The other day I noticed my neighbors next door are planting a giant bamboo forest in front of their window. (OK, so it's not exactly a forest yet and is maybe just three bamboos, but I've heard those things spread like bunny rabbits so I'm pretty sure it will be a forest in no time and then I will have to dress the cats like pandas and take photos of them in their natural habitat so they can become internet famous and start paying some bills around here.) I'm going to assume my neighbors are sick of me staring into their house for hours while I'm on the trainer. Or else my sports bra offends them. Either way, now there is bamboo. And it's the end of an era.
Speaking of the end of things, I have no idea what to do with myself now that I'm not working out for eight-hour blocks of time or waking up at the crack of dawn to go to the pool or making chicken (again). It's funny -- when I'm training, I can list all of the things I plan to do once the race is over, but then when the race is actually over, I'm stumped.
Anyway, since I'm not quite ready to let Louisville go just yet, here are more photos from race weekend.
|Dear Ryan Gosling: I want these boots for Christmas. Thanks.|
|Couldn't find a panda outfit that would fit this guy.|
|The Coeur Team! Have I mentioned how much I love these ladies?|
|Gear bags on point.|
In case you're wondering, I really hate the phrase "on fleek." It's almost as bad as "moist." Or "irregardless" (which for the record, is totally not a word). Like the worst thing anyone could ever say to me would be: "Irregardless of the situation, that moist cake is on fleek." And then puke all over me afterward. And then toss me in a pit of slugs. And then I would officially be in my own personal definition of hell.
Don't get any ideas.
Almost as painful as my personal hell: Going to Louisville and sitting at a bar and staring at a bunch of bourbon but drinking a mocktail because pre-race, good-girl, no-alcohol choices.
(Although in all honesty, I really haven't had much to drink since the race, once again confirming the fact that I am all talk and no action when it comes to off-season plans.)
And this is about as close as I'll ever come to Kona in my life:
I was freezing, and the nice -- and obviously very fast -- man in line let me wear his jacket. Tell me that I look intimidating and bad-ass and not like a child playing dress-up.
Here are some adorable signs from my wonderful friends and family:
|Cats, hot dogs, buckets of fries and tattoos -- Amy knows me so well!|
Clearly, everyone knew what I really wanted at the finish line.
|Can you hear the angels singing?|
And about this last photo. Yeah. Don't ask. Just understand and accept that it makes me happy.