public service announcement

Don’t eat this before running.

I am a bad person

So I am in D.C. for work (which is so weird since my hotel is near Capitol Hill and last night was the night of the skinny repeal and I think if I see John McCain, I'd like to fist-bump him, which is something I never thought I'd want in my whole life), and I did a terrible thing this evening and forgot a paper bag of leftovers on the Metro.

And my heart broke when I realized it because the food was from my very favorite restaurant in the history of ever.

But perhaps more importantly in this day and age: God, I hope no one thinks it's a suspicious package and reports it and then the whole train system gets shut down and it will all be my fault because I dashed out the door and abandoned a carton of rice and stir-fried yellow beans.

Seriously, this dish is amazing, and I can't find it anywhere else.

F.

adulting and stuff

Since my last post, I've gotten married, traveled to Costa Rica (where running on a shadeless beach in a very humid 90 degrees is ill-advised), organized my first media event at work, experienced my first art opening, applied for a home loan, advocated for saving the NEA and NEH, witnessed the ugliness the current political climate seems to be unearthing, joined an interfaith women's book club (yes, I am very unsettled by current politics), improved my swim speed (holy shit, right?) and finally washed my car (and of course it snowed the next day).

No wedding photo for you; instead: The car wash!

Naturally, my apartment is an explosion of shoes and dirty spandex and kitty litter crumbs and unopened mail. And my front closet is packed so full of boxes of god-knows-what because whenever anyone comes over, my "cleaning" strategy involves throwing all of my piles in a box and hiding it. And the other night Mouse barfed in the bed, and I was too tired to get up and clean it, so I just kept sleeping. And I never actually finished the reading for the book club. And I haven't cleaned my bathtub even once since I moved into my apartment a year ago. And I need a haircut and a chiropractic adjustment and a pedicure. And there are a bunch of vegetables in the refrigerator that are going to go bad unless I cook them immediately. And I got a power meter but it's still in the box because I haven't had time to sit down and figure out how to install it.

And thus we have the adulting paradox: The more you do adult things, the less you feel like an actual adult.

the off season is a vortex

In case you're wondering, yes, the bathroom sink is still broken.

Meanwhile, I went to Mexico for my friend Jessica's wedding and there were so many cats and a burrito wrapped in fried cheese instead of a tortilla and I got to sniff a donkey's ear.

And then we went to L.A. for Thanksgiving and there was food and hiking and more food and I started to suspect my parents were trying to turn me into some kind of human foie gras by constantly feeding me.

Basically a slab of pork belly.

And after that we turned around and drove to Wisconsin for even more family time and I went to a cheese factory and bought a bunch of cheese curds but I didn't learn how to play Sheephead or Smear because I wasn't in the mood for strategy.

Also, deer season.

Let's just say I've been making workouts a priority this week.

guilt. the struggle is real.

Don't worry. This isn't a post about recovering from Catholicism. Although I can go on and on about how growing up, my family vacations did not involve national parks. Instead, my parents took us to places where the Virgin Mary supposedly appeared. Let me tell you: There's nothing like being a teenager who is forced to pray in public on the side of the highway while tons of cars whiz by. I'll refer to it as "character-building."

So yes: Guilt. And by this I mean the skipped workout kind.

Like when work sends you to San Antonio to present your public relations plan to the entire Americas leadership team and all kinds of unexpected emergencies pop up so you never get to put your running shoes on even though you packed them with the best of intentions.

This was my one sit-down meal in San Antonio. It was Spam fried rice, no surprise.

And then you return to find your new hometown's most iconic musician has died unexpectedly, so instead of swimming, you must dance in the street to celebrate his life.

And then there is an evening cooking class -- which is an absolute necessity since you are learning to make gluten-free pasta and you can't remember the last time you were able to eat fresh pasta so this is pretty much a miracle.

And then your first networking dinner with journalists in your new industry starts late because of traffic and goes longer than originally planned because of white chocolate mousse and tapioca pudding with avocado lime sorbet.

I'm telling myself it's fine. Vineman isn't until July. Life happens, and sometimes it's better to choose sleep than to try to stay up ridiculously late or wake up ridiculously early just to get a workout in.

Right? RIGHT???

But the guilt is still there. And also, just as I typed that, one of my cats started gagging and almost barfed on my bed. I feel judged.

on orphaned socks

So I somehow lost one of my Drymax socks. However, in my last load of laundry, I did end up with a random sock I'd never seen before.

Am I a terrible person for keeping the random sock and actually using it tonight for my trainer workout when one of my neighbors may be looking for it this very second?

Not a hostage, just "adopted."

Don't answer that.

(And clearly I am having a very exciting Saturday night.)

hello and good night

Let's just say I've been ready for bed since 7:30 tonight. And the only reason I'm not passed out right now is because my neighbor is crying and I can hear everything and it's super awkward and it makes me wonder if everyone can hear me when I cry and now I'm trying to remember the last time I cried and thankfully it wasn't here in this thin-walled apartment and also it wasn't a sad cry but a happy cry, so I guess it was a different situation entirely.

Also, I'm awake because I had to do a massive amount of laundry. Yes, folks, I have started working out again. And even though I'm averaging about 3-5 hours a week (compare that to 16 when I was training for Ironman), I guess it's better than nothing. And I've become completely obsessed with hot Pilates (it's pretty much all the core work and clam shells and squats and hip and glute strengtheners that I should have been doing this whole time but never quite got around to). Unfortunately, hot Pilates results in an insane amount of sweaty, smelly spandex and towels. So laundry. Always laundry.

And I'm back on the trainer again. And running. And sometimes I think about swimming. Thinking is exercising my brain, so that's got to count for something, right?

Anyway, here's to the year ahead and to slowly digging myself out of hibernation. And with that, I'm going to bed.

This is my coworker's new puppy, possibly my spirit animal.

the off-season

Signs you are adrift in the off-season vortex and may possibly need an intervention (or at least 30 minutes on the trainer in Zone 2):

You can't remember what your Zone 2 range is.

You found your Garmin on the floor this morning because it has become a cat toy.

When your friend says she's planning to do a holiday 5K, you respond with "What is running?" And then you stuff your face with another piece of cheese.

Your bike still has its race numbers -- from a race that happened two months ago.

Eggnog (occasionally spiked with bourbon) has replaced sports drink.

You can't remember the last time you bought gels. And honestly, if you never have to eat gels again, you'll probably be OK with that.

Waking up at 7:30 a.m. is just way too early.

Weekend plans involve things like brunch instead of bike routes.

Your most recent "workout" was a surf lesson in Costa Rica two weeks ago.

You eat dinner at 7:30 p.m. instead of 5 p.m.

You took a break from your coach, and you don't know when you'll come back because you have no idea what races you'll be doing next season.

You tell people you feel weird about not having a coach, and by "weird," you mean "fat."

Your go-to wardrobe choice has gone from skinny jeans to dresses with tights. You explain this is because it is the "holidays," which also pretty much means "fat."

The amount of spandex in your laundry basket has dwindled drastically. (And been replaced by dresses and tights.)

You experiment with new activities like "hot Pilates." And find yourself wondering about CrossFit. And adult ballet. And improvisational theater. And fried chicken.

"Triathlon? Huh? What?"

work event, by the numbers

1: Major fundraising events benefiting a good cause but resulting in complete and total brain-frying

6: Guests hosted on a four-day media tour during the fundraising event

1: Guests who grew up in the Depression Era and didn't believe in wasting anything and downed every single glass of wine and got tanked and stood up in the middle of winery appointments and announced: "We are all so grateful to be here, but I have to leave right now"

1: Guests who received the nickname "Drunk Grandma" 

3: Cloth napkins used by Drunk Grandma during a dinner (which she left early) because she kept dropping them on the floor

1: Incidents involving Drunk Grandma sleeping in public

1: Incidents involving Drunk Grandma getting lost at Hempfest because she was grateful for her guided food tour of Seattle but had to leave "right now"

1: Incidents involving Drunk Grandma yelling at me for leaving her bag in a car only to discover she had the bag with her the entire time

1: Incidents involving Drunk Grandma forgetting her credit cards and ID in the hotel safe after she checked out

11: Frantic texts/calls between public relations people and/or the hotel to obtain the forgotten credit cards and ID and return them to Drunk Grandma

0: Wallets found in a hotel safe containing Drunk Grandma's credits cards and ID

2: Envelopes found in a hotel safe containing Drunk Grandma's credit cards and ID 

I can't even make this up.

3: Workouts missed because of the tour

8: Weeks left until Ironman Louisville

99: Percentage of guilt and stress due to missed workouts

3: Steaks consumed out of stress

1: Cocktail dress worn despite the steaks

3: Awkward cocktail dress photos taken with a toilet in the background

I also can't make this shit up.

1: Photo that says it all

1: Whiskey consumed at the Octopus Bar with Annie when it was all over

back to normal life now

And that pretty much sums up how I feel about last week. I love my job and I love introducing people to Washington wine country, but man, pooping in your own toilet without worrying if anyone will hear or need to use the bathroom afterward feels really, really good.

And believe me, you make a lot of poop when you find yourself having so little time that breakfast means guiltily shoveling fast food into your face in the corner of a hotel ballroom while setting up for a wine seminar.

So much shame.

I'm also really thrilled to get back to a regular training schedule. I only managed one workout last week -- a short, 30-minute run through the vineyard. The view was gorgeous; my huffing and puffing was not.

I love me a good sunrise.

Anyway, as I make the transition back to normal life, I thought I'd share some fashion highlights from this weekend's tasting. (You know, since I'm the epitome of age-appropriate workplace fashion in my Uggs, leggings-as-pants and puffy NorthFace jackets.)

First, let me point out that Comicon was also happening in Seattle at the same time. So I think this is a costume for that, or else maybe someone was pouring mead at one of the tables and of course it had to be magical mead with the secret power to open a time-traveling doorway to another period and then she stepped through and boom, things got crazy.

Although not quite as crazy as when the Sugar Plum Fairy arrived and we all found ourselves in Prom 2. Cue up the Alphaville, folks.

"Forever young, I want to be forever young ..."

Best part: She showed up again the next day, ready for the races. 

(Seriously, though, I think she was a vendor at the event and decided to dress a little wacky to stand out from the crowd. Which clearly worked because now I can't stop writing about her. Dear crazy fashion lady: I applaud you.)

And then there was this:

Again, I'm pretty sure he was a vendor and this was the outfit he had to wear for work (where do these people work and why?), but the denim on denim plus the overall romper plus the rugby socks? Amazing.

Obviously, I celebrated the culmination of a successful event by rushing out and buying the Exact Same Denim Overall Romper.

Just kidding. I drank whiskey and ate a huge steak. 

holidays

My goal for the holidays: To clean my apartment so it looks like a real grown-ass adult lives here. However, I am currently doing everything in my power to avoid cleaning. Like repeatedly checking work e-mail, even though it's a holiday week and no one is e-mailing me. (Come on, guys. Can't you at least send me a cat video?) And sipping my green smoothie like it's a 2001 Sauternes instead of spinach. And making a baked potato and actually waiting for the oven to completely pre-heat before putting the potato in. Also, it's sunny in Seattle right now, and that's such a rare thing, so really I should be outside hiking around somewhere instead of cleaning.

And honestly, can you blame me for procrastinating?

Welcome to the vortex.

I refer to this as the shit room. It's where I throw random crap on the floor and shut the door so I don't have to deal with it anymore. It's quite possible there's an ex-boyfriend in there somewhere.

Too bad my 3-year-old nephew lives in Sacramento. He asked Santa for a real vacuum this Christmas.

So very Asian.

Hey, kid. You can come to Seattle any time you want. Your aunt has a lot of, um, activities planned for you.

Anyway, some other highlights from Christmas, which I spent in Sacramento with my family:

The gift that keeps giving.

Christmas Eve sausage party!

The theme was Meat, Lots of It.

See previous caption.

After all that, I had to get a workout in. And swimming in the California sunshine in a completely uncrowded pool is just so awful.

Happy holidays from my pig sty to yours. 

setbacks, burnout

I've been so good about staying positive and motivated throughout this entire training cycle. As in: Training Peaks was my freaking bible and I was the prophet in spandex. Hallelujah, praise god, I get to do an all-day brick workout! 

That changed this past week when burnout hit in a major way.

First, there was Tuesday's track workout from hell. My heart rate was skyrocketing, I couldn't catch my breath and I could barely maintain half marathon pace. And then I got hit by a soccer ball. (Seriously.) And then I rolled my ankle on -- wait for it -- a buckeye. (The symbolism here is not lost on me.) The workout was so miserable that my teammates actually hugged me afterward. And then I skipped the swim I was supposed to do that evening and sat in bed with an ice pack instead.

The irony of Mr. Happy.

And then Wednesday I left for the New York Wine Experience. And even though I had big plans to run and go to SoulCycle and maybe even try to find a pool, none of that happened. Our flight was delayed and we didn't arrive until 1 a.m. Thursday. And then this was the view from my room: 

All daylight, all the time.

And I had zero downtime. Zero. It was non-stop, back-to-back-to-back appointments and events, and I basically had to choose between working out or sleeping. Since fatigue lowers your immune system and I'm terrified of contracting Ebola, I chose sleep. But even that was sub-par -- I probably averaged 3-5 hours each night.

So exactly how did I spend the past few days? Tasting wine under giant vaginal lights:

It's like all these people were just birthed.

Dining with master sommeliers until 1 a.m.:

Freaking out over this:

And this:

Yes, that's a 1982.

Catching up with old friends:

Hosting luncheons in hotel banquet rooms:

Hanging out at the Saveur test kitchen:

When I grow up, I want appliances like this.

Being a test kitchen guinea pig:

And then waking up before dawn this morning to fly back to Seattle:

I did manage to get some pool time in today, so I'm back at it, but my ankle is still angry. I could feel it in the water: Kick, kick, kick, ache, ache, ache.

I'm hoping I snap out of this funk within the next 24 hours because this is the e-mail I got from Coach Mark:

Massive volume. Of course my first reaction was: "That's what she said."

Four weeks.

uphill climb

Feeling slightly guilty right now because I skipped a three-hour ride today. The weather just didn't clear up, and I was intimidated by the prospect of riding in the rain alone (bike buddy Rachel had to work), so I took a long nap instead (because if you're going to be lazy, be really, really lazy), then did a ridiculous amount of laundry (I still think they should change the sport to quadrathlon and make laundry the fourth event) and then ordered enough Vietnamese takeout to feed a small army. Before I knew it, the day had slipped away.

The weekend was not entirely wasted, though. I did get a ride in yesterday: Hill repeats with the team.

I don't know how something can be so painful and yet so fun at the same time. Oh wait -- I think maybe that describes triathlon perfectly.

My "I survived" face

Dumb things I did during this ride: Decided to pass five people on a hill during the warmup so I could ride next to Coach Mark at the front of the line. Heart rate went immediately to Zone 5. And I still tried to make conversation: "How was (gasp) your birthday? How is (gasp) the baby? How are (gasp) the cats? Don't mind (gasp) me -- I'm just going to (gasp) die here next to you!"

An even dumber bike-related thing: While putting the backseat down to make room for my bike, I hit my face against the side of the car. It hurt. A lot. And I immediately thought: I've given myself a black eye and should probably ice this. But I was in front of people, so I tried to be stoic and said nothing.

Until several minutes later when I realized I had actually cut my eyelid and blood was running down my face.

And then I started laughing hysterically, which is exactly the reaction that most normal people have when they realize their face is bleeding.

This is what my eye looks like now:

Call it "boxer chic"

I'm just thankful my skin is as dark as it is or the bruise would be much, much more visible. I swear, I'm an extra-special kind of stupid.