Friday, May 08, 2015

people are amazing

First tri of the season is tomorrow. My birthday is also Monday.

Good thing some random asshole decided to get the weekend started right.


Nothing like heading to the car to load up your gear and discovering a good old-fashioned hit-and-run. Makes a girl feel damn special.

Wait, it gets better.


My bumper is now falling off. And yes, that's tape.

Best part: I literally just got my car repaired from getting rear-ended a few weeks ago.

Life is grand. Truly.

Monday, May 04, 2015

down memory lane

I once dated a guy who told me he didn't think I could do a century ride. To that guy, I raise my finger fist and say: "Not only have I already done several centuries while training for an Ironman and then finished said Ironman, I am apparently totally capable of pulling an early-season century out of my ass with barely any training, while simultaneously recovering from a horrible cold and a bad hip! Take that, you bastard."

Proving someone wrong feels really, really good.

I flew to California last weekend to ride the Wine Country Century in Santa Rosa with Layla and Arvan. I had zero expectations -- I was undertrained, sick and in pain, so the goal was just to hang out with friends, eat a bunch of chips at the aid stations and enjoy being back in Sonoma County. 

These two keep me sane. 

What I didn't realize was the way the century would make me feel. And no, I'm not talking about the numbness in my lady parts or the screaming in my right TFL or the point at Mile 80-ish when I suddenly realized I was about to have a bathroom emergency. 

I'm talking memories. I've ridden that route in pieces at one point or another, and doing the entire thing all at once was like reading an old diary. 

There was the spot on Chalk Hill where my old tri team coach used to park his car and cheer for us. There was the exact place where I gave up on climbing Green Valley Road and dismounted for the walk of shame. There were the wineries I used to work at, the elementary school parking lot we would choose as a meeting spot, the gravel patch where I once fell and scraped my knee trying to drink out of my water bottle. 

Hell, the last time I attempted the Wine Country Century in 2012 -- and it wasn't even the 100-miler, it was the metric -- I crashed and ended up with a DNF and some road rash. I left the race questioning my cycling ability and feeling pretty defeated.

And now, just three years later, I don't think twice about signing up for the century. Three years later, and I can make it all the way up Green Valley Road. Three years later, and I'm on a bike that I packed, traveled with and reassembled all by myself (which likely also explains why the seatpost started slowly sinking at Mile 50, ha).  I'd be lying if I didn't tell you I feel a smidge proud of all of this (except for the seatpost part, of course).

So here's to old memories and the creation of new ones. Here's to setbacks and triumphs and the growth the comes from both. And here's to the friends who've stuck with me through all of it.

Thanks, Deanne, for the photo and the awesome sign!




Congrats to Layla on her first century ride!

Celebration libation.

Yes, that's pizza topped with fries. I deserved it.

Tuesday, April 21, 2015

I can't even

Recently I wore the nightshirt my favorite aunt gave me for Christmas.

Of course I cropped my face out of this photo. Duh.

It says: "How to Sleep with a Cat." And illustrates all of the different poses.

And then I realized I will probably never have sex again in my entire life. (Please note the nightshirt is so bad that even the cat didn't want to be photographed with it.)

Also, just for good measure, today I found out I have to get a fake tooth. I went to the dentist and told him the story about the time my face battled a bathroom sink and how one of my front teeth has since become a weather barometer. He looked at X-rays and discovered a crack across my tooth and the start of an infection at the root. And he said I could get a root canal, but I would probably still end up losing the tooth anyway, so I should just go to an oral surgeon and get the whole damn thing pulled out and put an implant in.

"But other than that, everything looks fine!" he said.

Right. Because people who are "fine" sleep in the world's ugliest nightshirts and have fake teeth.