a jacket.

Unfortunately, the cabanas are not a service of the city, as they really ought to be for tourism purposes, but are $10/hour operations run by (it seems) local establishments (like hotels who have their own) or just individual entrepeneurs, who drive out in the morning with a truckload and load them back up in the evening.

Anyway, my trip this year is just a quickie, I'll be home Sunday.  Wish me luck. 

Duing it

Oh, you want to hear about the Duathlon World Championship I was stressing over?  It was really nice, I thoroughly enjoyed myself, and the race wasn't as awful as I feared.  Everyone was very friendly - lots of cross-nationality encouragement. 

There was a thin European turnout, but the upside was that most people (Americans, Canadians, British, New Zealanders, Australians) spoke English, which made things very easy.  As I passed a Mexican woman, I hollered something Spanish-sounding (I may possibly have quoted Speedy Gonzales), and she answered me in English, with no trace of an accent.   

I'd ordered the required uniform, specifically getting the men's version in hopes that it would run long and not reveal the muffin top as do all my other triathlon jerseys.  It was close to a hundred bucks!!  But when I received it, it not only was it annoyingly short, but the remainder of it was unflattering as well - I resembled a red, white and blue sack of marshmallows.  (It was also very impractical as a race jersey, having no pockets.) 

So I asked around when I arrived, and the lovely Gina of USAT gave me an old uniform from a previous year - a ladies' top, with pockets!  Still with the muffin top, but better a free muffin top than a $90 muffin top!  I just hope Tri-Zone will take my men's top back. 

The best part of the trip (for me) was getting to see my friends who have moved out East - Belle, who lives in Richmond, and who with her husband owns a jaw-dropping mansion that they basically turned into a Bed & Breakfast (& Dinner) for us for the weekend; and Stacy in D.C., who has sadly been ordered into bed rest due to early labor.  (Lucky for me, though - she's so seldom a stationary object I was afraid I wouldn't be able to capture her for a visit!)  She was bummed that she wouldn't be able to do this for the holiday. 

I think the best part of the trip for Ace was getting to see his sister and his nephews.  They played wonderful hosts to us a couple of nights as well, and even threw a pizza party when we were there.  Ace's nephews, B and B, were a great excuse to trek over the Belle Island bridge - a freaky contraption suspended by cables from two highways overhead that led to an island containing defunct prison camps from the Civil War. 

(BTW...Belle reports that Richmond?  Is The South.  People there call the CW the "War of Northern Aggression.") 

The younger B may have a future career in triathlon.

We took Virgin America, because the price was very right.

Virgin's gimmick is that you have your own little TV, even in coach.  You can watch TV, movies and videos, order lunch and play games.  Novel and absorbing.  The downside is that as we hit turbulence on our way into Dulles, my focus on the Anagram game, and Ace's involvement in Doom was a total recipe for quease.  Neither of us has ever felt so airsick.  We heard people all around us requesting sick bags.  I guess they couldn't request those through their little TV.

Ace admired the rack on a stewardess in the international terminal.