the new york cat experience

I was in New York the past few days for a big fancy wine event. I tasted a lot of Barolo, ate some great meals (the chicken at Untitled is insane), saw old friends and made new ones.

And witnessed some crazy-ass shit. Case in point:

And it just kept getting more and more bizarre.

You really had to pay attention to what was in your glass.

And on your plate.

And the presentations -- I couldn't look away.

There was even a raffle for a really cool prize.

(Thanks to CatPaint and Cat Bomb for the endless entertainment. Yes, folks, I believe I have found my calling as an artist.)

publicly relating

I realized my last post started with the world's worst photo of me (unless you count this horrible nightshirt one and this equally hideous wetsuit one, of course), so I figured I should write something new and very long so the awfulness goes away. Because that's how the internet works, right? You bury embarrassing things with more embarrassing things and eventually everyone just forgets the earlier stuff because the new stuff is way more ridiculous and you come out looking like a winner. 

I swear, I'm not still on pain meds.

Anyway, what I'm trying to say is shortly after my surgery, I took my denture for a spin at a golf tournament. Which actually was a pretty good way to start venturing out into the world because golfers are apparently easily distracted, so you're not supposed to talk a lot, therefore I didn't feel too terribly self-conscious. 

That is, until I saw this guy.

Toothy jerk.

I don't really know anything about golf except that there is a ball and you're supposed to try to get it in a hole with as few attempts as possible. But I did walk the entire course (which was beautiful and hilly and dusty and vast). And I found myself following the 15-year-old golfer around (which subsequently made me feel really creepy). And I got stranded at a "crossing" in a giant crowd for a very long time and it was worse than trying to swim upstream at IKEA. 

The view from the deck of our hospitality tent.

My smile is only slightly crooked.

And since I don't know what it means to stop and stay in one place, I flew to San Francisco yesterday for a media luncheon that included a lot of wonderful things I couldn't eat.

Damn you, gluten.

Double-damn you.

Thankfully the consolation prize of a bunless burger was tasty. 

And while the work portion of my trip went well, the best part was getting to spend time with some of my favorite people in one of my favorite venues while watching my favorite team.

Most diverse group at the stadium.

MadBum set a new career high for strikeouts. And a shit-ton of seagulls swarmed the bleachers (which I think was actually Arvan's favorite part of the entire game). And I drank some scary form of sake that cost $10 and tasted like lemon juice with an entire box of sugar poured into it. And Himanshu joked that it would be hilarious if a foul ball hit me in the mouth and knocked out my other tooth. Yeah. That would be really hilarious.

Unfortunately, the Giants lost, but Layla and I were absolutely on point with our fish faces.

And I got to wear this hat.

I am back in Seattle now. And tomorrow I get my stitches out. Don't worry -- I will tell you all about it in way too much detail. I know you can hardly wait.

sheesh

My parents used to tell me not to make nasty faces at things because a "bad wind" might blow and then my face will get stuck forever.

Living dangerously right now.

Apparently, I should've listened to their advice. Remember how I said these things about Minneapolis? Well that wind must be howling something fierce because I keep finding myself in Viking Land. I was there last week for the second time this year.

Confession: It's not that bad. In fact, it's kind of growing on me.

Yes, it was humid. And yes, I did often hear the comment "You're lucky you're here now because in a week or so we'll have mosquitos." And yes, in the middle of our alfresco dinner Friday night, the sky broke open and seasoned our bowl of lobster guac with a downpour.

But lobster guac can be salvaged. And there were seats indoors. And I would gladly brave mosquitos for a bite of this:

Asparagus and burrata from Corner Table.

(Just looking at that photo makes me salivate.) The manager also brought us a taste of this Oregon Pinot ...

I know. I'm giggling too.

... and then we geeked out on wine styles and what to make of wines that have clearly been created as a big "FU" to wine critics and others who expect wine to taste a certain way. (The debate: Is doing this art? Can you actually make a living with these wines? Is it smart to alienate a large portion of your audience? Do you have to like a wine because it is seen as cerebral and challenging? Man, it was a good discussion. Dear rest of the country: More of this kind of conversation, please.)

I also ran along the Mississippi River ...

... went for a swim in Lake Calhoun (which was actually so warm I could've gone without a wetsuit) and spent an evening tooling around town on a rideshare bike -- an adventure that involved finding a restaurant with a wine list that is entirely at cost ...

This was only $18. I know, right?

... reading poetry on bridges ...

... and taking in the view. 

Other random sources of delight: This Salvation Army that has a basement full of Target samples at ridiculously good prices. (I bought two dresses, a pair of shorts, a denim jacket and a crocheted top for $59!)  This gym and its immaculate five-lane pool that barely anyone swims in. This coffee house, which is also a bike shop and has walls covered in taxidermy and old bike frames. And of course, the rooftop deck and '90s hip hop and sipping wine by the fire pit while fireworks go off after the Twins game.

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. 

playing tour guide

Don't worry. I'm not still on the trainer.

I'm in wine country for yet another crazy whirlwind multi-day media tour during which I make my guests sleep in a different part of Washington State every single night because unpacking your suitcase is overrated.

I also subject them to discussions of topics such as "What is the weirdest food you've ever eaten?"

Guest: "I tried grasshoppers. Just to say I tried them."

Coworker: "I've eaten a cricket."

Me: "I had worms once!"

Insert awkward pause here.

Anyway, Tuesday night we were in the Horse Heaven Hills AVA. This was the view from our guest house: 

Almost as good as worms.

And this was my bathroom.

I made an effort to poop a lot just so I could spend as much time in it as possible.

Wednesday we toured The Rocks District of Milton-Freewater AVA, which was just approved as an appellation in February and is the Walla Walla Valley's first sub-appellation and also located entirely in Oregon, which at first might seem confusing since I work for Washington, but the Walla Walla Valley actually crosses the border into Oregon and since The Rocks District is part of Walla Walla, I get to go there and bring people with me. 

And if this still doesn't make sense, stop asking, just accept and pick up that bottle.

Gee, I wonder why it's called The Rocks District.

Today we explored the Red Mountain AVA, where we hiked up a hillside to the highest-elevation vineyard in the appellation. I sang "Climb Every Mountain" and imagined we were escaping to Switzerland. 

Which one of us is Gretl?

Now I'm in this fancy tent. (I almost chose the fancy yurt instead, but the fancy yurt is shared with other people, and I didn't want to force my fancy neuroses on them, so I opted for solo fancy-ness.)

The fancy tent has better decor than my apartment.

Tomorrow we make one more stop in the Yakima Valley AVA and then head into Seattle for this big shindig all weekend. 

This has nothing to do with wine, but it's pretty.

(Side note: Today I did a phone interview with a local paper about the weekend's festivities. I said: "Everything starts tomorrow -- Thursday." And then went on and on about the itinerary for the next few days. And then after we hung up, I realized today is actually Thursday, not tomorrow. Which means everything is actually starting right now. But since I am in the middle of nowhere and living out of a suitcase, I have lost all sense of time. I may have also lost all sense of sanity. But that's assuming I had any sanity to begin with.)

dinner theater

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.

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.