total meltdown

This may sound weird, but the annual trip to Aspen for Food & Wine typically means it's time to get serious with my Vineman training. While I'm in Colorado, I pack in high-altitude workouts. And somehow manage to clean up my diet and cut out the gluten (odd venue for it, but I'm a girl who likes a challenge). And then I come home and start upping the mileage.

And at first, things seemed to be going as planned. I had a fantastic run in Boulder.

I made a new friend, saw some interesting art and felt like I could've kept running forever.

(Just curious: Is it normal to see pot plants randomly growing in public places? Because I swear I saw at least four of them while I was out there.)

Then there was the 5K from hell in Aspen. And I got an 1,800-yard swim in at the ARC (which never ceases to amaze me -- besides the mega-sized aquatics facility, complete with three-story water slide, this place has a climbing wall and an indoor ice rink).

(Swimming at altitude is just as tough as running at altitude, though!)

And then I came home, continued with the running and the swimming (yes, I realize my cycling is totally suffering), went on a quick work trip to San Francisco and then came back for the Seattle Rock 'n' Roll Half Marathon on Saturday.

I should've known something was off when I woke up that morning with a sore throat, but I figured it was just allergies and ran the race anyway.

It was hilly. And hot. (Of course, the one day sun decides to show up in Seattle is the same day as the race. Go figure.) I got passed by a perky pregnant woman wearing a sign that said: "Running for 2 / In 5 days I'm due!" (Am I a bad person for wanting to punch her? Don't answer that.) And I finished in a not-so-rocking 2:16:58. I figured my poor performance was largely due to my lack of training.

Until I came down with a 101-degree fever the next day.

Thankfully, I'm no longer confined to my bed, suffering alternating bouts of sweating and chills while my nose runs like a faucet.

However, now I can't breathe. The stupid cold or whatever it is has lodged itself in my lungs, and I wake myself up at night because my wheezing is so loud. My coughs are juicy and disgusting and make people standing next to me uncomfortable. My lungs hurt when I walk uphill.

Pardon me while I freak out and lose my shit for a moment: Vineman is less than three weeks away and I cannot train because I cannot breathe.

Big, fat, superbold F. 

missive

I have been traveling so much lately that I can't remember what day of the week it is. (Case in point: I'm currently at a hotel that has a nacho bar on Monday nights, and I just went downstairs to stuff myself with melted cheese, only to discover that -- duh -- it is not Monday.) I also got off a plane in Denver and thought I was in Phoenix for a split second. (In my defense, it was abnormally hot.)

And the last time I was actually home, Mari left me this:

Sorry. Had to share.

I can't really blame her. I'd probably take a massive protest dump too if the only person in the whole world I didn't hide under the bed from drove me 14 hours to a strange place and left me there all by myself with only a crazy kitten who doesn't stop biting me for company.

I'm a horrible cat mother. (Cue feelings of lingering, former-Catholic guilt.)

But I love the travel. And I love my job in a way I haven't felt in a very long time. Yes, it would be nice to actually spend one week straight in my new place and, I don't know, maybe even unpack. And yes, I would love to start meeting people who actually live in Seattle and take part in activities that are actually based in Seattle, such as going to the grocery store and finding a reputable dry cleaner. And yes, it's quite possible that Vineman is going to be absolutely laughable this year due to my extremely inconsistent training.

And the hardest part: It does get a little lonely sometimes, especially when I find myself in a really beautiful place and wish I had someone to share it with.

But I've had the chance to do things and meet people and have experiences that I will never forget.

Like five days in Washington wine country with a group of 50 trade folks from 11 different countries. (Key learning points: Everything east of the Cascades is a desert. Only American men are afraid to wear color. The Columbia River is a cold, cold thing, even in June. The Red Mountain AVA is awesome. It's completely possible to have a dance party in a hotel lobby.)

This week, I flew to Colorado (not Arizona, as I previously thought) for the Aspen Food & Wine Classic events.

Highlights included running my worst (10-minute PW) yet most memorable 5K ever. I thought the altitude was going to kill me, but Marcus Samuelsson hugged and kissed me on the cheek at the starting line when I told him I read his book and loved it. And then I walked back from the race with this guy:

And we talked about how 5Ks are really hard because they feel like an outright sprint for 3.1 miles and we really just prefer half marathons.

But that was nothing compared to taking the gondola up the mountain last night for an event.

Gorgeous in daylight, yes? Now imagine it at night, when it's pitch black except for the city lights shining up at you from below, and then your co-worker decides to play the Cure's "Pictures of You" on his phone. And you sit in silence and the instrumental part just builds and builds and you remember how important this song was to you in high school and you think how in high school, you never would've thought your life would end up the way it has. And this strikes you as something sort of amazing and you wonder where you will go next. And the lights keep shining up at you and then you think: I don't ever ever ever want to take this for granted.

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trying to train

The thing about totally changing your life: It makes training for a half-Ironman really, really difficult. Riding a bike by yourself in a completely new city that has multiple streets with the same name, scary-steep hills and asphalt that is almost always wet is downright intimidating.

Thank god for visiting friends! Safety in numbers! Kimra was in town for Memorial Day Weekend, and (after delaying the ride several hours to wait for the downpour to stop) we logged a 50-miler that included the Mercer Island loop (gorgeous), a tour of Bellevue (and its many stoplights -- ick), the Sammamish River Trail (if I ever learn how to spell "Sammamish" without looking it up, it will be a great accomplishment) and the Burke-Gilman Trail.

The ride also may or may not have included a stop at 7-Eleven for slurpees and some kind of rolled-up fake taquito thing slathered in pump-it-yourself nacho cheese. (God, who would eat that, right? Um ... )

Random thoughts about cycling in the Pacific Northwest: Someone deserves a hug for creating so many beautiful trails. It's not unusual to share said trails with roller-bladers; apparently, roller-blading is making a comeback. People in cars are much more bike-friendly here. There are fewer potholes than in Sonoma County. Since it's so overcast so often, cyclists wear clear glasses instead of tinted sunglasses. Riding in light drizzle really isn't bad -- in fact, it's kind of refreshing.

And speaking of training, I'm currently testing out gyms and trying to find a pool with a good aquatics program. Yesterday I went swimming for the first time in more than two weeks -- completed a 2,000-yard workout in about 50 minutes, which was exciting. The pool was great -- not crowded, with easy access to all kinds of fun workout toys (even Zoomers, which was awesome). I felt pretty good.

Until I went back to the locker room and discovered the spa was a "naked spa." And I was the lone awkwardly self-conscious person sitting there in a swimsuit. Fail.

adventures in moving

Since my last post (which feels like a lifetime away), I packed the cats up in a crate ...

... put the bike on the bike rack, crammed my car so full of stuff that I couldn't see out of my rear window and drove 14 hours north.

To the friends who made me a shit-ton of CDs to listen to on the drive: Thank you. And I am now officially a fan of Purity Ring, Grizzly Bear and that Fiona Apple song about being a pat of butter who loves a hot knife. (How can you not love lyrics like that?)

I arrived at my new home shortly after 11:30 p.m., unloaded the cats and the litterbox and the bike, and then passed out in a sleeping bag next to the litterbox. (Really, are you that surprised? We all know I have issues.)

When I woke up the next morning, this was the view from my deck. (If you look really, really closely, you'll see a sliver of the Puget Sound.) 

And that day was pretty much the only day I've seen sun since I've been here. But whatever. I like 50 degrees and misty. It's perfect for running. I also like how people from the Pacific Northwest complain that it's "too hot" if temperatures climb above 80. (If you know me, you know I do this all the time. Even when I was still in California. So basically every time I went to L.A., I would bitch about the weather.) 

One thing about Seattle that people don't tell you because they're too busy making dumb jokes about the rain: It's hilly as hell. I walk everywhere (yes, yesterday I even walked to work -- it's just under three miles), so most of the time I'm out of breath and my ass hurts.

I'm not kidding -- the hills are serious.

Anyway, so after being in Seattle for less than 72 hours, I got on a plane and went back to California to run Bay to Breakers.

And then I went directly from the finish line to the airport and caught a flight to D.C. for my first day of work. (To the people who sat next to me on that plane: I'm sorry. I used baby wipes, but I know they were not enough.) 

For work, we held a big Washington wine trade and media tasting at the Kennedy Center and then sponsored an event that involved lots of eating of cute animals. In sum: It was pretty much the best first day of work I have ever had. I loved everyone I met, and the wines were fantastic. I also ate a ridiculous amount of food and have no desire to eat any more lamb for a very long time.

I was supposed to fly home the following day, but I had major airline drama. (They told me the problem was weather and a "mechanical issue," but I suspect they found out how stinky I was on the flight over and just didn't want me on the plane.) So I ended up spending an extra night on the East Coast.

I finally made it back to Seattle on Wednesday. Since then, I've figured out the bus system (I literally haven't driven my car since I got back from the airport -- it's wonderful), started shopping around for a new gym (finding a pool with a good aquatics program has not been easy) and run out of office-appropriate clothing. (Thankfully, the movers arrive tomorrow with the rest of my wardrobe. I'm also looking forward to my bed -- a sleeping bag on a wood floor has been slightly less than desirable, especially when you have to share said sleeping bag with two cats that pretty much hog the whole thing.)

I've also had my first comparative tasting at work and am pretty much totally in love with this Syrah. 

I know, right? My life is so rough.

Dear Seattle: So far, so good. 

onward

Hell has opened its seventh circle Summer has arrived early in Sonoma County. I spent my afternoon fielding calls from journalists wanting comments on a fire in Knights Valley. And then when I got in my car to go home, this is what my dashboard said:

I hate hot weather. (And how some reporters won't ever leave the city to cover wine country unless it's literally on fire.)

So I'm moving to Seattle.

Dead serious: After almost nine years in the Bay Area, 4.5 years (the longest I've ever worked anywhere) at my current job and a year of personal ups and downs, I'm ready for a change. I said yes to a new position, found an apartment with a view of Puget Sound and started collecting moving boxes.

The cats may or may not be excited about this.

I, on the other hand, am looking forward to the next adventure.