people are amazing

First tri of the season is tomorrow. My birthday is also Monday.

Good thing some random asshole decided to get the weekend started right.

Nothing like heading to the car to load up your gear and discovering a good old-fashioned hit-and-run. Makes a girl feel damn special.

Wait, it gets better.

My bumper is now falling off. And yes, that's tape.

Best part: I literally just got my car repaired from getting rear-ended a few weeks ago.

Life is grand. Truly.

down memory lane

I once dated a guy who told me he didn't think I could do a century ride. To that guy, I raise my finger fist and say: "Not only have I already done several centuries while training for an Ironman and then finished said Ironman, I am apparently totally capable of pulling an early-season century out of my ass with barely any training, while simultaneously recovering from a horrible cold and a bad hip! Take that, you bastard."

Proving someone wrong feels really, really good.

I flew to California last weekend to ride the Wine Country Century in Santa Rosa with Layla and Arvan. I had zero expectations -- I was undertrained, sick and in pain, so the goal was just to hang out with friends, eat a bunch of chips at the aid stations and enjoy being back in Sonoma County. 

These two keep me sane. 

What I didn't realize was the way the century would make me feel. And no, I'm not talking about the numbness in my lady parts or the screaming in my right TFL or the point at Mile 80-ish when I suddenly realized I was about to have a bathroom emergency. 

I'm talking memories. I've ridden that route in pieces at one point or another, and doing the entire thing all at once was like reading an old diary. 

There was the spot on Chalk Hill where my old tri team coach used to park his car and cheer for us. There was the exact place where I gave up on climbing Green Valley Road and dismounted for the walk of shame. There were the wineries I used to work at, the elementary school parking lot we would choose as a meeting spot, the gravel patch where I once fell and scraped my knee trying to drink out of my water bottle. 

Hell, the last time I attempted the Wine Country Century in 2012 -- and it wasn't even the 100-miler, it was the metric -- I crashed and ended up with a DNF and some road rash. I left the race questioning my cycling ability and feeling pretty defeated.

And now, just three years later, I don't think twice about signing up for the century. Three years later, and I can make it all the way up Green Valley Road. Three years later, and I'm on a bike that I packed, traveled with and reassembled all by myself (which likely also explains why the seatpost started slowly sinking at Mile 50, ha).  I'd be lying if I didn't tell you I feel a smidge proud of all of this (except for the seatpost part, of course).

So here's to old memories and the creation of new ones. Here's to setbacks and triumphs and the growth the comes from both. And here's to the friends who've stuck with me through all of it.

Thanks, Deanne, for the photo and the awesome sign!

Congrats to Layla on her first century ride!

Celebration libation.

Yes, that's pizza topped with fries. I deserved it.

I can't even

Recently I wore the nightshirt my favorite aunt gave me for Christmas.

Of course I cropped my face out of this photo. Duh.

It says: "How to Sleep with a Cat." And illustrates all of the different poses.

And then I realized I will probably never have sex again in my entire life. (Please note the nightshirt is so bad that even the cat didn't want to be photographed with it.)

Also, just for good measure, today I found out I have to get a fake tooth. I went to the dentist and told him the story about the time my face battled a bathroom sink and how one of my front teeth has since become a weather barometer. He looked at X-rays and discovered a crack across my tooth and the start of an infection at the root. And he said I could get a root canal, but I would probably still end up losing the tooth anyway, so I should just go to an oral surgeon and get the whole damn thing pulled out and put an implant in.

"But other than that, everything looks fine!" he said.

Right. Because people who are "fine" sleep in the world's ugliest nightshirts and have fake teeth.

bike camp

Tonight I called my dad to tell him about my weekend, and he talked to me about his poo for 10 minutes. He told me that you can, indeed, break a plunger. And that he worries about the amount of water he wasted trying to flush the toilet when California is in a drought. And then he asked me if it's OK if he goes to the gym not to work out, but to shower there instead of at home, since he already used his water allocation for the day.

And you wonder why my brain is the way it is.

Anyway, let's talk about my weekend and how awesome my tri team's women-only bike camp was.

I packed sleeveless kits. Because the weather was just that good.

The house we stayed at sat right on the Columbia River.

And we rode around Lake Chelan.

Isn't it hideous?

I have so much love for these ladies.

Best part of triathlon = The friendships.

My friend Amy (who's next to me in the black tank top) said it best at dinner Saturday when she described the group as bright, humble, supportive and girly, but strong, tough-as-nails athletes who work hard for what they want. It's inspiring to be around these women.

It's also inspiring to see a hill and want to go up it instead of around it. And to look back on where I was at this time last year and realize how far I've come since. I rode faster, climbed better and went longer this year. (Apparently, I'm also a Daft Punk song.) True, part of this may have been the 11-28 cassette, but I'm viewing my old 12-25 as a bad relationship -- you think you have to put up with it for so long and tell yourself it will be OK if you can just try harder, but the second you ditch it, you realize there is more to life out there. (I know, right? You're welcome.)

Hooray for gearing!

Hooray for going out way too hard on Day 1!

Hooray for Day 2 and pretending like my hips aren't killing me because I went out too hard!

Hooray for attempting McNeil Canyon on Day 3 despite hips and fear!

Other bike camp highlights:

Recovery Pump boots, Doritos and Coach Mark's potato salad.

There was also a hot tub. And a fire pit. And s'mores. 

But the very, very best part:

Yes, that is a BUCKET OF FRIES. And there is nothing better in the whole entire world than finishing a good ride with good people and ordering $10 worth of salty goodness.

Don't worry. I shared. We're a team, after all.

I need a mental health day

I recently went from this ...

Red is the color of shame. And also a lot of wine.

... to this.

It's been great -- I really don't feel like myself unless I'm training -- but absolutely exhausting. I spent a good portion of my weekend on the bike. On Saturday there were hill repeats (which, by the way, are my least favorite activity ever, except for maybe spending all afternoon barfing in an airport) ...

Pain never looked so pretty.

... followed by a swim. Then yesterday brought a 2.5-hour ride with a transition run.

Don't worry. This wasn't a permanent fashion choice.

As a result, I've had such horrible post-workout brain fog that on Saturday when I finished the ride, I packed my bike, left my Garmin on the roof of my car and drove off. Thankfully, I realized what I had done and went back, and by some miracle, a random cyclist found my watch on the side of the road ("The sun was shining right on it!" he said) and gave it back to me.

And since I'm apparently too dumb to learn from my mistakes (insert dating joke here), after yesterday's workout, I went to the tri store to buy Skratch and a new cassette (went from 12-25 to 11-28 because have I mentioned how much I hate hills and dear god, please bring on the cheater gear), got work done on my bike, packed it in the car and drove off. Two hours later, the woman from the tri store called to tell me I had left the Skratch and my old cassette in the parking lot. 

Dear lord.