There's a monkey in the parking lot

I got tired of not winning. Two tris into it and I’m already impatient with my lack of progress. John Eberle, who seems to understand the sadistic “seek & destroy” aspect of my character, clued me in on a little triathlon July 31st in the hamlet of Denton, Texas. The deal was sealed when I saw the bike length: 16 miles versus the usual 12. Sold!

So, I forewent rounds of lemon drops and tabletop dancing (an activity, not a drink) on my birthday and went to bed early. Driving to Denton (aka Oklahoma) was quite the undertaking when a race starts at 6:45 a.m.

Arriving in the dark and trying to find the start grid is always fun. Managed to set myself up between a few guys but give myself demerits for not remembering the landmarks by my start row. That’s a little trick. You are sometimes so blasted by the swim that you forget where your bike is. I was not blasted by the swim, but we’ll get to that in a minute.

The swim was in an Olympic-length pool (another bonus!) and I was delighted to be able to see the bottom and not have to inhale duck poop as in my other two tris. We went off in 5-second intervals and my gross (haha) number was 144…so I was middle-of-pack with my predicted swim time in a field of 300-odd racers.

I jumped in the water and took it chill chill chill. Now that I look back on it, I figure that the 30 seconds I would have gained by going balls-out would be negated by shaky arms at the transition which aren’t really worth it. So, I just took my time and if I had a birdseye camera on myself I’d like to think I looked graceful. I passed a few boys, which was a prelude of things to come since I didn’t let a soul pass me for the rest of the race. Seek & Destroy Mandy was on the loose. The monkey on my back was holding on for dear life and darned if I was going to let him come home with me.

Jamming into the transition, I got to my bike and shoved my feet into my shoes and hopped to the chip mat. I mounted my steed rather ungracefully given my shoddy 105 pedals (how is it that I was on a pro team with gucci equipment yet craptastic pedals?). Must work on that because you never know when someone might put it up on YouTube! I am normally a cyclocross remount queen, but with shorts wet from the swim I’m never sure how that will come out, so best to just be safe and sane on the remount.

For some reason a cute blonde girl on a Kuota didn’t get the memo about me not letting anyone pass and passed me briefly during mile 1. I gave her half a wheel length for about ¼ of a second, then passed her right back and left her for dead.

Like I said…Seek & Destroy Mandy. She is not nice.

I did as Jonny advised and went stupid slow during the first 6 miles. Just got my rhythm and pedaled smoothly. I noted the places where I’d go extra-hard on the return trip, since it was an out-and-back. It is funny how much you learn from bike racing that you can apply in triathlon. I think that’s half the battle and probably something not every girl knows, which gives me an advantage.

To top it off, my rear Zipp disc sounds like the Grim Reaper, which is something I enjoy when in Seek & Destroy mode.

The way back was tougher than I remembered, but at least the road surface was nice. It was chipseal for cars but smooth on the shoulder. I continued to pass people and tried to hammer up the hills and over the top. The “over the top” mindset is another trick from bike racing, and I think people would be so much faster if they would just try that sometimes.

For the last mile I was behind this annoying dude who wouldn’t let me pass him and I couldn’t really ride next to him for fear of drafting penalty (see post from April). So I was all surge-y and we came into the finish together, with me annoyed at his insistence on riding in the middle of a narrow road and being generally in the way.

I hopped into the transition and forgot where my rack was (hence the need for a landmark). I slipped into my shoes (no socks) and did that little speed lace thing. Man, those saved me some time!

I took off on the run and felt like I was churning through molasses. So damn slow! AnnoyingMan was ahead of me and I tried to hold his pace but wasn’t able to after the first mile.

The run was interesting. Through a golf course with lots of twists and turns. The water stations were plentiful and I took the opportunity to douse myself with water down the back.

About mile 2.5 I tried to put it into overdrive. I don’t race/train with any data or a watch, so it’s all by feel. I would like a Garmin (hello, Santa, you out there?) but since I’m the cheapest mofo inDallas, I will wait until someone feels sorry for me and gives me one. Until then, it’s all about listening to my body.

Since I wasn’t sure of my pace, I just tried to keep it uncomfortable. I tried to pass everybody I saw and take every corner on the inside and shave every possible inch of course I could without straying out of bounds. I sprinted into the finish and got an encouraging yell from homeboy Eberle.

We enjoyed some pancakes and sat in the grass. It was a great scene, with a local band and lots of fit, healthy, happy, and attractive people milling about. Dallas Athletes Racing really knows how to put on a great event. Cheered for co-worker Heather when she crossed the line, and talked to a few people here and there. Cool vibe overall!

I am not a fan of how I look in my Zoot shorts, so I scooted back to transition to change into my GearGrinder pants and Vanderkitten tank top. Like I said before; you never know when someone’s going to capture you for posterity and one must always project le hotness.

We have a term in bike racing (to be spoken in Jens Voigt’s accent): “if it goes well I might make the first page of the results, eh?”

And that I did. 23^rd overall out of 300-some competitors. First of the ~100 women by 2.5ish minutes. The most amazing part was how many men I beat in the run portion. 27^th overall. I was blown away by how fast I managed to run while feeling like I was underwater and pulling a truck full of Doritos with my teeth.

Plaque awarded. Picture taken. Fist bump from Eberle. When we drove out of the parking lot, the monkey that had been on my back was wandering around, looking for someone else to pester. No matter what he says, don’t let him into your house.

Bye bye monkey!

I capped off my birthday weekend with lunch at Ozona (Migas!!!), a nice pedicure with Mary Beth (Mermaid blue toes!) and Pho at Vietnam Restaurant. Even went early-ish to bed. Yes.

I might add that this win was unaided by caffeine. I save that for mornings when UCI points are on the line and then it’s “like my shorts were wired with electricity”, to quote my cute and quirky friend Derek. I still don’t know what he meant.

So, next stop Half-Ironman somewhere. There will probably be caffeine, a training program, and a Garmin involved.

And yes, I am a dork and made a spreadsheet.

RIP Little Zipper

At 2:45 a.m. this morning, my sweet baby girl Zipper went to kitty heaven.
She was such a gift in our life and I can’t begin to express how much we’ll miss her.
She came to us on a hot day in May 2010. Her owner was moving to Hawaii and had no way of taking her over without a 6-month quarantine or some other unsavory sentence.
We volunteered to take her in after just 1 photo of her cute gray face and giant green eyes.
She was named Zoe when she arrived, but I snobbishly thought it too bourgeois a name and changed it to “Zip Zip Zoom!”. I had just spent a weekend in Texas wine country with three girlfriends, and this was a common expression. It just seemed to fit.
For the first 3 days, Zipper hid behind the bed, hissing at everything that moved and expressing great displeasure in her new environs. Our power had been knocked out by a fallen tree branch, and the house was easily 95 degrees at night. Very unpleasant.
Gradually she emerged from hiding and began to get acquainted with Brutus. Our fat little boy didn’t make it easy on the little girl; instantly sniffing her nether regions and provoking much spitting and growling.
Over the months they developed a friendship occasionally punctuated by Zipper walking by him and swatting him for no good reason. They would occasionally wrestle on the floor, with Zipper always winning though half the size of our piggycat.She was never a cuddler but would tolerate being petted and loved on occasionally. She groomed herself obsessively and could always be located by the sounds of her tongue scraping over her fur.
While Brutus was a purring ball of snuggle at nighttime, Zipper would roam about, occasionally visiting the bedroom to hop up on the bed and then hop quickly down. About 6:30 a.m. every morning she would begin “the stare”, which consisted of her perching on whatever part of my body was highest up in the air (usually a shoulder or hip) and stare at me. Just yesterday morning I woke up with her 3 inches from my face, staring. Telepathically reminding me it was breakfast time.At 2:30 a.m. this morning she was viciously attacked by the pack of feral dogs that roam our neighborhood. She died a few minutes later in our arms and the only comfort I take was that we were there when she took her last breath.
Rest In Peace my sweet, sweet little girl.

Luck ain't this lady

I am officially a curse and April is the cruelest month.

Last April, El Gato went to Athens Twilight/Roswell and broke his right collarbone.

This April, I am the last colleague Jeff Klein sees minutes before snapping his right collarbone in 4 places.

And this past weekend:

Athens/Roswell.

Again.

Right arm.

Again.

Fuck you, Georgia.

Tri-ing again

I lopped off (and donated) my luxurious locks last weekend right before I did my 2nd ever triathlon. The haircut was the more gratifying of the two experiences.

Pre

During

Post

The tri was a full-immersion (pun intended) in the sport and the reasons that I waffle between respectable and bad with momentary flashes of brilliance. I did pretty dismally.

I learned the hard way, coach John and I postulate, that "drafting" in triathlon means "being in the same time zone". I deserved the penalty, admittedly, for not reading the race bible. I thought I was done with those things? However the drafting penalty is just a theory because they never tell you why the penalty. I guess that they applaud introspection. I can live with that.

Barring the penalty, I would have been the 10th overall woman. I consider this logic not like the usual bike racing excuse, where people say "if only I had a good wheel in the last turn" or "I ran out of water" or "that jerkface from [insert rival team name here] chopped me" or "I was chasing all day". This was purely beginner's ignorance, and not a lack of skill on my part. Just a lack of reading the race bible. A mistake I assure you I shall never make again though it pains me to dip my toe into the water of geekdom with that pledge.
Of course I made smash on the bike (thank you, Bear Cub, for the siiiiick Zipp disc wheel), and didn't get a lick of benefit from "drafting", if indeed that was the penalty. I remember a time or two being a few bike lengths behind someone who thought they could pass me (wrong answer!), but otherwise felt rather alone. Drafting where I come from is 5 centimeters, not 5 meters. When in Rome...
Lesson learned: check
Regarding my penalty, I don't imagine I could have done anything illegal in the swim except nearly drowning and causing inordinate stress for the guys in the lifeboats. I was so bad I just floated on my back the entire time. I panicked when I jumped in the water and started inhaling underwater and exhaling when I came up. The wetsuit kept me buoyant but I was unused to it and felt even more helpless. I just got into a rhythm of "gasp, backstroke, gasp, exclaim 'holyjebus'/’holycrap’, gasp, backstroke". Notice how there was more gasping and exclaiming than swimming in any direction.
I ended up 14th overall in the women (that includes my time penalty) and had the fastest female bike leg by far, coming in 32nd overall in that. I humiliated a bunch of dudes when they downloaded the results to their little spreadsheets on Monday (and you know 80% of those guys did).
I am not much of a geek but this sport could turn you into one. You have to piece together a good race with so many separate parts. The pursuit of said physiological patchwork is addicting.
In the spirit of that, here is what I need to improve:
1. Shave 20% off my swim. Not a bad aspiration, considering I am starting from panicking and hyperventilating and swimming on my back. Do that and I’d be within striking distance of the top women in the whole field. Mind you, this is the DFW metroplex we're talking about, not all free nations of the world). Remember all the while that my training in a pool does not at all equate to an open-water endeavor. Not even close.
2. A 5k in a triathlon is not a 5k in training (well, in my training, anyway). I’ve been putting in 7:20-7:35 miles on the treadmill and on my self-imposed death marches around Pleasanton. If I’m running next to an athletic man, I put in sub-7:00 miles on account of my ego. Could I have done that in this event? Not a chance, apparently. 8:21, which is like crawling compared to what I’m used to. What if I could shave off even 2 minutes from my total 5k?
3. Transitions kill you. Mine were in the mid-pack, and probably shaving 45 seconds off my total 3:45 of transitions would nudge me from (albeit local) mediocrity.
Put it this way: making those three improvements alone and I would have plunked my size 9.5 feet on the overall podium.
Man, this sport is both easy and hard at the same time. wouldacouldashoulda can fill up some hours!
Maybe I should just switch to Olympic distance so I could no longer flirt with single-digit placings…Then I’d still suck and do so for even longer!

Evidence that all things come to an end:

Post-race was followed by the traditional (all two times a tradition!) nap in the backyard in a Lisa Lozano bikini w/ kitteh. This time Brutus accompanied his Mama.

Happy Mardi Gras

Brutus says: "show me your ta tas"

Wheeee! It's March already...?

Greetings dear readers! Before I begin the barrage of apologies and trite statements that usually follow an admission of absentium; let's skip that.

I have just emerged from a cold snap in Dallas. There are daffodils blooming voluntarily in the backyard. Things are good, so I rewarded myself with a few hundred bucks in leeway this season after living like Scrooge since I graduated from Darden. Precious few dinners out and plenty of bitching at Gato to keep expenses in check, much to his chagrin. Hey, school loans ain't gonna pay themselves off.

In light of my good behavior, I have decided I deserve a break in the form of:

- $57 of Pacifica goodies. Mexican Cocoa, Tibetan Mountain Temple, and Indian Coconut Nectar (a new fragrance I'm trying based solely on Brook's description). Whatever makes me smell like freshly-baked-yet-oddly-mysterious cookies. I have been in love with Brook's company since I bought my first Indian Chai candle in 1995. Vegan and 100% Natural with beautiful packaging. It's my guilty indulgence. Some girls have reality TV. I have Pacifica.

- $7 on my former employer's new tinted lip balm in Honeysuckle. While it's odd without the signature peppermint tingle, it does feel nice. Barely any color so dudes could wear it.

- $5 on Burt's Bees old faithful Cocoa Lip Shimmer (hell, I helped name it!). Can't lose with this subtly steely shade.

- $21 for a dynamite eyebrow waxing. I admit that this is a product of living in Dallas. This city is full of "look-at-me" indulgences. So once in a while my inner prissy princess has her way and lets someone sculpt her brows in a way the proletariat wielding tweezers cannot.

- $42 at Crate & Barrel on a cool glass thing. I ordinarily hate "home decor" stores, instead preferring to create my own style that isn't dictated by a catalog. But one of my colleagues has this on her desk and I just had to have it. It's big and heavy and looks rad on my (okay, Chrissa's) coffee table.

- $7 at Starbucks on Knox. That particular location makes me hate all of suburban humanity with their $30,000 millionaire lifestyles and leased Infinitis and baby joggers. But it's right next to Crate & Barrel and I was cold.

- Is a trip to H&M in the offing?

So, if you had $100 more to spend, what would you do?

Oh, and buying bags of new Frito Lay flavors (did someone say Tapatio Doritos????!!!!????) doesn't count as extravagance. That goes in the "Necessity" column right above car insurance and gas heat.

And lest anyone berate me for not donating all of my allotment to charity; slow your roll. Non-profits get plenty of my after-tax income as well as volunteer time and brainpower. Doesn't make me a saint but doesn't make me suck.

Christmas reading

I plowed through 4+ books over the week I was home for Christmas. Might I add the ranch was mighty lovely during this time?

Hunting Unicorns by Bella Pollen: a lovely British lark. Good fun with intriguing "voice". 3.75 stars out of 5

The Secret Life of Emily Dickinson by Jerome Charyn: told in her imagined voice by the author. Very captivating for fans of her lyricism. 4.5 out of 5 stars for Dickinson-o-philes. 2 out of 5 stars for those not in that club. Make that 1 out of 5; you will want to shoot yourself in the head out of confusion.

Olive Kitteridge by Elizabeth Strout: won a Pulitzer. Quite a feat. A lovely, slowly-flowing tale of life in a coastal New England town. 4.5 out of 5 stars. Be sure not to miss the final pages of the volume!

On Writing: 10th Anniversary Edition: a Memoir of the Craft by Stephen King: tremendous book on the elusive and addicting process (I forgive for the double semicolons in the title). I had much respect for him as a storyteller beforehand. Have even more now and inspired to read more of his work. Fortunately I've already read quite a few so I look forward to marking off the list. 6 out of 5 stars. Absolutely delightful, even if you don't aspire to be the next voice of [insert generation type here], check it out!

Lastly, Culinaria - Spain by Marion Trutter. Okay, so it's a cookbook. But more of an historical jaunt through the homeland from where half my blood hails. Made me hungry in SFO and was sorely disappointed by the contrast on the pages to the airport fare (pun intended?) available.

I also picked up A Peace to End All Peace: The Fall of the Ottoman Empire and the Creation of the Modern Middle East by David Fromkin but was intimidated by the multitudes of maps (don't get me wrong, I LOVE MAPS) that would require great attention to detail. This of course held no interest to my Christmas Vacation Brain. I will try next time, Sarah!

More to come after that pesky ball drops on Dec 31. For now I am analyzing market share reports. Go Frito!!!