hello from the polar vortex

I'm in Minneapolis for work right now.

Some random thoughts on this travel experience:

It's really dumb to go to Minnesota in January, especially during a historic cold spell.

Wearing two pairs of pants at the same time is very uncomfortable. Wearing two shirts, a fleece, a puffy vest and a down jacket at the same time is very uncomfortable. Running through the airport while wearing all of the above is just terrible.

However, running through the airport and then finding a restaurant that serves Spam for breakfast is the Best Thing Ever.

(Dear Seattle Spam freaks: Go to Waji's in Terminal C. You're welcome.)

It is frightening when the flight attendant warns you to "bundle up" before you get off the plane because the cold will "take your breath away."

It is even more frightening when a man who is completely barefoot comes out of the airplane bathroom. And then you go in and the floor is all wet and the toilet isn't flushed.

It's awkward when you check in at the hotel with two co-workers, and the front desk assumes you will all be sharing a room with one king bed.

The Skyway is pretty cool, although it takes twice as long to get anywhere so you might as well just man up, go outside and put those multiple pairs of pants to use.

When you go to work dinners and you aren't drinking, people will congratulate you on your pregnancy and then tell you everything you didn't want to know about their kids.

Hunting camo is a perfectly acceptable fashion choice. Bonus points if you can outfit your entire family -- baby included! -- in matching print.

There is something called "Sex World," and it looks like it has multiple floors.

bike love

Since it was sunny today -- and you never, ever want to let daylight go to waste here in Seattle -- Muppet and I ventured outside for a mellow 50-minute ride. I was originally supposed to do 50 minutes on the trainer, but the Burke-Gilman trail is so much more interesting than staring at a Netflix marathon on my iPad while my cats mock me with their eyes. And did I mention sun? Holy crap, sun!

Temperatures were in the 30s, there was frost on the ground and I didn't want end up with a sad phone call asking Uber to send a car with a stretcher and a bike rack, so Muppet and I took it easy. I only rode a little more than 10 miles -- slow and steady. But it was still ridiculously fun. I don't know what it is about cycling, but joy. So much joy.

After the ride, I went to the triathlon store and ordered Muppet her very first pair of aero bars. Once they come in, we'll be doing another bike fit so her geometry will be more TT vs. road. My plan is to get used to the aero position on the trainer now, so once the weather warms up and I start doing long rides outdoors, I won't be as freaked out. (Yes, I'm still terrified of crashing. Clumsiest cyclist ever.)

So yeah: Basically, Muppet and I are taking it to the next level.

(I'm totally normal, by the way. Not the least bit crazy at all.)

the wagon

I'm telling everyone because the more people I tell, the more real it is: Folks, I'm doing Sober January.

Dialing it back was necessary. The holidays were pretty much non-stop gluttony and hedonism (with some trainer sessions and a good swim workout or two thrown in to counter the guilt). A chef friend (who did the infamous Ironman Lake Tahoe as his first 140.6) was in town, so of course we shut down the bar talking triathlon and pastries on Christmas Eve. And then the next day, Alberto Salad Bar and I flew to California (don't even ask me how I was functioning on this flight -- I'm surprised Salad Bar didn't throw me out the emergency exit because I was so grouchy), where he was introduced to all of my fantastic, wonderful, equally hedonistic friends over bottles and bottles of wine and whiskey. And then we had marathon meals at Commonwealth, State Bird and Coi. And also ate at La Mar, the Alembic and the Ferry Building. And then came home to Seattle and went straight into New Year's Eve debauchery.

So basically, I'm fat and dehydrated with a crazy-high tolerance right now. Not a good feeling.

Therefore no alcohol this month. And I'm also limiting my restaurant meals and cooking more at home. And starting up the green smoothie habit again. And trying to get to bed earlier (which obviously is a total fail right now, but whatever).

So far, things are going pretty well. I did have a happy hour meeting for work this past week during which I only drank green tea while everyone else had wine, but it wasn't a big deal. I find that once you explain Sober January to people, they're supportive. (Although I have a feeling that people are going to start thinking I'm pregnant. Gah.)

What's interesting, though, is realizing how "let's get a drink" has become my fallback mode of meeting up with friends. This weekend I've had to come up with alternate activities, which has been entertaining. A few ideas that were discussed: Gym date, yoga, bowling, wandering around random neighborhoods to see what Christmas lights are still up (really, this was a thing), miniature golf, ski lessons (again, maybe I am losing my mind). 

What won out: Today Heather and I met for juice when ordinarily, brunch and mimosas would've been the way to go.

Beets, carrots, lemon and ginger? So much better than a Bloody Mary. (Although I could change my mind on that if the Bloody Mary is one of those crazy ones garnished with an actual slider. Dear juicebox: Can you stick a big fat burger on the glass? It's healthy if it's veggie and gluten-free, right? You can thank me for the idea later. I'll accept free juice for life.)

And then tonight Melissa and I went to see the weirdest movie ever, which we discussed at great length over tea afterward. I kind of felt like we were in high school, hanging out at the coffeehouse. But with more confidence and less angst, of course. 

the great swimsuit debate

Because I am a very serious triathlete, I have been known to argue with Coach Mark about -- wait for it -- fashion.

Specifically, the two-piece vs. one-piece swimsuit. A recent e-mail exchange:

Me: Will you be making a two-piece version of the team's workout suit? If so, I'd like to order it.

Coach Mark: No. It creates drag.

Me: I grew up in Southern California. I hate one-pieces.

Coach Mark: They are faster.

Me: Then wouldn't that mean the two-piece would make me a stronger swimmer because I'd have to work harder than the one-piece people and then when race day comes and I'm in a wetsuit, I'll have an advantage because I've done more?

Coach Mark: OK. Sure.

I wanted this to be a win. But unfortunately, the two-piece team suits still do not exist. Maybe I'll just buy some puffy paint and a stencil and make my own. Because that would look really slick and badass, and I'm sure my teammates would all be envious.

Anyway, tonight I finally broke down and wore the only one-piece suit I own to the pool, largely because I wanted to test Coach Mark's theory. (I honestly cannot remember the last time I wore a one-piece suit. I think maybe it was elementary school.) Also, this suit has desserts and doughnuts all over it, which is pretty much the only reason I bought it. Because what is more exciting than being covered in food?!

(Like I said, folks, I'm a very serious triathlete. Side note: Look, I have upper body muscles now!)

My workout (and keep in mind that this pool is 20 yards instead of the usual 25, which is why the numbers are weird):

200 warmup

12 x 20 with 15 second rest between sets

10 x 40 with 15 second rest between sets

6 x 100 with 15 second rest between sets

200 cool down

Target completion time: 50 minutes / 1,640 yards

I finished in 43 minutes. 

Goddammit. Stupid one-piece.

Also, I really want doughnuts now.

who woulda thunk

We have this dumb joke that we do when we've had a little too much to drink. It involves writing Facebook posts to our future selves, resulting in something like this:

Dear Future Michaela: 

Apologies. 

Sincerely,
Present Michaela

Thankfully, I didn't quite go there last night. Yes, I drank 04 Dom Pérignon straight out of the bottle on a street somewhere while hipsters in a nearby apartment building launched fireworks off of their balcony. (Confession: I was kind of terrified I would be That Person who succumbed to a death-by-hipster-fireworks-accident.)

And yes, I did drop my phone and suddenly it decided to take photos only in black and white.

But there was no need to apologize to my future self. (When you eat enough pre-party enchiladas and make sure you drink water, you're pretty much good to go.) Instead, I started thinking about Past Michaela, and how that girl from five years ago had no clue what she was getting herself into. (Dear Past Michaela: Bet you never thought you'd be allergic to bread, divorced, living in the Land of Hipster Lumberjacks and training for a full Ironman! Haha! Surprise!)

So on this first day of 2014, I'm saying cheers to the unknown.

Dear Future Michaela: Roll with it, girl.