I'm gonna chicken-fry your head.

So, for the past month while at home, I've had a job. I'm not sure why I haven't mentioned it, other than that I kind of wanted to put it out of my mind as soon as I got off of work. It's the first waitress-type job I've had, and I guess I've felt a little weird about it. Not that I think I'm better than having that sort of job, because I really don't. I just...I guess I just felt out of place a little. It's the first uniform I've ever had to wear; I'm not really sure why it bothered me. I definitely adopted a different persona while there (Southern Cajun accent, with a bit of shyness), and I still haven't quite figured out how to make that at-work personality correspond with who I consider to be me.

So maybe it all sounds like an excuse, but that's why I haven't mentioned it until now.

And so why now? Because today, on my last day of work, I completely lost my temper for the first time. I have so many stories about this job, but this last one absolutely wins the prize.

First of all, the job was waitressing, but it was waitressing at a cafeteria type place, where the customers take what they want from an assembly line, and then sit down themselves. We waitresses have assigned sections of the seating area, and get them refills of drinks, or bring them whatever additional food they might want. The tips aren't 15%, but more like $1-3 per table. The upside is that one waitress services about 18 tables at once and the turnover is pretty fast, so I was still averaging $20-30/hour, which really isn't that bad at all. I worked Monday through Thursday, from 11 until 2:30--the lunch shift.

So, with that background out of the way, I'm sure you can imagine the type of people who come to the restaurant--old couples, large families, co-workers on their lunch break, etc.

And so today, I had the pleasure of serving two middle aged ladies, one about 10 years older than the other. As they sat down, I approached their table, and did my usual greeting-spiel: "G'morning ma'am. I'm gonna be your waitress today. Here'rea couple extra napkins for y'all. Lemme take those trays out the way for you. Y'all enjoy your meal now. I'll be back to check on you, but y'all let me know if you need anything."

Yes, my grammar abounds when I'm at the Piccadilly Cafeteria.

And so as I was saying all that, the younger lady is poking at some fried piece of SOMETHING with her knife and obviously isn't paying attention to me. When I'm done and about to leave she says "Um...hello? What is this?"

"Excuse me? What is what, ma'am?"
"What is this meat? I asked for chicken."
(she's poking at something that looks more brown than white)
"I'll go ask the cook, ma'am. I'll be right back."
(I go ask the cook--it's chicken-fried steak.)
"Ma'am, it's chicken-fried steak."
"Yes, I know that now. But I wanted chicken."
"Okay, ma'am. Do you want me to exchange that for you?"
"Yes, I suppose so." (in a really pissed off voice AS THOUGH IT'S MY FAULT)
(I go get the fried chicken for her. Meanwhile, my 10 other occupied tables are beginning to look out of control. There are 3 tables I need to clean, 4 with empty drinks, and and several more that are obviously trying to get my attention. This lady is fucking with my tips.)
"What is THIS?"
"It's fried chicken, ma'am."
"I didn't want fried chicken."
Now I'm more than slightly irritated and my hands go on my hips and my voice gets high.
"I thought that's what you wanted, ma'am. I thought that's why I returned the steak."
"No, I don't want fried chicken. I want chicken-fried-chicken."

At this point I lost it. Apparently there is a difference between fried chicken and chicken-fried chicken (something to do with whether it's an actual chicken with bones in it or just a chicken patti), but I was previously unaware...not to mention that the much desired chicken-fried-chicken wasn't even being served today. Usually when I get frustrated with a customer, I just smile a little brighter and grit my teeth. But not today. It was too much with all the chicken-fried-bullshit.

"I'm sorry. I guess I just don't understand what you want. I don't understand the difference between fried chicken and chicken-fried-chicken. Both sound absolutely repulsive to me, but if you want something other than what I brought you, you should get up and go back in line and get it yourself, because I'm obviously incompetent." And then I walked away and went to help another table.

I told you I lost it. I felt like I was on Seinfeld or something with all the back and forth nonsense.

And so she got up and went through the line again, where of course they weren't serving the damn chicken-fried-chicken. She made such a fuss though that they ended up making it especially for her. Because she definitely deserved the special treatment. Stupid brace face, four-eyed bitch.

And so for the rest of the time I served them, I was molasses sweet, and I ended up getting a $2 tip despite the little explosion. I think the older lady felt bad for me. And the best part? The $2 was wrapped with a 'Find Jesus' pamphlet (not the first such handout I've gotten on the job, by the way). I wanted to tell them I am Jewish and to save their paper because I have my own beliefs that I'm comfortable with and no offense to what they believe, but it's just not me...but I didn't.

And you know why? Not because I was scared or embarrassed or anything even partially novel.

Nope, I just wanted the $2.

Because with that $2, I've now earned $848.72 this month, all of which is going directly into my bike fund. So, crazy chicken-fried-chicken lady, I thank you for helping me in my pursuit, even if I did want to stick your head in a fryer.

Singing the Blues

I didn't photograph the one about boobs.

Cypremore Point

Damn all the sentimental IM race reports.

I got all gung-ho after reading reports like Jodi's.

I signed up for IM Coeur d'Alene 2008.

I'm not sure if I'm excited or dumbfounded or scared out of my mind, but the button has been clicked and I'm official. My stomach is doing flips, but I think it's a good thing. And hey, this time I'll have a whole year to train instead of just 3 or so months. And, I'm hoping that maybe the Continental US race location will enable family and friends to come along.

And now writing this has made me smile, both inside and out. I'm glad I signed up; I'm glad France wasn't a once-in-a-lifetime thing.

Here we go again...

Collaborating

Day Trips

Over the weekend, I went on a couple of day trips with my sister and her non-boy. One destination spot was Cypremore Point, a state park on the Gulf Coast of Louisiana. Throughout the weekend, it was amazing was seeing an Orthodox Jew from Israel in the midst of the Deep South. At one point Ezra helped a family get their capsized boat out of the water; it was just the most incredible scene. The two cultures are so different; I almost can't think of a single commonality, other than that we're all human.

We also went to New Orleans, where we did the standard tour of the French Quarter and Riverwalk, and then drove over the the Ninth Ward to see how things looked. It wasn't as bad as before; there were no more overturned cars on the roads, or pianos in the middle of a ruined house. Instead, the whole area just looks deserted. I know I've been kind of annoyingly obsessed about this whole New Orleans thing, but you've got to understand that the city was such a part of my upbringing; to see it unravel is just heart breaking, whatever your opinion of the circumstances.

I have decent photo documentation of everything; I'll be posting a plethora of pictures over the next couple of days.

It was a nice weekend; I definitely approve of my sister's choice of a not-boyfriend. The religion difference will be hard to conquer, but he's a great guy overall. I've got more on that to say later, actually, but I'll save that for another day...

I've fallen in love.

Curly Su and the Beautiful Bike

(with my sincerest apologies to Shel Silverstein)

There once was a girl named Susanna
Who was back from a horrible ride
Through Southern Louisiana
Where her bike had broken down 8 miles in
When she spied
A beautiful Orbea Women-Specific
Bike named Diva.
And next to it was a sign that said
For Sale: $4000.
"Oh," said Susanna,
"May I have that bike?
May I please?"
And her conscience/career choice/bank account said,
"No you may not."
And Susanna said,
"But I must have the bike."
And her conscience said,
"Well, you can't have that bike,
But you can have a huge cup of frozen yogurt
With hot fudge whenever you want."
And Susanna said,
"I don't want frozen yogurt with hot fudge,
I WANT THAT BIKE--
I MUST HAVE THAT BIKE."
And her bank account said,
"Be quiet and stop complaining--
You're not going to get that bike."
And Susanna began to cry and said,
"If I don't get the bike, I'll die."
And her career choice said, "You won't die.
No triathlete has ever died yet from not getting a bike."
And Susanna felt so bad
That when she turned off the computer she went to bed,
And she couldn't eat,
And she couldn't sleep,
And her heart was broken,
And she DID die--
All because of a bike
That her conscience wouldn't buy.
(This is a good story
To read when you
Can't buy something
You really, really want.)

To Bigun:

In response to a recent post, I plead the 5th.

Being stood up has its advantages.

This evening, I was supposed to meet my sister and 'the guy who is visiting her from Israel but is definitely not her boyfriend' were supposed to meet me at the pool. I was going to help them with swimming. As you know, I'm not a certified coach or anything, but I think I now know enough about form to help them a little bit, and I was kind of excited to try.

Anyway, I talked to them around 6:15 as I was heading into the gym. They said they were going to leave the house in 5 minutes and would meet me there soon.

So...I start warming up. I warm up. I start my main set. I do my main set. I do a longer main set than I have in what seems like forever. I finally start my cool down...and yeah, then I'm done with the workout, and they're still not there.

I swam from an hour and a half and they didn't show.

I wasn't mad until I got back to the locker room and checked my phone and saw that my sister hadn't called. Then I was pissed because it was just plain inconsiderate.

It's okay though; it's obviously not that big of a deal. It's not like I'm Miss Perfect Pants or anything anyhow. And, like I said, it has it's advantages. I never would have swam as far as I did today if I wasn't waiting for someone. So, because my sister was a dork-face, I got in my first over-3000-yard swim this year; my first since IM France exactly a year ago, in fact. I actually thanked her for the 3150 yard workout when I talked to her again. (And, it was a real workout! I wasn't just screwing around! I even made myself follow send-offs and everything! I know, I know...hard to imagine...)

She called me as I was walking back into the house, and said 'You left the gym already?!'. Yeah, Ta, it's almost 9:00 now...I can't/don't want to/don't NEED to swim for 2 hours. Thank god.

I asked her what she had been doing that made her so late. There was a pause...and then...'I don't know. I just lost track of time. We were hanging out.'

Remember, he's definitely NOT her boyfriend. But, he came for a week and a half while my parents are gone. Again, definitely not her boyfriend.

Regardless (it's not my business; I just don't want to see her get hurt), I got in a great swim, and it was even after running this morning. I almost feel like a triathlete again. Tomorrow, some quality time with my bike and then it'll be official.

Oh, and when my sister and boy got back from the pool around 10, the first thing my sister said was 'We really want you to help us tomorrow.' I rolled my eyes and walked out of the room and acted all righteous...but of course I'll help. They just have to show up, but even if they can't quite manage, I'm sure I can once again figure out something to do in the pool...

And then the dogs ate the cat.

So, TriGreyhound has these really nice, gentle Katrina-rescue puppies. They're the cutest little mutts; they're part Dalmation, part collie, some pit bull, and some sheepdog. They're healthy, smart, and fun to be around. I'm a dog person, so perhaps I'm a bit biased, but these are some awesome animals.

They're sisters, and they do everything together. They trot around the backyard as though they have one brain. They chew bones together, sleep together, and climb on the playground equipment together. It's all very Where the Red Fern Grows-esque.

But then they ate the cat together.

The cat didn't like that very much. And you know what? Neither did I. What was I supposed to tell Greyhound and family when they got back from their trip? (I was house sitting; yeah, I did a great job, I know...)

"Um...yeah, everything is okay. Dishes are done, mail is brought in, and your cat? The dogs ate it. But don't worry, I don't think she felt much pain."

Yeah, not so much.

But, because of my frantic chasing and tackling of the dogs, the cat remained unscathed, apart from having to spend time in the upstairs corner nursing her ego (from being INSIDE THE MOUTHS OF TWO DOGS), and then using the rest of the night to give me pissed off looks. (I can't say I blame her though.)

I wish I had the scene on video. I don't even remember getting down the stairs to get to the dogs. I just remember hearing the noise, and then all of a sudden using all of my might to hold one of the dogs down. There had to be some pretty funny leaping of stairs and sprinting across the house footage in there. The second dog was torn between being with her sister and continuing with the cat-feast. That slight moment of hesitation gave the cat the much needed second to escape. Sheesh.

So yeah, house sitting? Not all it's cracked up to be.

I did get to sit around all day and watch TV in a beautiful house with a million and 50 channels and fool around on the internet and read books and play the flute...so it wasn't all bad. But the dog vs. cat incident? That kinda sucked.

And then when I was putting the dogs to bed? I cracked my head against the ceiling/wall, and still have a huge egg lump on it. Hmph. Poor. Me. (I'm good at being a martyr, aren't I? I take pride in my obvious skill.)

Greyhound and family were only gone for about 20 hours, so I got to spend the rest of the time with them. We did some training (one workout of each sport; it was perfect), and lots of eating and wine drinking. They're a cool family to hang with; very intelligent, open minded, generous, and interesting. But best of all, they give off that heart-warming 'happy family' vibe. It was great to get to spend the time with them.

So, that was my weekend. Saving cats, dogs, and houses from would-be destruction, and spending quality time with friends. It could definitely be worse.

I'm going to get a tattoo.

Okay, not really. But, after last night's swim, I know what I would get, were I able to handle the thought of needles and the dentist-drill-slash-sewing-machine noise that radiates out of tattoo parlors.

Race numbers. I would get a race number tattooed onto my arms. Why?

Because, last night, when I was swimming at the local Lafayette, LA health club, I got approached by not 1, not 2, but 3 very attractive/buff/swimmer/triathlete guys at different times. They all wanted to know what race I had just done and how it had gone and one of them even wanted tips on triathlons.

This.never.happens.

It's not like I met the guy of my dreams and I'm going to live happily ever after, but it was still kind of fun in a flirting, casual, not-everything-has-to-be-so-damn-serious-all-the-time kind of way. I giggled like a little school girl and didn't even worry about my swim cap hair, goggle eyes, or how I looked in a bathing suit. I wasn't concerned with the lack of workout I was getting (2200 in almost an hour; not so impressive), but instead enjoyed swimming outside in the evening.

There's something magical about outdoor nighttime swimming, and yeah, getting some unexpected attention wasn't so bad either.

But you know what? It wasn't really even the attention that made me feel so good. Of course it definitely helped, but as I started actually swimming (instead of talking at the side of the pool), it wasn't the guys that were on my mind. It was the race, and the fact that I could do it, and how the race numbers are proof of the person I've become. I like that person; she's confident and happy...and it seems that when I allow that person out, other people kind of like her too.

So, race numbers? I'm not even going to try to wash them off anymore. And truth be told, I won't get a tattoo, but after my next race, I might just reapply those numbers for a few nights. I need myself to remind myself of who I can be, and hell...while I'm at it, I might as well try my luck at the local pool.

When I'm Rich and Famous

(or at least when I have a stable job) I promise I'll pay for my race pictures. For now, here are the stolen proofs...

Spectators

click on the picture to get the full effect...

Shoulda remembered it was a 'C' race...

Then, maybe I would have been less disappointed when the day turned into a comedy of errors.

The main thing, and what set the tone for the rest of the race, was that I got lost on the swim. I was swimming happily along, when suddenly a kayak appears out of nowhere and politely informs me that 'honey, you're way off course.'

The problem was that the sun was right at the horizon line and I couldn't see jack shit, to put it nicely. Once getting met by the kayaks, I decided to take off my goggles, and things were better. Next time I'll know that goggles don't necessarily help. When I first started doing triathlons, I rebelled against goggles and would just swim with my eyes open...I'm thinking it might be time to go back to that philosophy.

In any case, my nice little detour cost me at least five minutes, and probably more like eight. The bummer of the whole thing is that I felt totally awesome swimming, and I think I would have had a really great time. As it was, I swam it in 36 minutes, which is actually only 2 minutes off of my Wildflower time, which was with a wetsuit...

So, I was kind of cranky getting onto the bike. I had forgotten to start my watch at the start of the race (what? me forget my watch? this is a definite departure from my usual 'type a' status), so at that point all I knew was that my swim sucked. I didn't know if I had taken 35 minutes, or 45 minutes...and so I pedaled my ass off. I've really never biked that hard, probably ever. My computer wasn't working, so I didn't know how fast I was going, so I just kept pushing harder.

But I still was passed, passed, and passed again. I think I only overtook 1 person the whole damn time and SO many people took me...even with that crap-shoot of a swim. UGH. But, I was working hard, and really biked as fast as I could, so I can't be too bummed about that. I simply have to get out on the bike more, because racing once a month just doesn't cut it for bike training. It's an amazing discovery, I know.

The only other thing of note that happened on the bike was that my chain fell off about 2 miles from the end, so I had to stop and fix it. It only took about 30 seconds, but it still just made me mad. Oh, and throughout the whole race, my bike was skipping some middle gears...it would go into the gear, and then just pop out...totally annoying, considering I just paid to get my bike tuned up last week. Don't worry, I'm going to bring it back to the store today.

And so I starting running.

Okay, you know how people always talk about the bike-run transition being so hard? I never really understood that. I always felt great running, and was just glad to get off the bike. Well, not this time. When I got off the bike and started my run, my legs just refused to move...and I realized that this was the first time I had actually biked like other people bike. I was still slow mind you, 17.2mph on the bike is nothing to brag about, but it's still fast for me (for now! I'm going to get faster!).

But the consequence is that my run was just plain hard. My legs finally loosened up around mile 2, but that was about the time when I started overheating so much that I got goosebumps. Never a good sign, ya know? So, I just slogged through the 6.2 miles, averaging just over a 10min/m, and finishing in 3:08, more than 8 minutes over my PR, and pretty much just sucking it up age-group wise. To be fair, the race was a regional qualifier for the National Age Group Championship, so it drew a really strong group of people...but still...I was (am) kind of down about it.

The bummer of the whole thing is that if my swim had gone better, I think I could have PRed, even with my bike acting up and the run being a hotter-than-hell-humidity-fest. I would have biked the same way (which was actually faster than ever before, I hate to admit), and I would have pushed myself on the run. But, because I knew my race had gone to hell, I just kind of ran it without any goals in mind. I was doing 'my best' but I wasn't pushing past that, you know?

So, I finished, and it was totally awesome having my parents around at every single transition. They took SO many pictures, and it was just great to have them at the finish line. I just can't help but be a little bummed about my performance. But, I guess I just need to remember that I signed up for the race on a whim and just did it for fun. I didn't train specifically for it, and I didn't taper or do anything else race-specific aside from eating lots of pasta the day before (which isn't really a departure from the norm, if I'm at all truthful).

So how could I expect an amazing race? I guess that because I'm still relatively new to this sport, I'm used to getting better with every event, almost without trying. Maybe it's a good thing that isn't happening anymore; it means I'm not as much of a newbie!

In any case, I should be more realistic with grade-labeling my races from now on. So the next 'A' race? Timberman 70.3 in New Hampshire on August 18. It's not that far away, I'm realizing...I'm going to make a training plan this week, and then get with the program!

Today I'm bringing my parents to Houston, where they're leaving to go to Europe for the next 2 weeks. My sister and I have the house to ourselves. PAR-TAY! (As if...I'm the lamest person in the world.) And so, tonight my parents and I are going to dinner with Greyhound and his wife...my mom and his wife (and me too, I guess) are all flutists by profession, so there should be plenty to talk about, as long as we don't start fighting and pulling out each other's hair (because flutists are known to do that).

And, for anyone who wants to see a plethora of pictures of me racing, here they are. (Click on the album if the slide-show isn't working on your browser.) The quantity is almost embarrassing (and I didn't even include the bad ones!), but embarrassing in a really good way...

Indian Creek Triathlon

You Could Fry an Egg

It's really freaking hot here in Southwestern Louisiana. The thermostat is registering at 100 degrees. Plus humidity = 1,000 degrees. And I'm not exaggerating, I promise.

I'm kind of thinking I might have overlooked that heat factor when I signed up for this Olympic tri I'm doing tomorrow. (When I signed up a couple of weeks ago the weather was still relatively functional. Now? Not so much.)

I'll be okay finishing, but a PR? Perhaps not, especially considering my PR race had a short-by-a-mile bike course.

So, my new goal for tomorrow is just to push myself; I'll of course try for that PR, but if it doesn't happen I'll be alright. I'll just blame the insane excuse for a temperature, and know I did what I could...and PR the next time.

I had forgotten about Louisiana summers. They're all nice and warm and comforting through May and then June hits and BAM you might as well be cookie dough because you're going to bake.

So, I guess that's all I have for now. I'm all packed and ready to go to the race. I'm excited and jittery; maybe that pre-race electrification will die down after awhile, but it hasn't yet...and that's pretty awesome.

Remembering, Never Forgetting

If they don't start automatically, click 'play' on both the music and the slideshow so that they run simultaneously...

A Concert for Hurricane Relief, September 2, 2005. Aaron Neville performing "Louisiana 1927"

"The river rose all day, the river rose all night.
Some people got lost in the flood, some people got away alright.
The river has busted through clear down to Plaquemine,
Six feet of water in the streets of Evangeline.
Oh Louisiana, oh Louisiana,
They're trying to wash us away, they're trying to wash us away.
Oh Louisiana, oh Louisiana,
They're trying to wash us away, they're trying to wash us away.

President Coolidge come down, in a railroad train.
Little fat man with a note pad in his hand.
President say little fat man, oh isn't it a shame,
What the river has done to this poor people's land.
Oh Louisiana, oh Louisiana,
They're trying to wash us away, you're trying to wash us away.
Oh Louisiana, Louisiana,
They're trying to wash us away, they're trying to wash us away.
They're trying to wash us away, they're trying to wash us away."
~Randy Newman

I did this 'just because', but if you want, here's a way to help remember. Or, help however you think is best, even if it's just spending a minute during the day to consider how hard it must be for everyone whose home has all but disappeared.

I'm the best!

There are so many similarities between music and triathlon; I sometimes feel silly continuing to use the same comparison. But, since practicing and training pretty much dictate my life, I guess it makes sense that they are the focus of my thoughts as well.

My high school flute teacher (and one I've continued to sporadically study from since) won every single audition he ever took. This is not normal. At a typical audition, there will be anywhere from 100-200 flute players looking to land a single spot in an orchestra. No matter how good you are, it's almost impossible to win, and then to win every time? Without fail? It's unheard of.

As the impressionable 16 year old that I was, I idolized my teacher. I memorized everything he said and followed it as gospel; it was hero worship to a fault.

And so of course I remember perfectly what he said when I asked him how he achieved such consistency. I remember talking about how I was worried about college auditions and was wondering how I would ever be admitted anywhere. The music field is cutthroat; even at that stage there might be 3-4 spots for 60 applicants. I was confident in my flutistic ability, but anyone thinking about those odds has to feel some doubt.

So, when I expressed that uncertainty to Mr. Khaner, he shook his head and looked at me like I was crazy. He said, 'You can't think about it like that. You have to go in there, look at all the other flute players standing around, and then think to yourself "Man, I feel sorry for all these other flutists who aren't going to get into this school; they aren't going to get in because I will."'

And he was serious. He really thought that. He went into every audition knowing that he would win, and win he did.

Believing in yourself isn't the end-all, be-all, but it certainly does help. If you're the best flutist, the fastest triathlete in the world, it won't matter unless you also believe in your mind and in your soul that you are, in fact, the best.

The winners of any race know that they can win. It's not an accident, it's not just chance. Those people standing on the podium go into the race absolutely positive that they have the ability to win. Whether or not it happens is kind of inconsequential; the winners know that they have the capability, and sooner or later it'll happen. If they keep going, if they keep believing, they will conquer what they set out to achieve.

Now, I'm the first to admit that I'm not the best. I'm not the best flute player, and I'm certainly not the best triathlete. It would be stupid and ignorant to believe otherwise. But, I still think this 'I'm the best' philosophy can be applied to us mere mortals.

Whatever your goals are, whether they be winning the race, achieving a new PR, or simply finishing, if you believe in yourself, your chances are infinitely higher. So, go on...say it with me...

"I'm the best!"

And now, don't just say it...let it soak into your consciousness, stick it on a post-it on your mirror if you need. (I did when preparing for those college auditions, and you know what? I was accepted to one of the best schools in the country.)

Believing won't take the place of preparation (yes, training is still necessary), but truly having faith in oneself is invaluable. It's not as easy as it sounds; it might even be harder than the century rides and marathons and even IronMan races, but in the grand scheme, it'll bring you so much further than any of those things. It's the intangible that will allow for the tangible.

I know it's corny and kind of a self-help overload, but that doesn't make it less true...

Believe in yourself. You're the best.

Space to Breathe

The best part is that there is no traffic in Colorado. Really. There is so much space; there is enough room for people, cars, bikes, and even dogs. For a Jersey-girl, this is quite the phenomenon.

The whole city of Boulder; indeed, the entire state of Colorado (or as much of it as I saw), just has this feeling of openness and ease. There was none of the high-pressured running around, honking, and jaywalking that the Northeast has perfected. I did hear a car alarm or two, but otherwise the noise-pollution-rate was at an all time low.

And so it was with this sense of peace that I spend my weekend with Bolder...in Boulder. He treated me like a queen, refused to let me pay for anything (who else would buy someone running shoes under the threat of beating them up if not allowed???), took 3 days off of work, introduced me to every elite triathlete in Bolder, and just generally showed me an awesome time.

We never got to watch a chick-flick on the man-couch, but that's okay, because it probably would have resulted in a breach in pinkie-swear trust.

And then? He writes a totally exaggerated but insanely nice post about me...as though he actually had as much fun as I did.

I know there is much anticipation regarding the impending dork rating that I promised. And so, without further ado, with much tallying and recounting, the hanging chads struck once again and I'm naming it 'too close to call'. Bolder showed me a great time and was the perfect gentleman--no dorkiness there. But really, can anyone be such a 'nice guy'? It's impossible, so the dork meter has no choice but to skyrocket. And so, we're stuck in the middle and will probably have to call for a Supreme Court intervention.

In all seriousness though, I was honestly a more-than-a-little surprised at how easy it was to be there. I knew I'd have a good time, but I assumed I'd feel a bit uncomfortable, and that I'd want respite every now and then. On the contrary, I felt completely at home from moment one.

More than anything else, the weekend made me realize how much space there is in this country, and was in turn the perfect escape. It's so easy to get caught up in your own little section of the world; seeing an area with such vastness made me realize how much more there is. It was just what I needed.

Colorado is just beautiful, so the training was a blast, despite the air being WAY TOO FREAKING THIN and refusing to go anywhere near my lungs. I thought I was used to the whole altitude thing by the end, but swimming the last day was still an exercise in futility. An easy 100 felt like a 1000 time trial, so the 1000 time trial that Bolder was supposed to do (and I briefly considered) got quickly negated. But, there is good to come of it all...I'm hoping that the addition of red blood cells will help me out on my race this Sunday. Yeah, I know that in all likelihood I'll be completely adjusted back to sea-level by then, but hey...a girl can hope, right?

In any case, I had an awesome vacation. Aside from the training and site seeing, we drove to Denver to see Chris and Carrie and had a great time eating WAY too much at dinner with them. (I gained a pound over the weekend, and it's all their fault. Hmph.)

The only sadness I had was leaving...I like my 'real-life' perfectly well, but I definitely wish these great people were more of an everyday availability. The upside is that it makes you realize how valuable good friends are, and that there is no set way to meet them. Whether it be via blog-land, a running club, or school, meeting special people is something to cherish.

And of course, I'll definitely cherish this past weekend for a long time to come.

Pictures of Mountains, Marmottes, Elk, and Dork

More about the weekend to come, of course...but for now, enjoy the scenery...

You Can't Go Back

This seems to be one of Bolder's favorite sayings. He said that to me when I told him I was planning on going home for 5 weeks this summer.

And you know what? He's right. You may be able to physically 'go home', but mentally you'll never be there again. Where you're from is no longer home; home is where you've created a life for yourself.

I'm having a good time here. Aside from the occasional sisterly blowout (yes, I took my head out of my ass and apologized), it's been really nice to relax and spend some time with my family.

But it doesn't feel like home. And 5 weeks is a long time.

I had premonitions of these feelings, and so I planned some trips. Later in the month, I'm heading to Houston to see Greyhound and family, and I'll definitely head into New Orleans at some point. The city needs and deserves a visit.

But today, I'm heading to Colorado to visit my friend Bolder, and I'm lucky enough to be able to arrange a time to see Stronger and Chris as well.

I've been wanting to spend some time with Bolder for a long time now (not only did he trust me with his phone number, but he always answers the phone when I call, even if he knows perfectly well I'm just calling to complain about the same damn things for the millionth time). I thought I'd get to see more of Bolder at Wildflower, but since that didn't work out...well, I'm taking him up on his consistent couch-crashing offers; I'm taking matters into my own hands and I'm going to visit.

I'll be back on Tuesday. I hope to write something before then (or at least post some pictures), but if I don't have the chance...have a great weekend and when I get back I'll let you know just how dorky Bolder is!