praise cheeses!

Monday, May 23, 2016

You know how people go on vacation and get all wild and crazy and then come back pregnant? That's pretty much what happened to me, except my baby is made entirely of cheese. Swiss cheese. Gruyère. Appenzeller. Emmentaler.


I was in Switzerland recently with the mister and his family for about a week, and then we did a two-day layover in Iceland on the way back. When I wasn't marveling at the mountains, I was stuffing my face with cheese. Fondue is one thing, but dear god, have you ever heard of rösti?

It's a freaking hash brown smothered in cheese and topped with a fried egg. In other words: Pure genius on a plate.

So now I have a giant belly full of cheese, and my swim tonight was slow-going, and I'm a little bit worried that I've totally undone the teeny-tiny shred of fitness I've been trying to build over the past two months. But whatever. It was worth it. Because this:

fine evening for an ass-kicking

Wednesday, May 04, 2016

I rode with the local tri club tonight. Although "with" is a strong word.

I suspected things were going to be challenging when I put my kit on and immediately thought: This is not what this kit looked like last fall. That observation was then followed by: I feel like a stuffed sausage.

And then only three other women showed up for the ride. Everyone else was a guy. And these guys all had massive legs. Like their thighs were Groot.

And it was windy. And there were Louisville-style rollers. And this was my first time taking Minivan outdoors since Ironman last October.

I got dropped immediately.

Thankfully, one of the ladies circled back and kept me company. Which involved me working as hard as I could to keep up with her, while she coasted along and pointed out parks and lakes and farmland and beautiful scenery. And I would've participated more in the conversation, but I was pretty much trying not to pass out and die. I'm still eternally grateful she didn't leave me, though.

I came home and lay on the floor. And no wonder -- my Garmin stats said I had reached a maximum heart rate of 182. Which is beyond anaerobic capacity. And my average was 162, which is my Zone 5.

I seriously don't know how I'm not dead.

Clearly the cats are wondering the same thing, as the slowly circle and wait to eat my corpse.

nothing to do with triathlon

Friday, April 29, 2016

So I'm back in Washington at Annie's bachelorette party, which means the mister is overseeing the cats.

And I've discovered he can't tell the difference between cat barf, a hairball and poop.

We had a 30-minute conversation tonight about the texture, color, smell and overall placement of something he thought was poop but I'm pretty sure was a pile of cat barf.

Me: Was it like a dog poop but smaller? Was it dark brown? Was it hard? Because someone barfed yesterday. It had pieces of dry food in it. Was there dry food? I don't understand why they would just poop on the floor. I haven't even been gone that long. Why does this always happen when you're taking care of them? Are you sure it's poop? Can you look in the litterbox and compare? This is really a poor choice if someone is actually pooping on the floor. How big was it?

Him: I picked it up with toilet paper and flushed it. I'll take a picture next time.

By the way, this is where I am right now. Not shown: Any sort of feline expulsion.
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