Just for the Record...

I thought "We Built this City" was a good idea. And it was at first. It brought me back to my sophomore year in high school. It has a good beat. etc. But now I can't get the f-ing song out of my head. It's torturing me. I'm convinced this torture is divine punishment for allowing myself to indulge in such incredible cheese. --------- So the only thing better than actually getting a mammogram is getting called back by the radiologist and being told you have to come back and do it all over again. More slides needed--now not later--no, not next month--NOW. Here's the thing. My boobs are so, so, so small. They basically don't appear to exist, which is astoundingly ironic to those who have known me my whole life. Right, Ange? Currently it is my assessment that I look like a boy. Only my long hair and the crow's feet around my eyes reveal my sex and age. How could these microscopic boobies harbor anything suspicious and terrible? I digress. Today was the special day I was assigned to have my boobs mashed again. Actually, just my left boob. Apparently the right one is in the clear. I took Advil before I left this time. I've been told it would help. It didn't. After the torture of the boob mashing was over, I was asked to wait. The doctor wanted to look at the slides immediately. Don't move. Don't take off that hip mammography cape. Sit. Stay. I sat for a long time. Then I sat for more time. and a little more. I watched the news and heard all about Britney and the weather and how to cut children's hair without them freaking out and I got to pore over the new issue of Triathlete Magazine that had come to my door just the day before. It wasn't so bad. Better than working, right? Finally, I fell asleep in the waiting room, mouth open and drooling, my cape falling every which way. I'm sure my non-existent chest was exposed to the world. Finally they called me in. Nope. You can't go home. Come here, my child. Time for an ultrasound. The ultrasound made me feel very sad. The last time I had had an ultrasound was when I was pregnant with my third child, Lara. How could I be here under these circumstances? How is it possible? The technician did her thing, and then called the doctor in for a look. The doctor wasn't sure. It looked like a cyst, but not a normal cyst. It must be a COMPLICATED cyst, I was told. She would need to consult another physician. The physician was called. More waiting. The physician came. Yes. It did indeed look a very COMPLICATED cyst. Biopsy needed. Let's to it today. Now. This hour. Mary, can you stay? I say, "You know, I don't know if this makes a difference here, but right where you have found this COMPLICATED cyst? That's the place I always had a plugged duct when nursing my children. Yes, right there. I had a number of mastitis over my nursing years, the last just a year and a half ago, all with their origin right there. Yes, there. Exactly there." "Hmmmm. Well. Yes. Actually, that's interesting. Maybe it isn't a COMPLICATED cyst. Maybe it isn't a cyst at all. Let's look again. "Yes, see how it's elongated, kind of like a, um, mammory duct? Yes, and see how there's DEBRIS moving inside it? Hold your breath for a minute, Mary. Breathe in and hold. That's right. pause. pause. hmmmm. pause. "Yes. That's a plugged duct. With debris. Do you concur doctor? When did you stop nursing, Mary?" And that was that. All that panic. One technician. Two doctors. It's a duct still clogged, one year post nursing. And there's still some DEBRIS in there. That's very pleasant. What the hell is debris? Really sour milk? Yummy. Aren't I HAWT? Me with my boy chest and mammary ducts with ancient DEBRIS inside? I must return for yet another ultrasound in three months, just to be sure. Perhaps by then the DEBRIS will have moved on. But I celebrated my presumably clean bill of health by skipping the rest of school, getting a facial, buying myself a new shirt and a pair of dark purple pants and having a latte and two chocolate cinnamon cookies at Starbucks. Sigh. Aging. It ain't pretty.

Weekend Training Review...

This morning I had another slow swim. I am not getting any faster. I think it may have to do with the fact that I swim on my own, without a team. This morning the pool was packed. We had to circle swim. Argh. I hate that. I found one of the morning regulars, Dwight, and hunkered down in his lane. Dwight and I have about the same pace, so I figured it was a good choice. However, a NEW guy, a super athlete NEW guy, joined us. You could tell he was of the Total Immersion camp because he took like five strokes per length and was still wicked fast. Anyway. I was doing a set of 150's at a too leisurely pace. Just like last week, I couldn't muster the umph to really push. That is , until NEW fast guy leaves the wall like two seconds after me on my fourth interval. He wasn't close enough to pass me, but I had that fight or flight feeling, like Shit! He's closer--move-- MOVE or he will be tickling your toes! I did that repeat in 2:09. All of my others were 2:20.

In short, I think I need to work out with people who will push me. I'm stagnating. I have a hard time pushing when it's just me and the clock. I need to find out if NEW guy is coming back, and if so, if he will be my training buddy. Unfortunately, my pool doesn't have a Master's team. I have talked to the director a few times about forming one, but she just keeps yes-ing me and nothing happens.

After my swim I jumped in the shower and thought, man, the only thing I do almost as much as work out is to shower. My hair is brittle and orangey from all of the washing. My skin is parched and rough.
Anybody have any solutions to this problem? I am assuming you all have a similar showering overload conundrum.

On Saturday I went running in our temperate 20 degree weather with my friend Petra, who is in so much better running shape than me it's sick. I tried to stay in zone 1, but I kept checking my watch and was like whoa! I'm not only out of zone 1, I'm outa zone2! It was a killer. But it was still awesome to see her and get caught up. She's a sick athlete: case in point--she did a 2:35 bike split at Worlds. That's right--2:35. She then follwed it with a 1:40 half mary. The girl is awesome. Petra's husband is equally awesome. He ran the Master's mile at the Reebook Indoor Games in Boston on Saturday night and did a 4:40. At age 45. Unbelievable.

Anyway. Back to my weekend training ramble...
I biked the next day for three hours on the trainer. It was TORTURE. I have tried watching TV, reading cheesy mags, blasting music. It's still a killer. I can't focus on other media when I'm focusing on keeping my heart rate down and my cadence up. My kids were like, "When are you getting off of that thing, Mom! You've been on it all day!" And they were right. I didn't fit much in on Sunday: laundry, trainer, Candyland and a quick visit from my brother and sister-in-law. I didn't even leave the house.

In order to reward myself after my run on Saturday I had two Guinness, calamari, and a huge cheeseburger. And I puzzle as to why I have not shed any weight....

I also rewarded myself by purchasing a few more 80s cheese-a-rama tunes for the Nano. My husband threatened to divorce me when he discovered I had bought "We Built this City." I know you're all cringing. It really is shameful...but you gotta do what you gotta do.

Adios!

Wanted: Synchronicity

So... I had a great run yesterday afternoon. I savored it even more having been denied it by my own forgetfulness the day before. I took AtlantaMom's suggestion and put an old, smelly pair of running shoes in the back of the mini-van for future emergencies. Good advice! Thanks! 

On my mind: As I mentioned in a previous post, I have trouble with conflict. I refer to my anti-conflict self as Pastel Girl. Pastel Girl is really a wimp--especially when she has to deal with conflict at work. Her modus operandi is to pretend conflict and discomfort and tension do not exist, and to move forward as such. In her mind, there are consequences to addressing conflict--consequences which she is usually unwilling to take on, such as disrupting the peace and incurring wrath. 

The thing is, though, when Pastel Girl has finally had enough and totally snaps, she is not at all graceful. She moves out of her easy, flexible and self-deprecating shell and morphs into a strident, cutting bitch. It's ugly. And it happened today. She came out. I'm not going to go into the what and the how and the why. 

 Suffice it to say I was challenged by a particularly righteous and judgmental colleague, a person whom I genuinely like most of the time, but whom acts like she is everyone's superior. It's grating. So, during a long, difficult meeting at which I hadn't say "boo" I suddenly attacked. I became mary don't fuck with me don't insult me or i will coldly and articulately cut you down until you cry. 

After the meeting many people visited me privately and said such things as: "I didn't know you had it in you." "Remind me not to fuck with you." and finally, my favorite: "She had it coming." So now the dynamics on my team are in shambles. I really need to synchronize my two selves. I'm a lamb with a tiger inside. A T-Rex disguised as a mouse. I'm really nice except when I'm a total bitch.

I need to be like--I don't know--maybe a gazelle? A lemur? One animal. Not two. According to the Golden Compass Daemon finder my alter-ego/soul-- my daemon--is a tiger named Inachus. If I'm to be a tiger--these are the tigers I'd like to be--not the above. I need to work on this. I have a distance to travel. Thanks for reading.  

Defeated

This morning's swim was just plain lethargic. I kept thinking to myself, "Okay self, this repeat is going to be a big effort. Work it!" And then I'd continue to slug along. It was a long, slow, tired 2200 yards. But I did it. It was done. I didn't cut it short by a single yard. And after work I had a nice 50 min run planned. ahhh. I love running. I couldn't wait to suck in the cold, crisp air and listen to my new, cheese-a-rama playlist on the Nano. After dismissing my last class I ran to the bathroom to change. I had to rush because I had a doctor's appt. in an hour, and this run needed to be squeezed between work and this appt. (I have no shame. I show up to all sorts of things sweaty and out of breath.) I scrambled into my tights and shirt. I pulled on my jacket and stuffed my work clothes into my bag. And then I realized it: My running shoes. Not here. Not in the bag. I had left my running shoes at home. Argghh! I changed back into my work clothes and trudged solmenly back into my classroom. I kept thinking, Is there any way around this? Could I find a pair of running shoes in the kids' lost and found? How impractical would it be to buy a new pair right now so I could head out before that appointment? Could I run in my big, clunky, black, street shoes? Should I cancel the appointment so I can rush home and get in the run before picking up the kids? Desperate thoughts. I folded my hand. I was defeated. Now I am going to have to find a way to do both a bike workout and this missed run tomorrow. Sigh. Bike will be before work and the run after. I have already packed my bag for the run--and my spiffy shoes are right on top.

Frostbite 15k Race Report

Yep. I'm in sucky running shape. There is no doubt about that.

Still, though, it was a great day and a great race.

I drove to the race site with the fam. They dropped me off and then went to IHOP. It was cold! Too cold to actually stay and watch such a long race. Anwyay. I found my running friends and got caught up. I went to the bathroom about 10 times and then we went out for a short warm up. I only did about a mile. I haven't run more than 10 miles at one time since Thanksgiving. I didn't want to wear myself out in the warm up!

I took the race out fast. Too fast. I actually THOUGHT I was being conservative. Alas. I'm not the running goddess I was a few short months ago. Anyway, I held 7:15's for two miles, but soon slowed to 7:20s and then 7:40s. At about 4.5 miles I really started to feel tired--far more tired than I ever remember feeling in a race of just 9.3 miles. I got passed quite a bit, having taken it out fast and slowed way down, but I was okay with that. It just wasn't the day to fight for the win.

Luckily, I had on my Nano complete with a NEW racing playlist I had created the night before. Here are a few of the fab. songs I listened to as I got slower and slower:

Hit Me With Your Best Shot--Pat Benatar
C'm Feel the Noize--Quiet Riot
Like a Prayer--Madonna
Working for the Weekend--Loverboy
Let's Go Crazy--Prince
Rock the Casbah--The Clash
Don't You Want Me--The Human League
Panama--Van Halen
Any Way You Want It--Journey
Maniac--(you know, from Flashdance)
Ice Ice Baby--Vanilla Ice
Juke Box Hero--Foreigner
Here I Go Again--Whitesnake
Add it Up--Violent Femmes

Quite a mix, huh? You must remember that I was a young, top-40 loving teen in the early 80's. My first concert was Loverboy. Remember the red leather pants? Oh yeah...

So. Back to the race. I struggled on valiently and duked it out at the end with a man in his late 50s. He was awesome. He just keep saying, "You got it! Don't let the old man beat ya!" as we sprinted in. Good guy. My family was there at the end, shivering in their boots. They said, "Go Mom!" and then, "Can we go inside now?"

I finished in 1:10:14, 7:33 pace. Last year I finished the same course in 7:05 pace. Oh boy. Still, I was first in my age group and won an ice scraper for the car. A good, practical prize for a race entitled the Frostbite, don't you think?

I feel bummed about my running, but I'm trying to keep up-beat. I'm simply not going to be as fast as I was if I focus all my energy on three disciplines as opposed to just the run. I have been running only about 15 miles a week in zone 1 for months now. Of course I'm not going to race as I did last year, when I was training for Boston and running 40 plus miles a week and doing plenty of speed and tempo work. Sigh.

When I got home I relaxed and played with the kids a bit. Then I got on the death trainer. Cait had me riding for 90 min. after the race. Yikes. I was SPENT before I even got on the bike. It was kind of horrible. But I survived. My ass is killing me. I need some Advil.

Thanks for reading!

TriGreyhound just wrote an entry about his daughter who believes him to be a model and who in her life wants to do an Ironman. His entry made me think about how the triathlon life seeps into the lives of our family. Here is a sampling of things I noticed in the last week or so:

• My two-year-old headed to the basement because she had to "get on her trainer" (her tricycle).
• My six-year old daughter had a friend over. When the friend saw several packs of Gu on the desk by my bike she asked what they were. Jordan replied casually, "That's Gu. You eat it when you exercise a lot. You know, like when you go on the trainer for a whole bunch of hours." The girl just looked at her like, "What?"
• My kids set up obstacle courses in the playroom and play "triathlon." They use a blue blanket for the water, their plastic cars for the bike, and the run is real running.
• My kids ask what workout I'm doing in the morning right before they go to bed--swimming, trainer or running--so they know whether I'll be home when they wake up.
• When I put on Ironman St. Croix again for the tenth time the other day while I was on the trainer, my son, the four-year old said, "Mommy, you already know who wins this one. It's the guy with the white and blue! He rides the silver bike!"
• When I told the kids I was going to race tomorrow Jordan asked, "Can we come and go out to breakfast?!" That's what my racing means to them...

The language and practice of triathlon is just a part of who this family is. They can't really escape it. I really hope each of my children adopts this life as an adult--or at least the life of the active person. I hope they don't resent their parents for being so involved in something that requires such a huge commitment--a commitment that is ultimately about me and what I have chosen as opposed to them and what they may want or need. I hope they are proud of us and want to emulate us. I hope that someday I am able to complete a triathlon with one or all of my children. -------------- Yesterday as I made dinner the kids watched part of Bambi. (What a sad movie that is!) Anyway, I walked into the family room to get them for dinner and this is what I found: Noah was the only one still awake!

Don't You Hate it When...

You think you are a svelte goddess who has shed all of her holiday weight, and then you get on the scale? I've been trying to think up good reasons why the scale hasn't budged: I am bloated, it's late in the day, I am sore from shoveling and retaining water etc. etc. Sigh. But I know the truth. Damn scale.

I don't even own one, actually. I went to the gym today, and they have one. And you know, gym scales are like the REAL DEAL. They don't lie like the dinky house scales most people have. Sigh again.

I have been working out like a champ this week because I am racing on Sunday and I needed to get in all of my mandatory death trainer time despite it. To clarify, I'm taking the day before the race (Saturday) off, which is when I usually do that long, horrible death trainer ride. All of those evil hours on the trainer were incorporated into my training this work week, courtesy of Cait. I've been looking forward to this race for awhile, though, so it was all worth it.
Except

It's supposed to be 10 degrees on Sunday with a wind chill below zero. WTF! Well, actually, it is January and it is New England and the race is called the Frostbite. What did I expect? I'm trying to believe it will be a super great race anyway. I know I won't run really well--but that doesn't matter much to me because I am not supposed to be racing well in the off season. What makes the race fun is that I will be able to see and catch up with my running buddies with whom I am so out of touch.

In other news, I just found out that an old friend of mine bought Fast Splits, the store who sponsors my tri- team. Amazing. He owns it. Like the owner. Like the whole thing. My hub. doesn't see why this fascinates me so much. But it does. I'd like to be the owner of Fast Splits... someday. someday.
Someday my tri-life will also be my professional life. Maybe. You never know.

Snowday

Ahh. The Snow Day. For those of you out in the real working world, they mean very little, except that they are a P.I.T.A if you have kids and must get coverage while you go to work. For we folk who never left school, however, they are sheer bliss. The only problem with the snow day is that you pay for them at the end of the school year. I am planning to go on this big, crazy 4 day tri-weekend with my team in late June, but I will only be able to attend Saturday and Sunday of it if we have even one more snow day. You absolutely cannot under any circumstances take off the final days of school. It's almost as a big a no-no as taking off the first day. Know what I mean? But I digress. I needed today. I had to get on the Death Trainer for one hour forty minutes, (which is way too long for a weekday workout in my opinion). I did that. (Go Mary!) Unfortunately, I didn't do the million other things on my list such as: correct papers plan lessons for the end of the week calculate grades, which are due in a week and a half do the laundry change the sheets on the beds vacuum up the ten tons of dog hair in this house I did, however: Dance to "I'm A Little Washing Machine" about a billion times with my kids Put together a 300 piece puzzle of a cute puppy with my daughter Read "Clifford's Easter" (very seasonally appropriate-ha) to Noah (son) about a billion times. Watch Herbie Fully Loaded with my kids Surf the web and read tri-blogs for far too long while my kids destroyed the house and stole pudding and chocolate milk from the fridge Drank tons of coffee and got all jittery and hyper Shovel while my kids punched each other and played "King of the Mountain" in the snow It was a good day.

You Know You're Getting Old When...

your doctor tells you it's time to get your first mammogram. 

 I had one this morning. If you haven't had one (or never will because you ain't a girl) then I will fill you in, because I know you're dying to know what it's like... 

First you go into this dark room. Then you must put your boob on this cold metal table. Then the technician mushes your breast into the correct position and begins to "apply pressure" by lowering the lever atop the boob. Are you wondering whether the technician in the picture is going to lower that flat, cold piece of metal/plastic onto that poor woman's breast? If you guessed yes, you'd be correct. She continues to lower it until your poor boob is flat as a pancake. Then she walks away for "a second" so she can take the picture, all the while reminding you to breathe and relax. She does this four times. If you don't think your breast can be flattened pancake thin, think again. I am here to tell you it can be. ouch. Sigh. 

I have this strange feeling that having my first mammogram is an initiation into the world of old lady medical tests. I have to wonder what other special treats are coming my way in years to come. Let's just hope the images come back negative... 

 In other news, I spent two and half glorious hours on the death trainer today. During the first half of this joyous time I opted to watch a movie on demand with the kids. We chose Underdog. We are the proud owners of two old, smelly, lovable pups, which is perhaps why we all loved the movie so much. I thought parts of it were hysterical. I didn't finish the workout before I had to leave for my mammogram, so I had to finish it when I got home. When I returned, my oldest daughter had two friends over for a playdate, and so I finished my workout while they played Mr. PotatoHead, Candyland and dress-up at my feet. At one point I shook my head, wet with perspiration, and hit one little girl with a drop of my sweat. She screamed "Eww! Your mom just got me with her icky wet head!" It was funny. Then all the kids (including my four and two year old) wanted me to swing my wet ponytail to get them wet too. Kids are weird! (but very cute.) In case you're wondering, I did not grant their wish. I can picture it now: "Guess what, Mom! Jordan's mommy got all sweaty on her bike thing and then soaked us with her ponytail!" Nice. I just got the okay to add a race to my schedule. 

Yahoo! I am going to run the Cape Classic 10 Miler in my hometown in early February. I can't wait!

The (Lack of) Running Blues

I'm a little homesick.

I miss running. I miss racing. I'm homesick for my old life in which I raced whenever I damn felt like it. I miss constructing the ultimate race calendar at the start of the year during which I fantasize about all of the races that are before me and hold such fun, excitement and possibility. I miss my road running buddies who run each morning whether it's cold, rainy or snowy, who race all winter in all condtions (the nastier the better) and who culminate their winter running with the Boston Marathon in the spring. I miss the attitude that racing twice in one day is the ultimate in passion and not totally sicko. I miss sharing war stories about running for weeks and weeks straight (or years and years in the case of my running friend Micheal) until legs are dead and leaden. I miss the attitude that more is better and rest is for wimps. I miss taking a run out really hard just because you had a bad day and need to pound the pavement. I miss reading the Hockomock Swamp Rat, knowing I'll see my name in the racing re-caps, and nodding in agreement at the hysterical write-ups of the races.

I went swimming this moring and I loved it. I've been working on Total Immersion technique, and I'm feeling smooth, slippery and like a shark. I love the tired feeling I get after swimming. It's a totally different tired than a running tired, which feels achey rather than relaxed. I'm also loving the improvement I am making on the bike. I don't actually like being on the bike, I'd rather be running, but I like that I have so far to go on the bike, and so with each week I can see a huge improvement. In running it's been awhile since I witnessed that kind of improvement from week to week; I've just been at it too long. And I love the laser like focus I have right now in my work with Cait.

I'm having fun, and I love what I'm doing, but I also miss what I used to have. Ahh, if only we could have everything we wanted....

But then, of course, our hard-fought successes wouldn't be quite so sweet.

I Can't Count!

On Monday morning I was supposed to do an 800 yard time trial in the pool. 

No problem--except that I can't count. I finished what I thought was an 800--and clicked my watch. 12:48. 

Great! Except... hmmm. Is that too great? Did I finish 50 shy of the 800? Last time I did an 800 TT I was over 13 minutes. I continued my workout, but the doubt lingered. 

The rest of the day I tortured myself. Did I really go under 13 min? What if it was more like 13:30? Should I email the time to Cait, or should I do it again, just to be sure? Finally, I decided I couldn't stand the doubt. I would do the TT again this morning. So I did. I counted very carefully. I clicked my watch at the first 200, just to see where I was. 3:09. Good. I kept swimming. I got to 600. Or wait, was that 650? SHIT! I finished at what I thought was most likely the 800. Clicked the watch. 13:18. 

oh. damn. But wait, that can't be right. I took it out relatively slowly in a 3:09. Even if I slowed up significantly, I would've gone under 13, right? So was it more like 12:45 ? Had I done an extra 50? AGH! I think I need a lap counter. Does anyone have one? How do they work? When I was a kid during a race over a 500, each swimmer would have a personal, live counter. The counter would slip the number into the water (see pic. above) to let the swimmer know where he/she was at each lap. That's what I need! How do people keep track? Is this just happening because I'm getting old and batty?

"Fun" 4 Miler Race Report

As expected, the 4 Mile Fun Run was not, in fact, very fun. It was okay though. I love racing, even when I am in totally sucky running shape.

Here are the highlights:

• I finished in 27:56, which isn't great for me, but it could've been way worse.
• I took it out in 6:46 and felt great! (you know where this is going...)
• I was the first woman almost the whole way. (you also know where this is going...)
• It was a gorgeous day--sunny and in the 40's.
• Everyone was very friendly and I had a good time chatting with everyone who would talk to me before and after the race.
• My family came to the race with me, and it was super nice to have them there, especially since this was a dinky little race which didn't mean much in the large scheme of things.
• We went to Wendy's after the race which is such a fun, indulgent treat. We ate french fries and they were really, really salty and delicious.

Here are the lowlights: (Is that a word?)

• After my 6:46 mile my heartrate shot up and I began breathing louder (and much faster) than Darth Vader.
• After my first mile my pace slowed and my legs got heavier and heavier until they felt like two lead stumps swinging from my body.
• I was overdressed in the warm temps and I sweat like a hog.
  
• I lead for women the whole way until some lady swept past me as I violently sucked wind in the last mile. She wasn't breathing hard. She smiled and said, "Great work!" as she sailed past. It was very annoying.
• Some 14 year old kid in high tops and soccer shorts out-kicked me at the end. That was probably the most special part of the race. Damn kids.

So. That was my race.

I just got BLOCK 2 from Caitlin, and I'm sad, because I am still doing aerobic ground work this month --all in zone 1. Can you hear me snoring? When do I get to lift weights and mold myself into something from American Gladiators? (Did you see that they are reviving that show? Lots of crazy people on steroids. Should be fun.) Also, my running mileage will continue to be paltry this month. I had to tape up my hands to prevent them from emailing Cait immediately and demanding more running on the schedule. I'm like a junkie without my daily fix! I can't stand it! But I am going to trust, trust, trust. No emailing. No complaining. No sneaking in extra runs. No. No. No.

I spent the afternoon trying to find lodging for the Mooseman Tri in June. Argh. P.I.T.A. There are plenty of lovely B&B's up there--but what I need is like a Super 8 really close by. Oh well. It's still going to be so fun. I'm going with Ange and we're going to kick butt! (At least that's the plan...) ;)

I'm on the Scene

Tonight I'm talking to my hub. about (what else) triathlon. He recently ordered that Open Water swimming video and book by Terri Laughlin, the Total Immersion man. Lately he's been into thinking about swimming technique, and I think this is what inspired it. Anyway, he mentions that he also checked out getting a few Spinervals dvds, but he wanted to ask his runner friend who bikes whether he'd had experience with them, and whether they were any good. His runner friend forwards his message to one of his tri-friends, and that's when it happened. I am known. This tri guy, who I don't know, KNOWS WHO I AM, and mentions this to my hub. Basically he wanted to know if he (husband) was interested in Spinervals, or whether I (his wife who's in the local tri-scene) wanted to know. I AM IN THE LOCAL TRI-SCENE! I'm like, known! By someone--you know--other than by my parents or the hub. or close friends! I know it's likely b/c I am newly a part of this team that is known locally, but still. I'm semi-known in the running world, but I had yet to break into the ranks of the tri world. Yahoo! I'm giddy. In other news I am feeling fat as a truck. The holiday cookies are now situated on my hips and waist. This is not helped by the fact that this week I'm on a "break" week. You know how every fourth week you're supposed to cool it? I have the urge to run like 10 miles a day, which is, by the way, what I usually do at this time of year b/c I'm 1. Usually training for Boston and 2. freaking out b/c nothing I own fits and I am finding gray hairs and flab under my arms. But no. This week I ran about 10 miles according to the plan. The plan which I must trust. Trust. It's all about trust says my man, Jesse. As icing on the cake I'm to run a 3.9 race on Sunday with the Colonial Road Runners, a local running club. If I can run 3.9 miles hard it will be a miracle in itself. I absolutely can't wait to email my time to my coach. Hmmmmmm. 15 miles a week averaged in December + 7-8 extra pounds = -----. On Sunday I will fill in the blank. By the way--Locked and Loaded (Kim) got me all into the Site Meter thing. I now realize that my silent stalking of several bloggers has been out in broad daylight. OhmiGod. The powers of technology. Other than being cowed by my obsessive lurking, I'm also flabberghasted at the amount of traffic some of the bloggers I read get. It's kind of amazing. I get little traffic. Sniff. Can't some of you out there visit my site for a second like 10 times a day so I can feel special? I'm easy to please. All I want is a little traffic... ;)Look how happy I am to know that some random person knows vaguely who I am? Someone from Nigeria did find my site. Probably it was a mistake, but whatever! NIGERIA!

2008 Resolutions

1. to quit making resolutions You know, they just end up making you feel like shit. Instead I am going to make a vow to indulge. Here are a few things I plan to indulge in frequently in 2008: reading tri-blogs watching tv swimming, biking, running 80's tunes on my Nano watching/observing my kids play playing with my kids bread--toasted with peanut butter chocolate snuggling good books (both trash and quality) Triathlete magazine People and other tabloid trash sleeping keeping in touch with good friends like you, Ange! And on that note, I'm going to bed! More tomorrow.