misadventures, per usual

So I was just now Googling "chocolate poo mold." Because I'm doing Swim for (Dear) Life again next week and our team is Team Fecal Coliform Bacteria (which is why you should never let me name anything) and no one has donated to my fundraising page (which is here, in case you would like to change that) and I'm hoping to entice people with homemade chocolate poo. (My logic is flawless, thank you very much.)

Anyway, since this post has pretty much already gone down the toilet, yesterday my bike peed herself. 

Mouse's first instinct: Play in it!

You'll recall I'm having hydration setup issues, so this time, I decided to give Minivan's built-in bladder system a shot. I followed the directions, and everything seemed fine until I poured liquid into the bladder and my bike started peeing.

The problem: The straw kept getting disconnected from the bladder, and then all the liquid would seep out.

I was under a bit of a time crunch yesterday (this is what happens when the man who cuts your hair is the type who doesn't talk at all while he does the deed so you think maybe he is silently judging you especially since you showed up at your appointment wearing a trucker hat because your hair was that bad and he actually kind of scoffed at the hat but then he does such an incredible job that you keep going back even though you wonder if maybe this is an unhealthy relationship), so I abandoned the bladder and relied on my bottles instead. (Thankfully, none of them fell out this time.)

Of course, because the universe has a twisted sense of humor and seems to want to toy with my stress levels, I got stuck in a footrace 30 minutes into my ride.

I re-routed and got back on track. Although not without a lot of grumbling and also my heart rate monitor wasn't working and I was still frustrated by the peeing incident and it was really tempting to just go home and get on the trainer. But eventually I got over it all and regained a more positive mindset.

Only to get stuck in a second footrace.

Not shown: The spectator who asked if I brought lunch to pass the time.

At this point, I was convinced the universe wanted me to have bad hair. But all those people eventually passed, and I got my ride done. It was long and slow and cumbersome -- still trying to build that relationship with Minivan. Shifting is coming more naturally, and my neck and shoulders are hurting less, but I still find the rear water cages awkward and am a bit too fidgety with positioning.

However, at least things with nutrition are going well. I really love this stuff. It may replace the hot dog for me. (Which is a good thing, since carrying a hot dog around for hours in your jersey pocket sort of seems like an invitation for food poisoning.)

I guess I did bring lunch. Mmm. Pizza.

I eventually finished my ride. And then I did a T run (because I'm only nine weeks away from Ironman now -- gah). And then I came home and found this on the living room floor:

That would be the attachment for the new hydration system.

I almost put her on Craigslist.

And that wasn't the only surprise.

Nothing like piles of cat puke to warm the heart.

However, I did make it to my hair appointment on time. And I was so tired from my workout that I barely noticed the judging and was actually pretty thankful for the silence and lack of small talk.

maiden voyage, at last

Let's talk about this:

So I spent my entire tax refund on this bike, which I put a deposit on and ordered in April. But then I didn't actually pick up the bike from the store until June because I needed to save up for the remaining cost. And then I didn't actually ride the bike outside until yesterday because I needed to pay for a bike fit and then buy a new hydration setup (because this bike has an internal bladder system, and I'm not sure I like it), which cost, oh, $250.

Recent conversation at the triathlon store:

Me: I'm about to drop hundreds of dollars on something that holds water bottles.

Triathlon store guy: Well, it's better than a coke habit.

Touché, triathlon store guy, touché.

Anyway, so Money Pit Minivan and I finally went on our first date yesterday. I took the above photo before I attempted to climb aboard. And yes, it was a climb. Because the rear hydration setup and my stubby little legs means I am pretty much doing Utthita Hasta Padangustasana (I only wrote that because I'm a jerk and I want to laugh as you to try to pronounce it -- really, it's just a fancy yoga term for holding your leg up like you're about to pee on a tree) to get on the bike.

And I immediately discovered the bento box totally doesn't work unless I want my gels practically in my crotch. So after getting rid of the bento box and stuffing the gels in my jersey pockets, Minivan and I were on our way.

Impressions:

• Minivan is a fast bitch. Really, ridiculously fast. And a smoother ride than Muppet. (Although that could also be because Muppet is in need of some maintenance right now. Which -- surprise, surprise -- I am still trying to save up for.)
• Minivan is also much more sensitive -- I could feel the crosswinds. 
• I need to get used to shifting gears in aero. However, I really like how much easier it is to tell what gear you're in because of where the shifter is pointing.
• I need to get used to being in aero, period. The position feels much more aggressive on Minivan than it does on Muppet. My neck and shoulders got really sore. (Maybe the fit needs a little tweaking?)
• I'm not sold on the rear hydration setup. I randomly lost a bottle riding around Lake Sammamish -- and it wasn't even the bottle I had been drinking out of.
• People stare at me on this bike. I don't know if it's because I look like an idiot or a badass. Sometimes I think there's a very fine line between the two. 

We did 74 miles yesterday. Kind of long for a first date, but I was never really one for moderation.

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.