Somewhere in Middle America

An Apology

2011-08-15T09:18:00.003-05:00

Dear Neglected Blog,

I am sorry. I am sorry for all the times I swore I would update you and the equivalent number of times that something else just plain got in the way. I've wanted to update you not so much for your sake, but for mine. I've wanted to give you a new, swanky look. I've wanted to post more pictures and share more words. I've so wanted you to become a part of my daily routine. Because I like routine and because many days writing a post may just be the most intellectually stimulating thing I do. But alas, there are clothes to wash (and dry...and fold...and put away), there are groceries to buy and food to prepare. There are bottles to be washed and stories to be read. There is rolling over to be supervised and jumping to be encouraged. And there is cuteness to be observed:
That's a 5 month old Wilson doing his very best impression of Will Smith circa the days of DJ Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince. How can I be expected to write when there's that much adorableness to be absorbed? I need all of my strength just to keep myself from snuggling the bejeesus out of him.

That's no excuse, however, dear blog. You don't ask for much. So I will do my best to pay you a little more attention. But considering the wailing that's coming from upstairs, I'll have to start paying you that attention tomorrow. (Fingers crossed).

Love,
Me

Summer Update

2011-06-25T14:06:00.000-05:00

And we have teeth. Well, we have the beginnings of teeth. Wilson woke up from his nap VERY angry and I happened to catch a glimpse of a tiny little white dot on his bottom gum. I stuck my finger in there and sure enough - not one, but two tiny teeth were breaking through. Poor little fellow. He's been a little fussier than usual for the past week or so, but I didn't really think too much of it. Honestly, I thought he was still a little young for teeth. Shows you what little I know about child development. Maybe I should read some books or something? Regardless, the pieces of the puzzle are starting to come together. The drool, the earlier than normal mornings, the inconsolable sobbing, the early waking from naps...poor buddy was in pain and I had no idea. That's some good maternal instinct right there, no?

He's very quickly outgrowing clothes that he was swimming in just a month or two ago (14.6 lbs at his 4 month appointment!). Right now he's wearing one of my all-time favorites - a blue jumper made of the softest cotton that's embroidered with a few pandas here and there. It is positively adorable. And so small that he may as well be wearing pedal pushers. He was hamming it up for the ladies at Starbucks this morning. He was totally calm and mellow when we walked in and as soon as people started looking at him and talking to him he turned on the charm. Suddenly my sleepy monkey started smiling, laughing and burying his head in my shoulder - only to throw his head back with a HUGE smile and start the process all over again. If this is any indication of the future, we're in serious trouble. The kid likes attention. Although it is possible that they weren't so much swooning over his movie star good looks as they were bestowing pity upon the poor child whose mother's apparent $3 coffee habit left her unable to afford clothes that actually fit. Did I mention that as we were standing in line I felt one of the snaps bust open? I'm pretty sure all he did was wet his diaper. Zero margin for error in the blue panda, as it turns out.

Luckily, in just a few short days I'll be back in Greensboro - the birthplace of the blue panda. I would say that I could just purchase a new one in a bigger size while I'm there, but seeing as I already have the 6-9 month version, that won't be necessary (see Tim, I'm saving money!). That's right, I love it so much that I have two. "How nice," you might be thinking. A quick little flight to see Missy & Co. It would be a quick little flight...if we were actually flying. But we're not. That's right, we're packing up the family truckster and heading to the homeland for the month of July. All 4 of us. Two adults (one ridiculously time-aware and the other with little concept of time), one infant and an 8-ish year old mutt. 12+ hour drive. What could possibly go wrong? Tim will drive out with us and then fly back to the 'Lou because he says he has to work ;). The rest of us will set up camp in Greensboro and take some side trips to Charlotte and Raleigh. The end of the month will be punctuated with a trip to Richmond for a wedding and a drive to Florida for the Froehlich Family Reunion. That's right. We're driving from Richmond to St. George Island, Florida. With an infant who will not have slept in his own room in over 3 weeks. Again I ask, what about that doesn't sound fun?! If anybody is interested in coming with us, I'm pretty sure there will be some room in the middle seat - in between the baby and our super-mound of crap. We're really fun on road trips, I swear.

And in news only somewhat related to my child, it appears that I will once again not be racing any tri's this year. I really am okay with that, knowing that I'm in absolutely no position to be out there again. It's funny to think that this time last year I actually thought I'd be back in the saddle at this point. I had no way of knowing the time demands of an infant. And if someone had tried to tell me, I doubt I would have believed them. The funny thing is that I really can't tell you exactly what it is that takes so much time. He sleeps, he eats, he poops, we play. And in between that good stuff, I do laundry, wash bottles, attach myself to the breast pump a few times, try to walk the dog, put away dishes, go to the grocery store and occasionally try to work in a trip to the bathroom and a shower. I mean, seriously. It ain't rocket science. And yet each day is filled to the brim. I've never been so tired in all my life. Never. A very dear friend of mine had twins a year and a half ago. She already had a two year old when they found out that they were going to be having not one, but TWO more. "Spontaneous twins" is what they call it - no medical intervention, no family history. Just, you know, BOOM - two babies. When she finally told me she said that she'd had to wait to talk about it because she just couldn't stop crying. At the time I didn't get it. And now I do. How parents of multiples do it is a mystery to me. As with everything, I suppose, you just kind of do it, right? I mean, what's the alternative? But still, wow. I have one pretty chill kid and if I remember to put on clean underwear I consider the day a success.

All in all, life is pretty good here at Chez Froehlich. Tim returns tomorrow from a 6-day jaunt in Boston. He's been there all week(end) for work and we have missed him terribly. Luckily for all of us, we'll have PLENTY of time in the car next weekend to get reacquainted. Jabbering wife who hates driving in general, on highways and through mountains in particular. Four and a half month old teething infant. Anxiety-ridden, 70-lb ball of fur. 12-15 hours. Honestly - who doesn't want to come with us?

Where the eff is the yellow brick road?

2011-05-26T21:17:00.006-05:00

It’s no secret that Missouri is not my favorite place on earth. Don’t get me wrong, we have a very nice life here and there is no doubt that we could be in a MUCH worse place, like purgatory or either of the Dakota's. But Missouri ain’t exactly the dream if you know what I mean.

The worst thing about Missouri, aside from its geography, is the weather (which, interestingly, is a result of its geography). Sure, it’s hotter than hell in the winter and colder than, well, somewhere that’s REALLY cold, in the winter. But that I can live with. Or should I say, that I can live THROUGH that. It’s the tornadoes that really get me down. “What’s a little tornadic wind amongst friends?” you ask. It can’t be that bad, right? Yeah, no, it’s pretty bad. High school graduations were canceled. Kids were held at school until the wicked storms rolled through. And yes, the local news broadcast from 9AM – 8 PM. Under normal circumstances I would be extremely pissed that they broadcast over the final episode of Oprah. That woman is an icon, people. ICON. However, I am convinced that those meteorologists/weather people, yeah, they save lives. I’m certain of it. Here’s the problem, though…I don’t know where we live. I know that S. Louis is in Missouri and I know that Missouri is in the middle of the country (Tim always says to just look for the staple in the atlas). And I can identify Missouri if one or more of the surrounding states is identified. Well, that’s kind of a lie. I can identify Missouri if Illinois is identified. Smack a label on Nebraska, though, and it’s not going to do much for me. Regardless, I know that St. Louis sits right on the edge of Missouri and Illinois. And it’s kind of towards the top of the state. I think. But beyond that, I’m pretty much lost. So it’s not helpful for someone like me to watch the news. Because when they say that a tornado has touched down in, say, Ironton, I would first need to question whether Ironton is even in Missouri. I sure as heck don’t know WHERE in Missouri it is. Rolla? No idea. Denton? Same. Pitosi? Nah. So when that awful storm hit Joplin, the first thing I had to do was look at a map to see where it was (south and west, if you’re curious). Needless to say, the bite-sized map of a swath of unnamed COUNTIES identified as being at the greatest risk for “tornado activity” is not helpful to me. Also not helpful? The interwebs wasn’t working. The infant screaming bloody murder was just the icing on the cake.

Two weeks ago I wouldn’t have though twice about the tornado sirens. But after the horror to the south and west (who says you can’t teach an old dog new tricks?!) this past week, it’s just too risky to ignore them anymore. So off to the basement I went. Screaming infant in one hand, iPhone in the other. And then I remembered that Tim told me I should take a blanket. So back up the stairs we went. And then back down. Oh, and Huck REFUSED to come downstairs. I tried to drag him and he put the brakes on to the point that I was afraid I was going to break his little ankles if I tried to pull him any harder. So, to recap: no Oprah, unhelpful weather map, nonworking internet, screaming infant, stubborn mutt, tornado sirens, unfinished basement, forgotten blanket and an eerie silence outside. Did I mention the shrieking child?! I figured, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. So I decided to cry too. I was terrified AND I was appalled that I’d made the decision to just leave Huck on the top floor of the house. It didn’t take long before my brain went to work conjuring up images of the roof coming off the house and Huck being sucked up into the vortex and swirled around only to be deposited 10 miles away with nothing but the fur on his back. “I didn’t even care enough to put his collar on,” I thought. "He’s going to end up East St. Louis and no one is going to know his name. How will we ever find him? How sad will he be walking around the mean streets with not even a collar to his name. Do they even have dehydrated sweet potatoes in East St. Louis? And surely he won’t be drinking water out of an elevated bowl. HANG ON TIGHT, LITTLE BUDDY. HANG ON TIGHT!" The good news is that his sphincter was likely clinched so tight that he’d suctioned himself to the hardwood floor. That dog does NOT like storms. So there we stood. Me and the baby who eventually screamed himself into the infant equivalent of a drunken haze. Not asleep, but also not actively participating in this world either. Once I could no longer hear the sirens I returned to the kitchen, angry for having missed Oprah, but thankful to be alive. There were some funnel clouds spotted very, very close to our house, but nothing that turned into anything too substantial. Luckily, the news was on long enough for me to figure out that they were not saying that funnel clouds were observed by trainspotters, but rather by “trained spotters.” Imagine my relief! I also got to hear a guy describing the extent of the damage by relating that, “It took out a whole hog building over there.” No, I did not make that up.

Perhaps the best news of the day, though, is that they are going to rebroadcast Oprah THIS afternoon so I’ll get to see her say farewell. Or farewell for now. I mean really, it’s not like she’s going into witness protection. She’s switching channels. And while we’re on the subject, let me just say that I’m pretty excited about the OWN. They have a series about women in prison AND, apparently, a new series about food addictions. I’m going to have to choose carefully, though, for the DVR can only hold so much.

And the baby, oh that sweet, sweet baby. He’s doing very well. I’m getting ready to make his 4-month appointment. Hard to believe! He’s still as cute as can be and his smile is second to absolutely nothing. He’s rolled over a couple of times, although the first time he did it came as quite a surprise to both of us! And the second time he did so I’m pretty sure he did it purely out of spite. He was so angry about being on his belly and he just got fed up and threw himself onto his back. It felt a little like the infant equivalent of shooting us the bird. But we cheered anyway! He’s also VERY chatty these days. I’m pretty sure he gets that from his father. If you need your daily dose of cute, I invite you to view this:

Or if that’s not your cup of tea, perhaps you’ll enjoy this:

Il Bambino

2011-04-05T17:14:00.002-05:00

Dear Wilson,

Today you are 8 weeks old. On one hand, it seems like you just got here. And on the other, it seems like you’ve always been a part of our lives.

The fact that you came into the world is great. The way you chose to enter – not so much. I suppose I should take your reluctance to come out to meet us as a sign of your strong will and determination. Either that or I should pat myself on the back for creating an environment so hospitable that you just couldn’t bear the thought of leaving. Regardless, the scar on my lower abdomen will serve as a constant reminder of the battle you and I endured together.

You were a superstar from the very beginning. The nurses had to do a second jaundice test because your levels were lower than they’d ever seen and they were quite complementary of your laid back nature. It wasn’t until the morning we were leaving the hospital that they realized that you did, in fact, have lungs. You’d been so quiet for so long!

The first night home was rough for all of us. I apologize to you for not having put enough thought into how the change in environment might affect you. And I also must apologize for crying for 12 straight of your first 24 hours home. I couldn’t believe they’d just sent us home with you. Where was the instruction manual? Where were the nurses who knew just what you needed? I was certain that they’d made a mistake. How was it possible that the girls on Teen Mom could do the whole motherhood thing, but I was failing so completely? Why hadn’t I spent more time thinking about how things would be once you were here? Why couldn’t I figure out what I could do to make you stop crying? And how in the world was something so small capable of making so much noise?! Your lungs, my dear, were working when we left the hospital and have been exercised frequently since.

We’ve been through a lot in the past 8 weeks. You’ve FINALLY started to gain weight – no longer in the 5^th percentile, thank goodness. It may have taken me a while to figure things out, but it seems like we’ve got a fairly good thing going right now. You’re sleeping like a champ – definitely your father’s child. And as for your father, I think it’s safe to say that he’s appropriately smitten with you. Your eyes grow wide when you hear his voice at the end of the day. You definitely know who he is and the “rock star” status that dad’s achieve may have already been attained. I may be your supplier, but your dad is definitely the one you’d chose to accompany you on a deserted island.

You are your parents’ child. You love, love, love to be on the move. The jogging stroller is one of your favorite things, which makes your mother very happy. You also don’t like to be hungry. I feel you there. You go from 0 to 60 in about 3 second flat. But you just as quickly settle back down. The range of your emotions is staggering – and that’s saying something coming from your mother who is known to express some emotions now and again.

You’re so damn cute I can hardly stand it. Your eyes are HUGE and blue. For now. Although you are an exact replica of what your father will look like at age 80, I’m hanging my hopes on those blue eyes. They are the only things of mine that I can see in your little face. As expected, you’ve got a significantly sized melon. You also have a surprisingly small bum. You’ve begun to regrow the hair on the front of your head and you have a little alfalfa in the back that cracks me up. We’ve all agreed that you have more hair than your dad.

You’ve started “social” smiling, which is no joke. When you break into a smile that I know has nothing to do with gas I realize that there is nothing in the world I wouldn’t give you. Beg, borrow or steal. It’s yours.

Your big furry brother is still quite protective, often strategically placing himself in between you and the front door. However, during the times that your crying reaches manic levels, he’s out. Up the stairs, down the stairs…wherever he has to go to get away from the ear-piercing screams. Yes, you can be that loud. But even in those moments, when all I want to do is scream right along with you, staring at your crazy little gums thrills me. Must you ever grow teeth? Those gums are seriously something special.

When I look at you, all I want is for the world to be kind to you. The idea that someday someone is going to say something that’s going to hurt your feelings weighs heavily on me. I know that we want you to experience the world. But there’s a part of me that just wants to keep you locked in the house forever. You’re teaching me so much about time management and my significant lack of skills in that department. Who knew it could take me 3 days to actually wash, dry and fold the laundry? And while we’re on that topic, how can something so small generate so much laundry? Between the spit-up, the peeing up your side (seriously, how do you do that?!) and the diaper blow-outs, I’d say we average 3-4 outfits a day. Impressive, my son. Impressive.

May you always know how loved you are. And may your father be the one that gets the pleasure of experiencing the next round of vaccines with you. Yowza.

Week 39...and Nothing

2011-01-31T11:39:00.004-06:00

Still here. Still very pregnant. And finally just plain uncomfortable. I knew it would happen sooner or later. Thankfully, it happened later. Much later. I think I can handle the back ache, the searing pelvic pain coupled with the dull pelvic pain, and the ridiculously smushed bladder for +/- 1 more week. My appointment today was fairly uneventful. Actually, it was completely uneventful which was part of the problem. No "progress" made whatsoever.
Last week, my cervix was described as "uncooperative" and my measurements were a tad off. I went in for an ultrasound on Friday just to make sure everything was alright. It was worth driving way out west to see my girl, Mary, the ultrasound tech. She's a funny woman and she likes me. So she tells me that my baby is cute. And I must admit, at 39 weeks - he is pretty cute. He looks like a real little human being, rather than the alien that I feared had invaded my abdomen around week 20. He is awesome. And I am officially ready to meet him. It's an amazing thing, really. Because just about this time last week I was scrambling to get a slew of things finished, pulling crazy hours in the office in an attempt to get things *done* and feeling like I needed at least another month to really prepare myself. I can't say that too much has changed since then. There are still stacks of things on my desk that really do need to be finished. Yes, I'm a little closer to turning in a ridiculous application for tax credits to the state, but even that isn't off my plate entirely. The baby's room is painted, which is wasn't last week, and the crib has a mattress. But really, nothing substantial has changed. Except my attitude. It's time. We're as ready for this as we're ever going to be. Neither of us as any idea what's in store, but we're ready to face it. We've waited 10 months to meet this guy. On with it!!
..But not too quickly. You see here in the Midwest we're expecting a bit of a storm. Perhaps you've heard. There are pictures of bare bread shelves at the grocery stores. The *Winter Weather Coverage* has already started on the news. Schools are letting out early. Apparently it's Armageddon. They're calling for a half an inch to an inch of ice topped off with up to a foot of snow. All of this probably means that this baby will come in the next two days. We'll be sure to keep you posted.

Things Overheard

2011-01-19T09:48:00.003-06:00

Last Saturday morning Tim and I went to masters. Saturday used to be my long run day. And one day it will be again. But for now I settle for an hour in the pool doing a super-fun *team-building* workout. On our way to breakfast he mentioned ever so casually that the post-workout conversation in the men's locker room had devolved into some "dirty old man" speak about the 17 year-old Italian girl who had joined the Old Guy lane that morning. The Old Guy lane consists of a group of men (and the occasional woman), ages range typically from late 40's to mid 50's, who are concerned with nothing but yardage during practice. I haven't quite figured out why they come to a structured workout since they really just do their own thing (swim continuously) for the entire practice. But I suppose it probably has something to do with a 5:15 start time, work obligations, etc. Regardless, apparently a hot little 17-year old vixen joined them last Saturday morning. The Old Guys seemed to enjoy her presence. A lot.
I didn't think much of it until I walked into the women's locker room after practice this morning and was greeted by the following statement, "...and they donated his eyes to research..." WHOA. It's 6:30 AM. 6:30. Yes, I've been up for a solid 2 hours, but I firmly believe that any organ donation discussion should take place only after the sun has come up (or, if you live in St. Louis in the winter, only after you assume that the sun has come up but are unable to verify that it has due to the heavy cloud cover and freezing cold temperatures). The conversation continued along the lines of what beautiful eyes he had, etc. I recognized the voices involved in the conversation as two older women who are in the locker room at the same time. Every. Single. Day. They definitely look old enough to be retired, but the conversations I overhear lead me to believe that neither of them is. Cute older women who wear holiday sweaters. One for every holiday. It seems pretty obvious that they know each other only because of years of finding themselves in the locker room at the same time. Every. Single. Day. They talk about intimate things, like husbands and kids, but the conversations themselves remain fairly superficial. Sometimes they talk about baseball, which for whatever reason absolutely cracks me up. Sometimes they talk about hair brushes. And apparently sometimes they talk about donating the organs of the dead. All in all that seems about right. Men talk about women in the locker room. Women talk about dead people.

In news not related to organ donation, I had my weekly visit with my trusty OB/GYN yesterday. And the big development is...NOTHING. Nada. No movement, no change. "The head is pretty far down" which means pretty much nothing. He was quick to point out that just because there doesn't appear to be anything happening, that doesn't mean that the baby couldn't come tonight. That's a nice thing to say, doc. But according to my sister it seems that having a "mean cervix" may be a Plumb family trait. Awesome. The irony is that I'm really not yet ready for this baby to come. I CANNOT wait to meet him, but I also have so much to do at work that I can't yet wrap my head around the idea of being gone for 2-3 months. I'm fine with him taking his sweet time, really I am. But at the same time the fact that there's been zero progress is frustrating. Yes, I know he will "come when he's ready." But dammit I want to control SOMETHING. ;) This is the time when all of your mothers out there remind me that control is merely an illusion and tell me that I'd better get used to the idea of constantly shifting schedules, plans and surprises.

In an attempt to make myself feel better about (insert issue here: my gargantuan size, my inability to control anything associated with my body anymore, living in the midwest, the fact that the runner for the stairs is on backorder until April, more snow in the forecast this week, lack of wine, caffeine and goat cheese in my diet, you name it), I turned on MTV last night to catch the end of Teen Mom, the follow-up to 16 and Pregnant. And that's all I have to say about that.

Shortly thereafter, my husband referred to me as a turtle that's been flipped on its back. Soon after that, I fell asleep only to awake at least 5 times to go to the bathroom. It wasn't until getting out of bed started to require a 4-point action plan and at least 30 seconds of flailing around to adequately position myself to implement said plan that the middle of the night wake-ups started to get on my nerves. We're getting there. I know we are. I'm just glad to know that once this baby comes life returns to normal, my body pops right back into shape and I get to resume 8 hours of sleep a night. Right? ;)

January in St. Louis

2011-01-14T17:02:00.001-06:00

I’m such a blogging delinquent. I always resolve to do better. And then I don’t. Perhaps I’ll have a little more fodder once this kid makes his debut?

It’s cold. And by cold, I mean COLD. Maybe not by Fargo or Minneapolis standards. But for this girl from the climes of NC, it’s cold. The Midwest cold is bone-chilling. The wind doesn’t mess around here. Weatherman Tim says it has something do with cold air coming off the Rockies and basically just sweeping across the plains because, well, they’re the plains and there’s nothing to buffer the wind. All I know is that while I was walking Huck this morning (in my shin-length down jacket with the furry hood fully engaged) I actually found that I was talking to myself and saying things like “you’ve GOT to be kidding me” and “this is the last winter here. I can’t do it again.” Out loud. Yep. The crazy lady walking down the snowy sidewalk in her furry hood with the ridiculously cute mutt…talking to herself. This baby may just decide to stay put until May. And while that would make me very, very crabby, I can’t say I would blame him.

All is well in our little world. The baby’s (big?) head is apparently where it’s supposed to be so an energetic thumbs up to our unborn son for being agreeable thus far. In typical fashion, we’ve waited until the last minute to do just about everything. We’re having a runner installed on the stairs because 1. It will look nice, 2. The house was built in the 20’s and I’m fairly certain the degree at which the stairs descend is not considered safe by today’s standards. Once Huck starts down them he can’t stop and I’m pretty concerned about what that’s doing to his 8-year old joints, and 3. I fall down them. I am stubborn. I wear socks without shoes and I slip. No harm, no foul with the only person affected is me. But imagining doing so while holding an infant is less than ideal. Couldn’t I just wear shoes, you ask? I suppose. But the runner idea is way more fun.

Perhaps the biggest news of late is that I’ve stopped gaining weight! Can you believe it?! I can’t. I really, really can’t. I was actually convinced that I was going to continue to pack on the lbs after the baby is born. Just continue to pack on a pound a week for the rest of my life. But alas! As of now I’m holding steady a 34 pounds total. That’s right, 34. “Normal” weight gain is 25-35 pounds. And you better believe I’m going to do everything I can to stay under that 35-pound mark. As much as I love being above average in some areas of my life, the weight gain race is one that I’m more than willing to lose.

37 weeks is here. I’m officially “full-term” – or so they say. We are very excited to meet this little fellow, but as much as I’m no fan of pregnancy, I still don’t feel that we’re ready for him to be here. I have a feeling that will change as we creep closer and closer to February 5^th. All I know for now, though, is that he’s not allowed to come before 1 PM tomorrow. I have a critical appointment for a haircut and some highlights.

32 weeks

2010-12-10T17:07:00.004-06:00

Here we are sauntering into 32 weeks. Hard to believe. And yet it feels like it’s been forever since I fit into my “regular” jeans. The idea that a mere 6 months ago I was on a beach in a bikini is laughable. Somewhere along the way I crossed the line that ran ever so delicately between not feeling like myself in this “new” body and not remembering the way I used to feel in my “old” one. One day I stopped being surprised at the size of my new ass and found myself instead wondering how in the world I ever fit into the size 6’s hanging in my closet. And now, rather than even trying to stretch one of my bigger wicking shirts over my rapidly expanding belly, I just head straight to the drawer where Tim keeps his athletic attire. Yes, I officially share clothes with my husband. And I’m secretly worried that the black Nike mock t-neck with the gray vented arms may never return to its original XL shape, as nature and the 11 year olds working in the sweatshop intended. Sorry, Tim! Yes, I have officially surrendered to this body. Because really, what else was there to do?

I’ve crossed the 160-lb mark and I’m strangely proud. Not so much proud of the weight gain, but proud of the fact that I still haul my gargantuan body out of bed in the mornings and go about my usual routine – even if it’s a more modified usual routine. I am now swimming full-time in my BIG big-girl suit. It’s two sizes larger than my normal one and I bought it with December in mind. It’s blue with snowmen on it. And it’s freaking adorable. Even the snowmen unfortunate enough to be stretched across my ever expanding mid-section are adorable. And that’s saying something. Never you mind that I grunt as I try to hoist it up to my shoulders. Every. Single. Time. Here is a picture of the suit, modeled by a woman of normal size and weight. Notice how the snowmen around her belly aren’t being strangled by their scarves. Mine are not so lucky:

Seriously, how does that not make you smile?

It’s getting cold here in the great Midwest which means I’ve been spending less time in the great outdoors. I still try to wog (that’s when you’re 7 ½ months pregnant and you walk the uphills and most of the flats and “jog” the downhills) a couple of times a week. And yes, “jog” is in quotes for a reason. I cannot imagine what it looks like from a third party view. But I still feel pretty good and as long as I feel pretty good, I plan to keep doing what I can.

I’ve been pleasantly surprised at the lack of aches and pains that I’d expected to experience at this stage in the game. I get a fair amount of hip pain in the middle of the night which isn’t unexpected. And I have a hard time putting on socks, tying my shoes, climbing stairs and getting up off the couch. But otherwise I really have been quite lucky. Now that I’ve said that I give myself two days before my feet and hands are swollen, varicose veins line my legs and the sciatica takes hold.

In other, non-baby-related news, I have recently come to the realization that I have assimilated. As much as it pains me to admit it, I do actually reside in the Midwest. St. Louis to be exact. I’ve fought it for a year and a half, but it doesn’t look like that’s doing me any good. It is upon knowing/noticing/purchasing the following things that I unknowingly raised the white flag:

· I am actually comforted by temperatures in the 20’s and find that I’m grateful for wind chills that keep us above the single digits. GRATEFUL!

· I now know that when people refer to “The Cape” they are talking about Cape Girardeau, not Cape Cod. Among the more interesting things about Cape Girardeau: it is known to some as the “City of Roses” because of a stretch of highway that used to be lined with rose bushes. Of course, these rose bushes no longer exist; apparently the “cape” after which the city was named also no longer exists; it is the birthplace of Rush Limbaugh. So, it’s kind of like Cape Cod. Only it’s not an island, it overlooks perhaps the most polluted body of water in the US, rather than one of the most beautiful, and it considers its association with Rush Limbaugh to be a selling point.

· We are actually considering a Colorado vacation because it’s within reasonable driving distance.

· I assume everyone I meet is Catholic until/unless they provide me with information to the contrary.

· I own one of those big down coats with a furry hood. Not only am I not ashamed of it, I frequently refer to it as “the best purchase I ever made (excluding Huck).”

For what it’s worth, though, I still refer to it as “Panera”, not the “St. Louis Bread Company” AND I still drive on I- 64 – NOT Hwy 40. For these two reasons I believe there is still hope!

Asking too much?

2010-11-18T09:40:00.001-06:00

Asking for help isn’t easy for me. Never really has been. Frankly, I don’t know that it’s really all that easy for anyone. Who wants to admit that they can’t do it by themselves? Who really enjoys the idea that they may not be strong enough, smart enough, experienced enough, etc. to handle things that come? But this morning I asked for help. And in return I got a slap in the face.

I will save my rant about the airline industry as a whole for another time. At some point someone will explain to me how it could possibly make sense that taking two flights is less expensive than taking one. Why on earth is it more expensive for me to fly THROUGH Charlotte to get to Greensboro than it is for me to just fly to Charlotte? On the same flight? Ok, now’s not the time for that.

I checked in to my flight yesterday morning. I’m only going to NC for a few days so I knew I didn’t need to check any bags. And it wasn’t until Tim mentioned on the way to the airport that I shouldn’t/”can’t” lift my suitcase into the overhead bin that it even hit me to think that would be a potential problem. Could I have checked my bag at the airport? Yes. But I didn’t for three reasons. 1. US Airways once “lost” my luggage and it was never recovered. Simple flight from RDU to LGA. Luggage disappeared. Never to be seen again. Therefore, I do not trust them. 2. I didn’t want to pay $25 to do so when it wasn’t entirely necessary. 3. I’d already painstakingly transferred all liquids into tiny TSA-friendly bottles and I really, really didn’t want all that work to have been performed in vain. It’s all a matter of principle. That and I’m as stubborn as a mule.

I should note that I’m not what one would consider the strictest of pregnancy rule-followers. Some things I strictly adhere to – like “no smoking crack” and “always wear your seat belt.” Others, I think, are open to levels of interpretation. Quite frankly, I trust my body to tell me when enough is enough, more so than I trust a guy in a white coat who’s seen me maybe 12 times in my life for a grand total of 3 hours. I know right from wrong. And I know my body. But what I also know is that there are some risks that it just doesn’t make sense to take. I’m 7 months into this thing. We’ve moved out of the miscarriage danger zone and into the pre-term delivery danger zone. For the same reason that I will not go jump on a trampoline or run a marathon, I will not lift my suitcase above my head. 3-4 feet off the ground? Sure. But why risk it when I’m getting on a plane with hundreds of people? Surely, someone will be happy to help me. After all, people are kind and good. Turns out that only MOST people are kind and good.

So I get on the plane fairly early (a benefit to paying the extra $10 for the aisle seat – Zone seating! Rock on!). The only other people on the plane are the folks in first class, the people with babies and the flight attendants. No hulking 18 year old kid waiting to throw my bag into the overhead compartment. Humph. So I look to the flight attendant standing right next to me and I quietly and kindly explain that I’m pregnant (as if that’s not completely obvious!) and that I really shouldn’t lift my bag and would she please be willing to help me. DISCLAIMER: I know this is not part of her job. She is not paid to be my personal assistant/Sherpa. Instead, she is paid to show me where the emergency exits are and to charge me $6 for a 2 oz bag of trail mix. That said I assumed she’s be willing to help another woman – the sisterhood being what it is and all. How wrong I was! Instead of either replying that 1. She’s not allowed to help with that kind of thing or 2. That she would be more than happy to help or find someone to help me, she scowled and said (and this is word for word), “If you knew you couldn’t lift it then why didn’t you check it?” Silence. While waiting for her to crack a smile to show me that she really just has a sick sense of humor, I realized that she was completely serious. So I did what any rational (read: totally hormonal) pregnant woman would do, I said, “Never mind, I’ll figure it out.” And I started to walk away. At which point she grabbed my arm and said that no, she would in fact help me. And of course at that point the last thing in the world I wanted was for her to do me ANY favors. I again discouraged her from following me back, but she would have nothing to do with it. In the end, did she help me? Yes. And I thanked her very sincerely. And she then spent the remainder of the flight kissing my ass. “Can I take that cup from you?” “When is your baby due?” “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?” “What will his name be?” She even opened the door to the lavatory for me when I got up to go to the bathroom. So I’m assuming the guilt hit her pretty hard. And I’m not going to lie – I’m glad it did. What happened to people helping people just for the sake of doing so? Maybe she thought I was spoiled. Or perhaps she thought I was lying (“No, I’m not really pregnant. I’m just smuggling a basketball onto the plane.”) Or maybe she’s just really not a nice person. I don’t know. And at the end of the day it really doesn’t matter to me why she reacted as she did.

But what does matter is that I asked for help, simple help at that, and while it was ultimately given, it was given begrudgingly. And that’s not okay with me. One thing I know for sure is that we will raise this child to be kind and loving. We will raise him to seek out ways to help people rather than turning his nose up at them when it is requested. I know he won’t be an angel. I neither expect him to be a prince, nor do I want him to be. But what I do want is to raise a child who feels it is his obligation to give help when it is needed and to offer help even when it’s not. I want to raise a child who understands that the happiness of those around him is just as important as his own, a child who believes in the ideals of love, stewardship and kindness.

In the meantime, I’ll just get over it. At some point. Hopefully today. But maybe tomorrow.

Baby: 946, Sarah: 1

2010-10-15T16:15:00.003-05:00

I don't like to brag. Really, I don't. Quite frankly I rarely feel as though I've accomplished anything worth bragging about. In order to be brag-worthy, I think someone must do something that few other people are willing and/or able to do. As you've noticed, however, MANY things are blog-worthy. The bar isn't set nearly as high. What I have to share, however, is both blog AND brag-worthy. So...here it goes: I broke the modified push-up record at my gym. ME! Pregnant, 150+lb ME! Now, I know what some of you are thinking: "modified" push-ups = "girl" push-ups, which basically take no effort whatsoever. Yeah, that's what I thought too. I've always been proud of the fact that I was strong enough to do the real deal push-ups during the President's Physical Fitness tests in middle and high school. Most of the time I dropped all the girls and managed to keep up with just about all of the reasonably fit guys. This is one of the few parts of adolescence that I actually enjoyed. So when the trainers at the gym challenged me to break the "modified" push-up record, I was initially offended. What makes you so sure that I need to do girly push-ups, punks?! But then I looked down at my belly and figured I had a reasonable excuse to take the "easy road." Here's the thing about modified push-ups, though - and they don't tell you this in 6th grad gym class - you have to look forward and touch your chin to the ground in order for them to count. Turns out they're not so easy after all. So, after plenty of solid encouragement from the trainers in the room and because I'm stubborn as a mule and competitive well beyond what is reasonably healthy, I broke the record. By 2. But still, it fell. Take that, Annemarie. Or whatever your name was. I have a tiny human in my belly an I STILL managed to smoke you.

Humpty Dumpty

2010-10-07T17:09:00.004-05:00

I’m taking a big risk here. After all, my mother reads this. But in the interest of full disclosure…I took a bit of a tumble this morning. Let’s just get the ugly stuff out of the way first – I was “running.” Keep I mind that “running” right now doesn’t mean what you all probably think it means. I probably looked more like one of those fitness walkers at the mall (not that there’s anything wrong with that) than someone who completed an Ironman a mere 11 months ago. But, hey, it’s what I can do. SO, I just so happened to be running with Tim – an anomaly these days because a) I’m really slow and it’s probably more painful for him to try to run at my pace than it would be to do 15 hill repeats and b) I’m an early-morning gal. And he’s more of an evening guy. But this morning we rolled out of bed (one of us a little more begrudgingly than the other) at 5:30 and headed out for a short run. I should know better than to get cocky. Pregnant or not, I’m clumsy. Everything was going well…until the last quarter mile where I clipped my foot on uneven pavement and bit it. I’m all too used to the feeling of flying through mid-air. But this time around there was a conscious thought to protect my frontside. I vaulted myself across Tim’s path and caught the pavement with my left shin/knee. Tim’s going to be such a good parent. His immediate reaction was, “You’re okay. Time to get up.” I’m pretty sure he was trying to avoid the tears that he was certain would erupt if I stayed on the ground even one second too long. Who can blame him? I cry a lot these days. And I was okay. I knew I hadn’t landed on my abdomen. And even if I had, I know there’s plenty of good protection in there (trust me, I’ve seen the number on the scale!). Anyhoo, my left knee is pretty banged up, as is my shin. Nothing major, though.

This is my wound (the band-aid saves you from having to see the gross part):

And this is my officemate (nothing can keep you from having to see the cuteness):

I went about my morning, but couldn’t get it out of my head. I knew, intuitively, that I was fine. But then again – what the heck do I know? So I called the nurse looking for some validation (I am me, after all). She didn’t sound too concerned, but suggested that I come in just to be on the safe side. So off I went. And of course, everything is fine. He has a “strong” heartbeat. That’s my boy.

But that’s not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about people who take the elevator ONE floor in either direction. PLEASE help me understand. PLEASE. I walk into the hospital lobby, press the button and wait. These particular elevators do not inspire the utmost confidence. They are kinda old, super slow and they make a lot of noise. As I’m waiting for the elevator a woman walked up beside me. Dressed in work attire, wearing a badge. Seemed to know her way around. I’d seen her outside smoking. So my guess is that she’s employed by the hospital in some capacity. She was pretty young. Probably about my age. Didn’t appear to have any podiatric troubles. Was not hooked up to an oxygen tank or walking with a humpback. We get onto the elevator and I press the button for floor 6 – the top floor. I ask her what floor and you know what she says?! 1! We’re on G. She needs to go up ONE floor and she waited for the elevator. In the amount of time we were standing there she could have been up the stairs and well on her way to wherever she was going. But no. So off we went. Creak, pull, creak, stop. Wait. Wait. Doors open ever so slowly. She walks off. There was a (very) small part of me that wanted to trip her on the way out. Wait. Wait. Doors close ever so slowly. Wait. Creak, pull, beep, pull, creak, etc. And did I mention I had to pee? (My need to use the bathroom should be assumed. Always.) Honestly. I need someone to explain this to me. One thing I’ve learned about myself in recent months is that the one quality that I LOATHE is laziness. I mean I have an unreasonable reaction to lazy people. And I’m not talking about “lazy” people who like to enjoy a good weekend afternoon on the couch. Cause who doesn’t enjoy a little laziness from time to time? I’m talking about people who get through life by finding shortcut after shortcut after shortcut. THE STAIRS WERE RIGHT THERE! I’m 5 ½ months pregnant. AND I have an oozing wound on my knee. And if I had to be on the first floor (or even the third!) I would have walked my pregnant, wounded ass up there. And if I weren’t pregnant I would have likely walked the 6 flights of stairs. But considering that would have probably put my heart rate somewhere between “skyrocketing” and “imminent death” I didn’t. And if I wasn’t pregnant I wouldn’t’ have been there anyway. So whatever. Either way, this does not make me awesome. Nor does it make me superwoman. It makes me logical and reasonably committed to my health.

And in other news, I wore Tim’s shorts to the trainer this morning. Laugh, it’s ok. I put on my shorts and they were just a touch snug. Okay, maybe a little more than a touch. Tim said I could wear a pair of his. I laughed/scoffed and made some comment about how they’d be HUGE. In our house, just about everything can be considered a challenge so of course I set off to prove to him just how HUGE they would be. And of course, they weren’t HUGE at all. They were a bit big, but once I rolled the waistband a couple of times and got used to the fact that the legs swallowed my thighs (I’m not used to anything swallowing my thighs, except cellulite), I freely admitted that they were about the most comfortable things I’d worn in 3 months. Official score: Sarah: 0 Baby: 752.

My dinner, my life.

2010-10-05T20:19:00.003-05:00

Who orders $20 worth of Thai delivery because she feels guilty "making" the driver come 2 miles down the road to deliver her dinner and thinks that somehow if the bill is a little higher it makes the trip a little more "worth it" for the driver? Probably the same person who crams the aforementioned Thai food down her throat while watching The Biggest Loser. Tim is at yet another one of his work dinners - the second of three this week and the 3256th of this year and I just couldn't find anything in the house that appealed to me for dinner. I had my heart set on something ethnic and comprised primarily of noodles. Enter: Blue Elephant Thai Cuisine. Yes, it is 2 miles from our house. Actually, that's not true. It's more like 1.2 miles from our house. Let it be known that the only reason I had it delivered is because the restaurant is on the main drag in Clayton and the chances of finding a parking spot in Clayton at dinnertime are about as good as the chances that this baby will come out with small thighs. In other words, not good at all. In the interest of full disclosure I actually tried to work for my dinner tonight. I tried to order take-out from our favorite Vietnamese joint, but the phone line was busy. And then busy again. And again. Not only is the food ridiculously good at the Vietnamese place, but they don't deliver, which meant that I'd have no other choice than to go pick it up which meant that Huck could get out for a ride and I'd at least have to work a little bit for my dinner. But if they can't remember to hang up their phone I can't help them. So instead I ordered delivery from the Blue Elephant and paid about twice as much for food that was about half as good. Seems reasonable, right?

Some years ago it came to light that my sister used to feel sorry for the clothes in her closet that she didn't like. So, rather than wear the clothes she did like, she'd wear the ones she didn't. I suppose she reasoned that her willingness to wear them would ease the pain they must have felt knowing that she actually thought they were ugly. Does this sound odd to you? Not to me. I totally get it. Maybe it's because we've got the same blood flowing through our veins. Or perhaps it was something in the water in the late 70's in NC. Whatever the reason, I totally get it. And while I typically don't feel sorry for inanimate objects I do have my own (endearing) quirks. Like when I was little and I'd say my prayers for people in a specific order. Although I haven't prayed that way in years I could still recite it today. "Dear God, please help everyone get through the night safely tonight: me, mom, dad, Katie, Cassie, Oreo, Gus, etc." And as the cast of animals changed over the years I would change my prayer accordingly. But it was always said in the same order. Every night. I'd start with the immediate family and animals, working clockwise from my room. My parents' room was across the hall and my mom slept on the side of the bed closest to me. Therefore, she came next. Then dad. Then Katie. And the animals went in order of age/time they'd lived with us. Then I'd move to relatives based on proximity to our house. The real kicker was that if I inadvertently screwed up the order, I had to start all over again. Even if I'd gotten to my weird Uncle Chris...who lives in Florida and is only, technically speaking, a "half-uncle." And then of course, the more tired I was the more likely I was to get them out of order. A vicious cycle, to be sure. My fear was that if I didn't say the prayer exactly right every night, something bad would happen to someone I cared about and it would be all my fault. Rational, right?

So I was reading an article the other day about how important the time in the womb is for babies and how researchers now think that so much of what our kids will become is determined based on what things are like for them in the warm and cozy confines of their mothers' bodies. And I'm not talking about babies born to addicts or people who lick lead paint off of walls. I'm talking about things like stress and negativity. And all I can think is that this baby doesn't stand a chance! Poor little fella. Between the stress of my job recently, my concern over whether I am or am not meeting all of the "milestones" of pregnancy set forth in about 100 different publications, and my general level of crazy, we may as well register for a helmet and a 0-6 month straight jacket. Not to mention the now increased level of stress that has resulted from knowing what stress could potentially do to him. Heaven help me. Well, actually, heaven help him. The sweet, innocent, yet-to-be-named child whose room is currently still full of exercise and office equipment. Here's hoping that somehow my crazy is tempered by Tim's even keel. And that he wins the genetic lottery and enters the world with Tim's intellect, my smashing good looks and Huck's ability to dig holes. Or something like that.

Confirmation

2010-09-16T18:58:00.002-05:00

When my sister was pregnant with her first, my brother-in-law used to joke that although everyone knows the gestation period of a human, no one yet knows the gestation period of a Katie. At the time I thought it was one of the funniest things I'd ever heard. And now that I'm in her shoes I think it's even funnier. Being pregnant is kind of like having your body taken over by aliens. At first you don’t look any different, but you feel like hell. You’re the same you, only you’re crabby (ok, crabbier), constantly nauseous (yet oddly starving), and exhausted beyond anything you ever thought imaginable. And then one day the nausea subsides, the exhaustion eases a little, but your ass is twice its normal size, your formerly flat stomach is anything but and your mother informs you that you ain’t seen nothin’ yet. And I quote, “You’re going to get bigger than you ever thought imaginable”.

Then one day you head to the doctor for an ultrasound and it is confirmed that the thing in your stomach is, in fact, human, and in our case, male. We’re having a boy! Bring on the Pee-Pee Teepee’s! Technology is amazing. Although I’d been through two ultrasounds before, this time we really got a good look at our kid. They now offer 3-D? 4-D? 12-D? imaging so you can make out your kid’s facial features. It’s equal parts cool and creepy. But amazing nonetheless.

I’m not quite sure what you do with boys, but I suppose I’m not quite sure what you do with babies period so it’s going to be learning process regardless. I assume there will be trucks and trains involved at some point. And lots of dirt. Oh, and according to Jen, plenty of farting and scratching. He’ll probably love motorcycles (which, by the way, he will not be allowed to ride) and want to play football (which, if they keep up these Dateline Specials focused on concussions and long-term brain injury, he will also not be allowed to play). Or maybe he’ll love theater and chess (which would also be unfortunate considering that I know neither how to sew nor play chess). It’s pretty neat imagining who he will be. And I’m grateful that we can now start referring to “him” rather than “it.”

In other news, I got my rear end handed to me at Master’s on Monday morning. I should have been prepared for it. After all, it was Monday, distance day, and I am 5 months pregnant. The lane I once led is the lane in which I am now the caboose. It’s not all bad. In fact, it’s nice not to have to worry about the intervals or the set counts. However, regardless of what mother nature may have to say about it, I am not moving down a lane. Even if it means I’m Shamu-ing through practice outfitted with fins, paddles and a freakin’ wetsuit. I will not be defeated by the pool!

Finally, I’ve decided to meet this pregnancy beast halfway. After all the griping and complaining I’ve been doing about feeling fat, bloated, etc., I witnessed a man this morning moving down a heavily traveled city street on his tri-bike at 5:45 a.m. with nary a light on him and suddenly I felt better about myself. I may be fat, but at least I’m not stupid. Eventually, the fat will go away. But the stupid? Yeah, the stupid is forever.

Who ever said words can't hurt you?

2010-09-03T09:02:00.006-05:00

It's unfortunate that the last day of masters practice in the 50M outdoor pool of fabulousness had to coincide with the coolest morning of the season. Picture me at 5:30 AM, shivering on the pool deck in my just about too-small, but really adorable pink sheep bathing suit. I'm donning my goggles when I am approached by the coach (who, I should mention, is in ridiculous "I recently completed my college swimming career and am now in the Air Force" shape): "Wow, you're getting SO big! I mean, I haven't seen you in awhile, but wow!" And then there was this little gem (said in reaction to a conversation we were having about how ENORMOUS my a** is getting) "Well, at least you're not gaining it in your boobs." Yeah, because that would be horrible. It's way more fun to watch my rear end balloon to twice its normal size.

Come on people. I'm trying here. Really I am. Although my workout routine is less intense than it was 5 months ago and I'm not doing the distances I had been, I'm still following the same schedule. PLUS I work out with a personal trainer for two hours a week in an attempt to retain as much strength as possible. Do I eat a lot? Yes. But I've always been a big eater. Do I eat a lot of junk? Not really. I have moved to eating eggs 3-4 mornings a week rather than my usual Kashi and yogurt. I just can't stomach yogurt right now. And I am more inclined to order a sandwich than a salad for lunch. But then again, it's not like I'm digging into a bucket of KFC every day. My snacks typically consist of a piece of fruit. And if I'm really hungry, a low-fat string cheese stick. And it just doesn't seem to me that my weekly veggie sub from Jimmy John's should be adding THAT MUCH cellulite to my a**. Yet here we are. I'm at 18 weeks and am well past the "normal" weight gain for a woman at 20 weeks.

So I react as any pregnant or non-pregnant Sarah would - I melt down. I found myself crying on the floor of the kitchen last night and then moved my sob fest into the downstairs bathroom so as to not further annoy my husband who seriously must be close to moving me out into a tent in the backyard. I can't say that I would blame him. But, am I really being all that unreasonable? He is a rock. And this will affect him tremendously in about 22 weeks. But in the meantime it's on me. The weight gain, the dietary restrictions, the horrible bloating, the gas, the acne, the inability to get a good night's sleep, the athletic restrictions, the nearly complete lack of clothes that fit comfortably, the caffeine withdrawal, the headaches and the inability to take anything to get relief therefrom. Not to mention the hormonal instability and the constant worry that I'm going to somehow harm this baby through no fault of my own. A couple of nights ago I woke up in the middle of the night...on my back (the horror!)...and proceeded to have an almost full blown panic attack. Was that rational? Well, no. I know that my body will self-correct. I know that if somehow the blood has stopped flowing, I will wake myself up and make the necessary adjustments. But I felt like I'd already somehow failed this being that's totally and completely dependent on me, already, to keep it nourished and safe.

And then there's concern about the weight gain. In fairness I should really just stop reading anything that has to do with pregnancy, weight gain, and the potential effects on your child. Scientific evidence supports the idea that too much weight gain during pregnancy can put your child at risk for childhood obesity and diabetes - among other things. What they don't tell you is how much weight over and above the "normal" gain range increases the likelihood that your kid will be chunky and/or sick. Is there a possibility that the weight gain will slow down in the last half of the pregnancy? I suppose so. Is it likely? Nah. So here I sit, feeling sorry for myself in my stretchy pants (thank you, 75 degree day!) and wondering when, if ever, I'll feel like myself again. I know things will change drastically come February. I expect that. People talk about that. But I feel like there's not nearly enough discussion about this phase. Is there something wrong with me because I can't yet see the true joy in the weight gain, the bloating, the constant need to urinate, and the teenage acne? Don't get me wrong. We are extremely fortunate and I really am excited about whoever this little being is going to become. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't prefer that someone else take over this responsibility and all its glories for the next 5 months. There are women who "loved being pregnant." I wouldn't believe it if I didn't know some of them myself. Unfortunately I just can't bring myself to ask them "why?," "how?," "what am I missing?," for fear that any one of them would petition to have my child taken away from me.

My sweet sister-in-law mentioned to me that she "felt like Wonder Woman" during her second trimester. Maybe that explains how women get through this. Perhaps I'm the only person in the history of the world that is not so much enjoying this experience. Or maybe, just maybe, my cape got lost in the mail. Anyone have an extra they can spare?

New Adventures

2010-08-01T15:47:00.005-05:00

It's tough to know where to begin, having realized that my last blog post was in early February. To say that a lot has happened since then would be a bit of an understatement.

When I started this blog we were new to St. Louis and I was training for an Ironman. Life was a little unsettled and I was training for training for one of the longest days of my life. As I write this post, we've been in St. Louis for a year and a half. We are happy and settled and I'm currently preparing for yet another really long day(s)/years/lifetime. That's right, we're 6 months out from Ironparents St. Louis. We're having a baby. As I write this I'm sitting in the Charlotte airport after a fabulous, fabulous weekend with my family. And I just received a message from the amazing Annie, with whom I finished IMFL hand in hand, stating that it looks like we're going to be finishing another race together. She's due 10 days before me. I have to say, I think I would have much preferred that she beat me by 10 hours at IM than be the one that gets to be released from pregnancy 10 days sooner. But that's neither here nor there. :) I'm thrilled for her and I must say, quite comforted to know that she's going through this too.

I've been incredibly fortunate. The first few months weren't easy - the nausea (there may be no greater misnomer than "morning" sickness), the exhaustion, the ridiculously slow running pace - but I had it MUCH better than a lot of other women I know. And while I'm extremely grateful, going through this just isn't easy. My body changes on what seems like a daily basis. I said goodbye to my waist a good month or so ago. And I have a pooch that looks less like there's a baby in there and more like I "just went on spring break for a week or two and ate too many cheeseburgers and drank too much beer" (thank you EF, for that description!). My wardrobe has been divided into pants that definitely don't fit, pants that can be worn unbuttoned with an oversized shirt, and pajamas. Pregnancy is not easy on the ego. But according to Tim, it's very easy on the restaurant bills. He thinks we can outfit this kid's entire room with the money we're saving on wine every month. Add this to the list of things that do not make me feel good.

Although my belly (and other parts of me) continues to expand and I don't feel like myself much these days, it's still kind of surreal for both of us. The bikes still sit on their trainers in what will be the baby's room. And while this doesn't seem like that big of a deal considering we've got 6 months, I've heard horror stories about ordering baby furniture and the subsequent (and inexplicably tardy) delivery thereof. It doesn't feel like we should be thinking about that at this point. And yet if we don't act soon there is a possibility this kid will be sleeping on whichever one of Huck's beds he's rejected on that particular day. Do they call Social Services for that?

So far I've been able to continue to run, albeit really, really slowly. The proverbial "they" really weren't kidding when they talked about increased blood volume and difficulty breathing. The weekend before we found out, I ran 14 miles (7:45 - 8 min pace), rode for 3 and swam 2 1/2 miles. The weekend after, I struggled through a 9 mile run and an hour swim. And the following Saturday I huffed and puffed through a 6 mile run at something like a 9 and a half minute pace. Seriously. And while I'm sure part of it was mental (there's a strange protection mechanism that kicks in), I also know that it really can happen that fast. One day you're yourself. The next day you're pumping enough blood to sustain 2 lives.

I've been working diligently to adjust my expectations. I'm learning to appreciate the fact that I'm still able to swim, bike and run, even if the intensity and duration are not what they used to be. I sucked it up and bought my not-as-favorite, but also far-less-expensive running shoes, knowing that I won't be racing or going any kind of distance for a good long while. I've learned that club soda and cranberry juice in a fancy cocktail glass really can make you feel festive, and that it's okay to miss the way the first sip of wine makes me feel. Coffee, the absence of which which was the thing that most concerned me at the beginning of this adventure, is about the farthest thing from my mind right now. The smell, which used to intoxicate me, now leaves me feeling ill.

Tim has been quite the trooper. I would venture to say that I'm not exactly the life of the party right now, but he is adjusting to my 9:30 (ok, sometimes 9:15) bedtime. And he, without complaining, finishes cooking dinner when I inexplicably can't be in the same room as whatever I'd just an hour before decided sounded good.

So here we go, meandering down a path that billions upon billions of people have walked before. He in his Newtons and I in my sweatpants. Will we be good parents? It's tough to say. All I know is that we're going to do our best. This kid will be loved completely, without hesitation and equivocation. When I said to Tim that I really hoped our kid would be smart, he replied that he just hoped our kid would be happy. Touche, my dear Tim. Touche.

Change

2010-02-02T17:41:00.005-06:00

Has it really been almost a month since I updated the blog? If that is in fact true (and I'm not ready to concede quite yet), these are the reasons why:

1. Meet Mr. Belvedere. Ain't he grand? This little piece of eye candy came to live with us Monday a week ago. Try to ignore the fact that when he finally decided to lay down (after pacing for a solid day), he chose the dirty "there's snow on the ground so wipe your muddy paws when you come in the door" towel. The towel is a bit of an eye sore, but it's pretty tough to detract from that fuzzy mug. There's much more to say about Mr. B than I have time for at the moment (I'm about to take him to the vet for one of the myriad of health issues with which he's dealing), but suffice it to say, our lives are a little better because of this guy.

AND

2.
I got a job! Officially I am the Program and Development Coordinator for Girls on the Run St. Louis. Yep, it's pretty much my dream job. Grant writing, coordinating programs, running...I mean, seriously. I couldn't have crafted a better opportunity. I pretty much jumped right in. Was offered the position on a Thursday, reported to work the following Monday. Traveled (for fun) to Richmond that Thursday, flew to Austin for a conference Sunday night and returned the following Wednesday. We adopted Mr. Belvedere the next Monday. Needless to say, everything else has taken a back seat. Including training. But that's a topic for another day.

All in all, life is good. Huck and Mr. B are doing quite well together. Pretty typical big brother - little brother behavior. Huck is in charge. All toys belong to him. And he doles them out to Mr. B as he chooses. And Mr. Belvedere couldn't possible care less. Games of bite-the-ear and bite-the-neck commence with very little warning. And they both love it. The job is awesome. And I must admit it feels really good to get a paycheck.

More to come!

DON'T LET THE DOOR HIT YOU ON THE WAY OUT, 2009

2010-01-04T08:35:00.006-06:00

2009: The Year In Numbers

80+ : Hours TF and I spent driving to and from various points along the east coast
-9 : Current temperature with windchill
5: Current temperature sans windchill
5: Layers I'm currently sporting on my upper half
2: Houses bought and sold in the calendar year
3: Homes we've lived in in the past year
5: Pairs of running shoes purchased
250+: Gu's consumed by residents of this house
4: Total number of times the 5-year old Subaru has been in the shop in the past year
0: Total number of times the 13-year old Honda has been in the shop in the past year
2000-ish: Miles logged in aforementioned running shoes
850,000+: Calories consumed
0: Paying jobs I've held
4: Total root canals performed on inhabitants of this house
3: New hair stylists auditioned before finding the perfect fit
4: Triathlons completed
300-ish: Miles logged in the pool since May
Too many: Miles logged on the bike
More than I care to admit: Money spent on races
1: Injury sustained
4: Legs on my favorite furry companion
6'3": Height of my favorite 2-legged companion
2010: BRING IT!

Holiday Update

2009-12-18T08:48:00.005-06:00

I've been known to badmouth The Today Show from time to time. Ok, well, pretty much all the time. Yet I continue to watch. Can you say "trainwreck?" I just can't help myself. I actually enjoy the first 10-15 minutes or so - when they're actually covering the news. But once they go to the first commercial break all bets are off. I am a fan of Matt Lauer. And I actually think Meredith Viera is doing a good job too. Al Roker? Meh. I could take him or leave him. But that Ann Curry... As soon as the camera lands on her face I can feel my blood pressure go up. In our family anytime you say the words "Ann Curry" they are immediately followed by "serious journalist." Never have I seen someone so ridiculous take themselves so seriously. I've also never seen someone take a belt to an outfit quite the way she does. But I digress...

Just this morning they did a segment on how to wrap Christmas gifts. Well, not ALL Christmas gifts. Just those "awkwardly shaped" ones. They had an expert on and everything. No kidding. And yet, I watch.

But just when I was about to start banging my head against the wall, they started their "From Bow to Wow" segment. I am a fan. I don't know how often they produce this segment - maybe once a month or so? But "resident animal lover" Jill Rappaport basically goes to local animal shelters and comes home with dogs that are in serious need of a makeover. So they clean them up and then parade them around on the Today set in an effort to find homes for them. I think they actually show Jill going into the actual shelters to find the animals, but I don't watch that part. As soon as they announce the segment, I run for the remote in the hopes that I can hit the mute button before I hear the sounds of the shelter. And then I look away for what I determine to be an appropriate amount of time. If I've timed it correctly the dogs are already in beautification mode. Anyhoo, Jill then brings the dogs on stage and tells the audience about them. And I just learned this morning that their program has a 100% success rate. Every dog they've had on the show has been adopted. This morning was a reunion show of sorts. And I cried. Wept, actually.

After months (actually, years) of discussion Tim has finally signed off on the adoption of another dog! We put it off for a long time, what with the move, traveling, holidays, etc. But come the first of 2010, it's game time!! Can you tell I'm excited? We think Huck will enjoy the company, but we do worry that he'll feel a bit neglected. Of course this is a dog who, when he's not sleeping on our bed, can be found lounging on any one of 2 dog beds, a queen sized bed or the couch. It's tough to feel sorry for him. I have no idea what we'll end up with. Sweet and big-ish are really the only requirements. Oh, and no puppies. Dogs younger than a year or so old need not apply.

I'm officially in Christmas mode. Most of the presents have been purchased and wrapped. There is a box on its way to my sister's house in Charlotte since we'll be spending Christmas with the Froehlich clan in NY. I've ordered our Christmas cards. Although they won't make it to peoples' mailboxes until after Christmas this is a VAST improvement from years past. If we're lucky we'll have them all mailed out before the end of the year. The tree is up and lovely (if I do say so myself). The chocolate, cookies, candy, etc. are being consumed in mass quantities (by me ONLY. Tim isn't so into the sweet stuff. Which I just cannot understand. But more for me. And more OF me as a result!). And the nativity scenes are up in the yard. Not OUR yard. But there are three on our street that I can see just from our front porch. Ah, parochial St. Louis. These people are serious, too. The most intricate one on our block belongs to a house down the street. Not only are all the statues big and heavily detailed, but the entire scene exists behind/within a man made structure that appears to be covered in plexiglass. On second thought, perhaps it's bullet-proof glass. We do live in St. Louis after all.

Unfortunately, our next door neighbor saw fit to erect a big plastic Mary and a big plastic Joseph in her front yard. No baby Jesus yet. But I'm assuming he'll appear on her lawn come Christmas morning. They light up (that's right!) and not only was I startled on my way to swim practice at o'dark thirty earlier this week, but they really have unsettled Huck. He barks and charges at them every morning when we leave for a walk. It's awesome! Some things are worth capturing on film:May your holidays be joyous and may your lawn ornaments be well lit this holiday season. Merry Christmas from all of us here in the Gateway City!

Holy S@*$ It's Cold!

2009-12-09T08:47:00.004-06:00

Boy, oh boy. I am FREEZING! Last Friday morning I met speedy Jen for an early morning swim. It was, if the Subaru can be trusted, a balmy 15 degrees. Monday morning I ran in temps that hovered right around 18. And this morning...OH, this morning. I hadn't planned to run this morning. But my eyes popped open at 5:30 and I couldn't go back to sleep. It was too early for coffee (even I have my standards!) and too early to rouse the dog for a walk. So I thought I'd just go for a spin around the short loop in the park. Temps were right around freezing - practically bikini weather! So I suited up and went out for what was, without a doubt, the coldest, windiest run I've ever been a part of. The wind was at my back for the first half of the run so it really didn't seem all that bad. Unfortunately by the time I realized how miserable I was going to be I was already too deep into the park to do anything about it. Apparently it's gusting up to 50 mph out there! My face is chapped and windburned. And my toes are still thawing out. But not my hands! Thanks to these, my hands were fabulously toasty warm:
You better believe I bought the Costco sized box of hand warmers. 40 pairs of those suckers! And they threw in some toe warmers for good measure. Tim is worried he's going to come home one afternoon to find that I've stuck them all over myself in an attempt to keep warm. I am not discounting that possibility.

In news not related to weather, Huck survived root canal number 2 last week. While he was sedated they removed a little bump from his skin and biopsied it. Turns out said lump was harmless, which is great news! The not-so-great piece of news is that because the most recently damaged tooth was a molar, it requires a crown. Tim told me I'm not allowed to tell anyone about this, but it's just too funny to pass up. Basically, two months from now I'll take him back in for crown prep where they will file the tooth down and make an impression so that they can build/fashion/create/whatever a crown. And we get to choose the material! We can choose from gold, silver or a composite material. Yes, our dog is going to have a grill. Awesome!! We are ridiculous, I know. For the amount of money we've spent on this dog's mouth in the past year we could have taken a few vacations, paid down my student loans or financed Christmas for about 15 families in need. But I contend that Huck had a hard enough life before I found him. He almost starved to death and lived on his own in the great outdoors for who knows how long. The least we can do is keep him healthy. We may find ourselves eating Ramen 3 meals a day sometime soon, but at least our dog will have healthy teeth. Priorities, priorities, priorities. :)

Another exciting thing that happened recently is that they reopened the section of the Interstate that's been closed ever since we moved here. It is INCREDIBLE! I-64 (or, if you're from 'round these parts, Hwy 40) is the main east-west artery in St. Louis. Although it terminates at I-70 somewhere outside of Chesterfield, it is the most direct route from downtown to pretty much anwyhere we need to go. And a 4-mile stretch of it (basically from our house to downtown) has been closed for the past year. Traffic around our house has been a nightmare as people have tried to find alternate routes to and from the heart of the city. Bridges have been closed. Detours abundant. But all that changed Monday morning. WOO HOO!! Most importantly, though, for any of you wishing to travel to come see us from Richmond, now all you have to do is get into your car, hop on 64 west, drive 850 miles or so, take a right off of I-64 onto Big Bend Blvd. and then a left onto Maryland and you'll be at our front door! No kidding. 2 turns off I-64 is what separates us from our Richmond peeps. It kills me.

Overall we're doing pretty darn well. We do have a Christmas tree, although it's not yet decorated. I plan to take care of that today and will post pictures once we're finished. I can't believe it's already December. Seriously, where does the time go?

Giving Thanks

2009-11-29T12:43:00.004-06:00

I am thankful for:

My two favorite boys, Tim and Huck

A fantastic family and a fabulous network of friends

My health

Coffee

The word "betend", as in "Let's betend we're princesses in a castle"

Dogs, in general

Mutts, in particular

The fact that my 5 year old niece is so concerned about the feelings of others that she figures out, in the course of every game she plays, how everyone can win (This does not include, however, games played on the Wii.)

An almost 3 year old niece who hugs spontaneously

Red wine

Broccoli casserole

People who love dogs

The sound of the words "I love you," especially when they're coming out of the mouth of a 5 year old

Glee

Lint brushes

A family with whom I laugh almost constantly

Skype

Carbs

Goggles

Don Draper

Good books

My running shoes

Painless root canals (canine and human)

American Express (see above)

Tervis Tumblers

Swimming pools

Heat

Breakfast food

The fact that I could make this list 100 times longer and still not be able to list all the things for which I am thankful.

140.6: A Race in Review

2009-11-17T15:33:00.002-06:00

The swim was technically a "beach start" which meant that 2700 people lined up on the beach and then ran into the water as soon as the cannon went *boom*. As mentioned in my previous post, there were so many people lined up in front of us that the first time I was able to survey the water I was already ankle deep in it. If you happen to be one of those people that has a crush on Jim Cantore and are therefore unnaturally interested in the weather, you may have heard about a little tropical storm named Ida. Although she didn't make her way on shore until Monday, she'd begun auditions sometime Friday evening/early Saturday morning. While the water wasn't what I would call ROUGH, it was certainly a more challenging swim than I'd anticipated. After I'd run as far into the water as I could, I dove (dived? Mom, help!) under a wave and began what would become a fairly brutal swim. On the advice of my experienced husband, I started just to the inside of the guide buoys. I knew I'd have to make my way to the outside before the first turn buoy, but going to the inside from the get-go looked to be the best plan for the morning. Having now seen the pictures from the swim start (the huge masses were lined up well to the outside of the guide buoys) I'm convinced that this was the right move. At the time, however, I don't know that you would have been able to convince me of that. I've heard the IM swim likened to a washing machine. Arms and legs everywhere. Clawing, grabbing, hitting, pushing - not unlike a 3rd grade playground fight. It's hard not to take it personally when people are running into you, whacking you on the head, trying to swim over you entirely. It was brutal. And the waves only added insult to injury. Just when I thought I'd found some open water a wave would come along and slam me into whomever was to my right. And there were plenty of Sarah sandwiches along the way. Wave comes, knocks person on left into me and me into person on right. Good times. I'm so glad it was a 2-loop swim. We actually exited the water after the first loop, were given cups of water with which to wash out our mouths (a Godsend!), and were able to walk/run our way back into the water. It was a much-needed break from half an hour of getting the crap beat out of me.
The second loop was actually rougher than the first. I thought I was just imagining things, but in talking to people after the race I found that I wasn't alone in my thinking. Regardless, I was pretty happy to see the swim finish chute. And pleasantly surprised that I'd been able to pull out a 1:06 in that kind of water. Unfortunately I got hooked up with an inexperienced wetsuit stripper who, rather than working to find me a spot on the green stuff, threw me down in the sand. 100% in the sand. That, added to the fact that it took him about 5 tries to get my wetsuit off, made my IM "stripping" experience far from something to write home about. My entire backside was covered in sand. Luckily, they had a fabulous shower set up for us. Unluckily, I got pushed through at the speed of light by some over-zealous guys who, no doubt, were convinced they were going to win the race. I'm pretty sure they didn't.

Anyhoo, I made my way into the changing tent where I found three (3!) women anxious to help me. How great is that?! After a few failed attempts to get arm warmers onto my sandy arms I decided I'd just take them with me in case I needed them along the way. Unfortunately the last time I would see said arm warmers was when I was stuffing them into an empty bottle holder on the back of my bike. Bye-bye fabulous fleecy arm warmers. I hope the Florida wildlife has found a good home for you.

The bike was the segment about which I was most concerned. 112 miles is a heck of a long way. I'm not crazy about riding to begin with. Add to that the fact that I'm slow to change a tire and I don't know a deraileur from a donut and it makes for some serious cause for concern. I just had to hope that nothing would go wrong mechanically. I knew my legs could get me through it. But I also knew that I had to be smart. I just needed to let people pass me - not get all worked up when it started to feel like I was going backwards. The first 20 miles or so went by fairly quickly. But the first big turn we made put us squarely into a brutal headwind. The headwind would continue for the next 35/40 miles. I was miserable, but I assumed everyone else was too. And somehow that gave me comfort ;) Shortly past the halfway point, Tim rode up along side me. It was so great to see him, even if our encounter was fleeting. He looked really strong and I quickly waved him along and continued my trudge forward. With the exception of about an 8 mile stretch during which I thought my head might bobble so much it would roll off, the course was nicely paved. Mostly flat with a few rollers here and there. Coming back into town I was thrilled (even if the last 12 miles were just about the longest of my life). I felt alright, all things considered, and I knew that as long as I could make it to T2 and into my running shoes I'd be fine. I made it to transition in about 6 hours and 20 minutes. Not the fastest bike split in the world, but I'd left myself enough time for a 9 hour marathon. Barring something catastrophic I knew I could make it.

I'm not sure that I ever imagined there would be a point in my life when I'd find myself thinking "Thank goodness. All I have to do now is run a marathon." But that's exactly where I was at about 2:45 on a Saturday afternoon in early November. I've been to enough of these events to know that the marathon isn't so much a "run" as it is a test of will. I really didn't know what to expect out of myself given that I'd been in motion for just about 8 hours already. What I did know is that I had to keep drinking and I had to eat whatever I could. I'd taken with me a bag of Gu Chomps and 4 Gu's (Espresso Love, is there any other kind?). There was nothing about the Espresso Love that I was loving at the time, so I made my way into the blueberry pomegranate Chomps. Not delicious, but they stayed down which was the name of the game. I don't remember too much about the first loop of the run. I know that I made a point of grabbing water and/or Gatorade at every stop - even if all I could swallow was a small sip of each. I also remember seeing the leaders run by on the other side of the road (on their way to the finish) and thinking about how jealous I was that they were almost done. I tried hard not to get ahead of myself and to take each mile as it came. I promised myself that I could walk through every single water stop (they were set up just about every mile along the way), which made a huge difference mentally. I knew that I never had to go more than a mile at a time. It wasn't until I made the turnaround that I got even the slightest bit emotional (sorry, Shawn!). The tears were fleeting, though. I knew I had a long way to go. 13 miles, to be exact. The sun had begun to set, which made for a really strange change in the energy on the course. Ultimately I love to run in the dark. I'm usually up and running before the sun comes up so I actually welcomed the absence of daylight. While I don't remember much about the first loop, interestingly I remember just about everything from the second loop. I threw away the Gu's and the remaining Chomps that I'd been carrying. Just knowing they were along for the ride made my stomach turn so I got rid of them right around mile 15. While I wasn't exactly sure what they'd have along the course I knew I'd rather eat grass than those Gu's if push came to shove. Luckily the grass got to stay put. They were handing out the most delicious oranges and the biggest grapes along the course. I couldn't believe my good fortune. Add to that a couple of swigs of flat coke and some warm chicken broth around mile 20 and I was good to go. I had no way of knowing what my pace really was, but based on my watch I figured I was keeping somewhere between a 9-10 minute pace - far better than I could have ever hoped. My spirit dampened around mile 21. I'd seen a few runners in distress, but at the aid station at mile 21 i actually saw a guy completely collapsed (presumably unconscious) - his head in the lap of a volunteer. There was a flurry of activity - "call 911!" "is he breathing?" "is he conscious?", etc. If you know me you know that I don't *do* sick very well. When people around me are ill it sends my anxiety level through the roof. So here I was. 11 hours into a race. It's dark. I'm tired and a bit loopy. I'm lonely and have been employing self-tests to make sure that all systems are go. "What's 2x6?" "What's your phone number?" "How many fingers can you see on the hand in front of you?" It was the best way for me to ensure that I was still thinking clearly and rationally.

Shortly after I passed the poor fella on the ground I ran into Tim. He was on his way back into the park and had just passed by Annie who was about 20 yards ahead of me. When he told me she was there it was all I could do to catch up to her. I needed a friend. And judging by her reaction when I made my way up to her, she'd been feeling the same way. We had about 4 miles to go. And we both realized that, as long as we kept up a sub 12-minute/mile pace, we could make it in under 12 hours. I wanted so badly to walk. But Annie wasn't having any of it. And more than I wanted to walk, I wanted company. So we trudged along. Mile 23 down. Mile 24 down. 25. 26. When we rounded the corner towards the finish chute, Annie grabbed my hand and that's the way we finished. 11:53:13. The rest, as they say, is history.

IMFL - November 4 through 6:59 AM November 7th

2009-11-16T08:15:00.003-06:00

The St. Louis crew headed out around 6 AM the Wednesday before the race. Three cars, 8 people and a ridiculous amount of stuff. Between the race gear (bikes, wheels, helmets,bike shoes, running shoes, wetsuits, race clothes, dry clothes, warm clothes), our regular clothes and the amount of food necessary to sustain 5 hungry triathletes and their athletic spouses/friends along the way, it's amazing we even had room for ourselves. What we'd originally thought was going to be about a 12 hour drive actually turned into more of a 14 hour endeavor. We covered a lot of ground and were even fortunate enough to drive through the entire state of Alabama. Driving through AL actually makes you kind of glad that you live in MO. And that's saying something.

The plan for Thursday was to head to the beach for a swim and then check in for the race. Although I've spent a lot of time in the ocean, I've never actually attempted to "swim" in it. Although the water looked calm enough from where we stood on the beach, it was actually a little rougher than I'd expected. It wasn't anything to be concerned about, but I'm just not used to swimming in waves, however small they may be. We knew to expect jellyfish, but I suppose I hadn't spent enough time preparing for what I would feel when I saw one. Sure enough, as soon as the ocean floor dropped just a bit I started seeing lots of little white blobs hanging out just below the surface of the water. And then the stinging began. Not too many and the sting really was fleeting. But I panicked. Eventually I calmed myself down by thinking about all the far more dangerous and disgusting things that I'd likely swum over/into in the various lakes where we'd spent time over the summer. Just because you can't see them doesn't mean they aren't there. At least I could see the jellyfish and do my best to avoid them. I must admit, too, that there were a few times when I saw shadows that I was just certain were sharks. Highly, highly unlikely, but temporary panic set in anyway. I was fairly happy to get back to she shore and, while the wildlife scared me a bit, physically I knew that I could handle the two lap course come race day.

Following a late breakfast we got in line to check in. What a production! They ask you to sign away your life (quite literally). But as if seeing the words "death," "serious injury," and "dismemberment" weren't enough to ruin your day, then they weigh you. I understand the reasoning behind this. They need to know a starting weight so that, should you run into trouble along the race course, they'll be able to determine how much water you've lost. I have to say that I was pretty surprised by the number on the scale. I knew I'd gained a few pounds in training, but the number that popped up was a number I haven't seen in a good 4 years. No matter. But it didn't exactly to anything to lighten the mood. First the jellyfish, then the death waiver, and now the scale. And we do this for fun.
The rest of the day was spent taking the bikes out for a spin, getting our gear bags together for bag check in the following morning, and a HUGE and delicious dinner at Outback. What did that scale say, again?

Friday was fairly low key. We checked in our bikes and gear bags and spent most of the day relaxing. Spaghetti, salad and a glass of wine for dinner. And off to bed we went. I actually fell asleep pretty quickly and slept peacefully until about 3:30. By about 4:15 everybody was up and at 'em. I quickly realized that the peanut butter and banana sandwich that I'd planned to eat just wasn't going to go down the way I needed it to. Two bites and I had to try hard to keep it from coming back up. I packed it in a Ziploc and decided that I'd do my best to get it down at some point before 7 AM. As you'd expect, transition was a zoo. Luckily we'd already checked our gear bags so it was just a matter of pumping our tires, loading up our food on our bikes, hitting the port-o-potties one more time and wrestling on our wetsuits.

As we walked onto the beach I was stunned by the sheer magnitude of the event. Although I've been to 3 of these races as a spectator, it looks a little different from the vantage point of a competitor. People, people and more people. People EVERYWHERE. In fact, there were so many people lined up on the beach that I couldn't even see the water. As it turns out, this was probably a good thing (more on that in a moment). I kissed Tim, wished my friends luck and the cannon sounded. Off we went.

Race Report Appetizer

2009-11-13T10:38:00.003-06:00

It's tough to know where to begin. I think I'm still trying to process the entire IM experience. While I work on a longer play by play of the race, I'll tide you over with a few things that I learned over the course of the weekend. And given how much I've been eating this week I though the title of this blog was entirely appropriate.

1. Jellyfish stings don't hurt nearly as badly as you'd expect them to.
2. Just when you think nothing could taste worse than brackish lake water you go for a little swim in the Gulf.
3. 2700 people = 10,800 extremities. All headed in the same direction. And trying to get there before you. Ouch.
4. Confession: I initially calculated the above number to be 108,000.
5. Singing 99 Bottles of Beer while biking really does help to pass the time. What doesn't help, however, is being so delirious that you're unable to remember what number you're on.
6. Placing port-o-potty's on a hill around mile 50 of the bike is a poor strategic decision. An even poorer strategic decision? Attempting to use them.
7. It's really fun to see your husband on a 112 mile bike course. Even if he is whizzing past you at the speed of light.
8. Peanut M&M's are, without a doubt, the world's most perfect food.
9. The big green grapes they were handing out on the run course were a close second.
10. When in doubt, grab a cup of ice.
11. Flat coke around mile 20? Holy cow! Whose idea was that? And how can I thank them?
12. When you're on the run course and you hear people (men, especially) burping loudly, it's best to get as far away (preferably, ahead) as possible.
13. Arm warmers lost along the bike course: $30. Money wasted on Gu's tossed out along the run course because the mere thought of having them on my person made me want to hurl: $3.75. Running the last 4 miles and eventually crossing the finish line with a friend: Priceless. Truly.
14. I will try very hard to never again be critical of my body. It carried me through 140.6 miles. How can you hate on thighs that enable you to do that?!

Number 4

2009-11-03T12:18:00.004-06:00

So it looks like the Ironman will actually NOT be the most painful thing I do in the next 7 days. Never would have thought that possible. But alas, #4 has failed me. Or rather, I have failed #4. The only tooth I've ever had filled now gets to have its root canaled. So next Tuesday morning, no fewer than 73 hours after I begin IM Florida, I'll be enjoying a nice relaxing root canal. Who's jealous?

To make matters even more interesting, sometime in the next few weeks Huck will be undergoing root canal #2. I can't make this stuff up. He had canine tooth done about 6 months ago. Now there's a molar in need of repair.

How long do you think it will be before I come home to find that Tim has changed the locks and thrown all of my belongings out on the lawn?

Clarification

2009-10-20T17:00:00.003-05:00

I probably shouldn't have been so nonchalant in my previous post. For all concerned family members out there (or 2 of the 5 people that actually read this blog!), I'm fine! F-I-N-E! I promise. A little tendon flare-up is normal. And I can guarantee you that by the time I lace up my running shoes there are going to be many other body parts that are hurting a heck of a lot more than my silly foot. Nothing is broken or falling off. And nothing is gonna be broken (or fall off, for that matter).

No intervention necessary. I am absolutely taking care of myself, something to which even Dr. Froehlich, the harshest of my health critics, will attest.

In the latest news around here, I now have a sassy new hairdo. Watch out, world!

My Connective Tissue, Myself

2009-10-20T09:32:00.002-05:00

I'm not sure which of my parents was predominantly responsible for the way my hips and spine fused, but whomever it was owes me an apology. Within the past year I've learned that the reason I have problems with my tendons as my mileage increases is, essentially, because my hips are caddywompus. My right hip is fused somewhere/somehow in a way that doesn't allow much flexibility at all. My left hip, generous as it is, decided it needed to compensate and, as a result, is far more flexible than it should be. So, my gait is funky, my left leg swings across the midline when I run, putting stress on joints and tendons in all the wrong places. As such, tendinitis typically strikes right around the worst possible time for it to do so.

My tendons always cry uncle so why should IM training be any different? I've been struggling for the past month with what I was 99% certain was peroneal tendinitis in my right foot/ankle. I asked around town in an attempt to secure an appointment the most cortisone-happy sports medicine doc I could find. It's worth noting that I am not a proponent of cortisone injections. I've never had one and, in fact, have turned them down in the past when they were offered as an option, never feeling that the risk was actually worth taking. But this time it was different. I was 6 weeks away from a race for which I've been training for what seems like half of my natural life. Shoot me up with whatever you have to - just get me to Florida. Dr. (supposedly) Needle-Happy ordered an MRI. He was convinced it was a stress fracture. I was certain he was wrong, but seeing as how I didn't go to med school (or move past basic chemistry in college) I figured I'd humor him. And on Friday the verdict came in. Stress fracture? No. Significantly frayed tendon? Why, yes. Don't mind if I do. Ok, doc. Just give me a dose of the good stuff and I'll be on my way. Or not. Apparently you can't shoot cortisone in that particular area for that particular injury. Too great of a chance that I'll tear the entire thing without knowing it.

So, Dr. I'm Just Full of Bad News goes on to tell me that I can go ahead with the race, but that I'm going to be in pretty serious pain for the majority of it. And for a long time afterwards. (Cue paternal icy glare). Or, I can just retire the running shoes for the year and "try again next year." Next year? He's kidding, right? I've got other plans for 2010. And they don't include training for an Ironman.

The good news in all of this is that there's not much of a risk that I'll do any further damage by racing on it. Apparently "the pain I'll feel will prevent me from overdoing it to the point of a complete tear". So it's just a matter of how much I can tolerate. Well, I don't know what kind of a rock this guy's been living under, but I live in Missouri. I can tolerate pain. And so tolerate I will.

In other news, we head to Austin on Friday for a little 70.3 action. I'm so excited to see the Richmond crew that will be there and am thrilled to know a couple of folks from St. Louis racing as well. Quite frankly the race is kind of an afterthought right now. I'm more interested in exploring Austin, eating good food and drinking post-race margaritas. I'm pretty sure that's not the right attitude to have at this point. But so be it.

We'll return from Austin Monday night and then leave for Florida the following Wednesday. Thanks goodness. There was a time when it seemed like November 7th would never get here. Yet now it's just a couple of weeks away. I'm sure the nerves will strike, in due time. But in the meantime I'm going to enjoy the taper and the rest of the journey.

Checking In

2009-10-13T08:18:00.003-05:00

It's been fairly busy 'round these parts recently. Long rides, long runs, out of town visitors, some impromptu kid-sitting, tree extractions, a HUGE hive of bees, a dog with a raging skin infection...good times. I've gotten my first taste of the St. Louis cold and I can tell you right now I'm not a big fan. It's early October and I'm currently dressed in long pants, two shirts, a sweater and a fleece. And I'm inside. And we do, in fact, have heat. And it is turned on. Things aren't looking so good for me come December. There's a Frostbite Race series that starts up later in the year. I recall stories from last year of 12 mile races taking place in -2 degree temps. That's NEGATIVE 2. I just don't know that I "do" negative. Erin thinks I'll "really like it." I think she's lost her mind.

Last week we attended TWO professional sporting events. How great is that? On Thursday we made our way downtown to the Blues home opener against Atlanta. Our tickets are center ice, about 10 rows up. Hockey is fun. And my affinity for tugboat captains has officially been replaced by an all-out love fest for hockey players. It's strange, I know. But there's something about grown men skating around, throwing each other into walls while fighting for control over a rubber disc that's simply irresistable. That and, well, Miracle was a really good movie.

While we were at the hockey game we made our way up to the bar in the arena just in time to see the Cardinals spontaneously combust in game 2 against the Dodgers. Luckily it was only game 2 and we had tickets for game 3 Saturday night. Unfortunately, the Cards probably would have done just as well to not even show up for that game either. We had great seats, though, and a great time despite the abyssmal outcome.

Saturday morning marked our last long run of the IM training season. 22 miles. Done. Finito. We have our last 100 miler coming up this weekend. The following weekend, Tim and I will race the Austin 70.3. And then a week and a half after we return from Austin we will pack up the Sub (Subaru, not submarine, in case there was any confusion) and hit the long road to Panama City Beach.

My mom asked me last night what I'm going to do when this is all over. Um, good question, Missy. I suppose one thing I'm going to try to do is sleep. And I would guess that Tim and I won't be turning down so many invitations to do fun things on the weekends. We are looking forward to having real social lives again. Of course the first thing that actually came out of my mouth was that I was going to figure out which spring marathon I'm going to run. It's like a disease. I am my own best friend and my own worst enemy. But if you have any suggestions for fun spring marathons, I'm all ears :)

American Airlines and American Mutts

2009-09-18T09:14:00.006-05:00

Today I'm mourning the fact that American Airlines is significantly cutting nonstop service to and from St. Louis. The airline recently announced a loss of 46 daily flights (46!!) and will eliminate nonstop service to 20 cities by the end of next summer. Among those cities that will be without nonstop service to or from St. Louis by ANY carrier: Richmond (there are a gazillion reasons why this stinks); Raleigh (unfortunate for the following reasons: friends in the area, easy access to NC beaches, Carolina basketball); Norfolk (bye-bye easy access to the Outer Banks); San Francisco (if you know me this should be self-explanatory); Austin (one word: Lance); and Des Moines (which really isn't a big deal because Iowa, as we all know, is really close!). I'm officially bummed. Of course we can still get anywhere we need to be, we just won't get there as quickly.

But, just when you think that's just another strike against St. Louis, the city redeems itself, twofold, with this:

THAT is the annual dog swim at Maplewood Swim Club. And it's the second dog swim we attended in the city last week. That's right, a number of pools around the city close for the season, neutralize the chlorine and invite well-behaved dogs from around the city to enjoy the water for a few days. If you've ever met Huck you know that he loves the water. He chases sticks, paddles around and yes, even dunks his head underwater. Repeatedly. Needless to say, he had a big week last week. Our first trip was to the Webster Groves pool complex which included a wading/swimming pool (complete with a lazy river) and a lap pool, which was about 6 ft. deep all the way across and included only one set of stairs for exiting the water. Only Huck and a few other retrievers were interested in the lap pool. Aside from a couple of moments of panic (one when he couldn't find the stairs and one when he found himself swimming against the current in the lazy river), he had a fabulous time. As evidenced below:
The dog swim at Maplewood was equally successful. It's rare for a tennis ball to hold Huck's interest long enough to chase all the way after it, much less for him to carry it back to you. I guess tennis balls are more interesting when they're wet:
We're very proud.

Belated Race Report

2009-09-14T09:39:00.002-05:00

I've tried to write this post three times and each time I do I find that I'm bored after two paragraphs. Considering I'm both the participant and the author that doesn't bode well for the rest of you. So I apologize if this puts you to sleep. But at least once it's written we can move on to more interesting things.

Last Saturday (9/5) we raced a half Ironman in Mattoon, IL. Never heard of Mattoon? Don't feel bad. I've been there and couldn't tell you where it is in relation to anything else. Pancake flat. Lots of corn. While it turned out to be a great race, initially I had my doubts as to whether or not the yahoos putting the thing on would come through. Registration and communication problems from the get-go did not instill much confidence. Neither did the paper plates stapled onto the bike racks in transition that distinguished the half IM participants from those doing the Olympic. It turns out, though, that I shouldn't have been so quick to judge. One should never judge a book by its cover or, as it turns out, a race by its paper plates.

We ate dinner at a local Italian restaurant where I was asked whether I wanted one meatball or two on my spaghetti. Pretty solid. The salads consisted of some shredded iceberg covered in what could only have been some Wishbone Italian dressing. Didn't exactly offer too much in the way of nutrition, but the effort was appreciated. By far the best part of the meal was the company...and the beer.

The alarms went off at 4:15 and we were at the race site a little before 6. We knew we were running just a tad bit behind, but weren't too concerned. Turns out, though, that the race was set to start at 6:45, not 7 like Tim and I had both assumed. Oops. While I would have preferred to have those 15 minutes to make sure I had everything and to make one more pit stop, in many ways the earlier start was a good thing. For someone with a proclivity to obsess about the details, it was good for me to have to trust that I'd done what I needed to do.

The swim went fairly well. Two loops of a course that took us clockwise. I realized I'd never had to swim with the buoys to my right before. It took me a bit by surprise, but as it turned out it was absolutely no different from swimming in the other direction. Go figure. My goggles were pretty foggy which was a little frustrating. I spent most of the first loop arguing with myself over whether I should stop to clear them or not. I chose not to, assuming that they'd just fog right back up and it just wasn't worth the effort. I hopped (well, dragged myself) out of the water and into transition.

I'd been dreading the bike and was just ready to get it over with. I would find out after the race that I posted the 15th fastest swim time of the day. While this is a good thing, it also means that unless you're equally fast on the bike you're going to get passed a lot. And boy, did I ever. It's a little gut-wrenching to be passed by the guy with "64" written on his calf. More than twice my age and riding by me as though I was just standing still. People big and small, young and old, male and female were making it their job to fly by me on the bike. And I had no choice but to just take it. It didn't help that almost as soon as I got on the bike my left glute knotted up and remained that way for the entire ride. I kept hoping it would work itself out, but to no avail. Again, though, I think it was a blessing in disguise. The pain in my rear end distracted me from the pain in my hips and quads. I was so thrilled to get off the bike. My pretty Carolina blue running shoes have never looked so good.

The run was also a two loop course. I felt fairly good out of the gate. I was so excited to be passing people after the beating I'd taken on the bike that my first mile was somewhere in the neighborhood of 7:10. Um, that's not going to work. Get yourself together, Plumb. Get yourself together. I reigned it in and just focused on moving forward. The first 6.5 felt pretty good. I was chatty and cheery. And it actually wasn't until I made the final turnaround and what would have been about the 9 mile marker that I started wondering what in the hell I was doing out there. Mentally I made note of the fact that this is something that not only was I doing by choice, but that I'd PAID to do and I stopped feeling sorry for myself pretty quickly. When I realized that I had about a mile to go I also realized that I had a chance to get in under 5:30. When I started the race I didn't have any time goals in mind. I had no idea what I might be capable of and I just wanted to finish in one piece. When I realized that I had a mile left and about 9:30 in which to do it I thought that would be an appropriate time to set a goal. So I just kept the old legs moving. Crossing the finish line felt pretty darn good. When the guy on chip patrol came over to take my chip I attempted to reach down to my ankle to get it. Yeah, not so much. I got about a quarter of the way down, my hamstrings shut down and I told him he was just going to have to do the work.

Overall it was a good day. I ended up placing 3rd in my age group. I love these small races. And I love that I'm now a proud owner of a HUGE bright blue and gold trophy. I haven't gotten a trophy since middle school. And I've certainly never received one this big. It is also quite possibly one of the ugliest things I've ever seen in my life. It's a woman holding up some circular thing and she's flanked by two eagles. That's right, eagles. It is ugly and it is awesome.

Not to be outdone, Timmy brought home some schwag too. 3rd place in his division! So we have two (although for some reason mine is a little bigger and one of Tim's eagles has a broken wing). It's really hard to know what to do with them. I mean, we're both proud of our accomplishments and don't want to appear ungrateful. But in decorating (I use that word loosely, of course) this house I'm afraid I didn't exactly make a place for the blue and gold plastic trophies. At some point we'll put them somewhere more appropriate (like the basement), but for now they're biding their time on the floor in the dining room.

Take 2

2009-09-01T14:58:00.004-05:00

Let me try this again:

Oops, they did it again. Apparently that Duggar woman in Arizona is pregnant again. Baby number 19. Somebody needs to get those people separate beds. In our locality there's a law that dictates how many dogs we can own. I'm just sayin'.

My mother, who for the record did NOT bear 19 children, came to visit last week. With the exception of the time spent at Downtown Urgent Care, we had a great time. And I have to admit that even that was a little fun. Of course I wasn't the one with the raging infection in my thumb. We spent time doing St. Louis-specific things, like shopping at Nordstrom, eating at Bravo, and wandering the aisles at Whole Foods. In fairness, we did drink wine at the St. Louis Zoo and we drove past the Arch on the return trip from Urgent Care. And I pointed out Busch Stadium and AB Brewery as we drove by. So I'm not an altogether terrible hostess. It was so great to see her. I cried when she left, of course. But I always cry when we leave each other. My sister reacts similarly under the same circumstances. This confounds our husbands.

I ran 18 mostly on my own Friday morning. I left the house at 5 AM and ran for an hour or so down to the park, met up with Tim and our friend Pamela who was visiting from DC for a small loop through the park, followed that up with a long loop around the park and then headed home. It was great to have company for 5 miles in the middle of the run, but I also enjoyed the solitude of the other 13. I've come to realize that it's not so much the running that I enjoy as the time it gives me to reflect, plan, zone out, etc.

We're traveling to Mattoon, IL (where?!) this weekend for a little half-IM distance action. Interestingly, I'm not nervous yet. I'm sure the nerves will come, but for now I'm just enjoying the idea of a fully supported training day. My new wetsuit has arrived, complete with a tramp stamp (thanks for pointing that out, Erin). Tim has outfitted my bike with water bottle holders behind the seat and a big one in between the aerobars. I haven't yet figured out how to get the bottles back in once I pull them from behind me which does not bode well for race day. I love having the bottle up front and, aside from a few close calls with my eyeballs, I've gotten used to leaning down to sip from the straw. We're staying in a Holiday Inn Express Friday night. As Tim has said, even if we don't break any records on Saturday, at least we'll be smarter when we leave.

Weekend Weather

2009-08-23T16:54:00.005-05:00

Words cannot do justice to the precise perfection of the weather in the Gateway City this weekend. In 31 years I don't think I've ever experienced a day in August when the temperature didn't reach 80 degrees, much less an entire weekend! Blue sky, puffy white clouds and a gentle breeze. Seriously city, who are you and what have you done with St. Louis?

Saturday morning we headed out to Madison County for an 80 mile ride followed up by a little 6 mile run for dessert. While 80 miles is, shall we say, taxing, the weather really made it impossible for me to feel sorry for myself. I rode the first half in arm warmers. Arm warmers! In August! The first 40 went by fairly quickly. The second 40, not so much. Luckily there was plenty of entertainment along the way. We were in southern Illinois, after all.

There are two cycling trends here that deserve some attention. The first and most prevalent of these trends is the recumbent bicycle. Typically piloted by overweight men in their late 60's covered head to toe in reflective apparel, these things are a hoot! I saw one on Saturday that had a purple canopy. Kind of like a convertible. Only, it's a bike!

The other thing I'm noticing is a steady increase in the number of tandems on the trails. While I support the idea of exercising with your loved ones, the tandem just seems like cramped quarters to me. I love my husband. And I know he loves me. But I'm pretty sure one of us would end up in the hospital if we ever tried to ride the same bike at the same time. And I don't imagine the injuries sustained would be consistent with a bike accident.

I continue to learn things about myself on the bike. Perhaps the biggest discovery to date is that if I wait until my stomach tells me I'm hungry it's already too late. I think I'll be much better off if I allow my mental/emotional state to guide me in that department. It's amazing how quickly I can go from feeling perfectly fine to feeling (and acting) like the Wicked Witch of the West. This is true of everyday Sarah so I don't know why I should have expected anything different from athlete Sarah. I like to think that I'm generally a nice person, but once I get hungry I suggest you watch out.

And in other cycling-related news, I actually got ogled (is that how it's spelled?) while riding this weekend! Unbelievable! Let me just paint a little picture for you: it's 10 AM, we've been riding since 6:45. Although I started out in arm warmers, the sun is now out and, well, I've been riding for 3:15. You get the picture. The hair that has actually managed to stay in the marble-sized ponytail at the base of my neck is soaking wet and filthy. The hair that has escaped is flying wildly in all directions, styled nicely by the mixture of sweat, grime, gnats and Gatorade that's managed to fly out of my water bottle and into my face. I have bike grease on my leg and I'm covered in bugs. Covered. Did I mention I'm wearing a HELMET? Not to be deterred by, well, anything apparently, two guys out for a joy ride on their too-small bikes decide I'd probably be in the mood for a little sexual harassment. Needless to say, I was not.

The run was about as good as a run could be at noon after you've been up and at 'em since 4:45 AM. Bob and Tim set the pace and it was not slow. Fueled by visions of the artichoke sub that was in my very near future, I finished respectably and we headed straight for our favorite shopping center. What was left of the afternoon included a nap, some coffee, a shower, dinner and two hours of Don Draper. Not a bad end to the day if you ask me!

Sunday morning I (begrudgingly) awoke at 5:15 and gathered my things for a drive to Innsbrook for a little swim. My new friend, Al, owns a house and graciously hosts a swim in the lake at the resort. I met Guillermo and a few others (mostly new faces) for a little 2.7 mile swim to the dam and back. It was 58 degrees outside when I left the house! But by the time I got there and into my wetsuit the sun was coming up and the fog was lifting. The water was like glass. As flat and calm as it could have possibly been. I thoroughly enjoyed myself and can't wait to get out there and do it again before the seasons change.

Greatest. Husband. Ever.

2009-08-17T17:16:00.004-05:00

I think it's safe to say that I won't be winning any spouse of the year awards this year. I'm pretty sure I took myself out of the running in July, somewhere around hour 12 of our drive back to St. Louis when the sobbing began. "We're so far away." "I miss (insert name of friend, family member or east coast haunt)." Blah, blah, blah.

Tim, on the other hand, deserves just about all the medals/trophies/plaques and accompanying glory that there is to give. His patience and kindness through the transition here would be reason enough to celebrate his fantasticness. But this weekend he really went above and beyond.

He told me a few weeks ago that he had a surprise for me for my birthday. Tim loves surprises so while I wasn't shocked that he had something up his sleeve, I just assumed he was planning a little par-tay for the big 3-1. Well, he had planned a little get together at the Boat House Friday afternoon, but what I didn't know is that my get together was going to include Jen O'Ferrall. Yes, he flew one of my all-time most very favorite people in the entire world out from Richmond to celebrate with me :) I walked in the door Friday afternoon and there she was, standing in our foyer!

After I got over my initial shock I found out that she would be spending the whole weekend with us! We celebrated, ate, drank, ran, lounged poolside, celebrated again, and enjoyed the Cards game from the comfort of the Wells Fargo Advisors suite at Busch Stadium. It couldn't have possibly been a better weekend.

I am so grateful she took time away from her family to be here with us this weekend and, although I cried when she left (just a little!), it feels good knowing that someone back home now has a good picture of our life out here. Maybe, just maybe, I don't feel like we're quite so far away anymore.

Road Trip!

2009-08-10T12:21:00.003-05:00

So we drove to Chicago this weekend. That's right, we drove...in a car. To Chicago. Having spent the majority of the past 30 years in NC and VA I never even considered the possibility that people might be able to drive to Chicago for an overnight visit. But I'm here to tell you that if you live in St. Louis not only is it possible, it's a cinch.

We woke up dark and early Saturday morning and put in our prescribed 70 miles on the bike. It was hot. And 70 miles, as it turns out, is even less fun than 60. Around about mile 55 we were in not-so-good shape. Our food was gone and we were almost out of fluid. Luckily I remembered a convenience store just off the trail about a mile from where we'd stopped. I bought a bottle of water and some bright green Lime Gatorade. Although I'm a huge fan of Lemon-Lime, I'd never had Lime on its own. I'm here to tell you, that stuff is divine. Pure heaven. It was ice cold and tasted exactly like a melted green Fla-Vor-Ice. It got me through the final 15 miles. Our schedule called for a 6-mile run. Chris and I decided that running for 10 minutes was close enough to running for 50.

Following a post-workout lunch of huge sandwiches (burrito for Timmy and an artichoke sub for me) and even bigger soft drinks (Coke and Diet Coke, respectively), we showered, packed a bag, dropped Huck off and headed up to Chicago for the night.

Steph, our sister-in-law, was participating in the Susan G. Koman Breast Cancer 3-Day walk in the city. We were looking forward to cheering Steph on and spending time with Dan and Jackson in the windy city. Because we're us Tim and I got a late start and didn't make our way out of town until 3:30 or so. 6 hours, one stop for gas, countless cornfields and one frantic and desperate search for Dairy Queen later, we were in our hotel in Evanston. I will not comment on the search for Dairy Queen except to advise each and every one of you to take advantage of a DQ when you see one. Never, ever rely on the idea that there will be another one "just up the road."

I learned a lot on the drive up. For instance, Iowa borders Illinois. Who knew (I mean, besides anyone who made it past the 5th grade)? A transcript from the time at which I became aware of this reality:
S (looking at the sign ahead that directed people either to north Springfield and Joilet OR west to IOWA): Oh my gosh, they have a sign for Iowa. Good grief. Why in the world are they directing people to Iowa from here?
T (deadpan, pointing to the left): Because it's right over there.
S (confused): What's right over there?
T (embarrassed for me, I'm sure): Iowa.
S: No way! Really?
T: (silence)

I also learned that A LOT of corn is grown in Illinois. A LOT. I suppose this shouldn't come as much of a surprise, IL being so close to Iowa and all. The discovery of this particular reality sequed to a super-fun discussion about farm subsidies. Is it any wonder that we tend to travel alone?

Anyhoo, we cheered Steph on, hung out with family and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves. The drive home was quick (4.5 hours) and I managed to ruin only one piece of electronic equipment with the water bottle spill in my purse. Yes, our brand new camera is ruined. I am so very upset with myself. Luckily I'm enough of a sucker to have paid up for the protection plan.

Recap

2009-07-28T17:36:00.012-05:00

We're baaack! What follows is a list (complete with pictures, when appropriate) that should provide a little insight into what was, for us, a really great trip across the pond and back again.

1. High speed rail is absolutely the way to travel, especially when your husband splurges for First Class. From London to Glasgow to Turnberry to Chippenham...fabulous from start to finish.
2. I apparently lack the mental capacity to anticipate the correct direction in which to look before crossing the street. Yes, it's painted in HUGE letters at every intersection in London. No, that does not help me.
3. The lawn in front of Westminster Abbey offers some of the most comfortable grass in London. Comfortable enough, in fact, for a two hour nap. Oh yes we did.

4. In case you are wondering, yes, British TV is still awful. But chocolate croissants do wonders to ease the pain.
5. The bathrooms in Hyde Park don't open until 8 AM. So noted.
6. Coke tastes better out of a glass bottle.
7. I am asking for one of these for Christmas.
8. To the guy in The Waterloo in Glasgow who recounted the story of meeting the Queen while dressed in drag, I salute you.
9. Pigeons are dirty. And they're everywhere.
10. Scotland is both beautiful and dreary.
11. If you want to keep the rain at bay while at the British Open, just purchase a $50 umbrella from the souvenir store and you'll be sure not to need it.
12. We stood next to Elin Nordegren and some of her family/Tiger's entourage on the 7th green(?)/fairway(?)/help me, Tim! at The Open. She is beautiful. She is also short and had a hard time seeing her husband through the hundreds upon hundreds of admirers following him along the course. Although we did not speak I think it's safe to say that we are now best friends.
13. Trains lull me to sleep no matter how cramped the quarters or how short the travel time. If we rode trains 30 times while in the UK, then I took 30 naps.
14. British mosquitoes seem to like me just as much as their American brethren.
15. The hotel in Tetbury, The Snooty Fox, had 12 rooms, real locks on the doors, an excellent wine list and a resident Great Dane named Fred. It was our kind of place.
16. I was reminded how amazing and accomplished the women I grew up with are. Among those at the wedding: a pilot, a marketing executive, a Tony award winning director, an internationally accomplished photographer, an architect, business owners, mothers, attorneys. And the list goes on and on.
17. Here is a picture of Dory eating midnight snacks during the reception. French fries and egg salad sandwiches. Best idea EVER.18. Here is a picture of the bride and groom. Although Dory did not hit on Alex in a bar (I hear that works, by the way), the way they met was equally dignified. As it turns out, Bingo for Boozers = Happily Ever After.
19. I do not like (to eat) sea urchin.
20. The paparazzi hanging outside Nobu in London mistook Tim for someone famous. I think he was a little hurt when the guy decided not to photograph him after all.
21. London - Charlotte - Emerald Isle makes for a very long day.

The rest of the vacation was spent at the beach with Tim's family. It was beautiful and restful and sandy. In a word, perfect. We drove about 16 hours home on Saturday. It was a LONG day in the car, but we couldn't resist the temptation to sleep in our own bed.

So, we're back to regularly scheduled programming around here. Getting back into the training routine has been difficult, but so far this week has been easier than last. Not swimming for two weeks and then throwing oneself to the wolves at masters practice may not have been the best decision. But I survived.

I do want to give a belated shout out to all our friends that competed in Lake Placid a week and a half ago. We would have LOVED to have been there to cheer you on. So Mark, Shelley, Karen, Shawn, Amy, Rick, Lynn, Kate and all the others, please accept this virtual hug and congratulatory pat on the back for a job well, well done. I suppose hearing the words "You Are An Ironman" never gets old no matter how many times you cross that finish line. And a special congratulatory shout out to Ed for completeing Ironman #1! Knowledge of your strong race and fabulous finish will help fuel me come November.

Vacation Plans

2009-07-08T14:18:00.003-05:00

I love Jennifer Hudson. And I may have shed a tear or two this morning when I heard her rendition of Will You Be There, performed at MJ's memorial service yesterday. Now that I've gotten that off my chest...

We're leaving dark and early Saturday morning for Vacationpalooza 2009. Tim, Huck and I will load ourselves and lots of our junk into the Subaru for a trip back east. We'll drive all day Saturday, arriving in Greensboro (hopefully) in time for dinner with Mama Plumb. We're spending the night Saturday and then will get back in the car (sans Huck) for a quick trip to Charlotte where we'll unload our bikes at Katie's before heading to the airport to catch an overnight flight to London. After spending a few days in London, we'll hop on a train to Glasgow, wander around the British Open for a day. We'll then get back on a train to head to the Cotswolds for Dory and Alex's wedding where we'll be staying at a hotel called, get this, The Snooty Fox. How great is that?

After what will I'm sure be a fabulous weekend wedding extravaganza, we'll head back to London for a night and will then get back on a plane that is scheduled to arrive in Charlotte early Monday afternoon. After the safe and uneventful landing of said plane, we'll head back to Katie and Reeves', put the bikes back on the top of the car and head to Emerald Isle for the remainder of the Froehlich Family vacation. At the end of that week we'll get back in the car, drive to Greensboro to retrieve our retriever and head back to the Lou. Were vacations a little simpler when we lived on the east coast, you ask? Yes, maybe just a little.

It should be a great couple of weeks. Huck will have a blast with his grandmother and his 4 cousins. Yes, that's right, my mom will be watching 5 dogs (1 of ours, 2 of her own and 2 belonging to Katie and Reeves). She may not survive. Tim and I will get to spend some time touring around the UK and we'll bear witness to the joining together of two fabulous people. Following that excitement we'll then be able to enjoy some downtime with the fantastic Froehlich clan. The Golden Child is growing up so quickly and I can't wait to spend some time playing in the sand with him.

Obviously, our training is going to take a bit of a hit. We're planning to ride a few of the days at the beach and I'm looking forward to some leisurely runs through Hyde Park. Other than that I'm planning to drink good beer, eat good food, and spend quality time with the husband I so dearly love.

Best, best, best of luck to my Richmond friends competing in Ironman Lake Placid on July 26th. You all are amazing and you're ready. I can't wait for race reports.

End of an Era

2009-06-29T17:44:00.005-05:00

RIP, K33.

After spending the majority of the day on Friday at the DMV in an attempt to secure Missouri tags and a Missouri license I am convinced, now more than ever, that state government bureaucracy is the great equalizer. Take a number, take a load off in smelly government garnet-colored chairs and wait. On my initial trip I waited a good 30 minutes before I was informed that I needed to obtain a personal property tax waiver from St. Louis County. Basically I had to get back into my car, drive back to Clayton, pull another number and wait in the tax assessors office for 40 minutes so that someone could print out a form that says that I, in fact, do NOT owe personal property tax in St. Louis. Uh, we just moved here. Hence my need for the DMV in the first place. How could I possibly owe personal property taxes? I drove back to the DMV, excited to be reunited with the woman who helped me the first time around. She was kind enough to offer to help me when I came back, no number-pulling required. Imagine my disappointment when I returned only to find that she'd just left for lunch. "But she'll be back in an hour," said the lone DMV person on duty at lunch. It's only the busiest time of day, why would more than one person be required to stick it out until 1:15 before gobbling up their PB&J? I'd rather have a root canal than sit in that place for an hour. So I left to get a little lunch of my own, only to return an hour and a half later to find that I'd forgotten my passport. So I walked out with new plates, but no new license. So I get to go back this week. Yippee!

The painters came late last week and have only the radiators left to paint. They've done a great job. The walls are, in a word, colorful. But after years of living with all white walls (Tim was insistent that houses with white walls have better resale value) and a couple of months living with doo doo yellowish greenish brownish walls, I was ready for some soft colors. It looks a little like Rainbow Bright set up shop downstairs, but I like it. The color makes me happy.

Luckily the heat wave of 2009 has pushed through. The cooler air made its way in early Sunday morning - a most welcome surprise. Unfortunately it wasn't early enough to save us from a hellacious day of training in upper 90 degree heat. But we survived and promptly treated ourselves to our favorite post-workout meals - an artichoke sub from Penn Station for me and a steak burrito from Chipotle for the big guy. I figured a 45 mile ride and a 6 mile run in 98 degree heat could only be properly rewarded with a 10" sandwich. I ate every bit of it. And it was delicious.

We made it to Masters practice this morning. It was distance day and although I lost count somewhere along the way I'm pretty sure we got in right at 4000M, if not a little more. At the end of practice Hap, our coach on M and W, made my morning extra-special by directing my attention to the tall, thin brunette pushing her gorgeous self out of the water in the fastest lane and telling me that not only was her stroke count lower than mine, but that she was faster too. Thanks for that, Hap. I was really beginning to worry that my self-esteem was running wildly out of control.

A Tad Warm

2009-06-23T11:04:00.003-05:00

Be careful what you wish for. I've heard that my whole life. Why don't I listen? Just last week I was lamenting the rain and the storms, wondering if the sun was ever going to again shine in the Gateway City. Well, not only did the sun start shining again, but it invited its friends oppressive heat and humidity to the party. The heat index has been over 105 for the past three days. The breeze I'd grown so accustomed to during my bike rides has been nonexistent. So the air just sits there. Erin and I went for a run this morning at 5:45 and it was already 82 degrees. And there was a big oblong red spot hanging over the middle of the country on Al Roker's weather map this morning. Good stuff.

Overall oppressive heat and humidity don't really bother me. I've lived through hot and humid summers my entire life. What I hadn't lived through, prior to this past weekend anyway, was long training days in the heat and humidity. In summers past, when engaged in fall marathon training, our long runs were usually over well before 8 AM. My fabulous running partners (I miss you girls!) had lives and schedules that dictated very early morning training runs. There were kids to get home to, jobs to get to and other life-related stuff to do that was far more appealing than running 12-20 miles. So we got up early and were finished not too terribly long after the sun came up. In fact, on weekday runs we were finished a good hour before the sun even thought about coming up. As tough as it often was to respond to the alarm blaring at 4:30 in the morning, it was so nice to have the run out of the way. And I don't think I realized how much protection those early mornings provided from the summer heat.

So, this past weekend our training plan called for a 25 mile ride followed by a 10 mile run. We were lucky enough to discover a fabulous network of trails about 10 miles outside of the city. Fully paved, well marked and well-stocked with water and bathrooms. Our group of 9 met around 7:30 and were on our bikes by 7:45. The sun had already been up for awhile and we knew it was going to be a warm morning. We'd all planned accordingly so off we went, our bikes fully stocked with water and electrolytes. The ride was nice and over before we knew it. There wasn't any sort of a breeze to speak of, but just the wind rushing past as we rode down the path was enough to keep me relatively cool.

We were back at our cars around 9:30 or so. We filled water bottles and Fuel Belts, reapplied sunscreen and, those with less shall we say, protection, on their heads donned hats. And off went the 4 of us dumb enough to attempt the 10-mile run. I felt good coming off the bike. That may or may not be directly related to the fact that I was dead last getting OFF my bike. Regardless, the first couple of miles ticked by with relative ease. Unfortunately we were on a portion of the trail that doesn't provide much in the way of tree cover. And it was steamy. In what seemed like no time at all my 7:30 pace turned into a 7:50 pace. And then to 8:05, 8:20, 8:30, you get the picture. By the time I hit the turnaround it was all I could do to keep moving forward. Bob and I made the turnaround and shortly thereafter ran into Chris and Tim who had stopped to refill water bottles and stretch. I thought a bathroom break sounded like a nice idea, but the prison-issue metal toilet and the prarie dog-sized wasp flying around in the bathroom made quick work of that idea. So off we went. The last 5 miles were just about unbearable. I'm so grateful to Chris for his willingness to take a couple of necessary walk-breaks and for keeping me company those last few miles. If it hadn't been for him I might still be out there, crawling my way to the car.

I've had bad training runs in the past. In fact, I had a bad 26.2 not even a year ago. But this was different somehow. While the 26.2 was brutal from a gastrointestinal and emotional standpoint, this one was physically draining. Those last five miles may well have been the toughest 5 miles I've run to date. I spent time thinking on the way home about why in the world it had been so tough. Yes, it was extremely hot. And no, my body wasn't yet adjusted to the summer heat. But it wasn't that long of a run. What happened? And then all was revealed when we got home and started emptying out the cooler. I'd taken two water bottles with me on the bike. I knew that I hadn't even touched one of them, but that's not abnormal for me on a short ride. I thought I'd come close to finishing the first bottle. But apparently not. I was shocked to discover that I'd taken in maybe 1/4 of the fluid in the bottle. And truth be told it was probably a little less than that. Not good. I've heard about people who set their watches to go off at pre-determined intervals to remind them to drink on the bike. I'm thinking I may need to give that a go.

In life-related news the painters are running a few days behind. So they'll be here on Thursday and should be done in time for us to put the house back together this weekend. I can't wait for some fresh, light colors on these walls!

Opossum, Where Art Thou?

2009-06-16T09:42:00.003-05:00

This arrived in the mail yesterday:
My very own copy of Midwest Living. As best I can tell, Midwest Living is the bastard love child of Southern Living and the inserts you find in the Sunday paper. You know, the ones that advertise monkey figurines and collectible coins. In the interest of full disclosure, I haven't yet had the heart to actually read the whole thing. But among the gems I discovered when I quickly leafed through are the following: Information to help you make the most of your staycation in Branson; an advertisement for freaky-looking "Hand-crafted" porcelain bunnies outfitted with "GENUINE GEMSTONES!"; and recipes for things like "Dell's Branding Day Meat Loaf" and "Lazy Morning Sausage Pie." Mercy.

In other news, they found a body in Forest Park yesterday morning. Right along the route that we run on Thursday mornings. Awesome.

And last, but certainly not least, Erin, James and I spent the morning with oppossums. Two of them in Erin's basement. One alive. One decomposing in her golf club travel case. After great excitement the results were as follows: James, outfitted in gardening gloves, wrestled the live one into a trash can using a towel and a baking sheet; Sachi no longer has the luxury of a dog door; Erin is out a travel bag for her clubs; and her house smells like a roadkill cafe. If you happen to drive down Maryland in the CWE and you see a house with two trash cans on the porch, I suggest you keep on driving.

Oh, and it's storming. Imagine that.

Rain, Rain Go Away

2009-06-15T08:08:00.005-05:00

It's raining here. Again. This place is unbelievable. I cannot remember the last time we had a purely sunny day. It's been weeks. And now thunder. Huck has assumed the position in the closet. I'm thinking about renting him out to school groups. I think he'd be a great tornado drill instructor.

I was warned, before we moved here, about the steamy hot summers and the frigid, frigid winters. But no one told me about the rain. I guess I should have assumed it would be stormy in the midwest. But man, this is ridiculous.

We did manage to get in a swim this morning before the storm hit. It was a good workout. The pool was crowded, but that's the beauty of the 50M pool. Plenty of room for everyone. I've met some great girls so far through the Master's program. Paige is actually from Richmond, but I didn't know her there. She has an injury that prevents her from ever really running again, so she focuses on the swim and the bike.

Jennifer is another lane mate. She's a St. Louis native and is a super fast triathlete. And she has 7 year-old triplets. Unfortunately, she's injured too. She's not able to run for another month or so, but has been spending lots of time in the pool and on the bike instead. She's friendly and wonderfully helpful. And I spent my morning chasing her in the pool. I feel fortunate to have met both of them.

We rode in Illinois this past weekend. I can't tell you how strange it is to actually write something like that. Illinois. It used to be so far away. And now it's just a 15 minute drive over the bridge. Chris and I rode 40 miles and then ran 7 or so. Erin and Guillermo rode 70 in preparation for their trip to France next month. The course was well-marked and 40 miles was over before I knew it. The run was hot. The sun came out just long enough to bake us on the trail. Chris was a little dehydrated and neither of us had water which is kind of a problem. Next time we'll be smarter. Tim was busy Racing for the Cure. 65,000 people converged on downtown St. Louis. He said the crowd was insane. Luckily he'd taken the Metrolink down so he didn't have to deal with parking. As an added bonus he was able to run home from the race.

The painters will be here in exactly one week. I can't wait! If anyone is looking for some floor-length blue velour drapes, today is your lucky day. We just so happen to know of some that will be in need of a good home. Really, who wouldn't want these?

And yes, that's our dining room wall and it is painted in diarrhea yellow and silver/blue stripes. Frightening.

Race Report

2009-06-09T10:08:00.007-05:00

This weekend was the Quartermax Olympic distance triathlon here in the great state of MO. Interestingly all Olympic distance races vary slightly in distance. This one was a 1000 yard swim, a 28 mile bike and a 6 (or 6.2, we're still not sure) mile run. The race was held in Innsbrook, MO, a resort community and conference center that recently became a town all of its own. It's about an hour or so west of St. Louis so we were up at 4 AM Saturday and on the road by 5. It was an early morning around here. As we drove in, Tim remarked that it reminded him a lot of Smith Mountain Lake. Hills (both big and small), wooden lake-front condos, lots of trees.

It turned out to be a beautiful day. It was cloudy and chilly in the morning. Thankfully the cloud cover stayed with us through the majority of the race. There was a slight breeze that I noticed every so often on the bike, but nothing like some of the wind I've ridden through (or tried to) since we've been here. We couldn't have asked for a more perfect day.

All told there were six people competing that day from the loose training group that Tim and I have joined up with since we moved here. Erin, whom we all know and love; Guillermo, who is also racing in Florida with us; Tall Bob, a running phenom; James, a former college cyclist competing in his first ever triathlon; Tim, a man who needs no introduction; and yours truly. We were fortunate to have a fabulous cheering squad consisting of Chris, who will compete in Florida also; his fabulous wife, Katherine, who runs with us; Julie, a friend of Tim's from work who leaves captioned pictures of gorillas in Tim's office and who also runs with us; and Frank, triathlete extraordinaire. It was so nice to see some friendly faces!

The water was somewhere in the neighborhood of 76 degrees so we donned our wetsuits and headed down to the water. They started all the men first and then all of the women. I've only done one other open-water swim in competition and I'd forgotten how much "fun" they can be. I'm a confident swimmer and I was thankful for that confidence shortly after we started. There was a lot of jostling, a lot of kicking legs and flailing arms. Sheer madness. Luckily I didn't get directly kicked. But I had people clawing at my legs and running into me from all directions. Things really got interesting once we rounded the first buoy and began catching up with some of the slower men from the wave before us. Many of them were upright in the water trying to catch their breath or rest their arms. That's fine in and of itself, but can become a problem if they go horizontal and start swimming breast stroke as you're approaching. All in all the swim was fine and over in less than 15 minutes, which was nice. But it was a fight to the finish, that's for sure. Those people were not messing around.

Many people come into the sport of triathlon without much formal experience in the water. These people are relieved to make it out of the water in one piece and are glad to have the most difficult, scariest part of the race out of the way. I am not one of those people. I would trade the bike for the swim in a heartbeat. You go out and ride the 28-mile course, I'll stay in the water and swim around those buoys 6 more times and I'll meet you on the run. I don't so much enjoy the bike. And it's not so much because it is my weakness. I mostly dislike it because it is technical and it hurts. And I could easily die or break something important. But mostly, it hurts. It hurts my legs, my back, my neck and my lady parts. And occasionally it hurts my shoulders and my knees. It is not fun. But there's no way around it. Unfortunately I'll be doing it for 7+ hours in November so I'd better suck it up.

The first few miles of the bike course were VERY hilly. But once we got out onto the big roads the hills were a little more gentle. I believe those in the know would refer to them as "rollers." The course was pretty - lots of farmland. The occasional house. The occasional dog. I just reminded myself over and over to keep moving my legs -that the faster I moved my legs the sooner it would be over. It took me a little longer than it takes most people to get through those 28 miles, but by golly I did it.

As I headed out onto the run I felt nothing but gratitude that the bike was over, that I hadn't gotten a flat tire or fallen off. It took a mile or two for my legs to adjust to being upright. Running off the bike is so completely different from running on fresh legs. Eventually they both hurt the same, but the firs 15 minutes or so are always a little strange. It's almost like your legs aren't attached to your body and yet you know they are because they're tired and achy. I don't know how to describe it. But it's weird.

The run course was mostly on packed gravel through the woods around the lake. The course was 2 3-mile loops. Seeing the finish line at the end of the first loop and knowing that I had to go the other way to head out for 3 more miles was a little disconcerting. Again though, I need to get used to it. The run course in Florida is two 13-mile loops. Mentally I can't even begin to wrap my head around making the turn to head out for 13 MORE miles after I've been out there for 12, 13, 14 hours. But that's okay, I have plenty of time to worry about that.

I was so glad to know the end was in sight and so thankful to have the cheering squad to push me into the finish. All in all it was a good day. My longest tri yet and I ended up placing second in my age group. I never win anything, so imagine how happy I was when I learned that this is what I'd won:
It even has a little plaque:
How great is that? You've gotta respect people for organizing a race at which wine is the reward for a job well done.

Not to mention this is what we received just for finishing (in lieu of a medal):
I can tell you that I've already gotten more mileage out of this mug than I will ever get out of any of the finisher medals I've received. Maybe MO isn't so bad after all...

Overall, the group had a good day. James successfully completed his very first tri. And I think he may be hooked. Guerillmo and Bob had good races. Erin finished fourth in the age group and then woke up on Sunday and went riding again (she is Superwoman). Tim finished fourth in his age group as well. He wasn't thrilled with his time, but he looked strong on the course. This was his first triathlon as a married man so, if he's not happy about his time I've decided he can blame it on the weight of the ol' ball and chain. :)

Huck, I Don't Think We're In Richmond Anymore

2009-06-08T09:44:00.005-05:00

I have a new appreciation for Gothic architecture. I got caught in a storm on a run this morning and luckily I was close enough to Wash U that I was able to secure a little cover on campus. I'd like to take this opportunity to thank the fine men and women who designed and built the Psychology building on the Danforth Campus of Washington University. That little covered, arched walkway was brilliant.

That's the thing about storms out here...they're sneaky. One minute there's some cloud cover in the sky and the next minute hail is coming down and dairy cows are flying by. Seriously. When I left the house there was a very, very slight drizzle and although the sky above me was a lovely shade of light gray, the sky to the east, the direction I was heading, was clear. Five minutes in I was thinking I may have to cut it a little short, but not significantly so. Not 3 minutes later I was pretty much running for my life. The thunder came out of nowhere. And it wasn't just a little rolling thunder. This was the hide under your bed, put in your earplugs and say a little prayer kind of thunder. And the lightning...oh, the lightning. It was flashing across the sky in these amazing blue and white waves. It's a shame that stuff will kill you because it sure is pretty.

I turned around and headed for the house, but quickly realized there was no way I was going to make it before things got really bad. So I turned to my right, saw a building with a covered walkway and headed straight for it. Not 20 seconds after I made my way under cover the hail started. And then the wind. I watched huge tree limps snap off 50 feet in front of me - blocking traffic on one of the busiest streets in University City. The wind was so intense I half expected to see Huck come floating past. Luckily I knew he would be safely tucked into a tiny ball in the corner of our closet. Sure enough, this is what I found when I got home:
Despite the violent winds, the tornado sirens didn't sound so I'm assuming this was nothing more than a summer storm in the midwest. We were really lucky. We have a few big limbs down, including one that's resting on a power line and the cable line was snapped from the house. Many other people suffered major damage - trees on cars, huge trees snapped in half, big trees uprooted in peoples' yards. It was nasty. And no one around here, except for the transplants, seemed all that concerned. Par for the course, I suppose. So help me.

Before said run, Tim and I made our way to Master's practice early this morning. It was Tim's first Master's practice in St. Louis and I think he enjoyed himself. We were outside today and the water was a warm and toasty 74/75. If you know anything about water temperature you know that there's nothing toasty about a temp in the low to mid-70's. In triathlon it's legal to wear a wetsuit up to a water temperature of 78 degrees. There were no wetsuits this morning. It was cold. So cold that my toes went numb about 2 minutes in and feeling didn't return until a couple of hours ago. My shoulders completely locked up and I couldn't get them to turnover at nearly the rate I needed them to. At one point I took in a little water which resulted in a coughing fit that required that I get out of the water in order to get it under control. My body was shivering so violently that I wasn't able to put enough "umph" into the cough to settle everything down. Even Tim thought it was cold. Well, "brisk" is the word he used. That's how I know I wasn't overreacting.

The weather has cleared up a bit now, but they're calling for storms this afternoon and pretty much every afternoon from now until Thursday. Ah, Missouri. Here's hoping the Show Me State starts showing me some good weather here directly. If Huck has to spend the entire summer in the closet he'll never be able to model the beautiful new bathing suit I bought for him. And we all know he could use a little color...

The Safest Way to Travel

2009-06-04T10:12:00.008-05:00

One of the inescapable truths about me is that I'm one of those "worst case scenario" kind of people. It is an unfortunate reality and something to which anyone who has ever had the pleasure of flying with me can attest. Every time I get on a plane I'm convinced that it's going to go down. Poor Tim. Every time we travel, every single time, we go through the same futile exercise. I scan the passengers while waiting at the gate. I'm always glad to see kids (babies especially), clergy, and the occasional commercial pilot just along for the ride. I'm smart enough to know that the presence of these folks would never preclude a plane from suffering some sort of catastrophic mechanical failure, but their presence is nonetheless reassuring. I ask Tim whether or not he "feels good" about the plane and the pilots. Not surprisingly, he answers "yes" every single time. So far, his instincts have gotten us safely to our destination 100% of the time. So the cycle repeats itself.

I also go through my own little private ritual. In my purse I carry a small cosmetics case filled with Chapstick and lip gloss that tastes like candy I have an assortment of good luck "charms", each of which must be touched at least once before takeoff. Among them are two guardian angels. One is flatter than the other and I don't remember its origins. The other is three-dimensional, but smaller and given to me by my dad after he bought it on a whim in a little store in Hot Springs, VA. I remember every little detail about when he gave it to me. It was, as with all things with my dad, an unceremonioius event. But the look on his face when he gave it to me was one for the ages. So each of the guardian angels gets a little face time on the plane. I also have a tiny round stone engraved with the word "love" that was given to me by my mom years ago. All of these things must pass through my fingers at least once. It's also imperative that I have some sort of fluff magazine in front of me during takeoff. People usually does the trick. Somewhere in my mind I've rationalized that nothing bad can happen to us if I'm reading about Kirstie Alley's battle of the bulge or Kate Hudson's latest relationship. During takeoff I scan the passengers for any signs of distress or concern. I like to be within view of the flight attendant(s) if at all possible. Everytime something dings and he/she picks up the phone in the cabin I watch for signs of concern or panic. It's always nice to see the flight attendant joking with the pilots during those first 15 minutes or so. Tim, who I'm fairly certain slept through takeoffs and landings prior to meeting me, is great about reassuring me that every turn, every bump, every noise is just all part of the process.

You might think that over time my fear would lesssen, the rituals would subside and the flying process would be an overall more pleasant experience for me and my traveling companion(s). Unfortunately that just hasn't been the case thus far. Even when I don't want to perform the ritual I do so anyway, concerned that if I don't something bad might happen. Like God is going to smite me for leaving the angels in my bag or, heaven forbid, for reading the New York Times. It is a constant struggle. Sometimes it's hard for me to believe Tim will even travel with me.

My therapist says I "overfunction." Apparently any Tom, Dick or Harry can have control issues. But it takes a special kind of crazy to be an overfunctioner. I'm constantly trying to live 5 minutes into the future. Trying to anticipate every possible disasterous scenario so that I can plan accordingly. Although intuitively I understand that whatever will be will be that doesn't translate into my acting accordingly.

So you can imagine the tizzy (I believe that's the techincal term) into which this whole Air France debacle has put me. Especially given the trans-Atlantic flight we have booked for the middle of July. I read every article and listen to every news story I can in the hopes that I, the woman that's never even bothered to crack open a physics book, will somehow figure out just how the tragedy could have been avoided. And apparently the obsession is creeping into my dreams. Last night I dreamed that my mom, sister and I were in Key West where we witnesssed the breaking apart of a Southwest Airlines jet over the rugged mountain terrain (yes, I see the disconnect here). Good grief. Keep me out of the crack jar before bed next time.

Since I've managed to bring even myself down with that post (and because I want to showcase my picture-posting skills), here's a shot of Huck on the bed at the Louisville Hilton during out two-day trek out to St. Louis. He stayed there all night. It's good to be Huck.

If that doesn't get your mind off overfunctioning I don't know what will.

Roots

2009-06-03T08:46:00.003-05:00

I did it. I attended Master's practice this morning. And, don't tell anybody, but I actually had fun. It was a humbling experience. Although I spent a lot of time in the water back in the day, this was my first official organized swim "practice" in oh, I don't know, 13 years. As it turns out the intensity is a little different when you're actually doing sets on the clock and trying to keep up with the people in front of you and far enough ahead of the people behind you. All in all, I wasn't disappointed in the way that I swam. But I see now how much harder I can be working in the water. The group as a whole is very, very fast. Lots of post-collegiate superstars - their strokes appear effortless and they make incredible time through the water. It's a beautiful thing to watch. I'm a fairly solid middle-of-the-packer in that group and I'm just fine with that. My goals are to get stronger, meet people and have fun. And not necessarily in that order.

In other news, as of today Huck is one week post-root canal. Yes, our dog had a root canal. Sometime earlier this year our vet in Richmond noticed that one of his K9 teeth was discolored and likely dying. When I asked her how that could have happened she said "he's a lab(ish), he probably just ran into a tree." With his face. If you know Huck you know that this is not an implausible theory. More than likely though he damaged that tooth any one of the hundreds of times that he banged his snout on the doorjamb turning circles before a walk, a car ride, or prior to anything else deemed worthy of a few good 360 degree go-rounds.

No matter the cause, the tooth was dying and something needed to be done. Our fabulous new vet, Dr. Fry (at Kingsbury Animal Hospital for anyone in the market), put us in touch with Dr. Ublricht who is, believe it or not, one of only 55 board certified veterinary dentists in the country. And he just so happens to practice here in St. Louis. So Huck went in last Tuesday morning and I picked up his wild-eyed, staggering little self late that afternoon. He looked (and frankly, acted) possessed for the rest of the night. Luckily we were warned that was a probability. The anesthesia they use is some sort of morphine something or other so he was high for most of the night. By the next morning though he and his million dollar mouth were back to normal. He also had his teeth cleaned while he was anesthetized. The nurse told me that I could go ahead and resume normal brushing of his teeth in a couple of days. Uh huh. We tried the brushing of the teeth once before. It did not go well and I have no intention of putting either of us through that again. I'm pretty sure Milk Bones work just as well. Right?

Gateway to the East

2009-06-02T08:09:00.004-05:00

I've finally done it. I'm officially "blogging". Gosh, I hope I'm doing it correctly. I guess we'll find out.

Tim and I were driving back from a morning of training in New Town (an experience that warrants a blog post of its very own) listening to Garrison Keillor who was, ironically enough, broadcasting from St. Louis. He mentioned that he supposed that since St. Louis was the Gateway to the West it also must be the Gateway to the East. He quickly digressed into a discussion about gates swinging both ways which, thankfully, is neither here nor there. I was comforted by the characterization. From here on out, Timmy and I live in the Gateway to the East. Fewer cornfields and more coastline. I can live with that.

So, here we are in St. Louis. Unfortunately I still can't find it on a map (thanks for the geography skills, mom), but I'm working on it. After a few months in temporary housing, we bought a house in a fabulous little neighborhood right behind Washington University. Huck loves the back yard, Tim loves having house projects and I love being able to walk all over the place. We're just a few blocks from Forest Park which is a HUGE park in the middle of the city, second only in size to some park in Kansas City (I think). Yes, it's bigger than Central Park. No horse-drawn carriages, but a golf course, a zoo, an ice-skating rink that turns into a sand volleyball court in the summer, a couple of museums, a tennis center, and some of the most well-placed drinking fountains anywhere. Not to mention the abundance of accessible bathrooms. At 8-miles in circumference, it is a runner's dream.

We joined a gym that has a fantastic pool. It's a competition pool so the lanes are wide, the water is deep and a perfect 81 degrees. We've been swimming pretty regularly. I'm falling back in love with it - something that I never thought would happen. The Master's program at the pool is quite strong. In the summer they train at an outdoor Olympic-sized pool. Neither of us has taken the plunge (pun intended) as of yet, but I think I may try it out tomorrow. I love, love, love the 50M pool. Wednesday is "stroke day" and tomorrow they're focusing on butterfly. Heaven help me.

There is an Olympic-distance triathlon in MO this weekend. It's in a place called Innsbrook which, according to Erin, is about an hour and 20 minutes away. We'll head out early Saturday morning. Should be an interesting day. I've been on my bike a little more as of late. I'm still getting comfortable with riding outside, traffic, etc. I have A LOT to learn about proper shifting and, well, pretty much everything else about riding, and I'm counting on the fact that each time I get on the bike I'm one step closer to actually being able to ride 112 miles in November. I'm trying to cut myself a little slack, constantly trying to remember that just because I rode a 10-speed when I was 12 that doesn't mean I'm going to hop on a road bike at age 30 and miraculously be good at it. Baby steps, baby steps.

All in all, life is good. We've purchased a split box spring for the guest room (the regular one wouldn't fit up the stairs) so that room should be set up by the end of the weekend. Any takers?