meltdown

According to the local TV station, in 121 years of record-keeping, Seattle has never had 10 days of 90-degree or above temperatures in one year.

Until today.

And guess who was dumb enough to run in it?

Afterward, all I could do was lie on the floor.

Because a long run (1:50 to be exact) in 90-degree heat was truly horrible. After the first 40 minutes, I had to go back to my house for an emergency bathroom stop. Then the remaining 1:10 included stomach cramps and overheating.

Dear Seattle: I prefer the grey and the rain, please.

the weirder, the better

It's no secret that when encountering bizarrely-flavored food products, I'm like a moth to a lightbulb. Or a bee to a lavender field. Or a stoner to Taco Bell.

Which means I am absolutely thrilled about this:

Savory squeezable pizza to break up the saccharin monotony of gels and chews and bars! And the squeezable pizza actually does kind of taste like pizza -- if you imagine yourself pulling the cheese off a slice and using it to mop up the sauce and then eating only that part and throwing everything else away. Or if you imagine a tube of tomato paste, but with cheese. Mmmm. Cheese.

So just think how excited I was when I went to the grocery store yesterday and saw this:

Don't worry; not for the bike.

Pretty sure I shouted "Holy shit!" (Apologies if your kid heard me and then went home and started calling everything shit.)

I'm a truffle fanatic; I bought a bag. And I bought this flavor too:

I guess Lay's is doing a flavor competition right now. There was also this:

And this:

I'll have to go back for those next time.

So far, the truffle chips are horribly disappointing. Zero truffle flavor. They taste like parsley with cheese powder. I can't tell you how sad I am.

The biscuits and gravy chips, however, are so weird and fake that they're really good. I'm kind of tempted to head to the kitchen and eat more of them right now.

adult conversations

You know triathlon has become an obsession when instead of thinking about finances in monetary units, you think in terms of bikes.

Case in point: Tonight I had a conversation about mortgage rates and whether it would be smarter to take a gamble on a 7- or 10-year adjustable rate mortgage, assume you're going to move out after a few years and subsequently save some cash, or play it safe and stick with the fixed rate even though it's higher. (For the record, clearly this isn't my mortgage or my house or even remotely my life since I spent all my savings on a bike.)

We arrived at the following conclusion: Who knows. Because how do you know where you will be in seven or 10 years, much less 30? I mean, you can have a vague idea of where you want to be or what you think might happen next, but there's no guarantee that will actually happen. (Clearly this is also why you should never have these types of conversations with someone who was an English major and would prefer to turn everything into a philosophical discussion that never ends.)

However, we did figure out that after five years, an ARM equals one brand-new bike.

cat lady probs

I spent last night setting up a mini terrarium to grow catnip for my cats. And subsequently wondering how long it will take for the cats to find the mini terrarium and completely destroy it before any catnip has actually grown.

Only $2! How could I resist?

I also don't want to talk about how many times I've watched this:



According to this study, my powers of concentration should be at peak levels now.

Which is good since I've kind of been all over the place lately. I don't even know where to start. There are biking stories to tell. And swimming adventures. And travels. And incredible meals. And a party that involved a dead lamb. (Don't worry -- this isn't as creepy-culty as it sounds.)

Since I am overwhelmed, here are a bunch of pictures of my cats.

Dear The North Face: Can Mouse be my #givepack hiking buddy?

Either my suitcase is really small, or Mari is "big-boned."

Maček's current status: Stealing your soul.

(Don't you feel so much more productive now? You're welcome.)

dumb things lately

After all that bitching about the heat and getting ready for a warm ride yesterday and drinking Osmo PreLoad and obsessively checking the hourly weather forecast, this happened:

Yes, that would be a crosswind. And a very gloomy sky. And then there was thunder and lightning. And in typical dumb Michaela fashion, I found myself on a trail with water on one side and tall trees on the other, getting rained on while sitting on a piece of metal. Hello, lightning! Pick me! Choose me!

It also didn't help that when I sought shelter, I ended up in a very long conversation with another cyclist who told me all about how he's seen people get struck by lightning and how once a runner on The Very Same Trail was killed instantly.

I was happy to get home.

*

I forgot to mention I bought a new bike.

Her name is Minivan, a nod to the sexy vehicle Arvan and I rented for IMAZ last year. (Arvan to the rental car guy: "I want a swag car! We're doing an Ironman!" We ended up with a white minivan, complete with sliding door. I'm going to assume the rental car guy confused "swag" with "SAG.")

Anyway, because I made the adult decision to buy a brand-new bike and then got hit with unforeseen dental expenses, I now find myself in this situation:

I didn't really leave my house all weekend, except to sell clothes, use the money from selling clothes to buy a tart for a friend's wedding celebration and almost get struck by lightning.

*

I guess the denture is probably a good thing. I've had to learn how to bite and chew all over again, so I haven't really been eating much and therefore have not been spending any money on groceries.

Unfortunately, this means I've been exhausted during workouts -- I don't think I'm getting enough protein or even calories in general. And eating gels has been interesting, especially since I can only use the left side of my mouth to tear the packet open, and the actual gel gets stuck underneath the denture, which is super distracting.

Also another source of anxiety: I got my stitches taken out last week (there were six of them, all along my upper gumline, where the inside of my lip hits my nose). I asked the surgeon what the next step is. Her answer: "Come back in three months and we'll see if you're ready for your crown. Have a great summer!"

Three months from now is right before Ironman Louisville.

Three freaking months. I don't know if I'm more worried about the toothlessness or the countdown. Here we go again, folks!