It's hard to say "I'm sorry."

You know when you get really mad? And things come out of your mouth that you don't mean? Or, actually...you might mean them, but you know you should never have said them out loud...

Because once put out there, they're impossible to take back.

And even when you know you've gone too far, you can't go back, so you feel badly. And because you feel like crap, you get even more mad and say more things you don't want put out into the universe.

And you see on the person's crumpled face how much you hurt them...but you just get righteous and then more angry and you start throwing keys around.

"Take the damn car. I hope you get into an accident."

And of course you don't want anyone to get in an accident, but you're just so freaking angry at how bad the situation has made you feel...there is so much that makes you feel bad on an everyday basis that there just doesn't need to be another catharsis.

And so she leaves with a tear stained face, saying that only her friends understand her.

It's not true. I understand her; that's why I get so mad. We're so different, but then so much alike at the same time. I'm brown and she's blond, but with the same cheeks and voice.

And she's younger; she looks up to me, and I was a complete and total bitch and said really cruel things...and I do feel horrible.

I am sorry. But I can't say it out loud.

I was in the wrong; I took it too far. I was really freaking hungry; I was frustrated with so much more than just her, and she took the brunt. She took the blame because she's family and because she was there and just because I was probably ready to explode regardless.

I just can't say any of it out loud. It's too hard.

We've gotten in fights before, but perhaps none so detrimental. I would take it back if I could.

And so, sis...I am very sorry. You were obnoxious, but I was out of line.

You don't read this, but if you did, I really want you to know that I'm sorry. I love you and I like you and you're my friend. Thanks for sticking up for me so many times; I promise to do better for you next time.

Finally!

My family is finally going to see me race a triathlon. I've signed up for the Indian Creek Olympic Tri on June 10. It's only about an hour and 20 minutes away from where we live and it happens to be on a day when the whole family is free, which is quite the oddity these days. So, it'll be an overnight family trip to Woodworth, LA...

I'm pumped to do another Oly on a course that is halfway normal (unlike Wildflower's insane hills). I'm hoping for a PR. I've been swimming almost every day (!) since I've been home, and my running should still be okay (even though I have only been out once in the past week because of the insane humidity in these parts). I'll put in a speed workout early next week.

And, even though I haven't been on the bike much yet this season, I still think I'm stronger than the last Olympic I did a couple years ago. Plus, I have a new bike and new wheels now, so I think I'll be able to kick some butt...or at least ride faster than I could before.

So, next weekend? I'm going to hammer. I haven't allowed myself to all-out RACE in a long freaking time, and I'm kind of looking forward to seeing what I can do. I might disappoint myself, but at least I won't have excuses.

But, the best part is that regardless of my finish-time, I'll have my family waiting for me at the end.

When I say weird things...

I'm not weird. I think I'm basically normal. Average. Median intelligence, talent, and everything else. Yeah, I'm a good flute player, but it's really because I've worked my butt off. My ear is okay, but not great. My voice sucks. I still need music in front of me in order to play the flute.

But that's not the subject on which I was intending to write.

Do you ever wonder what really goes on in someone else's head? Whether what goes on in your head is 'normal' or not? I feel neurotic. Okay, I am neurotic. But, what are other people thinking? Do others have the same winding thoughts?

I think that, most of the time, I pass. I pass for a functioning member of society and people don't think I'm off balance.

But then sometimes...sometimes I just say weird things. Things I don't even really think; things that just pop out of my mouth without me intending them. It's usually in pressured situations where I'm not comfortable with my surroundings. Lessons. Parents' friends. Friends' parents, even. New people at school or people I haven't seen in a long time.

And you know what? It especially happens when I feel like the person doesn't like me or has the wrong impression of me. It's like I'm trying so hard to show that I'm different than he or she thinks that I in turn prove the exact opposite. It's as though I'm channeling their expectations and turn into someone I'm not. Someone I don't approve of, someone I don't particularly like.

It's not through a particular issue or subject, but just my general reactions. that just don't feel like who I am. But then, if that's the way I act...isn't that, by default, who I actually am?

Sheesh.

And you know the hilarious thing? I seriously doubt anyone spends their time thinking about who I am or what I'm like. I'm making an issue out of a non-issue and perpetuating wrong impressions through my own psychosis. It's weird, right?

And so that's when I wonder what other people think about. Just how weird is all this stuff? If it's really odd, then that would be interesting to know, because then it would give me justification for feeling so out of place in this world so much of the time.

But if it's normal...then it would perhaps make me feel a bit more at home instead of always existing inside my own little head.

loUiSiAna

That's the way Louisiana was written on the license plates when I was growing up. They've since changed it to a California-like-scripty font. But when I was in middle school? Louisiana=USA. Louisiana was my country.

It was a clever play on the word, it being so symmetrical and everything. I tip my hat to the designer.

And so I'm back in my little country, I'm back at home. Things are different; there is now wireless internet in the house that didn't have a color TV until I was in high school. And cable? Not a chance.

Now everything is modern and updated. The health club has a huge new pool with slides and 50 meter lanes and protein shakes and wheat chocolate chip cookies. My room is now part office for my mom, part painting studio for my sister. The cars? They've gone from a bright red VW Van to a silver Honda Accord. The floors are wood instead of carpet and the kitchen tile is gone. There's a new sun-room and the old tree house has been taken down. My dog is here but my cat that I got in 4th grade died last month.

But what could I expect? I moved out 10 years ago; things change. But the feeling of home? The assurance of complete comfort and ease? That's still here; that could never be altered.

It's not just my house or my family. It's being back where there are no hills to speak of and everyone takes at least 45 minutes to do their hair every morning. It's the restaurants with cream sauce on every item on the menu and the TCBY on the corner. It's the strip malls that make you smile out of familiarity instead of raging about the 'corporatization of America'.

It's all the things that I hated and loved growing up. It's everything I ran away from at age 15 and everything I long for when I'm gone. Most times I don't even know the difference between the two, and that's the best part.

I don't know how I feel about the Cajun Culture. On a practical level, I want to hate it, but honestly, I don't. There is something comforting about the beauty of it, even if it is a superficial beauty.

Don't get me wrong. I'm not sure what the hell I'm going to do with myself for 5 weeks here; I've already doubted my decision to stay here for the month of June. Within 24 hours of being home, I've already had that restless 'I have no idea what to do with myself' feeling. Somehow, it's not the same as being bored by myself in New Jersey. Here, I feel like a kid. I don't have my own apartment; I'm living with my parents and I tell them when I'm coming and going.

So no, it's not like being home is perfect or idealistic. Every situation has it's faults.

Regardless though, it's nice to be back. I'm not sure how long this gung-ho feeling of southern love will last, but for now it's nice to be here.

Southwestern Louisiana is where I grew up, it's where I'm from. I might not be the typical Southern Belle, but this is my home.

The Joy of Being 25

Last Sunday, I woke up at noon after drinking a bottle of wine the night before. For the next few hours, I just sat around fooling with the computer.

Around 4 PM, my friend Kim from LA called. She's in the film industry and was in Connecticut for the night after finishing a film shoot in Cape Cod and was returning to LA the next morning. She wanted me to drive up to see her before she left.

Now, under any kind of normal circumstances, that would be completely impossible. It's a 3+ hour drive, and it was a Sunday night. I should have work the next morning; I should have a family to organize; I should at the very least have some sort of class to attend, or spinning to teach.

But it's summer break. I'm 25 and am completely unattached. I'm free.

So, I drove up to Connecticut we sat at Dunkin Donuts and talked. Then we went to Hartford, CT's Channel 3 News station and watched another friend produce the 11:00 news before heading back home where we sat around her table drinking wine and eating jambalaya (all three of us are Louisiana natives).

I was exhausted and desperately wanted to be asleep, but even I (the everlasting complaining cynic) had to appreciate that I was in the position to actually be there. I was able to drop everything and go on a 17 hour trip to see a friend and even learn something about news production.

So, even though I wholeheartedly want my life to be settled and all the unknowns known, there are still definitely some perks to my-so-called-life. I'm sincerely glad I am where I am.

That's hard to say, hard to admit, even.

It's much easier to be unhappy and drink out of a glass half full than to admit there actually is quite a bit of water left over in that glass. This life of mine is just getting started and I'm sure there will be many trials and tribulations to come, but for now...things are just where they need to be, and for that I'm grateful.

No, I haven't disappeared...

As some might assume, I haven't succumbed into the haze of drinking and partying of post-graduate school summers...

Although I've been keeping stupidly late hours and sleeping horribly, I've just been busy packing for the summer away. It's hard to pack for an entire summer, and the difficulty has rendered me immobile. I am going to be in Louisiana and then Vermont; what clothes do I bring? Do I need to bring my CD player/alarm clock? I have to pack up my bike. Again. Then I have to bring the bike to the UPS store. (I'm bewildered as to why I put it together after Wildflower in the first place; I've only ridden it once since. I should have left it in it's pretty box.)

I have to hide things I don't want my subletter to snoop through. I have to do the dishes, and I should probably take out the trash. ARGHH!

I have to pick up a friend from the airport; I have to meet other friends for dinner because some of them I'll never see again. (Dramatic much?) I already had a flute lesson today and went out to breakfast with other people I won't see until September.

How come these people didn't want to hang out on the countless evenings I sat at home and watched reruns of The OC on peekvid.com? Hmph.

I am incapable of saying 'no', but that has a lot to do with the fact that I don't want to say no. I want to do it all.

And then my brain explodes and I go to sleep instead of doing anything that resembles productivity. At least I'm not doing drugs or shoplifting.

In 24 hours I'll be home. Swimming in the pool at the health club. It can't be that hard to get everything together and get out of dodge.

Breathing, I'm breathing deeply. Calmly. Quietly. Serenely.

And you know what? I sure as hell won't miss the traffic...

I haven't felt this way since the Vodka and Sprite incident.

5 glasses of wine=1 bottle of wine=headache=not getting out of bed until noon=what was I thinking??!

(it was fun...)

Skip One Day, And Only You Know

The grand-father of flute playing gave me some advice about consistency in practicing that went something like this...

"Skip one day, and you'll know. Skip two days and your spouse will know. Skip three days and everyone will know."

I have to say, I think it's true. Continuing to do the daily exercises, never skipping your long tones, and working on etudes every day...these are the things that make you infallible as a musician. If you have consistency in your practicing, rest assured you'll be consistent in your performing.

And so yesterday when I was out on a 35 mile bike ride, I once again thought about how similar practicing and training are. Long tones are equivalent to stretching, etudes on the flute are your basic runs, and performing is racing.

I was riding and I thought about how I'm just not comfortable on a bike, and how I always feel like I'm teetering off the edge of something...both muscularly and balance-wise. And I realized that just as I'm out of shape on the flute right now (I started practicing again 2 days ago after a hiatus extending to the pre-Wildflower-final-exam era), I'm quite obviously also out of shape on the bike.

As Mr. Baker said, I need to prove I can be consistent and diligent with the flute. I know I can do that; I now have to prove to myself that I can transfer those qualities to the bike. I have it in me. I need to stop with the excuses about not liking to pump up my tires, not knowing where to go, and being scared of cars, and I need to get out there.

So, I'm going home for the month of June...and I'm bringing my bike. I don't have a teacher to whom I need to prove myself, so I have to do it for me. I have to prove to myself that I have what it takes to not only get on the bike, but to stay on it.

Consistency. Continuity. These are the enduring qualities, whether it be in terms of triathlon, music, or simply life.

Can we say Type A?

LBS

Here's part of the new post I just put up at Zipp Cycling.

In the past, every time I've gone into a bike store, everyone has been more than friendly and willing to help. A little shop in Maine once put together a bike a bought on Ebay for free (the bike didn't fit at all, but that's another story of newbie stupidity). Sure, they might take four hours to install a roof rack, but then they'll throw in a gratis pair of Look Pedals to make up for it.

And so why does my bike store here have such a crappy vibe? They wanted to charge me $10 to screw in my dérailleur (I didn't know what was wrong at the time). I looked at the guy-pretending-to-be-cool-biker-guy like he was crazy, and then asked if it was something I could do myself. He got a semi-shocked look on his face, and then mumbled 'Sure, if you have an Allen wrench, you can just tighten it here.'

Damn the Ice Cream Man

As if it isn't enough that I had to listen to people singing 'Oh, Susanna' to me through my whole childhood... (DON'T FREAKING SING THAT TO ME, IT ISN'T EVEN MY NAME!)

...now the ice cream truck seems to permanently park itself around the corner and play an oh-so-pleasant electronic version from sunup to sundown.

Someone's getting egged tonight, I tell you.

And the award goes to...

Volunteer of the Year

(thanks to Chris and Stronger for the help in identifying the winner)

Words that Rhyme with Susanna

I already used Iguana, and now here's Nirvana (based on a picture I took at Grout Pond in Vermont last summer), but that's about all I can come up with. Banana, if you pronounce it like you're in England, but that's kind of lame.

Any other ideas out there?

I'm going to run out of header ideas before long and then the world might end...or I'll have to resort to something that doesn't rhyme, and I don't know if I can handle that.

Oh, and my biggest achievement of the weekend?

The only things that got sunburned were the tips of my ears and my lips. I otherwise did a great job of obsessively applying 45 strength sunscreen. I avoided the biker-back-stripe that triathletes love and hate (hate because it's just ugly and love because it's proof that you have been training), and more importantly, I protected my skin.

Skin protection is one of my resolutions for the year (and forever), so I'm proud of this. I love the sun; I love having being tan, but I'm finally realizing it's just not worth the consequences. And because dandruff ears are just gross, and blistered lips aren't the best for a flute player, next time I'll be sure to remember my ears and lips...

[End Public Service Announcement]

I rocked those hills.

They say strength builds on itself over the years. So, even if you haven't done much in the current season, you're still starting at a higher place than you did the year before.

And you know what? I think they're right.

I know I should talk about Wildflower in correct tri-order, but I just have to start with this: On the bike, I had a blast. The hills weren't so bad. I had fun climbing them. (Did I just write that??)

And with that little prelude, back to the beginning.

I almost forgot to pump up my tires. I was done with my transition area an hour and a half before my wave. Can someone say that's a little excessive? It is. Very excessive. So, Stronger and I hung out for a while until we started freaking each other out by watching the waves start...that's the part of triathlons I hate most--the before-I-start time. It's so hard to wait around and watch other people thrash around in the water. The self doubt starts to creep in and nausea ensues.

So, I just walked around, breathing deeply and trying to not look for people I did-and-didn't want to see. I had 20 minutes left before my start when someone pumping their tires came into my peripheral vision. And then, OH MY FREAKING GOD I DIDN'T PUMP MY TIRES. So, I ran back to transition (nothing like a little pre-race warm up to get you started) and searched for a bike pump.

And here's where the shame comes in. I committed a Transition Area Foul. I found someone's pump and used it without asking. I didn't have a choice; I couldn't find anyone who had a pump. And what do you think the chances are of that same person running into transition after the swim just as I was putting the pump back? 100%. Yep, it happened. She was too intent on what she was doing to really notice me (a serious collegiate triathlete, I take it), but I still had to jump out of the way with my heart skyrocketing and guilt overtaking. It's a good thing I remembered to pump those things up though, because they were down to 70 PSI...that would definitely have not been fun in the midst of those California hills.

And so I made my way to the start, wetsuit, goggles, and cap in hand. I ran into all the tri-bloggers and they helped me get my wetsuit zipped up and pushed me on my way. Before I knew it, I was in the water...

...where I was pummeled. Repeatedly. I can't even begin to count how many times I was kicked in the face. I had to fix my goggles at least 5 times while treading water. I couldn't see anything to site off of because the sun was in my eyes. It was a crappy swim, and my time showed it. It was my slowest Olympic swim to date, and yes I haven't been swimming all that much, but I really think it had more to do with being knocked around in the water. Next time I want to try starting further up, or maybe even in the back. I don't want to be crawled over, but I'm beginning to learn that starting mid-pack is just asking to be smacked--you are starting in the midst of things, after all.

And so I ran into transition after again being cheered on by the tri-bloggers. Can I just say they were everywhere on that course? They rocked the spectator scene.

Here's a moment of self promotion: If I do say so myself, I'm good at transitions. I'm fast and direct and I'm pretty sure I'm top ten in my age group. And then off to the bike it was...where I am most definitely not top ten.

But this time I had fun. I felt strong. I was slow, slower than I've been on any Olympic tri to date, but it was also by far the hardest course I've attempted, so the molasses-pace is understandable. I passed people on the hills, which surprised me. I'm not good at climbing, hills are my nemesis, and so me passing people? It was shocking. I actually got to say 'on your left' a few times instead of just hearing it as people whiz by me at the speed of light. This is not to say I'm a good biker yet. It's still by far my weakest discipline (stats are posted below), but for the first time, I felt like those biker muscles might actually be developing...and the season really hasn't even started yet. It's a good feeling.

The bike course felt short. Yeah, I was out there for a good long time, but all in all, the 24.8 miles of hills didn't bother me. It was fun.

But the run? Not as fun. That run course is just plain hard. Hills, long hills, short steep hills, the whole damn course is one big hill until mile 5 when you at last rocket back to the finish line, descending the entire height you had just climbed. I gave in to walking the hills once or twice (I bargained with myself: 'if you make it to the water stop you can walk until that next tree'), but all in all, I ran. I managed 9:03 miles, which I was perfectly happy with considering the course and the hills I had just conquered on the bike.

I hate to admit this, but I think the run might have been a little short. If not, I managed to run the entire last 1.2m in 7:30. Somehow I'm thinking that's probably not right. It is a fast mile, but I've never run that pace in my life (it would mean a low-6's pace)...I doubt it would happen at the end of a triathlon. Regardless though, I'm given credit for 9:03 miles, so I'll take it.

And so I sprinted into the finish shoot passing one last person from my age group about 200 yards out, and once again getting cheered on by tri-bloggers and Cleveland friends. I actually had people at the finish line waiting for me, which seldom happens since I'm almost always racing far from home. It was a great way to end the race and the weekend.

Here are the stats for those who are interested. I always think my placement in each of the sports is interesting (there were about 4000 people taking part, in case you were wondering). It's always the same; I'm by far the strongest on the run, yet somehow I still don't think of myself as a runner...

NAME	CITY	STATE	ZIP	COUNTRY
LOEWY, SUSANNA
OVERALL BIB FINTIME AGE SEX 1329 7415 3:23:34 26 F
SWIM TRANS1 BIKE TRANS2 RUN CLASSRANK SEXRANK SWIMRANK 0:34:46 0:03:08 1:47:17 0:02:12 0:56:11 107 441 1547

SWIMMPK

BIKERANK

BIKEMPH

RUNRANK

RUNMPM

0:23:10

1962

13.8

984

0:09:03

When I was out there, I remembered that I love Olympic distance triathlons. I had a blast; I didn't have to worry about the distance (at least not too much, of course there is always some self-doubt involved); I wasn't at all sore the next day; I was instead pumped up for the season ahead.

And what lies ahead? I hope to do a couple more smallish Olympics and Sprints, and then I'm heading for TimberMan 70.3 in August, with the big season finale being the Texas 101 race in November, assuming good reports from the preceding 101 series races.

If 101 falls through, I want to again do the Philadelphia Marathon, this time actually training for it. It's on my birthday this year, and I've always wanted to do a race on my birthday. It would be hard to do both 101 and Philli because they're on two consecutive weekends. It's possible, I know, but it might also be setting myself up for disaster...and I try not to set myself up for that too often if I can help it.

Most importantly though, this is going to be a good tri-year, I can just feel it in the air. Vermont mountains, here I come...

It's really all okay...

I wrote that last post late at night when I should have been in bed but the time change from San Francisco was still having it's effect.

Normally I would probably delete the post after waking up and seeing that perhaps it wasn't completely appropriate...but this time I just don't want to.

It was how I was feeling last night, but it doesn't mean I feel like that all the time. I am happy; I am doing perfectly well; I am completely aware that I have a lot going for me. Most of the time, I am a glass-half-full type of person. If you look back at my recent posts, I think you'll find proof of that.

But then sometimes I feel down and scared about where my life is and is going, and writing is the way I am best able to work through that. I honestly felt a lot better after parsing through all that last night, and isn't that what the whole blog thing is supposed to be? An outlet, if nothing else? Yeah, some people blog to entertain, some to inform, but all in all, it's just a really great way for us all to express ourselves.

I'm not one to feel sorry for myself on a regular basis (I hope it doesn't come across any other way!), but sometimes we're all allowed a little bit of self indulgence. It is all relative, after all. And, if we don't give ourselves that liberty of feeling like crap once in a while, I really think we'll lose touch with reality...not everything is great all the time, and it's okay to feel that. Of course, feeling the negative too often isn't healthy either, but I really don't believe I'm at that point.

I realize this probably comes across as defensive, but I don't intend it to be that way. I just want to reassure and affirm that I am okay. I appreciate all the advice and concern and compliments more than any of you could know, but please don't worry that I'm crazy or about to jump off the ledge or anything like that.

I love life way too much for that, and that isn't just a passing thought. I love life, and I don't imagine that will ever change.

I wish you guys WERE 20 years younger and single...

Real race coverage will be coming soon, I promise...

but for now, I'm just wondering...where are all the guys my age who are supposed to be in love with me?

From the blog-big-brothers I keep getting niceties to the effect that they would be in love with me if they were younger and not married and etc etc.

And to that I say...EXCUSES, EXCUSES!

Yeah, you say NOW that you would have been head over heels for me, but I guarantee you, 20 years ago you would have wanted NOTHING TO DO WITH ME. You would have wanted a stick figure no-brained blond; it's not until later that you'd realize that brunettes are people too and that MAYBE IT'S NICE TO ACTUALLY TALK TO A WOMAN TOO.

And so where does that leave me? I have to wait until the stupid young ass boys come to their senses, so I'll be 35 before anyone notices me...and that's only if I'm not fat and boring by then. Because right now, I'm cool and hot and all, but I might get not-cool very soon if my life doesn't start to come together...I need to find someone now so that they can't get out once I turn into a stagnant old maid.

The other option is to date a 40 year old, but most of them are kind of scared of dating a 25 year old girl who is still in school. They're rightfully frightened, I've got to admit.

I'm not scary in real life, but my qualifications (or lack thereof) certainly are. On Match.com, where people scan through profiles like they're leafing through magazines, I wouldn't even pass the first glance because my income would state that 'I'll tell you later', which is code for 'I'm freaking broke and have a bunch of student loans and live in an attic apartment.' (It's a hip attic apartment, but a one-bedroom cubby-hole it is.)

And so where does the hope lie? I'm destined to be single for at least the next 10 years, if not forever...and yeah, I know it's important to be able to be secure and happy by yourself and everything...but honestly? I just want to share my life with someone who wants to share theirs with me. I'm sad thinking it might not ever happen.

I know this post borders on the ridiculous, but I'm kind of ridiculous sometimes, and that's really okay...because it's me and people are just going to have to put up with it. And the jokes? They're always half true. Guys might not only be interested in skinny blonds, but that's certainly how it feels...and if it feels true, then it is true, even if it's only true to me.

I feel trapped in relationships that won't work out and unable to look for relationships that will because I'm scared to start over and I'm scared to move on and I'm scared of being rejected. I'm scared of being rejected because I'm not a size 2, but I'm also scared of being rejected because maybe I'm not so cool after all and maybe he just won't love me enough.

This post that started as 'Curly Su pretending to be a comedian' just got way too serious. I'm stepping down not for fear of revealing too much and making people uncomfortable.

I'm not sad; I'm not depressed...I just get frustrated and sometimes a bit insecure, and yes, I sometimes wish I were blond. Because, blonds have more fun, and what would be wrong with having a bit more fun once in a while?

Live the Life

The weekend already seems so long ago, but then I also can't believe it's been a whole week since I arrived in San Francisco.

Getting to Lake San Antonio is no small feat. It's only about three hours down Route 101 from the airport, but after waiting for bike boxes and friends, renting a car, stopping for groceries and sleeping bags...it was 5 hours post plane arrival until we even got on the road. So, by the time we got to the campsite, I had already been traveling for 16 hours...and then we still had to look for a place to park the RVs. We got settled around 9 or so, and I conked out around midnight, after nearly a solid day of being awake.

Somehow though, I didn't feel as tired as I should have. I was so excited to meet everyone that I felt like it was the first day of summer camp, when everyone is just smiling and awake because you're away from home and parents and are anticipating the best summer ever.

And the best weekend ever it was. I met so many great people, blogland people I had been anticipating meeting for a ridiculously long time, and blogland people I had never read but now will...

The Kahuna (or Bill as I now think of him--knowing and referring to bloggers by their real names is still an odd concept to me) is the perfect father to us all. Outgoing and fun, always ready to smile and crack a joke or sing, but still completely humble and a bit shy...it was such a treat to get to know him.

Greyhound took care of me the whole weekend, from arranging his flights to coincide with mine, to renting a car and putting my bike together, and then even listening to me moan about everything that is so horrible in life...well, he's the older brother I never had.

Trimama, Tac, and IronJenny...I think of them as a group, no doubt since they're all from the same area and obviously have an awesome bond. It was so nice to see people genuinely enjoy each other and experience triathlon together...if I lived in Wisconsin I'm sure I would be sticking to them like glue.

I don't know how, but I forgot I was going to meet Stronger, so it was such an awesome surprise to see her drive up. She's so different than I thought she would be, but in a great way; she looks younger than I do, is totally confident, and is a kick-ass athlete. She was always making sure everyone was included in the festivities and went out of her way to make everyone comfortable with her massages and great attitude. Her brother Chris came too; he's quiet, but you can tell he's just observing and taking everything in...and when you make an effort to talk to him he's got a lot to share.

If Greyhound is my older brother, then Wil is my older sister. She was just what I expected; she's a whole lot like me.

And Bolder? I didn't get to spend nearly as much time with him as I would have liked. I don't know why the last RV ended up in a different campsite, but that pretty much sucked. It was good to meet him though; he's not the persona he projects on his blog; he's a better version.

There were so many others too; I'm bound to forget someone important. Triboomer, Simply Stu, and the list goes on and on. They were all freaking great. Every single one of them was more than nice to me; they seemed genuinely interested in getting to know me. And I in turn wanted to get to know them more than the 4 day weekend would allow.

And so wasn't there someone I didn't like? You would think so. In general, I'm picky about the people I associate with and I won't waste my time with people I don't enjoy or who don't enjoy me. So, it's pretty freaking amazing that every single one of these bloggers just pretty much kicked ass. What is it about this blog-world that brings out the best in everyone? I don't know, but I love it. I wish I had more of it in every day life.

Live the Life. That was the Wildflower slogan last year. Live the Life. Live the life you want to lead, enjoy yourself, be who you want to be. Live the Life.

A Perfect Weekend

You guys know I have a hard time writing about things immediately afterwards...so for now, here are the pictures I took over the weekend.

Some are good and some aren't so good, but regardless I think they portray the magic in the air.

Pay it forward.

I've been meaning to write about this for a week now, but I wanted an accompanying picture, and I can't seem to take decent pictures of myself, so I was holding out for someone to come over and take a picture for me...but then when someone does come over, I chicken out and don't ask them. I can be so shy and timid sometimes; I don't know what that's about.

In short, I guessed Mike's marathon time...or rather, I was 22 seconds off of his marathon time. He promised some Nike shwag. I was excited about the fact that my favorite numbers served me well once again (this is not a new occurance; more on that later), and I was pumped to be able to expect a package that I hadn't ordered. (The ones you order aren't as fun because you (a) know what's in them, and (b) have accompanying guilt from spending money you should be saving.)

And so I got the package. And holy. shit. The man sent me a really nice Nike running fleece along with a pair of Nike sunglasses, neither of which are by any means cheap. I was overwhelmed, not by the fact that he spent money on someone he didn't know, but because he went to the store and thought about my size and thought about what I would want, and then sent it to me. Maybe this isn't such a novel concept to many of you, but to receive that from someone on whose blog I only occasionally comment...well, I was floored. To be honest, I expected some left over stuff from his marathon goodie bag...and I would have been happy. Like I said, just the fact that someone was going to make it to the post office for me was pretty damn exciting.

And so I started thinking...if it makes me feel so good to receive just that little act of kindness, then I should try to make others feel that way too...and perhaps that would perpetuate the feeling and maybe, just maybe, that would be a way to help out in this way-too-big world of ours.

And of course it's not about money or gifts; whatever you have, whatever you can give is more than good enough.

Yes, the movie was unbelievably cheesy, but I think I do actually believe in the concept. Pay it forward. Do something nice for someone else, just to do something nice, and if they in turn do something nice for someone else, it'll be the start of something real.

There is so much ill-will in this world. Let's change that in whatever way we can.

Pay it forward.