biscuiterie

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Wednesday, January 28, 2015

I can give you all kinds of excuses for not writing.

For example: It's only January, and I've already spent 12 days living out of a suitcase -- which, if you consider today's date and do the math, is 43 percent of 2015 thus far. (You may want to double-check that number, though. Remember, I was an English major.)

My cats apparently really hate my schedule; they pooped in my bathrobe, which I did not discover until I tried to wear said bathrobe, and two turds came tumbling out. The cats also enjoy knocking the kitchen trash can over and spreading garbage all over the floor. And they seem to be using the contents of the litterbox for an avant-garde art project on the walls, water heater and wine refrigerator.

Look out, Damien Hirst.

During a recent trip to Walla Walla, I found myself explaining what a typical day is like for me: "I travel a lot. I train. And when I'm home, I spend a ridiculous amount of time cleaning up poop."

*

What's shocking: When you review your planned workouts for the week and it suddenly hits you that you have a 70.3 coming up in less than three months. (Someone please remind me again why I signed up for New Orleans. Oh wait, I remember now: Sazeracs, fried food and that dive bar with the French doors and the woman who calls me "love.")

It's tough easing back into training. The travel doesn't help. But I do my best. Track last night, pool this morning. And apparently a double trainer ride tomorrow:

Me: "Do I really have two bike workouts in one day?"

Coach Mark: "Yep."

Me: "Sweet. More hot dogs."

*

And finally, I ordered a (gluten-free, duh) pizza. And it took a very long time to arrive.

Cheap bastards.

And finally:

NOT RYAN GOSLING.

Seriously.

dinner theater

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

Hello from Eastern Washington, where I am hosting a wine writer for the week. Our dinner tonight was an adventure. Let's just say I can now cross "Watch extraordinarily drunk woman puke on the table at a nice restaurant" off of my life list. (I also saw her try to sleep on the table after barfing on it. And get dragged out of the restaurant by the two guys who were with her. And get followed to the car by a server carrying a trash can and her purse. And this all happened before 8 p.m.)

At least the food was nice.

Scallop!

Wagyu!

Gluten-free warm melty brownie thing!

You know you're a professional when watching someone hurl no longer affects your appetite.

keep on keeping on

Friday, January 02, 2015

You may correctly assume that since I am writing this post, I did not get lost in the shit room and die of starvation.

Instead, I tackled that beast.

Right???

It's far from done, but at least it looks like an actual room now. My plan is to get rid of that desk (which I've had since college), add another bookshelf, mount a TV on the wall and turn the whole thing into the most epic trainer room ever.

Which will be perfect, since riding outside right now is dumb. Last Tuesday, lured by the sunshine, I took Muppet out in 36-degree temperatures. About 10 minutes in, I was convinced I was going to lose my thumbs and end up one of those sad stories you see on Weather.com. Because even though I was wearing full gloves, the cold and pain was searing. I had to stop at a bike shop and buy two pairs of gloves (one of which was wool) and layer them. (And when I pulled my old gloves off to put the new ones on, my fingers were purple.)

And I was still so cold after the ride that I had to take a hot yoga class. (Haven't been to yoga in probably about two years. My balance was terrible.)

Anyway, here are some treasures I found while cleaning the shit room: